Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies (Volume 4): 2001 [2010] 9781463214098

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HUGOYE JOURNAL OF SYRIAC STUDIES A Publication of Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute

Volume 4 2001 [2010]

HUGOYE JOURNAL OF SYRIAC STUDIES A Publication of Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute GENERAL EDITOR George Anton Kiraz, Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute / Gorgias Press EDITORIAL COMMITTEE Sebastian P. Brock, University of Oxford Sidney Griffith, The Catholic University of America Amir Harrak, University of Toronto Susan Harvey, Brown University Mor Gregorios Y. Ibrahim, Mardin-Edessa Publishing House Andreas Juckel, University of Münster Hubert Kaufhold, Oriens Christianus Kathleen McVey, Princeton Theological Seminary Wido T Van Peursen, The Peshitta Institute of Leiden University Lucas Van Rompay, Duke University ONLINE EDITION EDITOR Thomas Joseph, Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute BOOK REVIEW EDITOR Kristian Heal, Brigham Young University PRINTED EDITION EDITOR Katie Stott, Gorgias Press

HUGOYE: JOURNAL OF SYRIAC STUDIES (ISSN 1937-318X) Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies is a publication of BETH MARDUTHO: THE SYRIAC INSTITUTE. Copyright © 2010 by GORGIAS PRESS and BETH MARDUTHO: THE SYRIAC INSTITUTE. The Syriac word hugoye, plural of hugoyo, derives from the root hg‚ ‘to think, meditate, study’; hence, hugoyo ‘study, meditation’. Recently, hugoye became to be used for ‘academic studies’; hence, hugoye suryoye ‘Syriac Studies’. SUBSCRIPTIONS Subscription requests should be addressed to Gorgias Press, 954 River Rd. Piscataway, NJ 08854, USA. Subscriptions may be made online at http:// www.gorgiaspress.com. Back issues are available. NOTE FOR CONTRIBUTORS Submission guidelines and instructions are found on the Hugoye web site at http://www.bethmardutho.org. NOTE TO PUBLISHERS Copies for review should be sent directly to the Book Review Editor at the following address: Mr. Kristian S. Heal, Hugoye Book Review Editor, Brigham Young University, Stadium East House - METI, Provo, UT 84604. ADVERTISEMENTS Rates: $250 full page; includes a listing in all e-mail announcements for one year. To place ads, write to the subscription address above.

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials.

TABLE OF CONTENTS HUGOYE 4:1 In Memoriam Fr. Yousef Habbi (1938–2000).............................................................3 Prof. Julius Assfalg (1919–2001) ...........................................................5 Papers L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo: Une vieille histoire d’homonymes .........................................................7 Jean Fathi-Chelhod ʙimeon of Qalca Rumaita, Patriarch Philoxenus Nemrod and Bar cEbroyo .....................................................................45 Hidemi Takahashi Brief Articles Syriac Papyrus Fragments Recently Discovered in Deir al-Surian (Egypt) .......................................................................93 Fr. Bigoul El-Souriany, Lucas Van Rompay Recent Archaeological Excavations in Takrit and the Discovery of Syriac Inscriptions ..........................................103 Amir Harrak A New Syriac Inscription in Deir al-Surian (Egypʜ) ......................109 Lucas Van Rompay, Andrea B. Schmidt Publications and Book Reviews .........................................................115 Conference Reports .............................................................................133 Forthcoming Conferences / Call for Papers ...................................147

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Table of Contents

HUGOYE 4:2 Introduction to ʙugoye 4:2 (July 2001) ..............................................155 Susan A. Harvey Papers “Bold and Having No Shame:” Ambiguous Widows, Controlling Clergy, and Early Syrian Communities ........................159 Michael Penn Women in Aphrahat: Some Observations ......................................187 Adam Lehto Theodora the “Believing Queen:” A Study in Syriac Historiographical Tradition.................................209 Susan A. Harvey Hindiyya Anne cajaymi and Her Spiritual Journey: The Essential Lightness of Being .....................................................235 Avril M. Makhlouf Brief Articles Deir al-Surian (Egypt): conservation work of Autumn 2000 .................................................259 Karel C. Innemée eBethArké: The Syriac Digital Library. First Report ......................269 George A. Kiraz Publications and Book Reviews .........................................................273 Conference Reports .............................................................................285 Forthcoming Conferences / Call for Papers ...................................291

Volume 4 2001 [2010]

Number 1

HUGOYE JOURNAL OF SYRIAC STUDIES A Publication of Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 3–4 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

IN MEMORIAM

FR. YOUSEF HABBI (1938–2000)

Fr. Habbi on al-Jazeera Television shortly before his death. [1]

[2]

[3]

Syriac scholarship and the Syriac-speaking communities were shocked to here about the untimely death of Fr. Yousef Habbi, one of the most formidable Chaldean scholars of our times. Fr. Habbi was killed in a car accident on the Baghdad-Amman highway in Jordan on Sunday, 15 October 2000. Fr. Habbi was born Farouq Dawood in Mosul, Iraq, on 23 December 1938. He joined the Chaldean Seminary of Mar Shimun, Mosul, in 1950, and later the Propaganda College in Rome in 1954. He was ordained priest in Rome on 20 December 1961, and continued his education there in the Lateran College from which he obtained his doctorate. In 1967, he went back to Iraq and served in various churches in Mosul, and later in Baghdad in 1990. Within the Church, he held a number of offices including Patriarchal Vicar for Cultural Affairs and President of the Chaldean Church Court of Appeals (since 1990). Fr. Habbi’s scholarly work in the field of Syriac studies is widely recognized and respected by the academic community. He 3

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[4]

George A. Kiraz

contributed 26 books and numerous journal articles. Habbi was instrumental in the establishment in 1991 of Babylon College for Philosophy and Liturgy whose Dean he was till his death. He was also the president of the Syriac Language Committee of the Iraqi Academy, and Editor-in-Chief of Bayn al-Nahrain (Mesopotamia) periodical since its inception in 1972. The Syriac studies community morns the passing away of Fr. Habbi, and acknowledges his contributions to the field of Syriac studies. Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies expresses it condolences to the family of Fr. Habbi and to the Chaldean community. Hugoye will be publishing a special issue in Fr. Habbi’s memory in 2002. George A. Kiraz, Ph.D. General Editor

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 5–6 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

PROF. JULIUS ASSFALG (1919–2001)

Prof. Julius Assfalg during the II Syposium Syriacum in Chantilly, 1976 (Picture taken by Prof. Dr. Dr. Hubert Kaufhold.) [1]

Julius Assfalg passed away suddenly on 12 January 2001 at the age of 81. Assfalg was born in Hohenaschau, Bavaria, on November 6, 1919, and studied philosophy, theology and oriental languages in Freising and Eichstaett. He served in the German army during World War II and became a prisoner of war in France. In 1946, he continued his studies at the University of Munich, where he specialised in the field of Christian Oriental studies, especially under the guidance of Wilhelm Hengstenberg (philology of the Christian East) and Anton Spitaler (Semitic languages). The subject of his doctoral thesis in 1950 on the Arabic liturgical manual of the Coptic Church called “The Order of the Priesthood” was given to him by Georg Graf, the well-known scholar of Christian Arabic studies. After his “Habilitation” in 1961, consisting of the edition of the Old Georgian text of the Minor Prophets, he started his 5

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[3] [4]

Hubert Kaufhold

academic teaching of the Christian Oriental languages at the University of Munich, which he continued even after his official retirement in 1985 until his untimely death. Famous are his catalogues of the Syriac, Armenian and Georgian manuscripts in Germany (1962–63). The whole field of Eastern Christian Studies was presented in Kleines Würterbuch des Christlichen Orients, which he edited in Wiesbaden in 1975, and of which a French and a Polish translation was published in 1991 and 1998, respectively. Many contributions by him in the field of Christian Oriental studies appeared in various German reference books and encyclopedias. A Festschrift was offered to him at his 70th birthday: Lingua restituta orientalis. Festgabe für Julius Assfalg, edited by Regine Schulz and Manfred GȄrg, Wiesbaden 1990. Colleagues and pupils presented him at his 65th and 80th birthday Festschriften, which circulate privately. Special mention must be made of his work for the periodical Oriens Christianus of which he was co-editor from 1965 until his death, and editor-in-chief for 15 years. Hundreds of students have a memory of Julius Assfalg as a very inspired, affable and cordial teacher, especially of Syriac language and literature. A great many of his colleagues and pupils were present at his burial in his native village Aschau on January 19, 2001. At his grave a Syriac priest chanted parts from the teshmeshto “service” of the departed for the peace of his soul. Prof. Dr. Dr. Hubert Kaufhold General Editor of Oriens Christianus

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 7–43 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

PAPERS

L’ORIGINE DU NOM BAR ȨEBROYO : UNE VIEILLE HISTOIRE D’HOMONYMES JEAN FATHI-CHELHOD 1 B.P. 20 ALEP, SYRIE

RÉSUMÉ L’attribution d’une origine juive au grand maphrien Bar ȨEbroyo est une supposition orientaliste totalement étrangère à la tradition syriaque. Le nom Bar ȨEbroyo, source de la confusion, indique tout simplement qu’un aïeul du maphrien est originaire du village syrien de ȨEbro, situé dans les environs de la ville de Mélitène où il est né. Les élaborations sur le père ou le fils converti, en vogue à partir du XIXème siècle, ne tiennent pas la route devant les textes syriaques d’époque. Bar ȨEbroyo, comprenez fils de l’Ebraïte et non pas fils de l’Hébreu, bien conscient du sens homonyme de son nom mésopotamien, s’en était d’ailleurs expliqué dans un quatrain poétique d’une richesse insoupçonnée.

Remerciements: Au cours de nos recherches, nous avons reçu l’aide de plusieurs spécialistes français et ecclésiastiques syriens, notamment à Paris les professeurs Henri Hugonnard-Roche, Antoine Lonnet, Muriel Debié, Alain Desreumaux et Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet; 1

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Jean Fathi-Chelhod

Tous ceux qui s’intéressent de près ou de loin à la littérature syriaque ne peuvent ignorer le nom de Grégoire Abş al-Faraj, dit Bar ȨEbroyo (1226–86) qui, de l’avis général, en est le plus grand écrivain. Ce grand maphrien 2 de l’église syrienne, vivant à l’époque trouble des invasions mongoles du XIIIème siècle, nous a laissé, entre autre mission diplomatique et voyage paroissial, une oeuvre de polygraphe qui englobe tous les domaines du savoir de son temps; et son mérite est d’autant plus grand que ses travaux résument et synthétisent à sa fin une tradition vieille d’un millénaire dont le souffle sera coupé peu de temps après son décès. Le nom de ce savant reste cependant lié à une erreur historiographique que l’on aura perpétuée plusieurs siècles durant. En effet le nom Bar ȨEbroyo, qui donne à signifier en syriaque fils de l’Hébreu, fut traduit par Bar Hebraeus et permit à posteriori d’attribuer à l’écrivain syrien une origine juive. Cette opinion s’est d’ailleurs tellement répandue en Occident que l’on ne peut y trouver dans la communauté syrienne catholique nous avons apprécié l’aide de notre vénérable patriarche le Cardinal Ignatius Moussa Daoud, ainsi que de l’évêque Behnam Hindo et du père parisien Nabil Wastin Ablahad; dans la communauté syrienne orthodoxe nous avons été orientés par l’évêque rénovateur Yuhanna Ibrahim à Alep, l’évêque d’Europe Yulyus Cicek, le père Ilyo, secrétaire du patriarche, et le père Yacoub Aydin qui est actuellement avec sa communauté entreprenante du Tur Abdin en train de bâtir pierre par pierre (à cause du manque de moyens) une église syriaque orthodoxe dans les environs de Paris; à l’Université Saint Joseph (Liban) le père Khalil Samir nous a été d’un grand recours. Notre vieil ami italien Erick Cerasi s’est spécialement déplacé de Rome à Florence pour nous en ramener le microfilm syriaque dont il a été question, et il n’a pour autant accepté que de nous l’offrir. Les professeurs qui ont revu cet article pour sa publication dans Hugoye ont émis des remarques très utiles. Dr. George Kiraz et Dr. Thomas Joseph ont bien voulu s’occuper du suivi et de l’édition. Abdul Massih Saadi a aimablement participé en nous envoyant ses notes sur un manuscrit de Chicago. L’éminent érudit japonais Hidemi Takahashi, dont l’étendue du savoir sur Bar ȨEbroyo est aujourd’hui inégalée, nous a évité beaucoup de méprises et nous a communiqué de multiples informations et sources de premier intérêt. Veuillent-ils tous accepter nos très chaleureux remerciements. 2 Titre spécifique à l’église syrienne désignant le responsable ecclésiastique largement autonome des anciens territoires de l’empire perse, notamment le nord de la Mésopotamie et l’Azerbaïdjan iranien.

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

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aujourd’hui un seul article d’encyclopédie sur l’auteur, aussi insignifiant soit-il, qui ne fasse pas mention de cette ascendance hébraïque supposée. Mais nous étant intéressés à l’origine du nom ȨEbroyo, nous avons constaté que l’hypothèse de l’origine juive de l’auteur est totalement injustifiée. Cet article a pour but de prouver qu’elle doit être abandonnée à la lumière des nouvelles découvertes philologiques. Pour le démontrer, nous revenons aux sources syriaques originales et aux textes de Bar ȨEbroyo lui-même, nous mettons à profit les recherches menées au cours du XXème siècle notamment par les ecclésiastiques syriens et publiées au Levant en langue arabe, et nous présentons pour la première fois une analyse raisonnée du quatrain que l’écrivain nous a laissé sur le sujet. Nous affirmons en conclusion que la transcription latine Bar Hebraeus ne peut plus désormais être considérée comme scientifique, et nous proposons de transcrire le nom Bar ȨEbroyo comme il est prononcé en syriaque, proposition qui nous semble tout à fait indispensable et qui, espérons-le, gagnera du terrain dans le monde syriologue. La nature de cet article rend nécessaire de donner les textes dans leur langue originale et de s’attarder quelque peu sur des considérations lexicales. Certains passages que nous avons dû citer pour contre-balancer l’opinion établie paraissent aujourd’hui déplacés. Si cet exposé choque une quelconque susceptibilité, que l’on veuille bien nous en excuser. Les textes dont il est sujet doivent être replacés dans leur contexte moyenâgeux où ils n’ont rien d’exceptionnel, et Bar ȨEbroyo, qui dédie dans une préface l’un de ses livres 3 au Musulman, à l’Hébreu et au Sabéen n’a rien d’une figure fanatique; on s’accorde plutôt à lui attribuer par rapport à Les Récits Plaisants, notre traduction. Le sens du dernier mot traduit ťƀƉĿĥ est différent selon la vocalisation : vocalisé oromoyo il veut dire Syrien (c.-à-d. dans le contexte de la citation, chrétien orthodoxe), et vocalisé armoyo, il veut dire Païen ou Sabéen (Bar Bahlşl, 296: ǹơǂƷ DzǿƗ ťƀƌƢŶ ťƀƉĿĥ), Bar ȨEbroyo lui-même mentionne cette différence dans un vers de son Poème des mots équivoques (cité dans Payne-Smith, 388). La traduction Araméen de Budge, The Laughable Stories, n’indique pas de quel sens il s’agit. L’évêque syrien de Damas Yşhanna ibn al-Ghurair al-Zĩrbabi al-ShĆmi, auteur d’une traduction manuscrite de ce livre en arabe karshunĩ en 1656, comprend armoyo, car il traduit par Ɓƙƍŷƭ du syriaque ťƙƍŶ. Ceci s’accorde mieux à notre avis avec le contexte, dans lequel Bar ȨEbroyo s’addresse aux nations étrangères. 3

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son temps une grande ouverture d’esprit. Faut-il quand-même, tout en exprimant tout notre respect pour le peuple juif, mettre en garde contre toute déformation d’une discussion purement philologique et destinée aux spécialistes pour exprimer des préjugés grossiers. La science historique se doit d’exprimer à la mesure du possible la façon de penser et les idées conçues de l’époque qu’elle décrit, indépendamment des jugements qui peuvent y être portés à distance.

1. L’HYPOTHÈSE BAR HEBRAEUS 1.1. Arguments en faveur de l’origine juive [5]

Pour étayer l’hypothèse de l’origine juive de l’auteur, nous disposons de trois arguments principaux: 1. Le premier est, comme nous l’avons signalé, le nom Bar ȨEbroyo, qui fut dès 1629 traduit par Abraham Ecchellensis dans la Polyglotte de Paris 4 sous la forme Bar Hebraeus Syrus et dont l’orthographe Bar-hebraeus fut adoptée par la Bibliotheca Orientalis d’Assemani en 1721. 5 2. Le deuxième est le nom du père de l’auteur, car Grégoire Abş al-Faraj est fils du médecin Ahrşn (Aaron) fils de Tşma Guido Michael LeJay, Biblia Hebraica, Samaritana, Chaldaica, Graeca, Syriaca, Latina, Arabica, Lutetiae Parisiorum, 1629. Ceci semble bien être la plus vieille attestation du nom Bar Hebraeus en Occident. Par ailleurs, Echellensis utilise la forme Barhebraeus, p. 266, dans son édition et traduction du Catalogum Librorum Chaldeorum de ‘Abdĩshş’ de Nisibe en 1657. Comme nous l’indique H. Takahashi, l’utilisation par Echellensis du h ne veut pas nécessairement dire que celui-ci comprend le nom comme voulant signifier Hébreu, car il utilise cette letter pour transcrire le ‘aïn syriaque, tel dans Hebedjesu. Signalons en passant qu’en 1628, Gabriel Sionita fut le premier à éditer une œuvre de Bar ȨEbroyo. Il s’agit de l’un de ses plus beaux textes, le Poème de la Sagesse Divine, publié sous le titre Veteris Philosophi Syri De Sapientia Divina Poëma aenigmaticum et attribué à un philosophe syrien dont le nom n’est cependant pas indiqué. Une copie de ce poème en syriaque de la main de Sionita peut être consultée à la Bibliothèque Nationale à Paris. On remarquera que la date de l’editio princeps de Bar ȨEbroyo en 1628 forme une anagramme avec la date de son départ de ce monde en 1286. 5 Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis, t. II, 244–321. 4

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(Thomas), 6 et l’on n’ignore pas la consonance juive du prénom Aaron. 3. Le troisième argument est le poids de tradition orientaliste, qui semble au début du XXème siècle s’être accordée sur cette origine. A quand remonte la première affirmation directe de l’ascendance juive de Bar ȨEbroyo? Le père Louis Cheikho 7 l’attribue en la critiquant à William Wright en 1894. 8 Avant Wright, le grand savant Theodor Nöldeke en faisait mention en 1892. 9 Déjà en 1872, Abbeloos et Lamy, dans leur préface à leur traduction latine de l’Histoire Ecclésiastique, 10 écrivaient que cette ascendance était une conjectura veri simillima. Nous pouvons remonter encore plus loin jusqu’en 1821, où un article d’encyclopdie d’Andreas Hoffmann en fait la supposition. 11 En Barsaum, Al-lu’lu’ al-manthşr, 1943, 411. Nous devons à HĆjjĩ Khalĩfa, bibliographe turc du XVIIème siècle, de nous avoir conservé le nom du grand-père de notre auteur. En effet, celui-ci cite dans son encyclopédie magistrale des œuvres orientales publiées à son jour, Kashf alzunşn, p. 1595–1596, l’incipit d’un épitome de l’Almageste, aujourd’hui perdu, composé à la demande de Bar ȨEbroyo par Muhyi’l-Dĩn alMaghribĩ al-Andalusĩ. Cet incipit { Ǻƥơ DžȂȇǁȂǤȇǂǣ ƱǂǨdzơ ȂƥƗ Ǻȇƾdzơ DZƢŦ DzǓƢǨdzơ ǾȈdzƛ ǁƢNjƘǧ ƢȀȈdzƛ ƱƢƬƄơ ƨǴǸȀŭơ ƩƢǷƾǬŭơ ǹƢȈƥ ƢȀȈdzƛ ƢƆǧƢǔǷ ǾƦdzƢǘǷ ƵƢǔȇƛȁ ǾȈǻƢǠǷ ƨǏȐş ȆǘǴŭơ ƢǷȂƫ Ǻƥ ǹȁǁƢǿ Ǻȇƾdzơ ƱƢƫ ƨĈȈǴǰdzơ ƤdzƢǘŭơ Ŀ} dont l’authenticité est indiscutable, présente la seule attestation du nom Tşma. Notons en passant que la seconde forme citée par al-Maghribĩ { ȆǘǴŭơ ǹȁǁƢǿ Ǻƥơ DžȂȇǁȂǤȇǂǣ ƱǂǨdzơ ĺƗ ǶƐǜǠŭơ ǪȈǴƯƢƴǴdz ǾǨdzƐƗ } confirme le fait que Bar ȨEbroyo utilisait toujours le titre honorifique de jĆthliq (Catholicos), ce qui avait éveillé la suceptibilité du patriarche nestorien lors de la visite de notre auteur à Baghdad en 1265. 7 Cheikho, al-Machreq I, 1898, 291. 8 Wright, A short history of Syriac Literature, 1894, 256–81. Les préjugés de cet auteur à l’égard des Syriens sont réfutés par le patriarche Barsaum dans un appendice intéressant de Al-lu’lu’ al-manthşr. 9 Th. Nöldeke, Orientalische Skizzen, Berlin, 1892, 254. Nous y reviendrons plus tard. 10 Abbeloos et Lamy, Chronicon Ecclesiasticum, 1872–7, t. I, preface p. viii. 11 Article Barhebräus par Andreas Gottlieb Hoffmann, in Allgemeine Encyklopädie der Wissenschaften und Künste, Sect. 1, VII. p. 384–386, 1821: « Der Grund des Namens, Sohn des Hebräers, liegt wol darin, daß sein Vater Arun ein geborener Jude war und erst zum Christentum überging. » Par ailleurs, Paul Bötticher, dans l’article Abulfaradsch de la première 6

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Jean Fathi-Chelhod somme, l’idée avait fait du chemin au cours du XIXème siècle, et finit par se répandre comme un fait certain dans le monde savant.

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Or il faut bien reconnaître qu’en attribuant à Bar ȨEbroyo cette ascendance on lui donne une dimension supplémentaire, car en plus du grand érudit qu’il est, il devient un grand théologien chrétien d’origine juive vivant dans un Orient marqué par la civilisation de l’islam. Quoi de plus passionnant pour un chercheur qu’un homme combinant ainsi dans son histoire personnelle les trois grandes religions monothéistes? On voit tout de suite la matière intéressante que Baumstark 12 par exemple, exprime en ces termes: « Der Sprosse einer jüdischen Familie ... hat wie kein anderer syrischer Schriftsteller das geistige Erbe der islamischen mit demjenigen der national-kirchlichen christlichen Kultur verschmolzen »

1.2. Réfutation des arguments précédents [7]

Ayant examiné ces arguments, nous pouvons d’emblée en rejeter deux. 1. En effet, le prénom du père de notre auteur, Ahrşn, était fréquemment utilisé par les Syriens. Nous n’avons qu’à lire, pour ne pas trop nous éloigner, la biographie de Bar ȨEbroyo lui-même, et nous y trouverons — à part son père — l’évêque Ahrşn qu’il remplaça au diocèse de Laqabĩn lorsque celui-ci décida d’aller terminer ses jours en retraite à Jérusalem, le patriarche Dionysus (Ahrşn cAngşr) qui le fit évêque d’Alep, et le patriarche poète Jean Ahrşn Bar Bar Ma‘danĩ dont il déplora la mort dans un poème élégiaque. D’ailleurs, ce nom dans sa variante arabe Harşn était aussi bien utilisé par les musulmans, édition de la Real-encyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche, vol. I., p. 91, 1854, affirme avec certitude: « Abulfaradsch ... war der Sohn eines jüdischen, später zur jakobitischen Sekte des Christentums übergetretenen Arztes Aharon (daher seine Beinamen bar Ahrun, bar Ebraja d.h. Sohn des Hebräers ...) », ce qu’il répète dans la deuxième édition de cette encyclopédie en 1877, vol. I p 110, sous le nom Paul de Lagarde. Ces informations nous ont été aimablement communiquées par H. Takahashi. 12 Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 1922, 312.

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comme l’illustre l’exemple du caliphe des Mille et Une Nuits Harşn al-Rachid. 13 2. Quant à la tradition orientaliste, il va de soi que celle-ci n’a aucune valeur que si elle se base sur des textes originaux et non sur des conjectures. Cependant cette tradition, comme nous le verrons, ne puise pas dans les sources syriaques et ne s’appuie sur aucun texte, mais seulement sur une supposition n’étant ellemême fondée que sur l’interprétation du nom Bar Hebraeus que l’on comprend comme voulant dire fils de l’Hébreu 14 . [8]

Et il faut dire que peu à peu, on n’aura plus de scrupules à affirmer, à partir d’une simple lecture du nom, que l’écrivain syrien est le fils d’Aaron, le médecin juif converti. On élaborera même, sans se soucier d’aller vérifier ses informations dans les manuscrits, une image de Bar ȨEbroyo qui correspond tout aussi bien à l’imaginaire occidental que mal aux documents syriaques. A témoin

Iwas, Kitab al hamama, 1983, 12. Plusieurs prénoms et noms qui peuvent être considérés en Occident comme juifs, par exemple Ahrşn (Aaron), SamaĆn (Siméon) ou Daşd (David), étaient et sont encore fréquemment employés par les communautés chrétiennes de tradition syriaque. Il y a même des Israel (le chaldéen Israel Alqşshi, 1541) et des Sion (le maronite Gabriel Sionita, 1577). 14 Signalons quand-même que quelques orientalistes avaient préféré se distancer de la transcription Bar Hebraeus. Donnons-en ici trois exemples: l’étude de Levi Della Vida en 1939 sur le fonds des manuscrits orientaux du Bibliothèque Vaticane, mentionne un inventaire non daté dressé par Felice Contelori, consevateur de cette biblothèque dès 1626. Contelori décrit un manuscrit de Bar ȨEbroyo (aujourd’hui Vat.sir.186) en nommant l’auteur Barebreus, sans h, alors qu’il utilise le nom Hebraicus pour Hébreu en d’autres instances. De même, Faustus Naironus, in Evoplia fidei catholicae romanae historico-dogmatica, Rome 1694, p. 116, écrit le nom sous la forme Gregorius Barebraeus. Celui-ci étant le neveu d’Abraham Echellensis, nous pouvons penser qu’il ajoute une subtile nuance à la transcription de son oncle pour s’éloigner du sens fils de l’Hébreu. Pour la même raison, Renaudot, in Liturgiarum orientalium collectio, 1716, 2nde ed., 1847, II.468, écrit le nom sous la forme Bar-Hebri, sive Hebri filius qu’il invente probablement, en déclarant ne pas savoir pourquoi Echellensis utilise la forme Bar-Hebraeus. Nous devons ces informations de grand intérêt à Mr. Hidemi Takahashi. 13

14

Jean Fathi-Chelhod

ces passages de l’orientaliste anglais Budge en 1932, 15 passages dont l’unique source n’est que la fertile imagination de l’orientaliste: « The works of Bar Hebraeus show that he possesed in a remarkable degree the faculty of acquiring languages, which was and is a marked characteristic of the Hebrew. Hebrew was his mother tongue, but living as he did in Malatiyah, he learned Arabic at a very early age, and there is little doubt that he could speak, read and write both Hebrew and Arabic. His mother may have been an Arab woman, but his profound knowledge of Syriac and the ease and eloquance with which he wrote it, suggests that she was a Syrian Christian. The influence which turned the son of Aaron the Jew into a Christian, and made him write in Syriac instead of Hebrew, was evidently powerful, and must have been exerted on him early in life. [...] The Laws of Chingîz Khân appear to have been translated from some document verbatim. And his knowledge of the Chinese, however acquired, was considerable. From the above passages it is clear that Bar Hebraeus was well equipped for his work linguistically, that he knew Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, and Persian well, and that he had some knowledge of Greek, and more than a mere ‘bowing acquaintance’ with Armenian and with some of the dialects of Turkestan, Mongolia, and Western China. » 16

[9]

En résumé, il s’avère que le seul et unique argument qui puisse attribuer à Bar ȨEbroyo une origine juive est son nom. Ainsi, si nous démontrons que le nom ȨEbroyo ne veut pas dire Hébreu mais a une autre signification, l’hypothèse de l’ascendance hébraïque n’aura plus lieu d’être. Mais avant de nous attabler à cette tâche, examinons plus en détail les sources syriaques auxquelles nous avons fait allusion. Budge, Chronography, 1932, t. I, xliv–xlvi, dans un chapitre intitulé Bar Hebraeus the man. 16 L’auteur pousse ici jusqu’à dire que ce n’est pas le père qui s’est converti mais le fils lui-même, information infondée aussi bien pour l’un que pour l’autre. On peut d’ailleurs se demander comment accorder confiance à Budge qui, dans son introduction biographique du même livre, traduit le laqab arabe de l’auteur, Abu al-Faraj, par father of what is pleasing et le met en relation avec le quartier de Bab al Faraj à Alep. 15

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

15

2. ARGUMENTS CONTRE L’ORIGINE JUIVE 2.1. La tradition syriaque [10]

Parmi les textes biographiques syriaques qui nous sont parvenus concernant Grégoire Bar ȨEbroyo, nous avons: 1. L’autobiographie qu’il nous a laissée dans sa Chronique Ecclésiastique, et qui fut continuée après sa mort par son frère Barsşm Safi. 17 Signalons que ce texte est pratiquement le seul à être consulté par les anciens orientalistes. 2. Diverses allusions que l’on trouve éparpillées dans ses œuvres, comme dans la Chronique Civile, 18 les poèmes 19 et le Livre de la Colombe. 20 3. Une longue homélie consacrée à sa vie, écrite après son décès par son disciple Dioscore Gabriel de Bartelli en 1287. 21 4. Une notice écrite par le moine Behnam Hebşkanĩ en 1292 et préservée dans un manuscrit de Florence. 22

[11]

Il convient à notre propos d’y ajouter deux textes concernant le petit frère Barsşm Safi Bar ȨEbroyo, qui fut sacré maphrien après la mort de son aîné, à savoir:

Abbeloos et Lamy, Chronicon Ecclesiasticum, 1872–7, t. II, col. 431– 486. Traduction partielle dans Budge, Chronography. 18 Budge, Chronography, pour la traduction anglaise, et Armalet, 1986, pour la traduction arabe, Tarikh al-zamĆn. Pour la version arabe donnée par Bar ȨEbroyo, Salhani, Tarikh mukhtasar al-duwal, 1890, réedité plusieurs fois. 19 Dulabani, Diwân Ibn al ‘Ibri, 1929, récemment réedité en Hollande par Mor Yulyus Cicek, et Scebabi, Gregorii Bar Hebraei Carmina, 1877. 20 Wensinck, Bar Hebraeus’ Book of the Dove, Leyde, 1919, et Iwas, op. cit., pour la traduction arabe. L’introduction des cent sentences contient un texte très intéressant dans lequel l’auteur raconte son évolution mystique. 21 Cicek, édition du texte syriaque, 1985. Au moins deux manuscrits existent de ce poème, le premier à Oxford, Bodl. March. 74 an 1672, et le deuxième au Patriarcat syrien orthodoxe à Damas, Nr. 9/7 (description dans Parole de l’Orient 19, p. 595). Cicek édite à partir du manuscrit d’Oxford. 22 Bibliotheca Medicea Laurenziana, Orient. 208. 17

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Jean Fathi-Chelhod

5. Une homélie concernant sa vie écrite en 1295 par le même Gabriel de Bartelli. 23 6. Une notice le concernant écrite par le diacre Abdallah de Bartelli 24 en 1300. [12]

[13]

Le résultat qui ressort de l’examen de tous ces textes 25 est qu’il n’y est aucunement fait mention ni explicitement ni implicitement d’une quelconque origine juive des frères Bar ȨEbroyo. Qui plus est, non seulement il n’y a rien dans toute la tradition syriaque qui puisse impliquer une telle origine, mais il y a nombre de textes qui l’infirment. Quand nous lisons dans n’importe quel article d’encyclopédie que notre auteur est le fils du médecin Aaron, un juif converti au christianisme, nous ne sommes en train de lire, nous l’avons dit, qu’une hypothèse énoncée comme un fait réel. Le contraste avec les textes syriaques que nous utilisons, et dont on ne disposait pas à l’époque, est frappant. La longue homélie de Dioscore de Bartelli nous raconte la vie de Bar ȨEbroyo en vers, et voici ce qu’elle nous dit 26 sur les parents de l’auteur:

űƠƌĭ ŦĭĬ ťũū ĬŁĭűƀƇſĪ ťſĿŴƣ ƎƉ ťƉĬŴŹ ƁƀƃĪ ŦųŨĥ ƎƉ ŦĭĬ ƁŨĿŁĥĭ ƻĥƢſƦƕ ŦŁŴƍƊſųŨ ųŨ ŴƠƙƌŁĥĪ Ŝ ķĭĬŁűƀũƖŨ ķŴƌĥ ųſűŶĪ ŧűƇſ ĭűƇſĭ ĺĪŴƌĪ Ŧƞƭ IJĬųŨĥ Ƌƕ ųƐƍū ĶűƟŴƆĭ ƎſƢƀƙƣ ťƊƃ ķŴƌĥ ķŴƕĪŁ ķĭųſĿŤƘ ƎƉĪ ŦƦƕűƀŨ ŻƀƇƉ ĭĬ ƁźƀƇƀƉ ƎƉ ķŴŨĥ ųƐƍŬŨ Ŝ ƎƆ ŴƖũƌ ųƍƉ ŦŁŴƍƊſųŨ ŧƢƀƤŨ ƽĪ Inclue suite à l’homélie consacrée à Bar ȨEbroyo l’aîné dans le même manuscrit du Patriarcat syrien orthodoxe à Damas, Nr. 9/7. 24 Deux manuscrits en existent, le premier au couvent syrien orthodoxe Saint Marc à Jérusalem, n°109, et le deuxième parmi les manuscrits d’Edesse transportés à Alep après la Première Guerre Mondiale, sans numéro. 25 Behnam, Ta’qib tarikhi fi nasab al’allama mar Gregorius Ibn al ‘Ibri, 1963. 26 Cicek, op. cit. p. 17–18. Un autre passage du poème, p. 39, nous apprend les quatre langues que parlait le maphrien, à savoir le syriaque, l’arménien, l’arabe et le persan [voyez la citation de Budge qui attribue généreusement en 1932 à notre auteur la connaissance de l’hébreu et du chinois!]. 23

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

17

ŦŁŴſųſĮ ƨƉ ťũƏ ķĭĿĬĥ űŶ ťƀƏĥ ƢŨ ŦƦƊƄŶ ƽ ljĬ ĬƢũƆ ųƀƍƟĥĭ ĻƞſĪ ŦŁŴƍƊſųŨ ŦųƀƉŁ ŧƢũū ķĬ ŦĭĬ ĿƼƉ Ŝ ťƀƍƙźƏĥ ťƍƤƊƤƉĭ ŦĭĬ ťƠſĪĮĭ ųſƻĥ ŦųƊƤƉ ťƐƍū ƎƉ Ļĥ ŦƼũū ųƉĥĭ ŁĭĬ ŧƢŨĪƦƉ ŦŁŴƌŤŨĪ ƋƆ ŧƢŨĭűŨĭ Traduction Depuis sa naissance il fut distingué et pur Elevé par des parents de pure souche Qui étaient abondamment instruits dans la foi Et eurent des enfants qui les réjouirent par leurs actions Et pour ses aïeux d’auparavant aussi bien que pour ses parents faut-il savoir « Par leurs fruits vous les reconnaîtrez! 27 » combien ils étaient nobles! Par sa famille le père, un docte dans la science, est de Mélitène 28 De laquelle nous viennent tous ceux qui sont émérites dans la foi Fils d’Ahrşn l’ancien, le médecin plein de magnificence Qui pourvut à donner à son fils toute sagesse Remarquable il était, cet homme admirable de foi! Un juste, et un diacre à la manière d’Etienne! Et sa mère était distinguée, et d’une famille de renom Elle se conduisait selon les règles de justice!

[14]

Ce texte original qui date de 1288, on le voit bien, est très éloigné de ce que l’on a voulu supposer sur Bar ȨEbroyo. Le médecin Ahrşn, père de l’auteur, était chrétien, diacre d’église rempli de foi, et le poème parle de la pure souche des parents de l’écrivain et de la noblesse de ses aïeux. Est-il besoin de rappeler ici les sentiments hautement chauvins et partisans des communautés chrétiennes syriennes du Moyen Âge — sentiments évidents dans toute la tradition littéraire syriaque, et qui sont d’ailleurs la marque du temps et le lot d’autres communautés — pour dire combien il est improbable et même impossible que l’on puisse dire d’un descendant de converti qu’il est de pure souche et que ses aïeux sont nobles? 27 28

Verbum Christi : Matthieu 12/33 et Luc 6/44. Jeu de mots entre — militi Mélitène et mlit habile, docte.

18 [15]

Jean Fathi-Chelhod

Un autre texte d’époque qui se trouve à la fin du manuscrit de Florence susmentionné 29 nous confirme d’ailleurs dans notre opinion. Le médecin Ahrşn était grandement admiré et la tradition ne lui prête aucune origine étrangère:

Ŕ ĭƢƉĥ ƎƉ ƎƍƤƌĥĭ Ŕ ƁƍƀźƀƇƀƉ ƎƉĪ ŧƢſųƉ ťƀƏĥ Ŕ ķĭĿĬĥ ƢŨ ĨƢƙƭ ŴŨĥ ŴſĭĬĭ ŪŹ űũƕ Ŕ ƾŨ ƦŨƞƉĪĭ Ŕ ťƊƀƐŨĭ ťŷƀƌ Ŕ ťƙƄƌĭ ŦĭĬ ljŤƃ ŧƢũū Ŕ ķĭĿĬĥ ljĬ ĭĬĪ ƅſĥ Ŕ IJĬĭĿŤƘ ƎƉ ƎƕĪĭƦƣĥ űƃ Ŕ ƎſŵŶ ƎƃĬ ƎſĪ ƎƖƊƣĪ ƅſĥ ĿƢƤŨĭ Ŕ ŴƠſĪĮĪ ƎƉĥĭ Ŕ ķŴƌĥ ķŴƕĪŁ ķĭųſĿŤƘ ƎƉĪ Ŕ ŦƼƌĥƢƉ ŦƦƇƉ ŧĿƢƤŨĪ Traduction Abş al-Faraj fils d’Ahrşn, l’habile médecin prospère de Mélitène, et d’aucuns disent que cet Ahrşn était un homme juste et chaste, doux et aimable, orné en tout[es choses], agissant en bien et constant dans la justice. En vérité, comme nous l’avons entendu, nous voyons ainsi que nous les reconnaissons à leurs fruits comme l’assure la parole de notre Seigneur: « Par leurs fruits vous les reconnaîtrez ».

2.2. Textes des frères Bar ȨEbroyo [16]

S’il n’est pas besoin de rappeler la fréquence avec laquelle Bar ȨEbroyo se réclame comme continuateur de l’ancienne tradition syrienne, 30 citons cependant un texte qui se trouve dans le Tarikh mukhtasar al-duwal, la version arabe remaniée qu’il donne à la fin de sa vie de sa Chronique Civile écrite en syriaque. Dans un passage l’auteur nous parle de trois médecins — l’un chrétien, l’autre juif et le troisième musulman — vivant au XIIème siècle et ayant tous les trois le même prénom de Hibat Allah. En parlant du médecin juif, qui, nous dit-il, était très imbu de lui-même, il cite deux vers que l’on avait écrit pour se moquer de lui, 31 dont voici l’original arabe: Fol. 170R. On trouve d’innombrables textes dans lesquels, se référant aux auteurs syriens antérieurs, il parle de nos savants, par exemple dans le Tarikh mukhtasar al-duwal, 7, et partout dans le Nomocanon. Voyez aussi l’introduction du Livre de la Colombe. 31 Salhani, Tarikh mukhtasar al-duwal, 365. Jeux de mots entre fîhi ‘en lui’ et fîhi ‘sa bouche’, yatîh ‘il pavoise’ et tîhi ‘le désert’; allusion à la perte des Hébreux dans le désert du Sinaï. 29 30

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

ǾȈǧ ǺǷ ǾȈǧ ȁƾƦƫ ǶƐǴǰƫ ơƿƛ ǾȈƬdzơ ǺǷ Ʊǂź Ń ƾǠƥ ǾǻƘǯ

19

ǾƬǫƢŧ ȅƽȂȀȇ Ƥ ć ȈƦǗ ƢǼdz ƨdzŗǷ ǾǼǷ ȄǴǟƗ ĄƤǴǰdzơȁ ǾȈƬȇ

Traduction Nous avons un médecin juif dont la sottise Quand il parle apparaît en lui de sa bouche Il pavoise et le chien a rang plus élevé que lui Comme s’il n’était pas encore sorti du désert

[17] [18]

On voit mal comment le fils d’un médecin juif converti, ou quelqu’un ayant tout simplement une origine juive, pourrait citer de tels vers, même pour amuser la galerie! Là aussi, notre opinion est confortée par un autre texte du petit frère de l’auteur, le maphrien Barsşm Safi, qui écrivit une suite d’une quarantaine de pages à la Chronique Civile de son aîné après sa mort. Or il se trouve que pendant cette période, un certain juif, du nom de SaĆd al-Dawlah, fut investi du pouvoir à Baghdad par les conquérants mongols. Les pages dans lesquelles Barsşm Bar ȨEbroyo raconte l’ascension et la chute de cet homme, et dont nous donnons ici quelques extraits, 32 indiquent indéniablement qu’il n’est pas lui-même d’origine juive: [p. 561–2] Peu de temps après, SaĆd al-Dawlah le juif, le beau-père du gouverneur de Baghdad, s’en fit et alla chez les Princes au campement, et il leur dit : Si vous empêchez Arşq de revenir à Baghdad, je prendrai en charge tous les besoins des troupes année par année. Et de suite fut l’ordre de révoquer celui-ci et d’investir le juif à sa place, et le trône des Ćl-Abbas et leur pouvoir fut dans la poignée de ce juif. [p. 575–7] Or depuis l’apparition des Arabes jusqu’à ce jour, pas un seul juif ne s’éleva dans leurs contrées, mais ils sont tous tanneurs ou teinturiers ou cordonniers. Et s’il y a parmi eux un médecin ou un scribe, il demeure cependant

« Quant à son frère et continuateur Barsawm, ses sentiments antijuifs violents s’expliquent mal si son propre père avait été juif. » J.M. Fiey, introduction à l’édition de la traduction arabe de la chronique civile, Tarikh al-zamĆn, 1986, 2. Nous citons ici le texte d’Armalet, p. 354–64. Les numéros de pages cités dans le passage se réfèrent à l’édition syriaque de Bedjan. 32

20

Jean Fathi-Chelhod dans des lieux où les autres n’acceptent pas d’habiter. 33 [...] Et après qu’on en tua ceux qui furent tués, il revinrent à leur précédent état. Celui qui hier liait et déliait et était enveloppé de tenues royales est aujourd’hui accoutré de nippes et a les mains sales, je veux dire qu’il est tanneur et non scribe, mendiant et non donneur d’ordres investi d’autorité [...] Il gouverna pendant deux ans seulement puis il fut oublié et les juifs furent par sa cause dédaignés et méprisés dans le monde entier.

2.3. Marranos et Donmeh: une comparaison [19]

[20]

Dans le cadre de notre investigation, il n’est peut-être pas inutile de tenter une petite comparaison avec des cas historiquement attestés de conversions juives. On pense tout de suite aux Marranos, ces centaines de milliers de juifs sépharades d’Espagne et du Portugal qui furent forcés à adopter le christianisme sous l’Inquisition. Ayant réussi à garder leur judaïsme en secret et à perpétuer leur réalité culturelle pendant plusieurs générations, que ce soit en Espagne ou dans les pays d’Europe et du Nouveau Monde auxquels ils avaient émigré, les Marranos finirent à la longue par disparaître en se diluant dans la masse. Moins connus en Occident, mais non moins intéressants, les Donmeh de l’empire Ottoman sont les disciples de Sabbataï Zevi (1626–76), un rabbin de Smyrne souffrant de psychose maniacoOn pourra se rendre compte de la mauvaise qualité des traductions de Budge en citant la version anglaise qu’il donne de ce passage, Chronography, t. I, 490 : “The behaviour of the ARABS hath [long] been manifest in the world, and up to the present day no JEW has ever been raised to a position of exalted honour among them; and except as a tanner, or a dyer, or a tailor [the ARAB] doth not appear among the JEWS.” On voit tout de suite les erreurs d’interprétation. Ceci concorde avec ce que nous avons trouvé lors de notre traduction française des Récits Plaisants de Bar ȨEbroyo, que Budge avait traduit en anglais. Il s’est avéré en effet que des dizaines de récits avaient un sens tronqué dans la version anglaise. Les traductions syriaques de Budge ne doivent plus être considérées comme des références fiables. Ceci dit sans aucunement dénigrer le très agréable style et vif esprit de ce savant aux vastes intérêts et collectionneur de premier ordre, qui ramena à l’Angleterre le magnifique Papyrus d’Ani. 33

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

[21]

21

dépressive qui déclara être le messie attendu. Condamné à mort par le Sultan Mehmet IV mais offert la vie en devenant mahométan, Sabbataï se convertit à l’islam entraînant du coup la sévère désillusion des juifs qui avaient cru en lui. Une petite partie le suivra cependant dans sa conversion créant ainsi la secte turque des Donmeh, professant l’islamisme mais préservant (du moins jusqu’à période récente) son endogamie ainsi qu’une forme intrinsèque de judaïsme sabbatéen. Mettons en parallèle: 1. Lorsque nous comparons le contexte des conversions une différence notable apparaît. En effet, dans les deux cas des Marranos et des Donmeh, les conversions opèrent vers la religion dominante (respectivement christianisme et islam). Dans le cas de la conversion prétendue de l’aïeul de Bar ȨEbroyo, celui-ci se convertit au christianisme en pays d’islam. Ceci n’est pas très probable. 2. Lorsque nous lisons les textes de poètes marranos tels que João Pinto Delgado, Antonio Enríquez Gómez et Miguel de Barrios 34 au XVIIème siècle, nous remarquons que ces poètes évoquent un sentiment de culpabilité et un désir profond de retrouver leur identité juive. Dans les écrits de Bar ȨEbroyo, ce thème est non seulement absent, mais totalement étranger. 3. Pour les personnes de talent exceptionnel, le fait d’être le descendant d’un tenant d’une vérité opposée à la sienne peut difficilement passer sans créer un conflit reflété par une certaine originalité de pensée. Ainsi, l’expression la plus profonde du fait crypto-juif se trouve indubitablement dans la philosophie de Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677), un marrano de Hollande. On a démontré comment la vie à cheval entre judaïsme et chrétienté et le conflit de dualité identitaire l’avait conduit à un scepticisme salvateur et à une philosophie de l’immanent par rapport au révélé portant les grains de la sécularisation et des idées des Lumières. 35 Il va de soi que l’on ne peut aujourd’hui imaginer une biographie de Spinoza sans faire amplement mention du milieu marrano d’Amsterdam. Par Edités et traduits en anglais par Timothy Oelman, Marrano Poets of the Seventeenth Century, 1982. 35 Steven Nadler, Spinoza: A Life, 1999 et Yirmiyahu Yovel, Spinoza and other Heretics. Vol. I : The Marrano of Reason, 1989. 34

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contraste, dans le cas de Bar ȨEbroyo, on cherche en vain une minime allusion à un milieu juif de Mélitène dont nous n’avons même pas preuve d’existence. Par exemple, lorsque celui-ci nous relate dans son histoire l’invasion des environs de Mélitène par les troupes mongoles en 1243, il nous dit que son père et l’évêque réunirent les musulmans et les chrétiens dans la grande église. 36 Les juifs ne sont même pas mentionnés. 4. L’existence historique de communautés telles que les Marranos et les Donmeh est en soi une indication de la vitalité de l’identité juive et de sa force de résistance. Mais à défaut d’une résistance à l’assimilation ou d’un conflit d’identité, un fils de converti, à moins de manquer totalement de décence envers ses aïeux auxquels il doit la vie — et ceci est loin d’être le cas de Bar ȨEbroyo — s’abstient en général de tenir des propos moqueurs et dégradants à l’encontre de ses propres pères. A l’autre extrème on peut trouver des descendants de convertis qui s’acharnent sur leur religion d’origine, tel Tomás de Torquemada (1420–1498), premier Grand Inquisiteur d’Espagne. Or en lisant les textes des frères Bar ȨEbroyo mentionnés plus haut, du genre « ils sont tous tanneurs ou teinturiers ou cordonniers, etc … », on voit bien que ceux-ci ne reflètent aucune des trois attitutes que nous nous avons identifiées, culpabilité et résistance, dignité dans le silence, ou alors retournement total et acharnement fanatique. Il nous semble plutôt que ceux-ci relatent une réalité qui leur est aussi étrangère qu’indifférente, n’ayant aucune connivence particulière avec ceux qu’ils décrivent. 2.4. Conclusion : une hypothèse infondée [22]

Après examen des textes précédents, nous pouvons établir les points suivants: 1. L’attribution d’une origine juive à Grégoire Abş al-Faraj Bar ȨEbroyo n’est qu’une supposition orientaliste qui n’a pas une seule attestation dans la tradition syriaque. Elle n’est fondée sur « Or mon père s’abstint de sortir [de la ville] et se réunit avec l’évêque Dionysus, et ils s’accordèrent à demeurer dans la ville, et ils réunirent les musulmans et les chrétiens dans la grande église, et ils pactisèrent de ne point se trahir les uns les autres et de ne point désobéir à l’évêque... » Salhani, Mukhtasar al-duwal, Chapitre IX, p. 441. 36

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

23

aucune source mais seulement sur l’extrapolation d’une interprétation erronée — comme nous le verrons — du nom ȨEbroyo. 2. Les textes biographiques qui ne tarissent pas d’éloges sur l’écrivain, son père et ses aïeux, ne correspondent pas à ladite attribution. De plus, certains textes de l’auteur et de son frère concernant les juifs la rendent très improbable. 3. On voit mal comment démentir et mettre en doute les sources syriaques originales pour appuyer une hypothèse infondée et postérieure de plusieurs siècles à la mort de l’auteur. [23]

[24]

[25]

La seule objection viable que l’on puisse encore nous opposer est le nom Bar ȨEbroyo. Car si ce nom ne signifie pas Fils de l’Hébreu, que signifie-t-il donc? L’énigme, que certains croyaient insolvable, s’avère cependant d’une simplicité presque aberrante. Créons un village opportunément appelé ȨEbro d’où l’on tirerait le mot ȨEbroyo par attribution; faisons exister ce bourg à l’époque de notre auteur, au XIIIème siècle; donnons lui bienentendu pour habitants des Syriens; et, tant qu’il s’en faut, plaçons le à proximité immédiate de la ville de Mélitène où Bar ȨEbroyo est né. Telle est la solution à premier abord compliquée, mais somme toute assez simple, que nous proposons pour expliquer l’origine syrienne et locale du nom Bar ȨEbroyo. Mais soyons raisonnable : pour réunir toutes ces conditions idéales, il ne nous faudrait rien de moins qu’un coup de baguette magique. Et voilà:

3. LE SENS HOMONYME DU NOM ȨEBROYO 3.1. ȨEbro dans les textes syriaques [26]

Lorsque Bşlos Behnam (1916–1969), évêque syrien orthodoxe de Baghdad et de Bassorah passioné de Bar ȨEbroyo, 37 le sort des vieux livres en 1963 pour expliquer le nom, 38 ȨEbro n’est pas un Parmi les œuvres de Behnam consacrées à Bar ȨEbroyo, notons surtout les traductions arabes de l’Ethicon, du Poème de la Sagesse Divine et de certains passages du Livre de l’Ascension de l’Esprit. On rapporte qu’au conclave de 1957 suivant le décès du patriarche Barsaum, Behnam perdit l’élection patriarchale par une seule voix, après plusieurs tours. 38 Behnam, Ta’qib tarikhi fi nasab al’allama mar Gregorius Ibn al ‘Ibri [1963]. 37

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village totalement inconnu par les syriologues. En effet, Assemani l’avait déjà mentionné en 1721, 39 mais ce bourg était vite retombé dans l’oubli. Le patriarche Barsaum ne le relève même pas dans son annexe des lieux géographiques syriens. 40 ȨEbro 41 est un bourg syrien de l’évêché de Gubos dans les environs de Mélitène, dont nous avons trace d’existence au moins pendant les XIIème et XIIIème siècles. 42 Du fait que ce bourg soit situé sur les bords de l’Euphrate, nous le savons par deux indices principaux: 1. Un texte de Bar ȨEbroyo, qui trouve à citer ȨEbro dans sa Chronique civile où il raconte l’histoire du monde, ne laisse aucun doute possible, puisqu’il mentionne l’île du bourg de ȨEbro, sous entendant que ce village avait une île annexe dans le fleuve. 43 Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis [1721], t. II, 361 et 450. Barsaum, Al-lu’lu’, 504–20. 41 Il y a en syriaque deux systèmes de prononciations possibles (ktobonoyo/ktabanaya), les occidentaux vocalisant en o et les orientaux en a. Nous avons adopté la prononciation occidentale, étant celle de la communauté de l’auteur. 42 Cité notamment par Michel le Syrien, Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, t. 3, 255 et par Bar ȨEbroyo lui-même, Abbeloos et Lamy, Chronique Ecclésiastique, Vol. 2, Patriarchae Antiocheni : saec XII, 497–8, et Vol. 3, Primates Orientis : saec XII, 333–4. 43 « Et pendant cette famine certains jeunes chrétiens de Gubos se révoltèrent, et ils vinrent à l’île du bourg de ȨEbro, et ils assaillirent et tuèrent leurs frères chrétiens, et ils investirent les maisons et mangèrent ». Armalet, Tarikh al-zamĆn, 305 pour la traduction arabe, et Budge, Chronography, t. 1, 427 pour la traduction anglaise. La traduction de Budge mentionne the GAZARTA of the village of ‘EBRA. Il faut traduire GAZARTA par île, ȨEbro étant, comme nous l’avons dit, un bourg des bords de l’Euphrate, avec une île annexe. Armalet, qui lui non plus ne comprend pas le sens, ne mentionne pas l’île mais tout juste le bourg de ȨEbro. La forme utilisée dans les sources, ȨEbro qastro d-Gubos, veut dire, ȨEbro bourg de Gubos. Ernest Honigmann, in Le couvent de Barsauma et le patriarcat jacobite d'Antioche et de Syrie, CSCO 146, Subsidia 7, Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1954, p. 124 125, comprend par qastro d-Gubos un village sur la rive opposée à celle de Gubos. Celui-ci écrit en effet: « Gubos (Gubos), en arabe Gubas, localité importante du territoire de Mélitène, au voisinage du couvent de Sergisiyah. Tomaschek le cherche assez vaguement «en amont de Gerger» ... Il faut chercher cette ville sur l'Euphrate, où il y avait un 'Ebra Qastra de Gubos, c.-à-d. un village sur la rive opposée à celle de 39 40

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

[27]

25

2. L’étymologie du nom ȨEbro indique un lieu de passage, de la racine cebar, traverser. Le village porte justement son nom car c’était un bourg à partir duquel on pouvait passer l’Euphrate. ȨEbro était par ailleurs un bourg spécifiquement syrien, comme nous pouvons deviner par ce qui suit: 1. D’abord, c’est un village assez particulier pour n’être mentionné que dans les chroniques syriaques, et non par exemple dans la célèbre géographie arabe de Yaqşt al-Hamwĩ, mort en 1228. 2. Ensuite, ce village a donné à l’église syrienne un autre maphrien; en effet, Lazare, fils du prêtre Hassan, naquit à ȨEbro et grandit à Mélitène. Devenu prêtre au Monastère de Sergisiyeh près de Gubos, il fut ordonné maphrien sous le nom d’Ignatius II au monastère de Mar Ahrşn dans la montagne bénie près de Mélitène en l’an 1143. Lazare mourut en l’an 1165, après avoir dirigé l’église d’Orient pendant 22 ans. 44 3. Enfin, le texte susmentionné de Bar ȨEbroyo dans la Chronique Civile indique bien que les habitants de ce bourg sont chrétiens.

Gubos. C'est peut-être là que se trouvait « l'île (gazarta; maintenant disparue?) du village de 'Ebra », que j'ai jadis cherchée à Gazarta (Geziret ibn 'Umar, Cizre) sur le Tigre. Lohmann dit dans le récit de son voyage: « Gubos (aujoud'hui Gubas), région à l'est de Malatia jusqu'à Isoly »; ce nom de Gubas ne se trouve sur aucune carte moderne. Il se peut que Gubos et 'Ebra Qastra correspondent au centre d'une nahiye (nahiye Merkezi) Kale (Mestikan) et à IzolÖ d'aujoud'hui, où la grande route traverse l'Euphrate. ... ». Cette source de premier intérêt nous est indiquée par le savant Hidemi Takahashi du Pays du Soleil Levant. La version arabe dudit passage dans le Mukhtasar al-duwal est analysée plus loin, en Conclusion. 44 Bar ȨEbroyo aussi fut maphrien pendant 22 ans. Lazare fut envoyé par le vizir de Mossoul en mission politique chez le roi des Géorgiens pour libérer des otages musulmans, et son nom se trouve associé à l’histoire d’une jeune femme de Tell cAfr qui proclama sa religion chrétienne « sous l’entrechoquement des épées », se sauvant elle-même et le sauvant; histoire qui inspira des poèmes à Bar Salibi et à Michel le Grand. La tombe de Lazare se trouve au Monastère de Zaafaran à Mardîn, et il semble qu’il nous ait laissé une anaphore encore inédite (Cambridge n° 2887 et Mossoul) [Al-lu’lu’, 380].

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[28]

Nous savons par ailleurs que Mélitène était devenue au cours des XIIème et XIIIème siècles le centre le plus brillant du monde syrien. Cette ville était un grand archevêché entouré de sept évêchés qui représentaient chacun les bourgs et villages syriens d’une région environnante; 45 ainsi par exemple le bourg de ȨEbro faisait partie de l’évêché de Gubos et de l’archevêché de Mélitène. 46 Quand est-ce que ce village a-t-il cessé d’être habité par les Syriens ? Probablement pendant la seconde moitié du XIIIème siècle à la suite des invasions mongoles et de la dévastation des évêchés d’Occident, 47 ou peu après.

[29]

Mais revenons à la période de prospérité; Mélitène, on le sait, comptait l’une des plus grandes concentrations de peuplement syrien de l’époque — l’église syrienne y comptait à elle seule 56 églises en l’an 1049 48 — et il est évident que cette grande ville était le pôle d’attraction de tous les villages environnants. Nous n’avons même pas besoin de prendre pour exemple l’histoire du maphrien A savoir Laqabĩn, ‘Arqa, Qalisura, Gubos, Samha, Qludia & Gargar. 46 Comme le signale d’ailleurs l’évêque Behnam, Ta’qib tatout court rikhi fi nasab al’allama mar Gregorius Ibn al ‘Ibri, 1963. 47 Dans une célèbre lettre critique qu’il adresse au patriarche Philoxène Namrşd en 1283/4, Bar ȨEbroyo parle de la destruction des évêchés d’Occident, et entre autre des « sept évêchés entourant Mélitène dans lesquelles il ne demeure plus une seule maison ». [Iwas, p. 22]. Namrşd ne sera connu que pour avoir usurpé la place que l’histoire devait à Bar ȨEbroyo. Son élecion est due à la simonie de son oncle Siméon, célèbre médecin de Hulagû, qui trahit la confiance de Bar ȨEbroyo, son ami de vingt ans, et priva les Syriens d’avoir un grand patriarche qui aurait, de par sa stature et son savoir, surpassé Michel le Grand et Dionysius de Tel Mahré. On comprendra le symbolisme de l’intronisation, qui eut lieu en 1283, le jour de la Chandeleur, soit la fête de la Présentation du Seigneur au Temple, Namrşd étant reçu par son vieil oncle Siméon de Qalca Rumaita, tout comme l’enfant Jésus fut reçu par Siméon le Théodoque. Or notre Siméon fut disgrâcié et exécuté en 1289, accusé d’avoir pris part à la conspiration avortée du visir Bogha. A son sujet, on consultera l’excellent article de Hidemi Takahashi publié dans le même volume. 48 Comme nous l’apprend une biographie du patriarche copte Christodoles par Michael, évêque copte de Tennîs mort en 1069 [Al-lu’lu’, 520]. 45

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

27

Lazare afin de prouver les solides liens existant entre ȨEbro et Mélitène, car le fait d’émigrer d’un village à une grande ville environnante pour améliorer ses conditions de vie est une loi établie depuis l’aube des temps et encore valable aujourd’hui. Or il y a en Orient une vieille habitude qui est d’appeler les gens par leur lieu d’origine, habitude millénaire qui se trouve dans beaucoup de noms d’auteurs syriens 49 et qui s’est perpétuée jusqu’à ce jour et est attestée dans des milliers de noms de famille. Ainsi, quelqu’un émigrant de ȨEbro à Mélitène sera appelé ȨEbroyo, disons en français Ebraïte, du nom du village d’où il vient, et ce n’est certainement pas un seul ȨEbroyo qu’il y avait à Mélitène à cette époque, mais probablement des dizaines ou plutôt des centaines. Disons que l’existence de ce nom à Mélitène à cette époque n’a rien d’étonnant; c’est le contraire qui l’aurait été. 3.2. Bar ȨEbroyo ou le fils de l’Ebraïte [30]

[31]

Ayant donc établi le second sens de ȨEbroyo, nous pouvons désormais donner ce qui nous semble être le vrai sens du nom de notre auteur, à savoir fils de l’Ebraïte. Comme on le voit, ce nom local indique que le père ou l’un des aïeux de Bar ȨEbroyo est originaire de ȨEbro, tout comme le nom de son contemporain le patriarche Ahrşn Bar Ma‘danĩ indique que son père ou l’un de ses aïeux vient du bourg de M a‘dan, dans la région de Seert. A quand remonterait cette origine? Elle ne doit pas être très récente, car les textes indiquent que son père est un médecin de Mélitène. Elle ne doit pas non plus être très éloignée, car elle serait alors perdue. Peut-être est-ce Tşma, le grand-père de l’auteur qui s’est établi à Mélitène avec sa famille, ou bien son père qui y est allé jeune; quoiqu’il en soit, ceci reste une conjecture dont nous n’avons pas besoin puisqu’il s’agit bien ici d’une des façons les plus communes et les plus répandues d’attribuer un nom à quelqu’un, et puisque notre interprétation s’accorde tellement mieux avec le contexte historique dont nous avons affaire qu’il est désormais aux partisans de l’hypothèse Bar Hebraeus — fils d’une conversion mythique — d’avancer leurs preuves. Déjà à ce stade de l’argumentation, l’interprétation du nom Bar ȨEbroyo — fils de l’Ebraïte l’emporte indiscutablement sur l’interOn trouvera de multiples exemples en consultant l’index de Al-lu’lu’. 49

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prétation Bar ȨEbroyo -— fils de l’Hébreu. A chances égales, nous avons soit un auteur syrien tirant son nom de famille selon la coutume orientale d’un village syrien (et probablement de langue syriaque 50 ) avoisinant la ville où il est né, ledit auteur devenant le plus grand écrivain de sa langue et un grand théologien unanimement respecté par son peuple et comblé d’éloges ainsi que ses anciens ancêtres; soit le descendant d’un conte imaginaire de conversion qui est historiquement (c’est évidemment vers l’islam dominant que les conversions se dirigeaient), logiquement (on ne comprend ni pourquoi ni comment) et philologiquement (en regard des sources que nous avons) difficile à concevoir. A chances égales avons-nous dit, mais il ne s’agit point de cela. Il faut être de mauvaise foi pour ne pas voir qu’en introduisant dans l’équation le milieu syrien extrêmement particulier et très restreint, la probabilité même d’existence de ȨEbro près de Mélitène — avec toutes les conditions que nous avons décrites et mise en corrélation avec le nom Bar ȨEbroyo — est tellement infinitésimale qu’il devient nécessaire d’exclure toute idée de coïncidence. 51 En supposer une serait en effet une aberration En vue des dialectes TşrŇyo et SwĆdĆya encore parlés en l’an 2000, il est bien aisé de supposer que les villages syriens de Haute Mésopotamie avaient gardé au XIIIème siècle usage du syriaque ou d’un dialecte en étant dérivé. On sait que le maphrien Ebraïte Lazare ne parlait pas l’arabe, ce qui indique, à notre avis, que l’on parlait toujours araméen au bourg de ȨEbro au XIIème siècle, et par extension, au XIIIème. 51 Bien qu’aucun article n’ait à notre connaissance jusqu’ici été consacré à la question dans une langue européenne, certains spécialistes bien avertis en Occident se sont déjà rendus à notre opinion. Dans sa préface à la préface de la traduction d’Armalet, le grand orientaliste Fiey, reprend le quatrain (dans sa traduction arabe) et indique sans équivoque que Bar ȨEbroyo tire son nom du village de ȨEbro. Il répète cette même opinion dans l’article « Guba (Gubos) », in DHGE (Dictionnaire d'histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques), XII.609–609, 1988, où il écrit: « Parmi les villages du district on remarque Ebra, sur le fleuve, probablement lieu d'origine de la famille de Bar Ebraya, dont le nom a été défiguré en Bar Hébraeus. » De même Herman Teule affirme dans un article d’encyclopédie que l’auteur n’est pas d’origine juive (voyez ‘Ebn al’Ebri’, H.G.B. Teule, Encyclopedia Iranica, vol. 7; London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1997). C’est peut-être le seul article qui fasse exception à la norme que nous avions indiqué dans notre introduction. 50

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

[33]

[34]

29

statistique! Nous n’aurions eu absolument aucune chance d’un tel scénario s’il ne s’agissait pas de ce que nous avançons. Avançons tout de même quelques arguments supplémentaires qui nous renforcent dans notre opinion: 1. Lorsque le vieux patriarche Daşd ordonne le jeune Bar ȨEbroyo à vingt ans comme évêque, il lui donne pour sa toute première assignation ecclésiastique l’évêché de Gubos, près de Mélitène, auquel est rattaché le bourg de ȨEbro. Nous ne pensons manifestement pas qu’il s’agisse d’une coïncidence. En effet, le patriarche, connaissant l’origine de Bar ȨEbroyo (évidente, puisque son nom l’indique), s’avise d’envoyer à la région quelqu’un qui en est originaire. 2. Que veut dire ȨEbroyo dans la communauté syrienne de Mélitène au XIIIème siècle? Très certainement quelqu’un venant du bourg avoisinant de ȨEbro. Quant aux juifs, c’est bien par le nom de Juifs qu’ils sont connus, du moins dans l’usage commun et non littéraire. Du fait que ce dernier nom leur soit acquis, on ne voit pas pourquoi on irait les appeler par le nom de l’ancien peuple hébreu, alors que ceci causerait une confusion qui n’est pas nécessaire. A fortiori en milieu syrien de Mélitène, un ȨEbroyo ne peut être qu’un Ebraïte. 3. Les Syriens, peuple poussé par son histoire à se replier dans un certain particularisme, n’auraient certainement pas accepté que deux fils d’un converti accèdent à leur gouvernement spirituel pendant plus de 40 ans en chantant leurs louanges comme dans le meilleur des mondes. Mais ce n’est pas tout! Nous avons préservé un texte de Bar ȨEbroyo dans lequel il indique bien ce que son nom est et ce qu’il n’est pas!

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4. UN QUATRAIN QUI RÉVÈLE SES SECRETS 4.1. Une traduction [35]

[36]

Car il se trouve que l’auteur syrien avait lui-même affirmé dans un subtil quatrain poétique que son nom n’était pas dû à une origine juive. Figurant dès 1877 dans l’édition faite par le maronite Scebabi à Rome des oeuvres poétiques de Bar ȨEbroyo, ce quatrain fut remarqué par Nöldeke en 1892, mais celui-ci n’en tira pas grand profit. 52 Le patriarche syrien orthodoxe Ignatius Ephrem Barsaum signale le quatrain pour la première fois en 1927, cinquante ans après sa publication, sans qu’il n’en saisisse toutefois le sens complet, dans un article paru en arabe et rejetant l’hypothèse de l’ascendanse judaïque du maphrien. 53 A cause de l’importance qu’ont ces vers dans notre discussion, commençons par en donner l’original syriaque que nous avons réédité à partir de deux manuscrits se trouvant à la section des Manuscrits Orientaux de la Bibliothèque Nationale à Paris [le Syriaque 270 (fol 123 RV) qui date du XVème siècle et provient du bourg d’Ehden au Mont Liban, et le Syriaque 197 (fol 209V) qui date du XVIème siècle et provient de Damas], ainsi que des deux publications des poèmes de Bar ȨEbroyo, celle, déjà citée, de Scebabi en 1877, et celle de Dulabani en 1929, au monastère syriaque orthodoxe Saint-Marc de Jérusalem. 54 Voici le texte syriaque: Nöldeke écrit que Bar ȨEbroyo est embarassé par son nom – ce qui est vrai – et en conclut que ceci indique son origine juive – ce qui est faux. Le grand orientaliste n’a pas alors toutes les pièces du dossier sous la main, et notemment, il ne connait rien sur le bourg de ȨEbro. Voyez Th. Nöldeke, Orientalische Skizzen, Berlin 1892, 254: « Aus einem Epigramm von ihm sehn wir, daß ihm die Bezeichnung gar nicht angenehm war; das bestätigt unsere Auffassung ». 53 Barsaum, patriarche Ignatius Ephrem, « Ibn al ‘Ibri, hal kana min jinsin yahudi? », la revue al-kulliya al-amerikiya (Beyrouth, Novembre 1927) : 14 et la revue al Hikma, II (Jérusalem, 1927). 54 Scebabi n’a pas le ƒ dans ¿ÿ؃†šƒ ¾Ćß. Il s’agit sans doute d’une erreur de scribe ou d’édition. Le ƒ se trouve dans les deux manuscrits que nous avons consultés, ainsi que dans l’édition de Dulabani. Scebabi et le Syriaque 197 ont le † dans ¾Ø˜Ìå ”~† mais Dulabani et le Syriaque 270 52

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

31

¾Øûãü äß ÚæÜ ÌâÍæø ¾Øû⃠†Ìå~ ¾Ø~ûÂî ûÁ Þå†ûùå ~ ûï⚖š ¾Ćß ¾Ø˜Ìå ”~† ¿ÌâÍü †… ûÙÄ †… ¾Øšûñ ¾Øûòè ¾Ć߆ ¿ÿÙåÿâÍâ ¿ÿ؃†šƒ ¾Ćß Donnons-en la traduction française la plus précise possible. L’auteur s’adresse la parole à lui-même et dit: Si le Seigneur a nommé son hypostase [ou tout simplement: s’est nommé] Samaritain N’aie pas honte que l’on t’appelle Bar ȨEbroyo Euphratienne est en effet cette appellation, et aussi du fleuve Non d’une religion tachée, ni biblique/du Livre55

[37]

Avant de passer à l’interprétation de ces vers, signalons que nous laissons volontairement le nom de l’auteur dans sa forme syriaque puisqu’il est employé à double sens. Quant à la forme de double affirmation et de double négation utilisées dans le troisième et quatrième vers, il s’agit évidemment d’une allusion astucieuse au deux sens homonymes du nom ȨEbroyo, comme nous le démontrerons en détail. Maintenant au commentaire: 4.2. Le faux Samaritain de Mésopotamie

[38]

Dans les deux premiers vers l’auteur se console de son nom Bar ȨEbroyo, à comprendre ici dans le sens fils de l’Hébreu. En effet, se dit-il, le Christ lui-même, qui est le Seigneur Dieu incarné, a pris le nom de Samaritain, c’est-à-dire d’hérétique. Bar ȨEbroyo qui, comme nous l’avons dit, est féru de culture théologique, et qui a fait l’exégèse de la Bible dans son ouvrage magistral dénommé Magasin des Mystères, fait par là référence à l’Evangile de Jean 56 où Jésus, enseignant au temple, est traité de Samaritain par les Juifs: ne l’ont pas. Nous préférons garder le † car il est plus aisé de supposer un oubli de scribe qu’un ajout. Autre variante mineure chez Dulabani ûâ au lieu de ¾Øûâ mais les mss et Scebabi mentionnent ¾Øûâ. 55 Le mot Àûòè sephro signifie livre et est souvent employé pour désigner les Livres sacrés, et sephroyo par l’ajoute du suffixe yo est un mot qui s’y rapporte. Dans la Bible syriaque, sephro désigne en général les Ecritures de l’Ancien Testament, ceux du Nouveau Testament étant appelés ewangeliun (Evangile). 56 Jean 8, 48/49.

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Jean Fathi-Chelhod « Les Juifs lui répondirent : N’avons nous pas raison de dire que tu es un Samaritain, et que tu as un démon ? Jésus répliqua : Je n’ai point de démon ; mais j’honore mon Père, et vous m’outragez ».

[39]

Ainsi, tout comme le Seigneur fut injustement traité d’hérétique, notre auteur l’est aussi; du moins, se lamente-t-il, appelé par un nom donnant à le croire! 4.3. Les deux sens de ȨEbroyo

[40]

[41]

Or les deux vers suivants viennent nous expliquer pourquoi Bar ȨEbroyo n’a pas à avoir honte de son nom, puisqu’en effet il ne s’agit que d’une homonymie. En lisant le quatrain d’une façon horizontale, on peut comprendre que le troisième vers indique en bloc le sens euphratien du nom ȨEbroyo alors que le quatrième en réfute le sens hébreu. Ainsi, le nom serait euphratien et aussi du fleuve et, par opposition, ni d’une religion tachée ni du Livre. C’est de cette manière que le patriarche Barsaum et l’évêque Behnam interprètent les vers. Revenons tout d’abord à l’explication du patriarche : Bien qu’il ait été le premier à mettre en exergue le quatrain, celui-ci n’en donne pas une traduction exacte. Voici la traduction française de la version arabe qu’il donne: 57 « Si notre Seigneur le Christ s’est appelé Samaritain alors ne sois point atteint s’ils t’appellent Bar ȨEbroyo, car l’origine de cette appellation est le fleuve Euphrate, non une religion honteuse ni une langue hébraïque ». Une traduction aussi vague nous étonne de la part de ce grand savant dont l’histoire de la littérature syriaque occidentale, Al-lu’lu’ al-manthşr, anachroniquement écrite dans un bel arabe classique que l’on n’utilise plus, est un monument du genre. Mais il faut bien l’admettre, le patriarche interprète mal le mot sephroyo du quatrième vers en lui attribuant un sens mineur de sephro qui est langue, sens qui colle d’ailleurs mal avec le contexte; et il traduit Euphratien est en effet ce nom, et aussi du fleuve par L’origine de ce nom est le fleuve Euphrate, ce qui, en plus d’être inexact altère comme nous le verrons le double sens du vers syriaque. Mais si Barsaum n’en saisit pas le sens exact, ce qui l’intéresse dans le quatrain est qu’il répond à ce

57

Barsaum, Al-lu’lu’, 413, citations qui suivent aussi.

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

[42]

[43]

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qu’il appelle les mensonges des orientalistes 58 en prouvant que l’auteur ne doit pas son nom à une origine hébraïque. Et confronté au problème de trouver une autre explication au nom ȨEbroyo, le patriarche écrivant avant la redécouverte philologique de ȨEbro, 59 de conjecturer sur la racine cebar qui veut dire traverser en écrivant: « Il fut appelé par ce nom à cause de la naissance d’un de ses aïeux ou de sa naissance pendant la traversée de l’Euphrate ». Mais une telle explication du genre mythologique, on le voit, n’est pas encore née qu’elle tombe déjà à l’eau. Pour l’évêque Behnam qui reprend la traduction inexacte de Barsaum, 60 le sens du troisième vers s’explique par l’existence du bourg de ȨEbro, qu’il est le premier à retrouver et à localiser sur les bords de l’Euphrate. 61 L’interprétation correcte du quatrain nous semble être bien plus élaborée et subtile. Ce qui nous met la puce à l’oreille est que nous avons ici deux affirmations suivies par deux négations. Or étant donné les deux sens homonymes de ȨEbroyo que nous avons établis et que vient confirmer la double structure même des vers, il est totalement inacceptable, à moins d’avoir un goût marqué pour l’absurde, de penser à une autre coïncidence. Arabe : mâ takharrasa bihi al-mustashriqûn. takharrasa signifie : inventer des mensonge au préjudice d’autrui. 59 Signalons que le patriarche est mort en 1957 avant la publication de l’article de Behnam. Il n’a donc pas pu remettre son opinion à jour dans Al-lu’lu’. 60 Behnam, Ta’qib tarikhi fi nasab al’allama mar Gregorius Ibn al ‘Ibri [1963], op. cit. 61 H. Takahashi nous informe qu’avant Behnam, le père jésuite alépin Ferdinand Taoutel, in al-Machriq 26 p. 62, 1928, revoyant dans une brève note l’article de Barsaum en 1927, relate l’opinion du dernier avec une certaine nuance non présente dans l’original: la nisba est peut-être due à cibr sur l’Euphrate où Gregorius serait né. Or il faut comprendre cibr ici comme une suggestion, et non comme une référence au village historique plus tard identifié par Behnam. Taoutel ne se serait pas privé de faire part des sources de cette découverte s’il en avait été l’auteur. G. Graf note l’article de Taoutel et rejète l’explication in Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, vol. II, p. 272, note 1: « Daher sein Beiname 'Sohn des Hebräers' ... Abwegig ist auch die Erklärung des Namens 'Ibri als eines von einem Orte 'Ibr abgeleiteten nomen relativum in Masriq 26 (1928) 62 (übernommen aus al-Kulliya 1927, Nov. S. 14) ». 58

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Jean Fathi-Chelhod Euphratienne est en effet cette appellation, et aussi du fleuve [c’à-d. Euphratienne une deuxième fois] Non d’une religion tachée, ni du Livre

[44]

Nous soutenons que les deux derniers vers peuvent se lire d’une façon verticale autant qu’horizontale. Ainsi, la première négation se rattache à la première affirmation qui concerne le sens ȨEbroyo = Hébreu, tandis que la deuxième négation se rattache à la deuxième affirmation qui concerne le sens ȨEbroyo = Ebraïte. En effet, le génie du théologien syrien est d’avoir envisagé le nom ȨEbroyo dans ses deux sens homonymes et démontré que dans les deux cas il n’avait pas à en rougir! Expliquons nous: 4.4. ȨEbroyo, dans sa signification historique, n’est pas un nom Juif

[45] [46]

Dans une première affirmation/négation, l’auteur annonce que l’appelation ȨEbroyo, dans sons sens Hébreu, est euphratienne et qu’elle n’est pas due à une religion tâchée. Mais comment donc? En excellent théologien, l’auteur sait que le nom ȨEbroyo, dans son sens historique, naquit lorsqu’Abraham traversa le fleuve Euphrate (racine cebar, taverser). C’est ce qu’il affirme d’ailleurs à trois reprises dans son exégèse biblique appelée Magasin des Mystères, par exemple: 62

ťſƢũƕ ŦųƉŴƣ ŴƍƟ ŁƢƘ ŧĿųƌ ƢũƕĪ ĶĬƢŨĥ ƎƉ Du fait qu’Abraham traversa le fleuve Euphrate ils reçurent l’appellation d’Hébreux

[47]

Dans sa signification historique, le nom ȨEbroyo, Hébreu se rapporte donc à la traversée de l’Euphrate par un Araméen, Abraham, le père des religions monothéistes. Cette appellation est ainsi tout à fait dissociable de la religion juive à laquelle elle est bien antérieure. 63 C’est une appelation née de l’Euphrate et point de la Sprengling [Martin] et Graham [William Creighton], Barhebraeus’ Scholia on the Old Testament, de I: Genesis à II: Samuel (Oriental Institute Publications, 13; Chicago, 1931) F. 55b,5. Voir aussi f. 13a,29–30 et f. 14b,36–15a. On remarquera l’utilisation des mêmes mots dans le quatrain. 63 Signalons ici que la même idée de dissociation se retrouve dans le Coran, où il est dit qu’Abraham n’était ni juif ni chrétien mais un hanif musulman (Sourate III, 67). Bar ‘Eboryo, bon connaisseur de l’islam, connaît-il ce verset? 62

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religion judaïque. Pour cette raison Bar ȨEbroyo n’a pas à en être attristé! 4.5. ȨEbroyo, un nom euphratien étranger à la Bible [48]

[49]

Dans une seconde affirmation/négation, l’auteur affirme que ȨEbroyo est aussi, une seconde fois, une appellation euphratienne. L’emploi du mot sephroyô, du Livre, est à notre avis très ingénieux, car il s’agit bien de faire ici une distinction intéressente. Dire que l’appellation ȨEbroyo, dans son second sens, n’est pas biblique n’équivaut en aucune façon à dire qu’elle n’est pas juive, et nous souhaitons que le lecteur comprenne bien la nuance. Dans la Bible, il n’y a qu’un seul sens au mot ȨEbroyo, qui est évidemment Hébreu. Or l’auteur affirme que l’appelation ȨEbroyo est aussi, une seconde fois, une appelation euphratienne, mais que cette fois, ce n’est point une appelation de la Bible! Nous avons suivi l’auteur dans son premier raisonnement, à savoir que ȨEbroyo, Hébreu, n’est pas dérivé de la religion juive, mais il nout dit maintenant que le nom ȨEbroyo, dans son second sens, n’a pas de rapport avec la Bible! Comment serait-ce possible, car l’on ne peut vraiment douter que les Ecritures, sephre, sont les livres d’histoire du peuple hébreu! Ceci ne peut évidemment se comprendre qu’en incluant le sens homonyme et distinct de l’appelation que nous avons localisée sur les bords de l’Euphrate près de Mélitène. ȨEbroyo est donc, dans un second raisonnement, un nom euphratien et non-biblique! Après nous avoir dit que ȨEbroyo, Hébreu, est dérive de l’Euphrate et non de la religion juive, l’écrivain syrien continue son argumentation en nous disant que ȨEbroyo, Ebraïte, et tout aussi bien dérivé de l’Euphrate, mais qu’il n’a rien à voir avec le sens biblique! 4.6. Une appellation qui ne prête doublement pas à disgrâce

[50]

Donnons désormais, appuyés par tout ce qui précède, notre interprétation de l’argument du théologien syrien et ébraïte: « Vers 1–2 Si Dieu lui-même [dans son immense gloire] lorsqu’il est venu sur terre en la personne de Jésus Christ, s’est fait appeler [par les Hébreux] Samaritain, c’est-à-dire hérétique [ce qu’il n’est certainement pas], alors toi [le pauvre pêcheur, le faible homme], n’aie pas honte d’être appelé Bar ȨEbroyo, comprenez ici fils de l’Hébreu, c’est-à-dire fils d’hérétique [ce que tu n’es certainement pas]. {D’un point de vue purement stylistique, on ne peut

36

Jean Fathi-Chelhod qu’admirer l’ingéniosité du poète qui arrive à faire une inversion parfaite}. Le Christ, qui est la Vérité Divine incarnée, a pris un nom impie, 64 tires-en donc exemple pour assumer ton nom et ne pas en être affligé, et console-toi par le fait que ce qui t’arrive est déjà arrivé au Seigneur. {Pour le théologien qu’est Bar ȨEbroyo, quel argument probant!} Vers 3–4 Et pourquoi rougir puisque ton nom, dans ses deux sens homonymes, n’a point de relation avec l’hérésie! Même si certains l’ignorent, ȨEbroyo, Hébreu, n’est qu’un nom né d’une traversée de l’Euphrate, un nom qui est bien antérieur à la religion juive et aucunement dû à une doctrine tâchée. {D’une certaine manière le nom ȨEbroyo, Hébreu, est lavé de toute tâche d’hérésie par les eaux du fleuve, Israel étant ramené à son ancien baptême euphratien par un étonnant tour de force littéraire!} Mais ȨEbroyo est aussi dans ton cas une appellation syrienne d’un bourg sur l’Euphrate qui n’a aucunement le sens Hébreu de la Bible! Dans ses deux variantes [Remarquez ici la superbe mise en parallèle des deux affirmations et négations] le nom dont tu as hérité de ton père ne prête à aucune disgrâce. Maintenant, qu’il puisse être mal compris et insinuer injustement que tu es un fils d’hérétique n’est après tout pas grand chose puisque ton nom n’est point dû à ceux qui ont injustement traité le Seigneur d’hérétique! {Ainsi la boucle est bouclée, et le quatrain se referme hermétiquement sur lui-même dans un raisonnement qui — abstraction faite de notre jugement moral contemporain — est dans sa ligne de pensée absolument remarquable.} »

5. CONCLUSION 5.1. Récapitulation [51]

Un concours exceptionnel de circonstances a fait que l’erreur d’interprétation du mot ȨEbroyo se soit perpétuée pendant si longtemps. Les oeuvres de l’auteur, qui auraient dû servir de base à un important renouveau dans le monde syrien, n’en furent que la dernière grande expression. Déjà du temps de Bar ȨEbroyo, les invasions mongoles de Hulagû (qu’il a rencontré) jettent la dévastation au Moyen Orient, et plus tard celles de Tamerlan En insistant sur le fait que ce soit le Seigneur qui s’est appelé Samaritain, au lieu de dire tout simplement qu’Il a été appelé par ce nom, l’auteur, en bon théologien, met l’emphase sur le fait que quoique l’on appelle le Seigneur, cela ne se fait que par Sa volonté, et qu’Il a donc luimême voulu être traité d’hérétique et prendre le nom de Samaritain. 64

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37

achèveront la tâche. La culture syrienne, qui avait réussi à se maintenir comme réalité malgré des siècles de domination arabomusulmane, rentrera dans sa phase de décadence. On s’imagine sans peine les villages détruits et les monastères pillés par les hordes de guerriers venus sur leurs chevaux des plateaux d’Asie, sans parler des fréquents pillages des tribus locales. Au cours des siècles qui suivront l’expression littéraire se dégradera et l’église se repliera sur elle-même. Dans le domaine syrien, nous sommes, ne l’oublions pas, devant une tradition parallèle aux moyens très limités, et dont la longue subsistance après l’islam est en soi étonnante. Guerres, repli, ignorance, on recopie surtout les anciens manuscrits mais on n’écrit plus grand chose, et il est très probable que ȨEbro ayant été déserté par les Syriens du temps même de Bar ȨEbroyo, on ne sache plus ce que ȨEbroyo voulait dire, d’ailleurs, il y a bien peu de gens qui se préoccupent de cela. Cette situation explique l’usage postérieur de la forme arabe/karshşni Ibn al-ȨIbri, vraisemblablement apparure pour la première fois dans les traductions arabes des œuvres de Bar ȨEbroyo executées par Daniel de Mardin vers la moitié du XIVème siècle. 65 Par ailleurs, il faut signaler que la forme Ibn al-‘Ibri n’est sans doute pas celle que Bar ȨEbroyo aurait lui-même adoptée s’il avait eu à écrire ce nom en En ce qui concerne cette forme, nous sommes certains que Bar ȨEbroyo n’ait jamais écrit son nom Ibn al-cIbri en arabe (bien que toutes les éditions modernes du Mukhtasar al-duwal le mentionnent sous cette appellation). HĆjjĩ Khalĩfa cite notre auteur dans l’incipit du Mukhtasar sous le nom d’Abş al-Faraj Grégoire fils d’Ahrşn le médecin de Mélitène, le chrétien. La distinction est telle que Pockoke qui édite le Mukhtasar et le traduit en latin d’abord en extraits, sous le titre Specimen Historia Arabum en 1650, puis en intégralité sous le titre Historia Compediosa Dynastiarum en 1663, n’utilise que le nom Gregorio Abul Pharagio qu’il connaît dans l’original arabe. Celui-ci s’étonne même dans sa préface du nom Bar Hebraeus donné par Abraham Echellensis, dont il ne connait pas la raison. Pierre Bayle, auteur de l’article « Abulpharage (Grégoire) », in Dictionnaire historique et critique, 1697, ne le sait toujours pas d’ailleurs, puisqu’il rapporte la remarque de Pockoke. L’érudit japonais H. Takahashi nous rapporte le cas très instructif de Brian Walton, qui, dans la Prolegomena à sa Biblia Polyglotta publiée in 1657, mentionne Gregorius Abul Faraius de la Historia Arabica ainsi que le commentaire biblique de Gregorius Scholiastes Syrus, sans faire la connection entre les deux (respectivement, Prolegomena XIII, p. 91 and 94). 65

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arabe, ce qu’il ne fait jamais comme nous l’avons mentionné. En effet, il aurait plutôt employé la forme Ibn al-‘Ibrşni, puisqu’il donne à ȨEbro l’élégante forme arabisée de BaȨebrşn dans le Mukhtasar alduwal, forme passée inaperçue jusqu’à ce jour à cause d’une erreur scribale. 66 Aux XVIIème et XVIIIème siècles, des érudits de la communauté maronite de tradition syriaque quittent le Mont Liban et s’installent à Paris et à Rome. Peu à peu, ce que l’on convient d’appeler l’Ecole Maronite de Rome fera connaître au monde occidental la richesse insoupçonnée de la tradition syriaque, révélée par la Bibliotheca Orientalis, l’ouvrage monumental de Yusef al-Sam’ani, dit Assemani, en 1719–1728. Les polyglottes maronites venant d’Orient en voyant le nom le traduisent par Bar Hebraeus, c’est à dire fils de l’Hébreu. C’est en effet la traduction qui vient d’abord à l’esprit, le domaine syriaque n’étant point défriché à l’époque, et ces savants ne disposant pas des textes auquels nous avons accès aujourd’hui. En 1629, Abraham Ecchellensis écrit Bar Hebraeus dans sa préface de la Bible polyglotte publiée à Paris. Le reprenant en 1721, Assemani écrit Bar-hebraeus, et c’est à partir d’Assemani que cette orthographe du nom se généralise. De là à dire que l’auteur est le fils d’Aaron, le juif converti, il n’y a qu’un pas à franchir. Or si les traducteurs des œuvres syriaques en arabe et les savants maronites Le nom est transcrit Ba cebdşn du pays de Gubas DžƢƥȂƳ ƾǴƦƥ ǹȁƾƦǟƢƥ au lieu de Ba cebrşn ǹȁŐǟƢƥ dans toutes les éditions du Mukhtasar. Il s’agit d’une forme connue de tashĩf ǦȈƸǐƫ entre ƽ et ǁ remontant aux manuscrits originaux. La comparaison des deux versions arabe et syriaque démontre sans aucun doute que ȨEbro (syr.) et Ba cebrşn (ar.) sont mentionnés dans le même paragraphe qui traite de la famine dans la région de Mélitène en l’an 1258. Les deux versions relatent de tristes épisodes: on en était arrivé à manger des chiens et des chats, du cuir de vielles chaussures que l’on faisait bouillir, et même des cadavres humains : on avait vu un groupe de femmes qui rôtissaient et mangeaient la viande d’un homme mort: dans la version arabe (p. 268) le maphrien indique que cet épisode avait eu lieu à ȨEbro : ƾǴƦƥ ǹȁŐǟƢƥ ƢȀũơ ƨȇǂǬƥ ƢǼƥƢƸǏƗ ǺǷ ƨǟƢŦ ǃƢƬƳơȁ 66

ƽȁƾŲ ƪȈǷ ǺȀǷơƾǫȁ ƪȈƥ Ŀ ǺǠǸƬƳơ ƾǫ ƔƢLjǼdzơ ǺǷ ƨǟƢŦ ơȁƗǂǧ ƨȈǘǴǷ DZƢǸǟƗ ǺǷ DžƢƥȂƳ ǺǴǯƘȇȁ ǾǼȇȂnjȇȁ ǾǸū ǺƷǂnjȇ ǺĈ ǿȁ śǯƢǰLjdzơ ǺȀȇƾȇƢƥȁ . Il est possible et même

probable que la forme Ba cebrşn soit une traduction stylistique créée par Bar ȨEbroyo pour ȨEbro. On pourrait voir dans le suffixe şn une indication indirecte du fait que la langue syriaque dans la région était vocalisée en o plutôt qu’en a.

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

[53]

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de Rome s’étaient abstenus de commenter sur l’origine du nom, certains orientalistes n’auront pas les mêmes scrupules, et c’est à partir du XIXème siècle que l’idée de l’origine juive de Bar ȨEbroyo se généralise en Occident et est admise comme un fait réel. Mais à ce moment l’Orient commence à se réveiller de sa longue léthargie, et les descendants des communautés de tradition syriaque s’intéressent à leur héritage. Dès 1898, le père chaldéen Louis Cheikho critique Wright et réfute que l’auteur soit d’origine juive, en indiquant que le prénom Ahrşn était fréquemment utilisé par les Syriens. 67 En 1927, l’évêque et futur patriarche syriaque orthodoxe Barsaum remarque le célèbre quatrain édité cinquante ans plus tôt par le maronite Scebabi à Rome en 1877 — et l’utilise dans sa réfutation. En 1963, l’évêque syrien orthodoxe Behnam retrouve le bourg de ȨEbro près de Mélitène, et il fait tout de suite la connexion avec le nom. Or ce qui étonne le plus est que, quelque sept siècles après leur écriture, personne n’ait pensé à interpréter les vers de Bar ȨEbroyo, restés enfermés dans les manuscrits syriaques et dans une traduction hâtive du patriarche Barsaum. Cet article, avait l’ambition de faire une analyse critique des recherches précédentes mais aussi d’amener des éléments nouveaux, notamment en présentant la première intérprétation détaillée dudit quatrian.

Al-Machreq, 1898, p. 291. Mais le père Cheikho dans sa réfutation s’appuie sur un argument erroné qui remonte à la Liturgiarum Orientalium Collectio d’Eusèbe Renaudot, p. 469 et qui fut repris par Zotenberg. En effet, Renaudot avait confondu le maphrien Grégoire (mort en 1214) qui était le neveu du patriarche Michel le Grand avec Grégoire Bar ȨEbroyo, et en avait donc déduit que Bar ȨEbroyo était le neveu de Michel le Grand, ce qui est aberrant puisqu’un siècle sépare les deux hommes. Le manque de communication entre Orient et Occident fait que cette erreur, que François Nau avait par ailleurs bien réfutée en se référant aux manuscrits dans sa conférence parisienne en 1915 Sur quelques autographes de Michel le Grand, p. 16–17, se retrouve encore dans des publications arabes récentes, comme dans l’introduction du patriarche Iwas au Livre de la Colombe en 1983. Or Cheikho, se basant sur cette faute, nous dit que les Syriens n’auraient pas accepté un patriarche nouvellement converti. 67

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5.2. Vrai ȨEbroyo mais faux Hébreu : une homonymie étonnante [54]

[55]

Car le nom ȨEbroyo ne signifie pas Hébreu, hypothèse étrangère et totalement infondée dans la tradition syriaque, mais Ebraïte, du nom d’un bourg syrien situé sur les bords de l’Euphrate dans les environs de Mélitène, ce qui correspond infiniment mieux aux attestations de ladite tradition, y compris celles de l’auteur luimême et de son frère. Le fait que ces deux noms s’écrivent par coïncidence de la même façon en syriaque donna plus tard lieu à ce qui peut être considéré comme un cas d’école dans la catégorie des erreurs historiques. Par chance, Bar ȨEbroyo, bien conscient de l’ambiguïté que donnait à entendre son nom, avait trouvé à s’en consoler dans un quatrain désormais célèbre. S’appuie-t-il tout d’abord ingénieusement sur l’exemple du Seigneur — lui aussi injustement traité d’hérétique, — ce n’est que pour affirmer clairement par la suite ne point avoir honte de son propre nom, puisque celui-ci, nous explique-t-il, ne prête à disgrâce dans aucun de ses deux sens qui sont tous les deux très euphratiens! On ne peut qu’apprécier le tour de force du fils de l’Ebraïte qui arrive à inclure tant de références dans une structure poétique limitée à quatre vers. Nous devons dire que nous n’avons à l’heure actuelle aucun texte expliquant directement l’origine du nom Bar ȨEbroyo, sans quoi cet article n’aurait pas eu lieu d’être; ceci n’empêche que nous puissions la déduire à partir d’une multitude d’indices disponibles. La tradition syriaque et ses élégies des aïeux du maphrien, les textes de Barsşm Safi et de Bar ȨEbroyo envers les juifs, le non fondement des arguments orientalistes et le manque de crédibilité historique de l’hypothèse de conversion, la découverte tombant à pic du bourg syrien de ȨEbro près de Mélitène, et la belle doubledénégation poétique de l’auteur faisant allusion aux deux sens homonymes de son nom sont autant de preuves qui indiquent qu’il faut bien reléguer l’hypothèse hébraïque à son nouveau statut : celui d’erreur historique qui fut palliée lorsque l’avancée de la recherche le permit. Elle ne fait d’ailleurs que s’ajouter à une longue liste d’affabulations racontées très tôt à propos de notre auteur, car après la mort de celui-ci, une note dans certains manuscrits de la version arabe du Mukhtasar faisait courir le bruit qu’il s’était in extremis converti à l’islam. Mais disons-le une fois pour toutes: Grégoire Bar ȨEbroyo, fils du diacre Ahrşn, n’est pas d’origine juive

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

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et son nom ne veut pas dire Hébreu, son bel arabe — langue du savoir à son époque — n’implique en rien sa famille maternelle, il ne parle ni hébreu ni chinois, il n’est pas né pendant la traversée de l’Euphrate (bien qu’une variante de son nom le soit!), et il est bien mort en citant une parole des Ecritures! Sans doute le plus grand écrivain du peuple syrien de Haute Mésopotamie, on ne peut lui attribuer aucune origine étrangère, non pas à cause d’un quelconque chauvinisme ridicule et dépassé, mais tout simplement car c’est ainsi qu’il s’avère. 5.3. La transcription Bar ȨEbroyo s’impose [56]

Mais avant de clore cet article, disons qu’à la lumière de tous ces nouveaux éléments, on ne plus transcrire le nom Bar ȨEbroyo par Bar Hebraeus, puisque nous avons démontré qu’il n’en n’a pas le sens. Car à moins de donner au nom Hebraeus un seconde signification dans les dictionnaires latins, à savoir Ebraïte, du nom d’un ancien village syrien des environs de Mélitène en Haute Mésopotamie — ce qui est impossible —, on serait en train de faire une erreur de traduction. On pourrait soit écrire le nom Barebraeus en supprimant le h, transcription de Faustus Naironus en 1694, qui a le mérite de garder la même forme du nom à laquelle on s’est habitué tout en établissant qu’il ne s’agit plus du fils de l’Hébreu comme on l’avait cru, mais du nom euphratien qui en est l’homonyme; soit tout simplement transcrire le nom Bar ȨEbroyo tel qu’il est prononcé en syriaque, ce que nous préférons, car cette forme a le mérite de préserver le double sens tout en s’accordant parfaitement avec la méthode moderne de transcription.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE Abbeloos [J.B.] et Lamy [T.J.], Chronicon Ecclesiasticum. Paris/Louvain, 1872–7. 3 tomes (texte syriaque et traduction latine). Armalet, père Ishaq, Tarikh al-zamĆn, Beyrouth, Dar al-Machreq, 1986 (réédition en un livre d’une traduction arabe partielle de la Chronique Syriaque parue dans al-Machreq (1949–56), préface de J.M. Fiey). Assemani, Josephus Simonus Assemanus, Bibliotheca Orientalis ClementinoVaticana. Rome, 1719–28. 4 tomes; reproduction anastatique par la Geog Olms Verlag (Hildesheim/New York) en 1975. Ayoub, père Barsşm, Al-lughah al-suryaniyya, Alep, 1975.

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Bahzani, Yusef al-Qus Abdel Ahad, Jawla ma’ makhtoutat suryaniyya muba’thara, Alep/Dar Mardîn, 1994. Barsaum, patriarche Ignatius Ephrem I, Ibn al ‘Ibri, hal kana min jinsin yahudi?, dans la revue al-kulliya al-amerikiya (Beyrouth, Novembre 1927) : 14; dans la revue al Hikma, II (Jérusalem, 1927). Réedition dans al-haqai’qa al-jaliyya fil abhath al-tarikhiya wal falsafiya, 30–3. Damas, 1972. ——— Al-lu’lu’ al-manthşr, Histoire des sciences et de la littérature syriaque. Homs, 1943; sixième édition avec préface de l’évêque Yuhanna Ibrahim, Alep, 1996, pagination inchangée. Baumstark, Anton, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, Bonn, 1922. Behnam, Mar Gregorius Bûlos, Ta’quib tarikhi fi nasab al’allama mar Gregorius Ibn al ‘Ibri, Revue Patriarchale Syriaque Orthodoxe, [n°13] (Nov 1963) : 146–8. ——— Al Ithiqûn, falsafat al-adâb al-khulqiyya (traduction de l’Ethicon). Qamichli, 1967; édition photocopiée, Alep [Maktabat al ‘Aîla], 1999. Budge, E.A. Wallis, The Chronography of Gregory Abû’l Faraj, 2 tomes, Londres, 1932. I [traduction anglaise], II [fac-similé du texte syriaque]; réimpression Amsterdam, 1976. ——— Orientral Wit and Wisdom or The Laughable Stories, Luzac’s Semitic Text and Translation Series, 1. Londres, 1897 (texte syriaque et traduction anglaise), réimpression 1899 (sans le texte syriaque). Chabot, Jean-Baptiste, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, Paris, 1899–1910; réedition, Bruxelles, 1963, en 4 tomes, dont le dernier est un facsimimilé de la copie de 1899 faite sur le ms. de 1598. Cheikho, père Louis, al Machreq, Beyrouth, 1898 [vol. I]. 289–95, 365–70, 413–8, 448–53, 505–10, 555–61, 605–12 (biographie écrite dans un arabe de qualité). Cicek, Mor Yulyus, édition syriaque du poème élégiaque de Dioscore Gabriel de Bartelli sur Bar ȨEbroyo, St Ephrem the Syrian Monastery, Losser, Hollande, 1985. Dulabani, Mor Yuhanna, Diwân Ibl al ‘Ibri, Couvent Syriaque Orthodoxe Saint Marc de Jérusalem, 1929 (édition syriaque). Fathi, Jean, Les Récits Plaisants recueillis par Mar Gregorius Bar ȨEbroyo, Paris, mémoire en préparation à l’EPHE. Fiey, père Jean Maurice, Introduction à l’édition arabe de la Chronique Syriaque, voyez Armalet. ——— Article “Guba (Gubos)” in DHGE (Dictionnaire d'histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques), 1988. HĆjjĩ Khalĩfa, Kashf al-zunşn, Istanbul [Maarif Matbaasi], 1941–3. Al Hamwĩ, Yaqşt, Mucjam al-Buldan, Beirut [Dar Sader], 1955.

L’origine du nom Bar cEbroyo

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Honigmann, Ernest, Le couvent de Barsaumâ et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie, CSCO 146, subs. 7, Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1954. Iwas, patriarche Ignatius Zakka, Al-Hamama, Mukhtasar fi tarwid al-nussak, Baghdad [Majma’ al-lugah al-suryaniyya], 1974 (texte syriaque et traduction arabe); réimpression (texte arabe seulement), Tripoli du Liban [Maktabat al-Saîh], 1983. Martin, [Abbé JPP], Oeuvres grammaticales d’Abou’l-Faradj dit Bar Hebraeus, Paris/Louvain, 1872, 2 tomes : I. Le Livre des splendeurs ; II. Petite Grammaire et Traité des mots ambigus (texte syriaque seulement, recopié à la main). Nadler, Steven. Spinoza: A Life, Cambridge University Press, 1999. Nau, François, Sur quelques autographes de Michel le Syrien. Revue de l’Orient Chrétien, II.9 (1914) : 378–97 & Paris : Libraire A. Picard et fils, 1915 (texte tiré à part, 20 pages). ——— Notice sur quelques cartes syriaques, Journal Asiatique 9ème série, VIII (1896) : 155–65. Réimpression à Amsterdam : Theatrum orbis terrarum, 1971, dans Acta cartographica, t. XIII, 256–66. Oelman, Timothy. Marrano Poets of the Seventeenth Century — An Anthology of the Poetry of Jodo Pinto Delgado, Antonio Enriquez Gomez, and Miguel de Barrios, Edited and translated (with bibliographies), Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1985. Payne-Smith [R.], Thesaurus syriacus, 2 tomes, Oxford, 1879–1901, réimpression Hildesheim, 1981. Pococke [E.], Historia compediosa dynastiarum, Oxford, 1663. Renaudot, Eusèbe, Liturgiarum Orientalium Collectio., Frankfort a. Main / Londres, 1817. Salhani, père Antun. Tarikh mukhtasar al-duwal. Beyrouth, 1890, 1956, 1986. Scebabi, patre Augustino, Gregorii Bar Hebraei Carmina, Rome, 1877. Sprengling, Martin, and William Creighton Graham, Barhebraeus’ Scholia on the Old Testament, de I: Genesis à II: Samuel, Oriental Institute Publications, 13. Chicago, 1931. Wensinck, A.J., Bar Hebraeus’ Book of the Dove, together with some chapters from his Ethikon, Leyde, Brill, 1919. Wright, William, A short history of Syriac Literature, Londres, 1894. Yovel, Yirmiyahu, Spinoza and other heretics, Vol. 1: The Marrano of Reason, Princeton University Press, 1989.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 45–91 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

SIMEON OF QALȨA RUMAITA, PATRIARCH PHILOXENUS NEMROD AND BAR ȨEBROYO HIDEMI TAKAHASHI J.W. GOETHE-UNIVERSITÄT FRANKFURT FRANKFURT AM MAIN GERMANY

ABSTRACT An attempt is made in this article to throw some light on the circumstances in which Bar ȨEbroyo (Barhebraeus) worked by focusing our attention on the priest-physician Simeon b. Joshua of QalȨa Rumaita (ob. 1289), who rose to a position of some importance at the Ilkhanid court in the 1260’s and whose nephew Nemrod became patriarch under the name of Philoxenus in 1283. The fact that two of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works are dedicated to this Simeon suggests that he may have played an important role in the background to Bar cEbroyo’s literary activity.

I. INTRODUCTION [1]

The innumerable accounts of the life of Bar ȨEbroyo (Barhebraeus) which have been written to date have a tendency to repeat each other and only a few go far beyond the framework already set by

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the account in J.S. Assemani’s Bibliotheca Orientalis (II.244–321). 1 A list of some forty “bio-bibliographical” works on Bar ȨEbroyo published up to 1986 may be found on pp. 280–4 in J.M. Fiey, “Esquisse d’une bibliographie de Bar Hébraeus (+1286),” ParOr 13 (1986): 279–312. It is needless to say that most editions and translations of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works also contain accounts of varying lengths dealing with his life and works in their introductions. To the list at pp. 280–4 in Fiey, one might, without even attempting to be exhaustive, add such items as: E. Renaudot, Liturgiarum orientalium collectio (Frankfurt: Baer / London: Leslie, 18472), II.467–470; F. Nève, L’Arménie chrétienne et sa littérature (Louvain: Peeters / Berlin: Mayer & Muller / Paris: Leroux, 1886) 388–93; Y.I. Dibs, Târîkh Sûrîya al-dunyawî wa-l-dînî, 8 vols. (Beirut: al-Matbaca al-cUmûmîya alKâthûlîkîya, 1893–1905) VI, 348–57; M. Jugie, Theologia dogmatica Christianorum orientalium ab Ecclesia Catholica dissidentium, vol. V (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1935) 474–8; G.S. ShamȨûn, “Âfâq al-maȨrifa Ȩinda Ibn al-ȨIbrî,” alMajalla al-baʞriyarkîya (Damascus) 2 (1963): 485–99, 535–44; N. Rescher, The Development of Arabic Logic (Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh University Press, 1964) 206f. (horrendously inaccurate, but mentioning one or two otherwise overlooked references); A. Vööbus, Syrische Kanonensammlungen. Ein Beitrag zur Quellenkunde, I (CSCO, 307, 317, subs. 35, 38; Louvain: Secrétariat du Corpus CSO, 1970) 499–506; L. Cheïkho and C. Hechaïmé, ȨUlamâ‚ al-naʜrânîya fî al-Islâm 622–1300 (PAC, 5 ; Jounieh: Librairie St. Paul / Rome: Pont. Istituto Orientale, 1983) 75–7; W. Hage, “Gregorius Barhebräus,” in M. Greschat (ed.), Gestalten der Kirchengeschichte, vol. 4 (Stuttgart/Berlin/Cologne/Mainz: Kohlhammer, 1983) 63–72; cU.R. Kaʘʘâla, Al-mustadrak Ȩalâ MuȨjam al-mu‚allifîn (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risâla, 1985) 535 (addenda to id., MuȨjam al-mu‚allifîn 8 [1959]: 39f.); Y.M. Isʘâq, “Maʛâdir Abî al-Faraj al-Malaʜî al-târîkhîya wa-atharhâ fî manâhijihi,” Journal of the Iraq Academy, Syriac Corporation 11 (1987): 70–118, = id., Aram (Oxford) 1 (1989): 149–72; Hage, Syriac Christianity in the East (Moran ‘Eth’o, 1; Kottayam: SEERI, 1988, rep. 1997) 83–96; M.J. Panicker, “Christology of Bar Ebraya (Yuhanon Gregorius Abu’l Faraj)” (Diss. Rome, PIOS, 1994) 6–55 (unpublished, reference taken from the excerpt of the dissertation published under the same title [Rome, 1995], 93f.); G.Y. Ibrâhîm, “Mâr Ghrîghûriyûs Yûʘannâ Ibn al-ȨIbrî 1226–1286,” = intro. to D.B. Jijâwî, Manârat al-aqdâs li-l-callâma Mâr Ghrîghûriyûs Abî alFaraj Ibn al-ȨIbrî mafriyân al-mashriq 1226–1286 (Aleppo: Mardin Publishing House, 1996) 1–41; A. Sauma, “Det syrianske författargeniet Johannes Bar Hebraeus 1226–1286,” Aram (Stockholm, Arameiska Akademikernas Förbund) 10–12 (1996): 10–36; S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline of Syriac 1

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The appearance, therefore, in a previous volume of the Hugoye of an article by G. Lane, where an attempt is made to take greater account than usual of the historical circumstances under which the great maphrian lived and worked, might, in this respect, be considered a welcome event. 2 A comprehensive biography of Bar Literature (Moran ‘Eth’o, 9; Kottayam: SEERI, 1997) 75–80 et passim; E.-I. Yousif, Les philosophes et traducteurs syriaques. D’Athènes à Baghdad (Paris/Montreal: Harmattan, 1997) 143–53, along with such encyclopedia articles as P. Bayle, DHC (Rotterdam, 16971), ed. Amsterdam 1740, I.37; B. d’Herbelot, Bibliothèque orientale (Paris, 16971), ed. The Hague 1777–9, I.31, II.157, IV.690 (addition by H.J. Schultens); [A.G.] Hoffmann, AEWK I/7.384–6 (1821); P. Bötticher [= de Lagarde], RE 1.91–4 (1854); P. de Lagarde, RE2 1.110f. (1877); A. Socin, RE3 1.123f. (1896, addenda at 23.5, 1913); M. Seligsohn—R. Gottheil, JE 6.91 (1904); J. Heller, EJ(D) 3.1074f. (1929); J. Göttsberger, LThK 1.967–9 (1930); G. Furlani, EncIt 6.176f. (1930); G. Ricciotti, EC 2.542f. (1949); C. Brockelmann, IslAns 5.861f. (1950, = tr. of EI 1.684f.); J. Mécérian, LThK2 4.1207 (1960); W. Hage, TRE 14.158–64 (1985); anon., DHGE 21.1483f. (1986, addenda to Hermann’s article at DHGE 6.792–4); K. Samir, The Coptic Encyclopedia (New York/Toronto: Macmillan, 1991), 345f.; S. Griffith, The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press), 2.878f. (1991); S.P. Brock, LThK3 IV.1001f. (1995); H. Teule, EIr 8.13–15 (1997); and A. Özaydin, IslAns2 21.92–4 (2000).— Among the numerous studies on the life of Bar ȨEbroyo in European languages, the “sketch” in T. Nöldeke, Orientalische Skizzen (Berlin: Paetel, 1892, rep. Hildesheim: Olms, 1974) 253–73 remains one of the most readable and the study by J. Göttsberger in his Barhebräus und seine Scholien zur Heiligen Schrift, BSt(F) 5/4–5 (Freiburg: Herder, 1900) 5–56, one of the most thorough. It is unfortunate that the accounts written in English tend to be marred by inaccuracies. A particular warning is due against the account in the introduction to W.E.W. Carr, Gregory Abu’l Faraj, commonly called Bar-Hebraeus. Commentary on the Gospels from the Horreum Mysteriorum (London: SPCK, New York/Toronto: Macmillan, 1925), which frequently betrays an inability even to read simple Latin on Carr’s part. The introduction to E.A.W. Budge, The Chronography of Gregory Abû’l Faraj, the son of Aaron, the Hebrew physician, commonly known as Bar Hebraeus (Oxford: OUP, London; Humphrey Milford, 1932), on which Lane depends heavily (v. infra n. 2), is somewhat, but not much, better. 2 G. Lane, “An Account of Gregory Bar Hebraeus Abu al-Faraj and his Relations with the Mongols of Persia,” Hugoye 2.2 (July 1999).

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[2]

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ȨEbroyo, however, which takes full account of the materials made available since Assemani’s day and which is at the same based on trustworthy primary sources rather than on second and third-hand information and unreliable translations, remains a work to be written. As a small contribution to the composition of such a biography, an attempt is made in this brief article to throw some light on the circumstances in which Bar ȨEbroyo worked by focusing our attention on the Syriac Orthodox priest-physician Simeon of QalȨa Rûmâitâ (Rum Kale, Hromkla), who rose to a position of some importance at the Ilkhanid court in the 1260’s and to whose patronage and encouragement we may owe a number of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works.

II. SIMEON OF QALȨA RUMAITA AND PATRIARCH PHILOXENUS NEMROD [3]

In the first, political part of Bar ȨEbroyo’s Syriac chronicle (= Chron.), we find the following passage devoted to Rabban Simeon of QalȨa Rumaita. 3

Bar ȨEbroyo, Chron., ed. P.J. Bruns & G.G. Kirsch, Bar-Hebraei Chronicon syriacum (Leipzig: Boehme, 1789) 534.18–535.3; ed. P. Bedjan, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon syriacum (Paris: Maisonneuve, 1890) 512.9–16; ed. Budge (1932) [v. supra n. 1], vol. II (= ms. Bodl. Hunt. 52) 158v a9– 24; ed. J.Y. Çiçek, The Chronography of Bar Hebraeus (Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag: 1987) 463a 10–23; tr. Budge, op. cit., I.437; tr. D. Ömer Riza, Gregory Abû’l-Farac (Bar Hebraeus). Abû’l-Farac Tarihi, TTKY 2/2 (Ankara 1945–50, rep. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 1987) 576 (= [mis-]translation of tr. Budge); tr. I. Armalet, “Târîkh al-duwal alsuryânî ta’lîf Abî al-Faraj al-Malaʜî,” in Machriq vols. 43–50 (1949–56), here 50 (1956) 138.10–14; cf. also R. Gusejnov, Sirijskie istoçniki XII–XIII vv. ob Azerbajdzane (Baku: Izd. Akademii Nauk Azerbajdzanskoj SSR, 1960) 76, 133 (with Russian translation of the passage based on ed. BrunsKirsch); J.M. Fiey, Chrétiens syriaques sous les Mongols (Il-Khanat de Perse, XIIIe-XIVe s.), CSCO 362, subs. 44 (Louvain: Secrétariat du Corpus CSO, 1975) [= 1975a] 25f. 3

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In those days [i.e. ca. 1260 4 ] Rabban Simeon, the priest 5 and physician, the son of the late Joshua, the priest, of QalȨa Rumaita, entered the service of the King of Kings, Hulagu. 6 He became very powerful and famous, and was loved by all the sons of kings and queens. He possessed regal mansions, gardens, parks and towers 7 in Maragha and had an annual income of 5,000 dinars from Babel, Athor, Cappadocia and Maragha itself. The rest of our people obtained through him help, a great ‘lifting of head’ and honour, 8 and our church stability and protection in every place.

[4]

The revenue of 5,000 dinars mentioned here may not be in the league of those of the highest officials at the Ilkhanid court, 9 but it The date 27.9.658 A.H. mentioned at Chron. [Bedjan] 512.21f. corresponds to 5th Sept. 1260 A.D., not “A.D. 1259” as Budge has it in his translation (438.3). 5 “qashisho:” tr. Budge, infeliciter: “Simeon/Îshôc the Elder;” and following him Fiey: “Simon/Ichoc l’Ancien.” 6 Cf. Chron. eccl., ed. J.B. Abbeloos & T.J. Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiaticum (Louvain: Peeters, 1872–7), I.735 (“Simeon ... had recently come to serve the King of Kings”).—The phrase “l-teshmeshto damlek malke” at I.735.4 is translated as “ad salutandum regem regum” by Abbeloos-Lamy and is also taken in this sense by P. Kawerau, Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance. Idee und Wirklichkeit (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 19602) 101. Despite the use of “l-teshmeshto” in the sense of “to pay homage” with reference to Dionysius ȨAngur a few lines earlier at Chron. eccl. I.733.penult. and elsewhere (e.g. Chron. eccl. I.765.4, 775.14, II.433.16), the phrase at I.735.4 should be understood in the sense of “to serve” in view of the passage here (i.e. Chron. 512.10, cf. also Chron. eccl. I.747.6). 7 “w-furkoso:” om. ed. Bruns-Kirsch (based on Bodl. Hunt. 52, see R. Payne Smith, Catalogi codicum manuscriptorum Bibliothecae Bodleianae pars sexta [Oxford: Clarendon, 1864], 396; Budge, op. cit., II.vi) et ed. Budge (= ms. Bodl. Hunt. 52). 8 “a great ‘lifting of head’, help and honour” (rim risho rabo w-Ȩudrono wiqoro): edd. Bruns-Kirsch et Budge. 9 The Ilkhanid chief and finance minister Shams al-Dîn Juwainî (ob. 1284, brother of the historian ȨAlâ’ al-Dîn ȨAʜâ-Malik) is reported, in one account, to have had an annual income of 360 tûmân (= 3.6 million silver dinars) (B. Spuler, Die Mongolen in Iran. Politik, Verwaltung und Kultur der Ilchanzeit 1220–1350, 4th ed. [Leiden: Brill, 1985], 72, citing Waʛʛâf, 4

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is unusually high for a physician and as such suggests a position of some consequence at the court. 10 The passage also suggests that Simeon must have exercised considerable influence in the affairs of the Syriac Orthodox Church as the representative of her interests at the Ilkhanid court. We know, in fact, from the latter part of Bar ȨEbroyo’s chronicle, the Chronicon ecclesiasticum (= Chron. eccl.), that Simeon played a leading role in the reactions at the Ilkhanid court to the series of events surrounding the assassination of Patriarch Dionysius Aaron ȨAngur (1253–61), 11 and that Simeon and his family were also engaged in a seemingly endless conflict with Patriarch Ignatius IV (III) Joshua (1264–83) over the control of the Monastery of Mâr Barʛawmâ. 12 Tajziyat al-amʜâr wa-tajziyat al-aȨʜâr, ed. Bombay 1852/3, I.56, but cf. Spuler, “Djuwaynî, Shams ad-Dîn ...,” EI2 II.607; on the unit “tûmân,” see Spuler [1985] 255; R.E. Darley-Doran, “Tûmân 2.,” EI2 X.619–621). The taxreturns received by the Ilkhanid diwan in the period before the economic reforms of Ghazan Khan (1295–1304) have been reckoned at 17–18 million dinars (I.P. Petrushevsky, “The Socio-Economic Conditions of Iran under the Îl-Khâns,” in The Cambridge History of Iran, vol. 5 [Cambridge: CUP, 1968] 483–537, here 497). 10 For examples of the remunerations of physicians under Islam, see E. Ashtor, Histoire des prix et des salaires dans l’Orient médiéval (Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N., 1969) 68f., 94, 228, 263f., 378, 532. Assuming that gold dinars are meant, Simeon’s income mentioned here approaches those reported of the famous court physicians at the height of the Abbasid caliphate, such as Jibrâ‚îl b. BukhtîshûȨ with a salary of 500 dinars per month and rations worth 5000 per annum under Hârûn al-Rashîd, and ʗunain b. Isʘâq with a monthly pay of 700 dinars under al-Mutawakkil (op. cit., 68f.).—A part, at least, of Simeon’s income may have come from those Islamic religious endowments (awqâf. ), whose revenues are stated to have been diverted to the payment, among others, of “Christian and Jewish physicians,” a practice which was forbidden by the convert-Muslim Aʘmad Khan (Tegüder, 1282–84) (Spuler [1985] 179, 199, 273f., citing Waʛʛâf, Tajziyat al-amʜâr, ed. J. von Hammer-Purgstall, Vienna 1856, I.225f. and Mîrkhwând, Rawʘat al-ʜafâ‚, ed. Bombay 1849/50, V.99). 11 Chron. eccl. I.735.1-ult., 741.3–13; cf. also I.695.1 (“Simeon”), 4 (“sons of Joshua”). 12 Chron. eccl. I.759–61, 763–9; cf. E. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumâ et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie, CSCO 146, subs. 7 (Louvain: Durbecq, 1954) 72f.; Kawerau (1960) 40, 51, 88. .

Simeon of Qalca Rumaita [5]

[6]

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Another piece of evidence concerning the influence of Simeon, however, seems to have escaped the notice of, or at least not to have been fully appreciated by, most European scholars, namely that Simeon was also an uncle of Patriarch Philoxenus (aliter Ignatius V [IV]) Nemrod (1283–92), as well as being a brother of Jacob, the contentious abbot of Mar Barʛawma. 13 The point is at any rate not mentioned where it might have been by such scholars as Th. Nöldeke, J. Göttsberger, H. Koffler and J.M. Fiey, 14 while P. Kawerau, as we shall see, quite misunderstands the relationship between these three men and B. Spuler goes one step further by managing to confuse our Simeon with the East Syrian monk Simeon Rabban Ata who flourished a generation earlier. 15 Patriarch Ignatius Ephrem I Barʛaum, on the other hand, was well aware of the true nature of the relationship between Simeon, Jacob and Philoxenus Nemrod, as we may see from the section devoted to Simeon’s family, the Bet Tuma Madnʘoyo, in his work on the history of Tur ȨAbdin. 16 There the learned patriarch informs us on the basis of a Beirut manuscript (which may now be

The name of Philoxenus Nemrod’s father, Abraham, though not mentioned in Chron. eccl., can be supplied from ms. Cantab. Dd 3.82 (W. Wright-A. Cook, A Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts Preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge [Cambridge: CUP, 1901] 986f.). 14 Nöldeke (1892) 260f., 265, 269; Göttsberger (1900) 18f., 22; H. Koffler, Die Lehre des Barhebräus von der Auferstehung der Leiber (Rome: PIOS, 1932) 38f.; Fiey (1975a) 25f.—E. Honigmann seems at least to have construed the relationship correctly, but he too does not press the point (Honigmann [1954] 68f., 72f.). 15 Spuler (1985) 169f. (note the reference there in p. 170 n. 50 to Chron. eccl. II [I] 761–9).—Spuler’s statement that Simeon Rabban Ata retired to a monatery in Mesopotamia around 1265 evidently involves further confusion, this time with Theodore of Quplida (see Chron. eccl. I.767.26f., cf. n. 56 below). 16 I.E. Barʛaum, Maktbonuto d-Ȩal atro d-ʝûr ȨAbdîn (with Arabic translation by G.B. Behnam) (Jounieh: Biban, 1964, rep. of Syriac part only Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1987) Syr. 163–5 (= Arab. 348– 350); cf. id., Al-lu‚lu‚ al-manthûr fî târîkh al-Ȩulûm wa-l-âdâb al-suryânîya (Homs, 19562, rep. Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1987) 407, no. 229 (also 135, no. 24, 163, no. 38). 13

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identified as Charfeh, fonds patriarcal/Rahmani 41 Sony) 17 that the family of Simeon originated from ʗesnâ d-Kêphâ (Hasankeyf), 18 that Simeon’s father Joshua (ob. 1247) 19 had studied under Bishop Iwannis of RaȨban 20 in Melitene and that he had been appointed priest of the newly-built Church of Our Lady in QalȨa Rumaita in 1235 by Patriarch Ignatius III (II) David the “Sâbâ” (1222–52). 21 At an earlier point in the same work, Barʛaum identifies Joshua with the translator of the Chronicle of Michael I the Elder into

See B. Sony, Fihris al-makhʞûʞât al-baʞriyarkîya fî Dair al-Sharfa— Lubnân (Beirut, 1993) 22 (olim 250 sec. Sony’s concordance, ibid., p. 444, but it does not match the ms. given under that number by P. Sherwood, “Le fonds patriarcal de la bibliothèque manuscrite de Charfet,” OrSyr 2 [1957]: 93–107, here p. 102, 106).—The information used by I.E. Barʛaum is given in a colophon on fol. 6. In another colophon, at the end of the anaphora of Patr. Michael I (fol. 1, the text of the anaphora itself is missing), Joshua tells us that he had seen and had been blessed by the patriarch in his childhood, which allows us to place Joshua’s birth at the latest a few years before 1199. 18 Joshua’s full name with the patronymics would be Joshua b. Jacob b. David b. Simeon b. ʝayyib (cf. Sony [1993] loc. cit.).—Gusejnov (op. cit. [1960], index p. 171) is clearly wrong in identifying our Simeon with the physician Simeon Heʛnâyâ mentioned as the restorer of the Monastery of Mar Cyriacus near ʗeʛnâ d-Zaid in 1207 at Chron. eccl. I.723.20f. (cf. Kawerau [1960] 51, 65, 119), since the date 1207 is too early for our Simeon (and too late for his great-great grandfather), while the nisba Heʛnâyâ most probably refers to ʗeʛnâ d-Zaid rather than ʗeʛnâ dKêphâ. 19 The date of Joshua’s death, 14th Sept. 1247, which was unknown to Barʛaum, may be supplied from a colophon in ms. Vat. Borg. syr. 159 (A. Scher, “Notice sur les manuscrits syriaques du Musée Borgia, aujourd’hui à la Bibliothèque Vaticane,” JA 10e sér. 13 [1909]: 249–87, here 283; cf. A. Schmidt, “Die zweifache armenische Rezension der syrischen Chronik Michaels des Großen,” Muséon 109 [1996]: 299–319, here 306). 20 On whom, see J.M. Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus. Répertoire des diocèses syriaques orientaux et occidentaux, Beiruter Texte und Studien 49 (Beirut/Stuttgart: Steiner, 1993), 258. 21 Cf. Chron. eccl. I.665.21–667.5. 17

Simeon of Qalca Rumaita

[7]

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Armenian (or, to be precise, the co-translator, along with Vardan Arewelc’i, of one of the two Armenian versions). 22 The passage which has been the cause of much misunderstanding is the following.

‘ÍؘÍÅØûÄ Êæî ¾æÁÎÁ ÌÁ† I.761.12–20 ‹…ÍÏ~ Íïãü ¾ÙéÏ †…ƒ ÚæÙÓà⃠N K ¾ÜûØûÓñ çâ ¾ýÙýø Íå… ÍïÁš† .¾ÜûØûÓñƒ À˜Íî‡ ¾ÙàÒ ƒ†ûãå Ìãüƒ †…ÍÏ~ ûÂ߃ ç؃ ¾ÜûØûÓñ .ÚæÙÓàãß ˆûéå ¿š†ûÙÏ ¾Ć߃ ¾Ćß~ .ÌÏûè~ ¾Ć߆ …ÿâÍø š†˜ÍîÎÁ áàîš~ ¿ÿàî ÀƒÌÁ† .À˜ÍéÙàøƒ †Ìß ÚæÙÓà⠗ƒ‡J K .¾ýÙýùß ¾ÜûØûÓñ ÿÙÁ ¾ÙæØûÏ ÚÅè Barʛaum (1964) Syr. 153 (= Arab. 337); cf. id., Lu‚lu‚, loc. cit. supra in n. 16.—On the Armenian version(s) of Michael’s Chronicle, see A. Schmidt (1996) along with the literature listed at R.W. Thomson, A Bibliography of Classical Armenian Literature to 1500 AD (Turnhout: Brepols, 1995) 69f.; cf. also Schmidt, “Syrische Tradition in armenischer Adaption. Die armenische Rezeption des Geschichtswerks von Michael Syrus und der antichalcedonische Judenbrief an Kaiser Markianos,” in R. Lavenent (ed.), Symposium Syriacum VII (OCA, 256; Rome: PIOS, 1998) 359–71.—The biographical information given by Schmidt (1996) 303–6 for the Syriac translator consists of a conflation of the data pertaining to our Joshua (YeshuȨ) and those pertaining to the physician ȨÎsâ of Edessa, who was active in Melitene and then at the Cilician court and who, some time around 1244, financed the building of the church of Mar Barʛawma in Sis (Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 505.11–3, [Bedjan] 479.5–8, [Çiçek] 433b 17– 23; Chron. eccl. I.669.21; cf. Honigmann [1954] 45; Fiey [1975a] 8 n. 30).— Cf. n. 91 below.—While the evidence available is a little too meagre for a definitive identification of the Syriac translator of Michael’s Chronicle, variously called Ishôʘ, Ishôʘan etc. in the manuscripts (see Schmidt [1996] 304f. n. 29), with Joshua of ʗesnâ d-Kêphâ, the statement that the translation was made in Hromkla (QalȨa Rumaita) rather than Sis and that the original Syriac text of the Chronicle had been made available to the translators by Patriarch Ignatius [III David], when we remember Joshua’s associations with that patriarch, would seem to speak in favour of such an identification (see V. Langlois, Chronique de Michel le Grand, patriarche des syriens jacobites, traduite pour la première fois sur la version arménienne du prêtre Ischôk [Venice: l’Académie de Saint-Lazare, 1868] 10; cf. n. 88 below).— See further para. [40]–[41] below. 22

54

Hidemi Takahashi “At that time [i.e. in 1266], Gregory of Melitene, alias bishop Simeon, the brother of the Patriarch, died. The priests [henun qashishe] demanded that the Patriarch consecrate the son of their brother, a small child not yet capable of reason, for Melitene [tr. Abbeloos-Lamy: Tum presbyteri illi a patriarcha poposcerunt ut Melitinae ordinaret suum e fratre nepotem, nomine Nemrod, puerulum discretionis nondum capacem]. The patriarch, however, giving his young age as the reason, refused to consecrate him, but assigned Melitene to the bishop of Qlisura, and for this reason [there arose] much strife between the Patriarch and the priests.”

[8]

[9]

[10]

Kawerau, either looking only at the Latin translation and understanding “suum” as referring back to the “patriarch” or understanding the suffix of “aʚu-hun” as referring back to the patriarch and his brother Gregory Simeon, made Nemrod a nephew of Patriarch Ignatius IV Joshua. 23 This misunderstanding then forced Kawerau to make Jacob, the abbot of Mar Barʛawma, a brother of Ignatius IV, and, in order to account for a passage at Chron. eccl. II.455–7, 24 to invent another brother of Ignatius IV, a physician called Rabban Simeon (!), and that despite the fact that Ignatius IV already has a brother called Gregory Simeon. 25 Besides the awkward syntax and the problem of Ignatius IV having two brothers called Simeon, Kawerau’s interpretation involves the problem that it is difficult to see how the patriarch’s refusal to ordain his own nephew should have given rise to “much strife.” The suffix of “aʚu-hun” must, in fact, refer back to “the priests.” Who these priests were is not immediately obvious from the passage. An unfortunate mistake in the translation of

There is some mitigation for Kawerau’s error in the fact the great J.S. Assemani, too, had earlier fallen into the same error in his paraphrase of this passage: “Per idem tempus obiit Gregorius qui et Simeon Melitinae episcopus, Patriarchae frater: cuius loco ut Nemrod eius [sc. Gregorii Simeonis] ex fratre nepotem ordinaret, Presbyteri eius Ecclesiae [i.e. presbyteri Melitinenses] Patriarcham rogarunt” (Assemani, B.O. II.381). 24 Quoted under para. [12] below. 25 Kawerau (1960) 72, 121. 23

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Abbeloos-Lamy a few lines later suggests that the local clergy in Melitene are meant. 26

Úùæå½Á ¾ÜûØûÓñ ¾Ćß~ Chron. eccl. I.761.24–26 K ÌÓàü~ ÚæÙÓàâ çâ ¾ýÙýøƒ ÀûÂè äß úéñÿåƒ .ûòß “at vero patriarcha ut spe dejiceret presbyteros Melitenenses, Pharagum etsi reluctantem praefecit” (my italics). We need here rather to read: .”.. in order that the hope of the priests might be cut off from Melitene ...,” i.e. so that the priests would give up the hope of installing Nemrod in Melitene.

[11]

[12]

“The priests” must, in fact, be the priestly brothers Simeon and Jacob b. Joshua of QalȨa Rumaita, between whom and the patriarch there was an ongoing quarrel, and who are referred to some lines later at Chron. eccl. I.763.6 as “the priests of QalȨa Rumaita” (qashishe d-QalȨa Rumoito). The following passages of Chron. eccl., taken together, ought to provide sufficient proof for this point. I.769.27f.: “the deacon Nemrod, the son of the brother of Rabban Simeon” I.771.2–7: “With his [Bar ȨEbroyo’s] consent, (the Patriarch) deposed Faraj from Melitene and consecrated Nemrod as the Metropolitan of Melitene in the Monastery of Gawikat on Sunday 1st Teshrin I 1585 A.Gr. [Oct. 1273], calling him Philoxenus. The Maphrian took him, brought him to Melitene and carried out the enthronement... I.773.5–8: “In those days, Rabban Jacob, the abbot of Mar Barʛawma, fearing for (the safety of) the son of his brother, the bishop Philoxenus of Melitene, ...” I.779.4–15: “Then, Jacob, the priest, of QalȨa Rumaita, 27 ... summoned to the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma three bishops ... and forced them to Same error in Assemani, see n. 23 above. I.e. “the priest Jacob, native of QalȨa Rumaita,” not “Jacobus, Castri Romani presbyter,” “Jakob, Presbyter in QalȨa Rumaita,” as Abbeloos-Lamy and Kawerau (1960) 72 translate the phrase. 26 27

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Hidemi Takahashi consecrate the son of his brother, Philoxenus of Melitene, alias Nemrod, as the Patriarch in 1574 A.Gr. [1283], on the feast of the Entry [Presentation] of Our Lord in the Temple.” II.455.19–22, 457.7–11 [after Bar ȨEbroyo’s refusal to receive the delegation from the newly-elected Patriarch Philoxenus Nemrod]: “Later, Rabban Simeon, the physician, came to the Maphrian in person and tried to persuade him with many (words) to accept [nqabliw(hy)] 28 the son of his brother ... While (the Maphrian) was on his way [to Nineveh], Taj al-Daula, the son of Rabban Simeon, came to him concerning the same matter. Because the Maphrian had educated and taught him, and loved him as (his own) son, he received him [qableh] and the gifts (he had) with him.”

[13]

The recognition that Patriarch Philoxenus Nemrod was Simeon’s nephew serves to underline the influence those with connections to the civil powers could exercise on the affairs of the Syriac Orthodox Church, for it was no doubt through Simeon’s influence at the Ilkhanid court that Jacob was able to force through the election of his nephew to the highest office in the church despite the fact that the election had been held hastily under irregular circumstances, 29 just as it must have been through It seems that the verb “qabel.” here has been understood in the sense of “receive, meet” (see, e.g., the English translation of the passage at Budge [1932] xxvi.7), allowing the interpretation that Simeon’s nephew was a member of the delegation from Philoxenus. Although “qabel.” at II.457.11 (with ref. to Taj al-Daula) must have that sense, “qabel.” here needs to be taken to mean “accept [the election to the patriarchate of].” 29 The first thing Jacob did after the consecration of Philoxenus Nemrod was indeed to contact the Mongol noyan in the vicinity; together with a messenger from the noyan, Jacob then travelled to the khan’s residence at Alaʜaq to obtain the latter’s recognition (Chron. eccl. I.779.15– 21).—On Alâʜâq, Ala-Dag, to the north of Lake Van, a favoured summer residence of the Il-khans, see F.W. Cleaves, “The Mongolian Names and Terms in the History of the Nation of the Archers by Grigor of Akanc’,” HJAS 12 (1949) 400–443, here 404; Honigmann (1954) 73 n. 3; Gusejnov (1960) 160 n. 315; Spuler (1985) 278 n. 1 et passim.—I.779.15 smgrnwyn ed. Abbeloos-Lamy; swngr nwyn ms. Bodl. Hunt. 1, 607c 18: perhaps the same name (not same person) as that rendered shwmgr at Chron. [Bedjan] 491.10 28

Simeon of Qalca Rumaita

[14]

[15]

57

Simeon’s influence that Simeon and Jacob had been able earlier to assert themselves in their quarrel with Patriarch Ignatius IV Joshua. It might be remembered here that Ignatius IV, for his part, had close connections with the Armenian rulers in Cilicia. 30 He had, in the first place, been the abbot of Gawikat in Cilicia and it was in Cilicia that he was elected to the patiarchate, one of the grounds for his election evidently being the favour in which he was held by “the king and his magnates.” 31 On one occasion in the conflict over the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma, it was through Prince Lewon, the son of Hetcum I (1226–70), who was visiting the khan at the time (in July 1269), that Ignatius obtained the yarlik granting him the possession of the monastery. 32 A little later in 1272, when Prince T’oros (future T’oros III 1294–99), the son of the same Lewon (now King Lewon III, 1270–89), was baptised, it was, as we learn from an Armenian chronicle, not the Armenian catholicos but the Syrian patriarch who officiated at the ceremony. 33 Such close connections with the civil powers were not to bode well for the fortunes of the Syriac Orthodox Church. As we know

(arabice/persice “Jûmghâr,” “Jûmqûr,” Mukhtasar târîkh al-duwal [ed. 1958] 263.15; Rashîd al-Dîn, ed. E. Quatremère, Histoire des mongols de la Perse écrite en persan par Raschid-Eldin, t. premier [Paris: Imprimerie royale, 1836] 98.9 with n. 24; Boyle [1958] 611 n. 20; Spuler [1985] 220).—At Chron. eccl. I.779.15f., instead of ÍÁ–ƒ ¾ĆãÜ~ ¾Üûýß ‹…ÍàÝè “et reliqua pro libitu suo inique perfecerunt,” we should probably read “... ¾Áûýß ...,” “they explained the matter to him [to the noyan] as it suited them.” 30 Ignatius IV’s two immediate predecessors, Ignatius III David and John b. MaȨdani, too, had close links with the Cilicians and resided for much of the time in their territory.—E. Ter-Minassiantz, Die armenische Kirche in ihren Beziehungen zu den syrischen Kirchen bis zum Ende des 13. Jahrhunderts (TU NF 11/3; Leipzig: Hinrich, 1904) 132, would see in the developments around this time an attempt on the part of Armenians to make the Syriac Orthodox dependent upon them. 31 Chron. eccl. I.749.7 (‹…ÍæÁƘ† ¾Ýàâ áî äÙϘ).—We might also note in this connection Bar ȨEbroyo’s designation of Ignatius and his supporters as “honun da-b-Qiliqiya” (Chron. eccl. I.753.21f., 24). 32 Chron. eccl. I.765.1–10.—For the date of Lewon’s visit to the khan, see Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 547.5–7, [Bedjan] 526.7–9, [Çiçek] 476a 1–4. 33 G. Dédéyan, La chronique attribuée au Connétable Smbat, DRHC 13 (Paris: Geuthner, 1980), 125.

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little about Philoxenus’ patriarchate, 34 we do not know how Simeon’s fall in 1289 affected his position, but the effect could only have been adverse. A little later, as often in the history of the church, this dependence on the civil powers became a major factor in the schism which followed Philoxenus’ death in 1292 and which contributed to the weakening of the church in this troubled period; of the three claimants Ignatius/Michael Barʛawma, the abbot of Gawikat (ob. 1312), 35 had the support of the “Armenian king,” as well as of the “Mongols and Greeks in many places,” 36 while Badr Zâkê Bar Wahîb of Mardin (1293–1333) 37 turned to Malik alManʛûr of Mardin for support 38 and the short-lived Constantine attempted, at any rate, to win the support of “the rulers (aʚide),” presumably the Seljuks in Melitene. 39

III. SIMEON AND BAR ȨEBROYO [16]

Bar ȨEbroyo tells us in his Chron. that when Aleppo was taken by the Mongols in January 1260, he went to Hulagu’s camp to entreat, in vain as it turned out, for the safety of his flock and was detained by the Mongols in QalȨa Najm. 40 Bar ȨEbroyo then does not tell us anything about his own whereabouts between this date and 1263, when, upon the death of Patriarch John b. MaȨdanî, we find him at the Ilkhanid court (camp, ordu), 41 in the capacity of a physician in

Cf. para. [30] below.—We do have a list of fifteen bishops ordained by Philoxenus in ms. Cantab. Dd 3.82 (cf. n. 13 above; Barʛaum [1964] 165, 351 init.; id., Lu‚lu‚ 135, no. 28). 35 Cf. Barʛaum, Lu‚lu‚ 437, no. 242; cf. also ibid. 135, no. 30. 36 Chron. eccl. I.783.4f. 37 Cf. Barʛaum, Lu‚lu‚ 437f., no. 244. 38 Chron. eccl. I.785.17–24, II.495.20–26.—Malik al-Manʛûr: the Artuqid (Ortoqid) Najm al-Dîn Ghâzî II al-Manʛûr, 1294–1312 (Honigmann [1954] 74 n. 1). 39 Chron. eccl. I.785.8–12, cf. Honigmann (1954) 74, 174. 40 Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 533.6–8, [Bedjan] 510.14–7, [Çiçek] 461b. 4–9.—QalȨa Najm/QalȨat al-Najm has been identified with Gishrâ/Jisr Manbij, on the Euphrates to the east of Mabbug/Manbij (Honigmann [1954] 124). 41 An overview of the places where the nomadic Il-khans resided is given at Spuler (1985) 278–80. 34

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[17]

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Hulagu’s service and in the company of the priest-physician Simeon. 42 Koffler has put forward the view that Bar ȨEbroyo had spent much of this intervening period at the Mongol court in Maragha and that perhaps in the household of Simeon. The evidence adduced by Koffler is inconclusive, since his argument rests mainly on Bar ȨEbroyo’s statement that it was in Maragha that he met some of the informants for his report of the events in 1260, 43 but this does not imply that Bar ȨEbroyo was in Maragha for the whole of the period from 1260 to 1263, nor need it be before 1263 that he met these informants. 44 Furthermore, Koffler’s assertion that it Chron. eccl. I.746.ult.–747.6. Koffler (1932) 38f.—Of the passages cited there by Koffler, Chron. p. 556 (tr. Bruns-Kirsch) = ed. Bedjan 511.15–9 (corr. tr. Budge p. 437, where there is a glaring error in the translation of the phrase b-ordu, “in the Ordu,” which Budge turns into a personal name, “‘Ardû”).—Historia dynastiarum (Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal), p. 350 (tr. Pococke) = ed. A. ʙâlʘânî, Târîkh mukhtaʜar al-duwal li-l-Ȩallâma Ghrîghûriyûs al-malaʞî al-maȨrûf bi-‚Ibn al-ȨIbrî (Beirut: al-MaʜbaȨa al-Kâthûlîkîya, 19582) 280.23–281.13; K. alManʛûr, Târîkh mukhtaʜar al-duwal ta‚lîf alȨcallâma Abî al-Faraj Ghrîghûriyûs b. Ahrûn al-Malaʞî al-maȨrûf bi-‚Ibn al-ȨIbrî al-mutawaffâ sana 685 h. (Beirut: Dâr al-Kutub al-ȨIlmîyya, 1997) 245 (corresponding passage in Chron. at ed. Bedjan 513.3–22). The astronomer-informant mentioned without name by Koffler is none other than Muʘyi al-Dîn [Yaʘyâ b. Muʘammad b. Abî al-Shukr] al-Maghribî, who is mentioned again by Bar ȨEbroyo at ed. Beirut 1958, 287.7 and who, according to Hâjjî Khalîfa, composed an epitome of the Almagest at Bar ȨEbroyo’s behest (Hâjjî Khalîfa, Kashf alzunûn, ed. G. Flügel, Lexicon bibliographicum et encyclopaedicum a Mustafa ben Abdallah Katib Jelebi dicto nomine Haji Khalfa celebrato compositum [Leipzig/London: Oriental Translation Fund, 1935–58, rep. New York/London: Johnson Reprint Corporation, 1964] V. 387, 389; cf. Suter, Die Mathematiker und Astronomen der Araber und ihre Werke [Leipzig: Teubner, 1900, rep. Amsterdam: APA Oriental Press, 1981] 155; C. Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen Literatur, 2nd ed. [Leiden: Brill, 1943, rep. ibid. 1996], I.474, Suppl. [ibid. 1937–42, rep. ibid. 1996], I.868f., F. Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums [Leiden: Brill, 1967–84, Frankfurt: IGAIW, 1995–2000] V.114, 141, 155, 163, 187, 401, VI.292). 44 A better argument perhaps than Koffler’s would be the relatively detailed knowledge Bar ȨEbroyo shows of the reactions of the Mongol authorities to the series of events surrounding Dionysius ȨAngur’s 42 43

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was during this period that Bar ȨEbroyo wrote the Mnorat qudshe (Candelabrum sanctuarii), K. d-zalge (L. radiorum) and K. d-hudoye (Nomocanon) must now be rejected. 45

assassination in 1261 (Chron. eccl. I.729–741), but for this, too, Bar ȨEbroyo need not have been an eye-witness. 45 Koffler’s dating of these three works to 1260–4 (Koffler [1932] 33ff.) rested on Nallino’s argument that the Hudoye, in which the other two works are mentioned (Hudoye VII.9, ed. P. Bedjan, Nomocanon Gregorii Barhebraei [Paris/Leipzig: Harrassowitz, 1898], 106.10f.; ed. J.Y. Çiçek, Nomocanon of Bar-Hebraeus [Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1986], 64a.4f.; cf. Assemani, B.O. II.303a), was written before Bar ȨEbroyo’s elevation to the maphrianate (C.A. Nallino, “Il diritto musulmano nel Nomocanone siriaco cristiano di Barhebreo,” RSO 9 [1922/3]: 512–80, here 524f.; = id., Raccolta di scritti editi e inediti IV [Rome: Istituto per l’Oriente, 1942] 227–9; cf. also Vööbus [1970] 506f.). This argument of Nallino’s, however, has been invalidated by Teule, Gregory Barhebraeus. Ethicon (Mêmrâ I) (CSCO, 534–5, syr. 218–9; Louvain: Peeters, 1993), versio 80 n. 45. The date of composition of the Mnorat qudshe, most probably the earliest of the three, must, in fact, be placed in the late 1260’s and early 1270’s in view of the reference to 1575 A.Gr. (1263/4) as “three years ago” in Base II (II.3.4.3, ed. J. Bakos, Le Candélabre des sanctuaires de Grégoire Aboulfaradj dit Barhebraeus (PO, 22/4, 24/3; Paris: Firmin-Didot 1930–3] 221.6–8; ed. J.Y. Çiçek, Mnorath kudshe (Lamp of the Sanctuary) by Mor Gregorios Yohanna Bar Ebryoyo [Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1997] 140.30–33; cf. Bakos, op. cit. 222 n. 1; also F. Nau, “La cosmographie au VIIe siècle chez les Syriens,” ROC 15 [1910]: 225–54, here 246, 247 n. 2) and the period of “approximately 1274 years” since the birth of Christ mentioned in Base IV (IV.3.1.1, ed. J. Khoury, Le candélabre du sanctuaire de Grégoire Abou’lfaradj dit Barhebraeus. Quatrième base: de l’Incarnation [PO, 31/1; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1964] 40.1f.; ed. Çiçek, 315.24–6; cf. Khoury, op. cit., intro. 7f; id., “Une synthèse de christologie jacobite: la ‘quatrième base’ du ‘Candélabre des sanctuaires’ de Grégoire Aboulfaradj dit Barhebraeus,” Diss. Institut Catholique de Paris [unpublished], I.24f.); the latter passage indicates that this part was probably written, not in 1274 as Khoury supposed, but in 1271/2, since Bar ȨEbroyo elsewhere places Christ’s birth in 309 A.Gr. (Chron. [BrunsKirsch] 50.3, [Bedjan] 45.20, [Çiçek] 38b 3f.; Awʜar roze, chronological tables, ed. Zolinski, Zur Chronographie des Gregorius Abulpharagius, Diss. Heidelberg [Breslau 1894], Table IV l. 64; cf. L. Bernhard, Die Chronologie

Simeon of Qalca Rumaita [18]

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Nevertheless, the likelihood remains that Bar ȨEbroyo had spent at least some of the time between 1260 and 1263 in Maragha, and he may have been helped in establishing his position there through the contacts he already had at the Ilkhanid court. It has been suggested by some that Bar ȨEbroyo may have had contacts among the Mongols going back to the time when his father Aaron treated the Mongol general (noyan) Yasa’ur who had fallen ill while attacking Melitene in 641 A.H. (1243/4). 46 Although Yasa’ur may still have been around in the 1260’s, since he was still alive and stood under Hulagu’s command as late, at least, as summer 1256, 47 it seems unlikely that Bar ȨEbroyo could have expected any protection from him, seeing that Aaron, who had actually treated him, received no protection and remained in hiding when Yasa’ur attacked the region around Melitene for the second time in the summer of 1252. 48 der syrischen Handschriften [VOHD Suppl., 14; Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1971] 129f.). 46 Bar ȨEbroyo, Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal [Beirut 1958], 255.8–10, [Beirut 1997] 223.20–22 (= Assemani, B.O. II.245a 10–15; see also Bar ȨEbroyo, Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 504.18–505.11, [Bedjan] 478.13–479.5, [Çiçek] 433a 12-b 17).—On the name Yasa’ur noyan, rendered “Saurnavinus’ by Assemani, see J.A. Boyle, The History of the WorldConqueror by ȨAla-ad-Din ȨAta-Malik Juvaini (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958) 46 n. 13; F. Sümer, “Anadolu’da Mogollar,” Selçuklu Arastirmalari Dergisi (Ankara) 1 (1970): 1–147, here 1, 31, 142; Fiey [1975a] 8 n. 29. 47 Juwainî, Târîkh-i jahân-gushâi, tr. J.A. Boyle (1958) 712–4; Vardan Arewel’ci, Hawak’umn patmut’ean §90, tr. R. Thomson, “The Historical Compilation of Vardan Arewelc’i,” DOP 43 (1989): 125–226, here 217; cf. Boyle, “Kirakos of Ganjak on the Mongols,” CAsJ 8 (1963): 199–214, here 211 n. 95; id., “Some Additional Notes on the Mongolian Names in the History of the Nation of Archers,” in L. Ligeti (ed.), Researches in Altaic Languages (BOH, 20; Budapest: Akad. Kiadó, 1975) 33–42, here 34f. 48 Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 517.7–10, [Bedjan] 492.15–20, [Çiçek] 445b 10–20.—Here again an infelicity in Budge’s translation suggests that Yasa’ur’s campaign took place not in 1252 but in 1255, and this has led to errors of dating in Boyle, “Kirakos” 211 n. 95, id. (1975) 35, Fiey (1975a) 17 and Fiey (1993) 202. The sentence mentioning the date 653 A.H. (1255/6) at ed. Bedjan 491.18f. must be understood as being in parenthesis and the phrase “in the same year” at 491.19 understood as

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A contact Bar ȨEbroyo would have had from a more recent past is with the fellow-Melitenite physician Qir Michael b. Gabras. 49 It was through Qir Michael that Patriarch Dionysius ȨAngur had obtained the recognition of the Mongols on his accession 50 and it was with Qir Michael, who was on embassy from the Ilkhanid court, that Bar ȨEbroyo travelled to the Ayyubid court in Damascus in 1258 to petition for his own and Dionysius’ reinstatement, respectively, to the see of Aleppo and to the patriarchate. 51 When we meet Bar ȨEbroyo at the Mongol court in 1263, however, it is not in the company of Qir Michael that we find him, but, as we have seen, in that of Simeon, who had himself entered Hulagu’s service in or around 1260. 52 There at the court, the two men were approached by an aspirant to the patriarchal throne, Theodore of Quplida. 53 The way in which Simeon then confides to Bar ȨEbroyo his disapproval of the would-be patriarch and tells Bar ȨEbroyo to inform him of the outcome of the synod in Cilicia before the installation of the new patriarch suggests that Bar ȨEbroyo and Simeon had already known each other for some time

referring back to 650 A.H. (Mar. 1252-Feb. 1253) given at 490.25, in view of the reference, at 491.21, to the previous campaign of Yasa’ur, which had taken place in 641 A.H. = 1243/4, as being eight years earlier and in view of the fact that this second campaign coincided with the patriarchal election of Dionysius ȨAngur, which we know from Chron. eccl. I.698–701 to have taken place in Sept. 1252. 49 Pace Kawerau (1960) 51, Michael was presumably Greek, rather than Syriac Orthodox by religion, as the title qîr (< Gk. kyrios) suggests (cf. Chron. [Bedjan] 429.4, 501.22, Payne Smith, Thesaurus syriacus col. 3611, s.v.). Cahen suggests that he may have been a member of the family of Gavras (Taronites), who were prominent in Trebizond and some of whom had entered the service of the Rum Seljuks (C. Cahen, “Une famille byzantine au service des Seljuqides d’Asie-Mineure,” in P. Wirth (ed.), Polychronion. Festschrift F. Dölger zum 75. Geburtstag [Heidelberg: Winter, 1966] 145–9, here 148). 50 Chron. eccl. I.717.18–20. 51 Chron. eccl. I.727.13–26; cf. II.427.14–7 (cf. Koffler [1932] 37; Kawerau [1960] 51). 52 See the passage quoted under para. [3] above. 53 Chron. eccl. I.747.3ff.

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and that Simeon already saw Bar ȨEbroyo as his confidant at this stage. 54 While the elections of Ignatius IV Joshua and Bar ȨEbroyo to the patriarchate and to the maphrianate were taking place in Cilicia (Jan. 1264), Simeon’s brother, Jacob, was approached by Theodore of Quplida in QalȨa Rumaita and went to Cilicia in an attempt to annul the election of Ignatius IV. Having failed in his attempt, Jacob then travelled with Theodore and a group of rebel bishops to the Ilkhanid court. There, however, they were outmanoeuvred by Ignatius IV and his “Cilician party,” who succeeded in winning royal recognition, largely, according to his own report, through the work of Bar ȨEbroyo. 55 Bar ȨEbroyo does not tell us what role Simeon had to play in this affair and it is, in fact, surprising that Jacob failed to gain access to the khan despite his brother’s influential position at the court. It would seem either that Simeon felt bound by his obligation to Bar ȨEbroyo, or that Jacob’s persuasion was not enough to reverse his brother’s earlier negative opinion of Theodore. 56 Whatever Simeon’s attitude to Ignatius IV was at the beginning, it was not long before he was in open conflict with him, since the rebel bishops of ʗesnâ d-Zaid 57 and Claudia, when caught up by the patriarch, excused themselves by saying that they had been forced into what they did by “Rabban Simeon and his brothers,” 58 and the conflict over the control of the Monastery of

Chron. eccl. I.747.17–22. Chron. eccl. I.751–7. 56 Theodore was, in fact, abandoned a little later by Simeon and Jacob, supposedly on account of his unpopularity with the masses (Chron. eccl. I.757.24–7). Theodore then went over to the side of the patriarch (I.761.26ff.) and was entrusted with the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma, but was immediately ejected by the Simeonians and retired to the Monastery of Shîrâ (I.767.9–28, cf. n. 15 above), a monastery probably located at the confluence of the ʙiro Çayi with the Euphrates, downstream of Melitene (Honigmann [1954] 82). 57 I.e. Dioscorus Theodore of ʗesnâ d-Zaid (ʗisn Ziyâd/Harput), who had been proclaimed maphrian by the schismatic party (Chron. eccl. I.757.19–24; cf. I.753.2; Barʛaum Lu‚lu‚, 411; Fiey [1993] 216). 58 Chron. eccl. I.759.12–4. 54 55

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Mar Barʛawma, as well as over the episcopal appointment at Melitene, was soon in full swing. 59 In his Chronicon ecclesiasticum, Bar ȨEbroyo portrays his own position in this conflict as that of a neutral, concerned more with ending the conflict than supporting the claims of either party. 60 In his account of the conflict he appears equally critical of the litigiosity of both parties and, while there are some passages suggesting that he was if anything more sympathetic to the patriarch, 61 it has to be remembered that this account was probably written some years after the end of the conflict and the reconciliation of the two parties. One suspects rather that there may have been some genuine ground for the patriarch’s suspicion, reported by Bar ȨEbroyo himself, that he was on Simeon’s side. 62 The conflict ended, so to speak, in a legal victory for the Simeonians but in a moral victory for the patriarchal party, since some years after securing their legal rights to the monastery, the Simeonians, realising their unpopularity with the faithful, decided to reconcile themselves with the patriarch. 63 Having made peace with the patriarch, Jacob comes to the Ilkhanid court to meet his brother and then to the city of Maragha to see Bar ȨEbroyo. From there he returns with Bar ȨEbroyo to the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma and then to Cilicia. In Cilicia, the patriarch decides, in consultation with the maphrian, to depose Athanasius Faraj of

Chron. eccl. I.759–69. Bar ȨEbroyo makes no mention of his role in this conflict in Part I of his Chron. eccl., but in the account of his own maphrianate in Part II he tells us how, as he was on his way to the West in 1579 A.Gr. (1258/9), his path crossed with that of the patriarch who, for his part, was on his way to the Mongol court to bring a suit against Simeon. The maphrian did not wish to speak to the patriarch at first because he had earlier advised the patriarch against bringing such cases before the Mongols, which would only debase his own community in the eyes of the Mongols (Chron. eccl. II.439.17–441.13; see also II.441.21–5). 61 See, for example, how Bar ȨEbroyo talks of “the patriarch, bishops and monks” resuming possession of the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma “with great joy” (Chron. eccl. I.763.18f.). 62 Chron. eccl. II.441.4f. 63 Chron. eccl. I.769.1–12. 59 60

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Melitene and to consecrate in his place Nemrod, the nephew of Simeon and Jacob (1st Oct. 1273). 64 It is interesting to see that it is Bar ȨEbroyo who then carries out the enthronement ceremony in Melitene in contravention of the rule that the maphrian should have no jurisdiction in areas under the rule of the patriarch. 65 It was no doubt the special circumstances of this ordination and the special relationship of the maphrian to the family of Simeon which led to the breaking of this rule, since we know from a passage already quoted under para. [12] above that Simeon’s son Taj al-Daula was taught by Bar ȨEbroyo 66 and it transpires from a passage occurring later on in Chron. eccl. that Nemrod himself was a disciple of Bar ȨEbroyo at one time. 67 Bar ȨEbroyo’s reaction to the election of Philoxenus Nemrod to the patriarchate in 1283 needs in particular to be seen in the light of his relationship to the family of Simeon. He refuses at first to recognise the election of Philoxenus, which was, as Bar ȨEbroyo stresses, carried out under irregular circumstances and forced through by the candidate’s uncle, Jacob. Bar ȨEbroyo also rejects Simeon’s approach on behalf of his nephew, but finally relents when approached by his former pupil and Philoxenus’ cousin, Taj al-Daula b. Simeon. 68 In a letter which he then wrote to the new patriarch and which he reproduced in his Chron. eccl., Bar ȨEbroyo insists that he had had no ambition to become patriarch himself and that it was only the irregularities in the electoral procedure that he objected to. 69 In the light of the associations between Bar ȨEbroyo and Simeon’s family, it becomes all the more surprising that he should have opposed Philoxenus’ election. Bar ȨEbroyo’s very insistence in his letter that he had had no ambitions on the patriarchal throne, in Chron. eccl. I.769.13–771.9 (see under para. [12] above). On the rule, Kawerau (1960) 31 n. 204 (see also ibid., 32). 66 Chron. eccl. II.457.7–11. 67 Chron. eccl. II.489.20–3 [in the continuation by Barʛawma, recounting his own consecration as maphrian by Philoxenus Nemrod in 1289]: “because Mar Philoxenus, the patriarch there [i.e. Monastery of Mar Barʛawma] had been his disciple [i.e. Barʛawma’s disciple] when he was in the service of the brother of this man [i.e. brother of Barʛawma, = Barhebraeus maior], ....” 68 Chron. eccl. II.455.14–457.11 (see under para. [12] above). 69 Chron. eccl. II.457.13–459.22. 64 65

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fact, raises precisely the suspicion that he might have had such an ambition. 70 Simeon, in particular, might have been expected after their long years of friendship to support Bar ȨEbroyo’s candidacy, and perhaps it was because Bar ȨEbroyo felt betrayed by Simeon that he refused to accept his approach. Another factor behind Bar ȨEbroyo’s initial refusal may have been his sense of alarm at the increasing influence and monopoly of Simeon’s family over the affairs of the Syriac Orthodox Church. How the relationship between Simeon and Bar ȨEbroyo stood at the time of the latter’s death in 1286 is difficult to assess, but it may be significant that neither Bar ȨEbroyo nor his continuator (here most probably Bar ȨEbroyo’s brother Barʛawma) found anything to say about Philoxenus Nemrod’s deeds in the part of Chron. eccl. dedicated to his patriarchate, the only event mentioned there being an earthquake which struck Melitene and the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma, the residence of the patriarch, in 1596 (1284/5) as a “chastisement” for “our follies.” 71 Bar ȨEbroyo tells us at Chron. eccl. I.777.1–10 of how Ignatius IV, sensing his approaching death, had written asking Bar ȨEbroyo to come him to “take care of him and of the (patriarchal) see” (cf. F. Schulthess, review article “Göttsberger, J., Barhebräus und seine Scholien zur Heiligen Schrift ...,” GGA 164 [1902]: 161–8, here 162; W. Hage, “Gregorius Barhebräus,” in M. Greschat [ed.], Gestalten der Kirchengeschichte IV [Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1983] 63–72, here 68).—We remember also that out of Philoxenus’ four immediate predecessors in the patriarchate, two, Ignatius III David and John b. MaȨdani, had been raised to that dignity from the maphrianate (cf. Kawerau [1960] 19). 71 Chron. eccl. I.779–81.—It might also be noted that the passage dealing with Simeon found at Chron. [Bedjan] 512.9–16 is suppressed at the corresponding place in the Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal (the passage would had its place between the sentences ending and beginning at ed. Beirut 1958, 280.17), but one need not attach much weight to this omission, as such omissions are common in the Mukhtaʜar. For discussions on the relationship between Chron. and Mukhtaʜar târîkh alduwal, see the literature cited at Lane (1999) §30–1 (Lüders, Conrad, Teule; of which Teule’s analysis appears the most sound); to these one might add C. Colpe, “Bar Hebräus über die Manichäer,” in E. Dassmann & K.S. Frank (ed.), Pietas. Festschrift für Bernhard Kötting (JAC.E, 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1980) 237–42, here 239, 241f., and among older literature— ne pereant—P.J. Bruns, De rebus gestis Richardi Angliae regis in Palaestina. 70

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Simeon outlived Bar ȨEbroyo by two and a half years, until he was executed together with other conspirators involved in the rebellion of Bogha (Bûqâ), the vizier of Arghun Khan, on 14th January 1289. 72 The connection between the families of Bar ȨEbroyo and Simeon was continued when Philoxenus consecrated his former teacher and Bar ȨEbroyo’s brother, Barʛawma, as maphrian in 1289. 73 In the Chron. eccl., at least, we hear nothing of Simeon’s family subsequent to Philoxenus’ death a little later in July 1292. 74

Excerptum ex Gregorii Abulpharagii Chronico syriaco (Oxford: Fletcher, Prince & Cooke / London: White & Payne, 1780) 3; X. [= J.D. Michaelis?], review article “Gregorii Abulpharagii sive Bar Hebraei Chronicon Syriacum ... descripsit ... Paulus Iacob Bruns ... Georg. Guil. Kirsch ...,” NOEB 7 (1790): 1–24, here 4–9; anonymous, “Der Uebergang der Oberherrschaft von den Ommaiaden auf die Abbasiden, nach dem syrischen und arabischen Texte des Abu-l-Faradsch zusammengestellt,” Fundgruben des Orients (Vienna) 5 (1816): 346–50. 72 Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 581.2f., [Bedjan] 563.5f., [Çiçek] 511a 8– 11.—Here again Budge’s translation (p. 480 init.), identifying Simeon with Abû al-Kiram of Arbil, is misleading (and misled Fiey [1975a] 51): “And on that day was killed also Shem’un, the priest, and physician, and lawyer, who was a Christian and a native of ‘Arbîl (now he was named ‘‘Abû alKarâm’).” Bedjan’s punctuation is correct: ”~ áÓøš~ ¾ĆâÍÙÁ ÌÁ† ¿†… Ìâÿý⃠¾ÙàÙÁ˜~ ¾ÙæÙÓéØûÜ þå~ ¾ùÙâÍå† ¾Ùè~† ¾ýÙýø Íïãü ûÝß~ ÍÁ~ (recte, following Bedjan, tr. Armalet 50 [1956] 390.21f.). The confirmation for this and for the identification of the priest-physician Simeon here with Simeon of QalȨa Rumaita is provided by Rashîd al-Dîn: “… u-ShimȨûn maȨrûf bi-Rûm QalȨa u-Bahâ‚ al-Daula Abû al-Kiram naʛrânî tamâmat râ bi-yâsâ rasânîdand” (K. Jahn, Ta‚rîh-i-Mubârak-i-Gâzânî des Rasîd al-Dîn Faʘl Allâh Abî-l-Hair. Geschichte der Ilhâne Abâgâ bis Gaihâtû (1265–1295) [Prague, 1941, rep. The Hague: Mouton & Co., 1957], 72.15f., cf. German summary p. 41f.; also J. von Hammer-Purgstall, Geschichte der Ilchane [Darmstadt: Leske, 1842–3], I.380).—The date, Friday 14th Kanun II, is that given in the continuation of Chron.; Rashîd al-Dîn gives the date of Bogha’s execution as 21st Dhu al-ʗijja 687 (= Sun. 16th Jan.). 73 Chron. eccl. II.489–91 (cf. n. 67 above). 74 Chron. eccl. I.781.4–6.

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IV. SIMEON AS BAR ȨEBROYO’S LITERARY PATRON [33]

[34]

[35]

So far we have been looking at what we may gather from Bar ȨEbroyo’s historical works concerning the relationship between him and Simeon. These, however, are not the only places where Simeon is mentioned by Bar ȨEbroyo. In the prefaces of two of his works, Suloqo hawnonoyo (Ascensus mentis), a work on astronomy and mathematical geography, and K. d-remze wa-mȨironwoto (L. indicationum et prognosticorum), the translation of Ibn Sina’s K. al-Ishârât wa-ltanbîhât, Bar ȨEbroyo tells us that these works were written at the request of “Rabban Simeon, the king of the physicians of the king of kings of the world,” specified further in K. d-remze as “the son of the late Rabban Joshua, the priest, of QalȨa Rumaita.” 75 When we take these dedications together with our knowledge that Simeon’s son Taj al-Daula and his nephew Nemrod were tutored by Bar ȨEbroyo, 76 it is not difficult to imagine that these two works, and perhaps some others, were written specifically for the education of the younger members of Simeon’s family, along, perhaps, with a group of elite pupils around them, who were being groomed for high offices, be it ecclesiastical or, as had now become possible under the Mongols, political. The intended readership of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works and his intentions in composing his works are matters which have not so far been explored in any depth. Some of his works were no doubt intended for the education of the clergy and the two works of systematic theology, Mnorat qudshe and K. d-zalge, are indeed mentioned, albeit implicitly, as recommended readings in the

For Suloqo hawnonoyo, see the edition of F. Nau, Le livre de l’ascension de l’esprit (BEHE.E, 121; Paris: Firmin-Didot/Bouillon, 1899), text 2.3–6, tr. 1f. The superscription and preface of K. d-remze as found in ms. Mingana syr. 558 are reproduced in A. Mingana, The Catalogue of the Mingana Collection of Manuscripts, vol. I (Cambridge: Heffner, 1933), col. 1031f. The same passage is found in ms. Florence, Laur. or. 86 (no. 185 catal. S.E. Assemani), the codex veterrimus of K. d-remze copied in 1278, at fol. 1v 1–12, with the following variants: catal. Mingana col. 1032 line 1 dmadnʚo d-hu Bar ȨEbroyo: om. Laur.; l. 2 gurogo: pl. Laur.; l. 3 nwghy’: nwhgy’ Laur. 76 See para. [27] above. 75

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chapter on the priesthood in his K. d-hudoye (Nomocanon). 77 It is more difficult to see what use the ordinary clergy of his day had for those works of Bar ȨEbroyo dealing with the secular sciences, such as astronomy and natural philosophy. While there is evidence to show that Bar ȨEbroyo was interested in raising the general educational standard of his flock, 78 the subjects dealt with in these works could only have been of interest to an elite group. That there were specific people asking Bar ȨEbroyo to compose works on the secular sciences is, in fact, suggested by a sentence in the well-known, “autobiographical” passage at the beginning of Chapter 4 in the K. d-yawno (Liber columbae), 79 where Bar ȨEbroyo tells us how, after he had become disillusioned with Bar ȨEbroyo, Hudoye VII.9, [Bedjan] 105f., [Çiçek] 63–4 (cf. Assemani, B.O. II.302f., III/2.937–9, Vööbus [1970] 518–20), where after listing the canonical books of the Bible, Bar ȨEbroyo gives us lists of patristic works “which are to be read in the Holy Church,” followed by a list of secular works. The Mnorat qudshe and the Zalge are mentioned at ed. Bedjan 106.9–11, Çiçek 64a.1–5: “out of [Aristotle’s] Auscultatio physica and Metaphysica, one is to take only as much as we have taken in our book, Mnorat qudshe, and the little book d-zalge.” 78 We see, for example, how, in the same chapter of the Hudoye as that cited in the preceding note, Bar ȨEbroyo lays down rules concerning the educational system, enjoining bishops to appoint teachers as necessary, providing for the education of orphans and children of the poor and specifying the curriculum for use in the schools (Bedjan 107.9ult., Çiçek 64b.9–65a.2). 79 K. d-yawno, ed. P. Bedjan, Liber columbae seu Directorium monachorum Gregorii Barhebraei (appended to id., Ethicon, seu Moralia Gregorii Barhebraei) (Paris/Leipzig: Harrassowitz, 1898) 577–9; ed. G. Cardahi, Abulfaragii Gregorii Bar-Hebraei Mafriani Orientis Kithâbhâ dhiyaunâ seu Liber columbae (Rome: Acad. Lincei, 1898) 75–8; ed. J. Y. Çiçek, Bar Hebraeus’s Book of the Dove (Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1983) 55–7; tr. A.J. Wensinck, Bar Hebraeus’ Book of the Dove (Leiden: Brill, 1919) 60–2; tr. C. Alkan, Güvercin Kitabi (Glane/Losser, Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1989) 49f.; Arabic version, ed. Y. ʗubaiqa, “Kitâb al-ʘamâma li-Ibn al-ȨIbrî,” Machriq 50 (1956): 17–66, here 53f.—For discussions on the passage, see, among others, K. Samir, “Cheminement mystique d’Ibn al-ȨIbrî (1226–1286),” POC 37 (1987): 71–89; K. Pinggéra, “Christologischer Konsens und kirchliche Identität. Beobachtungen zum Werk des Gregor Bar Hebraeus,” OstKSt 49 (2000): 3–30, here 21–8. 77

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the “Greek” sciences, he continued to occupy himself with them “for the sake of those who wished to profit by me.” 80 The prefaces of Suloqo hawnonoyo and K. d-remze allow us to identify at least one— and that probably the most important—of those people who “wished to profit” by Bar ȨEbroyo’s knowledge. While we have no positive indication that any of the other works of Bar ȨEbroyo besides the Suloqo and Remze were composed specifically at Simeon’s request, the circumstances discussed above make it likely that we owe at least some of the other works to his encouragement. The period during which Simeon acted in this way as literary patron for Bar ȨEbroyo may extend over the whole of Bar ȨEbroyo’s maphrianate (1264–86)—during which almost all his works were in fact written—or may be limited to a certain period within those years. Of the two works explicitly dedicated to Simeon, Suloqo hawnonoyo is known to have been written in 1279, 81 while for the date of the K. d-remze we have a terminus ante quem of December 1278, the date of the oldest manuscript, 82 so that those works written around this time might be considered as being more likely than others to have been composed under Simeon’s influence, but given the close association between Simeon and Bar ȨEbroyo throughout the latter’s maphrianate, there is no need to limit the relationship discussed here to this period. Those works which may have been composed under Simeon’s encouragement will include the astronomical tables “for beginners” mentioned in lists of his works, 83 along with the philosophical Ed. Bedjan 579.1–3, ed. Çiçek 56.12f. The date mentioned at ed. Nau 26.4f., 196.10f. 82 I.e. Laur. or. 86 (cf. n. 75 above), copied by John b. Bacchus of Barʜelli, the copyist also of ms. Cantab. Add. 2003, the codex veterrimus of the Tegrat tegroto (1276 A.D.). 83 Chron. eccl. II.479.4f.: “Ktobo rabo zîj l-sharwoye da-d-lo camlo napqun meneh taqwîm.”—It has been suggested that the “kalendarium” (in Syriac) found sandwiched between the texts of Bar ȨEbroyo’s Profession of faith and the “Laughable stories” in ms. Vat. syr. 173 (no. X) might be identified as this work (J.S. Assemani, B.O. II.307; S.E. & J.S. Assemani, Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae codicum manuscriptorum catalogus, part I, vol. III (Rome, 1759), 353; cf. Göttsberger [1900] 52; Baumstark, GSL 318 n. 2; contra: W. Wright, A Short History of Syriac Literature [London: Black, 1894] 271 n. 4).—The use, however, of Arabic terms zîj and taqwîm 80 81

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works, of which Swod sufiya (Sermo sapientiae) and K. d-boboto (L. pupillarum) may have been written in the 1270’s, 84 and—here we remember the profession of Simeon as a physician—the medical works, 85 while the grammatical works would also come into

in the title suggests that this was an Arabic work and two early lists of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works, in fact, state that this was the case (in mss. Vat. Borg. syr. 146 Scher = no. 3 Perini, copied by ȨAbd Allâh b. Barʛawmâ of Barʜelli probably in 1290/1, see D. Perini, “Catalogo dei codici manoscritti ed oggetti portati dall’ Oriente nel 1879 dal P. Agostino Ciasca Agostiniano,” Bess. ser. 2, 6 [1904]: 58–71, 258–81, here 62, cf. Barʛaum, Lu’lu’ 440; and Laur. or. 298 = olim palat. 428 = no. 62 catal. S.E. Assemani; the list in the latter is in the same hand as the text of Bar ȨEbroyo’s metrical grammar copied by Daniel of Mardin in 1360; in the footnote at J.S. Assemani, B.O. II.267–9, which is taken from Laur 298, the word ÿؽÁûî is printed in the Syriac text but omitted in the Latin translation; similarly at S.E. Assemani, Bibliothecae Mediceae Laurentianae et Palatinae codicum MSS orientalium catalogus [Florence 1742] 111 and appendix p. LI). 84 Of the other philosophical works, there is some reason to believe that the Tegrat tegroto, which at any rate predates the Swod sufiya (see Swod sufiya, ed. H.F. Janssens, L’entretien de la sagesse, Introduction aux oeuvres philosophiques de Bar Hebraeus [BFPUL, 75; Liège: Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres, 1937] 54.5, tr. 173) and May 1276, the date of ms. Cantab Add 2003 (Wright-Cook [1901] 495), was composed before Mnorat qudshe (Takahashi, “Barhebraeus und seine islamischen Quellen. Têgrat têgrâtâ und Gazâlîs Maqâʛid al-falâsifa,” paper presented at the 2. Symposium zu Geshichte, Theologie und Liturgie der syrischen Kirchen, Wittenberg, 14– 16 July 2000; on the date of the Mnorat qudshe, see n. 45 above).—ʙewat ʚekmto (Butyrum sapientiae), on the other hand, was written almost at the end of Bar ȨEbroyo’s life in 1285/6 (so the colophons in mss. Mingana syr. 310, fol. 216r, and Laur. or. 83 [no. 187 catal. S.E. Assemani], fols. 191v, 227r; cf. D. Margoliouth, Analecta orientalia ad Poeticam Aristoteleam [London: Nutt, 1887, rep. Hildesheim: Olms, 2000] 41f.). 85 That Bar ȨEbroyo had disciples studying medicine under him during his maphrianate, we learn from his report that he arranged the marriage of two of his medical disciples, Abu al-Khair and John, and made them settle in Tabriz and Maragha in 1283 (Chron. eccl. II.459.23– 461.1).

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question, together with the Syriac Chronicle (Chron. and Chron. eccl.), a part, at least, of which was written in 1274. 86 The last of these, of course, is the work in which we find the eulogy of Simeon quoted under para. [3] above. The likelihood that Simeon would have taken a particular interest in this work will be increased if his father Joshua was indeed one of those responsible for the Armenian version of Michael’s Chronicle, 87 the work used as the principal source in the earlier parts of Bar ȨEbroyo’s Chronicle. 88 The date mentioned at Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 41.4, [Bedjan] 37.18f., [Çiçek] 31b 3f. (cf. Göttsberger [1900] 40). Fiey would have Bar ȨEbroyo completing the work during his stay in Maragha in 1272–3 (Fiey, “Âʡarbâygân chrétien,” Muséon 86 [1973]: 397–435, here 432). Bar ȨEbroyo no doubt continued updating this work until close to his death. 87 See para. [6] above. 88 The Syriac text used as the basis for the Armenian version is believed to be Michael’s autograph, made available by Patriarch Ignatius III David who frequently resided in and died in QalȨa Rumaita/Hromkla (the text of the colophon of the Armenian version accessible to me, however, talks merely of the ‘exemplar’, which does not necessarily imply the autograph: “... mar Ignatiê Antiok’u, or z-ôrinaks shnorheac’,” E. Dulaurier, “Extraits de la Chronique de Michel le syrien,” JA 4e sér. 12 [1848]: 281–334; 13 [1849]: 315–76, here 12.286). This manuscript probably went back to the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma upon Ignatius’ death, since a “book of the Chronicle” was among the items bequeathed by the patriarch to that monastery (Chron. eccl. I.693.18; cf. Schmidt [1996] 305). For this reason it is sometimes said that Bar ȨEbroyo consulted Michael’s Chronicle at the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma (so, e.g., E. Tisserant, “Michel le syrian,” DThC 10 [1929]: 1711–9, here col. 1716, specifying the date as 1255, around which time Bar ȨEbroyo is known from Chron. eccl. I.728 to have been at the Monastery; and Schmidt, loc. cit., giving the date of 1276, which, however, is most unlikely as Bar ȨEbroyo was nowhere in the neighbourhood of Mar Barʛawma in that year as far as we can make out from Bar ȨEbroyo’s own account of his maphrianate in Chron. eccl. II.431–467). Given the extensive borrowings in his Chronicle from Michael’s Chronicle, however, it would seem more likely that Bar ȨEbroyo had procured for his own use a copy—or perhaps the autograph itself—of Michael’s Chronicle, either through his own connections with the monastery or, perhaps, through Simeon, the son of Joshua, the translator, and the brother of Jacob, the abbot of Mar Barʛawma. 86

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Simeon may also have been instrumental in securing for Bar ȨEbroyo the access to the library in Maragha, where, as he tells us in the preface to his Chronicle, Bar ȨEbroyo found the “Syriac, Saracen and Persian” works he used in composing this work (and no doubt also in composing others), 89 although for this purpose Bar ȨEbroyo’s standing as a scholar in his own right might have sufficed. 90 Chron. [Bedjan] 2.10–13.—The library in question is undoubtedly that attached to the observatory in Maragha, where, according to one 14th c. account, some 400,000 volumes of books had been gathered from “Baghdad, al-Shâm and al-Jazîra” (al-Kutubî, Fawât al-wafayât, ed. M.M. ȨAbd al-ʗamîd [Cairo: Maktabat al-Nahʡat al-Miʛrîya, 1951] II.307.penult.–308.1; ed. I. ȨAbbâs [Beirut: Dar Sader, 1974] III.247.2f.; cf. E. Wiedemann, “Zum Leben von Naʛîr al Dîn al ʝûʛî,” Sitzungsberichte der physikalisch-medizinischen Sozietät zu Erlangen 58/59 (1926/7) 363–79, here 365f.). 90 Bar ȨEbroyo’s use of the library in Maragha and his contacts with the circle of scholars who had gathered there around Naʛîr al-Dîn al-ʝûsî (1201–1274) are an important aspect of the background to Bar ȨEbroyo’s literary activity, which is well worth exploring but which falls beyond the scope of the present article.—For Bar ȨEbroyo’s eulogy of ʝûsî, see Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 550.3–14, [Bedjan] 529.9–24, [Çiçek] 478b 18–479a 20 (at tr. Budge, 452.3, for “a lexigographical work in Persian,” read “Ethica in the Persian language”), and Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal [Beirut, 1958] 286.penult.–287.5, [Beirut, 1997] 251.11–6 (followed by a list of scholars active at the time, some of them also in Maragha, ed. Beirut 1958, 287.5– 10).—On Bar ȨEbroyo’s use of ʝûsî’s Akhlâq-i nâʜirî in his ʙewat ʚekmto, see M. Zonta, Fonti greche e orientali dell’ Economia di Bar-Hebraeus nell’ opera “La crema della scienza” (AION.S, 70; Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale, 1992) and id., “Structure and Sources of Bar-Hebraeus’ ‘Practical Philosophy’ in The Cream of Wisdom,” in R. Lavenant (ed.), Symposium Syriacum VII (OCA, 256; Rome: PIOS, 1998) 279–92.— F. Nau’s supposition (Nau [1899], tr. vii) that the Suloqo hawnonoyo is based on ʝûsî’s Tadhkira fî Ȩilm al-hay‚a can now be confirmed through a comparison of the former with an edition of the latter, F.J. Ragep, Nasîr al-Dîn Tûsî’s Memoir on Astronomy (al-Tadhkira fî Ȩilm al-hay‚a), 2 vols. (New York/Berlin/Heidelberg: Springer, 1994); cf. Takahashi, “The GrecoSyriac and Arabic Sources of Barhebraeus’ Mineralogy and Meteorology in Candelabrum sanctuarii, Base II,” paper presented at the VIII. Symposium Syriacum, Sydney, June 2000.—On a manuscript of ʝûsî’s mathematical 89

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The connection, via Simeon, with his father Joshua could also have a bearing on the philosophical works, if, as has been suggested, Joshua or, armenice, Ishôʘ, the translator of Michael’s Chronicle, may be identified further with the author of a popular Armenian work on natural philosophy, the Girk’ i veray bnut’ean. 91 works apparently copied in part by Bar ȨEbroyo and carrying his signature, see A. Sayili, “Khwâja Naʛîr-i ʝûsî wa raʛadkhâna-i Marâgha,” AÜDFD 14 (1956): no. 1–2, p. 1–12, here 10–12 and plate facing p. 16; and id., The Observatory in Islam and its Place in the General History of the Observatory (TTKY, VII/38a; Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 19882) 219–22 (ms. Istanbul-Üsküdar, Haci Selim Aga Kütüphanesi, Selim Aga 743, with an ‘ex libris’ note by ¾ĆàÙÐâ ¾æØûò⠑ÍؘÍÅØûÄ dated 1592 A.Gr. [1280/1] on fol. 138; on the contents of the older part of this manuscript, fols. 138–282, dated 671–8 h. [1272–80], see M. Krause, “Stambuler Handschriften islamischer Mathematiker,” Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte der Mathematik, Astronomie und Physik, Abt. B, 3 [1936]: 437–532, here 499– 503).—On Bar ȨEbroyo and Muʘyi al-Dîn al-Maghribî, see n. 43 above.— For the report that Bar ȨEbroyo wrote his Arabic chronicle, the Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal, at the request of the Arabs (ʝayoye) in Maragha, see Chron. eccl. II.469.1–5, and for a discussion on this passage, L. Conrad, “On the Arabic Chronicle of Bar Hebraeus: His Aims and Audience,” ParOr 19 (1994): 319–78, here 328–32 (cf. n. 71 above).—Cf. further Koffler (1932) 30f.; Teule (1993), versio xi. 91 This is the view of the editor of the Girk’ i veray bnut’ean. See S.A. Vardanyan, Iʜoch. Kniga o prirode (Erevan: Izd. Akademii Nauk Armjanskoj SSR, 1979) 6–8 (Russian), 55f. (Armenian), 106f. (English summary); cf. id. “Ancient Armenian Translations of the Works of Syrian Physicians,” REArm NS 16 (1982): 213–9, here 216; and J.P. Mahé’s review of Vardanyan’s edition, REArm NS 14 (1980): 524f.—Vardanyan suggests an identification of the author/translator Ishôʘ further with cIsa of Edessa (with circumspection in her Russian introduction, “the possibility cannot be excluded that ...”; with more confidence in Armenian, “in all probability ...”; with no such qualification in the English summary), evidently on no firmer ground than the fact that this was the only viable candidate she could find mentioned in L. Alishan’s work on Armenian Cilicia which he cites (Sisuan [Venice 1885], 554). Cf. n. 22 above.—Many of the subjects treated in the Girk’ i veray bnut’ean are also dealt with by Bar ȨEbroyo in his works, especially in Base II of his Mnorat qudshe and in his ʙewat ʚekmto. These subjects, going back ultimately to Aristotelian, Ptolemaic and Galenic sources, are admittedly those

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The connection, via Simeon and Joshua, with the latter’s collaborator, Vardan Arewelc’i (ob. 1271), an author, like Bar ȨEbroyo, of a history, a grammar and biblical commentaries, may also be worth exploring. 92 frequently treated in the scientific literature of the period, but the thought presents itself that the inclusion of these themes in Bar ȨEbroyo’s works may perhaps reflect Simeon’s interest in them inherited from his father. 92 On Vardan and his works, see Thomson (1989) 126–8.—There is a slight possibility that Bar ȨEbroyo might have met Vardan when the latter visited Hulagu in July 1264 (Vardan, Hawak’umn patmut’ean §96, tr. Thomson [1989] 220f.), since Bar ȨEbroyo, too, was in Hulagu’s camp at one point in 1264, although it is rather more likely that he would have departed thence for Mosul by July (Chron. eccl. I.753.8–757.10, II.433.15– 19; cf. para. [22] above).—Like his contacts with the Muslim scholars in Maragha (cf. n. 90 above), Bar ȨEbroyo’s possible contacts with Armenian scholars is a theme worth investigating.—Bar ȨEbroyo’s disciple and biographer, Dioscorus Gabriel b. John of Barʜelli (bishop of Gâzartâ dQardû) names Armenian, along with Syriac, Arabic and Persian, among the languages spoken by Bar ȨEbroyo (J.Y. Çiçek, Mimro Ȩal qadisho Griguriyus mafryono d-madnʚo da-Ȩbid l-Diyusqurus episqupo d-Gozarto mdito dQardu shnat 1286 m. [Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1985], 39.5–6; cf. A. Sauma, “Commentary on the ‘Biography’ of Bar Hebraeus,” Aram [Stockholm] 7 [1998]: 35–68, here 40).—His knowledge of Armenian, on the other hand, was evidently not good enough for him to preach in that language, as we may gather from the report that when he preached in Sis on the occasion of his election to the maphrianate, his sermon was translated into Armenian by another, a certain Theodore Smaqrâyâ (Chron. eccl. I.749.8f., = Assemani, B.O. II.247).—Similarly Göttsberger was doubtful that the “Armenian” readings mentioned in the Awʜar roze were taken directly from Armenian sources (Göttsberger, “Die syroarmenischen und die syro-koptischen Bibelcitate aus den Scholien des Barhebräus,” ZAW 21 [1901]: 101–41, here 123–7; cf. id. [1900] 9f., 147f.).—Sbath’s identification of Abû al-Faraj, who collaborated in the translation of a work on hippiatrics (Aqrâbâdhîn fî Ȩilm ʞibb al-khail) from Armenian into Arabic, with Bar ȨEbroyo has no foundation besides the coincidence of the name (P. Sbath, Al-Fihris [Cairo: Imprimerie Al-Chark, 1938–40], III.62 nos. 1202–2; id., “Manuscrit arabe sur la pharmacopée hippiatrique,” Bulletin de l’Institut d’Égypte 14 [1931/2]: 79–81, here 81).— On some items relating to Armenia in Chron., see H. Kurdian, “A Few Corrections in the English Translation and Transliteration of the

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One question which has to be addressed when dealing with Bar ȨEbroyo’s works is the question as to why he wrote most of his works in Syriac. It is needless to point out here that ample evidence for Bar ȨEbroyo’s ability to write in Arabic is provided by his Arabic chronicle, the Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal, while most of his medical works, too, appear to have been written in Arabic. 93 Rather more Chronograpy of Gregory Abû’l Faraj (Bar Hebraeus),” JRAS (1938): 431.—Besides in 1264, Bar ȨEbroyo was in Cilicia on at least two occasions during his maphrianate, in 1267/8, when he fell ill with dysentry there, and in 1273 (Chron. eccl. II.441.10–21, 443.25f.; in connection with the first visit, cf. Bar ȨEbroyo’s poem reproaching a city in Cilicia for its bad grapes, A. Scebabi, Gregorii Bar-Hebraei Carmina [Rome: Typ. Polyglotta, 1877] 165.8–12, P.Y. Dolabani, Mushʚoto d-Mor Griguriyus Yuʚanon Bar ȨEbroyo mafryono d-madnʚo [Jerusalem: Dair Mâr Marqûs, 1929, rep. Glane/Losser: Bar Hebraeus Verlag, 1983] 53f., no. 4.13).—Although there is no record of his visit to Greater Armenia in Chron. eccl., manuscripts of the Shorter Anaphora of St. James are reported to state that Bar ȨEbroyo revised this anaphora “in the mountains of Greater Armenia in 1593 A.Gr. (1281/2)” (so Vat. syr. 34, 542/6, Paris. syr. 74/3, 81/10, 82/4, 111/14, 114/9, Cambridge, Selwyn College, syr. 2/4; with variations in wording, Jerusalem, St. Mark’s 94/1, Cantab. Add. 2887/2, Mingana syr. 391I, 563B; see the respective manuscript catalogues of AssemaniAssemani, van Lantschoot, Zotenberg, Brock, Dolabani, Wright-Cook and Mingana, and A. Raes, “XV. Anaphora minor Sancti Iacobi, fratris Domini,” ASy 2/2 [Rome: PIOS: 1953]: 181–210, here 188). 93 Of the eight medical works mentioned in lists of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works, the one (partially) published work, the Muntakhab jâmic al-mufradât, is in Arabic (M. Meyerhoff—G.P. Sobhy, The Abridged Version of “The Book of Simple Drugs” of Ahmad Ibn Muhammad al-Ghâfiqî by Gregorius Abu’l-Farag (Barhebraeus) [Cairo: Government Press, 1932–40]).—Of the others, Henyon yutrone d-hadomay pagro, a work presumably based on Galen’s De usu partium, and Pushoqo d-posuqe d-Ipuqraʞis, the commentary on Hippocrates’ Aphorisms (which may be extant, see Barʛaum, Lu’lu’, 428, P.Y. Dolabani et al., “Catalogue des manuscrits de la bibliothèque du Patriarcat Syrien Orthodoxe à ʗomʛ (Auj. à Damas),” ParOr 19 [1994]: 555–661, here 589, no. 6.17), are stated to have been in Arabic.—The epitome of ʗunain’s Masâ’il fî al-ʞibb (K. d-šu‚ole d-ʙunain ba-psiqoto) is stated in some manuscripts of Chron. eccl. to have been in Arabic and in others to have been in Syriac. A manuscript in Dublin whose content may be identified

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interestingly, if, as seems possible, one of his works on psychology, the Maqâla mukhtaʜara fî al-nafs al-basharîya (ed. L. Cheikho 1898), which, as noted by Graf, 94 closely follows the work on the soul by Moses b. Kepha, 95 may be identified with the Mimro shenoyo, which is mentioned in some lists of his works and which, for its part, must have been written at the latest before 1261, 96 this will mean with this work is in Arabic (Chester Beatty arab. 4925, A.J. Arberry, The Chester Beatty Library. A Handlist of Arabic Manuscripts [Dublin, 1955–66], VI.144; pace Arberry there is no ground in the manuscript itself for the identification of the author with the maphrian Gregory who died in 1214; cf. also Dolabani et al. [1994], loc. cit.).—The language of the other four works, the abridgement of De materia medica (K. d-Diyusquridis), the work on Ibn Sina’s Qânûn fî al-ʞibb (K. d-qonuno d-Abu ȨAli), the commentary on the Masâ’il fî al-ʞibb (K. d-pushoqo d-su’ole d-ʙunain) and the K. d-kanesh beh kulhun recyone osyoye, is unknown.—Besides these eight works, a commentary in Arabic on Hippocrates’ Prognosticon/Taqdimat al-maȨrifa is attributed to Bar ȨEbroyo by Cheikho and Sbath (L. Cheikho, Kitâb al-makhʞûʞât al-Ȩarabîya likatabat al-naʜrânîya [Beirut, 1924], 10 fin.; P. Sbath, Al-Fihris I.15, no. 63; cf. Sezgin, GAS III.33; also Dolabani [1994], loc. cit.). 94 G. Graf, Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur (Vatican City: Bibl. Apost. Vaticana, 1944–51) II.273f. 95 I.e. the work published in translation by O. Braun, Moses bar Kepha und sein Buch von der Seele (Freiburg: Herder, 1891); cf. Baumstark, GSL, 281 n. 7; J. Reller, Mose bar Kepha und seine Paulinenauslegung (GOF.S, 35; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994) 66f. 96 The work is mentioned in the list of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works in ms. Laur. or. 298 (olim 428; this part of manuscript copied in 1360, cf. n. 83 above), fol. 82r 4 (cf. J.S. Assemani, B.O. II.269, footnote, no. 28; pace Assemani there is no warrant for the vocalisation of the word as šînoyo, the letter šîn being vocalised “e” in the manuscript). According to another list of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works found in a manuscript of the Mnorat qudshe once in the possession of Patr. Ign. Ephrem Barʛaum, this work was named ¾Ùæü after ¾æüƒ ÀûâÍî at the request of Dionysius kngwm (lege ȨAngur) Shenoyo (see I.E. Barʛaum, Risâla fî Ȩilm al-nafs al-‚insânîyya li-l-Ȩallâma Mâr Ghrîghûriyûs Ibn al-ȨIbrî mafriyân al-mashriq [Jerusalem: Dair Mâr Marqûs, 1938], 2, and id., Lu‚lu‚, 420, sub no. 8; on ¾æüƒ ÀûâÍî as a byname of the Monastery of Mar Barʛawma, see Honigmann [1954] 43f.). Barʛaum identifies this ¾Ùæü Àûâ½Ćâ with Mukhtaʜar fî Ȩilm al-nafs al-‚insânîya (ed. P. Sbath, Cairo 1928; I.E. Barʛaum, op. cit., Jerusalem 1938), but as noted by Furlani (“Barhebreo sull’ anima razionale,” Or. NS 1 [1932]: 1–23, 97–

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that Bar ȨEbroyo, who later composed many a Syriac work based on Arabic sources, may have begun his literary career with an Arabic work based on a Syriac source. 97 It is not so surprising that those works intended for a clerical readership were written in Syriac, since there is some evidence to suggest that, despite the decline in the number of Syriac-speakers over the centuries, the Syriac Orthodox clergy (at least those in the “West”) were not necessarily, or even usually, conversant in Arabic at this period. 98 What requires some explanation is the reason as to why Bar ȨEbroyo should have composed his secular works (most of which are themselves based to a large extent on Arabic and Persian sources) in Syriac, especially if, as has been suggested, many of these were written at the request of persons like Simeon, who was surely quite as at home in Arabic and Persian as in Syriac. The key to the answer as to why Bar ȨEbroyo composed his works in Syriac is no doubt to be sought in the political situation of the day. From the section division of his Chron., where he ends the long tenth section of the “Kings of the Arabs” with the fall of Baghdad and the death of the last Abbasid Caliph in 1258 and begins a new section dealing with the “Kings of the Huns” (i.e. 115, here 115; cf. Graf, GCAL, II.277), the Mukhtaʜar is largely an abridgement of the corresponding part of the Mnorat qudshe, which in turn was written around 1270 (see n. 45 above), well after the death of Dionysius ȨAngur in 1261, so that, if the ¾Ùæü Àûâ½Ćâ is to be identified with one of Bar ȨEbroyo’s two surviving Arabic treatises on the soul, the other, the Maqâla mukhtaʜara fî al-nafs al-basharîyya, is the more likely candidate. 97 The language of the Pushoq ʚelme, on interpretation of dreams, said to have been composed by Bar ȨEbroyo in his youth (Chron. eccl. II.479.9f.), is unknown. 98 See the mention in Chron. eccl. of the requirement of maphrians to be proficient in Arabic (II.333.21–ult., 337.9f., 411.16ff., with reference to maphrians Ignatius Lazarus, 1143–64, and John b. MaȨdani, 1232–53, cf. Kawerau [1960] 27; also I.699.7–9, John b. Macdani) and the report that Bar ȨEbroyo acted as an interpreter between Patriarch Dionysius VII ȨAngur and al-Malik al-Nâʛir at the Ayyubid court in Damascus (I.717.10– 12).—Cf. also Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 544.13–5, [Bedjan] 523.12–4, [Çiçek] 473a 20–4, where Bar ȨEbroyo mentions the presence a monk who spoke Arabic at the monastery of Gawikat in Cilicia in a way which suggests that this was unusual.

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Mongols), we may infer that Bar ȨEbroyo saw the events of 1258 as marking the most important break in history since the Islamic conquests of the 7th century. It is quite possible that Bar ȨEbroyo shared the hope of many of his fellow Christians that the new rulers would convert to Christianity—and there is some evidence that he did, for he compares Hulagu’s mother, Sarqûtanî (Sorqoqtani, Seyurʘoʘataitai), 99 to Empress Helena in his Chron., thereby implicitly comparing Hulagu to Constantine 100 —but this hope aside, there must have been a feeling in the early days of Ilkhanid rule that a new world order was being established, and, what was important for Bar ȨEbroyo and his correligionists, this was a multi-religious, multi-national order which was not dominated by Islam and in which the Syriac-speaking Christians

On the name, A. Boyle, “On the Titles Given in Juvainî to Certain Mongolian Princes,” HJAS 19 (1956): 146–54, here 153; Spuler (1985) 38 n. 58. 100 Chron. [Bruns-Kirsch] 492.9, [Bedjan] 465.6f., [Çiçek] 421a 3f. (cf. Fiey [1975a] 14; Hage [1988] 73).—We might also remember in this connection such items as Bar ȨEbroyo’s reference to Hulagu and his wife Doquz [ʝoquz] Khatun as those “who made the Christian faith triumph” (mnaʜʚone d-tawdito mshiʚoyto, Chron. [Bedjan] 521.18; in connection with the notion of the “triumph” [neʜʚono] of the Christians, cf. also ibid. 540.2, and Fiey [1975a] 50) and his constant reference to Doquz Khatun as the “believing queen” and “a true Christian” (Chron. [Bedjan] 491.15f., 509.21f., 521.16, Chron. eccl. II.439.9, Mukhtaʜar târîkh al-duwal [ed. 1958] 263.17; cf. Lane [1999] §32 with n. 49; this latter an interesting point also in connection with Bar ȨEbroyo’s ecumenical attitude, given that Doquz Khatun was a “Nestorian”).—On an illustration in a manuscript copied at Mar Mattai in 1260 (Vat. syr. 559, fol. 223v) where Constantine and Helena appear to be identified with Hulagu and Doquz Khatun, see Fiey, “Iconographie syriaque. Hulagu, Doquz Khatun ... et six ambons?,” Muséon 88 (1975): 59–68 [= 1975b], here 59–64 (cf. id. [1975a] 23; id. “Naʛârâ,” EI2 7.970–3 [1992], here 973a; Spuler [1985] 59 n. 124; Lane, loc. cit. with n. 47; the anonymous referee kindly informs me that he/she recently had a correspondent confirm the date of Vat. syr. 559 indeed to be 1571 A.Gr./1260).—On the name of Doquz Khatun (“peacock,” not “nine”), see Boyle (1975) 40f.; cf. Chron. ed. Bedjan 491 footnote. 99

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too were given the opportunity, for the first time in centuries, to compete with the other races for positions of prominence. 101 It is needless to stress in an academic journal such as this the importance of literature, and scientific literature in particular, as a factor contributing to the prestige of a nation. In order for the Syriac-speaking peoples to assert themselves in the new situation, there was a need to update their scientific literature. Bar ȨEbroyo, as the religious and political leader of his people, would, one might assume, have been aware of this situation. Another, who would have been even more acutely aware of the situation in view of his position at the court and the daily contact he would have had there with those of other cultures, is Simeon. In his preface to the Suloqo hawnonoyo, Bar ȨEbroyo describes Simeon as “one who, in our palaces, rebuilds on the ruins of the sciences and one who renews the ancient disciplines in our age.” 102 Elsewhere in his works Bar ȨEbroyo talks of the neglect of knowledge and the ruinous state of the sciences 103 and by this Bar ȨEbroyo presumably means the neglect of scientific literature in Syriac, since Arabic writing, though past its golden age, was still in a relatively healthy state in the 13th century. When Bar ȨEbroyo talks of Simeon as a renewer of those ancient disciplines, therefore, this implies that Simeon took an active interest in promoting Syriac writing. If this is the case, it may be to the influence of Simeon that

The care taken to mention Christian and Zoroastrian dating in the introduction to ʝusi’s Zîj-i Îlkhânî has been taken as exemplifying a certain sensitivity for this new order of things (see A. Boyle, “The Longer Introduction to the ‘Zij-i-Ilkhani’ of Nasir-ad-Din Tusi,” JSSt 8 [1963]: 244–54, here 252f.). K 102 Suloqo hawnonoyo, ed. Nau 24f.: šăÐéÁ ¿ÿãÝÏ šÍÁûσ ¾æÙæÂ⠐šĂÊÁ ¿š†ƒû⠚ÍùØÿîƒ ¾åšÊÐâ†. 103 So in the oft-cited preface to Mnorat qudshe; see e.g. ed. Bakos 24.11f., ed. Çiçek 23.16–8: “... the field of wisdom has grown waste, the love of wisdom has grown cold; its fire has been extinguished and its light has grown dark” (cf. R. Duval, La littérature syriaque, 3rd ed. [Paris, 1907, rep. Amsterdam: Philo, 1970] 408; P. Sbath, “Manuscrits orientaux de la bibliothèque Asbat,” ROC 29 [1920/1]: 194–205, 288–305, here 199; Janssens [1937], 3; C. Sélis, Les Syriens orthodoxes et Catholiques [Turnhout: Brepols, 1988] 70).—Cf. also the passage concerning the neglect of historiography in the preface to Chron., ed. Bedjan 2.1–10. 101

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we owe, in part at least, the decision of one of the greatest writers in Syriac to choose that language as the language of his writings.

V. CONCLUSION [48]

It will have to be admitted here that much of what has been said above belongs to the realm of speculation. What is certain is that Rabban Simeon of QalȨa Rumaita, who worked as a physician at the Ilkhanid court in the period between 1260 and 1289, exercised considerable influence on the affairs of the Syriac Orthodox Church during that period—to the extent that he was able to see his own nephew raised to the supreme office in that church—, and that Bar ȨEbroyo had close dealings with this Simeon throughout his maphrianate as one who had worked with him as a physician at the Ilkhanid court at one time, as a frequent visitor to Azerbaijan and the Ilkhanid court, 104 and as the tutor to Simeon’s son, Taj alDaula, and his nephew and future patriarch, Nemrod. It is also certain that two of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works were written specifically at Simeon’s request. Beyond that the role played by Simeon in the composition of Bar ȨEbroyo’s works remains uncertain, but it is hoped that the discussions above suffice to show that there is a likelihood that he did play a significant role and that the influence of Simeon is a factor worth bearing in mind when considering the background to the genesis of the BarȨebraean corpus as a whole, as well as of the individual works. Bar ȨEbroyo was in (Persian) Azerbaijan for prolonged periods on at least four occasions during his maphrianate, viz., 1) in 1268 in Tabriz and Maragha (Chron. eccl. II.441.25–443.3); 2) from summer 1272 for one year in Maragha (II.443.16–20); 3) in Lent 1279 in Maragha (II.447.21f.), perhaps remaining there until spring 1282 when he moved to Tabriz via the Mongol camp at Alaʜaq (II.453.7–455.2) and probably remaining then in Tabriz until he set out for Nineveh in 1283 (II.457.5–7); 4) in 1286 to Maragha (II.467.9-ult.), where he died on 30th July (II.473.7–10).—Cf. Fiey (1973) 430, 432–4; Gusejnov (1960) 56, 87–89.—Fiey is mistaken when he talks of Bar ȨEbroyo travelling from Baghdad to Maragha in 1277 (op. cit. p. 433). The note in ms. Cantab. Gg. 3.30 mentioning Bar ȨEbroyo’s journey to Maragha belongs, not to the text of the Mimro zawgonoyo as Fiey thought, but to that of the ʝalyut hawno, the journey referred to there being, in fact, the journey of 1286 (see Wright-Cook [1901] 1024). 104

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Kawerau, Peter, Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance. Idee und Wirklichkeit. BBA, 3, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 19602. Khoury, Joseph. Une synthèse de christologie jacobite: la ‘quatrième base’ du ‘Candélabre des sanctuaires’ de Grégoire Aboulfaradj dit Barhebraeus, 2 vols. (I. Présentation; II. Traduction du texte). Diss. Institut Catholique de Paris, 1950 (unpublished). ———. Le candélabre du sanctuaire de Grégoire Abou’lfaradj dit Barhebraeus. Quatrième base: de l’Incarnation. PO, 31.1, 1–268. Paris: FirminDidot, 1965. Koffler, Hubert. Die Lehre des Barhebräus von der Auferstehung der Leiber. OrChr(R), 28/1. Rome: Pont. Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1932. Krause, Max. “Stambuler Handschriften islamischer Mathematiker.” Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte der Mathematik, Astronomie und Physik, Abt. B, 3 (1936): 437–532. Rep. in Fuat Sezgin, ed. Beiträge zur Erschliessung der arabischen Handschriften in Istanbul und Anatolien, 3 vols. + index. Frankfurt: IGAIW, 1986. II.683–778. Kurdian, H. “A Few Corrections in the English Translation and Transliteration of the Chronography of Gregory Abû’l Faraj (Bar Hebraeus).” JRAS (1938): 431. Lane, George. “An Account of Gregory Bar Hebraeus Abu al-Faraj and his Relations with the Mongols of Persia.” Hugoye, 2.2 (July 1999). Langlois, Victor. Chronique de Michel le Grand, patriarche des syriens jacobites, traduite pour la première fois sur la version arménienne du prêtre Ischôk. Venice: l’Académie de Saint-Lazare, 1868. Lantschoot, Arnold van. Inventaire des manuscrits syriaques des fonds Vatican (490–631) Barberini oriental et Neofiti. StT, 243. Vatican City: Bibl. Apost. Vaticana, 1965. al-Manʛûr, Khalîl (notes by). Târîkh mukhtaʜar al-duwal. Ta’lîf al-callâma Abî al-Faraj Ghrîghûriyûs b. Ahrûn al-Malaʞî al-macrûf bi-Ibn al-cIbrî almutawaffâ sana 685 h. Beirut: Dâr al-Kutub al-cIlmîya, 1997. Mahé, J.P., review article “Isox, Girk’ i veray bnut’ean (Livre sur la nature), texte critique, introduction et traduction russe de S. VARDANYAN, Erévan (Matenadaran) 1979, ...” REArm NS 14 (1980): 524f. Margoliouth, David Samuel. Analecta orientalia ad Poeticam Aristoteleam. London: Nutt, 1887. Rep. Hildesheim/Zürich/New York: Olms, 2000. Meyerhoff, Max, & G.P. Sobhy. The Abridged Version of “The Book of Simple Drugs” of Ahmad Ibn Muhammad al-Ghâfiqî by Gregorius Abu’l-Farag (Barhebraeus). Muntakhab kitâb jâmic al-mufradât li-Aʚmad b. Muʚammad b. Khalîd al-Ghâfiqî al-mutawaffâ fî naʚw sana 560 h., intakhabahu Abû al-Faraj Ghrîghûriyûs al-macrûf bi-Ibn al-ȨIbrî al-

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mutawaffâ fî sana 684 h., vol. 1, fasc. 1–4 (no more published). Cairo: Government Press, 1932–40. Rep. Frankfurt: IGAIW, 1996. Mingana, Alphonse. The Catalogue of the Mingana Collection of Manuscripts now in the Possession of the Woodbrooke Settlement, Selly Oak, Birmingham, vol. I, Syriac and Garshûni Manuscripts. Cambridge: Heffner, 1933. Nallino, Carlo Alphonso. “Il diritto musulmano nel Nomocanone siriaco cristiano di Barhebreo.” RSO 9 (1922/3): 512–80. Reprinted with corrections in id., Raccolta di scritti editi e inediti, vol. 4, 214– 290. Rome: Istituto per l’Oriente, 1942. Nau, François. Ktobo d-suloqo hawnonoyo Ȩal dmuto da-rqiȨo w-arȨo men syome dMor Griguriyus Bar ȨEbroyo mafryono d-madnʚo. Le livre de l’ascension de l’esprit sur la forme du ciel et de la terre. Cours d’astronomie rédigé en 1279 par Grégoire Aboulfarag, dit Bar-Hebraeus. BEHE.H, 121, part 1 (text), Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1899; part 2 (translation), Paris: Bouillon, 1899. ———. “La cosmographie au VIIe siècle chez les Syriens.” ROC 15 (1910): 225–54. Nöldeke, Theodor. Orientalische Skizzen. Berlin: Paetel, 1892. Rep. Hildesheim: Olms, 1974. Ömer Riza Dogrul. Gregory Abû’l-Farac (Bar Hebraeus). Abû’l-Farac Tarihi. TTKY, 2/2, 2 vols. Ankara, 1945–50. Rep. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 1987. Panicker, Mathunny John. Christology of Bar Ebraya (Yuhanon Gregorius Abu’l Faraj), excerpta ex Dissertatione ad Doctoratum in Facultate Scientiarum Ecclesiasticarum Orientalium. Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1995. Payne Smith, Robert. Catalogi codicum manuscriptorum Bibliothecae Bodleianae pars sexta, codices syriacos, carshunicos, mendaeos complectens. Oxford: Clarendon, 1864. Perini, David Aurelio. “Catalogo dei codici manoscritti ed oggetti portati dall’ Oriente nel 1879 dal P. Agostino Ciasca Agostiniano.” Bess. ser. 2, 6 (1904): 58–71, 258–81. Petrushevsky, I.P. “The Socio-Economic Conditions of Iran under the ÎlKhâns.” In J.A. Boyle, ed. The Cambridge History of Iran, vol. 5, 483–537. The Seljuq and Mongol Periods. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968. Pinggéra, Karl. “Christologischer Konsens und kirchliche Identität. Beobachtungen zum Werk des Gregor Bar Hebraeus.” OstKSt 49 (2000): 3–30. Quatremère, Étienne. Histoire des mongols de la Perse écrite en persan par Raschid-Eldin, tome premier (no more published). Paris: Imprimerie royale, 1836.

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Raes, Alphonse. “XV. Anaphora minor Sancti Iacobi, fratris Domini.” In Anaphorae syriacae, vol. 2, fasc. 2, 181–210. Rome: Pont. Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1953. Ragep, Faiz J. Nasîr al-Dîn Tûsî’s Memoir on Astronomy (al-Tadhkira fî cilm alhay’a), 2 vols. New York/Berlin/Heidelberg: Springer, 1994. Reller, Jobst. Mose bar Kepha und seine Paulinenauslegung nebst Edition und Übersetzung des Kommentars zum Römerbrief. GOF.S, 35. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994. ʙâlʘânî, Anʜûn. Târîkh mukhtaʜar al-duwal li-l-Ȩallâma Ghrîghûriyûs al-malaʞî almaȨrûf bi-Ibn al-ȨIbrî. Beirut: al-Maʜbaca al-Kâthûlîkîya, 19582. Samir, Samir Khalil. “Cheminement mystique d’Ibn al-ȨIbrî (1226–1286).” POC 37 (1987): 71–89. Sauma, Assad. “Commentary on the ‘Biography’ of Bar Hebraeus.” Aram (Stockholm, Arameiska Akademikernas Förbund) 7 (1998): 35– 68. Sayili, Aydin. “Khwâja Naʛîr-i ʝûsî wa raʛadkhâna-i Marâgha (Nasîr-udDîn-i-Tûsî ve Merâga Rasathanesi).” AÜDFD 14 (1956): no. 1– 2, p. 1–12, and plate facing p. 16.—The same article also in Yâdnâma-i Khwâja Naʜîr al-Dîn ʝûsî. Le Mémorial de Khwâdjah Nassîr al-dîn Toûssi, vol. 1, 57–75. Intishârât-i Dânishgâh-i Tihrân, 416. Teheran: Imprimerie de l’Université de Téhéran, 1336 h.sh./1957. ———. The Observatory in Islam and its Place in the General History of the Observatory. TTKY, VII/38a. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 19882. Sbath, Paul. “Manuscrits orientaux de la bibliothèque Asbat.” ROC 20 (1920/1): 194–205, 288–305. ———. Mukhtaʜar fî Ȩilm al-nafs al-insânîya li-Ghrîghûriyûs Abî al-Faraj almacrûf bi-Ibn al-ȨIbrî. Traité sur l’âme par Bar-Hebraeus Mort en 1286. Cairo: Friedrich, 1928. Sbath, P. “Manuscrit arabe sur la pharmacopée hippiatrique.” Bulletin de l’Institut d’Égypte 14 (1931/2): 79–81. ———. Al-Fihris (Catalogue de manuscrits arabes), 3 parts & supplement. Cairo: Imprimerie Al-Chark, 1938–40. Scebabi, Augustinus. Gregorii Bar-Hebraei carmina. Mushʚoto da-Ȩbidon lmafryono Griguriyus Bar ȨEbroyo. Rome, 1877. Scher, Addai. “Notice sur les manuscrits syriaques du Musée Borgia, aujourd’hui à la Bibliothèque Vaticane.” JA 10e sér. 13 (1909): 249–87. Schmidt, Andrea B. “Die zweifache armenische Rezension der syrischen Chronik Michaels des Großen.” Muséon 109 (1996): 299–319. ———.“Syrische Tradition in armenischer Adaption. Die armenische Rezeption des Geschichtswerks von Michael Syrus und der antichalcedonische Judenbrief an Kaiser Markianos.” In

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R. Lavenent, ed. Symposium Syriacum VII, 359–371. OCA, 256. Rome: Pont. Istituto Orientale, 1998. Schultess, Friedrich, review article “Göttsberger, J., Barhebraeus und seine Scholien zur Heiligen Schrift. ...” GGA 164 (1902): 161–8. Sélis, Claude. Les Syriens orthodoxes et Catholiques. Fils d’Abraham. Turnhout: Brepols, 1988. Sezgin, Fuat. GAS = Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, vols. 1–9. Leiden: Brill, 1967–84, Index, Frankfurt: IGAIW 1995, vols. 10–12, Frankfurt: IGAIW, 2000. Sherwood, Polycarpe. “Le fonds patriarcal de la bibliothèque manuscrite de Charfet.” OrSyr 2 (1957): 93–107. Sony, Behnam. Fihris al-makhʞûʞât al-baʞriyarkîya fî Dair al-Sharfa—Lubnân. Le catalogue des manuscrits du Patrarcat au Couvent de Charfet—Liban. Beirut, 1993. Spuler, Bertold. “Djuwaynî, ʙʘams ad-Dîn Muʘammad b. Muʘammad.” EI2 II.607 (1963). ———. Die Mongolen in Iran. Politik, Verwaltung und Kultur der Ilchanzeit 1220–1350. Leiden: Brill, 19854. Sümer, Faruk. “Anadolu’da Mogollar.” Selçuklu Araʜtirmalari Dergisi (Ankara) 1 (1970): 1–147. Suter, Heinrich. Die Mathematiker und Astronomen der Araber und ihre Werke. Bio-bibliographische Übersicht von Wissenschaftlern der arabischen Welt vom achten bis zum siebzehnten Jahrhundert. Abh. z. Gesch. d. mathematischen Wissenschaften, 10. Leipzig: Teubner, 1900. Rep. Amsterdam: APA Oriental Press, 1981. Ter-Minassiantz, Erwand. Die armenische Kirche in ihren Beziehungen zu den syrischen Kirchen bis zum Ende des 13. Jahrhunderts. TU NF, 11/3. Leipzig: Hinrich, 1904. Teule, Hermann G.B. Gregory Barhebraeus. Ethicon (Mêmrâ I). CSCO, 534– 535, syr. 218–9. Louvain: Peeters, 1993. Thomson, Robert W. “The Historical Compilation of Vardan Arewelc’i.” DOP 43 (1989): 125–226. ———. A Bibliography of Classical Armenian Literature to 1500 AD. CChr. Turnhout: Brepols, 1995. Tisserant, Eugène Card. “Michel le syrien.” DThC X (1929): 1711–19 Vardanyan, Stella A. Iʜoch. Kniga o prirode. Iʜôʚ. Girk’ i veray bnut’ean. Erevan: Izd. Akademii Nauk Armjanskoj SSR, 1979. ———. “Ancient Armenian Translations of the Works of Syrian Physicians.” REArm. NS 16 (1982): 213–9. Vööbus, Arthur. Syrische Kanonensammlungen. Ein Beitrag zur Quellenkunde. I Westsyrische Originalurkunden. 2 vols. (with continuous pagination). CSCO, 307, 317, subs. 35, 38. Louvain: Secrétariat du Corpus SCO, 1970.

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Wensinck, Arent Jan. Bar Hebraeus’ Book of the Dove together with some Chapters from his Ethikon. Leiden: Brill, 1919. Wiedemann, Eilhard. “Zum Leben von Naʛîr al Dîn al ʝûʛî” (Beiträge zur Geschichte der Naturwissenschaften LXXV). Sitzungsberichte der physikalisch-medizinischen Sozietät zu Erlangen, 58/59 (1926/7): 363– 379. Rep. in id., Aufsätze zur arabischen Wissenschaftsgeschichte. Hildesheim/New York: Olms, 1970. II.677–693. Wright, William. A Short History of Syriac Literature. London: Black, 1894. Wright, William, & Stanley Arthur Cook. A Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts Preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1901. “X.” review article “Gregorii Abulpharagii sive Bar Hebraei Chronicon Syriacum ... descripsit ... Paulus Iacob Bruns ... Georg. Guil. Kirsch ...” NOEB 7 (1790): 1–24. Zolinski, Joseph. Zur Chronographie des Gregorius Abulpharagius. Diss. Heidelberg, Breslau: Th. Schatzky, 1894. Zonta, Mauro. Fonti greche e orientali dell’ Economia di Bar-Hebraeus nell’ opera “La crema della scienza.” AION.S, 70. Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale, 1992. ———. “Structure and Sources of Bar-Hebraeus’ ‘Practical Philosophy’ in The Cream of Wisdom.” In R. Lavenant, ed. Symposium Syriacum VII, 279– 292. OCA, 256. Rome: Pont. Istituto Orientale, 1998, Zotenberg, Hermann. Catalogues des manuscrits syriaques et sabéens (Mandaïtes) de la Bibliothèque Nationale. Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1874.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 93–101 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

BRIEF ARTICLES

SYRIAC PAPYRUS FRAGMENTS RECENTLY DISCOVERED IN DEIR AL-SURIAN (EGYPT) FR. BIGOUL EL-SOURIANY DEIR AL-SURIAN WADI AL-NATRUN EGYPT

LUCAS VAN ROMPAY DUKE UNIVERSITY DEPARTMENT OF RELIGION DURHAM, USA

ABSTRACT A first description is given of a bunch of papyrus fragments that came to light in the Monastery of the Syrians in 1998. They are the remnants of a papyrus codex containing ascetical-monastic texts. On the basis of their writing, a date in the ninth century is plausible. It may be assumed that the codex belonged to the library of the Monastery, whose history can be traced back to the beginning of the ninth century. The new discovery would constitute the first evidence that papyrus codices were in use in that library.

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The papyrus fragments briefly presented here have come to light during reconstruction work in the keep, or qasr, of the Monastery of the Syrians in the course of 1998. They were found in a hall on the first floor that is known as the “oil cellar.” From here a doorway gives direct access to the place that in earlier days very likely served as the library, while the “oil cellar” itself contained a number of fragments of Syriac manuscripts when Evelyn White visited the Monastery in 1920 and 1921 (Evelyn White, III, 1933, 176–7 and Plate LI). At the moment of their discovery, the fragments were stuck together and had the appearance of a wooden block of c. 11 cm. height, 8/9 cm. breadth (writing direction) and less than one cm. of thickness. The shape of the block was very irregular. Along the horizontal middle line so much damage had occurred and so much material had disappeared that the block was divided into an upper and a lower part, held together in the centre only by a few fibres of papyrus. In the months following the discovery, Father Bigoul ElSouriany and Dr. Wafika Noshy, of the Faculty of Antiquity of the University of Cairo, were able to detach the fragments one from another. In this process, however, the upper part of each leaf became unavoidably disconnected from the lower part. Moreover, only twelve fragments (representing either the upper or the lower part) remained intact; the others were broken into two or more pieces. All fragments turned out to contain Syriac text on both sides. In April 2000, Father Bigoul showed the fragments to David Jacobs (British Library, London) and Lucas Van Rompay (then University of Leiden). The latter was allowed to transcribe and study the Syriac text of six of the bigger fragments. To prevent further damage and loss, it was decided to place all fragments between glass plates, work which was meticulously carried out by David Jacobs. The fragments are presently between thirty double glass plates. Twelve plates have only one fragment (see the examples in Figs. 1–2, 4, and 5); nine have two fragments; the others have three or more (up to fourteen tiny) fragments. All plates have been photographed on both sides by Lucas Van Rompay. It should be noted that the original order of the fragments is not known and that the fragments brought together under one glass plate do not necessarily belong to the same leaf. At

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present the 83 papyrus fragments are like many pieces of a doublesided jigsaw puzzle. It is only the study of the content of the text which might eventually allow us to restore the pieces to their original order. We most likely are dealing with the remnants of a papyrus codex rather than of a roll. On all edges damage has occurred: nowhere can the margins be seen and not a single line of text is preserved in its entirety. Since all the edges of the leaves have disappeared and no bifolio has survived, we have no information on the make-up of the quires. We obviously can distinguish between writing surfaces with horizontally and vertically running fibres, but this distinction does not help us to establish what the original “recto” and “verso” sides were. The papyrus seems to be of very good quality and the ink has mostly remained black and clearly visible. In a few cases fibres have become detached and have taken with them part of the text, as can be seen in Fig. 3. The writing of the fragments is a rather cursive, informal and slightly irregular Serto. Although the fragments exhibit some differences in the writing style and in the shape of the letters, we are inclined to think that the same hand wrote all the text. The left end and upper strokes of many letters are often very high (not only lomad and mim, but also pe and yud) and so is the final unattached nun, which hangs in the air. These extended letters, pointing upwards to the left, contrast and often intersect with the ‘olaf or taw, which mostly incline to the right. See e.g. Fig. 4, line 3: mawtar (mim and taw). Such criss-cross intersections give the writing a somewhat irregular appearance. The shin, hastily written in three strokes (right, top, and left), often has a rectangular rather than a triangular (inverted pyramid) shape, and in some instances its base is open. Although no exact parallels to this writing can be found, many of its characteristics appear in manuscripts of the second half of the ninth century, cf. the plates CIV (ms. British Library, Add. 14,580, AD 866) and CX (ms. British Library, Add. 17,194, AD 885/86) in Paine Hatch’s Album (Paine Hatch 1946). Some similarities may even be found in manuscripts of the early tenth century, cf. the plates CXIII (ms. British Library, Or. 5021, AD 902/3), CXIV (ms. British Library, Add. 17,111, AD 927), and CXV (British Library, Add. 17,174, AD 929), the latter three

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manuscripts having been written in Egypt (on ms. Or. 5021, see Brock 1995a, 74–6). Konrad Jenner drew our attention to the similarity which the fragments exhibit with the writing of the biblical manuscript Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Orientali 58, a manuscript of unknown place and date which is dated by most scholars to the ninth century, although an earlier date cannot be ruled out (Jenner 1993, 262–4). The general appearance of the writing in this manuscript and the shape of many individual letters indeed closely resemble the writing of the fragments. On the basis of these data, one would be inclined to date the new fragments to the ninth century. However, some caution should be called for. Paine Hatch already pointed to the existence from the sixth century onwards of “a minuscule hand, more rapidly and less carefully written,” which had its impact on the development of the Serto script and there is reason to believe that Serto even has much older origins (Healey 2000; cf. Jenner 1993, 264). Given the cursive and rather informal character of the writing of the new fragments, the possibility of a date (slightly) earlier than the ninth century should be left open. It should be noted that Syriac papyrus fragments recently studied by Sauget and Brock have been attributed, on the basis of their writing, to the 9th/10th and to the 10th century—although with some hesitation (Sauget 1985, 2–3; Brock 1995b, 10–1 and 18). There can be no doubt that papyrus was still available at such a late date, as can be seen from the many preserved Arabic fragments (cf., e.g., Harrauer—Horak 1993). On the other hand, the study of Syriac papyri is only in its beginning (Brashear 1998; Brock 1999) and more precise dating criteria still need to be worked out. The text contained in our papyrus fragments has not yet been identified. We are obviously dealing with an ascetical text, which speaks about God and virtuous life and which has references and allusions to the Bible. The names of Jesus, Isaiah (probably the Old Testament prophet), and John (the evangelist) occur in it. The terminology of one fragment is reminiscent of the Preface to the Gospel of John. The use of the standard vocabulary and imagery of Syriac ascetical literature would lead us to the writings of such authors as Isaiah of Scetis, Nilus, John the Solitary or Evagrius of Pontus, but other, less well-known authors are possible candidates as well. It cannot be ascertained whether we are dealing with one

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work or with a collection of different works. Whatever the case may be, there are indications that there is a division into sections. One fragment has the following phrase: “now and always and for eternity. Amen” (Fig. 5, line 7), which seems to indicate the end of a section, identical to the ending of Logos XII in Draguet’s edition of Abba Isaiah’s Asceticon (Draguet 1968, I, text: 174,9; translation: 215). Another fragment has “to you is the glory for eternity of eternity …”, which is very similar to the end of Logos XVIII in the same work (Draguet 1968 II, text: 287,7–9; translation: 356). One piece of ornamentation, preserved on a tiny isolated fragment, may have served to indicate the end of a chapter or book (Fig. 6). In some places there seem to be references to other sections or treatises of the same (?) work; letters are written with their numerical value, with a horizontal line on top of them. The clearest example is in a fragment which has: men mimro d-L… (the rest is missing), “from mimro 3[..].” Other examples involve the numbers 26 and 22 (Fig. 7, line 6: men haw d-KB). Much more work remains to be done in order to ascertain whether these fragments present a text that is also known from other sources or whether we are dealing with a unique—albeit very incomplete—witness. Whatever the result of these future investigations may be, the new fragments constitute an important addition to the fairly modest corpus of Syriac papyri. Moreover, on the basis of this new discovery one may venture the supposition that the library of Deir al-Surian, whose history can be traced back to the beginning of the ninth century (Innemée—Van Rompay 1998, 182–4, with further references) contained books not only of parchment and paper, but also of papyrus.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Brashear 1998: Brashear, Wm. “Syriaca.” Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete 44,1 (1998): 86–127. Brock 1995a: Brock, Sebastian P. “Notulae Syriacae: Some Miscellaneous Identifications.” Le Muséon 108 (1995): 69–78. Brock 1995b: Brock, Sebastian. “Two Syriac Papyrus Fragments from the SchȆyen Collection.” Oriens Christianus 79 (1995): 9–22. Brock 1999: Brock, Sebastian. “A Syriac Letter on Papyrus: P.Berol. Inv. 8285.” Hugoye 2/2 (July 1999). Draguet 1968: Draguet, René. Les cinq recensions de l’Ascéticon syriaque d’Abba Isaïe, I–II. Corpus scriptorum christianorum orientalium, 289– 290 and 293–4; Syr. 120–3. Louvain, 1968.

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Evelyn White, III, 1933: Evelyn White, Hugh G. The Monasteries of the Wâdi ‘n Natrun, Part III. The Architecture and Archaeology. New York, 1933; Reprint 1973). Harrauer—Horak 1993: Harrauer, Hermann, and Ulrike Horak. “Papyri, Pergamente und Papiere als Zeugnisse des Alltages.” In E.M. Ruprechtsberger, ed. Syrien. Von den Aposteln zu den Kalifen, 365–89 and 465–500. Linz, 1993. Healey 2000: Healey, John F. “The Early History of the Syriac Script. A Reassessment.” Journal of Semitic Studies 45/1 (2000): 55–67. Innemée—Van Rompay 1998: Innemée, Karel, and Lucas Van Rompay. “La présence des Syriens dans le Wadi al-Natrun (Égypte). À propos des découvertes récentes de peintures et de textes muraux dans l’Église de la Vierge du Couvent des Syriens.” Parole de l’Orient 23 (1998): 167–202. Jenner 1993: Jenner, Konrad. “A Review of the Methods by which Syriac Biblical and Related Manuscripts have been Described and Analysed: Some Preliminary Remarks.” Aram 5:1&2 (1993) [= A Festschrift for Dr. Sebastian P. Brock]: 255–66. Paine Hatch 1946: Paine Hatch, William H. Album of Dated Syriac Manuscripts. Boston, 1946. Sauget 1985: Sauget, Joseph-Marie. “Le fragment de papyrus syriaque conservé à Florence.” Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli 45 (1985): 1–16 + 2 plates.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS While preparing this report, we have benefited from the help and advice of David Jacobs (London), Alfons Wouters (Leuven), John F. Oates and Andrew Jacobs (both of Duke University), and Konrad Jenner (Leiden).

Syriac Papyrus Fragments Recently Discovered

ILLUSTRATIONS: Fig. 1 and 2: One of the bigger fragments photographed on both sides.

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Fig. 4: One of the bigger fragments, showing the script.

Syriac Papyrus Fragments Recently Discovered 101 Fig. 5: Fragment showing the end of a section (?) in line 7.

Fig. 6: Fragment with ornamentation.

Fig. 7: Fragment showing a reference to another (part of the) work, containing the number 22 (in line 6).

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 103–108 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

RECENT ARCHAEOLOGICAL EXCAVATIONS IN TAKRIT AND THE DISCOVERY OF SYRIAC INSCRIPTIONS AMIR HARRAK UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO TORONTO, ONTARIO CANADA

ABSTRACT During the 1990’s Iraqi archaeologists uncovered impressive Christian buildings in a site outside Takrit called Chenisa. A large church was excavated, bearing traditional Syriac architectural features, such as the bema and the “beth-qadishe” (graves of holy men), and containing Syriac inscriptions dated to three well-known Metropolitans. A large inscription found in the Hall, bearing the name of “the Abbot Mar George” and the name of another “monk,” strongly suggests that the excavated site was a Syriac monastery. Inside Takrit, a church was excavated, containing graves of ecclesiastical leaders, including “Athanasius, Metropolitan of Takrit;” his name and title appear in his personal seal in the shape of a cross made of silver. The church was the headquarters of the Metropolitans of Takrit. This is suggested by a marble inscription containing the words “Metropolitan of Tag[rith],” found in a seemingly administrative section beside the church

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During the 1990s Iraqi archaeologists excavated two sites in and around Takrit, one located in the city’s ancient citadel, and another, called al-Chenisa, located outside the city, on the east side of the Tigris. In both sites, remains of Christian buildings, including several graves and an important number of Syriac inscriptions, came to light. The Iraqi Department of Antiquities had graciously given me the permission to publish the inscriptions, after I photographed them at the Iraqi Museum during the summers of 1997 and 1998.

SITE OF AL-CHENISA [2]

[3]

An extensive complex of buildings was uncovered, including a church, reception hall, cells, and a wide open courtyard. Impressive walls with towers surrounded the complex on its four sides, and the whole looked like a fortification. Under the galleries of the courtyard several graves were uncovered, and in one, a coffin, made of wood included a carved plank showing a Syriac traditional cross. Another grave included a small cross made of black wood beautifully carved. The reception hall, accessed through a sophisticated entrance, offered one large inscription mentioning “the Abbot Mar George,” and below it the name of ȨAbd al-Nur the “Monk” is shown. In the same section, a box containing coins was also uncovered. The coins of Caliph al-Nasir li-Din-Allah (1180–1225) indicate that the monastery was still functioning at least until the middle of the 13th century. Elsewhere in this section, the name of “Bar-[Sawmo] the Monk” and an interesting curse formula were uncovered written on the walls. The monastic church has a traditional plan: the nave is tripartite, a bema, accessed through three steps, stands in the middle of the church, and the Sanctuary is separated from the church through a wall. Near the altar, three tablitho-plaques were uncovered, bearing inscriptions dated to three Metropolitans of Takrit. The earliest one mentions the name of “[Yu]hanon Bar Kipho” who was Metropolitan between 686 and 688. The date given in the plaque, Seleucid 1021 (AD 709/10), contradicts the dates traditionally given to John Bar Kipho (he was followed by Denha II, 688–728). These dates are based on the computations of Bar-Hebraeus, but the date provided by the plaque does not correspond to the results of this 13th century famous author. The

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second plaque belongs to “Bishop Mar Joseph,” who administered Takrit for a short while after 774. The third and last plaque mentions the name of “Athanasius our Metropolitan.” The plaque was originally made for the Upper church of Hassonitho. We know that Athanasius I became Metropolitan of Takrit in 887, died in Takrit, and was buried in the Church of Sergius and Bacchus in that city (see below). Since there is evidence that he died in Takrit (see the Ecclesiastical History of Bar-Hebraeus), and because of a possible connection between the church of Hassonitho mentioned in his plaque and his well-known problems with the people of Hassonitho discussed by BarHebraeus, one would like to attribute the plaque to him. Underneath Room 7, beneath the apse of the church, a vaulted gallery was found, containing niches which were most probably parts of the graves in which holy men were once buried. If this were the case, we would have here a beth-qadishe, lit. “place of holy men”, that is a burial place of the ecclesiastical leaders. Beth-qadishe is part of the traditional plan of the West Syriac church. We have a good example of a vaulted crypt with burial niches in the monastery of Mor Gabriel in Tur-`Abdin, and niches in the bethqadishe, in the Monastery of Mar Matta in the north of Iraq.

THE CITADEL OF TAKRIT [6]

[7]

Here a church was excavated. It was rectangular in plan, and divided into three naves by two sets of round columns. The altar was accessed through three steps, and stood up on a rectangular platform called in Syriac qastromo or qanke—an area reserved for the choir. The platform is annexed by a narrow passage protruding from its centre on the west side. This architectural feature is familiar in the architecture of the East Syriac church, and is called shqaqona “the narrow passage.” Its existence in the church of Takrit suggests that the west Syriac people also knew it, though this might be the only case where it is attested. The orientation of the altar directly to the east reflects the ideal Syriac architecture, the east being the source of light and light was identified with Jesus in Syriac Christianity. Four entrances offered access to the church, two of which are located to the west. The two other entrances are located to north, and had witnessed a curious development. While the north east entrance was made narrow once upon a time, the north west

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entrance was modified to become the miʚrab of a mosque that shared with the church its north wall (see below). Near the east wall and before the altar, an opening was uncovered in the floor leading to two underground chambers, separated by a common wall. The east chamber was found empty, but it offered access to the second room through an opening made inside the wall. Inside the second room, three graves were uncovered, which must have been violated, since the bones were found scattered on the floor in a haphazard manner. Grave 3, a shaft dug inside the ground, contained a wooden coffin made of four discarded door leaves. The remains of a bishop buried with his staff were uncovered. The building west of the church consisted of four rooms of different sizes. Room 1 seems important since it contained a halfcircular recess in its east wall. Room 4 contained a well. The role played by this complex is not very clear, given the architectural renovations that have taken place in it at earlier phases. But it is safe to believe that it served at least once as the administrative quarters of none other than the Metropolitan of Takrit himself. Near the entrance of Room 3 of this complex, a fragment of a white marble slab was found, inscribed with the phrase “Metropolitan of Tag[rith].” The phrase, which does not seem to be part of a funerary inscription, meant in all likelihood to identify the complex as administrative quarters. To the north of the church a mosque, rectangular in plan, was built. The most interesting aspect of this plan is its half-circular miʚrab, decorated with half-columns at its both corners. Originally, the miʚrab was the north-west door of the church, a fact which suggests that the mosque was built after the church had been abandoned by the Christian population of Takrit. The higher floor of the mosque also indicates its late date. That the land where the mosque was built was part of the church is made clear by the results of the excavations conducted below the mosque. Underneath the floor of the mosque, another floor was found with remains of walls covered with mortar as was also the case of the floor. The lower floor was in fact an extension of the floor of the church, and it continued much beyond the borders of the mosque on the east side. Two underground chambers were uncovered inside the mosque, between the wall of the miʚrab and the set of columns facing it. After lifting a round cover found on the floor, an opening led to the chambers, one of which gave access to other

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buildings located outside the mosque and which overlooked the Tigris. These underground chambers reminds one of the two other similar ones found inside the church, some of which contained scattered remains of Syriac holy men. Outside the mosque, a grave was also uncovered east of its north wall, containing a wooden coffin from which bits of wood and corroded nails of iron survived. The skeleton was that of the highest West Syriac ecclesiastical authority in Mesopotamia. He was buried with his seal, consisting of a beautiful cross of silver, skillfully fashioned. The rounded ends of the horizontal part and the bottom end of the vertical part of the cross bear a finely written inscription in Estrangelo, which reads as follows: “Athanasius the Metropo(litan), Metropolitan of Tagrith”.

ATHANASIUS THE METROPOLITAN [11]

We have encountered a Metropolitan bearing this name, and suggested that he was Athanasius I who died and was buried in Takrit. We take a further step and say that the tomb uncovered outside the mosque was the final resting place of this same person, and the seal in the shape of the cross was his own seal. Moreover, since we know the name of the church where Athanasius I was buried, we dare say that the church beneath the mosque is none other than the Church of the Martyrs Sergius and Bacchus, and hence it is not the Green Church suggested, though hesitantly, by the Iraqi archaeologists. The church of Sergius and Bacchus was built in Takrit around 675, by the Metropolitan Bar-Isho who administered the city from 669 to 683. He is said to have made it extremely beautiful, and it was there that he set his administrative quarters. In fact, it continued to be the residence of the Takritan Metropolitans until the middle of the 11th century, when the Church of Ahudemmeh (most probably the “Green Church”) replaced it in this regard. The phrase “Metropolitan of Tag[rith]” inscribed on the white marble about which we talked above, and which was found in the same ruins, makes good sense in this context. Several Metropolitans were buried in this church, including John the Elder, our Athanasius, Sergius, and Cyriacus.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENT [12]

[13]

I owe my deepest gratitude to the Department of Antiquities of the Republic of Iraq for giving me the authorization to photograph and study the Syriac inscriptions uncovered in Takrit. Dr. Mu`ayyad Sa`id al-Damerji, former Director General, Department of Antiquities, Mr. Rabi`al-Qaysi, Director General, Department of Antiquities, Dr. Nawala al-Mutwalli, Head of the Department of Cuneiform Studies, Iraqi Museum, and Dr. Donny George Yukhanna, Head of External Relations, Iraqi Museum, opened for me their doors and their hearts, when I applied to work on the Syriac material at the Iraqi Museum. I should not forget Hajji `Abed, who was always ready to bring me the Syriac inscriptions whenever I needed them. My research on the inscriptions is financially supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

The full lecture, including the publication of all the Syriac inscriptions found in Takrit, will be published in the Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies. The Journal will also include the transcripts of the lectures to be given in the 2000–2001 programme of the CSSS. To obtain a copy of the Journal, contact www.gorgiaspress.com.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.1, 109–114 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

A NEW SYRIAC INSCRIPTION IN DEIR AL-SURIAN (EGYPT) LUCAS VAN ROMPAY DUKE UNIVERSITY DURHAM, USA

ANDREA B. SCHMIDT UNIVERSITE CATHOLIQUE DE LOUVAIN LOUVAIN-LA-NEUVE, BELGIUM

ABSTRACT This reports contains the edition and translation of a Syriac inscription recently discovered on an isolated beam of wood which was reused in a later door of the qasr of the Monastery of the Syrians. It mentions the names of the patriarchs of Antioch and Alexandria (Mor Ignaʞios and Mor Yuʚannon respectively) and is dated to the year 1597 of the Greeks, i.e., AD 1285/86. The original context of the inscription is not known.

[1]

The keep or qasr of the Monastery of the Syrians is presently undergoing considerable reconstruction work which affects all the floors of this historic square building. During our stay in the Monastery in December 2000, Abouna Bulus El-Suriany, who is responsible for the work, was kind enough to give us some insight in the work and to inform us about its progress. On the third floor of the qasr, the northern side is occupied by the Church of St. 109

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Michael. Separated from it by a corridor, there is, on the eastern side, a room that served as a small library. While the qasr itself may date back to the ninth century, the Church of St. Michael is of a much later date. Evelyn White suggests the period around the year 1480, without however ruling out the possibility of a date as late as about 1700 [Evelyn White, III, 1933, 178]. A few months ago, a wooden door was removed from its place in the church and it turned out to contain a Syriac inscription. Abouna Bulus allowed us to take photographs of this inscription and, after consultation with Abouna Bigoul El-Souriany, His Grace Bishop Mattaos granted us permission to publish it. The door is c. 182 cm. in length and c. 107 cm. in width. It is made up of pieces of different origin. One of these is a beam that now has the same length as the door (182 cm.). Originally, it must have been longer, as part of it had been cut or sawn off in order to allow it to be used in the new door. This beam seems to be much older than the rest of the door. A bit more than half of it (97 cm.) is covered with a Syriac inscription, of which the beginning is missing due to its having been trimmed. Although the text must have remained visible to the beholder, it may be safely assumed that the beam was reused without any attention being paid to the content of the Syriac inscription, which in this door is completely out of place. The Syriac text, incised in the wood, is written in one line. The writing is a clearly, but somewhat clumsily written Estrangelo, which can be read easily [Fig. 1 shows the whole inscription, while Figs. 2, 3, and 4 show in greater detail the first, central, and final parts respectively]. Text: ... ]y’ d-dayro b-yawmay ‘abohoto paʞryar(kĔ) Mor(y) ‘Ignaʞyos w-Mo[ry] Yuʚannon ba-šnat ‚nʜz d-YawnoyĔ.

Translation: “ ... ] ... of the Monastery in the days of the Fathers Patriarchs Mor Ignaʜyos and Mor Yuʘannon in the year 1597 of the Greeks. ”

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Notes: x x x

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[6]

[7]

[8]

The first letter, which must belong to the ending of a noun, might be either yud or nun. The word paʞryar(kĔ) is written in an abbreviated form, without the final kaf and ‚olaf. The year is written as ‚olaf—nun—ʜodĔ—zayn, with a stroke above these four letters. Due to damage in the upper part of the nun, we have wondered whether perhaps šin ought to be read. This, however, seems unlikely.

The year 1597 “of the Greeks” corresponds to AD 1285/86. As is usual in Deir al-Surian, two patriarchs are mentioned: Ignatius (IV), patriarch of Antioch from 1283 to 1292 [Honigmann 1967, 73] and John (VII), who occupied the See of Alexandria between 1262 and 1268, and again between 1271 and 1293 [Labib 1991]. The preserved text must be the final part of an inscription which recorded building or other activities in the Monastery. It reminds one of the impressive Syriac inscriptions found on the lintel and the jambs of the doors closing the haikal and the khurus in the Church of the Virgin and dated to the years AD 914 and 926/7 respectively, when Moses of Nisibis was the abbot [Leroy 1974, 154–5; Van Rompay 1999, par. 30–3]. The new inscription is less elegant than the inscriptions from Moses’ time and it is less carefully executed. It may originally have belonged to a lintel or jamb. Whether its original position was in the Church of the Virgin or elsewhere in the Monastery cannot be ascertained. Very little is known of the history of the Monastery of the Syrians in the last decades of the thirteenth century. It has generally been assumed that the Church of the Virgin was redecorated around the year 1200 or somewhat later in the thirteenth century [Leroy 1982, 65–74; van Moorsel 1995, 519, with further references], but there is no evidence of building activities towards the end of the century. This was a period of hardship for the Christians in Egypt—as appears from the section on John IV in the History of the Patriarchs [Khater & Burmester 1970, Arabic: 134; English: 229–30; compare Labib 1991]—and Evelyn White assumes that there was little literary and cultural activity in the Monastery [Evelyn White, II, 1932, 450]. On the other hand, there are indications that, possibly in the wake of the arrival of refugees from Syria about 1254, the number

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of monks was rather large [Evelyn White, II, 390–1]. In addition, we know of a few scribes working in the Monastery in that period. In 1280, Rabban Isa Saliba completed an Arabic manuscript in the Monastery [Bigoul El-Souriany, forthcoming]. One year later, in 1281, Solomon son of Simon wrote a Coptic manuscript [ibidem]. In 1291/2, a scribe from Tur ȨAbdin, John of ʗaʘ, was working on two liturgical manuscripts: British Library, Add. 14,699 and Add. 14,700 [Wright, I, 1870, 305a and 306a]; the former manuscript is explicitly said to have been written for the Monastery. Bringing these different pieces of information together, one can imagine that modest building or reconstruction activities were undertaken in order to meet the actual needs of the Monastery. Our new inscription may be the sober witness of such activities.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bigoul El-Souriany, forthcoming: Father Bigoul El-Souriany. “Manuscript Collection of Deir al-Surian: Its Survival into the Third Millennium.” In Proceedings of the International Congress of Coptic Studies, Leiden 27 August – 2 September 2000. Evelyn White, II, 1932: Evelyn White, Hugh G. The Monasteries of the Wâdi ‘n Natrûn, Part II. The History of the Monasteries of Nitria and Scetis. New York, 1932; Reprint 1973. Evelyn White, III, 1933: Evelyn White, Hugh G. The Monasteries of the Wâdi ‘n Natrûn, Part III. The Architecture and Archaeology. New York, 1933; Reprint 1973. Honigmann 1967: Honigmann, Ernest. Le couvent de Barsauma et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 146; Subsidia, 7. Louvain, 1967. Khater & Burmester 1970: Khater, A., & O.H.E. Khs-Burmester. History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church, Vol. III, Part III. Cyril II – Cyril V (A.D. 1235–1894). Publications de la Société d’archéologie copte. Textes et documents, XIII. Cairo, 1970. Labib 1991: Labib, Subhi Y. “John VII.” In Aziz S. Atiya, ed. The Coptic Encyclopedia, vol. 4, 1342–3. New York, 1991. Leroy 1974: Leroy, Jules. “Le décor de l’église du couvent des Syriens au Ouady Natroun.” Cahiers archéologiques 23 (1974): 151–67. Leroy 1982: Leroy, Jules. Les peintures des couvents du Ouady Natroun (= La peinture murale chez les Coptes, II: Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 101) Cairo, 1982. Van Moorsel 1995: van Moorsel, Paul P.V. “La grande annonciation de Deir es-Sourian.” Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 95

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(1995): 517–37. Reprinted in van Moorsel, P.P.V. Called to Egypt. Collected Studies on Painting in Christian Egypt, 203–24 (no. 16). Publications of the ‘De Goeje Fund’, 30. Leiden, 2000. Van Rompay 1999: Van Rompay, Lucas. “Syriac Inscriptions in Deir alSurian: Some Reflections on Their Writers and Readers.” Hugoye 2/2 (July 1999).

ILLUSTRATIONS: Fig. 1. Part of the wooden door, laying on the ground, with an overview of the Syriac inscription.

Fig. 2. Detail of the Syriac inscription: the first part.

Fig. 3. Detail of the Syriac inscription: the central part.

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Lucas Van Rompay, Andrea B. Schmidt Fig. 4. Detail of the Syriac inscription: the final part, containing the date.

PUBLICATIONS AND BOOK REVIEWS Hans Hollerweger, TURABDIN: Lebendiges Kulturerbe / Living Cultural Heritage / Canli Kültür Mirasi (Linz, Austria: Freunde des Turabdin, 1999). 367 pp.; 478 color photographs. $40.00. EDIP AYDIN, TEANECK, NEW JERSEY, USA

[1]

[2]

Hans Hollerweger, a Professor Emeritus of Liturgical Science at the Theological Faculty in Linz, Austria, has come up with a remarkable book about Turabdin, the heartland and the sanctuary of the Syriac Christians located in southeast Anatolia in modern Turkey. Hollerweger, a true and dear friend of Turabdin and its people and founder of the “Friends of Turabdin”, through his book TURABDIN captures the spirit of this mystical region and its Oriental beauty by providing an excellent “pictorial account of Turabdin, the Holy mountain of Syriac Christianity.” Also, the author’s thought provoking preface and two excellent introductory contributions by two renowned scholars, coupled with two important messages, one from His Holiness Mor Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, the Patriarch of the Syriac Orthodox Church of Antioch, and the other from Mor Timotheos Samuel Aktas, the Archbishop of Turabdin, together with the perceptive comments on each photograph and depiction contained in the book provide the context necessary for understanding and appreciating the artistic creativity of Turabdin as well as its social, cultural, historical and liturgical significance not only for Syriac Christians but for all Christendom. This illustrated book takes the reader on a fascinating journey across the physical and cultural history of Turabdin and guides them through ancient churches and monasteries. It likewise introducing the region’s remaining inhabitants to the wider public by presenting them as a living community above all through the celebration of the their ancient liturgy performed in Aramaic, the language spoken by our Lord Jesus Christ himself. Hollerweger, stresses the historical significance and religious importance of Turabdin through the following statement. “Today, this high limestone plateau in southeast Turkey, between the Tigris and the Syrian border, with

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Publications and Book Reviews its hills and valleys, seems remote. But, once upon a time, Romans and Byzantine emperors, reigning in Rome and Constantinople, ruled not only over regions and countries in the West, but also over Turabdin in the East. This far-off region has long captured public attention, at one time as a stronghold on the border of the Empire, later on as the center of the Syriac Church and nowadays as a cornerstone of Christianity in the Middle East.” (p. 14)

[3]

[4]

Hollerweger informs us how Christianity was preached in Turabdin at an early time. This is known from the fact that in 120 A.D. there was a bishop in Beth Zabday (Azakh). With the flourishing of monasticism in the region, which is a distinctive feature of Turabdin, the inhabitants of Turabdin were finally converted to Christianity through the monks in the fourth century. This ascetic movement left its mark on the region of Turabdin that came to be interpreted as “The Mountain of the Servants of God”. Hollerweger’s interest in Syriac Christianity seems to have been prompted by two factors. First, his liturgical background as a Professor of Liturgical Science at the Theological Faculty in Linz, Austria, gave him a good knowledge of the Syriac Liturgy and appreciation of its beauty. Secondly, his ecumenical vision and more importantly his true Christian love for the least of the brethren, the ‘Forgotten Christians’ of Turabdin, led him to become the ‘voice of the voiceless’. He states: “Many [the inhabitants of Turabdin] had left their native area and had emigrated to the West in the hope of finding a secure future. Those who remained were in need of a feeling of solidarity, which I tried to give to them through the organization ‘Friends of Turabdin’” (p. 14) a few paragraphs later, he states his appreciation of the Syriac liturgy saying: “As a professor of liturgy, I have had the opportunity of experiencing the precious legacy of the West Syriac Liturgy both in Mor Gabriel Monastery and at the liturgical services in the bishop’s church, Mort Shmuni in Midyat.” (p. 14) Then he goes on to talk about the central role of the liturgy in the monastic life of Turabdin and the unifying factor of the liturgy by bringing together the Syriac Orthodox and Christians of other denominations living in Turabdin. Hollerweger’s first visit to Turabdin was in the middle of 1980s. Since then, his continuous regular annual visits to the region made him very familiar and knowledgeable about the history of

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Turabdin, as well as its people, their daily life, culture and ancient tradition. It seems that the more Hollerweger became acquainted with the region and its people; the mutual bond of love between them grew stronger. He states, “The inhabitants of Turabdin impress me most of all by their originality and simplicity, by their attachment to their native soil, by their fortitude in difficult times, by their self-confidence and lack of pretentiousness” (p. 14). Furthermore, what is of special interest to him is that the inhabitants of Turabdin still use the language spoken by Jesus, an Aramaic dialect today known as Turoyo. He concludes by saying, “This makes them the bearers of an uninterrupted tradition from the beginnings of Christianity until the present day. Here on the plateau of Turabdin, formerly isolated and cut off from the world, they have been able to preserve their culture, a culture which cannot be transferred to any other region.” (p. 14) The book contains two brilliant essays that stemmed from the pen of two renowned British scholars: Sebastian Brock of Oxford University and Andrew Palmer of London University. Brock, with his essay entitled “Tur’Abdin- a Homeland of Ancient SyroAramaean Culture,” draws attention to the cultural background of Syriac Christianity, emphasizing that Turabdin or “Mount Athos of the East” as it is sometimes referred to by the European writers, is not only famous for its multitude of ancient churches and monasteries, with their magnificent architecture that has attracted many historians and architects, but also known for its cultural role played by the innumerable scribes in the transmission of texts. He states: “over the course of centuries and continuing right up to the present day, innumerable scribes have been at work in the churches and monasteries of Tur’Abdin, copying out Syriac liturgical and literary texts” (p. 23). Palmer, the author of the book entitled “Monk and Mason on Tigris Frontier: The Early History of Tur’Abdin” (Cambridge, 1990), is very familiar and knowledgeable about Turabdin and its people. This is also reflected in his contribution under the title “The 1600-Year History of the Monastery of Qartmin (Mor Gabriyel)” in which he first situates Turabdin in a historical context and traces its development and changes up to our time. He then focuses on the Monastery of Qartmin (Mor Gabriel), one of the few remaining active monasteries in the region and undoubtedly the most active one today. He talks eloquently of the history of the Monastery, its

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structure, architecture, style and liturgical symbolism associated with its artifacts. Palmer then goes on to give a detailed historical account of the major relevant events of the Monastery and its development. The book is thoughtfully arranged and skillfully divided into geographically based chapters that introduce the reader to the ancient churches and monasteries, villages and towns of Turabdin which are now depleted by large scale emigration, but nevertheless remain a living testimony of the glorious past and pointing to a hopeful future. The book is very rich in illustrations and includes about five hundred photographs, both in color and in black and white, that present the true image of Turabdin. Like a bouquet of flowers gathered from the ‘Fertile Crescent’, these photographs while on the one hand, reveal the various aspects and magnificence of churches and monasteries with their beautiful architecture, decoration, furnishings and artifacts as well as the liturgical rites and symbolism associated with Syriac Christianity; on the other, they picture the life in Turabdin, showing the colorful scenes of acorn grown mountains and hills, exotic gardens and blooms, traditional Syriac foods and clothes, and shedding light upon the different aspects of life and conditions of the Syriac people. All photographs are accompanied with captions in three different languages providing further details of each depiction. This fascinating book of TURABDIN by Hollerweger, which is a true celebration of the spiritual and cultural richness as well as the geographical beauty of the region and its sacred monuments, comes in handy for the Jubilee Celebration in observation of the two thousand years of Christianity of which Turabdin has truly been one of its faithful herald and still continues to be so. The book fulfills both the expectation of the people of Turabdin and meets the need felt by the public and specialists alike. It will be an invaluable tool for students and scholars in the field of history, religion, spirituality and Near East studies and above all to those who are interested in the mysterious Syriac Orient and its distinct Christian tradition. It is no doubt that it will especially be of immense help to the Syriac community in the diaspora in rediscovering their roots, rejoicing in their glorious past and carrying the torch of light brightly to future generations. The book is remarkable indeed. It is clear, well written and colorfully presented. Furthermore, it makes it more accessible to a wider

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audience since the text is beautifully and eloquently composed in three languages: German, English and Turkish. Poetically, I would conclude by saying TURABDIN is a jewel that should be treasured in everyone’s library and, like a colorful flower, planted in every reader’s garden to enjoy both its beauty and sweet fragrance that pleases both the eye and heart.

Recent Books on Syriac Topics (1997–2000) SEBASTIAN P. BROCK, UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

[1]

As in previous lists of recent books on Syriac topics, I have taken the opportunity to rectify some oversights (one very serious one from 1997!) from 1997 and 1998.

[2]

1997 Borbone, P., Cook, J., Jenner, K.D., and D.M. Walter: The Old Testament in Syriac according to the Peshitta Version. Part V, Concordance; Volume 1, The Pentateuch (Leiden: Brill). Malacrida, G.: Forme del canto siriaco (Lucca: Libreria musicale italiana). Teule, H. and Wessels, A., eds.: Oosterse christenen binnen de wereld van de Islam (Kampen: Kok). [With good coverage of the Syriac traditions].

[3] 1998 Brock, S.P.: The Holy Spirit in the Syrian Baptismal Tradition (Syrian Churches Series (ed. J. Vellian), 9. Pune: Anita; Enlarged Second Edition). Lattke, M.: Die Oden Salomos in ihre Bedeutung für Neues Testament und Gnosis, IV (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, 25/4. Fribourg: Editions universitaires/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht). Frantzolas, K.G.: Hosiou Ephraim tou Syrou Erga, VII (Thessaloniki: Perivoli tis Panagias). [The final volume of a re-edition of Ephrem Graecus, mostly based on Assemani, but this volume also has a few hitherto unpublished texts]. Heinz, A.: Feste und Feiern im Kirchenjahr nach dem Ritus der Syrisch-Orthodoxen Kirche von Antiochien (Trier). Sauget, J.-M. (ed. L. Duval-Arnould and F. Rilliet): Littératures et manuscripts des chrétientés syriaques et arabes. Receuil d’articles (Studi e Testi, 389. Rome). Varghese, B.: Dionysius bar Salibi: Commentary on the Eucharist (Moran Etho Series, 10. Kottayam: SEERI). [English translation].

[4]

1998/9 Charon, C. (tr. J. Collarafi): History of the Melkite Patriarchates (Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem) from the sixth-century Monophysite Schism until the present [1902], I–II (Fairfax VA: Eastern Christian Publications).

[5]

1999 Barsom, E., ed.: Shimo (7th edn.; Glane: Monastery of St Ephrem). [Large Quarto edition, in calligraphy of Mor Julius Cicek]. Brock, S. (tr. M. Campatelli and M. Nin): Efrem il Siro. L’arpa dello Spirito. 18 poemi di sant’ Efrem (Rome: Lipa).

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Brock, S.P. (tr. M. Campatelli and M. Nin): L’occhio luminoso. La visione spirituale di sant’ Efrem (Rome: Lipa). Hage, L.: Précis de chant maronite (BUSEK, 39. Kaslik: Université Saint Esprit). Henze, M.: The Madness of King Nebuchadnezzar. The Ancient Near Eastern Origins and Early History of Interpretation of Daniel 4 (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 61. Leiden: Brill). [Ch. 4 on early Syriac tradition]. Key Fowden, E.: The Barbarian Plain: Saint Sergius between Rome and Iran (Berkeley: University of California Press). Kochappilly, P.P.: Celebrative Ethics: Ecological Issues in the Light of the SyroMalabar Qurbana (Bangalore: Dharmaram Publications). Lattke, M.: Oden Salomos. Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar. Teil 1, Oden 1 und 3–14 (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus, 41/1. Freiburg/ Göttingen). Müller-Kessler, C. and M. Sokoloff: A Corpus of Christian Palestinian Aramaic. V, The Catechism of Cyril of Jerusalem in the Christian Palestinian Aramaic Version (Groningen: Styx). Tarzi, J.: The Syrian Urhoyan Cuisine. The Art of Edessan Cookery (Burbank CA: the author [900 N. Glenoaks Road, Burbank CA 91052]). Thackston, W.M.: An Introduction to Syriac: an elementary grammar with readings from Syriac literature (Bethesda MD: Ibex). Thelly, E.: Syriac-English-Malayalam Lexicon (Kottayam: Deepika Book House). Van Rooy, H.F.: Studies on the Syriac Apocryphal Psalms (Journal of Semitic Studies Supplement, 7. Oxford: University Press).

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2000 Alfeyev, H.: The Spiritual World of Isaac the Syrian (Kalamazoo MI: Cistercian). Baum, W., and D. Winkler: Die Apostolische Kirche des Ostens. Geschichte der sogenannten Nestorianer (Einführung in das orientalisches Christentum, 1. Klagenfurt: Kitab). Barsoum, Ignatius Aphram I (tr. M. Moosa): The History of Syriac Literature and Sciences (Pueblo CO: Passeggiata Press, ISBN 1–57889–103– 5). Borbone, P.G.: Storia di Mar Yahballaha e di Rabban Sauma. Un orientale in Occidente ai tempi di Marco Polo (Torino: Zamorani). Bou Mansour, T.: La théologie de Jacques de Saroug. Tome II, Christologie, Trinité, Eschatologie, Méthode exégétique et théologique (BUSEK, 40. Kaslik: Université Saint Esprit). Brock, S.P. (tr. G. Bulut): Gelenginde Kutsal Kitap (Istanbul). Falla, T.C: A Key to the Peshitta Gospels. 2, He–Yodh (Leiden: Brill).

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Gerber, S.: Theodor von Mopsuestia und das Nicänum. Studien zu den katechetischen Homilien (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, 51. Leiden: Brill). Hanna, Sabo, and Aziz Bulut: Wörterbuch Deutsch-Aramäisch, AramäischDeutsch/Sfar melle, Suryoyo-Almanoyo, Almanoyo-Suryoyo (Heilbronn: ISBN 3-00-005767–6). Hannibal J. Gevargis: Ruhaniyun-e Bar-Jestah-yi Ashuri dar Do Qarn-I Akhir, vol. 1 [Assyrian religious writers of the last two centuries] (Tehran: The Assyrian Church). Ica, I.I. Jr., tr.: Sfantul Efrem Sirul, Imnele Nasterii si Aratarii Domnului (Sibiu: Deisis). [Romanian translation of Ephrem, Madrashe on Nativity and Epiphany, and Soghyatha]. Illert, M.: Johannes Chrysostomos und das antiochenisch-syrische Mönchtum (Zürich/Freiburg i.B.: Pano). Joseph, J.: The Modern Assyrians of the Middle East: Encounters with Western Missions, Archaeologists and Colonian Powers (Studies in Christian Mission, 26. Leiden: Brill). Luxenberg, C.: Der Syro-Aramäische Lesart des Koran. Ein Beitrag zur Entschlüsselung der Koransprache (Berlin: Das Arabische Buch). Mengozzi, A: A Story in a Truthful Language. Neo-Syriac Poems by Israel of Alqosh and Joseph of Telkepe, North Iraq, 17th century, I–II (diss. Leiden University). Pigulevskaya, N.V.: Sirijskaya Srednevekovaya Istoriografia: Issledovaniya I Perevodi (St. Petersburg: Rossijskaya Akademiya Nauk, Instiut Vostokovedeniya). With Introduction by E.N. Mescherskaya. Ross, S.K.: Roman Edessa: Politics and Culture on the Eastern Fringes of the Roman Empire (London: Routledge). Seven d-Beth Qermez, E., ed.: Antony Rhitor of Tagrit, The Book of Rhetoric. (Södertälje: Författares Bokmaskin) ISBN 91–7910–253-0. (Edition of the complete Syriac text). Slabczyk, M.: Apokalipso de Danielo Profeto en lando Persio kaj Elama (Vienna: Arkado Eldonejo). [Edition and Esperanto translation of Harvard syr. 42, with use also of BL Add. 18715]. Sony, B.: L’Homélie de Jacques de Saroug sur l’Hexameron. I, Traduction et notes sur l’homélie syriaque du Vème-VIème siècle publiée en arabe pour la première fois; II, Etude de l’homélie syriaque du Vème-VIème siècle publiée en arabe pour la première fois (Rome: the author [Via G.Ventura 60, I-00167, Roma]). [Syriac text, Arabic translation, notes and studies]. Tamcke, M., and A. Heinz, eds.: Zu Geschichte, Theologie, Liturgie und Gegenwartslage der Syrischen Kirchen (Studien zur orientalischen Kirchen, 9. Hamburg).

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Trombley, F.R., and J.W. Watt: The Chronicle of Pseudo-Joshua the Stylite (Translated Texts for Historians, 32. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press). Zayat, E., and M. Immerzeel: Documentation and Conservation of Art in Syria. Papers of the Workshop held at Damascus University 16–19 September 1996 (Leiden: Research School for African, Asian and Amerindian Studies). [Including medieval wall-paintings etc.)

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No date, but late 1990s Brock, S.P.: Chang-i Ruh al-Qudus: Guzidehee az ash`ari-i Mar Aprum (Tehran: Kanuni Yuhanai Rasul). ———. Chashm-i Darakhashan: Ruyayi ruhani Mar Aprum (Tehran: Kanuni Yuhanai Rasul). ———. Pedaran-i Siryani: Dar nyaysh va zendigeh ruhani (Tehran: Kanuni Yuhanai Rasul).

Terry C. Falla, A Key to the Peshitta Gospels, vol. 1, Alaph-Dalath (Brill, 1991). xl +136 + [21] pp; vol. 2, He-Yodh (Brill, 2000). xxxvii +150 + [50] pp. ANDREAS JUCKEL, INSTITUT FÜR NEUTESTAMENTLICHE TEXTFORSCHUNG, UNIVERSITY OF MÜNSTER

[1]

According to the preface this ‘Key to the Peshitta Gospels’ is an “analytical concordance,” but in fact its basic features present it as an attractive combination of a concordance and a lexicon. These features are: 1. a Syriac-English lexicon (with Syriac words of similar meaning to the catchword), 2. a critical guide to the Greek behind the Syriac, and 3. a complete concordance of references. ‘The aim of A Key to the Peshitta Gospels is to fulfill this need [i.e., of a complete concordance and a comprehensive critical guide to the Greek behind] by providing the researcher with a range of information, previously unpublished, essential to the study of the Peshitta as a translation of the Greek and as a literary work in its own right’ (introduction of vol. 1, ix). Thus this ‘Key’ provides lexical, semantic, translation-technical and sequential informations by which it surpasses its predecessor 1 and similar analytical approaches, 2 and actually introduces a new standard for the genus ‘Key’. Due to its basic features the value of Falla’s ‘Key’ is not reduced by the Concordance of George A. Kiraz 3 which was Henry Fulham Whish, Clavis Syriaca: a Key to the Ancient Syriac version, called ‘Peshitto’, of the Four Gospels (London, 1883). 2 Otto Klein, Syrisch-griechisches WȄrterbuch zu den vier kanonischen Evangelien nebst einleitenden Untersuchungen (Giessen, 1916); Lexicon to the Syriac New Testament (Peshitta), by W. Jennings (Oxford, 1926), revised by U. Gantillon (1962). 3 George A. Kiraz, A Computer-Generated Concordance to the Syriac New Testament. According to the British and Foreign Bible Society’s Edition, vols. I–VI (Leiden/New York/Köln, 1993). The Concordance to the Peshitta Version of the Aramaic [i.e., Syriac] New Testament published 1985 by The Way International (New Knoxville, Ohio) could not put in danger Falla’s work. The severest deficiency of The Way’s concordance is that it is not based on the Tetraeuangelium sanctum published by Ph.E. Pusey and G.H. Gwilliam (1901) but on the Aramaic [i. e., Syriac] New Testament (1983, The Way International), which in the Gospels mainly relies on one single manuscript. 1

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published in 1993 (two years after Falla’s first volume). For the ‘analysis’ of the ‘Key’ refers primarily to lexical and semantic classification of words, supplemented by complete sequential informations, while Kiraz’ Concordance primarily offers a morphological analysis including context lines for every Syriac word of the whole NT, and detailed statstical data. The user of both works will notice their complementary character, a view Falla himself proposes in a special section (vol. 2 p. xxxvi–vii) devoted to the different scopes of Kiraz’ Concordance and his own ‘Key’. Compared with Kiraz’ Concordance the broader meaning of the term ‘Key’ and its semantic accentuation are obvious. The preparation of the ‘Key’s’ future volumes will undoubtly gain profit from Kiraz’ Concordance and (as we all hope) be published in a shorter sequence than volume One and Two. Their marvellous outside appearance both volumes owe to Beryl Turner (“copy editor, proofreader, typesetter, research assistant”), who created the twenty-five printer fonts for the ‘Key’ and is reponsible for the clearly arranged lay-out. She also created the ‘Index of tricky Syriac forms’ (vol. 2, appendix p. 5–16), which is a heavenly gift for beginners (the ‘Key’ inside the ‘Key’). The text is printed in two columns, all Syriac words and passages are given in Serʜo and are vocalized. At the end of vol. 1 we find an “Appendix of supplementary references” (of words which are ‘listed and cross-referenced in this volume for full treatment in a subsequent one’), an “English index” (i.e., of the English translations and glosses of the Syriac words and phrases) with reference to page and column, and an “Alphabetical directory of Syriac terms.” Volume 2 offers two additional indices, an “Index of tricky Syriac forms” (providing the roots of these forms), and an ‘Index of grammatical and general information’ (covering both volumes). ‘Corrections to Volume One’ (two columns) conclude the book. The Introduction to “arrangement and methodology” in vol. 1 is clear and instructive, providing samples, summaries and outlines. Falla is well acquainted with the problems of the Peshitta as a translation 4 and offers fundamental reflections on the evaluation of Terry C. Falla, “Poetic features of the Peshitta Gospels,” Le MusǷon 90 (1977): 63–80; “Questions Concerning the Content and Implications of the Lexical Work A Key to the Peshitta Gospels,” Orientalia Christiana 4

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the Syriac-Greek correspondences. The introduction to vol. 2 introduces some improvements of presenting and arranging the lexical material, the most extensively discussed one is the grammatical classification of “words with the form of the passive participle” (xxi–xxx). The ‘Key’ is based on the Tetraeuangelium Sanctum published by Ph.E. Pusey and G.H. Gwilliam (1901). For the sake of completeness, Falla adds Lk 22:17–8 and Jn 7:53–8:11 (taken from the Peshitta volume of the British and Freign Bible Society, 1905– 1920). Due to their secondary status, references to these passages are put with square brackets in the ‘Key’. The Pusey/Gwilliam volume itself is based on 42 manuscript and is the standard for research in the New Testament Peshitta. The articles are listed according to the Syriac roots, personal and geographical names, loanwords from the Greek and pronouns (also the single forms) are incorporated alphabetically. This is what the user expects, and that verbs like Ôü†~ and ‹ƒ†~ are quoted in articles headed by ÔýØ and ÀÊØ is a usual practice known from Costaz’ Dictionary (though Costaz puts these “artificial” roots with brackets). For practical reason an “abstract” root is given as a header to every article, thus introducing ‘homonymous’ roots like ž › , › , ‘a leaper’), and €ûÄ II (¾ÁûÄ €ûÄ I (¾ÁûÄ , ‘a jar’); çÁ‡ I (çÁ‡ ž › ‘buy, purchase’), and çÁ‡ II (¾æÁ‡, ‘time’). The primarily numerical character of these classifications is evident from Íå… I (Í兡), and Íå… II (Í兞) in vol 2 p. 38. This method is helpful for beginners to trace any word under its alphabetically arranged “root” and was recently applied by George A. Kiraz (for technical reason) to produce his computer-generated Concordance. The more experienced user will notice that the implicite etymological background of arranging the roots derives mainly from the 2nd edition (1928) of Carl Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum (as acknowledged in vol. 1, xxii), but Falla’s use of roman letters to distinguish “identical roots” is not the same as Brockelmann’s to distinguish “homonymous roots.” This can confuse beginners.

Analecta 247 (1994): 85–99; “The Classification of Words in Recent Syriac and Hebrew Lexical Works and the New Approach adopted in Volume Two of A Key to Peshitta Gospels” (paper read at the VIIIth Symposium Syriacum at Sydney, 2000; forthcoming).

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The first section of an article is the Syriac-English “lexicon,” it contains the catchword (e.g., ûéÁ, ÀûéÁ), the notation of speech (n. m. = noun masculine), a gloss (or glosses) in roman type corresponding to the Syriac word’s use in the Peshitta Gospels (‘flesh’), italicized qualifications, where required, elucidating the gloss (flesh and blood Mt 16:7; the Word became flesh Jn 1:14), and Syriac words of similar meaning (ûÅñ).—Verbs are introduced according to their conjugations (Peal, Ethpe, Pael, Ethpa etc), which are representing the ‘catchword’ and immedeately follow the “root” at the top of an article (e.g., —ÊÁ): PAEL, show, make known, declare, make known a person’s whereabouts Jn 11:57; declare something openly Jn 16:25; of Moses declaring that the dead rise Lk 20:37, cf. Peal ûâ~, ¾ĆàÄ, Pael ¿ÍÏ, ûÂè, Aph ÃÂÒ, “ÊØ, ðÂå.—In an article with verbs and nouns the verbs are treated first according to their conjugations, nouns and adjectives follow according to the conjugation they derive from (the model for this arrangement probably was the Thesaurus Syriacus of Robert Payne Smith).— Numerous articles are devided into analytical categories (e.g., ¾Á~ K ‘parents’; III. of the ‘father’): I. ‘father, an ancestor’ etc; II. ¿ÌÁ~ Satan (Jn 8:44); IV. of God as Father (with 7 subsections). These categories present terms and expressions in Syriac. The user will always have to remember that this Syriac-English “lexicon” of the ‘Key’ is restricted to the Gospels and not all known conjugations and meanings of a special verb or a special noun are represented. But within this limitation, all lexical/semantic informations are given: “The selection of examples is not arbitrary, but seeks to represent, wothout repetition, the various contexts in which the catchword appears” (vol. 1, xxv). Improvements of this lexical part were introduced by vol. 2: The verbal conjugation is now followed by basic forms of the verb, and nouns and adjectives are given as catchword only according to the actual state in which they occur in the Gospels (only absolute, only emphatic, absolute and emphatic), thus providing morphological informations. The “Syriac words of similar meaning” are an innovative feature in this lexical part of the ‘Key’, it is a first step towards a semantic classification of the Syriac vocabulary of the Peshitta Gospels. Falla is well aware of the venture to enter this area and declares, “that the Key seeks to do no more than bring together selections of words, which can function in the same general

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semantic field, for the purpose of furthering research in the Peshitta text of the Gospels” (vol. 1, xxv). But he also points to the advantage of this kind of research: “Employed judiciously and in conjunction with the Syriac-Greek correspondences, this feature of the Key can provide a valuable aid for the exploration of the Peshitta text and disciplines as specific as a study of the translation techniques of the four Peshitta Gospels and of the text-critical use of the Peshitta in biblical research” (vol. 1, xxvi). The second section of an article offers a guide to the Greek underlying the Peshitta Gospels. It is designed “to give the Greek term corresponding to every occurence in the Peshitta Gospels of the Syriac term in question and to take into account the existence of variant Greek readings, with which the Peshitta is often in accord” (vol. 1, xxvi). The longest paragraph of the introduction is devoted to the scope, method of citation, Greek texts employed, and to the evaluation of the Syriac-Greek correspondences (vol. 1, xxvi–xxxvii). Though Falla sets out well the general problem of term-for-term comparism between the Peshitta Gospels and the Greek text(s), and points at the “unavoidably skeletal nature of the Key’s analysis of Syriac-Greek correspondences” which need further evaluation, the actual result of his term-for-term comparism is convincingly useful and an indispensable starting point for any thorough research in the Greek background of the Peshitta Gospels. It is true that the Peshitta’s revisional connection with the Old Syriac, the contextual exegesis of its translator(s), and its predilection toward the poetic are severe restrictions for a termfor-term approach (vol. 1, xxxiv), but these pecularities are no general disapproval for this approach. For Falla meets the problem of inadaquate translations by including “paraphrastic” correspondences as well as non-correspondences in his Syriac-Greek analysis, what makes it complete and reliable. One sample for illustration: If the analysis is lengthy or complicated (e.g., ûÂÄ, ÀûÂÄ ‘a man, person’), it starts with a ‘guide to analysis’ by listing up all occuring Greek terms: DQKU JDPL]Z JDPLVNZGDLPRQL]RPDLRSRQKUR9 n. c. (= no corresponddencs), DQTUZSR9. The actual analysis is given according to these Greek terms and offers all appropriate references (added by Greek variant readings, if extant). The mysterious reference of ÀûÂÄ to JDPL]Z is due to an paraphrastic translation and explained by the K Mt 22:30, the one of gabra to K ¾ýå Syriac phrase ÀăÂÅß ç؆…

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GDLPRQL]RPDL by the phrase ¾åÍ؃ †… ÀûÂÄ Lk 8:36, etc. “No correspondence” is given Jn 10:41, where the Syriac ¾å… ÀûÂÄ represents the Greek WRXWRX (non-correspondences the user has to look up himself). This method of quoting the Syriac-Greek correspondences is clear and helpful, and offers a range of informations not available in print before. It is one of the virtues of the ‘Key’ to give the pure correspondences between the Syriac and the Greek editions without evaluation by the author and without reduction to the selfexplanatory correspondences. By this method the ‘Key’ provides the segment of “(non-) correspondences” which is most significant for an evaluation of characteristic lexical and semantic features of the Peshitta Gospels. And not only the “(non-) correspondences” invite for research, but also the bewildering ones and those we only meet once or twice in the Gospels, e.g., Lk 3:18: From the ‘Key’ (vol. 1, p. 31, article: óß~ I.) we learn that only Lk 3:18 the Pael óß~ is rendered by SDUDNDOHZ (or SDUDLQHZ, a variant reading of one sigle Greek manuscript). The obvious semantic difference invites for a closer look. The Greek (Greek New Testament, 3rd/4th ed., and Nestle-Aland 26th/27th ed.) read 3ROODPHQRXQNDLHWHUDSDUDNDOZQ (or: SDUDLQZQ 5 ) [i.e., John the Baptist] HXDJJHOL]HWRWRQODRQ. The Syriac: ç؃ ¿ÿÙåăÏ~ ”~ J K ¾Ćããïß ûÂé↠¿†… óàâJ ¿š½ÙÅè . According to the Syriac John the Baptist ‘taught, instructed’ the people, according to the Greek he ‘urges/ encourages/ invites etc’ the people. 6 What to think about the Syriac translation? It obviously presents John the Baptist as a teacher, thus reducing the wide connotation of the Greek verb to the action of a ¾æòàâ. For the Greek text and its variant readings Falla primarily relies on The Greek New Testament, 3rd ed.1975, corr. 1983, and NestleAland 26th ed.1979), but he is well acquainted with the full range 3DUDLQHZ we meet only twice in the New Testament (Acts 27:9.22), translated by mlk, Peal.—3DUDNDOHZ is mainly translated by the verb bca (see ‘Key’ vol. 1, p. 95–96). 6 A Concise Greek-English Dictionary of the New Testament, prepared by Barclay M. Newman, Jr. (1993), p. 132/33: beg, urge; encourage, speak words of encouragement; request, ask; appeal to; console, comfort, cheer up; invite, summon.—The Revised Standard Version reads: “So, with many other exhortations, he preached good news to the people.” 5

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of Greek NT editions from Tischendorf (ed. octava 1869–72) to The NT in Greek, The Gospel According to St. Luke, ed. by the American and British Committees of the International Greek NT Project (1984/87). In the footnotes he gives evaluations of the Greek editions by citing comments of prominent scholars. It might be interesting to quote Falla’s own sound comment on the comparative usefulness of the single editons he was working with: “In summary, if a variant Greek reading is not to be found in the critical apparatusses of GNT and Nestle-Aland, it would be prudent to seek it in Legg for Matthew and Mark, The New Testament in Greek for Luke, von Soden for the Fourth Gospel, and Tischendorf and Tregelles for all four Gospels, before turning to the other critical editions.” This quotation is appropriate to give a feeling for the diligence and reliability of the Greek side of Falla’s work. The third section of an article offers a complete concordance of references. A welcome feature is that in a simple article all references given in the two preceding sections are listed again. Only the references given in analytical categories of an article are not repeated elsewhere. In longer articles with a larger number of entries, every entry has its own concordance and is a small article of ist own consisting of the three basic sections, e.g., óß~ I.: The Peal concludes with the concordance of references after the lexical section and the range of Greek terms behind the Syriac. The same is true for the Pael and the Ethpa, for the entries ¾æòßÍØ and ¾æòàâ. This distribution of the references brings together what belongs together. By the help of Kiraz’ Concordance, I made intensive checks of the ‘Key’s’ references. With regard to the fact that vol. 1 is completely worked out by hand (vol. 2 Falla himself could check with Kiraz’ Concordance), I was thrilled by the accuracy and completeness of the references. Criticism of this marvellous work is few and hardly substantial, it refers primarily to the long articles devoted to Syriac particles like ~ and its compounds, ç؃ and ûÙÄ etc., and to the articles dealing with the prepositions. All these articles are marvels of compactness, arrangement and presentation, but extremely diffuse and tiresome to work with (and to work out!). Especially here the information of the ‘Key’ needs the Syriac (and the Greek) NT to be opened beside to get an appropriate understanding of the lexical, semantic or grammatical peculiarity, the sufficient presentation of

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which the ‘Key’ is not designed to give. A reduction of these complex articles would be tolerable and would contribute to a faster publication of the subsequent volumes. It does not belong to the nature of such a ‘Key’ to give the optimum in every respect, and nobody will dare to blame the author for completing this work by reducing the optimum and complexity of information to a more practicable and more efficient level. Finally the attractivity of the ‘Key’ for the beginners should be noticed. At present no good and cheap Syriac lexicon for beginners is available, and Kiraz’ Concordance will remain a dream for them. The ‘Key’ is combining both tools and could serve well the needs of beginners. But to fulfill these needs the subsequent volumes should be available within a reasonable amount of time. I hope that Falla will be able to finish this important project, it would be a severe setback for the Syriac studies if its completion would remain a dream!

CONFERENCE REPORTS Notes on “The Age of Theodora” Connecticut College, October 7, 2000 JOSEPH D. ALCHERMES, CONNECTICUT COLLEGE, NEW LONDON A one-day symposium was held on Saturday, October 7, 2000 to inaugurate the longterm loan of the Metropolitan Museum’s replica of the mosaic representing The Empress Theodora and her retinue to Connecticut College. Joseph D. Alchermes (Department of Art History, Connecticut College) arranged the loan, organized the conference and submitted these summaries of presentations at the conference.

1. “The Empress’s New Clothes: Domestic Art and the Cult of the Virgin in Early Byzantium” Henry Maguire, Johns Hopkins University

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The speaker began with an observation regarding the unusually elaborate chlamys (court costume) worn by Theodora in the mosaic portrait. Two figures of Magi and part of a third appear bearing gifts in procession on the hem of the chlamys, but their destination is ambiguous: is the viewer to imagine that their goal, Mary and the infant Christ, is obscured in the folds on the left of the hem, or should the goal of the Magi’s procession be seen in the figure of Christ, seated atop a celestial orb in the main apse mosaic, high above the portraits of Theodora and Justinian? Why has the Magi’s visit to Mary and her newborn child been represented on the Empress’s garment? A considerable body of clothing decorated with scenes from scripture survives; the Adoration of the Magi is a frequently represented episode. A tunic in the British Museum, for example, has patch decorations that repeat the Adoration six times. Numerous Late Antique textiles have similar patches, detached from garments, with comparable imagery. This material has typically attracted little attention from specialists in the Late Roman and Byzantine periods; Averil Cameron noted the frequency with which the Magi appear, particularly on jewelry and other items of personal adornment, and posited the emergence of a “private” cult of the Virgin. Maguire proposes to widen the scope of the 133

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investigation to include textiles and related material and to pose the following questions: 1. Did the special veneration of the Virgin originate in imperial contexts and was then imitated at lower social levels, or was it originally a popular movement that was coopted by the powerful? 2. What evidence is there for the popularity of Marian imagery in the homes of ordinary people? 3. Is the wearing of Virgin images gender-specific? 4. Especially when they are parts of garments, how go these images function? Why, as in the case of the British Museum tunic, is the same scene repeated? How did such images work for the wearer? Before the later sixth century, Marian images on textiles and jewelry are rare. Inscriptions on objects decorated in this way provide partial answers to some of the questions posed above. A pectoral from Egypt, now in Berlin, has this invocation: “Lord, protect her who wears this.” A gold medallion created c. 600 in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection has this prophylactic text: “Christ, our God, help us.” This inscription appears on late Justinianic silver armbands, objects humbler in format and material: “Theotokos, help Anna, grace.” Maguire turned to sixth- and seventh-century marriage rings in various collections (including the British Museum, Dumbarton Oaks, and Palermo): on the bezel appear Christ and Mary crowning the married couple; among the scenes on the octagonal hoops is the Adoration of the Magi. Inscriptions name both persons in the couple. A remarkable silk fragment with the Adoration and other Marian images in the Abegg Stiftung received brief analysis. Maguire accepted the early date (c. 400 or early fifth century) proposed for the silk on the basis of features such as the angel represented without wings and the personification in the bath scene, not paralleled in later instances of this imagery. The early dating of the fragment would make it contemporary with the criticism directed c. 400 by Bishop Asterius of Amaseia against the use of biblical imagery in such contexts. Such early figured cloth is exceptional; Maguire mentioned Malik’s research on the substantial body of Joseph imagery on textiles, dated to the early seventh

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century by comparison of their decorative motifs to the ornaments on dated silverware. Virgin imagery (and sacred figures in general) on clothing, Maguire observed, are not the norm in the sixth century. Such figures do appear in public church contexts, as Paul the Silentiary’s description of the altar silks in H. Sophia makes clear. The cyclical imagery of the marriage rings is anticipated in the cathedral textiles. More broadly speaking, the Virgin is invoked in public, monumental works before her appearance in private, domestic contexts. Many fifth- and sixth-century church decorations can be cited in support of this: the apse of the Soros church in the Blachernai monastery (Constantinople), Theoderic’s palace church in Ravenna, and the basilica of Eufrasius at Pore. The first manifestations of special veneration of the Virgin, therefore, are in church art, which is imitated in apparel and other objects made for the elite, and only later in clothing and jewelry made for the less exalted. Jewelry and clothing decorations made for those of lower social levels provide negative evidence for the popularity of the Virgin cult among ordinary people. To judge from the armbands (mid-sixth to mid-seventh century) studied by Vikan, there is little special interest: only one of eighteen has a Virgin scene, while there are six images of other saints (including Menas, a soldier saint, and unspecified others in the orant pose), and ten images of the Holy Rider, a figure with Christian and magical associations. Imagery on the marriage rings encourages a similar conclusion: of the twenty rings considered by Vikan, just two (in Dumbarton Oaks and the British Museum), have both Christ and the Virgin. These two, moreover, are exceptionally elaborate and should be placed in the category of jewelry made for the elite. Analysis of the iconography of tapestry weave patches made for attachment to clothing confirms these observations: those with scenes involving Mary are few, far outnumbered by episodes from the life of Joseph. In short, images of Mary were rarely used on garments and other objects of personal adornment made for ordinary people in the period before Iconoclasm. Indications of several sorts shed light on the matter of whether Virgin imagery was gender-specific; the evidence, however, is far from unanimous. A contemporary author describes the Emperor Justin II as praying to God, while his wife, the Empress Sophia,

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prays to an icon of Mary. An epigram by the seventh-century author George of Pisidia, on the other hand, emphasizes that the veneration of the Virgin was performed by men and woman alike. Inscriptions on objects connected with the household suggest that patterns shift over time. Inscriptions from the Early Christian period name women, while men are mentioned after Iconoclasm. The statistical sample, however, on which this observation is based is not at all secure. In the days of Asterius, both men and women wore clothing decorated with New Testament (including presumably Marian) imagery. In the mosaics of S. Vitale, only the empress is attired in figurally decorated garb. An inscription on a medical amulet invokes the Virgin, to secure assistance with an eye problem experienced by a man. It seems most prudent to say that Mary imagery in these early examples is a woman’s predilection, but is clearly also created for men. In the period after Iconoclasm, however, objects bearing her image feature invocations that regard men as often as they do women. Most pre-iconoclastic Virgin imagery shows her in Gospel episodes rather than in an iconic portrait. The scenes that appear most frequently on jewelry and clothing are those associated with Christ’s birth, beginning with the Annunciation, which is accompanied by the inscription “charis,” one of the words spoken by the angel which also has associations of healing. Although it is not an official feast, the Visitation is also a popular episode. Its function is “analogic” and directed toward women: both Elizabeth and Mary represent examples of successful pregnancy. The Nativity, another frequently represented episode, is also possibly analogic in intent. In Early Christian and Byzantine magical charms, Christ in the crib also has special healing powers. The Adoration of the Magi is another commonly depicted event: they appear as the archetypal travelers, protective of the wayfaring wearer of the image. They are also emblematic of those who offer prayer: frankincense, one of their gifts, is interpreted as prayer offered to God. The serial sequence of these episodes is significant: incantations prescribe the order in which the events are to be invoked in order to secure divine assistance. Through the period of Iconoclasm, narrative images of the Virgin, valued for their protective power, were preferred and iconic representations were less common.

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In the seventh century and later, Mary appears more frequently on common objects, but even then representations of her are outnumbered by other images. For example, there are few “portraits” of her on the seventh-century tapestry weaves, while there are many female personifications. In this as in other respects, art connected with the ordinary household is more “conservative” and clings to traditional, pre-Christian patterns of decoration longer than in works made for public contexts. Here again, the “trickle-down” theory regarding movement of Virgin imagery finds support. 2. “Literary Culture under Justinian” Claudia Rapp, University of California at Los Angeles

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Claudia Rapp introduced the subject of sixth-century literary activity with two qualifying observations: first, that in this period, literary patronage typically “bubbled up” through the administrative and social hierarchy toward the emperor rather than “trickled down” from him; second, some of the sixth-century authors that devote the most attention to Justinian actually did not write under him, but during the reigns of his successors Justin II and Maurice. She set the stage for discussion of literary practice and patronage by outlining the essentials regarding books in the Late Imperial world. Books were produced, copied, and circulated in limited number. There are exceptions, such as Agathias, who supposed a fairly wide circulation of his work and that of Paul the Silentiary. Often the author emphasizes a relation to a literary forbear by pointing out that he is extending or completing the work of another. Constantinople was the capital of literary production and trade. Commercial book stalls stood near H. Sophia, in a location convenient to the basilike stoa, the center for legal activity in city. This proximity acquires special significance with the observation that lawyers were a sizable and very active group of literati, among whom erudite literary undertakings and conversations were common. Literary creation and book production flourished in sixthcentury Constantinople. At this time, monasteries began to produce manuscripts for the market. The output of the imperial

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chancery must have been considerable, affecting the script and writing style of educated persons in the capital and throughout the Empire. Scribes employed in the chancery worked privately as well as in the emperor’s service. Only a tiny fraction of the documents produced in the sixth century have survived: about twenty papyri and the same number of parchments can be dated to Justinian’s time. It is well known that in Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, reading was typically a communal activity. In this period, writing too often had an oral component; that is, much of what today is considered written literature was first composed as religious and secular oratory. Stenographers recorded the words of the homilies delivered by Constantinople’s patriarch, John Chrysostom. This same pattern obtains in the sixth century both for the hymns composed by Romanos Melodos and for the panegyric, delivered by Corippus, in honor of the Emperor Justin II. Arator’s metric paraphrase of the Acts of the Apostles in Vergilian hexameters has notes that tell much about its original sixth-century audience: it was first presented in the presbyterium of St. Peter’s (on the Vatican hill), and part was read aloud at the presentation. A full reading, performed later at the church of S. Pietro in Vincoli, attracted a large and varied public: the clergy and Roman nobility, as well as many others who were less learned and much lower in status. In the Late Empire, probably about 10% of the population was literate. The ranks of the illiterate could include exalted persons, such as the Emperor Justin I, Justinian’s uncle and predecessor. In Antiquity, the concept of literacy as outlined by Harris covered a range of capabilities. At the lower end of the range are the ability to sign one’s name and the functional, “vocational” literacy that would permit a tradesperson to keep accounts. At the other extreme was the truly cultivated person. The relatively few true literati use a rarefied language fully appreciated only within this category, a “caste marker” to use Heather’s term. Many of these literati had (or hoped for) positions in the civil service; about 500 C.E., there were roughly 3,000 jobs in the eastern and western imperial administrations. Turnover rates were high, since many had limited (just one-year) terms. In this way there were considerable possibilities for making useful contacts and acquiring the luster of association through an imperial office. The word scholastikos, roughly the equivalent of “lawyer” or “barrister,” is often used to

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designate those in such positions. Some literati instead had positions in the ecclesiastical administration. Much is known about sixth-century authors from the biographical information included in the prefaces to their works. It is clear that most of these authors are not of the same social class as the members of the truly wealthy, often old families for whom they wrote. Writing was a vehicle of social mobility that affected the genre and content of the literary product. Encomiastic offerings in particular were meant to tug at the purse strings of the person honored and to encourage a generous response. The example of Corippus is instructive in that it illustrates some of the processes of advancement. The first of his two panegyrics was composed in honor of Justinian’s general, John Troglita, after the Vandalic victory. It brought its author success; he moved from Carthage to Constantinople, where he seems to have held some imperial position under Justin II. In his second panegyric, he appeals in the first preface to the emperor himself, Justin II; in the second preface to the same work, the quaestor Anastasius is invoked as an intercessor before the emperor. John Lydus was also fortunate to have a high-level patron in Constantinople, Zoticus, who offered him a position. John wrote an encomium and was handsomely rewarded with a nomisma for each verse! After writing an encomium for the court, he was commissioned to write a history of the war with Persia. The advancement of authors such as Corippus and John depended on a combination of factors: education, aristocratic patronage, receiving an imperial position, access to the emperor. Their contemporary, Agathias, was less fortunate. After instruction in rhetoric at Alexandria, he studied law in the capital but had to work hard as a sort of legal clerk in the basilike stoa to maintain himself. His works attest a large number of poems written by Constantinopolitan literati, many of them composed by scholastikoi, a tightly-knit intellectual group. In a few cases it was possible to make a breakthrough to imperial patronage without first serving an aristocratic patron. This was the case with Menander Protector, whose good luck it was to receive the unmediated favor of the Emperor Maurice. Menander was one of the “continuators” of the works of earlier literati, in fact the third of a series. Procopius’ efforts were carried on by Agathias, and his endeavors in turn by Menander.

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Procopius himself was born to a family of noble landowners based in Caesarea and came to a position in the administration, but not a sedentary post in Constantinople; he served as aide to the general Belisarius, to whom he dedicated the Wars. After the Wars, he turned his attention to the Buildings, clearly aimed at Justinian. The later work reads like a panegyric: was it written in the hope of reward or to “atone for” his earlier connection with Belisarius, who had come under fire? The Secret History turns the other two works of panegyric on their heads. Procopius himself says that he composed it as a complete record for posterity, but there is no contemporary audience indicated. Was it written as a private joke, or perhaps to let off steam? In any case, there can be little doubt that it was created without the encouragement of a patron. Other literary works produced without the active support of patrons in the capital (and elsewhere) were typically on religious subjects. At the same time, writers laboring in the provinces also created secular literary works, for example, Procopius of Gaza and his ekphraseis. But the capital, with its patrons and imperial administration, was a powerful magnet that attracted those with literary inclinations and ambitions. Here authors wrote for grandees in the court, with their products providing tools both for recognizing and bonding with one another and for advancement through levels of aristocratic patronage; the ultimate goal was the favor and support of the emperor himself. 3. “Imperial Theology and Church Unity: Justinian and Theodora in the Christological Crises of the Sixth Century” Sidney Griffith, Catholic University of America

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For a millennium and a half, Theodora has been a key figure in the Eastern Church, as the speaker prefers to designate the church body more often called Syrian Monophysite, Jacobite or Nestorian: in fact, she is venerated as a saint. The presence of the Metropolitan Museum’s copy of the Theodora panel reminded him that it is this image, the Ravenna mosaic, that has been adapted to create the icon of Theodora used in modern times. The formation of the Eastern Christian denominations today called Melchites, Jacobites, Nestorians, and so on, is ongoing as late as the eighth century, but continuous threads link them, fully formed, with the period and policies of Justinian and Theodora.

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The speaker decried as anachronistic and polemic the use of terms like Monophysite, Jacobite, and Nestorian to describe sixth-century persons and positions. He identified the main factions that opposed the Chalcedonian (“orthodox”) majority in the religious controversies of the sixth century in relation to their leaders: the followers of Severus of Antioch (later, “Jacobites”) and those who accepted the teachings of Theodore of Mopsuestia (later, “Nestorians”). The analysis focused on two related matters: the relation between the imperial couple and the sixth-century group that is the predecessor of the Jacobites and imperial policies with regard to the Church of the East (“Nestorian”). “Monophysite” is a disparaging term that took shape in an eighth-century Melchite context (John Damascene). Severus of Antioch was a fully Greek figure, but his works are preserved only in seventh-century Syriac translations. Eighth-century Melchite authors hostile to his writings coined the name “Jacobite” (derived from Jacob Baradaeus, one of Severus’s followers) in disparagement of his thought. Severus was the most important intellectual opponent of Justinian. Justinian saw himself as the defender of the faith. Theodora and he undertook to bring back to the fold the followers of Severus, who were especially numerous in the monasteries of Palestine, Syria, and throughout the non-Greek east. In 532, Theodora organized a encounter in the Palace of Hormisdas (a dǷpendance of the imperial palace) in Constantinople between Chalcedonian bishops and their opponents who followed Severus. The meeting is especially well-documented, with two accounts surviving in Syriac translations of the Greek versions in which they were originally compiled. Controversy erupted over the question of rehabilitating the memories of Theodore of Mopsuestia, Theodoret, and Ibas. Severus’ followers viewed them as “proto-” or “crypto-” Nestorian, while the Chalcedonian party was outraged by the fact that the “Severans” had outlawed the three even though the authorities in Constantinople had not so much as censured them. Theodora made arrangements to bring Severus to the capital from Egypt. Anthimus was put on the patriarchal throne and in 535 Severus made the trip to Constantinople. At this point, pressure was exerted by Rome; Pope Agapitus (535–6) was already present in Constantinople, where he had been sent by the Gothic

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king of Italy to ask for the withdrawal of Belisarius and the imperial army that had invaded Italy. The pope emphasized that sentiment in the west strongly favored the decision of Chalcedon and opposed Severus. Agapitus’ opposition had two significant consequences: it brought about the dethronement of Anthimus and left Justinian rethinking his lax position on construing the decision of Chalcedon. At this point, the followers of Severus began to seek ordinations at the hands of bishops favorable to them, giving rise to problems of canon law. With Justinian’s blessing, Theodora arranged the ordination in Constantinople of two bishops who could then ordain Severan candidates; one of them was Jacob Baradaeus. As dual hierarchies took shape, of course a real schism developed. Griffith emphasized that the activism of the imperial couple in all this aimed at sponsoring and maintaining conversation among opposed groups and at accommodating the viewpoints of those who hesitated to accept the Chalcedonian position. Justinian pursued a similar approach with regard to the adherents (mainly in Persia) of the Church of the East, a group thought by the emperor to be “Nestorian;” rather than to call them Nestorians, it is more accurate to say that Theodore of Mopsuestia is their theological source. There is much evidence for extensive contact among church leaders and travel from Persia to the imperial court. In 532, Mar Abba visited Theodora, evidence of her outreach generally to non-Chalcedonian groups, not only to “Jacobites/monophysites.” Much later, Justinian heard the case made by theologians of the School of Nisibis. In the meanwhile, the “orthodox” position in Constantinople had hardened: at the Second Council of Constantinople in 553, Theodore of Mopsuestia was condemned and Theodoret partly condemned, as was Ibas (to a lesser degree). Griffith underscored the fact, however, that throughout his long reign, the emperor did everything possible to keep the channels of communication open and accommodate the views of those who did not accept the decision of Chalcedon. 4. “The Gifts of Women” Gillian Clark, University of Bristol

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The notion of “welfare” in the ancient world through the fourth and fifth centuries clearly differs from the patterns that are typical

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of the sixth century and later. Patlagean first observed that in the later period, the recipients of welfare (the “poor”) were defined in terms of need and not social status; in the earlier Empire, the upper classes (nobiliores) made donations to the lower classes (humiliores) regardless of economic need. A redefinition of “good works” accompanies this shift, as “euergetism,” the providing of civic amenities and subsidies to urban residents regardless of need is replaced by programs of charity for the poor. Herrin’s unpublished study, “From Bread and Circuses to Soup” charts the path of this transformation of values and activities. Clark commented briefly on the Theodora panel, noting first the exceptional position of the empress’s image in the sanctuary, the part of the church which women were not permitted to enter. Apart from the remarkable location of the mosaic, the image of Theodora conforms in other respects to sixth-century protocol and behavioral norms: in a portrait that is pendant to her her husband’s, she is represented against a backdrop that is clearly outside the sanctuary, “protected” by attendants. The portraits of the imperial couple making gifts to the church are all the more noteworthy in that Justinian and Theodora did not fund the church; in fact, they never visited Ravenna. The church of S. Vitale was a donation of the Ravennate banker, Julianus Argentarius. In the mosaics, Theodore (and her husband) bear gifts of liturgical vessels, pious offerings that benefitted the entire congregation. What specifically did the empress and other female patrons do for the poor? The lavish gold and gem-studded chalice carried by Theodora is obviously an object of great value for its sacred associations and also for its costly materials, easily transformed into liquid assets. Justinianic law, however, expressly forbids churches to dispose of sacred furnishings except to ransom prisoners or in case of surplus. Clark wondered whether we should suppose that Theodora actually had a say in the donation of the chalice. Other high-ranking women are remembered as prominent benefactresses. Clark contrasted with the Empress Theodora her earlier contemporary, Anicia Juliana. Unlike Theodora, Anicia Juliana was high-born. In further contrast to Theodora, Anicia Juliana was also well-educated; she may have written the hexameters inscribed in H. Polyeuktos, the large, elaborate domed basilica that she founded in the 520s. Donation of the church

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situates her within the tradition of civic euergetism. Her ancestor, the Augusta Galla Placidia similarly benefitted the residents of the western capital, Ravenna, with churches and other monumental structures. The decoration of one of Galla’s churches emphasized her imperial lineage with a series of portraits of members of the Theodosian house. One portrait of Anicia Juliana survives, in a manuscript made for presentation to her ca. 512 and linked with her gift of a church to the residents of Honoratiae near Constantinople. She appears with a variety of personifications that celebrate her virtues and accomplishments: Magnanimity, Prudence, Gratitude of the Arts, and Desire for Wisdom and Arts. The tradition of such benefaction by Christian empresses goes back to the early fourth-century donations of the Augusta Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great. The patterns of what has been called her “matronage” are clearly related to pre-Christian civic euergetism; she also distinguished herself by giving to the poor. From the later fourth and fifth centuries on, there appear many cases of women who bankrupt themselves and their families with spectacular acts of renunciation and largess to the poor. Interestingly, in the late fourth century, the emphasis is on the noblewoman who renounces her wealth and not the poor who benefit from its redistribution; by the sixth century, the emphasis is reversed. Patrons (and “matrons”) in the Late Empire fund the construction and operation of various categories of buildings intended to improve the lot of the needy, for example, hospitals and hostels. In Classical Antiquity, nursing care had not been gendered; in the Early Christian world, however, women dedicated to a life of Christian service tended the sick. Theodora herself is documented as the patron of churches; she and Justinian also founded a monastery as a haven for reformed prostitutes. The royal couple called it Metanoia, usually translated as “Repentance,” but more correctly as “New Start”—its fortress walls offered its inhabitants refuge. Two accounts of its foundation are preserved in the writings of Procopius: the favorable, flattering estimate in his Buildings and the scurrilous, negative assessment in the Secret History. In her extensive writings on women in the Early Christian period, E.A. Clark has maintained that there is little “bedrock” in the ancient texts that describe the interests and activities of women—all is rhetoric, empty and meaningless.

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G. Clark agrees on the dominance of rhetoric, but draws from this the opposite conclusion: these texts offer much insight, because this rhetoric tells the Early Christian audience precisely what it wants to hear. An excellent illustration of a major shift in values is provided by the story of Irene: this dignitary’s wife who collapses from doing so many good works is proposed as an ideal worthy of imitation. She can be contrasted with the ideal women that appear in classical authors such as Plutarch, to be admired for the bold resistance that they show to tyrants. Clark briefly returned to take up several additional matters related to the imperial monastery of Metanoia. In the Late Roman world, prostitutes, along with actors, dancers and musicians, were considered similarly disreputable and of low legal status. Justinian, acting apparently in self-interest, changed the law to allow prostitutes to marry. His legislation, in fact, offers a good deal of information regarding prostitution in early Constantinople. In conclusion, Clark broadened her analysis of Justinianic legislation on the organization of charity to draw several conclusions: 1. In the sixth century, imperial support of the poor was taken for granted, while in the earlier empire, it was not an imperial concern; 2. poverty is defined by need, not by status , as was earlier the case; 3. imperial structures and systems (also adopted and imitated by nobles) created hospitals, orphanages, hostels and other public services. These laws reflect directly the changed conditions and mentality of the sixth century; no such legislation existed in the Theodosian Code, compiled just a century earlier.

FORTHCOMING CONFERENCES / CALL FOR PAPERS Hugoye: Special Issue on Women [1]

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The editors of Hugoye invite submissions for a special issue marking the 1500th anniversary of the birth of the Empress Theodora, scheduled to appear in July 2001. One of the most venerated women of Syriac tradition, Theodora stands as a reminder that women have played crucial roles in the history of Syriac tradition. Yet our knowledge of women in this history remains sorely limited, having received limited scholarly attention thus far. In the apparent absence of any surviving Syriac texts authored by women (with one or two exceptions only), the task of recovering women’s history in Syriac Christianity is a difficult one. Hugoye takes the occasion of Theodora’s anniversary to call for new studies on the women of Syriac history in her honor. Tentatively entitled “Great Women in the Syriac Heritage,” the issue will be devoted to articles that deal with major female figures in the history of Syriac tradition and with issues of women’s place and roles in Syriac Christianity. Papers are welcome in all time periods of Syriac tradition, and in all religious identities. Submissions should be sent to the Editor, George Kiraz, following the guidelines available at the Hugoye website. To be considered for the special issue marking Theodora’s anniversary, submissions should be received by April 1, 2000.

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The Peshitta: Its Use in Literature and Liturgy Third Peshitta Symposium, Leiden, 12–15 August 2001 Second Announcement and Call for Papers KONRAD D. JENNER AND R. BAS TER HAAR ROMENY, THE PESHITTA INSTITUTE, LEIDEN

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At the end of the fifties, the Leiden Peshitta Institute undertook the publication of the Peshitta of the Old Testament on behalf of IOSOT. Fourteen volumes have been published so far and four more are to come. In addition, several detailed studies of the text of Peshitta manuscripts have given us a picture of the development of the Peshitta text. There is, however, still another important desideratum. Right at the beginning of the project, it was noted that a much better knowledge of the Old Testament texts preserved in the patristic literature of the Syriac Churches was a prerequisite for obtaining a full picture of the text history. The lack of critical editions of a large part of this literature forbade inclusion of this material at that stage. We believe that the moment has come to fill this gap. As much progress has been made on the Syriac Fathers in the intervening years, it is time to see where we stand: what has been done so far in this respect, what should be done, and how can we integrate the results of this research into the picture that has been formed on the basis of the study of Bible manuscripts? Connected to these are a number of other questions. Peshitta scholars have come to appreciate the importance of providing a context for the textual history of the Peshitta. On the one hand, this is the context of church history. Peshitta manuscripts should be linked, if possible, to their place of origin or use. The development of the text is an event within the history of the Syriac Churches. The witness of the Syriac Fathers can also be of great importance in this respect. On the other hand, we should think of the history of exegesis and liturgy. It is not only the text of the readings that is of interest; we should also investigate the way the Peshitta was received and assessed by its users, whether in exegetical or historical literature or in liturgy. This set of questions is the subject of the Third Peshitta Symposium, to be held in Leiden just after the Basel IOSOT Conference of 2001. It is our hope that during this Symposium 148

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attention will also be paid to the New Testament. We think that the issues mentioned above will be of relevance for the Old as well as the New Testament. Keynote speakers include Professors Sebastian P. Brock, Luk Van Rompay, and William L. Petersen. Colleagues and students in the field of Syriac studies are invited to participate in this Symposium. Those intending to attend and/or read a paper are kindly requested to return the registration form and/or to submit the title before 1 March 2001. Then we will consider the possibility of clustering papers and preparing some workshop(s). An abstract of about 350 words should be delivered before 30 April 2001. You are expected to deliver the provisional text of the paper at the conference. This is the only call for papers. The Symposium will be held in Oud Poelgeest, a small castle near Leiden. The costs are fl. 700–, (i.e. fl. 250–, conference fee plus f. 450–, accommodation). All meals are included. We will do our best to find financial support in order to offer students a reduction.

The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies: Schedule of Public Lectures AMIR HARRAK, UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO, CANADA

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The following lecture series will be held at the University of Toronto under the auspices of The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies during 2001 First Quarter. The venue for all lectures is: Auditorium, Earth Sciences Centre Room 1050, 5 Bancroft Avenue St. George Campus, University of Toronto

1. Syriac Christianity in the Egyptian Desert: Recent Discoveries in the Monastery of the Syrians (Wadi al-Natrun) Lucas Van Rompay, Duke University 8.00 PM, Thursday, January 25, 2001 [2]

The Egyptian desert always exerted a strong attraction on the Christians of Syria and Mesopotamia. Since the 9th century, West Syriac monks, supported by the wealthy people of Takrit among many others, settled in a monastery there, which became known as the “Monastery of the Syrians.” Later, monks from the Lebanon and the region of Damascus demonstrated interest in that monastery up until the 17th century, when the edifice became entirely Coptic again, although the name remained “Deir al-Surian.” Here, Dutch, Polish and Egyptian scholars of art and conservation have been working in the main church since 1995, where they uncovered under the plaster an impressive number of wall paintings and Syriac inscriptions. Taking these discoveries into consideration, we shall talk about the history of the monastery, its role as centre of artistic and intellectual creativity, and as a place of encounter and interchange between the Syriac and the Coptic cultures. 2. Mar Tadros, Bahdeidat: A Visit to a Lebanese Church in the Thirteenth Century Erica Dodd, Victoria University 8.00 PM, Thursday, February 15, 2001

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and the Arab Muslims, profiting greatly from their favoured status in local society. In their position as middlemen, they engaged actively in the transfer of goods from along the silk route to the seaports and across the Mediterranean. This prosperity led to the building of churches and their decoration in Christian strongholds along the coast and in the mountains. One of these churches is the little church of Mar Tadros in the village of Bahdeidat, in the foothills just above Jubeil. This paper will illustrate the paintings in this Church and examine them in the context of other paintings in this region, in order to under-stand how the Christians of Lebanon interpreted their religion and their liturgy in the Middle Ages. 3. Syriac Heritage on the Northern Silk Road: The Archaeological and Epigraphic Evidence of Christianity in Kirghizia Wassilios Klein, Bonn University 8:00 PM, Thursday, March 29, 2001 [4]

Since the 1890s Kirghizia has attracted the attention of scholars in the field of Syriac epigraphy, when Daniel Chwolson published about 600 Syriac funerary inscriptions found there. The discovery of these inscriptions came as a surprise since there was little literary evidence that Christianity had played any important role in the lands located to the north of the Tianshan Mountains. In recent years archaeological excavations in the Middle Age capital revealed a church with three naves and the grave of a holy man. Taking into consideration these excavations, the other religions coexisting with Christianity in Central Asia, and the political history of that region at that time, we shall describe the role played by East Syriac (socalled Nestorian) Christianity and the Syriac language in the daily life of the Sogdian and Turkish people. Membership in the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies includes free admission to public lectures, an annual symposium, and subscriptions to the CSSS Bulletin, which will include the transcripts of the public lectures. Annual regular member: US$ 35.00 Please make cheques payable to the CSSS, and mail to: CSSS c/o Dept. of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations 4 Bancroft Avenue, Toronto Ontario, Canada M5S 1C1.

Volume 4 2001 [2010]

Number 2

HUGOYE JOURNAL OF SYRIAC STUDIES A Publication of Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute SPECIAL ISSUE: WOMEN IN THE SYRIAC TRADITION Guest Editor Susan Ashbrook Harvey

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.2, 155–157 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

INTRODUCTION TO THE SPECIAL ISSUE ON WOMEN IN THE SYRIAC TRADITION SUSAN A. HARVEY SPECIAL GUEST EDITOR FOR HUGOYE 4:2 DEPARTMENT OF RELIGIOUS STUDIES BROWN UNIVERSITY PROVIDENCE, RI [1]

1998 marked the 1500th anniversary of the death of the Empress Theodora, wife of the Byzantine emperor Justinian the Great. Theodora has held a place of special veneration and honor amongst the Syriac Orthodox from the beginning of the remarkable reign over which she and her husband presided. It was during those early decades of the sixth century that persecutions began in earnest against Christians dissenting against the Christological definition of the Council of Chalcedon (451), a situation that would lead, inexorably, to the formation of separate ecclesiastical hierarchies for the Eastern (Chalcedonian) Orthodox and the Oriental (non-Chalcedonian) Orthodox churches. During those grim years, Theodora’s steadfast support for the persecuted dissenters, her tireless sponsorship of their leaders and missionaries, and her own stalwart faith in their teachings all stood in active opposition to the religious policies of Justinian. In the eyes of their contemporary historians as well as later scholars, the competing religious loyalties of the imperial couple presented a distressing conundrum. But for the emerging Syriac Orthodox church, Theodora’s earnest witness on behalf of their faith garnered their enduring loyalty to her memory. His Holiness Patriarch Mor Ignatios Zakka I expressed the devotion of many 155

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Syriac Orthodox when he called for special commemoration of the 1500th anniversary of Theodora’s passing. Theodora is one of the “Great Women” of church history remembered in Syriac tradition. Yet she was not the only woman whose service to the church contributed to the rich heritage of that tradition. To offer our own acknowledgement of Theodora’s commemoration, the Editors of Hugoye decided to dedicate an issue to the topic of “Women in Syriac Tradition,” in an effort to situate Theodora’s memory within a better understanding of the role women have played and the contributions they have made to the long history of Syriac tradition. The topic remains an understudied one, although important strides have been made in recent years. The present issue offers four articles covering a broad expanse in time and geographical setting, each taking up a different aspect of women’s history in the Christianity of the Syrian Orient. The first two consider the general place of women in early Syriac Christianity by treating two important bodies of evidence. Michael Penn, in “‘Bold and Having No Shame’: Ambiguous Widows, Controlling Clergy, and Early Syrian Communities,” takes up the complicated evidence of the early church rule, the Didascalia Apostolorum, to demonstrate that in the third and fourth centuries widowed women held positions of significant prominence and honor in the Christian communities of the eastern Roman provinces, to the point where church officials deemed it necessary to exert controls over the authority and activities associated with the office of “widow.” That women held such importance in the early Syrian regions has sometimes been obscured by the notoriety scholars have accorded to one particular passage in the fourth century Demonstrations of Aphrahat the Persian Sage, Dem. 6.3, in which the noteworthy Syriac author offers a summary of human history by listing the disasters for which women have been responsible, beginning with Eve. Adam Lehto’s article, “Women in Aphrahat: Some Observations,” provides a careful reassessment of Aphrahat’s presentation of women—both in history and in the church of his day—arguing for a substantially revised understanding of the Persian Sage’s position. The second two articles look at two prominent women from widely differing times and places, whose roles in the history of Syrian Christianity broadly speaking deserve special attention. In my article, “Theodora the ‘Believing Queen’: A Study in Syriac

Introduction to Hugoye 4:2

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Historiographical Tradition,” I look at the particular historiographical process by which Syriac chroniclers cultivated their memory of Theodora over the centuries. The culmination of this process came in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries with the emergence of the legends that claim Theodora as a native Syriac Orthodox, daughter of a faithful priest who served her people despite her marriage to the persecuting emperor Justinian. The development of Theodora’s legend carried with it important re-shapings not only of Theodora’s reputation, but further of the Syriac Orthodox view of their own history. Avril Makhlouf’s article, “Hindiyya Anne ȨAjaymi and Her Spiritual Journey: the Essential Lightness of Being,” takes up the longer trajectory of Syrian history by studying this important yet little-known (to western scholars at least) Syro-Lebanese nun of the eighteenth century. Hindiyya struggled to pursue her spiritual vocation in circumstances hostile to her calling. In the course of her long life, she produced a huge body of mystical and contemplative writings, works that draw profoundly on both the dominant spiritual themes of her contemporary Maronite context and on the distinctive themes of the longer Syriac tradition going back to the writings of St. Ephrem the Syrian. In Hindiyya’s work we are given a striking example of how women through the centuries have found within the treasure store of Syrian traditions the resources necessary to fulfill their religious vocations. She is a reminder both of the longevity of that pattern, and of the social suspicions and institutional obstacles that have hindered women’s efforts from the early centuries of Christianity in the Syrian Orient. Bibliographies of relevant studies on women in Syriac Christianity may be found in Sebastian P. Brock and Susan Ashbrook Harvey, Holy Women of the Syrian Orient (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998, with new preface and updated bibliography). More recent citations are found in S.A. Harvey, “Spoken Words, Voiced Silence: Biblical Women in Syriac Tradition,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 9 (2001): 105–31. The present issue of Hugoye marks a further contribution to this area of study. It is our hope that the articles here will provide fresh material through which to consider the issues of women in Syriac tradition, and indeed, spark the desire for continued research and discussion.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.2, 159–185 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

PAPERS

“BOLD AND HAVING NO SHAME:” AMBIGUOUS WIDOWS, CONTROLLING CLERGY, AND EARLY SYRIAN COMMUNITIES MICHAEL PENN HAVERFORD COLLEGE ARDMORE, PA USA

ABSTRACT An examination of the church order the Didascalia and its successor The Apostolic Constitutions illustrates different strategies early churches used to regulate Christian widows. These documents represent attempts by Christian leaders to resolve the widow’s ambiguous status in early Christianity and to consolidate the clergy’s power. They provide an important witness to the institutionalization of early Christian communities and the solidification of hierarchies based on divisions between men, women, clergy, and laity.

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Throughout antiquity, early Christianity communities vacillated between helping widows and regulating widows’ power and behavior. Early Christian leaders saw widowhood as an honored 159

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position that needed support, yet widows were also a potential threat to the church that needed to be controlled. Early Christian writings simultaneously portrayed widows as respected members of the church and subversive elements prone to misconduct; 1 they spoke of the power of a widow’s prayer, but then claimed widows were not different from any other church member; 2 some considered widows to be part of the clergy, others argued that widows were lay members and should never be ordained; 3 church leaders constantly battled over the very definition a widow and, once identified, how properly to regulate her behavior. 4 For “pro-widow” depictions and demands for support see Ignatius, Polyc 4 (SC 10:174); Polycarp, ep. 6 (SC 10:212); Herm Sim. 9.27 (SC 53); Justin, 1 apol. 44.67 (Justin, “Apologia,” in E.J. Goodspeed [ed.], Die Šltsten Apologeten [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht] 56–7); Barn 20 (SC 172); Apoc. Petr. 9.7 (Dennis D. Buchholz, Your Eyes Will Be Opened: A study of the Greek (Ethiopic) Apocalypse of Peter, ed. Charles Talbert [Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series 97; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988] 212); A. Paul et Thec 4 (“Acta Pauli et Theclae,” in R.A. Lipsius [ed.], Acta apostolorum apocrypha 1,1 [Leipzig: Mendelsohn, 1891] 238); A. Petri 7.21, 28–9, 8.29 (“Acta Petri cum Simone,” in R.A. Lipsius [ed.], Acta apostolorum apocrypha 1,1 [Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1891] 53–5); A. Thom 6.59 (“Acta Thomae,” in M. Bonnet [ed.], Acta apostolorum apocrypha 2,2 [Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1903] 108–9); Tertullian, Ad uxor 1.8 (CCh 1:382); Hom. Clem. 3.71 (GCS 42:82); Clem. ep. 8.5 (SC 167:114); Eusebius, h.e. 6.43.6 (SC 55). For concerns of misconduct and demands for regulation see 1 Tim 5:3–16; Polycarp, ep. 4 (SC 10:174); Hom. Clem. 3.71 (GCS 42:82); Trad 10 (SC 11:66). 2 Trad. 10 (SC 11:66); Trad. 25 (Armenian, Ehtiopic, Syrian, and Greek versions) (Gregory Dix, The Treatise on The Apostolic Tradition of St. Hippolytus of Rome [Ridgefield: Morehouse Publishing, 1992; reprint, 1992] 44). 3 For those considering widows as part of the clergy see Clement of Alexandria, paed. 3.12 (GCS 12:284–5); Tertullian, Monog 11 (CCh 2:1242– 1246); Tertullian, De exhortatione castitatis 13 (CCh 2:1033–5); Origen, or. 28.4 (GCS 2:377); Origen, hom. in Lc. 17 (GCS 9:111–21); Origen, comm. in Mt. 15.22 (GCS 10). Cf. Trad 10 (SC 45:66). 4 For example 1 Tim 5:3–16; Tertullian, Virg. Vel. 9 (CCh 2:1219); Trad. 10 (SC 11:66); Apostolic Church Order 21 (J.P. Arendzen, “An Entire Syriac Text of the ‘Apostolic Church Order’,” Journal of Theological Studies 3 [1901]: 70). 1

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The most coherent picture of the early Christian widow was her incoherence. The ancient Christian widow fit neither contemporary categories of gender nor the division of clergy and laity. Although female, widows were not sexually active or under the patriarchal control of marriage. As long as she was unmarried, the widow remained in a liminal state-maintaining the potential for future marriage and sexual activity. The church’s efforts to have the widow either quickly remarry or vow perpetual chastity partially resolved this ambiguity. Yet even the enrolled widow, unmarried and gaining some power through her position and ministries, disrupted the late antique division of male (active) and female (passive). Of even greater concern was the widow’s challenge to the distinction between clergy and laity. The widow took on many characteristics usually reserved for the clergy: she had special responsibilities to the congregation, she engaged in social ministry, her prayers were particularly powerful, she had to meet specific membership requirements, and at times she even had a special seat in the church. 5 Challenging traditional gender roles and the church’s division of laity and clergy, widows were an obstacle to the institutionalization of early Christian communities and the clergy’s consolidation of power. The connection between the fate of early Christian widows and the rise of internal hierarchies is most apparent in the Didascalia Apostolorum, a third-century Syrian church order. In two chapters devoted to discussing widows, the Didascalia defines who is eligible to be enrolled as a widow, describes good and evil widows, determines how and under what conditions widows will receive financial support, decides what is required of the church’s widows, and mandates that specific activities be prohibited. An examination of these control strategies indicates that because of her ambiguous status, the early Christian widow became a focal point in a battle for greater clerical power and a more rigid social hierarchy.

STRATEGIES OF CONTROL: THE DIDASCALIA [4]

The Didascalia is the largest of the early church orders. Twentyseven chapters outline the duties and positions of bishops, E.g. 1 Tim 5:3–16; Clement of Alexandria, paed. 3.12 (GCS 12:284– 285); Tertullian, Virg. Vel. 9 (CCh 2:1219); Trad. 25 (Dix 44); Apostolic Church Order 21 (Arendzen 70). 5

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deacons, deaconesses, presbyters, widows, orphans, lay men and women, visitors, catechumens, and the excommunicated. It also discusses “orthodox” belief and ethics, the distribution of funds, liturgy, martyrdom, repentance, and other topics regarding the church’s structure and function. A polemic against “heresy” and a fear of Jewish influences frame the work and underlies many of its discussions. All but a few lines of the original Greek are lost, but numerous Syriac manuscripts fully preserve the Didascalia. A late fourthcentury palimpsest contains about two-fifths of the text in Latin. The Didascalia’s definitive authorship is unknown; according to its prologue, Paul and the twelve disciples gathered in Jerusalem to write it (7.22–8.7). 6 In reality, the work is clearly pseudonymous, and a strong scholarly consensus believes that the Didascalia was written in third-century Syria. 7 Because of its focus on ecclesiology, some scholars have suggested that a Syrian bishop wrote the Didascalia. 8 An even more fundamental question regards the descriptive value of this work: is it descriptive or prescriptive? Does the Didascalia describe a specific, perhaps atypical, Christian community or is it the musings of some third-century armchair anthropologist forwarding his vision of an ideal church? This question, common to all early church orders, has been virtually ignored by modern scholars. 9 While such a noncritical acceptance of the Didascalia is clearly problematic, even if the Didascalia is solely the work of a single third-century idealist, the content still reflects the move toward an institutionalized church and strategies for greater centralized control. The Didascalia, in any case, remains an Citations are by page and line of Vööbus’ English translation: Arthur Vööbus, The Didascalia Apostolorum in Syriac (CSCO 402, 408; Louvain: CSCO, 1979). The Syriac text can be found in Arthur Vööbus, The Didascalia Apostolorum in Syriac (CSCO 401, 407; Louvain: CSCO, 1979). 7 Paul F. Bradshaw, The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992) 88; Bonnie Bowman Thurston, The Widows: A Women’s Ministry in the Early Church (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989) 97; S.J. Galtier, “La Date de la Didascalie des Apostres,” Revue D’Histoire Ecclesiastique 42 (1947): 315–51; Vööbus, 402.23. 8 Bradshaw, Search for the Origins, 88. 9 Ibid., 107–9 and Methuen (below) are exceptions. 6

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important source for reconstructing the role of widows in early Christianity. Fortunately, the Didascalia’s rapid translation and dissemination, incorporation into later works, emendation and complex textual history, attention to realistic details, assumptions that readers would be familiar with the material, and the many corresponding similarities to other early Syrian works, suggest that the Didascalia provides at least some reflection of historic reality. Although some of the details remain questionable, the Didascalia clearly shows that widows were key players in the changing social dynamics of early Christian communities. Although the Didascalia dedicates two entire chapters to widows, it never explicitly defines this term. Unlike 1 Tim, the Didascalia does not require that a widow have married only once, have no relatives who can support her, or be renowned for good deeds (1 Tim 5:3–4; 5:9–10). 10 The only criterion mentioned by the Didascalia, that a woman must be at least fifty years old for the bishop to appoint her as a widow (141.8–9), conflicts with 1 Tim’s requirement of sixty years. 11 1 Tim and the Didascalia also vary in their treatment of younger widows. 1 Tim advocates financial support only for older widows, and encourages “younger widows [to] marry, bear children, rule their households, and give the enemy no occasion to revile us” (1 Tim 5:14). In contrast, the Didascalia sees second marriage as “an act of damage” and marrying a third time as harlotry (142.11–3). 12 The Didascalia, though allowing widows to remarry, prefers them not to, and mandates that the church financially support younger widows so “they may continue in chastity unto God” (142.14–15, see also 141.9–12). For an analysis of 1 Tim’s regulation of widows see J. Bassler, “A Widows’ Tale: A Fresh Look at 1 Tim 5:3–16,” Journal of Biblical Literature 103. 1 (1984): 23–41. 11 Similarly, the Didascalia also suggests that a bishop be fifty years or older so that he is “removed from the conduct of youth and from the lusts of the adversary” (43.25–8). It will permit the ordination of a younger bishop for a small congregation (55.9–19). Justin Taylor’s examination of the Didascalia’s retelling of Acts 15 provides another example of how the Didascalia often modifies New Testament passages (Justin Taylor, “Ancient Texts and Modern Critics: Acts 15, 1–34,” Revue Biblique 99.2 [1992]: 373–8). 12 Condemnations of remarriage can be found in Tertullian, De exhortatione castitatis and Monog (CCh 2:1013–35; CCh 2:1229–53). 10

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In 1 Tim the division between enrolled and non-enrolled widows is relatively clear-the former are “true widows” worthy of praise and financially supported by the church, the latter will likely become “idlers, gossips, and busybodies” (1 Tim 5.13) and are encouraged to remarry. The Didascalia honors enrolled and nonenrolled widows (141.18–142.7); both receive financial support from the church and (ideally) remain single. Besides age, the Didascalia outlines subtle differences between appointed and nonappointed widows. Like 1 Tim, the Didascalia fears that a younger woman may not “endure widowhood because of her youth” (141:11–2, cf. 1 Tim 5:11). If the bishop appointed such a woman as a widow and she later remarried, she would become blameworthy “because she promised to be a widow unto God, and was receiving as a widow, but did not abide in widowhood” (141.14–7). This passage suggests that when the bishop appoints a widow, she promises to remain single, a precondition for receiving alms. Even though non-appointed widows receive some support to discourage remarriage, the Didascalia implies they are not under any contractual obligation to remain single. In her investigation of the term widow, Charlotte Methuen argues that instead of anachronistically defining “widow” as a woman whose husband has died, modern scholars should see the early Christian use of the word widow as signifying a woman who leads a sexually chaste life; for many Christian communities widows could also be virgins. 13 This poses the question whether the widows to which the Didascalia refers included women who never married. At first glance, a surprising omission gives some support to this possibility. Considering the prevalence of asceticism in third-century Syria, the Didascalia should have some discussion of virgins and how the church would support them. Yet the term “virgin” never appears in the Didascalia. 14 This omission of “virgins,” however, is better explained by the Didascalia’s strong polemic against sexual asceticism than by the Didascalia’s widows See Charlotte Methuen, “The ‘Virgin Widow’: A Problematic Social Role for the Early Church?” Harvard Theological Review 90:3 (1997): 285– 298 for an extensive discussion of “virgin widows.” 14 The Ethiopic Statutes of the Apostles, however, later amends two Didascalia passages to include virgins (Vööbus, The Didascalia Apostolorum in Syriac, 2.132n23, 2.134n42). 13

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also including virgins. According to the Didascalia, only heretics condemn marriage (213.9–13, 237.21–238.1); the text commands that a man take a wife (214.18–215.2), and suggests that parents marry off their children as soon as they can (161.5, 203.17–20). 15 Similarly, the Didascalia’s discussion of both appointed and nonappointed widows refers to these women having had first husbands (141.8–142.15). Requiring widows to have been previously married reinforces the Didascalia’s stance against asceticism. The Didascalia’s implicit definition of widowhood reveals three important characteristics of the Didascalia community. First, although the Didascalia is familiar with 1 Tim, the age of a “true” widow is different. This shows that the Didascalia community did not view 1 Tim’s mandates as infallible, and it may reflect an early disagreement on the canon. 16 Second, by encouraging first marriage, allowing for a second marriage, but condemning a third, the Didascalia represents a midpoint between the New Testament that places no restrictions on number of marriages (1 Cor 7:39; Rom 7:2–3; 1 Tim 5:14) and other patristic works that condone only first marriage. 17 The Didascalia’s position on this issue is particularly surprising given its Syrian context. Scholars have argued that, in the third-century Syriac church, celibacy was a prerequisite for baptism, “Christian life [was] unthinkable outside the bounds of virginity” and chastity became “an ubiquitous Note the tension between this and the Didascalia’s polemic against second marriage. The Didasclia choses a middle ground, supporting the ideal of the univiras yet condemning those who are against marriage altogether. 16 Several manuscripts amend this to read “fifty years of age and older,” to conform the Didascalia more closely with 1 Tim (Vööbus, CSCO 408, 63). See Harry Gamble, The New Testament Canon (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), and Bruce Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Significance (New York: Clarendon, 1987) for a general discussion of the development of canon. 17 Though only a single line of chapter fourteen speaks about third marriage, one manuscript summarizes the entire chapter as “About the widows and the third marriage which is counted for fornication.” At least in that community, the issue of third marriage was significant enough to devote half of the chapter subtitle to this theme. For other early Christian condemnations of second marriage see Tertullian, De exhortatione castitatis (CCh 2:1013–35) and Monog. (CCh 2:1229–53). 15

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value.” 18 In contrast, although the Didascalia shows a clear preference that widows remain single, nevertheless it instructs all Christians to marry, permits remarriage after the death of one’s first spouse, condemns complete sexual renunciation, and shows no evidence for the typically ascetic usage of the Syriac terms bthule, qadishe, or bnath qyama. 19 Third, the Didascalia’s advocacy of a broader definition of a “true widow” and the financial support for younger widows clearly has economic and political implications. The document reflects a community that has a sufficient economic base to support many individuals resulting in a greater number of people financially dependent on the church. The Didascalia not only implicitly defines widowhood, but also constructs good and bad widows through its rhetoric. The ideal widow is to be humble, unperturbed, chaste, modest, quiet, gentle, without wickedness, without anger, not talkative, not glamorous, and not a lover of strife (143.9–144.3, 148.18–149.20). She is an altar of God and should be stationary (146.1–147.12), staying home to pray day and night (148.18–9). 20 She is unquestionably obedient to the bishop and other clergy (149.18–20), a passive, immobile instrument of the church. Needless to say, not every widow conformed to this ideal. The majority of the Didascalia’s chapter on widows’ conduct concentrates on “rebellious widows.” These women—greedy, gossipy, and mobile—are literally “out of control.” The most frequent charge is that widows are greedy. Mammon is often said to be the widows’ only motivation and their main goal is to receive additional profit (147.16–148.4, 152.25–7). They envy each other, and when one of them receives a gift from the church Sebastian Brock, “Early Syrian Asceticism,” Numen 20 (April 1973): 7; Arthur Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient (CSCO 184; Louvain: CSCO, 1958) 69; Susan Ashbrook Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990) 5. 19 For a discussion of these terms use in Syrian asceticism see Vööbus, History of Asceticism, 97–106 and Harvey, Asceticism and Society, 6. 20 For a fuller discussion of this metaphor see Bonnie Bowman Thurston, “The Widows as the Altar of God,” SBL Seminar Papers 24 (1985): 279–89; C. Osiek, “The Widow as Altar: The Rise and Fall of a Symbol,” Second Century 3.3 (1983): 159–69; and Methuen, “Widows, Bishops and the Struggle for Authority,” 202. 18

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(151.29–30), they murmur against the receiving widow, the giver, or even the bishop (152.27–153.10). This can even lead to the widows’ cursing these individuals (153.22–155.18). Other widows try to make a profit by lending money for interest (147.14–6). In extreme cases, Satan may enter greedy widows, causing them to love only worldly goods and become widows “only in name” (151.14–28). These passages give several insights into the Didascalia community. They suggest that problems with the distribution of church aid expose bishops to charges of favoritism, the community is concerned with the widows’ power to curse, not all widows are impoverished-some are affluent enough to lend money out, and others were expected to donate to the bishop’s funds for the poor and visitors (147.14–6), 21 and the community believes that widows are particularly vulnerable to Satan and may become the devil’s instrument. The Didascalia frequently accuses widows of being overly talkative and causing strife. Concern with women’s voice is prevalent in Christianity, especially in 1 Tim, where the author worries that widows would “learn to be idlers, gadding about from house to house, and not only idlers but gossips and busybodies, saying what they should not” (1 Tim 5.13). The Didascalia uses similar language describing rebellious widows as “talkative and chatterers and murmurers” who are “bold and have no shame” (146.9–11). They cannot stay quiet in their own home, and even during the Sunday services they whisper to others; through their distractions they cause many to become captives of Satan (146.5– 147.3). The widows’ most frequent infringement is revealing the names of those who gave them alms. When the bishop gives a donation to a widow, he tells her who donated the gift so that she can pray for him. The widow must keep the giver’s name a secret, or it might be revealed to a pagan violating Mt 25.33–5. 22 Such a violation also improperly reveals what takes place in church to the This is in accord with the prominence of wealthy widows in early Christianity. See Elizabeth Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom and Friends (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1979), and Susanna Elm, Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Claredon Press, 1994). 22 The Didascalia equates a pagan with the left hand (see also 120.14– 21). If a pagan knows who donated a gift, the left hand knows what the right one is doing. 21

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outside (152.10–24) and incites quarrels between widows (153.24– 25). Correlated with the concerns of gossip is a series of criticisms regarding mobility. The Didascalia mandates that a widow stay constantly at home (148.17) and not “run around” (146.6–10). False widows wander about, especially to ask for alms (150.12–4); these roving widows are shameless, morally blind, and greedy (146.6–10). Of particular concern is that wandering widows will associate with those who have been expelled from the church (150.12–4). 23 The Didascalia warns that anyone who associates with an excommunicant will be defiled and share in the guilt. Additionally, the widow’s company will make the excommunicant less likely to repent, and the widow will be responsible for that person’s damnation as well as her own (150.28–151.5). 24 Concerns of the widow’s mobility may also form part of the Didascalia’s larger polemic against ascetic groups it deems heretical. Although our knowledge of third-century Syrian ascetic practice is extremely limited, 25 several scholars have suggested that wandering ascetics played a significant role in early Syrian Christianity. 26 Restricting the widows’ mobility prevents widows from emulating this form of asceticism. The Didascalia’s rhetorical attacks against wandering, unmarried women could also be used to condemn the practices of these other groups.

Early Christian writers frequently wrote of women as particularly vulnerable to heretical influence. See Susanne Heine, Women and Early Christianity: A Reappraisal (Minneapolis: Augsberg Publishing House, 1986) 130–134; Ross Shepard Kraemer, Her Share of the Blessings (New York: Oxford Press, 1992) 157–93; Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Vintage Books, 1979) 48–69. 24 In several places the Didascalia advocates expulsion and ostracism as a way to motivate members to repent and return to the community (e.g. 64.14–65.16, 113.10–22). 25 See Sidney Griffith, “Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism,” in Vincent L. Wimbush and Richard Valantasis (eds.), Asceticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995) 235 for a discussion of scholars’ dependence on later sources to reconstruct third-century Syrian ascetic practices. 26 Robert Murray. Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (London: Cambridge University Press, 1975) 28. 23

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The Didascalia’s descriptions provide insight into the community’s ambivalence toward widows. The same widow the community should support has the potential to become greedy and be taken over by Satan. The voice that prays can also gossip and curse. The widow who visits the sick can wander aimlessly or associate with heretics. Through its rhetoric, the Didascalia tries to regulate behavior. The Didascalia’s stark characterization of good and evil widows creates a subject in need of control. The Didascalia’s advocacy of increased financial support for widows necessitated a formal distribution system. The bishop becomes a middle-man: a donor gives a gift to the bishop, and the bishop, either by himself or through a deacon or presbyter, gives this “alm of the Lord” to a specific widow (153.4). The widow is told the name of the original donor so she can pray for him (142.21–8, 152.11). This centralization is justified on several grounds-the bishop’s responsibility is to take care of everyone, he is to be a good steward, he knows who are truly afflicted, and he will follow God’s commands in the distribution of alms. This system benefits the donor since he remains unaware of whom he assists and can give his alms in secret (100.22–9, 142.21–8, 153.6– 8,153.19; cf. Mt 6.2–4). There are some hints in the Didascalia of widows who managed to circumvent this system. The Didascalia indicts widows who visit the sinful or excommunicated because these people give the widows money (150.12–7). Other widows are said to wander around in search of more alms (146.3, 152.27). Sometimes widows ask each other how large a donation the clergy gave them (152.27); when one widow breaks confidentiality, disclosing how much she received and from whom, the other widow may complain about her level of funding (153.1–10). The Didascalia reprimands such behavior. The widow must realize that God decides who receives which funds, not the bishop (153.7). If the widow complains, she is like the hypocrites of Mt 6:2, and like them she has already received her reward. Instead the widow should thank God for the assistance her companion received, pray for the one who gave the donation and the ministers who distributed it, and ask that she too would open “the door of His pity” (153.10–8). Another “loop-hole” the Didascalia tries to address is laity who give gifts directly to widows. The Didascalia emphasizes that this action is inappropriate; just as a non-Levite could not place

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sacrifices upon the altar, the laity cannot bring their gifts to a widow, the altar of God. Instead the laity must give their offerings to the bishop who serves as the high priest (100.15–21). If a lay person directly supports a widow, this dishonors the bishop by implying that the bishop is not protecting the widows and despises the poor (103.6–11). The bishop should be particularly careful of the sources of donations. Widows are the altar of Christ (163.2–5) and the congregation’s offerings nourish this altar (162.8–11). If alms collected from evil-doers nourish the widows, they will become impure and their prayers will be unclean (164.12–9). Since the widows would be praying for transgressors, God will not answer their prayers, and the ineffectiveness may cause some to blasphemy and question God’s goodness (165.5–9). 27 At least from the perspective of the Didascalia, it would be better for a widow to starve than accept alms from impure sources (162.21–4, 166.3–5). If an evil-doer compels the bishop to accept his alms, the only acceptable use for the money is to buy a widow firewood. Firewood, unlike food bought with impure donations, presumably would not hurt the widow’s prayer life (167.1–5). God will hold accountable a bishop who, accepting alms from the blameworthy, gives these donations to a widow (163.14–7, 165.10–166.2). The text also warns against focusing on the widows and forgetting other afflicted individuals. Twice the Didascalia tells bishops to take care of all the poor, even those who are married (142.17–20, 142.29–143.5), and reminds them not to neglect those whose needs may even exceed those of widows (46.19–25). The first of these two passages contains the document’s only reference to widowers and implies that they, like widows may receive some form of financial support. This distribution system consolidates the clergy’s power. As more widows become dependent on church support, more become directly dependent on the bishop and other clergy, who distributed the alms. The Didascalia discourages laity from directly supporting The Didascalia has a large list of those from whom one should not accept offerings (163.18–164.8). Some of the more interesting figures include “those who use their bodies wickedly,” “hypocritical lawyers,” “unjust tax gatherers,” those who abuse the poor and slaves, and any Roman official. 27

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widows; instead, the congregation should give donations to the bishop, as he is in the best position to properly allocate them. Because widows are susceptible to pollution from impure sources, the bishop can further regulate the funds. The Didascalia harshly criticizes any attempt to go outside this system. The response to any complaint is that God, not the bishop, decided how alms were distributed. The widows do not receive support unconditionally. They have specific duties, the most prominent of which is prayer. Like contemporary Jewish and Christian sources, the Didascalia clearly believes that a widow’s prayer is extremely powerful. 28 God will always answer the prayers of a pure widow: “the widows will pray and receive from God all the good things for which they ask and seek” (167.6–9. See also 148.20–1 and 149.3–5). A widow’s prayer is a precious commodity. According to the Didascalia, the primary reason a bishop should aid widows is “that something they ask and request may be given them quickly with their prayers” (163.12–4). Widows are appointed to “pray and entreat the Lord God” (145.15–16). First, a widow prays on behalf of the entire church (144.4–5). Second, when the bishop gives the widow alms, he tells her who had donated the gift (142.27–8), and she prays on behalf of the giver (144.4–5, 151.29–152.24). Third, the widow also prays for the clergy, especially when they apportion gifts to widows (152.1–9, 153.13–5). In summary, “a widow should care for nothing else except this, to pray for those who give, and for the whole church” (144.4–5). The Didascalia condemns any activity that might interfere with these prayers. For example, widows who are greedy and constantly look for profit are too distracted to pray effectively (148.5–17). Instead, a widow should neither leave her house, nor let her eyes or ears wander to avoid anything that might detract from her prayers (148.23–149.2). The Didascalia lists two secondary roles for widows: first, they are to work with wool to give the profits to the poor, or at the very least, lessen their own need for church support (149.5–17; see also 147.15–6, 21.1–23.1. cf. Acts 9:39–41); second, they should visit, fast with, pray for, and lay hands upon the sick (150.8–12), but they may perform these ministries only “by the command of the bishop E.g. A. Petri 7.21 (Lipsius 53–5); Trad. 25 (Dix 44); Apostolic Church Order 21 (Arendzen 70). 28

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or the deacon” (149.24–5). The Didascalia notes how presumptuous is a woman who claims to know with whom she should fast, or upon whom she should lay hands. The clergy should reprove a widow who makes these decisions herself (150.1), and God will hold her liable on the day of judgment (150.5–6). In contrast, if a widow obeys the clergy’s commands in these matters, she obeys God and will be blameless (150.18–21). The Didascalia claims a widow’s works are key to her worthiness of widowhood. Those who practice good works will be “praised and accepted” (151.20–4). While these roles define widowhood as a special position in the church, they also increase the clergy’s control of the widows. The emphasis on prayer defends restrictions on a widow’s mobility and participation in “worldly” matters. It also justifies a continual emphasis on her behavior; only if the widow conforms to certain cultural expectations will she be pure enough to perform her primary duty of prayer and contemplation. Although a widow’s involvement in limited forms of social ministry was somewhat empowering, the clergy (not surprisingly) strictly regulated this aspect of a widow’s life The Didascalia prohibits widows from teaching, baptizing, and cursing. It warns that whenever a widow is asked anything, she should not “too quickly give an answer;” instead she should send the inquirer to the community’s leader. 29 The word of the Gospel is like mustard (Mk 4:31; Mt 13:31; Lk 13:19), not prepared correctly it is bitter to those who use it. If, instead of simply being a referral service, a widow (or any other women) attempts to teach, not having a “knowledge of doctrine” she will “bring blasphemy against the word” (144.14–5) and “shall be guilty of a hard judgment for sin” (145.10–1). The Didascalia warns that those who do not have the proper doctrinal knowledge will inevitably blaspheme when they attempt to teach. Theological education has become a form of power; the (male) clergy differ from female (laity) by virtue of formal position and responsibility. Clergy are considered educated, yet not accountable for a gentile who refuses to convert. If a woman fails in evangelism, it is her fault and she is liable for judgment. When a Several manuscripts read “leaders” and the plural is found in the Apostolic Constitutions. The text never specifies, exactly who is the leader(s). Most likely its singular form refers to the bishop, its plural to all clergy. 29

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woman teaches she takes a risk, but male clergy risk nothing by teaching. The clergy’s position is educated and secure, a female teacher’s is uneducated, dangerous, and often mocked (145.6). Widows can speak of righteousness, faith in God, destruction of idols, and monotheism (144.6–7, 144.10–1); neither widows nor other laity can teach about punishment, “the rest,” “the kingdom of the name of Christ,” or Christ’s dispensation (144.11–4). Women in particular should not speak about Christ’s embodiment, his passion, or his name (145.8–9, 145.13–5). The hierarchy of these issues is clear. Issues such as monotheism or the destruction of idols are simple to articulate and relatively respectable in certain pagan circles. More abstract issues, such as “the rest” or Christ’s name, are more problematic. Christ’s embodiment and passion are perhaps the most offensive topics to Greco-Roman sensibilities and are only to be discussed by the male clergy. 30 If women speak of these, the listeners will “deride and mock, instead of praising the word of doctrine” (145.7–11). Lastly, women (“especially widows”) should not teach, because Christ did not appoint them for this task. If women were meant to teach, Christ would have commanded his female disciples (the three Marys) to give instructions along with the twelve. Since he did not explicitly do so, women were evidently not meant to be teachers (145.14–22). The Didascalia uses several rhetorical strategies—textual implosion (stringing together texts that, in their original context, appear unrelated to the topic at hand), cultural stereotypes, arguments of silence, authority gained from pseudonymity—to prevent widows from teaching. 31 It portrays a selection of diverse scriptural passages to refute a widow’s ability to teach: it reframes the reference of the word of the Gospel as “mustard” to speak about the difficulty of teaching, instead of the benefits of the kingdom and it interprets the Matthew “pearls before swine” passage as being addressed directly to widows and laity. The Didascalia also employs contemporary prejudices regarding Robert Wilken, The Christians as the Romans Saw Them (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984) 102–4. 31 See Elizabeth Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999) 132–4 for the coining of the term “textual implosion.” 30

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women’s voice—their inability to speak firmly, the likelihood of being mocked—to further disempower female teachers. The argument of silence (Jesus did not call female disciples to teach) is a typical point made by early Christian authors to reduce females’ influence. The Didascalia reinforces this with a sudden shift in narrative voice. In its discussion of the three Marys, the text switches into the first person, reminding the reader that the twelve apostles (and Paul) supposedly wrote the Didascalia, and they would know definitively if Christ intended women to teach. The Didascalia also prohibits women from baptizing, arguing that if women were supposed to baptize, Christ’s mother Mary would have baptized Jesus. Since John baptized Christ, only men may lawfully baptize (151.9–12). If a woman baptizes, she transgresses “the commandment.” Such an act is “beyond the law of the Gospel,” and is dangerous both to the baptizer and whomever she baptizes (151.6–13). The final prohibition is against widows cursing. The Didascalia states that if some widows feel they have not been given enough alms they “send out a curse like the pagans” (154.1–2). Just as the widow’s prayers and blessings are extremely potent, the Didascalia fears the power of a widow’s curses. Although the text specifies that an unjust curse is in vain (154.11–2) and that cursing in general is counterproductive (154.14–155.11), it never denies the power of a well-founded curse. The text addresses this issue by instructing the bishop to prohibit all curses (11.14–8). These prohibitions not only show that the clergy tried to regulate widows, but also suggest challenges to the Didascalia’s world view. One does not prohibit what one does not fear; the very fact that the Didascalia spends so much space and uses so many different strategies to argue against women’s teaching, baptizing, and cursing suggests that this was a problem in the Didascalia community. 32 By attacking female authority in the Didascalia’s chapters on widows, the author(s) reveals that widows are key figures in this power struggle. In response to this threat, the Didascalia’s author(s) developed several strategies through which the clergy consolidated its power Methuen, “Widows, Bishops and the Struggle for Authority,” 200 and Thurston, The Widows, 99 also argue that these prohibitions reflect attempts to prohibit contemporary practices. 32

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at the expense of widows. A broader definition of widowhood increased the number of widows eligible for support and created a larger group of women financially dependent on the church. By discouraging laity from directly assisting widows, the Didascalia solidified the bishop’s control over how funds were distributed. The Didascalia’s rhetoric presented the ideal widow as a passive, obedient instrument of the clergy; its construction of rebellious widows justified attempts to control these women. It used the widow’s duty to pray to minimize her contact with “the world.” Whatever contact she did have was strictly regulated: her social ministry was defined by others, and she was prohibited from teaching or baptizing.

EPILOGUE: THE APOSTOLIC CONSTITUTIONS [34]

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The legacy of the Didascalia did not end in third-century Syria. Not only did the Didascalia itself remain an influential document, it also was the source for much of the fourth-century Apostolic Constitutions. Variations between these documents’ discussion of widows foreshadow the widow’s plight in later Christianity. Book three of the Apostolic Constitutions closely follows chapters fourteen and fifteen of the Didascalia, making minor alterations of the latter text to adapt it to a more contemporary use. These changes evidence the changing role of the Syrian widow. 33 The Apostolic Constitutions revises the Didascalia to follow 1 Tim more closely. The bishop should only enroll widows sixty years or older (3.1.1), and a true widow would have had only one husband, be renowned for her works, and have raised children (3.1.3). 34 The It is important to note that these documents are not representative of the entire range of widows’s experiences in early Christianity. In particular, the church treated wealthy widows in a very different manner than that envisioned by these documents (for extensive discussions of the role of wealthy widows in early Christian communities see Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom, and Friends and Elm, Virgins of God). Still, the change between these documents shows the evolution of a particular tradition and its response to the changing environment. 34 The Greek text of the Apostolic Constitutions can be found in P.A. De Lagarde, Constitutiones Apostolorum (Osnabrÿck: Gesamtherstellung Proff & Co. KG., 1966). Cf. Didascalia 141.8–9; 1 Tim 5:10; Tertullian, Virg. Vel. 9 (CCh 2:1219). 33

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Apostolic Constitutions also changes the Didascalia’s stance on second marriage, emphasizing that an enrolled widow who remarried is guilty of sin but “not because she married a second time” (3.1.1). This qualification is repeated in the next chapter (3.1.2), where the text also explicitly states the church should allow a widow to marry a second time (3.1.2); unlike the Didascalia, it does not present second marriage as an act of damage. While the Didascalia condemns third marriage as an act of harlotry (142.11–3), the Apostolic Constitutions reserves this charge for fourth marriage (3.1.2). The Didascalia warned that any woman who baptizes endangered both herself and those to whom she ministered. The Apostolic Constitutions expands this brief polemic by adding three additional arguments against women baptizing (3.1.9): If Jesus wanted women to baptize he would have sent some along with the apostles to do so; Because “man is the head of woman” (I Cor 11:3) and a man is to rule over woman (Gen 3:16), a woman should not to teach (3.1.6) and it is contrary to nature for a woman to “perform the office of a priest;” and Pagans have female priests and female deities, showing the error of women in religious practice. The greatest difference between the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions is the transfer of power from the widow to the deaconess. The Apostolic Constitutions removes all of the Didascalia’s references to fasting, laying hands, or blessings (149.20–5, 150.2– 20). Instead the Apostolic Constitutions mandates that the widow “sit in her house, and not enter into the houses of the faithful, under any pretense, to receive anything” (3.1.6). At the same time that the widow loses her social ministry, the deaconess rises in prominence. 35 As in the Didascalia (156.1–158.6), deaconesses are See Wayne H. House, “Distinctive Roles for Women in the Second and Third Centuries,” Bibiotheca Sacra 146 (1989): 50–2 and especially Elm 168–78 for a more complete discussion of the decline of the widow in relation to the rise of the deaconess. Allen Brent, “The Relations Between Ignatius and the Didascalia” Second Century (Fall 1991): 133 makes the important observation that in its attemps to solidify a monarchical episcopate the Didascalia decreases the deacon’s power in relationship to the bishop. Because the Didascalia models the deaconess on this less powerful deacon, it further reduces the deaconess’ threat to the bishop’s authority. 35

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to help in the visiting, baptizing, and instruction of women (3.2.15). Yet the Apostolic Constitutions gives deaconesses other duties as well. The deaconess stands before the women in the congregation and keeps them in order during the service (2.7.57). Any woman who wishes to speak to the bishop or a deacon also needs to have a deaconess present (2.4.26). The deaconess (not the bishop) distributes funds to the widows (3.1.14), and the widow is to honor the deaconess as she is to obey the other clergy (3.1.7). The deaconess is a member of the clergy and therefore not an elevated symbol of lay power. Since the bishop ordains her (3.2.15; 8.3.19–20), he can be more selective in choosing her than he might with a group of widows. In the Apostolic Constitutions, the deaconess’ ministry, unlike that of the Didascalia widow, is limited to attending women. She is also clearly subservient to the other clergy. While the Didascalia honored the deaconess by comparing her to the Holy Spirit (100.12–3), the Apostolic Constitutions uses this analogy to make the deaconess dependent on the deacon: Let also the deaconess be honored by you in place of the Holy Ghost, and not do or say anything without the deacon [who is the earthly representation of Christ]; as neither does the Comforter say or do anything of Himself, but gives glory to Christ by waiting for His pleasure (2.4.26).

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The Apostolic Constitutions minimizes the widow’s threat to the clergy by transferring authority away from her to the less troublesome and more easily controlled deaconess, herself subordinate to the other clergy. In her examination of the Apostolic Constitutions, Susanna Elm summarizes the result of this power shift: “[the widow’s] position now offers no hint of any clerical status and is subordinate to that of the virgin, only marginally above the general laity.” 36 The Apostolic Constitutions more closely conforms with 1 Tim’s mandates and is more “liberal” with its stance towards second marriage. It is more aggressive in its attack against women baptizing, decreases the widow’s role in social ministry, overshadows her with the rising (albeit regulated) power of the deaconess, and foreshadows the eventual loss of the widow as a church office. While several centuries passed before the widow all 36

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but disappeared from Christian sources, the Apostolic Constitutions documents how the emerging institutionalized “orthodoxy” ultimately succeeded in its attempts to regulate the widow and minimize her power.

RESOLVING AMBIGUITY: WIDOWS AND THE CENTRALIZATION OF POWER [41]

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A close analysis of the Didascalia’s statements about widows illustrated various ways the clergy tried to consolidate their power. A comparison between the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions showed the continuation of this trajectory and revealed changes in the social settings of these communities. While delineating these strategies of control may be of interest in and of it itself, in a larger context it is even more illuminating. Widows were not the only target of these struggles. Numerous sociologists and anthropologists have noted the inevitable institutionalization of a religious movement. 37 The Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions bear witness to this phenomenon. In her work, Methuen frames the Didascalia’s discussion of widows in the context of “an on-going struggle to establish a more hierarchical church centered on the bishop, which led to the discrediting of other forms of authority and the groups which supported them.” 38 Methuen’s observation clearly influences my reading of the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions. I suggest, however, that these documents were concerned with the early Christian widow not only because of the widow’s actual authority but also because of her symbolic role in the community. Controlling the widow was not just a matter of regulating her behavior; it also involved redefining what she signified. A main theme in the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions is power of the clergy over the laity; they establish a rigid hierarchy E.g. Victor Turner, Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company, 1969) 94–165 and Max Weber, The Sociology of Religion (Boston: Beacon Press, 1922; reprint, 1991). For an application of this analysis to early Christianity see John Gager, Kingdom and Community (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1975) 66–92. For a discussion of how models of institutionalization help explain changes in female ascetic practices see Elm, Virgins of God, 164–6. 38 Methuen, Widows, Bishops, and the Struggle for Authority, 212. 37

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with the bishop at the top and the laity at the bottom. The Didascalia gives the bishop many titles: a good shepherd (70.10– 75.8), a physician (78.16–9; 114.17–115.9), a mother (104.18), a father (75.13; 100.6; 104.17), a leader (100.8), the chief (100.8), a Levite (100.5), the High Priest (100.5), a king (100.8; 106.11–107.2), Moses (103.3), an imitator of Christ (78.6–7; 92.22–93.14), God’s mouthpiece (102.23), and even God himself (67.16; 75.13–14; 100.9–10; 120.2–3). A bishop’s power mirrors these titles. The bishop is to judge in place of God (52.23–5), and like God he can forgive sins (67.15–21; 78.4–9). This makes the bishop more powerful than any earthly king because his ability to excommunicate is power of life and death over a person’s soul (104.24–30; 107.3–8). Beneath the bishop are the other clergy, most importantly the deacon, an earthly representative of Christ (100.11; 120.2–3). Next comes the deaconess who represents the Holy Spirit (100.12–3), and then the presbyters who are the apostles (100.13–4). At the bottom of this hierarchy are the laity. While the bishop is the head, the laity is the tail (56.18–21), the bishop is the ram of Ezekiel 34, the laity the ewes (75.9–12). The laity are children, eggs, or young birds (76.1–5). The laity are to honor and fear the bishop as they would God, and the deacons as they would Christ (75.14–76.1; 106). Speaking evil against a bishop or deacon is an offense against God and Christ (103.12–23), as is any challenge to the clergy’s absolute power (75.14–76.1). The laity cannot judge the clergy (110.8–13); they are not to watch over the bishop, nor can they ever ask him to account for his actions (109.8–18). There is no hope for anyone who speaks against the clergy (103.24–104.14), and the bishop is to expel anyone who contradicts his judgment (124.17–25) The Apostolic Constitutions similarly stresses the absolute power of the clergy. The bishop is teacher, minister, keeper of knowledge, lord, master, father, high priest, governor, king, mediator between God and the congregation, and himself like an earthly God (2.3.20; 2.4.26). The bishop is to be honored like God and the deacon like God’s prophet (2.4.29–30). The clergy are the congregation’s spiritual parents (2.4.33). To oppose the clergy is even worse than disobeying parents or kings; it is a rejection of God and Christ deserving of death (2.3.20; 6.1.2). In the Apostolic Constitutions, the division between laity and clergy is absolute. Only the bishop can

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ordain others and only the ordained clergy can perform any ritual function such as baptizing, blessing, or laying on of hands (3.1.10– 11). This emphasis on the clergy provides an important backdrop for understanding the reasons behind these documents’ attack on widows. In her discussion of the relationship between purity, marginality, and social order, anthropologist Mary Douglas writes: ...where the social system is well-articulated, I look for articulate powers vested in points of authority; where the social system is ill-articulated, I look for inarticulate powers vested in those who are a source of disorder. 39

[48]

Modern scholars aptly place the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions in the genre of early “church order;” these documents continually try to construct a well-articulated social structure. As Douglas predicts, these sources idealize a community where all power emanates from central points of well-defined authority. Yet these works’ emphasis on the clergy’s power and their constant polemic against any who would challenge clerical control suggest that, contrary to this ideal, their contemporary communities were involved in a continuing struggle to consolidate authority. Clerical leaders were trying to transfer power from marginal figures to the centralized spiritual and political control of the ordained clergy. (51) The symbol of a powerful widow threatened this development. Although a lay person, the widow retained a degree of authority otherwise seen only among ordained clergy. In the words of Peter Brown: Influential and devout widows were disturbingly amphibious creatures. They were neither unambiguously disqualified as married, sexually active persons, nor were they fully at home in the ranks of the clergy. They were the only lay persons who had accumulated all the attributes of effective members of the clergy, barring the crucial prerogative of ordained service at the altar. The influential widow stood for lay persons of either sex at their most active in the church. The role that members of the clergy were prepared to allow such a widow to play was a clear omen of [how] much or how Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (New York: Routledge, 1966; reprint, 1992) 99. 39

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little they valued the active participation of lay persons of either sex. 40

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As argued by Douglas, those who do not easily conform to a society’s categories are the most dangerous and the most heavily regulated. 41 Challenging the schemas of male/female and clergy/ laity, widows were the source of disorder par excellance, and thus, key players in the clergy’s battle to eliminate power from the margins. Douglas suggests a number of strategies societies use to resolve the ambiguity and eliminate the power of such figures. These include reducing the ambiguity by insisting on a single interpretation, affirming or strengthening the definition to which she does not conform, labeling her as dangerous, and controlling her physically. 42 The communities represented by the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions employed all of these strategies in order to minimize the widows’ power. To resolve any definitional ambiguities, the Didascalia insists that widows are part of the laity and tries to remove or regulate any aspects of a widow’s life that could be considered clerical. The Apostolic Constitutions continues this trajectory, transferring the widow’s social ministries to the ordained deaconess. At the same time, both documents continually emphasize the authority of what they deny widows, the power of the clergy; while unequivocally forcing widows into the conceptual category of laity, the communities expand the power differential between laity and clergy. As a result, the gulf between laity and clergy is large enough to make these categories mutually exclusive. On a rhetorical level, both works exploit a traditional ambivalence toward widows in order to label the widow as dangerous and in demand of regulation. In response to this generated need, these documents create structures to regulate the widow-they increase her financial dependency on the clergy, restrict her mobility, and control her behavior. Identifying the widow’s ambiguity as a central concern in these documents affects the way readers view the goals of the Didascalia Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christinity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988) 148. 41 Douglas, Purity and Danger, 94–113. 42 Douglas, Purity and Danger, 39. 40

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and the Apostolic Constitutions. For those who see these texts as solely trying to limit female power, there remains the question of why they transfer the widow’s power to the deaconess instead of simply doing away with female authority all together. Methuen suggests one possibility: because she was female, the deaconess could minister to other women while maintaining the community’s desire to conform with social norms of gender segregation; the benefits of such a system dissuaded the church from establishing an all-male clergy. 43 Elm suggests another factor: churches supported the deaconess’ rise to compensate women for the decline of the widow’s power and thus deter them from joining “heretical” groups. 44 A focus on the issue of the widow’s ambiguity, however, provides a different perspective to this power shift between widow and deaconess. Unlike the “amphibious” widow, the deaconess was undeniably a member of the clergy. From the viewpoint of these two church orders, the deaconess’ prominence is not so much an unfortunate logistical necessity as much as a deliberate move to exemplify the clergy’s authority. An emphasis on the danger of ambiguity also influences modern perceptions of who was the target of these polemics. Methuen suggests that the vehemence of the anti-widow rhetoric indicates that it was aimed against widows in Jewish-Christian or more ascetically oriented communities. 45 A focus on the difficulties posed by the widows’ ambiguous status suggests that such ambiguity would be sufficient to account for these attacks; the widows in question are not necessarily outside the community. Seeing the widow as a symbolic threat to the centralization of ecclesiastical power also begins to collapse scholarly distinctions between description and prescription. Modern scholars may never know how accurately these church orders describe the life of Syrian widows-Were funds distributed only by the clergy? How limited were actual widows’ physical mobility? How closely did the communities follow the requirements for enrolling widows? Yet Methuen, Charlotte. “‘For Pagans Laugh to Hear Women Teach’: Gender Stereotypes in the Didascalia Apostollorum,” in R. Swanson (ed.), Gender and the Church (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998) 30–2 and Methuen, “Widows, Bishops, and the Stuggle for Authority,” 200–1. 44 Elm, Virgins of God, 175. 45 Methuen, “Widows, Bishops, and the Stuggle for Authority,” 203. 43

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even if the church never fully practiced these prescriptions, the very construction of the ideal widow as avoiding suspicion only through clearly differentiating herself from the clergy affected the lives of these widows and the structure of their communities. The widow was not a trivial figure in early Syrian communities, and her prominence in early church orders was far from incidental. These documents’ portrayal of the widow and their advocacy of her control were part of a deliberate discursive strategy. As a result of their attempts to consolidate clerical power, the Didascalia and the Apostolic Constitutions were concerned with the regulation of widows. When these communities’ leaders tried to increase the separation between clergy and laity, the widow became a nexus in this power struggle. As ambiguous entities and symbols for lay participation, early Christian leaders had to firmly categorize and strictly regulate widows for the clergy to gain full control of the church.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Acta Pauli et Theclae. In Lipsius, R.A., ed. Acta apostolorum apocrypha 1,1, 235–71. Leipzig: Mendelsohn, 1891. Acta Petri cum Simone. In Lipsius, R.A., ed. Acta apostolorum apocrypha 1,1, 45–77. Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1898. Acta Thomae. In Bonnet, M., ed. Acta apostolorum apocrypha 2,2, 99–288. Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1903. Arendzen, J.P. “An Entire Syriac Text of the ‘Apostolic Church Order’.” Journal of Theological Studies 3 (1901). Bassler, J. “A Widows’ Tale: A Fresh Look at 1Tim 5:3–16.” Journal of Biblical Literature 103 (1984): 23–41. Bradshaw, Paul F. The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Brent, Alan. “The Relations Between Ignatius and the Didascalia.” Second Century (Fall 1991): 129–56. Brock, Sebastian. “Early Syrian Asceticism.” Numen 20 (April 1973): 1–19. Brown, Peter. The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christinity. New York: Columbia University Press, 1988. Buchholz, Dennis D. Your Eyes Will Be Opened: A study of the Greek (Ethiopic) Apocalypse of Peter. Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series, 97, ed. Charles Talbert. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988. Clark, Elizabeth. Jerome, Chrysostom and Friends. Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1979.

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Clark, Elizabeth. Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999. Dix, Gregory. The Treatise on The Apostolic Tradition of St. Hippolytus of Rome. Ridgefield: Morehouse Publishing, 1992; reprint, 1992. Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. New York: Routledge, 1966; reprint, 1992. Elm, Susanna. Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity. Oxford: Claredon Press, 1994. Gager, John. Kingdom and Community. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1975. Galtier, S.J. “La Date de la Didascalie des Apostres.” Revue D’Histoire Ecclesiastique 42 (1947). Gamble, Harry. The New Testament Canon. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985. Griffith, Sidney. “Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism.” In Wimbush, Vincent L., and Richard Valantasis, eds. Asceticism New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook. Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. Heine, Susanne. Women and Early Christianity: A Reappraisal. Minneapolis: Augsberg Publishing House, 1986. House, Wayne H. “Distinctive Roles for Women in the Second and Third Centuries.” Bibiotheca Sacra 146 (1989): 41–54. Justin. Apologia. In Goodspeed, E.J., ed. Die Šltsten Apologeten, 26–77. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1915. Kraemer, Ross Shepard. Her Share of the Blessings. New York: Oxford Press, 1992. Lagarde, P.A. De. Constitutiones Apostolorum. Osnabrÿck: Gesamtherstellung Proff & Co. KG., 1966. Methuen, Charlotte. “Widows, Bishops and the Struggle for Authority in the Didascalia Apostolorum.” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 46 (1995): 197–213. ———. “The ‘Virgin Widow’: A Problematic Social Role for the Early Church?” Harvard Theological Review 90:3 (1997): 285–98. ———. “‘For Pagans Laugh to Hear Women Teach’: Gender Stereotypes in the Didascalia Apostollorum.” In Swanson, R., ed. Gender and the Church, 23–35. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998: Metzger, Bruce. The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Significance. New York: Clarendon, 1987. Murray, Robert. Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition. London: Cambridge University Press, 1975.

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Osiek, C. “The Widow as Altar: The Rise and Fall of a Symbol.” Second Century 3 (1983): 159–69. Pagels, Elaine. The Gnostic Gospels. New York: Vintage Books, 1979. Taylor, Justin. “Ancient Texts and Modern Critics: Acts 15, 1–34.” Revue Biblique 99.2 (1992): 373–8. Thurston, Bonnie Bowman. “The Widows as the Altar of God.” SBL Seminar Papers 24 (1985): 279–89. ———. The Widows: A Women’s Minsistry in the Early Church. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989. Turner, Victor. Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company, 1969. Vööbus, Arthur. History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient. CSCO, 184. Louvain: CSCO, 1958. ———. The Didascalia Apostolorum in Syriac. CSCO, 402, 408. Louvain: CSCO, 1979. Weber, Max. The Sociology of Religion. Boston: Beacon Press, 1922; reprint, 1991. Wilken, Robert. The Christians as the Romans Saw Them. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.2, 187–207 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

WOMEN IN APHRAHAT: SOME OBSERVATIONS ADAM LEHTO KITCHENER, ONTARIO CANADA

ABSTRACT Certain passages in Aphrahat’s Demonstrations exhibit misogynist language, since women are portrayed as instruments of Satan and are blamed for the evil state of the world. A consideration of other aspects of Aphrahat’s thought allows for a more nuanced view of Aphrahat’s attitudes toward women. These other aspects include: i) the role of Mary in salvation history; ii) the eschatogical context of Aphrahat’s asceticism; iii) the fact that men are demonized more than women in the Demonstrations; iv) the fact that Aphrahat makes unambiguously positive statements about women.

[1]

The fourth century writer known to us as Aphrahat 1 has the distinction of being the first clear personality, among authors, that The name “Aphrahat,” which almost certainly means ‘wise man’ in Persian, appears only in the 10th century, whereas the more cumbersome title “Persian Sage” is quite early, showing up in all the earliest manuscripts (5th and 6th centuries). See Marie-Joseph Pierre’s introduction to Aphrahat for a full discussion of the possible identity of the author of the Demonstrations (Aphraate Le Sage Persan: Les Exposés, vol. 1 (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1988) 33–41). 1

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we know of in the Syriac tradition. 2 The title of his single known work, which was written in three stages between 336 and 345 C.E., is derived from the initial word (‘demonstration’) found in each of the titles that Aphrahat gives to the 23 separate pieces included in the collection. What is being ‘demonstrated’ is the congruity of Aphrahat’s arguments with the scriptures: a prominent characteristic of the work is the sheer number of biblical citations and allusions. His theology predates the influence of Greek philosophical and mystical theology on the Syriac tradition, an influence which begins in the 5th century and is evident in writers such as Philoxenus (d. 523). Another prominent feature of the Demonstrations is their concern about the threat of Judaism to the Christian community. In addition to various isolated passages throughout, nine of the twenty-three demonstrations focus explicitly on this threat, seeking to show that the Jews have been rejected and that the Church has become God’s chosen people, drawn from all the peoples of the world. However, the topic of the present paper has little to do with this aspect of Aphrahat’s thought. Of the few extant works earlier than Aphrahat of Syrian provenance, none but the Didascalia exhibit a preoccupation with Judaism. This is not the case with another major feature of Aphrahat’s work: its ascetic orientation. As will be noted below (see paragraph 6), the rejection of marriage has deep roots in Syriac Christianity. And even though writers such as Aphrahat and his slightly younger contemporary Ephrem affirm the legitimacy of marriage as a form of Christian living, they themselves make it quite clear, as do most early Syriac sources, that their preference is for celibacy. Aphrahat’s form of asceticism, shared with all of the so-called ‘covenanters’, 3 The clearest and most succinct disscussion of early Syriac sources is in Robert Murray, “The Characteristics of the Earliest Syriac Christianity,” in Nina Garsoian et. al. (ed.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, (Washington D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982) 3–6. As Murray points out, Bardaisan is “the first clear personality in Syriac literature,” but we have nothing from his own hand. 3 I use the term suggested by George Nedungatt, “The Covenanters of the Early Syriac-Speaking Church,” OCP 39 (1973): 203. It has become clear that the word qyâmâ had a range of meanings in the early Syriac church. In a recent discussion, Sidney Griffith attributes this range of meaning to the polyvalency of Semitic roots (Sidney H. Griffith, 2

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predates the appearance of cenobitical monasticism, which was influenced by Egyptian models, later in the 4th century in Syria. 4 There is no need here for a detailed description of the shape of the ascetic life as represented by Aphrahat. 5 It will be sufficient to note that in demonstration six, he addresses female ascetics directly, which indicates that the community he felt responsible for was not exclusively male. No reader of Aphrahat’s sixth demonstration (“On Covenanters”) can fail to be struck by certain passages which “Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The Hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism,” in Vincent L. Wimbush & Richard Valantasis (eds.), Asceticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995) 232). He argues that Nedungatt, in translating qyâmâ as ‘covenant’, “leaves unexplored the further connotations of the expression in Syriac” (230). These connotations include “the resurrection idea that is never far below the surface when the root q-y-m is employed” as well as “the fact that a number of nouns derived from this root straightforwardly bespeak one’s status of station in life in the church” (231). However, in the ensuing discussion Griffith concedes that Aphrahat never explicitly makes a connection between byay/bnât qyâmâ as a phrase and resurrection, though it would be hard to deny that it remains an important background concept (since ascetics are said to have taken on the “image of angels” [6.1] and therefore anticipate the resurrection). Furthermore, Griffith’s exploration of the idea of status or station in life draws exclusively from Ephraem, in contrast to Nedungatt who limited his detailed analysis to Aphrahat. In the case of Aphrahat, we are dealing with a possible connotation, not a denotation, though the distinction between these two is not always easy to determine. With respect to both of these connotations (resurrection and status) a case could be made for the logical priority of a term such as ‘covenanters’, since it is on the basis of their covenant of celibacy with Christ that certain people attain special status and acquire the image of angels. 4 As Edmund Beck says, “On ne trouve nulle part chez Aphraat la moindre indication que ces groupements d’ascètes se soient efforcés de manière ou d’autre de se séparer de la communauté chrétienne pour s’enfuir dans le désert ou dans les montagnes. Au contraire, l’idée de bnay qyâmâ montre précisément la connexion la plus étroite avec l’ordre sacramentel et hiérarchique” (“Ascétisme et Monachisme chez Saint Ephrem,” OrSyr 3 [1958]: 277). 5 See Pierre, Aphraate, 98–111.

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indicate a fairly negative assessment of women. This, however, is not the whole picture, as these negative passages need to be seen together with other passages from Aphrahat which present a different viewpoint. From our modern perspective, there is no justification for the misogynist language and attitudes which we encounter in a writer such as Aphrahat, yet this should not prevent us from using his own words to qualify what he says and to seek to understand better his pattern of thinking by examining the larger context for his negative statements about women. Rather than trying to summarize these statements, it will be much more effective to let Aphrahat speak for himself. In 6.2, 6 he lists the various ways in which “those who are spiritual” are able to resist the attacks of the Evil One, a list which ends with the mention of living alone as a response to the desire for women. 7 This leads into section 3, which reads as follows: 8 For it was through Eve that [the Evil One] came against Adam, and in his innocence Adam was enticed by him. He also came against Joseph, through his master’s wife, but Joseph was aware of his deceptiveness and did not wish to obey him. Through a woman he fought with Samson, until he took away his naziriteship. Reuben was the firstborn among all his brothers, but through his father’s wife [the Adversary] cast a blemish upon him. Aaron was high priest of Israel, but because of Miriam his sister he envied Moses. Moses was sent to deliver the people from Egypt, but he took with him a wicked counsellor; the Lord came upon Moses and wanted to kill him, until he sent back his wife to Midian. David was victorious in all his battles, but by means of a daughter of Eve a blemish was found in him. Amnon was attractive and handsome to look at, but [the Adversary] imprisoned him with a desire for his sister, and Absalom killed him because of the humiliation of Tamar. Solomon was greater than all the kings of the earth, but in his old age his wives led his heart astray. Through Jezebel, The section numbers used here follow the critical edition of Aphrahat by J. Parisot, Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstrationes (PS 1; Paris, 1894), entire volume; (PS 2; Paris, 1897) 1–497. 7 By default, it is male asceticism that Aphrahat discusses. 8 All translations are my own. 6

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daughter of Ethbaal, the wickedness of Ahab increased, and he became greatly defiled. [The Adversary] also tempted Job, through his children and his possessions, but when he found that he could not overpower him, he went out to get his [secret] weapon. He came back and brought with him a daughter of Eve, who caused Adam to sink, and through her mouth he said to Job, the righteous man, “Curse God!” But Job rejected her counsel. King Asa also conquered the Accursed of Life when he wanted to come against him through his mother. For Asa knew his deceit, and he removed his mother from her high position and cut the idol to pieces and threw it down. John was greater than all the prophets, but Herod killed him because of a dance of a daughter of Eve. Haman was rich, and the third in command after the king, but his wife counseled him to destroy the Jews. Zimri was the chief of the tribe of Simeon, but Cozbi, daughter of the chiefs of Midian, overthrew him, and because of one woman twenty-four thousand [men] fell in one day.

In this passage Aphrahat presents one of his many lists of scriptural exemplars, 9 one which proves, to his satisfaction, that women have been the downfall of men. The examples fall into two basic categories. In some cases, men are tempted or led astray directly because of possible or actual sexual relations with a woman (Joseph, Reuben, David, Amnon, Herod (?), Zimri). In most of the other cases, men are tempted or led astray by the wicked advice of For a classification of such lists in Aphrahat, as well as a discussion of their possible historical background, see Robert Murray, “Some Rhetorical Patterns in Early Syriac Literature,” in Robert H. Fischer (ed.), A Tribute to Arthur Vööbus (Chicago, 1977) 109–31. As Murray points out, the use of lists of exemplars is an ancient rhetorical pattern with roots in the O.T. itself. The practice can be traced throughout Jewish and Christian literature. The passage just quoted from 6.3 is classified by Murray in the category “Examples of those who were led into sin,” with the added feature that Satan is named as agent. After examining three passages listing Satan’s actions from other texts (Acts of Judas Thomas; Martyrdom of Cyriacus and Julitta; Commentary on Job by Julian the Arian) Murray says that the most probable original Sitz im Leben for such lists was exorcism, though of course this has nothing explicitly to do with Aphrahat’s purpose in demonstration 6. 9

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their wives (Adam, Samson, Aaron, Moses, Solomon, Ahab, Job, Haman); their downfall is not attributed to sexual activity per se but this fact remains in the background. 10 In the remaining example, Asa’s mother sought to use her status as queen mother (which is rooted in sexuality, i.e. the fact that a sexual union produced Asa) to lead him astray. Some of these men (Joseph, Job, Asa) were able to resist temptation, but most were not. In all cases (with the exception of Adam), it is female sexuality itself (either directly or indirectly) that is used to tempt men or lead them astray. It cannot be said, therefore, that women are criticized simply because they possess certain human characteristics which are more prevalent in their gender but that might occur in men also. When Aphrahat presents this list of scriptural examples, he almost certainly has in mind the dangers of associating with the ‘daughters of Eve’, i.e. ordinary women who have sexual relations and bear offspring. There is no doubt that men, too, can offer wicked (i.e. Satanic) counsel (see paragraph 10 below), but the effectiveness of the counsel in the examples Aphrahat gives seems predicated on the fact of a sexual relationship. It must be kept in mind, of course, that for Aphrahat the ultimate threat is the Adversary or Evil One, who chooses to attack men through women. Nevertheless, women are not cast in a very favourable light by being associated with Satan. After instructing his ascetic readers that none of them should live with the opposite sex (6.4), 11 Aphrahat presents another list of exemplars in 6.5, this time in order to show that many great biblical leaders were celibate. The list includes Moses, Joshua, the priests, Elijah, Elisha, John the Baptist, and Paul and Barnabas. Aphrahat’s presuppositions about (non-ascetic?) women are illustrated by the fact that these men exemplify celibacy in the service of God, yet women, he points out, were not even allowed into the tabernacle: “And the temporal tabernacle was not serviced by women, for the Law did not allow women to enter into it: even when they came to pray, they would pray at the door and turn back.” It isn’t clear just what part of the Law Aphrahat has in mind

Adam represents a special case, of course, since it was thought that there were no sexual relations between the first couple until after their disobedience. 11 Here he addresses women as well as men. 10

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(Exodus 38:8?). 12 What is clear is that he mentions the absence of women in the tabernacle to prove that Joshua, who, he says, “did not depart from the tabernacle” (cf. Exodus 33:11), was celibate. Nevertheless, we are left with the impression that Aphrahat has simply reinforced the association of women with impurity and unholiness. Then, in the opening lines of 6.6, he reiterates his point that women have been used by Satan to tempt men: On this account, brothers, we know and have seen that from the beginning women have been a way for the Adversary to gain access to men, and until the end he will [continue to] accomplish this. For [women] are the weapon of Satan, and through them he fights against the [spiritual] athletes. Through them he plays music at all times, for they have been like a harp for him from the first day. It was because of them that the curse of the Law was established, and it was because of them that the promise of death came. With pains they bring forth children and deliver [them] to death. Because of them the earth was cursed, so that it would bring forth thorns and thistles.

Here women are said to be responsible for the “curse of the Law,” which, as the lines following make clear, refers to the curses recorded in Genesis 3:14–9 rather than those found in the Mosaic legislation (Deuteronomy 27:15–26 and 28:15–68). Thus, in Aphrahat’s opinion, women can be blamed not merely for the downfall of various biblical heroes, but more fundamentally for allowing themselves to be used by Satan to mar God’s good creation. There is no mention of the possibility that men may have had some part in creating this state of affairs. 13 Parisot hazards no guess as to which verses might be referred to here. Marie-Joseph Pierre, editor of the French edition of Aphrahat, lists only Exodus 38:8 as a possible reference (Aphraate le sage persan. Les Exposés. I. Exposés I–X [Sources chrétiennes 349; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1988] 377). 1 Samuel 2:22 provides the only other reference in the Hebrew Bible to the “women who served at the entrance to the tent of meeting.” 13 The account in Genesis, at least, makes it clear that Adam “listened” to his wife (and thus, indirectly, to the serpent) and therefore failed, like Eve, to resist temptation. In the two passages just quoted, Aphrahat assigns men a merely passive role. 12

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Before considering the ways in which Aphrahat’s perspective on women can be shown to be wider than what is expressed in the passages above, it will be helpful to place his comments in the context of early Christian literature. We need to keep in mind, however, that while Aphrahat was not completely isolated from the Graeco-Roman world, he was writing in the Persian empire, and his thinking was shaped by a form of Christianity that had developed differently than that of the West. 14 Nevertheless, he shares his conviction that women have been used by Satan to tempt and deceive men with a wide range of early Christian texts. This conviction is usually expressed in the context of a preference for celibacy, or, in more extreme cases, a rejection of marriage. In the early Syriac milieu, the latter can be traced through the Gospel of Thomas (early to mid–2nd century), the Diatessaron of Tatian (late 2nd century), and the Acts of Judas Thomas (early 3rd century). 15 However, none of these texts blames women for the ills of the world. Aphrahat himself, writing between 336 and 345 C.E., does not reject marriage, but it is clear that he holds to the ideal that true See for example Sebastian Brock, “Jewish Traditions in Syriac Sources,” Journal of Jewish Studies 30 (1979), and H. J. W. Drijvers, “East of Antioch: Forces and Structures in the Development of Early Syriac Theology,” in East of Antioch: Studies in Early Syriac Christianity (London: Variorum, 1984) 1–27. 15 In his article on the Gospel of Thomas Ron Cameron provides a good summary of the attitude toward sexuality which lies behind all three of these texts: “Becoming a solitary or single one is signified in Gos. Thom. by baptismal initiation. Sayings that focused on the disciples’ stripping themselves naked, being without shame, treading on their garments, and becoming as little children (sayings 21.1–2, 22, 37) were elaborated in baptismal practices and attendant interpretations of the Genesis accounts of the creation and the fall... According to this tradition, the unity of the first human was disrupted by the creation of woman and the subsequent sexual division. Redemption was imagined to be the replication of Adam and Eve’s primordial state, the reunification of the sexes and transcendence of the world” (“Thomas, Gospel of,” in David Noel Freedman [ed.], The Anchor Bible Dictionary [New York: Doubleday, 1992] VI, 539). See the article by Drijvers mentioned in the previous footnote for a discussion of all three sources. It is far from clear, in my opinion, that the Gospel of Thomas is not before Tatian, rather than after as Drijvers would have it. 14

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Christian living takes place in the context of celibacy. One is tempted to suppose that a trade-off has occurred: while encratism (with its androgynous ideal) has been rejected, non-ascetic women have become targets of theological abuse. There simply isn’t enough evidence, however, to prove a relationship between the rejection of encratism and the growth of misogyny in early Syrian Christianity. With reference to Greek and Latin sources, which have been studied more intensively on the topic of women, Elizabeth Clark discusses the “stereotyping, universalizing, and naturalizing of “woman” in patristic literature.” 16 Thus for Jerome (and many other male authors) a stereotypic trait of “woman” is weakness, or “softness of soul,” while Chrysostom warns ascetic men to reject ‘spiritual marriage’ (i.e. ascetic cohabitation, an issue for Aphrahat also, as we shall see) so as to avoid taking on the many negative characteristics of women and to avoid being influenced by them in any way. In a similarly misogynist vein, appeals to ‘nature’ as a way of keeping women in their place took a variety of forms and often functioned as a legitimization of stereotypical views. Thus it was widely held that women were weak by nature, and that women were to be subordinate to men by God’s design. As for the universalizing of “woman,” Clark says that this was most often expressed in the “amalgamation of all women to “woman” and the identification of “woman” with Eve,” supported, of course, by 1 Tim 2:11–5, with its clear subordination of women and its claim that it was Eve who sinned first. 17 It is clear that Aphrahat universalizes “woman” in the passage quoted above. It is interesting Elizabeth A. Clark, “Ideology, History, and the Construction of ‘Woman’ in Late Ancient Christianity,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 2:2 (1994): 166–9. Stereotyping, universalizing, and naturalizing are three functions of ideology in general, according to the sources Clark draws on in her study (see pp. 160–1). 17 Clark (ibid., 169) quotes a well-known passage from Tertullian (early 3rd c.) as an example of universalization: “You are the Devil’s gateway; you are the unsealer of that tree; you are the first forsaker of that divine law; you are the one who persuaded him whom the Devil was not brave enough to approach; you so lightly crushed the image of God, the man Adam; because of your punishment, that is, death, even the Son of God had to die. And you think to adorn yourselves beyond your “tunics of skins.” (Gen 3.21)?” 16

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to note, however, that though he quotes from 1 Timothy on other occasions he never makes use of 2:11–5. Furthermore, any stereotyping and naturalizing in Aphrahat takes place indirectly. He is content to list biblical examples and claim that Satan has been at work through women. The reader is left to figure out what the ‘natural characteristics’ of women are; unlike many Greek and Latin authors, Aphrahat himself supplies no explicit list. Despite the harsh tone of the passages quoted above, when compared to certain Greek and Latin Church Fathers, Aphrahat appears fairly moderate. 18 He stays close to the biblical text and does not develop any comprehensive misogynist rhetoric. Returning to the main thread of our discussion, if we read a little further beyond the passage from 6.6 quoted above, we begin to see one way in which Aphrahat’s views on women might be qualified: But now, by the coming of the child of the blessed Mary, the thorns are uprooted, the sweat is wiped away, the fig tree is cursed, the dust is made salty, the curse is nailed to the cross, the point of the sword is removed from before the tree of life (which is given as food to the faithful), and paradise is promised to the blessed and the virgins and the holy ones.

Here the focus is on Christ, who leads the faithful back to paradise, but Mary plays an important role as well. She functions as the antitype to Eve, since it is through her giving birth to Christ that the curse which Eve brought upon all humanity is able to be “nailed to the cross.” Elsewhere in the Demonstrations there is A similar point can be made about Aphrahat with reference to a recent article by Virginia Burrus (“The Heretical Woman as Symbol in Alexander, Athanasius, Epiphanius, and Jerome,” Harvard Theological Review 84:3 (1991): 229–48). Burrus shows how these authors related heresy to women in general and feminized their male (heretical) opponents. For his part, Aphrahat makes no connection between women and heresy beyond the fact that the biblical record shows that women have been used by Satan to deceive men at various times. However, this should not surprise us, since he has virtually nothing to say about heretical groups (see 1.19; 3.9). The opponents that Aphrahat is concerned about are the Jews, but he never accuses them of being led astray by women, or of inflitrating the church through female ‘heretics’. 18

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relatively little mention of Mary. She appears in yet another list of exemplars, this time to illustrate the importance of prayer and fasting, which Aphrahat takes to be the basis for Mary’s finding favour with God (3.14). She also appears in a discussion of humility, which Aphrahat says both facilitated her reception/conception of Christ and brought upon her Gabriel’s blessing of peace (9.5). In a list of female prophets she is called “a prophet and the mother of the Great Prophet” (14.33; I return to this passage below). In all three of these examples Mary appears simply as one example among many. There are three other passages, however, which cast further light on the role of Mary alluded to in the passage from 6.6 quoted above. In a discussion of Christ’s humility, which leads him to leave his divine “natural condition” and enter into the “natural condition” of human beings, Aphrahat describes the relationship between Christ and believers in terms of an exchange of pledges. When Christ ascended to heaven, he took with him a pledge from humanity: the human body in which he was incarnated. And when he arrived at the Father’s right hand, says Aphrahat, he sent a pledge of his own: his Spirit, which is present in all believers. It is in this context that Mary is mentioned in passing: When he came to us, he did not possess anything that was ours, nor did we possess anything that was his: the two natures were his and his Father’s. For when Gabriel announced his birth to Mary the blessed one, the Word proceeded from on high and came, and the Word became a body and lived among us. And when he returned to the one who sent him, that which he had not brought set out and went [also], as the apostle said, “He raised us up and seated us with him in heaven.” 19 And when he went to his Father he sent us his Spirit and said to us, “I am with you until the end of the world.” 20 (6.10)

Two further passages from the very last of the demonstrations fill out Aphrahat’s account of the role of Mary in salvation history: Jesus was born from Mary the virgin, from the seed of the house of David and from the Spirit of holiness, as it 19 20

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Adam Lehto is written, “Both Joseph and Mary his betrothed were from the house of David.” 21 And the apostle testifies, “Jesus Christ, from Mary, was from the seed of the house of David through the Spirit of holiness.” 22 Joseph was called the father of Jesus (even though he was not born from his seed), but the name of fatherhood was transmitted from Adam to Joseph, through sixty-three generations. But the name of fatherhood was lifted from Joseph and placed on Christ. From Joseph he received the name of fatherhood, from John [he received] the name of the priesthood, and from Mary he put on a body and received the name of birth. (23.20) How great is the gift of goodness which is with us! The King took from us a pledge which is like him; the Lover has made it and will guard it to the end. This is a son of Adam, a body which came from Mary, who was led from us to the country of life. The weak body became strong, and received a glory which was greater and more wondrous than that which Adam stripped off in his fall. 23 (23.51)

Here the role of Mary is said to have been the ‘embodying’ of Christ; the pledge that he took with him was a gift from Mary, acting, one might say (though Aphrahat himself does not say this explicitly), as a representative of all humanity. The role of Mary, then, is extremely significant: without her, God’s Spirit, the pledge of Christ, would not have been given to humanity. And here, in Aphrahat’s last known writing, we encounter the idea that it was Adam who, in his fall through weakness, caused the glory of creation to fade, an idea which we might wish had found expression in the passages critical of women quoted above. 24 21 22

Luke 2:4–5. Romans 1:3–4.

The term translated “fall” (shaplutâ) is used only two other times in Aphrahat, in both cases meaning simply ‘weakness’ (see 7.4; 14.43). Here that meaning could be used as well, thought “fall” fits in better with the idea of a definitive loss of glory. 23

Adam’s weakness is also emphasized (with no mention of Eve) in the opening sentence of 23.3: “It was because the first man gave his obedience to the serpent that he received as punishment the curse that he would become the nourishment of the serpent, and the curse has been 24

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Nevertheless, it is clear that an examination of the role of Mary in Aphrahat’s account of salvation history provides a counterpoint to those passages. She plays a significant role in reversing the effects of the disastrous decision made by Eve. 25 If we continue our reading of 6.6 we encounter another passage which serves, to a certain extent, to weaken the impact of Aphrahat’s demonization of women. A discussion of the significance of the coming and the death of Christ (cf. the passage quoted at the beginning of 3] above) subtly shifts to a discussion of the wedding feast of the heavenly Bridegroom. The eschatological orientation of Aphrahat’s asceticism becomes clear: Those who return to sheol weep and gnash their teeth, but those who enter the kingdom are glad and rejoice and dance and sing praises. For those who do not take wives are ministered to by the watchers of heaven. transmitted to all his offspring.” Aphrahat then proceeds to a very interesting discussion of the tree of life. 25 Averil Cameron argues that the development of a cult of the Virgin was related to the development of Christology: “Virginity stood for the paradoxes at the heart of Christianity. It is this very paradoxical quality— the notion that only through virginity, that is, by denying nature, can true virtue be attained—that gave the theme a centrality over and above mere misogyny... Mary was the prime example. The virginity of Mary, already a theme at the end of the second century AD for Tertullian (one of the foremost of Christian misogynist writers), and the subject of narratives supplementary to the laconic statements about her in the Gospels, became in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, when preoccupations with Christology and with the theme of virginity in general were both at their height, one of the central topics in the rhetoric of the Church... The Virgin of late antiquity was... a rhetorical construction formed from the need to weave together contemporary attitudes to women and sexuality and the logical implications of the doctrine of the incarnation” (“Virginity as Metaphor: women and the rhetoric of early Christianity,” in History as text: the writing of ancient history [Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1990] 190). Once again Aphrahat represents a contrast. The debates of the Council of Nicaea have left no impact on his writings, and the virginity of Mary is not made a subject of theological discussion. The role of Mary is not to preserve the purity of Christ so much as to provide him with a body which can then be taken up into heaven in the great drama of salvation.

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Adam Lehto Those who have guarded holiness rest in the sanctuary of the Most High. The Only-Begotten who is from the bosom of his Father makes all the single ones rejoice. In that place there is neither male nor female, neither slave nor free person, but all are children of the Most High. 26 All the pure virgins, those who are betrothed to Christ, light their lamps in that place and go with the Bridegroom into the bridal chamber. 27 All those who are betrothed to Christ are far removed from the curses of the Law, and are saved from the penalty imposed on the daughters of Eve, for they do not unite with men, and [therefore do not] receive the curses and do not experience the pains [of childbirth]. They do not consider death, since they do not hand children over to it, and in place of a mortal husband they are betrothed to Christ... Instead of the groans of the daughters of Eve they utter the songs of the Bridegroom. The wedding feast of the daughters of Eve is for seven days, but [the pure virgins] have a Bridegroom who never goes away. The adornment of the daughters of Eve is wool which wears out and is destroyed, but [the pure virgins] have garments which do not wear out. Old age withers the beauty of the daughters of Eve, but the beauty that [the pure virgins] have is renewed at the time of the resurrection.

In this passage there is only one line about ascetic men, whose reward is to be “ministered to by the watchers of heaven.” Most of the passage has to do with ascetic women, who are contrasted with the “daughters of Eve.” The phrase “daughters of Eve” functions as a designation for women in general, who marry and have children, and are burdened with thoughts of death and the loss of their physical beauty. It should be noted that the entrance of the pure virgins into the bridal chamber of the heavenly Bridegroom provides a contrast with Aphrahat’s earlier comment that the Law forbade women entrance into the earthly sanctuary. It should also be noted, however, that, according to Aphrahat, “those who enter the kingdom” are “neither male nor female... but all are children of the Most High.” One could say that female covenanters are no longer ‘women’ in the ordinary sense of the word, and therefore 26 27

Luke 6:35; Galatians 3:28. Matthew 25:7–10.

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avoid the possibility of becoming instruments of Satan. Thus the eschatological context for Aphrahat’s asceticism both corroborates his negative statements about women and points to a final blessed state in which women are invited to participate. 28 Another counterpoint to Aphrahat’s negative view of women as expressed in 6.3 and 6.6 is provided by the language with which he describes various groups of men, in particular the male leaders of his own church. It turns out that women are not alone in being labelled as instruments of Satan by Aphrahat. He also refers to the followers of Marcion, Valentinus, and Mani, as well as the “school of Babylon,” as “deceptive schools” which are “instruments of the Evil One” (3.9). The two other references to “empty” or “deceitful” teachings as being instruments of the Evil One (1.19; 6.18) almost certainly refer to these same groups. These heretics are demonized on the basis of their defective doctrine. In the case of the leaders of the church, however, it is not doctrine so much as behaviour that is at issue. Aphrahat’s objection to their behaviour (and in particular to the behaviour of the bishop of SeleuciaCtesiphon) is found, appropriately enough, in demonstration 14 (“An Exhortation”). His denunciation of these leaders is most evident in 14.37, a long section in which nothing, apparently, is held back. Here is but a short sample of Aphrahat’s strident criticism: Because of a stirring up of confusion and controversy, headstrong and wicked men have spread among our people. [These men are] ambitious and scornful, foulmouthed and cursing, jealous and spiteful, agitators and lovers of greed. They rejoice in destruction and delight in slippery places. They hate truth and drive away righteousness. They pillage, defraud, deceive, and pour contempt on their friends. They are established in falsehood, and concealed in wickedness... They eat in the name of our Lord and are honoured in his name and proclaim in his name, but they are empty of his words. These people are deceitful labourers who hold on to money and make no profit. They are wicked servants who oppress their fellow servants. They are We don’t know what Aphrahat’s opinion of married Christian women was. His audience consisted of male and female ascetics, and he says very little directly about the lay state. 28

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Adam Lehto darkness within light, false prophets and deceptive messiahs. They are evildoers, 29 inheriting darkness, who ask for water from the righteous. 30 They are thorns in the vineyard; they build on sand a structure that falls. 31 They turn away from the battle, for their god is their stomach and their glory their shame. 32 They are whitewashed walls, 33 the army of the Evil One, the offspring of Satan... They are the poison of death, the venom of the serpent, the tooth of the viper. They are adversaries of the cross, the stumbling block of the crucifixion, the enemies of Christ.

Clearly, in Aphrahat’s opinion, the leaders of the Persian Church are quite the opposite of what they are supposed to be! They are not merely falling short in their duties. Rather, they are actively supporting the cause of Satan, according to Aphrahat. If we compare the language used to describe these leaders with the language used to describe women in 6.3 and 6.6, it becomes clear that the former are more thoroughly demonized than the latter. Perhaps this is because the context of the discussion is different in each case. In demonstration six, Aphrahat’s attention is focussed for the most part on the proper behaviour of male covenanters. 34 It is only natural that women would be perceived as a threat to this particular subset of the church. However, in the case of the church leadership, it is not simply the ascetic subset that is being affected by Satanic influence, but the whole church. Perhaps this is why Aphrahat makes use of stronger language in his denunciation of immoral leaders than he does in his denunciation of women in general. This is another way of suggesting that Aphrahat is not merely concerned with the ascetic wing of his church, but with the Literally, ‘children of the left’. As the second part of the verse makes clear, the reference is to those on the left of Christ at the final judgement (see Matthew 25). 30 See Luke 16:24 (Lazarus and the rich man). 31 See Matthew 7:26; Luke 6:49. 32 Phillipians 3:19. 33 Cf. Acts 23:3. 34 Though he offers instruction to female covenanters directly (6.7), his ‘default mode’ is male asceticism, as seen by the use of the term “man” (rather than the generic “person”) in the opening lines of 6.8, where he outlines the behaviour appropriate for (male) covenanters. 29

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health of the church as a whole. This is, of course, speculation on my part. It is clear, however, that women are not the only group that is demonized in Aphrahat. Both heretics and corrupt church leaders receive similar (and in the case of the latter, more severe) treatment. Granted, women are demonized because of their sex, while men are demonized on account of their behaviour, not because they are males. Nevertheless, if women were the only locus of Satanic activity mentioned by Aphrahat, his estimation of women in general could be said to be even lower than it actually is. The idea that men, too, are quite capable of being used by Satan introduces some balance into the picture, whether this was what Aphrahat intended or not. 35 The most effective counterpoint to Aphrahat’s negative statements about women are certain passages containing unambiguously positive statements about women. Consider the following lines from 14.11: Take note, my friends, that at certain times and in certain generations God has given great victories through wise people, that they might reconcile and bring peace to divisions, and this not through men only, but also through women. Through the instruction of Joab, the woman of Tekoa reconciled Absolam with David. 36 And by means of a woman peace came to Israel when Shamu son of Bakri rebelled against David. A wise woman spoke from the wall with Joab and said, “‘Listen Joab, listen!’ And he said, ‘I am listening.’ She said to Joab, ‘They used to say in former days, ‘They inquired of the prophets, and then they brought and end [to a matter].’ Am I the one to pay Israel’s penalty? You are seeking to destroy a handmaiden and a mother of Israel.’ Joab said to her, ‘Far be it from me! I will not destroy or ruin; this is not the way things are. But there In this connection it is interesting to note that when Aphrahat counsels female ascetics in 6.7 not to give into the requests of male ascetics who (ostensibly) want someone to live with them and “serve” them, it is in fact the male who is playing the satanic role of tempter. Cf. also 14.40, which lists O.T. figures who have been enticed by Satan by “cravings of various kinds,” adding Judas and Israel in general at the end. Only two of the 33 entries are women: Potiphar’s wife and Delilah. The rest consist of men who have been unwitting instruments of Satan. 36 2 Samuel 14:1–24. 35

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Adam Lehto is a man, Shamu son of Bakri, who has raised his hand against King David. Give him to us and he will go with us.’ And she said to him, ‘Soon his head will be thrown to you from the wall.’ She went and spoke with all the people, and she cut off the head of Shamu son of Bakri and threw it from the wall to Joab.” 37 Thus peace came to Israel through a woman. Deborah was a mother who administered justice in Israel. And Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, cut off and cast away the glory of Sisera, the leader of the army of Jabir, king of Hazor, when she drove a stake into the temple of his head... And Rebecca, the mother of the righteous, established peace between Esau and Jacob when she sent Jacob to be with Laban. Our Saviour, the great king who has reconciled a rebellious world to his Father, while we were wrong-doers carried the transgression of all of us and became an ambassador of reconciliation between God and his creation.

There are (at least) three striking features of this passage. First, it follows section 10, which is a list of biblical men whose pride has been their downfall. The virtue of these women is set in sharp relief. Second, there is no comparable list of wise men who have been used by God to bring victory for his people. Such lists occur elsewhere in the Demonstrations but nowhere in the vicinity of this passage. And third, this list of women ends, as if there were no discontinuity, with Christ himself, who is the ultimate “ambassador of reconciliation.” The implication is clear: Aphrahat is arguing that there have been many Christ-like women in biblical history. Another passage I have already had occasion to mention: Mary the mother of Jesus is included in a list of female prophets in 14.33. In 14.32, Aphrahat laments the troubles afflicting the Persian church, including the misuse of power and the stirring up of controversy. It is in such a context that “the strong are tested,” those who “stand in the gap and repair the wall” on behalf of their people. This leads to the discussion in section 33, the theme of which is God’s elevation of the humble over the proud and mighty. After a long list of men who illustrate his point, he adds a list of women: It has been the same with women: he elevated Sarah over Hagar, the mother of [Abraham’s] firstborn; 37

2 Samuel 20:16–22.

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Rachel over Leah; Hannah over Peninnah; Esther over Vashti. Furthermore, prophecy and judgement were accomplished by women at certain times, since this pleased the one who elevates the humble. Miriam was a prophet; Hannah was a prophet; Huldah was a prophet; Elizabeth was a prophet; Mary was a prophet and the mother of the Great Prophet; Deborah was a prophet and a judge of Israel in the days of Barak, son of Abinoam, the king. No one can find fault with the will of our good God, for no one has searched out his judgements. His ways cannot be analyzed, his judgements cannot be comprehended, and his mind cannot be measured.

I cannot refrain from speculating that Aphrahat had some reason for making these points about biblical women. It seems that he is providing the reader with a kind of subtle self-correction of his earlier statements in 6.3 and 6.6. Or, at least, he seems to want to balance the harsh tone of those statements. We know that demonstration 14 was ‘published’ about eight years after demonstration 6. Even if it was actually written some time before it was published, there was probably a span of several years between the composition of the two demonstrations, especially since the sixth, too, may have been written some time before it was published. Perhaps something happened in that time that motivated Aphrahat to make a clear statement of the positive role of women. Given the fact that the biblical examples he refers to have to do with prophecy and reconciliation, it is possible that certain women were performing those roles in Aphrahat’s community in a way that caught his attention in the time period between the writing of the two demonstrations. On the other hand, it may be that Aphrahat was not providing self-correction by an emphasis on women’s roles in his later writings. He may not have sensed any contradiction at all between his harsh language in demonstration six and his two lists of biblical women in demonstration fourteen. Just as he occasionally addressed female ascetics in demonstration six, so here too he may simply be recognizing that not all women are instruments of Satan. We cannot be sure that Aphrahat would make a connection between the prominence of women’s roles and their asceticism, but this seems likely, despite the fact that most biblical women are clearly married. If this is so, then, as I pointed out earlier (see the end of

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paragraph 4), an emphasis on the importance of women’s roles is the corollory to Aphrahat’s denigration of women in general, since ascetic women have ceased to be women in the ordinary sense of the term. Once again we are hindered by our lack of knowledge of Aphrahat’s opinions about non-ascetic Christian women. I began this brief study by saying that Aphrahat’s writing reflects “misogynist language and attitudes.” Was this a fair assessment? I think it was, insofar as using language that demonizes women and blames them for the ills of the world is, from a modern point of view, profoundly counterproductive, even for male ascetics who experience women as objects of misplaced desire. 38 However, what I hope to have shown here is that when the Demonstrations are read in their entirety, it becomes possible to qualify (but not neutralize) Aphrahat’s extreme statements with the recognition that i) Mary’s role in salvation history is clearly, if briefly, emphasized; ii) the distinctions between male and female disappear at the resurrection; iii) women are by no means the only group that is demonized; and most importantly, iv) Aphrahat himself makes unambiguous statements about the value of women in God’s work of reconciliation. As I made clear at the start of this study, I am not of the opinion that any of this is able to prevent a modern reader of Aphrahat from coming to the conclusion that he perpetuated misogynist attitudes. If the modern reader of the Demonstrations, however, objects to the author’s misogyny, it may be that Aphrahat, in turn, might have a few things to say about certain of the reader’s attitudes which could prove quite challenging. My purpose will have been fulfilled if I have been able to contribute to an understanding of the wider context within which these attitudes are expressed. It has become clear that even after we have gained some understanding of the larger context provided by the Demonstrations, a certain ambiguity remains with respect to Aphrahat’s attitude toward women. On the one hand, women represent a threat to the male ascetic’s dedication to Christ. On the other hand, Mary and other biblical women show the importance This is not to deny that such language may have served an important function in the male ascetic community in antiquity. We can hardly refrain from concluding, however, that an asceticism which demonizes either sex is in that respect at least immature, despite its many other strengths. 38

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of the female sex to the history of salvation. Though Aphrahat shares his ambiguous attitude toward women with many Greek and Latin sources, I have argued that he represents a more moderate position than that usually found in the West.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Beck, E. “Ascetisme et Monachisme chez Saint Ephrem.” SyrOr 3 (1958): 273–98. Brock, Sebastian. “Jewish Traditions in Syriac Sources.” Journal of Jewish Studies 30 (1979): 212–32. Burrus, Virginia. “The Heretical Woman as Symbol in Alexander, Athanasius, Epiphanius, and Jerome.” Harvard Theological Review 84:3 (1991): 229–48. Cameron, Averil. “Virginity as Metaphor: women and the rhetoric of early Christianity.” In History as text: the writing of ancient history, 181– 205. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1990. Cameron, Ron. “Thomas, Gospel of.” In Freedman, David Noel, ed. The Anchor Bible Dictionary, VI, 535–40. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Clark, Elizabeth A. “Ideology, History, and the Construction of ‘Woman’ in Late Ancient Christianity.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 2:2 (1994): 155–84. Drijvers, H.J.W. “East of Antioch: Forces and Structures in the Development of Early Syriac Theology.” In East of Antioch: Studies in Early Syriac Christianity, 1–27. London: Variorum, 1984. Griffith, Sidney H. “Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The Hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism.” In Wimbush, Vincent L., and Richard Valantasis, eds. Asceticism, 220–45. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Murray, R. “Some Rhetorical Patterns in Early Syriac Literature.” In Fischer, Robert, ed. A Tribute to Arthur Vööbus, 109–31. Chicago: Lutheran School of Theology, 1977. ———. “The Characteristics of the Earliest Syriac Christianity.” In Garsoian, Nina G., Thomas P. Mathews and Robert W. Thomson, eds. East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, 3–16. Washington D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982. Nedungatt, George. “The Covenanters of the Early Syriac-Speaking Church.” OCP 39 (1973): 191–215 and 419–44. Parisot, J. Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstrationes. PS, 1. Paris, 1894 (entire volume); PS, 2. Paris, 1897, 1–497. Pierre, Marie-Joseph. Aphraate le sage persan. Les Exposés. I, Exposés I–X. Sources chrétiennes, 349. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1988; II, Exposés XI–XXIII. Sources chrétiennes, 359. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1989.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.2, 209–234 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

THEODORA THE “BELIEVING QUEEN:” A STUDY IN SYRIAC HISTORIOGRAPHICAL TRADITION SUSAN A. HARVEY BROWN UNIVERSITY DEPARTMENT OF RELIGIOUS STUDIES PROVIDENCE, RI USA

ABSTRACT Syriac tradition remembers the sixth century for the tragic separation of the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox churches. The Byzantine emperor Justinian I is remembered as the harsh persecutor of the faithful, while his wife Theodora is revered as the “believing queen,” champion and protectress of the dissenting non-Chalcedonian church. Greek and Syriac sources of the sixth century present more complex views of the imperial couple, with sharply differing portraits of Theodora used to interpret the reign. Later Syriac chronicles rework and reshape the sixth century material, fashioning a significantly changed historical experience for the Syriac Orthodox through a changed memory of Theodora’s past.

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REMEMBERING THEODORA [1]

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Students of Byzantine history are generally presented with the sixth century as one of the great eras of all time, due to the extraordinary reign of the Emperor Justinian I (“the Great”) and his wife Theodora. Justinian’s was a lengthy tenure, technically from 527 until his death in 565, although he is credited with carrying much of the imperial burden during the previous reign of his uncle Justin I, emperor from 518–27. With Justin I, Justinian articulated a vision of a restored and mighty Roman Empire that would reunite west and east politically, through reconquest of lost territories; and theologically, through a resolution of the bitter divisions that had followed the Council of Chalcedon held in 451. Theodora ruled as Justinian’s consort and partner until her death in 548, a loss from which Justinian seems never to have recovered. With Theodora’s help, Justinian’s efforts touched every branch of imperial life: not simply military campaigns or foreign diplomacy, but law reform, architectural developments, institutional advances in the areas of hospitals and care for the needy, literary achievements, and theological dialogues of the most sophisticated kind. The Justinianic Law Code, the church of Haghia Sophia and other remarkable buildings, the exalted hymnography of the Syrian poet Romanos Melodos—all stand as monuments to the glorious work of Justinian’s reign and Theodora’s patronage. At the same time, there were spectacular failures: partial and short-lived reconquest of North Africa and Italy, a bankrupt imperial treasury, and a church tragically ripped asunder with the formation of the separated Oriental Orthodox church hierarchies. 1 In Syriac tradition, this huge panoply is telescoped to a specific focus. The sixth century is remembered as a time of multiple calamities (drought, famine, plague, war), of which the persecution For a general introduction see Robert Browning, Justinian and Theodora, rev. ed. (London: Thames and Hudson, 1987). Important assessments of the reign may also be found in Judith Herrin, The Formation of Christendom (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987) and Averil Cameron, The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity, AD 395–600 (New York: Routledge, 1993). For the religious issues, W.H.C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysite Movement (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, corrected ed. 1979) remains basic. 1

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of those rejecting the Council of Chalcedon and the subsequent separation of the churches proved the lasting tragedy. While it was a long time before the separated hierarchies stabilized into distinct churches (now referred to as the Oriental Orthodox as opposed to the Eastern—or Chalcedonian—Orthodox), the weight of historiographical memory sets the sixth century and the reign of Justinian and Theodora as the determinative point in the process. 2 In the particular shaping that Syriac historiography gave to the experience, Justinian is remembered as the one who caused the separation of the churches through his policy of persecution for all who did not accept the Council of Chalcedon. Theodora, on the other hand, is remembered as the “believing queen,” champion and protectress of the dissenting non-Chalcedonian church. The scale of accomplishment and suffering, of ambitions and loss was enormous, but what lends a romantic glow to the sixth century are the powerful personalities of Justinian and Theodora, towering as tall as their achievements. In western scholarship, study of the sixth century and its most famous imperial couple has relied heavily on the works of the Greek historian Procopius of Caesarea. 3 Procopius was an official chronicler of Justinian’s reign and one privy to the imperial court at various levels. Procopius’ History of the Wars, covering the campaigns against the Vandals, Goths, and Persians, provides our most detailed account of Justinian’s military engagements. 4 His work entitled Buildings offers a formal and detailed report on the architectural accomplishments, The critical study is E. Honigmann, Évêques et évêchés monophysites d’Asie antérieure au VIe siècle (CSCO 127, Sub. 2; Louvain: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1951); cf. also A. Van Roey, “Les débuts de l’église jacobite,” in A. Grillmeier and H. Bacht (ed.), Das Konzil von Chalkedon: Geschichte und Gegenwart (Würzburg: Echter-Verlag, 1951–4, 1973) Vol. 2, 339–60. For the Syriac historiographical tradition, see S.A. Harvey, “Remembering Pain: Syriac Historiography and the Separation of the Churches,” Byzantion 58 (1988): 295–308. 3 Procopius, Works, ed. and trans. H.B. Dewing and G. Downey (Loeb Classical Library; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, repr. 1961) 7 vols. Averil Cameron, Procopius and the Sixth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985) provides the indispensable commentary and critical reassessment, necessary now for all work utilizing Procopius as a source. 4 Procopius, History of the Wars, LCL, vols. 1–5. 2

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artistic adornment, and building efforts of the imperial couple. 5 However, it is his shorter work, the Anecdota, or Secret History, that has most often captivated western scholars and students alike. 6 Here we have an unparalleled piece of ancient invective, a slander campaign against the imperial couple of staggering scope in a text virtually unique in Byzantine history. 7 Recent scholarship has stressed a literary approach to the Anecdota. An elaborate rhetorical tradition of literary invective lay behind the work, providing stereotypic tropes and character types readily available for discrediting powerful political figures including emperors. 8 Caricatured portraits of “bad” women were standard ploys in such efforts, most often with little or no basis in fact and invariably presented with no interest in the women as figures of any import in their own right. Rather, scandalous depictions of women were stock fare in the character assassination of men. Although a work of unusual scope in its venom as well as its comprehensive assault on Justinian’s reign, the Anecdota follows the standard conventions of literary invective well-known to every student of ancient rhetoric. As a piece of historical writing it provides an almost wholly fabricated view of Justinian and Theodora, useful as a study in the development of rhetorical method and of dominant cultural themes but offering little substantive information on the imperial couple. 9 Procopius, Buildings, LCL, vol. 7. Procopius, Anecdota, LCL, vol. 6. 7 Cameron, Procopius, 49–66 is essential for this material. 8 Susan Fischler, “Social Stereotypes and Historical Analysis: The Case of the Imperial Women at Rome,” in Léonie J. Archer, Susan Fischler and Maria Wyke (eds.), Women in Ancient Societies: “An Illusion of the Night” (New York: Routledge, 1994) 115–33; Pauline Allen, “Contemporary Portraits of the Byzantine Empress Theodora (A.D. 527–548),” in Barbara Garlick, Suzanne Dixon and Pauline Allen (eds.), Stereotypes of Women in Power: Historical Perspectives and Revisionist Views (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992) 93–103. 9 Elizabeth A. Fisher, “Theodora and Antonina in the Historia Arcana: History and/or Fiction?” in John Peradotto and J. P. Sullivan (eds.), Women in the Ancient World: the Arethusa Papers (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1984) 287–313. Martha Vinson, “The Christianization of Slander: Some Preliminary Observations,” in Sarolta Takacs and Claudia Sode (eds.), Novum Millenium: Festschrift for Paul Speck (Brookfield, VT: 5 6

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Nonetheless, it is the Anecdota and its particular presentation of Justinian and Theodora that has continued to dominate western imagination. 10 Thus we have an indelibly fixed portrait of Theodora as insatiable in her lust for physical thrills and political power; one whose formative experience in life was a career as child prostitute and sexual acrobat in the circus; whose time as empress was marked by greed, sorcercy, deceit, political intrigue, and wanton disregard for the scruples of any decent, moral human being. In turn, the Anecdota presented Justinian as a man measured by his choice of spouse: a driven, demonic soul, consumed by ambition, inhuman in his thirst for power, and enslaved by his unseemly and passionate devotion to his villanous wife. So savage is the portrayal in the Anecdota that it is difficult to reconcile how the same author could have produced this work as well as the more sober, formal, and flattering History of the Wars and Buildings; scholars and students alike have relished the puzzle, with uneven results. 11 With the help of the ample evidence that survives from other contemporary sources both Greek and Syriac, historians have come to agree that Theodora did manage to rise from the plight of a child actress in Constantinople to find a respectable and quiet life Ashgate Publishing, 1999) provides a fascinating study setting the Anecdota into the development of rhetorical traditions of invective as they were adapted and utilized in the Christianized literature of the Byzantine Empire. I am grateful to Prof. Vinson for sharing this article with me prior to its publication. 10 Cameron, Procopius, 67–83 discusses the impact the Anecdota has had on the history of scholarship, with a lively presentation of the resulting romanticism and sentimentality. A notable example is Charles Diehl, Théodora: Impératrice de Byzance (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1937), where Diehl admits the significance of the Syriac sources but proceeds to follow Procopius’ Anecdota as a basically credible account. In Browning’s Justinian and Theodora, the inside dust jacket presents this book as the account of “the peasant’s son who became an emperor and the dissolute actress whom he placed on the throne beside him... [Justinian] aided—and occasionally frustrated—by his passionate and unscrupulous consort [Theodora]” (my emphasis). 11 At times the authorship of the Anecdota has been questioned precisely for this reason. Again, Cameron, Procopius, is the essential guide through this historiographical tangle.

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in Alexandria in early adulthood. There she seems to have been instructed by such luminaries as the theologian and bishop Severus of Antioch. At some point she met Justinian, then a protegé of Justin’s imperial court; thereafter, an imperial edict was passed allowing reformed prostitutes to contract a legal marriage, and further, if granted a high dignity, to marry into the highest rank. 12 Justinian and Theodora were wed in 525 in Constantinople and were devoted to one another through the remainder of their lives. Until Theodora’s death in 548, much of their work was undertaken together, as a couple. Literary sources both critical of and favorable to the imperial couple support this picture, and indicate that Theodora as empress did exercize an unusual degree of authority and influence beyond most who held her position. While the exact authority available to an empress was never clearly defined in Byzantine law, Theodora was able to carve a role for herself that was both traditional (patronage was a respectable activity for a Roman matron, the more so for an empress), and also broader in its effects. 13 Her influence was widely felt, but it is also true that she never attempted to contradict Justinian’s policies directly nor to undercut his effectiveness. She remained, then, limited in the power she exercized, but a dominating and impressive personality. 14 However, the Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, written some six centuries after the event, offers an altogether different portrait of Theodora—different both from the painstaking search for historical reconstruction undertaken by modern scholars, and from the scorching pen of Procopius. 15 In Michael’s telling, Justinian, Codex Iustinianus 5.4.23; cf. D. Daube, “The Marriage of Justinian and Theodora. Legal and Theological Issues,” Catholic University Law Review 16 (1968): 380–99. 13 A point stressed by Allen, “Contemporary Portrayals.” 14 An interesting analysis of the primary sources is offered in Charles Pazdernik, “Our Most Pious Consort Given us by God: Dissident Reactions to the Partnership of Justinian and Theodora, AD 525–549,” Classical Antiquity 13 (1994): 256–81, where Pazdernik considers how the ancient authors depicted the marital relationship between Justinian and Theodora, as a means for resolving the apparent paradox of their conflicting religious loyalties. 15 J.-B. Chabot (ed. and trans.), Chronique de Michel le Syrien, 4 Vols. (Paris, 1899–1905; repr. Bruxelles: Culture et Civilisation, 1963). 12

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while in service to his uncle Justin I, had been on campaign against the Persians in the eastern empire. There, “he came to Mabbug (Hierapolis), and there he took for his wife Theodora, daughter of an Orthodox [= non-Chalcedonian] priest, who, because he was not pleased that she should mix with Chalcedonians was not willing to give his daughter until Justinian made a vow (aqim qyomo) that he would not compel her to accept the synod (of Chalcedon).” 16 Subsequently, according to Michael’s account, as empress Theodora distinguished herself with concern for the peace of the church, and persuaded Justinian also to work for this. She received the exiled and persecuted Oriental Orthodox in Constantinople, arranging their lodging and provisions, and visiting them constantly. In particular, she patronized the three great patriarchs, Severus of Antioch, Theodosius of Alexandria, and Anthimus of Constantinople, whom she supported in her own palace. She worked quietly and diligently to appease Justinian when the Chalcedonian fanatics roused his passions. 17 According to Michael, Theodora hid and protected the exiled Oriental Orthodox leaders, but also encouraged the ongoing theological discussions sponsored by her husband. 18 When Justinian’s behavior grew increasingly extreme in his opposition to “the believers,” to the point of sickness, Theodora secretly summoned the Syriac holy man Z’ura to heal him. Thereafter, Michael says, Justinian did end his excessive use of violence, but did not make peace within the church. 19 When the Chalcedonian patriarch of Alexandria exercized his office with unseemly cruelty, Theodora was able to persuade Justinian to exile him. 20 When Harith bar Gabala, king of the Saracens, requested orthodox missionaries, Theodora sponsored the sending of the Syriac Orthodox bishops Jacob Burd’oyo and Theodore. 21 At her death, Michael claims, Justinian was grief-stricken and gave much gold for

Mich. Syr., IX.20; the Syriac text is found in Chabot’s edition at 4: 277, center column. 17 Mich. Syr., IX. 21. 18 Mich. Syr., IX.22. 19 Mich. Syr., IX.23. 20 Mich. Syr., IX. 24. 21 Mich. Syr., IX.29. 16

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the repose of her soul, while the Oriental Orthodox refused to be demoralized by the loss of their protectress. 22 For the most part, Michael’s account of Theodora as empress accords with sixth century sources, and indeed is heavily drawn from the Syriac writers John of Ephesus and the continuator of the Chronicle of Zachariah of Mitylene. 23 This is important, for in the case of John of Ephesus we have a portrayal of Theodora that genuinely rivals Procopius’ in length and intimacy of imperial access, but without a trace of the Greek historian’s bitter invective. However, Michael has also reworked and reshaped the portrait of Theodora that John and Pseudo-Zachariah provide, as had other Syriac chroniclers between the sixth and twelfth centuries. As we will see, the narrative refashioning of the reign and Theodora’s place in it could serve to significantly alter the historical understanding represented. Yet Michael went further than previous Syriac chroniclers had done, framing his narrative of the reign of Justinian and Theodora with the curious account of Theodora’s innocent childhood in the east, raised by a Syriac Orthodox priest who had opposed this marriage unless Theodora’s own orthodoxy were guaranteed under oath. 24 While Michael’s account appears to be the earliest written source for this story, a variation appears not long after in the

Mich. Syr., IX.29–30. Michael is explicit about his use of John of Ephesus and pseudoZachariah. See the discussion and reconstruction of Michael’s sources in Chabot, Chronique, 1: xxiv–xxxvii. 24 Unfortunately, Pazdernik, “Our Most Pious Consort,” obscures the important issue here of the chronology of the sources, and gives the mistaken impression that the story of Theodora’s eastern birth as daughter of a priest might have appeared as early as the ninth century if not even the sixth. At p. 273 n. 71, the Chronicle of 1234 is misidentified as the Chronicle of 819, further supporting this impression. As Jan van Ginkel has argued, it is extremely important to take into account the degree to which later Syriac sources and especially Michael the Syrian have altered the tone and force of material taken from John of Ephesus; see Jan J. van Ginkel, John of Ephesus: a Monophysite Historian in Sixth-Century Byzantium, Ph.D. dissertation, Rijksuniversiteit, Groningen (1995), e.g., at 105 and 168. The material from John of Ephesus is treated below. 22 23

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Chronicle of 1234. 25 In this instance, Theodora’s family is from Callinicus rather than Mabbug, and a considerably more romantic tone attends the tale. Not only the child of a Syriac Orthodox priest, Theodora was “a girl of lovely appearance,” “adorned with modesty and bodily and spiritual beauty.” Justinian heard of her while on military campaign in the east; he fell in love at first sight and begged for her hand. “They [her parents] gave her to him in marriage, except that they were unwilling because he held the doctrine of the Chalcedonians. And he took her with him to the imperial city [Constantinople]. And when he became king, there was much comfort for the [Oriental] Orthodox from her.” 26 These two versions of a changed birthright for Theodora attest to a folk tradition circulating among the Syriac Orthodox before Michael’s time, but requiring substantial distance from the historical events in question to have emerged in such form. 27 Here was a story befitting the degree of reverence accorded to the “Believing Queen” in Syriac Orthodox tradition, a birthright and family origin well suited to the memory of Theodora as faithful protectress, diligent patron, and profoundly devoted servant of the true church.

Chronicle of 1234, LIV–LV; in J.-B. Chabot (ed. and trans.), Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 1234 pertinens (CSCO 81/36, 82/37, and 109/56; Paris, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1916–20; Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1937); and by A. Abouna and J.-M. Fiey (CSCO 354/154; Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1974). 26 Chronicle of 1234, LIV; at CSCO 81/36: 192. Later still, Bar Hebraeus mentions the story, following Michael’s version as was his wont. Bar Hebraeus, Chronography, VIII.78, trans. E.A. Wallis Budge, Bar Hebraeus, the Chronography (London: Oxford University Press, 1932) I, 73–4. 27 It is impossible to ascertain the origins of this story. Chabot himself was baffled, and suggested it originated within the Syriac Orthodox community; Chronique, 2: 189 n. 5. It would be wholly out of character for Michael to have invented the story. More likely is its emergence in the folk traditions of the Syriac Orthodox, long before Michael’s time. For the scholarly historiographical tradition in which Michael wrote, see J.-M. Fiey, “Les Chroniqueurs syriaques avaient-ils le sens critique?,” Parole de l’Orient 12 (1984–5): 253–64. I am grateful to Drs. Dorothea Weltecke and Witold Witakowski for their discussions with me on this problem. 25

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The story has been woven into Syriac Orthodox memory to this day. 28 Scholarly study of Michael the Syrian’s Chronicle has to date been focused on source critical analysis: who and what were Michael’s sources of information for each of the different portions of his Chronicle, how faithfully he followed the earlier histories and Chronicles, his “critical” treatment of his sources, and how to account for inconsistencies of chronology. My purpose in this paper is not to examine Michael’s presentation of Theodora in terms of its historical veracity. Rather, I am interested in Michael’s account as it stands. For this telling of Theodora’s story accomplishes a profound re-presentation of the history of the Syriac Orthodox church itself. The memory of Theodora provided Michael a means for remembering the Syriac Orthodox community as it emerged into its own ecclesiastical tradition, for reassessing the separation of the orthodox churches, and for reimagining a tragic if heroic historical experience in terms that validated what that history had become by Michael’s day as the churches stood rent by seemingly irrevocable division. 29 In the contrasting portraits of Theodora that survive to us, we can see the contested history of the Oriental Orthodox churches renegotiated in terms of its meaning within the Syriac Orthodox tradition. For just as Christian historiography used sexual infidelity as a signifier of heresy (or theological faithlessness), so, too, was sexual purity—especially as represented by a female persona—a rhetorical The story of Theodora as the daughter of a Syriac Orthodox priest from Mabbug is commonly known among the Syriac Orthodox today. It is a prominent feature of the play, “Theodora” written in Arabic in 1956 by Mor Faulos Behram, Metropolitan of Baghdad, and translated into Syriac in 1977 by Mor Iuhannon Philoxenos Dolobani, the late Metropolitan of Mardin. 29 Several papers presented at the Symposium in Commemoration of Mor Michael the Syrian at Ma’arat Saydnaya, Syria, October 1–8, 1999, addressed the situation of the Syriac Orthodox church during Michael’s time, both internally and in its relations with other churches. Particularly helpful on this point were: H.E. Metropolitan Mor Gregorios Yohanna Ibrahim, “The Challanges that Confronted the Syriac Orthodox Church of Antioch in the Era of Mor Michael the Great;” and Emma Loosely, “The Crusades: How Were they Perceived in the History of Mor Michael?” See also Chabot, Chronique, 1: ii-xvi. 28

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marker for theological orthodoxy. 30 The presentations of Theodora in the accounts by Procopius and Michael the Syrian follow a rhetorical strategy that utilizes her portrayal as the measure of the people with whom she was associated—whether Justinian as an emperor (for Procopius), or the Syriac Orthodox church (for Michael). In both works, Theodora’s identity, and especially her sexual identity, become interchangable with the integrity of her community; her “body” stands rhetorically for her “body” of associates—family, spouse, friends, church. In Procopius’ telling, she is as faithless and immoral as her husband’s reign; in Michael’s, she is as chaste and innocent as a church untouched by heresy. In both accounts, her explicitly gendered (and sexualized) portrayal serves as moral marker for the author’s own position. 31 To better understand what Michael has crafted in his presentation of Theodora, we must consider the material on which he drew, as well as the witness of the Syriac chronicles that stood between the sixth century and the twelfth. What portrayal did Syriac chronicles inherit? Was the invective of Procopius efficacious in the historical memory of the east? And why was the memory of Theodora malleable to the point of generating a new Here Christianity follows the inherited rhetorical traditions of classical antiquity. See, e.g., Fischler, “Social Stereotypes and Historical Analysis;” and Averil Cameron, “Virginity as Metaphor: Women and the Rhetoric of Early Christianity,” in Averil Cameron (ed.), History as Text: the Writing of Ancient History (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989) 181–205. Cameron’s argument is made more extensively in her masterful study Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: the Development of Christian Discourse (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), esp. at pp. 68–72 and 171–80. See also Virginia Burrus, “The Heretical Woman as Symbol in Alexander, Athanasius, Epiphanius and Jerome,” Harvard Theological Review 84 (1991): 229–48. 31 Pazdernik, “Our Most Pious Consort,” at p. 267 points out that Byzantine historiography tended to associate politically powerful empresses with theologically heterodox movements. For a parallel case from Islamic tradition of conflicting historiographical representations dependent on sexuality and power, see the superb study by D.A. Spellberg, Politics, Gender, and the Islamic Past: The Legacy of ‘A’isha Bint Abi Bakr (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994). I am grateful to my colleague Prof. Muhammad Qasim Zaman for this reference, and indeed for discussion of the historiographical problems in this paper. 30

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history, a changed history, or indeed a changed quality to the history of Syriac Orthodox memory?

THE SYRIAC SOURCES [16]

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One begins, of course, with the complex portrait presented by the sixth century Syriac writer John of Ephesus. 32 John was born early in the sixth century in North Mesopotamia. He was raised in the monastery of Mor John Urtoyo near the city of Amida and subjected in his early adulthood to the persecutions against the Syriac Orthodox that began in 519 under the command of the emperor Justin I. In the course of his travels in exile, John was ordained deacon, then priest for the Oriental Orthodox as they labored to stabilize apart from the Chalcedonian hierarchy. Like many refugees of the persecution, John eventually arrived in Constantinople around 540. Theodora had turned the palace of Hormisdas into a huge monastic complex to house the clergy and monks expelled from their own territories for refusal to comply with the imperial demand for Chalcedonian loyalty, in addition to her work sponsoring other monastic houses. Constantinople was an important gathering place for those opposed to Chalcedon, for Justinian continued to sponsor theological discussions among the divided church leaders and to seek a peaceful reconciliation albeit without any real possibility of compromise. With Theodora’s attentive presence, the Oriental Orthodox community could pursue their monastic discipline and further refine their theological acumen while working in the hopes that Justinian would see fit to change his policies. In Constantinope John became a leader among the exiled community, serving as abbot for many of the Syriac-speaking monastics and spokesman to the imperial court. A frequent visitor to the palace, John became close to both Justinian and Theodora. In 542, Justinian enigmatically chose John to undertake an imperially sponsored campaign of conversion among the pagans and heretics of Asia Minor. A zealous missionary—but certainly S. A. Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and “The Lives of the Eastern Saints” (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990); for the biographical information on John, see pp. 28–42, 160–5; for discussion of John’s portrayal of Theodora, see pp. 80–91, 177–83. Cf. also the important study by van Ginkel, John of Ephesus. 32

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not advocating Chalcedonian faith in the process—John led successful missions into the Roman provinces of Asia, Lydia, Caria and Phrygia, returning afterwards to Constantinople where he remained based for the rest of his career. Around 558 he was consecrated titular bishop of Ephesus ( a place where he seems never to have resided) by the patriarch Jacob Burd’oyo. Working tirelessly to seek unity amongst the sorely afflicted Oriental Orthodox, and indeed to convince Justinian and then his successor Justin II to seek genuine reconciliation with the opponents of Chalcedon, John labored until his death around the year 589. In the latter twenty-five years of his life, John wrote the Lives of the Eastern Saints, a collection of 58 lives of holy men and women he had met or known well in the course of his travels; 33 and his extensive Ecclesiastical History in three parts (the final part written while he was imprisoned under Justin II, and smuggled out in portions). 34 In these two works, we find much information about Justinian and Theodora, and both works were utilized by subsequent chroniclers, including Michael the Syrian. In the case of the Lives, most significantly, that information comes in the form of observations of regular behavior and events in the imperial city. In his chapters on the holy ascetics gathered there, Theodora and Justinian are not John’s primary focus, but rather enter his chapters just as they seem to have entered into the Palace of Hormisdas in which the exiled resided: with frequent appearances rather than sustained interaction. Hence John gives us a series of “cameo appearances” by the imperial couple while keeping his narrative centered on other people—emperor and empress in the

John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints, ed. and trans. E.W. Brooks, Patrologia Orientalis 17–19 (Paris, 1923–5). 34 John’s Ecclesiastical History does not survive intact. Parts I and II survive in fragments in the works of later historians, especially the Chronicle of Zuqnin (pseudo-Dionysius of Tell-Mahre) and Michael the Syrian’s Chronicle. Part III, covering the years 571–88/9, is extant complete, and has been edited and translated by E.W. Brooks, Ioannis Ephesini historiae ecclesiasticae pars tertia (CSCO 105/54, 106/55; Paris, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1935–6). For further discussion and complete citations of the fragments, see van Ginkel, John of Ephesus, 44–85; a more abbreviated treatment is found in Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis, 30, 161–2. 33

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background in relation to the “saints” to whom they, like John, were devoted. In the case of Theodora, John’s presentation is particularly complex in its texturing. According to him, long before their actual accession to the throne, Theodora was interceding with Justinian to obtain better conditions for those who suffered under the new policy of persecution against the opponents of Chalcedon. In his account of the two companions Thomas and Stephen, 35 attendants to the bishop Mare of Amida at the time the persecutions first began in 519, John tells us that Stephen was sent to Constantinople to petition on behalf of Mare, whose place of exile in Petra was exceedingly harsh. Arriving at the royal city, Stephen found himself directed “to Theodora who came from the brothel (porneion), who was at that time a patrician, but eventually became queen also with king Justinian.” 36 Immediately sympathetic, Theodora supplicated her husband, then Master of the Soldiers (John uses the term stratelates), that he should intercede with his uncle the emperor Justin I on behalf of the beleagured bishop, “making this entreaty even with tears.” The petition was successful and the bishop with his retinue was able to move to Egypt. But an important pattern had been established, in which Theodora made known her willingness to act on behalf of the opponents of Chalcedon. And indeed, her relationship with Stephen was renewed in successive years, first upon the death of Mare when Stephen returned to ask permission to bury the bishop in his homeland; Theodora, by this time empress, at once issued the order for safe passage and the funeral in his home territory. Later, Theodora herself summoned Stephen by personal letter, “earnestly inviting him to come up to the capital in order to be with her in the palace because of his eloquence and his conversation and his wisdom, and moreover because he also lived a pure life and after the manner of a solitary.” 37 Stephen accepted the invitation (apologizing to his companion Thomas that he was only agreeing to go “that this woman’s will may not be disappointed”), 38 and for a time resided

Lives, ch. 13, PO 17: 187–213. Lives, ch. 13, PO 17: 189. 37 Lives, ch. 13, PO 17: 207. 38 Lives, ch. 13, PO 17: 207. 35 36

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among the gathering Theodora had come to host in Constantinople. For here was the picture John described: that Theodora turned the “shame” of exile into a glorious experience of Christian witness. Not only did she offer safety in the imperial city for the refugees who gathered there, but further she actively cultivated a holy community of Oriental Orthodox. 39 That is, not only did she welcome whomever among the exiled found their way to the city, but she sought out and personally brought great theologians and church leaders, venerable monastics, renowned ascetics, and wise spiritual counselors. John gives the impression that Theodora had her magistrates combing the provinces, keeping her informed of those with reputations for holiness, for spiritual teachings, for exemplary ascetic devotion. Thus John indicates that many of the faithful arriving in the imperial city were already known to the empress by reputation, and that she received these arrivals not as tattered exiles but as honorable guests of state. 40 The hierarchs, above all, she housed with a formal dignity befitting their ecclesiastical status, even when it was necessary to conceal their whereabouts by stealth. But consider how John presented the development of this pattern of cultivated relationships and imperial patronage. In his account of Stephen, John had referred plainly but only in passing to Theodora’s former life of prostitution. 41 He offered no elaboration, nor judgmental comment (one thinks, by contrast, of Procopius’ lascivious pleasure in imagining in great detail Theodora’s various tastes, talents, and escapades during those early years of her life). Instead, John clearly assumes her past as a known 39

See the discussion in Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis, 86–93,

181–4. E.g., her reception of Simeon the Persian Debater when he arrived in Constantinople: Lives, ch. 10, at PO 17: 157. 41 J.B. Bury, History of the Later Roman Empire from the Death of Theodosius I to the Death of Justinian (London, 1923; repr. New York: Dover Publications, 1958) 2: 28 n. 5, thinks the reference in John of Ephesus to Theodora being “from the brothel” must be an interpolation, but there is absolutely no basis for such a position. As Van Ginkel, John of Ephesus, 152 n. 120 points out, the unanimous respect with which Theodora has been regarded in Syriac tradition since the sixth century makes such an interpolation by a Syriac writer most unlikely. 40

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fact that in no way tarnished the integrity of the religious devotion to which she had come. Rather, as Justinian’s wife residing in Constantinople as a patrician, Theodora was already known to the opponents of Chalcedon as a faithful friend. In fact, as the extent of Theodora’s patronage on behalf of the Oriental Orthodox becomes evident in John’s accounts, along with his witness (supported by numerous other sixth century sources, Greek and Syriac alike) of her extensive charitable activities undertaken with Justianian during their imperial reign, one can see the extent to which Theodora was able to represent the power of conversion in her day. 42 From this perspective, her disreputable past mattered only as the measure of how far she had progressed in the Christian life. Thus where her enemies (like Procopius) would use her past to discredit her imperial office and through that Justinian’s reign itself, her supporters could see her past as powerful evidence of her strength of conviction: once changed, she had truly repented into a life of faith—a familiar and beloved homiletic and hagiographical theme of the time. 43 Examples of Theodora’s deeds on behalf of the Oriental Orthodox, as well as of her charitable activities, may be found in various sixth century sources. E.g., John of Ephesus, Lives, ch. 10, PO 17: 157 (correspondence with the Persian Queen; cp. Procopius, Anecdota, 2.32–7); Lives, ch. 51, PO 19: 161–2 (founding hospitals); Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History, 4.10 (her beneficence even for Chalcedonians); ps.Zachariah Rhetor, Ecclesiastical History, VIII.19–20, X.1 (her patronage of the Oriental Orthodox refugees and bishops; her protection of the wronged); John Malalas, Chronicle, 17.19 (her patronage of buildings for Antioch, of a jeweled cross for Jerusalem), 18.23–5 (her rescue of girls sold into prostitution by their poor parents, payment to parents, and closing of the brothels); John of Nikiu, Chronicle, 93.3 (her eradication of prostitution); Procopius, Buildings, I.ii.17 (her patronage of hospices for the poor), I.ix (closing of the brothels and founding a convent for the former prostitutes); John the Lydian, de Mag., III.69 (her sympathy for those suffering injustice). 43 Hence, John’s presentation of Theodora fit a favorite late antique model of female sanctity, that of the penitent harlot. See the illuminating discussion in Lynda L. Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997) 71– 94; Benedicta Ward, Harlots of the Desert: A Study of Repentance in Early Monastic Sources (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1987). The image is a 42

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John presents Theodora’s activities on behalf of the Oriental Orthodox both as acts of personal piety and as evidence of her imperial authority. For she did exercize her power as empress in her own right, and not always in conjunction with her husband. When petitioned by Simeon the Persian Debater, John tells us, Theodora “gladly” interceded with the Persian queen on behalf of the orthodox community living somewhat precariously under Persian rule. 44 When Hirith bar Gabala, king of the Saracens, petitioned Theodora about the lack of orthodox priests in the eastern territories because of the devastation of the fierce persecutions suffered there, she immediately gave the orders and the means of passage that led to the consecration of Jacob Burd’oyo and his companion Theodore to serve as bishops replenishing the clergy and hierarchy of the eastern communities with men ordained in Oriental Orthodox faith. Theirs was, John tells us, “active work performed by them during the same persecution, by the instigation and the command of the believing Theodora the queen.” 45 John refers to hospitals and other charitable institutions founded by Theodora; 46 he mentions the ceremonial conduct attending her every activity. 47 John manages to present these deeds as fittingly conducted by the empress: demonstrative of her imperial prerogative, yet not overstepping the bounds of propriety. His careful presentation was not matched by his contemporaries. Procopius, for one, saw Theodora’s actions as exceeding what was proper. 48 His critical stance in this regard was not confined to the Anecdota. In his account of the Persian War, he describes the consequences of incurring her wrath—a picture confirmed by sources sympathetic to her. 49 His narration of the Nika Revolt in 532, with the famous prime example of the rhetoric of paradox frequently employed by ancient Christian writers; cf. Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire, 155– 88. 44 Lives, ch. 10, PO 17: 157. 45 Lives, ch. 50, PO 19: 153–8. 46 Lives, ch. 51, PO 19: 161–2. 47 E.g., as derided by Mare the Solitary, Lives, ch. 36, PO 18: 630–3. 48 A point stressed in Fisher, “Theodora and Antonina.” 49 Wars I. xxv. 4–7. The incident here was the downfall of John the Cappadocian; cp. ps.-Zachariah, Ecclesiastical History, VIII.14, where the

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episode of Theodora’s address before the Senate, was clearly not written in admiration of her actions. Rather, the unusual image of a woman’s public oratory in the most venerable political setting of the empire provided an unsettling portrayal of Theodora’s strength, as well as of Justinian’s weakness of character. 50 Even Theodora’s supporters shared Procopius’ discomfort. Severus of Antioch, known to be a correspondent of the queen even when not residing in Constantinople, grew irritated by what he saw to be her meddling in theological affairs of which she had no real understanding. 51 Certainly, her activity on behalf of the Oriental Orthodox was prodigious, although never such as to bring her into direct confrontation with Justinian. 52 Her patronage of the Oriental Orthodox neither put an end to the persecutions, nor enabled the exiled patriarchs to move about freely; the Palace of Hormisdas functioned in fact as a house prison for the refugees. 53 To some scholars, the circumscribed nature of Theodora’s patronage may indicate a real sympathy on Theodora’s part with Justinian’s goal of ecclesiastical reconciliation, if not an agreement with his methods nor with his own theological views. 54 John’s presentation of Theodora’s imperial persona frames his portrayal of her in a certain way. That is, even when referring to his own privileged friendship with the imperial couple, even when presenting her devotional activity, he offers his portrait with a public face, always formal, always respectful of the imperial office itself. Theodora herself is shown to be worthy of that office. Consider again the presentation of Procopius, who claimed in the events are closely connected with the aftermath of the Nika Revolt. Wars, I. xxiv. 50 Wars, I. xxiv. 51 Severus, Select Letters, I.63; ed. and trans. in E.W. Brooks, Athanasius of Nisibis, The Sixth Book of the Select Letters of Severus of Antioch, 4 vols. (London: Williams and Norgate, 1903). Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History, 4.11 mentions letters from Severus to Justinian and Theodora written while the exiled patriarch was in hiding in the east. 52 L. Duchesne, “Les Protégès de Théodora,” Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 35 (1915): 57–79, recounts Theodora’s involvements in the ecclesiastical crisis of the time. 53 See the discussion in Harvey, Asceticism and Society, 80–93, 177–84. 54 Cf. Pazdernik, “Our Most Pious Consort;” van Ginkel, John of Ephesus, 152–3.

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Anecdota to present the “real” Theodora as revealed in her “private” life, dwelling on her own desires and hidden habits, her friendships as sources of surreptitious activitity, her interference in the personal (and sexual) lives of those around her, the “pettiness” of her concerns in contrast to the importance of matters of state. 55 To appreciate the quality of public respect John offers to Theodora, I take the examples of two direct encounters John describes between the imperial couple and holy men who stood against them. The first occurred when the stylite Z’ura, forced down from his pillar by Chalcedonian persecutors, journeyed to Constantinople in a holy rage to denounce the injustice and impiety of the imperial policies. 56 In an effort to diffuse the storm of the Syrian holy man’s arrival in the city, Justinian received him in full assembly in the presence of bishops and senators. Z’ura was not impressed, and with blunt freedom of speech (parrhesia) proceded fiercely to upbraid Justinian while instructing him on right doctrine. John reports that it was Justinian who lost control in the situation, falling into a tantrum and shouting insults and invective. Z’ura left, his dignity intact. But Justinian was struck with divine illness, and was soon incapacitated in swollen dilerium. Theodora, “who was very clever,” took charge at once, concealing the emperor and sending for Z’ura with urgent supplications that he should come and pray for Justinian, that he might recover and make peace in the church. Z’ura complied, healed Justinian, and took up an aggressive ministry in Constantinople. No more diplomatic in the city than he had been in the palace, the stylite caused such disruption that eventually Theodora was forced to relocate him to safer lodgings in Thrace in order to prevent riots. Meanwhile Justinian had conducted himself in fear of the holy man, curtailing the violence of the persecutions but in the end not changing his policy. In this account, Theodora’s strength of character and imposing will are filtered through the lens of her right devotion and piety, presenting strength of will as strength of right faith. It is Justinian who is the volatile, weak-willed, irrational member of the pair, but John’s portrayal even here is sympathetic to Justinian as one to a large

55 56

Especially stressed in Allen, “Contemporary Portrayals.” Lives, ch. 2, PO 17: 18–35.

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extent imprisoned by his own imperial office in the policies he pursued. 57 John presented the encounter with Z’ura as a striking affirmation of the holy man’s greater spiritual and moral authority in relation to the imperial throne. This authority John saw Theodora appropriately acknowledge, while Justinian wrongly refused to recognize its source in Z’ura’s perfect devotion to God. However, John had more difficulty accepting what happened in the second instance, when the holy man Mare the Solitary made his assault on the imperial court following his expulsion from the territory of Amida during the persecutions. 58 Less sophisticated than Z’ura and less dignified in his own conduct, Mare had stormed the court and insulted Justinian and Theodora with such vehement insults that John could not bring himself to describe the encounter, himself too embarrassed to report such treatment of the imperial couple. Here one feels keenly John’s devotion to Justinian and Theodora as based both on profound respect for their office but also in a loyalty to their own religious devotion; this encounter clearly caused John a crisis of conscience, for he could not doubt Mare’s holiness nor the right cause Mare upheld despite his illchosen method. So John writes at some length about the humble response of the imperial couple to Mare—itself evidence of their devotion. Receiving Mare’s words in all humility, they offered no rebuke. Instead, Justinian offered his assistance with Mare’s ministry in the city and Theodora requested that he join her favored group staying within her palace so that he might provide spiritual instruction for her profit. Mare would have nothing to do with them, setting up his own cell and activity among the poor in the city streets. Theodora frequently sent her messengers with gold to assist his activities—in fact, she hounded him with her attempts John of Ephesus remained unequivocally loyal to emperor and empire throughout his lifetime, enduring the reigns of Justin I, Justinian and Justin II all of whom required active persecution of the nonChalcedonians. John’s loyalty to a political identity in opposition to his own religious convictions is a crucial characteristic of his writing, as demonstrated by van Ginkel, John of Ephesus. One result is the unusually humane quality of his criticism for the emperors he served; see Averil Cameron, “Early Byzantine kaiserkritik: Two Case Histories,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 3 (1977): 1–17. 58 Lives, ch. 36, PO 18: 624–41. 57

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at discipleship. For his part Mare refused every such advance as somehow tainted with worldly corruption. When Mare finally died while tending the sick during the bubonic plague that struck Constantinople in 542, John claims that Justinian and Theodora provided a public funeral at their own expense. The public face John gives to Theodora is not one of unseemly power or interference with governing. Rather, he presents her as always acting with a dignity and piety that were impeccable, and which presented the imperial leadership of the empire as fully worthy of divine favor. John uses the examples of what happened with Z’ura and Mare the Solitary to demonstrate Theodora’s perfection in faith in contrast to a more volatile Justinian. When Justinian raged, she calmed him with humility, instructing him to receive the parrhesia of the holy men as God’s own word. She further saw to it that these monks were provided with means to reestablish their monastic practice and ministry to the needy, and offered public celebration of their holy works. John tells us she often took Justinian with her to visit the “believing community” of holy ascetics, to pray with them and obtain their blessing. 59 She is presented in effect as Justinian’s spiritual guide, and in this role resolves the paradox of their divided religious loyalties. In John’s eyes, there was not a division of faith between emperor and empress: theirs was a shared devotion. The division from John’s perspective then lay within Justinian himself, an emperor who truly venerated the Oriental Orthodox yet who instigated and upheld their persecution.

COMPETING MEMORIES [28]

In his presentation of Justinian and Theodora’s shared religious devotion, John stands apart from other sixth century sources. Procopius had seen the divided loyalties of the royal couple as a calculated plot to “divide and rule.” 60 Moreover, he had presented Theodora’s Oriental Orthodox conviction as both politically expedient and an apt choice morally for a person of her “despicable” character. 61 Another Chalcedonian historian of the late sixth century, Evagrius Scholasticus, said it was not clear Lives, ch. 37, PO 18: 680; ch. 57, PO 19: 200–6. Anecdota, 10.14–5. 61 Cp. Vinson, “Sexual Slander.” 59 60

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whether the couple had agreed on their religious policy “because such were their real sentiments... or by mutual understanding.” 62 However, in the same passage he offered high praise for Theodora’s kindness and munificence towards all her subjects. Indeed, he shared with more sympathetic historians—John Malalas, pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor, and John of Nikiu—a sense of Theodora as Justinian’s conscience. 63 Still, all of these writers, in contrast to John of Ephesus, present Theodora as an empress who claimed more power than was seemly for a woman, and whose authority could be willfully and selfishly demonstrated. The particular texturing of John of Ephesus’ portrayal, with its emphasis on daily piety and devotional veneration, was of an empress whose orthodoxy was unquestionable. Within the logic of John’s portrait, then, it was precisely because of her orthodoxy that Theodora neither counteracted her husband’s policies nor abused her office. Subsequent Syriac chroniclers remember Theodora as protectress of the faithful in the midst of unholy times. The Chronicle of Jacob of Edessa notes only her death, 64 while the Chronicle of 819 states, “In the year Theodora died, Justinian began to persecute Christians over Chalcedon.” 65 The complicated relationship of Justinian and Theodora as imperial couple and as religiously devoted is left aside. In the ninth century Chronicle of Zuqnin (ps.-Dionysius of Tell-Mahre), portions of John of Ephesus’ Ecclesiastical History are preserved almost intact, especially his account of the persecution against the Oriental Orthodox and Theodora’s patronage in its midst. 66 These chronicles, however, Evagrius, Ecclesiastical History, 4.10. Cf., e.g., Ps.-Zachariah, Ecclesiastical History, X.1; John Malalas, Chronicle, 18.23–4; John of Nikiu, Chronicle, 90. 49–51, 87. In the analysis of Pazdernik, “Our Most Pious Consort,” these historians use the presentation of Theodora to soften the perceived harshness of Justinian’s character. 64 E.W. Brooks (ed. and trans.), Jacob of Edessa, Chronicon (CSCO 5/5 and 6/6; Paris, Secrétariat du CSCO: 1905–7), at 5/5: 321. 65 Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 819 pertinens (CSCO 81/36, ed. A. Barsaum; CSCO 109/56, trans. J.-B. Chabot; Paris, Secrétariat du CSCO: 1920–37), at 81/36: 10. 66 Now available in two fine translations: Pseudo-Dionysius of Tel-Mahre, Chronicle, Part III, trans. Witold Witakowski (Liverpool: Liverpool 62 63

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were produced in a developing historiographical tradition no longer engaged with the Chalcedonian Greek historians of the Byzantine empire; in them no trace of the Greek sources on Justinian and Theodora remain. The portrait John of Ephesus had given, like that of Procopius, had been written in a polemical situation: critics and supporters of Justinian and Theodora alike were presenting the reign. Their accounts were thus offered in a context of varied interpretation and contrasting loyalties. It is that context of multiple presentations that the medieval Syriac chronicles lack when they choose to pass on the memory of Justinian and Theodora. Thus we arrive at the account by Michael the Syrian. Despite Michael’s heavy reliance on John of Ephesus, there is no reference to Theodora’s disreputable childhood. Theodora’s activities on behalf of the Oriental Orthodox are presented as the mark of her constancy, not as proof of the power of conversion. Moreover, Michael omits John’s descriptions of the shared devotional life of the imperial couple and their habitual visits among the “believing saints.” He gives a detailed retelling of John’s chapter on Z’ura the Stylite. But removed from the context of John’s other chapters, it serves to confirm a larger portrait Michael forges, of Justinian as the flawed, headstrong emperor and Theodora as the truly faithful and therefore rational empress. Indeed, in Michael’s telling Theodora is a subdued but exemplary empress and wife, for Michael omits accounts or details that gave her the dramatic and dominating persona we find in sixth century sources. Hence Michael shows Theodora to be like the Syriac Orthodox church itself, in a self-presentation Michael offers for his time: faithful child of a faithful priest, one who never strays despite the errancy University Press, 1996); and The Chronicle of Zuqnin, Parts III and IV, A.D. 488–775, trans. Amir Harrak (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999). The Syriac has been edited by J.-B. Chabot, Incerti auctoris chronicon anonymum pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo dictum, CSCO 91/43, 104/53 (Louvain, Secrétariat du CSCO, 1927, 1933). As Witold Witakowski has demonstrated, this source tends to preserve John’s text more accurately than Michael the Syrian, who abbreviated and otherwise reworked John’s material. Some discussion is given in Witakowski, Part III, xxiii–xxix; but see also his monograph, The Syriac Chronicle of Pseudo-Dionysius of TellMahre. A Study in the History of Historiography (Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 9; Uppsala, 1987).

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of her spouse. So, too, has Justinian in Michael’s telling become like the Chalcedonian church as seen from Michael’s view: stubborn, rash, headstrong—and in fact, misguided. Michael’s portrayal in Book 9 of his Chronicle has, I think, refashioned Justinian and Theodora to the likeness of the Chalcedonian and Syriac Orthodox churches, in an identity constructed well after the separation of the churches in the sixth century. For only the clarification of time could have allowed the specific (and ethnic) differentiation of ecclesiastical identity that Michael’s portrait assumes. Shorn of their polemical context, the sixth century sources are available for Michael’s use in this telling, but with a very different tone than they had when written and thus with a changed content. With the short but crucial addition of a new birthright for Theodora to frame the resulting picture, Michael has truly crafted a new portrait. In his rendering, she is not simply revered among the Syriac Orthodox, but has become their own, a saint of them and for them.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Allen, Pauline. “Contemporary Portraits of the Byzantine Empress Theodora (A.D. 527–548).” In Garlick, Barbara, Suzanne Dixon and Pauline Allen, eds. Stereotypes of Women in Power: Historical Perspectives and Revisionist Views, 93–103. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992. Bar Hebraeus, the Chronography, ed. and trans. E.A. Wallis Budge. London: Oxford University Press, 1932. 2 vols. Browning, Robert. Justinian and Theodora, rev. ed. London: Thames and Hudson, 1987. Burrus, Virginia. “The Heretical Woman as Symbol in Alexander, Athanasius, Epiphanius and Jerome.” Harvard Theological Review 84 (1991): 229–48. Bury, J.B. History of the Later Roman Empire from the Death of Theodosius I to the Death of Justinian. London, 1923; repr. New York: Dover Publications, 1958. Cameron, Averil. The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity, AD 395–600. New York: Routledge, 1993. Cameron, Averil. “Early Byzantine Kaiserkritik: Two Case Histories.” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 3 (1977): 1–17. Cameron, Averil. “Virginity as Metaphor: Women and the Rhetoric of Early Christianity.” In Cameron, Averil, ed. History as Text: the Writing of Ancient History, 181–205. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989.

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Cameron, Averil. Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: the Development of Christian Discourse. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Cameron, Averil. Procopius and the Sixth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985. Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 819 pertinens, ed. A. Barsaum, CSCO, 81/36; trans. J.-B. Chabot, CSCO, 109/56. Paris: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1920–37. Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 1234 pertinens, ed. and trans. J.-B. Chabot, CSCO, 81/36, 82/37, and 109/56. Paris: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1916–20; Louvain: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1937; and by A. Abouna and J.-M. Fiey, CSCO, 354/154. Louvain: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1974. Coon, Lynda L. Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997. Daube, D. “The Marriage of Justinian and Theodora. Legal and Theological Issues.” Catholic University Law Review 16 (1968): 380– 399. Diehl, Charles. Théodora: Impératrice de Byzance. Paris: E. de Boccard, 1937. Duchesne, L. “Les Protégès de Théodora.” Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 35 (1915): 57–79. Fiey, J-M. “Les Chroniqueurs syriaques avaient-ils le sens critique?” Parole de l’Orient 12 (1984–5): 253–64. Fischler, Susan. “Social Stereotypes and Historical Analysis: The Case of the Imperial Women at Rome.” In Archer, Léonie J., Susan Fischler and Maria Wyke, eds. Women in Ancient Societies: ‘An Illusion of the Night’, 115–33. New York: Routledge, 1994. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Theodora and Antonina in the Historia Arcana: History and/or Fiction?” In Peradotto, John, and J.P. Sullivan, eds. Women in the Ancient World: the Arethusa Papers, 287–313. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1984. Frend, W.H.C. The Rise of the Monophysite Movement. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, corrected ed. 1979. Harvey, S.A. Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and “The Lives of the Eastern Saints.” Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. Harvey, S.A. “Remembering Pain: Syriac Historiography and the Separation of the Churches.” Byzantion 58 (1988): 295–308. Herrin, Judith. The Formation of Christendom. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987. Honigmann, E. Évêques et évêchés monophysites d’Asie antérieure au VIe siècle. CSCO, 127/Sub. 2. Louvain: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1951. Jacob of Edessa. Chronicon, ed. and trans. E.W. Brooks. CSCO, 5/5 and 6/6. Paris: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1905–7.

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John of Ephesus. Ioannis Ephesini historiae ecclesiasticae pars tertia, ed. and trans. by E.W. Brooks. CSCO, 105/54, 106/55. Paris: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1935–6. John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints, ed. and trans. E.W. Brooks. Patrologia Orientalis, 17–9. Paris, 1923–5. Michael the Syrian. Chronique de Michel le Syrien, ed. and trans. J.-B. Chabot. Paris, 1899–1905; repr. Bruxelles: Culture et Civilisation, 1963. 4 Vols. Pazdernik, Charles. “Our Most Pious Consort Given us by God: Dissident Reactions to the Partnership of Justinian and Theodora, AD 525–549.” Classical Antiquity 13 (1994): 256–81. Procopius, Works, ed. and trans. H.B. Dewing and G. Downey. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, repr. 1961. 7 vols. Pseudo-Dionysius. Pseudo-Dionysius of Tel-Mahre, Chronicle, Part III, trans. Witold Witakowski. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1996. Pseudo-Dionysius. Incerti auctoris chronicon anonymum pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo dictum, ed. and trans. by J.-B. Chabot. CSCO, 91/43, 104/53. Louvain: Secrétariat du CSCO, 1927, 1933. Severus of Antioch. Athanasius of Nisibis, The Sixth Book of the Select Letters of Severus of Antioch, ed. and trans. E.W. Brooks. London: Williams and Norgate, 1903. Spellberg, D.A. Politics, Gender, and the Islamic Past: The Legacy of ‘A’isha Bint Abi Bakr. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994. van Ginkel, Jan J. John of Ephesus: a Monophysite Historian in Sixth-Century Byzantium. Groningen: Rijksuniversiteit, 1995. Van Roey, A. “Les débuts de l’église jacobite.” In Grillmeier, A., and H. Bacht, eds. Das Konzil von Chalkedon: Geschichte und Gegenwart, vol. 2, 339–60. Würzburg: Echter-Verlag, 1951–4, 1973. Vinson, Martha. “The Christianization of Slander: Some Preliminary Observations.” In Takacs, Sarolta, and Claudia Sode, eds. Novum Millenium: Festschrift for Paul Speck. Brookfield, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 1999. Ward, Benedicta. Harlots of the Desert: A Study of Repentance in Early Monastic Sources. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1987. Witakowski, Witold. The Syriac Chronicle of Pseudo-Dionysius of Tell-Mahre. A Study in the History of Historiography. Studia Semitica Upsaliensia, 9. Uppsala, 1987. Zuqnin. The Chronicle of Zuqnin, Parts III and IV, A.D. 488–775, trans. Amir Harrak. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 4.2, 235–257 © 2001 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

HINDIYYA ANNE ȨAJAYMI AND HER SPIRITUAL JOURNEY: THE ESSENTIAL LIGHTNESS OF BEING AVRIL M. MAKHLOUF INSTITUTE OF CHRISTIAN ORIENTAL STUDIES THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA WASHINGTON DC

ABSTRACT This is a preliminary study of aspects of the spiritual development of Hindiyya Anne ȨAjaymi, a Syro-Lebanese religious woman who lived from 1727–98. There is an analysis of the record of her major mystical experiences which, although the exact dates are not yet established, occurred between her adolescence and middle age. The record was written in Arabic and portions are here translated into English. This is followed by a translated excerpt from her Counsels that were composed later for the edification of the religious in her care.

1. INTRODUCTION [1]

Hindiyya Anne ȨAjaymi was an eighteenth century Syro-Lebanese nun and mystic; a substantial body of writings attributed to her survives in Arabic, but these have not received sufficient scholarly attention. In her we see someone who sustained lightness of heart despite tremendous upheavals in mind and body. Hindiyya seems 235

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to move through them all with remarkable peace and sanguinity. She reminds one of the spiritual journeying described by Robert Murray in his article published in a recent volume of Hugoye where he says that in Ephrem “free will and authority are both essential aspects of God’s image in humankind.” 1 We shall see these qualities well illustrated in the life of Hindiyya and it was these characteristics, especially when manifested in a young woman, which were bewildering to the beholders of her time. In 1999 I visited the monastery in which she lived out her final years in obscurity after the congregation of which she was the founder was formally disbanded. There I gained many more insights into the nature of her commitment by seeing the place for myself and by listening to the oral tradition of the sisters who live there. According to them Hindiyya lived the life of an ordinary monastic woman of the time, and spoke little of those who had persecuted her other than to say “May God forgive them.”

2. OUTLINE OF HER LIFE [2]

[3]

The outer framework of her life was in three distinct places, Aleppo, parts of Kisrawćn not too far from the Lebanese coast, and finally high in the mountains above the village of Dlepta. In Aleppo she lived the usual life of a young lady born into comfortable circumstances; in Bkirki she struggled to found a religious congregation and in the process became a public figure; in the monastery of Dair Sayyidat al Haqleh, she lived the austere life of the Syriac monastic. Hindiyya, whose baptismal name was Hanna (Anne), was born in Aleppo, on August 6th, 1727, to a Maronite family of means. 2 In Robert Murray S.J., “The Ephremic Tradition and the Theology of the Environment,” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 2.1 (1999): para. 5 online: MunĪr WahĪba al-Khćzin, al-rćhiba hindiyya ‘aghrab ‘imra’ah fi al-tćrĪkh (Kisrawćn, Lebanon, 1977). 2 Pierre Dib, A History of the Maronite Church, translated by Mgr. Seely Beggiani, S.T.D. (Beirut: Imprimerie catholique, 1970). Yves Moubarac, editor and commentator “Dossier Hindiye” in Pentalogie antiochiènne/ domaine maronite, tome I, Livre d’histoire — écrits fondateurs et textes à l’appui, Vol. 1, Les maronites entre l’Orient syrien et l’Occident latin (Beirut: Youakim Moubarac et Cenacle Libanais, 1984). Avril Mary Makhlouf, “Hindiye Anne Ajeymi in her Ecclesiastical and Political 1

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[4]

Kisrawćn she was the protégée of bishops and of the al-Khćzin family and became the confidant of at least one patriarch. In Dlepta she lived and died in obscurity. Sometime during the central portion of Hindiyya’s life her portrait was painted. Although I did not succeed in seeing this first hand I did see a photographic reproduction. It shows the face of a young religious woman with striking eyes denoting a gentle clearness of vision. 2.1 First stage: Aleppo

[5]

[6]

In cosmopolitan Aleppo there were, in addition to the Maronite and other indigenous Churches, a number of European religious orders, notably the Jesuits, Carmelites and Franciscans, actively engaged in the work of the spiritual care of the Christian youth. The novel confraternities with rules of life for young people which they introduced had long-lasting effects on the life of Aleppo. The existence of these distinctly Latin-rite groups were generally welcomed by the more traditional local clergy. 3 Hindiyya’s religious practices, which began at a tender age, consisted of assiduous attention to the usual oral prayer forms and to the reception of the sacraments of penance and communion. In addition to these she began fasting and various other ascetic disciplines at an early age. Her mother demurred, but her spiritual

Situation” (Actes du 3e congrès international d’études arabes chrétiennes, Louvain-la-Neuve, septembre, 1988) published in Parole de l’Orient 16 (1990–1). Bernard Heyberger, Les chrétiens du Proche-Orient au temps de la Réforme Catholique (Syrie, Liban, Palestine, XVIIe–XVIIIe siècles) (Collection Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 284; Rome: Palais Farnèse, 1994). Paul Abboud, Relazione della nazione maronita colla Santa Sede nel secolo XVIII ossia documenti inediti riguardanti la storia di Mons. Giuseppe de Stefanis, patriarcha dei Maroniti, two volumes (Beyrouth, 1909). 3 Bernard Heyberger, “Un nouveau modèle de conscience individuelle et de comportement social: les confréries d’Alep (XVIIIe– XIXe siècles),” Parole de l’Orient 21 (Actes du Ium Symposium SyroArabicum, Kaslik, 1995) (1996): 271–84.

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director, the Jesuit père Venturi, generally endorsed these activities. 4 Hindiyya from the age of three began to be unusually susceptible to the religious imagery of the time. She especially remembered two pictures in her room, Mary with the Infant Jesus and one of Christ being whipped while tied to a pillar. These images had a profound effect on Hindiyya and indeed they remained important throughout her life. Certainly at three she saw these pictures in slow motion and felt herself part of the action portrayed therein. She reacted to this in word and simple gestures. Throughout her adult life she grew in her conviction that she could share intimately in the life of Christ. Later there were added to these the symbols of the crucified Jesus and of his Sacred Heart. She also learned of certain saints, especially of the doings of St. Clare and of St. Teresa of Avila. Angels were important beings to Hindiyya. When one takes all these cumulative influences into consideration, it is not surprising that she began to see herself as espoused to Christ in a unique way. This will be discussed later in more detail. 2.2 Second stage—Kisrawćn

[9]

[10]

For almost twenty years Hindiyya remained in the bosom of her devout family. She had long quietly understood that she was destined for the monastic life rather than for marriage. What was alarming for those around her was that she announced her conviction that she was called to found a specifically Maronite congregation devoted to the Sacred Heart. 5 This news was not welcome to her Jesuit spiritual director; he was very willing to find her a convent, which on the face of it was the right place for this pious young woman, one situated in Aintoura in Lebanon. This religious house belonged to the Dib, A History of the Maronite Church, op. cit. Makhlouf, “Hindiye Anne Ajeymi in her Ecclesiastical Situation” op.cit.; Pentalogie antiochiènne/domaine Maronite, Yves Moubarac, ed. op. cit. 5 See references in note 4, also Makhlouf, “Hindiyyah ‘Ujaymi and the Monastic Life: the Rule of Life for the Congregation of the Sacred Heart attributed to Hindiyyah ‘Ujaymi” (Acts of the 4th International Congress of Christian Arabic Studies, Cambridge, U.K., September, 1992), Parole de l’Orient 18 (1993): 283–302. 4

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[11]

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Visitandine order (Sisters of the Visitation) which had been established by Francis de Sales and Jeanne de Chantal. In Lebanon the oversight of this convent was the responsibility of the Jesuits. At the time this made sense since both orders were interested in promoting a devotion of long tradition in the Latin Church, namely devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. While Hindiyya was willing to visit this convent she did not waver in her determination to follow what she saw as her calling to found a new congregation. This did not sit well with père Venturi. However, no doubt hoping that her mind would be changed in Lebanon, he arranged for her journey to Aintoura in 1747. She actually stayed there eight months. During this period the order made every effort either by inducements or by threats to secure Hindiyya’s agreement to formally join the Visitation order. She began to suffer from a fever that prevented her from a possible return to Aleppo. After a last attempt to make her change her mind Hindiyya was dismissed and not allowed to enter another convent that she had hoped would prove a refuge. To his great credit père Venturi came to Lebanon and saw to it that she was admitted on a less stringent basis by another religious house in Kisrawćn, at Hrasheh. This convent was of the Melkite rite and here Hindiyya found peace and care. By now her determination had become widely known and finally Hindiyya found a new confessor and spiritual director in Jirmanus Saqr, the Maronite bishop of Tripoli. He became convinced of the validity of her calling, and under his auspices she was helped to found her own congregation in Bkirki around 1750. Hindiyya and her Order were now officially accepted by the Maronite authorities and she was no longer in any sense under the tutelage of the Jesuits. To recapitulate, Hindiyya was now far from her parents, living in a yet under-developed mountainous area. Her status depended upon ecclesiastical favor and while she did not lack for episcopal protection and that of the al-Khćzin family who held the waqf, (a form of religious endowment specific to the Middle East), of her initial foundation, she remained in a vulnerable situation. For a time she received great popular support for reasons described elsewhere but this proved fickle. 6 Hindiyya had to make good on 6

See references in note 4.

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her claim to be inspired to found a new order of nuns. At the same time the locutions and visions, which she had experienced from childhood, increased in intensity for some time. We shall look at her record of these and also at how she was able to integrate her spiritual insights into her new role as foundress and mother superior of a group of monastic women. Patriarch Sam`ćn `Awwad approved her rule in 1753 in compliance with the provisions of the Synod Mt Lebanon of 1736. By 1753 her first convent was established with a majority of the sisters being from Aleppo. Eventually the number of her monasteries increased to four. 2.3 Third stage—Dair Sayyidat al-Haqleh in Dlepta [14]

Hindiyya’s order was eventually disbanded in 1779–80. The causes and reasons for this have been discussed elsewhere. 7 Here it suffices to state that the form of monasticism she introduced was not the reason. The problem consisted of two issues, one, the question of the degree of Hindiyya’s personal responsibility for a scandalous incident involving the ill-treatment and death of one of her novices in the charge of a Sister Catherine who seems to have functioned as a prioress to Hindiyya’s main convent, and two, a mistrust by a number of powerful ecclesiastical leaders both in Lebanon and in Rome of her growing popularity as the unwilling figurehead of popular resistance to the application to the Maronite Church of certain prescriptions of the Council of Trent. Hindiyya spent her last years as a member of the community of a remote double monastery where according to the tradition of the nuns she lived an exemplary life until her death in 1798.

3. HER WRITINGS [15]

Both the aspects of Hindiyya’s character mentioned in the introduction, namely her exercise of “free will and authority,” are seen in writings attributed to her and it is at these that we shall now look briefly. Sadly, many of her writings have disappeared, either Makhlouf, “Hindiye Anne Ajeymi in her Ecclesiastical and Political Situation.” On the subject of harsh treatment deemed suitable to be meted out to enclosed religious of both sexes in Spain as late as the 16th century see Cathleen Medwick Teresa of Avila, the Progress of a Soul Image (New York: Books Doubleday, 1999); consider also Hindiyya’s own sufferings in the convent of Aintoura. 7

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destroyed under ecclesiastical orders by her own hand or by those of others when her fortunes waned. In 1999, I spent some weeks in Lebanon and was fortunately able to secure access to newly discovered important material which dates from her lifetime and which elaborates many aspects of her thoughts on the monastic life. Not all of the extant manuscripts attributed to Hindiyya have been edited. Among those available is the Rule of Life for her nuns. This is of considerable interest but has been studied in depth elsewhere. 8 Other important edited works are the sirr al-ittiʚćd (The Mystery of the Union), 9 and the aqwćl al-rćhiba hindĪya a’jaymi alhalabiya, edited by Butros Fahed. The work similar in style and content to previously mentioned sirr al-ittiaćd. 10 There is also aldurar al-saniyyah fi-naʜć’iʚ al-umm hindiyyah (The shining pearls of Umm Hindiyya’s Counsels), 11 which contains her counsels for her nuns. It is this work which has recently been discovered. It is the first and last of these writings which will be looked at here.

3.1 sirr al-ittiʚćd [18]

The sirr al-ittiʚćd is an account of her central mystical experience and al-durar al-saniyyah fi-naʜć’iʚ al-umm hindiyyah shows Hindiyya in her later and mature years. Attention will accordingly now first be devoted to the central contents of the sirr al-ittiʚćd.

Michel Hayek, “al-rćhiba HindĪyyah, 1720–1794,” al-Mashriq 59 (1965): 570–734. Makhlouf, “Hindiyyah ‘Ujaymi and the Monastic Life: the rule of Life attributed to Hindiyyah ‘Ujaymi.” 9 “Dossier Hindiye” Pentalogie antiochiènne/domaine maronite, op.cit. Avril M. Makhlouf, “HindĪyah Anne Ajaymi and the Sacred Heart—Occasion for a Comparison of Cosmologies,” paper given at Syriac Symposium II, The Catholic University of America (Washington, D.C., [June, 1995]). 10 Butros, Fahed aqwćl al-rćhiba hindiyya al-`ajami al-halabiyyah (Jounieh, Lebanon, 1972). 11 Fr. Toni Khoury, al-durar al-saniyyah fi-naʜć’iʚ al-umm hindiyyah, Master thesis, University of Kaslik; Lebanon, 1999. (This is an unpublished study of the manuscript; the manuscript is in the archives of the Maronite Patriarchate at Bkirki.) 8

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In this work Hindiyya states that from an early age she received visions of a beautiful and majestic person. After some time she noticed that his body had the marks of five wounds. When she questioned him as to who he was she was told, “I am your Lord and your God.” He hinted at a special gift from him that would be different from mystical gifts given to others before her. The visions slowly strengthened in her the sense that this was her Creator, a giver of knowledge and insight, that she would receive the special gift of a detestation of sin, that he was light and that the knowledge and insights would be not only for her own benefit but for all humankind. Now Hindiyya was reluctant to receive this gift; nevertheless she remained very aware of the bodily presence of this visitor especially of his wounds, which she saw as lips offering joy and lightness of heart. However she did realize that he had suffered and had an immense desire for the salvation of human beings. Hindiyya also came to understand that this person was her betrothed spouse and that she must confide in her spiritual director all that was happening, because something different, not in common experience, was also being asked of her. Needless to say her spiritual director was somewhat out of his depth when Hindiyya informed him that she was to receive in her own body a spiritual sensation of this person’s body even though she had been assured that this was not to be an erotic experience. He was of course aware of the special grace of a sense of spousal union with Christ given by God to those who had been through an arduous spiritual journey, but probably nothing in the literature of Christian mysticism would have prepared him for the physicality of this experience. Finally the person in her visions gave her an ultimatum: her salvation depended on her giving an assent to this experience. It would not be forced upon Hindiyya; her own will must merge with that of his; she was not to be afraid; her spiritual director would come to support her. This indeed eventually happened. The spiritual director told Hindiyya to obey the person, that now he believed that the vision was indeed of Jesus the Nazarene, and that he would take responsibility for any error of judgment. Here are translated excerpts of the words that Hindiyya recounted as being said to her:

Hindiyya Anne cajaymi and Her Spiritual Journey 243 “I am Jesus the Nazarene, the crucified one; in my love I have willed, by raising your mind, to have you understand my holy humanity in the union of my divinity. “Look at the wound in my side. May your understanding extend as I will this, into the interior, into the attributes of my sacred heart and into the perfections of its holy image.”

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Hindiyya saw a heart with all its vessels but she also saw “Something great, high, incomprehensible. The substance of the love of this divinized human heart stayed totally within the divine love.... at the very center there is yet an enormous, unlimited extension, incomprehensible beyond all place, above all height... a great movement, which sent forth from his wounds incomprehensible rays of glory.”

There she saw: She particularly notices one part of his body, “under the form of a little finger.” “Immeasurable extension which human understanding is incapable of comprehending. I saw numerous images, varied as to forms and essences, attributes, natures. I saw the watery abyss, the extent of the firmament, the starry space and more… It was impossible to comprehend this immense movement where all the creatures were visible.”

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Hindiyya now agreed to submit to the sensation of the divine body. She was told to bring this about in the following manner: “My daughter Hindiyya, by my infinite generosity and good nature, I will that you kiss my most holy body.” When Hindiyya did so she experienced a love that she began to be able to put into words while at the same time her whole being accepted the sensation of the divine body. This happened in such a manner that she felt a total penetration which can perhaps best be described as interpenetration, seeing and feeling both herself and Christ in another mode or manner than before. This intense experience culminated for Hindiyya when she was told that the one she is espoused to is the eternal Wisdom, who triumphs by his will; he asked her to call him her crown and diadem.

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3.2 The Body of Christ—a Christocentric Cosmology [28]

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It is now appropriate to examine those elements in these mystical experiences that seem to indicate not primarily a state of spousal union in the individual sense but rather a sense of identification with the Mystical Body of Christ seen as the destiny of all creation, of the cosmos. In what follows comments and comparisons with selected ideas and images from the works of Ephrem and Maximus and Teilhard de Chardin will be interspersed. The hope is not that the selections exhaust the wealth of material but rather that the imaginations of others will be sparked and moved to bring more of these into relief. But before moving into this discussion let me share a recollection of a story written by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin describing an experience of a young seminarian during World War I. 12 During a lull in the bombardment he found himself in a bombed-out village church. Exhausted, but desiring to pray, he looked for something on which to focus his attention. The only religious object left was a colored rendition of one of the early 20th century attempts to portray Christ with his bleeding heart exposed. As the young man began to gaze at this picture he found himself experiencing as in a waking dream the cosmic Christ. It seemed that the nervous and blood distribution systems of Christ’s body began to extend from the heart into the biological systems of this earth and beyond. The heart’s pulse caused all things to flow in and out of Christ. Although the narrative is fiction, it seems that Teilhard de Chardin’s friends were convinced that the story was autobiographical. The content is certainly consonant with what he conceived as his life’s work in theology and the physical sciences. 13 The resemblance of this event to similar experiences of Hindiyya prompted a closer look at the cosmological implications The reference is to a short story written by Teilhard de Chardin which appeared in an English anthology of writings by various authors which I read in Scotland some years ago. Efforts to locate this work in the United States have proved so far fruitless. The account has nevertheless been left in this article because it has a ring of truth in that it is in harmony with de Chardin’s writings. 13 Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, new edition and translation of his Le Phénomène Humain by Sarah Appleton-Weber (Sussex Academic Press, 1999). 12

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of an important series of her visions and auditions. At the same time it seemed appropriate to look at elements in her religious heritage that consciously or unconsciously might have predisposed her to harbor such visions and auditions. Two obvious persons came to mind, St. Ephrem and St. Maximus the Confessor. Another is St. John of the Cross. The aim here is not to suggest that Hindiyya had any first or even second-hand knowledge of the work of these persons; it is to point out some coincidences; cosmological ideas or themes developed poetically by Ephrem in the fourth century, theologically by Maximus in the seventh century and philosophically by Teilhard de Chardin in the modern era occur in the mind of an intelligent woman of the 18th century who would not have received a formal education in theology or philosophy. 14 It seems simplest to approach the Christocentric cosmological issue by looking at key symbols in the sirr al-ittiʚćd; heart, lips, kiss, crown, finger and a set of symbols implied rather than stated in the text and which are best known as “clothing metaphors.” These latter act as a bridge to certain theological concepts, namely union or incarnation, abasement, will, interpenetration, understanding or gnosis through faith and love, co-incidence of chronos and kairos, grace received through and in human interaction; by the naming of Christ as Wisdom: above all by seeing Hindiyya and perhaps her whole life as symbol. I find myself looking at her in the sense expressed by Professor Brock in his work on the theology and symbolism of St. Ephrem entitled The Luminous Eye. 15 I quote: “Types and symbols, then, are the means by which the interIt should be noted that images of the Sacred Heart of Christ and of other sacred persons in a Western style were part of the religious furnishings of Hindiyah’s childhood home. Also, it is not impossible that the works of Ephrem, Maximus and of Western Roman Catholic scholars were present in the ecclesiastical libraries of Aleppo. Original and translated religious works were already available in printed Arabic versions in Hindiyah’s childhood. Thus it is not impossible that in some direct or more likely, indirect, manner, that she may have become aware of the content of some of these works. 15 Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye—the world vision of St. Ephrem (Placid Rome Lectures, 1984, in C.I.I.S. 1985) 40; also his “Clothing Metaphors as a Means of Theological Expression in Syriac Tradition,” Studies in Syriac Christianity (Variorum XL; 1992). 14

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connectedness of everything can be seen, the means by which meaning can be infused in everything. It is a dynamic and exciting way of looking at the world—and one that is profoundly ecological.” To look at a human being as a symbol is not to depreciate that person’s value, it is simply a means of expressing as best we can how that person brings light into this world of shadows. To begin with that image of Christ’s finger in which Hindiyya saw the whole universe, one can say that the finger, when used as a symbol of God, has at the same time both a revelatory and a creative impact. One also remembers Jesus tracing words on the ground in the story of the woman taken in adultery; 16 if this is not enough one may recall the finger of God beautifully portrayed in Michelangelo’s painting of Adam’s creation. To continue with the image of heart, one can say that it is of great importance in Syriac religious symbolism, though with a different, more Scriptural, emphasis than that of the Western Christian tradition to which Hindiyya most certainly was exposed in the form of the 17th century Latin imagery and theology of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 17 For our purposes which are the cosmological aspects it seems that in Hindiyya’s text we have Christ’s heart not only as the focus of the God who above all other terms is best described by the verb “to love,” it is also seen as the living center of the universe. The description given earlier of Christ’s wounds as “lips showing forth joy and light-heartedness” seems to make a vivid connection between the heart and its life-giving blood and the intimacy, respect and, I venture to suggest, equality implied by the kiss. My authority for the last remark is that doctor of the Church, St. John of the Cross, who while commenting on The Canticle of Canticles 8:1 wrote that the bride wanted to say: “who will give You to me, my brother, that I might find You alone, outside nursing at the breasts of my mother so that (with the mouth of my

John 8:6. J. Bainvel “Dévotion au Coeur Sacré de Jésus,” Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique 3.1 (1938): cols. 271–351. 16 17

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soul) I might kiss you and no one might despise me (nor attack me)?” 18 According to St. John, this kiss is the union of which we speak, in which the soul is made equal to God through love. In commenting on Canticle of Canticles 8:2 he says: “...the bride says that the intellect drinks wisdom, when in desiring to attain this kiss of union and seeking it from the bridegroom she said: There you will teach me (wisdom and knowledge and love), and I shall give You a drink of spiced wine (my love spiced with Yours, transformed in Yours).” 19

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The issue of Christ as the Wisdom of God can be only addressed briefly here. It seems that in relation to Hindiyah’s experience there are two important points to be emphasized; one, the kiss demanded of her by the person with those implications discussed above, and two, his referring to himself as Wisdom. It is in this area of symbolism that spirituality and cosmology begin if not to converge, at least to touch. I refer here to the work of Sr. Constance FitzGerald on St. John’s three “cosmological” milieus of prayer, namely the self, the natural world and finally other human beings. 20 The implied message I draw from these varied sources is that without a profound intellectual apprehension and volitional acceptance of the sheer physicality of Christ and some would say of God we miss a dimension of prayer which leaves it shall we say, anaemic, maybe anorexic. To conclude this brief study of the individual symbols as experienced by Hindiyya let us look at that of crown that is associated with Christ’s naming himself Eternal Wisdom. Hindiyya is invited to call Christ her crown, in the context of Syriac spirituality and ecclesiology a symbol of marriage, of a new equality.

The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross translated by Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodriguez, O.C.D., ICS Publications (Washington, DC, 1979) see “The Dark Night,” p. 386. 19 Ibid. “The Spiritual Canticle,” 512. 20 Constance Fitzgerald, O.C.D., a series of lectures entitled “The ‘Spiritual Canticle’ of John of the Cross’ as the story of desire: its development, education, purification, and transformation” (Alba House Cassettes, 1985). 18

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Now we come to the set of symbols best referred to as the “clothing metaphors.” These are implied by the account of the interpenetration by Christ of Hindiyya’s body and soul. It might be objected that clothing is something that has to be seen as external to the person were it not for two factors, one, that clothing, especially of the kind that speaks of an office or state undoubtedly interpenetrates the entire personality; and two, that in the explicit Syriac Christian context the “robe of glory” given us by grace and conferring on us the status of a new creation is frequently associated with baptism. Christ is said to have left this robe in the waters of baptism and it is there that we receive it and are presumably transformed by it into Christ. There is also the connection of the “robe of glory” with Christ’s Transfiguration. 21 It is no wonder that Hindiyya though intelligent and strong was overwhelmed by these experiences. We are now in the presence of profound theological statements being made in a very human mind and body. It is interesting that the Maximus scholar Lars Thunberg saw a connection in anthropological thought between Teilhard de Chardin and Maximus which parallels the similarity between Hindiyya’s visionary experiences and those of Teilhard de

Lars Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos: the Vision of St. Maximus the Confessor (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1985); on pp. 76–77 he quotes from St. Maximus’ Ambigua: “…Ambigua 10, where Maximus teaches that the shining vestments of the transfigured Christ symbolize the fact that when God, the Sun of Righteousness, reveals Himself to the human soul, then all the logoi of things intelligible and sensible in Scripture and nature appear as if they were with Him.” See also Hans Urs von Balthasar, Liturgie Cosmique — Maxime le Confesseur, Aubier, éditions Montaigne (Paris, 1947). Irénée-Henri Dalmais, O.P., “L’heritage évagrien dans la synthèse de saint Maxime le Confesseur,” Studia Patristica 8 (1966): 56–362. Dalmais, “La manifestation du Logos dans l’homme et dans l’Eglise. Typologie anthropologique et typologie écclesial d’après Qu. Thal. 60 et la Mystagogie,” in Actes du Symposium sur Maxime le Confesseur (Fribourg, 1980) 13–35. Also pertinent is Aidan Nichols, O.P., Byzantine Gospel—Maximus in Modern Scholarship (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark Ltd., 1993). 21

Hindiyya Anne cajaymi and Her Spiritual Journey 249 Chardin. 22 Perhaps the phenomenon of Hindiyya should be looked at in the context of the organic Church as someone whose life sheds light both upon her great predecessors in faith and upon those who came later. 3.3 al-durar al-saniyyah fi-naʜć’iʚ al-umm hindiyyah (The shining pearls of Umm Hindiyya’s Counsels) [42]

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This work, which is a manuscript in very good condition, contains counsels for her nuns composed and personally delivered between 1767 and 1775. (These dates are approximate as not all of the 100 counsels are dated with the day of presentation.) It consists of over 400 pages and its existence and authorship are attested as belonging to the library of the fore-mentioned Bishop Jirmanus Saqr. It was recently discovered in the Maronite Patriarchal archives and has been the subject of a master’s thesis. 23 It consists of 100 counsels most of which have dates attached to them and which cover the major themes of religious life. The work has not been fully studied; so far I have listed the main topics and checked the frequent Scriptural references. For the purpose of introducing the Counsels to a wider audience, it seems more interesting to give a taste in translation of that counsel which shows her ability to draw moral and spiritual conclusions and which also sheds light on Hindiyya’s own spiritual development when she had apparently made the transition from being the recipient of profound visions to the busy life of a mother superior of several convents.

Lars Thunberg, ibid., 137 where he writes: “The speculations of a Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin on the evolution of the world toward the Omega point also seem to have a certain affinity to those of Maximus. This is the case not least in regard to their common positive evaluation of movement as a creative force, although Teilhard, of course, sees things in a more definitely historical and evolutionary perspective.” 23 See note 11. 22

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The 61st Counsel The human heart’s love of God: its effects and benefits

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May God’s love of humanity be glorified; He who showed infinite condescension, and called on humans to be His children saying “My son, give Me your heart.” This is the call by which He honored humans with infinite honor beyond our understanding. Compare man with God if you wish to understand the great honor that God has bestowed by calling him His son and giving him His Heart. And if a man does not give back his heart to God, he is not in reality His son even though he were a believer. In truth, if man does not offer his heart to God by repenting truly and altering his conduct, and by recoiling from any occasion that would prevent him from giving his heart to God, he is not truly a son. For our Creator and God showed love beyond our understanding when in His compassion He asked that man devote his heart to Him—may He be glorified. When our God said in the words of the wise: “My son, give Me your heart,” He showed infinite condescension that man should offer his heart freely and willingly to his Creator. O the ignorance of man who, in his corrupt delusion, gives his heart to the fallacies of the world. He allows his self love to take hold of his feelings, and limits his inclinations to that which can be seen and felt. This failure obstructs man’s heart and prevents man from being saved. He does not spare even a few hours for the worship and love of God. O you lost man, learn from Him who is seeking your heart, and wants it to be dedicated to Him, He who created you and formed your heart, endowing it with various feelings and inclining it to that which is spiritual. In the union of soul and body, He endowed your heart with great attributes and unique traits; even without the body, for the heart is the core of love and hate, joy and sorrow, meekness and courage, compassion and anger, and so forth. These attributes leave their mark on the earthly body. So that if you prevented your heart from the love of Almighty and Glorious God, and allowed it to cling to iniquity, you and your heart and your soul are culpable. For He -may His Name be glorified—made your heart to feel that which is spiritual and godly, independently of the rest of your body. He willed that your whole heart should be His. He did not make your heart inclined to love, O man, that it may love that which is worthless, unholy, or iniquitous, or to be filled with vain self-love, but to love that which is holy. He endowed your heart with loathing, not of virtue, but of

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sin and all that which contradicts His Majesty and Glory, and diverts you from the road to salvation. He did not make your heart feel sorrow because of the conflicts that occur in your person (bi