The Archangel Michael in Africa: History, Cult, and Persona 9781350084711, 9781350084742, 9781350084728

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Also Available From Bloomsbury Christianity and the Limits of Materiality, edited by Minna Opas and Anna Haapalainen Christianity in Africa and the African Diaspora, edited by Afe Adogame Hagiography and Religious Truth, edited by Rico G. Monge, Kerry P. C. San Chirico, and Rachel J. Smith

The Archangel Michael in Africa History, Cult, and Persona Edited by Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, Alexandros Tsakos, and Marta Camilla Wright

BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2019 Paperback edition published 2021 Copyright © Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, Alexandros Tsakos, Marta Camilla Wright, and Contributors, 2019 Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, Alexandros Tsakos, and Marta Camilla Wright have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the Editors of this work. Cover design: Maria Rajka Cover image: A depiction of the Archangel Michael (2007). Artist: Robel Berhane. Reproduced with courtesy of Mr. Endalkachew Tesfa. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-­party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The editors and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Gilhus, Ingvild Sælid, editor, author. | Tsakos, Alexandros, editor, author. | Wright, Marta Camilla, editor, author. Title: The Archangel Michael in Africa : history, cult, and persona / edited by Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, Alexandros Tsakos and Marta Camilla Wright. Description: New York : Bloomsbury Academic, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019009565| ISBN 9781350084711 (hardback) | ISBN 9781350084735 (epub) | ISBN 9781350084728 (epdf) Subjects: LCSH: Michael (Archangel–Cult–Africa. | Africa–*Religious life and customs. Classification: LCC BT968.M5 A68 2019 | DDC 235.3–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019009565

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Contents List of Figures List of Maps Acknowledgments Notes on Contributors

vii ix x xii

Part One  On Angels and Michael in Africa 1 2 3

The African Context  Alexandros Tsakos On the Category of Angels  Ingvild Sælid Gilhus Michael: Persona and Cult among African Christians  Marta Camilla Wright

3 11 23

Part Two  The Archangel Michael in Coptic Egypt 4 5

6

Introduction: Christian Egypt  Ingvild Sælid Gilhus The Archangel Michael as Psychopomp in Christian Iconography in Egypt  Karel Innemée On the Liturgical Memories of the Archangel Michael in the Coptic Church and Their Link with the Nile’s Rise: Some Reflections  Pietro D’Agostino Textual Fluidity and Monastic Fanfiction: The Case of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael in Coptic Egypt  Hugo Lundhaug

31 35

51 59

Part Three  The Archangel Michael in Christian Nubia 7 8

Introduction: Christian Nubia  Alexandros Tsakos Representations of the Archangel Michael in Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia  Dobrochna Zielińska and Alexandros Tsakos The Position of the Archangel Michael within the Celestial Hierarchy: Some Aspects of the Manifestation of His Cult in Nubian Painting  Magdalena Łaptaś

77 79

95

vi

Contents

Part Four  The Archangel Michael in Christian Ethiopia Introduction: Christian Ethiopia  Marta Camilla Wright Relationships with the Archangel Michael: Materiality and Healing among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians in Contemporary Addis Ababa  Marta Camilla Wright 10 The Archangel Michael: An Everyday Popular Saint in Ethiopia  Dan Levene 9

111

115 127

Part Five  The Archangel Michael in South Africa Introduction: South Africa  Lize Kriel 11 “Branded” St. Michael: A View from Pretoria on the Archangel’s Position in South African Consumer Culture  Lize Kriel 12 The Presence and Absence of the Archangel Michael in South Africa  Deléne Human 13 The Archangel Michael in Limpopo: The Sculptor Jackson Hlungwani and the Angel-Star of the Ngoma Lungundu Epic  Raita Steyn Appendix: Some Thoughts on How I Came to Michael, or How He Came to Me  David Tibet Notes Bibliography Index

143 147 163 179

189 195 215 239

Figures 4.1

Drawing by author of limestone relief with dying person and angel, from Landesmuseum, Mainz 4.2 Dormition of the Virgin Mary, Christ, and the Virgin enthroned 4.3 Ivory plaque with the Dormition of the Virgin, Musée de Cluny, Paris 4.4 Icon of St. Michael, Church of Al-Damshiriyya, Cairo 7.1 Nubian King under the protection of the Archangel Michael, Sonqi Tino 7.2 Lower part of the story of Balaam, North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola 7.3 Nubians in a golden boat under the protection of the Archangel Michael, Nag’ el-Scheima 7.4 Angel in a tondo, Sonqi Tino 8.1 The Archangel Michael, Faras Cathedral, Mortuary Chapel of Bishops 8.2 The Investiture of the Archangel Michael, Room 13 of the North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H 8.3 Christ enthroned, Faras Cathedral, south aisle, east wall 8.4 The Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace with the Archangel Michael, Faras Cathedral, narthex 10.1 A small, extremely abridged printed version of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel, made to fit in a little pouch and worn as an amulet 10.2 A pocket-­sized abridged printed version of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel 10.3 A set of posters of popular images of saints set as a collection of icons in a corner of a rural coffee shop on the outskirts of Addis Ababa 11.1 St. Michael elephant soaps, made in Switzerland for Marks & Spencer and sold in Woolworths in South Africa around 1980 11.2 The billboard of the St Michael Gold and Diamond Exchange in Bloed Street, Pretoria 11.3 Photographic reproduction of the artwork St. Michael Fighting Demons, by the Master of the Bruges Legend of St. Ursula, c. 1480 12.1 (collage) Left: St. Michael stained-­glass window (mid-1921), Michaelhouse Chapel, Kwa-Zulu Natal. Middle-left: St. Michael stained-­glass window (c. 1919), south wall at St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, Pretoria. Middle-right: St. Michael stained-­glass window (c. 1967), east wall, St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, Pretoria. Right: St. Michael stained-­glass window (early 1990s), St. Michael’s Anglican Church, Bryanston, Johannesburg

36 38 40 49 82 85 86 91 97 98 101 104 128 129

131 148 157 159

165

viii

Figures

12.2 (collage) Left: Voortrekker Mother and Children (1938), Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Middle: Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Right: Stained-­glass window (mid-1920s), Dutch Reformed Church, Carolina 12.3 (collage) Left: Simboliese Samevatting, tapestry 81.3 × c. 200 cm. (1952). Symbolic summary of the Voortrekker Great Trek Journey, Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Right: The Church of the Vow (Covenant), Pietermaritzburg 12.4 (collage) Left: Buffalo head above the entrance of the Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Right: The Assegaai gate, Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria 13.1 The Golden Rhino from Mapungubwe 13.2 Jackson Hlungwani 13.3 (collage)  Inside the New Jerusalem 13.4 (collage)  Michael Star, front and top view of a five-­pointed star

172

174

176 180 181 183 185

Maps 1 2 3 4 5

Africa Egypt Nubia Ethiopia South Africa

2 30 76 110 142

Acknowledgments This book is the fruit of a collective effort aspiring to create the basis for a network of Michaelic studies. The starting point for the collaboration was the common interest of the editors in different aspects of the cult and persona of Michael as manifested in the three different regions of Africa in which each of us specialize: Ingvild Sælid Gilhus in Coptic Egypt; Alexandros Tsakos in medieval Nubia; and Marta Camilla Wright in Christian Ethiopia. Regular meetings and discussions between first Tsakos and Wright and then with Gilhus led to the realization of the potential of the studies on the Archangel Michael as a starting point for analytically approaching and comparatively understanding religion in Africa. These first exchanges on the local level matured into the idea of setting in motion various networks to which each of us belonged. Gradually, a group of fifteen1 individuals began exchanging ideas through the internet, and soon our research landed in four regions of Africa and focused on recurring themes regarding the history of the Archangel Michael: his images and their cult; texts about Michael and their readers; sites and objects as material manifestations of his presence; and appearances in dreams and in art which inspire creations and create memories and identities. Eventually, we needed a meeting in real time and space to discuss in depth the work that each of us—individually or in smaller local groups— had been doing. The opportunity was given in early summer 2017, when Tsakos won a grant from the Strategic Program for International Collaborations (SPIRE: https:// www.uib.no/fa/75098/spire-­såkornsmidler), which allowed us to meet in Bergen in March 2018, where we peer-­reviewed each other’s circulated papers. For his editing and active involvement in every aspect of preparing this publication, Dimitri Kakos cannot be thanked enough. It is rare to find in one person a combination of linguistic knowledge and aptitude with source critique, argumentation, and rhetoric persuasiveness on such a wide variety of academic labors. Many of the contributors assumed several roles during the process of preparing this book, but special thanks should go to Raita Steyn for preparing the maps that accompany this volume, as well as the QR-code that will take our readers to the musical manifestation of the Archangel Michael beyond the borders of this book and the wisdom within. For the latter, we are thankful to the Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale for allowing us to use the images of the manuscript IFAO Copte inv. no. 145–8, which sets the background for David Tibet’s composition, as well as his band Nodding God for sharing their work with our readers. We would also like to thank all the institutions and individuals that allowed us to use images from their collections to illuminate some of the many points raised in our book; points that are easily accessible to our readers through the Index, which was so efficiently prepared by Nicola King. To this end, Ingvild Sælid Gilhus allocated part of her grant from the Norwegian Research Council, for which we are thankful.

Acknowledgments

xi

Thanks are also due to Endalkachew Tesfa, who commissioned the cover art for this book, titled A depiction of the Archangel Michael (2007), created by the artist Robel Berhane. The choice to depict the Archangel as an Ethiopian was his. Initially, at an early stage of the painting, he had Satan depicted as being white. This would have been a reverse of the conventional portrayal of Michael as being white and Satan black. Having seen it with a white Satan, Mr. Tesfa decided that he would not echo the racial connotations that the original evokes, and he had Satan painted over so that he be the same color as the Archangel. Finally, special mention is due to the professional base of all three editors, the Institute of Archaeology, History, Cultural Studies and Religion at the University of Bergen. Bergen, December 2018 The Editors

Contributors Pietro D’Agostino is a PhD candidate in Byzantine Studies at Paris-Sorbonne University. His scientific interests are manuscripts, Greek paleography and codicology, Byzantine theology, Christian apocrypha, dogmatic controversies, and Christian Arabic studies. He is currently preparing the critical edition of Theodore Abū Qurra’s anti-­heretical and controversial Greek works. His publications include “Giovanni Malala e il re Andas (Chron.18,15): Proposta per un’identificazione” in Νέα Ῥώμη (2013); “Una recensione inedita della Narratio Zosimi de vita Beatorum (BHG 1889– 1890)” in Medioevo Greco (2015); “Narratio Zosimi de vita beatorum (BHG 1889–1890 = CAVT 166) Revisited: Its Literary Genre and Sources” in Byzantinoslavica (2016); and “La légende du miracle de l’image de Tibériade (BHO 450) et la fondation monastique de Mār Hanīnā: un regard croisé sur les sources” in Orientalia Christiana Periodica (2016). Ingvild Sælid Gilhus is Professor of the Study of Religion at the University of Bergen. Her research interests focus on religion in late antiquity and new religious movements. Her books include Laughing Gods, Weeping Virgins (1997) and Animals, Gods and Humans: Changing Attitudes to Animals in Greek, Roman and Early Christian Ideas (2006), and she is the co-­editor of New Age Spirituality: Rethinking Religion (2013) and New Age in Norway (2017). Deléne Human is a Visual Art Education lecturer at the University of Pretoria in the Department of Humanities Education. She is currently completing her PhD at the University of Johannesburg. Her research interests focus on censorship and proscription of the visual arts in South Africa and visual meaning-­making processes. Her chapter in the present volume is her first published work. Her next publication will appear as a chapter titled “Visual Culture Literacies: Seeing is Be.[lie].ving; Creating Visual Arguments Through Multimodal and Multiliteracies Pedagogy” in the book Multiliteracies in Education (2019). Karel Innemée is an art historian, archaeologist and research fellow at the University of Amsterdam and at the University of Divinity in Melbourne. His main research interest is Christian culture in the Nile Valley. He has published on Christian iconography, costume history, and monastic archaeology in Egypt. He is director of the Deir al-Surian research and conservation project, on which he has published various reports and articles in recent years. Recent publications include the article “Dayr alSuryan: New Discoveries” in the online Claremont Coptic Encyclopedia (2016) and a chapter on liturgical dress titled “Ecclesiastical Embroidery from Egypt and the Eastern Mediterranean” in Encyclopedia of Embroidery from the Arab World (2016).

Contributors

xiii

Lize Kriel is Professor of Visual Culture Studies in the Department of Visual Arts at the University of Pretoria, South Africa. At present, she co-­ordinates a multidisciplinary research project on the Berlin Mission Archive as a repository of African Knowledge, sponsored by the South African National Institute of the Humanities and the Social Sciences. She has published on missionary sources, historical memory, book history, and print culture, with a focus on the northern provinces of South Africa. She co-­ authored Ethnography from the Mission Field: The Hoffmann Collection of Cultural Knowledge (2015). Magdalena Łaptaś is an art historian and archaeologist working at the Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński University in Warsaw. She previously worked in the Faras Gallery of the National Museum in Warsaw. Since 2001, she has participated in the excavations at Banganarti, Sudan, and was also a member of the restoration missions in Kaftun and Ma’ad, Lebanon. Her main field of research is Mediterranean medieval art, with a special focus on the iconography of Nubian paintings acquired during Polish excavations in Sudan. She has published several articles and co-­authored Pachoras (Faras): The Wall Paintings from Cathedrals of Aetios, Paulos and Petros (2017). She is currently preparing her habilitation dissertation, “The Apostolic College without St. Paul in Nubian Art,” and directing a project by the Polish Science Centre in Egypt entitled “The Apostolic College in the Monumental Painting of Mediaeval Egypt.” Dan Levene is Professor of Semitics and the History of Religion in the Department of History at the University of Southampton, UK. He is best known for his work on late antique Aramaic magical texts. More recently, he has been working on popular beliefs in Ethiopia. He has produced numerous textual editions such as the volume titled Jewish Aramaic Curse Texts from Late-Antique Mesopotamia: “May These Curses Go Out and Flee” (2013). He has recently started publishing articles relating to Ethiopia and co-­authored “Medical Traditions and Chronic Disease in Ethiopia: A Story of Wax and Gold?” in Tropical Doctor (2016). Hugo Lundhaug is Professor of Biblical Reception and Early Christian Literature at the University of Oslo, Faculty of Theology, and scientific director of the interdisciplinary research school, Authoritative Texts and Their Reception (ATTR). He has published numerous books and articles on Coptic manuscripts and literature, monasticism, apocrypha, new philology, and cognitive theory, including the monographs Images of Rebirth: Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the Gospel of Philip and the Exegesis on the Soul (2010) and, with Lance Jenott, The Monastic Origins of the Nag Hammadi Codices (2015). Raita Steyn is Lecturer in Art Education at the University of Pretoria, South Africa in the Department of Humanities Education. Her research interests focus on AfroByzantine religious art in Nubia and Ethiopia as well as on African traditions, with special attention to influences on and comparisons with Southern Africa (especially Limpopo, Venda). She is the author of Archangel Michael as Icon: The Byzantine

xiv

Contributors

Approach Compared to the Modern One (2010) and has also published several articles, her most recent being “Authoritative and Protective Insignia, Regalia and Symbols in Nubian Afro-Byzantine Rulers’ Iconography” in the Journal of Early Christian History (2018). David Tibet is the founder of the paramusic group Current 93, as well as a painter, writer, and independent researcher. Among his main interests are translating Akkadian and Coptic magical and ritual texts. He has published “A Magical Request for Revelation (P. Stras. Inv. Kopt. 550)” in Coptica Argentoratensia (2014), which is his edition of the relevant Coptic magical text. His edition of the Coptic apocryphal text The Investiture of Michael is forthcoming in the Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. He has recently edited an anthology of supernatural and hallucinatory fiction titled The Moons At Your Door (2016), as well as Of Kings And Things: Strange Tales and Decadent Poems by Count Stanislaus Eric Stenbock (2018). Alexandros Tsakos is Scientific Director of the Manuscripts and Rare Books Collection of the Special Collections at the University Library of Bergen, Norway. His research interests are manuscript cultures, paleography, codicology, and religious practices, with a special focus on medieval Nubia. He co-­authored The Old Nubian Texts from Attiri (2016), as well as producing several articles and book chapters. He has also co-­edited a number of multi-­contributor books—most recently From the Fjords to the Nile: Essays in Honour of Richard Holton Pierce on his 80th Birthday (2018). Marta Camilla Wright is a PhD candidate in the Study of Religion at the University of Bergen. She works in the areas of anthropology of religion and lived religion. Her current work is focused on contemporary Ethiopia, covering topics such as spirit possession, healing, and the materiality of religion. Her publications include “The Marian Cult in Contemporary Ethiopia” in Studies in Church History (2004), “At the Limits of Sexuality: The Femininity of Ethiopian Nuns” in the Journal of Ethiopian Studies (2003), and, most recently, “Yäsäw ᵓəgˇ: Aggressive Magic in Addis Ababa; Micro-­ conflicts in a Changing Society” in the Journal for the Study of Religion in Africa and its Diaspora (2017). Dobrochna Zielińska is an archaeologist, Nubiologist and Assistant Professor in the Department of Archaeology of Egypt and Nubia, Institute of Archaeology, at the University of Warsaw. Her research interests include both immaterial and material aspects of late antique and medieval (especially Nubian) art. She has authored and co-­authored several articles on Nubian wall paintings, focusing on the iconographical program of Nubian churches, such as “The Iconographical Program in Nubian Churches: Progress Report Based on a New Reconstruction Project” in Between the Cataracts: Proceedings of the 11th Conference for Nubian Studies, Warsaw University, 27 August–2 September 2006 (2010); its links with liturgy, such as “The Northern Pastophorium of Nubian Churches: Ideology and Function (on the Basis of Inscriptions and Paintings)” in Aegyptus et Nubia Christiana: The Włodzimierz Godlewski Jubilee Volume on the Occasion of his 70th Birthday (2016); and royal power,

Contributors

xv

such as “The Iconography of Power—The Power of Iconography: The Nubian Royal Ideology and Its Expression in Wall-Painting” in The Fourth Cataract and Beyond: Proceedings of the 12th International Conference for Nubian Studies (2014). She has recently also co-edited Corpus of Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia on the technology of Nubian murals.

Part One

On Angels and Michael in Africa

Map 1  Africa. Created by Raita Steyn.

1

The African Context Alexandros Tsakos

Approaching Africa In geophysical terms, Africa is the landmass between the Atlantic and the Indian Ocean and north of the Antarctic. Africa lies west of Asia, which it touches at the Sinai Peninsula and at the Straits of Aden; and to the south of Europe, which it almost touches at the Gibraltar Straits. It took Western Europe a long time until it began to record its memory of the very early human uses of the Straits of Gibraltar. It was the Greeks who gave us the first name for this spot on the planet: the Gates of Hercules records the mythical passing by the archetypal Greek hero figure through and out of the gates to the ocean (Strabo 3.5.5). More normative narratives give us the names of humans who indeed sailed out of the Mediterranean and along the coasts of Western Africa (e.g., Hanno the Carthaginian, reaching perhaps as far as Gabon in the sixth or fifth century bce; see Desanges 1981) and Western Europe (e.g., Pytheas of Massalia sailing to “Thule” in about 325 bce; see Cunliffe 2002). They reached places where their ingenious labors and searching spirits found lands and people with whom they began exchanges. Although those men were less heroized by their descendants than Hercules, there is ample literature on their feats by both contemporary and modern authors. Among the former, the vast majority of sources come from the Eastern Mediterranean. The multitude of sources coming from the “East” is due to the fact that it used systems of signs which produced meaningful and comprehensible representations of the experience. These systems are what we call “writing.” It appears that the stories about the contacts between Africa and Europe on the northwestern point of their geophysical proximity can mainly be reconstructed based on other stories written down further east. It is from the same source that stories about the communication between what we call today the Middle East and the African continent derive. They were recorded in both scriptural and pictorial form in the earliest witnesses of human memory found at archaeological sites in Mesopotamia, Egypt, and the Syro-Palestinian coast. It should be no surprise that these witnesses record the communication between Eurasia and Africa with a focus on the other bridge between the two continents, namely Sinai. Beyond constituting the source of our knowledge for the contacts between Africa and Eurasia, these earliest written sources constitute at the same time a window into the

4

The Archangel Michael in Africa

manner in which the human mind has created images of the “self” and of the “other.” On the level of the earthly existence, the “other” was the feared neighbor or the enemy; but there was an “other” beyond this existence. Writing in the Middle East and in the Nile Valley was equally concerned with politics and with religion. Though this is not the place to analyze the co-­existence or exclusiveness of the semantic fields of each of these two terms, it is important for our purpose to stress that what has been recorded through writing in the East did not just shape contemporaries’ understanding of the “self” and of the “other”; its long-­lasting effect has shaped the mentalities of all those who communicate through it up to today, thanks to its permanent character (as opposed to that of oral communication), as well as to its role in building communities and shaping identities. Significantly, this is what we do in this book: We attempt to approach a religious phenomenon in the African continent through the mental tools which have been shaped by several millennia of generating and transmitting knowledge through writing.

Four regions in Africa Against this background, we propose to begin our investigation of the cult and persona of the Archangel Michael through studying first and foremost those regions which were privileged by their sheer geographical position, namely Egypt (Part Two), Nubia (Part Three), and Ethiopia (Part Four), where ancient and medieval high civilizations flourished. The choice of the fourth geographic component is relevant to this picture of approaching phenomena in Africa from the outside. South Africa is a country where foreigners coming from Europe have superimposed their authority on the history of the indigenous population and created a superstructure which was until relatively recently characterized by apartheid. This superstructure has recognizable elements of the “Western” approach to cultural phenomena, whether they are related to political systems or religious behaviors. Our focus is on the latter, even though Catholic and Protestant traditions have inevitably been linked to both the political authority of the “whites” and the religious practices and beliefs of the “blacks.” Interestingly, the Archangel Michael offers an opportunity to examine the interaction of these two identities, as will be seen in Part Four of this book. Even if we are tracing the mental constructs upon which a religious phenomenon like the cult of (arch)angels has been transposed on African soil, there are definitely more concrete historical dimensions which need to be considered. African Christianities of the Nile Valley are related to their Byzantine roots. Moreover, from Byzantium to Ethiopia, through Syria, Egypt, and further upstream along the Nile, there has been an open dialogue with the Judaic background of Christianity, perhaps with an emphasis on the character of Ethiopian Christianity. Nevertheless, the roots of other traditions go deeper than the roots which the Abrahamic traditions put down in Africa; those are quite often untraceable in the historical record (Olupona 2013). The truth is rather that this is a bias of our source material so far. The archaeological record enhances the picture provided by the texts and provides evidence where the texts remain silent (Insoll 2011). Nubia (Part Three) constitutes the best example of this.

The African Context

5

Objects, structures of residence, migration, agriculture and pastoralism, monuments, and images provide tangible links with the past and all that is gone with it. The combination of archaeological and anthropological research can link back the material remains of the past with realities of contemporary societies. We can see the adaptation of very old models of domed- or semi-­domed solutions for the roofing of buildings in the way the Christian Nubians raised the domes of their churches to stand against wind, sand, water, human intervention, and so on. The walls of the churches in Nubia, also built with traditional techniques, have been carriers of some of the most renowned achievements of the Christian Nubians: painted representations of the holy figures of their faith (see Chapter 7). The way this faith arrived in Nubia is quite well understood today, and although the influence of the North has never been contested, the role of the South has also been acknowledged (see, e.g., Danys and Zielińska 2017). Axumite agency in the formation of Christianity in the southern regions of the Middle Nile has been recorded, and new evidence of contacts during the medieval centuries between the Ethiopian highlands and the Sudanese Nile Valley—either through the eminence of the Alexandrian patriarchate(s) or directly through contact “on the ground”—is constantly being found (see, e.g., Łajtar and Ochała 2017). We see here powerful Christian kingdoms of Nubians meeting with the authority of Ethiopian Christianity. This is undisputed evidence of exchanges within the African world, into which we can peek thanks to our sources and our interdisciplinary methods of extracting information thereof. The combination of the textual and archaeological records is a sine qua non for the success of an intellectual enquiry about phenomena of the past. Among the archaeologically richest countries in Africa, Ethiopia not only preserves evidence running from its ancient past to its modern (and post-­modern?) existence, but also overlooks geographically the third point of proximity between Africa and the rest of the world, namely the Straits of Aden, between the Somali Horn of Africa and the Yemenite horn of Arabia. Ethiopia has also been a source of inspiration for several African movements of thought, both in the political and in the religious sphere. South Africa, for example, showcases a variety of Ethiopian Christian churches even though they have been inspired more by individual (i.e., apocalyptic, inspired, spontaneous) interpretations of the links with ancient African Christianity than on set rules to be transplanted in situ, as seems to have been the concentrated effort of the ancient churches stemming from the Eastern Mediterranean. This creates a wide platform of opportunities for religious expression, which has somehow guaranteed the survival of indigenous forms of cult and belief. The African variety is also incredibly rich in forms of living and traditions. It is, thus, impossible to grasp with only one point of reference. African variety, like almost all human variety, can only be seen in detail in some of its manifestations; and then, in order to escape generalizing variation and achieve localized precision, one needs to begin nuancing the particularities of such manifestations. This nuancing might be best served when the forms of this manifestation can be recognized because they belong to a universe of knowledge with which we are accustomed; the sign system by which we can “read”; the stories constituting its mythology with which we are familiar. Abstracting those, moving out of the comfort zone of the acquired, we can gaze at these hardly traceable indigenous traditions, whether of African stock or otherwise.

6

The Archangel Michael in Africa

Studying a religious phenomenon taking root in African soil in the form of traditions stemming from Abrahamic religions, we have chosen an appropriate case study to create an insight into what might be seen as “Africa” and/or “African.” The particularities of each Abrahamic religion cannot be set aside, but it is very attractive for comparatists to analyze those points of convergence, which make up so much of their scientific excitement—as well as a pleasure for the conscious reader.

Christianity and the angels In this book, our focus is on Christianity. However, even this focus does not diminish the variability of the study topic. One reason, supplementary to the cultural variety, is the time span of the religious phenomena in question: the Christians were dominant in Egypt for centuries, in Nubia for a millennium, and in parts of Ethiopia, still are. Which religious figures and/or superhuman agents are sufficiently transformable to satisfy the needs of the entire spectrum of interdisciplinary thinking about Africa and its Christianities, while at the same time representing the depth and variety of indigenous traditions? In the opinion of the editors of this book, the answer can be found by researching the pantheon of intermediate beings, so pivotal for the religious experience in Africa—and among these beings, first and foremost are the angels. The topic of angels is all about this variety of emanations and manifestations of the divine which are fluid enough, even by their sheer numbers, to escape definition as to their type of heavenly nature (Arnold 2013; Muehlberger 2013). They are apt to change, and therefore can be found anywhere and everywhere. Angels appear to humans. These encounters between humans and their postulated superhuman agents must constitute for the believer very impressive experiences which mark the life of an individual. Faith is needed to believe that a sign of God was sent to an individual. A sign is sent by God to humans in sorts of messages which take a variety of forms: natural phenomena, coincidences, miracles, sacred rules. How are these sent? The angels deliver the messages. They are, in fact, the message themselves. It might even be they who teach humans how to dictate these messages; write them up for them. They are as good as angels can be, and they exist in order to praise God; indeed, it is by praising God that the message is sent. Angels appear with the message in dreams; after praying; performing miracles; protecting during a natural catastrophe or preventing it from happening; fighting the evil spirits who try to cause it; healing when the evil spirits (momentarily) win over the humans; and in the end, guaranteeing the safe passage and a secure position in the heavens so as to know that one may be called upon when one’s time comes. In the angelic army, where humans are called to serve their duty as believers and practitioners of the cult, there is an archistrategos (commander-­in-chief): the Archangel Michael. When he appears, his will overpowers even the wildest impossibilities set by human nature. For example, a martyr’s fatally wounded body can be brought back to life. The Resurrection is equally about the saint’s life during martyrdom, the believer’s soul after death, and the raising from the bed of pain. The Archangel Michael performs these tasks, as do other archangels. They can be recognized by their attributes, the way they bring the message, and the means by which they deliver the sign. Therefore, in any

The African Context

7

context, they represent very primordial human concerns, and consequently they are represented in forms recognizable to the knowledgeable eye: a winged figure draped in white, shining robes. These half-­appearances occur everywhere and tell us, when we know how to “read” them, significant stories of the people who believed in what Michael could offer.

The contents Such stories are retold by the twelve “Michaelologists” of this book, who attempt to trace on African soil this interaction, which not only happened in and can be teased out from the past but is still happening now as the lived religious experience of human societies in that continent. In Nubia, the Christian past is but a memory, but very much alive in the archaeological record (see Chapters 7 and 8). In Egypt and Ethiopia, the Christian faith is very present, but its practice takes different forms because of the political contexts, the type of cult practices preferred, the language, and the position on the Nile. The Coptic Church in Egypt commemorates the local saints. The believers visit their shrines; monks still people the desert (see Chapter 4). The Copts speak and write in Arabic, the language used in most of the documents from the era before Gutenberg (see Chapter 5). Centuries-­old manuscripts reveal by comparison of the information they convey how the locals lived their lives with their postulated superhuman agents, first and foremost angels—and first and foremost Michael among them (see Chapter 6). He still has a most revered position in the hearts of those who venerate the icons and pray to the murals on the churches’ and monasteries’ walls in Egypt. Michael is very much present in the cultic life of Christians in Ethiopia as well. His icon dominates the landscape in both private and public representations. He is the most popular cult figure for Ethiopians (see Chapter 10). His presence is protective. His invocation is apotropaic. His manifestation is powerful. His shrines provide healing. He is used in magic—Michael is magic. He loves interfering with the wishes of humans expressed in spells, prayers, words and numbers, books and church spaces, gifts given and gifts expected. To write his name is powerful and to use this powerful name could support healing. The natural cause-­and-effect principle of much of “Western” thought is of lesser importance here. It is not that Africans in Ethiopia decide not to trust the natural cause-­and-effect way of thinking—it is that they believe that it is not just only natural. They have experienced what is called the super-­nature of the postulated superhuman agents. These agents are present in their lives. They guide, protect, and heal them. They create a rational sequence which apprehends the spiritual dimension of sickness on equal grounds with tangible illness; a holistic approach rather neglected— or rejected—in “Western” medicine. The Ethiopians’ holistic view of health is not in disharmony with the holistic approach of their communication with the superhuman realm. It is more than a belief in an angel when their manifestation has caused a tangible change in one’s life, especially in dramatic and/or traumatic terms; it is not belief but rather experience, and in their view, there is tangible proof of its presence (see Chapter 9).

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Through such experiences, the lines of separation are blurred. Angels affect humans and humans live like angels (want them to). What is, then, the difference between being human and being an angel? Is that possible for humans? In the divine hierarchies, humans are not minor beings. In the Coptic text The Investiture of Michael (Müller 1962), just like in the Quran (but not in the Bible), Michael takes his position as leader of the angelic hosts after God has cast Mastēma, Satan, from the heavens because he refused to worship Adam, whom God had made in his image. As almost an antipode to Michael, the figure of Mastēma is a recurring theme in this book (see Chapters 6, 8, 10, and the Appendix). His name means “enmity” in Hebrew and is used to signify the chief of the evil spirits in the Book of Jubilees (e.g., 10:8). In the Ethiopic rendering of this book, Mastēma is the name of an angel who rules over the evil demons. Against him, Michael wages the celestial war as archistrategos and protector of the humans preparing them for Judgment day. Among the human souls that Michael gathers for Judgment day, there are those who will become angels. This is written—so why not try to be angels in this life? The monastic ascesis is one path; many have claimed it. Others have seen a means of creating tangible replicas of the experience of Michael’s manifestation in art glorifying the divine appearances in one’s life. The Christianities of the Nile Valley have taken forms similar to the first path, while the official art of state and church in South Africa seems to be the means for apprehending the presence of Michael there. This presence is mostly linked with “Western” forms of Christianity. Here, we see Michael as the hero offering humans the hope for the Resurrection and thus a prototype one should even strive to imitate (see Chapter  12). We sense how this prototype was enmeshed in the consumerist Protestant society which the whites imposed on the indigenous substratum of South Africa (see Chapter 11). Thus, we need to invite voices from this substratum to narrate their story. Turning our gaze to South Africa, we will encounter the indigenous element resurfacing in our record by following the South African artist in his conceptualization of himself as “Michael” in the biblical symbolism of his sacred art (see Chapter 13). In order to give a shape to this variety in our book, we have invited innovative forms of investigating the expression of adoration for the persona of Michael in Africa. We have welcomed disciplines other than those that gather data through analysis of the textual record, the archaeological artifacts, or the anthropological contexts. These other disciplines deal more with meanings and ideas as expressed through art form and visual cultural studies. We have thus come just one step away from opening the publication to art creation. This desire was satisfied by the essay appended to the book and which not only brings art creation into our book but also links our book with the world wide web. There, David Tibet has placed the music score that he—along with his colleague Andrew Liles—created for the passages in Sahidic Coptic of the Book of the Investiture of Michael that Tibet studied, offering our readers an almost metaphysical conclusion to our volume (see Appendix). This music proposes a voice of the Archangel Michael himself as generated through algorithms inspired by Tibet’s study of this important work of Coptic literature. Michael can indeed be searched for and found in innumerous forms in African contexts, and moving from the outer points of contact of Africa with the other

The African Context

9

continents and into the “rest” of Africa, our nascent network of Michaelic scholarship will attempt to trace Michael’s footsteps elsewhere in the African continent too, either as an inherent part of religious beliefs and praxis resulting from the meeting of African and “foreign” traditions; or as an artistic and textual manifestation of the most powerful of these intermediary beings that we call angels, whose apparitions mark both the communication of humans with the superhuman realm and the human effort to become as perfect as an angel.

2

On the Category of Angels Ingvild Sælid Gilhus

Introduction Do not underestimate the power of angels. They are actors in people’s lives. Angels are characters in religious narratives, the objects of rituals, the focus of emotions, and the subjects of theological definition and control. They take many forms, dependent on their local contexts, are both embodied and not embodied, and seem to float effortlessly between the human and the divine. Angels belong to a universal category of intermediate beings. We can study them comparatively, together with, for instance, Zoroastrian fravashis and Amesha Spenta, pre-Islamic djinns and Hindu devas, as well as with demons, aliens, and spirits of the dead across religions; or we can study them in their historical evolution and cultural contexts within the sphere of the Western monotheistic religions. This chapter takes the latter course. The focus is on the category of angels and their meanings and functions within Christianity. A common definition of angels is superhuman beings believed to act as servants, agents, or messengers of God. In this discussion, we use a less theological definition and view angels as superhuman intermediate beings. This chapter focuses on a formative phase in the history of angels and archangels, when the Roman Empire was Christianized—going from a polytheistic to a monotheistic ideology—and personal salvation became a supreme religious goal. It combines a historical and comparative perspective with a special focus on Egypt in late antiquity. The development of the idea of angels is seen as closely related to the monotheistic turn and to the rise of the idea of personal salvation. After presenting a survey of the origin of angels and their development in their new Christian context, we will ask how we distinguish between gods and angels. What is the relationship between humans and angels? With their more than 3,000-year history and global distribution, angels can be seen as an extremely successful religious category. What is the formula for their success?

From the ancient Near East to contemporary New Age The historical background of angels lies in the ancient Near East in the first and second millennia bce. The Near Eastern city-­god and his divine servants reflected the political

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

structure, with a king surrounded by servants and messengers. This model of divinity, which was developed in the ancient court cultures, was continued in the Hebrew Bible in the conception of a supreme god surrounded by angels. The Greek term angelos is a translation of the Hebrew word mal’ak, which means “messenger” (Meier 1999; Van Henten 1999). In biblical texts, the term is used both for human and superhuman messengers, and there are, in fact, more references to human messengers than to superhuman (Meier 1999: 46). Divine messengers are only one of several types of intermediary beings who came to be included in the category “angel.” The category engulfed other entities as well, such as cherubim and seraphim. The cherubim and the seraphim were monstrous creatures intended to inspire fear, but they were not thought of as angels to begin with (Meier 1999: 47). They were part of the rich Near Eastern mythology, which, over the centuries and millennia, had produced a plethora of hybrid, fantastic, and terrifying creatures. Frequently these monsters had animal features, such as the sphinx-­like cherubim— winged lions with human heads—developed in second-­century Syria (Mettinger 1999a). They are depicted as carriers of the throne of gods and as guardians of sacred trees. In the Hebrew Bible, “the Lord of Hosts” is enthroned on the cherubim (1 Sam. 4:4b) and a cherub is his celestial mount.1 When the first human had transgressed God’s commands and been expelled from the Garden of Eden, East of Eden, he placed “the cherubim, and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life” (Gen. 3:24b). The seraphim, winged serpents, have their roots in the sacred uraeus of Egypt, a symbol of royalty and divinity (Mettinger 1999b: 743). In Ezekiel, God is attended by seraphs: “Each had six wings: With two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew” (Ezek. 6:2). Their inclusion reflects that the category of angels was wide and flexible (Cline 2011: xv). Angelos “is in the Greek, Early Jewish, and Christian literature the most common designation of an otherworldly being who mediates between God and humans” (Van Henten 1999: 50). While the cherubim and the seraphim have wings in the Hebrew Bible, angels, the divine messengers, do not. They only grew them when they became part of the cultural melting pot of the Roman Empire. In Greek religion, birds sometimes act as messengers for the gods, like they do in the Iliad. Since angels are airborne, similar to birds, wings are “natural” equipment for them as well. When angels got wings, they were probably derived from Nike, the Greek divine messenger and goddess of victory, or from Eros, the messenger of love, and angels frequently play a role similar to Greek herald gods such as Hermes (Meier 1999: 48). The idea of humans with wings has proved to be catchy. When humans are conceived of as the highest creature and their goal is to transcend their earthly existence, a human with wings is an attractive image. Wings are markers of transcendence. Wings turn angels into hybrids. They distinguish them from humans and mark them as superhuman, but they render them only minimally counterintuitive; thus, they remain mainly human-­like. That angels are frequently mistaken for humans suggests that wings are neither mandatory nor always visible (see below). Another characteristic of angels is light, sometimes in the form of a halo and other times in the form of dazzling clothes; they are frequently described as illuminated, especially the archangels, and as made of

On the Category of Angels

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fire (Lk. 24:4; Heb. 1:5). Their light indicates that these creatures derive from a different space than do humans. Various times and contexts have contributed to the development of these superhuman beings. There have been adaptations from Persian angelology in Judaism, and angels flourished in Jewish and later Christian apocalyptic literature.2 Hierarchies of angels, their names, and their specific functions are a part of apocalyptic literature. The category of archangel, or chief angel, is mentioned twice in the New Testament, but only Michael is mentioned by name, and only once (Jude 9). Angels have always been part of mainstream monotheistic religions, and in addition, they have their cultural niches and special groups of adherents. They were, for instance, a vital part of Jewish mysticism, and from the Renaissance to modern times, secret societies with angel evocations have been part of the esoteric scene in Europe (Kapaló 2018). In the Roman Empire, the convergence of Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Jewish cultures created a new growth area for angels. The concept of angelos allowed, according to Rangar Cline, “local and distinct religious traditions to express similar concepts in a universal language” (2011: 104). There was an inclusive attitude to angels at some sacred sites, especially in Asia Minor, where angeloi (plural form of angelos) were treated as meaningful superhuman powers by people adhering to different religious traditions (Cline 2011: 105ff.). This changed with the victory of Christianity, when the veneration of angeloi became an issue (cf. also Col. 2:18; Rev. 22:8-9). The cultural diffusion of angels tended to be accompanied by strong theological attempts to control and define them. The Council of Laodicea in 363 ce aimed at regulating the Christian cultic life, including the worship of angels: “Christians must not forsake the Church of God and go away and invoke angels and gather assemblies, which things are forbidden” (Canon 35). However, as Cline has pointed out, the Council did not prohibit all angel worship but only tried to ensure that it took place in sanctioned forms (2011: 151–8). The goal was to make traditional sites of angel worship exclusively Christian, in line with the perception of Christianity as the only true religion. The cult of angels flourished in the centuries to come. Angels were an integral part of popular religion, especially of healing cults and magic, and they appeared in personal religion as guardian angels, who accompanied a person in this life and into the hereafter after death. One could speak about an “angel craze” in late antiquity, similar to what one is seeing in the Western world today (Gardella 2007: 93). Belief in, and the cult of, angels spread around the Mediterranean and later to other parts of the world. In Europe, Catholic theologians were preoccupied with the place and function of angels and systematized them in categories and hierarchies (see below). In Protestant countries, there has been a long-­standing attempt to restrict the space of angel devotion. The words of the famous theologian Karl Barth about angels as “essentially marginal figures” have frequently been quoted (2010: 81). However, angels are back, also in Protestant countries. The contemporary angel craze includes books and courses where angels are personal helpers; films, and TV series, where the main characters are angels; figures and pictures of angels being sold, and a general use of them in advertising (see Gardella 2007; Gilhus 2017b; also Chapter  11 in this book). One example is in Norway, where the Evangelical

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Lutheran Church has tried to reclaim angels and cater for the new interest in them by reintroducing Michael’s Mass in honor of Michael and his angels. This is a step to prevent being taken over by the New Age movement (Gilhus 2017b). These brief glimpses into the history of angels show that they have had their ups and downs, but that they are hard to restrict. They travel light, tend to slip through the cultural net, and adapt to new circumstances (Gilhus 2017b: 139). They have, for instance, changed their sex and gone from divine messengers and mighty male warriors to kind female helpers. This is in line with how they are being used in therapeutic approaches and consulted about problems connected to personal relations (Utriainen 2013: 248–53). Such problems tend to be seen as particularly the realm of women (Utriainen 2013: 250).

Between polytheism and monotheism Angels are fluttering between polytheism and monotheism and challenge these concepts. In Christianity, they are closely connected to the monotheistic turn and to the idea of personal salvation. One key to the secrets of angels is their relationship to the divine, and another key is their relationship to humans. Angels went from their origin in polytheistic Near Eastern religions to the monotheistic religions, where they have had a remarkable career—especially in Christianity. As part of a monotheistic cosmology, they filled a vacuum after the traditional gods had been robbed of their functions (Michalak 2012: 33). In some cases, angels took over the roles and functions of pagan gods, like the Archangel Michael did in relation to the Greek messenger god Hermes, as well as to the Egyptian god Thoth (see Müller 1959: 94–6; also Chapter 4 in this book). What are the differences between angels and gods? This is mainly a theological distinction. In a book about angels, David Albert Jones ascertains in a sub-­heading that they are “not little gods but spiritual creatures” (2010: 37). This is an important point: “It is what distinguishes belief in angels from polytheism, which has a pantheon of gods with Zeus or Jupiter as the ‘top god’. Angels belong to religions that have only one God, but where God has spiritual servants, messengers, courtiers, or soldiers” (Jones 2010: 37). This is a characterization of angels and of the difference between monotheism and polytheism, which is common among the Western monotheistic religions. Seen from the perspective of the history of religion, monotheism and polytheism emerge as polemical terms. According to Jan Assmann, “Polytheism is a concept suitable only for describing monotheism as a counter-­religion which polemically distances itself from other religions” (2010: 35). The two terms stress differences and veil similarities. The hierarchy associated with a god in a polytheistic religion is similar to the hierarchy associated with the one god in Christianity, and so is the dedication to a chief god in both a monotheistic and a polytheistic religious system. Monotheistic religions do not exclude veneration and deification of intermediate beings, such as angels. This is especially true in relation to archangels such as Michael. In the context of the worship of angels and the use of magical papyri in antiquity, Christoph

On the Category of Angels

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Markschies speaks of the “ ‘polytheism’ of the ‘monotheist’ ” and “the ‘routine polytheism’ of many ‘monotheists’ ” (2010: 110). Terms like “monotheism” and “polytheism” attempt to create an absolute distinction between pagan religions and Christianity, as well as between gods with specialized functions and the one god, who is surrounded by his entourage of intermediate beings. These are beings who are explicitly said not to be divine. The opposition between the terms “monotheism” and “polytheism” is a theological distinction, which is not necessarily fruitful, as it distorts a more complicated scenario. We will instead ask how angels can be understood in relation to the category of gods. In religious practice and lived religion, one finds that angels are sometimes treated in ways very similar to how traditional gods were treated. Hermann Usener, a specialist on Roman religion, divided gods into two categories: “momentary gods” (Augenblicksgötter) and gods with specialized functions (Sondergötter) (1896: 279–301; cf. Gilhus 2012: 236).3 Most of the angels who appear in Christian narratives fall mainly into the former category. Some are only mentioned as part of a collective, have no names, and only appear once. The names of some of the minor angels twist and change continually, for instance in the magical papyri. These angels function more like the Augenblicksgötter of Usener. Other angels, and especially the archangels, have names and some well-­defined functions and are thus more similar to gods in polytheistic religions. Chief examples are the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, but there are others, too. One example of a named angel is taken from Egypt in the fourth century. In a treatise, called the Nature (Hypostasis) of the Archons, the heroine of the story, Norea, calls upon God so that he shall rescue her from the evil powers who intend to rape her. As a response, God sends the angel Eleleth. He appears as a powerful angel in the Investiture of the Archangel Gabriel as well as in Egyptian magical literature (Burns 2018). According to his self-­presentation, Eleleth is “one of the four light-­givers, who stand in the presence of the great invisible spirit” (The Nature of the Archons, NHC II 93: 20–2). Eleleth gives Norea a survey of what happened at the creation, the order of the world, and her place in it, and he reveals what will happen at the end of time. Eleleth acts as an angelus interpres, an interpreting angel, in an apocalyptic scenario. The superior knowledge that this angel imparts to Norea is a means of transforming her into a higher level of being and making her understand the powerlessness of the evil archons, who have attacked her and tried to lord over her. Eleleth acts here in the traditional role of angels as messengers sent by God. However, Dylan M. Burns has recently pointed out that his appearance also has much in common with how angels appear in Egyptian homiletic and magical literature (2018: 158). Eleleth shows some of the richness and creative power in the mythology of angels in Egypt in late antiquity and that some of these angels were given special roles. Egypt in late antiquity was a hotbed for angels, and Michael, the highest of them all, had a special place, frequently referred to only as “the Archangel” (Müller 1959: 8–35). In addition to being a leader of the angels, Michael is also an intercessor between God and humans and is called upon in prayers, celebrated in rituals, and evoked in magical formulas. An obvious question is how powerful an angel can be and get away with it. Or, put another way, when does an angel become theologically unacceptable? This question points to the tension between theology and lived religion.

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Between theology and lived religion Monotheistic religions have a strong theological component, and much effort goes into defining and establishing correct doctrine and practice, including the place and function of superhuman beings. There is a tension between human need and creativity and the theological wish for control and orthodoxy. Angels can all too easily disturb the religious cosmos if not kept at bay by theological headquarters. Egil Asprem has made a pertinent observation about the Christian understanding of intermediate beings: “First, a strict dichotomization of these beings into ‘good’ and ‘evil’ spirits; second, an unshakeable doubt about the true nature of all intermediary spirits, even when claimed to be lawful” (2016: 653). The dichotomization is easy to see. Angels partake in a cosmos where good and evil fight against each other, and, accordingly, there are both good and evil angels. There are several myths about the origin of evil angels, having in common the idea of a fall that took place in the divine world. A myth about fallen angels is found in the Jewish Book of Enoch. In Judaism and Christianity, “the sons of God” in Genesis 6:1-4, who married human women and begot giants (nephilim), have been identified with the fallen angels. In Christianity, Satan is seen as their leader. Michael and his angels fight against the dragon and his angels and defeat them (Rev. 12:7-8). The dragon is identified as “that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world” (Rev. 12:9a). Christian authors in the second and third centuries equated fallen angels with demons (Martin 2010), and—much like demons—angels were thought to exist in great numbers in Egypt and elsewhere in late antiquity. The existence of demons created a strong need for spiritual protection. One example is a Coptic amulet for protection against a headless power. It evokes unnamed angels and archangels: “O angels, archangels, who guard the floodgate of heaven, who bring forth the light upon the whole earth” (Papyri Graecae Magicae, 2.224, in Meyer and Smith 1994: 48). The owner of the amulet had a clash with a headless dog, and the angels and archangels are asked to fetch this scary demon when it appears. Angels could also be used in Schadenmagie in a rather mean way, as the following example shows. In a Coptic papyrus, a mother curses her son’s girlfriend, named Tnoute. The mother wants Tnoute to become barren, her fetus destroyed, and calls on a demon to descend upon her and afflict her with illness. In her cursing of Tnoute, this mother-­in-law from hell appeals to cherubim and seraphim, as well as archangels— chief among them Michael (London Oriental Manuscript, 6172, in Meyer and Smith 1994: 196–7). The ritual formula reveals that the archangels were perceived as capable of offering a wide range of services. Morals and decency did not necessarily come into the discussion, which also means that the distinction between evil demons and good angels is sometimes rather blurred. According to Asprem, compared to the dichotomization of the intermediate beings, such as angels, the effect of doubt about their true nature “is even more pervasive and historically influential” (2016: 653).4 Communicating with angels is highly questionable because it poses a theological problem. This problem concerns the limits of the monotheistic worldview and the fear of overstepping these limits by allowing angels to have independent roles. Theological thinking about angels was part of the

On the Category of Angels

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developing Christian religion right from the start. In its development, its adherents sought to define their place and function as well as to determine which types and groups these intermediate beings belonged to. On the highest level, angels function as metaphysical principles. They are emanations of the highest god and of qualities attributed to him. Such an entourage of spiritual beings (Amesha Spenta) is found in Zoroastrianism, which influenced Judaism; in middle- and Neoplatonic thinking; in hermeticism; and in speculatively inclined varieties of Christianity, frequently labeled “Gnosticism.” These entities are later taken up again in Western esotericism. The use of lists is a main way to systematize metaphysical principles, but also to account for spiritual hierarchies and angels more generally. Putting angels on lists was a means of classifying and controlling the superhuman world. Paul mentions four classes of spiritual beings—Thrones, Domination, Principalities, and Powers (Col. 1:16)—but the list of these beings expanded as time went by. The most famous attempt at systematizing the heavenly hierarchy was made by PseudoDionysius the Areopagite in his book On the Celestial Hierarchy (De Coelesti Hierarchia), probably dating to the fifth century. It lists three groups, each consisting of three members: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones; Dominations, Powers, Virtues; and Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. Similar attempts at systematizing Christian angelology continued through the Middle Ages and later. Lists of angels can be made on lower levels as well. In the Secret Book of John, one of the texts found at Nag Hammadi in Egypt, surviving in four copies, three of them from Nag Hammadi and probably dating to the fourth century, the evil world creator puts his 365 angels to work with the creation of the first human. Adam is created in a piecemeal fashion, body part for body part and passion for passion, and a specific angel creates and rules over each item: “The first one began to create the head, EteraphaopeAbron created his head; Meniggesstroeth created the brain; Asterechmen [created] the right eye; Thaspomocham [created] the left eye; Yeronumos [created] the right ear; Bissoum [created] the left ear . . .” (NHC II, 1 15:29–35). It is tiresome reading, and it might look like the author/scribe became tired of it as well, for four pages later, in the middle of an enumeration of the passions, s/he refers those who are interested in the remaining passions to the book of Zoroaster (NHC II, 1 19:6–10).5 The status and function of angels were issues in theological debate, for instance their stability or lack thereof (Ployd 2017). A decisive criterion in relation to angels was that they should not be conceived of as powers in their own right. That the high-­profile angels, such as Michael and Gabriel, might overshadow God was a worry shared by Christian theologians as well as Jewish rabbis. The point is that angels are created by God and draw their power from him. This is a fundamental criterion in the monotheistic theological agenda concerning angels.

Angels and the human turn in religion Angels are sometimes difficult to distinguish from humans. A classical biblical topos is the three men who came to Abraham at Mamre. They are received as honored guests, offered food and drink, and proclaim that his wife, Sarah, who has passed child-­bearing age, shall

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

have a son (Gen. 18:1-15). A clue to the supernatural status of these men is that the narrative starts with “the Lord appeared” (Gen. 18:1a), but they are not named as angels until later, when two of them—“two angels”—proceed to Sodom to destroy the city (Gen. 19:1a; 1–22). In Egyptian monastic literature, there are narratives about monastics who meet what they think are monks, but according to the texts, prove to be angels (see below). The difficulty of distinguishing between human and angelic messengers indicates different things depending on the circumstances, but it shows that there is some overlap between the category of angels and the category of humans. How this overlap is conceived of and used varies. In various Jewish texts, exalted humans were in different ways understood to be angels (Gieschen 1998: 152–83). In Christianity, angels have inspired comparisons with Christ. Justin Martyr calls Christ an angel and identifies one of the three visitors to Abraham at Mamre with Christ (Dialogue with Trypho, 34; cf. Muehlberger 2013: 58–9; Arnold 2013: 25–7).6 Justin shared his attempt to read Christ into angels with other theologians in antiquity (Gieschen 1998: 187–98; Hannah 1999: 202–11). Angels can be seen in relation to what has been called “the extended great chain of being.” This is a cognitive mechanism through which humans understand the world and their place in it. George Lakoff and Mark Turner describe the extended great chain of being in the following way: “The Great Chain of Being is a cultural model that concerns kinds of beings and their properties and places them on a vertical scale with ‘higher’ beings and properties above ‘lower’ beings and properties” (1989: 166). According to Lakoff and Turner, the “extended Great Chain concerns the relation of human beings to society, God, and the universe. The extended Great Chain is central to the Western tradition, and it is the main concern of traditional discussions of the Great Chain” (Lakoff and Turner 1989: 167). In late antiquity, the extended chain consisted of God, angels, saints, humans, demons, animals, plants, and inanimate things. The chain is part of the human conception of the world and used almost instinctively in proverbs and metaphors. It is also a point of departure for philosophical thinking, religious beliefs, and theological systematization. In this chapter, what is of interest is how the idea of human salvation affects the chain. Arguably, the idea of salvation moved the category of human closer to the metaphysical realm and, correspondingly, made the distance between humans and animals greater (Gilhus 2017a). There seems to be a causal relation between the distance created between human and animal and the new proximity between human and angel. This proximity to angels is, for instance, seen in the rise of monasticism in Egypt in late antiquity, where the monastic literature describes the close relationship between monastics and angels as well as categorical changes from humans to angels. These changes can be thought of both literally and metaphorically. One of the functions of the chain is to describe one category by means of another, which is higher or lower than the first category, as when a monastic describes a dilemma between aspiring to be an angel but in reality behaving like an animal: “We have come here to become angels, and we have become irrational, unclean beasts” (Apophthegmata Patrum, The Systematic Collection, 16.7: 8–9). The relation and sometimes intercourse between humans and angels, which is described in monastic literature, can further be seen as part of a human turn in religion. The human turn implies that some humans are elevated to a superhuman level and function as intermediaries between the supreme god and other humans. Angels take part

On the Category of Angels

19

in this human turn, which, together with the monotheistic turn, characterizes Christian religion. For while Christianity is a monotheistic religion with a transcendent image of god, it is at the same time a religion where Jesus/Christ, along with the Holy Spirit, are treated as part of a tripartite godhead. The transcendent character of two persons in the godhead, God and the Holy Spirit, is counterbalanced by the human nature or aspect of the third person. Arguably how theologians treat the relationship between the human and the divine in Jesus varies, but in the Gospels his life as a human being is in focus. The cult of saints is part of this human turn, as is the cult of Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus. The narratives about their miracles, suffering, and death show that saints are partly modeled on Jesus and that they share the human predicaments. From their exalted post-­mortem position, they intercede on behalf of the believers with God. This is not a unique development in Christianity, but it is characteristic of this religion. Saints are clearly part of a human turn, but how do angels relate to this turn? There is an overlap between saints and angels. The Archangels Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael have also been worshipped as saints, and they also bear the categorical definition mark of saints before their names. The Archangel Michael is frequently referred to as Saint Michael, like Gabriel and Raphael are also addressed. “Saint” is a title of respect or honor. The title establishes a connection between human saints and the three archangels, who, according to Christian theology, are created as spiritual beings, similar to the other angels. Peter Brown connects saints to other intermediate figures, such as a god, a daimon, a guardian angel, a heavenly twin, and a genius, but he singles out saints as special because they are—or were originally—human beings (1982: 50–68).7 He argues that because of their shared humanity, the martyr saints “could bring their fellow men even closer to God than could the angels” (1982: 61). Brown suggests the terms “patron” and “client” for the relationship between the believer and his/her personal saint (1982: 61). Perhaps it is easier to have an intimate relationship with saints than with angels because saints, unlike angels, are conceived of as deceased humans, each with their personal story, though in the form of a mythical narrative replete with fantastic elements. However, it is also possible to think of angels not only as personal guardians and invisible companions but as a superior type of human beings. There is a close connection between souls and angels, the soul being conceived of as the inner core of a human being. Angels can function as a higher form of self, something that humans must strive to develop into. In other words, angels sometimes appear as a superior category of humans. At the same time, they are also marred by some of the same flaws. As the first human couple fell from grace, so did some of the angels. The myth about the fall of angels and about the sons of God, who are often seen as angels and who begot children with the daughters of men, shows that the distance between the categories is not insurmountable.

Angels in Egypt: interaction and identification The interaction as well as identification between humans and angels are seen in the literature about Egyptian monasticism, where monastics both interact with angels and

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

aspire to become angels. Ascetic and monastic life in Egypt is described in rules, sayings (apophthegmata), instructions, travelogues, and letters. In the Sayings of the Desert Fathers and in travelogues written by authors who visited Egypt in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, angels are described as teachers or companions, appear in visions, participate in rituals, put demons to flight, and are seen by some, but not by others, in accordance with these peoples’ spiritual qualities. Sometimes demons masquerade as angels (Apophthegmata Patrum, The Systematic Collection, 10: 138). In these stories, angels frequently serve pedagogical purposes and present correctives to the monastics. Characteristic of the stories is the idea of an invisible world of angels, which surrounds and interacts with the ascetic communities and sometimes becomes visible to individual monastics. Angels were, for instance, involved in the ascetic training system of Evagrius and his successors. They are attributed qualities which the monastics should strive to obtain in their struggle against evil and vices, such as gluttony and lust. These vices are sometimes personified as demons. In some of the stories, angels are presented as exalted beings, while at other times they participate more directly in the daily life of a monastic. An ascetic ambition was to transcend traditional and biological roles and reach a higher level of being.8 There is a wish to live the angelic life (angelikos bios), to be like an angel, and even to become an angel. The anonymous author of the Historia Monachorum in Aegypto says in the prologue that he saw “many fathers living the angelic life as they advanced steadily in the imitation of our divine Saviour” (Historia Monachorum Prologue 4); and further that Abba Or “looked just like an angel” (Historia Monachorum 2: 1); that Abba Bes “had attained the angelic state” (Historia Monachorum 4: 1); that one could see another desert father, Theon, “with the face of an angel” (Historia Monachorum 6: 1); and that the community of 500 brothers around Apollo were “looking like a real army of angels” (Historia Monachorum 8: 19). In the last story, this “army” offers a contrast to the ancient Egyptians, who worshipped “dogs and apes and other animals” (Historia Monachorum 8: 21). The line between metaphor and reality was fine when preeminent humans, such as these ascetics, were described as angels. Ellen Muehlberger has analyzed the rhetorical potential and effects of the metaphor of living like an angel (2013: 148–75). She shows the ambiguities in the term and how the possibilities of actually living an angelic life were rejected in parts of the monastic literature. To illustrate her point, she uses the story of John the Dwarf. He wanted “to be free of all care, like the angels, who do not work, but ceaselessly offer worship to God.” For that reason, he left his brother and went away into the desert. One week later, he returned, said who he was, and knocked on the door of the cell; but his brother would not let him in and said, “John has become an angel, and henceforth he is no longer among men” (Apophthegmata Patrum, The Alphabetical Collection: John the Dwarf, 2). He only let him in the next morning. In other words, it is not that easy to live like an angel, and this story is rather sarcastic about it (cf. Muehlberger 2013: 170). Muehlberger suggests that the metaphor of the angelic life originated outside the ascetic communities and among urban Christians. There is clearly an ambiguity associated with the term. The angelic status disappears if one strives to obtain it or tries to think of oneself in the manner of an angel. It takes humility to be described as an angel. The designation is used in retrospect about

On the Category of Angels

21

monastic life and about deceased monastics as in a story from the Apophthegmata, where an extremely obedient monk is characterized as “an angel of God” after his death (Apophthegmata Patrum, The Systematic Collection 14.32: 25). Living the angelic life and obtaining the status of an angel became an ascetic ideal and a description of a higher human self, but it was not a self-­description. It reflected a wish and a belief in its potential to liberate from the limitations of the human category and become human on a higher level. This is an expansion of the category of angels: it started as a category of supernatural otherness but in late antiquity also came to include the development of a superhuman self.

The success formula of angels The category of angels includes a wide range of superhuman beings from nameless collectives to powerful individuals such as the archangels, and first and foremost Michael. In Christianity, there is an ongoing struggle between on the one hand theological attempts to control, define, and systematize angels, and to stop them from seriously challenging the monotheistic worldview, and on the other hand people’s need for accessible help and kind comfort in the difficulties of daily life, as provided by angels. Theological definitions of angels stress their subordinate character, namely that they are created by God and that they are under his authority. The category of angels has proved to be flexible and durable. Part of the explanation of the success formula of these intermediary beings is their great versatility. Angels are altered through time according to new cultural contexts and always seem to adapt to new circumstances and rise to the occasion. In addition to their versatility, two other aspects of angels are crucial for their success and very visible in late antiquity in Egypt. Like their versatility, these aspects also have a lasting significance. Angel is both a superhuman relational category and a human category. As a superhuman relational category, the function of angels is to interact with one or more human beings (see Chapter 9). The category includes angels who appear as healers, guardians, or the guides of dead souls (psychopompoi), are conjured up in curses, and invoked in magical formulas. Some of these angels are close to humans, while others are more aloof. Angels are further a category which humans aspire to be included in. How this inclusion is conceptualized varies. Sometimes to be an angel is more of a metaphorical description, whereas at other times it involves a real metamorphosis and a transition from one category of being into another. In the latter case, it implies that angels fuse with another successful category of intermediary beings: the spirits of the dead. Accordingly, the success of angels is due to their versatility, combined with their being conceived of both as superhuman beings to whom humans relate and as a superior category of human beings.

3

Michael: Persona and Cult among African Christians Marta Camilla Wright

While theologians through the medieval centuries speculated about Michael’s place in the celestial hierarchy, this powerful warrior of God followed the triumphal progress of Christianity1 and got churches sanctified in his honor. He conquered evil embodied as Satan, the mighty dragon, and slew the enemies of God. In Africa, however, we find traces of popularity and veneration of Michael even before the European Middle Ages, especially in Egyptian Christianity, and later in Nubian and Ethiopian Christianity. Michael was and is important in African Christian churches and the lives of Christians in Africa. The cult of Michael is as varied and as popular as it has been in the history of Christianity. In Egypt, he was celebrated in feasts; evoked in prayers; praised in religious literature, like the book of The Investiture of the Archangel Michael; conjured up in magical texts; and named apotropaically in inscriptions on amulets. We see similar practices of veneration in different parts of Africa today—particularly in the Coptic Orthodox Church and the Ethiopian Orthodox Church—but also in other more recent churches, where Michael is given roles such as healer, warrior, archistrategos (commander-­in-chief), archangel, captain, and leader of the angels. He is also given the title St. Michael the Archangel (see below).

African Christianity In 2018, 599 million of Africa’s 1.2 billion inhabitants were Christians, most of them being either Anglican, Catholic, Independent, Orthodox, or Protestant. Apart from the Orthodox churches, Michael has a role in contemporary Africa in the Catholic and Anglican Churches, as well as in the African Initiated Churches (AICs), also called African Independent Churches, which have been a focus of anthropologists since the 1960s (Meyer 2012). These churches can be described as “nationalist” churches, and they refer to themselves as “Ethiopian” in South Africa, “African” in West Africa, or “Independent” in East Africa (Spitzeck 2018). There are several theological focuses of the African Christian churches, but healing and the theology of health were instrumental in their founding (Bongmba 2012). Among the AICs, the Pentecostal

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

churches in particular have witnessed an extraordinary growth in the last decades and are still gaining members in great numbers. One of the main reasons given for the growth of Christianity in Africa is that African Christianity stresses material wellbeing (Ngong 2012). Although there is little research into the role and function of Michael, it is possible to find at least the presence of Michael in a variety of research on contemporary African Christianity. When Michael is part of the veneration, it is often with a focus on healing and wellbeing. Michael’s popularity has firstly to do with specific aspects of his persona; predominant in the examples in this chapter are the aspects of messenger, warrior, and healer. Secondly, veneration of angels in general and Michael in particular fit in well with African religious worldviews, where spirits and ancestors play pivotal roles.

Persona Angels are mentioned more than 300 times in the Bible, yet not much is said about them therein (van der Toorn, Becking, and van der Horst 1995). In the Old Testament, the communication between God and humans, when not through spectacular theophanies to prophets, takes place through “angels of the Lord” (for instance Gen. 22:11-15), while in other cases “the word of the Lord” comes to a person (Gen. 15:1). Whereas in certain cases angels and archangels are described as personalities with names and characteristics, in many others their persona seems to be completely subordinate to the message they bring—to such an extent that they seem to be a personified form of the message (logos) of God. Although the “word” seems to be rather an acoustic or abstract revelation, while “angel” suggests the visible appearance of a figure, this is not always the case—for instance when in Gen. 22:11 an angel calls out to Abraham on behalf of God to prevent him from sacrificing Isaac. It is therefore not surprising that the word of God (logos) is sometimes implicitly equated to an angel.2 At the moment when the transcendent God materializes, this temporary manifestation can be in the form of an “angel.” In other cases, angels carrying a name and an identity have a more circumscribed and permanent character and appear materialized rather than as emanations of God. This materialized Michael dominates in the African contexts presented in this book. The lack of description and specification in biblical scriptures is one of the reasons angels can play many roles, and their popularity spread easily in different times and places, as is the case more specifically with Michael. As an angel, he is both embodied and not embodied. Angels are given qualities and materiality by human beings. Michael belongs to a superhuman category which is actually invisible but has been given form—in fact different forms. Throughout the history of Christianity, he is depicted in different ways: with wings, with a sword, with a scale, with a censer, all of which underline aspects of his persona and his functions and the kinds of roles he plays in relationships with other superhuman entities and human beings. These materialized representations are often the ones observed in the lives of African Christians. Moreover, the Archangel Michael often gets a central, and sometimes crucial, role because he is seen as the one who is able to defeat evil.

Michael: Persona and Cult among African Christians

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The name “Michael” is derived from Hebrew and means “Who is like God?”—which can be interpreted in at least two ways. It could mean that Michael is the one who is similar to God, or it can be understood as a question, and perhaps should be considered in the context of the heavenly riot before the creation of man. In the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian context, the commoner version of this myth3 starts by stating that there were innumerable angels in heaven. After God had created them, he went away. Then one among the angels put forth the question, “Who created us?” Another one, Satan, took the opportunity and claimed to be God. Michael defeated the rebel angel and his troops of angels, who were thrown out of heaven—down to earth, or to hell, or left hanging in the air (Moges 2013). Michael is often described as the leader of the angels and is among the most important as the one who defeats Satan in battle, a victory that made him archistrategos (commander-­in-chief) of all bodiless forces. He became not only commander-­inchief but administrator of all the heavens (see Chapter  8), and he was also titled “archangel.” The word “archangel” comes from the Greek ἀρχάγγελος and means “chief angel” or “angel of the highest rank” (Metzger and Coogan 2001). The number of archangels varies in different traditions. In the Bible, the term “archangel” is used in connection with Michael, and in singular form, so it is possible to argue that there is only one. However, other angels are also called archangels, the most popular personae in addition to Michael being Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriēl. The plural form of the term “archangel” is not found in the Bible, “but in Tobit 12.15, Raphael describes himself as ‘one of the seven angels who stand ready and enter before the glory of the Lord’ (cf. Rev. 8.2). Further information concerning these seven angels is found in 1 Enoch 20, whose Greek version describes them as ‘archangels’ and lists their names as follows: Uriel, Raphael, Raguel, Michael, Sariel, Gabriel, and Remiel” (Metzger and Coogan 2001: 18). Michael sometimes bears the title “saint” in addition to that of “archangel”: Saint Michael the Archangel. Many holy places, churches, and congregations have been named “Saint Michael,” particularly in Europe but also in African countries. What the use of “saint” signifies in this context and why it started and still continues is not obvious. The title “saint” is normally used for holy people—people who lived remarkable lives in a religious respect, and who have therefore gained a special place in Christian veneration. Michael is not a human being, but giving him the title “saint” may have been done to show him special reverence, or it may have been a strategy to materialize or “humanize” him, a way of making it easier to relate to him. Calling Michael (and other angels) “saint” reveals the interesting ambiguity that exists within the phenomenon of angels, which is also present in contemporary African veneration of Michael. In Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity, the word k· ǝdus is used in a way similar to that of “saint”: Michael is called k· ǝdus Mikaʾel in Amharic. However, k· ǝdus cannot be translated exactly as “saint” as it is understood in European traditions, in other words, a person who is sanctified. K·ǝdus is a broader term and means “holy” or “sacred” in general, as everything in Creation may be holy. It describes or categorizes someone or something as holy or sacred. The term is also used for God and other superhuman beings. This understanding of the term reveals a similar kind of ambiguity.

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Veneration of Michael among African Christians today Some features of Christianity seem to be easily integrated with local “traditions” in African cultures. In the Ethiopian Orthodox case, the materialization of Michael as healer and warrior is particularly observable, and the faithful have close ties with him. The most common depiction of Michael is one showing his victory over Satan. In an African context, this aspect is often important. A man in his thirties residing at a holy water site in Ethiopia, a site consecrated in the name of Michael, explained that Michael is important to him in three ways; as a messenger, as a healer, and as a mighty warrior and protector during the end of time:4 “Michael’s power is not only that he brings messages. He brings healing. We are close to doomsday, and Michael’s role is very important.” In the particular site where he was staying, there is no healer priest (at.maki)—the Archangel Michael is the only healer. What is unique about this k·ǝdus Michael Church is that the one who baptizes5 people is k·ǝdus Mikael himself. There is a cross, which people coming from different places see and are amazed by every day, and which was taken from one priest by k·ǝdus Mikael when the priest attempted to baptize people in the s. äbäl area. The cross is sitting in a tree. Nadew 2000

Among the African Initiated Churches, Michael has a place mainly in the “spiritual” churches.6 In the Nigerian branch of the Celestial Church of Christ, founded in Benin in 1947, with half a million members in Benin alone and members in many European countries among the African diaspora, this invocation is normally used: “Jehovah, Jesu Kristi, Michaeli Mimo, Oga Ogun (Jehovah, Jesus Christ, Holy Michael our captain)” (Adogame 2000: 15). As the invocation clearly indicates, Michael is regarded as “holy” and “captain.” Among the followers of this church, four archangels are reckoned to be important, but Michael is “the ‘chief archangel’ under ‘the power of Jesus’ who wields the ida (spiritual sword) that demolishes ajogun, aje, oso, the malevolent supra mundane forces which populate the world” (Adogame 2000: 15). In another case, the members of a large Nigerian church, the Cherubim and Seraphim Church, believe that the Archangel Michael is their captain,7 and their white dresses are representations of their angelic quality (Kustenbauder 2008). Moving on to the eastern part of Africa, we find another example of how Michael is important. The Legio Maria Church was established by two excommunicated Catholics, who offered free healing and exorcism of evil spirits. The church has approximately one million members and is now found in all the capitals of the states of Eastern Africa. Its followers believe that the Archangel Michael gives them strength in spiritual battles and delivers messages to their messianic leader, Ondeto (Kustenbauder 2009). Further south, in Malawi, back in the nineteenth century, Michael’s power and healing aspects were important to the visionary “prophet” Kamwana (Donati 2011). Several aspects of Christianity share characteristics with traditional African religion: healing rituals, exorcism, deliverance from witchcraft, prophecies, visions, and spirit possession. For example, the battle Ethiopians believe they have with evil spirits

Michael: Persona and Cult among African Christians

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is serious and real. Such battles are waged by humans at all levels of society, from presidents to beggars. Ethiopians see their relations with forces which can fight them as crucial. Where this is the case, Michael is easy to love and hold in high esteem as a messenger of God and as a protector. According to Kustenbauder, the Cherubim and Seraphim Church “emphasized revelation through dreams and visions, divine healing instead of traditional charms and medicine, and protection from witchcraft” (Kustenbauder 2008: 5). In the Celestial Church of Christ, emphasis is placed on Michael as the angel of victory and the protector of the Church, whereas Gabriel and Uriēl are believed to be healing agents and protectors against diseases (Adogame 2000). The veneration of Michael is characterized by an emphasis on his role as the destroyer of evil spirits, a necessity in a world where evil spirits are part of everyday life. People perceive reality as consisting naturally of both human and superhuman beings, among which exist malevolent spirits. In contrast to contemporary Western Christianity, religion is often completely integrated in the daily life of Africans, and therefore even the use of the term “religion” becomes problematic in an African context (Sundkler and Steed 2000; Olupona 2014) because life is not characterized by dichotomizing or compartmentalizing the world, as is largely the case in Western societies. What we have is a combination of what is often called “African religion and Christianity,” where Michael’s role in providing protection, and sometimes healing, from evil spirits and witchcraft is at the forefront. Other aspects of Michael are characteristic of specific regions, such as his role as a psychopomp, the one who guides souls to life after death. This is an important aspect of his persona in Egypt and Nubia (see Chapters 4 and 8) and can also be found in Ethiopia. Michael as Archangel, the one who defeats evil, is naturally crucial in a world where malevolent spirits are an integral part of life.

Conclusion While belief in angels in general and the Archangel Michael in particular has been a controversial issue in Western theology both diachronically and synchronically, Michael was and is still loved and venerated in everyday religion among Christians in several parts of Africa. Angels, ancestors, spirits, and God are all important parts of the comprehensive worldview of African cultures, as well as of African Christianity. The belief in angels is widespread. The lack of description of Michael and other angels in the Scriptures makes them easily formable in appearance, in persona, and in functions. As Gilhus (Chapter  2) writes, “angels travel light.” Michael has traveled with people through time and cultures and played important roles in the religious life of both individuals and religious institutions, as well as in the intersections between them. Another—perhaps more important—feature of Michael’s popularity in Africa is that he is compatible with African worldviews. He can easily find his place among, or in polarization with, a variety of spirits. The spirits are not abstract and aloof, as is often the case of the supreme god in African religions; they are close and constitute a part of everyday life, as the material reality is not just what we can see and touch. When material objects are the media of superhuman beings, the angels and Michael are made real (Setiloane 1978).

Part Two

The Archangel Michael in Coptic Egypt

Map 2  Egypt. Created by Raita Steyn.

Introduction: Christian Egypt Ingvild Sælid Gilhus

The topography of Egypt is dominated by the Nile River. The Nile runs through the country from Nubia (today in Sudan, see next section) in the south to the Delta in the north, where it empties into the Mediterranean Sea. On both its sides are vast deserts. The southern border of Egypt varied over time, and parts of Nubia were at times under Egyptian rule. Today the border lies in the artificial lake created by the Aswan High Dam. The dam has regulated the seasonal flooding of the river, which has been the basis of agriculture in the Nile Valley and in the Delta, supporting the economy and population of Egypt, but also of the great ancient and medieval empires of the Mediterranean Sea. People have lived in the Nile Valley since prehistoric times; human presence is recorded archaeologically as early as 40,000 years ago. Egypt’s native Pharaonic rule began when the kingdoms of Upper and Lower Egypt were united about 3000 bce, and it ended when the country was conquered by the Achaemenid Empire in the sixth century bce. Later, Alexander the Great made Egypt part of his empire and founded Alexandria (331 bce). After his death, one of his generals, Ptolemy, took charge of Egypt. He was the first of a Greek dynasty that ruled Egypt for 300 years (from 305 bce), with Alexandria as a center for commerce, philosophy, and learning. The end of this dynasty came at the Battle of Actium, when the army of Cleopatra, the last of the Ptolemean rulers, and the Roman general Mark Antony were defeated by Octavian, who later became the Emperor Augustus (31 bce). After the Battle of Actium, Egypt became a Roman province and was later part of the Eastern Roman Empire, which has come to be known as the Byzantine Empire, with Constantinople as its capital. From the Hellenistic era onwards, a bilingual culture was developed where the Greek and Egyptian languages existed side by side. The hieroglyphic signs, which had been invented in the third millennium bce, were later exchanged for Greek letters with some additional letters derived from Egyptian. This last phase of the Egyptian language is called Coptic. The global culture of the Roman Empire was a breeding ground for religions. During Roman rule in Egypt, as well as the Greek rule before it, the ancient gods, such as Isis and Osiris, gained a footing outside their homeland, with temples in the city of Rome, and Isis became a universal mother-­goddess. Later, a new religion, Christianity, spread in Egypt where Jews were already present, especially in Alexandria and also in other cities.

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

According to the church historian Eusebius, the evangelist Mark brought Christianity to Egypt and founded the “Catechetical School” in Alexandria. In reality, there is no consensus on how Christianity first came to Egypt, but papyrus fragments of the gospels, dated in the second century, have been found there and Christianity is mentioned in documentary papyri from the first half of the third century (cf. Choat 2012). Christianity in Egypt encompassed various schools and movements, some of them regarded as heretical in later times. In the fourth century, monasteries were founded, some of which developed into federations, such as the monasteries of Pachomius and Shenoute in Upper Egypt. The Coptic Church (later the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria) developed a strong organization, with the bishop of Alexandria as its most powerful leader. Due to disputes concerning the human versus divine nature of Christ, it split from the other churches after the Council of Chalcedon in 451 ce. Its liturgical language is Coptic. For a short period, Egypt was occupied by the Persian Sassanid Empire (619– 629 ce), before it was invaded by a Muslim army led by the general Amr ibn al-As. It was then made part of successive caliphates (641–1517 CE), and the Arabic language gradually replaced Coptic. Ottoman rule followed (1517–1867), after which Egypt fell under British control, which lasted more or less until 1953, when the Republic of Egypt was established. Today, Coptic Christians are a religious minority in Egypt, where about 90 percent of the population are Sunni Muslims. Because of its dry climate, Egypt has been a rich source of archaeological finds and objects, often preserved in excellent condition in the desert sand. Churches, monasteries, and monastic cells have been excavated, and spectacular discoveries of ancient Christian papyri have been made. One example is the discovery of thirteen Christian codices at Nag Hammadi in 1945; another is the Hamouli collection from the Monastery of the Archangel Michael in Fayum, which includes two copies of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael. Ancient manuscripts have been preserved in Egyptian monasteries, and some of them have just recently started to be analyzed and edited. In these sources, the special role of Michael is evident. From the fourth century, archangels were venerated in churches, and several churches were dedicated to Michael. Churches and monasteries were richly decorated, and pictures reflect the vigorous tradition of Michael. This chief among the archangels is celebrated liturgically on the 12th of each month. Furthermore, one can observe a continuity between the old Egyptian religion and Christianity. Ancient temples were sometimes converted to churches, and even a papyrus strip with Isis healing Horus has been found, which features a spell referring to Michael on one side and the Mount of Olives on the other (Frankfurter 1998: 260). The three chapters on the Egyptian Michael discuss the continuity in his cult from temples to churches, present the most important text associated with him, and discuss his role as a soul guide. In Chapter 4, Karel Innemée discusses the iconography of St. Michael as psychopomp—a guide of the souls. While Michael’s role as guide to the hereafter is frequently described in texts, images of him in this role are rare. The author takes his point of departure in a sequence of mural paintings from the Church of the Holy Virgin in Deir al-Surian (Wadi al-Natrun) and raises the question of whether this is in fact a fusion of Christ and Michael. In Chapter 5, Pietro D’Agostino examines

Introduction: Christian Egypt

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primarily Arabic sources. The focus is on the conversion of pagan temples into Christian churches such as St. Michael the Archangel in Alexandria and on cult continuity in the veneration of the Archangel from pre-Christian to Christian Egypt. In Chapter  6, Hugo Lundhaug discusses an apocryphal text, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael. Copies of this Coptic text have been found in both Egypt and Nubia, underlining its popularity. The text interprets and develops biblical material and narratives about the Archangel Michael and gives the archangels a dominant position. Lundhaug compares the development of the Investiture with the modern phenomenon of fanfiction. By studying different types of sources, the three authors illuminate various aspects of the persona of the Archangel and show his significance in Egypt.

4

The Archangel Michael as Psychopomp in Christian Iconography in Egypt Karel Innemée

Introduction The Archangel Michael is endowed with a number of titles and functions, and one of these is that of psychopompos (guide of the soul to the hereafter). Death and the transition to a hereafter is a crucial moment in human life, and it is not surprising that, apart from official teachings, popular beliefs concerning psychopomps have played an important role in almost all cultures. This moment of transition sooner or later comes for the great figures (saints, heroes) in religious mythology as well as to the average believer, and his/her hope of salvation and safe passage to the hereafter is reflected by the stories in circulation—canonical as well as apocryphal—concerning the life and death of the heroes.1

Psychopomps in Graeco-Roman Egypt The concept of the psychopomp is not a Christian invention. The canonical sources, the Old and New Testament, contain no explicit mention of psychopomps, and there is clear evidence that the belief that (arch)angels, especially Michael, as well as Christ himself, are involved in escorting the souls of the deceased has been influenced by popular beliefs in the various religions of the Near East and Mediterranean area, especially Egyptian, Graeco-Roman, and Jewish. This influence may not be apparent directly from texts, since many popular traditions were not codified, but in iconography a number of interesting links can be found. Here, however, certain caution should be exercised, since concluding from the resemblance of two images that the older one has influenced the newer is not a reliable method. Hermes had a number of tasks and qualities, and some of these have an interesting overlap with Christian psychopomps and specifically the Archangel Michael. Hermes is called the kriophoros (sheep-­bearer), an epithet that has primarily a sacrificial implication, but which also implies his care for the soul of the deceased, and as such became an example for the Christian kriophoros/good shepherd—a way of depicting

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Christ (Klauser 1967). Another important quality of Hermes is that of messenger (theos angelos) of the gods, and this function of being the connection between the worlds of gods and mortals can be seen as closely related to that of the psychopomp and guardian angel (Siebert 1990: 286–7). A third function is that of the one who holds the balance of fate in which the eidola (miniatures of people representing their souls) are being weighed—the process of psychostasis (Siebert 1990: 338). From the Ptolemaic period, Egyptian gods were increasingly associated with their Greek counterparts, and in this process, Hermes was merged with two different gods: Thot and Anubis. The merger with Thot, the god of writing and communication, resulted in the god called Hermes Trismegistos (Fowden 1986), while the common aspect of the psychopomp was the reason for conflating Hermes and Anubis into Hermanubis (Grenier 1977: 172–8; Benaissa 2010). The judging and weighing of the ka (soul) of the deceased in front of the throne of Osiris, a popular theme in the iconography of the Book of the Dead, is usually done by Anubis, assisted by Thot, who writes down the outcome. Hermes, Thot, and later Michael are thus all in charge of the balance.2 It must have been in the early Christian period that the Archangel Michael, as a Judeo-Christian component, was added to the figure of Hermanubis. It is difficult to say whether this was a matter of identification or merely an “overlap of characters,” since written sources are silent on this. The main source of information is a group of “magical” gems, dating roughly to the second and third centuries, on

Figure 4.1  Drawing by author of limestone relief with dying person and angel, from Landesmuseum, Mainz.

The Archangel Michael as Psychopomp

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which Hermanubis is depicted in combination with the name of Michael. In two cases, a standing Hermanubis is depicted on one side, while the name Michael is incised on the reverse, on a third gem the standing figure has the name inscribed underneath, while on a fourth a kneeling figure of Hermanubis holds a mummy over his head.3 Little can be said about the religious background of the owners of these gems and for what purpose exactly they were used. Michael’s name is inscribed on these gems, but it remains unclear whether this means that Michael is identified with Hermanubis. Representations of Michael as a real angel and psychopomp from this early period are apparently not known. From a later period (sixth or seventh century), one isolated representation has come down to us, a limestone relief, now in the Landesmuseum in Mainz (see Fig. 4.1), where a tall angel is standing behind a bed on which a figure is lying, with a small naked figure on his left arm (Ägypten, Schätze aus dem Wüstensand 1996: 109, fig. 54). The function of this sculpture is uncertain, and the blank panels suggest that it is unfinished. It may have been intended as a tombstone, but nothing can be said with certainty about the identity of the deceased or about that of the angel. However, considering the popularity of Michael and his association with the psychopomp Hermanubis in earlier centuries, it is likely that this prominently depicted angel is Michael.

Michael and the Dormition of the Virgin Mary The “magical” gems mentioned above are part of popular culture and belong to the private realm. It is not until the fifth or sixth century that we can witness Michael as a psychopomp making his way into the public realm of devotion, at first in texts, and slightly later—as far as we can see—in iconography. One of the major personages in Christian mythology is the Virgin Mary, and the lack of information concerning her life and death in the canonical sources has given rise to a rich corpus of apocryphal writings. A part of this corpus is dedicated to her death and the transitio of her soul and body to the hereafter. In one of the earliest apocrypha mentioning her death, the Coptic Gospel of Bartholomew, Christ announces that he will come, accompanied by the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, to bring her to “the places of immortality” (Shoemaker 2002: 30–1; Hennecke and Schneemelcher 1968: 359).4 Christ and his archangels are mentioned here as escorts for the person who can be considered the most prominent of Christian saints. Does this mean that Michael was thought to be the psychopomp just for saints and martyrs who, according to some, had the privilege of going straight to paradise or heaven, or for all mortals in general? The average person was believed to remain in an intermediate state, the so-­called refrigerium interim, awaiting the resurrection and the Day of Judgment, on which his or her final destination would be decided (Stuiber 1957: 43–104). In this Last Judgment, Michael was again believed to play a prominent role, holding the balance. This study will deal with the role of Michael as psychopomp, first and foremost in the context of the iconography of the Dormition of the Virgin Mary, but also, in comparison with that, as an escort for other, less prominent deceased.

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The starting point for this investigation was a sequence of mural paintings discovered in 2002 on the eastern wall of the khurus5 of the Church of the Holy Virgin in Deir al-Surian (Wadi al-Natrun, Egypt). In one of these, depicting the Koimesis (Dormition of the Virgin Mary) there is an angel, possibly Michael, who seems to be at the point of receiving the soul of Mary. Although Michael as a psychopomp occurs in various texts, representations of him in this role are rare, at least in the period before the eighteenth century. Iconographically, the painting in Deir al-Surian remains a unique case, and a further investigation into the figure of Michael as a psychopomp in texts and images may shed a new light on the painting.

The tenth-­century Dormition in Deir al-Surian On the eastern upper wall of the transitional zone between nave and sanctuary, a sequence of scenes was found, depicting the Dormition and Assumption of the Virgin Mary, with a central representation of Christ and the Virgin seated on a throne (see Fig. 4.2). These paintings are part of the decorative program added to the interior of the khurus, commissioned by Abbot Moses of Nisibis at the beginning of the tenth century, possibly even before the total rebuilding of the sanctuary in 914 ce. This means that this scene of the Dormition belongs to the earliest dated monumental depictions of this theme, if it is not the earliest (Myslivec 1972: col. 333–8).6 On the far left, there is the representation of the Dormition. The Virgin lies on a bed, surrounded by the twelve apostles, seated in two rows on either side of the bed. They are not individually identified, but both groups of six are accompanied by the explanatory Coptic text ⲛⲓⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗ(ⲟⲥ) (“the apostles”). Apart from these persons, there are six women, three on either side, swinging censers. The Coptic inscription in the painting calls the six women ⲛⲓⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲟⲥ (“the virgins”), without any specific

Figure 4.2  Dormition of the Virgin Mary, Christ and the Virgin enthroned. Mural painting in Deir al-Surian, tenth century. Photograph by the author, edited by D. Zielińska.

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names.7 Behind the bed, a large winged figure stands, the only remains of whose name are the letters . . .ⲏⲗ ( [. . .]el), visible to the left of him. He is standing, his hands stretched out in a gesture that suggests he is expecting to receive the soul of the Virgin. The most likely identification at first sight is that of the Archangel Michael, since he is the one that functions as a psychopomp in a number of versions of the account of the Dormition of the Virgin Mary. To the right, there used to be a scene which is now almost completely missing. The only surviving part of the representation is a group of men at the far right, looking up with expressions of amazement. At the top of the edge, there is a fragment of a Coptic inscription reading, ⲡⲓⲥⲱⲙⲁ ⲛ (“the body of . . .”). This is a strong indication that the now missing scene represented the Assumption of the body of the Virgin. The center of the composition is a representation of Christ enthroned, who holds the wrist of his mother, sitting next to him, and raises it. At the left side of the head of the Virgin, there is a representation of the sun, while the moon is visible to the right of the head of Christ. This scene could be interpreted as a representation of glorification of the Virgin in heaven or paradise and her reception by Christ.

The thirteenth-­century Dormition In the thirteenth century, the church was renovated and its interior completely redecorated. As part of this, a new painting of the Dormition was made in the northern semi-­dome of the khurus.8 This painting shows the bier of the Virgin with Christ standing behind it, holding the eidolon (a small figure wrapped in white textile, representing the soul of the Virgin) of his mother, while on both sides the twelve apostles approach the bier with gestures and expressions of grief. Two nameless angels with rhipidia (liturgical fans) appear from medallions on either side of Christ, while two other angels support an almond-­shaped sphere of heaven over the head of Christ.9 This painting is a composition which corresponds to the iconography of the Dormition as we know it from Byzantine paintings of the thirteenth century and later. From the twelfth century onwards, the passing of the eidolon by Christ to Michael became an increasingly rare element in the iconography of the Dormition. This gradual diminishing and final disappearance of Michael can be witnessed in the earliest representations of the Dormition—a mural painting in Cappadocia and a number of ivory panels. In Ayvalı Kilise, a painting dated to between 913 and 920 depicts Christ taking the eidolon from the mouth of the Virgin, while directly next to him the Archangel Michael stands to take it over. Michael is of the same size as the other persons in the scene.10 In an early ivory panel (late tenth century), now in the Schnütgen Museum in Cologne, an angel is depicted on the left in a downward movement, his hands covered with a piece of cloth. Christ stands in the middle, holding the eidolon, and on the right an angel is depicted in an upward movement, holding the same eidolon.11 We can read this as a kontinuierende Darstellung:12 Michael (presumably; no inscription identifies the angel) descends from the left, takes over Mary’s soul from Christ and goes up to the right-­hand side. Almost identical compositions can be seen in two other tenth-­century panels: one in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection, Washington, DC, and the other in the

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Figure 4.3  Ivory plaque with the Dormition of the Virgin, Musée de Cluny, Paris. Available online: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dormition_de_la_Vierge.JPG.

Musée de Cluny, Paris (see Fig. 4.3).13 In a panel from the Walters Art Museum, dated to the tenth or eleventh century, two angels with covered hands are shown coming down from left and right, Christ giving the eidolon to the one on the right. In other words, here one single moment is depicted, the handing over of the soul to the angel, possibly Michael.14 In a third phase of the development of this theme, two angels are coming down with covered hands, but Christ only holds the eidolon, while looking down to his mother. This is illustrated by a twelfth-­century panel in the National Museum in Warsaw.15 In later depictions, the number of angels surrounding Christ may increase, but the handing over of the eidolon to Michael rarely appears.

Iconological observations The tenth-­century painting of the Dormition in Deir al-Surian seems to have been inspired by more than one source. The dominant way in which the angel stands behind the bier resembles the relief in Mainz. The most striking difference with this and other (later) representations is the presence of six virgins swinging censers. This may have

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been inspired by the six virgins who accompanied the Virgin Mary to the temple, and who, in a homily attributed to Theodosius of Alexandria, were present at her Dormition, holding censers (Innemée and Youssef 2007: 72–3). The second and—in the context of this study—more important element, absent in many other representations, is the dominating presence of the angel, most likely identified as Michael. There are a great number of literary sources for the Dormition narrative, and their interdependence is complicated (Shoemaker 2002: 1–77). The oldest traditions must go back to the late fifth century and are known from a group of Syriac fragments known as the Obsequies (Wright 1865). A full text survives in an Ethiopic translation, the Liber Requiei. These texts, together with the redactions depending on them, are known as the Palm of the Tree of Life group because of an element they have in common—the branch of the (palm) tree of life which the Virgin receives as an announcement of her death (Shoemaker 2002: 32–5).16 This palm is an element which can be considered a symptom of continuity in the tradition of the psychopomp in Graeco-Roman and Christian Egypt. It occurs earlier as a symbol of victory over death and an attribute of Hermanubis, who, as we have seen, is associated with Michael (Grenier 1977: 139; Grenier 1990; Veymiers 2009: 103). It is depicted in various representations, for instance in sculptures (Grenier 1977: plates XVII, XXII, and XXIII), on a number of gems, and on a bronze ring found in Palestine, where Hermanubis is presented as a shepherd/psychopomp (Amorai-Stark and Hershkovitz 2012: 90, 98).17 In these “Palm” versions of the Dormition narrative, the twelve apostles are gathered miraculously from the corners of the earth and, together with three virgins who serve Mary, witness the coming of Christ at the moment of his mother’s death, who receives her soul and entrusts it to the Archangel Michael (Shoemaker 2002: 325). Mary’s body is then brought to a tomb, from where it is later taken by Michael and a host of angels to be put under the tree of life in Paradise. There, her body and soul are reunited (Shoemaker 2002: 340). Then, Christ, his mother, and the twelve apostles visit the places of punishment and reward, after which the Virgin returns to Paradise and the apostles to earth. The Encomium of Theodosius is related to the Palm tradition but has significant differences as well, for instance the absence of Michael and the number of virgins present (Shoemaker 2002: 62). Perhaps the most puzzling detail of the painting is the prominent position of Michael in the middle of the composition and his superhuman size, while Christ and the eidolon of the Virgin are absent. This seems to be in contrast with all the texts concerning the Dormition. If we consider this painting a narrative image, which moment is depicted? Could it be the moment when the eidolon is about to appear? In that case, the figure of Christ should have been standing here. That raises the question whether the angel could be representing Christ, a matter which will be discussed below. The painting on the right side of the wall, which once depicted the Assumption of the body of the Virgin, has not survived apart from a fragment, which makes it impossible to say whether this was based iconographically on the Palm tradition. In the middle, between the scenes of the Dormition and the Assumption, there is the representation of Christ and the Virgin seated on a throne, flanked by the sun and the moon. In the context of the two preceding scenes, this representation again raises the question of what exactly is depicted here. It may be inspired by the Homily on the Dormition

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

by Pseudo-Evodius of Rome, a Sahidic Coptic text which is part of a different tradition of Dormition texts (Shoemaker 2002: 57–62). When Jesus arrives at the house of his mother, he praises her, his speech including the sentence, “And if you nursed me on knee and arm, I too will raise you upon a glorious throne to the right of me and my good Father.” Christ holds the wrist of his mother, a remarkable gesture which seems to express victory at first glance, but which needs further investigation. The Virgin seems to respond with a gesture in the direction of Christ. In Byzantine and Christian NearEastern art, these gestures of Christ and the Virgin seem to have no parallel. Is this the moment of reunification of body and soul of the Virgin in Paradise? The tree of life under which this took place is absent, and the throne seems to be rather an attribute of heavenly glory. In Ethiopian art, similar representations are known, albeit from a much later period. In a seventeenth-­century manuscript of the Täʾammərä Maryam (the Miracles of Mary), Christ and the Virgin are depicted with the same gestures.18 A second example of this composition, also from the seventeenth century, can be found in a manuscript with prayers to the Holy Trinity in the Library of Frankfurt am Main.19 Unfortunately, the fragmentary evidence only allows for speculation about the relationship between texts and images, but the following remarks, conclusions, and assumptions can be made: 1. Although other tenth-­century paintings from Deir al-Surian display a high degree of originality in their iconography and no parallels to them have been found so far, it seems unlikely that the sequence of paintings illustrating the Dormition and Assumption of the Virgin have “come out of the blue” and have had no influence in later iconography. 2. The important role for Michael as psychopomp in a great part of the Dormition literature stands in stark contrast with his absence in Christian iconography, especially in the Nile Valley, where angels have enjoyed great popularity over the centuries. This may be due to the loss of material heritage; very few icons survive from before the eighteenth century. 3. One element in the tenth-­century Dormition cycle in Deir al-Surian, the central scene with Christ and the Virgin enthroned, has no parallel in the Christian iconography of the Eastern Mediterranean, but it does occur in Ethiopia— albeit in another context. The fact that the early literary tradition of the Dormition with Michael as psychopomp (the “Palm” tradition) has spread from Syria to Ethiopia may mean that an iconographical tradition (illustrated manuscripts?) has accompanied the texts. The representations of Christ and the Virgin enthroned in Deir al-Surian and the ones in seventeenth-­century Ethiopic manuscripts would, in that case, just be isolated surviving fragments of a tradition that was once widespread.

Michael-Christ as psychopomp? The puzzling fact that the angel behind the bier of the Virgin in Deir al-Surian stands there all by himself raises a question about his identity. Is this in fact Michael? That this

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is a psychopomp can hardly be contested. Only the last two letters of what must have been his name (. . .el) remain, and this seems to point in the direction of an angel’s name; in that case, Michael is the most likely option. The role of Michael as a psychopomp is not a Christian invention. It goes back to Jewish traditions of the Second Temple period. Angels could accompany the souls to the hereafter, and according to apocryphal tradition, it was again the most prominent of archangels who was charged with guiding the souls of the most prominent patriarchs: Adam, Abraham, and Moses (Hannah 1999: 46–7). The continuation of this role in the Christian tradition is therefore not surprising; however, Christian tradition focuses on the figure of Christ himself, who is considered to be the primary psychopomp. The earliest image of this tradition, borrowed from late antique iconography, is the Good Shepherd, a Christian modification of Hermes kriophoros (the sheep-­bearer) as a preChristian psychopomp (Klauser 1967; Legner 1970; Grabar 1980: 11). There is, however, a categorical difference with Michael as psychopomp. The image of Christ as the Good Shepherd is based on Jn 10:11 and can be considered as initially a metaphor. In early Christian iconography, iconic representations of the kriophoros appear frequently in a funerary context (catacomb paintings, sarcophagus sculpture) but often as an ambiguous image; only in the late fourth century was the kriophoros clearly identified as Christ (Klauser 1967: 90, 97, 99). This Christ as Good Shepherd does not play a role in narrative images or texts. He is a timeless image, a figure of speech, and not an acting character. The psychopomp is the connection between two worlds: the (material) world of our visible reality and the “other side,” the immaterial world of the divine and the hereafter in its various aspects. Angels are mentioned as the ones who convey the message of God to mankind, and in the Christian tradition it is Jesus Christ who not only brings the word of God but is in fact the Word (Logos) himself. It is the duty of the psychopomp to establish the communication in the opposite direction, bringing the soul, directly or indirectly, to its destination in the hereafter, ideally to Paradise. Both angels and Christ share this task of connecting two worlds, and their shared duty thus results in a resemblance. In the Old Testament, the communication between God and humans, if not through spectacular theophanic appearances to prophets, takes place through “angels of the Lord” (for instance Gen. 22:11-15), while in other cases, “the word of the Lord” comes to a person without the mediation of an angel (Gen. 15:1). Where in certain cases angels, such as the archangels, are described as personalities with names and characteristics, in many other situations their persona seems to be completely subordinate to the message they bring, to such an extent that they seem to be rather a personified form of the message of God; in other words, the word of God (Logos) is implicitly equated to an angel. At the moment when the transcendent god descends into immanence, this temporary manifestation becomes an “angel.” In other cases, angels, the ones bearing a name and an identity, have a more circumscribed and permanent character and appear as creatures rather than an emanation of God. The Logos plays an important role in the thought and writings of Philo. Although his formulations are not always consistent as he ascribes qualities to the Logos which seem to contradict each other at times, it is evident that he considers the Logos to be an

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angel, either as a creature of God or as a hypostasis (a manifestation of the divine essence).20 Although Philo does not explicitly equate the Logos to Michael, in his view they share certain qualities, such as being the leader of the heavenly hosts and a performer of high priestly roles. Apart from that, he also uses the terms “son” or “firstborn” of God (Hannah 1999: 81). Philo’s Logos doctrine would become an important factor of influence in Alexandrian theology and beyond, especially in the thinking of Justin Martyr, for whom the Old Testament theophanies were manifestations of the pre-­existent Christ (equating to the Logos). As a consequence, he equates Christ with an angel, as in his Dialogue with Trypho 34.2: “For Christ is King, and Priest, and God, and Lord, and angel, and man” (Bobichon 2003: 266–7). In Apology 1.6, Christ is mentioned as the model after which angels were created: “But both Him, and the Son (who came forth from Him and taught us these things, and the host of the other good angels who follow and are made like Him) and the prophetic Spirit, we worship and adore” (Roberts, Donaldson, and Coxe 1885: 164). Perhaps the best-­known example of an Old Testament theophany where angels are interpreted as an appearance of God or the Trinity is the visit of the three men to Abraham at Mamre, as recorded in Gen. 18. For Tertullian, there is no doubt that the pre-­existent Logos appeared in the form of an angel and accompanied by two other angels: “For this reason he too on that occasion appeared along with the angels in Abraham’s presence, in flesh veritable indeed though not yet born, because it was not yet to die, though it was even then learning to hold converse among men” (Contra Marcion III.9.6; Evans 1972: 198). Also, to Justin it is clear that it is the Logos that appears in the guise of an angel (Dialogue 56; Bobichon 2003: 322–35). The idea of identifying an angel with the pre-­existent Logos can be found not only in patristic writings but also in hymnology and iconography. In the Church of the Mother of God Perivleptos in Ohrid, for instance, the thirteenth-­century painting of the hospitality of Abraham depicts a young man with a cross-­halo and wings as the central figure of the three visitors (Poposka 2011: 36). Apart from these general similarities between Christ and angels, an even more specific “overlap of personalities,” that of Christ and Michael, can be found in The Shepherd of Hermas. Although the book has a structure which is far from clear and entertains certain theological views that are certainly “unorthodox” according to later standards, such as an adoptionist attitude to Christ, it was nevertheless influential in its time, the late second and early third centuries (Bucur 2007: 140–1). It is part of the Codex Sinaiticus, suggesting that even as late as the fourth century it was still held in high esteem by many. In a number of passages, clear allusions are made concerning an identification of Michael with Christ (Hannah 1999: 187–90). In Similitude VIII.3.3, the Great Angel is called Michael, while in Similitude IX.1.1, he is called the Son of God (Lake 1912: 197, 217). A remarkable detail is also that the angel who appears to Hermas is described as tall, which is also a characteristic of the angel in the Deir al-Surian painting. But if such ideas were deemed to give way to Trinitarian Christianity, how should we explain their echo in tenth-­century iconography? Tendencies towards an angel-Christology are by no means part of mainstream theology and seem to be characteristic of the second and third centuries. Therefore, we

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cannot presume a direct link between Justin, The Shepherd, and the iconography of the Dormition painting in Deir al-Surian. On the other hand, it is well-­known that certain elements from apocryphal writings survived in literature and iconography long after these sources had been rejected as non-­canonical.21 The link between angels and Christ recurs in both texts and iconography of later periods, not in a Christological, dogmatic sense, and by no means in a systematic way, but sometimes as a figure of speech and sometimes in narratives, in order to express the heavenly glory surrounding their appearance to mortals. An example of this, taken from an apocryphal source and associated with the Dormition, is the beginning of the Liber Requiei, where an angel appears to the Virgin, offering her a book and taking her to the Mount of Olives, where the trees bend down in veneration. At that moment, she asks the angel whether he is Jesus, apparently not knowing whose divine glory is before her (Shoemaker 2002: 291). A text which may have had a certain influence on iconography is the second Easter homily of Gregory of Nazianzus, known from a number of illuminated manuscripts. Here the passage is illustrated by a scene where Habakuk looks up and sees an angelic figure in a mandorla, surrounded by angels: I will stand upon my watch saith the venerable Habakkuk; and I [Gregory] will take my post beside him today on the authority and observation which was given me of the spirit; and I will look forth and will observe what shall be said to me. Well, I have taken my stand, and looked forth; and behold a man riding on the clouds and he is very high, and his countenance is as the countenance of an angel, and his vesture as the brightness of piercing lightning.22

Various versions of this illustrated text are known, Ms. BN Gr. 510 being the oldest one (880–6). In it, the angelic figure does not have a cross-­halo, whereas in a group of slightly later manuscripts, the angel does have the iconographical characteristics of Christ, such as the cross-­halo and/or the four apocalyptic creatures around the mandorla, as in Sinai Gr. 339.23 A biblical text that has been widely used to illustrate the angelic quality of Christ is the famous passage of Isa. 9:6-7, which in Christian exegesis is generally seen as a prophecy of the coming of the Messiah: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor” (lit. “angel of great counsel,” in the LXX: μεγάλης βουλῆς ἄγγελος). This Angel of Great Counsel appears occasionally in late and post-Byzantine painting, especially in the mural paintings in Serbia and Macedonia from the thirteenth century onwards, and in at least one of these paintings the connection with the illustrations of the Easter homily of Gregory of Nazianzus is evident. In the esonarthex of the Church of the Holy Mother of God Perivleptos in Ohrid the youthful Christ-­ angel, who is identified by the initials IC XC and the cross-­halo, holds a scroll with the first sentence of Gregory’s homily.24 Returning to the interpretation of the angel in the tenth-­century Dormition of Deir al-Surian, it would not seem improbable to explain the absence of Christ by assuming that the angel depicted is a fusion of both psychopomps, unconventional as it may seem at first sight.

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

Michael as psychopomp for others The presence and activities of Christ and archangels in the transfer of the soul of the Holy Virgin are unmistakably associated with her prominent position among the saints. Apart from this, Michael frequently appears in Coptic martyrs’ legends, not just as the psychopomp but as the one who supports the martyr during the torments inflicted on him/her, until the moment of his/her death, when he accompanies the martyr to heaven. There is a certain stereotype in Coptic hagiography, where the final passion of the martyr consists of arrest, interrogation, torture, and miraculous healing of the body of the martyr, often through the intervention of Michael. In the case of the martyr being thrown into the fire, Michael appears and renders the martyr immune to the flames, as a kind of analogy to the story of the Three Hebrews in the Fiery Furnace. Execution by the sword usually follows, after which the soul of the martyr is taken to Paradise (Baumeister 1972: 95, 147–8; Lundhaug 2016: 9–10). This popularity in hagiography stands in contrast with the absence of Michael in Coptic iconography, which is not surprising since there is an enormous gap in Coptic art in the period between the thirteenth and eighteenth centuries. Apart from that, there does not seem to be an early tradition of narrative representations of martyrs’ legends where Michael or other angels are depicted at the moment of the transfer of the soul to the hereafter. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, however, so it is difficult to say whether and, if so, how the iconography of Michael as a psychopomp developed in this period spanning approximately ten centuries. The relief in Mainz seems to be the only pictorial document when it comes to an angel as psychopomp for a normal mortal, and it is not until the eighteenth century that icons of Michael as psychopomp can be identified. There can be no doubt that in the meantime a pictorial tradition existed, although we find traces of this only in the Byzantine reach; but before moving on to this topic and in order to have a proper understanding of the geography of the hereafter, we should consider the question of where exactly the psychopomp was believed to transfer the soul to. The Jewish tradition of a last judgment is largely based on two texts. The first one is the apocryphal apocalypse of the First Book of Enoch, a text which gained authority in Christian circles as well and to which the Letter of Jude (1:14-15) refers. In the Apocalypse of Zephaniah, possibly composed in Egypt between the first century bce and the first century ce, a more elaborate description of the fate of the souls after death is given: here a provisional judgment is described, taking place after death but before the eventual Last Judgment.25 Here angels record the good and evil deeds, and while ugly angels deport the damned to places of punishment, good angels escort the blessed ones to the company of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and other just figures of the Old Testament. Both texts have been of influence on Christian ideas about the hereafter, not only in the early centuries but also in the Byzantine period (Marinis 2017: 9–11). One of the Christian apocrypha based on these Jewish texts and describing in detail what happens after death is the Apocalypse of Paul. Here the situation is similar in the sense that good and evil angels bargain and argue for the soul of the deceased, keeping record of good and evil deeds. In this text, it is the Archangel Michael who is explicitly mentioned as the one who brings the soul to Paradise (Hennecke and Schneemelcher

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1971: 545). An interesting detail is that Michael is called the “Angel of the Covenant,” a formulation that seems to refer to Mal. 3:1: “ ‘I will send my messenger (LXX: ἄγγελον), who will prepare the way before me. Then suddenly the Lord you are seeking will come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire, will come,’ says the Lord Almighty.” This text is usually interpreted in the Christian sense as a prophecy of the coming of John the Baptist, preceding the Messiah, but the use of this term in the Apocalypse of Paul suggests that the author considers Michael to be the Angel of the Covenant, referring to his task to prepare the Second Coming (Δευτέρα Παρουσία) of Christ. It should be remembered that the judgment taking place after the death of an individual is a provisional measure, separating the just from the unjust and lodging them in separate quarters of Hades, in order to await the Last Judgment, expected to take place after the Second Coming. Tertullian in his De Anima and Hippolytus of Rome in his Discourse to the Greeks concerning Hades are quite clear about this matter (De Anima 58; Waszink 1933: 193–7). Paradise, where the Old Testament patriarchs are sheltering the just in their lap, is not identical to heaven, and the place where the Virgin was brought after her death in the Palm of the Tree of Life narrative should probably also be understood in this sense. The various versions of the description of Hades (or sheol in Hebrew) are not clear or consistent with regard to whether this temporary abode of the just is located underground or in heavenly regions (Stuiber 1957: 36–7). Although the tradition of the provisional judgment by angels is older than Christianity itself, and though widespread in Christian writings, representations are rare. This is not surprising, since the life and death of the average mortal sinner is a less common subject in religious art. Nevertheless, a handful of manuscript illuminations are known, and one of the earliest ones is from the Heavenly Ladder of John Climacus (Princeton Ms. Garrett 16, fol. 63v), a manuscript from 1081 (Marinis 2017: 50).26 Here the deathbed of a monk is shown. While three other monks are looking with sorrowful expressions and a fourth one lights a censer, an angel (Michael?) takes the eidolon, coming from the mouth of the dying monk by the hand. A similar image can be seen as part of a full-­page illustration in Ms. Dionysiou 65, fol. 11v (early twelfth century), while here in the lower part of the same page two angels are shown, proceeding with the soul to a balance. On the opposite side of the balance, “evil angels” are approaching, ready to interfere (Marinis 2017: 52, fig. 3). In the Theodore Psalter (London BL Add. 19352, fol. 137r) from 1066, a simple composition shows a man lying on a bed, from whose mouth the eidolon comes out, while an angel flies down in his direction with outstretched arms to receive it. In none of these miniatures is the angel identified by name. The earliest depictions of this Last Judgment do not seem to occur earlier than the late ninth century, and the oldest surviving full-­grown compositions date back to the eleventh century (Brenk 1972: col. 513). One composition which would become a standard for Byzantine Last Judgments of later centuries as well is a miniature in Ms. BN gr. 74 fol. 51v, where we see a conflation of elements taken from the gospels, the Revelation of John (20:11-15), and the apocryphal and patristic sources concerning Hades and the provisional judgment (Marinis 2017: 54, fig. 6).27 The angel with his balance, Paradise with Abraham and the Virgin, and Hades and its compartments have now become part of the last instead of the penultimate

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

judgment. The angel with the balance is not identified by an inscription, but in the centuries to follow, more and more representations are to be found where he is explicitly identified as Michael. In Pseudo-John Chrysostom’s In Secundum Adventum Domini Nostri Jesu Christi, Michael is explicitly mentioned as the one who holds the balance at the Last Judgment, but whether this source is the main factor behind Michael’s role in the iconography of the Last Judgment is difficult to say (PG 61, 775). In late and post-Byzantine icons from various regions, the Archangel Michael is often depicted individually, and, depending on which quality of the angel is highlighted, with outfits and attributes that can occur in various configurations. The balance, known from antiquity as an attribute of Hermes in the psychostasis, is represented frequently, sometimes with the soul of a person on one of the scales, while a devil is trying to pull this scale down, and the angel points a spear or a sword at the devil.28 Here a clear reference is made to his roles as psychopomp and judge in the penultimate or the last judgment. His martial character is often shown by depicting him in armor, and this is to underscore his function as archistrategos (commander-­in-chief) of the heavenly hosts. In an icon by Antonios Mytaras, from around 1600, he is indeed dressed in a military outfit, with a sword in his right hand but also with the eidolon of a person who is under his feet in his left hand (Chatzidakis 1962, 91, pl. 57). This person makes a miserable impression, lying on the ground, dressed in just a loincloth. This motif occurs more often, and in some later icons (eighteenth and nineteenth centuries), the text “Φρίξον ψυχή μου τά ὁρῶμενα” (“Shudder my soul in fear for what you will see”) is written next to the figure of the deceased.29 It seems to be a reminder of death to the believer, like a memento mori. This composition, in a number of varieties, was taken up by Coptic icon painters in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.30 A number of other icons have a similar composition, but the person under the feet of Michael is instead lying on a bed and dressed in rather luxurious clothes. Three such icons are now in churches in Cairo: two in the Church of Haret Zuwayla, and one in the Church of AlDamshiriyya (see Fig. 4.4). They are the work of Yuhanna al-Armani (c. 1720–86), and all three contain the same elements: the Archangel holding a sword in the right hand and a balance in the left.31 The eidolon is depicted at the moment when it leaves the mouth of the dying man. It is also clear that the angel is not really standing on the man but rather hovering over him. An Arabic inscription on the icon in Al-Damshiriyya offers a clue about who the dying person is: the rich man of the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (the soul of the unbelieving rich man: ‫)روح الغني الكافر‬. The interesting point in this group of icons is that a number of roles for Michael have been fused, and his function as psychopomp has been expanded from the level of prominent saints to that of the average mortal believer. Whereas Michael is initially mentioned only as the psychopomp for Old Testament patriarchs and the Virgin Mary, here he appears at the moment of death of a nameless, half-­naked man, or the rich miser from Lk. 16:19-31. Neither of the two are “historical” persons; they seem to be images of sinners functioning in this context as reminders of death (memento mori) for the beholder. That would also explain why two other aspects of Michael are depicted. The passing to Paradise does not take place without impediment, and the evil angels or devils try to pull the balance to their sides and Michael acts both as judge and as archistrategos, fighting the devils, thus also becoming an advocate for the deceased.

The Archangel Michael as Psychopomp

49

Figure 4.4  Icon of St. Michael, Church of Al-Damshiriyya, Cairo. Photograph by the author.

Michael as a judge is originally associated with the Last Judgment, both in texts and in iconography, and his appearance in the context of these icons suggests a blurring of the distinction between the two judgments, at least at the level of popular devotion, where these icons played a major role. Another interesting contraction—or maybe we should speak here of a misunderstanding—concerns the identity of the man over whose body the Archangel hovers. “Hovering over” and “standing on” are two different things, but in the basic representation of perspective (or lack thereof) in these icons, they can hardly be distinguished. This could lead to the misunderstanding—either on the part of the painter, copying older examples, or on the part of the observer—that the person under the feet of the angel is the devil. In one icon, now in the Coptic Museum, Michael points his sword and his lance at a person lying in a coffin (Van Moorsel 1991: 145, pl. 43d). The presence of an eidolon in his left hand and the coffin suggest that the person is a mortal sinner, but the absence of a balance and the angel’s aggressive attitude suggest that the painter lost the understanding of his example. On a so-­called chalice-­stand (‫كورسي الكاس‬, kursi al-­kas) by Anastasi al-Rumi in the Coptic Museum (Van Moorsel 1991: 53, pl. 15c), Michael stands over the body of a deceased man, but

50

The Archangel Michael in Africa

on a similar stand in Deir al-Surian (unpublished), the figure of the deceased has been meticulously scratched away, the monks believing that a representation of the devil at the altar would have been unacceptable.

Conclusion The need for a divine or god-­sent escort who accompanies the soul to the hereafter has been felt by people of various religions. In Judaism and Christianity, the Archangel Michael is believed to fulfill this function, first of all for the just (dikaioi) of the Old Testament, and in the Christian apocryphal tradition for prominent saints, especially in some versions of the Dormition narratives of the Virgin Mary. It is Christ in the first place who receives the soul of his mother, and—in a number of texts—passes it to Michael, who brings it to Paradise. The presence of only one angel in one of the earliest known representations of the Dormition, in Deir al-Surian, might be explained by the belief that Christ had angelic qualities and that the combined task of Christ and Michael as psychopomps was expressed by representing the two as one appearance. Angels were supposed to play a role as judges in the provisional judgment, immediately following the moment of death, while Michael was believed to play a prominent part in the Last Judgment as well. In later Eastern iconography, Michael is often depicted in the combined role of archistrategos, judge, and psychopomp. In a group of icons from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, a nameless person, and in some cases the rich miser from the parable of Lk. 16:19-31, is depicted as being judged by Michael, after which the angel grasps his soul. These icons may be explained as memento mori for the beholder but also express the devotion to the Archangel as the victor over evil and the protector of the souls of the faithful.

5

On the Liturgical Memories of the Archangel Michael in the Coptic Church and Their Link with the Nile’s Rise: Some Reflections Pietro D’Agostino

Introduction In the scope of Michaelic studies, several attempts have been made to identify the pagan predecessors of the Christian angel.1 Different gods (and even goddesses) have been proposed in order to explain the continuity between pagan and Christian religious practices. In each case, the traces for this alleged continuity have been sought either in liturgical or para-­liturgical practices, or in specific functions. However, these results often prove to be partial and, in some cases, misleading. Notwithstanding these difficulties in identifying Michael’s forerunners, it is undeniable that the Archangel is the heir of more ancient religious traditions. For the purposes of this chapter, we will focus on Coptic Egypt, namely on the survival of different traditions associating the persona of the Archangel with the natural cycle of the Nile’s flood during the medieval and early modern age.2 Through a deepened analysis of extant sources belonging mainly—but not exclusively—to the Mamluk period, we will take into consideration and try to answer the following questions: What are the dates and hence the liturgical memories linked to Michael and to the Nile’s flood? What rituals and ceremonies were linked to these particular days? What does the Archangel’s patronage of the Nile’s flood disclose about medieval Egyptian society and about the role of the Coptic minority? All these issues will be the object of the present study.

The sources 1.  The Coptic Synaxarium, the Night of the Drop, and the mud’s weighing For the purpose of this survey, several sources are available which convey interesting elements about the connection between Michael and the rise of the Nile’s waters. Only a few texts related to our issue are written in Coptic.3 The main sources are written in Arabic and belong mostly to Muslim authors. The first and most obvious Arabic source

52

The Archangel Michael in Africa

concerning Michael’s cult is, of course, the Coptic Synaxarium. In addition to the apparition of the Archangel to Joshua fighting against the Amalekites, on Hatūr4 12th the Coptic Church commemorates the story of Dorotheus and Theopiste (Dūrūtāws and Tāwbistā in the Arabic text), in a short hagiographic novel relating the marvelous effects of Michael’s patronage. In the text, we read the following: “They performed commemorations and almsgiving in his [Michael’s] name every 12th day of the month, so that he would implore the Lord—may His name be exalted—for the fruits, the Nile’s rise, the steadiness of the temperature etc.” (Basset 1909: 280).5 Another source, written in Coptic, reinforces the link between Michael, the hagiography of Dorotheus and Theopiste, and the rise of the Nile’s waters. It is about an encomium of the Archangel ascribed to the patriarch Theodosius of Alexandria (sixth century ce [?]).6 The author of the encomium narrates that for three successive years the Nile’s waters did not rise as usual, and that for this very reason Dorotheus and his wife had no more cattle available to perform the ritual sacrifices in honor of the Archangel on Hatūr 12th.7 As we can see, once again the motif of the Nile’s rise is linked to the persona of the Archangel, even though no particular wonders are narrated that relate the intervention of Michael and the Nile’s flood. The date emerging from these two texts is, as pointed out, Hatūr 12th, which corresponds to the Julian November 8th. However, as we will see, the most common date connecting the Archangel to the Nile’s rise is Baʾūna 12th, which is Julian June 6th. We begin with the observation that the Coptic Synaxarium (Basset 1923: 556–61), while mentioning the liturgical memory of the Archangel Michael on Baʾūna 12th, does not make any reference to the Nile. Instead, it relates, on the one hand, the story of a certain Euphemia (ʾAwfīmya), and, on the other, the conversion of Saturn’s temple (‫هيكل زحل‬, haykal Zuh.al) in Alexandria into a church dedicated to the Archangel, an event whose historicity has often been questioned by researchers.8 Nevertheless, it would be incautious to assume that the absence of any allusion to the Nile’s rise (which turns out to be, as we will see, quite astonishing) dates back to the primitive redaction of the Synaxarium, since extant editions (Basset’s as well as Forget’s)9 are unsatisfactory for modern editorial standards. As a matter of fact, it is precisely Baʾūna 12th that in the Coptic milieux is strictly associated, at the same time, with the beginning of the Nile’s flood and the Michaelic liturgical memory. A source written in Bohairic Coptic and attesting to this connection is another encomium attributed to an otherwise unknown Eustathius of Trake (Budge 1894: 93).10 In this homily, designed to be read on Baʾūna 12th, the same story of Euphemia is told, but the mention of Michael’s influence on the Nile’s flood is explicitly stated. The author remembers that on the 12th of Baʾūna, “Michael will be in conclave with the angels and will be bowing down and praying with all the angel hosts outside the veil of the Father for the waters of the River of Egypt (ⲉⲑⲃⲉ ⲛⲓⲙⲱⲟⲩ ⳿ⲛⲧⲉ ⲫⲓ⳿ⲁⲣⲟ ⳿ⲛ ⲭⲏⲙⲓ), and for dew, and for rain.”11 The date of Baʾūna 12th, along with the mention of Michael’s intercession in favor of the Nile’s rise, introduces us to the study of a twofold tradition, which—despite being definitely linked to Coptic piety—turns out to be very well known to Muslim authors. We refer to the “Night of the Drop” (‫ليلة النقطة‬, layla an-­nuqt.a) and to the related tradition of the “mud’s weighing” (‫ وزن الطين‬, wazn at.-t.īn). Since several scholars have already addressed this issue (Popper 1951: 68; Bonneau 1964: 257),12 we will

Liturgical Memories of the Archangel Michael

53

directly examine the sources, referring the reader to secondary bibliography for further discussion. Among Christian and Muslim medieval authors, we find mention of a particular night of the year on which the Nile is supposed to start rising. On the one hand, the texts describe how, during that night, a miraculous drop falls from the sky into the Nile’s waters, thereby causing their increase. On the other hand, we are informed of a curious custom prevailing, it seems, in Upper Egypt: during the same night, the Copts used to weigh a given amount of mud mixed with water from the Nile and put it aside until the next morning. At sunrise, they weighed it again and predicted the level of the Nile’s rising on the basis of the increase of the mud’s weight. Several texts attest to the relationship between Michael’s feasts and the beginning of the Nile’s flood. The majority of them are accessible in modern printed editions. An additional source, probably belonging to the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century and still unpublished, will be briefly presented at the end of this chapter.13 Let us consider our first witness: ʿAbd al-Lat. īf al-Baġdādī (1162–1231 ce). In his Al-­ifāda wa l-­iʿtibār, al-Baġdādī describes this Coptic custom as follows:14 The Copts of the Upper Egypt claim that they predict the level of water rising in the year by means of a given amount of mud, which they expose on the appointed night. In the early morning, they weigh it. Since it has increased, they predict the Nile’s rising level on the basis of its increase. Others make predictions from the harvest of the date palm trees, and others from the bees’ honey production.15

In the short description of this peculiar tradition, we already find all the basic elements that recur in other sources. Despite this precision, the author does not mention the date on which the weighing takes place but rather speaks generally of “the appointed night” (‫في الليلة معروفة‬, fī l-­laylati l-­maʿrūfa). Al-Maqrīzī (1364–1442 ce), in his Al-­mawāʿiz. wa l-­iʿtibār fī ‒d ikr al-ḫit.at. wa l-āt- ār, refers to a particular night “on which the Nile’s bed widens,” and details that it is, once again, the night of Baʾūna 12th:16 “The 9th [of Baʾūna] is the period of cutting down the date palm trees17 . . . and the 12th is [Saint] Michael’s feast, on which the Nile’s bed widens.”18 As we can see, no mention is made of the ritual of the mud’s weighing, but the text gives us the exact date of the beginning of the waters’ rise, which coincides with Michael’s feast. The three elements—the date of Baʾūna 12th, the Archangel’s feast, and the mud’s weighing—are gathered together in a later source, by al-Qalqašandī (1355–1418 ce), which explicitly says:19 In any case, the flood begins on the 5th of Baʾūna, one of the Coptic months. On the night of the 12th, they weigh the mud, and, on that basis, they calculate the Nile’s flood, since God the Most High established a certain regularity. As a matter of fact, they weigh a certain amount of dry mud, and then they mix it with exactly sixteen drachms of the Nile’s water. They put it on a piece of paper or a similar material, and they lay it down in a box or something similar. Then, at sunrise, they weigh it [again], and whichever the weight gain would be, the increase [of the flood] is calculated as follows: Each carat of increase corresponds to one cubit on sixteen drachms.20

The Archangel Michael in Africa

54

In this text, the author describes exactly how people (Copts?) calculate the rise of the Nile’s water, by explaining the formula used to predict the flood’s rise. The same connection between Michael’s feast, the beginning of the flood, and the prediction of water rising is to be found in Ibn Iyās (c. 1448–1522 ce). This testimony poses some problems of its own, since the date is not precisely consistent with that of other sources. According to the author’s Badāʾiʿ az-­zuhūr fī waqāʾiʿ ad-­duhūr,21 “The 1st of Rağab was a Thursday, and it was [Saint] Michael’s feast. The Drop fell during the night at the beginning of the month, and people tried to make predictions as to the Nile: Whether it would increase a lot and in an advantageous way that year.”22 The year of which the author is speaking is AH 927 (i.e. 1521 ce). The problem arises because we know that Rağab 1st of AH 927 corresponds to Friday, June 7th, 1521 of the Julian calendar, that is to say, Baʾūna 13th. If our calculations are correct, then our source is slightly inaccurate, but it incontestably refers to the Michaelic feast of Baʾūna and to the miraculous drop (‫النقطة‬, an-­nuqt.a). Another Mamluk source, namely that of Ibn Taġrībirdī (c. 1411–69 ce), refers to the mud’s weighing, even if he apparently associates this tradition with a day of the Coptic month of Tūt. According to Taġrībirdī:23 On a Thursday, again, fell the † 13th † of Tūt. Abū Manağğā’s bridge was inaugurated, and on that very day, the river reached a height of eighteen cubits and twelve digits, if the measurement was exact, and this was the peak of the flood that year . . . The same goes for those who had weighed the mud on the night of Michael’s feast, who had agreed on the calculation of twenty cubits. And the same applies to Irğanūs’ well: When it filled up24 on the day of Michael’s feast, [the water] reached twenty cubits. In the end, everyone was wrong. God did not reveal His mystery but to those He chose among His friends.25

2.  The well at Irğanūs As regards Irğanūs’26 well (‫بئر إرجنوس‬, biʾr Irğanūs), during Michael’s feast, we have another mention in al-Maqrīzī, who talks about the same tradition:27 Report about Arğanūs.28 This town is one of the many belonging to the Bahansā district. There is a small well near a church, called “The Well of Ysūs.” There is a feast which is celebrated on the 25th of Bašans (one of the Coptic months in Egypt). In this well, the water bubbles at the sixth hour of the day, until it emerges above ground, and then it goes back to its previous level. The Christians try to predict the Nile’s flood each year by calculating how much the water has risen, and they claim that the Nile and its flood’s behavior are consistent with these calculations.29

As we can see, another unusual custom is linked to the feasts of the Archangel, although in this case the date given by the author is Bašans 25th (Julian May 20th).30 Before moving to our next source, it is important to linger for a while on the case of Irğanūs.

Liturgical Memories of the Archangel Michael

55

In addition to being expressly linked to the Archangel’s liturgical memory, the divination method and the presence of a well closely resemble the function of the nilometer.31 We know that one of the most famous nilometers was located on the island of Rawd.a in central Cairo, and that it was rebuilt at the behest of the Abbasid caliph Mutawakkil in 861 ce. Of course, this does not preclude that other nilometers existed in Egypt, as, for example, on the island of Elephantine in Aswān. The well located in Irğanūs, with regard to its functioning, recalls the principle of the nilometer. Nevertheless, the reading of the water’s level is not meant to provide information about the actual rise of the Nile, but to be used as a divination method to predict the waters’ rise during the following month. As a matter of fact, the Irğanūs phenomenon was supposed to take place on Bašans 25th (Julian May 20th), which means more or less one month before the actual beginning of the flood.32 Aside from the mentions of Irğanūs’ well belonging to the modern period33 (as well as from the quotations of al-Maqrīzī’s text by later authors),34 we find another occurrence in the hardly accessible Tārīḫ al-­kanāʾis wa l-adyira (History of the Churches and Monasteries) by Abū l-Makārim (second half of the twelfth century). This author says of the Dayr Īsūs at Išnīn (‫)دير ايسوس باشنين‬:35 Dayr bi-Īsūs: It is located near Išnīn.36 It is said that Christ arrived at bi-Īsūs coming from Hermopolis. There is a church. In this monastery, at its center, there is a well of spring water, on which they pray at the moment of the Nile’s rise every year. The well’s water rises, and there are some well-­defined marks showing the cubits of the Nile’s rise. And behold, the well’s water rises and attains a certain mark, and on this basis, it is possible to know how many cubits the Nile’s rise will be.37

As we can see, even if Abū l-Makārim does not specify on what day the prediction takes place, it attests to the existence of some sort of graduated scale inside the well ( fīhi išārātun mah. kūma, ‫ )فيه اشارات محكومة‬which allows the calculation to be made. This detail reinforces the idea that Irğanūs’ well could represent a sort of local nilometer, which seems to have remained under the Copts’ control.38 This last observation is not without interest if we consider that from 861 ce the management of the Cairo nilometer rested with the Muslim family of Abū r-Raddād, to which the office was first entrusted.39

3.  Nilotic Christian sacrifices? Our next source is linked, once again, with Baʾūna 12th, but it relates another tradition of the Christian population at the time of the Arab conquest of Egypt (c. 641 ce), if one can accept this anecdote as historical. The author is Ibn ʿAbd al-H . akam (d. 871 ce), “the earliest Arab historian of Egypt whose work has survived,”40 who narrates that ʿAmrū ibn al-ʿĀs. banished the local custom of offering a virgin girl to the Nile on Baʾūna 12th in order to propitiate the flood.41 Apparently, in this case we are dealing with another witness of the connection between Baʾūna 12th and the Nile’s rise, even if the account of a human sacrifice performed by Christians in the seventh century to appease the flood is at least questionable.42

56

The Archangel Michael in Africa

4.  Another case of Nilotic divination: the Coptos Pillar Before drawing some conclusions, it is of some interest to discuss another tradition concerning the divination of the Nile’s rise in relation to Michael’s liturgical memory. This account concerns the city of Qift. (Coptos) in Upper Egypt. Our source is, once again, the Tārīh al-­kanāʾis wa l-adyira by Abū l-Makārim. As a matter of fact, the ˘ the churches and monasteries of the city, talks about a lonely pillar author, describing (ʿāmūd qāʾim wah.dahu) which is used to make predictions about the rise of the Nile:43 At its [the town’s] center, there is a pillar standing by itself, exposed to the sun, on which the cubits of the Nile’s highest level have been skillfully marked under the guidance of God (exalted is He). The 26th of Baʾūna is the day on which the sun halted for Joshua, the son of Nun, by the permission of God (exalted is He), so that he could overcome the pagan nations and the giants in battle by virtue of the changing of the sun into several colors and the duplication of its halo. When it [the sun] halts on this pillar and attains [the mark of] a given cubit, it is known from this what the highest level of the blessed Nile will be that year.44

The description of this particular tradition is preceded by the mention of a church dedicated to the angel Gabriel, which could dissuade us from inferring a link with Michael. Nevertheless, Baʾūna 26th is known in the Coptic liturgy to be the memorial day for the sending of the Archangel Michael to earth to support Joshua in the siege of Jericho (Simon 1935: 225).45 Therefore, a connection between the divination through the pillar on this very day and the patronage of Michael proves to be rather likely.

Discussion Now that we have come to the end of our analysis, we will try to answer the programmatic questions we touched upon at the beginning of this study. Let us start with the date of Michael’s feasts involved in the Nilotic cycle: We find the dates of Baʾūna 12th, then Hatūr 12th, Bašans 25th, and eventually Baʾūna 26th.46 These dates all correspond to particular memories of the Archangel Michael in the Coptic liturgy, which is easily demonstrated by the Coptic Synaxarium and several homiletic texts. However, the most represented date is undoubtedly Baʾūna 12th, which is explicitly referred to in at least four sources (Al-Maqrīzī, al-Qalqašandī, Ibn Iyās, and al-H.akam) as the day on which the waters start rising47 and/or particular rites are performed in order to propitiate the flood or to predict the waters’ rise. As previously mentioned, Hatūr 12th is also linked both to Michael and the Nile, especially in the hagiography of Dorotheus and Theopiste. We know from Eutychius of Alexandria that sacrifices were performed by Copts on this day in honor of the Archangel, and it is likely that, if a connection with the Nile really existed, the rituals were meant to thank the heavenly patron of the flood, which usually attained its plenitude between July and August and reached its maximum level in September (Popper 1951: 69ff., 87).

Liturgical Memories of the Archangel Michael

57

One witness (Al-Maqrīzī) attests to the date of Bašans 25th in relation to a locality in Upper Egypt (Irğanūs), and another source (Abū l-Makārim) relates the existence of a tradition implicitly linked to Michael’s liturgical memory of Baʾūna 26th and to the prediction of the waters’ increase. As for our second question, we will endeavor to summarize the rituals performed on the occasion of these particular dates. As we said, they primarily concern the so-­ called “Night of the Drop” and the mud’s weighing. However, along with these main traditions, other local customs are attested by historical records, and they are all intriguingly linked to divinatory practices: We refer, of course, to Irğanūs’ well and Qift. ’s pillar (Upper Egypt). How should the historian consider this multiplicity of traditions and the apparent inconsistency of the dates? We think that the concept of local piety can be of considerable help in explaining this variety. If the traditions of the “Night of the Drop” and of the mud’s weighing are by far the most common and renowned—to such an extent that many Muslim historians are aware of their existence—other local usages existed which imply a connection between Michael and the Nile’s rise, especially by means of divinatory rites. On the other hand, it is not at all surprising that a rural population, searching for supernatural methods to deal with the inconstancy connected to the natural cycle, produced a variety of different solutions. Evidently, the abundance of Michaelic memories throughout the year allowed for several local adjustments, from time to time adapted to regional needs and, possibly, to pre-Christian customs.48 At this point, some qualification is needed. The concept of “local adaptation” is operational insofar as an alleged standard exists. In the case of this survey, the standard should be represented by an official (conceivably Alexandrian) liturgy linked to the beginning of the Nile’s flood. As a matter of fact, we realize that the official Coptic liturgy for the blessing of the Nile is quite different from what we have studied so far. The relevant liturgical texts have recently been edited by Fr. Dous in his doctoral dissertation at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki.49 In this study, Fr. Dous edited (and, in some cases, re-­edited) the critical text of the Alexandrian liturgies associated with the blessing of the Nile’s waters. While some texts belong specifically to the Melkite (Greek Orthodox) tradition, at least two texts seem to be characteristic of the Coptic Church: They are about the blessing of the water during the Holy Theophany (T.ūbah 11th, Julian January 6th)50 and about another liturgy for the blessing of the Nile’s water during the feast of the Holy Cross (Tūt 17th, Julian September 14).51 The latter is peculiar to the Monastery of the Virgin on Mount Qusqām (Dayr al-Muh.arraq). As we can see, no reference is made to Michael in these texts, nor is he invoked to propitiate the flood. Furthermore, the dates for these celebrations do not match the data collected so far. The most obvious conclusion we can draw in this respect is that the ties between the Archangel’s feasts and the Nile’s rise—for the propitiation of the flood as well as for the prediction of the waters’ increase—are the expression of popular, often local, piety. In fact, in light of the extant published sources, the Coptic Church celebrated the Nilotic cycle with a special liturgy which did not imply any connection with Michaelic memories or with the persona of the Archangel, and which was openly associated with the dominical feasts. Ultimately, notwithstanding the presence of many feasts of Michael in the official Coptic Synaxarium, it seems that the “Nilotic Archangel” belongs more specifically to

58

The Archangel Michael in Africa

the field of popular devotion; the same applies to the alleged sacrifices performed in Michael’s honor.52 It is also noteworthy that in the Arabic sources, when the confessional attachment of those celebrating the rituals is explicitly mentioned, they always turn out to be Copts. No reference can be found about other Christian confessions, for example the Melkites. Consistently, in the Orthodox liturgies for the blessing of the Nile’s waters no mention is made about Saint Michael, while other saints are invoked at the end of the prayer.53 We also have access to an ancient Alexandrian liturgy in Christian Palestinian Aramaic, belonging to the Melkite tradition (Margoliouth 1896; Dous 2011: 41–50) and which was supposed to be performed on the Sunday of the 318 Nicene Fathers, the Sunday of Pentecost, and on the feast of St. Mark (Margoliouth 1896: 685–86; Dous 2011: 40), which proves to have no relation with the Coptic traditions linked to Michael’s memories, starting with the dates of its celebration.54 All these elements help us answer our last programmatic question, which concerns the social implications of Christian traditions linked to Michael in his capacity as the flood’s patron.

Conclusion The analysis of the available sources—which might be complemented by possible new finds and textual surveys—conveys the idea that the prediction of the Nile’s rise during the flood as well as the rituals associated with it have somehow remained for centuries the prerogative of the Coptic rural population. This fact excludes at the same time the official Coptic hierarchy and the Melkite-Orthodox Church, both linked to another liturgical cycle, as well as the Muslim rulers, to whom the management of the Cairo nilometer was officially entrusted in 861 ce.55 The existence of the well at Irğanūs is an iconic case of this Coptic peculiarity in the scope of medieval and early modern Egyptian society.56

6

Textual Fluidity and Monastic Fanfiction: The Case of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael in Coptic Egypt1 Hugo Lundhaug

The Archangel Michael is a prominent figure in Egyptian Christianity, and he frequently makes an appearance in Coptic literature, especially from the post-­conquest period. Indeed, his prominence is quite out of proportion to his marginal role in the canonical biblical texts (Dan. 10:13, 10:21, 12:1; Jude 9; Rev. 12:7). One of the many Coptic texts especially dedicated to Michael2 is the one known as the Investiture of the Archangel Michael. This text sings the Archangel’s praises not only in a metaphorical sense but also quite literally, as it recounts a hymn to the Holy Spirit where the angels praise Michael in the following manner, according to three surviving Coptic manuscripts:3  

Rejoice, all just ones, in the good things of our Savior! Amen. It is Jesus who summons you! It is Michael who ministers to you! It is Jesus who prepares for you the good things! It is Michael who prays for you until they are given to you! It is Jesus who eats with you! It is Michael who ministers to you! It is Jesus who guides you and who prepares the food for the universe! It is also Michael who prays for them until he sets them in order! It is Jesus the king of glory who holds a feast for

Rejoice, all peoples, in the good things of the Savior! It is Christ who summons you! It is Michael who ministers to you! It is Jesus who prepares you for the good things! It is Michael who prays for you until they are given to you! It is Michael who prepares the food for the entire creation! It is also Michael who prays for them until they are given them! It is [Jesus] the King of Glory who holds a feast for them in joy and purity! It is Michael who feasts with his king! Jesus

Rejoice, O just ones, in the good things of our Savior! It is Jesus who summons us. Amen! It is Michael who ministers. Amen! It is Jesus who prepares everyone’s food. Amen! It is Michael who prays for them. Amen! It is Jesus who drinks. Amen! It is Michael who pours. Amen! It is Jesus who eats the bread. Amen! It is Jesus who prepares everyone. Amen! It is Michael who entreats. Amen! The king rejoices today. Amen! Michael

60 them in purity and joy! It is Michael who rejoices with his king. Amen! It is the apostles who summon. Amen! It is Michael who stands and ministers to them all! Michael prays for them and gives them great glory. M593: 39–40

The Archangel Michael in Africa the King of Glory rejoices today! It is Michael who stands and ministers to them all! M614: 30

rejoices with him. Amen! IFAO: 148v

While similar, the three quoted versions of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael express the angelic hymn and its praise for Michael in different ways and with different emphases. At the same time, none of them can be regarded with confidence as more original than the others, and it is impossible to reconstruct an original text, or even an earlier common ancestor, on the basis of these surviving versions. This is not only the case for the angelic hymn, but for the Investiture in its entirety, and raises important questions about how we are to approach and understand this text as a work of Christian literature, and how we may conceptualize and contextualize it. Here I will suggest some ways in which we may understand the literary practices on display here, as the Investiture of the Archangel Michael builds upon the canonical biblical texts, filling in gaps in the canonical narratives while developing its own story, with its own goals and intentions. While my focus will be on the Investiture, it must be stressed that it is just one of a number of similar apocryphal works preserved in Coptic which share several overlapping features, in terms of contents, style, and genre. As can be observed in the example above, it was evidently a fluid text that was relatively freely adapted by scribes as they copied it for new readers in shifting contexts. In what follows, I will suggest some ways in which we may understand the literary culture that produced, transmitted, and used such texts in the context of Coptic monasteries in an increasingly Islamic Egypt, as well as the processes involved in the exegetical creativity expressed in them and the limitations which both restricted the fluidity of textual transmission and fueled the potential for adaptation.

The text(s) The Investiture of the Archangel Michael is presented as a dialogue between Jesus and the apostles on the Mount of Olives, where Jesus is said to speak with them openly without hiding anything from them. While similar in structure and setting to other apocryphal dialogues between Jesus and the apostles, the Investiture departs from the norm by being set prior to the crucifixion, shortly after the death of John the Baptist, rather than as a post-­resurrection dialogue. It is the collective mourning of the Baptist’s death that sets the stage for the dialogue and occasions the retelling of the events leading to John’s execution in the opening part of the text. In this retelling, the role of the

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devil in the Baptist’s death is brought up. We are told that it was the devil who incited Herodias to have John killed, and this sets the stage for the following dialogue regarding the origin and fall of the devil and the cause of evil and sin in the world. This is important as it is in the narration of the devil’s fall that we arrive at the text’s titular focus on the role of the Archangel Michael and his investiture as commander-­in-chief of the angelic host in place of the fallen devil. The text’s final section, which dwells at length upon the punishments and rewards for the souls of the deceased and the importance of doing charity and observing the rituals and festivals of the church, in particular the festival of Michael, then follows naturally from the discussion of the role of the devil in causing evil and sin, and Michael’s important role in praying on humanity’s behalf. The Investiture of the Archangel Michael is an apocryphal text. As such, it depends on the canonical biblical narratives for its setting and main characters while departing in fundamental ways in its own narrative and aims. I would like to suggest that we may understand some of the central features of this literature and the processes surrounding its production and transmission by means of the modern analogy of “fanfiction.” This concept can be defined as “stories produced by fans based on plot lines and characters from either a single source text or else a ‘canon’ of works” (Thomas 2011: 1).4 Just as, for example, Star Trek fanfiction is based on the story world of the canonical TV series and films, the Investiture refers to and builds upon canonical biblical intertexts and the story world established by them,5 without which it could not have functioned. Like fanfiction, it cannot be conceived of apart from the intertextual background constituted by the canonical texts. The opening section of the Investiture concerning the recent death of John the Baptist is based mostly on the Gospel of Mark and adheres relatively closely to the canonical narrative. The text then proceeds to more foundational questions based primarily—and fundamentally—on the first chapters of Genesis, but now with considerable embellishments, filling in perceived gaps in the canonical narrative and providing additional explanations and rationalizations. Much attention is here dedicated to the creation and fall of the first human beings, as well as the angels. In texts like the Investiture of the Archangel Michael, then, biblical stories and characters are elaborated upon, and new narratives created, in a way that may be regarded as analogous to how fans expand upon fictional universes such as those of Star Wars, Star Trek, or Harry Potter. Regarded as a piece of fanfiction, the Investiture can be seen as a story written by fans on the basis of a pre-­existing canon of texts and the fictional worlds built from them. Importantly, this analogy is not used in order to belittle texts like the Investiture or to indicate that their contents were not taken seriously by their intended audience. Using the theoretical lens of fanfiction, the Investiture can be regarded as participating in what may be described as a fanon, that is, an alternative and supplement to a canon that itself achieves a kind of secondary canonical status where it becomes fanonical through favorable reception and transmission in fan communities.6 With this in mind, let us now take a closer look at the Investiture and see how it works in relation to the scriptural canon and how, and in what “fan communities” and what contexts, it was adapted in its transmission.

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The manuscripts The Archangel Michael is a figure of great prominence in the Coptic tradition, and he makes an appearance in numerous Coptic texts, including homilies, martyrdom accounts, magical texts, and apocrypha (Müller 1959; Esbroeck 1991; Youssef 2007; Lundhaug 2016). The Investiture of the Archangel Michael is one of the texts in which he takes center stage.7 Its date of composition is unknown, but its earliest manuscript attestation is in Coptic codices from the ninth century. A complete Sahidic and an incomplete Fayumic version are preserved in two manuscripts from the Monastery of the Archangel Michael at Phantoou in the Fayum,8 both from the ninth century, unearthed in 1910 in a major discovery of manuscripts which is most commonly known as the Hamouli Codices.9 Fortunately, and in contrast to the remains of the roughly contemporary White Monastery library,10 most of the codices from this discovery were not dismembered and scattered around multiple collections, but were bought by J. Pierpont Morgan shortly after their discovery (Emmel 2005: 66).11 Manuscript M593, the only manuscript which preserves the Investiture of the Archangel Michael in its entirety—and also contains the Investiture of Gabriel the Archangel— is dated in its colophon to 892/893 ce (Müller 1962: 1:i).12 It was produced in nearby Touton and was first donated to a Monastery of the Virgin Mary, before it was later donated to the Monastery of the Archangel Michael (Depuydt 1993: 1:214–15). While manuscript M593 preserves the Investiture in the Sahidic dialect, manuscript M614 contains most of the text in Fayumic. Unfortunately, the end of the latter codex is missing, which not only deprives us of the end of the text, but also perhaps of a colophon that may have provided us with a precise date and place of production.13 In addition to the two versions of the work preserved in these manuscripts from the Monastery of the Archangel Michael, a third Coptic version has been partly preserved on two bifolia from a ninth-­to-eleventh-­century manuscript from the White Monastery in Upper Egypt, which contains a different Sahidic version of the text. This manuscript is currently kept at the Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale in Cairo (IFAO Copte inv. no. 145–8, hereafter referred to simply as IFAO).14 Finally, a short excerpt of the text is attested in a small Greek fragment from Serra East in Lower Nubia, and another in an Old Nubian fragment discovered at Qasr Ibrim (Browne 1988; Browne 1990; Tsakos 2014; Tsakos, forthcoming).

Transmission history In both M593 and M614, the text is attributed to the Apostle John, who is credited with interpreting the words spoken by Jesus on the Mount of Olives (M593: 1; M614: 1). The title given at the end of the text in manuscript M593 (60) is “The Book of the Investiture of the Holy Archangel Michael.” The apostle and evangelist John, also referred to as “John the virgin,” is not only the text’s alleged author, but he also has a special place among the apostles in this text. Jesus praises him highly, stating, in the most restrained version (M614: 18), “O my beloved John, always when you open your mouth and speak

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in the midst of the apostles, my heart rejoices with gladness because of the sweetness of your voice, and the heart of my Father rejoices, and he looks upon the earth and pours his mercy upon every soul” (cf. M593: 24; IFAO: 146v). The work’s direct attribution to John is notable also because it is somewhat unusual for this kind of text, especially one attested in such late manuscripts, as it became common to embed such apocrypha within a homiletic frame narrative pseudepigraphically attributed to a major church father (Hagen 2004, 2010; Suciu 2017: 71–2). The earliest reference to the Investiture of the Archangel Michael is found in a heresiological text written by Bishop John of Parallos in Lower Egypt. In his Treatise Against Apocryphal Books (Contra Libros Haereticorum = Clavis Coptica 0184), written around the turn of the seventh century and partly preserved in a Sahidic manuscript from the White Monastery (MONB.CM),15 the bishop makes reference to the Investiture as one of the “blasphemous books of the heretics” which he claims are being “read in the orthodox churches” (MONB.CM 47–8). He particularly objects to these apocryphal books’16 invention of details in the biblical narratives that are not mentioned in the canonical Scriptures, such as the exact date when the devil fell from Heaven (MONB.CM 58), the claim that the Archangel Michael was invested in place of the devil (MONB.CM 61–3), the exact date on which this happened (MONB.CM 61–2), and the claim that the devil fell because he refused to worship Adam (MONB.CM 63). Due to the textual fluidity inherent in the transmission of this kind of literature, it is difficult to know the extent of the similarity between the preserved versions of the text and the one known to John of Parallos—let alone its hypothetical original—but it is striking that all of the details singled out by the bishop of Parallos for censure are found in the Investiture as preserved in the above-­mentioned manuscripts.17 This fact renders the identification of the text referred to by John of Parallos with the versions of the Investiture preserved in M593, M614, and the IFAO folios highly likely, although we cannot be certain how close they are to the text known to John of Parallos in all their other details.18 Since the text attacked by John of Parallos is probably a version of this text which is highly similar in many of its most significant features, it is certainly noteworthy that despite the condemnation of the text by Bishop John around the year 600, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael continued to be copied and read in Egyptian and Nubian monasteries for centuries, as the preserved manuscripts show us.19 Both M593 and M614 derive from the Monastery of the Archangel Michael at Phantoou, and since the IFAO folios derive from the White Monastery, both the Investiture itself and John of Parallos’ Treatise Against Apocryphal Books are attested in contemporary—or at least roughly contemporary—manuscripts from the same White Monastery dating from the ninth to the twelfth centuries. Indeed, while the remaining parts of the Treatise Against Apocryphal Books only refer directly to the use of such books in churches, the later catechetical work Kitāb al-Īd.āh., attributed to the tenth-­century heresiologist Sawīrus Ibn al-Muqaffa᷾ but probably written by a Coptic monk (Swanson 2011: 265–6), states that John of Parallos confiscated such books from Egyptian monasteries and ordered them burned (Swanson 1996: 221). This obviously did not have the desired effect, however, as the Kitāb al-Īd.āh. also attests to the monastic use of such books at least four centuries later.

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The fall of the devil One of the most interesting aspects of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael is its description of the events which led to the fall of the devil and the investiture of Michael in his place.20 The main discourse on the devil is introduced by a question posed by the Apostle Peter, who wants to know whether all the sin and suffering in the world are caused by humanity itself or by the devil; and if the latter is the case, then why was the devil created in the first place (M593: 4–5; M614: 3)? This initiates a long explanation by Jesus, who says that he and his Father began by creating heaven, and afterwards the angels (M593: 5; M614: 4), and then (according to M593: 5) the Father created the eons. Why were the angels created? The simple reason was that the Father wanted someone to worship him. We are told that the angels (according to M614: 4)—or seven archangels (according to M593: 5)—were created in order to sing hymns of praise “to me and my Father and the Holy Spirit,” as Jesus puts it (M593: 5; cf. M614: 4). The very first of the angels to be created, Jesus explains, was the one who would soon turn out to be the devil: “First we made him, and we called him Saklataboth” (M593: 5; M614: 4).21 Jesus relates that this figure was then appointed over all the other angels, and that they all sang hymns to the Holy Trinity. While Jesus and his Father called the devil Saklataboth, however, the other angels called him “the first-­formed from the hands of God” (M593: 5; M614: 4). While Saklataboth did not object to worshipping the Trinity, he would soon show himself to be too arrogant to consider worshipping anyone else, even on God’s direct orders. This naturally called for an explanation. Was his disobedience part of God’s original plan? This was a difficult question, and the two manuscripts which preserve this part of the text in fact come up with different solutions. While one manuscript states that “this great arrogance” simply “came into being” in the devil (M614: 4), the other has Jesus state that it was Jesus himself and his Father who created Saklataboth’s arrogance (M593: 6). Why they would do such a thing, however, is not explained. The devil’s arrogance becomes a real problem with the creation of Adam. In keeping with the reasoning behind the creation of the angels, so that they could sing hymns of praise to God and the Trinity, we are told that Adam, who was created in the image of God, was in fact created because God could not find anyone within the world that he and his Son had created who would worship him (according to M593: 6), or them (according to M614: 4). At the same time, since Adam was created in his image, God wanted everyone, including the angels, to worship Adam as well. While the angels were immediately in awe of the beauty of Adam and Eve and dwelt with them in paradise, this was not sufficient for God, who ordered all the angels, archangels, cherubim, seraphim, and the twenty-­four elders to come and worship Adam (M593: 9; M614: 6). All the angels followed God’s command, except for the first-­formed, who, being exceptionally arrogant, refused to worship anyone lesser than himself. Such disobedience was unacceptable to God. “O bad Mastēma,” God exclaims, and tells him that from now on he will be called Saklam (according to M593: 10) or Saklatabok (according to M614: 7–8)—both terms interpreted as “the adversary of his Lord.”22 When God gets one of the cherubim to strike one of the devil’s wings and throw him down upon the ground, the devil snorts, and the text has Jesus explain to Peter that

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God may forgive the sins of anyone but “he who will snort out of his nose,” which Jesus states is a gesture implying that one no longer needs the breath of God (M593: 11; M614: 8). The devil is then thrown out of heaven and consigned to “the valley of chaos in the ocean,” whereas those angels who had followed his lead become demons flying in the air (M593: 11; M614: 8). These demons are the ones who cause wicked thoughts, we are told, and they are identified with the angels who lusted after the daughters of men according to Gen. 6:2 (M593: 11; M614: 9). The expulsion of the devil is what subsequently motivates him to plot against Adam. Indeed, we are told that God realizes at once that things will not turn out well with Adam. He foresees that a great misfortune will happen to him, and that he will be destroyed. Christ, however, reassures his Father, stating that he will guarantee for Adam, but God threatens, in a foreshadowing of the punishments of the souls of sinners described later in the text, to “prepare rivers of fire” and throw Adam’s “soul into them and boil it (like silver according to M614), so that the length of time it will spend in the world committing sins will also be spent in the fire until it is purified” (M593: 6–7; M614: 5). Most aspects of this narrative of the fall of Satan are not unique to the Investiture of the Archangel Michael. It bears a strong resemblance to similar traditions preserved elsewhere. The story of the devil falling due to his arrogance and refusal to worship Adam is, for instance, also found in the Life of Adam and Eve, a text attested in multiple versions in many languages, the Syriac Cave of Treasures, the Coptic Investiture of Abbaton the Angel of Death, and Pseudo-Timothy of Alexandria’s Discourse on St. Michael the Archangel.23 Perhaps even more intriguing, however, when we consider the manuscript context of the Investiture in Coptic monasteries situated in a predominantly Muslim Egypt by that time, is that this story is also paralleled by Islamic sources,24 most notably the Quran.25 Indeed, we also find Islamic parallels elsewhere in the Investiture, as we will see below.

The envy of the little disciples and the stoning of the devil Even after he is thrown out of heaven, the devil remains very much part of the story. We learn that it was he who caused Adam and Eve to be thrown out of paradise; we hear how it was he who incited Herodias to have her daughter ask Herod for the head of John the Baptist; and we learn how he spread envy among the disciples of the apostles, the so-­called “little disciples,” when Christ took the apostles with him to show them the punishment of sinners and the rewards for the righteous, leaving the “little disciples” behind (M593: 25–7; M614: 17–20). The devil’s appearance to the little disciples deserves closer scrutiny. After Christ and the apostles fly away from the Mount of Olives on an olive tree under the cover of a cloud, the devil appears to them dressed as an apostle and tells them to leave the Mount of Olives and go home. However, the devil is not successful in persuading the little disciples, since Beberos (or Bibros), the disciple of John, speaks to Polycarp, the disciple of Peter, and Philemon (or Philo), the disciple of Bartholomew, and convinces them to stay and not be envious, adding, “I remember a time when my Lord

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told us to throw stones at the devil.” Beberos explains that they all threw stones at the devil, but that no stone hit him, “except the stone of my father John” (M593: 27–8; cf. M614: 20–1). This is an especially interesting motif in light of the Islamic parallels to the story of the devil’s fall mentioned above. The motif of the stoning of the devil is not insignificant in Islam, where it is even enacted in the annual rami al-­jamaraat ritual during the Hajj, when pilgrims throw stones at pillars representing the devil. While the ritual is a reenactment of a story where the Archangel Gabriel tells Abraham to throw stones at the devil (Reynolds 2007: 178), it is highly reminiscent of the stone-­throwing motif in the Investiture of the Archangel Michael. It is also striking that both texts involve an archangel: the Archangel Gabriel and the Archangel Michael respectively.

John the Baptist As already mentioned, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael gives the devil a prominent role in the description of the death of John the Baptist, the mourning of whom provides the setting for the Investiture’s dialogue between Christ and the apostles on the Mount of Olives. Let us take a closer look at how the Investiture interprets and expands upon its canonical intertexts in its description of the demise of the Baptist. The extended narrative of the events leading to John’s execution is primarily based on Mark 6, supplemented by Matthew 14, but several details have been added, among them the machinations of the devil. Indeed, there are several additions in relation to the versions of the story found in Matthew and especially Mark. First, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael adds the detail that Herod was drunk when he told the daughter of Herodias that she could ask him for anything (M593: 1; M614: 1; cf. Mt. 14:6; Mk 6:21-22), thus providing an additional explanation for why he would make such a promise in the first place. Then the Investiture follows Mark in having the daughter ask her mother what to ask of Herod (M593: 2; M614: 1; Mk 6:24). At this point, the Investiture deviates from its biblical intertexts by adding a conversation between Herodias and the devil, who in this version of the story is the one who tells Herodias to urge her daughter to ask for John the Baptist’s head (M593: 2; M614: 1–2). The reason provided by the devil is the assertion of John the Baptist given in Mk 6:18 that it is not lawful for Herod to take his brother’s wife. The devil adds the additional motivation, however, that if Herodias does not act quickly, John the Baptist will manage to separate Herod from her. Moreover, the devil’s interference is not limited to these machinations, for he is also the one who fills Herodias’ daughter “with glory and empty grace,” thus seducing Herod (M593: 2; M614: 2). By its alternative retelling of the story, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael changes the message significantly. In a sense, it deprives the human characters of their agency by explaining their actions as being directly caused by the devil’s machinations and to a certain extent moves in the direction of exonerating Herod. The Investiture follows Mark’s account of Herod not actually wanting to kill John, being presented as an unwilling victim of his wife and her daughter; and it further emphasizes this aspect by adding that Herod wept after having had John killed (M593: 2; M614: 2). Still, this

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partial defense of Herod does not keep two of the manuscripts (M593 and M614, but not the IFAO manuscript) from condemning him to Amente (i.e., Hell). The Investiture of the Archangel Michael also adds other details to the canonical narratives. After relating that the head of the Baptist was taken to the daughter and then given to Herodias, the Investiture has John the Evangelist state in the first person plural that “we took his body and buried it”; it also adds a detail not mentioned in either Mark or Matthew, namely that they were not given the Baptist’s head, which we are told will be fetched by a multitude of angels (M593: 3; M614: 2). Similarly, what is stated in the third person in both Matthew and Mark, namely that the disciples went and told Jesus what had happened, is rephrased in the first person with John addressing Jesus directly. As for Jesus, he wept when he heard the news and told the disciples to quickly go and get John the Baptist’s body, promising great miracles where it would be placed (M593: 3; M614: 2)—a clear echo of the reverence of relics in the Coptic Church. He and his apostles subsequently stay on the Mount of Olives grieving for thirty days (M593: 23–4; M614: 17). The specification of the amount of time spent on the Mount of Olives provides an opportunity to look closer at the textual fluidity of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael through the textual variants that emerge from a comparison between the extant manuscripts. While two of the manuscripts state that they grieved for thirty days, the third manuscript—the one from the White Monastery—does not provide this information, but instead explains that the time they spent upon the Mount of Olives lasted “until the day we grieved over John the Baptist,”26 indicating a significantly shorter period of mourning. There are also other differences between the manuscripts in their treatment of the story of John the Baptist and the subsequent grieving of Jesus and the apostles. In the part of the text where the main narrative of John’s death is retold—which is the part that adheres closest to the canonical narrative—we only have two manuscript witnesses, and the differences are mostly minor;27 but when we get to the part of the text where the grieving over John is described in more detail, the differences are greater. This part of the text is also attested in the version preserved in the remaining leaves of the White Monastery manuscript, which in most cases departs further from the two other manuscripts than they do from each other. The differences between the versions in this part are consequently more substantial, such as the White Monastery manuscript stating that John the Baptist was thirty-­one years of age at the time of his death (IFAO: 146v) rather than thirty-­four, according to the two manuscripts from the Monastery of the Archangel Michael (M593: 25; M614: 18); and giving the name of the angel of blessing as Sousouriel (IFAO: 146v) rather than Uriēl (M593: 24; M614: 18). Moreover, the White Monastery manuscript generally, but not always, offers fewer details than the other two. We see an example of this when the two manuscripts from the Fayum specify Herod’s ultimate destination as Amente, a detail not supplied in the White Monastery manuscript (M593: 25; M614: 18; IFAO: 146v). Another example can be seen when both Fayum manuscripts add praise for John the Baptist not found in the White Monastery manuscript, with M614 (17) stating that no man enters the heavens and paradise except John the Baptist, while M593 (24) less exaggeratedly states that no man has entered the heavens and paradise who compares to John the Baptist.28 In this section,

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M614 (17) also adds the moral statement that evil will come upon the one who does evil.

Mutable stability and collaborative writing and rewriting As we have seen, the textual fluidity of this work is significant. Above I gave the example of a part of an angelic hymn that is noticeably different in the three manuscripts. At the end of that hymn, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael emphasizes the importance of giving alms in his name, but in different ways:  

Rejoice, souls of the righteous, for behold, Michael has come to you laden with every good thing of the light, giving them to those who give charity in his name. M593: 39–40

Those who have given a little charity on the earth are given plenty upon the earth. Rejoice, souls of the righteous, for behold, Michael has come to you laden with every good thing, giving them to those who have given charity in his name. M614, 30

Those who have given a little charity on the day of the Holy Archangel Michael upon the earth, Michael prays for them and they are given a great thing in the heavenly. Rejoice, souls! Amen! For behold, Michael has come to you. Amen! He is laden with every good thing. Amen! He is giving them to those who will give charity today. Amen! For he is the Archangel, the Steward of Life. Amen! He is the commander-­in-chief of the power of the heavenly. Amen! IFAO, 148v

Giving alms in the name of Michael is important. All three versions agree that the Archangel will amply reward those who do so. When will they receive this reward? While M593 does not say, M614 promises rewards already in this life, while the IFAO manuscript restricts the rewards to the hereafter. Moreover, unlike the two other manuscripts, the IFAO manuscript adds when people are to give alms in Michael’s name. They are to do so on Michael’s feast day, which is indeed the day on which the hymn itself is set in that manuscript, for it refers to “those who will give alms today,” thus strengthening the liturgical reference even further, giving us a strong indication of this text’s intended use on Michael’s feast day. Yet another pertinent example of textual fluidity could be provided by the descriptions of the investiture ceremony itself, where Michael is given certain things which formerly belonged to the devil. Both manuscripts mention a diadem and a staff, with only slightly different descriptions, but they disagree with regard to the third attribute. M614 (11) here mentions a luminous chariot (or perhaps a luminous

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garment; the word used is ambiguous), not included in M593 (14), which instead decides to give him “the shoes of peace.” Such examples could easily be multiplied, but instead of looking at more examples of textual fluidity in the Investiture of the Archangel Michael or speculating on the chronological relationship between the various versions, let us rather consider the processes which led to such textual fluidity in the first place. How may we describe its driving forces and constraints? One noticeable feature of the fluidity on display in the three versions of the Investiture is the similarity in overall structure despite the many differences in detail. There is a certain method to the madness—a kind of fluidity which is in some ways constrained. Stephen Nichols, the scholar of medieval literature perhaps best known for coining the term “new philology” in his introduction to a special issue of the medievalist journal Speculum (1990), where he highlighted—with reference to Bernard Cerquiglini’s then recent study (1989)—textual variance as a central characteristic of medieval literature, has recently attempted to describe in more detail the process of textual fluidity in a manuscript culture. Conceptualizing textual transmission of medieval literature as “in essence, a dynamic system” (Nichols 2016: 71), he highlights the stability principles which he sees at work in the transmission of fluid texts. Utilizing an analogy deriving from the physical sciences, he likens the changes undergone by texts in transmission to the ways in which a physical object, or structure, may adjust to load changes “without any reduction in performance” (2016: 71). As Nichols (2016: 100) puts it, “Poetic structure in the manuscript age is dynamic; it constantly accommodates to the stress of modification without losing its ability to adjust to load changes or to suffer any reduction in performance or loss of identity.” What this means is that a text is changed in transmission in order to accommodate shifting conditions, but without losing its identity or usefulness. Nichols describes this as the paradox of “mutable stability” (2016: 100), a kind of stability which both depends upon and incorporates change. If the physical structure, or text, did not change to adapt to new conditions, it would no longer function optimally—or at all. I would argue that this concept captures well the kind of textual fluidity observable in the transmission of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael and similar Coptic apocryphal texts. Another important concept introduced by Nichols to explain what happens in fluid textual transmission is that of “differential imitation,” defined as “the iteration of an object with nuanced variation” (2016: 90). Nichols explains this concept in social terms. Since a copy of a work is always produced and used within a community “in a particular time and place,” he points out (2016: 97) that “we should not be surprised to find traces of the contemporary context on the manuscript version it produces.” This leads him to argue that it is not only the work itself that is being copied, but in a sense also “the whole ‘moment’, the contextual impetus for that copy at that moment in that place” (2016: 97). In order to understand the full implications of this notion, it is crucially important to note that multiple literary works, originally authored at different times and places, go through this process of differential imitation at the same time, and that they also do so at the same time as new works are being authored. This creates generative dynamics which move in multiple directions, enabling a work authored at a later date to influence the reworking of “earlier” works (Nichols 2016: 97). This explains

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how in the fluid transmission of texts in a manuscript culture, works may influence each other in more than one direction, at more than one point in time. We should therefore not restrict analyses of possible influences to the hypothetical originals, where the direction of influence can only go in one direction. With regard to the Investiture of the Archangel Michael, this is an especially important insight to keep in mind when we ponder its possible relation with Islamic traditions. For instance, the way we choose to approach the relation between the various iterations of the story of the fall of the devil highlights how our philological presuppositions influence our conclusions. If we simply analyze possible influences between individual works on the basis of their hypothetical originals, the direction of influence has to be from texts authored earlier to texts authored later. One only needs to come up with dates for the hypothetical originals, and the direction of influence is clear. The version(s) of the fall of the devil recounted in the Investiture as it has come down to us in the preserved manuscripts could thus conceivably have influenced the Quran but not the other way around, since the former is attested by John of Parallos around the year 600, which is prior to the Quran. The story of the devil’s fall in the Investiture would also be later than the one in the Life of Adam and Eve, if we accept common scholarly opinion regarding the latter’s earlier date of authorship (cf. Jonge and Tromp 1997: 65–78).29 In such an analysis, any influence from the Quran on the Investiture would be out of the question. However, in light of the differential imitation occurring in the fluid transmission of texts in a manuscript culture, and taking the actual manuscript attestation into account, we cannot be certain of this. In other words, whether its version(s) of the arrogance of the devil refusing to worship Adam or the stoning of the devil are features that were influenced by or influenced the Islamic tradition is no longer as clear cut when the potential implications of the complexity of fluid textual transmission are taken fully into account. Nichols’ concept of differential imitation embraces this complexity, making it a useful analytical tool when confronted with such textual traditions. Regardless of the question of influence, the function of such stories and features in the context of the extant manuscript manifestations of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael in Coptic is certainly intriguing when considering the fact that these manuscripts were produced and used in Coptic monasteries situated within an Islamic majority culture.

Liturgical context With regard to the function of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael in its manuscript contexts, it is clear that its use was closely connected to the Coptic liturgical calendar. The feast of St. Michael on the 12th of Hathor, the day of his investiture, is mentioned several times throughout the text (M593: 1; M614: 1; M593: 15; M614: 11; M593: 32; M614: 24; M593: 42–3; M614: 32; M593: 49, 53, 56), and the reader is reminded of the importance of giving alms to the poor—and to the church—especially on this day of the year, as well as of the necessity of observing Michael’s feast, lasting for three days from this date, a period during which the punishments of the souls of the deceased are said to be paused (M593: 33; M614: 25; M593: 56). There are also several references to the proper celebration of Michael’s feast. For example, one of the souls that Michael brings before Christ for

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judgment is commended for observing the vigils of the saints and for having had the habit of standing from the evening of the 11th of Hathor until the morning of the 12th, spreading incense with his censer—as he is also said to have done on all the other saints’ feasts (M593: 49). Another soul is commended for “burning a lamp in the church and fragrant myrrh in the festivals” (M593: 50), and yet another is commended for his singing of hymns, having responded to “the hymns and hallelujahs sung at the holy altar” (M593: 51). It is also possible that the “angelic hymn,” discussed above, may in some way reflect contemporary liturgical praxis at the feast of Michael. Perhaps it was even sung by the congregation during the feast, although its very different versions in the manuscripts may indicate that it was not common practice, or at least that it was not a well-­known hymn with a tradition of actually being sung by people in the liturgy. Veneration of the Archangel Michael is also connected to the text’s focus on intercessory prayer; it is emphasized that intercessory prayer is one of Michael’s main tasks. At one point it even has Jesus stating that “Michael has no other task than to pray for the souls of men always, for he is an angel better than all the other angels that I have made, I and my Father” (M593: 16–17; cf. M614: 12).30 The text also has Jesus crediting Michael’s blowing his thirty-­cubit-long trumpet and his weeping and praying on behalf of humanity with calming God’s anger when he wants to wipe out humanity altogether (M593: 17; M614: 13). What the Investiture of the Archangel Michael certainly does is provide context and content for the feast and reverence of St. Michael, which greatly exceeds the information given in canonical Scripture, where the Archangel is by any account a marginal figure. By reading the Investiture or by having it read to them, the readers or listeners of the text were informed of the place of the Archangel Michael in the heavenly hierarchy and his important functions. No one should be left wondering why Michael the Archangel was worthy of being celebrated after having been exposed to this text.

The Investiture of Michael as monastic fanfiction While Nichols’ mutable stability model nicely captures the way in which texts such as the Investiture of the Archangel Michael kept a degree of stability while adapting to changing circumstances, it is also important to highlight the social element of textual fluidity. While Nichols’ model derives from the physical sciences, describing how structures adapt themselves to changing loads, it is also important to stress what is not directly captured by the metaphorical application of this model on textual transmission. As Nichols indeed acknowledges, texts do not change by themselves but by people, and these people are members of social groups. It is these people who adapt the texts while copying them for new readers. In this respect, insights from studies of the production and reception of fanfiction, with their focus on the importance of fan communities, are instructive. As mentioned above, the Investiture of the Archangel Michael shares several features with what we may describe as fanfiction. “By definition, fan fiction is in intertextual communication with the source text” (Stein and Busse 2009: 199), and this is definitely the case with the Investiture, which is directly dependent upon the canonical biblical

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texts. It also shares with modern fanfiction the fact that it is not only engaged in filling in the gaps in the canonical narratives, but also uses the universe and characters of the canonical narratives in order to further other ends. While in modern fanfiction these ends usually have to do with providing some form of entertainment to a fan community, in the case of the Investiture entertainment is not its sole, or even primary, purpose. When it has Jesus show his disciples the judgment and punishment of sinners and the salvation of the righteous, it does so in order to promote specific states of mind and specific forms of behavior among its community of readers and listeners. It explains the importance and functions of the Archangel Michael, and why he must be venerated. It highlights the workings of the devil and his demons in making people sin, as well as the importance of being on one’s guard and focus on doing what is right. It explains how both the devil and humanity fell from grace and what each and every one reading the text or having it read to them must do about it. Furthermore, it urges people to contribute to the poor and their local congregations. Yet, recognizing these important functions, we should not discount the possible entertainment factor of texts like the Investiture. Like fanfiction, this kind of apocryphal work provided its audience not only with what the producers of these texts believed their audience needed but also with what they wanted, in terms of both more information on the story world of the authoritative canonical texts and indeed entertainment. In the case of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael, of course, the “fan communities” in question are not modern-­day communities of enthusiasts interacting over the internet, but rather Egyptian monastic communities, whose “fanfiction” had important liturgical connections and practical religious implications for their audience. Still, the way the monks were copying, editing, and sharing dynamically evolving stories and traditions with each other and with lay people visiting their monasteries is not dissimilar to the dissemination of texts in fan communities. Moreover, the genre features and status of the Investiture and other texts like it—a type of literature that was highly popular in Coptic monasteries for centuries—also seem to be characterized well as “fanonical,” a concept which captures the status and authority that fanfiction can attain. Fanonical texts are texts that attain a certain status by their contents being reproduced and accepted in fan communities as “intrinsic to the story world” in the same way as their canonical source materials, while still being secondary in relation to the canonical texts (cf. Thomas 2007). While there is little reason to believe that anyone would regard the Investiture to be of equal importance to the canonical biblical texts, it nevertheless seems to have attained a certain status in certain communities where those canonical texts were held in high regard. As a fanonical text, its claim to give a truthful account of details and events of the canonical story world may well have been accepted in its target community. According to Nichols’ model of mutable stability, the ways in which texts adapt to changing circumstances in their dynamic process of transmission are not without constraints. A similar phenomenon can be seen with the production of fanfiction. Both in the adaptation of texts and the production of new related texts of the same genre, we may observe how textual production is not only constrained by the source text, but also by the context in which texts are produced. Fan communities constitute such contexts which constrain textual production, allowing for fluidity and diversity within often

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quite restrictive boundaries. As Stein and Busse (2009: 205) point out, fan creativity is “encouraged and shaped by the limits of the source text, intertext, context, and interface.” Similarly, the authors and scribes of texts like the Investiture of the Archangel Michael shaped their products in relation to limits provided by the biblical source texts which they were embellishing or interpreting, as well as those provided by the other Christian, Jewish, and Islamic intertexts upon which they drew or by which they were influenced. Moreover, the way they shaped them was profoundly influenced by the ecclesiastical and monastic context in which they worked, as well as the medium of the codex which they used to distribute them. While fanfiction studies mostly deal with contemporary commercial media structures and focus on their importance in fan production and consumption, many of the processes at work are still analogous to those that were operative within late antique and medieval manuscript culture. By likening the Investiture of the Archangel Michael—and the genre in which it participates—to modern fanfiction, I do not intend to disparage this kind of text in any way. As Tony Burke and Brent Landau (2016: xlvi) put it in the introduction to their recent More New Testament Apocrypha, apocryphal literature “should be more fully embraced, by historians and theologians, as a fundamental aspect of Christian thought and expression.” The Investiture and other Coptic texts of its kind certainly have much to offer in studies of the textual—and scriptural—culture and practices of Egyptian monastic communities in the Byzantine and early Islamic periods. Indeed, it is difficult to see how they can be properly assessed without taking the monastic production and consumption of apocryphal literature fully into consideration.

The character of the Archangel Michael in the Investiture of Michael The Investiture of the Archangel Michael is one of many texts from the Byzantine and Islamic periods in Egypt which demonstrate the high regard in which Michael was held in Coptic Christianity. In stark contrast to his limited role in the canonical texts, the Investiture provides a colorful picture of the premier archangel’s prominence and his important functions as commander-­in-chief of the heavenly host and as a powerful mediator between humanity and God. Of particular note is the way in which Michael is portrayed in this text as the devil’s successor as the first among the angels, as well as his opposite, being humble and obedient towards God and a staunch supporter of humankind. Moreover, according to this text, in all its versions, showing reverence to Michael and his feast day(s) goes a long way towards securing the salvation of the individual representative of its target audience.

Part Three

The Archangel Michael in Christian Nubia

Map 3  Nubia. Created by Raita Steyn.

Introduction: Christian Nubia Alexandros Tsakos

By the term “Nubia,” from a geographical point of view we mean the stretch of the Nile River from the modern capital of Sudan, Khartoum, to Aswan. This stretch is also called the Middle Nile region and is characterized by the formation of at least six rapids, called Cataracts, which divide the Nile Valley into quite distinct zones, most importantly in Lower Nubia downstream of the Third Cataract; Upper Nubia between the Third and the Sixth; and Central Sudan further upstream (see Map 3). This last section of the Middle Nile region was the core territory of the kingdom of Alwa, the least known of the medieval Nubian kingdoms (for a general overview of the history and archaeology of medieval Nubia, see Welsby 2002), although it might have been the richest and most powerful. Its capital city was in Soba (right upstream from Khartoum), where monumental architecture has been unearthed but with only some dozens of fragments of painted plaster and very few epigraphic activities found, compared with the textual records from Nubian sites further downstream. In complete contrast is the situation in the downstream end of the Middle Nile, where in late antiquity the Kingdom of Nobadia thrived. After the seventh century and the conquests of Egypt first by Persians and then by Arabs, Makuria annexed Nobadia, and the latter’s capital city Faras became the seat of an eparchy of the Makuritan king. Faras is mostly known for its magnificent set of mural paintings, especially those found in the cathedral church and decorating today the National Museums of Khartoum and Warsaw. Nobadia has also provided the richest textual record along the Middle Nile, especially in terms of manuscript finds. The most renowned Nubian kingdom of the medieval era is called Makuria in the Greek sources, Muqurra in the Arabic ones, and Dotawo in texts written in the local language, called Old Nubian. The capital of the kingdom was Old Dongola, where today one can visit one of the most impressive archaeological sites in Sudan. The kings of Old Dongola ruled a large part of northern Sudan for most of the medieval millennium, beginning with the fall of the last ancient states of Kush sometime around the fourth and fifth centuries until the disintegration and disappearance of the Christian states of Nubia around the fifteenth century. Archaeological research in the territory of former Nobadia had dominated our understanding of the medieval past of Nubia, but with new discoveries made by the Polish excavations at Old Dongola, as well as from sites like Banganarti and Selib, the

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picture is changing and the importance of the Makuritan heartlands for the medieval civilization of Christian Nubia is being re-­appraised (Jakobielski and Scholz 2001). During the medieval period, Nubia was part of Eastern Christianity, most probably dependent hierarchically on the Coptic (anti-Chalcedonian) Patriarchate of Alexandria. Nevertheless, the Makuritan church must have retained an internal hierarchy reflecting somehow the administrative structure of the kingdom. The same is probably true of a set of independent institutions revealed—among other ways—through the finding of texts preserving a local symbol of faith (Jakobielski and Łajtar 1997) and commemorating a local synod where two archbishops and eight bishops had participated (Łajtar and Derda, forthcoming). The variable nature of Nubian Christianity is represented eloquently by its multilingual character: Old Nubian, Coptic, Greek, Arabic, and Syriac are all attested as languages used by different strata of the Nubian population during the Christian Middle Ages. (For multilingualism in general, see Ochala 2014; for the evidence for the use of Syriac, see Van Ginkel and Van der Vliet 2015.) The texts produced in these languages offer invaluable insights into the mentalities, beliefs, traditions, and networks that characterized Christian Nubians. Moreover, they serve as the most useful tool for the identification of the paintings decorating the walls of Nubian churches—undoubtedly the most impressive archaeological finds from medieval Sudan. The texts accompanying a mural and constituting its background story help researchers contextualize the significance of these religious representations as well as find parallels with the rest of the Christian world, where Nubians could turn for inspiration and religious interchange. The two Nubiological chapters in this book focus on the wall paintings from Christian Nubia, which illustrate the importance of the cult of the Archangel Michael in this region of early Christianity. This focus is, of course, complemented by the examination of the relevant written sources, which either are tangible parts of the murals or lie behind their conception and iconographical choices by the Nubian artists. Chapter 7 by Zielińska and Tsakos deals with the methodologies associated with using the hard evidence, as this has been assembled in a long-­standing project by the two authors, the “Corpus of Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia.” The Makuritan realm has been the geographical focus of the “Corpus” project, and all the paintings discussed in the chapter are dated between the eighth and fourteenth centuries ce. The same material constitutes the basis for the analysis of the position of the Archangel Michael in the celestial hierarchy as understood by the Nubians and as presented in Chapter 8 by Łaptaś. Her work is in dialogue with the data presented in Chapter 7 and expands its analysis to present the latest understanding of the persona and cult of the Archangel Michael in Christian Nubia. The three authors regard this part of the present publication as a first step towards the compilation of a comprehensive work on the Archangel Michael in Christian Nubia.

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Representations of the Archangel Michael in Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia Dobrochna Zielińska and Alexandros Tsakos

Introduction This chapter is an attempt to assemble the iconographic data from mural paintings in Christian Nubia related to the Archangel Michael. The work is based on a collection of images and metadata assembled by the two authors in the context of a project titled “Corpus of Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia” (henceforth “Corpus”).1 The “Corpus” material consists primarily of pictorial and secondarily of textual data. It is the first time that the data from this project will be used to examine a specific case study. This case study concerns the Archangel Michael, the most venerated superhuman being in the postulated divine realm of Christian Nubian culture. The supremacy of Michael in the expressions of faith by Christian Nubians of the Middle Ages is clearly reflected in the “Corpus” material. Hence, the list of attestations of a painted representation of Michael will constitute the main part of this chapter. These attestations are characterized by different degrees of certainty as to the means and the argumentation by which one identifies Michael in a mural painting. Therefore, this list will be introduced by brief clarifications of the categories upon which this sort of typology has been constructed. Both the limitations and the new contributions of such a scrutinization of the “Corpus” material will be discussed in the conclusion.

Criteria for the identification of the Archangel Michael in Nubian wall painting The safest way to identify the person depicted on a mural from a church is through a legend, that is, an inscription identifying the person (or the narrative scene) represented. It is often challenging to distinguish between a legend and a visitor’s inscription even though the two epigraphic categories are generally associated with the techniques of making a dipinto (a painted inscription, normally made by the creator of the mural) or a graffito (an incised inscription, usually made by a visitor) respectively. In the Nubian material, the dividing lines between these categories are sometimes blurred because

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dipinti were sometimes made by visitors, and graffiti seem to have been occasionally used instead of dipinti to identify figures. Alternatively, if the figure is part of a larger composition, the identification of the narrative represented can assist in the identification of individual figures too. Here, it is important to remain cautious of the fact that the Nubians, like every other Christian community, had their own understanding and variants of both popular and more arcane literature. Moreover, they created literary forms of expression in their own language and style, where important Christian figures played central roles. They even attributed to them qualities that were not necessarily associated with them in other places and periods of Christian history. This variation can be examined in more detail when one turns to a third criterion for identifying a figure on a mural as the Archangel Michael: the attributes and other iconographic characteristics by which a person is recognized. Whereas there are specific methods for distinguishing between the different figures represented on the walls of a church—for example, all have their heads crowned by a halo, but only the halo of Jesus is decorated by a cross—it is not equally straightforward to establish which of the angelic figures holding a trumpet, riding a horse, or smiting a devilish enemy should be identified as the Archangel Michael. In Nubia, these attributes seem to be interchangeable among the angels. Thanks to recent breakthroughs in our understanding of the iconographic program used in Nubia, the locations of the murals inside a Christian Nubian church appear more stable. In this case, there is both direct and indirect evidence to suggest with a relatively high degree of certainty that at a specific place in a church, on a specific wall, beside other specifically associated murals, a representation of the Archangel Michael should be expected. Sometimes, a known function of the Archangel Michael is even confirmed by legends, visitors’ inscriptions, or the text behind the mural. Going through the “Corpus” material based on the aforementioned criteria, we have come across a different iconographic type of representation of angels in general, which was probably used to depict the Archangel Michael in particular. In Nubia, an angelic figure is represented inside a tondo (a circular frame) in nine instances, and it has been suggested that this figure could be identified with Michael. This type of representation deserves special treatment in this chapter as its investigation has opened up new possibilities for contemplating the perplexities of the persona and cult of the Archangel Michael in Christian Nubia.

Representations of the Archangel Michael in Nubia The data available concerning mural paintings in Nubia roughly comprises a Corpus of some 650 murals, distributed in twenty-­five sites—nineteen in Lower Nubia and six in Upper Nubia. More than a tenth of those—seventy-five murals—have been suggested to depict the Archangel Michael (see Map 3). They have been recorded in eighteen monuments2 from twelve sites—ten in Lower Nubia and two in Upper Nubia. These murals constitute the focus of this chapter. It must be noted that the identification of the figure of an angel with Michael is not certain in all cases.

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Securely identified murals of the Archangel Michael Among the material assembled through the “Corpus” project, there are only twentytwo3 murals where Michael can be identified thanks to the presence of a legend accompanying his figure and revealing his name. To these identifications based on a text on the mural itself, two more groups should be added, which—either through analogy or through a text “behind” the mural—offer a fair degree of certainty over the proposed identifications.

Text accompanying the mural In the “Corpus” project, effort has been made to arrive at an agreement on whether the texts accompanying a given mural are integral parts of the composition, in which case they can be termed “legends,” or are epigraphic events only indirectly related to the mural. A distinction in previous research between dipinti and graffiti has been to consider the former to be a part of the mural from its conception through its execution and down to its form of veneration, while the latter have been conceived as later additions, not necessarily mirroring the intentions of the artist(s) who executed the mural in the first place (Wipszycka 2009: 102; Chaniotis 2011). This distinction can be applied here too, albeit with some caution as to its validity: In certain instances, graffiti truly identify images in their synchronic context, which was not necessarily different from that of the execution of the original painting and (eventual) accompanying legends. In any case, there are nineteen secure identifications of Michael. These are based on legends and are grouped according to whether they are individual representations or narrative scenes. They are listed here according to their sites of provenance in an upstream order: Individual representations: 1. Faras, Paulos Cathedral: left side of the western entrance, eighth century. Jakobielski et al. 2017: 165–6 2. Faras, Paulos Cathedral: south wall of the staircase (2nd plaster), probably mid-­ ninth century. Jakobielski et al. 2017: 173–5 3. Faras, Petros Cathedral: mortuary chapel of bishops,4 early eleventh century (see Fig. 8.1). Jakobielski et al. 2017: 378–80 4. Faras, Petros Cathedral: nave, third north pillar, west face, early eleventh century. Jakobielski et al. 2017: 229–30

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Figure 7.1  Nubian King under the protection of the Archangel Michael, Sonqi Tino. Photograph by Cristobal Calaforra-Rzepka, courtesy of the Sudan National Museum, SNM 24366.

Representations of the Archangel Michael in Wall Paintings In scenes: 7. Tamit, Church of Angels: Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace, west wall of the southern part of the naos, twelfth/thirteenth century. Monneret de Villard 1935: 157 8. Abdallah-­n Irqi: Archangel on horseback (?), central nave, western part of the north wall, tenth/eleventh century. Van Moorsel, Jacquet, and Schneider 1975: 100–1. 9. Faras, Petros Cathedral: Nativity, east wall of the northern nave, second half of the tenth century. Jakobielski et al. 2017: 240–7 10. Faras, Petros Cathedral: Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace, west wall of the southern part of the narthex, late tenth or early eleventh century (see Fig. 8.3). Jakobielski et al. 2017: 368–71 11. Faras, Petros Cathedral: as a protector of a bishop, west side of the passage to the “southern vestibule,” first half of the twelfth century. Jakobielski et al. 2017: 411–13 12. Faras, Petros Cathedral: Michael adoring Christ with the Archangel Raphael, southern pastophorium, early eleventh century. Jakobielski et al. 2017: 333–5 13. Abd el-Gadir: Nativity, east wall of the northern nave, thirteenth century. Griffith 1928: 73. 14. Abd el-Gadir: a representation added to the left of the scene of a deacon protected by the Archangel Raphael, south wall of the northern nave, thirteenth century. Griffith 1928: 74 15. Sonqi Tino: as a protector of a king, eleventh century (?). Pasi 2012: 582–3 (see Fig. 7.1) 16. Kulubnarti: Nativity, east wall of the northern nave, thirteenth century. Adams 1994: 160 17. Old Dongola, Monastery on Kom H: The Investiture of the Archangel Michael, North-­western Annex, east wall of Room 13, eleventh century (see Fig. 8.2). Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 185, cat. 65 18. Old Dongola, Monastery on Kom H: Riding a horse (with the Archangel Raphael fighting the Beast), South-­western Annex, east wall of Room 3, twelfth/beginning of the thirteenth century. Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 197, cat. 93

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The Archangel Michael in Africa 19. Old Dongola, Church of the Archangel Raphael: as a protector of a bishop with Christ and the Archangel Raphael, north wall of the northern pastophorium, eleventh/twelfth century (?). Zielińska 2016: 106–7

Text behind the mural Another reasonably secure method for the identification of an archangel represented in a mural with the persona of Michael is based on the existence of textual traditions which were not written on the wall beside the given mural but were known by Nubians and were the basis for the way these scenes were depicted on the walls of Nubian churches. The present-­day knowledge of these textual traditions helps modern iconographic research to identify the scenes as depicting narratives where it is known that Michael played an important role. Such an investigation would quite naturally begin with the Bible. However, despite the importance of Michael in the Christian faith, both in the East and the West, he is not often named in the Bible.5 In the Old Testament, where there is no reference to archangels in general, Michael is only mentioned by name on three occasions, but in other instances he has been traditionally identified with the angel acting as a messenger of God. All three references to Michael by name come from the rather late (third–second centuries bce) book of Daniel. There, Michael is presented as the angel assigned the role of the protector of the Jewish people. These references in the book of Daniel might explain the identification of the angel of God saving the Three Youths from the Fiery Furnace (also narrated in Daniel) as Michael. The tradition had been established in Egypt by the sixth century at the latest, as can be seen in the encomium on St. Michael by Theodosius, patriarch of Alexandria (535–566 ce). In this text, it is the Three Youths themselves who bear witness that Michael was the one who saved them from the fiery furnace (MartensCzarnecka 2011: 130; Corrigan 2009: 100). All other cases of identifications of Michael in biblical narratives seem to be the result of traditions which are either local or based on apocryphal literature. More comments on that point follow below. A separate case of a text behind an image is the representation of the story of Balaam, painted in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century on the north wall of Room 13 of the North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola (see Fig. 7.2). This iconographic theme is based on a narrative from the book of Numbers (22–4). Although there is no indication in the biblical text which of the angels Balaam encounters, medieval painters created a visual tradition where it was the Archangel Michael depicted in this scene, as attested in the manual of Dionysios from Fourna, written in the eighteenth century ce. Although the manual is later than the example from Old Dongola, the Dionysius text is a compilation of earlier traditions (Didron and Durand 1845: 101). Thus, the story of Balaam from Old Dongola reflects quite closely several details named in Dionysius’ instructions, like the stick that Balaam used to beat the mule and the turned position of the animal, or the bare sword that Michael used to stop the king. The identification of the depicted archangel with Michael is strengthened by the graffito with his name, which was incised below the representation (Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 188).

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Figure 7.2  Lower part of the story of Balaam, North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola. Photograph courtesy of the Polish Centre of Mediterranean Archaeology. Martens-Czarnecka 2011: fig. 47 or cat. no. 69.1.

In the New Testament, Michael is only mentioned twice. He is the leader of the angels who cast the devil from the heavens in Rev. 12:7; and he is the archangel who debates with the devil the fate of Moses’ corpse in Jude 9. One can observe a double shift compared to the Old Testament: Michael has now become an archangel (it is worth noting that in the New Testament the term “archangel” is only used once more, in 1 Thess. 4:16); and he now plays a central role in the fight against the devil and in the protection of the souls of the deceased. These stories from the New Testament provided points of reference either for the writing of related apocryphal and hagiographical works which subsequently inspired the development of iconographic themes; or for the creation of iconography directly inspired by these themes. In turn, these iconogaphic themes have their own long history of development, which makes it quite difficult to trace their origins back to specific New Testament traditions. Three examples have been gleaned so far from the “Corpus” data set.

1.  Archangel Michael and Saint Mercurius In a composition from Faras, an archangel is seen drawing his sword from his sheath and giving it to a rider-­saint depicted next to him and identified by a graffito below the horse as “ΜΕΡΚΟΥΡΕ.” Tomasz Górecki (1990) has identified this angel with the Archangel Michael appearing to Saint Mercurius in a vision.6 The specific encounter is narrated in the Coptic Encomium of Acacius, Bishop of Caesarea, on Mercurius the

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Martyr. Despite the secondary nature of the text identifying Mercurius (a graffito added where some visitor could reach—and not monumentally next to the saint himself), the proximity of the two figures may indicate that already from the original composition of the two murals, an archangel and a warrior saint were seen as having a special relation in their fight against evil.As Górecki himself points out (1990: 539–40), the identifications may have been inspired by the textual tradition, or the text itself may have been composed on the basis of an iconographic tradition whose origins still elude us.

2.  Liber Institutionis Michaelis The mural representation of the archangel crowned by the Trinity from Old Dongola (securely identified representation no. 17 [see Fig. 8.2 and discussion in Chapter 8]) is another good example of such a type of identification. The investiture of Michael is the topic of an apocryphal work called Liber Institutionis Michaelis, which is partly inspired by the fight of Michael as leader of the angels against the devil (see discussion in Chapter 6). This was a very popular work in Nubia (Tsakos 2014) and shows the complementary function of text and image in the religious experience of Christians in medieval Nubia.

3.  The souls in a golden boat In the church of Nag’ el-Scheima, there is a monumental composition of the souls of the dead rowing in a golden boat with an angel protecting them (see Fig. 7.3). The idea

Figure 7.3  Nubians in a golden boat under the protection of the Archangel Michael, Nag’ el-Scheima. Photograph courtesy of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, KHM 77275 and 77276.

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of the Archangel Michael as protector of souls goes back to a reference from the Apocalypse of Paul (23:1), and therefore he should be identified as the angel acting in this scene too, although no accompanying dipinto or graffito supports this identification (Łaptaś 2010: 678–9).

Analogous representations The safe identifications presented above offer the basis for inferring by analogy that under certain circumstances similar murals depict the same figures or scenes. These circumstances are based on recent analyses related to the iconographic program of the Nubian churches (Zielińska 2010). The existence of an iconographic program guarantees, at least in some cases, a degree of predictability for the choice of location of a specific iconographic theme. It is fixed for such indispensable scenes as the Nativity (east wall of the north nave) and the aforementioned subject of the Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace (west wall of the south nave), but even for individual representations like the standing figures of saints and (arch)angels (Innemée 1995: 280–2). For the purpose of the present study, the figure of an archangel can be identified as Michael based on the two following factors.

1.  Identical location in the church Opposite the scene with the Three Youths (securely identified representation no. 10; see Fig. 8.3), the figure of a standing archangel is represented in eight churches: Faras (Jakobelski et al. 2017: 365–6); Sonqi Tino (Pasi 2012: 577–8); Abd el-Gadir (Griffith 1928: 77); Central Church (Zielińska, forthcoming), North Church (Zielińska, forthcoming), and South Church I (Griffith 1927: 99–100) at Serra East; phases II and III of the church at Kulubnarti (Adams 1994: 161, 163); Church of Angels at Tamit (Monneret de Villard 1935: 157); and Church of the Archangel Raphael at Old Dongola (unpublished). Based on a graffito in the church of Sonqi Tino, this archangel can be identified as Michael. It would not be unreasonable to suggest that all representations of angels at the same location can be considered images of the Archangel Michael. Moreover, one might conjecture that the entire space where the scene of the Three Youths and the standing archangel were depicted was somehow conceived as the territory of the Archangel Michael. Another regularity observed in Nubian church decoration is the execution of wall paintings of archangels in the area near entrances or passages, like in the narthex or on the walls of a staircase (Łaptaś 2004; Łaptaś 2005: 675; Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 185–6). In Byzantine art, the couple of archangels that protect the entrance to a church are usually Michael and Gabriel. In Nubia, this is the case at the entrance to Paulos Cathedral at Faras. At the original main entrance from the west, two archangels are identified by inscriptions as Michael (securely identified representation no. 1) and Gabriel (Michałowski 1974: 95–101). There is one more composition of this kind, discovered in the church at Abu Oda, but the evidence is too scarce to ascertain that this also represents the same two archangels as doorkeepers (Weigall 1907: 140–1). There are also representations of angels on the walls of the staircase at the Faras

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Cathedral, which can be seen as another passage or entry. One of them is in fact identified as Michael by an inscription (securely identified representation no. 2). Although the role of Michael as doorkeeper should be considered as quite probable, unless a thorough study establishes more firm criteria for the identification of the angels by the entrances as Michael (or Gabriel), this iconographic theme should be treated with caution in the context of mapping the locations where the archangel appears in Nubian churches.

2.  Identical iconographic themes In the scene with the Three Youths, the archangel depicted has been identified as Michael; hence all angels in the same scene can almost certainly be identified as Michael too. Here, it should be noted that the argument is based on an assumed commonality of “seeing” these murals shared by all Nubians of the Christian era, as explained above, and given the absence of the identification as Michael of the angel appearing in the book of Daniel. Another scene which can be treated as an analogous case is an iconographic theme which may be termed “the rider Angels of the Apocalypse.” A partly preserved representation of the Archangel Michael riding a horse identified by legends (securely identified representation no. 8) from the church at Abdallah-­n Irqi, and a similar representation from the South-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H at Old Dongola (securely identified representation no. 18) offer a good basis for an educated hypothesis that such an iconographic type of the Archangel Michael existed in Nubia. Still, a couple of identifications of Michael on horseback through accompanying inscriptions does not mean that all angels riding a horse should be identified as Michael. Although the mounted warrior-­angels seem to have been inspired by the Revelation of John (as in chapters 6, 7, and 9), each mounted angel of the Revelation is differentiated from the others through the different attributes they bear. Two more paintings with the theme of an angel riding a horse have been found in the South-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H at Old Dongola and are parts of larger scenes. One depicts the Archangel Raphael fighting with a beast (the personification of evil?) and the Archangel Michael on a horse, both identified by legends (securely identified representation no. 18). In the other scene, the angel holding a sword is identified as Michael in the literature. He is part of a big narrative cycle which has been interpreted as an illustration of the book of Tobias (Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 121–5) or alternatively as a representation of the story of Dorotheos and Theopiste (Łaptaś 2008). In any case, given the uncertainty of the iconographic theme, it is equally uncertain that the angel depicted is indeed Michael. Moreover, Magdalena Łaptaś, on the basis of Egyptian iconographic traditions (2004; see also Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 195), points out that Michael would be holding a trumpet while Gabriel would be brandishing a sword, stressing, however, that this distinction is not mandatory. Even though a mural of an angel holding a trumpet has been identified by a legend as Michael (securely identified representation no. 1), the evidence is again too scant to make any generalizations (see section titled “Attributes, below”).

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The appearance of the apocalyptical attribute of a trumpet should be considered equally uncertain. It is used by seven different angels in the Revelation of John and is held by other angels in apocryphal literature, such as the Angel Harmosiel in the book of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ by the Apostle Bartholomew, which had been known in Nubia since a manuscript with the longest Sahidic Coptic version of the text was produced in order to be sent to an unidentified Nubian locality (Westerhoff 1999).

Doubtful identifications of the Archangel Michael As stated above, the bulk of the murals from Christian Nubia suggested as representations of Michael are not directly related to textual evidence but rather to arguments based on iconographic criteria. The evidence such argumentation is based upon cannot be considered conclusive regarding the meaning that these paintings had for the Christians of medieval Nubia—let alone for those who used the church spaces after the disintegration of the Christian Nubian kingdoms. Therefore, such criteria can only lead to doubtful identifications of the iconographic subject examined, that is, as depictions of an archangel who can only tentatively be identified as Michael. As with the previous category of secure identifications, one must deal with three sub-­groups of doubtful identifications. They are based on attributes potentially identifying one archangel rather than another; on iconographic characteristics; and on specific types of representation.

Attributes In Nubian iconography, the objects which can be linked to Michael because of their appearance in the representations identified by legends are a scepter, a sphere, a trumpet, and a censer. Scenes where Michael is depicted with a combination of a long scepter topped with a cross or a sphere are the most numerous (Baldassarre 1967: 43; Łaptaś 1997). Although these objects are not exclusively used in representations of the Archangel Michael, Łaptaś (2004) has noticed subtle but perhaps significant differences, such as the fact that Michael’s scepter is of a different shape than the one which Raphael usually holds. A special case where these objects appear together is in a representation of a king protected by the Archangel in the church of Sonqi Tino (securely identified representation no. 15 [see Fig. 7.1]). There, the Four Apocalyptic Creatures hold a scepter and a sphere, while Michael’s hands are resting on the king under his protection. As suggested by Mieneke van der Helm (1990), this scene illustrates the moment when the Archangel won the battle against Archiplasma and obtained from the Four Creatures the symbols of his victory. This narrative is well attested in Coptic manuscript tradition and was also very popular in Nubia (Hagen 2007).7 The trumpet appears as an attribute of the Archangel Michael with certainty only once: in the depiction next to the entrance of Paulos Cathedral in Faras (securely identified representation no. 1). Although it is possible to link such an attribute to the

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role of Michael as one of the seven angels of the Apocalypse (trumpets were used to announce the Second Coming), it is not exclusively linked with him; it has also been used as an attribute of the Archangel Raphael, for example in the church at Abd elGadir, where he is depicted protecting a deacon. Thus, the other representation of an angel with a trumpet, located at the staircase in the cathedral in Faras, should be treated with caution even though it is almost identical with the one of Michael next to the entrance. Similar caution should be applied when dealing with the censer as the fourth attribute of Michael. This is represented as an attribute of Michael—as well as Gabriel— only in the scenes of Nativity, and thus it should probably be linked with the special role of these archangels in this setting (Łaptaś 2003).

Iconographic characteristics of archangels’ wings In earlier studies on Nubian wall ­painting, Michael was recognized as the (arch)angel whose wings are covered with peacock’s feathers or an eyes-­motif (Michałowski 1974: 199; Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 186, 263). However, this hypothesis is not corroborated by the Byzantine tradition, and some doubts were raised by Magdalena Łaptaś (2004) regarding the general value of this motif in identifying the Archangel Michael in Nubian wall ­painting. Gradually, as the database of wall ­paintings from Christian Nubia increased in volume, the studies of the murals were becoming more nuanced. It was again Łaptaś who was the first to point out that the eye-­motif characterizes Michael only in the scenes where more than one archangel is represented (Łaptaś 2003: 147). In more recent times still, even more iconographic variants were registered—especially through the finds from the Makuritan heartlands—and issues of periodization of the development of the art of wall ­painting in Christian Nubia were raised. For example, excavations in the Church of the Archangel Raphael on the Citadel of Old Dongola revealed that there were no strict rules concerning the iconographic characteristics of the archangels’ wings. More precisely, among seven representations of archangels identified by legends, two depictions of Michael and three of Raphael have wings covered with peacock feathers and eye-­motifs. In one representation, Michael’s wings are covered only with eyes; and in one instance Raphael’s wings are not decorated with either of these motifs.8

Types of representation (Figure 7.4) Among wall paintings representing angels and archangels, apart from images of the entire figures, there are cases where they are represented in a tondo (or imago clipeata). In Nubia, such depictions have so far been found in seven monuments: two from Tamit, the Church of Angels (Monneret de Villard 1935: 1162, where the figure is identified as Christ) and Chiesa “attigua a san Rafaele” (Baldassarre 1967: 54); one in Abu Oda (Monneret de Villard 1935: 174); one in Sonqi Tino (Pasi 2012: 580); one in Wadi es-Sebua (Monneret de Villard 1935: 87); one in Old Dongola (MartensCzarnecka 2011: 131, 188); and one in Serra East (Zielińska, forthcoming).9 They are usually represented in the southern part of a church, and can either be separate

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Figure 7.4  Angel in a tondo, Sonqi Tino. Photograph courtesy of Università la Sapienza. Pasi 2012: fig. 14.

paintings or parts of larger compositions and narrative scenes. Except for one graffito mentioning Michael on the opposite wall of this representation in the church of Wadi es-Sebua, no inscriptions have been registered directly identifying the angels in this type of representation. Therefore, the research for registering this iconography as characteristic of one or another angel or archangel must be based on the attributes they hold, the relation of such depictions to surrounding iconography, and the existence of related literature. Leaving aside the problem of discerning angels from archangels, which is a challenge that specialists in iconography from both Nubia and elsewhere face, some important

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points can nevertheless be made here. An interesting example of a tondo depiction of an (arch)angel is found next to the only representation in Nubia of the vision of Ezra, from the western wall of Room 3 in the South-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola.10 There, the angelic figure is depicted holding something that has been identified as a scroll or the body of a dead person. There is textual evidence that can support either identification in relation to Michael. Michael may be seen as the archangel linked with the protection of the souls of the dead, based on the idea that he has assumed the role of the psychopomp from ancient gods like the Greek Hermes and the Egyptian Thot (see Chapters 4 and 8). He is also linked with a fight against Satan over the body of Moses in Jude 9, as stated above. There is also a group of funerary stelae from Nubia asking Michael to protect the bones of the deceased (van der Vliet 2011: 198). Magdalena Łaptaś (2006: 678) also links another painting—this time from Wadi es-Sebua—to the idea of the Archangel Michael as psychopomp and thus with the Resurrection theme. However, in the monastery in Old Dongola there are two scenes depicting rituals connected with death (Martens-Czarnecka 2011: cat. 11D and 11E), in which the body of the deceased is attended by figures of angels without any characteristic attributes or legends. A similar situation can be observed in a mural from the church at Meinarti (Adams 2003: 33). From these examples, it seems that for the Nubians other angels— not just Michael—could be linked with funerary practices. Michael’s role in holy scripts—as deduced by the observation that he is holding a scroll—finds interesting parallels in Enochian literature, where Michael is one of the angels who reveal hidden wisdom to Enoch, and thus to all who seek to attain wisdom. In Nubia, such literature has recently been identified in Coptic manuscripts from Qasr Ibrim (Hagen 2012). Although other iconographic instances of influences from Enochian literature have not been traced in Christian Nubian wall paintings, there are epigraphic instances of prayers asking Michael to reveal “the book” to the author of the prayer. The earliest and most renowned example is a graffito from the church at Medik/ Naqa el-Oqba (Griffith 1913: 58–60). However, similar inscriptions invoking other angels (e.g., six times Raphael in Banganarti; see Łajtar 2014: 266) have also been recorded and again show that it is difficult to ascertain the identification of an (arch) angel with Michael on the basis of his holding a scroll. Since the attributes discernible in such compositions are not helpful for establishing criteria for the identification of the archangel depicted, perhaps it is the way in which the tondo itself is rendered in other scenes that might be of help. It is noteworthy that of the nine depictions of tonda from Nubia, eight are surrounded by rays (the one without being from Faras). These radiant tonda allow for some degree of plausible interpretations of what they represent. In the upper register of the apse composition of the Chiesa “attigua a san Rafaele” at Tamit, two depictions of winged figures in radiant tonda were located. The one on the left is better preserved and clearly contains a winged figure in an orant gesture.11 Together they have been interpreted as possible personifications of the moon and the sun, based on similarities with such representations from apse compositions in Egypt (Baldassarre 1967: 54). A very interesting example comes from Salle 20 of the Monastery of Apa Apollo in Bawit (Maspero and Drioton 1943: pls XXXII and XXXIII). There, the Christ in Majesty at the center of the apse is flanked by two figures in tondo

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identified by legends as the sun and the moon. The sun—the figure on the left—is indeed a winged figure, but the moon—the figure on the right—resembles depictions of the moon from ancient art, crowned by a crescent but without wings. Interestingly, the tonda from Wadi es-Sebua and Sonqi Tino are also crowned by crescents while they contain winged figures which can be identified as (arch)angels. It seems that the (exclusively?) Coptic tradition witnessed at Bawit was amalgamated with the representation of (arch)angels in radiant tonda, which in Nubia are subsequently depicted also outside the space of the apse. Whether the (arch)angels in radiant tonda maintain in all spaces the same identification as the sun and moon is difficult to determine. It is, however, important to stress that in Jewish lore (see, e.g., Guiley 2004: 44), the archangels are identified with groups of planets, stars, and other celestial bodies, where quite often Michael assumes the role of either the sun or the moon. If the combination of the radiant tonda with a crescent illustrate a personification of the moon, as seems probable, it is for the time being difficult to pinpoint the specific tradition that the Nubians were following, and thence to conjecture whether the angel in such a tondo was understood as Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, or one of the other (arch)angels. Thus, given the absence of legends accompanying the Nubian paintings, the different positions in the church where the depictions of an (arch)angel in tondo have been attested, and the lack of concrete textual background for the way these images were understood by the Nubians, it is prudent to refrain from attempting to determine in which cases Michael was meant to be depicted in the tondo. Such ideas, however, link Nubia with the outside world, and with traditions which go beyond Christian Egypt, and perhaps to the roots of Jewish lore. The investigation of these traditions should aid in the efforts to decipher Nubian iconography, as well as to confirm or refute doubtful identifications of the persona of Michael in the wall paintings decorating Nubian churches.

Conclusion This chapter has presented the iconographic evidence for the cult of the Archangel Michael among Christian Nubians of the medieval era. The source material has been collected in the context of the research project “Corpus of Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia.” Our conclusions can only be preliminary and rather have the form of desiderata as the work with this material is ongoing and there are serious lacunae in the publications of paintings from the churches of both Lower and Upper Nubia. There is also a lack of firm criteria for the identification of each of the angelic beings in the related iconographic body of evidence. Our contribution aimed at covering at least this last gap. The survey of the evidence for the cult of Michael in Nubia, as illustrated by the wall paintings discovered in the Middle Nile Region, demonstrates the predominant position of Michael in the Nubian religious mentality. Especially in comparison to the rest of the archangels, Michael is the figure that stands out. A rough estimate of the data assembled in the context of the “Corpus” project bespeaks this assumption: seventy-­ five representations have been suggested as depicting Michael, while there are twenty

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of Raphael, three of Uriēl, two of Gabriel, and one of Litarguel. This predominance has, however, caused some confusion among specialists of Nubian iconography as to the identification of paintings with depictions of Michael. The authors of this survey have therefore insisted on trying to establish the most secure criteria for identifying the Archangel Michael in the “Corpus” material. Clearly, the paintings hardly ever talk by themselves; they need the accompanying texts, or the textual traditions that lie behind and explain the iconographic theme, the motif, the attribute, or the type of representation. It is, therefore, only in combining text and image that the corpus of wall paintings from Christian Nubia can be correctly analyzed. A further element that has been observed to play a crucial role in such study is the position of the paintings inside the church space. By opening a dialogue with the spatial distribution of the wall paintings in the Nubian churches according to the display system of the “Corpus” project, the questions asked may find answers through comparisons of general plans, particular positions, or relations between iconographic themes, be they of individual representations of holy figures or of larger compositions and narrative scenes. Obviously, there is much more to be done in this direction, regarding the Archangel Michael as well. The dialogue with the other Nubiological contribution, as well as with the way the cult and the persona of Michael are manifested in other African regions examined in this book, are examples of the many paths along which such research may lead us.

8

The Position of the Archangel Michael within the Celestial Hierarchy: Some Aspects of the Manifestation of His Cult in Nubian Painting Magdalena Łaptaś (Translated from Polish by Miłka Stępień)

Introduction Working at the National Museum in Warsaw, I had an opportunity to admire a set of paintings discovered by Polish archaeologists in Faras (Sudan). This set contains some very interesting murals of archangels and angels, which prove that the Nubian painters, based on the Byzantine model, created their own variations of the iconographic motifs. Since then, I have been trying to deepen and update my view on the subject of angels and archangels in Nubian art.1 This subject demands study as new discoveries of paintings and inscriptions provide fresh knowledge on the Nubian angelology. The purpose of this chapter is to present the phenomenon of the Archangel Michael’s high position within the Nubian celestial hierarchy in light of the paintings, accompanying inscriptions, and some biblical and apocryphal sources. The article has been confined to a few images selected in order to highlight the Nubian “phenomenon” of the Archangel Michael. To begin with, I would like to refer to Michael van Esbroeck’s words: “In the Coptic Christian tradition, Saint Michael the Archangel holds an important place, comparable to that of the Virgin Mary. Of the Eastern churches, only the Copts and the Ethiopians have developed devotion to the archangel to the same degree” (1991: 1616). When writing these words, the eminent scholar did not mention the Nubian tradition in which the Archangel Michael also held a very important place. He might perhaps have treated the Nubian tradition as equivalent to the Coptic one; however, the preserved paintings and inscriptions from Faras, Old Dongola, Sonqi Tino, Nag’ el-Scheima, and other Nubian sites enrich our knowledge greatly about the cult of Saint Michael in the Nile Valley (see Chapter 7). They also allow us to define Michael’s position within the heavenly hierarchy inside the Christian Nubian belief system. Within the classification of celestial choirs by Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, which was extremely influential in Byzantium (Boiadjiev, Kapriev, and Speer 2000), the

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archangels occupied a low eighth place in the nine-­order celestial hierarchy. This low position in relation to other celestial choirs reflected the function of the archangels, who as intermediaries between God and humans were closely linked to the terrestrial sphere (Bruderer Eichberg 1998: 19–92). Since the hierarchy identified by PseudoDionysius the Areopagite was of a descending nature, with the first three choirs (Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones) adoring God in his direct vicinity at the very top of the hierarchy, the archangels took the penultimate place, a position higher only than the ninth choir, reserved for angels (De Coelesti Hierarchia 7–9).

The archistrategos In Dan. 10:13, 21, Michael is referred to as “one of the chief Princes.” Later, his position grew in the context of the battle between good and evil waged in heaven. The motif of battle, which was the consequence of the rebellion in heaven, has its roots in the ancient religion of the Near East (Parchem 2012: 162–3). The book of Genesis contains mention of the sons of God who took the daughters of men as wives. These relationships led to the birth of the giants (Gen. 6:1-4). According to the interpretations formed during the Second Temple Period, the rebellion of the giants was the reason behind evil spreading across the earth. In the Book of the Watchers, which was included into the Ethiopic Book of Enoch (Sparks 1984: 174), Michael became the intermediary who relayed human complaints to God: When the sons of Heaven, the angels, and the giants’ fathers conspired against God under Semyaza’s leadership, the humans complained about the evil spreading across the world. Their grievances reached the ears of four archangels, i.e., Michael, Gabriel, Suriel, and Uriel, and—seeing the huge amounts of blood spilt on Earth— they interceded to God on behalf of the humans. 1 En. 9:1-10

God sent them down to earth, instructing Michael to defeat the lewd souls of the sons of the Watchers, who had ruined mankind (1 En. 10:10-22). Michael, leading the celestial hosts, defeated Semyaza and his angels in battle. The motif of the Archangel Michael’s battle with the devil was also described in the New Testament, in the Book of Revelation. Michael led the celestial hosts in their battle against Satan, who took on the form of a dragon: . . . and war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world – he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him. Rev. 12:7-9

The Archangel Michael entered into battle with the devil with the exclamation “who is as God” (Davidson 1967: 193), giving his name at the same time a theophoric character

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(from the Hebrew Mika’el; cf. Michl 1962: 244). This victory gave the Archangel Michael the title of archistrategos (commander-­in-chief) of all the bodiless powers (Arnold 2013: 37–65). This way, he became not only commander-­in-chief but also the administrator of all the heavens (Müller 1959: 38; Pallas 1978: 44). The term archistrategos frequently appears in the inscriptions accompanying Nubian paintings. One example of this may be a representation from Faras (see Chapter  7), originally placed in the Bishops’ Funerary Chapel, located outside the cathedral and adjacent to its eastern wall, dated to the early eleventh century (see Jakobielski et al. 2017, cat. no. 123, 378).2 The inscription referred to Michael as “archistrategos, good and mankind-­loving.” The inscription contains terms of reference to the Archangel Michael which I will discuss in more detail further in this chapter (see Fig. 8.1); but first I will describe an exceptionally interesting painting from Old Dongola.

Figure 8.1  The Archangel Michael, Faras Cathedral, Mortuary Chapel of Bishops. Courtesy of the Polish Centre of Mediterranean Archaeology. Michałowski K. 1967, cat. no. 71, p. 164, Sudan National Museum, SNM 24375. Photograph by G. Gerster.

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The Investiture of the Archangel Michael from Old Dongola The painting from the North-western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola, excavated by Polish archaeologists (Jakobielski 1999: 141), dates back to the mid-­eleventh century (Martens-Czarnecka 2011: 268, pls XLI–XLV). A monumental figure of the Archangel Michael crowned by the Holy Trinity (P.65/NW13; MartensCzarnecka 2011: cat. no. 65; Makowski 2015: 302) was painted on the eastern wall in Chapel 13 of the monastery (see Chapter 7). The Archangel is depicted standing in a frontal position (see Fig. 8.2). He holds a cross-­shaped scepter and what seems to be a sphere in his left hand (this fragment is unclear due to damage to the painting). Michael’s wings are adorned with peacock

Figure 8.2  The Investiture of the Archangel Michael, Room 13 of the North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H. Courtesy of the Polish Centre of Mediterranean Archaeology. Jakobielski, S. and P. O. Scholz 2001, pl. XLIII. Photograph by T. Jakobielski.

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feathers and eyes. Michael wears a loros and has a crown on his head. Three figures with crossed nimbi emerge from behind the halo surrounding the Archangel’s head. Each of the figures is holding a book in his left hand while touching the Archangel’s crown with his right hand. A small brown-­skinned figure of a donor is hovering next to the Archangel’s right wing. The donor grasps the edge of this wing. His vestment consists of a belted tunic and a mantle. Without a doubt, this image refers to the apocryphal text Liber Institutionis Michaelis, a fragment of which was discovered in its Old Nubian version in Qasr Ibrim (Browne 1995), and in its Greek version in Serra East (Browne 1989: 76).3 The Liber Institutionis Michaelis contains a description of the Archangel’s coronation following the defeat of Saklatabōth (Mastēma), and his casting out of heaven. In the Old Nubian version, we read: The Father ordered all the angels to assemble and to cast lots with one another, in order to see whose would be the lot to stand beside him before the throne. And taking Michael, a chief angel having great power, establishing him on the throne of the hateful one, the archiplasma, taking away all of Mastema’s glory, he gave it to the fair-­formed, glorious Michael. Browne 1989: 132

The Archangel Michael’s monumental silhouette from Old Dongola (over 2.5 meters high)4 is much taller than any human being, making it quite an impressive sight. Such a portrayal was done with the purpose of showing the might of the winged archistrategos, who in the above-­quoted fragments is referred to as “a chief angel having great power.” The term songoj also appears in Old Nubian texts, which corresponds to the “Greek word ἔπαρχος [eparch], the title of the head of the Makurian administration of the former kingdom of Nobadia” (Tsakos 2014: 53). Following his enthronement, Michael received the shining crown, the scepter of readiness, the “victorious shield,” and the “shoes of peace which was the security of the world” (Browne 1989: 76). One can argue that the painting from Old Dongola depicts this very moment. It is interesting to compare the proportions of the individual figures in this scene. The Archangel Michael is disproportionately large in relation to the figures making up the Holy Trinity, and according to hierarchical composition, the person performing the most significant role in the scene is the largest.5 Michael is clad in a loros with a thorakion, which is the garment reserved for Byzantine empresses.6 The eyes adorning his wings generally do not appear on archangels’ wings in Byzantine art. They are reserved for the three highest celestial choirs. In biblical descriptions, angels and archangels are depicted as wingless beings (Berefelt 1968: 6; Martin 2001: 12). The earliest images of angels and archangels with wings were introduced in art towards the end of the fourth and in the fifth century (Peers 2001: 23). The iconographic prototypes of the winged Christian messengers were probably the Greek goddess Nike and her Roman equivalent Victoria (Jastrzębowska 2011: 153). This still leaves the question of why eyes appear on the archangels’ wings in Nubian paintings.7 One of the reasons might be the long existence of the pre-Christian tradition in the Nile Valley of treating

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the eye as an apotropaic motif, while simultaneously being a symbol of life and rebirth (i.e., the Wadjet Eye).8 Another explanation might be the way the celestial beings are described in apocryphal texts. The Book of Enoch contains a description of eyes on angelic wings, and its Hebrew version recounts the transformation of Enoch into the Angel Metatron (who is called the lesser YHWH). Enormous wings covered with eyes grow out of his body during the transformation: The Holy One, blessed be he, laid his hand on me and blessed me with 1,365,000 blessings. I was enlarged and increased in size till I matched the world in length and breadth. He made to grow on me 72 wings, 36 on one side and 36 on the other, and each single wing covered the entire world. He fixed in me 365,000 eyes and each eye was like the Great Light. There was no sort of splendor, brilliance, brightness, or beauty in the luminaries of the world that he failed to fix in me. 3 En. 9:1-59

After enlargement, Metatron assumed great power, which was increased further when he was given a crown: “When the Holy One, blessed be he, placed this crown upon my head, all the princes of kingdoms who are in the height of the heaven of Arabot and all the legions of every heaven trembled at me” (3 En. 14:1).10 Thus, Metatron gained power over the other angels. The power he acquired was especially important in the battle against the hosts of fallen angels. A description of the enlargement of Enoch-Metatron brings to mind the enthronement of the Archangel Michael in the Liber Institutionis Michaelis. Similarly, as in 3 Enoch, the Liber Institutionis describes Michael receiving a shining crown which grants him the power to rule over the world. Michael stands beside the throne of the Father, as does Metatron, whose name according to one interpretation is derived from the Greek word θρόνος (“throne”), and signifies the one who serves behind the throne or sits in the throne located next to God’s royal chair (Orlov 2017: 165).11 Finally, through his transformation into Metatron, Enoch becomes an intermediary between mankind and God, in a manner similar to the Archangel Michael, who is portrayed as the protector of the figure of the founder, placed next to his wing in the painting in Room 13 in the Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola. The eye is one of the organs which enables us to perceive the world around us, and the multiplication of the eyes on the body, garments, or wings of divine beings expresses their omniscience. The motif of the multiplied eyes appears in the beliefs of many nations, as proven by Rafaelle Pettazzoni in his classical text on divine omniscience (1955). God, who knows and sees all, is described in the Psalms, in the Sapiential books. In Ezekiel’s vision, God’s omniscience is also transferred to the beings who support his throne. They are human in form, but each of them bears four wings and four faces: of a human, a lion, an ox, and an eagle (Ezek. 1:5-10). Four beings are accompanied by wheels covered with eyes (Ezek. 1:18). In the Revelation of John, each of these beings has one of these faces, but they bear six wings each, which were “covered all over with eyes, inside and out” (Rev. 4:8). Thus, God’s omniscience is imparted to the first three celestial choruses standing close to him. A painting depicting Christ enthroned with his garments covered in eyes originates from the Faras Cathedral. They symbolize the power of God, who is portrayed in the form of Christ (see Fig. 8.3).

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Figure 8.3  Christ enthroned, Faras Cathedral, south aisle, east wall. Courtesy of the Polish Centre of Mediterranean Archaeology. Jakobielski, S. et al. 2017, cat. no. 89, s. 335. The National Museum in Warsaw. Photograph by Mieczysław Niepokólczycki.

In my opinion, the fact that there are eyes on Michael’s wings emphasizes his high position, next to God’s throne. This positioning is especially important to the Nubians, who invoke Michael, asking him to intercede on their behalf with God. He is a mighty protector, who, thanks to his proximity to God, can relay to him requests and prayers directly. He can also act on someone’s behalf on Judgment Day. In the painting under examination from Old Dongola, a small figure of its founder has been placed next to the Archangel’s right wing. This composition is reminiscent of a Coptic text attributed to Timothy, Bishop of Alexandria. It describes the Archangel Michael’s descent into the Abyss of Hell. There, he sees a fiery lake, in which the souls of the dead suffer the most brutal forms of torture. The Archangel Michael submerges his right wing in the lake and pulls out an enormous amount of souls. At that moment, the cherubim and

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seraphim following him fall to their knees before him. The Archangel dips his wing in the lake three times, after which he brings the souls before God so that they may pay homage (Budge 1915: 1026).

Psychopompos The Archangel Michael also acts as a psychopompos (escort to the souls of the deceased; see Chapter 4), aiding the souls in crossing Lake Acherusium by boat. In the apocryphal Apocalypse of Paul, the souls sail to the city of Christ in a golden boat preceded by about 3,000 angels. The role of their guide is performed by Michael, who first baptizes the souls in Lake Acherusium (Apoc. Paul 22:18; Elliot 1993: 630). It seems that the Nubian paintings from the church in Nag’ el-Scheima, currently kept in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna (see Chapter 7, Fig. 7.3), depict the migration of the dead into the Underworld under the Archangel Michael’s care. These paintings, marked with the excavation numbers 77275 and 77276, come from the southern wall in the church’s southern nave and have been dated based on their style to the end of the tenth or beginning of the eleventh century ce (Bietak and Schwarz 1987: 137). Both images were found in a fill layer and consist of numerous fragments, as a result of which their state of preservation is imperfect. The painting marked with the excavation no. 77275 depicts Nubians and angels sailing in a boat. All of the figures are in frontal positions. The angels have been portrayed sitting in the foreground. In total, six figures have been preserved, each of which is holding an oar with both hands. The faces and hands of the angels are pale, while their garments are white. The dark faces of the Nubians are portrayed in the background, above the angels. Near the boat’s bow, a figure larger than all the rest stands out, even though it has not been fully preserved. Only his white right hand is visible, holding an oar or the rudder. As this figure is larger than those of the other angels, it is plausible that this is a depiction of the Archangel Michael. The painting marked as no. 77276 has been preserved in a much better state than the one discussed above. It depicts a large angel, most probably an archangel,12 with his wings spread out wide. He is shown standing in a frontal position, with his gaze turned forward, looking straight at the viewer. Nubian men are depicted standing in front of the (arch)angel and underneath his wings. They are much smaller than him. Each of them is holding an amphora in his hands, supporting it with his left hand and grasping it with his right hand. Since both paintings from Nag’ el-Scheima were put together from the numerous fragments found in the fill, it is reasonable to assume that they had originally constituted parts of the same scene.13 This would, therefore, be a scene in which the Nubians are traveling in a boat steered by angels, while one large angel—most probably the Archangel Michael, the psychopompos—is the helmsman.14

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The image of the Archangel Michael from Sonqi Tino A very interesting image of the Archangel Michael comes from Sonqi Tino, currently housed in the Sudan National Museum in Khartoum (see Chapter  7, Fig.  7.1).15 It shows the Archangel Michael providing protection for the Nubian ruler. The Archangel is accompanied by four Living Beings, holding his insignia. A fragment of an inscription in Old Nubian next to Michael’s head has been preserved.16 Mineke van der Helm drew attention to the links between this representation and the text of John Chrysostom’s homily dedicated to the Four Living Beings. The Coptic fragment of this homily in the Sahidic version was found by Martin Plumley in Qasr Ibrim17 and is currently housed in the Cambridge Library.18 The text of the sermon contains a description of the Archangel Michael’s investiture, during which the Four Beings give him the insignia of power. The first Being has a lion’s head, the second that of an ox, the third a human head, and the last one an eagle’s head.19 The first Being, who in Chrysostom’s text is referred to as Kheroubiēl, claims to have defeated Saklatabōth and cast him into the Fiery Lake. The second, Zaraphiēl, gives Michael clothing, armor, and his angelic breastplate. In the painting from Sonqi Tino, this Being is portrayed as handing a circular object (a sphere?) over to Michael. The third, Baroukhaēl, gives Michael the “belt of life” (this fragment of the painting from Sonqi Tino is damaged; nonetheless, it is possible to note that the third Being is portrayed at the height of the Archangel’s waist). The fourth, Dōthiēl, presents Michael with armor and a staff of victory. The cross scepter, held in two hands by the Being with an eagle’s head, is clearly visible in the painting. There can be no doubt that the concept behind this painting is based on John Chrysostom’s text, but in this scene the king is added as well. One has the impression that it is the king who receives the insignia through the intercession of the Archangel Michael. In turn, the composition itself brings to mind the image of the Maiestas Domini, in which Christ is a central figure surrounded by the Apocalyptic Beings.20 Michael provides the people with his care and protects them from evil; thus, his mission is similar to that of Christ.21

Michael as a type of Christ In some scenes, based on the Old Testament, Michael can prefigure Christ. The scene of the Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace can serve as an example of this prefiguration. However, it is true that in this scene, God’s messenger was not named (Dan. 3:49), but this function was gradually attributed to Michael as part of a later tradition (Łaptaś and Jakobielski 2001: 76). In the earliest images in the catacomb paintings, the angel was not depicted at all. In Capella Greca in Priscilla’s Catacomb,22 the Three Youths stand in flames, which in fact are not really that high. They raise their arms in an orans gesture and are portrayed in unconstrained poses, almost as if they were dancing. The unhampered character of the Youths’ gestures most probably was intended to emphasize the fact that despite Nebuchadnezzar’s order, the young men had survived in the flaming furnace and no harm had come to them. The motif of the divine messenger who came to the youths’ rescue was completely omitted from this scene. In the other

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images from the catacombs, the role of the messenger was performed by a bird carrying a small branch in its beak or by a wingless man (an angel). On the Egyptian painting from Wadi Sarga, dated to the sixth/seventh centuries, the liberator of the Three Youths was referred to as an angel in the inscription. However, in the Nubian image from the Faras Cathedral, dated to the tenth/eleventh centuries (Łaptaś and Jakobielski 2001: 76), the name Michael clearly appears in the titulus (see Fig.  8.4). The painting was located in the narthex and is currently housed in the Sudan National Museum in Khartoum. The Archangel Michael stands in one row with the young men, but he is taller than them. He protects the youths with his cross scepter (crux hastata), and his wings spread out to the sides to additionally offer shelter to them. The flames in the background have the appearance of a fiery plume. The base for all the figures’ feet is the bottom of the furnace, shown in the form of a horizontal frame, on which a Greek inscription has been placed. There the Archangel Michael is referred to as the archistrategos loving the mankind and good (Łaptaś and Jakobielski 2001: 78). The inscription invites the conclusion that Michael is the savior not only of the Three Youths but of all mankind. He liberates the faithful from the fiery flames, just as Christ descending into the Abyss

Figure 8.4  The Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace with the Archangel Michael, Faras Cathedral, narthex. Courtesy of the Polish Centre of Mediterranean Archaeology. Jakobielski, S. et al. 2017, cat. no. 120, s. 371. Sudan National Museum, SNM 24375. Photograph by T. Jakobielski.

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of Hell frees mankind from the shackles of Hades. Already in the early biblical exegesis focusing on the Three Youths, the fiery furnace was referred to as the prefiguration of the fires of hell (Dulaey 1997: 39–46), and the liberation of the young men as a harbinger of salvation (Bucur 2016: 228). This is supported by the position of the Three Youths’ mural in the Karanlık Kilise (“Dark Church”) in Cappadocia. The painted decoration of this church dates most probably to the middle or the third quarter of the eleventh century ce.23 On the southern wall of the southern aisle, two scenes are placed in a vertical arrangement. The Anastasis (Resurrection) is at the top and the Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace below (Yenipınar and Şahin 1998: 72–3). The men stand inside the furnace, the middle one portrayed in a frontal position, while the other two are turned towards the Archangel. He is much taller than the men, whom he shelters with his outstretched wings. The men, turned towards the Archangel, stretch their hands out in a gesture of intercession. The young men are shown here as mankind’s intercessors. The configuration of the Anastasis scene with the image of the Three Youths was intentional. The Archangel liberated the faithful from the torment of the fires like Christ, who descended into the Abyss to save mankind.24 Thus, the Three Youths scene heralds the Resurrection.

The protector of the Nubian people The reference to Michael as the one who loves mankind had already appeared in the context of the image of the Archangel from the Bishops’ Funerary Chapel in Faras Cathedral. It defines Michael as the guardian not only of individuals but whole communities. In the book of Daniel, Michael is described as a great prince whose purpose is to protect the chosen people: “At that time Michael, the great prince who stands guard over the sons of your people, will arise” (Dan. 12:1). In the Ethiopian Book of Enoch, he performs the same function: “Michael, one of the holy angels, namely the one put in charge of the best part of mankind for [he is] obedient in his benevolence over the people and the nations” (1 En 20:4, trans. Knibb 1984: 208). Considering the large number of Nubian paintings dedicated to the Archangel Michael (see Chapter 7), of which I have mentioned only a few, the numerous inscriptions and graffiti with his name placed on buildings,25 epitaphs (Łajtar 2003: 39–57, cat. no. 6–8), ceramic vessels (Łajtar and Pluskota 2001: 335–6), and seals (also in the form of cryptograms), it can be said that he was viewed as a protector of the entire Nubian people.

A demon tamer The practice of placing the name of the Archangel at the entrances to buildings, above the windows of houses, in burial chapels and crypts, and so on was certainly associated with apotropaic and magical functions. The Archangel Michael, who had defeated Satan, was a protector of people against evil powers. In addition, he played another important role as presented in the apocryphal collection of texts known as the Testament of Solomon. Here, Michael delivered to Solomon a magical ring from God,

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the seal of which, engraved in the precious stone of the ring, gave Solomon power over the demons. The narrative of a demon being cast from the possessed body of a man by the seal of Solomon was quoted by Flavius ​Josephus in his Antiquities of the Jews (8:42–49). Magical amulets with images of Solomon piercing the demons were very popular (Walter 2003: 36), and Michael’s name was often inscribed on these amulets as well (Bonner 1950: cat. no. 310–11, 304, pl. XV, figs 309–11). Furthermore, the Archangel was mentioned as the tamer of the demon Ruax, who caused headaches and throbbing in men’s temples. This demon confessed to Solomon that he would disappear upon hearing the spell “Michael, imprison Ruax” (T. Sol. 18:5). On the west wall of the North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola, among the twenty-­four names written in the form of cryptograms, one can read the names of Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriēl (Müller 2001; Łajtar and Van der Vliet 2012: 332). A text called the “seal of Solomon” was inscribed on the north wall of the same crypt (Łajtar and Van der Vliet 2017: 96–7). The same record of the names of archangels was discovered on the north wall of the crypt uncovered to the west of the cathedral in Qasr Ibrim (Plumley 1982: 92). Belief in evil powers and demons was and still is deeply rooted in the mentality of the inhabitants of the Nile Valley (Żurawski 1992: 100). As a result, its people, afraid of the evil lurking around them, turned to the archangels, asking for their protection, and Michael—as the intermediary between God and Solomon and the archistrategos—was their leading defender. Summing up this brief overview, it can be said that Michael, as in Egypt and Ethiopia, occupied in Nubia an unusual position within the celestial hierarchy. Michael van Esbroeck has written that the Archangel Michael’s position in Egypt was comparable to that of the Virgin Mary (1991: 1616),26 probably referring to the frequency of the feasts of the Archangel, which in some regions of Egypt were celebrated monthly. Two of the scenes I have described in this chapter depict angelic epiphanies, which have been celebrated as feasts in Christian Egypt. These include the Investiture of the Archangel Michael and the rescue of the Three Hebrew Youths. Michael’s investiture was the most important feast, celebrated over the course of three days in November (12th Hathōr), while the rescue of the Three Youths was celebrated in October (10th Paōpe)27 or May (10th Pašons).28 This feast was also mentioned in the Ethiopian Synaxarion in December (12th Takhshah). One can also add the scene from Room 6 of the South-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola, which can be identified as a miracle which the Archangel Michael performed to help pious Dorotheos and his wife Theophiste (Łaptaś 2008).29 It also has its equivalent in the Ethiopian Synaxarion in November (12th Khĕdâr).30 Another scene, in which Michael appears before Balaam (or rather his donkey), painted on the northern wall of Room 13 in the North-­western Annex of the Monastery on Kom H in Old Dongola (see Chapter 7, Fig. 7.2), can be treated as a depiction of the feast, which was listed in the Ethiopian Synaxarium in March (12th Magabit).31 Taking into consideration this wide range of paintings, corresponding to the feasts of Michael, one can speculate that in Nubia, as in some regions of Egypt, the Archangel was commemorated on the 12th day of each month. This helps to explain the frequency of images of the Archangel Michael on the walls of the Nubian ecclesiastical interiors.

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Conclusion In the study of Nubian art, we should take into consideration the mentality of Nubian society: a society living on the banks of the Nile, in the desert, and in constant fear of demons and evil powers. That is why the cult of the great guardian, who protected this society and relayed its prayers to God, was so widespread. For the Nubians, God was a harsh judge residing in the heavens, far from them, while the Archangel, descending to earth, was closer to them. The image of the Archangel Michael’s investiture from Old Dongola helps to illustrate this notion. Michael’s huge silhouette extends along the entire height of the wall, while the small Holy Trinity, emerging from among the clouds, seems rather distant from the perspective of a viewer. It is the Archangel, not the Trinity, who is the main focus of the whole composition. Living on the frontier of Byzantine civilization, Nubian society did not have to strictly adhere to the rigorous principles established at Constantinople. It created its own celestial hierarchy, based on the Byzantine model, but much more enriched and developed. Nubia’s angelic images help deepen our knowledge and understanding of Eastern Christian iconography.

Part Four

The Archangel Michael in Christian Ethiopia

Map 4  Ethiopia. Created by Raita Steyn.

Introduction: Christian Ethiopia Marta Camilla Wright

Ethiopia is one of the lands that feature prominently in the Bible. Its geography is dominated by a vast mountain massive: the Rift Valley from north-­east to south-­west, extending northward from the Red Sea towards the Dead Sea and the Jordan Valley. To the west is the valley of the Blue Nile, called Abay (“great” or “grand”) in Ethiopia (Berhanu 2014). To Ethiopians, the river is the Gihon of Gen. 2:13 (Ullendorff 1968). It springs from Lake Tana, which is believed to contain holy water. There is a strong “biblical atmosphere . . . in Ethiopia” (Ullendorff 1968: 3), represented by the perception of the Nile or the legend of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon and their son, Menelik I, who brought the Ark of the Covenant to Ethiopia (Ullendorff 1968). A new Jerusalem was established in Axum, and later in Lalibela. Old Testament purity prescriptions are still followed by Ethiopian Orthodox Christians, and many Ethiopians are conscious of the frequent mentioning of Ethiopia in the Bible (Binns 2017). The Ethiopian Orthodox Church is one of the first Christian churches to have been established, officially called “The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church.” It has a 1,700-year-­long history, not counting the long Old Testament/Jewish tradition attributed to the geographical area. Some Ethiopians, even priests, claim that Ethiopia has been “Christian” since the time of Menelik I. The fact that an Ethiopian eunuch is mentioned once in the New Testament (Acts 8:27) has been interpreted locally as proof that Christianity was introduced in Ethiopia during the Apostolic times (Kefjalew 1997, 2009; The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church Patriarchate 1997).1 Research reveals a different story. Egyptians in search of gold, exotic products, and slaves traveled along the Nile, and tradesmen from the Arabian Peninsula crossed the Red Sea and arrived in today’s Eritrea. These immigrants established commercial centers along the coast, laying the foundations of the Axum Kingdom, established around 500 bce (Marcus 2002). Christianity was introduced in earnest to the African Horn bordering on the Red Sea in the fourth century ce by Frumentius and Aedesius from Syria, who built upon an earlier introduction of Christianity through traveling merchants visiting the Axumite Empire (Tadesse 1972). The two Syrians eventually became prominent officials at the court of the Ethiopian king. When the king died, his son Ezana was still a child, and the Syrians were asked to rule the kingdom until his successor reached maturity (Kaplan 1984; Marcus 2002). Frumentius promoted Christianity in Ethiopia and was later appointed the first bishop of Ethiopia by the Egyptian Archbishop Athanasius (Kaplan 1984).

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The King of Axum is estimated by scholars to have accepted the Christian religion c. 340 ce. The growth of Christianity in Ethiopia progressed towards the end of the fifth century with the arrival of two groups of Syrian missionaries: the Tsadqan and the Nine Saints (Tadesse 1972; Talbot 1952; Wondmagegnehu and Motovu 1970). They were all monks, and their motivation for going to Ethiopia has not been ascertained. At least two explanations have been given. One is that they were anti-Chalcedonians fleeing persecution (Kaplan 1984; Budge 1928c). Another holds that they were part of a planned program supported by Axum and Alexandria (Tadesse 1972: 21). The Nine Saints established monasteries in the Tigray province, some of them containing schools (Kaplan 1984: 17; Tadesse 1972: 24). These institutions were crucial to the spread and rooting of Christianity in Ethiopia. The monks translated scriptures into Geez, among which were the Life of Paulus the Hermit, the Life of St. Anthony, and the monastic Rules of Pachomius. Until that time, there was a lack of books in Ethiopic, and Greek is believed to have been the main language of the Church (Tadesse 1972: 23). These translations encouraged the growth of the local Christian community. After the disintegration of the Axumite Empire, political power moved south to Lalibela, where rock-­hewn churches were constructed by King Lalibela of the Zagwe dynasty (1137–1270). After 1270 ce, the Solomonic dynasty gained power, and from then on, a feudal structure developed. A number of kingdoms sprang up and disappeared, the most important ones being Gojam, Tigray, Amhara, and Shoa. The country was never colonized by Europeans despite the Italians’ efforts in the 1930s, when it was under Emperor Haile Sellassie’s rule. Sellassie’s reign lasted until 1974, when he was overthrown by a coup d’état and a totalitarian military regime was established. In 1991, the leftist coalition party, the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front, took over and has remained in power to the present day. Religion and state are treated as separate areas by the contemporary rulers of the country, even though the Ethiopian Orthodox Church is still influential. Today around 45 percent of the Ethiopian population of approximately 100 million people are Ethiopian Orthodox Christians. The majority live in the northern highlands.2 “The biblical atmosphere” mentioned above also contains an angelic dimension. Just to give one example out of many, legend has it that the construction of the rock-­hewn churches in Lalibela was achieved with the help of angels—which is often treated as a fact by members of the Church. The belief in angels is widespread in Ethiopia, and especially the Archangel Michael holds a prominent position in beliefs and rituals. The two chapters in this section illuminate both mythical and ritual aspects of the Archangel. Chapter  9 by Marta Camilla Wright is an anthropological study of the contemporary role and function of Michael and shows how people have deep and affectionate relationships with him in their search for healing and protection, in which the book Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel3 plays a key role. The importance of the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel is also highlighted in Chapter 10 by Dan Levene. The variations of the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel as seen through the comparison between two editions, one in manuscript and one in printed form, are explained against the background of the popularity of the cult of Michael, with a focus on miracles. The study discusses the genres of täʾamǝr (miracle) and dǝrsan (homily) and contains the first (to our knowledge) publication of translated

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parts of a particular dǝrsan narrating the täʾamǝr of Michael for the mid-­summer month of H . amle. Both chapters illustrate the importance of the cult of the Archangel Michael in Ethiopia, and they are the first scholarly works to discuss in depth the role of angels in general and that of Michael in particular in the Ethiopian Orthodox context.

9

Relationships with the Archangel Michael: Materiality and Healing among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians in Contemporary Addis Ababa Marta Camilla Wright

For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had. Jn 5:2-5 One of my first interviews at the beginning of field research in Addis Ababa was with a priest. I met him coincidentally at a holy water place on the outskirts of Addis Ababa. He invited me to his home nearby, surrounded by tall eucalyptus trees and green fields. My assistant and I went there several times and spent hours in his tiny, traditional wattle-­and-daub house. His wife prepared coffee with their last-­born on her lap, and while drinking coffee we listened to his explanations about things that he found important. At that early stage in the field research, my focus was on listening to whatever was said about healing, with an inductive approach to my study topic, holy water healing among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians in Addis Ababa, without posing many questions. In this conversational process, one of the things he talked about was the importance of the Archangel Michael. He told me that the book Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel (The Homily [in Honor] of [the Archangel] Michael) was the most important book for healing. I did not realize at that time how important this was and that there was also an implied dimension of a concrete and material kind. Later the topic was raised again in various settings: conversations, exorcisms, interviews, and holy water sites. The quote from John 5 above is the biblical reference that people—be they clergy or laity—mentioned in interviews and conversations, in particular when I asked about the biblical foundation of holy water practices. There is no indication in the quote that the angel is Michael. However, that people mention exactly this text from the Bible not only underscores the importance of water as a healing agent but also suggests a recognition of angelic agency in water healing. Angelic agency can also be found in other material objects, such as the aforementioned Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel.

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

The Orthodox attitude to angels has not yet been described and discussed in full in contemporary Ethiopia, either in a historical context or with regard to contemporary religious practices. To understand Michael’s role and function is one key to understanding why holy water practices are so popular among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians. He is important in people’s daily life struggles, since he both protects and heals people in dire situations, not in an abstract way but in a concrete, relational, and material way. This chapter thus explores the role and function of Michael by looking at people’s relationships with him and his role in healing processes, seeking to explain what Michael’s role is among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians in today’s Addis Ababa and why he has become so important in holy water healing in Ethiopian society.

Holy water healing in Addis Ababa Holy water healing involves a variety of practices which can be classified in two main categories: those with the primary aim of taking protective measures, mainly against attacks from evil spirits, disease, and misfortune; and those with primarily healing purposes—for spirit possessions, disease, and misfortune. Holy water healing is a common practice among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians (Wondmagegnehu and Motovu 1970; Boylston 2012; Hermann 2012). In the Ethiopian capital alone, a city of around two million people where Ethiopian Orthodox Christians are in the majority, there are approximately 150 holy water sites. In comparison, there are only around forty hospitals. Several holy water sites are consecrated in the name of Michael, and a couple of them are even known to be without a healer priest. The Archangel is said to be the only healer working in these particular sites. Michael was mentioned in conversations and interviews I carried out about illnesses and healing when we discussed how they could get rid of misery and disease.1 Disease is often understood as spirit possession: a spirit is the root cause or the real disease. The disease in biomedical terms is just a symptom of this, and it can change character.

An eschatological view of angels Informants2 say that today’s society is undergoing rapid changes, which they interpret as one indicator that the world is nearing the end of time or that we live in the so-­called “eighth millennium.” The eighth millennium is the last millennium in history according to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. This is how the perceived increase in the trouble of our time was explained by a male informant from Addis Ababa: “It is a prophesy; it is a symptom of the end of the world that the devil will dominate. Christ knows when the world will end, but we are in the last, eighth millennium, and the symptoms are the spread of evil, dishonesty, problems, which brings such bad things” (interview, April 22, 2016). Another informant spoke in more detail on the same topic: Because Adam was not able to resist the temptation of [the] devil, God went to him and said, “You cannot be free from sin, but I will come after five and half days,

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which means 5,500 years, and I will save you.” According to science, the world is millions of years old, but according to God, there were 5,500 years before Christ, and 2,008 after Christ, which makes a total of 7,508 years. Thus, we are in the eighth millennium, the end of time. Is this from a separate book? No, this is contained in the Bible, in the Gospels there were questions about the end of time. It is written that in the end of time, people would become enemies, love and agreement between people would decrease, the construction of stone buildings would increase, doctors and patients would be many, denying God and religion would increase, and war would increase. Addis Ababa, May 19, 2016

These views on the current time are also described by other scholars (Yidnekachew 2015; Dejene 2016; Wright 2017). People say that diseases are numerous at this time, and that new or modern diseases are appearing. In general, life will be filled with challenges. Informants describe relationships that break down, people who are afraid to share meals, divorces, and neighborhoods that are diminishing, often because of the construction of roads or large business areas. They say that secularization or modernization has forced people to live more individually and distant from God. All these are, according to informants, signs that humanity is approaching the end of time. Apocalyptic literature such as the popular Fäk·arä Yäsus describes the eighth millennium.3 Importantly, during this time, the battle between good and evil intensifies.4 Informants refer to Michael’s role at the end of time as described in the book of Revelation, and one aspect of his popularity can be seen in light of the rationale behind the end of time.

Relationships with Michael Several of my informants expressed strong feelings and relational ties to Michael. The relational aspect has more than one dimension. Firstly, the healing is communal as the disease belongs to a community in the sense that diseases often appear as a consequence of something happening in the family, the extended family, or the neighborhood, and is less often perceived as happening to an individual isolated from other relational ties (for more on this theme, see Malara 2017). Secondly, the healing process takes place in a relational manner, involving spiritual beings, other humans, and material things. The angel is not abstract and immaterial; some people in fact relate to an angel through books, pictures, other people, dreams, words (spirits that talk), and more. One of my informants for whom Michael was particularly important was Gennet.5 Gennet is a woman in her fifties living in Addis Ababa. As we entered through the main door of her house, a poster of Michael was the first thing we saw. In the tiny living room of her condominium apartment, Michael was given a prominent place. Gennet is married and has three daughters. She works as a cleaner, but not on a regular basis. Different saints and angels have played important roles in the healing processes of the family members; however, the first time I met her, she stated that she had a closer

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relationship with Michael than with other saints and angels because she believed he had helped her family in various ways: My husband used to be a soldier. He was saved from death on the day of Michael. Two of my children were sick for three years. I thought I was going to lose them. My eldest daughter was very ill, but we did not really know why. She had different symptoms; she disturbed me, she disappeared, she fell repeatedly, and a doctor said that she had diabetes. I was pregnant with my third child when a spirit attacked me via my daughter. I tried to drink chlorine to abort the pregnancy. Then some friends decided to move my daughter away from me. She went to some relatives, who were strong in religion. They thought the problem was a spirit and took her to a holy water site. She was healed there. At that time, the book Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel was read out. It is believed that the words have their own power to chase away spirits.

Gennet’s daughter was also part of the conversation, and she started to explain about her previous situation: My spirit hindered me from reading certain words, the names of the angels, and some words in Geʿez with a lot of power. While I was at the holy water site, my father would read the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel. Then the spirits said, “Now we have to leave, now he is going to read the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel.”

Gennet continued: At that moment, my daughter became conscious. As for the older one, the spirit was finally extracted through a wound in her foot when she was seventeen years old. Finally, the spirit said that it had been with her since she was four years old. At that time, she was staying with her father somewhere else. Her father’s neighbor was sick and went to the t.änqway,6 who told him that if he could get a young girl, he would get healthy. The neighbor got some poison from the t.änqway, which he gave to my daughter. That was the time when her problems started. The spirit revealed this in the holy water site. Eventually, when she was healed, the neighbor died. Michael has done a lot for me. The most important I remember was when my eldest daughter went to the holy water site. It was t.ǝmk·ät;7 the tabot8 of Michael was being carried along the road. I was in my own world and I did not care about anyone. I lay down and said, “You gave her to me, you made her to be there alone, but I want to see her here by next year.” I said this just like an order. Then he did as I asked [she starts crying]. I have no words to explain what he has done. Addis Ababa, August 2017

As this narrative indicates, the family has been through many challenges. These kinds of experiences are quite common, and I have met numerous people at holy water sites who tell similar stories. Not all of them express such a special attachment to Michael; they may feel closer to other saints or angels. However, Michael is special because of his particular power over evil spirits. Gennet and her family see Michael as someone who

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played an essential part in their healing and who still protects them. They have developed a close relationship with Michael, as have many others. He has become like a part of their family, and he is present in their house, for example in the picture on the wall. Gennet explained that she experienced Michael’s protection of her whole family. The proof of this is related to what was once told to her by a spirit mediated by someone whom she met in a healing place, as she details in the interview. This is a quite common feature of the healing process: People meet someone whom they do not know at a holy water site, who suddenly reveals something about their situation—often about the past—acting as a medium of a spirit. Relationships with saints and angels need to be nurtured, just like any other relationship, and Gennet dedicates some of her time tending to her relationship with Michael. She explained what she does and what she gains from it, and how she sees him: I go to church on the 12th of each month, I buy regular candles to burn at home and church candles to give to the church, and I give alms. I do these things because I still believe Michael protects my children and house. Once, when I was at the place of healing, the spirit possessing someone else told me that still different spirits fight to get to our family, but they could not get into the house because of the strong protection of Michael. God sends angels to protect people, and I think he sends them to protect us; they are in front, in the back, left, right. He is also the Archangel. Michael is the chief of the angels. What does he look like? Can you describe him? We see him like that [pointing to the poster on the wall], but we cannot actually see angels. Addis Ababa, August 2017

Michael’s role in the hierarchy of superhumans This relationship that Gennet has with Michael must also be understood in light of his position among superhuman beings. Michael gained this role both at the creation of the world, when he cast out Satan from heaven (see below), and due to his eschatological role at the end of the world. Having said this, Michael and in fact all angels are important to Ethiopian Orthodox Christians, not only nowadays but traditionally and historically. This is likely a heritage from practices in Asia Minor and beyond during the time of the early Church, when angels were widely venerated for their healing powers (Johnson 1998). The role of Michael among the angels is embedded in the story about the fall of the angels, but he does not really appear much in the relevant accounts of the events. The fall of the angels is an important narrative in Christianity, where Michael gets “the necessary instructions to curb and destroy evil” (Auffarth and Stuckenbruck 2004: 2). There are two main narratives of the fall of angels, relating how Satan, who rebelled against God, and the angels following him were expelled from heaven (Witakowski 2009). The narratives can be found in several Ethiopic texts, which have roots in two main sources: the anonymous Miracles of Jesus and Aksimaros by Pseudo-Epiphanius of Cyprus (Witakowski 2009). In the more common version, the fall of angels is

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concrete and material, as Satan and his followers are thrown down to earth and either have to stay in the air, on earth, or in “the darkest place” forever. In the versions presented in Witakowski’s article, however, Michael does not have a prominent role and is not emphasized as the one who subdues Satan, whereas in my informants’ accounts about the fall of the angels, as well as according to the version common among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians today, Michael casts Satan, and thus all evil, out of heaven. Informants also refer to the passages from the book of Revelation where Michael is mentioned, and where he also appears as the one who struggles against Satan and overcomes him. The narratives people tell, be they priests or lay people, educated or uneducated, are similar and all include a powerful archangel who is stronger than Satan and all evil. Furthermore, the idea that Adam replaced Satan after the latter was subdued by Michael is put forth as the reason why Satan disturbs human beings. One informant explained the creation of evil in a group conversation about the subject: Human beings are the substitution of Satanael, the heritage of Adam . . . Because Satanael was chased away, Adam entered Gänät [heaven]; so because Adam took Satanael’s place, he [Satanael] wanted revenge, so one time when Adam and Eve were in Gänät, at that time they were naked but their skin was not like our skin is, but was hard, and had a quality like that of nails. They did not have sex, they did not eat for seven years, and they were told not to eat from the tree. They lived by worshipping God only—that was their food—like angels. Addis Ababa, May 19, 2016

The concept of disease or illness is close to the concept of evil or evil spirits, as all bad things that can happen to a person are categorized as diseases, be it divorce, drug addiction, stress, back problems, diabetes, cancer, mental problems, love magic, or spirit possession. Michael is the uttermost protector and weapon in the battle against evil. The Ethiopian Orthodox Church has a particularly elaborate angelology compared to other churches. Historically, little is known about the veneration of angels before the fifteenth century, during which period a translation of the Ethiopian Synaxarium (Sǝnkǝssar) appeared. The angels are mentioned frequently in the Sǝnkǝssar, and it is likely that Emperor Zärʾa Yaʿəqob (1399–1468) tried to systematize the veneration of angels and that the formation of a corpus of homilies (dǝrsan) in honor of the archangels was initiated at that time (Raineri 2003). There is also a collection of paintings based on the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel from the seventeenth century in Gondar, in the northern part of Ethiopia. The nearly fifty full-­page illuminations of this particular manuscript tell the story of the Archangel Michael, who, under the patronage of Emperor Zärʾa Yaʿəqob, had become the most venerated of all archangels in Ethiopia. He is depicted undertaking a vast range of miracles and heroic feats including saving the faithful from the burning flames of hell, healing the sick, and treading on Satan. These episodes are also mentioned in the Sǝnkǝssar (Budge 1928a). Examples of stories about healing and rescue include, for instance, when Gabriel and Michael together pull arrows out of a man’s body and, at a later stage in the story, raise him from the dead

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(13th Yäkkatit).9 Furthermore, “the angel of the Lord released him from his fetters” (5th Tah.sas).10 On 12th Tah.sas, Michael saves the three children that Nebukadnesar tried to burn in a fire; on 25th T.ǝkǝmt11 there is a story about healing, in which he is called the “merciful angel,” and it is said that his miracles are innumerable (12th H.ǝdar).12 A dozen angels are also mentioned in the book of Enoch, a central work in Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity (Stuckenbruck and Erho 2011). In addition to Michael, Ethiopians also venerate the angels Gabriel, Uriēl, and Raphael, all of whom play roles in healing processes. Raphael has a particular importance regarding healing: If it rains on the day dedicated to him during the five days of the liminal month of P̣agwme,13 this rain has a healing effect. However, my informants did not mention Raphael or Uriēl much, but Gabriel and Michael in particular were often topics of conversations about healing. There are important healing sites consecrated in the name of Gabriel and Michael—and even Uriēl. The most common depiction of Michael is the Western image of the Archangel with a set of scales and a spear or sword, but as Gennet said, “We see him like that [pointing to the poster on the wall in her living room], but we cannot actually see angels.” However, similar to evil spirits, angels can at times be embodied, and their power can manifest itself in a concrete, material way.

Distant God – close angels The widespread cult of angels among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians is partly due to the common belief that God and the Trinity are not directly accessible to laity. Instead, believers approach the “lower” spiritual beings, such as angels or Mary (Wright 2004). Ethiopian Orthodox believers tend not to relate directly to God in the form of the Trinity, but rather to other superhuman beings. One reason for this belief is the Christology of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, which emphasizes the single nature of Christ as inextricably both human and divine;14 even though aspects of Ethiopian Orthodox veneration such as the mälkǝʿ15 emphasize the physical nature of Christ, the divine nature is emphasized in religious practice. This aspect has consequences for the manner of veneration observed by Ethiopian Orthodox Christians. Intermediaries are necessary, and these intermediaries have particularly important roles to play, as people generally do not approach God directly. For instance, traditionally the Eucharist is reserved for those who live “pure” lives and is usually not received by people in the years when people are expected to be sexually active. Another aspect of Ethiopian Orthodox practices is their concrete, tactile, and material dimension (Boylston 2013). Similar to other African countries (Meyer 2010; Engelke 2012), the notion of the materiality of superhuman beings is evident. One example of this is found in the story of Gennet’s daughter, when the spirit that possesses her is extracted through a wound in her leg. The spirit is not perceived as spiritual or abstract but rather as concrete and material. This is a regular feature of the healing process in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and can take different forms. Commonly one encounters people drinking liters of holy water, which is believed to have a concrete healing power, helping to get rid of something in their body; for example, something

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that looks like a snake, something that looks like egg yolk, or something black. The Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel also plays a concrete role—not just its content but the book itself as a material object. The book Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel is a collection of twelve homilies in honor of Michael (see Chapter 10). There are varying surviving manuscripts, and little research has been done to ascertain their origins and chronological order. Moreover, the Church has not canonized a single version of the book. In the eighteenth century, illustrated manuscripts appeared containing pictures of Michael saving people from hell, and the cycle of pictures closes with pictures of Michael on Doomsday (Raineri 2003). However, often the importance of the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel does not relate to believers reading or even knowing its content: it is not for reading but for protection and healing. When specifically asked about the content of the book, several informants responded that they did not know it and had not read it; rather, they emphasized the power of the book as a material object/medium. Nonetheless, reading the book has an effect on healing processes: it will burn evil spirits, and it will force them to leave the possessed body more quickly. Some informants explain that they keep the book at home and some read from it, especially when they are in need of a remedy. The following is from an interview with a female patient at a holy water place: Do you read the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel? If people can read, they read it; I tried, but evil spirits closed my eyes. Why should one read the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel? It is written in the name of Michael, so evil spirits will be burnt. Because of this, evil spirits hate the book. Is it different from other books? It is different. Michael is the major one to attack the devil, he was the one to throw the devil from his throne. Addis Ababa, August 2017

Reading the book is an action which should be viewed as a sort of medicine in order to get well. The book burns the spirits; it is part of the battle between evil and good, which people interpret in a concrete, material way. This is demonstrated in the woman’s reference to her eyes being closed by evil spirits while trying to read from the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel. Priests approach the book in a different way: reading it among themselves during prayers at holy water places, and sometimes in public. However, as stated above, it seems less important that lay people actually read it. A common practice is to tie a miniature version of the book in amulet form around the neck of small children. These amulets are not opened or read. The book has a power in and of itself. People advise each other and are advised by clergy to keep the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel at home not so much for reading but for protection. In addition to owning the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel, people do what Gennet does: they keep pictures of Michael on the walls of their homes and small pictures in their prayer books, and they go to church on his monthly day and light candles and give alms in his name. The Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel and other materials and practices related to Michael provide powerful tools against evil spirits and are crucial to many Ethiopian Orthodox Christians. They literally concern life and death. According to the Ethiopian Orthodox

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worldview, spirits are part of everyday reality and are influential in both the smaller and bigger issues of life. Evil spirits can ruin a person’s life: a life that falls apart is usually interpreted as having been subject to the influence of bad spirits. Importantly, spirits also have power over people’s health and can make people sick or contribute to their healing. It is thus necessary to venerate those who fight against evil, like angels, if one wishes to stay healthy. Even though the common belief is that God is behind all things, he has a number of helpers who convey his will, concern, love, and anger, mediated in a variety of material objects. The Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel is one such object that mediates the holy and has a healing agency. One priest I interviewed put it this way: “In the Church there are saints, angels, and martyrs, so to read gädl, dǝrsan, and mälkǝʿ of these different angels and saints is very important because it punishes and keeps away evil spirits. In a different way, the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel is very strong against evil spirits.” However, the book is only important because it mediates the angel and his powers. Reading the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel and other books—combined with other practices aimed at venerating the “good” spirits or the divine—disturbs the evil spirits; literally, it hurts them, chains them, exposes them, and burns them. The role of saints, the Trinity, and angels in general and Michael in particular is to frighten the evil spirits and cause them pain. This becomes apparent when listening to the talk of evil spirits during exorcisms at holy water sites, where possessed people go for healing. The example below is of a person acting as the medium of a holy spirit (or more than one) and is typical of how these spirits talk and shout in the healing places. The following is part of a long monologue of a spirit possessing a person being provoked at a holy water site: Oh, what a bad day today; please unchain me, Savior of the world. Please release us from our prison holy Emmanuel. Please leave us alone, Son of Virgin Mary, please leave us, Son of Virgin Mary. Please leave us, Lord, I will not take away your child. Please, please Lord, let me go. Oh, my miseries, oh my days of suffering . . . Oh, Savior of the world, it is enough for me. You burnt me, oh my! We are forced but your name burned us also. Please, Savior of the world, even calling your name burns us. Saint Michael with the sword, the light, your sword is really frightening. The light on your sword really frightens me. Oh, your sword frightens me. The flame and the fire. The flame and the fire. The flame and the fire. Saint Michael, how can I tolerate all of you? Addis Ababa, May 2016

This passage is typical of much of the talk at healing sites in its emphasis on the fear of Michael’s sword. The images of Michael most commonly in use are similar to Western ones portraying him carrying a sword and scales. In conversations I had with informants, the scales, which were more commonly mentioned, were associated with judgment, while the sword was obviously associated with Michael’s role as the one who cast the devil out of heaven and his role as a protector. Michael also features in exorcisms, as I witnessed at one healing site. In the “conversation” between a priest/exorcist and a spirit believed to be possessing a young woman, Michael had a central role, as he was the spiritual being mentioned first, together with the cross, which in this context should be understood as a materialization of Christ. In fact, it was the spirit possessing the young woman who first mentioned

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Michael, when the cross was forced inside her mouth, acknowledging that the Archangel was the one he feared most and the one who had launched the first attack. Then the exorcist also invoked Michael in the course of his exorcism. Overall, Michael was mentioned five times, whereas Gabriel was mentioned only twice. Woman/spirit: Oh, Abba please, what is it?

Abba then put a cross inside her mouth and told the spirit to get out. Then she/the spirit started shouting. The woman/spirit: Alright, alright! Abba: Hold it [the cross]. Say that you will never approach them again! Woman/spirit: Alright. I promise in the name of Saint Michael. Efffff, oh my, the cross is eating me. Abba: If you break your promise, what shall it be on you? Woman/spirit: Fire. Abba: You will never approach them again, will you? Woman/spirit: No, I will not.

The priest then told the spirit to leave, and continued the exorcism: Abba: Call the names. Woman/spirit: Saint Michael. I am not a selabi [evil eye]. I am a mästäfäk·ər [love magic]. Abba, what is it? I am not a selabi, I am a mästäfäk·ər.

The priest then ordered him (her)16 to give him his (her) hands and then struck the hands with a metal cross. Then the girl started walking away, mumbling. Then the priest said: Come, do not walk away. I am ordering you in the name of the angel Saint Michael, come in the name of Saint Gabriel. Woman/spirit: No, I won’t come. Abba: I said come! He won’t go anywhere. He is a prisoner.

The woman/spirit then came back and begged Abba to let him go. Abba: Tell me, in which part of the body are you, you are a mästäfäk·ər, so tell me who made this mästäfäk·ər. Woman/spirit [shouting]: Why, Abba, does it have to be today? Abba: Don’t look down, look at the cross. [The woman/spirit starts crying.] Abba: Call these names: Saint Michael. Woman/spirit: May Saint Michael cut me by his sword. Abba: Saint Gabriel. Woman/spirit: May Saint Gabriel cut me by his sword.

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Abba: Saint Arsema. The woman/spirit: May the martyr Saint Arsema burn me with her leaf. Abba: Abune Aregawi, Saint Kirstos Semra. Woman/spirit: May Abune Aregawi and Saint Kristos Semra burn me with their prayers. Abba: The Virgin Mary. Woman/spirit: May the Virgin Mary lock me up by her promise. Abba: Savior of the world. Woman/spirit: May the Savior of the world cut me. Abba: Now all of you shout and leave. Addis Ababa, August 2017

Then both of them (there was another young woman present, who had been silent) started to shout. Abba then began to pray in Geʿez. This is an example of the battles fought at healing places, where people clearly possessed by spirits seek a remedy. This exorcism shows how Michael plays an important role in the battle. In the final part of the dialogue, he is evoked first among the angels, then the saints, and then Christ. The exorcism also displays the materiality of the healing process, with the priest placing a cross inside the woman’s mouth and in her palm, and the spirit talking about being cut, burnt, and so on. Spirit possession is common and is sometimes hidden in the sense that the spirit does not talk or is not otherwise noticeable from the behavior of the possessed person. Many of my informants expressed the belief that ultimately disease is evil spirits or Satan: in their words, “Bäšäta aganǝnt näw,” which means “Disease is evil spirit.” Therefore, healing is to become free from evil spirits, and Michael has a pivotal role in the healing processes. It is also the case that historically in Ethiopia, healing has been carried out using pictures of the Virgin Mary and the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, as well as crosses (Budge 1928b: 87–8).

Conclusion Encountering the Archangel Michael through material media can create profound relationships, and sometimes, as in the case of my informant Gennet, these relationships are affectionate and perceived as real. Gennet’s relationship with Michael was nurtured just like other relationships. The important role that angels—particularly Michael—play in healing is possible because of the use of material media and should be understood in light of the relational character of healing among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians. Michael also plays a crucial role in healing processes. As people seek remedies for a wide range of problems in their lives, it is widely believed that what actually takes place at holy water healing sites is a struggle between good and evil forces, and that Michael is the main adversary of evil. People who have a close relationship with Michael are less likely to be troubled by evil spirits. This struggles that occur, do so not in an abstract but in a material form, as spirits are believed to physically possess people; hence the use of material media, among the most important of which is the book Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel, regarded as a means of healing and protection against evil spirits.

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Ethiopian Orthodox Christians regard Michael as the one who defeated Satan and who will play an important part during events at the end of time. However, he becomes more than simply a distant angel or power with a function that offers help during dire times. He also becomes a close friend, with whom some people have an affectionate relationship. He is regarded as someone who rescues them, helps them sort out their lives, heals them, and relieves them of their misery. In fact, he is so important in some peoples’ lives that they include him in their social life, as seen in the case of Gennet. For Ethiopian Orthodox Christians, Michael occupies a special place among the angels and other spiritual beings. He connects the beginning and the end of the world and represents the defeat of evil. His importance lies chiefly in the fact that he is the one who defeats Satan. He takes the role of a Christ-­like figure as a redeemer, healer, and savior of souls. The names of the archangels derived from Hebrew personify aspects of God’s character: he is unique (Michael), a healer (Raphael), and light (Uriēl). They act as intermediaries and messengers and personify the power and will of God to intervene in everyday life. However, this abstract belief is not what really makes Michael so important; rather, it is his immaterial nature which renders him omnipresent and capable of inhabiting anything. He can be everywhere at any time, and he can be close to people, even under their pillow, in the material form of a book. The book, the image of Michael on the wall, the burning candle, and the amulet containing the Dǝrsanä Mikaʾel are some of the materialized media that make the relationship with Michael real, intimate, and powerful.

10

The Archangel Michael: An Everyday Popular Saint in Ethiopia1 Dan Levene

Introduction The Archangel Michael is the most prominent angel and mediator between God and the saints in the hagiographical literature of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church (EOTC) (Raineri 2003: 264–5). The 12th of every month is dedicated to celebrating him and remembering the multitude of deeds for which he has been responsible. The iconic ones which relate to the Old and New Testaments, and the various saints and martyrs for whom he performed miracles are listed in detail in the Ethiopian Sənkəssar.2 In this chapter, we will consider something of the popular nature in the way that the Archangel Michael gets expression in the Ethiopian text known as the Dərsanä Mikaʾel (The Homily [in Honor] of [the Archangel] Michael). Following some notes on the significance of this archangel and the aforementioned text dedicated to him, a short discussion of what we mean by the term “popular” and some notes on the liturgical/ incantatory plea sections appended to miracles, we will present one of the miracles, a tə’əmərt from the monthly cycles; the one offered here is for the month of H.amle, which starts in the second week of July in the Gregorian calendar. For the purpose of our discussion, we offer both an early seventeenth-century manuscript and a 1965 printed version. Finally, we provide short comments on the text presented and a short conclusion.

The Dərsanä Mikaʾel Besides the images of Michael, the most popular manifestation of his veneration is the presence of one or another of the types of copies or versions of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel. These occur in the form of manuscripts in different sizes, shapes, and qualities, as well as in printed forms varying from A5-book size to pocket-size abbreviated forms, and even further abbreviated mini-sized booklets sewn into little pockets and worn around the neck (see Figs 10.1 and 10.2). The Dərsanä Mikaʾel is thought to have come to the EOTC in the form of a translation of an Arabic work. The Arabic consists of twelve homilies, one for each month, and it is

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Figure 10.1  A small, extremely abridged printed version of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel, made to fit in a little pouch and worn as an amulet. Such amuletic versions are sold in great quantities outside churches and other holy sites. Photograph by the author.

this that provides the underlying structure of the Ethiopic version (Lusini 2005: 139–40). The Ethiopic, however, includes three additional parts to each homily which are unique to it. These consist of a miracle, a story from the Sənkəssar about an intervention by Michael in a biblical event or in the life of a saint, and a liturgical salutation in honor of the saint referred to as a sälam, literally meaning “peace.” Manuscripts do show quite a variety in the form of the order of the miraculous tales related, as well as the nature of them. This is conventionally attributed to corrupt traditions. However, one might also consider that, from the start, the adoption of this format of veneration might well have had a more fluid quality in the EOTC before it came to be written down and when more standard forms of variants came into being. The last of these versions are the ones which have found their way into print in recent decades. These printed versions are rapidly becoming the most commonly owned and used. Indeed, as has just been noted, one of the things that characterizes this form of literature, which is not uncommon to other EOTC literary genres or, for that matter, other forms of living manuscript-based literary cultures, is its variability. Of the tens of manuscripts which I have examined, I have not found two that are exactly the same. While the order of the monthly miracle sections is known to vary and consists of two main systems of sequence, other differences abound, for example the length of the texts, the order of the sentences within the narratives, the use of synonyms, and so on. The handwritten transmission of texts such as the Dərsanä Mikaʾel offers a degree of

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Figure 10.2  A pocket-sized abridged printed version of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel. Such versions are sold in great quantities outside churches and other holy sites. Photograph by the author.

consistency which falls somewhere between the oral and the printed—the latter being a letter-for-letter accuracy and the former the preservation of the content and structure only to such a level as to not negate the identity and purpose of the narrative. It is of note that, like the Psalms amongst Orthodox Jews and various other holy books, the Dərsanä Mikaʾel is considered potent also as an object in its own right, regardless of the version donned. Carrying a manuscript or printed version of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel is of benefit, as is its presence in the home, and it also has a healing effect (see Chapter 9). At the same time, shorter, abbreviated, versions are also thought to exude the text’s aura of protectiveness. Even the shortest form found in an amuletsized printed booklet, which consists of only a fraction of the text, is potent. It represents, even in this most truncated of variants, the whole text; its barest markers conjure the Dərsan’s wholeness and thus its full effect.

Popularity of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel The Dərsanä Mikaʾel does not fall into the category of “popular religion” as such, in that it has emerged as more of a canonical piece of literature in the EOTC. It is used in the

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cycles of liturgy and has acquired an increasingly fixed form, which with the coming of the printed version has de facto achieved the status of a redacted version. Versions of the Dərsanä Mikaʾel are widely owned by Ethiopian Orthodox Christians and believed to be an aid and vehicle to the attainment of the personal, supernatural, intervention of the Archangel Michael on their behalf. As already stated, possession of a copy of this text is popularly believed to have a beneficial and protective effect. Another aspect of the “popular” character inherent to this text has to do with the evolutionary process which brought it into being. While its basic structure is considered to be of foreign provenance, the indigenous sections of it—especially the miracle stories—have two aspects to them that can be considered popular in origin: 1) It is likely that these are oral in provenance having popular, folk origins; and 2) These miracle narratives each include liturgical/incantatory postscripts pleading for favor, which are characteristic of “popular religious” forms of magical literature.

Popular mediating miraculous Michael The genre of miracle collections is an important one in the EOTC. The best known of these is the Miracles of Mary (Täʾammərä Maryam), a copy of which will be found in each church and have pride of place with a manuscript of the Bible. In manuscript form, this work has as many variants as there are manuscripts. While there is only a limited number of texts titled “Miracles,” such collections feature as a significant part of every hagiographical work known in Gǝʿǝz (Old Ethiopic) as the gädl. In these too, the variants abound. The other prominent format in which these miracles get circulation is that of art, in both manuscript illustrations and monumental painting in church art. Beyond its literary and visual forms, the miracle, in general, embodies the spirit of popular belief amongst EOTC Christians. It is the vehicle through which that which is not becomes manifest. It is the personification of God’s favor in even the smallest way, when requests are granted and that which is trying in life is mitigated. It is a narrative of rationale that is fundamental to the articulation of the rhythm of life where that which unfolds is not always predictable. It is a most colorful and literary way of dealing with realities that could be narrated in duller shades of fact or fate. It is a state of mind which characterizes both EOTC literature and social and personal narratives.3 The image of Michael as the foremost mediator, bar Mary, in this world of daily miracles is attested to by his being ever present in the landscape of Ethiopian popular imagery. We find him in scrolls, the ever-popular editions of Dərsanä Mikaʾel in manuscript and various forms of print, on posters and cards, and church paintings. His image is carried on peoples’ persons, is found at home, in coffee shops and restaurants, on stickers on taxis, and in churches and shrines. He is usually depicted as a winged angel with a sword raised and ready to strike. Ethiopianized versions of Guido Reni’s seventeenth-century Michael the Satan Slayer are everywhere (see Fig. 10.3). It might be difficult to ascertain whether it is Michael’s great popularity amongst Ethiopians, their almost familiar attitude to him, and his ever presence in the domestic

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Figure 10.3  A set of posters of popular images of saints set as a collection of icons in a corner of a rural coffee shop on the outskirts of Addis Ababa. Michael is at the top right after John the Baptist, Saint Mary, and baby Jesus, and above another version of Saint Mary. Photograph by the author.

and public landscape that have made him so regularly marked on Ethiopia’s annual calendar; the 12th of every month is his. Or, conversely, is it the enormous distribution of religious works devoted to and images portraying Michael for centuries that has prompted his popularity? As personal tales of Michael’s daily miracles at home, in church, while coming and going, as well as at the holy water healing sites can be heard throughout the land, that which might be considered more formal literature and art depicting our saint also exhibits an endless array of variation. It is as if every retelling of Michael’s deeds by yet another scribe or painter serves to illuminate yet another facet or angle of what can be seen. This profuse variety on one theme brings to mind the endless selfies on cellphones. Selfies that are at one and the same time all of one face, all so similar, yet each revealing another subtlety of emotion, expression or shade of color; yet each new reflection is another fresh and relevant addition, an expression

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of the ongoing relevance and poignancy of the endless variety of photographic self-image from moment to moment, day to day. Is each Ethiopian’s reworking of Michael images and narratives also a self-reflection of each of its narrators, a reflection of his or her personal relevance and experience, the cross-referencing of the popular iconic image that crowds the public sphere with the personal intimacy of each individual for whom Michael is a personal savior?

The miracle in Ethiopic literature as a vehicle for popular religious praxis Before presenting the miracle from the month of H . amle in two versions, a few words on the genre of the təʾəmərt, the “miracle,” are in order. This literary type is commonly found in hagiography where lists of a saint’s miraculous activities are presented in succession. This is common in other hagiographical literatures such as that of the Syrian Orthodox Church in well-known texts like Simeon Stylites.4 In the EOTC, however, there are some cases where such collections have come to be characterized not as hagiographies but as miracle collections in their own right, such as the Miracles of Mary, noted above (Nosnitsin 2010: 787–8). While such a text as the Miracles of Mary is prefaced with an account of her life, its main body is dedicated to a collection of miracles. In the manuscript variants, these collections vary enormously, both in number and variety. There is now a printed version, published by Täsfa Gäbrä Səllase in 1995, which contains 402 miracles and is used in many churches as the standard. It was a handful of publishers working in the decades that followed the Second World War that produced such editions of the most popular and canonical texts which have set the standard—if for no other reason than the fact that the printed versions they provide are a lot cheaper than manuscripts and are widely available. The Dərsanä Mikaʾel is, likewise, in its printed form, the most popular version amongst Ethiopians today. The miracle presented here shares some basic structural characteristics with those we find in the other Ethiopian miracle collections noted above. Each miracle starts with a standard doxology, then follows the miracle, and finally there is a prayer, or incantation, which consists of a plea on behalf of the owner of the actual manuscript. In the printed versions, either there is a space left for the owner of the book to insert their name or a more generic depersonalized formula is offered, as we shall see below. These miracles function in their literary form a bit like the historiolae we find in late antique and other magical texts (Levene 2003: 17–8), where a tale of the healing wonders of a biblical or other established person is related. Such a tale is offered as authority and credential of unchallenged and established truth. This is then followed with a simila similibus formula such as “Like such and such was done then, may this also be done for NN . . .” As we will see in the two versions below, the seventeenthcentury manuscript and the twentieth-century printed one, the dedication to the named individual in the former is replaced with a generic depersonalized blessing in the latter. The popularity afforded by print is at the expense of the personal addition of name and tailored dedication which comes with the manuscripts.

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The two versions of the təʾəmərt (“miracle”) of Michael for the month of H.amle TGS: This is a version published in 2018 by the son of Täsfa Gäbrä Səllase and is a facsimile of the original, which was published by his father in 1965. W.835: Gondar Homiliary, manuscript from the late seventeenth century.5 The choice of texts here and their comparison offers nothing of philological significance. The point of showing these is to illustrate the extent of variance and claim this as a good example of the ability of living traditions to maintain the integrity of content, structure, and purpose of a text despite the lack of a privileged physical exemplar. The physical exemplar in such a culture is replaced by a more collective form of knowledge passed on by learning, practice, praxis, and belief; a form of knowledge that is far more complex than the more straightforward art of precise, letter-for-letter, copying; a form of knowledge that maintains it has an understanding of the “spirit” of a text/narrative— keeping the right, authority, and discretion to interpret it and recreate it again and again. The first printers who curated the popular version were themselves of this type of living traditional practitioners. Have they become, inadvertently, those who were to seal its fate with their editions, confining variance beyond the produced text? The Dərsanä Mikaʾel is the third printed version of a popular text of the Täsfa Gäbrä Səllase printing press that I have examined.6 There are three main characteristics that have, so far, struck me about these popular printed editions: 1) They all tend to be on the longer side when compared to manuscript versions. 2) They are all depersonalized, which is in contrast to the manuscript versions. Ethiopian manuscript culture favors personalized dedication through inclusion of the names of owners and donors in the blessing, a plea for protection, and an incantation formula. 3) As informed by the scholar-scribe printer of the Täsfa Gäbrä Səllase printing press, Mämhǝr Saifa, the printed version is one that draws on a particular chosen manuscript version which was then edited to make sure that nothing was missing, and that it was in every aspect thought to be the best that it could.7 For the convenience of the reader, the text has been divided into the following: A1: This is essentially a section heading, a title, introducing what is to follow. All the monthly miracles start in this way. Given that this functions as a title, the variation between versions is minimal. A2: Of the two versions presented, this only occurs in the printed one. The editor of the printed version opted for a longer, possibly considered as being a more extensive, description of Michael comparable to, though not exactly the same as, longer versions found in other manuscripts.8 B: Here we find an introductory plea in a liturgical style. It is a show of faith in Michael’s intercessory abilities; faith which is, by direct implication, a testament to faith in God. In the manuscript versions, this section offers that very personal element of involvement

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which is so characteristic of the EOTC: a space for the insertion of the owner’s actual name. This can be seen in W.835, presented here. A distinct difference between the printed and the overwhelming majority of the manuscript versions is the replacement of a personal dedication with an impersonal one. In the manuscript we have the name Kidane Maryam. In the print, we have two parties for whom favor is requested: Christians (“baptized ones”) and “the writer of the miracles.” The printer’s scholar editor seems to have made an appropriate choice for his version, which commends both the printer and its clients to Michael’s favor. C: The narration of the miracle. We have divided this into six sections for the readers’ convenience: C1) An introduction to the miraculous tale, which outlines the place, the time, the people present, and the offending event, consisting of a man inflicted/ possessed by a demon who entered a church dedicated to Michael at a time of prayer. C2) The demon challenges Michael, complaining that he keeps on banishing him from wherever faith in the Archangel is present. C3) Michael appears in all his glory. C4) Michael beats the demon. C5) The demon succumbs and makes an oath to go and avoid those who invoke Michael. C6) The demon leaves the church and the man he possessed, leaving him free and healed. The man lives happily ever after, serving in the church. The miracle we find here, from the point of view of the story told, is rather simple. Its generic quality lends itself to our purpose in that it offers a rather pared-down version of the paradigmatic structure which characterizes many of the Ethiopian miracle narratives. That is to say, the demonic is expressed through some form of human suffering, the sufferer/possessed is a believing Christian, the intercessory agency (angel, Mary, saint, etc.) attacks the demon, and the demon is beaten, makes an oath to never return, and flees defeated. The sufferer/possessed is redeemed and healed and continues to live an exemplary Christian life in faith. The narrative also displays something of a perception of how the law which governs society in the physical world applies to the supernatural realm as well. This is implied by the oath made by the demon; an oath which has a raison d’ être akin to any made in a court of law. It is reminiscent in structure and is policed by a recognized authority, and is therefore equally binding. The two versions presented here are most obviously distinct from each other in terms of length; the printed version is much longer. Nevertheless, despite the differences in detail, which are significant, the main traits and structure of the story are consistent and present in both. As noted above, our impression is that the printerscholar opted for the more extensive detail-packed versions as the pro forma for his edition. D: This, final element of the miracle narrative, is presented as an incantation-like prayer. Here, as in section B, the manuscript version is personalized in that the names of the owners or donors of the manuscript are mentioned. In the print version, this is replaced by a depersonalized invocation for the benefit of a first-person plural pronoun, that is, the readers.

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A1 TGS

W835

ተአምሪሁ፡ ለመልአክ፡ ክቡር፡ The miracle of the glorious angel Michael, the Archangel ሚካኤል፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡

ተአምሪሁ፡ ለሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ሚካኤል፡መልአከ፡ ሠርዌሆሙ፡ ለመላእክት፡

The miracle of the Archangel Michael the angel, leader of the angels.

A2 TGS ዘሥዑል፡ በነደ፡ እሳት፡ ለዋሕድ፡ ሐራሁ፡ ዘልዑል፡ ማዕርጊሁ፡ ሙሓዘ፡ ቅዳሴ፡ ከናፍሪሁ፡ ቀለምጺጸ፡ እሳት፡ ዘይነጥር፡ እምአፉሁ፡ አፍሓመ፡ መብረቅ፡ ሙጣሔሁ፡ ወነበልባል፡ ርሱን፡ አልባሲሁ፡ ሰይፈ፡ ሥላሴ፡ እኁዝ፡ በእዴሁ፡ በዘቦቱ፡ ይትዐጸዱ፡ ግሙናነ፡ መንፈስ፡ ሠራዊተ፡ ቤልሖር፡ አጋንንቲሁ።

W835 whose united army resembles a blaze of fire; whose authority is high; whose lips are sources of praise; from whose mouth springs a spark of fire; whose veil is bright embers of coal; and whose clothing is a red hot flame; in whose hand the sword of the Trinity, with which the evil spirits who are the demon army of Belahor will be mowed.

B TGS ወለነኒ፡ ለኵልነ፡ ውሉደ፡ ጥምቀት፡ እለ፡ አመነ፡ በትንብልናሁ፡ ይትማሕፀነነ፡ ኀቤሁ፡ ወይትኖልወነ፡ ምስለ፡ እሊኣሁ፡ የሐውጽነ፡ ለለ፡ ጽባሑ፡ ወይባርከነ፡ ሰፊሖ፡ እዴሁ፡ ወይሰውረነ፡ በወልታ፡ ትንብልናሁ፡ ከመ፡ ኢይንድፉነ፡ ለጸላኢ፡ አሕፃሁ፡ ወይከድነነ፡ በጸላሎተ፡ ከነፊሁ፡ ከመ፡ ንድኀን፡ ለዓለም፡ እምእከያቲሁ፡ እም፡ ይእዜ፡ ወእስከ፡ ነፍስ፡ ደኃሪሁ፡ ወበኵሉ፡ አዝማን፡ ወዓመታቲሁ፡ ወፈድፋደሰ፡ ለጸሓፌ፡ ተአምሪሁ፡ ይክድኖ፡ በጽላሎተ፡ ክነፊሁ፡ ለዓለመ፡ ዓለም፡ አሜን።

W835 As for all of us children of baptism who believe in his intercession, we will put our trust in him. May he watch over us like his followers, may he look after us each morning, and may his extended hands bless us. And may he safeguard us with the shield of his intercession, as he will not throw us to an enemy’s arrows, and he will protect us with the shadow of his wings, so we may be redeemed forever from his [Satan’s] wickedness, from this time and until his last breath, and in all time and his years. Especially to the writer of the miracles—may he protect him with the shadow of his wings forever and ever, amen.

ትንብልናሁ፡ ምስለ፡ የሀሉ፡ ገብሩ፡ ኪዳን፡ ማርያም፡ ወምስለ፡ አመቱ፡ ምላክ፡ ለዓለመ፡ ዓለም፡ አሜን።

May his intercession be with his servant Kidane Maryam, and with his maidservant forever and ever, amen.

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C1 TGS ተብህለ፡ ከመ፡ ሀሎ፡ አሐዱ፡ ብእሲ፡ ክርስቲያናዊ፡ ወኮነ፡ በአሐቲ፡ ሀገር፡ እመዋዕል፡ አመ፡ በዓሉ፡ ለመልአክ፡ ክቡር፡ ሚካኤል፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ እaንዘ፡ ሀሎ፡ አብ፡ ኤጲስቆጶስ፡ ምስለ፡ ካህናት፡ ወዲያቆናት፡ ውስተ፡ ቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን፡ በጊዜ፡ ቍርባን፡ ወሕዝብኒ፡ ውኁዳን፡ እም፡ ክርስቲያን፡ ቅዉማን፡ በአፍአ፡ በጊዜ፡ ቅዳሴ፡ ለተመጥዎ፡ ቍርባን፡ ወእንዘ፡ ከመ፡ ዝ፡ ሀለዉ፡ በከመ፡ ሥርዐተ፡ ሕግ፡ ዘልማድ፡ ወሶበ፡ ኀበ፡ በጽሐ፡ ዘይትነበብ፡ ቃለ፡ ወንጌል፡ መንግሥቱ፡ ለወልድ፡ ዋሕድ፡ መጽአ፡ ሶቤሃ፡ ብእሲ፡ ዘቦቱ፡ መንፈስ፡ ርኵስ፡ ዘነበረ፡ እምትካት፡ እንዘ፡ ይትኴነን፡ በሥቃይ፡ ወደዌ፡ ዕፁብ፡ ብዙኀ፡ እምአጋንንት፡ እኩያን፡ ወቦአ፡ ውስተ፡ ቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን፡ እንዘ፡ ሀለዉ፡ ከመ፡ ዝ፡ ወኵሉ፡ ሕዝብ፡ ይኔጽርዎ፡ ዐውየወ፡ ወከልሐ፡ በዐቢይ፡ ቃል፡

W835 It is said that there was a Christian man. And this happened in a certain country. One day on the commemoration day of the glorious angel Michael the Archangel, a father, a bishop, was in the church with priests and deacons. And during the celebration of the mass, the people who are Christians were standing outside [the church] at the time of the qǝddase to receive the Eucharist. While they were like this according to the manner of the law that was the custom, and when the time for the recital of the word of the Kingship of the Gospel of His unique Son arrived, there came a man into the church in whom, from old, resided an evil spirit. He was pleading of pain and severe disease from many evil demons. Thereupon, all the people beheld him howling and crying out in a loud voice.

ወኮነ፡ ካዕብ፡ በአሐቲ፡ ዕለት፡ አመ፡ በዓሉ፡ ለሊቀ፡ መላክት፡ ሚካኤል፡ ወአብ፡ ኤጲስ፡ ቆጶስ፡ እንዘ፡ ሀለወ፡ ምስለ፡ ሕዝበ፡ ክርስቲያን፡ ውሣጤ፡ መርጡል፡ ወይገብሩ፡ በከመ፡ ቅዳሴ፡ ሕግ፡ ዘልማድ። ወበጊዜ፡ አንብቦተ፡ ወንጌል፡ ቦአ፡ ውስተ፡ ቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን፡ ብእሲ፡ ዘቦቱ፡ መንፈስ፡ ርኩስ፡ እንዘ፡ የአወዩ።

And so, again, at a certain festive day for the Archangel Michael, and a certain father, a bishop, was amongst a Christian crowd, there, within the church’s inner tabernacle, reciting the qəddase in the liturgy, in the way that they were accustomed to. And at that moment, when the Gospel was read, there entered into the church a man in whom was an evil spirit that was causing him to cry out.

C2 TGS እንዘ፡ ይብል፡ ናሁ፡ ሰደድከኒ፡ ወእውፃእከኒ፡ ወሀሎኩ፡ እማኅደርየ፡ እንዘ፡ አንጌጊ፡ እስከ፡ ይእዜ፡ ምስለ፡ ኵሎሙ፡ አብያጽየ፡ ኀጢእየ፡ ምዕራፈ፡ ኀበ፡ አእቱ፡ ወአኀድር፡ ኦ፡ ሊቀ፡ መላክት፡ አይቴኒ፡ አሐውር፡ እመንፈስከ፡ ወአይቴ፡ እጐይይ፡ እምቅድመ፡ ገጽከ፡ ወአልቦ፡ ኀበ፡ ናም(?)ሥጥ፡ እምእዴከ፡ ናሁ፡ ሰደድከነ፡ እምኵለሄ፡ እምታሕተ፡ ሰማይ፡ ወምድር፡ ኀበ፡

W835 Then he [the demon within him] spoke: “Behold, you have banished and cast me out from my dwelling, and I have been led astray until now with all my companions, lost a residence to return to and settle. Oh, archangel! ‘Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?’9 And there is no escape from your hand. Behold, you have banished

ወይብል፡ ናሁ፡ አንጌገይኩ፡ እመካንየ፡ ወማኅደርየ፡ ኦ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ሚካኤል፡ ወናሁ፡ ኀደግነ፡ ለከ፡ ሰማያተ፡ ወምድረ፡ በበይነ፡ ሀለወከ፡ ተሰደድነ፡ ውስተ፡ ኵሉ፡ መካን፡ ዘነአቱ፡ ወነኀድር፡ ውስቴታ።

And he said: “Now, I was led astray from my place and my dwelling. Oh, Archangel Michael, and now, we left heaven and earth, because you banished us from every place that we come to and settle in.”

An Everyday Popular Saint in Ethiopia

ተሰምየ፡ ስምከ፡ ወኀበ፡ ተገብረ፡ ተዝካርከ፡ ወኀበ፡ ተሐንጸ፡ መርጡልከ፡ ወቤተ፡ ክርስቲያንከ፡ በውስተ፡ ኵሉ፡ ኀጣእነ፡ እንከ፡ ምብያተ፡ ወዘንተ፡ እንዘ፡ ይብል፡ በልዑል፡ ቃል፡ ውእቱ፡ መንፈስ፡ ርኵስ፡ በቅድመ፡ ጉባኤ፡ ቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን።

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us from all under the heavens and [upon] the earth where your name is heard, and where mention of you is made, and where your sanctuary and church will be built among sinners’ lodgings therewith.” And it was this, therefore, he—that evil spirit—said in a loud voice in the presence of the assembly of the church.

C3 TGS አሜሃ፡ ይእተ፡ አሚረ፡ መጽአ፡ ቅዱስ፡ ሚካኤል፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ወወረደ፡ እምላዕለ፡ ሰማይ፡ ወአስተርአየ፡ ሶቤሃ፡ እንዘ፡ ይለብስ፡ ብርሃነ፡ ወይትዐጸፍ፡ መብረቀ፡ ስብሐት፡ እኂዞ፡ በትረ፡ ወርቅ፡ በእዴሁ፡ በአርኣያ፡ ትእምርተ፡ መስቀል።

W835 At that time, that day, Saint Michael the Archangel came and descended from the heavens above and appeared instantly, clothed in light and wrapped in glorious lightning. He was holding a staff of gold in his hand, making manifest miracles of the cross.

ወእንዘ፡ ዘንተ፡ ይትናገር፡ ርኩስ፡ መንፈስ፡ ይእተ፡ አሚረ፡ አስተርአየ፡ ቅዱስ፡ ሚካኤል፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ በብርሃነ፡ እሳት፡ ወይለብስ፡ አልባስ፡ ሠርጕ፡ ወእኁዝ፡ ውስተ፡ እዲሁ፡ በትረ፡ ወርቅ፡ በአርአያ፡ ትእምርተ፡ መስቀል፡

And while this was being said by that evil spirit, at that moment, Michael the Archangel appeared in the light of fire and was beautifully adorned, and grasped in his hand a rod of gold, making manifest miracles of the cross.

C4 TGS ወአኀዞ፡ ሶቤሃ፡ ለውእቱ፡ ሰይጣን፡ መንፈስ፡ ርኵስ፡ ዘየኀድር፡ ላዕለ፡ ውእቱ፡ ብእሲ፡ ወሰቀሎ፡ መልዕልተ፡ ውእቱ፡ ምሥ ዋዕ፡ ዲበ፡ ምስኣል፡ ውስተ፡ መርጡለ፡ ቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን፡ በፀጋመ፡ ወአኀዘ፡ ምሥ ዋዕ፡ ይዝብጦ፡ በወእቱ፡ በትረ፡ መስቀል፡ ዘውስተ፡ እዴሁ፡

W835 And at that moment he grasped that evil spirit of Satan that was residing upon that man. And he suspended him above the altar, upon the baldachin in the sanctuary of the church to the right of the altar. And he grabbed him, striking him with the staff of the cross that was in his hand.

ወአኀዞ፡ ለሰይጣን፡ ወሰቀሎ፡ ዲበ፡ ምስሃል፡ ውስተ፡ መርጡለ፡ ቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን። እንዘ፡ ወኮነ፡ ይዘብጦ፡ ወይቀሥፎ፡

And he grabbed the satan and suspended him upon the baldachin, in the tabernacle of the church. And then he struck him and beat him.

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The Archangel Michael in Africa

C5 TGS ወጸርሐ፡ ሰይጣን፡ ሶቤሃ፡ ወከልሐ፡ በዐቢይ፡ ቃል፡ ወዐውየወ፡ እንዘ፡ ይብል፡ ወይ፡ ሊተ፡ ዘኮንኩ፡ እኁዘ፡ ውስተ፡ እዴከ፡ ወበምንትኑ፡ ዘአመሥጥ፡ እምእዴከ፡ አበስኩ፡ ኦ፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ዘደፈርኩ፡ ሚካኤል፡ በዊአ፡ ውስተ፡ መርጡልከ፡ ወባሕቱ፡ እምሕለከ፡ በዘወሀበከ፡ ሥልጣነ፡ ወዘንተ፡ ክብረ፡ ዐቢየ፡ ከመ፡ ትምሐረኒ፡ ወትኅድገኒ፡ እሑር፡ ወአነኒ፡ እምሕል፡ ለከ፡ ናሁ፡ ከመ፡ እምይእዜ፡ ኢይትመየጥ፡ ወኢይደግም፡ በዊአ፡ ውስተ፡ መርጡልከ፡ ወኀበ፡ ኵሉ፡ መካን፡ ዘይሰመይ፡ ስምከ፡ ወኀበ፡ ይትገበር፡ ተዝካርከ፡ ወይትአመን፡ በጸሎትከ።

W835 And the satan cried out right away in a loud voice and howling saying, “Woe is to me who is captive in your hand” and “in what way may I escape from your hand? I have sinned, oh Archangel Michael in that I was so bold to come into your sanctuary. However, I will make an oath to you which is in your power to grant, and this great glory, so you might show me mercy and leave me—I will go. Now! I will make an oath to you, so from this time there will not return and will not come again [a demon] to your sanctuary and any place where your name will be heard, mention made of you, and for whom will have faith in your intercession.”

እንዘ፡ የአወዩ፡ ወይብል፡ አበስኩ፡ ለከ፡ ኦ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ሚካኤል፡ አምሕለከ፡ በዘወሀበከ፡ ዘንተ፡ ሥልጣነ፡ ወክብረ፡ ወሞገሰ፡ ኅድገኒ፡ ከመ፡ አሖር። ወናሁ፡ አነ፡ እምሕል፡ ለከ፡ እምይእዜ፡ ከመ፡ ኢይትመየጥ፡ ዳግ መ፡ በዊአ፡ ወደፊረ፡ ውስተ፡ ክርስቲያንከ፡ ዘሀለወ፡ ውስቴታ፡ ሥዕልከ። ወኀበ፡ ይገብሩ፡ በዓለከ፡ ወሶበ፡ ተናገረ፡ ከመዝ፡ ኀደጎ፡ ይሖር፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት።

And he said while howling:10 “I have done you wrong, oh Archangel Michael. I will make an oath to you by this power and glory and grace that you leave me so I can go! And now, I swear to you that from this time onwards that there will not return again [a demon] to enter and be insolent to a Christian of yours, where your image is. And where they observe your feast.” And when he spoke so, the Archangel let him go.

C6 TGS ወዘንተ፡ ብሂሎ፡ ወፅአ፡ እምቤተ፡ ክርስቲያን፡ ወሖረ፡ በፍርሀት፡ ወበኀሳር፡ ዐቢይ፡ እንዘ፡ ይኔጽርዎ፡ ኵሉ፡ ወእምዘ፡ ሕዝብ። ሐይወ፡ ውእቱ፡ ብእሲ፡ ወኮነ፡ ጥዑየ፡ ወአእኰቶ፡ ለእግዚአብሔር፡ ወለቅዱስ፡ ሚካኤል፡ ሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ወነበረ፡ እንዘ፡ ይትለአክ፡ ወይትቀነይ፡ ለቤተ፡ ክርስቲያኑ፡ ለመልአክ፡ ክቡር፡ ሚካኤል፡ በኵሉ፡ መዋዕለ፡ ሕይወቱ፡ እስከ፡ አመ፡ አዕረፈ፡ ወቦአ፡ ውስተ፡ መንግሥተ፡ ሰማያት፡ በአሚነ፡ ዚኣሁ፡ በትንብልናሁ፡ ሚካኤል፡ ሊቀ፡ መላክት፡ መልአከ፡ ሣሀል፡ ወምሕረት።

W835 And having said this, he went out of the church in great fear and disgrace as all the people watched him. And then [that man] was healed and was prosperous, and he praised God and Saint Michael the Archangel. And by the faith in the intercession of Michael the Archangel, the angel of grace and compassion, he remained while serving and ministering for the church of the glorious Michael in all of the time of his life until he died, and he went to the Kingdom of Heaven.

ወውእቱ፡ ብእሲ፡ ወፅአ፡ በኃፍረት፡ ወበኃሣር፡ ዓቢይ፡ ሕያው። ወነበረ፡ ዝኩ፡ እንዘ፡ ብእሲ፡ ይትቀነይ፡ ለሊቀ፡ መላእክት፡ ሚካኤል፡ እስከ፡ አመ፡ ዕለተ፡ ሞቱ፡

And that man left in fear and great humility, healed. And that man lived serving the Archangel Michael until the time of his death.

An Everyday Popular Saint in Ethiopia

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D TGS ወለነኒ፡ ለኵልነ፡ እለ፡ አመነ፡ በጸሎተ፡ ዚኣሁ፡ ወስእለተ፡ አፉሁ፡ በትንብልናሁ፡ ያድኅነነ፡ እመስቴማ፡ ወእምአጋንንቲሁ፡ ወይፈውሰነ፡ እምደዌ፡ ነፍስነ፡ ወሥጋነ፡ ወድዮ፡ ዲበ፡ ቍስልነ፡ ጥዒና፡ ቅዳሴሁ፡ ከመ፡ ንሕየው፡ በጸጋሁ፡ ወያብዝኅ፡ ሰኢለ፡ በእንቲኣነ፡ ምስለ፡ ኵሎሙ፡ አብያጺሁ፡ አርእስተ፡ እሳት፡ ኪሩባሡያን፡ መብረቀ፡ ስብሐት፡ እለ፡ ይትሞጥሑ፡ ይነፍንፍ፡ ዲቤነ፡ ጠለ፡ ሥህል፡ ዘምሉዕ፡ ረባሑ፡ እምኀበ፡ መሓሪ፡ ዘእርያም፡ ጽርሑ፡ ዘኢይትዐወቅ፡ ጥንተ፡ ክዋኔሁ፡ ዘኅቡእ፡ ህላዌሁ፡ ወኢያርኅቀነ፡ እምኔሁ፡ ምሕረተ፡ ዚኣሁ፡ ወፈድፋደሰ፡ ለዘያነብብ፡ ተአምራቲሁ፡ ይኩኖ፡ ረድኤተ፡ ትንብልናሁ፡ ወይጸልሎ፡ በአክናፊሁ፡ ለዓለመ፡ ዓለም፡ አሜን።

W835 And for all of us, those who believe in his intercession, and the request of his mouth. By his intercession, may he save us from Mastēma and his demons. May he cure us from the disease of our soul and flesh that they placed upon our pain. Place upon our wound the healing of his sanctification as we will be healed by his great favor, and may he increase his enquiry on our behalf concerning all his companions. The chief of fire, Qirobasuyan [?] of glorious lightning who wrap themselves. May he drop upon us dew that is full of gain from the compassion that is highest, whose beginning cannot be known, whose origin is hidden. And may he not distance us from his compassion. And above all for that who will proclaim his miracles. May he shade him with his wings forever and ever, amen.

ጸሎቱ፡ የሀሉ፡ ምስለ፡ አመቱ፡ ሣሀሉ ማርያም፡ ወምስለ፡ ገብሩ፡ ኪዳነ፡ ማርያም፡ ለዓለመ፡ ዓለም፡ አሜን።

May his prayers be present with His maidservant Sahalu Maryam and with His servant Kidane Maryam forever and ever, amen.

Conclusion The Archangel Michael has been, and still is, widely portrayed in Ethiopia. He has acquired an ever-growing public, iconic, persona. At the same time, he is also the most popular, intimately appealed to, angelic confidant. What we have attempted to illustrate in this chapter is that the endless variation that we find in the depiction of the angel is to some extent an expression of the popularly individual approach to Michael. The question is, however, whether the fixing of the otherwise fluid and variable portrayal of him that is so characteristic of the manuscript culture will result in the limiting of the nature of his popular appeal as the preponderance of the fixed printed form grows exponentially.

Part Five

The Archangel Michael in South Africa

Map 5  South Africa. Created by Raita Steyn.

Introduction: South Africa Lize Kriel

Compared to observations of past and present cultural practices in the Nile Valley, manifestations of the persona and the cult of St. Michael the Archangel appear less pronounced in studies on people and places in South Africa. The chapters in this section can thus aptly be described as a quest to “find Michael”—both in existing scholarship and through primary research into past and present representations of the beliefs and practices of the diverse South African population. All three contributors worked within the realm of visual culture studies. This is a growing field in South Africa, owing to its potential for interdisciplinary productivity in contexts where the knowledge and methodologies of cultural history, art history, studies of religion, semiotics, and iconology can all contribute to a better understanding of the layeredness of local experiences and their entanglements with people, goods, and events from elsewhere. In Chapter 11, Lize Kriel probes the South African visual landscape on the lookout for appropriations and applications of the image and the name of St. Michael. She begins her exploration with signifiers that have shifted quite beyond any obvious associations with the persona or the cult of the “historical Michael.” After decrypting some of the myths behind applications of the name St. Michael as a brand in South African consumer culture, her search spirals inward to representations where the name and the image invoke some of the more recognizable characteristics of the Archangel Michael, such as healing, valor, protection, and salvation. Deléne Human (Chapter 12) takes it up from there with an investigation into the role of St. Michael in South African contexts, at the hand of the monomyth of the hero. In her discussion of depictions of St. Michael in Anglican church windows in and around Pretoria, she affirms what has also become apparent from Kriel’s observations. In South Africa, at least insofar as visual representations of the Archangel and the dedication of places of worship to his name are concerned, the Christian validation of St. Michael strongly leans into the Victorian legacy of British colonial settler influences from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In order to gauge the reach and impact of British imperialism on South African cultures and politics, some contextualizing information is required. Britain took over the administration of the Cape of Good Hope from the Dutch East India Company and its successors in a series of events (related to the Napoleonic

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Wars) between 1795 and 1806. Unable to close the frontier of the Cape Colony, British administration followed the expansion by the Boers. These were the descendants of (mostly) European settlers who had been in the Cape before the British takeover. They spoke Dutch-Afrikaans and were mostly dependent on a farming and hunting economy. From their ranks, a number of organized mass inland migrations ensued from 1834 until the 1850s. Retrospectively, these pioneers came to be known as the Voortrekkers, and their migration as the Great Trek. Unwilling to surrender their southern African supremacy to these migrants, Britain annexed a second colony further along the east coast of Africa (modern-day KwaZuluNatal). Eventually, Britain also conquered the landlocked Boer republics in the hinterland (the Orange Free State and the Transvaal) in a prolonged and costly war raging from 1899 until 1902. The different British territories amalgamated into the Union of South Africa in 1910. For the white male voters in the new Union, the “racial” conflict of their day referred to the tension between themselves: white English speakers and white Afrikaans-speaking Boers (by now, also self-identifying as Afrikaners). The one thing both these “streams” of white South Africans had consensus about in the early twentieth century was their supremacy over the indigenous African populations.1 Apart from a Calvinist legacy remaining from the seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury rule of the Dutch East India Company, Afrikaner nationalist aspirations after their defeat in the South African War in 1902 were characterized by a negation of British symbols, which were interpreted as imperialistic signs of oppression. Hence, as Afrikaners were looking for inspiration and building their confidence and political power during the first decades of the twentieth century, the “clean slate” of a modernist aesthetic appealed to the designers of monuments as well as churches. They imbued this aesthetic with new constructions of heroes extracted from their own interpretations of history, tailored to serve their own myths of righteousness and overcoming. In her chapter, Human skillfully illustrates how, in the absence of a hero of St. Michael’s proportions, a new mythology filled with a mix of non-English tropes from Western (and world) history, as well as Afrikaner interpretations of indigenous culture, manifested itself in various features of the Voortrekker Monument complex. She demonstrates remarkable resemblances between the persona of this Afrikaner “DIYed” ersatz-Michael, and the more established understandings of the Archangel Michael as hero. In Chapter 13, Raita Steyn turns the focus to indigenous African communities. Building on Kriel’s initial probing, she affirms that here, in particular, the absence of explicit references to Michael should not be taken as evidence of the absence of archangelic manifestations in South African spirituality. Many African Christians, especially those from Anglican, Catholic, or Lutheran2 families, did absorb a saintly and angelic mythology through their European missionary roots, along with the doctrine, rituals, and practices of the faith. However, these denominational categories fail to encompass or represent the full range and diversity of Christian-related spiritual practices, movements, or institutions in South Africa. Besides the recent inroads made by internationally operating progressive Pentecostals, African Initiated Churches have been flourishing and proliferating independently of missionary churches since the late nineteenth century. In order to understand Christianity in twenty-first-century South

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Africa,3 Steyn argues, researchers also need to look beyond the more established African independent churches—like the Zionist Church of Christ—and perhaps even further also than the more “historically African,” Ethiopia-type or -styled churches. Through a careful analysis and contextualization of the visions and creations of the independent African prophet and artist Jackson Hlungwani, Steyn illuminates invocations and traits of the Archangel Michael, whiffs of his cult, and elements of his persona in the palimpsest of Hlungwani’s workings with spirituality.

11

“Branded” St. Michael: A View from Pretoria on the Archangel’s Position in South African Consumer Culture Lize Kriel

Introduction: author’s situated-ness and positionality One of my earliest memories is a game I played with my imaginary friend, Michael, in the forbidden garden path of our neighbors. Together with Michael, I would try to make it as far up as possible towards the house without being seen. Why did I choose the name Michael? Michael was a “very English name” in my Afrikaner childhood in a Free State town, where my father worked for a bank financing tractors for the maize farmers in the surrounding area. It was probably the most outlandish and exotic name I could come up with. In 1977, we moved to Potchefstroom, the oldest town in what was then the Transvaal Province of South Africa. To this day, I associate Potchefstroom with a particular round chocolate-button sweet. They came in small stringed-together packets that my mother sometimes spoilt us with when she bought our Sunday dresses at the department store Woolworths. A few months later, we made the move further north, to the capital city Pretoria, where there was a bigger Woolworths, and where I started school and learned to read; from then onwards, I knew that Woolworths’ special treats came from St. Michael, the brand name which appeared not only on the edible specialties but also on dainty pots of floral-fragranced cream or fancy little animal- or heart-shaped soaps you bought as gifts for other people, and which you cherished for a long, long time if you happened to be the recipient of one of these items on a birthday. The lettering of the St. Michael brand name was cursive in an important and exquisite way, signifying luxury that must have come from “overseas.” Masculine as the ring of the name was, my early associations with Saint Michael were rather in the realm of the effeminate: consumable, sensory—if not sensuous—mysterious, and inviting. It was very much from “elsewhere.” During the holidays, my parents usually went “home,” to my grandparents on their northern Cape sheep farm, and if there had been any Michaels in that part of the world, it would have become Giel, or oom (uncle) Gielie, the G pronounced as a glottal [x]. My Pretoria friends’ reports of their school holidays taught me about many new places, like

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Figure 11.1  St. Michael elephant soaps, made in Switzerland for Marks & Spencer and sold in Woolworths in South Africa around 1980. Photograph by the author.

St. Michael’s-on-Sea on the Natal (today KwaZulu-Natal) coast, which sounded to me like a mystical otherworldly place in that most English of all South African provinces. Indeed, I grew up in a world where Saint Michael signified something distant and grand in a way altogether detached from the age-old iconographic connotations and denotations worthy of the fiery Archangel.

Methodology: a historico-semiotic quest In the introduction to her book Signs and Symbols in the Visual Landscape, Rebecca Houze explains what has inspired her essays in which she reappraises Roland Barthes’ semiotic analysis of popular culture dating from the 1950s: As we move through the day we continually navigate the built environment. In doing so, we encounter many images and objects, which are both strange and familiar. They are part of a shared language, a visual vocabulary of the collective imagination. Our clothing, the spaces we inhabit, the tools we use for work and for leisure, our vehicles of transportation, and even the food we eat, are all designed, but the individual experience of this visual landscape is idiosyncratic and often accidental. Though clothing, cars, or kitchens may have been designed with particular uses in mind, their meanings shift from one context to another. Houze 2016: 1

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Conceding that the “experience of the visual landscape as something fragmented and diverse” is “peculiar to modernity” (Houze 2016: 1), she challenges the notion that, by the twenty-first century, this experience had regressed to one of chaos and confusion. “By contrast, we combine and piece together disparate elements of [the visual] landscape into a comprehensible language of forms” (Houze 2016: 2). This vouches for a personalized hermeneutics in which scope is allowed for the way contexts and perspectives continuously condition one another—what Barthes (1991: 121) referred to as the “constantly moving turnstile” of signification. As much as Houze celebrates Everyman and Everywoman’s ability to navigate the visual landscape by assigning meanings to landmarks, places, and objects significant to them, she also encourages us, in the tradition of Barthes, to look beyond the “naturalness” of our familiar world, into the history and politics of how the myths we live by have come about. While, as a design historian, she hopes “to present a reflective and thought-provoking call for change in our consumption habits, legislation and worldview” (Houze 2016: 3), her approach is not iconoclastic. Like Barthes, she realizes that the links between the spaces and matter surrounding us now—and their beginnings in the past—are so multiple, so intricate, so much of a labyrinth of ruptures and continuities that it is not quite possible to disassociate ourselves from every object with an objectionable history. This was something I constantly had to grapple with as I grew up and gained a political consciousness—and conscience—in the South Africa of the 1980s and 1990s. As Barthes (quoted by Houze 2016: 5) has stated with his own sense of sarcasm, we “live to the full the contradiction of [our] time.” By tracing the threads linking some “idiosyncratic,” “accidental”—as well as missed—encounters with “St. Michael” in (“my”) Pretoria, South Africa, with other places, times, and people, I believe I may offer a glimpse of the intricacy of the “multiple layers of signification” which we experience, at once, as deeply personal and as precisely that which connects us to everybody else. In the encounters that follow, Saint Michael does not always refer to the Archangel; more often the name is merely a brand, occasionally invoking some connotations with aspects of the Archangel’s persona. Perhaps most surprisingly, in the one recent example where the signifier explicitly refers to the Archangel Michael with all his most distinguishable accoutrements on display, a number of South African cultural critics failed to see him as such—as I would also have, had it not been for this historico-semiotic quest I had embarked upon for the very purpose of finding Michael.

Imagining places as purposeful spaces: churches, towns, and Google Maps1 Recognizing signs and symbols as a form of “play in our imaginary lives,” Houze (2016: 1–6) encourages her readers to return to their childhood when doing the work of mythological excavation. As is clear from the recalled fragments mentioned above, my childhood memories are marked by an absence of saints—and a very reductive association with angels. The formal symbolism of my Calvinist–Protestant upbringing in Pretoria in the 1980s was modernist and abstract. In our Dutch Reformed Church

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building, there were no statues or stained-glass windows. On Sunday mornings, there used to be a formal flower arrangement in the front, and throughout the sermon, I stared at the embroidered words on the banner hanging from the pulpit (“Thus speaks the Lord”; “In thy Light”; etc.) rather than pictures. The bearded man who appeared perspiring in his red suit at Christmas parties at the beginning of the summer holiday each December was “Father Christmas” (Kersvader). When, only occasionally, referred to as Sinterklaas, I failed, until much later, to see the link with Saint Nicholas. Also, a star was considered more appropriate than an angel to top the Christmas tree. Saints were not part of my Reformed tradition. There were stories of restless spirits (dwaalgeeste) and haunted houses (goëlery) from my grandparents. As it goes with farming folk, somehow, in some respects, their worldview could be very accommodating. But with my parents’ urbanization, the ghosts would linger as just that: stories. The Pretoria of my childhood tried very hard to be modern. It was a citadel of Afrikaner political power, and my Afrikaans upbringing was in synchrony with the dominant worldview at the time (also see Barnard 2015: 161–74). The University of Pretoria, which had already celebrated its “becoming Afrikaans” in the 1930s, was a major center of Afrikaans research and intellectualism, flanked by research councils, institutes, and academies with offices in town. Along with industrial state concerns like the Iron and Steel Corporation of South Africa, the civil service, the police, and the defense force, all had their headquarters in Pretoria. Since the National Party had come to power in 1948, the British colonial inheritance of the Services and the Forces had been continually diluted as the population increased and infrastructure was expanded to ensure the orderly functioning of an Afrikaner-controlled state. For example, while the uniforms of the police and the military remained distinctly British in design, the rank system was indigenized in line with Boer mythology.2 Anyone who wished to make progress in a career with any of the major Pretoria employers mentioned above understood the importance of speaking Afrikaans. New urban developments for a new class of professional Afrikaners who had grown up in—but would not make a living off—agricultural complexes like their parents sprang up, and along with each, modernist church buildings for new Afrikaans Protestant congregations. In contrast to the Catholic, Anglican, and Lutheran tradition of naming churches after saints and angels,3 the habit of Protestant, Reformed churches in South Africa has been to stake territorial claims with their congregation names. From the late eighteenth century onwards, as white towns were propping up deeper and deeper into the hinterland to serve farming communities, congregations were founded. Dutch Reformed Church buildings in neo-Gothic style were popular until the early twentieth century (Swellendam and Graaff-Reinet in the Western Cape and Potchefstroom and Lichtenburg in the North-Western Province are good examples). With Afrikaner urbanization accelerating in the second half of the twentieth century, every new suburban development went along with the erection of a modern church building for a congregation by the same name. While the tendency within the English denominations was that the saint or the angel would come to stand for the place of worship, the Afrikaans churches adopted the name of, as if standing for, the whole neighborhood. It was as if this practice reflected the Afrikaans congregants’ confidence that what they confessed in church on Sundays was an extension of the secular order they practiced and endorsed on weekdays.

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Looking at a pre-digital map of greater Pretoria,4 one thus finds that the angels and saints were locked into icons for “places of worship” (if those were marked at all), whereas, with the exclusion of the African townships, significant stretches of the urban area were surfaced with (white) suburbs doubling as platforms for both municipal and spiritual Afrikaner visuality. One Pretoria example is Monumentpark, developed during the 1960s (Laerskool Monumentpark 2018) towards the south—but within easy reach—of the Pretoria CBD. Hosting not one but two Dutch Reformed Church congregations named after the suburb,5 Monumentpark itself was named after an Art Deco edifice dominating the landscape from atop its hill: the Voortrekker Monument, designed by none other than Gerard Moerdijk, a stout early proponent of modernist Afrikaner church architecture.6 For the greater part of the twentieth century, successive South African governments endeavored to reserve urban developments for occupation by people classified as white, or European. They did this insisting on the colonial dictum that the African population should remain tethered to their rural homelands. In theory, black laborers’ presence in urban townships continued to be perceived as “temporary.” The lifting of the legislation on “influx control” in 1986 changed this and heralded the end of enforced territorial racial segregation, or apartheid, in South Africa.7 While all sectors and neighborhoods in the historically white areas were not equally welcoming, or attractive, or affordable, to all black South Africans, the general direction of upward social migration would be from the townships, which remained almost exclusively black, into the more amenity-rich former white areas, which became theaters of interracial frostiness and conflict, but also thawing and conviviality.8 Simultaneous to this changing way of looking at each other, the political transition also facilitated a new way for Pretorians to look at themselves. They were all integrated into Tshwane, as the new, amalgamated, township-neighborhood-business-industry-allincluded municipality would be named. The internet revolution furthermore introduced new ways of looking at space. On Google Maps one can now just as easily look up the names and locations of Afrikaans churches as any other. Thus, one gets an impression of the large number of South African Catholic and Anglican institutions named after St. Michael, or St. Michael and all Angels.9

Good health and good education My awareness of these Anglican and Catholic sediments in Pretoria arose as the hegemonic, monolithic Afrikaner visuality of my youth was fracturing. Through the cracks bloomed not only a greater diversity but also new distinctions and differentiations. These were no longer necessarily based on what color you were, but on what you could afford. St. Michael looms unexpectedly in one example of these tendencies: With the increase of the population and the post-apartheid middle class’s rising demand for first-class private healthcare, consortiums of private hospitals became a familiar sight in the well-to-do areas of the twenty-first-century cityscape. In 2017, the plaque outside the Little Company of Mary Hospital in Groenkloof was replaced by the corporate branding of the Life Healthcare group, which operates sixty-five private facilities of this

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kind in South Africa and Botswana (Life Healthcare 2017). The Little Company of Mary Hospital was established in 1957 by the South African community of the Little Company of Mary Sisters, founded in 1877 by the Venerable Mary Potter in Nottingham, England (Little Company of Mary Congregation CIO 2018). As part of Life Healthcare’s takeover agreement, the hospital’s old name was gradually phased out. Although the image of the hospital has become increasingly corporate and less Catholic, this space remains a Pretoria-marker of one of the very oldest beliefs about Michael: the pediatric department continues to be known as St. Michael’s Ward, invoking the veneration of this particular archangel as the patron of the sick (Steyn 2008: 60)—albeit, at this hospital, primarily those who can afford medical insurance for private healthcare.10 This exclusivist derivative from Catholic and Anglican beginnings is also continued in the high-quality education offered by diocesan schools throughout South Africa. The Anglican School for Girls in Hatfield, Pretoria, is called St. Mary’s. The Pretoria Diocesan School for Boys shares the same patron as the city cathedral: St. Alban. One of the feeder schools for St. Alban’s is the Pretoria Diocese’s junior school for boys, Waterkloof House; but parents who can afford an even bigger step would consider sending their sons to Michaelhouse, one of the most highly-rated (and expensive) private boarding schools for boys in the country. As its website states, it is situated “in the beautiful midlands of KwaZulu-Natal,” a province of South Africa in which English heritage still remains more conspicuous than in Pretoria with its Boer/Afrikanerrepublican heritage. The school’s ethos is steeped in the traditional understanding of St. Michael as the champion of Christ’s army. A statue of the Archangel, sword in hand, stands in the middle of Michael Quad on the school grounds. The scales of justice in St. Michael’s hand can be seen on the school’s coat of arms. The school’s motto, “Armour for Life,” affirms the extent to which the Archangel’s biblical—and British—legacy was embraced when the school was founded by the Diocese of Natal in 1896. In his historical overview of the school, Barrett (1969: 12–16) affirms that the original Michaelhouse in Britain, along with Eton, as well as St. John’s College and Trinity College, Cambridge, all contributed to founder Canon James Cameron Todd’s planting of school traditions. The British legacy is not necessarily associated with a negative taint of imperialism or colonialism when Michaelhouse is mentioned today. A diocesan, or saintly, denotation in a school’s name has become a marker of “good” education in South Africa. The past twenty years of the country’s racially inclusive democracy have been marred by a number of seemingly insurmountable challenges for government schools. An increasing demand for high-quality English-language schools—including the fact that many a new multiracial security estate-style residential development would not necessarily be served by an existing school—contributed to growth in the business of independent, or private, schooling. Companies like ADvTech (owning Crawford Colleges and Trinity College) and Curro are listed on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange and the list is growing every year. As relative newcomers to the game, these school campuses appear like secularized replicas of the older Anglican and Catholic privateschool models. In the current context, the Anglican Church of Southern Africa is also expanding its schools’ offering but is of course not run as a for-profit organization. In

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an urban setting like Pretoria, the independent schools (secular as well as churchaffiliated) are the schools of choice not only for the city’s large population of foreign diplomats but also for many (black as well as white) upper middle-class families. Already in 2014, “more than half of Curro’s smaller listed education players’ 27,300 students were black” (City Press 2014). Though serving only a small portion of the school-going population of the country, these schools, mostly represented by the Independent Schools Association of South Africa (ISASA), receive a lot of publicity. Although the government does not channel taxpayers’ money to these institutions, they are berated by some as anomalies that should not be permitted, which is a negative affirmation of the extent to which private schooling has become a metaphor in the country for a gateway to success—and certainly a symbol of the status a family has achieved. Yet, within this pocket of privilege, the schools named after the saints and the archangels remind us of a different and older dimension as well: the history of communities asserting their right to organize the education of their youths according to their own values, and not as dictated by the state. For English-speaking whites in the Boer Republics of the late nineteenth century, this was a serious concern; and in apartheid South Africa, although independent schools in white areas were not permitted to take in black students, the curriculum could be designed with a view to international trends rather than towing the Afrikaner–nationalist ideology. In the late apartheid years, the saint-named schools were a beacon of an alternative, better kind of education to strive towards. At that time, many of the “Saint” schools started a tradition of offering pro bono extra classes and enrichment programs on their premises for black learners from underdeveloped areas. Recently, in light of the current challenges faced by government education, the argument has been made that the time has come for such outreach to be revived; and in this round, the hand stretching out to offer and the hand reaching out to grasp may very likely both be black. In this regard, the ethos of the diocesan schools, with Michaelhouse as the epitome of what a Pretoria boy can aspire to, is perfectly congruent with the valor for the good fight that the Archangel is meant to represent. However, with quality private education becoming an increasingly soughtafter commodity, the Victorian gentlemanliness of their visual identity (from names, to coats of arms, to school layouts, to uniforms) is increasingly becoming a branding veneer rather than an inherent ethos or tradition of valor and service. In democratic South Africa, good schools, literally, now also mean good business. The “chain model” of ADvTech and Curro offers not only different options for different income families but also profitable investment opportunities for shareholders (Business Tech 2017).

Shopping according to “The Gospel of St. Michael” In 2005, South African historian Jonathan Hyslop wrote a “thinking piece” on white consumer culture in the 1980s and 1990s. Taking the lead from sociologists like R. Bocock’s “less pessimistic view of shopping’s social impact” emerging at the time, he argued that “new patterns of consumption,” in unexpected ways, eventually contributed to tipping the scales for the ruling whites to let go of their political supremacy:

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Consumerism and acceptance of political change were linked in complex ways. The new patterns of consumption, rather than stabilizing support for the racial order, were bound up with new and more self-reflexive forms of self-identity which were not easily compatible with the State’s abstract and unitary political projects. Hyslop 2005: 174

Hyslop basically argued that the Spartan effort to keep up the differentiation between blacks and whites had simply become too dour and unattractive, and the price of further international isolation had simply become too high for white South Africans who had become proper (post-)modern consumers—and entrepreneurs. Especially as the Berlin Wall came down and communist Eastern Europe also bowed to capitalism after 1989, white South Africans, having been deprived of the alluring popular culture and commodities of the rest of the Western World through anti-apartheid boycotts since the 1970s, reveled in the new shopping experience in the many new airconditioned world-class malls that mushroomed, also in Pretoria. Going to the mall (and being seen going to the mall) had become a new national pastime, blending consumption and entertainment almost indistinguishably from each other (Van Eeden 2005: 63). Buying your food from Woolworths became a quintessential marker of being the stylish consumer; and in the face of these new signifiers of lifestyle, taste, respectability, sociability, and success, race—at least for the middle classes—became a somewhat less insurmountable distinction.11 As the political transition took place, black and white consumers increasingly emulated global habits and tastes (Dodson 2000: 420). In an essay on advertising to black South African consumers during the 1990s, Eve Bertelsen (1998: 240) argued that the objective was to “forget the struggle” against apartheid. She referred to “the newly available and energetically distributed discourses on libertarian democracy, upward mobility and the free market [as] a volatile mix.” Prizing comfort and convenience as part of their fast-paced working lives, the market for top-quality household objects and foods grew rapidly. Woolworths increased its outlets throughout the country, but especially in the economic heartland of Pretoria and Johannesburg (they also branched out to other African countries). St. Michael was part of the victorious expansion of commerce. What was the history behind this? In 1947, British department store Marks & Spencer bought shares in the South African Woolworths retail chain (Macmillan 2005: 218; Marks & Spencer Company Archive 1946–71). Hence, until Marks & Spencer’s decision to discard the St. Michael brand in 2000, the saintly logo signified quality for South African consumers as it had for British buyers since 1928 (BBC News 2000). It was in the 1950s, during a period of close association between the British and South African companies, that the more feminine and friendly “handwritten” script was adopted for the logo (My Learning 2018) as I remember it from my childhood days. The irony, as one can learn from Pinterest and the Marks & Spencer web page, is that even though early logos depicted an image of the Archangel, the brand had not even been named after him. Michael Marks was one of the co-founders of Marks & Spencer. In 1928, his son Simon Marks coined the name “St. Michael” for hosiery directly purchased for their stores from a

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factory in Leicester. This also enabled the factory, Corahs, to continue supplying wholesalers under their own brand name, “St. Margaret,” without any conflict of interest. The brand name “St. Margaret” had been adopted from the name of the parish in which the Corah factory was situated.12 Place and family, rather than the religious and historical characteristics of either Margaret or Michael, had thus been the connotations which the founders of both brands had in mind. St. Michael would soon label far more than just hosiery. Clothing, food, cosmetics, and a lot more were sourced and branded accordingly. For South African clients, St. Michael signified quality, but for Woolworths managers it confirmed that the Marks & Spencer business model had been adopted for South Africa. As Hugh Macmillan (2005: 217) explains in his biography of Woolworths general manager David Susman, when taking over in 1952: David Susman saw his immediate task was to shift the emphasis of the shops away from slow-moving “hard” goods towards the faster-moving clothing and textile lines, and to use the company’s import quotas to bring in higher quality goods from Marks & Spencer. At the same time, he had to establish Marks & Spencertype relationships with South African suppliers in order to improve the quality of locally manufactured goods. This involved keeping a close eye on suppliers’ labour relations and employment practices. Above all, he had to spread what he called the gospel of St Michael: “No compromise on quality standards, close cooperation with suppliers, tight control of stock levels and ruthless slaughtering of slow sellers.”

Clearly, much as St. Michael had adorned church windows and inspired the faithful in South Africa for centuries, especially during the second half of the twentieth century, he had also acquired a number of different mythical attributes. For South Africans, St. Michael had become a signifier of urbanity—quality seaside leisure, quality food, luxury items in the Woolworths/Marks & Spencer brand, quality education from private schools, and quality medical care in one of the foremost private hospitals in the city where I live. South Africa’s historical connections with Britain seem to run like a golden thread along with all these shifting significations. Afrikaner nationalism strove towards a republican breach with these British overseas legacies; yet, having become so deeply rooted in our material culture, they turned out to be more tenaciously irresistible than anticipated and more alluring than the effort of guarding boundaries between Afrikaans and English and between black and white. With every new generation, self-expression became more entwined with consumer culture.13 It is no longer quite clear where the myth shifts from religious to consumer content, or whether religious meaning and spirituality have become commodified in and of themselves. Consider the following example. Either online or from their premises in Monumentpark, the same neighborhood mentioned previously for having been named after the Voortrekker Monument, one can visit the Catholic Faith Store and buy anything from a bronze St. Michael the Archangel statue for 8,400 rands to a St. Michael the Archangel T-Shirt for 340 rands; and for 36 rands you can obtain a St. Michael the Archangel shopper bag for all your purchases. At the last minute, for

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just 18 rands (the price of a loaf of bread), you can slip in “Archangel Michael” incense for protection against your enemies, imported from India (Catholic Shop 2018)!

Pendants and protection To dismiss this trade in religious goods as the crass commodification of faith and the market’s exploitation of gullible consumers would probably be as inaccurate as to deny the increasing entanglement of branding, lifestyle, shopping, and identity over the past decades. This becomes most apparent when a “modern” person volunteers a “confession” about what a religious amulet may mean to him/her. I found one such confession in a book by a former member of the South African Defence Force’s special reconnaissance unit, with an unmistakably Afrikaans name: Johan Raath. In 2018, Raath published a book about his experiences as a private military contractor in Iraq. In post-apartheid, post-Cold War South Africa, many of the highly specialized former members of the South African Defence Force who in the 1980s had gained combat experience during South Africa’s military operations against resistance movements in the former Southwest Africa (now Namibia) found employment as security personnel, working in various African countries and the Middle East. Opening the topic by “confessing” that he has a “small superstition when it comes to [his] personal safety,” Johan Raath relates how, while still a “young corporal,” in the very heart of the Afrikaner-dominated military culture, the Archangel Michael was introduced to him “as the protector of airborne soldiers.” In 1987, he received “a silver pendant with the Saint Michael logo depicting an angel standing on a globe, with a parachute canopy in the background” (Raath 2018: 161). Tracing the beginnings of the tradition amongst airborne soldiers to “celebrate the festival of Saint Michael” on September 29 each year to the United States’ 82nd Airborne Division in the Second World War, he adds that the day is observed by “all” in his professional community. For this person, who has had dozens of close shaves with death, his Saint Michael pendant is an object with highly symbolic significance: For the past 30 years, I have never left my house without my St Michael around my neck, and I would never deploy or go on a mission in a high-threat environment without it. I remove it only at night . . . When I get up I immediately place it around my neck. Raath 2018: 161

Curiously, Raath’s Saint Michael pendant features a feminized protector. He describes it as follows: “Around the edge of the silver design are the words ‘Our Lady Queen of Angels, Defend us in Combat’. Whoever designed this limited edition clearly thought it would be better for our protective angel to be a woman” (Raath 2018: 161). In 2007, Johan Raath (2018: 162) also purchased a second limited-run gold badge. A fellow South African had commissioned a jeweler to design something specially for former South African Special Forces soldiers. While for Raath the symbolic significance of his pendants far outweighs their monetary worth, it would make sense that a trader interested in such artifacts for the

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value of the gold might have something in common with this professional soldier: The protection provided by Saint Michael would be as welcome to the one as to the other. It is precisely at one of the gold and diamond exchange businesses in Bloed Street in downtown Pretoria that I encountered the Archangel’s name on a shopfront and a billboard. In an iconic and ironic juxtaposition, awkwardly adjacent to the name “ST MICHAEL” printed in yellow sans serif capital letters on the billboard, a relic from the former Afrikaner-Boer Republic literally shows his head too, on a Kruger rand! Kruger rands are solid one-ounce gold coins bearing the bust of Paul Kruger, the last president of the Boer Republic, who had dared to defy the British Empire in 1899. These gold coins have been considered a secure investment ever since the South African Mint started producing them in 1967. Dealing in such expensive artifacts in this part of town, the protection of St. Michael must be useful. However, although a Google search indicated the name as “St. Michael,” when entering the business to obtain permission to take a photograph, the manager on duty told me that “S.T. Michael” is simply the name of the proprietor; and that he was not aware that the name of the shop had any intention to implore the Archangel for heavenly protection. This did not prevent me from

Figure 11.2  The billboard of the St Michael Gold and Diamond Exchange in Bloed Street, Pretoria. Visible is the bust of the president of the former Boer Republic of the Transvaal, Paul Kruger, on the coin in the top left-hand corner. Photograph by the author.

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continuing my idiosyncratic quest for sightings of more Michael-related signs. When taking a broader look at the visual landscape of Bloed Street, the observer’s eye will leap from the St. Michael billboards to the shop façades of hairdressers and grocers (another profession traditionally protected by the Archangel), and from there to a Christian cross, marking the biomedical practice of a family physician snugly sharing the streetscape with an African “traditional” healer’s “muti” shop, for those in need of artifacts and services with more transcendental power. Bloed Street is not quite the Michael Ward of the former Catholic hospital in affluent Groenkloof; but at least in name, the Archangel protector of the sick also towers over this visual landscape. Has St. Michael merely become more prominent in my Pretoria view because I have gone in search of him? Or have changing political systems, shifting worldviews, and increasingly ocular-centrifugal technologies induced new ways of seeing as I grew up and got older? Had it not been for Google, I would not have been aware of the existence of the St. Michael Gold and Coin Exchange. While more and more images of St. Michael-branded goods from the Marks & Spencer/Woolworths past are being posted on the internet at the moment, within a few years from now, they will probably be circulated less and less as fewer and fewer consumers with first-hand memories will feel a need to feed their nostalgia. On the other hand, those in need of protection will search for it—and in the process veer towards the cult of St. Michael: if not in battle or disease, then in business and making money.

Conclusion: seeing through Saint Michael I conclude this chapter with a discussion of two artifacts produced by local African artists in which Saint Michael is indeed represented as the Archangel, with all the same identifying attributes that can also be observed in South African Catholic and Anglican churches. Both the African productions conform to the age-old depiction of the Archangel with the sword and shield, aiming the weapon at the dragon underfoot. The first is a work of art, a linocut entitled The Angel Chases Satan, made in 1979 by Namibian printmaker John Muafangejo (1943–87). The second is a book: Holy Hill, the debut novel of South African writer Angelina N. Sithebe, first published in 2007 and reprinted in 2018. John Muafangejo was a graduate of the Swedish-Lutheran Rorke’s Drift Arts and Craft Centre in KwaZulu-Natal. The Angel Chases Satan was produced in 1979, while Muafangejo was residing in South Africa. Signed prints are, amongst others, in the collections of the Standard Bank Art Collection and various university art galleries (Levinson 1992a: 163). The image is discussed by art historian Anitra Nettleton (2012: 79) in a chapter entitled “The Sacred: Holy and Demonic.” Nettleton does not bring the Archangel Michael into her discussion by name but interprets the work as almost “literally an expression of a belief in the powers of the light-skinned avenging angel triumphing over a horned black devil, whose tail is an extension of its penis” (2012: 76). She further argues that “the shield inscribed with the cross draws on Western Christian conventions for the representation of good, the victorious and the holy” (2012: 76). This may well be the case in this particular image, but in Muafangejo’s 1985 linocut

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St. Michael Church in Windhoek (Levison 1992b: 61), equal amounts of black-inked surface shape the bodies of both the winged Archangel and the chained devil. Whether this might be attributed to growing confidence in Muafangejo’s artistic expression or not, the repetition in a later artwork of the same theme in this particular way casts doubt on a post-colonial reading associating the angel with white authority and the devil with the African other. (In Crucifixion, produced in 1984 (Levison 1992: 75), Muafangejo’s Jesus is white on his left side and black on his right side, and the angel comforting him is completely black). The cover of South African novelist Angelina N. Sithebe’s book Holy Hill features an image of Saint Michael slaying a devil in a pose not dissimilar to artist Muafangejo’s linocuts. The colophon is most explicit: it specifies that the designer from the company Mr. Design had based the cover image on “St Michael fighting demons, painted between 1480 and 1500 by the Flemish artist Master of the Saint Ursula Legend” (Sithebe 2018). Conveniently, a copyright-free image of the painting in Our Lady of the Pottery Church in Bruges, Belgium, is available on Wikimedia Commons (2011), which must have given the designer free range. Mr. Design Africanized the hands and faces of the

Figure 11.3  Photographic reproduction of the artwork St. Michael Fighting Demons, by the Master of the Bruges Legend of St. Ursula, c. 1480. Available online: https://upload. wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a2/Master_Of_The_Legend_Of_St._Ursula_-_St_ Michael_Fighting_Demons_-_WGA14582.jpg.

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praying nun and Saint Michael in the image. Whereas the painting in Bruges depicts two devils, the version on the book cover shows only one. Few marketing tools for consumer goods are as carefully contemplated and as artistically rendered as a book cover. The branding of this book offers the reader a fairly blatant suggestion that the persona of Saint Michael according to Catholic tradition may be considered an intertext for this South African novel, the first part of which is set in a Catholic convent school for African girls in KwaZulu-Natal, and the second part of which introduces a “born again Christian” character from “elsewhere.” That character, Claude, introduces himself to Nana as hailing from West Africa, although he is actually from Central Africa. The narrator explains that Claude has had to reinvent his backstory so many times that he himself sometimes forgets. In none of the reviews or scholarly essays published over the past ten years which I managed to obtain has a literary critic opted to investigate Saint Michael as a key point of departure to open up possible interpretations of Sithebe’s book—especially the gruesome end, in which Claude, the born-again Christian, who claims the power to exorcize devils, kills the spirit-host Nana when taking her to be the devil. A better understanding of the monomyth of the hero and how it relates to Saint Michael the Archangel, as will be discussed in detail by Deléne Human in the next chapter, will prove most insightful for an understanding of Claude’s role in Sithebe’s novel. However, South African literary critics seem to have looked past, or right through, the Michael intertext. Sithebe was praised for giving a voice to the African woman suffering under political and domestic violence in South Africa (Nduvane 2008). Another literary scholar, making a case for the victims of xenophobic violence in South Africa the year after Sithebe’s novel first appeared, criticized the author for her stereotyping, infantilizing, and dehumanizing of Claude as an illegal immigrant (Saayman 2016: 78–9). Yet another critic interpreted the novel along a Western-Catholic versus Africantraditionalist dichotomy, underplaying the author’s own generous quotations from the Bible about spirit possession and devils. This critic seems to have absorbed some of the assumptions and convictions of Nana’s parents in the story: that Christianity should stand for some form of rationality, and African tradition for embodied animism; that “Christianity” and “traditional African belief systems” are in need of reaching some form of accommodation (Stobie 2008: 41). None of these discussions of the book even mention the name “Michael,” or “archangel.” In her chapter on the notions of hosting and hospitality as worked out in the novel, Fasselt (2012: 245) comes closest to drawing on the Michael intertext (Steyn 2008: 59) when she points out the resemblance established in the narrative “between Claude and the announcer of the Day of Judgement.” Fasselt (2012: 246) also comes to the conclusion that the author is anything but infantilizing or stereotyping the illegal African immigrant and that Sithebe rather questions “the dichotomised portrayal of immigrants as guests and national citizens as hosts.” Literary critics’ decision not to engage with the book cover, their negation of the imposed presence of Saint Michael, as well as their insistence (with the exception of Fasselt, perhaps) that an embodied spirit must be “African–ancestral–traditional,” gives a curious insight into what seems to be a number of South Africanist blind spots.

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Besides the dichotomous view of Christianity versus African tradition, there seems to be a fairly fixed presumption that Christianity signifies modernity and rationality (and that modernity and rationality are the preserves of the West); and that everything not fitting into the broad Christian–Western–rational–modern category may be lumped together under “traditional African beliefs.” Also, through the critics’ failure to recognize the two characters as allegorical of the Archangel and the devil, the novelist’s somber twists of the intentions of the biblical references in her narrative are not developed to their full potential in the critics’ analyses. Having established, at least in the two aforementioned examples, that South African cultural critics tend not to interact even when the Archangel Michael is so to speak imposed on their topics of investigation affirms the need for a deeper South African engagement with Michaelic scholarship, a need to recover Michael from “elsewhere.” In his Introduction to Visual Culture Studies, Nicholas Mirzoeff (2009: 1–9) argues that visual culture is everywhere and nowhere to be seen. The same seems to apply to Saint Michael in the South African visual landscape. Many aspects of lifestyle and consumer culture have been branded as “St. Michael,” and Saint Michael is “found” when a need for angelic protection and salvation arises, but where the Archangel Michael enters as “himself,” he appears to be made translucent by a lack of South Africanist scholarly “counterfoil.” It seems to be a matter of what to see and what to know, and then, how to look again.

12

The Presence and Absence of the Archangel Michael in South Africa Deléne Human

Introduction Since pre-­historical times, the human race has relied on archetypes and myths, heroes, angels, and the divine to describe that which is otherwise inexpressible. Most mythological narratives express some form of truth, justifying their survival over centuries (Human 2015; McKenzie 2012: 55). This chapter, based on the hermeneutical tropes of my own white, middle-­class, Dutch Reformed upbringing, considers selected iconographical presences and absences of Michael the Archangel in an early nineteenthand twentieth-­century South African context. In Chapter 11, it became evident that St. Michael in South Africa is consumed as a commodity or product of luxury and only rarely perceived as a transcendental deity or hero-­leader offering protection, healing, and salvation, and guiding souls on Judgment Day. However, additionally to household products, schools, and vacation accommodation, Michael is alluded to in various early nineteenth- and twentieth-­ century South African churches and monuments. Some of these are adorned with specific visuals related to Michael, as seen in St. Michael’s Anglican Church, Bryanston, Johannesburg and St. Michael’s and All Angels Church in Sunnyside, Pretoria, discussed in the first part of this chapter, while others have less specific Michael-­visuals and are more generally depicted as part of a cult of angels. There, the presence of Michael can be discerned through hero-­leader semiology, as seen in the Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria, discussed in the second part of this chapter. As described in the introduction to Part 5, up until the early twentieth century, severe and lasting tension existed between the British (English-­speaking) and Dutch (Afrikaans-­speaking) settlers of South Africa. As such, each community relied on its own belief systems and church units, evoking culturally specific symbolism, which was influenced by their respective European heritage. The English–Anglican communities would evoke certain iconographies of saints, angels, and archangels to guide them in a new land and remind them of their British heritage. In the Afrikaans Protestant and Dutch Reformed context, however, (arch)angels were and still are generally unheard of and rarely depicted in the visual domain, despite an arguably noticeable tradition of

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“invisible” and nameless angels protecting the home. In this sense, hero-­leaders and their turbulent journey are utilized as analogies to explicate the belief in a transcendent reality of heavenly deities. What follows is an investigation of the stark contrast in iconography employed in three churches upholding an Anglo-Catholic tradition of worship compared to an Afrikaans Dutch Reformed tradition.

Michael the Archangel: fragmented images, captured in glass Symbolic associations with Michael the Archangel were iconographically present in various English congregations of South Africa during the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Because of their international influence and more open acceptance of European heritage, some Anglican churches explicitly refer to Michael’s defeat of the dragon as a symbol of their renewed strength and faith in God. In Pretoria center, a year after the end of the Anglo-Boer war (1903), the inception of a small parish, St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside,1 was celebrated. At that time, Pretoria was still occupied by the British Army (Cross 2003: 5); hence, many English residents of Sunnyside were determined to establish their own church. Renowned English architect Sir Herbert Baker was asked to produce plans for the new building in a traditional English style. The choice of architect was momentous as Baker was responsible for many prominent South African landmarks, such as the Union Buildings (1910–13) and Rhodes’ Summer House renovations (1894) at his Groote Schuur residence. More significantly, in 1898—ten years prior to the Sunnyside church—Baker designed the Parish Church of St. Michael and All Angels Observatory in Rondebosch, which is said to be the only Baker & Masey church that has remained unaltered since its founding (Walker 2012: 94). Additionally, Baker designed the Michaelhouse Chapel, Kwa-Zulu Natal (see Chapter 11), replete with St. Michael statues and an impressive stained-­glass window (see Fig.  12.1 left), created by Margaret Rope, dating to mid-1921.2 Baker’s English heritage in a foreign country is understood when considering his explication that “our church architecture must fix in permanent artistic expression the soul of our religion both in its traditional forms and its spirit” (Cross 2003: 16). This is evident in the depiction of angels and saints throughout his and other Anglican churches, where especially the portrayal of Michael the Archangel is captured in stained-­glass windows in a traditional British manner: in battle armor, with a sword and spear, standing atop a defeated dragon. As with many European influences, the art of stained-­glass windows only came to South Africa once the early pioneers had settled and cargoes allowed for the necessary tools to be imported (Oxley 1994: xi). It was mainly the English settlers who in the 1820s would fall back on their traditional influences and introduce stained-­glass windows in their churches. Consequently, many of the windows were created in Britain and imported to South Africa, generating work by unknown artists. However, the Calvinistic dogma of the early Dutch Reformed churches prohibited (and in many instances still does) ornamentation in places of worship, thus repressing the display of stained-­glass windows, depicting Christ, Mary, saints, or angels (Oxley 1994: xii, 18). As a result, a lot of the imagery found in contemporary Anglican churches were stock

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designs, imported and approved by European patrons rather than locally produced (Oxley 1994: 20), thus not relying on South African mythology, but instead returning to a European reading of hero-­leaders of the Christian faith. This is for the most part also true for the three stained-­glass windows displayed here (Fig. 12.1), as seen in the almost identical contrapposto stance of Michael, the placement of the sword, the coloring used, his Gothic armor, and mammoth red wings. The St. Michael stained-­glass window (Fig. 12.1, middle-­left) on the south wall of St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, was installed in 1921, in memory of A. B. Mortimer, one of the pioneer churchwardens. The bishop of the time was not pleased with St. Michael’s design, claiming that Michael was not portrayed vigorous enough and that he doubted that “the dragons of the Transvaal would ever be killed off by such gentle methods as the stained-­glass window suggests St Michael used; they want a bit more than pin pricks” (Cross 2003: 17–18). The bishop was most probably

Figure 12.1 (collage)

Left: St. Michael stained-­glass window (mid-1921), Michaelhouse Chapel, Kwa-Zulu Natal. Artist: Margaret Rope. Photograph courtesy of Michaelhouse, Kwa-Zulu Natal. Middle-left: St. Michael stained-­glass window (c. 1919), south wall at St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, Pretoria. Artist unknown. Photograph by the author (2018), courtesy of St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside. Middle-right: St. Michael stained-­glass window (c. 1967), east wall, St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, Pretoria. Designed by Robert L. Baldwin and made by G. Maile and Son Studios, London. Photograph by the author (2018), courtesy of St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside. Right: St. Michael stained-­glass window (early 1990s), St. Michael’s Anglican Church, Bryanston, Johannesburg. Artist: Estelle Vallé. Photograph by the author (2018), courtesy of St. Michael’s Anglican Church, Bryanston.

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referring to the threateningly dominant Afrikaans National Party (which would later be responsible for the apartheid regime) depicted as the dragon, and the Anglican Church as Michael, who needs to overcome the ruthless adversary. It is known that the National Party were supporters of the ideals of the Dutch Reformed Church and as such were often seen in opposition to the English churches of the time. The gentle stance of Michael is, however, slightly subdued in a second stained-­glass window (Fig. 12.1, middle-right). It was installed on the eastern wall of the Sunnyside church in May 1967—designed by Robert L. Baldwin and produced by G. Maile and Son Studios in London—showing Michael in golden armor atop the defeated dragon. The defeat of the governing apartheid regime was, however, far from near and would only be realized approximately thirty years later, in 1994. The notion of the timelessness of Michael’s influence in the church is enhanced by the incorporation of glass. Glass is one of the most durable building materials yet brittle at the same time (Button and Pye 1993: 195, 211). Glass symbolizes ideals related to natural light and transparency. Button and Pye (1993: 3) claim that “glass stands for the illumination of dark places of vernacular superstition by the pure light of rationality.” In a South African understanding, this could refer to the unknown land and people that the British have encountered or the socio-­political struggle within an apartheid regime. The inherent qualities of fragility, transparency, fluidity, and coagulation to transience could metaphorically represent the human experience of reaching a transcendental understanding, that is, an attempt to comprehend the impact of their situation amidst a country of insecurities and appreciate the power of God and purpose of life. During the medieval era of Gothic architecture, the natural chiaroscuro of the atmosphere was successfully implemented by incorporating stained-­glass windows evoking otherworldly and enigmatic moods (Johnson 2003: 153). Abbot Denis Suger (c. 1081–1151) was a key architect of Gothic cathedrals who transformed metaphysical concepts into reality by allowing light from the sun through large glass windows, illuminating and providing a mystical appearance to the inner spaces of cathedrals (Johnson 2003: 154–5). Furthermore, “stained glass carries forward the art and glory with which it has been endowed, bringing the past into the present and taking the present into the future” (Oxley 1994: xiii), thus emphasizing historical influences on contemporary practices and culturally inherent social realities encountered in the form of myths. By understanding what a certain event or symbol means, rather than when it occurred, mythological representations of the divine and heavenly deities should be experienced rather than rationally understood, since they express “an esoteric speculative doctrine in story form,” and therefore “contain symbols that always point to transcendental values but never actual facts” (Armstrong 2005: 7; McKenzie 2012: 1). It has been claimed that religious behavior and traditions are rooted in myth and could explicate the transcendental experience of the sacred (Allen 2002: 65–6). Human (2011: 136) explains that myths and the truth (or an earthly “divine-­earthly experience”) are interrelated, allowing this sublime experience. The portrayal of deities and heavenly hosts and their social structure and cultural function in religious myths effectively awaken and maintain a “consciousness of another world, a beyond, whether it be the divine world or the world of the ancestors” (Allen 2002: 67). It is argued that the depictions of the Archangel Michael (Fig.  12.1 left, middle-­left, and middle-­right)

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attempt to integrate this otherworldly notion of peace and transcendental understanding from home (Europe) into the new world (South Africa), and hence bring their old mythological hero-­leaders back to life. This sense of remembrance is further evoked and maintained through inscriptions memorializing certain events and people, such as Eric Henry Strapp, who died in action in 1916 (Fig. 12.1, left), “the glory of god and in memory of A. B. Mortimer” (Fig. 12.1, middle-­left), and the memory “of all of those whose gifts and worship have enriched this parish church” (Fig. 12.1, middle-­right). In contrast to the Sunnyside church and Michaelhouse Chapel, St. Michael’s Anglican Church in Bryanston, Johannesburg, was only established in the mid-­ twentieth century. The Bryanston congregation was a spillover from St. Martin’s-­inthe-Veld, Rosebank, Parish (Houliston 2004: 5). Funding for the land on which the church was built, to a large extent came from a subsidiary of the Anglo-American Corporation in 1949, and building commenced in September 1952 (Houliston 2004: 6–7). Various names were considered for the church, amongst others “St. Christopher,” “St. Ambrose,” and “St. Mary’s-­by-the-Wayside,” all of which evoke European origins. Eventually, “St. Michael” was chosen in 1953, because of the following characteristics of the Archangel, described by Douglas Michael, a parish worker at the time: Our patron, St Michael the Archangel, is usually honoured as the helper and protector of Christians, especially from the Devil against whom he is depicted fighting, and beating, in the Revelation to [sic] John – hence the striking stained-­ glass image, showing him standing over the dragon, in our North transept. He is also mentioned in the book of Daniel as the helper of God’s chosen people, and in the letter to Jude in contention with the Devil. A very old tradition also honours him as the protector and shepherd of our souls after death, ushering us into the very presence of God. From this understanding arises the old folk song “Michael, row the boat ashore” and the artistic representation of Michael holding the scales. Houliston 2004: 7

What makes this church particularly interesting is the fact that all the stained-­glass windows in the interior were created by a single artist, Estelle Vallé (Houliston 2004: 32). Whereas the examples discussed previously were created by Margaret Rope around 1921 (Michaelhouse), an unknown artist in 1919 (Sunnyside south wall), and Robert L. Baldwin and G. Maile and Son Studios in the late 1960s (Sunnyside east wall) respectively—all of English heritage—the St. Michael window at Bryanston (Fig. 12.1, right) was only installed in the early 1990s, a few short years prior to the establishment of a new government in South Africa. South African born, with an Italian heritage, Vallé relied on methods developed by medieval glaziers, thinly layering the paint while creating windows for Anglican and Catholic churches throughout South Africa (Oxley 1994: 91–2). Vallé was very aware of the symbolism in her work. She explained that traditional symbolism associated with Christian saints seldom reflect biblical descriptions, but that much of the symbolism is instead derived from legends, thus differing from Bible stories (Oxley 1994: 92), as seen, for example, in the depiction of Michael’s “Gothic” armor. Surrounded

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by fourteen stations of the cross in the nave and south transept, the north transept depicts five of the archangels, with Michael on the highest window, indicating his superior rank and importance amongst the archangels. In contrast to the other examples (Fig. 12.1, left, middle-­left, and middle-­right), here Michael is portrayed in a much more youthful and feminine style, the colors more radiant, with golden wings, indicating heavenly glory and divinity, standing atop a living dragon balancing scales and holding a flaming sword (Fig. 12.1, right). This difference could be attributed to the artist’s gender, or simply indicate the sensitivity with which she attempted to convey a possibly politically charged image in the midst of the apartheid regime. In all four examples, Michael is depicted bare-­headed, encapsulated by a golden (Fig. 12.1, left and middle-­left) or blue (Fig. 12.1, middle-­right and right) halo, carrying the typical sword (only flaming in Figure  12.1, right) and spear (Fig.  12.1, left and middle-­left). The colors red (indicating not only blood and violence but also royalty and divine life from heavenly descent) and gold (symbolizing heavenly glory and divinity) duly suggest Michael’s godly associations, blue symbolizes Michael’s earthly ties and human interactions, as well as truth and faithfulness, while green is symbolically associated with the creation of life and growth. The use of green in the dragons consequently indicates the hope of life and elevated understanding given to a hero upon his victory (Oxley 1994: 13; Bentchev 1999: 86; Steyn 2008: 44). Furthermore, Michael’s face seems more sophisticated in the first three works (Fig. 12.1, left, middle-­ left, and middle-­right) compared to the later work (Fig. 12.1, right), and the contrapposto position and enlarged red wings (Fig. 12.1, left, middle-­left, and middle-­right) imply victory and grandeur. It would almost seem as though Michael were assured of victory, especially since he has already defeated the dragon. Noteworthy is the prominent use of red and blue, indicating an interplay between heavenly divinity and earthly interactions. Depicting Michael in this manner might be an allusion to the socio-­ political struggles developing at the time. Tension existed not only between different ethnic groups3 within South Africa, but also within Christendom, desperately questioning God’s presence during this time of need. In fact, the apartheid era encapsulates the trials which the South African people had to endure, and as such the people of an English heritage seemed to return to their heroes, angels, and myths (e.g., St. Michael) in their place of worship for not only renewed strength and motivation but also visible assurance of better times to come. As aptly described in the centenary remembrance booklet (Cross 2003) of St. Michael’s and All Angels, Sunnyside Church, “During all this era St Michael and all angels has endured all trials and tribulations and endeavoured to be the centre of Christian spirituality for all God’s children.” The contrasting semiology in the later work (Fig. 12.1, right) is of utmost significance. The youthful depiction of Michael and the flaming sword indicate that the struggle of the Archangel is not yet over. Created during the early 1990s, the work reflects South African insecurities and the turbulent times. The dragon, which could symbolize the apartheid government, is very much alive and entangled in a weighty battle. The overpowering inclusion of yellow and gold might indicate the Church’s faith in and reliance on God and the realization that the battle cannot be won without God’s intervention. In essence, the Church becomes the hero-­leader that must battle the apartheid dragon.

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The inclusion of scales (Fig. 12.1, right) furthermore substantially contributes to the unique reading of this image. In the Ethiopic Book of Enoch (1 Enoch), an important work in Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity, emphasis is placed on the punishment of evil and the hope of salvation for the righteous (Adendorff 2013: 23). The Book of the Watchers (1 En. 1:36), dating to approximately the third century bce, describes Enoch’s vision of the fallen angels, led by Semjaza. In order to save humankind, the archangels are sent to intervene and destroy the children of the watchers. Michael receives instructions from God, amongst others, to a) bond Semyaza and his army for seventy generations until final judgment arrives, when they will be cast into the fiery abyss (1 En. 10:11-13); b) destroy all wicked deeds from the earth (1 En. 10:16); and c) cleanse the earth from impurity (1 En. 10:20). These instructions are parallel to those in Roman Catholic tradition, commanding an archangel, believed to be Michael, to a) fight Satan and rescue the souls of the faithful during the hour of death; b) protect God’s people; and c) bring souls from the earth to judgment (Steyn 2008: 59). Seeking the relevance of Michael’s role during Judgment Day therefore becomes significant when considering the Roman Catholic doctrine of eschatology, especially notions of hell as a complete “God-­forsakenness from which there is no way out” (Bauckham 1999: 44). The doctrine of eschatology accentuates Christ’s delivery of his last judgment and the bodily resurrection and life everlasting for the righteous (Phan 2008: 216, 218). The depiction of Michael holding scales could possibly indicate his role and task to accompany the souls from the side of the living to that of the dead (afterlife), punishing the sinners and providing believers with hope. It could, thus, represent his extreme sense of righteousness and justice, as well as the fate of the oppressor (apartheid regime) in a metaphorical sense, where hope and justice reside within the walls of the church and God. This role of Michael is comparable to ancient hero narratives of Egyptian and Greek mythology, such as Re and Nut, Hades and Charon. Even though the immortality of the soul—rather than a physical resurrection—is stressed, what is prevalent is the fact that our daily actions in this life and the meanings thereof are driven by our finitude4 and consequently influence the fate of our afterlife (Heidegger 1962: 47, 238, 282). It could be true that similar to the semiology of Michael at the Sunnyside Church, St. Michael’s at Bryanston points to the salvation and redemption to be attained, as the threatening apartheid government could embody the symbolic dragon. Hence, notions of (arch) angels, heroes, the devil, or the divine are employed in the form of myths in the examples of Anglican churches to understand a certain socio-­political and cultural situation. Dupré (2000: 94) observes that “every society interprets and reinterprets its history and heroes in keeping with the need.” Believing in (arch)angels as hero-­leaders sent by God to protect humans from evil therefore becomes a natural phenomenon in various belief systems and is found across various epochs, as also seen in nineteenthand twentieth-­century South Africa.

The role of Michael as a hero-­leader It is true that Michael is not a typical hero. It might even be argued that he is not a hero at all as he does not fit the portrayal of the hero in Joseph Campbell’s classical

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monomyth of the hero’s journey.5 According to this monomyth (1949), three phases need to be completed in order for a hero (historical or mythological) to reach redemption or a transcendental phenomenological state of being or understanding. The hero starts as a messenger, who must complete a turbulent journey comprising various tasks. During the first phase, the separation, the hero, after some self-­doubt and rebellion, leaves his home and the world he knows behind. The second phase, the initiation, often involves sacrifice, during which the hero overcomes multiple trials and tribulations, where he finally has to battle an Ungeheuer, a dragon. Following this final hurdle and reaching an elevated state of understanding, the hero can eventually deliver the message. The last phase, the return, is a form of rebirth. The hero returns to share his new knowledge and saves humankind (Campbell 1949: 49–238).6 I argue that Michael has nowhere in history been presented as a mere human-­ turned-saint, as his “saint” title would suggest, but instead that his archangel status implies that he has always been a messenger-­angel with a higher purpose. Derived from the Greek archon and its derivative prefix archi-, signifying “chief , ” “leader,” or “of highest rank,” and the noun angelos meaning “messenger” or mediator between God and humans (Adendorff 2013: 23; Steyn 2008: 15), Michael is arguably a supreme messenger chosen by God to act as a mediator between humans and heavenly beings, thus becoming a link between the earthly and spiritual realms. Michael does not leave his family behind, nor does he die, but his role associates him with death and with comforting families left behind. Michael is considered the “companion to death” or even the “Angel of death.” Mythologically, he has been characterized as accompanying the souls of the deceased across the river, resembling the Greek and Egyptian hero myths of Hermes, Charon, and Nut and Re (Hornung 1995), and defending the souls on Judgment Day. Before judgment is passed, Michael provides a chance for each soul to redeem itself. Roman Catholic traditions refer to prayers from the family of the deceased, asking Michael to defend the deceased person’s soul on Judgment Day, hence the portrayal of Michael balancing the scales. Furthermore, Michael is not resurrected, since he never died, nor does he encounter multiple trials but instead only one immense battle. His defeat of the dragon (Ungeheuer) could symbolize his triumph over death and consequently a new and transcendental understanding of life for humans. Moreover, Michael defeats Satan in the battle over Moses’ body (Jude 9), and as an “angel of the Apocalypse” he is associated with the “old” and “new” Jerusalem, the “old” and “new” life, allowing him to protect Israel, God’s people. It could be argued that Michael already possesses transcendental understanding, elevating him to the position of a hero-­leader—a prototype that traditional heroes look up to for strength. Even though Michael is only mentioned in four passages of the Bible (Dan. 10:13, 12:1;7 Jude 9; Rev. 12:7) and only described as an archangel in the New Testament (Jude 9), various Apocryphal (Deutero-Canonical) writings (such as Enoch and Tobit) depict Michael as a hero-­leader, fighting for God’s people against Satan. On God’s command, Michael leads his army of angels against Lucifer (Satan), also known as Semjaza (Enoch), and the army of fallen angels. His victory over evil, seen in his defeat of the dragon, places Michael in a superior leader position. The hero-­leader and savior illustrated as a source of light and hope can be traced throughout ancient (pagan) cultures. Michael, like the New Testament’s Jesus Christ,8 is considered the

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protector and savior of the Israelites, God’s chosen people. This is evident in God’s promise to send an angel to guide Moses during his journey in the desert (Exod. 23:20– 23). The Israelites’ repeated trials in the desert are associated with the hero’s tempestuous journey. Moses and the Israelites were originally led by the Angel of the Lord himself, who could be argued to be Michael, manifested in the form of a cloud at day and a pillar of fire at night (Exod. 13:21-22). These symbols are associated with depictions of Michael, who often stands on a cloud and holds a sword of fire, but are likewise associated with South African hero symbolism, as will be shown in the discussion of the Voortrekker Monument below. This historic depiction of Michael can be traced to South Africa in various Anglican parishes, as discussed above. Nonetheless, in an Afrikaans context, angels and their iconic depiction are not common. Besides the costs involved in having a stained-­glass window made, the restraints on images and idols in the Protestant and Reformed churches in South Africa limited iconographical representations of angels and saints; instead, focus was placed on simplicity, such as a mere cross symbolizing salvation (Kloppers and Kloppers 2015: 2). There is a clear divide between the English–Anglican and Afrikaans–Voortrekker cultural heritages, which is reflected in Michael’s presence in the former and absence in the latter.

The Voortrekkers The Afrikaner people of South Africa have since the days of the Voortrekkers9 visibly relied on national heroes for guidance. These heroes are captured in the form of folklore and myths, as seen, for example, in the story of Racheltjie de Beer, a young girl who sacrificed her own life to save the life of her brother on a cold winter night in 1843 during one of the treks; or the story of Amakeia, a Xhosa servant girl who died in an attempt to protect the little white boy she was raising during the Sixth Xhosa War (1834–6). Likewise, the journey of the Voortrekkers and their leaders bear many similarities to the hero narrative described above. The Great Trek (1835–45), a migration of approximately 25,000 Afrikaners from the Cape colonies to the interior of South Africa was a journey inspired by a “very definite spirit and intention” with lasting and widespread consequences (Schwenke and Grobler 2013: 116; TheartPeddle 2007: 3). In order to survive the strenuous and unpredictable journey, the Voortrekkers would rely on hero-­leaders to guide them to victory. In 1949, a monument was inaugurated in Pretoria commemorating the centenary anniversary of the Great Trek (see Fig. 12.2, middle). According to van Niekerk (1954: foreword), “the Monument will arouse the pride of belonging to a nation of heroes who saw the Great Trek through; it will arouse and strengthen a love for the country for those whose sake so much was sacrificed; and it will strengthen the faith in God whom the people trust.” The Voortrekker Monument was the first of its kind in South Africa, commemorating all the (fallen) heroes (Afrikaans Voortrekkers) and events from the Great Trek in its entirety, in the hope of conscious nation-­building. It is a symbol of the formation of the “Afrikaner people,” a tribute to the Voortrekkers, and a visible symbol of the omnipresence of God. Central myths associated with the monument include the

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Figure 12.2 (collage)

Left: Voortrekker Mother and Children (1938), Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Artist: Anton van Wouw. Photograph by the author (2018). Middle: Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Photograph by the author, 2018. Right: Stained-­glass window (mid-1920s), Dutch Reformed Church, Carolina. Artist: unknown. Photograph courtesy of Ernest Raath (2018). belief that the Afrikaner community,10 like the Israelites, are God’s chosen people. The twenty-­seven-panel frieze in the Hall of Heroes, which was largely designed to pay tribute to male leaders of the Trek, remarkably acknowledges the prominent and active role that the women played during armed conflict. Interestingly, the guide of the Voortrekkers is represented by the bronze statue of a mother and two children at the entrance of the Voortrekker Monument (Fig. 12.2, left and middle), made by South African artist Anton van Wouw. The Voortrekker woman embodies the roots of Western civilization in Africa (Duffey 2006: 36) and appears “static, sealed, contained and frozen in time, dutifully performing her circumscribed roles and posing no threat to the Afrikaner patriarchal status quo” (Do Rego 2018: n.p.). This volksmoeder (mother of a nation) symbolizes the faith of a nation and serves as a reminder of the hero’s strength and endurance through God’s grace in a time of need.11 In her analysis “The monstrous Feminine: Minette Vari’s Chimera (White Edition) (2001) and the Voortrekker Monument,” Do Rego (2018: n.p.) illustrates that “the volksmoeder construct overlapped with concurrent British notions of ideal womanhood, which assigned women the role of ‘Angel in the House.’ ” She goes on to state that these “representations ultimately underpin the volksmoeder ideology, which above all exalts duty and subservience to God, one’s husband, one’s household and one’s country,” which essentially enforces a patriarchal construct and supports the ideals of the Afrikaner people. The Voortrekker woman would essentially become synonymous with notions of courage, patriotism, and heroism (Do Rego 2018), and her image

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would conceptually resemble the role of an angel. This argument is supported by Kriel’s citation of former South African Defence. Force member Johan Raath’s feminized Michael pendant, assigning Michael the role of “our Lady Queen of Angels,” who should “Defend us in combat” (see Chapter 11). Despite my earlier claim that the Protestant and Reformed churches in South Africa do not rely on stained-­glass imagery in their churches, I have discovered an example at the Dutch Reformed Church, Carolina (Fig. 12.2, right), Mpumalanga, of a stained-­ glass window representing Voortrekker women in a Voortrekker camp enclosed by two nameless angels offering protection from above. The stained-­glass window, installed around the mid-1920s, depicts events in a Voortrekker camp during the Second AngloBoer War (1899–1902). The significance of this work is twofold. On the one hand, the architect of the church hall in which the work is housed is none other than Gerard Moerdijk, the same architect responsible for the erection of the Voortrekker Monument itself; on the other hand, the two nameless angels offering protection and holding a laurel wreath as a sure sign of victory signify the visible presence of a cult of angels in the Afrikaner community, as alluded to in Kriel’s chapter. Even though not directly associated with Michael, the angels adopted in the Afrikaner Voortrekker communities seem to have been influenced by European, especially British, tendencies. The connections between the women (volksmoeders) and the role of an angel-­protector and hero-­leader become unambiguous. There are various conceptual and visual similarities and contrasts between the volksmoeder and the depiction of the Archangel Michael at the Volkerschlachtdenkmal, a monument commemorating the centenary anniversary of the Battle of the Nations (Leipzig, 1813), which focuses on Germany. Similar to the purpose of the Voortrekker Monument, the Volkerschlachtdenkmal was erected in honor of fallen heroes, serving to preserve and sustain the spirit of war and to remember the deeds and suffering of the fathers of the German nation (A.H.F. 1913: 361–3). Dressed in battle armor in a stoic and heroic position, an enormous statue of the Archangel Michael is placed at the entrance of the monument. The similarities of not only the ideologies and myths entrenched in the Volkerschlachtdenkmal and the Voortrekker Monument, but also the visual absence yet mythological presence of the Archangel Michael at the Voortrekker Monument and in the Voortrekker stained-­glass window are unmistakable. The Great Trek is comparable to Moses’ flight and journey through the desert. Similar to the Israelites facing various trials, the Voortrekkers too were confronted with horrific setbacks, such as the Zulu attack at Bloukraans, known as the Weenen Massacre,12 but with God’s grace overcame apparent impending demise. Both nations entered unknown territory, fleeing from an adversary. Yet, through their faith, the Israelites, led by an angel (assumed to be Michael), and the Voortrekkers, supported by the women—the angels of the house—God’s light led the way and protected them against danger. Even though the central heroes are different, the notion of a chosen people materializes comparably in the national monuments of Germany and South Africa. The notable difference between the two monuments lies in the depiction of a heroic male figure, compared to a somewhat feeble and worn-­down female figure. The clearly identifiable Michael appears steadfast and ready for battle, while the Voortrekker

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woman seems tired and defeated, but a hero nonetheless. As argued by Gilhus in Chapter  2, the role of angels can be observed to shift “from divine messengers and mighty male warriors to kind female helpers,” as is the case with the Voortrekker woman. God’s power and support appeared to the Israelites in the form of the Archangel Michael, whereas for the Voortrekkers the metaphysical support came in the form of the women on the Trek. Their strength lay not in their physical appearance but instead in their endurance and resilience. The women played a particularly important role during the Trek, where they fought beside the men while remaining dutiful wives, cooking, cleaning, giving birth on ox-­wagons, and raising children in concentration camps, as seen on the historical frieze in the Heroes’ hall of the Voortrekker Monument (described above). The Afrikaners’ defeat of and perceived superiority to other African cultures is confirmed in their victories portrayed throughout the frieze. The mythical depiction of a hero-­leader was just as vital for the Voortrekkers as it was for the Israelites, to ensure safe travel and hope for a better future. The belief was that the Voortrekker Monument would survive for centuries, eternalizing Afrikaner culture and values. The notion of (female) angelic protection and Afrikaner determination and victory, as a nation responsible for creating civilization, is further enhanced in the final panel of the Voortrekker tapestry (1952) (see Fig.  12.3, left) in the Cenotaph hall of the Voortrekker Monument. The last of fifteen panels, created by H. Rossouw, is a symbolic summary of the entire Voortrekker narrative, specifically designed to portray the role of women during the Great Trek.13 The effeminate angel, overshadowed by both a rainbow (symbolizing hope and renewed life) and rapturing clouds of polluted air (symbolizing industrialization, civilization, and progress, as well as new problems and chaos), on the right of the tapestry is a visible marker, once again, of the cult of angels noticeable in the Afrikaner

Figure 12.3 (collage)

Left: Simboliese Samevatting, tapestry 81.3 × c. 200 cm. (1952). Symbolic summary of the Voortrekker Great Trek Journey, Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Artist: H. Rossouw. Photograph by the author (2018). Right: The Church of the Vow (Covenant), Pietermaritzburg. Photograph by the author (2018).

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communities. Even though the tapestry does not specifically portray Michael, the mythological hero narrative and angelic influence is emphasized through the depiction of an angel, showcasing the Voortrekkers’ reliance on myths, heroes, and angels to boost morale. As Felton (2012: 107) argues, “in every case, a young warrior-­god who represents harmony and order as well as nationhood goes forth to battle a ‘chaos-­monster’ that threatens the world order. In the aftermath of such apocalyptic confrontation, civilizations emerge, prosper, and flourish, and humanity takes its rightful place as master of the Earth.” The symmetrically divided panel shows the dragon (Ungeheuer or “chaos-­monster”) in front of the Dragensberg (literally translated as “dragon-­mountain”) mountain range in subdued, dark colors alluding to chaos and turbulence, not quite rooted in the past, towards the left; and a “civilized,” sunny cityscape with the Union Buildings on the right, foregrounded by the goddess Nike, who resembles a winged angel holding a palm branch and laurel wreath indicating victory. Similar to the angels on the Voortrekker stained-­ glass window in Carolina, the goddess Nike, represented on the tapestry, enhances the sacred role portrayed by the Voortrekker women, ensuring her victory and conveying “the power of ‘civilization’ over untamed natural forces” (Do Rego 2018: n.p.). The central image alludes to the urmeer (water-­chaos), indicating the trials that Voortrekkers had to endure in order to establish “civilization,” enhanced by the depiction of Zulu shields suppressed by an anchor of hope that rests on an open Bible, which in itself confirms the triumph of Afrikaner morale over native adversaries. The Voortrekkers’ faith and trust in God is depicted by the open Bible, while God’s favor for his “chosen nation” is represented through the flourishing Proteas (national flower) and corn in the right-­bottom corner, and the white dove and rainbow on the right-­ hand side. The Voortrekkers’ commitment is further stressed by the gable of the Geloftekerk (The Vow Church)14 (Fig. 12.3, right), a Dutch Reformed church erected in Pietermaritzburg in 1840,15 which resembles an inverted anchor. The faith in an unwavering God, rationalized through the depiction of heroes, is engrained in the collective subconscious of the Afrikaner community and is still visible in contemporary national pride. It is possible to argue that the myth of a hero narrative is embedded in the cultural existence of the Afrikaner identity and therefore forms an integral part of South African society. Such imagined communities, as described by McClintock (1991: 104), are established in order to impose notions of shared experiences, beliefs, and identities, and thus unite Afrikaner society. The way to victory is led by the Voortrekker women on the left, holding flaming torches, alluding to fire and flames and a source of light. This notion is further emphasized by the wooden ox-­wagon wheel, alluding to the Voortrekker Hou Koers (hold course) youth culture movement emblem, which also depicts an ox-­wagon wheel with a flaming torch, suggesting the mythological eternal flame carried by the hero. This symbol, bearing reference to the Archangel Michael’s flaming sword, is reflected in the “eternal” flame16 in the Heroes’ hall of the Voortrekker Monument. The ephemeral qualities of flames and fire, similarly to those of water and blood, encapsulate mythological connotations of rebirth (Stander 2000: 51–2). The red iron band encapsulating the wheel on the tapestry is symbolic of the bloodshed that the Voortrekkers endured and alludes to the blood of Christ yielding resurrecting powers. Prior to Christ’s symbolic and sacrificial use of blood,17 the Old Testament Moses

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narrative refers to the first Passover, where after Michael saves the Israelites from the Angel of Death, God demands a ritualistic festival (Exod. 12). It is then possible to infer that Michael’s fiery sword is a symbol of light signifying a hero or a god who overcame the dragon (Ungeheuer) or death. Evidently, the light source is the archetype of the transcendent deity or the transcendental state of understanding. Michael, as the hero, has attained this state by slaying the dragon, hence overcoming death. For the Voortrekkers, the flame symbolized “civilization.” An unblemished relationship between God and the Afrikaner nation becomes evident. The eternal light, signifying God’s grace, will continue to guide God’s chosen people.

The presence of the Ungeheuer motif at the Voortrekker Monument Following the initiation phase, which could be said to be the Voortrekkers’ departure from the Cape colonies and journey to the interior of South Africa, the separation phase requires the hero to cross the threshold from one world into another and overcome various trials. This event is often represented by the devouring of the hero by an Ungeheuer. Michael faced the dragon (Satan and death), while the Afrikaans Voortrekkers faced, amongst others, the Swart Gevaar (Black Danger) in the form of battles against indigenous communities, symbolizing death. While battling the Ungeheuer, the hero undergoes some form of transformation. Due to his transcendental enlightenment, he is reborn with renewed strength and confidence. Michael’s defeat of death allows for a new, resurrected life for all humans, and the Voortrekkers’ victories symbolize renewed strength and hope for the Afrikaner nation.

Figure 12.4 (collage)

Left: Buffalo head above the entrance of the Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Artist: Hennie Potgieter. Photograph by the author (2018). Right: The Assegaai gate, Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria. Photograph by the author (2018).

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The “devouring” motif is diversely represented, but most often depicted as a “big fish,” a dolphin,18 a whale, a sea monster, or a dragon, along with the serpent and snake (Bronswijk 1987: 34; Ferguson 1966: 26; Steffen 1963: 30). Satan from Christianity and Semjaza from Judaism connotes “the dragon and his angels” (Rev. 12:7-9) and the “old serpent” (Rev. 20:2). The Archangel Michael clinched victory after defeating the serpent-­dragon. The serpent, despite negative connotations, was also a symbol of wisdom.19 By defeating the Ungeheuer, new wisdom is attained and shared with humankind. The Ungeheuer motif is further developed by its mythical representation of the sea20 and historical links to an urmeer (water-­chaos), emphasizing the beginning and the end of all life cycles (Forstner 1961: 89–96). The Voortrekker Monument is surrounded by a zigzag pattern symbolizing water and hence fertility and prosperity envisioned for the Afrikaner nation, as well as its defeat of turbulence and chaos in the battles which it fought. It crossed metaphysical boundaries, lifting itself to a transcendental and sublime position as God’s chosen people. The Ungeheuer is furthermore depicted at the Voortrekker Monument in the form of a buffalo head (Fig. 12.4, left) and four black wildebeest (Fig. 12.2, middle) retreating from the mother and children statue. The buffalo, one of South Africa’s “Big Five,” is considered the most dangerous defender in the South African animal kingdom. The symbol conceivably represents the Afrikaner nation’s defense against outsider influences threatening their own cultural environment. Its placement above the entrance indicates that the Afrikaners will overcome any dangers they might face. Similarly, the wildebeest symbolize the dangers against which the mother protects her children, and therefore against everything that threatens the Afrikaner nation (TheartPeddle 2007). The retreat of the wildebeest is indicative of the victories the Voortrekkers have achieved after facing the Ungeheuer. Michael’s defeat of the dragon (Ungeheuer) is historically symbolized through the depiction of a spear. Correspondingly, the iron gate, leading to the entrance of the Voortrekker Monument, is cast in the form of assegaais (Zulu spears; Fig. 12.4, right). Once again, Afrikaner victory over the Zulu king uDingane, who attempted to block the progress of the Voortrekkers into the South African interior, is implied. The spear that the enemy yielded, is now the spear that protects the Afrikaner nation from any external influence.

Conclusion This chapter has discussed the visible presence of Michael the Archangel in iconography found in certain Anglican churches of English settlers in South Africa. The examples of the Anglican Church stained-­glass windows have shown that a religious symbol is a “relic of past life, and its existence attests to what it indicates: it makes the past itself present again,” and renders it recognizable and valid in a new context (Gadamer 1989: 153). The British settlers actively ensured the presence of Michael the Archangel, in a South African context, through a literal depiction of him as an anchor of hope for salvation in their places and spaces of worship during a turbulent period in South African history. Furthermore, this chapter set out to advance the claim that visual representations of the Archangel Michael are absent in the Afrikaner/Voortrekker communities of the

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nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Instead, it became clear that even though Michael is physically absent in the selected Voortrekker semiology, a distinct cult of (female) angels is noticeable in Afrikaner communities. I have shown that even though international influences are more prominent in English culture than in the Afrikaner one, the Afrikaner community has distinct references to mythological angels and heroes, who guide and protect the chosen nation of God. Michael is conspicuously absent in the Voortrekker Monument but is metaphysically represented in the form of angels and hero-­leaders, who often appear in the form of the Voortrekker women or volksmoeders. Even though the two opposing denomination dyads of Christian faith (Catholic– Anglican and Protestant–Reformed) are contrasting in the visual presence and absence of Michael in South Africa, they both seem to rely on mythical representations as driving forces in order to attain a transcendental understanding of the socio-­cultural and political context of their time. Campbell’s monomyth of the hero and concept of the Ungeheuer can be seen as transforming a historical hero figure into a mythical hero figure. As such, it has become clear that South African people have in various ways relied on myths and hero-­leaders in order to face and conquer their respective Ungeheuer and continue to do so in order to propagate their faith in a higher power that offers protection and ensures salvation and victory.

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The Archangel Michael in Limpopo: The Sculptor Jackson Hlungwani and the Angel-Star of the Ngoma Lungundu Epic Raita Steyn1

Introduction Limpopo is a province of the Republic of South Africa in the north-­eastern corner of the country.2 It is a land of fables, legends, an old history, and a very rich cultural heritage, the home to many old homelands such as Venda, Gazankulu, and Lebowa. In Limpopo itself, Mapungubwe, now a World Heritage Site, was a kingdom which reached its zenith in the twelfth century (Le Roux 2003: 53, 100; Summers 1971: 100; Parfitt 2008: 228). Gold was mined and traded with other parts of the world, even as far as China (Huffman 1992: 324–6). Some golden works of art have survived, showing the richness of this civilization (see Fig. 13.1). Makapansgat is a much older archaeological site in Limpopo, where fossils and objects were found from people living there more than 100,000 years ago (Rayner, Moon, and Masters 1993: 219–31). The Limpopo peoples consist of several ethnic groups, sharing a common past and today living in harmony though speaking different languages.3 Connected to the Limpopo cultures are the Venda and Lemba peoples’ legends and traditions, who remember their heroic passage from North-East Africa to the “promised land of Limpopo” in their epic, the Ngoma Lungundu (“the drum of the ancestors”). The Ngoma Lungundu, a sacred Venda object similar to the Ark of the Covenant, was carried for them by the Lemba priestly clan to Limpopo (Le Roux 2003: 155–8, 290; Bloomhill 1960: 165). It is also in Venda that the South African Tsonga-Shangaan artist, preacher, visionary, and traditional healer Jackson Hlungwani was born. There, he constructed an open-­air site, his own “New Jerusalem.” Against this background, this chapter will highlight the position of the Archangel Michael in Hlungwani’s work, focusing on two major aspects: first, the artist’s famous sculpture, Michael Star; and second, a Michaelic interpretation of the Angel-Star in the Ngoma Lungundu. In order to achieve these goals, due attention will also be paid to the context of Zionism and Ethiopianism, in which Hlungwani worked, as well as to the artist’s own African metaphysical and prophetical Christianity.4

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Figure 13.1  The Golden Rhino from Mapungubwe. Photograph courtesy of the University of Pretoria Museums: Department of UP Arts.

Jackson Hlungwani: sculptor and priest To understand Jackson Hlungwani (see Fig.  13.2) and his artworks,5 one needs to consider his background. Jackson Hlungwani (1923–2010) was born to a Tsonga family in Mashampa Village in Venda6 but was later forced to move to Gazankulu due to the Apartheid Act of 1948 (Hayashida 2000: 70).7 In Tsonga tradition, a newborn baby is given the name of one of his ancestors.8 Hlungwani’s immediate contact with his ancestors was the inheritance of his grandfather’s name, Bhandi Pavalala, which is believed to be a sacred Tsonga/Shangaan name of the gods. Hlungwani’s grandfather died a week before he was born, and the grandfather was believed to have been reborn in his grandson. In the Zionist context, Cavallo (2013: 12–13) connects the angels with ancestors and states, so that when ancestors share the same name with their relatives, they “are part of a living individual.” In fact, among the Zionists, Cavallo (2013: 12) says that “people often speak about angels as being a constant presence in their lives that helps and guides,” and also that “angels always channel messages through dreams, visions or simple voice-­guide[s].” Hlungwani had no formal art training and was taught the Tsonga traditions by his father (e.g., carpentry and woodcarving techniques). From 1941 to 1944, he worked in Johannesburg, but he lost a finger in a work-­related accident and returned home to find “inner” healing (Hayashida 2000: 71; Younge 1988: 85). In 1944, Hlungwani joined the Zionist Christian Church (ZCC),9 and two years later was ordained as a priest. Years later, in 1978, Hlungwani broke away from the Zionist Church and, together with his followers, built his own church (Nettleton 2009: 67). Various Zionist independent churches developed in southern Africa stemming from the Christian Apostolic Church, which was founded by John Alexander Dowie in the United States in 1896.10 Missionaries went to South Africa in 1904 to proselytize (Oosthuizen 1987), which resulted in the birth of Christian Zionism in South Africa. The Zionist Church only grew after the arrival of the Pentecostal John G. Lake (formally

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Figure 13.2  Jackson Hlungwani. Photograph courtesy of Merwelene van der Merwe.

also a Zionist) in 1908, who continued the missionary work and practices popular in African religions, especially the use of “faith healing” (see also below). Many of Lake’s converts were amongst the former Zionists and took on the new faith of the Apostolic Faith Mission (AFM), making Lake “instrumental in spreading this fusion of Zionism/ Pentecostalism that is unique to southern Africa” (Morton 2012: 98). West suggests that the “Zionist-­type” churches in South Africa are characterized by “faith-­healing, the presence of prophets, use of drums, dancing and spirit possession during services, insistence on river baptism by immersion, holy communion services at night only, and [the] wearing of special uniforms” (West 1975: 19). Zionism has also been connected—to a certain degree—with Ethiopianism. It has been argued that the division between the two churches, Zionist and Ethiopian, is not clear, with some Zionist churches described as “Ethiopian-­type” Zionists (West 1975: 19; Millard 1995: 108; Sundkler and Steed 2000: 426, 835). Hlungwani’s belief reflected many characteristics of Zionism, as defined by West, in his standard work on African churches in Soweto, but there is more to it. Hlungwani’s “encounter” with Satan, probably c. 1978, was the beginning of his lifetime spiritual

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change (Schneider 1989a: 59). Hlungwani’s own metaphysical experiences started in 1978, while he was working on an irrigation scheme near the town of Louis Trichardt (Schneider 1989: 11), and “by late 1980 Hlungwani was openly pouring scorn on the Zionist Christian Church under Bishop Lekhanyane” (Nettleton 2009: 67). He believed he was shot with a bow by Satan in both legs and managed to take out one arrow, while the other arrow became a snake, penetrating his leg and leaving a permanent abscess. As he could no longer endure the sores on his leg, he contemplated ending his life by drinking poisonous sap. On the evening before his contemplated suicide, Christ appeared in a theophany to Jackson and rescued him. In his vision, Christ, accompanied by two men (angels?),11 gave him three promises: First, he would be healed; second, he would serve God all his life; and third, he would see “God pass by him.” Indeed, in his vision Hlungwani saw a part of God (His legs) pass by. God’s legs, moving above the ground, were adorned with eggs (Coetzee 1996: 86; Hayashida 2000: 72; Schneider 1989a: 59–60). This vision was the inspiration for Hlungwani’s unusual sculpture of God’s Leg with Eggs (Abrahams 1989: 16).

Jackson Hlungwani builds his New Jerusalem Hlungwani’s vision of a New Jerusalem is shaped by his unique African Christian theological teachings, voiced through his wooden sculptures, which form part of a rural home for “God and Christ”12 to dwell in with His people for eternity. It is through this vision and his artworks that Hlungwani prophesized the coming of an Apocalypse, which would result in man’s salvation, an ultimate victory over evil. In around 1980, Jackson Hlungwani built his New Jerusalem: “God told me to go to Mbhokota and build Jerusalem,” Hlungwani revealed to Michael Markovitz (1989). He built his church as part of a modification of an older structure, a kind of labyrinth made from stones, high on the hill in Mbhokota. Hlungwani named this church in New Jerusalem Yesu Galeliya One Aposto in Sanyoni Alt and Omega (Shangaan for “Jesus of Galilea. One apostle in Zion. Alpha and Omega”). According to Hlungwani, the old world “has come to an end in 1984” and the New World (or New Jerusalem) appeared in 1985, after “Satan has been thrown in the Pit” (Rev. 20:3; Schneider 1989a: 62). A rocky labyrinthine path took visitors to Hlungwani’s New Jerusalem site (see Fig.  13.3), situated on top of the ancient sacred Venda stonewalls, similar to those hundreds of years old that were preserved for kings and chiefs (Hayashida 2000: 71; Nettleton 2009: 54; Le Roux 2003: 47–8). The striking similarity of the desolate Venda structures to the buildings at Great Zimbabwe (Summers 1971: 117, 168, 171–3) and the ruins of the Shona and Lemba fortified structures and other dwellings (Summers 1971: 117, 168, 171–3; Le Roux 2003: 44–57) places the New City of Jackson Hlungwani in the historical and religious context of the old Limpopo, Lemba, and Zimbabwe cultures (Summers 1971: 15–40; Nettleton 2009: 54–5, 57). The sculptor built his New Jerusalem as a unit of the existing village of Mbhokota. There were two altars, entrance gates, a church, offices, and other dwellings, such as the Hlungwani family’s living quarters. It was there that the artist worked on his new creations.13

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Figure 13.3 (collage)  Inside the New Jerusalem. Photograph courtesy of Peter Rich.

Michael Star Angels played an important role in Hlungwani’s sculpture and theology, as they did in African mythology (Knappert 1990: 26–7, 130–1, 149–50; Abrahams: 1989: 14). Hlungwani sculpted the Archangels Gabriel and Michael. In his artwork and theological thinking, Hlungwani gave priority to Gabriel, not to Michael. The reasons which he himself gives define his gabrielic angelical vision, and in doing so, underline the differences with Michael. Some figures in the top panel of his early Crucifix (I), made in the 1960s, “may well be God and Gabriel,” and the artist himself said that God’s beard was longer than that of Gabriel, who was “God’s first born,” Christ being His lastborn (Becker 1989: 23, n. 4). Burnett (1989: 35–7) analyzed seven of the artist’s “Gabriels,”

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referring to the gravitas and statements of disassociation, but also to the notion of the common Christian acceptance of angelic presence: “light, winged, ascendent and blazing.” Each Gabriel has its differences, “representing something of both his [Hlungwani’s] enduring sensibility and his gift for variety.” Burnett also accentuates the “returning idea of Gabriel as the angel of the logos,” and describes Gabriel himself “as ruler of the Moon and all beneath it,” a description he found in Avicenna (Burnett 1989: 37, n. 1; Wilson 1980: 58).14 The fact that Jackson Hlungwani created a multitude of holy beings in wood (Dietrich 1991: 70–4), such as a large crucifix, several Christ and multiple Gabriel figures, unnamed angels, stars and fish, and biblical figures, but only one Michael (the Michael Star), has surprised commentators, who interviewed the artist about this issue. During his interview with Lesley Spiro (1992: 72), he referred to Rev. 18:22 (with the Archangel Michael), saying that Michael Star was “representative of the ‘New Country.’ ” In an essay based on several interviews with the artist and written by Schneider (1989: 12, nn. 1 and 3), we read that as a great lover of psalms and Hebrew wisdom, Hlungwani called upon his neighbors to convert: “He proclaims in wood and stone the emerging new world of peace and harmony, convinced as he is that the apocalyptic ‘dragon, that ancient serpent who is the devil or Satan,’ has already been ‘thrown into the pit to deceive the nations no more.’ ” The priest Jackson knew his Bible well; Schneider reports that during one conversation they had, the artist “made no less than 37 references to specific passages, in the form of verbatim quotations.” Michael Star was part of a project defined in correspondence (November 21, 1989) between Christopher Till, the then director of the Johannesburg Art Gallery, and Ricky Burnett, Hlungwani’s agent, as “understood as presenting a permanent ‘monument’ to his evangelical mission and to his ‘new country philosophy’ ” (Spiro 1991: 1). Burnett was unaware of “any specific genesis for the Michael Star.”15 Some other sculptures, namely Altar of God (with an Angel Gabriel), God, Metal Cross, Fish, Crucifix, God and Christ, and Solar Arc, also belonged—says Spiro—to the same ideology, where Michael Star is a representation of the “New Country.” We have already seen that one of the dominant features of Hlungwani’s vision of his “New Jerusalem” was the creation of an independent African Church which would echo the wish to “Africanize” Christianity and represent a new cultural and spiritual phenomenon through his art. Concerning the wooden sculpture of Jackson Hlungwani, Michael Star (see Fig. 13.4), dating from 1989, it is currently in the Johannesburg Art Gallery Collection. The vertical figure is a life-­size wooden sculpture, 1.79 m tall and 1.22 m wide, and stands on a natural unworked tree log as its base (41.5 cm × 81 cm). The sculpture has four outstretched swords in the form of a cross. These swords of Michael Star can be associated with the general image of the “drawn sword” of the Archangel Michael—the sword being the symbol of a warrior. These swords could also represent Michael’s arms. The surface of the swords has a smooth texture. Michael Star has two protuberant eyes—one on each side of his head—and another sword (or pike) rising from the subject’s head. Together they form a five-­pointed star, that is, the Star of Solomon, hence the name “Michael Star.” The “body” of Michael Star continues into one solid wooden leg. The side of the leg is adorned with unusual carved shapes and forms, which may symbolize Hlungwani’s own injured leg with sores.

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Figure 13.4 (collage)  Michael Star, front and top view of a five-­pointed star. Photo by the author, courtesy of the Johannesburg Art Gallery.

The analysis of the references and commentaries given above leads us to three different levels, which will be analyzed below, namely religion, South African apartheid and liberation politics, and Hlungwani’s unique combination of political and religious Africanism, which the sculptor unites in his own original vision. Revelation 12:7-9 states that it is Michael who commands the Army of God and casts out the great dragon, called the devil, or Satan. Chapter 18, to which Hlungwani himself refers, starts with John’s vision of an angel descending from Heaven, who announces that Babylon has fallen and tells of how the people mourn for her. Babylon most probably refers to apartheid South Africa. Revelation 19:1-21 concerns the Second Coming of Christ, an ultimate victory over death and—in Hlungwani’s mind—over the “Old” country, once again apartheid South Africa. In Chapter 19, John sees Christ on a white horse: “And the armies in heaven, clothed in fine linen, white and clean, followed Him on white horses” (Rev. 19:14). Then, in Chapter 20, John sees an angel binding Satan and locking him in a bottomless pit for a thousand years—a picture very dear to Hlungwani (Schneider 1989: 12; Rich 1989: 30)—ending with the vision of the Great White Throne of Judgment. John describes the Glory of New Jerusalem when it comes down from Heaven to Earth in Chapter 21. In the South African political mindset, in the context of New Jerusalem (“a new heaven and a new earth”), God will judge the “Old” South African country, while Michael is the representative of the “New Country” and leads the other angels to fight against evil (cf. Spiro 1992: 72). Finally, in Chapter 22, an angel shows John the River of Life and warns him that God’s judgment is nearing. However, at the end of the chapter, the warnings of punishment make way for the promise that Christ is coming soon, which is understood by Hlungwani as the fall of apartheid and the coming of a new dawn (Schneider 1989: 12; Rich 1989: 30). Hlungwani was “a believer, not only in his wayward and Christian-­derived metaphysics, but also a believer in himself and the redemptive power of his work” (Burnett 2010). He saw himself as a hero figure in his community, being strong or brave and struggling with political, religious, and social issues. As a mediator, he used Michael Star among other sculptures as a tool to communicate between God and the believers.

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In accordance with the role of the Archangel Michael as the one who bridges the earthly life and the heavenly, in other words, the known with the unknown or the abstract, Hlungwani himself underlined his interaction between his two worlds: the one we live in, that is, the concrete one, and the other one, associated with the metaphysical, the abstract. After reading some verses from a religious text in Xitsonga and mentioning a holy Gazankulu Trinity in his interview with Markovitz (1989), he went as far as to state, “Number one is God. Number two is Christ. Number three is Jackson.”

The Archangel Michael in the Limpopo/Zimbabwean cosmology and mythology, and the Lemba/Venda Ngoma Lungundu The image of the victory of Michael over Satan is not unique to Hlungwani’s African theology. Indeed, the idea of the fight between Michael and the dragon, described in Rev. 12:7-12, is also found in the mythology of the Kore-Kore Shona people of Zimbabwe, which belongs to the broad Limpopo culture of the Shona, Venda, and Lemba (The Southern Rhodesia Native Affairs Department Annual, 21; cf. Von Sicard 1952: 60). The Kore-Kore believe that the stars are candles or torches carried by the angels of light. Thus, they can find their way in the dark when fighting their war in heaven against the angels of darkness, who carry no candles. Whether such beliefs are purely indigenous or the result of contact with Christian missionaries does not alter the fact of the presence of the notion of star-­angels, which brings us to the Venda and Lemba’s epic of the Ngoma Lungundu. This epic is an orally transmitted heroic story of the origin of the Venda and Lemba, narrating how they traveled from North Africa to the northern Limpopo region in South Africa, being protected by the miraculous sacred drum Ngoma, a parallel to the Ark of the Covenant in the Kebra Nagast, which was taken from Jerusalem and brought to Axum.16 Here, in the Kebra Nagast (ch. 52; Budge 1932: 77), the famous fourteenth-­century Ethiopian national and religious epic, it was the Archangel Michael who protected the Ark of the Covenant and the people from the heat of the sun by spreading his wings like a cloud, while gliding them through the air to Ethiopia (ch. 52; Budge 1932: 77). This is also similar to the biblical episode in Exod. 13:21 and 14:19, where the “Angel of God” guides the Israelites out of Egypt to the Promised Land by a pillar of cloud and fire. The Lemba, on the other hand, were guided by a star sent by Mwari (“God” in the Limpopo languages), and together with the Ngoma they were led southwards to Limpopo. At night, the Ngoma was guarded by a flaming mythical pillar or protecting cloud (Le Roux 2010: 286–304; 2003: 155–8, 290; Bloomhill 1960: 165). One may therefore link the Lemba/Venda star and pillar of flame in the Ngoma Lungundu17 to the Archangel Michael as the protector of the Ark of the Covenant in the Kebra Nagast, who guided the Ethiopians, the Israelites, and the Lemba respectively to their Promised Lands. This is one of the most important elements used by Le Roux (2003: 155, 160, 276, 284, 285, 289, 290, 296) in her comparison of the Ngoma Lungundu with the Kebra Nagast, as well as between the Lemba/Venda epic and other early Israelite traditions (e.g., the Exodus from Egypt to Israel). Furthermore, Le Roux (2010: 298) also mentions

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that the “history of the ZCC is closely linked to a special star and the tradition of the Lemba people,” and that the Lemba tradition relates that they “lost the star in Zimbabwe (Mberengwa): from where the star moved straight and fell down at the present Moriah (not far from Polokwane; Limpopo Province, RSA).” A poem belonging to the Ngoma Lungundu epic cycle (though not in the epic itself) illustrates the similarity between Michael of the Ethiopian epic and the Venda/ Lemba one: Mount Mbelengwa of the Good People Whither hail we—Mulemba, children of Mambo!— Of Ngoma Lungundu the drum of the Lord! Strength of our nation we bore from the northland Chastened by fire and harried by men! Guarded by cloud and at night by a pillar of flame. . . . Mount Mbelengwa of the Good People Whither hail we! Mid clouds of thy flame and thy thunder Mwali, High Priest of Mambo, Was promised the fertile land. . . . And so through the wastes and the grasslands, Through vlei and o’er kopje, . . . Have we borne Thee, Ngoma Lungundu! Have we winged Thee o’er earth and clothed Thee in myst’ry, And at night in our forefather’s name We bow ’fore Thy pillar of flame.18

Finally, some words should be said about Michael in the Lemba tradition. The poem quoted above of the Ngoma Lungundu is strikingly similar to the description of how the Ark of the Covenant was carried and traveled in the Kebra Nagast. In this work (ch. 52; Budge 1932: 77) it was the Archangel Michael who “marched in front, and he spread out [his wings] . . . and upon the dry land he cut a path for them [the Ethiopians] and spreading himself out like a cloud over them he hid them from the fiery heat of the sun.” In chapter 55 (Budge 1932: 84), the wagons of the people of Ethiopia were raised above the water. They journeyed to the country of Ethiopia “by the might of heaven and of Michael the Archangel . . . Zion sent forth a light like that of the sun into the darkness wheresoever she came.” In the same chapter (Budge 1932: 83), “the wagons rose up” and the people of Egypt “saw Zion moving in the heavens like the sun.” Zion is the Tabernacle of the Law of God (ch. 55). In chapter 68 (Budge 1932: 113), again, Michael is with Zion. Similar to the description of the text of Ark of the Covenant in the Kebra Nagast, the poem describes how the Ngoma was lifted in the air (“winged”) and traveled, clothed in mystery, over water (vlei) and mountains (kopje), and how the Venda/Lemba peoples were “guarded by cloud and at night by a pillar of flame” and

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carried the Ngoma during their journey to the south, where they were “promised the fertile land.” Thus, while Michael is not mentioned by name in the Ngoma poem or in the epic itself, the Archangel’s functions find a strong echo in the Lemba traditions.19 In his introduction to the Ngoma Lungundu, ethnologist Van Warmelo (1940: 8–9), a specialist in the Limpopo peoples and culture, posed the question of whether Mudau, who recorded the epic from oral sources, might have changed the legend and embellished it with biblical stories, or that his informants might have done so. His conclusion was negative, since the informants, all old people, were not even Christians, and Mudau himself had little knowledge of the Bible and none of the Kebra Nagast (Budge 1932). Moreover, a long line of successive informants among the former generations could be established, while other elders were able to confirm the authenticity of Mudau’s version. Thus, while Michael is not named, his characteristics and attributes are undoubtedly present in the epic, as well as in the larger Limpopo tradition.

Conclusion This chapter has revealed the Archangel Michael’s connections to the Tsonga, Venda, and Lemba traditions by means of oral expressions and symbolic interpretations, and by referring to Jackson Hlungwani’s “New Jerusalem” and especially his Michael Star, the only sculpture he made of the Archangel. We briefly examined sculptor, priest, and visionary Jackson Hlungwani’s spiritual artworks in the context of African traditions, influences, or parallelisms, with some clarifying references to Zionism and Ethiopianism. Without knowledge of these beliefs (e.g., the Tsonga and Venda traditions) and African ideologies, it is impossible to define or even understand Hlungwani’s Africanism and metaphysics, including his reference to Michael. Hlungwani’s vision of a New Jerusalem, constructed on a sacred stone-­ walled site in Venda and modeled after his unique African Christian theology, was voiced through his sculptures. It was also through his wooden sculptures that Hlungwani prophesized the coming of an Apocalypse, which would result in man’s salvation, and finally an ultimate victory over evil. The role of the guiding star and flaming pillar of cloud in the epic Ngoma Lungundu has been analyzed in the context of similar and identical elements in the Kebra Nagast and the Old Testament referring to the Archangel Michael. We also referred to the religious beliefs of the Limpopo people, who were protected by the sacred drum and knew a Star as an Angel. Finally, we may suggest that Hlungwani, as a member of the Limpopo peoples and as a Zionist priest for several years, named his sculpture “Michael Star” because of his knowledge of the star that led the Ngoma Lungundu and the Lemba/Venda peoples to Limpopo.

Appendix: Some Thoughts on How I Came to Michael, or How He Came to Me David Tibet1

I am not an academic nor a linguist, but merely a curious and enthusiastic amateur who was led into the world of angelology, and then Coptology, by a series of serendipities and stumbles. My main work, since 1984, has been as a musician, primarily with my group Current 93, and as a painter and a writer. I would like to sketch here how I came to discover Michael—or how he discovered me—and how two dear friends and I made a song and a film out of the Coptic text on which I have been working for several years.

How I came to Michael It was Malaysia, M. R. James (1862–1936), and the ill-­starred Aleister Crowley (1875– 1947) who brought me to Michael. Born in Malaysia in 1960, at the age of ten I was sent to a terrifying and corrupt private school in northern England. One of the few consolations at that dire school was a teacher who would occasionally read the boys in the dormitory a ghost story at bedtime. One night he read “A School Story” by that great scholar M. R. James, primarily a mediævalist, but one with a great interest in many areas, including Christian apocrypha. I loved it so much that I immediately read all of his ghost stories and then looked for other material by him. Thus, I came across his wonderful The Apocryphal New Testament (James 1924), which gave me a great love for these fascinating and mysterious texts, and which would eventually inspire me to study Coptic. I now had a passion for the supernatural and apocryphal Christian texts, though it was difficult to access much of such material in the prurient confines of the school I was attending. When the school closed for the holidays, I went to Heathrow airport to fly back to Malaysia. I looked at the book carousels to find ghost stories or supernatural novels; but I was drawn to a paperback titled Diary of a Drug Fiend (Crowley 1922). I had already read—and been hugely moved by—Thomas De Quincey’s (1785–1859) Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821), and the similarity between the titles must have caught my eye. I saw that the author’s name was Aleister Crowley, and the back of the book said he had been described in the popular press as “the wickedest man in the world.” How could I resist?

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I loved this “diary” so much that I then looked for other works by him—difficult to access in Yorkshire in 1972 in any circumstance, especially in a public school where my “suspicious” mail was being opened by the headmaster after seeing two envelopes come for my attention, one with “International Order of Kabbalists” stamped on it, and the other with a return-­address label for “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” The situation wasn’t helped when I, head of the dormitory at the time, and the terrified youths under my care, saw two ghosts undulating lasciviously between the upright piano and the wall and reported this to the headmaster. However, the divinity master had taken a great liking to me and started buying me books by Crowley, as contradictory as that may appear—though he was High Anglican, so perhaps not as contradictory, on reflection, as it at first seemed. One of the books he purchased for me at my request was Magick in Theory and Practice (Crowley 1929). Crowley had noted, in the recommended reading list he gave in this book, the esoteric writings of John Dee (1527–1608/9), the mathematician, philosopher, and magician, who was an advisor to Queen Elizabeth I, as well as Francis Barrett’s (1774?–?) The Magus (1801), the only published work by this early nineteenth-­century occultist and spectacularly unsuccessful balloonist. Crowley was deeply interested in John Dee’s experiments in conversing with angels and left an account of his own attempts to do so in his The Vision and the Voice (Crowley 1911), on the basis of following Dee’s own prescriptions. I acquired these books, and they, too, would eventually lead me to this—our!—Sahidic Michael. The main source for the details of Dee’s intercourse with the angels was John Causabon’s A True and Faithful Relation of What Passed for Many Yeers between John Dee and Some Spirits (1659), published fifty years after Dee’s death. Dee, through the medium of his main scryer, Edward Kelly, believed that he had discovered the tongue spoken by the angels. Commonly known today as Enochian (Dee believed Enoch had been the last person with the knowledge to speak the angelic tongue), Dee himself called the language by such terms as “Angelical” or “the First Language of God-Christ” and believed that, as well as being the language spoken by angels, it was the language that Adam had used to name the animals. A True and Faithful Relation reproduced many of Dee’s accounts of his experiments and the fascinating discourses he had with the angels, as well as the Enochian script and the symbols they used to communicate with each other. Michael, as may be expected, is one of the central angels whom Dee invoked. These manuscripts and diaries of Dee were discovered after his death in a chest of drawers, and many of the papers had been used by a cook to line pie trays and as kindling—a curiously similar fate to some of the Nag Hammadi manuscripts not long after they were discovered. I became obsessed with A True and Faithful Relation and eventually purchased a first edition, to sit next to my first and second editions of The Magus. Causabon was not entirely sympathetic to Dee, describing him as “a Cabalistical man, up to his ears,” and went on to say: Some men come into the world with Cabalistical Brains; their heads are full of mysteries; they see nothing, they read nothing, but their brain is on work to pick somewhat out of it that is not ordinary, and out of the very A B C that children are taught, rather than fail, they will fetch all the secrets of God’s Wisdom; tell you how the world was created, how governed, and what will be the end of all things. Reason

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and sense that other men go by, they think the acorns that the old world fed upon; fools and children may be content with them, but they see things by another Light.

In reading Causabon’s words, one is reminded of similarly dismissive comments made of the doctrines popularly supposed to be promulgated by Gnostics. Although Francis Barrett’s masterpiece is not specifically about angels, he does spend a large part of The Magus discussing the nature of angel magic and how to invoke such entities, drawing from the classical tradition of grimoires. In any case, I spent much time looking into Dee and Barrett and considering their quest to speak to, and to invoke, angels—as real as rainbows to them both. The apocryphal texts in James’ The Apocryphal New Testament (1924) and Dee and Barrett’s emphasis on angels made me eager to learn Coptic, as I had been led—as a result of James’ book—to read, in an English translation of the original Coptic, the Nag Hammadi “Gospels” and to look deeper into the worlds of other Christianities, other possibilities. At the same time, I continued to look into the works of John Dee and Francis Barrett and to research grimoires, including contributing to the translation, from the French, of the infamous—and doubtless unworkable—grimoire known as Le Dragon Rouge (2011). To digress a moment from Michael, and turn to this remarkable volume, it does have my favorite editorial note ever in it. The Red Dragon gives the following instructions: Take a new earthenware pot, put in it a pound of red copper, with a half bottle of aqua fortis. Boil this for half an hour, after which you add three ounces of verdigris, and boil for one hour. Then add two and a half ounces of arsenic, and boil one hour, then put in three ounces of well pulverized oak bark, which you will let boil another half an hour, a potful of rose water, boil twelve minutes, then add three ounces of black of lampblack and let it boil until the composition is satisfactory. To see whether it is cooked enough, you dip a nail into it, and if the solution adheres, remove it. It will produce a pound and a half of good gold. If it does not adhere it is a proof that it is not cooked enough; the liquid can be used four times.

To this magical recipe, the nineteenth-­century editor Joshua A. Wentworth merely comments, “I think not.” My work on Michael—and on Coptic—really began when I started working on The Investiture of Michael. I had been led here by The Scholar and The Beast 666, with some help from Narnia and Middle Earth too, and an unhealthy interest in what is hidden and what is hiding. My researches into Coptic and angels continue, and I have also studied Akkadian and begun to learn Ugaritic and biblical Hebrew to find out how angels hide—and manifest—in those worlds and their fields and skies.

How Michael came to me I have been returning, whenever I find the time, to my edition of an apocryphal Christian text, held at the Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale (IFAO) in Cairo,

192

The Archangel Michael in Africa

written in the Sahidic dialect of Coptic. The manuscript (IFAO MONB) consists of eight pages of a text commonly referred to as The Investiture of the Holy Archangel Michael (see Müller 1962 and Chapter 6), of which I created a diplomatic edition for the thesis for my MA in Coptic Studies at MacQuarie University in 2009; this will soon be published by IFAO. I should emphasize that IFAO MONB is also very incomplete, in comparison with the two other Coptic witnesses to this text, of which the Sahidic M593 is complete, and the Fayumic M614 almost complete, with only its ending missing. The section which I have edited is essentially a conversation, held initially on the Mount of Olives and then on Thrake—or Thrace—Mountain, between Christ and, to quote Hugo Lundhaug’s translation of the beginning of M593 (as I mentioned previously, IFAO is fragmentary and lacks the beginning), “his disciples and his holy apostles on the Mount of Olives, having spoken them [the words Christ had spoken earlier in the text] concerning the creation of the heaven and the earth, and concerning the way in which he created Man after his likeness and his image, and concerning the way in which he invested Michael the Archangel on the twelfth of Hathor.” The dialogue is claimed to have been written by John the Evangelist. The main thrust of IFAO MONB, and indeed its parallels M593 and M614, is to describe why Christ invested Michael with the powers and responsibilities that he did, and what Michael does with those powers. What is Michael’s position? Christ says that of “All the angels I have created, and the Cherubim and the Seraphim and the Powers and the Authorities, it is Michael who is appointed over them all!” The angels themselves later address him as “the angel of mercy . . . our ruler . . . Michael the merciful, Michael the steward of the kingdoms of heaven.” What does Michael do? If the Father commands it, “Michael the Archangel calls each one of the angels and sends him to his task according to the order of the Living One.” And what is Michael’s task? It is to call each angel and send them from their abode in the Eons “to the earth with a compassionate task, commanding them to exercise understanding: ‘If you go to the world and you see mankind existing in their sins, do not be angry with them, nor be cruel to them, for the evil Mastēma is leading them astray, but take to yourselves the compassion of God and his forbearance.’ ”2 Later, Christ commands his twelve disciples to the Mountain of the Place of Thrake, where, whilst mourning the death of John the Baptist, he will tell them further mysteries of “the great sorrow that is to come” and the great paresia (freedom and boldness of speech) which Michael has been granted. Christ goes on to observe that Michael himself has a helper, whom he summons with his trumpet, Suriēl or Sousouriel, depending on whether dittography has occurred. In the other witnesses of The Investiture, this angel is called Uriel. He is described as “the angel of blessing . . . who causes hearts that are hardened to change.” I would like to mention briefly the angel Sou{sou}riel. In Crum’s Coptic Dictionary, he lists ⲥⲟⲩⲥⲟⲩ, a verb of uncertain meaning, that which may mean “to guide,” “to lead,” and, immediately below the former entry, the identically spelled noun ⲥⲟⲩⲥⲟⲩ (“point,” “atom,” “moment”). The likeliest possibility is that dittography has occurred with the initial syllable ⲥⲟⲩ; indeed, in M593 and M614 he is named Uriēl. It is also theoretically possible— though unlikely, given the prominence of Uriēl and Suriēl in such texts— that the scribe has misheard or misread the name of Uriēl the angel and confused it

Appendix

193

with an angelic name (not otherwise known!) derived from the verb ⲥⲟⲩⲥⲟⲩ, perhaps thinking of a meaning such as “God’s guide.” Suriēl (Hebrew for “God’s command”) is an archangel, sometimes confused with Uriēl, and who appears in various apocryphal and magical texts, including 1 Enoch. A lengthy passage follows, which abruptly ends IFAO MONB, discussing the various hells which are in the Æons of Darkness and the nature of the punishments therein, as well as the various heavens to which the righteous may go, described variously as the First to the Seventh Æon, or alternatively the First to Seventh Wall of Jerusalem.

How the song and film came to us My colleague and friend Andrew Liles and I had recently formed a new group, Nodding God. As part of my ongoing fascination with the figure of Michael and with Coptic apocryphal texts, we created a musical piece based on The Investiture of the Holy Archangel Michael. We then asked our filmmaker, Davide Pepe, to use the pages from IFAO MONB, as well as an Ethiopian Orthodox image of Michael which I have owned for many years, to create a film to accompany the song we wrote. The film and the song were premiered at Bergen, and you will find in this book a link to listen to, and watch, our interpretation. My comments on the song we made, and on how we made it, are at the end of this appendix. The music itself is also used, without the spoken text, in the film credits of In A Foreign Town (2018), based on the short story by the noted horror-author Thomas Ligotti. Hoping to keep on Michael’s side, I consulted the Key of Solomon, which informed me that one of the days and hours he ruled was Sunday 3 pm, and in Peter de Abano’s Heptameron he is also the Archangel of Sunday; so we started recording it on a Sunday, at 3 pm. We did, however, decide to make the track and the film eleven minutes and eleven seconds long, on the basis that his name in Hebrew, spelled MEM (40)-YOD (10)-KAPH (20)-ALEPH (1)-LAMED (30), is, through the Kabalistic technique of Gematria, numerically equal to 101, and then, through number reduction, 11. A question we had to take into account was “what was Michael’s musical note?” Unfortunately, the ancient authorities give no information on his note, although there is a plethora of New Age websites which seem to consider that every note is his. In the spirit of taking all notes to potentially be his, I whispered the phrase The Investiture of the Holy Archangel Michael into the microphone and then played a full octave chord, from C to C through a sampler, emphasizing the syllables MI-KAI-EL as the rhythm. All the musical sounds within this song are fundamentally generated from both this whispered phrase, and the word MICHAEL pronounced syllabically. Thus, Michael, I hope, is in this track both in the minutes and the seconds and the sounds. Rather than use my vocals, as we normally do, in the piece, we used a software program in which Andrew Liles fed the written text of the last section of The Investiture of Michael (IFAO MONB), and a voice was generated by the program—the angel in the machine, perhaps. The words we offered to the program were the song that Michael sings at the end of The Investiture, a hymn to the Holy Spirit, and a pæan of praise both

194

The Archangel Michael in Africa

to Christ and, it seems, to Michael himself, where he describes both Christ’s actions and his own: Behold! Michael came out from the Æons of Light, with twelve legions of angels, loaded down with every good thing, of which it is impossible to speak, singing a hymn to the Holy Spirit. “Rejoice, O righteous ones, through the good things of the Savior,” said Michael. “It is Jesus who summons us, amen! It is Michael who serves, amen! It is Jesus who prepares food for everyone, amen! It is Michael who prays for them, amen! It is Jesus who drinks, amen! It is Michael who pours, amen! It is Jesus who eats the bread, amen! It is Jesus who prepares everything, amen! It is Michael who petitions, amen! The king rejoices today, amen! Michael is gladdened with him, amen! Those who performed a little charity on the earth of the [feast-] day of Michael—Michael prays for them, and they are granted a long duration with the inhabitants of Heaven. Joy to you, O souls, amen! For behold, Michael has come to you, amen! With good things is he laden, amen! To those who will bestow mercy today he gives them, amen! For it is he who is the archangel, the guardian of life, amen! It is he who is the military leader of all the powers which belong to Heaven, amen!”

Notes Acknowledgments 1 Originally, members of our group also included Professor James Kapalo and Dr. Diego Malara, who for different reasons were unable to take part in this publication.

2  On the Category of Angels 1 “He rode on a cherub and flew; he was seen upon the wings of the wind” (2 Sam. 22:11; cf. Ps. 188:10). 2 In the Revelation of John, there are sixty-­seven occurrences of the term angelos. 3 Usener applied an evolutionistic framework, where Funktionsgötter replaced Augenblicksgötter. This framework is no longer fruitful. 4 “When someone starts receiving messages from the angels, the most economical interpretation from the orthodox perspective was to treat it not as divine favour, but demonic subterfuge” (Asprem 2016: 653). 5 The list of angels is only included in the long version of the Secret Book of John in Codex II and IV and is not included in the short version of the text in NHC III and Codex Berolinensis 8502. 6 According to Ellen Muehlberger, “those passages in the Old Testament that mentioned angels, but which Christians identified with Christ, continued to be a source of contention among Christian readers and inspired ever more complex practices of reading” (2013: 69). 7 In most accounts of Christian martyrs, angels are essential (Müller 1959: 3). 8 Cf. Mk 12:15: “For when they rise from the dead, they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (cf. Mt. 22:30; Lk. 20:34-36).

3  Michael: Persona and Cult among African Christians 1 Michael is also an important figure in Judaism and Islam, but the focus of this book is mainly on Christianity. 2 For the ideas about logos as angel developed in this paragraph, I would like to thank Karel Innemée. 3 Based on accounts given to this author during field research. 4 Interview, August 2017. 5 “Baptizing” in this context means the sprinkling of and showering in holy water. 6 As far as this author has been able to trace, however, Michael may have a role in other churches as well.

196

Notes

7 The Eternal Sacred Order of Cherubim and Seraphim Society, or simply the Cherubim and Seraphim, started as an Anglican prayer group in 1925 (Kustenbauder 2008). It was founded by Moses Orimolade Tunolashe (d. 1933), a Yoruba prophet, and Christiana Abiodun Akinsowon, an Anglican girl from the Lagos elite who had experienced visions and trances (Kustenbauder 2008: 5).

4  The Archangel Michael as Psychopomp in Christian Iconography in Egypt 1 One of the examples in the Christian tradition are the prayers for the dead known as the Commendatio Animae, in which God is asked for salvation for the soul of the deceased, referring to the salvation of figures from the Old Testament (Tkacz 1991: 488). 2 The judgment in the Egyptian netherworld is of an entirely different character from that of the Greek psychostasis, and the Christian Last Judgment is again of a different nature, but the use of the balance is a visual metaphor which is common to them. 3 The gems are in the Campbell Bonner magical gems database of the Szépművészeti Múzeum, Budapest (http://www2.szepmuveszeti.hu/talismans/visitatori_salutem) under numbers 426, 1677, 1032, and 420 respectively. 4 This text is roughly dated to the fifth or sixth century. 5 This term, derived from the Greek choros, is the technical term used for the transept-­like area in Coptic churches. 6 Representations dating back to the sixth century have been found in the form of small clay eulogiai, clay tokens which were distributed as pilgrims’ souvenirs (Rahmani 1993: 113–15; Shoemaker 2002: 108–9). 7 For an analysis of this scene, especially the element of the virgins with censers, see Innemée and Youssef 2007. 8 This painting was detached from an earlier painting underneath in 2006 and is now in the museum of the monastery. 9 The two angels with fans must be based on the Ethiopic Six Books narrative, which belongs to a separate tradition, the so-­called Bethlehem tradition. Here Gabriel and Michael appear at the bier with fans (Shoemaker 2002: 46, 384). 10 http://128.103.33.14/museum/exhibition/special/DeathExhibition/Panel3/pan31.html. The iconographical program of the paintings in the church shows a special devotion to the Archangels Michael and Gabriel (Gabelić 2009: 33–41). 11 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dormition_of_the_Virgin_Mary,_Byzantium,_ late_10th_century,_ivory_-_Museum_Schn%C3%BCtgen_-_Cologne,_Germany_-_ DSC00201.jpg. 12 This German iconographical term is used for a sequence of events represented in one continuous narrative image. 13 http://128.103.33.14/museum/exhibition/special/DeathExhibition/Panel3/Pan32.html; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dormition_de_la_Vierge.JPG. 14 http://art.thewalters.org/detail/8962/dormition-­of-the-­virgin/. 15 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Constantinople_Dormition_of_the_ Virgin.jpg. 16 For the complete text of the Liber Requiei, see Shoemaker 2002: 290–350. 17 It is also depicted on gem no. 420, mentioned in note 3 above.

Notes

197

18 British Museum Ms. Or. 635; Leroy 1964, Plate XXVII. This text became extremely important in Ethiopia due to the intense Mariological devotion of Emperor Zärʾa Yaʿəqob in the fifteenth century. The composition is known as Kidanä Məh.rät (Covenant of Mercy), a concept in Ethiopian theology encouraged/enforced by Zärʾa Yaʿəqob, which celebrates Christ’s promise to pardon all sinners who invoke the name of Our Lady Mary. The joined hands of Mary and Her Son is a deliberate gesture signifying the establishment of this Covenant of Mercy. Special thanks to Tania Tribe for this information. 19 Ms. Or. 18, fol. 7v, University Library, Frankfurt am Main; Marx and Neubauer 2007: 143, fig. 14. 20 For a more elaborate discussion and references to passages in the writings of Philo, see Hannah 1999: 77–92. 21 One of the best examples is the Legenda Aurea (“Golden Legend”), a collection of hagiographical legends partly based on apocrypha, composed by Jacobus de Voragine at the end of the thirteenth century—an influential source for medieval iconography. 22 PG 36, col. 624A–B; translation by Schaff and Wace 1894: 422. 23 Der Nercessian 1962a: 201–2. For the other manuscripts, see Anderson 1979: 180–1. 24 Der Nercessian 1962b: fig. 1. For this theme and further references, see Lucchesi 1970: col. 398–9. A third painting in this church which depicts Christ as an angel is the Divine Wisdom, as an illustration of Proverbs 9:1 (Poposka 2011: 71). 25 The text was probably composed in Greek but is only known from Coptic manuscripts (Charlesworth 1983). 26 http://ica.princeton.edu/images/princeton/ga16.63v.jpg. 27 http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10722121j/f106.image. 28 For instance, in the thirteenth-/fourteenth-­century icon in the Museo Nationale di San Matteo, Pisa; Weitzmann, Chatzidakis, and Radojčić 1980: 82, pl. 109. 29 Two examples are to be found in the Byzantine Museum in Athens and in the Klopedi monastery on Lesbos. 30 An example is a triptych by Anastasi al-Rumi (active 1832–71), now in the Coptic Museum; Van Moorsel 1991: 54, pl. G.1. 31 One of the icons in Haret Zuwayla is dated 1758/9; Guirguis 2008: 106, fig. 4.

5  On the Liturgical Memories of the Archangel Michael in the Coptic Church and Their Link with the Nile’s Rise: Some Reflections 1 Ross 1852: 74; Budge 1894: xxx; Lucius and Anrich 1904: 269; Lawson 1910: 45, 55; Maass 1910; Hill 1916; Hasluck 1926: 84–7; Simon 1948: 430; Lanczkowski 1956; Lassandro 1983; Mango 1984. 2 For a first introduction to the study of Michael’s cult in Coptic Egypt, see Van Esbroek 1991. 3 In the following lines, we will use the term “Coptic” in its cultural sense (that is, belonging to a Coptic milieu), irrespective of the language; we will use the expression “written in Coptic” to refer to the sources composed in this language. 4 In this chapter, we will always use the Latin (scientific) transcription of the Arabic names for the Coptic months, given that we deal mostly with Arabic sources.

198

Notes

5 Here is the Arabic text: ‫وعملوا التذكارات والصدقات باسمه في كل اثنى عشر يوم من الشهر النه يسأل‬ ‫الرب جل اسمه في ثمار وطلوع النيل ومزاج الهواء‬. At the beginning of the text, we accept the variant of Ms. B ‫ وعملوا‬instead of the one adopted by the editor (‫)وعملت لهم‬. 6 Budge 1894: xv ff. We leave to our colleagues in Coptic studies the challenge of establishing the authorship and the age of such a work, and we limit ourselves to the observation of what can enrich our analysis. 7 About these sacrifices, see the testimony of Eutychius of Alexandria (i.e. Saʿīd ibn Bat.rīq, 877–940 ce), who writes in his Annals [see Cheikho 1906: 124] about the ‫( ذبائح‬d ‒ abāʾih., “sacrifices”) performed by Copts in his days in honor of the Archangel on Hatūr 12th. 8 For an overview of different scholarly positions, see above all Gascou 1998: 31; also Martin 1996: 149–51; Haas 1997: 144, 209–10. 9 Forget 1912. 10 The author appears under the name of Anastasius in the French translation by Amélineau 1888: 21. 11 See Budge 1894: 90 for the English translation (which we have quoted), and 113, ll. 15ff., for the Coptic text. 12 For modern eyewitness attestations, see Vansleb 1698: 48; Lane 1908: 495. 13 See note 56. 14 White 1789: 111, l.13–112, l.2. ّ 15 Here is the Arabic text: ‫فإن أقباط الصعيد يزعمون أنّهم يتكهّنون على مقدار الزيادة في سنة من طين معلوم‬ ‫الوزن ينجمونه في الليلة معروفة ويزنونه غدوة فيجدونه قد زاد فيحكمون من مقدار زيادته على مقدار زيادة‬ ‫ النيل وقوم يتكهّنون من حمل النخل وقوم من تعسيل النحل‬. 16 Wiet 1924: 260, ll. 5–8. 17 We would like to remark in passing that both sources associate the date palm tree with the month of Baʾūna and with the Nile’s rising. 18 Here is the Arabic text: ‫ وفي ثاني عشره عيد ميخائيل فيؤخذ قاع النيل‬. . . ‫ وفي تاسعه أوان قطع النخل‬. 19 The passage is taken from s.ubh. al-­aʿša fī s.ināʿa al-­inšāʾ (1914): 293, ll.12ff. 20 Here is the Arabic text: ‫وبكل حال فإنه يبدأ بالزيادة في خامس من بؤونة من شهور القبط وفي ليلة الثاني‬ ّ ‫الجاف الذي يعلوه‬ ‫تعلى العادة به بأن يوزن من الطين‬ ‫عشرمنه يوزن الطين ويعتبر به زيادة النيل بما أجرى هللا‬ ٰ ‫ماء النيل زنة ستة عشر درهما على التحرير ويرفع في ورقة أو نحوها ويوضع في صندوق أو غيرذلك ثم يوزن‬ ‫عند طلوع الشمس فمهما زاد اعتبرت زيادته كل حبة خروب بزيادة ذراع على الستة عشر درهما‬. 21 Sobernheim, Kahle, and Mustafa 1932: 392, ll. 13ff. 22 Here is the Arabic text: ‫وفي شهر رجب كان مستهلّه يوم الخميس واتفق أن ذلك اليوم كان عيد ميخاييل‬ ّ ‫ونزلت النقطة في ليلة مسته ّل الشهر فتفاءل الناس‬. ‫بأن النيل سيكون في تلك السنة عاليا مباركا‬ 23 See hāwadit ad-­ d uhūr fī madā al-ʾayyām wa š-šuhūr; Popper 1930–42: 677. . 24 The text printed by Popper reads ‫( نُظّف‬with the vowel d. amma and the šadda). Now, the verb naz. ufa (“to be clean”, “to make clean”) in this context does not make sense. We think that the verb should be corrected to َ‫( نَطَف‬nat.afa), which means “to flow,” “to exude,” but also “to pour [some water],” which would be consistent with the subject of the sentence, namely the well. Of course, a graphic error is very likely. We therefore translated according to our conjecture. 25 Here is the Arabic text: ‫وفي يوم الخميس أيضا ويوافقه † أيّام † من توت فُتح جسر أبي منجّا والبحر‬ ]. . .[ ‫يومئذ في ثمانية عشر ذراعا واثني عشر أصبعا إن صدق القياس وهو نهاية زيادة النيل في هذه السنة‬ ‫وكذا الذين وزنوا الطين ليلة عيد ميكايل أجمعوا على عشرين ذراعا وكذلك بئر إرجنوس ل ّما نُظّف في يوم‬ ‫عيد ميكايل جاءت عشرين ذراعا فاخطؤوا بأجمعهم فسبحانه ال يظهر على غيبه إلاّ من اختار من اصدقائه‬. Where we put the cruces, the scribe of the manuscript used for the edition first wrote ‫( سادس عشر‬sādis ʿašara), that is, “on the 16th.” Our translation takes into account two marginal notes which the scribe added in order to explain the inconsistency of the

Notes

199

author’s words. In the first note, the scribe says, ‫ال يلتئم هذا مع قوله في أوّل ربيع بل قال كما‬ ‫“( سيأتي أن فتح جسر أبي مجنّا ثالث عشر توت‬This is not consistent with what he [the author] said for the month of Rabīʿ al-ʾuwwal, where he said that Abū Manağğā’s bridge would have been inaugurated on Tūt 13th”). At a later stage, he added the following note: ‫وسيأتي قوله في آخر ذي الحجّة مبلغ الزيادة تسعة عشر ذراعا وثمانية أصابع فهو مناقض لما هنا أيضا‬ (“On the last day of D . ū l-h.iğğa he [the author] will say that the peak of the flood is nineteen cubits and eight digits, and this too is inconsistent with what he says here”). All things considered, we adopted the scribal suggestion, i.e., Tūt 13th. As a matter of fact, this date is very close to another Michaelic feast, celebrated on Tūt 12th and attested by the Bohairic doxology of this day (see ʿAbd al-Masīh. 1942: 36), where the connection with the Nile’s flood is explicitly evoked. We could also suggest that the ʿīd Mīkāyl (“Michael’s feast”) in which the ritual mud’s weighing has been performed does not necessarily belong to the month of Tūt. The same applies to the other reference by ʿīd Mīkāyl to Irğanūs’ well. 26 The modern name of the village is al-Ğarnūs (‫)الجرنوس‬, in the district of Beni Mazar, Minya Governorate. 27 Wiet 1922: 305, ll. 6 a.i.ff. 28 For the vocalization of the initial hamza, we followed Wiet’s edition (ʾAr- not ʾIr-), even if it is different from the vocalization found in Taġrībirdī’s text. 29 Here is the Arabic text: ‫ هذا المدينة في الجملة عمل البهنسا بها كنيسة بظاهرها بئر يقال‬: ‫ذكرى أرجنوس‬ ‫لها بئر يسوس صغيرة لها عيد يعمل في اليوم الخامس والعشرين من بشنس أحد شهور القبط بمصر ويفور بها‬ ّ ‫الماء عند مض ّي‬ ‫ست ساعات من النهار حتّى يطفو ث ّم يعود إلى ما كان عليه ويستد ّل النصارى على زيادة النيل في‬ ّ ‫ كل سنة بقدر ما عال الماء من األرض فيزعمون‬. ‫أن األمر في النيل وزيادته يكون موافقا لذلك‬ 30 We would like to remark that in the pseudo-Chrysostomic homily published by Simon 1934 and translated by Simon 1935, the anonymous author places on Bašans 24th the announcement of Samson’s birth to Manoah by Michael (see Simon 1935: 226). On the contrary, no mention is made of Michael in the Synaxarium for the 24th or for the 25th of Bašans, but the extant editions, as we said, are far from being definitive. 31 About the nilometer, see the extensive study by Popper 1951, from which we draw most of our information. 32 As Popper points out (1951: 64–5), the official date for the beginning of the Nile’s rise was fixed on Baʾūna 25th, albeit other traditions existed which established the date of Baʾūna 12th. We will return to this subject in the following pages. 33 See, e.g., Vansleb 1698: 69ff., where the author speaks about the “puits d’Argenus” [sic] and describes the rituals performed by the Coptic clergy and by the civil officers. He specifies, however, that the prediction is made “la nuit que la goutte tombe” (“on the night when the drop falls”), which theoretically corresponds to Baʾūna 12th (this is also the date given by Vansleb 1698: 48), and not to Bašans 25th. Another modern occurrence of Irğanūs’ well is to be found in Antes 1800: 67, where the author places the “prophetical well at el Garnaus” [sic] in “the first months of the year.” I owe this last reference to Dr. R. Seignobos (Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale). 34 For example, Ibn Iyās in his Badāʾiʿ az-­zuhūr fī waqāʾiʿ ad-­duhūr. 35 Al-Suryānī 1984: 99–100. The editor explicitly identifies this monastery with that of Irğanūs (see 99, n. 6). For a summary of the editorial history of the work, see Ten Hacken 2006: 185–93. 36 The modern Išnīn an-Nas.ārī. ّ ‫ المجاور إلشنين ذكر‬: ‫دير بيسوس‬ 37 Here is the Arabic text: ‫أن بيسوس من األشمونين وصل المسيح إليها‬ ‫ في ذلك الدير وفي وسطها بئر ماء معين يصال عليها في وقت زيادة النيل في ك ّل سنة فيزيّد ماء‬.‫وصار بها بيعة‬

200

38 39

40 41 42

43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

53

Notes ‫البئر وفيه إشارات أذرع النيل محكومة فإذا زاد ماء البئر ووقف على بعض اإلشارات فيُعلم منه ما تنتهي زيادة‬ ‫النيل إليه من األذرع‬. The presence of Muslim civil officers, as we said, is attested for the Ottoman period by Vansleb. See Popper 1951: 57ff. There exists another source which probably refers to the well of Irğanūs, namely George ibn al-ʿAmīd (also called al-Makīn), from the thirteenth century. His work, still unpublished in its entirety, is referred to by Vansleb, “Nouvelle relation,” 71 (“on peut lire sur cela, entr’autres, George le Mekkin”). Unfortunately, Vansleb does not quote al-Makīn’s text, and we have not been able to find the reference in the printed portions of the work. Torrey 1927. See Futūh. Mis.r wa-aḫ bārhā, Torrey 1922: 150. For the sake of brevity, we cannot quote in extenso the text, and we confine ourselves to simply mentioning this additional document. Unless one takes Ibn ʿAbd al-H . akam’s anecdote as a historical report about some sort of ritual performance in which the maiden girl was not supposed to die in the water. This subject does deserve more attention. As for the date of Baʾūna 12th, in the text there is no mention of Michael, and we do not know if the Michaelic feast was already established in the seventh century. Nevertheless, the coincidence is very striking. Al-Suryānī 1984: 138. Here is the Arabic text: ‫وفي وسطها عامود قائم وحده وهو مكشوف للشمس وفيه أذرع نهاية النيل قد‬ ‫وضعت بحكمة وهداية من هللا تعلى فإذا كان في اليوم السادس وعشرين من بؤونة وهو يوم وقوف الشمس ليوسع‬ ‫ابن نون بإذن هللا تعلى حتى غلب األمم الكفرة الجبابرة في الحرب بتبديل الشمس في عدة الوان وبتضاعف هاالتها‬ ‫ فإذا هي وقفت على هذا العمود وانتهى على أحد األذرع علم من ذلك نهاية النيل المبارك في تلك السنة‬. Baʾūna 26th is also known to be the actual day on which the waters attain their minimum level (qāʿa or qāʿida) and after which they start rising (see Popper 1951: 66). We leave aside the date of Tūt 13th since it appears in a locus corruptus of Taġrībirdī’s chronicle and is, at best, a scribal conjecture. As observed by Popper (1951: 64–5), the tradition according to which Baʾūna 12th is the starting day of the water rising is at variance with Muslim sources, which fix the minimum level on Baʾūna 25th–26th. We leave aside any attempt to identify the possible pagan predecessors of Michael intentionally, since this issue rests with our colleagues in historical and anthropological studies. Dous 2011 (as far as we know, still unpublished). See also Dous 2007. For the edition, see Dous 2011: 176–203. For the edition, see Dous 2011: 204–19. One may argue that the presence of liturgical celebrations at Irğanūs (teste Vansleb) conflicts with our interpretation, as does the existence of homilies designed to be read in specific Michaelic feasts and implying a link between Michael and the Nile’s rise. However, the existence of liturgical practices and the presence of the clergy, as well as the existence of these kinds of homilies, might be understood as an ecclesiastical tendency to normalize popular traditions rather than offer evidence of an official attitude about the Nile’s flood. Another mention of Michael in connection with the Nile in a liturgical text is found in ʿAbd al-Masīh. (1942: 36), concerning Tūt 12th (but the edition is based on an eighteenth-­century manuscript). Dous 2011: 172, Ἀκολουθία ὑπὲρ τῆς ἀναβάσεως τοῦ Νείλου. Similarly, there is no reference to the Archangel in the prayer for the rise of the waters of the rivers found in

Notes

201

the Ethiopic version of the so-­called Canones Ecclesiastici (Horner 1904: 226; see also Bausi 2006: 61). I thank Dr. Ágnes Mihálykó for this reference. 54 Several pieces of evidence exist which attest to the importance of Michael for the rise of the Nile and for the natural cycle in general. We confine ourselves to referring the reader to Amélineau (1888: 69–70) and ʿAbd al-Masīh. (1942: 36, 44). Moreover, other saints were invoked to propitiate the flood in Egypt as well as in Nubia: St. Shenoute (see Bonneau 1964: 436, with references), the Archangel Raphaël (see Browne 2004: 23–6; I owe this reference to Dr. M. Łaptas, Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński University, Warsaw), the Archangel Gabriel, and the Mother of God (together with Michael, see Delattre 2003: 143–4, no. 9; Hasitzka 2006: 124–5, no. 1522). 55 This had previously been a prerogative of the Copts. See Popper 1951: 111. 56 Our survey would not be complete without mention of an ongoing study being carried out by Dr. R. Seignobos (Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale). He shared the information that an early modern (still unpublished) treatise in Arabic exists concerning the “Night of the Drop.” It was written by a certain Mūsā ibn Muh.ammad ibn Mūsā ibn Yūsuf al-Qillīnī (or al-Qalyūbī; see Brockelmann 1938: 487) al-Ġūt- ī (also al-Ġawt-ī or al-Ġūšī; see Brockelmann 1938: 420, 487) al-Mālikī, who supposedly lived between the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. At least five manuscripts have been identified, and Seignobos plans to publish a critical edition. The title varies greatly from one manuscript to another and is often very long. What is certain is that the subject of the work is the “Night of the Drop” and the methods of predicting the Nile’s behavior—and even future events not related to the Nile—based on the day of the week on which the drop falls. The text seems to be the work of a Muslim author. This element is very interesting for our research, since it would attest to the interest of the Muslim intellectual milieux in an originally Coptic tradition, at least during the Ottoman period. For the time being, we do not know if any mention of Michael’s feast is to be found in the treatise; we thus await this edition with great anticipation.

6  Textual Fluidity and Monastic Fanfiction: The Case of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael in Coptic Egypt 1 I would like to thank Alexandros Tsakos, Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, David Tibet, and René Falkenberg for feedback and discussion in the preparation of this chapter. 2 For an overview of these texts, see Müller 1959. 3 All translations from Coptic throughout this chapter are my own, based on the Coptic texts in Müller 1962 and Tibet 2009. For full English translations of all three Coptic versions of the Investiture of the Archangel Michael, see Lundhaug forthcoming. References are to the manuscript page numbers in M593 and M614, and to folio numbers in the Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale Copte inv. nos 145–8 (hereafter IFAO). 4 On the concept of fanfiction, see also, e.g., Hellekson and Busse 2006; Jenkins 2013; Larsen 2019. 5 On the concept of “story world,” see Johnston 2015. 6 Cf., e.g., the definition of “fanon” in Page and Thomas 2011: 277: “A fan-­derived alternative to the ‘canon’ whereby aspects of plotting, background information, or characterization become ‘fanonical’ due to uptake and dissemination within fan communities.”

202

Notes

7 The text has been designated as Clavis coptica 0488 in the Corpus dei Manoscritti Copti Letterari (CMCL) database (http://www.cmcl.it), where it has been given the Latin title Institutio Michaelis. 8 The Investiture of Michael the Archangel is attested in manuscripts M593: 1–60 and M614: 1–32. These two versions of the text have been published with German translation by Müller (1962). Complete facsimiles of the manuscripts were quickly published by Hyvernat (1922), now freely available online at https://archive.org/details/ PhantoouLibrary. Full descriptions of all manuscripts can be found in Depuydt 1993. For a new synoptic English translation of all available Coptic witnesses, see Lundhaug forthcoming. 9 For descriptions of the Monastery of the Archangel Michael and the manuscript discovery, see Depuydt 1993: 1:lviii–lxx and Emmel 2005. For further details on the discovery and initial trafficking of the codices, see now also Nongbri 2018. 10 The monastery near modern-­day Sohag which is commonly referred to as the White Monastery was founded in the fourth century and is most notably associated with its third leader, the archimandrite Shenoute, who is supposed to have been the monastery’s leader from 385 until 465 and whose name the monastery carries today (Deir Anba Shenouda). The scattered remains of Coptic parchment codices that were once in its possession show it to have had the largest known library of Coptic books. On the White Monastery library, see especially Orlandi 2002; Emmel 2004; Emmel and Römer 2008; Orlandi and Suciu 2016. 11 The Phantoou codices are currently located in the Morgan Library in New York and, as Emmel (2005: 67) points out, they provide us with an impression of what the dismembered White Monastery manuscripts once looked like. The manuscripts from the Monastery of the Archangel Michael thus constitute an invaluable source for medieval Coptic monastic literary culture, which has so far not received the attention it deserves. 12 On manuscript M593, see also Depuydt 1993: 1:214–16, 2:29, 83–4, 218–9. 13 On the dating of M614, see Müller 1962: 1:iv. On M614, see Müller 1962: 1:469–70, 2:186, 330. 14 These folia have been edited by Tibet (2009), who is currently preparing an edition for publication in the Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. 15 It is now kept in the national libraries in Paris and Vienna and has been edited by Lantschoot (1946). 16 The other “blasphemous books” to which John of Parallos refers by their titles are The Preaching of John, The Laughter of the Apostles, The Teachings of Adam, and The Counsel of the Savior. No manuscript evidence of any of these texts has hitherto been identified. 17 Some of the points refuted by John of Parallos are also refuted in the Coptic homily On Riches, pseudepigraphically attributed to Peter of Alexandria. This text likewise refutes the idea that Michael was appointed in the place of the fallen devil, and that the devil fell because he refused to worship Adam (On Riches, 100–1), but does not attribute these to any single named text. Instead, it attributes these ideas to the writings of the otherwise unknown heretics Enotes and Sietes. Ps-Peter of Alexandria, On Riches, has been published in Pearson and Vivian (1993). See also Crum 1903. On the controversy over the investiture of Michael, see especially Dochhorn 2013. On the various accounts of the fall of the devil, see Dochhorn 2007, 2012. 18 We are told, for instance, that the devil was thrown out of heaven on the eleventh day of the month of Hathor, at the eleventh hour when the sun sets (M593: 13; M614: 10). As for Michael, we are given a detailed account of his investiture on the 12th of the

Notes

19

20 21 22 23

24 25 26

27

28 29 30

203

month of Hathor. As both manuscripts M593 (14–15) and M614 (11) put it, “He was adorned on the night of the 12th of Hathor. He was appointed over the world of light.” Manuscript M614 leaves it at that, while M593 (15) specifies that “He was appointed over the world of light in heaven, and over the world, on the 12th of Hathor.” We are also told that Michael was invested at sunrise at the same time as “the Holy Virgin Mary brought forth the life of the entire world,” and the time when “the great star rose in the East,” although the latter events took place on the morning of the 29th of the month of Choiak (M593: 15; M614: 11). Michael is also credited with being the one who causes the sun to rise on a daily basis (see M593: 17; M614: 13). It was not the only text of its kind which proved to be popular among the Egyptian monks, as a multitude of apocryphal narratives were transmitted in monasteries for as long as Coptic literature continued to be copied (see Müller 1954, 1959; Lundhaug and Jenott 2015; Suciu 2017). On the myths of the devil’s fall, as well as the various Coptic traditions of the investiture of Michael, see especially Dochhorn 2007, 2012, 2013. The name seems to be a combination of the names Saklas and Ialdabaoth, found in several Nag Hammadi texts (Saklas: Ap. John; Gos. Eg.; Trim. Prot.; Ialdabaoth: Ap. John.; Hyp. Arch.; Orig. World; Gos. Eg.; Soph. Jes. Chr.; Treat. Seth; Trim. Prot.). On these names, see Dochhorn 2012: 10–12. This version of the story of the devil’s fall is found in the Latin, Armenian, and Georgian versions of the Life of Adam and Eve. For a synopsis of these and other versions of the Life of Adam and Eve, see Anderson and Stone 1999; cf. also de Jonge and Tromp 1997; Stone 1992. For the Cave of Treasures, see Ri 1987. The Investiture of Abbaton is preserved in BL Or. 7025, a manuscript from the Monastery of Mercurius at Edfu, dated to 981. See Budge 1914 and more recently Suciu and Saweros 2016. For the Discourse on Michael the Archangel, see Budge 1915. For a discussion of various traditions concerning the arrogance of the devil, see Minov 2015; Rosenstiehl 1983; Kaestli 2003. The origin of the story is debated. While, e.g., Minov (2015) argues in favor of a Jewish origin for this version of the story of the devil’s fall, Kaestli (2003) holds a Christian origin to be more likely. For example, Abu Ja’far Muhammad ibn Jarir al-Tabari’s Annals. This is recounted in Q 2:34, Q 7:11, Q 15:29-31, Q 17:61, Q 18:50, Q 20:116, and Q 38:72-74. See the convenient table in Sinai 2017: 144. See also the discussion in Sinai 2017: 143–8; Zellentin 2017: esp. 95–116; Chipman 2002. M593: 23–4: “We stayed upon the Mount of Olives for thirty days mourning John, whom Herod had killed”; M614: 17: “We stayed upon the mountain for thirty days mourning John, whom Herod had killed”; IFAO: 146r: “We were upon the mountain until the day we grieved over John the Baptist, whose head Herod had taken.” Examples include Herod holding a banquet for “all his great men” in one manuscript (M614: 1) and for “his great men and his slaves” in the other (M593: 1). Manuscript M593 here tends to add details in comparison with M614. For example, where M614 states that Herodias’ daughter wants John the Baptist’s head brought to her (M614: 2), M593 adds the reason she gives, namely “so that all your great men may see it” (M593: 2). Cf. Mt. 11:11. Jonge and Tromp fully acknowledge the textual fluidity of the Life of Adam and Eve and the difficulty of dating it, characterizing the text as “a specimen of ancient literature in continuous development” (1997: 65) and as “evolved literature” (1997: 65, 76). In stating that this is Michael’s only task, Jesus apparently forgets Michael’s role in causing the sun to rise–and as trumpet-­blower at the final judgment. In the two manuscripts from Phantoou, but not in the one from the White Monastery, even John

204

Notes the Evangelist is in one passage given a role in praying to turn back the wrath of God against the sinners on earth (M593: 25; M614: 18).

7  Representations of the Archangel Michael in Wall Paintings from Medieval Nubia 1 For a short presentation (in the form of a poster for the Byzantine Congress in Sofia in 2011) of the progress with the “Corpus” project, see https://www.academia.edu/ 12128796/Corpus_of_Wall_Paintings_from_Medieval_Nubia. 2 This number rises to twenty if one considers the phases of reconstruction that have been identified in the Faras Cathedral, like those of Paulos and Petros, which are referred to in our text (see Godlewski 2005). It should be explained that these names refer to the local bishops during whose time the reconstructions of the cathedral church took place. 3 The counting includes three unpublished individual representations of the Archangel Michael from the Church of Archangel Raphael in Old Dongola. 4 In the quoted publication, this space is referred to as “Chapel I (southern chapel) next to the bishops’ grave on the east side of the Cathedral.” 5 The survey of the appearances of Michael in the Bible was conducted on the basis of the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: http://www.tlg.uci.edu/. 6 For a different opinion, based on the lack of peacock feather and eye motifs on the wings of the angel in question, see Jakobielski et al. 2017. About this topic, see section titled “Iconographic characteristics of archangels’ wings.” 7 For an analysis in the context of the cult of Michael, see Chapter 8. 8 This information was obtained through personal communication with Agnieszka Ryś. 9 In the tondo from Serra East, only the upper margin is visible on the remaining plaster, thus no figure is preserved. 10 Martens-Czarnecka links the Ezra narrative with the image of the angel in tondo and proposes to see this as a depiction of Michael based on an unpublished inscription. The authors doubt the link of the tondo with the narrative scene, and until it is proved otherwise both iconographically and epigraphically, Martens-Czarnecka’s idea that this is an example of the many cases where Michael has taken up the iconography of other angels due to his importance for the Christians of medieval Nubia will not be considered here. 11 Although the material is unpublished, the “Corpus” project was given access to the photographs preserved in the archives of the Universita La Sapienza and this has made possible the inclusion of this evidence in our analysis.

8  The Position of the Archangel Michael within the Celestial Hierarchy: Some Aspects of the Manifestation of His Cult in Nubian Painting 1 My PhD thesis was titled “Archaniołowie w malarstwie Nubijskim” (Archangels in Nubian Painting), and it was written under the supervision of Professor Włodzimierz Godlewski. It was defended at the University of Warsaw (Łaptaś 2004, 1049 D) and is currently being updated and prepared for publishing, based on new discoveries of paintings and texts.

Notes 2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20

21 22 23

205

Currently the painting is located in the Sudan National Museum in Khartoum. More fragments of Nubian texts dedicated to Michael are cited by Tsakos (2014: 52). Precisely 266 cm. Cf. Martens-Czarnecka 2011, cat. no. 65. An example of this is the image of the Mother of God in the Nativity scene in the Cathedral in Faras; cf. Łaptaś 2003: 137. The subject of the Archangel’s vestment requires a separate study, which I began by presenting a paper entitled “Gender in Nubia: Some Comments on the Loroi in Nubian Paintings” during the 25th National Nubiological Conference in GdańskSobieszewo, held between May 25 and 27, 2018. Aside from the Archangel Michael, Gabriel and Raphael are also portrayed with eyes on their wings in Nubia. I have written on this topic in more detail in an article on the symbolism of eyes on archangels’ wings (Łaptaś 2015: 42–55). Charlesworth 1983: 263. Charlesworth 1983: 263. There are several alternative interpretations of this name (cf. Black 1951: 217–19; Orlov 2005). Even though the inscription stating that this is an archangel has not been preserved, the clothing worn by the figure, consisting of a tunic and a manakion, permits such a conclusion. This opinion was expressed by Professor Włodzimierz Godlewski (personal communication). The symbolism of the boat in which the dead sail in the Underworld is widespread in Coptic art. Its roots go back to ancient Egyptian art (Piankoff 1960: 144). This painting is dated to the second half of the tenth century ce. See Donadoni 1967–8: 254; Curto and Donadoni 1968, fig. 7; Donadoni 1970: 214. The Old Nubian inscription has not yet been published in its original version. It was quoted by Mineke van der Helm in its English translation, with information provided in a footnote that it had been translated by Sergio Donadoni. See Van der Helm 1990: 485. A new translation is currently being prepared by Agata Deptuła, Vincent W. J. van Gerven Oei, Vincent Laisney, Adam Łajtar, Grzegorz Ochała, and Alexandros Tsakos in a collaborative project for the publication of the entire corpus of wall inscriptions from the church at Sonqi Tino. Browne 1989: 22–5. The text was analyzed by Hagen (2007). A full version of this sermon in the Pierpont Morgan Library collection was translated by Wansink (1991). Wansink 1991: 39–40. Changes in the way that the Maiestas Domini developed was analyzed in detail in Tadeusz Dobrzeniecki’s texts, published in the Annals of the National Museum in Warsaw (cf. Dobrzeniecki 1973, 1974, 1975, 1980). For a newer publication on the topic, see also Skubiszewski 2005. Also, the reference to the Archangel Michael as a commander-­in-chief allows for a comparison with Christ, who is in charge of the heavens (Barbel 1941: 234, 485). The particular “manifestation of angelic Christology” was also noted by Scholz 2001: 198. Cf. Jastrzębowska 1979: 17 (who also provides a further bibliography). See Jolivet-Lévy 2015: 85; Epstain 1975; Thierry 2002: cat. no. 42. In some publications, the group of “Column Churches” in the Göreme Valley is dated to c. 1200 ce or later (Restle 1967, I: 57–9; Warland 2006: 57). See also Wharton 1991: 483 and the discussion about the dating of the group of “Column Churches” by Thierry 1995: 446–8.

206

Notes

24 Sometimes, as on the mosaic of St. Maria Assunta in Torcello, the parallel between Christ and Michael is stressed by the similar act of trampling Death/the devil. Much as the Saviour tramples Hades, the Archangel tramples a dragon—an “old serpent.” See Kartsonis 1986: 162–3, fig. 60. 25 Timothy, Archbishop of Alexandria, mentioned the habit of placing the Archangel Michael’s name on the walls of Nubian houses, as well as on the edges of vestments, for protection (Budge 1915: 519–20). 26 See also, e.g., Ishaq (1991: 1111). 27 de Vis 1929: 58. 28 See the sermon attributed to Theophilus, Bishop of Alexandria (Vat LXII, f. 143r), de Vis 1929: 124. 29 For an interpretation of this scene as well as its identification with a feast of the Archangel Michael, see Łaptaś 2008. 30 Budge 1928a, I: 232. 31 Budge 1928a, III: 689. Some Ethiopian feasts correspond to Egyptian ones, although the names are different (Zanetti 1994: 347, no. 83). The Egyptian calendar was used in Nubia (Van der Vliet 2003: 211–12).

Introduction: Christian Ethiopia 1 A variant interpretation of this is that the eunuch was Nubian (Vantini 1985: 65–7). 2 Muslim sultanates were established in the south-­east from the ninth century, south of the Christian kingdoms. This is where the majority of the Muslim population, which accounts for 34 percent of the total population, lives today. The Protestant population is approximately 17 percent of the total and lives in certain areas in the south. 3 The transliteration system of Encyclopedia Aethiopica is used when transliterating Amharic words (Uhlig et al. 2003).

9  Relationships with the Archangel Michael: Materiality and Healing among Ethiopian Orthodox Christians in Contemporary Addis Ababa 1 Informants describe disease as a concept which includes life crisis and misfortunes. 2 My main group of informants are men and women of different backgrounds, who live at or visit holy water sites regularly. Most of them are from Addis Ababa, but some are from the countryside. 3 There are several books describing the end of time, including Mängädʾe Sämayə and Fäk·arä Yäsus. These books are published locally in Amharic. 4 For a more thorough description of this, see Wright 2017. 5 For the sake of anonymity, the names of the informants have been changed. 6 The t.änqway is a type of traditional healer, usually skilled in the practice of black magic. 7 T. əmk·ät is the celebration of the baptism of Christ. 8 Tabot is a replica of the Ark of the Covenant. 9 Yäkkatit (January–February) is the sixth month in the Ethiopian calendar.

Notes

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10 11 12 13

Tah.sas (November–December) is the fourth month in the Ethiopian calendar. T.əkəmt (September–October) is the second month in the Ethiopian calendar. H . ədar (October–November) is the third month in the Ethiopian calendar. The Ethiopian calendar is based on the Julian calendar. P . agwme is the thirteenth month in the Ethiopian calendar and consists of five days. The term derives from the Greek word ἐπαγώμεναι, for the additional days to cover the length of a full year. 14 The Ethiopian Orthodox Church’s name in Amharic includes the word Tewahedo (Unity), which underscores the miaphysitic doctrine of the united nature of Christ, i.e., a divine and human nature united in one—as opposed to the dyophysitic doctrine of two natures equally present but not commingling. 15 Mälkəʿ is poetic liturgical literature praising Christ, Mary, saints, and angels, including a description of their physical portrait. See Chaillot 2002. 16 Women possessed by evil spirits are normally addressed with the masculine form of the pronoun “you,” antä, as opposed to the feminine anči.

10  The Archangel Michael: An Everyday Popular Saint in Ethiopia 1 I would like to thank the editorial team, Dr. Tsakos, Ms. Wright, and Prof. Gilhus, for their extensive comments, encouragement, and—most importantly—patience. I would also like to thank Dr. Mersha Alehegne for looking over my edition and correcting many mistakes. Any that are left are mine and not his. I would also like to thank the Garda Henkel Foundation, which sponsored my project titled “The Scribe’s Discretion,” for it was the research that was made available by their support that underpins the ideas that inform this chapter. Finally, I would like to thank the Archangel Michael for watching over me. 2 The Sənkəssar is based on a translation of the Coptic Synaxarium from the thirteenth century which was made in the fourteenth. The core of the Sənkəssar is a collection of Acts of Martyrs. In the sixteenth century, the text was expanded and revised, structured as a day-by-day calendar of hagiographical history (see Colin 2010: 621–3). While the Bible mentions the Archangel Michael only four times, the Sənkəssar apocryphally attributes to him a whole variety of other interventions. A few examples are: The 12th of T.əkəmt was the day he was sent to Samuel to tell him to anoint David. On that day, he was also sent to David to give him strength to deal with Goliath. On 12th Hədar, he revealed himself to Joshua and told him that he would get the better of the Amelekite, and that he would conquer Jericho. On the 12th of T.ər, he was sent to Jacob, who fled from Esau and went to Laban. On 12th Yäkatit, he released Jeremiah from Zedekiah’s prison. He informed him that he would not see the destruction of the Temple and put him to sleep for sixty-seven years. On 12th Gənbot, he took Habakuk from Jerusalem to Babylon to feed Daniel in the lions’ den. For more of Michael’s commemorated interventions, see Budge 1928a. 3 I have found this to be the case in a great number of interviews and personal exchanges with Ethiopians. Expressions of this are commonly heard and found in websites such as that of “The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church Faith and Order” (http:// ethiopianorthodox.org/english/indexenglish.html). On the page relating to “Devotions,” the following is noted: “God often grants favours in the form of graces, miracles and wordily [sic] blessings at a particular place as a reward for perseverance and fervour of

208

4 5 6

7 8 9 10

Notes those who have journeyed thither and as an aid in increasing devotion to our Lord, His Virgin Mother, His servants, and angels who are specially honoured at certain shrines” (http://ethiopianorthodox.org/english/Lent/devotion.html). See, for instance, Doran 1992, where translations of the three extent versions are presented. Ms. W.835 Gondar Homiliary, the Walters Art Museum (http://www.thedigitalwalters. org/Data/WaltersManuscripts/html/W835/). The other two are ተአምረ፡ ማርያም። . . . ግዕዝና፡ አማርኛ፡ (Täʾammerä Maryam . . . Gəʿəzənna aʾmarəñña [The Miracles of Mary . . . Gəʿəz and Amharic]) (1995) and መጽሐፍ፡ ሕይወት፡ ወመድኃኒት። ልፋፍ፡ ጽድቅ፡ (The Book of Healing and Redemption; The Scroll of Righteousness) (1994). Personal communication, September 1, 2017. For instance, in the nineteenth-century Ms. 11 Deresāna Mikā’él from the UCLA Library (http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21198/zz001d8jwf). Ps. 138:6, King James Version Ps. 139:7. የአወዩ – read የዐወዩ.

Introduction: South Africa 1 The last remaining independent African polity, that of the Vhavenda, was conquered in 1898, the year before the outbreak of the South African (Anglo-Boer) War (1899–1902). While the heartland of the former nineteenth-century independent African polities can still be identified and is still considered “home” to various Xhosa-, Zulu-, Sotho-, Pedi-, Tswana-, Ndebele-, Venda- and Shangaan-speaking communities, migrant labor, population increase, intermarriage, and urbanization have contributed to a situation where people of such ancestry can also be found residing in any other part of modern South Africa. 2 Catholic missions were not welcomed by the Dutch East India Company or the Boers, and therefore their work in South Africa followed British administration and settlement from the nineteenth century. Lutherans were quite successful at building an infrastructure in the Boer republics, and consequently their missions left a deeper imprint in the South African hinterland. 3 Within the scope of the three contributions to South Africa in this book, no attention could be paid to Jewish and Islamic traditions in South Africa and narratives and practices involving the Archangel Michael within these faith communities. This topic should ideally be pursued in future research.

11  “Branded” St. Michael: A View from Pretoria on the Archangel’s Position in South African Consumer Culture 1 Geographer Doreen Massey (1992: 65) critically responded to the humanities’ discovery of “spatial theory” in the 1990s following the translation of Henri Lefebvre’s The Production of Space (1991). She listed the words “space, location, positionality and place” for how prominently they would feature in “debates around identity.” The following section is no exception, and my endeavor very much approximates an exercise in “cognitive mapping,” which Massey (1992: 66) identified as literary critic

Notes

2 3

4 5 6

7

8

9

10 11

209

Fredrick Jameson’s argument in favor of a spatial approach as sense-making in global confusion. The common pitfall which Massey also pointed out, and which I would like to evade in this quest to find Michael, is to “depoliticize the realm of the spatial.” I shall thus try to make an argument about the way projects concerned with the “geometry of space,” like land demarcation, urban layout, and development of infrastructure, along with individuals’ “lived practices,” contribute to the way specific places come to be actualized, or socialized, as symbolic spaces with ideological significance. New ways of seeing and experiencing in virtual space through digital media and the effect thereof on our understanding, beliefs, and expectations, will also be contemplated. After 1994, the “Boer” rank of commandant was changed back to lieutenant-colonel. The industrialization and urbanization of the nineteenth century ushered in a boom period for the building of new churches in Britain, and the pre-Reformation practice to dedicate the building to a particular patron saint was revived (Orme 1996: xii). This practice also spilt over into the British sphere of influence in South Africa, reaching Pretoria and its surroundings from round about the 1880s, when the boom in gold mining attracted numerous immigrants from the British Empire to the Boer Republic and led to industrialization and urbanization. The oldest Victorian imprints on Pretoria churches, including their naming after saints and angels, date back to the early twentieth century. On maps of Pretoria, see Liebenberg (2015: 8–43). According to their websites, Monumentpark Congregation was established in 1967 and Monumentpark-Wes in 1983 respectively. Besides presiding over the eleven-year project to build the Voortrekker Monument, between the 1920s and the 1950s, Moerdijk also designed dozens of Afrikaner church buildings. He was also a prominent thinker behind the idea that Afrikaans church buildings ought not to ape the gothic style with its Catholic/High Church associations (Le Roux 2008: 20–3). Useful sources for contextualizing the twentieth-century history of segregation, and later apartheid, in South Africa, are Liebenberg and Spies (1994), Davenport and Saunders (2000), and Ross, Mager, and Nasson (2011). For an account of the history of apartheid specifically, see O’Meara (1996). Nonetheless, the tension resulting from an influx of black Africans into formerly white neighborhoods was nothing in comparison to the actual warfare (involving the South African police and even the defense force) which continued to rage in a significant number of black townships right up to the first democratic elections of 1994. The Wikipedia site on dedications in the Church of England makes specific mention of “the many churches now known as ‘St. Michael and All Angels’ ” as a typical Victorian “prosaic twist.” While I fully share the scholarly warning to treat Wikipedia as a dubious source when it comes to the reliability or accuracy of accounts and interpretations, the information which one does find on Wikipedia gives a useful insight into the kind of information being popularized and widely circulated. In the KwaZulu-Natal town of Howick, a private ambulance service has also appropriated the name of St. Michael for the association with healing and service. The logo consists of a sword and a shield, flanked by two angel wings. See https://stmichaelsambulancesa.co.za/. Commentators like Dodson (2000: 419–22) were also quick to observe that racial intermingling in shopping malls and on other middle-class platforms unfortunately also affirmed the ongoing “geography of material inequality and social difference”—the very circumstances which made the leisure and entertainment spaces so attractive for middle-class citizens.

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12 For a more detailed account, see G. Rees, St Michael: A History of Marks and Spencer (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1969). 13 This was, ironically, why Marks & Spencer discarded the St. Michael brand in 2000. The British retail group was struggling at the time and reasoned that consumers now rather wanted the luxury of choice among different designer brands than the predictable quality of a saintly in-house stamp (BBC 2000). I would argue that this may not have been the perception in far-off South Africa at the time, having then only recently emerged from its pariah status. In the early 2000s, Woolworths was no longer so snugly in partnership with Marks & Spencer, and it was expanding. Given the local marketing psychosis that the trendiest things must come from elsewhere, St. Michael may still have been experienced by South African consumers as an option for self-expression at that time.

12  The Presence and Absence of the Archangel Michael in South Africa 1 This was the first parish in Pretoria to be “carved out of the cathedral parish” (Cross 2003: 5), and services were held in tents and temporary sites until the foundation stone of the current building was laid in 1908. The church was not completed until 1961, and since then, various additional changes have been made (Cross 2003: 14). 2 Information obtained through email correspondence with Murray Witherspoon, marketing manager of Michaelhouse, on May 7 and 9 and on October 1, 2018. 3 Allusions are made not only to the tensions between black and white communities, but also between the English- and Afrikaans-­speaking people. 4 Heidegger (1962: 296–311) describes this as our Sein-­zum-Tode (Being-­towards-death), the knowledge and acceptance that eventually all humans die. 5 The archetypal hero’s journey has already been described through early resurrection myths, often captured in the form of iconographical motifs in catacombs and on sarcophagi, seen, for example, in the biblical stories of Jonah, Daniel amongst the lions, and the three men burning in the fiery furnace (Jensen 2000: 19). 6 The three phases of the hero’s journey could be compared to death rituals and rites of passage in rural Greece: rites of separation, when a person transforms from one state of being to another; rites of transition, when the person/soul is between two states of being; and rites of incorporation, when the new state of being has been obtained (Danforth 1982: 35–6). 7 Some might argue that there are three mentions of Michael in the book of Daniel, as one passage in fact mentions him twice. 8 As believed by Jehovah’s Witnesses and Seventh-Day Adventists, it could be argued that Michael was later reborn and resurrected as Jesus Christ (Steyn 2008: 105–6), savior of the Israelites. 9 Directly translated, the term Voortrekker reads voor, meaning front or in a leading position, and trekkers, referring to travelers or conquerors. The Voortrekkers are often considered the leaders of the Afrikaner nation. 10 The Afrikanervolk is a set group of people who identify with the ideals of the Voortrekkers. Their shared values and ideals were strengthened by the National Party (1948–94), the governing party during apartheid rule.

Notes

211

11 The statue also commemorates the women and children who suffered in concentration camps during the Second Anglo-Boer War (1899–1902), also referred to as the South African War. 12 The Voortrekker laager was attacked by King uDingane’s impis on February 17, 1838 at the Bloukrans River. Many lives were lost during this battle, including over 200 Voortrekkers and a further estimated 200 “employees” fighting for the Voortrekkers. 13 Although, ironically, the final design was created by a man, W. H. Coetzer. 14 The vow (covenant) was taken by the Voortrekkers, promising God that should he grant them victory over the Zulu people during the Battle of Blood River (1838), they would annually celebrate that day (December 16) in his honor (Theart-Peddle 2007: 37). Thus December 16 became a public holiday called the “Day of the Vow,” renamed the “Day of Reconciliation” after 1994. 15 It should be noted that the original church building was demolished. The image shows what the church had looked like in 1949, which corresponds to the creation dates of the Voortrekker tapestry in 1952. 16 Lit from the sun’s rays in Cape Town at the foot of Jan van Riebeek’s statue, the flame was carried by torchbearers to Pretoria, who arrived on the evening when the foundation stone of the Monument was laid in 1938 (Theart-Peddle 2007: 11). 17 Mithraism (Persian mythology) utilizes the spilled blood of a slaughtered bull as a medium, depicting resurrected life through the regrowth of herbs, revitalizing plants, and wheat (McKenzie 2012: 45). 18 The Old Testament narrative of Jonah’s descent into and return from the “big fish” was often represented by a dolphin. The Greek word delph, meaning uterus, thus indicates a literal rebirth (Steffen 1963: 109). As a symbol of resurrection and salvation, the dolphin carries the dead across the water to the world beyond (Ferguson 1966: 15; Steffen 1963: 38). 19 A snake shedding its skin symbolizes renewed life (Bronswijk 1987: 19; Ferguson 1966: 16–17; Stander 2000: 71–2). 20 Sea water is associated with trouble and tribulation, but also everything feminine, a life-­producing organism (Steffen 1963: 38), with rebirth and purifying qualities linked to threshold crossings or rites of purification, seen in modern-­day christening rituals (Bronswijk 1987: 118; Ferguson 1966: 45).

13  The Archangel Michael in Limpopo: The Sculptor Jackson Hlungwani and the Angel-Star of the Ngoma Lungundu Epic 1 I have visited the Archives of the Johannesburg Art Gallery, Unisa, and the University of the Witwatersrand Art Galleries Archive. The unpublished papers by Lesley Spiro, as well as several other interviews and many short notes and photographs, are all found in the Archives of the Johannesburg Art Gallery. I wish to express my sincere indebtedness and gratitude to Nessa Leibhammer (University of Cape Town), who was always available to lend a hand with locating relevant sources and images. 2 The Limpopo River, the second largest river in Africa, which gave its name to the region, starts in South Africa and flows via Botswana and Zimbabwe to Mozambique, where it empties into the Indian Ocean.

212

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3 For the role, differences, and mutual integration of the Shona, Tsonga, Lemba, and Venda peoples in Limpopo and its culture, see Von Sicard 1952; Hendrickx 1990 and 1991–2; Le Roux 2003; and Van Warmelo 1940. 4 Zionism in Southern Africa is a religious movement consisting of various independent Zionist churches characterized by syncretistic beliefs and practices from African and Christian theologies. On Zionism and Ethiopianism in South Africa, see Oosthuizen 1966; Sundkler and Steed 2000; Balia 2010; and Lahouel 1986. Ethiopianism, on the other hand, is a religious movement with the main aim of uniting all African independent churches against colonialism; see Sundkler and Steed 2000: 424–5; Bantalem Tadesse 2010: 33–5. 5 For overviews and discussions—from different perspectives—of Hlungwani’s works, his ideology, and his theology, see Coetzee 1996; Davies 2014; Hayashida 2000; Motenda 1940; Maluleke 1991; Manley (undated); Nettleton 2009; Schneider 1989 and 1989a; Spiro 1992; and Dietrich 1991. 6 Hlungwani was of Tsonga ancestry but was a member of the Shangaan clan (Hayashida 2000: 70, 77). Tsonga traditions play a great role in Hlungwani’s Christian sculptures and theology (e.g., in his crucifixes, Hlungwani uses the African rain bird as a symbol of the Holy Ghost; Becker 1989: 21, 23; Abrahams: 1989: 15). 7 In 1948, the National Party came to power and started enforcing a number of discriminatory laws and acts which established the apartheid system of racial segregation in South Africa. One such piece of legislation was the Group Areas Act, no. 41 of 1950, which forced physical separation between specific race groups by Bantustans, also known as homelands, which were independent self-­governing territories within South Africa, creating designated areas (for example Gazankulu) for peoples of different races. Gazankulu was the self-­governing homeland (since 1973) of the Tsonga and Shangaan peoples, its capital being Giyani. In 1994, Gazankulu became part of the larger territory of the province of Limpopo. See http://www.sahistory.org.za/ article/history-­separate-development-­south-africa. 8 Anitra Nettleton (2009: 53–4) refers to Maluleke’s unpublished manuscript, dated 1991. 9 The ZCC is one of the African independent churches in southern Africa. There are hundreds of different independent Zionist churches in the region, all having different rituals and using different languages and types of healing (Oosthuizen 1966; Anderson 2001; Cavallo 2013). The Zionist churches should not be confused with Christian Zionism, a group of Christians who believed in the return of the Jews to the Holy Land and the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948. Considering the analogy, in Ps. 87:2– 3 “Zion” refers to a specific place and is often used as a synonym for Jerusalem or New Jerusalem or a Holy Hill, Mount Zion (see also 2 Sam. 5:7; Pss. 2:6, 48:2, 48:11-12, 132:13; Jer. 31:6; and Isa. 40:9, to list but a few). Zion was also the Rastafarian interpretation of Heaven upon Earth and used to refer to Ethiopia or Africa as the land of Zion. 10 As mentioned before, there are hundreds of different independent Zionist churches in southern Africa. 11 In the Old Testament, two “messengers” and God appeared to Abraham (Gen. 18:2, 19:1) at the site of Mamre. These two men were believed to have been angels. In Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, angels appear (angelophaneia) as men who came to give Abraham a message. As a priest in the Zionist Church, Hlungwani would have known that angels had appeared as men. The Kebra Nagast (ch. 78; Budge 1932: 135) mentions the two angels by name: Michael and Gabriel. 12 Hlungwani made two altars, an Altar of God and an Altar of Christ, for his New Jerusalem.

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13 Sadly, today, New Jerusalem is totally neglected (Powell 1989: 25). Pat Hopkins could not have described it better: “New Jerusalem was plundered by collectors and left to be overgrown by tropical bush and weeds” (Hopkins 2010: 11). 14 On the moon and Michael, see Chapter 7. 15 Spiro (1991a: 1) hereby remarks that “there are a number of examples of stars [by Hlungwani] that have elements of a fish form. Ours [Michael Star] is slightly unusual in that it is vertical rather than horizontal.” 16 On the role of sacred drums in Africa and their comparison to the Jewish Ark of the Covenant, see primarily Bloomhill 1960; Van Warmelo 1940: 8–32; Von Sicard 1952; Le Roux 2003: 70, 125, 155; and Parfitt 1992: 79. 17 Mudau’s version is the best-known one. 18 Mudau in Bloomhill (1960: 167) and Le Roux (2003: 155–6). 19 In a more recent publication, Le Roux (2010: 286, 287, 290–3) shows that “the Bhuba, the priestly family of the Lemba” are genetically related to “the Cohanim (priesthood) in Israel.” Moreover, the Levites and Lemba had the same function: the Lemba to carry the Ngoma, the Jewish Levites to carry the Ark of the Covenant. For more details, see Le Roux 2004: 59–8; 2009: 102–25; Parfitt 2008: 245.

Appendix:  Some Thoughts on How I Came to Michael, or How He Came to Me 1 I would like to thank my friend and mentor in Coptic studies Hugo Lundhaug for discussing many aspects of the Liber Institutionis Michaelis with me. Cédric Larcher of the Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale kindly allowed me to use their photographs of their Liber Institutionis Michaelis for our film. And without Heike Behlmer, Anne Boud’hors, Stephen Emmel, Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, Alexandros Tsakos, and Marta Camilla Wright, this contribution would not, could not, be. 2 I would like to note that Mastēma is mentioned as a demonic entity, the personification of the Hebrew noun ,‫ש ֵטמָה‬ ׂ ְ ‫“ ַמ‬mastemah,” meaning “hatred,” “persecution.” He features frequently as “Prince Mastēma” in Jubilees. For a detailed description of him, see G. C. Jenks, The Origins and Early Development of the Antichrist Myth (1991). Jenks describes him as “chief of the evil spirits and as one who has been given authority over those human beings who are destined for destruction” (1991: 132). Our Coptic text also says that Mastēma is so cunning he has even deceived some of the angels—those who joined in the revolt against God which saw them cast out of Heaven.

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Index Note: Numbers in italic denote pages with figures. Italic text is used for titles of texts. ͑Abd al-Lat. īf al-Baġdādī 53 Abraham 17–18, 24, 43–4, 46–7, 66, 212 Abū l-Makārim 55–7 Adam 17, 64–5, 116, 120 Addis Ababa, Ethiopia 115–20, 122–3, 125, 131, 206 Africa 3–6 African Initiated Churches (AICs) 23, 26–7, 144 airborne soldiers, protector of 156 Aksimaros (Pseudo-Epiphanius of Cyprus) 119 alchemy 191 amulets 23, 106, 122, 129 ancestors 180 Angel of the Covenant 47 Angel of Great Counsel 45 angel of the Apocalypse 170 angelic life 20–1 angels creation of 64 as doorkeepers 87–8 in Egypt 19–21 history of 11–14 and humans 17–19 introduction to 6–7, 11 in polytheism and monotheism 14–15 riders of the Apocalypse 88–9 success of 21 theology and lived religion 16–17 Anglican churches in South Africa 164–9, 165 Anglican schools in South Africa 152 Anubis 36 apartheid in South Africa 151, 153, 166, 168, 185 Apocalypse of Paul 46–7, 87, 102 Apocalypse of Zephaniah 46

Apocalyptic literature 117 apocryphal literature 73, 170 see also Biblical references to Michael apophthegmata (sayings) 20–1 Apopthegmata Patrum 20–1 archangels 6, 11–12, 14–17, 19, 21, 24–6, 32–3, 37, 43, 46, 64, 84, 87, 90–1, 93, 95–6, 99, 106, 120, 126, 153, 163, 168–9, 183, 205 archistrategos (commander-­in-chief) 6, 8, 23, 25, 48, 50, 96, 97, 99, 104, 122 see also Faras, Nubia, roles of Michael, Michael as archistrategos (commander-­in-chief) Ark of the Covenant 111, 179, 186–7, 206, 213 artistic images see depictions of Michael; iconography in South Africa; icons of Michael; stained-­glass windows; wall paintings asceticism 20–1 Asprem, Egil 16 Assmann, Jan 14 attributes of Michael 89–90, 92 Ayvalı Kilise, Cappadocia, Turkey 39 Baker, Sir Herbert 164 Balaam 84, 85, 106 Baldwin, Robert L. 165, 166 Barrett, A. M. 152 Barrett, Francis 190, 191 Barthes, Roland 149 battles of Michael 96 Bawit, Nubia 92–3 Bertelsen, Eve 154 biblical references to Michael 84, 85, 170 see also apocryphal literature blessing of the Nile 57–8 Blue Nile 111

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Book of Enoch 100, 105, 121, 169 Book of the Watchers 96, 169 Brown, Peter 19 buffalo, symbol in South Africa 176, 177 Burke, Tony 73 Burnett, Ricky 183–4 Burns, Dylan M. 15 Busse, K. 73 Button, D. 166 Campbell, Joseph 169–70 Causabon, John 190–1 Cavallo, G. 180 Celestial Church of Christ 26, 27 celestial hierarchy 23, 78, 95, 96, 106, 107 censers, angelic attribute 90 chalice-­stands 49–50 cherubim 16, 26, 64, 101, 192 Cherubim and Seraphim Church 26, 27 Christ and angels 18, 44, 45 Michael as 84, 103–5, 104 Christianity in Africa 4–6, 23–4 angels in 14–15, 18–21 church buildings in South Africa 150–1 Church of the Mother of God Perivleptos, Ohrid 44, 45 Church of the Vow (Covenant), Pietermaritzburg 174, 175 classes of spiritual beings 17, 96 colors, use of in stained-­glass windows 168 commander-in-chief see archistrategos consumer culture in South Africa 147–61 depictions of Michael 158–61, 159 education 152–3 healthcare 151–2, 158 methodology 148–9 pendants and protection 156–8 places as purposeful spaces 149–51 shopping and the St. Michael brand 153–6 contemporary angel craze 13–14 Coptic Church introduction to 7, 32 Investiture of the Archangel Michael 59–73 liturgical memories of Archangel Michael 51–8 Michael as psychopomp in 35–50

Coptos Pillar 56 coronation of Michael see Investiture of the Archangel Michael Council of Laodicea 13 creation stories 17 Crowley, Aleister 189–90 cult of Michael 23–7 Dayr Īsūs, Išnin 55 De Anima (Tertullian) 47 De Coelesti Hierarchia see On the Celestial Hierarchy (Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite) death, Michael associated with 170 see also psychopomps death rituals 92 Dee, John 190–1 Deir al-Surian, Egypt 38–9, 38, 41, 42, 45 demon tamer, Michael as 105–6 demons 16 see also spirits depictions of Michael 158–61, 159 Dərsanä Mikaʾel 112, 115, 125–6, 132–3 contents of 120, 127–8, 128–9 healing power of 118, 122, 123, 129 popularity of 129–30 devil 61, 64–6, 70, 96 see also dragon, defeat of; Mastēma; Satan differential imitation and texts 69–70 Dionysius of Fourna 84 dipinti 79–80, 82 Discourse to the Greeks concerning Hades (Hippolytus of Rome) 47 divinatory practices 52–7 Do Rego, R. 172 doorkeepers, angels as 87–8 Dormition of the Virgin Mary 37–42, 38 Dous, R. W. B. 57 dragon, defeat of battle with Michael 96, 170, 172, 175–7, 176 identified as Satan 16 stained-­glass windows depicting 165–6, 165, 168 see also devil; Mastēma; Satan Dupré, L. 169 Dutch Reformed Church, Carolina, South Africa 149–51, 164, 172, 173

Index education in South Africa 152–3 Egypt angels in 19–21 Christianity in 31–2 Investiture of the Archangel Michael 59–73 liturgical memories of Archangel Michael 51–8 Michael as psychopomp in 35–50 Michael in 7 eidolon (spirit-image of a living or dead person), passing of 39–40, 40, 47, 48, 49 Eleleth, angel 15 Encomium (Theodosius) 41 end of time 15, 26, 116–17, 126, 169, 206 Enoch 92, 100, 169, 190 Enochian language 190 Enochian literature 92 Esbroeck, Michael van 95, 106 eschatology and angels 116–17, 169 esotericism 17, 190 Ethiopia 5, 7, 110, 111–12 Ethiopian Orthodox Church angelology of 120, 121 eschatology and angels 116–17 establishment of 111 exorcisms 123–4 holy water healing 116, 118, 121–3, 125 miracles in 130–2 relationships with Michael 117–19 roles of Michael 26, 27 superhuman nature of Michael 119–21 title of Michael 25 see also Dərsanä Mikaʾel Eusebius of Caesarea 32 Eustathius of Trake 52 Eutychius of Alexandria 56, 198 exorcisms 123–5 extended great chain of being 18 eye-­motifs 90, 99–101 fall of angels 119–20 fallen angels 16 fanfiction 61, 71–3 Faras, Nubia angels as doorkeepers 87 Christ enthroned 100, 101 Michael as archistrategos 97, 97, 105

241

Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace 104–5, 104 trumpet, attribute of angels 89 Fasselt, R. 160 Father Christmas 150 feasts of Michael 53–4, 56–7, 68, 70–1, 106 Felton, D. 175 female angelic protection 156, 172, 173–5, 174 flaming pillars 171, 186–7 Flavius Josephus 106 Frumentius, bishop 111 funerary practices 92 Gabriel, archangel 15, 17, 19, 25, 27, 37, 56, 66, 87–8, 93–4, 96, 106, 120–1, 124–5, 183–4, 196, 201, 205, 212 Geloftekerk, Pietermaritzburg 174, 175 gematria 193 gems, magical 36–7 Gennet 117–19, 121 Golden Legend see Legenda Aurea 157, 157 gold exchange business 157, 157 good and evil angels 16 Good Shepherd 43 Górecki, Tomasz 86–7 Gospel of Bartholomew 37 graffiti 79–80, 82 Great Chain of Being 18 Great Trek (1835–45) 171, 173–4 Greek messengers 12 Gregory of Nazianzus 45 grimoires 191 guardian angels 13 guiding angels 186–8 Habakuk 45, 207 Hades 47 healing and Michael 26, 117–19, 121–5, 151–2, 158 healthcare in South Africa 151–2, 158 Heavenly Ladder (John Climacus) 47 Helm, Mineke van der 103 Hermanubis 36–7 Hermes 35–6, 43 Hermes Trismegistos 36 hero-­leadership of Michael 169–71 Hippolytus of Rome 47 Historia Monachorum in Aegypto 20

242

Index

History of the Churches and Monasteries (Abū l-Makārim) Tārıḫ al-kanā ʾis wa l-adyira Hlungwani, Jackson 145, 179–86, 181, 188, 212–3 Crucifix (I) 183 Michael Star 184–6, 185 New Jerusalem see New Jerusalem of Jackson Hlungwani holy days see feasts of Michael holy water healing 116, 118, 121–3, 125 Homily in Honor of the Archangel Michael see Dərsanä Mikaʾel Homily on the Dormition (Pseudo-Evodius of Rome) 41–2 hospitals in South Africa 151–2 Houze, Rebecca 148, 149 human/angel overlap 17–19 Human, Deléne 166 human sacrifice 55 human turn in religion 18–19 Hyslop, Jonathan 153–4 Ibn ͑Abd al-H . akam 55 Ibn Iyās 54 Ibn Taġrībirdī 54 iconography in South Africa 163–78 hero-­leadership of Michael 169–71 stained-­glass windows 164–9, 165 Ungeheuer motif at the Voortrekker Monument 176–7, 176 Voortrekkers 171–6, 172, 174 icons of Michael 48–9, 49 illuminated manuscripts 42, 45, 47–8 imago clipeata 90–3, 91 In A Foreign Town (film) 193 In Secundum Adventum Domini Nostri Jesu Christi (Pseudo-John Chrysostom) 48 interpreting angels 15 Investiture of the Archangel Gabriel 15 Investiture of the Archangel Michael 23, 32–3, 59–73, 83, 98–102, 106 fall of the devil 64–5 illustration of 86, 98–102, 98 John the Baptist 66–8 liturgical context 70–1 as monastic fanfiction 71–3

music and film based on 193–4 stoning of the devil 65–6 texts 60–2, 191–3 textual fluidity 68–70 transmission history 62–3 Irğanūs, well at 54–5 Isaac 24, 46 Israelites and Michael 170–1, 173, 186 ivory panels 39–40, 40 Jacob 46, 207 James, M. R. 189 John, apostle 62–3 John the Baptist 47, 60–1, 65–7, 192, 203 John Chrysostom 103 John Climacus 47 John the Dwarf 20 John of Parallos 63, 70 Jones, David Albert 14 Josephus see Flavius Josephus Judgment Day 47–8, 49, 169, 170 judgment of souls 46–7 Justin Martyr 18, 44 Karanlık Kilise, Cappadocia 105 Kebra Nagast 186–7 k·ədus Mikaʾel 25 Kitāb al-Id.āh. 63 Koimesis see Dormition of the Virgin Mary kriophoros (sheep-­bearer) 35, 43 Kustenbauder, M. 27 Lakoff, George 18 Landau, Brent 73 Łaptaś, Magdalena 88, 89, 90, 92 Last Judgment 47–8, 49, 169, 170 Le Roux, M. 186–7 Legenda Aurea (Golden Legend) 192 Legio Maria Church 26 Liber Institutionis Michaelis see Investiture of the Archangel Michael Liber Requiei 41, 45 Life Healthcare 151–2 light of angels 12–13 Ligotti, Thomas 193 Liles, Andrew 193 Limpopo, South Africa 179, 182, 186, 188, 212

Index Little Company of Mary Hospital 151–2 little disciples 65–6 liturgical memories of Archangel Michael 51–8 Living Beings 103 living like an angel 20–1 Logos see word of God Macmillan, Hugh 155 Makuria, Nubia 76, 77–8 manuscript and printed versions of miracle stories 133–9 maps of South Africa 151 al-Maqrīzī 53, 54 Markovitz, M. 186 Marks & Spencer 154, 155, 158, 210, 226 Markschies, Christoph 14–15 martyrs 6, 19, 37, 46, 127, 195 Mary, Virgin 37–42, 130, 132 Mastēma 8, 64, 99, 139, 192, 213 see also devil; dragon, defeat of; Satan McClintock, A. 175 memento mori (reminder of death) 48, 50 Mercurius, saint 85–6 messengers 12, 24, 36, 43, 170 metaphysical nature of angels 17 Metatron, angel 100 Michael alms in the name of 52, 68, 70, 119, 122 attributes of 89–90, 92 as a Christ 84, 103–5, 104 as healer 26, 117–19, 121–5, 151–2, 158 hero-­leadership of 169–71 introduction to 6, 7–8, 13, 15 miracles of 133–9 name of 25 persona of 23–5 as psychopomp 35–50, 92 roles of 19, 26, 27, 96–7, 105–6, 152, 156 as superhuman 119–21 tasks of 47, 71 Michael, Douglas 167 Michael, S. T. 157, 157 Michaelhouse, Kwa-Zulu Natal 153, 165, 168 Michaelhouse, Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa 153, 165, 168 miracles 130, 132, 133–9 Miracles of Jesus 119–20

243

Miracles of Mary see Täʾammərä Maryam Mirzoeff, Nicholas 161 Moerdijk, Gerard 151, 173 monasteries in Egypt 32 monastics and angels 18, 20–1 monotheism 14–15 moon and sun 39, 92–3 Moses 43, 85, 92, 170–1, 173, 175 Muafangejo, John The Angel Chases Satan 158 St. Michael Church in Windhoek 158–9 mud’s weighing, Coptic custom 51–4, 57 Muehlberger, Ellen 20 mural paintings see wall paintings music 193–4 mutable stability of texts 69 Nagʾ el-Scheima, Nubia 86–7, 86, 102 also 95 Nature of the Archons 15 Nettleton, Anitra 158 New Jerusalem of Jackson Hlungwani 179, 182, 183, 184–5, 188, 212–3 Ngoma Lungundu (drum of the ancestors) epic 179, 186–8 Nicholas, saint 150 Nichols, Stephen 69 Niekerk, S. G. J. van 171 Night of the Drop, Coptic custom 52–4, 57 Nike 175 Nile 51–8, 111 nilometers 55, 58 Nine Saints missionaries 112 Nobadia, Nubia 76, 77 Nubia Christianity in 5, 76, 78 cult of Michael in 95–107 wall paintings from 79–94 numerology see gematria Obsequies 41 Old Dongola, Nubia, wall paintings angel wings 90 Balaam, painting of 84, 85, 106 Investiture of the Archangel Michael 86, 98–102, 98 miracle of Dorotheos and Theophiste 106 rider Angels of the Apocalypse 88

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Index

rulers of 76, 77 tondo depiction of an (arch)angel 92 omniscience of God 100 On the Celestial Hierarchy (PseudoDionysius the Areopagite) 17 “other,” images of 4 Palm of the Tree of Life 41, 42 palms 41, 42 Paradise 47 peacock feathers 90 Pentecostalism 23–4, 180–1 Pepe, Davide 193 persona of Michael see Michael, persona of Pettazzoni, Rafaelle 100 Philo 43–4 polytheism 14–15 Pretoria, South Africa 143, 147, 149, 149–54, 157, 163–5, 174, 176, 180, 209–11 private education in South Africa 152–3 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite 17, 95–6 Pseudo-Epiphanius of Cyprus 119–20 Pseudo-Evodius of Rome 41–2 Pseudo-John Chrysostom 48 psychopompos see psychopomps psychopomps 35–50 in Dormition of the Virgin Mary 37–9, 38 in Graeco-Roman Egypt 35–7, 36 iconology of 40–2 Michael as 46–50, 102 Michael-Christ as 42–5 paintings of Michael as 86–7, 86, 92, 102 psychostasis see souls, weighing of Pye, B. 166 al-Qalqašandī 53, 56 Raath, Johan 156, 173 racial segregation in South Africa see apartheid in South Africa Raphael, archangel 19, 25, 82–4, 87–8, 90, 92–4, 106, 121, 126, 204–5 religious goods 155–6 resorts 147–8 rider Angels of the Apocalypse 88–9 rock-­hewn churches of Ethiopia 112 roles of Michael

archistrategos (commander-­in-chief) 6, 8, 23, 25, 48, 50, 96–7, 99, 104, 106 demon tamer 105–6 destroyer of spirits 27, 118, 122–3, 125–6 healer 24, 26, 117–19, 121–5, 151–2, 158 patron of the sick 120, 152 protector of airborne soldiers 156 protector of Nubia 105 saint 19, 25, 127–39, 147–8 see also psychopomps Roman angeloi 13 Rope, Margaret 164, 165, 167 Rossouw, H. 174, 174 saint, Michael as 19, 25 Saklatabōth 64, 99, 103 see also Mastēma salvation 18 Satan 25, 65, 92, 96, 119–20, 126, 170, 176, 185–6 see also devil; dragon, defeat of; Mastēma Sayings of the Desert Fathers see Apophthegmata Patrum scepters as angelic symbols 81, 89, 98, 99, 103, 104, 104 Schadenmagie (curses) 16 Schneider, T. 184 schools in South Africa 152–3 scrolls as angelic symbols 92 Secret Book of John 17, 195 semiotics of popular culture 148–9 Sənkəssar 106, 120, 127 seraphim 12 Shepherd of Hermas 44 shopping in South Africa 153–6 Sithebe, Angelina N. Holy Hill 158–61 Solomon 105–6, 111 Sonqi Tino, Nubia, wall paintings 81, 89, 91, 93, 103 souls and angels 19, 43, 50, 92, 169, 170 judgment of 8, 46–50, 101, 163, 169–70 weighing of 36, 48 souls in a golden boat 86–7, 86, 102 Sousouriel, angel see Suriēl, archangel

Index South Africa Christianity in 4, 163–4 colonization of 143–4 consumer culture 147–61 guiding angels 186–8 iconography of Archangel Michael 163–78 Jackson Hlungwani, art and beliefs of 179–86 spirits exorcism of 26, 123–5 Michael as destroyer of 27, 118, 122–3, 125–6 see also demons Spiro, Lesley 184, 211 St. Michael brand 147, 154–5 St. Michael Fighting Demons (Master of the Saint Ursula Legend) 159–60, 159 St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, Pretoria 164, 165–6, 165, 168 St. Michael’s Anglican Church, Bryanston, Johannesburg 165, 167–9 St. Michael’s and All Angels Church, Sunnyside, Pretoria, South Africa 164, 165–6, 165, 168 St. Michael’s Anglican Church, Bryanston, Johannesburg, South Africa 165, 167–9 stained-­glass windows 164–9, 165, 172, 173 star-­angels 186 Stein, L. 73 Suger, Abbot of St. Denis 166 sun and moon 39, 92–3 Suriēl, archangel 67, 96, 192–3 Susman, David 155 sword of Michael 48, 123, 176, 184 Synaxarium, Coptic 51, 52 Synaxarium, Ethiopian 106, 120 Täʾammərä Maryam (the Miracles of Mary) 42, 130, 132, 208 Tamit, Nubia 92 tapestry, Voortreker Monument 174–6, 174 Tārıḫ al-­kanā ʾis wa l-­adyira (Abū l-Makārim) 55 Tertullian 44, 47 Testament of Solomon 105–6

245

textual fluidity 68–70 Theodore Psalter 47 Theodosius of Alexandria 41, 52, 84 Thot 14, 36, 92 Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace 84, 103–5, 104 Tibet, David 189–94 Till, Christopher 184 Timothy, Bishop of Alexandria 101, 206 tonda, angels depicted in 90–3, 91 traditional religion 26–7 Treatise Against Apocryphal Books (John of Parallos) 63 trumpets as angelic symbols 89, 90 Tshwane, South Africa 151 Turner, Mark 18 Ungeheuer (dragon/monster) 170, 172, 175–7, 176 Uriēl, archangel 25, 27, 67, 94, 96, 106, 121, 126, 192–3 Usener, Hermann 15, 195 Vallé, Estelle 165, 167–8 Van Warmelo, N. J. 188 Van Wouw, Anton Voortrekker Mother and Children 172, 172 Volkerschlachtdenkmal, Leipzig, Germany 173 volksmoeder (mother of a nation) 172–3, 172, 174 Voortrekker Monument, Pretoria, South Africa 151, 171–2, 172, 173–6, 174 Voortrekkers 171–6, 172, 174 Wadi es-Sebua, Nubia 92, 93 wall paintings 79–93, 95–107 Angel of Great Counsel 45 corpus of Michael images 79–83, 81 images, possibly of, Michael 87–93, 91 Investiture of the Archangel Michael 86, 98–102, 98 Michael as archistrategos (commander-­ in-chief) 96–7, 97 Michael as demon tamer 105–6 Michael as protector of Nubia 103, 105 Michael as type of Christ 103–5, 104

246

Index

Michael in the Dormition of the Virgin Mary 37–42, 38 textual traditions for Michael 84–7, 85–6 weighing of mud, see mud’s weighing, Coptic custom weighing of souls see souls, weighing of well at Irğanūs 54–5, 57–8, 199–200

wildebeest 172, 177 wings of angels 12, 90, 99 Woolworths 147–8, 154–5 word of God 24, 43–4 written sources 3–4 Zionism 180–1 Zoroastrianism 17