Epidemics in Context: Greek Commentaries on Hippocrates in the Arabic Tradition 3110259796, 9783110259797, 9783110259803

The Hippocratic Epidemics and Galen's Commentary on them constitute milestones in the development of clinical medic

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Epidemics in Context: Greek Commentaries on Hippocrates in the Arabic Tradition
 3110259796, 9783110259797, 9783110259803

Table of contents :
Introduction
A New Manuscript: Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3592
Greek Epidemics
Exegesis, Explanation and Epistemology in Galen’s Commentaries on Epidemics, Books One and Two
Sympathy between Hippocrates and Galen: The Case of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two
The Arabic Version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two as a source for the Hippocratic Text: First Remarks
Syriac and Arabic Epidemics
The Syriac Epidemics and the Problem of Its Identification
Galen, Epidemics, Book One: Text, Transmission, Translation
The Art of the Translator, or: How did Hunayn ibn ’Isḥāq and his School Translate?
Galen the Pagan and Ḥunayn the Christian: Specific Transformations in the Commentaries on Airs, Waters, Places and the Epidemics
The later Arabic medical tradition and the Epidemics
The Arabic Reception of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’
Commentaries on the Hippocratic Aphorisms in the Arabic Tradition: The Example of Melancholy
’Abd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’: A Preliminary Exploration
Recipes by Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn in the Epidemics and in Medieval Arabic Pharmacopoeias
Bibliography
Index
List of Contributors

Citation preview

I

Epidemics in Context

II

Scientia Graeco-Arabica herausgegeben von Marwan Rashed

Band 8

De Gruyter

III

Epidemics in Context Greek Commentaries on Hippocrates in the Arabic Tradition

edited by

Peter E. Pormann

De Gruyter

IV

ISBN 978-3-11-025979-7 e-ISBN 978-3-11-025980-3 ISSN 1868-7172 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress.

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.dnb.de abrufbar.

© 2012 Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, 10785 Berlin/Boston Satz: Dörlemann-Satz GmbH & Co. KG, Lemförde Druck und buchbinderische Verarbeitung: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ∞ Gedruckt auf säurefreiem Papier Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Table of Contents

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 Table of Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 Bink Hallum, N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain, Uwe Vagelpohl A New Manuscript: Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3592 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Greek Epidemics Philip J. van der Eijk Exegesis, Explanation and Epistemology in Galen’s Commentaries on Epidemics, Books One and Two . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Brooke Holmes Sympathy between Hippocrates and Galen: The Case of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Robert Alessi The Arabic Version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two as a source for the Hippocratic Text: First Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . 71

Syriac and Arabic Epidemics Grigory Kessel The Syriac Epidemics and the Problem of Its Identification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Uwe Vagelpohl Galen, Epidemics, Book One: Text, Transmission, Translation . . . . . . . . . . .  125 Oliver Overwien The Art of the Translator, or: How did Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq and his School Translate? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  151

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Gotthard Strohmaier Galen the Pagan and Ḥunayn the Christian: Specific Transformations in the Commentaries on Airs, Waters, Places and the Epidemics . . . . . . . . . .  171

The later Arabic medical tradition and the Epidemics Bink Hallum The Arabic Reception of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’  185 Peter E. Pormann, N. Peter Joosse Commentaries on the Hippocratic Aphorisms in the Arabic Tradition: The Example of Melancholy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  211 N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’: A Preliminary Exploration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  251 Leigh Chipman Recipes by Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn in the Epidemics and in Medieval Arabic Pharmacopoeias . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  285

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  303 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  323 List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  333

Introduction

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 Introduction The Hippocratic Epidemics and Galen’s commentary explicating them are milestones in the development of both theoretical and clinical medicine.1 The former contain case notes, detailing the development of various diseases in actual patients. They display an acute sense of perception and attention to detail in their clinical observations, paying heed to individual circumstances and environmental conditions. It is thus not surprising that Galen, the greatest physician of antiquity, chose to comment upon them with great care. He did, however, already notice that not all the seven books of the Epidemics went back to the historic Hippocrates, and that they rather constitute a mixture of notes varying greatly in style and content. Consequently, Galen decided to comment only on those books which he viewed as containing at least some genuinely Hippocratic material, namely Books One, Two, Three, and Six. The importance of both the Hippocratic Epidemics and Galen’s Commentary was fully realised at different times throughout history, especially, it would appear, in those circles particularly concerned with clinical medicine rather than medical scholasticism. In ninth- and tenth-century Baghdad, in an environment which saw the rise of sophisticated hospitals, Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq translated Galen’s work into Arabic, and even supplemented it occasionally. Moreover, Ḥunayn himself wrote a treatise in question-and-answer format called Questions on the Epidemics (Masāʾil al-ʾIbīḏīmiyā), in which he engages with these case notes and makes them digestible for students. Many other medical luminaries in later times such as ʾAbū Bakr Muḥammad ibn Zakariyā al-Rāzī (Rhazes, d. c. 925) and Ibn al-Nafīs (d. 1288) held the Epidemics in high esteem. The former used them and Galen’s Commentary as a model for his own clinical work.2 Not surprisingly, then, some of al-Rāzī’s most innovative medical research is based on information contained in Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ.3 Ibn al-Nafīs, who famously discovered the pulmonary transit in defiance of Galenic orthodoxy, also composed a commentary on the Epidemics.4 Later, as can be seen from one extant manuscript, a Jewish physician read Galen’s Commen1 See Fichtner 2011a, nos. 6–7, 16–20; Fichtner 2011b, nos. 96–100 for bibliographical information about editions, translations, and studies. In this introduction, I will keep documentation to a minimum; many of the points made here will be discussed in much more detail in the contributions to the present volume. 2 Álvarez-Millán 1999, 2000, 2010. 3 Pormann 2008b, 105–7. 4 Bachmann 1971, Abou Aly 2000, see below, pp. 207–9.

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Introduction

tary carefully, writing short titles or summaries in the margins of his copy in Judaeo-Arabic (that is, Arabic written in Hebrew letters).5 Although Arab authors from Ḥunayn onwards took a great interest in Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, they also had to surmount some significant obstacles. Ḥunayn already complained that the Greek manuscripts at his disposal were in quite a woeful state: he could not find any complete copies. The situation was even more difficult in the Renaissance Europe. Fully aware of this deplorable state of the Greek tradition, in the 1620s the Scottish scholar David Colville copied out carefully those parts of Ḥunayn’s Arabic translation not extant in Greek.6 Roughly a century and a half later, the celebrated Arabist Michael Casiri quoted extensively from the Arabic translation, and noted the crucial importance of this version7, as did the famous German philologist Johannes Mewaldt, saying: ‘Therefore, given that the Greek manuscrips [of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’] are so deplorable, we have to rejoice in the fact that this [Arabic] translation has come down to us […] (Gaudere igitur debemus in tanta codicum Graecorum penuria, quod illa versio ad aetatem nostram pervenit, […])’.8 The doyen of Graeco-Arabic studies, the German physician Max Simon, undertook to edit and translate this Arabic version, but passed away before he could complete this task. Another German philologist, Franz Pfaff, continued Simon’s work. When Wenkebach edited Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ for the Corpus Medicorum Graecorum, he called on Pfaff to provide him with a German translation of the Arabic version, both to improve the Greek text, where it is extant, and to supplement it, where it is not.9 In order to do so, Pfaff drew on Simon’s previous efforts, and his original aim was to publish the Arabic text alongside a revised German translation, but the economic circumstances in Germany in the 1930s did not allow for the then costly printing of the Arabic. Pfaff ended his preface by saying: ‘For the sake of scholarly rigour, the Academy wants to print the Arabic text at a later date, when the economic situation will again make it possible to allocate such a great amount of resource (Der Wissenschaftlichkeit wegen will die Akademie doch den arabischen Text auch drucken lassen, wenn die Wirtschaftslage den Aufwand größerer Mittel wieder gestattet).’10 In 2006, more than seventy years later, this wish of the Academy had not yet been realised. Moreover, scholars had become increasingly wary of Pfaff’s Ger-

5 These marginal notes appear in Madrid, Escorial, MS 804 árabe (henceforth MS E1). 6 His manuscript survives in Milan, Bibliotheca Ambrosiana, MS B 135 sup. (henceforth MS M); see Löfgren/Traini 1975–95, vol. i., pp. 66–67, no. 105. On Colville, see Pormann 2009b. 7 Casiri 1760–70, vol. i., p. 249–57, nos. 800–1. 8 Quoted in Wenkeback/Pfaff 1934, xxii. 9 Wenkeback/Pfaff 1934. 10 Wenkeback/Pfaff 1934, xxxiii.

Introduction

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man translation.11 Simon Swain and I discussed this situation in the autumn of 2006, and we decided that it was an opportune moment to rectify it by organising a project to edit the Arabic translation of this highly influential text, and to make it available through a more reliable and accessible English translation. The Wellcome Trust kindly agreed to fund this project, and thus the ‘Warwick Epidemics’ were born. Uwe Vagelpohl and Bink Hallum joined the project as post-doctoral research assistants, and carried out the bulk of the work: they prepared a preliminary edition and translation of Galen’s commentary on Books One and Two. As work progressed, it became clear that the team would benefit from the input of colleagues working in adjacent areas. Therefore, we decided to make our draft edition and translation available to interested scholars and to invite them to engage with our material. We planned a conference at the Warburg Institute in London to meet and discuss the preliminary results of this engagement. Hallum and Vagelpohl worked on a very tight schedule and managed to produce the draft editions and translations by early August 2010. More than a dozen colleagues accepted our invitation to come to London in the second week on November 2010. In addition to the contributors to this volume, Rebecca Flemming, Ivan Garofalo12, and Caroline Petit gave papers on ‘Women and Commentary in Epidemics 2’, ‘Some Problems in the Arabic Translation of Galen’s Commentary on Epidemics 1–3’, and ‘Proof and Demonstration in Galen’s Commentaries on the Hippocratic Epidemics’, respectively. Furthermore, Peter Adamson, Charles Burnett, James Montgomery, and Emilie Savage-Smith kindly agreed to chair sessions. The ensuing discussions and exchanges helped us tremendously; and they also showed us clearly that our project elicited a great amount of interest from various scholarly disciplines. Two of the speakers and contributors to this volume worked at the Corpus Medicorum Graecorum, a long-running project of the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy that had recently celebrated its centenary.13 Not only did these two colleagues from the CMG attend our conference, but the CMG also agreed in principle to publish the forthcoming editions and translations.14 The Warwick Epidemics team therefore wishes to thank the CMG, and especially Christian Brockmann, its project director, and Andreas Wittwer, its head of research.

11 See Strohmaier 1981, 189; and, more recently, Garofalo 2009, 2010a, 2010b. 12 Ivan Garofalo in particular deserves our gratitude, as he painstakingly worked through the draft editions and translations, offering many corrections and suggestions. He had already been in the process of publishing the results of his work on Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ in his own journal Galenos and elsewhere; see Garofalo 2009, 2010a, 2010b, 2011. 13 See Brockmann / Brunschön / Overwien 2009. 14 Vagelpohl 2012, Hallum / Vagelpohl 2012.

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Introduction

The first short article which opens this volume discusses a newly discovered manuscript containing parts of Ḥunayn’s Arabic translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two. To my mind, it illustrates the synergies that result from the presence of a team working on different aspects of Graeco-Arabic medical history. N. Peter Joosse, who is currently working on a project to edit, translate, and study the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’ by the Arab physician ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī (d. 1231), found this new manuscript during a research trip to Istanbul, where he was hunting for Prognostic manuscripts. This short article argues that the manuscript which he found is of crucial importance for the textual history, as it represents an independent witness to the Arabic version. The manuscript will therefore be fully considered in Hallum’s and Vagelpohl’s forthcoming editions. The remaining articles published here are all largely expanded and revised versions of the papers originally presented at the Warburg Institute. They cluster around three thematic areas: the Epidemics and Galen’s commentary on them in the Greek tradition; their transmission into Syriac and Arabic; and their impact in the context of the medieval Arabic medical tradition. The first two articles by Philip J. van der Eijk and Brooke Holmes both explore the relationship between the Hippocratic Epidemics and Galen’s commentary on them. Both show in their way that Galen often read his own doctrine into the Hippocratic text. In other words, his intention was not to elucidate the meaning that a fifth-century BC physician could have given to the text. Rather, Galen’s commentary pursued different aims and objectives; the two most prominent are undoubtedly the following. First, by reading his own doctrines into the Hippocratic text, Galen lent them a veneer of respectability and authority that they would otherwise lack. For if the great Hippocrates already adhered to these doctrines, then they were much more likely to be correct; after all, they had stood the test of time. Second, Galen operated in a highly competitive medical marketplace where physicians of different persuasions vied for the attention of patrons and patients alike. And Galen is positively combative in his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, ridiculing and refuting the explanations of earlier and contemporaneous exegetes. Both van der Eijk and Holmes analyse aspects of these two characteristics. The former shows in particular that Galen used his own theoretical framework to confute the commentaries of the Roman doctor Quintus (fl. AD 120–45) as well as Empiricist physicians. For Galen, the method of qualified experience was extremely important: it was not sufficient merely to resort to experience (empeiría), but it had to be coupled with reason (lógos). Although the Hippocratic text, especially in the first book, contains more theoretical reflections, it certainly lacks the highly sophisticated medical doctrines that Galen attributed to it, especially in the area of epistemology. Van der Eijk also highlights Galen’s theoretical bias in relation to the case histories contained in the Epidemics. The

Introduction

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medical historiography of the last two centuries largely regarded them as ‘landmarks of empirical science’, as van der Eijk puts it: they represent careful clinical observations that do not shy away from recording failure, and are not overly concerned with theoretical models. Yet, Galen endeavoured to find the underlying theory in these case notes. In other words, for him they illustrate the medical doctrines to which Hippocrates adhered. The task of the commentator is to reconstruct or to elicit this theoretical framework from them. Van der Eijk also calls our attention to the fact that the Epidemics and Galen’s commentary on them inspired generations of physicians. The genre of the case history first appeared in the Epidemics (at least in the extant Greek medical literature). And although Galen concentrated on the medical theory that the Epidemics contained, it was largely through his commentary that the genre of the case histories became so popular in the later Arabic tradition. Holmes focuses on a different aspect in the relationship between Hippocrates and Galen: anatomy. Since the great anatomical breakthroughs in thirdand second-century BC Alexandria, anatomy occupied a prominent position in medicine. In fact, it would appear that a major debate about the usefulness and morality of dissection and vivisection took place in Hellenistic times: the Empiricists rejected the use of anatomy, whereas the Rationalists defended it.15 Yet, in the Hippocratic Corpus, anatomy plays only a very minor role, an exception being Epidemics, Book Two. For Galen, who trained in Alexandria and held anatomy in high esteem, Epidemics, Book Two, therefore, offered a unique opportunity to rehabilitate Hippocrates as a keen anatomist (at least in the theoretical sense). Holmes demonstrates this with the example of co-affection (sympátheia in Greek; mušāraka in Arabic). Galen used the concept of co-affection to explain various illnesses. If one part of the body suffers damage or is affected by an illness, this is called primary affection. For instance, if you eat something bad and suffer from indigestion, your stomach is primarily affected. But if you suffer from indigestion, and this leads to melancholy, a disease situated in the brain, then this is a case of co-affection. The brain and the stomach are linked through the oesophagus, and therefore, a disease in one part of the body (the stomach) can lead to an affection in another part of the body (the brain). This theory of co-affection did not exist in the Hippocratic Corpus, nor was the Greek word for it, sympátheia, used there. Galen, however, was able to introduce co-affection into his commentary through a clever ploy. The author of Epidemics talks occasionally about ‘koinōníē’, meaning ‘association’ or ‘partnership’ between different parts of the body. Moreover, the idea that an affection in one part also transcends to another is not totally alien to the 15 Celsus gives an eloquent account of this controversy in the proem to his On Medicine; see also Frede 1988 with references.

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Introduction

Hippocratic Corpus. Using such passages as springboards, Galen introduces his own theory of co-affection into the Hippocratic text through his commentary. Moreover, in the Arabic translation, the distinction between ‘co-affection (sympátheia)’ and ‘association (koinōníē)’ is conveniently blurred as both are sometimes rendered by the same word mušāraka. This would then constitute a case of contextual translation, discussed by Overwien in his contribution: Galen’s interpretation of the text leads the translator to render a term in a certain way. Be that as it may, Holmes clearly shows that Galen interprets Hippocrates in light of his own medical doctrine, thereby lending it greater authority. The third article in this section deals with a different problem: how can the Hippocratic text of the Epidemics, Book Two, be reconstructed and analysed with the help of Galen’s commentary, which is extant only in Arabic. Robert Alessi had been working on an edition of the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Two, for the prestigious Budé collection (CUF) for many years; it was the topic of his Paris Ph.D. thesis.16 When working on the edition, he previously relied on Pfaff’s German translation of the Arabic version, which had not yet been edited. Then, in May 2007 during the American Association for the History of Medicine meeting in Montreal, he and I met for lunch on a beautiful spring day.17 I had started working on the Arabic version and been persuaded that Pfaff’s rendering, although a great achievement for its time, suffered from many problems and was often misleading about the text of the Hippocratic lemmas as well as Galen’s interpretations of them. Therefore, I urged Alessi to take up the study of Arabic in order to gain direct access to the source, namely Ḥunayn’s Arabic version. For, I ventured to promise somewhat optimistically that he would soon have access to our edition of it. The reader will perhaps understand my joy when I heard from Alessi three years later that he had heeded my advice and had just completed a licence (roughly B.A.) in Arabic at the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales in Paris. His article results directly from the availability of a new source and his newly gained competence in this area. Alessi argues that Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, is of paramount importance for three reasons. First, it contains the Hippocratic lemmas; in other words the Hippocratic text on which Galen is to comment is quoted in full. The text of these lemmas, however, represents an independent strand of the textual transmission that is much older than that contained in the Byzantine manuscripts of Hippocrates. Therefore, the Arabic version testifies to this earlier strand, although only indirectly, that is, through the Arabic translation, and not in the original Greek. Second, Galen adduces and discusses many early variant readings that testify again to an earlier stage of the textual transmission. These first two points concern the state of the Hippocratic text that 16 Alessi 1999. 17 Alessi presented a paper on a related subject at this conference; see Alessi 2007.

Introduction

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the modern editor needs to reconstruct as faithfully as possible. The third point regards the interpretation. Often, the Hippocratic text is quite obscure and offers significant difficulties. Here, Galen’s commentary can help, as it frequently provides additional evidence about how the Hippocratic text was understood in antiquity. Therefore, both for the constitution of the Hippocratic text, and for its interpretation and translation, Galen’s commentary in its Arabic guise provides crucial evidence. Therefore, the Arabic translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Books One and Two, that Bink Hallum and Uwe Vagelpohl edited and translated, offers important evidence for the reconstruction of Hippocrates’ and Galen’s texts and ideas. This begs the question of how this Arabic translation was produced. As so many medical texts, Galen’s commentary was rendered first into Syriac and then into Arabic. Unfortunately, until now, nobody had studied these Syriac versions in detail, largely because they have not come down to us. In the late 1970s, two prominent Syriac scholars drew attention to a manuscript of the Syriac Epidemics, a text that allegedly contained part of Galen’s commentary on Book Six.18 Yet, until today, the Syriac Epidemics have barely been studied, nor have they been edited. In his contribution, Grigory Kessel is the first to rectify this neglect: he was able to investigate this text by looking at an electronic copy of Vööbus’ microfilm of the manuscript; and he comes to some startling conclusions. The Syriac Epidemics are not a Syriac translation of Galen’s commentary, although they testify to it. Rather, as Kessel argues, they are the Syriac version of a commentary on the Hippocratic Epidemics by the late antique iatrosophist (or professor of medicine) called Gesius. Gesius taught medicine in fifth-century Alexandria, but to date, his work has largely been lost to us, whether in the original Greek or in translation. Therefore, Kessel is the first to unearth a large text by this mysterious, yet highly influential figure, and that in itself is a major discovery. By comparing the Syriac Epidemics to the commentaries by Galen and John of Alexandria, another late-antique iatrosophist, Kessel shows that Gesius often drew on Galen’s commentary, but that his work also shows clear evidence for the influence of lecture hall teaching. This comparison reveals that certain concepts and ideas in John’s commentary already appeared in that by Gesius. We can thus gain access to the amphitheatres of Alexandria in the fifth century, a time for which we have very little evidence in the area of medicine. Moreover, Kessel argues that Sergius of Rēšʿaynā (d. 536) was the translator of this text. In other words, we have here a document of the earlier phase of Graeco-Syriac translation activity relating to medical texts. Finally, as the Hippocratic Aphorisms are frequently quoted in Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, it is possible to compare the translation by Sergius of Rēšʿaynā with that by 18 Vööbus 1978, Degen 1981, 151.

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Introduction

Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq (d. 873): for we find quotations from the Aphorisms in the Syriac Epidemics, and Ḥunayn’s translation of the Aphorisms has come down to us and has been edited. Therefore, the Syriac Epidemics also yield crucial material for the study of how Syriac translation technique developed. Aspects of translation technique also occupy the authors of the remaining three contributions in this section. Uwe Vagelpohl explores the possibilities of using quantitative data in order to identify individual translators, or groups of translators. He opens his article, however, with an important reflection on the state of the Greek text of Galen’s commentary (where it is extant) and its relationship to the Arabic translation produced by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq. Any study of Graeco-Arabic translation technique requires a source and a target text. In the case of Book One, however, the source text is the result of centuries, if not millennia, of editorial efforts to restore the faulty Greek manuscripts. After all, Ḥunayn already complained about the problematic state of the textual transmission, and I have sketched some of the efforts to use the Arabic version to restore Galen’s commentary at the beginning of this introduction. Yet, in the case of Book One (and this is equally true for Books Three and Six), the Greek text is a construct that relies on a good deal of retroversion and conjecture on the basis of the Arabic translation. In other word, when we compare the Greek source text as edited by Wenkebach with the Arabic target text edited by Vagelpohl, we may well be comparing a source text based on the target text rather than vice versa. Despite this caveat, Vagelpohl argues, the first book of Galen’s commentary actually affords an excellent opportunity to study Ḥunayn’s translation technique, as we can be virtually certain that he translated it. Previous translation studies have largely ignored quantitative data. But Vagelpohl shows that statistical patterns may well provide the metrics which would allow us to identify individual translators on the basis of their translation style with much greater accuracy. He provides two examples of how one could gather such data: by looking, first, at how Greek particles are rendered; and, second, at how Greek compounds, especially those formed with alpha privative, are translated. For Galen’s commentary and the Arabic translation of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Vagelpohl is able to produce accurate statistical data of how often certain translational pairs appear in each text. Certain patterns appear to be statistically relevant, but he also notes significant variation within the style of individual translators. Moreover, Vagelpohl tentatively compares the usage in these texts with three groups of texts: translations of medical and non-medical texts produced in the Ḥunayn’s workshop, and translations of non-medical texts produced in the circle of alKindī, the Arabic philosopher who died after 870. One of the major obstacles to this kind of analysis is the absence of a database or bank containing a bilingual Greek-Arabic Corpus. If such a database were available, Graeco-Arabists could select a number of texts that can be securely

Introduction

9

attributed to a given translator (such as Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, translated by Ḥunayn). Then, they could formulate a set of criteria which would establish a translation thumbprint, with how Greek particles are rendered being one of them. On the basis of these thumbprints, other texts whose translator is unknown could then be identified as belonging to certain schools, or perhaps even individuals. Vagelpohl also highlights, however, possible methodological problems: the presence of a Syriac intermediary that is almost always lost to us; and the possibility that the translator changed the text by way of omission, addition, and glossing. Oliver Overwien focusses on what he calls ‘contextual translation’: in various ways, the wider context of a Greek text determines how it is rendered into Arabic. He investigates more specifically how the Arabic medical terminology of the day was used to render certain Greek words; how Galen’s works provide a context for Hippocratic texts; and how textual parallels, that is, phrases that occur more than once in the Hippocratic Corpus, are taken into consideration by the translators. For instance, the translator would render the Greek for ‘inner vein at the elbow’ in Galen as ‘the basilic vein’, a technical term that only gained currency in Greek after Galen, but also entered Arabic as a loan word. Moreover, when Ḥunayn and his team translated Hippocrates, they often resorted to what one might call explicitation: they provided additional information from other works by Galen in order to render certain terms. The phenomenon of parallel texts as context is particularly interesting and complex. Sometimes the same phrasing occurs in two Hippocratic works such as Humours and Aphorisms. Overwien shows that even when different translators rendered these works into Arabic, the translation of these passages is sometimes identical. This can only be explained in terms of one translator drawing on the earlier work of his colleague. But the translators did not always use the available Arabic translation of the parallel text; rather, they appear to have done so when Galen’s commentary on the work in question (for instance, the Aphorisms) pointed out that there was a parallel. This conclusion further demonstrates that the Galenic commentaries were of crucial importance when it came to translating Hippocratic texts into Arabic. Gotthard Strohmaier considers another aspect of Greek-Arabic translation technique: the influence of monotheism on the translators. For most of the translators in Ḥunayn’s workshop professed Christianity, and the patrons who commissioned the Arabic translations often adhered to Islam. Both Christians and Muslims, however, rejected the idea of a polytheistic pantheon, a concept that frequently occurs even in the medical texts. How, then, did Ḥunayn and his colleagues deal with this problem? As one would expect, the translators followed a number of strategies. Sometimes they retained the names of certain gods such as Asclepius, perhaps because they could expect their readers to be familiar with them; or when they merely related to buildings or place names

10

Introduction

(e.g., ‘the temple of Hera’). But quite often, ‘the gods’ become ‘God (Allāh)’. Furthermore, either the translators or later scribes frequently added doxologies such as ‘the Almighty’, ‘great and exalted’ and so on. In these cases, it is sometimes difficult for the modern editor to decide who made these additions, and how they should appear in a critical text. Strohmaier ends his article with an ingenious, if controversial, suggestion. It concerns a passage from Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ in which Galen reports that the famous orator and satirist Lucian (2nd cent. AD) produced fakes of divinely inspired incomprehensible texts. Lucian then gave them to ‘some grammarians (qawm min al-naḥwīyīn)’, if we follow the reading of one manuscript. I personally understood this to mean that Lucian composed unintelligible oracular poetry, perhaps in the style of the Sibylline oracles, and then watched how the grammarians would pour over his fakes, trying to understand their elusive meaning.19 Strohmaier, however, proposes to read the Galenic text differently as ‘qawm min al-naḥwayn (people of the two ways)’, and explains this as a reference to Christians and Jews. In other words, Lucian ridiculed Christians and Jews rather than grammarians. The Syriac, and especially the Arabic translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ had a profound impact on the subsequent medical tradition. This impact can partly be gauged from the many quotations from this commentary that we find in Arabic medical works from the ninth century onwards. Bink Hallum investigates these quotations in his contribution. One story about a patient believing that he swallowed a snake, and Galen then curing him of his delusion through a trick appears already in two early Arabic medical works, composed in the mid-ninth century. Moreover, the man who produced the Arabic version that we now have, Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq, did not content himself with just rendering this text into Arabic, but he also produced at least four abridgments of the Hippocratic text and Galen’s commentary. In doing so, he seemed to be particularly motivated by didactic concerns: he wanted to make the material more easily acceptable for students. These abridgments range from collections of the most important passages to aphorisms and a sort of catechism in question-and-answer format. Ḥunayn’s Arabic version travelled quickly to the outer reaches of the Islamic world. For the physician ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿImrān, originally hailing from Baghdad, but later installed in Kairouan, included quotations from it in his Treatise on Melancholy in the early tenth century, as did agricultural author al-Ṭinġarī in eleventh-century Muslim Spain. The two medical authors who quoted most from Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ are Muḥammad ibn Zakarīyāʾ 19 On the Sibylline oracles, see now Lightfoot 2007 with further literature; she discusses Lycian’s parodies of the Sibylline oracles and their metric characteristics on pp. 159–61. One example of such parody is contained in Lucian’s Death of Peregrinus, §§ 29–30; see also Pilhofer et al. 2005.

Introduction

11

al-Rāzī (d. ca. 925) and Mūsā ibn ʿUbayd Allāh, better known as Ibn Maymūn or Maimonides (d. 1204), the celebrated Jewish thinker, theologian, and physician. The former strongly advocated the use of case notes in clinical practice and research, and in this context, he specifically cited the example of the Epidemics. The latter has many quotations in his own Book of Aphorisms (Kitāb al-Fuṣūl), probably because certain passages in the Epidemics lent themselves particularly well to being excerpted as adages and axioms (see the example of Ḥunayn, just mentioned). Other physicians from the Eastern and Western parts of the Islamic world such as al-Maǧūsī (d. after 987) and Ibn al-Ǧazzār, quoted from, and commented on, the Epidemics. The last author in this long line is Ibn al-Nafīs (d. 1288), who penned a fully-fledged lemmatic commentary on this text, drawing on the earlier example of Galen. In the next two articles, my colleague N. Peter Joosse and I investigate two other Hippocratic texts and how Arab physicians engaged with them, namely the Aphorisms and the Prognostic. Whereas Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ is the longest commentary that Galen wrote, his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorims’ is by far the most influential one in the medieval Islamic world. This is obviously linked to the popularity of the Hippocratic Aphorisms, a text which even school-children would at least partly learn by heart. Like the Epidemics, the Aphorisms were rendered into Arabic by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq in the wake of his translation of Galen’s commentary. But another, earlier translation also existed that was extracted from the lemmas in the commentary by Palladius, a physician from sixth-century Alexandria. This older translation still partly survives in a unique manuscript and quotations in later authors. Moreover, for the Aphorisms, we have the Syriac version produced by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq. Therefore, we are in the unique position to be able to compare the Greek original with the Syriac version by Ḥunayn, the earlier Syriac version by Sergius of Rēšʿaynā, perserved in the Syriac Epidemics (see above), the older Arabic translation, possibly by al-Biṭrīq (fl. late 8th cent.), and that by Ḥunayn. Building on an earlier article by Franz Rosenthal, we survey more than a dozen Arabic commentaries on the Hippocratic Aphorisms, written from the eleventh to the sixteenth centuries. In each case, we list the extant manuscripts, describe the author’s approach, and investigate the commentary on one particular aphorism, namely vi. 23: ‘If fear and despondency last for a long time, then this is something melancholic.’ This pilot study, so to speak, allows us not only to trace the diachronic interdependence of the various commentators, but also to study how this manifesto of melancholy elicited explanation. Both Galen’s commentary and that by the ‘second Hippocrates’, Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq (d. after 1068), proved tremendously influential for the subsequent tradition. Some authors mostly drew on Galen or Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, but others deliberately distanced themselves from the latter. Although the commentaries vary greatly in length—the longest by Ibn al-Quff (d. 1286) is roughly ten times as long as the shortest by

12

Introduction

Mūsā ibn Maymūn—, they all offer at least one interesting new thought or idea (with the exception of that by Ibn al-Nafīs, who merely states that this aphorism is ‘clear’). This extremely rich exegetical tradition undoubtedly deserves further study. Therefore, it is with great joy that I can announce here that the European Research Council has granted me €1.5m to explore this topic in depth over a five-year period, starting in early 2012. In the late antique medical curriculum, the Hippocratic Prognostic were second in importance only to the Aphorisms. This prominent place is also partly reflected in the Arabic medical tradition. For in addition to the Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary, an Arabic version of that by Palladius was also available. Moreover, famous physicians such as Ibn al-Muṭrān (d. 1191), his pupil al-Daḫwār (d. 1230), ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī, and Ibn al-Nafīs (d. 1288) all commented on the Prognostic. They often did so because they were convinced that predicting the course of disease is an essential skill for future physicians. In other words, the didactic usefulness of the Hippocratic Prognostic continued to be fully realised in the medieval Islamic world. Although we offer a brief survey of other commentaries on the Prognostic (two of which have already been edited), our main focus is that by ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf was a highly original and innovative thinker who took an interest in philosophy and linguistics, in addition to medicine. He also took a great interest in teaching the next generation of physicians and philosophers, and it is out of this interest that both his commentaries on the Aphorisms and the Prognostic were born. He took inspiration from the late antique medical tradition, although his love and zeal for the ancients, especially Hippocrates and Galen, clearly surpassed that of his predecessors. In his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf draws on his multi-disciplinary expertise. He makes some rather innovative remarks about medicine as being the ‘knowledge of probabilities (al-maʿrifa al-ʾakṯarīya)’, and discusses some finer points of medical epistemology. But he also displays great philological prowess. First, he analyses words and phrases in terms of Arabic grammar. But, much more surprisingly, he also compares the two translations of the Prognostic, the older, perhaps authored by al-Biṭrīq, and the younger from Ḥunayn’s workshop. Through this comparison, he is able to come to a better understanding and appreciation of the Hippocratic text. In this way, Joosse and I explored commentaries on two seminal Hippocratic works that were written by various Arabic-speaking physicians. These commentaries provide a context to the exegetical activity related to the Epidemics that took place in Arabic. In the last contribution to this volume, Leigh Chipman first looks at the influence of the Epidemics in the area of Arabic pharmacology. In the second book of the Epidemics, there are a number of drug recipes. As the Epidemics enjoyed such a great popularity, one might expect that Arab pharmacologists incorporated these recipes into their pharmacopoeias. But the results

Introduction

13

of Chipman’s investigation are largely negative: the Epidemics are hardly ever mentioned in later Arabic formularies. Only the tenth-century hospital physician al-Kaskarī quoted pharmaceutical advice from the Epidemics on occasion in his Medical Compendium. In the second part of her article, Chipman turns her attention to the more general question of how often Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq (who translated them into Arabic) are mentioned by name in these formularies. Here again, one is surprised to find that Hippocrates is nearly totally absent from the pharmacopoeias. Galen’s name is mostly linked to a number of compound drugs such as pills, electuaries, and so-called ‘holy remedies’ (called hierá in Greek and ʾiyāraǧ in Arabic). Chipman traces the different versions of these drugs attributed to Galen, and comes to some interesting conclusions. On the one hand, there are the formularies by practising pharmacists such as Sābūr ibn Sahl (d. 869) and Ibn al-Tilmīḏ (d. 1165). The recipes attributed to Galen that they contain are often hard to trace in the extant œuvre of the latter; and as they are transmitted from generation to generation, these recipes change. Like cooks, the pharmacists probably found it difficult to resist the temptation of adding new ingredients, or altering the quantities of old ones. On the other hand, there is the fifth book of the Canon of Medicine by Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna, d. 1037), which is devoted to compound drugs. By tracing the transmission of ‘holy remedies’, Chipman shows that Ibn Sīnā relied much more on a literal rather than a practical tradition. Many of his recipes for these holy remedies go back to the Small Compendium by Ibn Sarābiyūn (fl. 870s), a Syriac medical handbook translated into Arabic; and Ibn Sarābiyūn in his turn drew on Paul of Aegina (fl. mid-7th cent.), who excerpted Galen and other authors. Therefore, Chipman confirms Cristina Álvarez-Millán’s recent analysis that Ibn Sīnā’s medical knowledge is largely the result of book-learning and not clinical practice.20 The articles collected here all testify to the importance of Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’. It offers rich pickings not only for scholars interested in Hippocrates and Galen, but also in the late antique medical tradition. It formed the basis for the development of the genre of case notes in Arabic. Moreover, from Ḥunayn’s day onwards, physicians used it to teach medical students. And it is an interesting object of investigation in the context of the exegetical culture that emerged in the medieval Islamic world. And yet, the present collection can only mark a beginning: Hallum’s and Vagelpohl’s editions and translations, once published, will undoubtedly provide the material basis for many more scholarly investigations. This volume can only hint at the interesting and exciting discoveries that are yet to come.

20 See Álvarez-Millán 2010.

14

Introduction

As said above, the contributors were invited to engage with Hallum’s and Vagelpohl’s draft editions and translations, made available in early August 2010. For the final versions of the articles, Hallum and Vagelpohl provided revised texts and translations which are cited throughout this volume.21 I would therefore like to add my expression of gratitude to that of the individual authors who were able to draw on their work. Then I would like to thanks the authors of the articles collected here for their willingness to contribute to this volume and their readiness to consider my suggestions which, at times, led to substantial revisions of the submissions. My doctoral student Aileen Das assisted me greatly in editing the contributions, as did Vagelpohl, Hallum, and Joosse. The Epidemics project would not have seen the light without the generous support of the Wellcome Trust which is currently funding four Graeco-Arabic projects at Warwick, and also provided the finances for the Epidemics in Context conference in November last year. I therefore wish to record my profound gratitude to the Trustees. Likewise, the Warburg Institute has been a most congenial host for the conference; Charles Burnett, François Quiviger, and Elizabeth Witchell helped bring this event about. I am deeply indebted to them. I would like to acknowledge the fact that the various libraries at the University of Hamburg, my home town, provided an excellent environment in which to edit the present proceedings. Finally, I would like to thank Marwan Rashed, the editor of the series Scientia Graeco-Arabica, and Sabine Vogt, my commissioning editor at De Gruyter, for agreeing so readily and enthusiastically to my proposal to publish the proceedings with them. On a more personal level, I would also like to express my gratefulness to my wife Zakia. As I am about to deliver this book to the press, she is about to deliver our first child. I know that she would have preferred for me not to spend so much time in the library, as I edited the book over the last two months. I appreciate her patience, and the support that she has given me. Peter E. Pormann

Hamburg, July 2011

21 See the list of abbreviations at the beginning of the bibliography on p. 303, below.

A New Manuscript

15

 A New Manuscript: Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3592 Bink Hallum, N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain, Uwe Vagelpohl When Wenkebach and Pfaff worked on their CMG edition of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Books One and Two, they had copies of two Arabic manuscripts at their disposal: Madrid, Escorial, MS árabe 805 (henceforth E1), and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS 2846 fonds arabe (henceforth P1).1 Whilst preparing an application to the Wellcome Trust for the Warwick Epidemics project during the academic year of 2006–7, Peter E. Pormann discovered another manuscript: Milan, Ambrosiana, MS B 135 sup. (henceforth M).2 P1 is a nineteenth-century copy of M, a humanist manuscript written by the Scottish monk and scholar David Colville (c. 1581–1629).3 Recently, Ivan Garofalo confirmed Pormann’s analysis that M is a witness to at least one additional manuscript that is now lost; in other words, it does not merely represent the readings of E1 and Colville’s conjectures, but also additional readings of an Escorial codex that perished in the 1671 fire that destroyed or damaged a substantial part of the monastery’s manuscript holdings.4 As P1 is merely a partial copy of M, we based our preliminary edition on E1 for Book One (where M is absent); and E1 and M for Book Two. During a research trip to Turkey, Peter Joosse discovered a new manuscript, containing roughly the second half of the Arabic version of Book Two. This manuscript, Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3592 (henceforth A1), is the object of this short note. This note aims at drawing attention to its existence, and argues that A1 is of paramount importance for the text of Galen’s commentary. The catalogue entry for A1 provides the following information5:

1 Wenkebach / Pfaff 1934, xxxii; for a more extensive discussion of how Wenkebach and Pfaff worked, see Vagelpohl, pp. 125–30 below. 2 Pormann 2008a. 3 See Pormann 2009b. 4 Garofalo 2010a, revising his earlier opinion expressed in Garofalo 2009. 5 İhsanoğlu et al. 1984, 2.

16

Bink Hallum, N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain, Uwe Vagelpohl

Ɏʥ̵Βā ɬ̑ ɬʉ˶̤ ɡ˙͵ ζ(ǚ͎āǍͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā ŁLJʓ͛) LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Αā ŁLJʓ˜ͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ζɨ̵ (ϔϙζϔ × ϔϓζϘ) ϕϕζϜ × ϔϗζϛ ťLJʉ˙˳̑ć țʶ͵ Ⱥʦ̑ ζɼ͘Ģć ϔϙϗ ǽ͎ ζϖϘϜϕ ɨ͘Ģ ζLJʉ͎Ǎ̿ LJ̈ΐā .ɼ̵ĔLJʶͫāć ɼˈ̑āǨͫāć ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā Galen’s Commentary on the Epidemics (Book on Epidemic Disease) (Tafsīr Ǧālīnūs li-Kitāb ʾIbīḏīmiyā [Kitāb al-maraḍ al-wāfid]), translated by Ḥunayn b. ʾIsḥāq. Ayasofya 3592, 164 folios, nasḫ script, 22.9cm × 14.8cm (16.1cm × 10.5cm), Parts Three, Four and Six. To this somewhat limited description, we can add that there are nineteen lines of text per page, written in black ink; the generously spaced nasḫ employed in this manuscript is very legible but sparsely pointed. The scribe employs muhmal signs: he often writes a small ḥāʾ under this letter, and sometimes also a small ʿayn under this letter, in order to indicate the absence of critical dots. Lemmas and commentary are clearly distinguished by ‘Hippocrates said (qāla Buqrāṭ)’ and ‘Galen said (qāla Ǧālīnūs)’, written on separate lines and centred. In addition, the Hippocratic lemmas are numbered with marginal ʾabǧad numerals. Except for the occasional catch word at the bottom, there are very few marginalia. The text of A1 begins and ends as follows: Incipit (fol. 1b, lines 1–7):

ŴāǨ˙̑ ŁLJʓ͛ ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ˬͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ɬͲ ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ɬ͇Αā ŁĢ ɨʉ̤Ǩͫā ɬ˳̤Ǩͫā ɷˬͫā ɨʶ̑ ȫʓ͵ĢLJ̑ ɼ˶̈ǚ˳̑ ɼ̓ĔLJʥͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā ƛLJ̤ ɼˏ̿ ǚˈ̑ ΈLJ̑Ǎʓ˜Ͳ ụ̈̌ć LJͲ LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā. In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate. The third part of Galen’s commentary on the second book of Hippocrates’ book called ‘Epidemics’; what is written after the description of the weather conditions prevailing in the city of Perinthus. Explicit (fol. 153b, line 16– fol. 154a, line 4):

LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā ŴāǨ˙̑ ŁLJʓ͛ ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ˬͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ɬͲ ƴǨʉ̥Αҙҏā ǽ΀ć ɼ̵ĔLJʶͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā Ȉ˳̒ Ɏʥ̵Βā ɬ̑ ɬʉ˶̤ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒.

A New Manuscript

17

The end of the sixth part, which is the last, of Galen’s commentary on the second book of Hippocrates, book called ‘Epidemics’. Translation of Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq. In its present condition, A1 contains 156 and not 164 folios, as indicated in the catalogue entry. Discrepancies between the present foliation (in modern Arabic numerals) and a previous modern foliation (in Eastern Arabic numerals) suggest that several folios have dropped out between folios 90 (marked 90 in both the present and Eastern Arabic foliations) and 102 (marked 102 in the present foliation and 110 in the Eastern Arabic). This discrepancy coincides with a gap in the manuscript between fol. 94b and 95a. The text breaks off at the bottom of fol. 94b with the end of Book ii.4.79 and recommences on fol. 95a with the second sentence of Book ii.6.4. The resulting gap corresponds to the last eighth of Book ii.4 and a small amount of material from Book ii.6, probably amounting to seven or perhaps eight folios, taking into account any colophon that may have concluded Book ii.4, a note about the loss of Book ii.5 and a title marking the beginning of Book ii.6. We do not encounter any further text loss between fol. 95a and the end of the manuscript. Neither of the extant colophons (for Books ii.3 and ii.6) gives us the name of the scribe or the place or date at which the manuscript was copied. At the end of Book ii.3 (fol. 55a), we read that the present copy originated ‘with the copy of Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq (Ɏʥ̵Βā ɬ̑ ɬʉ˶̤ ɼʦʶ͵ ɬͲ)’. This does not mean that the copyistʼs exemplar was Ḥunayn’s own autograph; rather, this concluding note was probably copied with the rest of the text of ii.3 at every stage of the transmission. A1 contains only Parts Three, Four and Six of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two. On the title page (fol. 1a), the scribe wrote ‘Parts Three, Four and Six of Galen’s Commentary on the end of the Book Two of the Epidemics of Hippocrates. Translation by Ḥunayn bin ʾIsḥāq (ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā Ɏʥ̵Βā ɬ̑ ɬʉ˶̤ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ ŴāǨ˙ʒͫ LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ŁLJʓ͛ ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ƢLJ˳ʓͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ɬͲ ɼ̵ĔLJʶͫāć ɼˈ̑āǨͫāć)’. Above these words, another hand added ‘a volume from Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ Book Entitled ‘Epidemics’. Translation by Ḥunayn, concerning medicine (ȇ˅ͫā ǽ͎ ɬʉ˶̤ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā ŴāǨ˙̑ ŁLJʓ˜ͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ɬͲ ǚˬʤͲ)’. This indicates that rather than being defective at the beginning, the manuscript comprises the complete volume, presumably preceded by a (now lost) volume containing Book Two, Parts One and Two. Discounting such merely orthographic differences as ŴāǨ˙̑ (A1) for ŴāǨ˙̑Αā (E1, M) and LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā (A1) for LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ͎Βā (E1, M), a number of significant variants demonstrate that while the text preserved by A1 is similar to that of E1 and M and does not represent a separate recension, A1 is an independent and reliable witness to Ḥunayn’s text. The text was prepared with some care and copied by a scribe who was clearly conversant with the subject matter. With the exception of a marked tendency to produce haplographies and omissions of entire phrases

18

Bink Hallum, N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain, Uwe Vagelpohl

by saut du même au même (moving from one instance of a term to the next while dropping the intervening words), the scribe of A1 correctly reproduced technical terms and even proper names. The exact relationship between the manuscripts, especially between E1 and A1, still needs to be determined. A sample collation of just over four folios of A1, however, covering around 800 words and corresponding to paragraphs ii.3.1–5 and ii.6.149–150, shall serve to illustrate a number of tendencies.6 It revealed 74 instances in which readings preserved by A1 were at variance with E1, M or both. By far the largest set of these variants (34 or 46%) consists of instances in which A1 supported the reading which we had selected for our forthcoming edition before inspecting A1, possibly a testament to the reliability of the text of A1. This set of 34 variants can be further divided into two subsets: 17 variants (50%) in which A1 supports selected readings found in E1 against M, and 17 variants (50%) in which A1 supports selected readings found in M against E1. The fact that these 34 instances in which A1 preserves our preferred reading, evenly split between agreement with E1 and M, shows that A1 should be considered not only a reliable, but also an independent witness to the text. Further evidence for the independence of A1 is provided by five instances in which A1 offers preferred readings found in neither E1 nor M, and a further eight instances in which A1 offers discounted variants found in neither E1 nor M. Of the latter, however, five may be nothing more than the result of slips of the pen, palaeographical errors or silent modifications based on stylistic or terminological preferences of the scribe (for example, LJ˳͛ć A1 for LJ˳͛ E1, M in ii.3.3; two instances of Ǩʉˉʓͫā A1 for Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā E1, M in ii.3.5; ƛǍ˙ͫā A1 for ƛǍ˙ͫ E1, M in ii.6.150; and Ʀćǚˬ˙˳ͫā A1 for Ʀćǚˬ˙ʓ˳ͫā E1, M in ii.6.150). The text of A1 and the variants it offers demand to be taken seriously in future studies of the Arabic Epidemics and have been fully incorporated into our forthcoming edition, as well as in the quotations from it contained in this volume.

6

The full text of the collated passages can be seen in the appendix below.

A New Manuscript

19

Appendix Sample 1: ii.3.1–5 HV7

ɬʉ˶̤ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ 10LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ͎Βā ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā 9ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ŁLJʓ͛ ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ˬͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ɬͲ ɼʔͫLJʔͫā 8ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā (1) 14.13ȫʓ͵ĢLJ͎ ɼ˶̈ǚ˳̑ ɼ̓ĔLJʥͫā 12ƛLJʥͫā ɼˏ̿ ǚˈ̑ ΈLJ̑Ǎʓ˜Ͳ ụ̈̌ć LJͲ 11Ɏʥ̵Βā ɬ̑ ĢLJ̓ǚͫLJ̑ ɷ͵ǚ̑ ɬʦʶ̈ć ΈāĔĢLJ̑ ƹāǍ΀ Ɏʷ˶ʓʶ̈ ȅʓ̤ Ǩ̓ǚʓͲ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏāć ĔĢLJ̑ Ƚ̀ǍͲ ǽ͎ 15ƹLJ˙ˬʓ̵ҙҏā :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ (2) .ș̈Ģǚʓͫā ƱẠ̌ć ɡˁ͎Αā ɬͲ ɷ̣ć

ɬͲ ɼˈ͎Ĕ Ǩʉˀ̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ ҙҏ ɷ͵Βā ɡ˳ʤͲ ƛǍ˙̑ ɷˬ͛ 16Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ǨͲΑā ɬͲ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā Ʉ̿ć ǚ͘ :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘ (3) ƛLJ˳ˈʓ̵ā» ƛLJ͘ ɬʉ̤ ƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ƱĔḲ̌ć ɷ̤Ǩ̶ć ƴǨʉʔ͛ Ƚ̀āǍͲ ǽ͎ ɑͫĕ ɬʉ̑ć 17.ǚˁͫā ȅͫΒā ǚˁͫā ŷǍ͵ ķΑā ɼ͛Ǩʥͫā ɬͲ Ǩ̥ΐā ŷǍ˶̑ ɷ͛Ǩʥ̈ ćΑā ƱĔǨʒ̈ ćΑā ɷ˶ʦʶ̈ ćΑā ɷ͈Ǩˏʓʶ̈ ćΑā Ʀǚʒͫā Α ҨҞ˳̈ LJ˳Ͳ 18ɼʓˉ̑ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā ƛLJ˙ʓ͵ҙҏā łĔĢ ΋ Αā ȅʓͲ ƦǍͲΑLJ˳͎ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ ƦǍ˜̈ LJͲ LJͲΑLJ͎ .ɼˈʉʒ˅ˬͫ 19ƢćLJ˙Ͳ Ǎ͎́ ΈāǨʉʔ͛ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳ˬ͛ć ƹLJ˅̥ ƦLJ͛ ṳ̈̌āć Ʉ˶̿ ǽ͎ ɷͲҨҞ͛ ɡˈʤ͎ Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ LJͲΑāć 22«.ɑͫĕ Ǩʉ͈ łĔĢ ΋ Αā 21ȅʓͲć ƱǨʉ͈ 20ȅͫΒā ƹǽ̶ ɬͲ āǛ΀ ǽ͎ ƛǍ˙ͫā ɼˬ˳̣ ɷ̑ ɨ́ˏ̈ ƛLJʔͲ ɷ͵ΑLJ͛ āǛ΀ ɡˈ̣ć ĔǨʒͫā ȅͫΒā Ǩʥͫā ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ķǛͫā Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā Ǎ΀ć Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ɬͲ ɡˈ͎ 24LJ˳͛ ƱǨʉ͈ 23ɨʉˬˈʓͫ ɷ̑ ǚˀ˙̈ ɨͫć ɷʶˏ˶ͫ ƴǨ͛Ǜ̒ ɷˬˈ̣ LJ˳͵Βā ɷ͵Αҙҏ Έāǩʉ̣ć Έ ҙҏǍ͘ ɷʉ͎ ɷͫǍ͘ ɡˈ̣ć ŁLJʒͫā ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ ҙҏ 25ɷ͵Αā Ƚ̵āć ƢҨҞ˜̑ ɬʉ̑ć ŔǨ̶ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩʉ̑ǚ̒ ǽ͎ ɷ̑LJʓ͛ ǽ͎ .ɼ˳ʉˆ͇ ƴǍ͘ ɷʉ͎ LJ˳͇ Έ ҨҞˁ͎ ƴǨʉʶ̈ ƴǍ͘ ɷˈͲ LJ˳ʉ͎ ҙҏć Ʊǚ̀ ȅͫΒā ƹǽʷͫā ɬͲ ɼˈ͎Ĕ ƹǽ̶ 26Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ɬͲ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ 7 MS E1, fol. 73b, line 22–fol. 74a, line 18; MS A1, fol. 1b, line 2–fol. 3a, line 3; MS M fol. 35b, line 1–fol. 36a, line 3. 8 Ante ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā add. ɬ͇Αā ŁĢ ɨʉ̤Ǩͫā ɬ˳̤Ǩͫā ɷˬͫā ɨʶ̑A1. 9 ŴāǨ˙̑Αā] E12, M: om. E1: ŴāǨ˙̑ A1. 10 LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ͎Βā] E12, M: om. E1: LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā A1. 11 Ɏʥ̵Βā ɬ̑ ɬʉ˶̤ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒] E12, M: om. E1, A1. 12 ƛLJʥͫā] E12, M: om. E1: ƹāǍ́ͫā ƛLJ̤ A1. 13 ȫʓ͵ĢLJ͎] E12, M: om. E1: ȫʓ͵ĢLJ̑ A1. 14 ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ... ȫʓ͵ĢLJ͎ ɼ˶̈ǚ˳̑] om. E1, in marg. add. E12. 15 ƹLJ˙ˬʓ̵ҙҏā] M, A1, A2: ƹLJ˙ʶʓ̵ҙҏā E1. 16 Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā] E1: Ǩʉˉʓͫā M, A1. 17 ǚˁͫā ȅͫΒā] E1, A1: om. M. 18 ɼʓˉ̑] A1: Ƚ͎Ĕ M: ɷ˶ʉˈ̑ E1. 19 ƢćLJ˙Ͳ] M, A1: ƢLJ˙Ͳ E1. 20 Post ȅͫΒā add. ƹǽ̶ M. 21 ȅʓͲ] E1, A1: ǽ΀ M. 22 Aph. ii. 51 23 ɨʉˬˈʓͫ] E1, A1: ɨˬˈʓͫ M. 24 LJ˳͛] E1, M: LJ˳͛ć A1. 25 ɷ͵Αā] M, A1: ɷ͵Αāć E1. 26 Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā] E1, A1: Ǩʉˉʓͫā M.

20

Bink Hallum, N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain, Uwe Vagelpohl

ǽ͎ ȫʉͫć ĔǨʒͫā ȅͫΒā Ǩʥͫā ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ķǛͫā Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ǽ͎ Ȉˬ͘ LJ˳͛ ɷͲҨҞ͛ ɡˈʤ͎ Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ LJͲΑāć (4) ƦǍ˜̈ Ǩ̥ΐā Ʉ˶̿ Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ 28ǚ͘ ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ .Ⱥ˙͎ ƹāǍ́ͫā ɬͲ ɷ˶Ͳ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ˳ʉ͎ 27ɬ˜ͫć ɷˬ͛ Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā āǛ΀ Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ 30Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ɑͫĕ Ǩ͛Ǜ̈ ɨͫć Ǩʉ̑ǚʓͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ Ģŕΐҙҏāć ƴķćĔΑҙҏā 29ƛLJ˳ˈʓ̵ā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ LJ˳΀ṳ̈̌Αā ɬʉ˙̈Ǩ˅̑ 35LJ˳΀āṳ̈̌Βā ɬʉʓ̣́ ȅˬ͇ ƦǍ˜̈ Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā 34āǛ΀ć .ƦǚʒͫLJ̑ Ⱥʉʥ˳ͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ķǛͫā 33Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā 32Ǩ͛ĕ LJ˳͵Βā 31ɷ˶˜ͫć ƦΑā ȅͫΒā Ȉʤʓ̤ā 38ȅʓͲ ǽˉʒ˶̈ ҙҏ ɷ͵Βā ƛćɎ̈ ŴāǨ˙̑Αāć .œĢLJʦͫā Ʀǚʒͫā 37Ț˅ʶ̑ 36ɷ̒LJ͘ҨҞ˳̑ Ǩ̥ΐҙҏāć ƹāǍ́ͫā ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵LJ̑ ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵ҙҏā Ɏ̈Ǩ˅̑ LJͲΒā ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā ṳ̈̌ΑLJ̑ Έ ҙҏćΑā ƱǨʉˉ̒ ɬ˜ͫć ΈLJˈͲ ΈLJˈʉ˳̣ ɬʉ̣́ǍͫLJ̑ ƱǨʉˉ̒ ƦΑā 40Ʀǚʒͫā ƛLJ̤ 39Ǩʉˉ̒ ĢLJ̤ ƹāǍ΀ ɷʉ͎ Ȉʉ̑ ɬͲ ɷˬ˙˶̒ ƦΑā 41Ȉʤʓ̤ā ȅʓͲ ɡʔ˳ͫā ǽ͎ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ˬͫ ƦǍ˜̈ ķǛͫā ǚˬʤͫā ƴLJ͘ҨҞͲ Ɏ̈Ǩ˅̑ LJͲΒāć ƴLJ͘ҨҞ˳̑ œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ ƱĔǨʒ̒ 44ȅʓ̤ ɼΈ ˈ͎Ĕ ΈLJˈʉ˳̣ ɬʉ̣́ǍͫLJ̑ ɷ͵ǚ̑ ǚ̈Ǩʒʓͫ ǚˀ˙̒ ҙҏ 43ĔĢLJ̑ 42ƹāǍ΀ ɷʉ͎ Ȉʉ̑ ȅͫΒā ɷ̑ ǚͲ āĕΒLJ͎ .ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā ṳ̈̌ΑLJ̑ 46Έ ҙҏćΑā ƱĔǨʒ̒ 45ɬ˜ͫ ĔĢLJʒͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵LJ̑ ɡ̥āĔ ɬͲć ǚˬʤˬͫ ĔĢLJʒͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā 50ƹāǍ΀ ƦLJ͛ ȅʓͲ ƹāǍ́ͫā ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵ā ǨͲΑā ɑˬ˳͵ LJ˶ʶͫć ΈLJˈʉ˳̣ 49ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā 48LJ˶ˬ˳ˈʓ̵ā ɼʥͫLJ̿ ƴǚͲ ɑͫĕ 47ȅˬ͇ .ɷ˜ˬ˳͵ ɬʥ˶͎ 52ĢLJ̓ǚͫā 51ǨͲΑā LJͲΑLJ͎ .LJ́ʉˬ͇ Ǎ΀ ǽʓͫā ƛLJʥͫLJ̑ Ɏʷ˶ʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ɬͲ ǚ̑ ҙҏ ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕć ΈāĔĢLJ̑ Ȉʉʒͫā ΈLJˈʉ˳̣ ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā ɬͲ ǚ̈Ǩʒʓͫā ɷͫLJ˶̈ ȅʓ̤ ΈāǨʉʶ̈ ǨͲΑҙҏā ƛćΑā Ǜ˶Ͳ Ʀǚʒͫā ɷ̑ ȅ˅ˉ̈ LJͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ 53ҨҞ͎ (5) ķǛͫā Ǩʉˉʓͫā ɨ́ˏ̒ ƦΑā āǛ΀ ɬͲ ĢĔLJ͘ Ȉ͵Αāć .ɷʉˬ͇ ƦLJ͛ ķǛͫā ƛćΑҙҏā œāǩ˳ͫā ǚ̀ œāǩͲ ȅͫΒā 54ɼʓˉ̑ Ǩʉˀʉ͎

27 ɬ˜ͫć] E1: ɬ˜ͫ M, A1. 28 ǚ͘] E1, M: om. A1, in textu add. A11. 29 ƛLJ˳ˈʓ̵ā] M, A1: om. E1. 30 Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā] E1, A1: Ǩʉˉʓͫā M. 31 ɷ˶˜ͫć] E1: ɷ˶˜ͫ M, A1. 32 Post Ǩ͛ĕ scr. et del. Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā E1. 33 Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā] E1, A1: Ǩʉˉʓͫā M. 34 āǛ΀ć] M, A1: Ǎ΀ć E1. 35 LJ˳΀āṳ̈̌Βā ɬʉʓ̣́] E1, A1: LJ˳΀ṳ̈̌Αā ɬʉ̣́ć M. 36 ɷ̒LJ͘ҨҞ˳̑] E1, A1: ƴLJ͘ҨҞ˳̑ M. 37 Ț˅ʶ̑] E1, A1: Ț˅ʶͫ M. 38 ȅʓͲ] M, A1: LJͲ E1. 39 Ǩʉˉ̒ ƦΑā] M, A1: om. E1, in marg. add. Ǩʉʉˉ̒ E13. 40 Ʀǚʒͫā] M, A1: om. E1. 41 ȶ̈Ǩ˳ˬͫ ƦǍ˜̈ ķǛͫā ... Ȉʤʓ̤ā] M: œLJʓ̤ā ... ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ȅʓ̤ E1, A1. 42 ƹāǍ΀] E1, A1: om. M. 43 ĔĢLJ̑] M, A1: ĔāǨ̑ E1. 44 ȅʓ̤] M, A1: om. E1. 45 ɬ˜ͫ] M, A1: ɷ˶˜ͫ E1. 46 Έ ҙҏćΑā] M, A1: ȅͫćΑā E1. 47 ȅˬ͇ ɷ̑ ǚͲ] M: ǽ͎ łǚͲ E1: ȅˬ͇ ɷʓ͵ǨͲ A11. 48 LJ˶ˬ˳ˈʓ̵ā] E1, A11: Ȉˬ˳ˈʓ̵ā M. 49 ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā ... ɷ̑ ǚͲ āĕΒLJ͎] E1, M: om. A1, in marg. add. A11. 50 ƹāǍ΀] E1, A1: ƹāǍ́ͫā M. 51 ǨͲΑā] E1, M: om. A1. 52 Post ĢLJ̓ǚͫā add. ɷ̑ E1. 53 ҨҞ͎] E1, M: ҙҏć A1. 54 ɼʓˉ̑] A1: ɷ˶ʉˈ̑ E1, M.

A New Manuscript

21

ɑˬ̒ ȇ̤LJ̿ 57Ȉˬ˙͵ ƦΒā 56ɑ͵āΑ ɑͫĕć 55Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ ɷͫǩ˶̒ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ Ʉʉ͛ Ǩʥͫā ȅͫΒā ĔǨʒͫā ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ǽ˶͇Αā ΈLJˈʉ˳̣ ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā ɬͲ ɼˈ͎Ĕ ɬʦʶ̈ ƦΑā ɬͲ ΈāĢṲ̈̀ ɷ΋͵ǚ̑ Ȉˏʷ͛ ĢLJ̤ Ȉʉ̑ ȅͫΒā ĔĢLJ̑ Ȉʉ̑ 58ɬͲ ƛLJʥͫā ΋ ķǛͫā 62Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ɼˈ͎Ĕ ƦǍ˜̈ ķǛͫā 61Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā ǚ̀ć œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā 60ĢLJ̓ǚͫLJ̑ć ɡ̥āĔ ɬͲ ƹāǍ́ͫā 59ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵LJ̑ ɬ͎ ɬͲ ɷͲҨҞ͛ ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ẹ̑ć Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƢҨҞ͛ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳ͫć .ș̈Ģǚʓͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ˅̑ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ ƦǍ˜̈ .ƴāćāǚ˳ͫā Sample 2: ii.6.149–150 HV63:

ȅͫǍ̈́Ǎ͘ Ģāǚ˙Ͳ 64ΈLJ͎Ǩ̿ ΈLJ̑āǨ̶ ɷʒ̤LJ̿ ŁǨʷ̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶ʉ͎ ŷāǚ̿ ĢLJ˳ Όʦͫā ɬͲ ŰǨ͇ āĕΒā :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ (149) .65ṳ̈̌āć ɨ́͵Αā ɑͫĕć «ťΑāǨͫā Ƚ̣ć» ɬͲ 66ɷ͘LJ˙ʓ̶ā LJ˳͵Βā ɨ̵LJ̑ «ĢLJ˳ʦͫā» ƦǍ˳ʶ̈ ɬʉʉ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ƦΒā :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘ (150) «ťΑāǨͫā ƦLJ˙ˏ̥» ɨ΀ǚ˶͇ ɷ˳̵ā ƦLJ˜͎ ƦLJ˙ˏʦͫā 70«ǽͫLJ͎»ć ťΑāǨͫā ɨ̵ā ɨ΀ǚ˶͇ «āǨ͘»ć 69«ǽͫLJ͎āǨ͘» 6768ɷ͵Ǎ˳ʶ̈ ΈLJͲĔ 72ƱΑ ҨҞ˳̈ ɷ͵Αā ɡʒ͘ ɬͲć ťΑāǨͫā ɬʦʶ̈ ɷ͵Αā ɡʒ͘ ɬͲ 71Ǩ˳ʦͫā ŁǨ̶ ɬͲ ŰǨˈ̈ ŰĢLJˈͫā āǛ΀ ĿǨ͵ LJͲ ΈāǨʉʔ͛ć 75ɬ˜ͫ ȅ˶ˈͲ «ŷāǚ̿ ĢLJ˳ʦͫā ɬͲ ŰǨ͇ āĕΒā» ƛLJ͘ ɬͲ 74ƛǍ˙ͫ ȫʉˬ͎ ɑͫǛ͛ ǨͲΑҙҏā ƦLJ͛ 73ĕΒāć .ΈāĢLJ̤ ΈLJ̈ĢLJʦ̑ Έ ĢLJ˳ʦͫā ƦΑā ɑͫĕć «ŷāǚ̿ ɨͫnj˳ͫā ťΑāǨͫā 76ƦLJ˙ˏ̥ ɬͲ ŰǨ͇ āĕΒā» ƛLJ͘ ɬͲ ƛǍ˙̑ ɷʉʒ̶ āǛ΀ ƛLJ͘ ɬͲ ƛǍ͘ 79āǛ΀ 78Ǜʦ͎ 77.ŁāǨʷͫā ŁǨ̶ ƴǨʔ͛ ɬͲ ťΑāǨˬͫ ŰǨˈ̈ ķǛͫā ŰĢLJˈͫā ɷ˶˜ͫ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā ŁāǨʷͫā ŁǨ̶ Ǎ΀ ȫʉͫ 55 Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘] M, A1: Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ E1. 56 ɑ͵Αā] M, A1: om. E1. 57 Ȉˬ˙͵] E1, A1: ȇˬ˙̒ M. 58 ɬͲ] M, A1: om. E1, in marg. add. E12. 59 ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵LJ̑] M, A1: ƈLJʷ˶ʓ̵ā E1. 60 ĢLJ̓ǚͫLJ̑ć] A1: ĢLJ̓ǚͫLJ̑ E1, M. 61 Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā] E1, M: Ǩʉˉʓͫā A1: post Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā scr. et del. Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā E1. 62 Ǩʉʉˉʓͫā] E1, M: Ǩʉˉʓͫā A1. 63 MS E1, fol. 122b, lines 12–29; MS A1 fol. 148b, line 17–fol. 149b, line 13; MS M 82b, lines 7–22. 64 ΈLJ͎Ǩ̿] M, A1, A2: om. et vacat E1. 65 ṳ̈̌āć] M, A1, A2: ƴṳ̈̌āć E1. 66 ɷ͘LJ˙ʓ̶ā] M, A1: ɷ͗LJ˙̵ā E1. 67 ɷ͵Ǎ˳ʶ̈] A1: om. E1: ƦǍ˳ʶ̈ M. 68 ɷ͵Ǎ˳ʶ̈ ɨ́͵Αā ɑͫĕć] om. et vacat E1. 69 ǽͫLJ͎āǨ͘] M, A1: ƛLJ͘ E1. 70 ǽͫLJ͎ć] M, A1: ƛLJ͘ć E1. 71 Ǩ˳ʦͫā ŁǨ̶ ɬͲ ŰǨˈ̈ ŰĢLJˈͫā āǛ΀] M, A1: om. et vacat E1. 72 ƱΑ ҨҞ˳̈] E1, M: ƱΑ ҨҞͲ A1. 73 ĕΒāć] A1: āĕΒāć E1, M. 74 ƛǍ˙ͫ] E1, M: ƛǍ˙ͫā A1. 75 Post ɬ˜ͫ add. ƦǍ˜̈ M. 76 ƦLJ˙ˏ̥] E1, A1: ĢLJʦ̑ M. 77 Post ŁāǨʷͫā add. Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā M. 78 Ǜʦ͎] E1, A1: Ʊǚʥ͎ M. 79 āǛ΀] E1: ƱǛ΀ M, A1.

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ƱǛ́ͫ 84Ʀćǚˬ˙ʓ˳ͫā ɷʉ͇ǚ̈ 83LJ˳͇ ȉʥʒ͵ LJ˶̑ ɨˬ΀ć 82ƹLJ˅ʦͫLJ̑ 81ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ ɡʉ͘ LJ˳Ͳ 80ƱǨ̥ΐāć ɑʉͫΒā ɬͲ Ǽˬʓ˳̈ ĢLJ˳ʦͫā ƛLJ̤ ǽ͎ 86ťΑāǨͫā ƦΑā ƦǍ˳͇ǩ̈ ɨ́͵ΒLJ͎ 85.ɼͲǍʓ˜˳ͫā ĢāǨ̵Αҙҏā ɬͲ ɨ΀ǚ˶͇ ǽ΀ ǽʓͫā ɡ̈ćLJ͘Αҙҏā ǽ˶ˈ̈ 89ɡ΀ LJ˶ͫ āǍʓʒʔ̈ ɨͫć LJ́ˬˬʥ̈ć łāĢLJʦʒͫā ɑˬ̒ șˁ˶̈ ɷʶʒ̈ć 88ɷ̒ĢāǨʥͫ žǨˀͫā 87ŁāǨʷͫāć ĢLJʦʒͫā ɡ˳ˈʓʶ˳ͫā ȅ˶ˈ˳ͫā ȅˬ͇ Έ ҨҞ̿Αā ƹLJ˳ͫā ɬͲ ƹǽ̶ ɷ˅ͫLJʦ̈ ɨͫ ķǛͫā ŁāǨʷͫā ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ «žǨˀͫā ŁāǨʷͫLJ̑» ȅˬ͇ ΈLJ͎Ǩ̿ ȅ˳ʶʉ͎ ɡʉˬ͘ ɷʉ͎ ƹLJ˳ͫā ƦΑā ҙҏΒā ƹLJ˳ͫLJ̑ œǩͲ ǚ͘ ķǛͫā ŁāǨʷͫā ɷ̑ ǽ˶ˈ̈ 90LJ˳͵Βā ćΑā Ɏ̇LJ˙ʥͫā ȅˬ͇ ȅͫΒā ɼ̣LJ̤ ΈLJˁ̈Αā 92ɑ̑ ȫʉͫć .ɷ̑ 91œǩͲ ķǛͫā ƹLJ˳ͫā ťLJʉ˙̑ ɷʉˬ͇ ȇˬ͈Αā ŁāǨʷͫā ƦΑҙҏ ƴĢLJˈʓ̵ҙҏā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ ɨ̓ Έ ҙҏćΑā ƢLJ˳ʥͫā 93ȅͫΒā ɷˬ̥ǚ̒ ƦΑā ĢLJ˳ʦͫā Ǜʉʒ˶ͫā ŁĢLJʷͫ ŰǨ͇ ȅʓͲ ĔẠ̌Αҙҏā ƦΑā ɡʒ͘ ɬͲ ɷ˶ʉʉʒ̒ć āǛ΀ ȵʉʦˬ̒ LJͲć Ǩʉˈʷͫā ɑʷ͛ ƹāǛˉͫā ĔǍ˳ʥ˳ͫā ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɬͲć ȇ͵Ǩ˜ͫā ĢLJ˳ʦͫLJ̑ ȇ΀Ǜ̈ ķǛͫā ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɬͲ ǚˈ̑ ɬͲ ɷ˳ˈ˅̒ ɷ̣āǩͲ ȅˬ͇ ȇͫLJˉͫā ΈLJ˙ʉ͘Ģ ΈLJ̑āǨ̶ ɷͲLJˈ̈́ ǚˈ̑ ɷʉ˙ʶ̒ ɨ̓ 95.ťĢǚ˶̥ ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā ǽͲćǨͫā Ǩʉˈʷͫā ɬͲ 94ɷ˶Ͳ Ǜʦʓ̈ ƢLJ˳ʥͫā ȅͫΒā ĔǍˈ̈ ɨ̓ ΈāǨʉʔ͛ ΈLJʉʷͲ ǽʷ˳̈ ƦΑā ǽ͎ ɷʉͫΒā Ƣǚ˙ʓ͎ ɷͲǍ͵ ȅ͎Ǎʓ̵ā āĕΒLJ͎ ƢǍ˶ͫā ȇˬ˅̑ ƱǨͲΑLJ̒ ɨ̓ .ƹLJ˳ͫā .Ŀǚˉ̒ LJͲ ɡʔ˳̑ ȅʷˈʓ̈ ɨ̓ ɨʥʓʶʉ͎

80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95

ƱǨ̥ΐāć] E1, A1: ƴǨ̥Αā M. ƛǍ˙ͫā] E1, M: om. A1. ƹLJ˅ʦͫLJ̑] E1, A1: ƹLJ˅ʦͫā M. LJ˳͇ ȉʥʒ͵ LJ˶̑] M: LJͲ ǚˈ̑ ȉʥ̑ LJ˳̑ E1: LJͲ ǚˈ̑ ȉʥʒ͵ LJ˶̑ A1. Ʀćǚˬ˙ʓ˳ͫā] E1, M: Ʀćǚˬ˙˳ͫā A1. ɼͲǍʓ˜˳ͫā] E1: ɼ̑Ǎʓ˜˳ͫā M, A1. ťΑāǨͫā] M, A1: ťLJ˶ͫā E1. ŁāǨʷͫāć] M, A1: ŁāǨʷͫLJ͎ E1. ɷ̒ĢāǨʥͫ] E1, A1: ɼ̈ĢāǨʥͫā M. ɡ΀ LJ˶ͫ āǍʓʒʔ̈] M, A1: ɡ΀LJ˘ͫā āǍ˳̵ E1. LJ˳͵Βā ćΑā] M: LJ˳͵ΒLJ͎ E1, A1. œǩͲ] E1, A1: œāǩͲ ǽ͎ M. ɑ̑ E1, A1: ɑͫ M. ȅͫΒā] A1: om. E1, M. ɷ˶Ͳ] E1, A1: om. M. ťĢǚ˶̥] E1: ŦćǨ˶̤ M: ťćĢǚʐ̤ A1.

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 Exegesis, Explanation and Epistemology in Galen’s Commentaries on Epidemics, Books One and Two1 Philip van der Eijk

Introduction: modern and Galenic ways of reading the Epidemics In the history of medicine and science, the Hippocratic Epidemics have consistently been admired for their strong empirical, observational powers.2 The Epidemics in general, it has been said, and books One and Three in particular, show us Greek medical science in the making.3 In the case histories, individual patients are being observed day by day during the course of their illness, and their symptoms and, occasionally, their reactions to treatment are meticulously recorded, sometimes so accurately that later medical readers have felt encouraged to undertake attempts at retrospective diagnosis. In the sections devoted to the so-called ‘constitutions’ (καταϲτάϲειϲ), diseases and symptoms

1 I am deeply grateful to Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain and the other members of the Warwick Epidemics team for their invitation and for their help (especially with the interpretation of the passages preserved in Arabic only) and patience during the revision of this paper for publication. The research on which this paper is based was funded by the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation as part of the project ‘Medicine of the Mind, Philosophy of the Body. Discourses of Health and Well-Being in the Ancient World’, based at the HumboldtUniversität zu Berlin. 2 Throughout this paper, I use the word ‘Hippocratic’ in the pragmatic, descriptive sense of ‘having been attributed, at some stage of its transmission, to Hippocrates’, regardless of the question of the justification of this attribution. Galen had no doubts about the authorship of Epidemics, book One, but suspended judgement on the authorship of book Two. 3 For appraisals of the Epidemics in eighteenth-century medicine (Boerhaave, van Swieten) see Leitner 1989. For an example of early twentieth-century assessments of the observational strengths displayed in the Epidemics, see W. H. S. Jones’ characterisation: ‘But the most striking feature of this work is its devotion to truth. The constitutions are strictly limited to descriptions of the weather which preceded or accompanied certain epidemics; the clinical histories are confined to the march of diseases to a favourable or a fatal issue. Nothing irrelevant is mentioned; everything relevant is included’ (Jones 1923, 144). For more recent, and epistemologically more nuanced, but nevertheless very positive evaluations of the powers of observation in the Epidemics, see Grmek 1989, 284–355; Lichtenthaeler 1993; Jouanna 1999, 291–2, 303–7; Graumann 2000.

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are related to more general patterns of weather, climate and environment of particular regions, thus presenting early attempts at what would be called today demographic and environmental history of disease. And in the methodological sections, especially in Book One, we find the author giving account of his own procedures and stating the general principles of the medical profession.4 Here, we read the famous definition of the physician’s duties as ‘to help, or to do no harm (ὠφελέειν, ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν)’,5 followed by the description of the Hippocratic triangle of doctor, patient and disease, with the former two being involved in a joint battle against the latter;6 and further down in Epidemics, Book One, there is the well known checklist of items the physician has to pay attention to in the examination of a patient and in the casting of a diagnosis and prognosis.7 Throughout the Epidemics, all this takes place against the background of a mildly theoretical framework that reflects the authors’ presuppositions but which remains largely implicit. As pointed out by Volker Langholf and Wesley Smith, we can detect elements of a doctrine of crisis and critical days, a theory of environmental and meteorological medicine, assumptions about particular bodily fluids and pathological agents and processes, and presuppositions about what to look for when examining a patient or visiting an area struck by disease.8 Yet there is no standardisation of disease terminology, no systematic classification of disease, nor is there any preoccupation with treatment or cure, for treatment, if referred to at all, is mentioned almost exclusively in the context of the 4 I am using the term ‘author’ here in the singular, although it is of course quite probable that the Epidemics are the result of multiple authorship or constitute compilations of information derived from various archival sources. For Galen’s reception of the work, however, this point is irrelevant. 5 Hippocratesʼ Epidemics, Book i. 11 (i. p. 190, line 3 Kw; ii. pp. 634–6 L) commented upon by Galen in Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book One, p. 76, lines 1–24 W (xvii/a. pp. 148–9 K; cf. i.2.136–9 V). References to the Greek text (where this survives) of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ are to the edition by Ernst Wenkebach 1934, followed by the corresponding volume and page number in Kühn 1821–33 (where applicable). Translations from the Greek are my own, although I have benefited greatly from comparison with the forthcoming translation of the corresponding Arabic sections by Uwe Vagelpohl and Bink Hallum, and where relevant, I have added a reference to the corresponding passage (book, section and paragraph number) in their translation of the Arabic version. Likewise, references to Book Two (which survives in Arabic only) are to book, section and paragraph number of the forthcoming translation by Hallum and Vagelpohl, followed by the corresponding page and line numbers in the CMG translation by Pfaff (where applicable). 6 Hippocratesʼ Epidemics, Book i. 11 (i. p. 190, lines 3–6 Kw; ii. 636 L); commented upon by Galen in his Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book One, p. 76, line 25–p. 77, line 15 W (xvii/a. pp. 149–51 K; cf. i.2.140–1 V). 7 Epidemics, Book i. 23 (i. p. 199, line 9–p. 200, line 2 Kw; ii. pp. 668–70 L), commented upon extensively by Galen in his Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book One, p. 102, line 23– p. 110, line 26 W (xvii/a. pp. 203–19 K; cf. i.3.1–27 V). 8 Langholf 1990; Smith 1991.

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patient’s reaction to it. All in all, it has often been argued, we seem to be witnessing the birth of clinical, observational medicine, aspiring at high standards of accuracy and precision, honesty and integrity. Whoever the authors or redactors of the Epidemics were, they seem to have been primarily occupied with gathering empirical data, as unbiasedly as possible, without attempting to edit, fabricate or suppress information in order to promote their own achievements or elevate their own status. Indeed, one further feature for which the authors of the Epidemics have long been admired is the fact that they admit failure in their diagnosis or treatment of patients, thus contributing to the lofty picture of the self-critical Hippocratic physician that was long cherished by classicists and members of the medical profession alike. This is, roughly, the traditional picture that has dominated appraisals of the Epidemics from the early modern period onwards. Of course, some cracks have come into this. For one thing, most students of the Epidemics nowadays are acutely aware that no observation is value-free, and no record of a patient’s symptoms is beyond selection, interpretation or bias in representation, quite apart from the fact that access to these observations is complicated by the vocabulary and terminology in which they are cast. These considerations should make medical as well as non-medical readers beware of taking the descriptions of the Epidemics too much at face value. In addition, there has been increasing criticism of the practice of retrospective diagnosis on the basis of the case histories, though it is worth pointing out that scholars such as the late Mirko Grmek and, more recently, Lutz Alexander Graumann, still accepted it as a valid procedure, provided that certain conditions are met.9 Thirdly, comparative literary and cultural studies into the genre of the medical case history have highlighted the remarkable variety in forms and functions that case histories may display in different contexts, civilisations and time frames, again suggesting that one should not take the specific form and function of the case histories preserved in the Epidemics for granted.10 And fourthly, linguistic and stylistic analysis of the Hippocratic case histories, such as that by Rainer Hellweg or Volker Langholf, has led to the hypothesis that, especially in the later books of the Epidemics, there is evidence of polishing or at least editing, possibly with a view to pur9 See Grmek 1989, especially chapters 11, 12 and 13; Jouanna and Grmek 2000, lxxvi–xc, e.g. p. lxxxii: ‘In an astonishingly high number of cases described in Epidemics, Books Five and Seven, one can … formulate a retrospective diagnosis that is fairly certain. (Dans un nombre étonnamment élevé de cas décrits dans les Épidémies V et VII on peut … énoncer un diagnostif rétrospectif assez sûr.)’ See also Graumann 2000. 10 Even in Graeco-Roman medicine, case histories display considerable variation, as emerges from a comparison of Hippocratic case histories with those found in Galen and Rufus; see Lloyd 2009, Ullmann 1978, Swain 2008 and ed. Pormann 2008c, 64–73; for later developments in medieval Islamic medicine, see Álvarez Millán 2010; for cross-cultural perspectives, see Lloyd 2007.

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poses of teaching and instruction for medical students, or for illustration of general theoretical points.11 Yet for all these qualifying considerations, much of the idealised picture of the Hippocratic Epidemics still stands. They continue to be regarded as landmarks of empirical science, based on careful and systematic observation and providing the foundation for comparative analysis of data in order to arrive at universal truths about disease, the human body and the environment. However, Galen’s approach to the Epidemics, as reflected in his surviving commentaries on books One, Two, Three, and Six, is rather different.12 Galen has no desire whatsoever to show that the case histories are unbiased records of neutral, empirical observation, meant to support an inductive process of data collection and processing. He unashamedly reads them in the light of theoretical concepts and ideas reflected in other Hippocratic works and, more importantly, his own medical writings. Accordingly, Galen claims that there are certain prerequisites for a correct understanding of the Epidemics. Thus at an early stage of his commentary on book One, he says that readers of Epidemics should first study other Hippocratic works such as Nature of Man, Airs Waters Places and the Aphorisms in order to understand the work properly.13 Galen often supplements the account provided in the Epidemics with details derived from other Hippocratic texts or, more often, from his own medical writings, to which he refers frequently, both his commentaries on other Hippocratic writings, such as those on Aphorisms and Prognostic,14 and works by himself not in the form of a commentary.15 There are several reasons for this. One is a general one, to do with the fact that ancient ways of commenting on a medical or philosophical text are so different from ours. Galen was part of the interpretative and exegetical culture of the early Imperial period. This exegetical culture, and Galen’s place in it, has been 11 Hellweg 1985; Langholf 1977b. 12 For practical reasons, I concentrate in this paper on Galen’s commentaries on Books i and ii, as these – and their Arabic transmission – were the basis for the Warburg conference where this paper was presented. On special features of Galen’s commentaries on Books iii and vi, see Manetti and Roselli 1994, 1552–4. 13 P. 6, line 26–p. 7, line 4 W (xvii/a. p. 7 K; cf. i.1.15 V). 14 Book ii.1.70 HV (cf. 172, lines 1–23 Pf). 15 Thus Method of Healing is referred to in Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book One, p. 75, lines 1–2 W (xvii/a. p. 145 K; cf. i.2.129 V); Mixtures is referred to in Book One, p. 93, line 29 W (xvii/a. p. 186 K; cf. i.2.204 V); in Book Two, ii.1.115 HV (cf. p. 184, line 2 Pf), ii.3.123 HV (cf. p. 293, lines 18–19 Pf; Pfaff erroneously translates ‘Über die Krisis’), ii.6.6 HV (cf. p. 355, line 32 Pf); Critical Days is referred to in Book One, p. 63, line 34 W (xvii/a. p. 123 K; cf. i.2.74 V), p. 97, line 14 W (xvii/a. p. 192 K; cf. i.2.216 V), p. 100, line 22 W (xvii/a. p. 199 K; cf. i.2.225 V), p. 124, line 5 W (xvii/a. p. 247 K; cf. i.3.69–71 V); Natural Faculties is referred to in Book Two, ii.1.142 HV (cf. p. 191, lines 18–19 Pf); Difficulty of Breathing is referred to in Book Two, ii.3.58–9 HV (cf. p. 274, line 32 Pf), ii.3.69 HV (cf. p. 277, line 13 Pf).

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discussed in considerable depth by Daniela Manetti and Amneris Roselli, Simon Swain, Heinrich von Staden and Rebecca Flemming, and there is no reason to repeat their findings.16 Suffice it to say that ancient commentators on philosophical, scientific and medical texts were primarily motivated by pragmatic reasons, often to do with the teaching practice: the writings of Plato, Aristotle or Hippocrates had to be studied and explained to students not for historical reasons but because the views they contained were still valid, relevant and true to philosophical and medical students of many centuries later. Thus early Imperial commentators’ ways of reading are synthetic rather than analytical, systematic rather than historical, and often deliberately ahistorical and anachronistic, attributing views to earlier authorities that they could not possibly have held. Moreover, exegesis served an important function in the exposition of a philosopher’s or medical writer’s own ideas: the authority of the ancients (παλαιοί, ἀρχαῖοι) provided important backing to a thinker’s own arguments and shaped, to a very large extent, the structure of one’s own positive argument. All this is not to deny Galen’s originality or peculiarity in this culture of exegesis; nor is it to play down the variety of forms, modes and genres of exegesis he and others employed, ranging from the lemmatic running commentary to much freer ways of engagement with the text of an earlier author. Yet when confronting our ways of reading the Hippocratic Epidemics with Galen’s, or indeed with that of other ancient exegetes, we need to be aware of the differences between ancient and modern commentaries and of the place of exegesis in the culture in which they were written.

The title Epidemics and the theoretical dimensions of the work There is, however, also a more specific reason why Galen’s approach to the Hippocratic Epidemics is so different from that of modern readers, and this has to do with his interpretation of the title of the work. As is well known, the meaning of the title Epidemics (Ἐπιδημίαι) is unclear and ambiguous, and the word has often been taken to refer to the doctor’s ‘visits’ to his patients.17 Yet as the Preface to the commentary on Book One shows, Galen takes the word ἐπίδημοϲ in the sense of ‘epidemic disease’ as opposed to local or endemic (ἔνδημοϲ) diseases18: 16 Manetti and Roselli 1994; Swain 1996; von Staden 2002, 2006, 2009; Flemming 2008. 17 For a discussion see Langholf 1990, 78–9, referring, among other things, to the use of ἐπιδημία in the title of the historian Ion of Chios (d. c. 420 BC). 18 Book i.1.2–3 V (the Greek of this section does not survive). All translations from the Arabic are taken from the forthcoming edition and translation by Vagelpohl and Hallum.

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ɬͲ ǚˬ̑ ǽ͎ ŰǨˈ̒ LJ˳͵Βā Ȉ͵LJ͛ ƦΒāć ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ ƦΑā ɼ̈ǚˬʒͫā ŰāǨͲҙҏā ɬʉ̑ć ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ ɬʉ̑ ƈǨˏͫāć ȇʉˀ̒ ŰāǨͲΑā ǽ͎́ ɼ̈ǚˬʒͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā LJͲΑāć .ŰĢLJ͇ ȇʒ̵ ɬͲ ɨ́ͫ Ńǚʥ̒ ŰāǨͲΑā ǽ΀ LJ˳͵Βā LJ́͵Αā ҙҏΒā Ʀāǚˬʒͫā ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā Ʉ̿ć ǚ͘ć .ɷʉ͎ ŰǨˈ̒ ķǛͫā ǚˬʒͫā ɡ΀Αҙҏ ɼˏͫLJʥ˳ͫLJ͛ ƦǍ˜̒ ȅʓ̤ ΈLJ˳̇āĔ ṳ̈̌āć ǚˬ̑ ɡ΀Αā ɑˬʓ͎ ɨ΀ǚˬ̑ łҙҏLJ̤ ȇʶʥ̑ Ʀāǚˬʒͫā ɬͲ ǚˬ̑ ǚˬ̑ ɡ΀Αā ȇʉˀ̒ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ķΑā Ƚ̀āǍ˳ͫāć ƹāǍ́ͫāć ƹLJ˳ͫā .ɼ̈ǚˬʒͫā ȅ˳ʶ̒ ǽʓͫā ǽ΀ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Galen said: Hippocrates entitled this book Epidemics because most of his discussion and detailed description in it deals with the diseases called ‘epidemic’. It means ‘the visiting’ and refers to a single disease affecting a large group at the same time. The difference between these and local [i.e. endemic] diseases is that, even though they [sc. epidemics] occur in a certain location, they are only diseases which affect them due to an accidental cause. Local diseases are diseases people of one location suffer from all the time: they are like a [constant] companion of the inhabitants of the place where they occur. In Airs, Waters, Places, Hippocrates described which diseases affect the inhabitants of each country in accordance with its conditions. These diseases are called ‘local’. Accordingly, Galen takes the Hippocratic Epidemics – or at any rate book One – as a treatise on a specific type of diseases affecting large numbers of people due to causes that go beyond individual people’s eating patterns and lifestyles, and whose main cause is the air that people breathe. This is because the Epidemics, in Galen’s interpretation, presuppose a specific classification of diseases, not only distinguishing ‘epidemic disease’ from local, or endemic, diseases but also distinguishing ‘common’, or ‘general’ from ‘individual’ or ‘diverse’ diseases19:

ɼ˶̈ǚͲ ɡ΀Αā ȅˬ͇ ṳ̈̌āć Ȉ͘ć ǽ͎ Ńǚʥ̒ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Ȉˬ͘ LJ˳͛ Ʉˀ̈ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΒLJ͎ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ LJͲΑLJ͎ ζƴǨʉʔ͛ ɼ͇LJ˳ʤͫ ƦҨҞͲLJ̶ ƦLJʉͲLJ͇ LJ˳́͵Αā ŰǨ˳ͫā ɬͲ ɬʉʶ˶ʤͫā ɬ̈ĕLJ΀ ɨˈ̈ć .ɨ΀Ǩ̵ΑLJ̑ ǚˬ̑ ɡ΀Αā ćΑā ɨ΀Ǩ̵ΑLJ̑ Ȉ̀Ǩ͇ ƦΒāć ǽʓͫā LJ́ˬ͛ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩ̇LJ̵ LJͲΑāć .ťLJ˶ͫā ɬͲ ƴǨʉʔ͛ ɼ͇LJ˳̣ ȇʉˀ̈ LJ́˶Ͳ ṳ̈̌āǍͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦΑā ǽ˶͇Αā ɼ͇LJ˳ʤͫā ɑˬ̒ ɬͲ Έāṳ̈̌āć Έāṳ̈̌āć LJ́˶Ͳ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ȵʦ̈ ɬ˜ͫ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā LJ́˶Ͳ ṳ̈̌āǍͫā ɨˈ̈ ɨͫ ƴǨʉʔ͛ ɼ͇LJ˳ʤͫ ɑͫǛ͛ ůLJ̥ ťLJ˶ͫā ɬͲ ṳ̈̌āć ṳ̈̌āǍͫ LJ́̓ćṳ̈̌ ƦΑā LJ˳͛ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ć .ɼˏˬʓʦ˳ͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏLJ̑ žǨˈ̒ LJ˳͵ΒLJ͎ LJ́̓ćṳ̈̌ ƦΑā LJ˳͛ć ɑͫĕ žҨҞ̥ ȅˬ͇ LJ́ʉ͎ ƛLJʥͫLJ͎ ɼʉͲLJˈͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā LJͲΑLJ͎ .ɨ́˶Ͳ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ǽ͎ ůLJ̥ LJ́ʒʒ̵ .ǽͲLJ͇ ȇʒ̵ LJ́ʒʒ̵ ɑͫǛ͛ ƢLJ͇ As I said, Hippocrates describes in this book diseases which simultaneously affect inhabitants of an entire city or country. These two kinds of 19 Book i.1.4–5 V (the Greek of this section does not survive); see also p. 9, lines 4–5 W (xvii/a. p. 10 K; cf. i.1.22 V), with reference to Airs, Waters, Places.

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diseases [sc. epidemic and local] have in common that they involve a large community, i.e. that the same disease affects a large group of people. Even though they [also] affect large groups, there is not a single of the other diseases which a large number share [in this way]. Rather, each of them affects each member of the community individually. They are known as ‘variable’ diseases. Just as they affect people individually, each of them arises from an individual cause. The opposite applies to ‘general’ diseases: their occurrence is general, as is their cause. Furthermore, Galen argues, the Epidemics presuppose a specific theory of disease causation, distinguishing between diet, exercise and air or external influences20:

ƢLJˈ̈́ ɬͲ ƛćLJ˶ʓ̈ LJͲ LJ́˶Ͳ ṳ̈̌āć ɼʔˬ̓ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā LJ́ʉ͎ Ńǚʥʓ͎ Ʀāǚ̑Αҙҏā ȅˬ͇ ĔǨ̒ ǽʓͫā LJ́ˬ͛ ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā ťLJ˶̣Αāć ƹāǍ΀ ɬͲ œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ Ʀǚʒͫā ȅ˙ˬ̈ LJͲ ȉͫLJʔͫāć LJ΀Ǩʉ͈ć łLJ͛Ǩʥͫā ɬͲ ɡˈˏ̈ LJͲ ǽ͵LJʔͫāć LJ˳΀Ǩʉ͈ ɬͲć ŁāǨ̶ ćΑā ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ˳͵Βā LJ́̓ćṳ̈̌ Ǩʔ͛Αā ƦΑā ҙҏΒā ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ Ƚʉ˳̣ ɬͲ Ńǚʥ̒ ǚ͘ ɼʉͲLJˈͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏāć .ƱǨʉ͈ ɬͲ ćΑā ǚˬ̑ ɡ΀Αā ȅˬ͇ ćΑā ΈLJˈͲ ɼ˶̈ǚͲ ɡ΀Αā ȅˬ͇ ƢLJˈͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā Ńćṳ̈̌ ƦΑā ɑͫĕć ζƦāǚ̑ΑҙҏLJ̑ Ⱥʉʥ˳ͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā ƛLJ̤ ɬͲ ćΑā ƢLJ͇ ŁāǨ̶ ɬͲ ƢLJˈͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ĔLJ˜̈ ҙҏ ΈLJˁ̈Αā ɑͫǛ͛ć ΈāǨʉʔ͛ Ɏˏʓ̈ LJ˳Ͳ ȫʉͫ ƢLJ͇ ƢLJˈ̈́ ɬͲ .ƢLJ͇ ŴǨˏͲ ȇˈ̒ There are three types of causes which affect bodies and generate diseases: the first is food, drink or other things one ingests; the second, physical exercise and other things one engages in; and the third, the air or other external [influences] on the body. General diseases are caused by all of these causes, but they mostly arise because of the condition of the air surrounding the bodies. That is to say, it is rare that a general disease affecting the inhabitants of an entire city or country arises because of shared food. Likewise, it also rarely happens that a general disease arises because of shared drink or excessive [physical] exertion.

20 Book i.1.5–6 V. See the following summary (ii.1.3 HV; cf. p. 155, lines 13–20 Pf): ‘Galen said: In the first book, Hippocrates described the issue of three states of air which cause diseases. In the third part of this same book, he described the issue of one pestilential state. He began by describing all these states in terms of change in the air which surrounds the bodies, and its deviation from its nature. Then he proceeded by describing the nature of the diseases which befall many people because of these states. (ŃҨҞ̓ ǨͲΑā ȅͫćΑҙҏā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ Ʉ̿ć ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΒā :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘

Έ ҙҏćΑā Ƣǚ˙͎ .ɼʉ̇LJ̑ć ƴṳ̈̌āć ƛLJ̤ ǨͲΑā ɷ˶ʉˈ̑ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ ɬͲ ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ Ʉ̿ćć ŰāǨͲΑā LJ́˶͇ Ȉ̓ṳ̈̌ ƹāǍ́ͫā łҙҏLJ̤ ɬͲ łҙҏLJ̤ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Ƚ̇LJʒ̈́ ɼˏˀ̑ ɑͫĕ Ƚʒ̒Αā ɨ̓ .ɷʓˈʉʒ̈́ ɬ͇ ɷ̣ćǨ̥ć Ʀāǚ̑ΑҙҏLJ̑ Ⱥʉʥ˳ͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā Ǩʉˉ̒ ɼˏ̿ LJ́ˬ͛ łҙҏLJʥͫā ɑˬ̒ Ʉ̿ć ǽ͎ łҙҏLJʥͫā ɑˬ̒ ɬ͇ ťLJ˶ͫā ɬͲ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫ Ȉ̓ṳ̈̌.)’

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Galen demonstrates that this theory of disease causation has a genuine Hippocratic pedigree by means of a long quotation from Nature of Man, in which the author (Hippocrates, according to Galen) distinguishes between diseases caused by lifestyle and diseases caused by the air people inhale. When one particular disease afflicts a large number of people at the same time, we are dealing with a disease of the latter kind, Hippocrates argues, for this has one cause common to all, as opposed to people’s lifestyle that is different from one individual to another.21 Thus according to Galen, causal explanation plays a major part in the Epidemics, and even where this is not sufficiently clear from the text, his exegesis will point this out. The following passage makes a connection between exegesis and causal explanation (aitiología) and thus provides justification for Galen’s procedure22: … μεμνημένων ἡμῶν, ὅτι τὸ μὲν κυρίωϲ ὀνομαζόμενον ἐξηγεῖϲθαι κατὰ τὰϲ ἀϲαφεῖϲ γίνεται λέξειϲ, ἤδη δὲ διὰ τὸ τῶν ἐξηγητῶν ἔθοϲ καταχρώμενοι καὶ τὰϲ αἰτιολογίαϲ τῶν ϲαφῶϲ εἰρημένων ἐξηγήϲειϲ ὀνομάζομεν, ὅπερ καὶ νῦν ἡμεῖϲ ποιοῦμεν ἑπόμενοι τῇ κρατούϲῃ ϲυνηθείᾳ. τὴν γὰρ λέξιν αὐτὴν οὖϲαν ϲαφῆ καὶ μηδεμιᾶϲ ἐξηγήϲεωϲ δεομένην προφερόμενοι, τῶν ὑπ’ αὐτῆϲ δηλουμένων ϲαφῶϲ τὰϲ αἰτίαϲ ἐπιχειροῦμεν λέγειν. … we need to bear in mind that although the term ‘exegesis’ in the proper sense applies to textual passages that are obscure, we also use it on ac21 P. 7, line 23–p. 8, line 13 W (xvii/a. pp. 8–9 K; cf. i.1.18 V): ‘I will show that it was Hippocrates who distinguished the two kinds of diseases that I discussed in this way, when he stated that air is the cause of epidemic diseases (καὶ πιϲτώϲομαι τὰ γένη τῶν νοϲημάτων, ὧν διῆλθον, Ἱπποκράτει διῃρημένα εἶναι οὕτωϲ, αἴτιόν γε τὸν ἀέρα 〈τῶν〉 ἐπιδημίων νοϲημάτων ἀποφαινομένῳ). For in his Nature of Man he writes the following: “Some diseases develop because of lifestyle and some because of the air which we live on by inhaling it (αἱ δὲ νοῦϲοι γίνονται αἱ μὲν ἀπὸ διαιτημάτων, αἱ δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ πνεύματοϲ, ὃ ἐϲαγόμενοι ζῶμεν). We need to distinguish between these two kinds of diseases in the following manner. When one particular disease afflicts a large number of people at the same time, we must attribute the blame for this to what is most general and used most frequently by all of us: and this is the air we breathe. It is obvious that the lifestyle of each of us individually cannot be the cause of a disease that includes everyone without exception, young and old, females and males, drinkers of wine and drinkers of water, those fed with barley porridge and those fed with bread, those who rarely toil and those who wear themselves out. Lifestyle, then, cannot be the cause of the disease since people’s lifestyles are varied in all sorts of ways, whereas the disease that occurred was one and the same. On the other hand, when diseases that occur at a specific time are varied, it is clear that their cause is the lifestyle of each of the people who fall ill.’ 22 P. 80, lines 3–9 W (xvii/a. pp. 156–7 K; cf. i.2.151 V). Note, however, that at ii.4.15 HV (cf. p. 317, lines 11–17 Pf), Galen says that his only purpose is to ‘explain the meaning of what is said (ƛLJ͘ LJ˳ʉ͎ ƱLJ˶ˈͲ ŔǨ̶Αā ƦΑā)’ and ‘not … to clarify Hippocrates’ teachings and provide proofs for them (ɬʉ΀āǨʒͫLJ̑ LJ́ʉˬ͇ ǽ̒ΐāć ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƹāĢΐā ɬʉ̑Αā ƦΑā ǽ̀Ǩ͈ ȫʉˬ͎)’.

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count of the normal practice of the exegetes in an improper sense to refer to the statement of the causes of things that have been stated clearly. This is exactly what we are doing here, following the prevailing habit, for when presenting a passage that is clear and does not require any exegesis, we attempt to state the causes of what has been clearly described in this passage. Thus exegesis in Galen’s view involves not just elucidation of obscure passages but also causal explanation of phenomena whose description itself is perfectly clear. This is appropriate, he believes, for the Epidemics are anything but free from theoretical assumptions about underlying causes. For example, Galen credits Hippocrates with the distinction between ‘procatarctic causes’ and ‘predisposing’ causes, a distinction not found in any of the Hippocratic writings and which modern scholarship tends to date to the Hellenistic period.23 Furthermore, Galen argues that the Epidemics unashamedly presuppose an elaborate theory of environmental and meteorological medicine, in which the dominance of humours and specific types of diseases and the mixtures of the surrounding air are all said to be interconnected according to climatic and seasonal patterns and changes.24 This may be less questionable from a modern standpoint, considering that environmental factors play such a big part in the Epidemics. Yet the explanation Galen offers for this is cast entirely in terms of his own theory 23 Book ii.1.14 HV (cf. p. 158, lines 1–32 Pf): ‘I am going to summarise what I have said from the beginning and then divide it. I say that when Hippocrates said ‘abundant rain came with the heat of the summer during its entirety. This happened mostly together with a south wind’, he indicated the cause called ‘procatarctic’, which brings about the generation of carbuncles. This cause is external to the bodies affected by the disease. By saying ‘pus develops under the skin’, he indicated the cause called ‘pre-disposing’, which brings about the generation of the carbuncles. This cause first occurs within the body. By saying ‘when it is congested, it becomes hot’, he indicated the way in which this cause brings about carbuncles, namely the excessive heat of the humour predominant in the body, this predominance being due to putrefaction. He called it ‘pus’, because it is unnatural, bad and malicious. When he said ‘and generates itching’, this is a symptom which precedes the occurrence of carbuncles. (ɡ˳ʤͲ LJ͵Αāć

«ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ȽͲ ƦǍ˜̈ LJͲ Ǩʔ͛Αā ƦLJ͛ć ɷˬ͛ Ʉʉˀͫā Ǩ̤ ȽͲ ĔẠ̌ ĢLJ˅ͲΑā łƹLJ̣» ɷͫǍ˙̑ ƛĔ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΒā ƛǍ͘ΑLJ͎ ɷˈ˅͘Αā ɨ̓ ɷͫćΑā Ǜ˶Ͳ ǽͫǍ͘ ƛĔć .ɼ͎ΐҙҏā LJ́ʓͫLJ͵ ǽʓͫā Ʀāǚ̑Αҙҏā ɬͲ œĢLJ̥ ȇʒ̵ Ǎ΀ ȇʒʶͫā āǛ΀ć .Ǩ˳ʤͫā ǚͫǍ̒ ƦǍ˜̈ ɷ˶Ͳ ķǛͫā ĶĔLJʒͫā ȅ˳ʶ̈ ķǛͫā ȇʒʶͫā ȅˬ͇ ǽ͎ Ńǚʥ̈ ķǛͫā ȇʒʶͫā Ǎ΀ć Ǩ˳ʤͫā ǚͫǍ̒ ƦǍ˜̈ ɷ˶Ͳ ķǛͫā ƢĔLJ˙ʓ˳ͫā ȅ˳ʶ̈ ķǛͫā ȇʒʶͫā ȅˬ͇ «ǚ̈ǚ̿ ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ Ǩʉˀ̈ć» ɷͫǍ˙̑ ȇͫLJˉͫā Ⱥˬʦͫā ƴĢāǨ̤ ŴāǨ͎Βā Ǎ΀ ɑͫĕć Ǩ˳ʤͫā ȇʒʶͫā ɑͫĕ Ńǚʥ̈ LJ́̑ ǽʓͫā ɼ́ʤͫā ȅˬ͇ «ɬʦ̵ ɬ˙ʓ̤ā āĕΒLJ͎» ɷͫǍ˙̑ ƛĔć Έ ҙҏćΑā Ʀǚʒͫā «ɼ˜̤ ǚͫćć» ɷͫǍ͘ LJͲΑLJ͎ .ΈLJʔʉʒ̥ ΈLJʈ̈ĔĢ ΈLJ̣ćǨ̥ ɼʉˈʉʒ˅ͫā ɬ͇ ΈLJ̣ĢLJ̥ ƦLJ͛ ɷ͵Αā ɡʒ͘ ɬͲ Έāǚ̈ǚ̿ ƱLJ˳̵ć ɼ͵Ǎˏˈͫā ȇʒʶ̑ ɷ͵LJʒˬ͈ć Ʀǚʒͫā ǽ͎ Ǩ˳ʤͫā Ńćṳ̈̌ Ƣǚ˙ʓ̈ ŰǨ͇ Ǎ͎́.) ’ 24 P. 13, lines 11–15 W (xvii/a. p. 18 K; cf. i.1.34 V): ‘What is further useful is this division of the year into four seasons, as this, too, was shown before by Hippocrates himself in the work in which he sets out the dominance of humours and the types of diseases and the mixtures of the surrounding air that govern both of these, and which present four different kinds. (χρηϲίμη δὲ καὶ 〈ἡ〉 εἰϲ τέϲϲαραϲ ὥραϲ, ὡϲ καὶ τοῦτο δέδεικται πρότερον 〈ὑπ’〉 αὐτοῦ τοῦ Ἱπποκράτουϲ ἐν οἷϲ τάϲ τε τῶν χυμῶν ἐπικρατείαϲ διδάϲκει καὶ τὰϲ τῶν νοϲημάτων ἰδέαϲ καὶ τὰϲ ἀμφοτέρων τούτων ἡγουμέναϲ κράϲειϲ τοῦ περιέχοντοϲ, τέτταραϲ ἐχούϲαϲ διαφοράϲ.)’

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of ‘mixtures’ or ‘temperaments’ (kráseis), the specific proportions between the elementary qualities hot, cold, dry and wet that determine an individual patient’s bodily make-up, susceptibility to disease and interaction with environmental factors, and which can be inferred or interpreted on the basis of a patient’s outward appearances. Galen expounds this theory in his important treatise Mixtures, to which he often refers in the commentary on the Epidemics. Although in reality this theory owes more to Aristotle than to Hippocrates (as is clear from the many references to Aristotle in Galen’s Mixtures),25 Galen nevertheless claims that in developing this theory, he is essentially just spelling out ideas already present in Hippocrates, as he shows in two others works more closely associated with the interpretation of Hippocratic texts, namely Elements according to Hippocrates and the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘On the Nature of Man’. This theory of mixtures is important in order to explain, as Galen puts it, why different patients react differently to the same causal agents, for this is due to the interaction between the ‘mixture’ of the environment and the mixture of the body;26 and this knowledge is in turn an essential condition for the physician’s ability to predict and to prevent diseases27:

Ȉʒʔ̈ LJ́ˁˈ̑ć Ǩ̀LJʥͫā Ȉ͘Ǎͫā œāǩͲ ɬͲ ɼͫLJʥʓ̵ҙҏā ɷʉͫΒā ŷǨʶ̒ Ʀāǚ̑Αҙҏā ȶˈ̑ ĢLJ̿ LJ́ˬ͛ ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā ƱǛ́ˬ͎ ǽ͎ ΑLJ˅ʦͫā ɬͲ ŰǨ˳ͫā ɷͫ ŰǨˈ̈ LJ́ˁˈ̑ć ɼΈ ʓ̑ ĢǨ̀ ɷ˶Ͳ ɷͫLJ˶̈ ҙҏ LJ́ˁˈ̑ć ɼˬ̈Ǎ̈́ ƴΈ ǚͲ œāǩ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ ƢćLJ˙̈ć LJ˳͵Βā ƹāǍ́ͫā ɬͲ ĢǨˁͫā LJ́ͫLJ͵ āĕΒā Ʀāǚ̑Αҙҏā Ȉ͵LJ͛ LJ˳˜͎ .Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ œāǩͲ ɬͲ ĢǨˁͫā ɷͫLJ˶̈ ƦΑā ɡʒ͘ Ǩʉ̑ǚʓͫā ķǛͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ Ǩʉ̑ǚʓͫā ɬͲ ŰǨ˳ͫā LJ́ͫ ŰǨ͇ āĕΒā ɑͫǛ͛ ζɷ̣āǩͲ ɡ͛LJʷ̈ LJͲ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ LJ́ʒʉˀ̈ .ɷʉ͎ ΑLJ˅ʦˬͫ Έ ҨҞ͛LJʷͲ LJ́ͫ ŰǨˈ̈ For all of these reasons, some bodies change quickly owing to the mixture of the present season and some remain stable and resist this mixture for a long time. Some do not suffer any harm at all from it and some fall ill due to an unhealthy lifestyle before they suffer harm from the mixture of that season. When bodies suffer harm from the air, they only suffer it from diseases which resemble its mixture; likewise, when they develop a disease caused by their lifestyle, it resembles the unhealthy aspect of their lifestyle. People who are aware of this are able not only to predict which diseases occur in 25 See van der Eijk 2012a and 2012b. 26 Book i.1.10–11 V (the Greek of this section does not survive). 27 Book i.1.11 V; the fragmentary Greek text runs as follows (p. 5, lines 30–36 W; xvii/a. p. 5 K): ‘μόνον προγνώϲεται τὰϲ γινομέναϲ νόϲουϲ ἐν ἑκάϲτῃ τῶν καταϲτάϲεων, 〈ἀλλὰ〉 καὶ κωλύϲει γίνεϲθαι, ταῖϲ τοῦ περιέχοντοϲ ἡμᾶϲ ἀμέτροιϲ κράϲεϲι τὴν ἐναντίαν ἐπιτεχνώμενοϲ δίαιταν. εὔδηλον γὰρ ὡϲ, εἴπερ εὐκραϲία τῶν πρώτων 〈ϲωμάτων〉 ἐϲτὶν ἡ ὑγεία, διαφθαρήϲεται μὲν ὑπὸ τῆϲ τοῦ περιέχοντοϲ δυϲκραϲίαϲ, φυλαχθήϲεται δ ὑπὸ τῆϲ κατὰ τὴν δίαιταν ἐναντιώϲεωϲ.’

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each of the constitutions in accordance with their mixture, but also to prevent them from happening by carefully arranging their lifestyle to counteract the mixture that excessively dominates the air surrounding us. For it is obvious that if health consists in the good balance of the primary bodies, it will be damaged by the bad mixture of the surrounding air, whereas it will be preserved when the lifestyle counteracts this (bad mixture). This combination of exegesis and (causal) explanation is very clearly illustrated by the following passage, which provides exactly such an ‘account of the causes of what has been clearly described’. This account consists of a detailed discussion of various types or groups of people mentioned in a specific Hippocratic lemma (‘adolescents, young men, adults with thin-haired bodies, thin and coarse voices, lisping and quick-tempered, and women’).28 This amount of detail is necessary, according to Galen, for three reasons: (1) because as long as all of these details are not outlined, the preceding lemma is not useful for the prognosis and treatment of the diseases; (2) because it becomes difficult for us to discover the causes of which many of the people mentioned died; and (3) because the text as it stands is unclear as regards the extent to which people actually died or were likely to die29: … εἰ μὴ πάντα ταῦτα διοριϲθείη, πλέον οὐδὲν ἡμῖν οὔτ’ εἰϲ πρόγνωϲιν οὔτ’ εἰϲ θεραπείαν ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων ὑπάρξει. εἰ δὲ μὴ περὶ πάντων τῶν νοϲημάτων, ἀλλὰ περὶ ὧν τὸν λόγον ἐποιεῖτο μόνων τῶν φρενιτικῶν ἀκούοιμεν εἰρῆϲθαι ταῦτα, χαλεπώτατόν ἐϲτι καὶ οὕτωϲ εὑρεῖν τὰϲ αἰτίαϲ, δι’ ἃϲ ἀπώλλυντο οἱ πλεῖϲτοι τῶν εἰρημένων. 〈καὶ〉 μέντοι καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ τοὺϲ πλείϲτουϲ ἀπόλλυϲθαι διττὸν εἶναι 〈δοκεῖ,〉 … ὥϲτε καὶ τὴν αἰτιολογίαν γίνεϲθαι διττήν … ἡ μὲν οὖν ἀϲάφεια τοῦ λόγου τοϲαύτη ἐϲτὶ καὶ τοιαύτη, προηγεῖϲθαι δ’ αὐτῆϲ 〈τῆϲ ἐξηγήϲεωϲ δεῖ τὸ〉 εὑρεῖν τὴν κρᾶϲιν ἑκάϲτου τῶν εἰρημένων. οὐ γὰρ οἷόν τε ϲυνῆφθαι τῇ καταϲτάϲει τὸν λόγον ἄνευ τούτου. … as long as all of these distinctions [sc. about age, physical appearance, sex etc.] have not been made, the discussion will not provide anything further that is useful for prognosis or treatment. Yet when we understand this passage as not referring to all diseases but only to those diseases he mentioned, that is to say, cases of phrenitis, this, too, makes it extremely difficult for us to discover the causes of which most of the people mentioned died. Yet even his expression ‘most people died’ allows two interpretations. … Consequently, our search for the cause [aitiología] takes two forms as well, 28 Book i. 19 (i. p. 195, lines 16–17 Kw; ii. p. 656 L). 29 P. 92, line 30–p. 94, line 4 W (xvii/a. pp. 184–6 K; cf. i.2.202–3 V).

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… This is the extent30 and severity of the obscurity in this lemma. Before providing elucidation [ἐξήγηϲιϲ], we need to identify the mixture of each of the bodies he described, for without this we cannot connect what is said [in this lemma] with [what is said about] the constitution. This discussion draws heavily on Galen’s theory of mixtures as set out in Mixtures, where he points out that the categories or types of people mentioned by Hippocrates correspond with different physiological ‘mixtures’, which can be identified by inferential reasoning on the basis of external appearances,31 including physiognomonical signs. This is echoed at several places in the commentary on book Two, for example in ii.2.20 HV (cf. p. 183, line 16–p. 184, line 15 Pf), where indications of the body’s internal physiological state are drawn on the basis of an individual’s character traits, and in ii.4.79 HV (cf. p. 347, line 17 Pf) and ii.4.85 HV (cf. p. 351, line 11 Pf), where Galen refers to Mixtures for showing how parts of the body indicate their mixture (but not that of the whole body); cf. also ii.6.11 HV (cf. p. 355, line 32 Pf). Further theoretical concepts, well known from Galen’s other writings, are introduced and developed as the commentary unfolds. Thus we encounter the notions of crisis and critical days, for which, again, Galen often refers to his own writings with these titles.32

Galen’s reading of the Epidemics versus that of the Empiricists The importance, in Galen’s eyes, of this theoretical background for the understanding of the Hippocratic text makes it easier to explain Galen’s frequent impatience, in the commentary on the Epidemics, with empirical, or Empiricist readings of the text. For reasons that are obvious, and not so different from those of modern readers I referred to in the beginning, the Empiricists had taken a strong interest in the Hippocratic Epidemics. Thus in our text, Galen frequently mentions Heraclides of Tarentum as the first commentator on the Epidemics; and we find a number of references to Zeuxis and other Empiricists.33

30 Reading τοϲαύτη in p. 93, line 21 W. 31 This idea is developed in book two of Galen’s Mixtures; see especially ed. Helmreich 1904, p. 40, line 11; p. 42, lines 21–2; p. 50, lines 13–5; p. 72, lines 9–p. 74, line 3. 32 See for example p. 124, line 5 W (xvii/a. p. 247 K; cf. i.3.69 V), where he refers to his account, in the work On Critical Days, of ‘the cause that induces the occurrence of the crisis on those days that fall between the days following the cycles.’ 33 For example, ii.1.13 HV (cf. p. 158, line 4 Pf), ii.3.6 HV (cf. p. 258, line 34 Pf), ii.3.90 HV (cf. p. 284, line 19 Pf).

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By contrast, we find only one reference to the Methodists, and a critical one at that (ii.2.193 HV; cf. p. 255, line 38 Pf). Yet Galen’s assessment of the Empiricists’ work is not altogether favourable. His main objection is that they entertain a naive concept of experience and that, in failing to take account of causes, they miss the point both in their exegesis of the Hippocratic text and in actual medical practice. The main target of Galen’s criticism is one of his own masters, the medical writer Quintus who, although perhaps not a full-blown Empiricist in the strict sense of the word, clearly adopted an empirical approach to the text.34 At an early stage of the commentary, Quintus is taken to task for saying that ‘we know these phenomena through experience only, without there being any relation to the cause that necessitates it’35: κακῶϲ οὖν ὁ Κόιντοϲ ἐξηγεῖται καὶ ταῦτα τὰ βιβλία καὶ τὰ τῶν Ἀφοριϲμῶν, 〈ἐν〉 οἷϲ ὧδέ πωϲ ἔγραψε· ‘περὶ δὲ τῶν ὡρέων, ἢν μὲν ὁ χειμὼν αὐχμηρὸϲ καὶ βόρειοϲ γένηται, τὸ δὲ ἔαρ ἔπομβρον καὶ νότιον, ἀνάγκη τοῦ θέρουϲ πυρετοὺϲ ὀξεῖϲ καὶ ὀφθαλμίαϲ καὶ δυϲεντερίαϲ γίνεϲθαι.’ τῇ πείρᾳ γὰρ μόνῃ τοῦτο ἐγνῶϲθαί φηϲιν ὁ Κόιντοϲ ἄνευ τοῦ κατὰ τὴν αἰτίαν λογιϲμοῦ, πρῶτον μὲν αὐτὸ τοῦθ’ ἁμαρτάνων, **36 ὅτι τὰϲ αἰτίαϲ, ὧν εἶπε κατὰ τοὺϲ Ἀφοριϲμοὺϲ τούτουϲ ὁ Ἱπποκράτηϲ, αὐτὸϲ αὖθιϲ ἐν τῷ Περὶ ὑδάτων καὶ ἀέρων καὶ τόπων ἔγραψεν, εἶθ’ ὅτι τὸ χρήϲιμον μέροϲ τῆϲ διδαϲκαλίαϲ ὑπερέβαινεν. Thus Quintus erred not only in his exegesis of these books but also in those on the Aphorisms, in which Hippocrates says the following: ‘Regarding the seasons, when the winter is dry with northerly wind, and the spring rainy with southerly wind, it necessarily follows that in summer, acute fevers and ophthalmia and dysentery occur’. Quintus maintained that we only know these phenomena through experience without any theoretical reasoning about their cause. His first error is … that he was not aware that already in his Airs, Waters, Places Hippocrates described the causes of the things that he mentioned in his Aphorisms. The second is that he ignored that part of this chapter’s teaching that is concerned with practical application. Further down, the same Quintus is criticised for saying that knowledge of the location in which diseases occur does not contribute in any way to prognosis and prediction, and for failing to ask himself the question why, in the Epidemics,

34 On Quintus, see Manetti and Roselli 1994, 1580–93; Grmek and Gourevitch 1994. 35 P. 6, lines 6–16 W (xvii/a. p. 6 K; cf. i.1.13 V). 36 There is a lacuna in the Greek text here.

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Hippocrates only describes four varieties of changes of seasonal mixtures, even though in reality there are many.37 In reaction to this, Galen in his own commentary on the Epidemics states the more nuanced position on the relationship between reason and experience that we also encounter elsewhere in his works. Of course, Galen does not deny the importance of experience, far from it: experience is ultimately the decisive test (βάϲανοϲ). Yet experience needs to be used in close conjunction with reasoning (λόγοϲ): it needs to be informed, ‘determined’, ‘qualified’ or ‘specified’ (διορίζεϲθαι) by theoretical considerations. Moreover, to say that there is no need to pay attention to causes, as the Empiricists do, is plainly wrong. Galen articulates this carefully nuanced position in a number of passages in his commentary on the Epidemics. Thus at a crucial point, at the end of the introduction to his commentary on book I, and right before starting with the line by line commentary of the Hippocratic text, he adds38: μετὰ ταῦτα δὲ εἰϲ ἐκείνην ἤδη τρέψομαι, τοϲοῦτον ἔτι προειπών, ὅπερ καὶ ἐν 〈ἄλλοιϲ〉 πολλοῖϲ τῶν ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ γεγραμμένων βιβλίων εἰρῆϲθαι φθάνει, προτρέποντόϲ μου γυμνάζεϲθαι τοὺϲ ἐκμαθεῖν θέλονταϲ τὴν ἰατρικὴν τέχνην ἐν τοῖϲ κατὰ μέροϲ αἰϲθητοῖϲ, ὡϲ διαγινώϲκειν αὐτούϲ, ἃ καθόλου προμεμαθήκαϲιν. ταῦτα δὲ αὐτὰ τὰ κατὰ μέροϲ ἀρχὴν τῆϲ 〈τῶν〉 καθόλου ϲυϲτάϲεωϲ οἱ ἐμπειρικοί φαϲιν εἶναι, λέγοντεϲ ἀληθῆ ἐκεῖνα τῶν θεωρημάτων ὅϲα τὴν ϲύϲταϲιν ἐξ ἐμπειρίαϲ ἔϲχηκεν. ἡμῖν δὲ οὐχ οὕτωϲ, ἀλλὰ καὶ διὰ λόγου δοκεῖ πολλὰ τῶν θεωρημάτων εὑρῆϲθαι, κρίνεϲθαι μέντοι καὶ τούτων τὴν ἀλήθειαν ὑπὸ τῆϲ πείραϲ βεβαιουμένην τε καὶ μαρτυρουμένην. I will turn to the commentary on Hippocrates’ text after offering a remark I made in many others of my books, when I urge those who intend to study medicine to acquire training in individual observable things, so that they can discern [in practice] what they have learned before [in theory]. The Empiricists claimed that these individual items are the starting point of the general structure, and they said that the only reliable concepts are those that have their basis in experience. We do not take this view, for we think that, in addition, many concepts are derived by reasoning, yet the truth of these, too, is assessed by experience, which confirms and testifies to them.

37 P. 17, lines 3 and 18 W (xvii/a. pp. 24–5 K; cf. i.1.44 and 1.46 V). In the same context, Galen refers to the Empiricists: ‘The Empiricist doctors said that the gatherings of states of bad mixture, which they call syndromes, and which turn out to be the causes of these diseases, have been discovered by experience, and in support of this claim they interpreted the Aphorisms, for example…’ (p. 17, lines 8–11 W). 38 P. 10, line 22–p. 11, line 1 W (xvii/a. pp. 13–14 K; cf. i.1.26 V).

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Likewise in the commentary on Book Two, Galen registers agreement between Hippocrates and Erasistratus in making a distinction between establishing something theoretically on the basis of the nature of the thing and by means of experience.39 Furthermore, Galen expresses agreement with Aristotle’s statement that one should first establish whether something exists or not (τὸ ὅτι) and only then examine what its causes are (τὸ διότι).40 And in his commentary on the Hippocratic discussion of the anatomy of the vascular systems (also in book II), Galen affirms that observation on the basis of dissection is the source of Hippocrates’ (and Herophilus’) account of the blood vessels41:

39 Book ii.2.31 HV (cf. p. 215, lines 20–43 Pf): ‘Galen said: There are things that are deduced and learned from the nature of the thing, which is called inference by analogy, and there are things that you need to test to know them. In my opinion, Hippocrates spoke likewise in this lemma, which is similar to the statement that Erasistratus made later in the first chapter of his book known as the General Observations where he wrote “a [kind of] food may loosen the bowels in some people and block the bowels in others. I know some people who digest beef more quickly than they digest other foods”. For this is also his opinion on this subject in another passage in which he said “I know a man who was struck by summer cholera when he drank a little bit too much Lesbian wine”. It is not possible to determine what is the matter with one who is in this condition except by testing, and of necessity, you must examine [him] to judge how he is with a certain thing and test that thing on him if you want to know whether his nature concerning it is like other people’s nature or if he differs from them concerning it, and you do this with each thing in this way. (ɼˈʉʒ̈́ ɬͲ ɨˬ΋ ˈΌ̒ć œǨʦʓʶΌ ΋ ̒ ƹLJʉ̶Α Ή ā ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā ɬͲ ƦΒā :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘

ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ ȇʶ̤Αā LJ˳ʉ͎ ɑͫǛ͛ć .LJ́˳ˬˈ̒ ȅʓ̤ LJ́̑Ǩʤ̒ ƦΑā ȅͫΒā LJ́ʉ͎ œLJʓʥ̈ ƹLJʉ̶Α Ή ā ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā ɬͲć ΈLJ̵LJʉ͘ Έ ҙҏҙҏǚʓ̵ā ȅ˳ʶ̈ ɑͫĕć ƹǽʷͫā ƦΒā ƛLJ͘ ȉʉ̤ ɼʉˬ˜ͫā ɡ̈ćLJ͘ΑҙҏLJ̑ žćǨˈ˳ͫā ɷ̑LJʓ͛ ɬͲ ȅͫćΑҙҏā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ ȫ̈́āǨ˅ʶ̵āĢΑā ǚˈ̑ ɬͲ ɷͫLJ͘ ķǛͫā ƛǍ˙ͫLJ̑ ɷʉʒ̶ Ǎ΀ć ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀ Ƚ̈ć ťLJ˶ͫā ȶˈ̑ ǽ͎ ɬ˅ʒͫā Ɏˬ΍ ˅̈Ό ǚ͘ ṳ̈̌āǍͫā ƢLJˈ˅ͫā» ɨ́̇āǨ˳ʓ̵ā ɬͲ ŷǨ̵ΑLJ̑ Ǩ˙ʒͫā ƢǍʥͫ ƦǍ̇Ǩ˳ʓʶ̈ ΈLJͲǍ͘ žǨ͇Αҙҏ ǽ͵Βāć ɨ́ˁˈ̑ ǽ͎ ɷˬ͘ ɬͲ ƛćLJ˶̒ ȅʓͲ ƦLJ͛ Έ ҨҞ̣Ģ žǨ͇Αҙҏ ǽ͵Βā» ƛLJ͘ ƦΑā Ǎ΀ć ɷͫLJ͘ Ǩ̥ΐā ƛǍ͘ ǽ͎ ŁLJʒͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ ɷ̈ΑāĢ āǛ΀ ƦΑā ΈLJˁ̈Αā ɑͫĕć .«ɼ˳ˈ̈́Αҙҏā Ǩ̇LJʶͫ ƴΈ ĢćǨ̀ ȇʤ̈ ǚ͘ć ɼ̑ǨʤʓͫLJ̑ ҙҏΒā ƱǨͲΑā žǨˈʓ̈ ƦΑā ɬ˜˳̈ ȫʉˬ͎ ƛLJʥͫā ƱǛ΀ ɷͫLJ̤ Ȉ͵LJ͛ ɬͲ΋ ć .«ɼΉ ˁʉ΀ ɷ̒Ǩʓ͇ā Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ Έ ҨҞˁ͎ ťǍʒʶͫ Ǩ˳̥ ɼˈʉʒ̈́ ɡʔͲ ɷʉ͎ ɷʓˈʉʒ̈́ ɡ΀ ɨˬˈ̒ ƦΑā łĔĢΑā āĕΒā ɷʉ͎ ƹǽʷͫā ɑͫĕ ŁǨʤ̒ ƦΑāć ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā ɬͲ ƹǽ̶ ȽͲ ɷͫLJ̤ Ʉʉ͛ ɷʉˬ͇ ɨ˜ʥͫLJ̑ Ǩˆ˶̒ ƦΑā ƛLJʔ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ȅˬ͇ ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā ɬͲ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ǽ͎ ɑͫĕ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̒ć ɷʉ͎ ɨ́ˏͫLJʦ̈ ćΑā ťLJ˶ͫā Ǩ̇LJ̵.)’

40 Book ii.6.28 HV (cf. p. 364, lines 1–13 Pf): ‘Aristotle said (and he was right saying it) that in all such statements, it should first be determined whether the thing itself exists and then what its cause are. So, we ourselves also need to do this. First, we should test empirically whether what was said exists as was said, then, afterwards, we should start studying the cause through which it exists. That which rarely exists is difficult to test empirically. For empirical knowledge is only the remembrance of something that is seen many times in the same condition. I have not seen these features come together in the same single even a few times, let alone many times so that I could test this lemma empirically. (ŁLJ̿Αāć ƛLJ͘ ȫʉˬ̈́Ǎ˅̵ĢΑā ƦΒāć

LJ˶ͫ ǽˉʒ˶̈ ǚ˙͎ .ɷʒʒ̵ LJͲ ȇˬ˅̈ ɨ̓ ĔẠ̌ǍͲ ɷ͵Αā ȫˏ˶ͫā ǽ͎ ƹǽʷͫā ĢΎǚ˙̈ ƦΑā Έ ҙҏćΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ ɡ̈ćLJ͘Αҙҏā ɬͲ ƱǛ΀ ƱLJʒ̶Αā Ƚʉ˳̣ ǽ͎ ƦΒā ɷͫǍ͘ ǽ͎ ɬ͇ ȉʥʒͫā ǽ͎ ǚˈ̑ Ǜ̥ΑLJ͵ ɨ̓ ɡʉ͘ LJͲ ƛLJʔͲ ȅˬ͇ ụ̈̌Ǎ̈ ɡʉ͘ ķǛͫā āǛ΀ ɡ΀ ɼ̑ǨʤʓͫLJ̑ ɬʥʓ˳͵ ƦΑā Έ ҙҏćΑā ǽˉʒ˶ʉ͎ ɑͫĕ ɡˈˏ͵ ƦΑā ΈLJˁ̈Αā ɬʥ͵ ƹǽʷͫā Ȼˏ̤ ǽ΀ LJ˳͵Βā ɼ̑Ǩʤʓͫā ƦΑā ɑͫĕć ɼ̑ǨʤʓͫLJ̑ ɷ͵LJʥʓͲā Ǩʶˈ̈ ŴǨˏͫā ǽ͎ ҙҏΒā ụ̈̌Ǎ̈ ҙҏ ķǛͫā ƹǽʷͫāć ƦLJ͛ ɷˬ̣Αā ɬͲ ķǛͫā ȇʒʶͫā ɬʥʓͲΑā ƦΑā Ģǚ͘ΑLJ͎ ƴǨʉʔ͛ ĢāǨͲ ɬ͇ Έ ҨҞˁ͎ ɼˬʉˬ͘ ΈāĢāǨͲ ƦLJʶ͵Βā ǽ͎ Ȉˈ˳ʓ̣ā ƛLJʥͫā ƱǛ΀ ĢΑā ɨͫ LJ͵Αāć .ƴṳ̈̌āć ƛLJ̤ ȅˬ͇ ƴǨʉʔ͛ ΈāĢāǨͲ ĿǨ̈ ķǛͫā ɼ̑ǨʤʓͫLJ̑ ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀.)’ A comparable case is in ii.6.130 HV (cf. p. 396, lines 32–8 Pf), where Galen says

that empirical validation of a particular combination of phenomena is difficult because that particular combination itself is very rare. 41 Book ii.4.5 HV (cf. p. 312, lines 10–19 Pf).

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œLJʓʥʉ͎ .ƦāǍʉʥͫā Ʀǚʒ̑ ǚˬʤͫā Ⱥʉʥ̈ ɑͫǛ͛ łǍʉʒͫLJ̑ ƦLJ˅ʉʥͫāć ɼ˶̈ǚ˳ͫLJ̑ ĢǍʶͫā Ⱥʉʥ̈ LJ˳͛ ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕć ɷͫ Ǩ́ͅ LJͲ ǽˉʒ˶ʉ͎ ɷ͵ćĔ LJͲ ɬ̈LJ͇ć ǚˬʤͫā Ɏ̶ āĕΒLJ͎ .ǚˬʤͫā Ɏʷ̈ ƦΑā ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ LJͲ ɬ̈LJˈ̈ ƦΑā ĔāĢΑā ɬͲ ɨͫ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΒLJ͎ .ɷʉ͎ ȇʓ˜̈ ƦΑā ĔāĢΑā ƦΒā ɷʒʓ˜̈ć ƱĢLJʒ̥Βā ĔāĢΑā ɬͲ ɷ̑ Ǩʒʦ̈ć ɷˆˏʥʓ̈ ƦΑā ΈLJ˶ʉ̑ ΈāĢǍ́ͅ ȫʥͫLJ̑ ťǍʉʒʉˬ˙̵Αā ɷʉͫΒā ȅ̤ćΑā ǽ̤Ǎ̑ ɷ˶Ͳ Ɏ̈ǚˀʓ̑ ҙҏć ƦLJ΀Ǩ̑ ćΑā ťLJʉ͘ Ή ɷʉˬ͇ ɷͫĔ ƹǽʷͫā āǛ΀ ɬͲ ȇʓ͛ LJͲ ȇʓ˜̈ .ɼˆ˙ʉͫā ǽ͎ ćΑā ƢLJ˶˳ͫā ǽ͎ Just as Hippocrates only knew these things because he cut open the skin and observed what he saw under it, so too did Herophilus know them later. He was not content to learn this from Hippocrates, but aspired to know from the nature of the things itself from which Hippocrates had learned what he knew without exception. He wrote books about the anatomy of the blood vessels like those written by Hippocrates. A number of ancient physicians have also exposed [sc. by dissection] and seen these blood vessels in people’s bodies, and they wrote books about them similar to those of Hippocrates and Herophilus. Yet in Galen’s view, medical knowledge is arrived at not through a process of unbiased empirical observation or induction; on the contrary, empirical observation is pointless unless it is accompanied and informed by theoretical considerations. Experience may ‘confirm’ or ‘testify to universal reason (μαρτυρεῖ τῷ καθόλου λόγῳ)’,42 or it may ‘speak against it’; but empirical observations do not speak for themselves, and always need to be contextualised and theoretically underpinned, not only in processes of scientific discovery but also in the assessment, scrutiny and refutation of scientific claims made by others. This reminds us of Galen’s concept of ‘qualified experience’ (διωριϲμένη πεῖρα), well known from other contexts, especially dietetics and pharmacology.43 This need for ‘qualification’, ‘determination’ or ‘specification’ (διοριϲμόϲ) of empirical testing is expressed in a number of passages in the commentary on the Epidemics as well.44 Furthermore, there are cases, Galen argues, where experience is simply incapable of testing a claim and where logical or theoretical considerations are needed. This is expressed in a difficult but influential passage in which Galen seems to criticise Hippocrates through the mouth of Diocles, whom he cites for raising a ‘theoretical’ (λογικόϲ) objection against Hippocrates’ assumption of the existence of quintan, septan and nonan fevers45:

42 P. 142, line 10 (xvii/a. p. 284 K; cf. i.3.116 V). 43 On Galen’s concept of qualified experience see van der Eijk 2005, ch. 10. 44 Thus we may suspect that when Galen says that a statement by Hippocrates ‘is correct and true, although it is not correct and true when said in this unqualified way’ (ii.6.75 HV), the Greek term used was ἀδιορίϲτωϲ. See also ii.6.78 HV (p. 381, lines 3–4 Pf): ‘This lemma is not correct when taken separately and in isolation (Țˀ̈ ɨͫ ĔḲ̌ć ĔǨ͎Αā ƦΒā ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀)’. 45 P. 112, line 15–p. 113, line 5 W (xvii/a. pp. 222–3 K; cf. i.3.32 V).

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… οὐ περὶ ὀνόματόϲ ἐϲτι 〈καὶ〉 ϲημαινομένου ζήτηϲιϲ, ἀλλὰ περὶ πράγματοϲ … πεμπταίαϲ δὲ περιόδουϲ ἐθεαϲάμεθα ἀμφιβόλουϲ, οὐ μὴν ἀκριβεῖϲ γε καὶ ϲαφεῖϲ, ὡϲ ἀμφημερινὰϲ καὶ τριταίαϲ καὶ τεταρταίαϲ. οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ λογικῆϲ ἀποδείξεωϲ ἡγοῦμαι δεῖϲθαι τὸ πρᾶγμα τὴν κρίϲιν ἐκ πείραϲ λαμβάνον … πρὸϲ δ’ οὖν τὸν Ἱπποκράτην τάχα καὶ λογικὴν ἄν τιϲ ἀπόδειξιν εἴποι, καθάπερ ὁ Διοκλῆϲ. ‘ἐπὶ τίϲι γὰρ ἐρεῖϲ [τίϲι] ϲτοιχείοιϲ ἢ χυμοῖϲ τὴν πεμπταίαν ἢ ἑβδομαίαν ἢ ἐναταίαν γίνεϲθαι περίοδον οὐχ ἕξειϲ.’ οὐ μὴν οὐδ’ ἔγραψέ τινα ἡμῖν ἄρρωϲτον οὕτω νοϲήϲαντα, καίτοι γ’ ἐχρῆν, ὥϲπερ ἄλλων πολλῶν καθολικῶν θεωρημάτων παραδείγματα διὰ τῶν κατὰ μέροϲ ἐδίδαξεν, οὕτω κἀπὶ τούτων ποιῆϲαι. … the enquiry is not about the name and what is signified by it but about the real thing. … As for periods of five days, I have seen ambiguous cases, but not exact and clear ones comparable to periods of two, three or four days. Indeed I think this matter does not require theoretical demonstration but is decided on the basis of experience. … Now against Hippocrates one may perhaps also raise a theoretical proof, as Diocles does: ‘On the occasion of what elements or humours a fever recurring every five, or seven, or nine days occurs, you will not be able to say.’ Nor indeed has he [i.e. Hippocrates] given us any description of someone who was ill in this manner. Yet just as he taught [in the form of] examples of many other general postulates by means of individual [cases], likewise he ought to have produced them in these cases too. The point of Diocles’ objection seems to be that one cannot tell whether a fever occurring after an interval as long as four, six or eight days is the same fever unless there are clear symptoms shared, such as particular states of the elements (i.e. elementary qualities) or the humours. The problem he is raising is that his opponent is unable to say what level, number, or nature of shared symptoms would suffice to make that identification valid. This would make good sense of Galen’s characterisation of Diocles’ objection as ‘theoretical’, as opposed to the ‘empirical’ scrutiny that Galen refers to in the preceding section.46 46 For a discussion of this passage (Diocles, fr. 57 vdE), see van der Eijk 2001, 125–7. Contrary to what Wenkebach suggests, the Arabic version is based on a manuscript not reading ϲηπεδόϲιν but ϲτοιχείοιϲ : ‘Especially against Hippocrates someone who argues against him would need to argue with a rational demonstration, as did Diocles: “you are not able to say which elements or humours caused fevers with a cycle of five, seven or nine days” (ɷʉˬ͇ șʓʥ̈ ƦΑā șʓʥʉˬ͎ ɼ̿LJ̥ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā LJͲΑāć

ǽ͎ ćΑā ȫͲLJʦͫā ǽ͎ Ģćǚ̒ ǽʓͫā ȅ˳ʥͫā ƦǍ˜̒ ŴҨҞ̥Αҙҏā ćΑā Ǩ̿LJ˶ˈͫā ķΑā ɬͲ ƛǍ˙̒ ƦΑā Ģǚ˙̒ ҙҏ ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕć ζȫʉˬ˙̈Ĕ șʓ̤ā LJ˳͛ ɼʉ̵LJʉ͘ ɼʤʥ̑ Ƚ̵LJʓͫā ǽ͎ ćΑā Ƚ̑LJʶͫā)’ (i.3.32 V). Τhis modifies the interpretation of the fragment (Diocles, fr. 57 vdE) compared to that offered in van der Eijk 2001, 125–7, with στοιχείοιϲ to be understood as the elementary qualities hot, cold, dry and wet, rather than the elements themselves, in accordance with Diocles frs. 51 and 54. For later interpretations of this passage in the context of discussions about the question of the existence of fevers recurring every five or seven or nine days in tenthcentury Arabic medical literature, for example al-Kaskarī, see Pormann 2008a, 100–103.

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Galen’s approach to the case histories In the light of these considerations on the relationship between reason and experience, the general and the particular, and the theoretical and the practical, it may now come as less of a surprise that, in his commentary on Epidemics, books One and Two, Galen has little interest in the peculiarities of the case histories. At another crucial juncture in the commentary on book One, when he has arrived at the point in the Hippocratic text where the case histories begin, he says47: Before starting with the exegesis of individual patients it seems better, for the purposes of clarity and brevity, to present a general account about all of them. In my book The Therapeutic Method, and in other works, I explained that there are two ways in which one finds out about something one examines: the first is through reasoning, by which one arrives at knowledge of the general, universal genus of each individual phenomenon, the second is through experience of the individual phenomena until one arrives through it at the general, universal concept. Our claim is that while all concepts that make an art complete are general, the actions that the practitioners of the arts carry out all deal with particular, individual phenomena. Anyone who first determines and describes a general concept also needs to devote himself to practice in the particular phenomena, and the particular phenomena are also very useful for the confirmation of general concepts. They also serve the students who want to understand as examples of the general concepts that are based on them. This is why, in the books I have written, I do not limit myself to discussing general matters but also deal with particulars, transcribing from the books of Hippocrates, and particularly the Epidemics, those passages in which he 47 P. 126, line 13–p.127, line 15 W (xvii/a. pp. 251–3 K; cf. i.3.79–80 V). I quote the italicised passages in Greek: διττὴ ἡ τῶν ζητουμένων εὕρεϲιϲ οὖϲα, μία μὲν ἡ διὰ τοῦ λόγου πρὸϲ τὴν γνῶϲιν ἀφικνουμένη τοῦ καθόλου τε καὶ κοινοῦ παντὸϲ τῶν κατὰ μέροϲ εἴδουϲ, ἄλλη δ’ ἡ διὰ 〈τῆϲ πείραϲ ἀπὸ〉 τῶν κατὰ μέροϲ ἐπὶ τὸ κοινόν τε καὶ καθόλου παραγιγνομένη. καὶ τὰ μὲν ϲυμπληροῦντα 〈πᾶϲαν τέχνην θεωρήματα λέγομεν πάντα〉 εἶναι καθόλου, τὰϲ δὲ πράξειϲ τῶν τεχνιτῶν ἐπὶ τῶν ἀτόμων εἰδῶν γίγνεϲθαι, δεῖϲθαι δὲ τῆϲ ἐπ’ αὐτῶν γυμναϲίαϲ καὶ 〈τὸν τὰ〉 καθόλου πρότερον εὑρόντα καὶ μέντοι καὶ πρὸϲ βεβαίωϲιν αὐτῶν τῶν ηὑρημένων καθόλου χρήϲιμα γίγνεϲθαι τὰ κατὰ μέροϲ. ἔϲτι δὲ καὶ πρὸϲ τὴν τῶν μανθανόντων γνῶϲιν οἷον παραδείγματα ταῦτα τῶν ἐπιτετραμμένων αὐτοῖϲ καθόλου θεωρημάτων. διὰ τοῦτο κἀγὼ κατὰ τὰϲ πραγματείαϲ ἁπάϲαϲ, ἃϲ ἐποιηϲάμην, οὐ τὰ καθόλου μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ κατὰ μέροϲ διῆλθον, ἐκ τῶν Ἱπποκράτουϲ βιβλίων καὶ μάλιϲτα τῶν Ἐπιδημιῶν παραγράψαϲ 〈ἐκείναϲ τὰϲ〉 ῥήϲειϲ, ἐν αἷϲ διηγήϲατο ἅπαντα ἀπ’ ἀρχῆϲ μέχρι τέλουϲ τὰ ϲυμβάντα τοῖϲ ἀρρώϲτοιϲ … ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ παρέγκεινταί τινεϲ ἀϲαφεῖϲ λέξειϲ, δι’ ἐκείναϲ ἔδοξεν ἄμεινον εἶναι καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὑπομνήματα ποιήϲαϲθαι … εἰ δὲ τῶν ἐν τῷ Προγνωϲτικῷ γεγραμμένων ἐν τῷ καθόλου τὰ παραδείγματα μόνα νῦν ἐπιϲημαινοίμην, ἀναπέμπων 〈τὸν μανθάνοντα κατὰ〉 τὸ ϲύμπαν τῆϲ διδαϲκαλίαϲ εἰϲ τὰϲ γεγραμμέναϲ μοι πραγματείαϲ, ἐλπίζω ϲύντομον ἔϲεϲθαι τὸν λόγον.

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described all that happened to the patients from the beginning to the end. In my work Breathing Difficulties, I have discussed all cases of people with breathing problems mentioned in the Epidemics, and in my work Critical Days all cases of crisis [mentioned in the Epidemics], and I have followed the same procedure in my other books. Therefore, for those eager to learn the art of medicine, there is no need for further exegesis [here]. However, since there are some unclear passages in the text, I decided on account of these that it was better to write this commentary as well. If I were to describe the whole nature of each of the symptoms that Hippocrates mentioned as occurring in each of the diseases, or if I were to describe the causes through which these symptoms occur, I would be forced to transfer to the present work everything I said about it in all of my books and I would risk having to write one whole book about each of these patients. If, however, I merely mark the accounts of these patients as examples for the general points he made in the Prognostic and refer the student for full instruction to the books in which I explained them, I expect that my comments will be short. This is an important passage for Galen’s views on the relationship between the empirical and the theoretical, experience (empeiría or peîra) and reason (lógos). For it provides an epistemological motivation for Galen’s way of handling, in the present commentary, the case histories of Epidemics i. He says that he has used them in his other works as empirical illustration of the general points made there, and that, for this reason, he has refrained, in the present commentary on Epidemics i, from providing comprehensive discussion and explanation of all the symptoms listed in all the case histories presented by Hippocrates. In doing so, Galen may well think that he is in good company, for as he says in an earlier passage, Hippocrates himself, in one of the sections devoted to the ‘constitutions’ (katastáseis), has done something similar, by confirming the general observations he made in his Prognostic with examples from particular cases; and since Galen previously commented on his Prognostic, there is no need to explain things in detail here.48 This is in accordance with Galen’s opinion that the Epidemics follow the Prognostic in sequence in order of composition by Hippocrates.49 48 Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book One, p. 66, lines 3–6 W (xvii/a. pp. 127–8 K; cf. i.2.88 V): ‘At this point, Hippocrates confirms the general observations he made in his Prognostic with examples from particular cases. Since I previously commented on his Prognostic, I do not need to repeat anything about the clearly manifest correspondence between what he described in this book and in the former. (Ἃ καθόλου διὰ τοῦ Προγνωϲτικοῦ γράμματοϲ ἐδίδαξε, ταῦτα μὲν νῦν ὡϲ ἐπὶ παραδειγμάτων διὰ τῶν κατὰ μέροϲ πιϲτοῦται· προεξηγηϲάμενοι δὲ 〈τὰ〉 κατὰ τὸ Προγνωϲτικὸν οὐδὲν ἔτι δεόμεθα περὶ τῆϲ ϲυμφωνίαϲ τούτων πρὸϲ ἐκεῖνα λέγειν ἐναργῶϲ φαινομένηϲ.)’ 49 P. 75, lines 9–19 W (xvii/a. pp. 146–7 K; cf. i.2.131 V).

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Thus what, at first sight, seems just a matter of literary organisation and arrangement on Galen’s part has a more profound epistemological justification. After all, Galen could have decided to use his commentary on the Epidemics as the central text where he would provide the explanations for the phenomena described in the case histories, and he could have decided to provide cross-references to these in his other works. Yet he has organised the material the other way round, providing full explanation in the commentaries on Prognostic, Airs Waters Places and Aphorisms, while limiting himself to an outline in the commentary on the Epidemics. This reflects his view on the relationship between the theoretical and the universal on the one hand and the empirical and the individual on the other, and on the reversed priority of the former over the latter. This is of wider relevance for a correct understanding of the nature of Galen’s commentary on Epidemics, Book One. For this commentary belongs to that group of Galenic commentaries that, at least according to Galen’s own indications in his autobibliographical writings, were primarily written for Galen’s own consumption and not for wider circulation.50 By contrast, according to these Galenic characterisations of his own writings, the commentary on book Two was written for a wider readership.51 In this regard, the relationship between the Galenic commentaries on books One and Two would be the reverse of that between the two Hippocratic books themselves, at least in Galen’s own assessment. For according to Galen, book Two of the Epidemics was written by Hippocrates just as notes for himself, or perhaps for his sons,52 whereas book One seems to envisage a wider readership. As Galen points out in this connection, it would be more appropriate to regard book Three of the Epidemics as book Two in the sequence, and one may add here that in this regard he has modern scholarship on his side, for books One and Three are generally regarded as being roughly of the same date – if not by the same author – while books Two, Four, Six, and again Five and Seven seem to form later collections. In Galen’s opinion, book Two differs from book One in that, in the first book,53

Ʉ̿ćć ŰāǨͲΑā LJ́˶͇ Ȉ̓ṳ̈̌ ƹāǍ́ͫā łҙҏLJ̤ ɬͲ łҙҏLJ̤ ŃҨҞ̓ ǨͲΑā ȅͫćΑҙҏā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ Ʉ̿ć ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΒā łҙҏLJʥͫā ɑˬ̒ Ʉ̿ć ǽ͎ Έ ҙҏćΑā Ƣǚ˙͎ .ɼʉ̇LJ̑ć ƴṳ̈̌āć ƛLJ̤ ǨͲΑā ɷ˶ʉˈ̑ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ ɬͲ ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Ƚ̇LJʒ̈́ ɼˏˀ̑ ɑͫĕ Ƚʒ̒Αā ɨ̓ .ɷʓˈʉʒ̈́ ɬ͇ ɷ̣ćǨ̥ć Ʀāǚ̑ΑҙҏLJ̑ Ⱥʉʥ˳ͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā Ǩʉˉ̒ ɼˏ̿ LJ́ˬ͛ Ǩ͛ĕ ɷ˶˜ͫ ƛLJʔ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ȅˬ͇ ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ƱǛ΀ ǽ͎ ɑͫĕ ɡˈˏ̈ ɨͫć .łҙҏLJʥͫā ɑˬ̒ ɬ͇ ťLJ˶ͫā ɬͲ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫ Ȉ̓ṳ̈̌ ɷʉ͎ Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫā ǚˬʒͫā Ǩ͛ĕ ɨ̓ ɼ˶ʶͫā łLJ͘ćΑā ɬͲ ɷʉ͎ Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫā Ȉ͘Ǎͫā Ǩ͛ĕ ɨ̓ Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā Έ ҙҏćΑā 50 See On My Own Books ix (ed. Boudon-Millot 2007, p. 160, line 17), with the discussion by von Staden 2009, 135–44. 51 On My Own Books ix (ed. Boudon-Millot 2007, 160, line 22). 52 Book ii.4.3 HV (cf. p. 311, line 3 Pf), ii.4.28 HV (cf. p. 314, lines 34–5 Pf). 53 Book ii.1.3–4 HV (cf. p. 154, lines 13–28 Pf).

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ɡˈ͎ Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ Ʉ̿ć ɨ̓ .œāǩ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ ɬ͇ ťLJ˶ͫā Ʀāǚ̑Αā ǽ͎ ǚͫǍ̒ ķǛͫā Ⱥˬʦͫāć Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ œāǩͲ Ǩ͛ĕ ɨ̓ ƦLJ͛ ķǛͫā ŰǨˈͫāć ɑͫĕ Ƣǚ˙̒ ķǛͫā ŰǨˈͫā Ǩ͛ĕ ɨ̓ Ǩ˳ʤˬͫ ǚͫǍ˳ͫā ȇʒʶͫā Ńṳ̈̌ ɷ̑ ķǛͫā Ⱥˬʦͫā ɑͫĕ .ƱLJ́ʓ˶Ͳ ɷ͈Ǎˬ̑ ǚ˶͇ ɷʉ͎ Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫā ŰǨˈͫāć Ʊǚ̈ǩ̒ ǚˈ̑ ɷʉ͎ Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫā ŰǨˈͫāć ƛLJʥͫā ɑˬ̒ ǽ͎ ɷˈͲ .ģLJʤ̈ ΒҨҞͫ Ʊǚˀ͘ ƹāǍ́ͫā ƛLJ̤ Ǩ͛Ǜ͎ ɷ̑ ȅ˶̓ ɨ̓ ɷ̒ĔLJ͇ žҨҞ̥ ȅˬ͇ ŰǨ˳ͫā Ǩ͛ĕ ɷ˳̈ǚ˙̒ ǽ͎ ȇʒʶͫāć Galen said: In the first book, Hippocrates described the issue of three states of air which cause diseases. In the third part of this same book, he described the issue of one pestilential state. He began by describing all these states in terms of change in the air which surrounds the bodies, and its deviation from its nature. Then he proceeded by describing the nature of the diseases which befall many people because of these states. In this book, he did not do this in this way, but rather discussed first the disease which occurred; then he discussed the season when it occurred; then he discussed the country in which it occurred; then he discussed the mixture of this time and the humour generated in the bodies of the people by this mixture; then he described the way in which the humour works which was the cause for the carbuncles being generated; and then he discussed the symptom which preceded this, the symptom which accompanied it in this state, the symptom which occurred in it after its increase and the symptom which occurred in it when it reached its climax. The reason for his mentioning the disease first contrary to his usual practice—he then turns and mentions the state of the air—is his intent to be brief. However, this difference is not a matter of principle or doctrine but entirely due to a desire for brevity, as Galen goes on to say: ‘We find that the author of this book, whether it be Hippocrates himself, or his son Thessalus, desires to be brief (ģLJʤ̈ Βҙҏā ȅˬ͇ ΈLJˀ̈Ǩ̤ ɷ˶̑ā ťǍͫLJ̵LJ̓ ćΑā ƦLJ͛ ɷʶˏ͵ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ƱǛ́ͫ Ƚ̀āǍͫā ǚʤ͵ ǚ˙͎).’54 Judging by these Galenic self-characterisations, one might be tempted to explain the brevity of the commentary on book One, especially concerning the case histories, as a result of Galen’s intention not to publish the work. Yet in practice, the difference between the commentary on book One and that on book Two is not so clear-cut. Indeed, when reading the commentary on book One, it is hard to imagine that it was intended solely for private consumption. It displays many features found in other Galenic commentaries, though perhaps to a lesser extent55: there is discussion of variant readings preserved in different copies of the text;56 there are, as we have seen, the polemical sneers at other 54 Book ii.1.5 HV (cf. p. 154, lines 31–3 Pf). 55 For formal differences between Galenic commentaries not primarily intended for wider circulation and those envisaging a broader readership see von Staden 2009, especially 150. 56 See, for example, p. 36, lines 9–13 W (xvii/a. p. 64 K; cf. i.1.92 V), p. 43, lines 3–29 W (xvii/a. pp. 78–80 K; cf. i.1.129 V), p. 76, lines 3–24 W (xvii/a. pp. 148–9 K; cf. i.2.142 V), p. 82,

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commentators, especially Quintus and the Empiricists; there is occasional criticism of Hippocrates,57 though more often we find Galen pointing out that the text as it stands is unclear and can only be properly understood when put, as we have seen, in the context of other Hippocratic texts or against the background of Galen’s own works. Yet the main reason for thinking that the audience of the commentary may well have been larger than Galen’s autobibliography would let us believe is the fact that the commentary on book One itself tells us that the text is meant both for people without medical knowledge and those with some medical knowledge58: Ἐν τῷ πρὸ τούτου βιβλίῳ λέλεκται περὶ τῆϲ τῶν ὡρῶν εἰϲ ἀλλήλαϲ μεταβολῆϲ, εἴρηται δὲ καὶ ἡ κατὰ φύϲιν ἑκάϲτηϲ κρᾶϲιϲ αἵ τε προθεϲμίαι τῆϲ ἀρχῆϲ αὐτῶν καὶ τῆϲ τελευτῆϲ. ὡϲ ἂν οὖν ἐκείνων μεμνημένων ἡμῶν, ὅϲα τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ἐξηγήϲεωϲ δεῖται προϲθήϲω, ϲτοχαζόμενοϲ οὔτε μόνων τῶν ἐϲχάτωϲ ἀμαθῶν οὔτε μόνων τῶν ἱκανὴν ἐχόντων τὴν παραϲκευήν· πρὸϲ ἅπανταϲ γὰρ ὁ τοιοῦτοϲ λόγοϲ ἕξει μετρίωϲ. τῶν δ’ ἄλλων ὁ μὲν τοῖϲ ἐϲχάτωϲ ἀμαθέϲιν οἰκεῖοϲ ἀνιάϲει τοὺϲ ἐν ἕξει διὰ τὸ μῆκοϲ, ὁ δὲ τούτοιϲ ἐπιτήδειοϲ ἀϲαφὴϲ ἔϲται τοῖϲ ἀμαθέϲιν. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ χρὴ τοῖϲ τοιούτοιϲ ὑπομνήμαϲιν ἐντυγχάνειν ἀγαπῶνταϲ, ἀλλ’ ἄλλο παρ’ ἄλλου καὶ ἄλλωϲ ἀκούϲαντεϲ πλατύτερον πολλάκιϲ ταὐτὰ δυνηθεῖεν 〈ἂν〉 ἄνευ παρακοῆϲ ἐκμανθάνειν τι χρηϲτόν. In the preceding book, I described the process of change from one season to the next and specified the natural mixture of each and the dates determining the beginning and end of each of them. As we mentioned, I discuss those passages that are in need of exegesis, but I am aiming neither exclusively at those without any medical knowledge nor exclusively at those who already have considerable medical knowledge. This mode of explanation will be appropriate for everyone. There are two other modes: the first one, appropriate for people without any medical knowledge, offends those who have such knowledge due to its tediousness. The second one, addressing those with medical knowledge, is unclear for those without medical knowledge. Yet people who love medical knowledge do not need to read such books, but they hear one thing from one person and another from another, and hearing the same thing many times in different ways they can learn something useful without misunderstanding. lines 19–28 W (xvii/a. p. 162 K; cf. i.2.165 V), p. 92, lines 25–6, p. 94, lines 6–10 (in app.) W (xvii/a. pp. 183–4, 187 K; cf. i.2.202, 2.219 V), p. 99, lines 4–12 W (xvii/a. p. 197 K; cf. i.2.223 V), p. 123, lines 12–23 W (xvii/a. p. 246 K; cf. i.3.68 V). 57 For example, p. 145, line 26–p. 146, line 7 W (xvii/a. pp. 288–9 K; cf. i.3.126 V), p. 150, line 1–p. 151, line 8 (xvii/a. pp. 299–301 K; cf. i.3.140 V). 58 P. 45, line 18–p. 46, line 6 (xvii/a. pp. 84–5 K; cf. i.2.3 V).

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Conclusion We have considered various reasons why Galen’s reading of the Epidemics is the way it is, and why it is so different from the way the Epidemics have been read, and continue to be read today, by historians of science and medical doctors. To Galen, the Epidemics are, essentially, a treatise on a special kind of disease. They fit in with an existing medical theory and are based on a number of assumptions and presuppositions, which they are meant to illustrate and confirm rather than reveal or demonstrate. Furthermore, Galen uses the writing of the commentary on the Epidemics as an opportunity to criticise the Empiricist appropriation of the Hippocratic text as a statement of their methodological principles; and in reaction to the Empiricists’ view on experience, he uses the commentary as a vehicle for expressing his own belief that experience, however vital and ultimately decisive as a criterion, needs to be qualified by theoretical and universal considerations.

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Sympathy between Hippocrates and Galen

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 Sympathy between Hippocrates and Galen: The Case of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two Brooke Holmes1 It is well known that Galen’s commentaries on texts from the Hippocratic Corpus are organised by the methodological principle ‘to make clear what is unclear’.2 Galen is often content to blame obscurity on the limitations of the reader, a strategy that allows him to cast himself as an exemplary teacher. The Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, however, confronts a rather different species of obscurity, one due to the difficult nature of the treatise itself, which, as Galen regularly observes, is rife with enigmatic words and frustrating gaps. The difficulty can sometimes be attributed to problems with the state of the text (variant readings, possible omissions). In other cases, Galen blames the text’s impenetrability on the interpolations of forgers who aim to create obscurity and ambiguity because, he alleges, they want to create puzzles that only they can solve, thereby inflating their own reputations. But perhaps the most important reason for the difficulties posed by Epidemics, Book Two, in Galen’s view, lies in the circumstances of its composition. Despite the fact that, at the outset of his commentary, he professes not to care whether the treatise was written by Hippocrates or by his son Thessalus,3 he later agrees with those who believe that Hippocrates did not write the text for publication but prepared it, rather, as a notebook: ‘for the mode of the expression used in the text is inadequate to convey the meaning he intends in a way

1 This essay was written with the generous support of the American Council of Learned Societies, the Fondation Hardt pour l’étude de l'Antiquité classique, and the Elias Boudinot Bicentennial Preceptorship at Princeton University. I would like to express my thanks as well to Peter E. Pormann for the invitation to be involved in the Epidemics in Context project and the original conference audience for their comments and questions. 2 See, for example, Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 1, proe. (xvii/b. p. 561 K); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Fracturesʼ 3, proe. (xviii/b. p. 318 K). Galen’s commentaries on Hippocrates have been the subject of considerable research over the past thirty years. See especially Smith 1979, 61–176; Manetti and Roselli 1994. See also Manuli 1983b; Lloyd 1991; Debru 1994; Jouanna 2000b; Flemming 2002; von Staden 2002; Yeo 2005; Flemming 2008; Manetti 2009. 3 Book ii.1.5 HV (cf. p. 155, lines 31–5 Pf).

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that is entirely comprehensibleʼ.4 If such stylistic infelicities are inexcusable in those trying to communicate with a larger public, they are forgivable in those writing for their own private purposes. The style of Epidemics, Book Two, thus seems to prove that it was written as an aide-mémoire.5 Given the origin of the text, we must be content, Galen concedes, ‘with approximation and conjecture and not secure knowledgeʼ.6 Yet the enigmatic nature of Epidemics, Book Two, also affords the commentator an opportunity. For it allows Galen to present himself as a riddle-solver and a code-cracker and, hence, the true heir of Hippocrates, the son who does not just transmit the father’s private writings, as Thessalus does, but unpacks their latent truths. The terseness of Epidemics, Book Two, which exaggerates the brachylogy so characteristic of the Epidemics as a whole, also invites explication and appropriation.7 Galen’s commentary is, accordingly, addressed not just to enigmas but also to silences. These silences, significantly, tend to crop up in places where Galen expects a cause. Much as modern readers, at least until fairly recently, have tended to see in the Epidemics a paradigm of pure clinical observation, devoid of theoretical commitments, the ancient Empiricists read these texts as validating their rejection of speculation about hidden things.8 It is, in fact, partly to wrest control of the Epidemics from the Empiricists that Galen writes his commentaries in the first place, declaring in his study of Epidemics, 4 Book ii.1.90 HV (cf. p. 177, lines 12–20 Pf). See also ii.1.195 HV (cf. p. 205, lines 18–27 Pf), ii.2.115 HV (cf. p. 239, lines 42–3 Pf), ii.3.87 HV (cf. p. 283, lines 7–14 Pf). On Thessalus’s role, see also ii.2.22 HV (cf. p. 213, lines 23–6 Pf), ii.3.64 (cf. p. 276, lines 1–3 Pf). Explaining the enigmatic style of Epidemics, Book Two, is all the more important in view of the fact that Galen frequently praises the clarity of Hippocrates’ writing and the master’s interest in communication: see Sluiter 1995. 5 On private memory, see also Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Six 2.29 (xvii/a. p. 955 K; p. 93, lines 3–8 W). The distinction between public and private as a generic marker was already in place in earlier Hippocratic commentaries (Manetti and Roselli 1994, 1568). 6 Book ii.2.49 HV (cf. p. 221, lines 9–11 Pf). 7 On stylistic differences between the various Epidemics, see Smith 1989. Galen’s commentaries reflect these differences: those on Epidemics, Books One and Three, are less polemical vis-à-vis other commentators and hew more closely to the text, while those on Epidemics, Books Two and Six, are more upfront about the interpretive problems involved. (Galen thought Epidemics, Books Four, Five, and Seven, were not Hippocratic at all.) Some of the differences in Galen’s treatment can also be explained by whether the commentary was produced in the first or second ‘phaseʼ of his commentary writing. On the chronology of the commentaries, see Smith 1979, 123–5, 147–55 on the composition of Epidemics, Book Two. 8 For the modern history of reading the Epidemics and a more nuanced approach to the texts’ theoretical commitments, see Langholf 1990; King 1998, 54–74. For the Empiricists’ refusal to see causes in the Epidemics, see, for example, i.1.13 V (xvii/a. p. 6 K; p. 6, lines 6–16 W). On Galen’s battles against the Empiricists in his Hippocratic commentaries more generally, see Manetti and Roselli 1994, 1535–8, 1593–1600, and von Staden 2002, 119–21, who argues that Galen’s rescue of Hippocrates from the Empiricists is a crucial feature of his exegetical ‘plotʼ.

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Book One, that ‘Hippocrates already went to the trouble of explaining what he described. What remains to be done is to give the causes of [the phenomena] that he describedʼ.9 In the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, Galen does not lose sight of this aim, claiming that Hippocrates advises us to search for the causes and to study them.10 The commentary on causes that he supplies is thus presented as an expansion of something inherent in the original text and a locus for his claim to Hippocrates’ legacy. The causes that Galen supplies, however, both here and in other Hippocratic commentaries, are more often than not products of his own medical-philosophical system, a system heavily indebted to its more immediate predecessors and especially the Hellenistic anatomists. Indeed, the uneven and inscrutable nature of Epidemics, Book Two, makes it especially susceptible to what Heinrich von Staden has called Galen’s mode of ‘inflationaryʼ reading.11 That is, the text readily supplies gaps to be filled by Galen’s own aetiological-theoretical apparatus in the guise of Hippocrates’ (unexpressed) beliefs about hidden causes and structures.12 But what makes Galen’s exegetical practise in his reading of Epidemics, Book Two, particularly interesting is the way in which he articulates the causal apparatus along anatomical lines. The prevalence of anatomy in Galen’s commentary is a response, in part, to the fact that the account in Epidemics, Book Two, of the blood vessels and ‘nervesʼ was considered by Galen and others to be the only genuine Hippocratic account of these structures.13 It reflects, too, Galen’s interest in Hippocrates as not just the father of medicine but the father 9 Book i.2.202 V (xvii/a. p. 183 K; p. 92, lines 21–2 W). 10 Book ii.1.154 HV (cf. p. 195, lines 23–5 Pf). 11 Von Staden 2002, 112. By means of such a reading, von Staden argues, ‘the two ancient canons—the earlier brachyological and allusive, the later expansive and explicit—often are made to resemble each other, indeed to be identical in their scientific theories and in their medical practices. Text and commentary, as an ensemble, thus project a reassuring image of scientific systematicity and of a scientific truth that is not vulnerable to the vagaries of temporal context or cultural exigencyʼ (ibid., 114). Rebecca Flemming offers a slightly different perspective: ‘The most important thing [sc. in Galen’s Hippocratic commentaries] was the multiplicity and thickness of the connections made, the ways in which points could be joined up and made sense of, not absolute purity or consistencyʼ (2002, 112). 12 On Galen’s attribution of his own ideas to Hippocrates, see De Lacy 1979, 363; Lloyd 1988; Debru 1994, 53–4; von Staden 2002, 114–16; Yeo 2005; Flemming 2008, 343–6. 13 Galen dismisses the accounts in On Places in a Human Being, Mochlion, and On the Nature of a Human Being as spurious (ii.4.4 HV [cf. p. 311, lines 14–22 Pf]). See also Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Nature of Manʼ 1, proe. (xv. pp. 10–11 K; ed. Mewaldt 1914, 7, lines 21–8, line 18), where, having pronounced the first and third sections of On the Nature of a Human Being authentic, he dismisses chapters 9–15 as largely an interpolation, singling out the account of the blood vessels precisely because it does not accord with the account at Epidemics ii. 1.6; see also On the Opinions of Hippocrates and Plato 6.3.27–31 (v. pp. 527–9 K; ed. De Lacy 1978–84, 378, line 36–380, line 24). On Galen’s difficulties in recuperating Hippocratic anatomy, see Lloyd 1991, 403–4.

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of anatomy, an interest that he inherited from some of his teachers.14 The significance of anatomy in the tradition of anti-Empiricist Hippocratic interpretation and the elliptical, sketchy nature of the original treatise create the conditions under which Galen folds his own, post-Hellenistic vision of the networked body into his interpretation of Epidemics, Book Two. The Galenic body, richly webbed with nerves, veins, and arteries, not only insinuates itself into the Hippocratic account of the blood vessels and nerves but becomes the subtext that Galen uncovers at other points in the treatise. In this paper, I analyse the conflation of anatomy and causality in Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, by focusing on the phenomenon that seems to trigger it most often, that of sympathy (sympátheia), which Galen uses to describe cases where one part of the body suffers as a result of its relationship to another part.15 The language of sympathy (sympátheia, sympáskhein, sympathês) does not appear in Epidemics, Book Two, nor, in fact, in any other classical-era Hippocratic text.16 Yet Galen shows himself in other commentaries to be more than willing to put that language into the mouth of Hippocrates.17 Indeed, he sees a commitment to sympathy within the body in a broad sense as one of the defining pillars of the master’s system, adopting a line from the treatise On Nutriment—almost certainly dating from the Hellenistic or imperial period—as something of a Hippocratic slogan.18 In the case of the 14 Garofalo 1992, 610. Galen wrote a whole treatise entitled On the Anatomy of Hippocrates in five or six books that is no longer extant (it is mentioned at The Function of the Parts of the Body 14.4 [iv. p. 154 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 293, lines 15–16]). The great anatomist Marinus is also said to have endorsed the account in Epidemics, Book Two, at Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.4.43 HV (cf. p. 331, lines 5–8 Pf). 15 Siegel 1968, 360–82 remains the standard discussion of sympathetic affections in Galen. See also De Lacy 1979, 361–3; Holmes, Forthcoming. Keyser 1997 discusses sympathy in Galen’s pharmacology. 16 The word does appear several times in treatises widely believed to be post-classical: see Letters 13 (ix. p. 334 L; ed. Smith 1994, 64, line 4), 23 (ix. p. 394 L; ed. Smith 1994, 102, line 9); Precepts 14 (ix. p. 272 L; ed. Heiberg 1927, 35, lines 6–7). 17 See, for example, Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Six 1.2 (xvii/a. pp. 800–1 K; p. 7, lines 17–20 W), where Galen explains a lemma from Epidemics, Book Six, by supplying katà sympátheian. See also, for example, Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.1 (xvii/b. p. 783 K); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Jointsʼ 3.96 (xviii/a. p. 623 K); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Six 1.2 (xvii/a. p. 803 K; p. 8, line 26 W). 18 Nutriment 23 (ix. p. 106 L; ed. Deichgräber 1973, 36): ‘ϲύρροια μία, ϲύμπνοια μία, πάντα ϲυμπαθέα, κατὰ μὲν οὐλομελίην πάντα, κατὰ μέροϲ δὲ τὰ ἐν ἑκάϲτῳ μέρει μέρεα πρὸϲ τὸ ἔργον’ (There is one flowing together; there is one common breathing; all things are in sympathy, everything according to the whole and according to the part, all the parts in each part, with reference to its function). On the dating of Nutriment, see Diller 1936; Deichgräber 1973, 69–75; Joly 1975; Jouanna 1999, 401 (all dating it to the post-classical period in view of Stoic influence, despite differences of opinion regarding how late the treatise is). For Galen’s citation of the Nutriment passage, see Causes of Pulses 1.12 (ix. p. 88 K); Natural Capacities 1.12 (ii. p. 29 K; ed. Helmreich 1893, 122, lines 6–10), 1.13 (ii. p. 38 K; ed. Helmreich 1893, 129,

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Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two, we lack the original Greek text. Nevertheless, it is possible to detect here, too, in Ḥunayn’s use of the terms šāraka and mušāraka, traces of Galen’s extension of the concept of sympathy (and related concepts) to Hippocrates.19 On such occasions, Galen does not simply attribute a concept of sympathy to his classical predecessor. He also takes advantage of the opportunity to elucidate causal connections by introducing his own sophisticated model of an intricately and precisely networked body.

Chest, Breasts, Genitals, Voice: The Vascular Network The language of sympathy does not occur, as I have just observed, in the Hippocratic treatises dating to the fifth and fourth centuries BC. Yet we do find, on several occasions, a term that will become closely associated with the concept of sympathy in Galen—namely, koinōnía (or, rather, the Ionic koinōníē): ‘associationʼ, ‘communityʼ, ‘partnershipʼ. The plural (koinōníai) appears twice, both times in contexts that suggest sympathetic affections triggered elsewhere in the body by a primary ill.20 The singular is found, conveniently enough, in lines 7–9), 3.13 (ii. p. 196 K; ed. Helmreich 1893, 243, lines 10–13); The Method of Healing 1.2 (x. p. 16 K); Tremor, Palpitation, Spasm, and Shivering 6 (vii. p. 616 K); The Function of the Parts of the Body 1.8 (iii. p. 17 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, i. 12, lines 16–18), 1.9 (iii. p. 24 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, i. 17, lines 13–15). 19 The Greek text in Kühn 1821–33 (xvii/a. pp. 303–479) is a forgery probably dating from the Renaissance. I have therefore relied largely on the Warwick translation, with attention to the Arabic original where relevant, through the generous help of Bink Hallum, Peter E. Pormann, and Uwe Vagelpohl. The use of šāraka to translate sympáskhein is seen at Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, i.2.155 V (xvii/a. p. 158 K; p. 80, line 20 W), suggesting that mušāraka was used to translate sympátheia. See also below, n. 31. It is worth noting, however, that the verb and the noun, respectively, can also be used to translate koinéō/koinōnéō and koinōnía/ koinōníē, as at Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, i.2.110 V (xvii/a. p. 136 K; p. 70, line 11 W), 3.15 (xvii/a. p. 212 K; p. 106, line 31 W), 3.26 (xvii/a. p. 218 K; p. 110, lines 19–20 W). (I owe these references to Uwe Vagelpohl.) See also Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.1.73 HV (cf. p. 173, lines 8–11 Pf), where, as Bink Hallum has pointed out to me, the koinōníē of the Hippocratic text is translated by means of mušāraka. The context is usually sufficient to determine whether Galen is referring to sympátheia or koinōníē, concepts that are often— although not always—related (sympathetic affections occur when there is an ‘associationʼ between two parts). My method here has been to identify passages in the translation where Galen appears to be discussing sympathetic affections and relationships and then to check these passages against the instances of šāraka and mušāraka in the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, provided to me by Bink Hallum. On Ḥunayn’s translation more generally, see Pormann 2008a and the other papers in this volume. 20 Epidemics vi. 3.24 (v. p. 304 L; ed. Manetti/Roselli 1982, 76, lines 4–5); Humours 20 (v. p. 500 L). For other instances of sympathetic affection in the Hippocratic Corpus, see Holmes, Forthcoming.

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Epidemics, Book Two, in a discussion of critical signs that closes with a brief summary of a particular type of sign: πολλὰ δὲ καὶ τῶν τοιούτων, οἷον ἀποφθειρουϲέων οἱ τιτθοὶ ποϲιϲχναίνονται· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐναντίον οὐδὲ βῆχεϲ χρονίαι, ὅτι ὄρχιοϲ οἰδήϲαντοϲ παύονται· ὄρχιϲ οἰδήϲαϲ ὑπὸ βηχωδέων ὑπόμνημα κοινωνίηϲ ϲτηθέων, μαζῶν, γονῆϲ, φωνῆϲ. (Epidemics ii. 1.6, v. p. 76 L)21 There are many phenomena of this kind, as when, in women who are about to abort, the breasts completely wither up. For there is no contradiction even in that chronic coughs subside following the swelling of a testicle. The testicle that has swollen because of the coughs is a reminder of the relationship between the chest, the breasts, the genitals, and the voice. The symptom—the withering breast, the swollen testicle—here acquires, beyond its diagnostic function, a mnemonic one: it recalls to the reader a schema of relationships within the sexed body with which he is apparently already familiar. The idea of such a ‘community’ of parts or places within the body is, in fact, suggested by other Hippocratic writers. For example, a number of treatises seem to assume—and, on at least one occasion, explicitly refer to—a vessel that, in the female body, joins the uterus to the breasts, allowing for the transmission of milk and, under pathological conditions, menstrual blood.22 Many writers also imply the presence of a kind of tube or vessel connecting the vagina to the mouth or nostrils, perhaps building on popular concepts of the female body; there is further evidence, beyond the passage from Epidemics, Book Two, of a belief in a similar tube in the male body.23 These may be the routes that the author has in mind here. 21 I print Robert Alessi’s unpublished text for the Budé series here and throughout; I am very grateful to him for making it available to me. I have also consulted Smith 1994, in addition to Littré 1839–61. Translations from Epidemics, Book Two, are my own. 22 For milk, see On Seed/On the Nature of the Child 21 (vii. pp. 510–14 L; ed. Joly 1970, 67, line 9–68, line 18); On the Glands 16 (viii. pp. 570–72 L; ed. Joly 1978, 121, lines 11–20). For menstrual blood, see On the Diseases of Women ii. 133 (viii. p. 282 L). On the sympathy of the breasts and the uterus in the Corpus (and Aristotle), see also Dean-Jones 1994, 215–22 and below, n. 27. 23 Epidemics ii. 5.1 (v. p. 128 L) also suggests a relationship between the testicle and the voice (Galen’s commentary on this passage, unfortunately, is lost). See further, with an emphasis on the female body, Manuli 1983a, 157; King 1998, 49–51, 68–9; Dean-Jones 1994, 72–3. For popular ideas about the relationship of a woman’s ‘two mouthsʼ, see Armstrong and Hanson 1986. The mouth, of course, is not the same as the voice. Nevertheless, it seems likely that the ‘tubeʼ assumed by these authors would be sufficient to relate changes in the sexual organs to those of the voice. See Duminil 1983, 121, who posits Aristotle’s On the Generation of Animals 4.8, where Aristotle locates the principle of the voice close to the source of the spermatic

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Nevertheless, the underlying web of connections is not described by the Hippocratic author, creating an opportunity for the commentator to step in and flesh out what the source text leaves unsaid. Galen intervenes in the text even before mentioning the koinōníē between chest, breast, genitals, and voice. For if the symptoms of the withering breasts or the swollen testicle are imagined by the Hippocratic author to call up a correspondence between the breasts and the uterus or the chest and the genitals that is familiar to his reader, Galen fears that his reader will be baffled by such symptoms. He thus hastens to signal ‘the connection and association that exists between the genital organs and the chestʼ as the underlying explanation of what is happening on the surface.24 ‘Hippocratesʼ himself, of course, goes on to identify this connection but, as we have just seen, he does so matter-of-factly and without explanation. Following a brief interlude about the precise meaning of genitals in the passage, Galen returns to the connection between the genital region and the chest, which, he indicates, requires further elaboration: ‘I need to describe the reason for that connectionʼ.25 What follows is an extended description of the anatomical structures that Galen sees as the ground of the relationships drawn by the Hippocratic author. He traces the paths of two sets of veins—one deep, the other superficial— that create a bond between the upper body (chest, breasts) and the reproductive organs, on the one hand, and the upper body and the testicles or the vulva, on the other, concluding: ‘this shows how the connection and association between the chest and the breasts, the generative organs, and the voice takes place: it is an association due to these veinsʼ.26 Whereas the author of Epidemics, Book Two, is vessels in the heart, as the missing link between the voice and the genitals in Epidemics, Book Two. I think it unlikely that the Aristotelian model underlies the passage here. 24 Book ii.1.72 HV (cf. p. 173, lines 4–7 Pf). The phrase ‘connection and association’ is Bink Hallum’s translation of ittiṣāl and mušāraka, the latter probably translating Galen’s koinōnía. (Pfaff offers ‘Verbindungʼ and ‘Gemeinschaftʼ.) For the phenomenon of shrunken breasts signaling an imminent miscarriage, see also Aphorisms 5.37–8 (iv. p. 544 L), with Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.37–8 (xvii/b. pp. 828–9 K); Aphorisms 5.53 (iv. pp. 550–52 L), with Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.53 (xvii/b. pp. 845–50 K). Galen himself cites his discussions in the Aphorisms commentary at Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.1.70 HV (cf. p. 172, lines 28–9 Pf). See further The Affected Parts 6.5 (viii. pp. 436–7 K); The Function of the Parts of the Body 14.4 (iv. p. 153 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 292, line 19–293, line 4), 14.8 (iv. p. 179 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 312, line 16–313, line 21). On the vascular relationship between the uterus and the breasts, see especially the discussion at The Function of the Parts of the Body 14.4–5 (iv. pp. 150–58 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 290, line 21–296, line 7), 14.8 (v. pp. 176–9 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 310, line 8–313, line 7). See also, for example, Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.50 (xvii/b. p. 843 K), 5.52 (xvii/b. p. 844 K), 5.53 (xvii/b. pp. 846–7 K); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.1.96 HV (cf. p. 179, lines 12–16 Pf), ii.3.166 HV (cf. p. 304, lines 17–24 Pf); The Method of Healing 13.19 (x. pp. 925–6 K); The Anatomy of Veins and Arteries 8 (ii. p. 813 K). 25 Book ii.1.75 HV (cf. p. 173, lines 27–8 Pf). 26 Book ii.1.76 HV (cf. p. 174, lines 16–19 Pf). Note that by Galen’s time, phléps had come to mean ‘veinʼ as opposed to artery. The difference is not recognised in the classical-era

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content to speak of the koinōníē of parts of the body, much as another Hippocratic author simply refers to the ‘relatednessʼ (homoethníē) of the uterus and the breasts, Galen is compelled to map out in some detail the network that underwrites these affinities, which he presents as the subtext of Hippocrates’ remarks.27 In articulating the paths of these veins, Galen is not, in principle, violating the spirit of the original text. The vessels that transport fluids and air were a fundamental part of Hippocratic medicine, and several authors, including the author of Epidemics, Book Two, attempted to chart systematically their routes through the body—an ambitious undertaking, given the apparent absence of formal dissection, at least of humans, in the classical period.28 Moreover, the drive to identify the underlying causes of symptoms is a marked feature of a number of Hippocratic texts; the texts of the Epidemics, too, clearly draw on a developed etiological system.29 Nevertheless, in supplementing the source text, Galen goes a step further, supplying the details that he believes are required to adequately account for the vague ‘associationʼ signaled at Epidemics ii. 1.6. The fact that these details are drawn from his own understanding of the vascular network, developed through his extensive experience with animal dissection and clinical practise and also undoubtedly coloured by his own theoretical expectations, is consistent with his practise elsewhere of grounding associations between parts of the body and the resulting sympathetic affections in an anatomical landscape drawn with the pretense of precision.30 In the commentary on Epidemics, Book Hippocratic texts: see Duminil 1983, 23–61. Galen shows that he is aware of the earlier, broader usage of phléps in Epidemics, Book Two, at The Opinions of Hippocrates and Plato 6.8.45 (v. p. 574 K; ed. De Lacy 1978–84, 416, lines 24–6), but he is not consistent in his historical sensitivity. I use the term ‘vascularʼ in part as a way of acknowledging the lack of distinction in the Hippocratic text. 27 Homoethníē: On the Diseases of Women ii. 174 (viii. p. 354 L). The term also occurs at On Places in a Human Being 1 (vi. p. 278 L; ed. Craik 1998, 36, line 4), in a slightly different context, still involving sympathetic affection. 28 Epidemics, Book Two, not only offers an important early account of vascular anatomy but also, as Wesley Smith has observed, ‘give[s] evidence of a systematic interest in getting control of the body’s means of communication, defining them, mapping the channels, and learning to manipulate themʼ (1989, 151). See also Harris 1973, 62 on the interconnecting veins in the anatomical account at 4.1, which he believes is based on animal dissection (he is followed here by Langholf 1990, 145, 147). On vascular connectivity elsewhere in the Corpus, see On Joints 45 (iii. p. 556 L; ii. p. 107, line 10–p. 108, line 5 Kw); On Places in a Human Being 3 (vi. p. 282 L; ed. Craik 1998, 40, lines 30–31). In the surgical treatises, the verbs koinéō and koinōnéō are often used to describe the interconnection of parts of the body (primarily skeletal): see On Joints 13 (iv. p. 118 L; ii. p. 134, line 8 Kw), 45 (iv. p. 190 L; ii. p. 172, line 3 Kw), 86 (iv. p. 324 L; ii. p. 243, line 8 Kw); On Fractures 9 (iii. p. 450 L; ii. p. 62, line 4 Kw), 10 (iii. p. 450 L; ii. p. 62, line 15 Kw), 11 (iii. p. 452 L; ii. p. 63, line 15 Kw). 29 On the interpretation of symptoms in early medical writing, see Holmes 2010, 121–91. On the etiological basis of the various Epidemics texts, see especially Langholf 1990. 30 Especially in the late work The Affected Parts, Galen emphasises the need for a strong grounding in anatomy to understand sympathetic affections, especially those involving the

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Two, Galen’s own vision of the inside of the body emerges in the gap that the Hippocratic text leaves between two apparently isolated events: the disappearance of a cough and the swelling of the testicles; the withering of the breasts and the abortion shortly after. In his commentary, then, Galen does not simply respond to the need for a cause or explanation of the phenomenon noted in the source text but threads his explanation along the pathways of the body that he (but not necessarily ‘Hippocratesʼ) understands to lie beneath the skin. Galen’s anatomical knowledge is, in fact, one of the criteria against which he judges others’ attempts to make sense of the roughly juxtaposed details so characteristic of the Epidemics. In his Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Three, for example, he cites the interpretation of one of the case histories by the followers of Sabinus: Pythion was suffering in his stomach and from this, these exegetes say, his hands were trembling through sympathy (κἀξ ἐκείνου κατὰ ϲυμπάθειαν αἱ χεῖρεϲ ἔτρεμον).31 Galen has no problem with his rivals’ recourse to sympathy as a way of explicating a Hippocratic lemma. What he contests is their allegation that sympathy exists at all between the stomach and the hands. For, he says, they cannot demonstrate an ‘associationʼ (koinōnía) between the body parts in question and, as a result, they cannot account for how an affection is trafficked from one part to the other. It is not just their diagnosis that falls short without such proof. Their interpretation of the Hippocratic text fails as well.32 The work of the commentator is hemmed in not only by anatomical fact, however, but also by the constraints of the text. Galen’s detour into vascular anatomy at Epidemics ii. 1.6 is facilitated by the silence of the Hippocratic original. For the absence of any elaboration of the alleged koinōníē in the lemma nerves: see The Affected Parts 1.6 (viii. pp. 57, 60–63 K), 3.14 (viii. p. 208 K), 4.7 (viii. p. 257 K). For his understanding of vascular anatomy, see Harris 1973, 267–306. At the same time, Galen’s strong commitment to a venous relationship between the breasts and the uterus seems to be due as much to his expectations as to empirical research. Goss makes a rare intervention in his translation of The Anatomy of Veins and Arteries when Galen mentions the ‘associationʼ (koinōnía) between the breasts and the uterus (ii. p. 813 K; ed. Goss 1961, 363), stating: ‘this is a rather wishful observationʼ. Galen’s interest in this association is probably due not just to existing ideas about the sympathy of the breasts and the uterus in the medical tradition but also to his teleological understanding of the female body: see The Function of the Parts of the Body 4.8 (v. pp. 176–9 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 310, line 8–313, line 7). 31 Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Three 1.4 (xvii/a. p. 520 K; p. 24, lines 6–7 W). Interestingly, in the Arabic version, we find the word šāraka to render Greek sympátheia. The phrase is translated as (MS E1, fol. 139a, lines 17–18):

«.LJʓʷˈ̒ĢLJ͎ ζƦāǚʉͫā ɼˬˈͫā ɑˬ̒ ǽ͎ ƴ΋ ǚˈ˳ͫā Ȉ͛ĢLJ̶ ɨ̓ .ɼΉ ˬ͇ ɷ̒ǚˈͲ ǽ͎ ɡ̣Ǩͫā ɑͫǛͫ Ȉ̀Ǩ͇» ɷ͵Βā ƦǍͫǍ˙̈ ɨ΀ǚʤ͵ ǚ͘ć We have found them saying: ‘A stomach disease occurred to that man. Then the hands shared that disease [šārakat ... fī tilka l-ʿillati] with the stomach, so that they trembled’. 32 See also ii.4.41–2 HV (cf. p. 329, line 11–p. 330, line 32 Pf), where commentators go astray because they lack the anatomical knowledge gained through autopsy.

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means that he is free to draw his own connections between, say, the breasts and the uterus without having to recuperate anything from the parent text. The situation is more delicate in Galen’s extended commentary on the account of the vessels and ‘nervesʼ at the beginning of the fourth section of Epidemics, Book Two, where he is forced to accommodate a more detailed original text, a text whose omissions and errors are more glaring.33 The stakes, moreover, are high. Galen believes the passage represents the only genuine Hippocratic account of vascular anatomy available. The anatomical description ostensibly proves that Hippocrates engaged in systematic dissection, allowing Galen to put him first in an anatomical tradition that continues through Herophilus and Marinus to Galen himself. Despite the stress Galen places on the genuine provenance of the vascular anatomy in the text, the authenticity of the passage is complicated by the fact that the very style of the description proves in his mind that Epidemics, Book Two, was not written by Hippocrates as a book for public circulation but, rather, compiled by his son, Thessalus, ‘from things he found recorded by Hippocrates on pages, sheets, and scattered fragmentsʼ.34 The lacunose, scattershot nature of the text is temporarily kept hidden, as Galen offers a generous and polished ‘paraphraseʼ of the Hippocratic account that strategically shifts attention from exegesis to an impromptu, stand-alone anatomy lesson for the sake of the reader. But once he has concluded the educational digression, Galen is compelled to return to the text and the nature of its origins. In revisiting the question of origins, he implicitly acknowledges the difficulties that his own presentation of the material has worked to fill: you cannot help but think here, he says, that Hippocrates was writing only for himself, ‘to remind him[self] of what he had seenʼ. For, if he had meant for the passage under consideration to be read by others, ‘he would certainly have explained and clarified it as he had done in the books he wrote for people to readʼ.35 However authentic the text, then, it was not intended for our eyes, nor, for that matter, for anyone else’s.

33 Epidemics ii. 4.1 (v. pp. 120–26 L); ii. 4.2–57 HV (cf. p. 310, line 22–p. 338, line 31 Pf). Alessi’s version of the Hippocratic text, which I have followed, was first presented as Alessi 2007. The passage from Epidemics, Book Two, also appears at On the Nature of Bones 10 (ix. pp. 178–80 L; ed. Duminil 1998, 147, line 1–149, line 10). The anatomical account is rather opaque: for discussion, see Harris 1973, 60–62; Duminil 1983, 34–47, 101–8; Langholf 1990, 145–9. The situation is complicated by discrepancies between the passage as it has been transmitted by the direct manuscript tradition (where it has almost certainly been subject to corruption) and the lemma in Galen’s commentary. On these discrepancies and the difficulties they raise, see Duminil 1983, 109–13; Garofalo 1992. The textual problems do not, however, bear on my discussion here. Alessi 1996 discusses more generally the usefulness of Galen for establishing the text of Epidemics, Book Two. 34 Book ii.4.3 HV (cf. p. 310, lines 23–6 Pf). 35 Book ii.4.11 HV (cf. p. 314, lines 34–40 Pf).

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From one perspective, the inward-turning nature of the text under these circumstances makes the task of the interpreter more complex. Yet it also creates opportunities; more specifically, it opens up a means for Galen to salvage a more unwieldy source text, a text in which ‘Hippocratesʼ confronts anatomy head-on. Insofar as, from Galen’s perspective, that confrontation can occur only through dissection—‘whoever wants to see for himself what is beneath the skin must cut through the skinʼ36—the text presumably represents Hippocrates’ notes resulting from his observation of the vascular system.37 We might imagine, then, that there is little room for Galen’s own vision. But while the original text does have a tendency to get in the way, the larger problem turns out to be not what Hippocrates puts in but what he leaves out. The reason for these omissions, Galen claims, is the very origin of the text as a private document, designed only to trigger the memory of its author—hence, its many gaps and points of obscurity. These gaps are what Galen exploits in order to slip in his own model of vascular anatomy, this time under the guise of shared memories of dissection: indeed, he goes so far as to imaginatively retrace the path of Hippocrates’ scalpel.38 The two great physicians thus together form a closed community of experts gathered around the open body. Galen’s commentary purportedly translates this ‘sharedʼ but esoteric memory into exoteric instruction by mediating between Hippocrates’ notes, meant only for his own eyes and those of his sons, and the readers who, lacking the requisite knowledge, would otherwise be shut out of the text (the commentary on Epidemics, Book Two, being one of the commentaries that Galen intended for a wider audience). Yet it is not simply that the text leaves things out. The very significance of what it leaves out confirms, for Galen, its personal mnemonic function. Early in his exegesis of the lemma, he remarks that it is strange that Hippocrates would neglect to offer a full account of the major veins in the body, that is, those that are ‘clearly visibleʼ and known to all who practise dissection—the first mention of a lacuna in the original text—and that he would instead focus on the veins that had eluded other physicians because of their fineness.39 The absence of such an account, he concludes, can only prove that Hippocrates wrote the text to remind himself of the most elusive phenomena that he had seen while dis36 Book ii.4.4 HV (cf. p. 311, lines 30–31 Pf). 37 This, in fact, is the conclusion of Langholf 1990, 148–9, arguing that the imperfect and pluperfect tenses of the passage indicate these are minutes written down after observation (of a dissected animal). 38 ‘If, first of all, he cut the lower belly along the membrane that is stretched over the belly known as the peritoneum, then he observed what was beneath it. He saw the intestines and bowels. On the right side of the abdomen he saw the liver, and on the left he saw the spleen. After them he saw the kidneys, and after that the stomach and intestines. He saw the stomach touching the diaphragm, bound by the liver on the right side and the spleen on the left…’ (Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.4.5 HV [cf. p. 311, line 40–p. 312, line 5 Pf]). 39 Book ii.4.11 HV (cf. p. 314, lines 40–43 Pf).

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secting and for the benefit of his sons—not for a general public. By describing the anatomical account as a sketch oriented toward what escapes the untrained or inattentive eye, Galen grants himself considerable leeway to locate what the text does give him within his own more precise understanding of the vascular system while also accounting for its more obvious omissions. The reading he offers is presented as addressing a shortcoming that is due not to the limits of Hippocrates’ knowledge but to the circumstances and aims of the text’s composition. Galen does at times suggest that Hippocrates’ knowledge has its limits. These are mentioned casually and in passing, as when Galen disputes Hippocrates’ description of a vein lying below an artery by pointing out that it only appears to lie below the artery, in reality being stretched to its side, or when he remarks that Hippocrates is ‘not speaking correctlyʼ.40 He also acknowledges the moment when the Hippocratic author recognises his own limits and admits that he does not yet know what happens to the vessels after they descend to the lower belly (ὅπῃ δ’ ἐντεῦθεν, οὔπω οἶδα).41 Galen’s response in this last case is also interesting, however, for the competing scenarios it suggests for understanding Hippocrates’ confession of ignorance. He lends some weight to the ‘not yetʼ (οὔπω) of the text by observing that Hippocrates did not know about these veins ‘at the time he wrote what he did about thisʼ.42 He leaves open the possibility, then, that the anomalous gap in Hippocrates’ understanding was eventually closed through further research. But he also takes the statement as confirmation of the fact that Hippocrates intended his notes to be read by his sons. The statement of ignorance, from this perspective, is perhaps addressed to the sons who will extend the father’s research program. The self-conscious lacuna within the source text is thus overdetermined. It either marks the space which Hippocrates’ vast learning eventually came to fill, so that exegesis remains the process of restoring to the reader the aspects of this learning that remained private (cryptic or unsaid); or it carves out the space for the master’s sons to supplement their paternal inheritance with their own learning, so that exegesis shades into the communication of new knowledge, the son having surpassed the father. For us, of course, the tension between what Hippocrates leaves unsaid and what Hippocrates does not (yet) 40 Book ii.4.22 HV (cf. p. 320, lines 26–7 Pf), ii.4.34 HV (cf. p. 326, lines 32–4 Pf). Galen has the greatest difficulty in accounting for the brachylogy of the account of the nerves (ii.4.40– 57 HV [cf. p. 328, line 43–p. 338, line 31 Pf]), but he vents most of his frustration on other commentators for failing to recognise the difficulty of the original account (while continuing to exonerate Hippocrates, for the most part, by restating his hypothesis that the master was simply writing notes to himself: see, for example, ii.4.49 HV [cf. p. 333, line 44–p. 334, line 4 Pf]). 41 Epidemics ii. 4.1 (v. p. 124 L). 42 Book ii.4.28 HV (cf. p. 324, lines 5–6 Pf).

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know is more frequent in Galen’s exegesis than Galen himself would like to admit. One of the most intriguing cases where Hippocrates fails to note the obvious in the anatomy at 4.1 is his silence regarding the veins that come from the breasts; more intriguing still, he observes instead the veins that run to the shoulders, which are harder to see on account of the fact that they lie deep inside the body.43 Galen’s explanation of the silence is that, by making note of the veins running to the shoulders, Hippocrates was, in a sense, also making note of those running to the breasts, which share the same origin: in keeping with the inverted logic of ‘private writingʼ, it was simply more important to mention the less visible branch rather than the veins that ‘everyone can seeʼ. Yet the omission becomes particularly interesting in light of our earlier discussion of the ‘communityʼ or ‘associationʼ (koinōníē) between the chest and the reproductive organs, including the breast and the uterus. For it was precisely by means of the vein joining these parts that Galen had explained in that passage the transfer of affections between them, without, of course, saying anything about the absence of such a vein in the one genuinely Hippocratic account of the vascular system.44 Hippocrates’ refusal to spell out the underlying relationship between the breast and the uterus becomes increasingly stubborn as we move into the sixth section of Epidemics, Book Two, where we find a series of remarks implying the association of the two parts of the (female) body: in each case, the text falls tantalizingly short of spelling out the venous connection that Galen believes must lie beneath the affections. Hippocrates says, ‘to hold back the menses in women, apply a very large cupping instrument to her breast’; Galen steps in with the reason for the prescription—namely, ‘the shared blood vessels between the breasts and the wombʼ.45 Hippocrates says that if the milk flows in abundance, the fetus will be weak; conversely, if the breasts are hard, the fetus will be strong. Galen again supplies the cause: ‘this happens because of the connection between the blood vessels from which the foetus and the breasts are nourishedʼ.46 43 Book ii.4.16 HV (cf. p. 317, lines 22–9 Pf). 44 When the anatomy at Epidemics ii. 4.1 can be used to underwrite what Galen identifies as sympathetic affections, he does not hesitate to use it: see Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 7.17 (xviii/a. p. 117 K), where he explains a lemma declaring that hiccups are bad in the case of inflammation of the liver by referencing a sympathetic affection of the stomach, noting that the sympathy relies on common nerves (neûra) that are very short, ‘as Hippocrates himself taught in the second book of the Epidemicsʼ. 45 Epidemics ii. 6.16 (v. p. 136 L); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.6.94–5 HV (cf. p. 386, lines 23–33 Pf). See also Aphorisms 5.50 (iv. p. 550 L), with Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.50 (xvii/b. pp. 842–3 K). 46 Epidemics ii. 6.18 (v. p. 136 L); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.6.98–9 HV (cf. p. 387, lines 6–20 Pf). See also Aphorisms 5.52 (iv. p. 550 L), with Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.52 (xvii/b. p. 844 K); The Function of the Parts of the Body 14.8 (v. p. 178 K; ed. Helmreich 1907–9, ii. 312, lines 7–13).

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In the next line, Hippocrates finally seems to acknowledge the anatomical substructure underlying his remarks, stating bluntly that ‘a thick vessel goes to each of the breastsʼ (the text transmitted by the direct manuscript tradition and printed by Littré, Smith, and Alessi reads ‘φλὲψ ἔχει παχέα ἐν ἑκατέρῳ τιτθῷʼ [there is a thick vessel in each breast]).47 Galen, in any case, thinks Hippocrates has finally got around to doing etiology for himself, offering ‘a statement by which he indicated the cause of these two things that he described and also added to this the connection and joining of the veinsʼ.48 Galen’s own remarks about the connection between the breast and the uterus would thus seem only to have anticipated what Hippocrates himself eventually observes. The difficulty that Galen has to face is that Hippocrates’ vessels do not go anywhere besides the breasts: indeed, in the version transmitted by the manuscripts for Epidemics, Book Two, they do not go anywhere at all, at least technically (the expression ἐν ἑκατέρῳ τιτθῷ is locative). In short, these vessels do not join up with the vascular system described at 4.1, nor do they find a pathway to the uterus. If connectivity implies causality, the Hippocratic ‘explanationʼ is abortive. In fact, it is worth noting that despite the apparent assumption of a connecting vessel relating the breasts to the uterus in a number of Hippocratic texts, no systematic Hippocratic account of the vascular system supplies anatomical support for this assumption, as Marie-Paule Duminil has observed;49 the sole exception is a passage from the probably post-classical compilation On the Nature of Bones that is also quoted in Aristotle’s History of Animals, where Aristotle attributes the account to the otherwise unknown Syennesis of Cyprus.50 Duminil tries to account for the silence of the Hippocratic texts on this point by suggesting that the vascular bond between the breasts and the uterus was not considered part of the principal network of vessels.51 Reflecting on Hippocrates’ reticence in the sixth section of Epidemics, Book Two, Galen takes the opposite approach, falling back on the reasoning that Hippocrates is just making a note for himself of what he would otherwise forget, with the result that he leaves out what is most important. Galen, in any event, is left once again to fill in the gaps, which he eventually does with great decisiveness:52 47 Epidemics ii. 6.19 (v. p. 136 L); Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii. 6.100 HV (p. 387, lines 21–2 Pf). The shift from the locative to the directional preposition may have been introduced in the translation into Arabic; Galen, in any event, clearly believes that the veins extend to the breasts from elsewhere in the body. 48 Book ii.6.101 HV (cf. p. 387, lines 26–9 Pf). 49 Duminil 1983, 120–22. 50 See Aristotle History of Animals 3.2, 511b24–30 and On the Nature of Bones 8 (v. p. 174 L; ed. Duminil 1998, 144, lines 7–17), with Harris 1973, 20–21; Duminil 1983, 68–71. The system is neatly diagrammed in Harris 1973, fig. 1. 51 Duminil 1983, 122. 52 Book ii. 6.101 HV (cf. p. 387, lines 32–41 Pf).

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Ǩ̥Αā ƈćǨˈ̑ ɡˀʓ̒ ȵ˙ͫā ɬͲ Ⱥ̵ćΑҙҏā 53ɨˆˈͫā ȇ͵LJ̣ ȅͫΒā ɡˏ̵Αā ȅͫΒā ƈǍ͎ ɬͲ ǽ̒ΑLJ̒ ǽʓͫā ƈćǨˈͫā ƦΑā ɑͫĕć ǽ̒ΑLJ̒ ǽʓͫā ƈćǨˈͫā ɑˬ̒ ɬͲć ɨ̤Ǩͫā ȅͫΒā ǽ̒ΑLJ̒ ǽʓͫā ƈćǨˈͫā LJ́˶Ͳ ȉˈʒ˶̒ ǽʓͫā Ƚ̀āǍ˳ͫā ɬͲ ɡˏ̵Αā ɬͲ ȅ͘āǨʓ̈ łĢLJ̿ 57ƈćǨˈͫā 56ƱǛ́ͫć ɬʉ̈ǚʔͫā ǽ͎ ƴǨʉʶʉͫLJ̑ Ȉʶʉͫ ɼˏ̇LJ̈́ ȉˈʒ˶̒ 55ǚ͘ 54ɡˏ̵Αā ȅͫΒā ȵ˙ͫā ɼʉ̤LJ͵ ɬͲ Έāụ̈̌ ɼ˳ʉˆ͇ ɼ͛ĢLJʷͲ ǽ΀ć Ģǚˀͫā ǽ̤āǍ͵ Ǩ̇LJ̵ć ɬʉ̈ǚʔͫā ɬʉ̑ć ǚʉͫǍʓͫā ƹLJˁ͇Αā ɬʉ̑ ƛLJˀ̒ҙҏāć ɼ͛ĢLJʷ˳ͫā .Ƚ̀āǍ˳ͫā ƱǛ΀ ǽ͎ ŃĔāǍʥͫā ǽ͎ ɼ͛ĢLJʷ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̒ LJ́ʒʒʶ̑ć That is to say that the veins that run downwards next to the middle bone of the sternum join other blood vessels ascending from below from the places from which the blood vessels that run to the uterus branch out. From these blood vessels that descend from the region of the sternum, not a small number branch out into the breasts, and these blood vessels constitute the coaffection and connection between the genitals and the breasts and other areas of the chest. This is a very strong coaffection and the cause of the shared phenomena [mušāraka fī al-ḥawādiṯ] in these places. So that is what Hippocrates meant to say. Yet because we need Galen to supply the details, we end up with his own understanding of the bond between the breast and the uterus. We have seen that the repeated references in Epidemics, Book Two, to the coaffection between the reproductive organs (and the genitals) and the chest and especially between the uterus and the breasts, references that lack any indication of the anatomical substructure of these sympathetic affections, create a series of opportunities for Galen to supplement the Hippocratic text.58 In fact, 53 ɨˆˈͫā] scripsit Vagelpohl: ɨˆ͇Αҙҏā E1, M. 54 Post ɡˏ̵Αā add. Ƚ̀āǍ˳ͫā ɬͲ M. 55 ǚ͘] E1: ǚ˙͎ M. 56 āǛ́ͫć ɬʉ̈ǚʔͫā ǽ͎] E1: ƱǛ́̑ ɬʉ̈ǚ̓ ȅͫΒā M. 57 ƈćǨˈͫā] dittogr., del. M. 58 See also ii.2.77–8 HV (cf. p. 229, lines 28–32 Pf), another case where Galen invokes the vessel between the uterus and the chest as part of his project of discovering the ‘acceptable and convincing causeʼ in a mysterious case where a woman gives birth to a child that is entirely fleshy and about four digits large. There are a handful of other instances in the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two, where it is likely that the word mušāraka translates sympátheia or koinōnía. Two of these involve the association between the uterus and the limbs or hips that results in sympathetic affections. At ii.3.15 HV (cf. p. 262, lines 38–9 Pf), the Warwick translation refers to ‘coaffection [mušāraka] between the limb and the wombʼ. (Garofalo 2009, 136 modifies Pfaff’s ‘infolge der Verbindung der Nerven mit der erkrankten Gebärmutterʼ with ‘per simpatia della parte coll’utero’.) At ii.4.72 HV (cf. p. 344, lines 16–18 Pf), Galen refers to a discussion of the coaffection (mušāraka) of the hip or leg and the uterus in his commentary on Hippocrates’ On the Diseases of Women. For other cases of sympathetic affection, see ii.2.130 HV (cf. p. 244, lines 19–27 Pf) and 2.141 (cf. p. 246, lines 24–5 Pf). At ii.1.119 HV (cf. p. 184, line 34 Pf), Galen speaks of an ‘associationʼ (mušāraka) between parts of the body; at ii.1.128 HV (cf. p. 187, line 14 Pf), of an ‘associationʼ (mušāraka)

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Galen himself suggests that such ‘communitiesʼ and the sympathetic affections to which they give rise within the body should occupy a privileged place in the mind of the physician. On the heels of the remark about the thick vein that goes to (or is in) the breast, we encounter the following: ‘these things have the largest part in understandingʼ (ταῦτα μέγιϲτον ἔχει μόριον ϲυνέϲιοϲ).59 The statement is cryptic, largely because it is unclear what the referent of ‘these thingsʼ (ταῦτα) should be. Some commentators, Galen reports, believe that Hippocrates means that the parts of the body he has just mentioned—either the veins or the breasts, presumably—contribute greatly to the power of the mind.60 Such a reading, Galen thinks, is pure madness. On his interpretation, the line functions as the capstone to the preceding remarks on the breast-uterus association, confirming the deeper resonance of that association and, ultimately, its anatomical basis. Reading the passage as an echo of the earlier discussion of the koinōníē between chest, breast, genitals, and voice, he recounts a series of sympathetic affections that restate the evidence for the community between these parts of the body in both men and women, stressing the connecting veins that he himself has repeatedly identified as the (unspoken) ground of sympathy. In the end, it is just these veins that Galen thinks Hippocrates is talking about when he refers to that which contributes most to ‘understandingʼ: ‘It is best, as I have said, to understand him to mean that what he described about the connection between the veins is useful for many medical conceptsʼ.61 That which has gone persistently unsaid—namely, the venous relationship between the chest and the genitals—thus becomes foundational for medicine in yet another instance of the principle gov-erning the treatise’s composition: what is most important is taken for granted by the text, since it is not possible that Hippocrates could ever forget it, let alone not know it to begin with.

between the arteries and an association (mušāraka) between the arteries and the bowel; at ii.1.129 HV (cf. p. 187, line 36 Pf), of an ‘associationʼ (mušāraka) between certain body parts and blood vessels. 59 Epidemics ii. 6.19 (v. p. 136 L); ii.6.102 HV (cf. p. 388, lines 1–2 Pf). 60 The reading has some support from Epidemics ii. 6.32 (v. p. 138 L), where blood gathering in the breasts foretells the onset of madness (the same material also appears at Aphorisms 5.40 [iv. p. 544 L]; see also Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Aphorismsʼ 5.40 [xvii/b. pp. 832–3 K], where Galen claims to have never seen the phenomenon). Galen does not dispute the sign here but struggles to explain it and thus focuses on attacking the interpretation of Sabinus (Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.6.162 HV [cf. p. 408, line 40–p. 409, line 11 Pf]). 61 Book ii.6.103 HV (cf. p. 388, lines 26–8 Pf).

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Why is it that Galen is so invested in vascular connectivity in his exegesis of Epidemics, Book Two? To try to answer this question, it is worth taking a short detour through another instance of sympathy, one that establishes a different nexus within the body. The case sets the stage for further reflection on whether Galen’s response to the phenomenon of sympathetic affections can tell us something about his larger exegetical project in the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two.

Seeing and Believing: The Truth in Magnets The case of Lycies—or Lycie: it is unclear, as Galen points out, whether the patient is a man or a woman62—is recounted in Epidemics, Book Two, in a predictably spare manner: Λυκίῃ τὰ ὕϲτατα ϲπλὴν μέγαϲ, καὶ ὀδύναι καὶ πυρετὸϲ καὶ ἐϲ ὦμον ὀδύναι· καὶ ἡ φλὲψ ἡ κατὰ ϲπλῆνα ἐπ’ ἀγκῶνι ἐτέτατο· καὶ ἔϲφυζε μὲν πολλάκιϲ· ἔϲτι δ’ ὅτε καὶ 〈οὔ·〉 οὐκ ἐτμήθη, ἀλλ’ ἅμα ἱδρῶτι διῆλθέν τι αὐτόματον, ἔξω διιόντων· ὁ ϲπλὴν τὰ δεξιὰ ἐνετείνετο, πεῦμα ἐνεδιπλαϲιάζετο, οὐ μὴν μέγα· παρεφέρετο, περιεϲτέλλετο· φῦϲα ἐνεοῦϲα· οὐ διῄει κάτω οὐδέν, οὐδὲ οὔρει· ἀπέθανε. (Epidemics ii. 2.22, v. p. 94 L) Towards the end Lycies had an enlarged spleen, as well as pains, fever, pains towards the shoulder. The blood vessel on the side of the spleen63 was tense at his elbow. It often throbbed; but sometimes it did not. There was no phlebotomy, but something passed on its own together with the sweat, 62 Book ii.2.100 HV (cf. p. 235, lines 17–31 Pf), ii.2.110 HV (cf. p. 239, lines 9–19 Pf). Galen reads the account as if the patient were male but remains agnostic. Modern editors have been split on the sex of the patient. Smith prints the female name Lycie, but Alessi makes a good case for printing Lycies. One decisive factor determining whether the patient is male or female is the phrase πρὸ τοῦ τόκου (‘before childbirthʼ), which appears right after ἀπέθανε (‘she diedʼ). Littré prints πρὸ τοῦ τόκου at the end of 2.22 (and casts the patient, accordingly, as the female Lycie). Smith, however, despite printing Lycie, assigns the phrase to the beginning of the next chapter (2.23), as does Alessi (who prints Lycies). Note as well that both Littré and Smith print the phrase ἰήθη ἐλλεβόρου πόϲει Λυκίη as the first line of the chapter. But in Galen, the subject of ἰήθη is a patient from the previous chapter, Demaenete, and the lemma in question (ii.2.99 [cf. p. 235, lines 1–16 Pf]) begins ‘during the last days of Lycies’ illness…ʼ Alessi follows Galen in assigning ἰήθη ἐλλεβόρου πόϲει to 2.21 and converts the nominative Λυκίη to a dative governed by the next phrase (τὰ ὕϲτατα ϲπλὴν μέγαϲ). 63 Smith has ‘from the spleenʼ for κατὰ ϲπλῆνα. I find ‘on the side of the spleenʼ preferable, following not only Galen’s interpretation (‘on the side of the spleenʼ, in the Warwick translation; ‘auf der Seite der Milzʼ, in Pfaff) but also the analysis of Duminil 1983, 95. Alessi translates ‘du côté de la rateʼ.

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when the excretions [?] were taking place.64 The spleen was stretched tight along its right side; the breath doubled its pace, but without being very deep. He became delirious, was wrapped up.65 Flatulence. Nothing passed below, not even urine. He died.66 To the novice reader, the text is a staccato series of symptoms, whose relationship to one another is opaque. From Galen’s perspective, however, we have a case awash in sympathetic affection.67 For the shared suffering of the spleen and the shoulder implied in the second line of the Hippocratic account, Galen, as we have come to expect, supplies the underlying rationale. In this instance, the affection travels not along a vein but via a kind of domino effect. The suffering of the spleen triggers suffering in the peritoneum, which, in turn, causes suffering in the diaphragm, which causes suffering in the inner membrane of the ribs, which causes suffering in the clavicle, which makes the shoulder hurt: the shoulder is thus joined to the spleen at fifth remove. The predominant principle of sympathy appears to be that of proximity, and indeed, Galen a little later expatiates on the phenomenon by which the spleen and the diaphragm affect one another through contact.68 The veins remain critical, however, to grasping the symptoms described, albeit in a slightly different capacity than we have seen thus far. The Hippocratic cue is the reference to the tenseness of the blood vessel ‘on the side of the spleenʼ. Galen takes this to mean, reasonably enough, that Hippocrates is referring to a sympathetic affection of a blood vessel on the left side, where the spleen is located, a phenomenon that he describes as sympathy ‘on the same sideʼ. Not only does such sympathy affect the blood vessel. It also means that any nosebleeds— often a crucial form of crisis—during illnesses of the spleen occur through the left nostril; conversely, during illnesses of the liver (located on the right side of the body), these symptoms occur on the right.69 What is crucial for our purposes is how other physicians, according to Galen, account for the sympathetic connectivity in play: they posit a vein that runs from the left side of the spleen upwards in complementary fashion to that running from the right side of the 64 I follow Alessi’s translation here (‘alors que les excrétions avaient lieuʼ), with the sense that the event described earlier in the sentence occurred at a time in the illness before the patient was constipated (as signaled by οὐ διῄει κάτω οὐδέν, οὐδὲ οὔρει). 65 In the Warwick translation: ‘he suffered insomnia and was constipatedʼ. Galen discusses different interpretations of the original at ii.2.109 HV (cf. p. 238, line 42–p. 239, line 9 Pf). 66 Galen’s lemma continues with what in modern editors is printed as 2.23 and 2.23b. 67 The word mušāraka occurs fourteen times from 2.101–8. 68 Book ii.2.106 HV (cf. p. 238, lines 6–8 Pf), ii.2.108 HV (cf. p. 238, lines 39–40 Pf). On sympathy by contact elsewhere in Galen, see Siegel 1968, 369–70. 69 Book ii.2.102 HV (cf. p. 236, lines 12–19 Pf). On nosebleeds that occur in connection with affections of the spleen, see also ii.1.183 HV (cf. p. 203, lines 19–29 Pf), ii.2.117 HV (cf. p. 240, lines 17–19 Pf), ii.3.77 HV (cf. p. 279, lines 29–33 Pf).

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liver (that is, the ‘hollowʼ blood vessel). In other words, they identify a vascular connection underlying the coordinated symptoms.70 And yet, here, for once, it is precisely such a connection that Galen rejects, for the simple reason that ‘in dissections we do not see this blood vessel that they saw in their dreamsʼ.71 The dreamt-up vein is no innocent error. The problem is that when people—presumably laypersons, but perhaps also less experienced physicians—learn that it does not exist, they stop believing in the phenomenon of sympathy ‘on the same sideʼ altogether. And this, for Galen, is to fail to believe in something that is obvious to anyone who has seen it. By way of explaining the nature of the doubt about sympathy here, Galen starts by observing that it is one thing to describe what happens, another to give the cause. Much as in the discussion of the association between the breast and the uterus, sympathetic affections here open onto larger questions about the relationship between seeing and understanding—but with a twist. For it is not just the relationship of seeing and understanding that is at stake but the relationship of seeing and believing: in the absence of an adequate explanation, we believe only what we can see. To illustrate the point, Galen offers a brief digression on the magnet, one of the great marvels of antiquity.72 Given that the attraction exercised by magnets could be described in terms of sympathy in the first centuries AD—as it is, appropriately enough, by Galen himself in Natural Capacities—it is perhaps not surprising that he introduces the magnet at this particular moment as something whose power is easy to see but difficult to explain.73 No one who has witnessed its power with their own eyes, he says, doubts the phenomenon. But those who hear of it only secondhand often do disbelieve the report because no adequate reason for magnetic attraction is given. It is the same with sympathetic affections ‘on the same sideʼ: seeing is believing, since the phenomenon ‘manifestly occursʼ, but doubt creeps in when autopsy is absent and no credible explanation emerges to fill the void. Remarkably, though, Galen is at a loss himself to explain such sympathetic affections without a vein to ground the connection: all he can do is promise to 70 The hypothesis of a vessel relating affections of the spleen to the shoulder and the arm (on the left) and those of the liver (on the right) already appears at On Diseases i. 26 (vi. p. 194 L; ed. Wittern 1974, 78, lines 7–14), although it seems to be rejected by the author of Epidemics, Book Two, as Duminil 1983, 95–8 argues. See also On Affections 28 (vii. p. 242 L), 32 (vii. p. 250 L), where phlebotomy on the right and left sides is recommended for affections of the liver and spleen, respectively. 71 Book ii.2.102 HV (cf. p. 236, lines 22–3 Pf). 72 Book ii.2.103 HV (cf. p. 236, lines 32–44 Pf). 73 For explanations of the magnet in terms of sympathy, see, for example, Clement of Alexandria Stromateis 2.370; Galen Natural Capacities 1.14 (ii. pp. 44–51 K; Helmreich 1893, 133, line 11-138, line 21); Pliny Natural History 34.42. On the magnet as a stock marvel in antiquity more generally, see Wallace 1996, especially 181–2.

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devote a future treatise to the question. For the moment, we are left with only a scattering of symptoms that refuse to resolve into a constellation along the lines offered by anatomical investigation. By Galen’s own reckoning, then, we have little reason to believe the account of the case of Lycies unless we have had firsthand experience of sympathy ‘on the same sideʼ. The problem posed by the case of Lycies exposes something of what is at stake in an exegesis of Epidemics, Book Two. To the extent that Hippocrates is writing to and for himself, he does not need to persuade anyone else about the truth of what he has seen. The text exists, rather, to help him recall his earlier observations. It thus lacks, for the most part, explanations of why things happen the way they do. The risk, one might imagine, is that the reader who has not witnessed everything described in the text will not necessarily believe what it describes, unless, of course, causes are supplied. Herein lies the need for the ideal exegete who can verify the account given by introducing an explanation. The exegete bridges the gap between the Hippocratic text and its later readers, not just to explain the source material but also, at another level, to guarantee its credibility for an audience that Hippocrates never intended. If the case of Lycies reflects something of a failure in this regard, it also sheds some light on the nature of Galen’s ambitions elsewhere in the commentary. The ideal exegete can be understood as occupying the position of the text’s other addressee—namely, the son.74 The role of the exegete is defined in part by knowing what Hippocrates meant: one aspect of the interpreter’s task is to clarify the language and terminology of the text.75 But it is defined, too, by being able to stand in the shoes of the father and to see what he saw—after all, that is the only way that a text represented as mnemonic can trigger a glimpse of reality. What sort of presence does this position imply? On the one hand, it is just a question of seeing clinical events for oneself. On the other hand, if the son is to offer an explanation of these events, he needs, in Galen’s view, to be able to call upon another eyewitness experience—namely, that of dissection. For dissection is crucial to understanding and vouching for the causes that lie beneath the surface of the body and, in parallel fashion, the surface of the text.76 74 The triangulated relationship between the son, the father’s books, and the father’s legacy also appears at Anatomical Procedures 14.1 (ed. Duckworth 1962, 183–4), where Galen recounts how the son of the great anatomist Numisianus, Heraclianus, hoarded his father’s books and, despite Galen’s many attempts to ingratiate himself, never once allowed Galen to see them. Heraclianus’s aim in not showing the books, Galen says explicitly, was ‘to secure himself in the sole possession of all that his father leftʼ. See also Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, ii.6.141 HV (cf. p. 400, lines 16–26 Pf), where the paternity of the text is in play. 75 See, for example, Manetti 2009, on Galen’s display of his grasp of Hippocratic linguistic usage. 76 See ii.4.5 HV (cf. p. 312, lines 10–19 Pf), where Herophilus is not content to learn from Hippocrates but desires to see inside the body for himself. Galen rails against those who follow Hippocrates blindly, without direct empirical knowledge, at 6.61 (cf. p. 375, lines 22–5 Pf); see further Lloyd 1991, 402.

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Yet the experience of dissection is not just about offering explanations to secure the truth of what the text reports: it, too, represents a ‘being presentʼ, and it is an experience that is crucial to proving something about Hippocrates himself. For Galen does not simply want to demonstrate that what Hippocrates described happened, that is, that Hippocrates reported events correctly: he wants to show that Hippocrates had already seen for himself the causes underlying the events that he described. What this entails for Galen, as for Hippocratising anatomists before him, is ascribing to Hippocrates the experience of dissection.77 But what about the truth of Epidemics, Book Two, as a text, that is, as a crucial supporting document for the image of Hippocrates championed by Galen? What does it mean for Galen to be present before this truth? That is, what does it mean for the son to believe not just in what the father saw but in the fact that he saw, and where what is seen is not just scatterings of symptoms but the logic behind them? Under these circumstances, the two paths to belief that we saw in the context of the magnet—one simply seeing something happen, the other having it explained—converge, insofar as what Galen wants to see in the text is a causal web. By turning the anatomical body into the subtext of the original treatise, Galen does just that: he creates the conditions under which he can ‘seeʼ the causal understanding that he believes is latent in the text. For if Galen sees beneath the surface of the text a fuller vision of the body, and especially the vascular body, that he attributes to Hippocrates, he is also ‘seeingʼ the connections that Hippocrates ostensibly drew between symptoms, for the reason that the veins function as the very materialisation of causality. More than once we have seen that, in the cases of sympathetic affection in the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two, Galen seems to believe that to supply the cause means to articulate the path of a vein relating one part of the body to another while, in the last case, that of Lycies, to deny the presence of a vein is, conversely, to eliminate the ground of explanation. That is, in these cases, giving the causes of the affections becomes indistinguishable from exposing the underlying anatomical connections. What the instances of sympathetic affection make especially clear is, first, that the more Galen can map the flotsam of the Hippocratic text onto his own model of the body, the more coherent and, indeed, the more believable that text becomes, not just for the reader but for Galen himself. But these instances con77 ‘For the true and the false of what becomes manifest from dissection are differentiated by something by which we examine other perceptible things, namely differentiation by means of the senses. So, just as one who has not seen the city known as Athens has not seen the Propylaeum in it, the Kerameikos, or the other places in it, likewise one who has not performed a dissection has not seen the arteries, veins, or other body parts or vessels. For just as a wall surrounds a city, and walls surround houses, so, too, the skin surrounds the body of a living being. So, whoever wants to see for himself what is beneath the skin must cut through the skinʼ (ii.4.4 HV [cf. p. 311, lines 22–31 Pf]). On the text of the passage, see Garofalo 2009, 142.

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firm, too, that the very act of mapping the text along the lines of the anatomical body validates an interpretation in which Galen is deeply invested—namely, an interpretation that cements Hippocrates’ proper place at the origin of a tradition of medicine organised around the enquiry into causes and anatomical expertise. Here, Galen’s own experience with dissection and, more specifically, his memory of dissection, becomes a pivotal part of his work as a commentator, insofar as it allows him to imagine himself when he reads as present not only before the anatomical body but, in fact, before the logic of causes ostensibly already witnessed by the father. That logic and, accordingly, Hippocrates’ grasp of that logic thus acquire something of the manifest truth that characterises the veins. The transition from seeing to believing can be seen, accordingly, as extending beyond believing in the events described in the text to believing in the very presence of explanation at the origins of the text, which is nothing less than believing in Hippocrates as the father of dogmatic medicine. The Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two, must be seen as part of the larger exegetical project of Galen’s Hippocratic commentaries, through which he not only lays claim to the authority that the name Hippocrates had come to stand for but grounds it in his own understanding of the body. Yet the nature of the original Hippocratic text creates exceptional challenges and opportunities for this project. On the one hand, it offers what Galen thought was the only genuine Hippocratic anatomy, especially rich in its account of the vascular system. On the other hand, Epidemics, Book Two, is riddled with gaping silences and glaring omissions, with the result that Galen himself must establish, at several critical points, connections between the anatomy offered and the cases and phenomena described or, more accurately, between the anatomy Hippocrates ‘reallyʼ had in mind and the rest of the text. He does so by introducing his own vision of the networked body, albeit in the guise of the text’s concealed substructure and the concrete enactment of its causal logic. He enlists this vision most vigorously in instances of sympathetic affections, whose surface appearance—symptoms scattered across the body—exaggerates the disjointed, seemingly random quality of the text itself. By making manifest the connections underneath these affections, Galen does not simply lend the Hippocratic text coherence and credibility but also helps shape a father figure for medicine whose memory Galen honours as if it were his own.

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 The Arabic Version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, as a source for the Hippocratic Text: First Remarks Robert Alessi At first sight, the second book of the Epidemics startles the modern reader as it consists of diverse statements that are at different stages of elaboration. Some of these statements are quite difficult to understand because they are not explicit. For example, roughly in the middle of Book Two, one finds a particular katástasis, that is a description of the season, weather and diseases during one period at a particular geographic place. One also finds several elaborate nosological descriptions, many remarks on sick people and on the weather, numerous clinical observations, some general statements seemingly inferred from experiment, and a few remarks that are barely understandable except to the author. The Epidemics require a particular scholarly approach: in one respect, considering the nature of the topics which the author examines, the questions he formulates have to be situated in the larger framework of fifth and fourth-century discussions. But in another respect, considering that the Epidemics were based essentially on concrete inquiries and medical experiments, the statements made in the book have to be scrutinised. As the text is on the whole very difficult, Galen’s Commentary is extremely helpful for establishing and interpreting the Hippocratic text, although its Greek original is lost. This commentary allows us to compare the Hippocratic text not only with the lemmas that form part of the commentary but also with the commentary itself and the numerous variants or discussions it contains that date back to Galen’s predecessors. The following example allows us to assess the usefulness of Galen’s work for the interpretation of the Hippocratic text. In the introduction to his commentary of Epidemics, Book Six, Galen recounts the corruptions that he finds in the Hippocratic text, which are due to earlier scholarsʼ false conjectures. Because his text contained many such corruptions, Galen thought that it was better to retrieve, to record and to explain the most ancient readings which he could find in the works of past commentators1:

1

p. 3, lines 4–10 W; xvii/a.793 K.

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〈Οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅπωϲ καὶ τοῦτο τὸ βιβλίον, ὥϲπερ καὶ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοῦ〉 〈Ἱπποκράτουϲ〉 ϲυγγραμμάτων ἐλυμήναντο πολλοὶ τῶν ἐξηγητῶν ἄλλοϲ ἄλλωϲ, ὡϲ ἕκαϲτοϲ ἤλπιϲε πιθανῶϲ ἐξηγήϲαϲθαι, τὴν κατὰ τοῦτο λέξιν ὑπαλλάττων, ὥϲτε ἠναγκάϲθην ἐγὼ διὰ τοῦτο τά τε παλαιότατα τῶν ἀντιγράφων ἐπιζητῆϲαι τά τε ὑπομνήματα τῶν πρώτων ἐξηγηϲαμένων τὸ βιβλίον, ἐν οἷϲ καὶ 〈Ζεῦξίϲ〉 ἐϲτι 〈καὶ〉 | ὁ 〈Ταραντῖνοϲ〉 καὶ ὁ 〈Ἐρυθραῖοϲ Ἡρακλείδηϲ〉 καὶ πρὸ αὐτῶν 〈Βακχεῖόϲ〉 τε καὶ 〈Γλαυκίαϲ〉. I do not know how this book, too, among others of Hippocrates’ treatises, has been maltreated in different ways by many commentators under the pretext that each of them hoped to propose a persuasive commentary, altering the original reading; thus I had to retrieve the most ancient readings and the works of those who first commented on this book as well; among whom we find Zeuxis, Heraclides (of Erythrae and of Tarentum), and before them Baccheios and Glaukias. In fact, Galen’s commentary on Epidemics, Book Two gives us many examples of this remarkable method. Since the Warwick Epidemics Project provided me with the first draft copy of their forthcoming edition of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, I began to consider the Arabic version for my own edition of Hippocrates’ Epidemics, Book Two, which will be published in the Collection des Universités de France (Paris, Les Belles Lettres). In this paper, I would like to present my first remarks about this very stimulating work that has now become available. For Greek medical studies, the Warwick edition of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two is highly relevant. The lemmas which are preserved only in Ḥunayn’s Arabic translation are of crucial importance for establishing the Greek text of Hippocrates, since we know that these lemmas go back to a time when Galen’s text had not yet been contaminated by the received Hippocratic text. Also, I would like to add that this edition will allow us to gather and analyse better the abundant Hippocratic citations which are contained in Galen’s commentary. Such a collation would be all the more crucial since, at least for Books Two and Six of the Epidemics, the Hippocratic manuscripts are known to have been influenced by Artemidorus Capito’s edition in the first century AD.2 In other words, the Arabic version of Galen’s commentaries is the only source from which one can reconstruct the Hippocratic text at a stage which is prior to all other witnesses. I will try to show through several examples how comparing the Hippocratic text with the lemmas and discussions that date back to Galen’s predecessors allows

2 On these questions, see Manetti’s and Roselli’s edition of Hippocrates’ Epidemics, Book Six (1982, xlii–iii), and Pfaff 1931; see also below p. 73.

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us to either restore the original reading (and sometimes to follow closely the textual tradition) or restore the correct interpretation of one particular reading.3

Influence of Galen’s Commentary on the Hippocratic text As for the Hippocratic text of Epidemics, Book Two, I will consider here, among the manuscripts of the direct tradition, the ones of the upper part of the stemma that are worthy of interest: − Vaticanus Gr. 276, (V), twelfth century − Parisinus Gr. 2140, (I), thirteenth century − Vaticanus Gr. 277, (R), fourteenth century − Parisinus Gr. 2142, (H) part. rec., fourteenth century We know that these four manuscripts are to be divided into two branches: V and its descendants and IRH. The latter three manuscripts are, directly or indirectly, descendants of the branch of manuscript M (Marcianus Gr. 269, s. X), although Book Two of the Epidemics is not present in Marcianus, which has a substantial lacuna. Before examining how one can consider Galen’s Arabic lemmas for editing Hippocrates’ Epidemics, Book Two, I would like to comment on the overall relationship between the two texts. The following two statements equally apply: 1. All the manuscripts of the direct tradition descend from one common ancestor; the influence of Galen’s Commentary on it is obvious. 2. The extant direct tradition has been influenced in turn by Artemidorus Capito’s edition, dating back to the first century AD. Several examples allow us to assess the influence of Galen’s Commentary on the direct tradition of Epidemics, Book Two. My first example is taken from Epidemics ii.3.17–18, a passage which all the extant manuscripts seem to have misplaced, but which Foes returned to its correct position in his 1595 edition. Foes was followed by Littré, but not by Smith4:

3 On the Arabic translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics, see the very important work of Garofalo 2009, who made an extensive examination of the text, using Madrid, Escorial, MS árabe 804 (henceforth MS E1) for the commentary on Book Two of the Epidemics; see also Garofalo’s emendations (2010a, 255–6). On the Arabic text of Galen’s commentaries on Books One and Three of the Epidemics, see Garofalo 2010b. I would also like to express my gratitude to Ivan Garofalo for giving me the draft copy of an article (to be published in 2011) about Galen’s lemmas of Epidemics, Book Two, and their Arabic translation (Garofalo, forthcoming). 4 I quote here and below the text and apparatus from my forthcoming edition of the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Two.

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3.17 […] Πρὸ τοῦ τόκου τὰ γάλακτα, τῆϲ μὲν τροφῆϲ ὑπερβαλλούϲηϲ, τῆϲ δὲ 〈ὅληϲ〉 ὀκταμήνου ἀπαρτιζούϲηϲ· διὸ τὰ ἐπιμήνια ἀδελφὰ τῶν ὀκταμήνων· πρὸϲ δεκάμηνον τεινόντων γενόμενα, κακόν. 3.18 Τρωμάτων ἢν ἰϲχυρῶν ἐόντων οἴδημα μὴ φαίνηται μέγα, κακόν· τὰ χαῦνα, χρηϲτὸν, τὰ ἄνω νεμόμενα, κάκιον. Οἷϲιν οἰδήματα ἐφ’ ἕλκεϲι 〈φαίνεται〉, οὐ μάλα ϲπῶνται, οὐδὲ μαίνονται· […] Apparatus: 1 Πρὸ τοῦ τόκου] scripsi; ĔҙҏǍͫā Ȉ͘ć ɡʒ͘ Gal.(Ar.): πρωτοτόκων codd. Littré: πρὸ τόκων Smith 1 τροφῆϲ ὑπερβαλλούϲηϲ] pro 〈ὅληϲ〉 ὀκταμήνου ἀπαρτιζούϲηϲ et item contra Gal. De Usu partium 4 77 20 (ed. Helmreich) Theoph. Prot. De corp. hum. Fabrica 5 38 52 (ed. Greenhill) codd. Littré 1 ὑπερβαλλούϲηϲ Gal.U Gal.(Ar.) Theoph Prot.] μεταβαλλούϲηϲ V I1slRH Littré: μεταβαλούϲηϲ I 2 ὅληϲ] addidi e Gal. (ƴǚ͇ ƴΑāǨ˳ͫā ɡ˳˜ʓʶ̒ć) Gal. Theoph. Prot.: om. codd. Gal.U Littré edd. 2–3 διὸ-γενόμενα, κακόν] trsp. ante οἷϲιν οἰδήματα codd. Smith sed hic habent Foes Littré 2 ἐπιμήνια codd. Gal.] γάλακτα Gal.U Theoph. Prot. Littré 2–3 ὀκταμήνων codd. Gal.] ἐπιμηνίων Gal.U Theoph. Prot. Littré 3 τεινόντων γενόμενα] τείνοντα Smith 3–4 Τρωμάτων-κάκιον] om. Gal. 5 νεμόμενα] 4 μενόμενα Smith.

3.17 […] Before birth, milk appears, if nutriment is in excess and a full eight-month period is complete; therefore menstruation is the counterpart of the eight months: stretching to the tenth month is a bad 〈sign〉. 3.18 In case of severe wounds, if no important swelling appears, it is a bad 〈sign〉; the loose 〈swellings〉 are good; those stretching upwards are worse. Those who have swellings after wounds do not have much convulsions nor delirium. […] As one can see from the apparatus, the direct tradition moves part of the sentence of 3.17, that is ‘διὸ τὰ ἐπιμήνια, ἀδελφὰ τῶν ὀκταμήνων· πρὸϲ δεκάμηνον τείνοντα, κακόνʼ, before the sentence of 3.18 which starts with the words οἷϲιν οἰδήματα. Galen’s lemmas have a lacuna in which the first lines of 3.18 are lost: from τρωμάτων ἢν ἰϲχυρῶν ἐόντων to νεμόμενα, κακόν. There is no doubt that this same lacuna had affected the ancestor of our four manuscripts, for in those manuscripts, as in Galen’s lemmas, the last sentence of 3.17 is placed just before the one in 3.18 which starts with the words οἷϲιν οἰδήματα. In my opinion, it is likely that the copyist, who mistakenly filled the lacuna, did not copy the missing words after the last sentence of 3.17, as he should have done, but before it. The resemblance between those sentences (γενόμενα, κακόν / νεμόμενα, κάκιον) may have caused this mistake. I think that this simple example illustrates the influence of Galen’s lemmas on the source of the Hippocratic manuscripts.5 5 However, as we are missing any external witness, such examples do not constitute positive evidence of direct influence of Galen’s commentary on the Hippocratic text. For further discussion of the influence of Galen’s lemmas on the MV branch of Hippocratic manuscripts,

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The second example that illustrates the relationship between Epidemics, Book Two and Galen’s Commentary is drawn from both treatisesʼ division into ‘sections’.6 Roughly speaking, both are divided into six sections, but the section breaks in these respective treatises do not match. Furthermore, one finds in the Hippocratic text three ‘titles’ appended to the last three ‘sections’: ‘about veins (περὶ φλεβῶν)’ (section 4); ‘physiognomy (φυϲιογνωμονίη)’ (section 5); and ‘on physiognomy (φυϲιογνωμονικόϲ)’ (section 6). It is worth noting that Smith is the first modern editor who deleted all three ‘titles’ from his edition, although he kept the Greek numbering of the sections.7 Unfortunately, he does not give any justification for this deletion, although these two reasons may have induced him to remove them: 1. Sections four, five and six of Epidemics, Book Two are further divided respectively into five, twenty-four and thirty-two ‘subsections’ or ‘paragraphs’, although we barely find actual anatomical or physiognomonical statements in the first or first two paragraphs of each section. 2. We cannot find any trace of the words περὶ φλεβῶν, φυϲιογνωμονίη and φυϲιογνωμονικόϲ in Galen. So, it is worth discussing briefly how the placement of these words connects with the sectional division of the text of Epidemics, Books Two in not only the manuscripts of the upper part of the stemma, but also in Galen’s Commentary. At first sight, the six-section division of both texts shows that the section breaks which occur in the Hippocratic text and in Galen’s Commentary seem to be independent from each other. For example, the first section of Epidemics, Book Two presents various statements about the relationship between diseases and external conditions (e. g. weather), crisis, segregations etc. whereas the corresponding section in Galen presents the same content, with the further addition of the first nine clinical observations of Epidemics, Book Two, section two. Section two in Galen includes the beginning of the so-called katástasis of Perinthus, which belongs to Epidemics, Book Two, section three in the Hippocratic text. In the Hippocratic manuscripts, section breaks mostly appear in the form of a colon, followed by a hyphen and a thin blank space. In the first three sections, however, the manuscripts do not include any title or section numbering. Furthermore, while manuscripts RH agree with the section breaks that we find in Littré’s edition (which are found already in the 1525 Aldine edition), manuscript from which Book Two of the Epidemics derives, see Pfaff 1931, 558–81, and 1932, 67—82, Diller 1973, 154–63 and 223–33. 6 On the particular question of the division of Galen’s commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics 2 into six sections, see Pormann 2008a for his examination of the Arabic manuscripts; see also Garofalo (forthcoming, 2011). I am here focusing on the aforementioned Greek manuscripts of Hippocrates. 7 See Smith 1994, 66, 74, 80.

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V does not have any break mark until section 3.8 H has all the section breaks, except the one at the beginning of section three, although it is a rather important break, since it indicates the beginning of the so-called katástasis of Perinthus.9 So these differences are rather striking, since they pertain to manuscripts which belong to the same branch. They seem to indicate that the division of this treatise into sections was not standardised fully even at such a late stage of the tradition. Starting from section four, the situation appears to be different: all the manuscripts present firstly the same title—‘on veins (περὶ φλεβῶν)’— and then the same section number—‘section four (τμῆμα δ’)’. Moreover, section four of Galen’s commentary starts at the same place. This coincidence is significant. But much more interesting is the case of section five: all manuscripts present firstly ‘physiognomy (φυϲιογνωμονίη)’ (IRH: -ία V), but only manuscripts IRH subsequently have ‘section five (τμῆμα ε’)’, whilst manuscript V presents this section numbering five lines below in Littré’s edition10 after the words ‘it cannot be broken up (οὐκ οἷόν τε λύεϲθαι)’ (Smith), where one can also find a break mark. In other words, the section numbering appears exactly at the place where section five of Galen’s commentary starts.11 Of course, this arrangement cannot be due to chance: it clearly shows that the section numbering, which only occurs in the Hippocratic text at the beginning of sections four and five, is drawn from the division of Galen’s Commentary. In fact, in section five, manuscript Vʼs reading of the section numbering five lines below the word φυϲιογνωμονίη, which certainly would have been interpreted as a title, leads us to assume that the source of manuscripts IRH has moved mistakenly the numbering after the ‘title’ a few lines above. Thus, in my opinion, the reading of manuscript V already existed in the archetype. In section six, the manuscripts differ significantly from each other: none of them have any section numbering; all have the word φυϲιογνωμονικόϲ (codd.: -κόν Littré post φυϲιογν. add. δεύτεροϲ R); manuscripts V I do not present any section break, whilst manuscripts RH have one. In Galen’s Commentary, section six (ɼ̵ĔLJʶͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā) starts two lines below. Naturally, all the discrepancies in the placement of these various section breaks reinforce the conclusion that the section numbering does not belong to an early stage of the extant direct tradition; after all, this numbering only occurs twice in the whole treatise.

8 References follow Littré’s edition. 9 Except L. V, 90.6: post θέρεοϲ add. ∼ V IR: om. H. Anyway, IRH present in section 2 several additional break marks that might have been used to distinguish some of the clinical observations. For instance, in the passage quoted here, ms. R adds ἄρρωϲτοϲ δ’ after θέρεοϲ. 10 L. V, 128.7 = 74.7 Smith. 11 ɼʶͲLJʦͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā; this part of Galen’s commentary was already lost in Ḥunayn’s Greek manuscripts. See Pormann 2008a.

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It is also obvious that so-called ‘titles’ such as ‘on veins (περὶ φλεβῶν)’, ‘physiognomy (φυϲιογνωμονίη)’ or ‘on physiognomy (φυϲιογνωμονικόϲ)’ do not constitute titles of whole ‘sections’ in the treatise. Certainly, we must retain these titles in the modern editions, but we should keep in mind that they are titles of ‘paragraphs’ or, at the very most, titles of pieces of text, if not titles of selected extracts. Although one cannot make any conclusive arguments about this subject, such titles might have been introduced into the Hippocratic text at various stages of the tradition in order to identify more easily certain passages or pieces of text to which the commentators used to refer. These titles could have served as markers in this long and difficult treatise. In this sense, manuscript R, which is likely to have been more contaminated than the others, contains more such markers. Here is a brief account of the situation: − L. V, 84.2: ante γυγὴ ἐκαρδιάλγει add. ἄρρωϲτοϲ α’ (‘first patient’) R. – This is the actual beginning of ‘section 2’ (〈τμῆμα δεύτερον〉) in Littré’s edition, where clinical observations are found. Τhe words τμῆμα δεύτερον are not found in the manuscripts, but MS R adds the words ‘first patient (ἄρρωϲτοϲ α’)’, which help the reader to get his bearings in the text. − 90.7 ante τῇ τοῦ ϲκύτεωϲ add. ἄρρωϲτοϲ δ’ R – same situation with ‘fourth patient (ἄρρωϲτοϲ δ’)’. − 100.2 ante ἐϲ Πέρινθον add. καιροῦ κατάϲταϲιϲ R – This is where the ‘third section’ in Littré’s edition starts: καιροῦ κατάϲταϲιϲ means ‘constitution of the season’. Actually ‘section three’ starts with the katástasis of Perinthus. − 132.14 post φυϲιογνωμονικόϲ add. δεύτεροϲ R – in other words: ‘about physiognomony two’ where Littré’s ‘section six’ starts, after ‘physiognomony one’ of ‘section five’ as we have already seen above. In other words, one may assume that the first two ‘titles’ were used to distinguish certain clinical observations from others. Of particular importance is the second title, as it occurs at a place where all the other manuscripts have a break mark. Therefore, this addition, while obviously the result of contamination, probably corresponds to a break that could already be found at an earlier stage of the tradition in the archetype of the Hippocratic manuscripts. Finally, as one can see, two other markers of the same manuscript have been used without considering any kind of overall continuous section numbering of the treatise. For example, one finds καιροῦ κατάϲταϲιϲ at the beginning of ‘section three’ in Littré’s edition, and φυϲιογνωμωνικὸϲ δεύτεροϲ of section six, which is connected to remarks of physiognomonical interest, at the beginning of ‘section six’.

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Capito’s Edition As I said above, the extant direct tradition of Epidemics, Book Two is completely derived from Capito’s edition, which was produced in the first century AD. Galen’s commentary presents a highly accurate witness to this edition. It allows us to go beyond the vicissitudes of textual transmission and to follow closely the story of the Hippocratic text, because Galen faithfully reported the readings of the manuscripts.12 My first example comes form the very beginning of Epidemics, Book Two13:

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1.1 Ἄνθρακεϲ θερινοὶ ἐν Κραννῶνι· ὗεν ἐν καύμαϲιν ὕδατι λάβρῳ δι’ ὅλου καὶ ἐγίνετο μᾶλλον νότῳ· [καὶ] ὑπογίνονται μὲν ἐν τῷ δέρματι ἰχῶρεϲ· ἐγκαταλαμβανόμενοι δέ, θερμαίνονται, καὶ κνηϲμὸν ἐμποιέουϲιν· εἶτα φλυκταινίδεϲ ὥϲπερ πυρίκαυϲτοι ἐπανίϲταντο καὶ ὑπὸ τὸ δέρμα καίεϲθαι ἐδόκεον. Testimonia: 1–5 Ἄνθρακεϲ… ἐδόκεον] cf. Gal. De Temperamentis libri iii (ed. Helmreich 1 531 1) 1–2 Ἄνθρακεϲ… νότῳ] cf. Gal. In Hippocr. Epid. I comm. (ed. Wenkebach 17a 27 10); Gal. In Hippocr. Aphorismos comm. (ed. Kühn 17b 579 14); Gal. In Hippocr. Epid. III comm. (ed. Wenkebach 17a 649 9) 1 〈Ἄνθρακεϲ〉… ὅλου] cf. Gal. In Hippocratis Epid. I comm. (ed. Wenkebach 17a 36 7) 1 ὗεν… δι’ ὅλου] ibid. (17a 38 4) 2 ἐγίνετο… νότῳ] cf. Gal. In Hippocr. Epid III comm. (ed. Wenkebach 17a 650 1-2) 2–5 [καὶ] ὑπογίνονται… ἐδόκεον] cf. Gal. In Hippocr. Epid. VI comm. (ed. Wenkebach 17a 983 2) 2–3 [καὶ] ὑπογίνονται… θερμαίνονται] cf. Gal. In Hippocr. Prognosticum comm. (ed. Heeg 18b 205 2). Apparatus: 1 θερινοὶ ἐν Κραννῶνι scripsi ƦǍ͵āǨ˙̑ ƦLJ͛ ķǛͫā ǽˏʉˀͫā Ǩ˳ʤͫā (Κραννῶνι recte propos. Garofalo e ƦǍʉ͵āǨ͘ Gal.(E1), lege ƦǍ˶͵āǨ͘ uide ἐνκραννώνιοι V) Gal.] ἐν Κρανῶνι θ. R Littré Smith Gal.E1(17a 27 10) apud Wenkebach Gal.E3 apud Wenkebach Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.Aph. : ἐν Κρανῶνι οἱ θ. I2H : ἐνκρανώνιοι θ. I : ἐνκραννώνιοι θ. V : ἐν Κρανῶ οἱ θ. Gal.E3(L) 1 ὗεν Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.E1 apud Wenckebach Gal.Aph. ĢLJ˅ͲΑā łƹLJ̣ Gal. Littré] ὓεν I1RH : οἱ ἐν V om. Gal.E3(L) : post ὗεν add. καὶ τὰ ἑξῆϲ Gal. E1(17a 27 10)(Q) 1 ἐν I1slRH] om. V I 1 καύμαϲιν V IRH Gal.E1 omnibus in locis apud Wenkebach Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.Aph.] καύματι Gal.E1(17a 36 7)(MQ) 1 λάβρῳ RH Gal.E1 omnibus in locis apud Wenkebach Gal.E3 apud Wenkebach Gal.Aph.] λαύρῳ V I Gal.T(codd.) Gal.E3(L) 1 δἰ ὅλου codd. Gal.E3 apud Wenkebach Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.Aph.] διόλου Gal.E1 apud Helmreich omnibus in locis : post δι’ ὅλου add. und es war meiste davon bei Südwind Gal.E1(17a 36 7)(H: om. U) 2 καὶ hic scripsi ƦLJ͛ć Gal.] trsp. post ἐγίνετο codd. Smith Gal.E3(L) primo in loco : δὲ pro καὶ post ἐγίνετο Littré Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.Aph. : om. Gal.E1(17a 27 10) apud Wenkebach Gal.E3(O Wenkebach) utroque in loco 2 ἐγίνετο V I1slRHpc ƦLJ͛ć Gal.] ἐγίνοντο Vsl I2sl Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.E3(O) utroque in loco Gal.Aph. : ἐγένετο IHac Littré Smith : ἐγένοντο Gal. E1(17a 27 10) apud Wenkebach Gal.E3(17a 649 9)(L Wenkebach) Gal.E3(17a 650 1) apud

12 See also p. 72 above and footnote 41 below. 13 v. p. 72, lines 3–7 L; translation, with modifications by Smith 1994, 18, lines 3–8.

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Wenkebach 2 νότῳ V IpcRH ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ȽͲ Gal.] νότου Iac : 〈ἐγίνοντο δὲ μᾶλλον〉 ἐν νώτῳ falso coni. Ermerins sed in tergo magis fiebant olim Calvus 2 καὶ ante ὑπογίν. deleui e Gal.P(VRF P) 2 ὑπογίνονται Gal.T(MV) Gal.P(VP) Ǩʉˀ̈ Gal.] ὑπογίγνονται Gal.P(F) : ὑπεγίνοντο IRH Littré Smith Gal.T apud Helmreich : ὑπεγίνετο V : οἱ πόδεϲ γίνονται (sic) pro ὑπογίν. Gal.P(R) 2 ἐν (οὖν pro ἐν Gal.P(F) ἐν del. Ermerins) τῷ (Gal.P(PFVsl: om. R)) δέρματι codd. Gal.P(VRP)] ὑπὸ τὸ δέρμα Gal.T apud Helmreich ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ Gal. 3 ἐγκαταλαμβανόμενοι V IH] ἐγκατε- R -μεναι Gal.P(R) 3 θερμαίνονται Gal.P apud Heeg Gal.E6(H Wenkebach) ɬʦ̵ ɬ˙ʓ̤ā āĕΒLJ͎ Gal.] ἐθερμαίνοντο codd. Littré Smith Gal.P(R) Gal.T apud Helmreich Gal.E6(U) 3 κνηϲμὸν codd. Gal. (M(P)E12)] om. Gal.(E1) 3 ἐμποιέουϲιν scripsi] ἐμποιοῦϲιν Gal.E6(ex H reposuit Wenkebach) ǚΎͫć … ɬ˙ʓ̤ā āĕΒLJ͎ Gal.] ἐνεποίεον codd. Littré Smith ἐνεποίουν Gal.T(M) Gal.E6(U) 3 εἶτα codd. Gal.T Gal.E6] ɷʉ͎ Gal. i.e. dum ut uid. 4 φλυκταινίδεϲ V IR Gal.E6(U)] φλυκτε- H φλύκταιναι Gal.T apud Helmreich łLJ̥LJˏ͵ Gal. 4 πυρίκαυϲτοι codd.] πυρίκαϲτοι Gal.E6(U) 4 ἐπανίϲταντο Gal.T apud Helmreich Littré] διαν- codd. Smith ἐξαν- Gal.T(M (e ΕΠΑΝ-) œǨʦ̒ Ȉ͵LJ͛ Gal. ἀνίϲταντο Gal.E6(U).

1.1 The anthrax of summer in Crannon: during the hot weather, there were violent and continuous rains, and this occurred more with wind from the south — There are serous gatherings in the skin; when caught, they grow hot and cause itching. — Then small blisters as though from burns rose up, and seemed like burns under the skin. As one can see, the author distinguishes two kinds of causes in describing the anthrax of Crannon:14 1. The external causes that are reported in the past tense: weather constantly wet (ὗεν… ὕδατι λάβρῳ δι’ ὅλου, ‘violent and continuous rains’), hot (ἐν καύμαϲιν) and under the influence of wind from the south (καὶ μᾶλλον νότῳ). 2. The internal causes (ὑπογίνονται… ἐμποιέουϲιν, ‘there are… they cause’) that are reported in the present tense. We know positively from Galen’s commentary that all three verbs in the present tense, ‘there are 〈serous gatherings〉 (ὑπογίνονται)’, ‘they grow hot (θερμαίνονται)’, and ‘they cause (ἐμποιέουϲιν)’, constitute the original reading. The author, says Galen, chose to describe in the present tense signs which commonly accompany the appearance of anthrax: serous accumulations in the skin (ὑπογίνονται … ἰχῶρεϲ), catching of these humours in the skin (ἐγκαταλαμβανόμενοι δέ), inflammation and itching (κνηϲμὸν ἐμποιέουϲιν). What follows in the past tense pertains specifically to the anthrax that appear in Cranon. According to Galen, all of the ancient commentators knew this original reading and continued to comment on the reason why Hippocrates used different 14 For the Arabic text here and below, see ii.1.2 HV; for this passage, see also Pormann (2008, appendix 1) who provides a sample collation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, part one.

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tenses in this passage. But, Artemidorus Capito and his disciples simplified these different tenses and left the past tense only, which we find in all Hippocratic manuscripts as well as in all modern editions, including that of Smith:15

ķǛͫā ȇʒʶͫā ɬ͇ ȉʥʒ̈ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ Ǩʶ͎ ɬͲ ƛāǩ̈ ҙҏć ƹLJͲǚ˙ͫā Ƚʉ˳̣ LJ͎́Ǩˈ̈ ɼʦʶ˶ͫā ƱǛ΀ ƦΑā ȇʉʤˈͫāć āćǨʉ͈ ƦΑā ȅˬ͇ ɷ̑LJʥ̿Αāć 17ťĢćǚʉͲLJ̈́ĢΑā Ƣǚ˙̒ć ɼˏˬʓʦͲ ƦLJͲģΑā ȅˬ͇ ƛǚ̒ 16ŵLJˏͫΑā ƛLJ˳ˈʓ̵ā ȅͫΒā ŴāǨ˙̑Αā LJ͇Ĕ ǚ̈ǚ̿ ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ Ǩʉˀ̈ ƦLJ͛ć» :ƛLJʔ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ȅˬ͇ ṳ̈̌āć ƦLJͲģ ȅˬ͇ ƛǚ̒ LJ́ˬ͛ LJ΀Ǎˬˈʤ͎ ŵLJˏͫΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ .«ɼ˜̤ ǚͫćć ɬʦ̵ ɬ˙ʓ̤ā āĕΒā ƦLJ͛ć It is amazing that all ancient authors knew this reading, and that those explaining this book kept on looking for the reason which prompted Hippocrates to use forms indicating different times. Earlier, Artemidorus [Capito] and his colleagues were the first who altered these forms and made them all indicate one time like this: ‘There were serous gatherings under the skin’ and ‘when it was congested, they grew hot and generated itching’. This information, which is given by the ancient commentators, is of paramount importance for modern editors. It allows them to restore an ancient reading which Capito’s authority removed from the direct tradition in the first century AD.18 In fact, from the very first paragraph of Epidemics, Book Two, the author contemplates the role of external causality in the development of diseases, trying to distinguish between what should be attributed to the disease itself and what depends on the environment. This is why time indications are present in every passage at the beginning of each paragraph. Through word order, the author first lays stress on what pertains to the environment and subsequently examines its influence on the development of diseases. There is a constant tendency from the beginning of Epidemics, Book Two to mention first the elements which refer to the environment. He does so in paragraph one: ‘during the hot weather there was continuous rain (ὗεν ἐκ καύμαϲιν ὕδατι λάβρῳ δι’ ὅλου)’ (hot and thoroughly wet conditions); and in paragraph two (my following example): ‘in hot weather when it is dry (ἐν καύμαϲιν ἀνυδρίηϲ)’ (hot and dry weather), then ‘under the same conditions (ἐν τούτοιϲι δέ)’, which refers to ‘in hot weather when it is dry’:

15 See ii.1.13 HV. 16 ŵLJˏͫΑā ƛLJ˳ˈʓ̵ā] M: ΈLJͅLJˏͫΑā ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā E1. 17 ťĢćǚʉͲLJ̈́ĢΑā] scripsi: ťćǚʉͲLJ̈́ĢΑā E1: ťćǚ˶ͲLJ̈́ĢΑā M. 18 I will discuss in my forthcoming edition the complex situation presented by the variants of the Greek manuscripts of Galen in the other treatises: Mixtures, and the commentaries on Hippocratesʼ ‘Prognosticʼ and Epidemics, Book Six.

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1.2 Ἐν καύμαϲιν ἀνυδρίηϲ οἱ πυρετοὶ ἀνίδρωτεϲ τὰ πλεῖϲτα· ἐν τούτοιϲι δέ, ἢν ἐπιψεκάϲῃ, ἱδρωτικώτεροι γίνονται· κατ’ ἀρχάϲ, ταῦτα δυϲκριτώτερα μέν 〈εἰϲιν〉 ἢ ἄλλωϲ· ἀτὰρ ἧϲϲον, εἰ μὲν εἴη διὰ ταῦτα, μὴ διὰ τῆϲ νούϲου τὸν τρόπον. Οἱ καῦϲοι ἐν τῇϲι θερινῇϲι καὶ ἐν τῇϲιν ἄλλῃϲιν ὥρῃϲιν, ἐπιξηραίνονται δὲ μᾶλλον θέρεοϲ. Apparatus: 1 καύμαϲιν V I2 ut uid. H] καύμαϲι R 1 ἀνυδρίηϲ IRH] ἀνυδρίη V 1 ἀνίδρωτεϲ V] ἀνιδρῶτεϲ IRH 1 τούτοιϲι δέ del. Ermerins et trsp. δέ pro ἐν : Ǩʥͫā ǽ͎ interpr. Gal. 1 δέ IRH] δ’ V 2 κατ’ ἀρχάϲ V I (καταρχάϲ RH) hic scripsi sicut Gal. et aliqui interpretes olim fecerunt] cum superioribus uerbis coniunxit Littré Smith 3 δυϲκριτώτερα V] δυϲκριτόIRH 3 μέν εἰϲιν scripsi ƦǍ˜̈ Gal.] μένει V IacR Smith : μένη IacH : μέν Littré Ermerins 3 ἢ IRH LJ˳Ͳ Gal. Littré Smith] εἰ V 3 ἢ ἄλλωϲ· ἁτὰρ ἧϲϲον] del. Ermerins 3 μὲν scripsi ƦLJ͛ ȅʓͲ āǛ΀ ȇʒʶ̑ Gal.] μὴ codd. edd. 3 μὴ scripsi ŰǨ˳ͫā ƛLJ̤ ȇʒʶ̑ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫć Gal.] ἀλλὰ codd. edd. (e 〈ΤΑΥΤ〉ΑΜ〈Η〉) 4 θερινῇϲι codd. ɼʉˏʉˀͫā łLJ͘ćΑҙҏā ǽ͎ Gal. in comm. ut u. l.] ƴĢLJʥͫā łLJ͘ćΑҙҏā ǽ͎ Gal. (i.e. θερμῇϲι e ΘΕΡΙΝΗΙΣΙ).

1.2 In hot weather when it is dry, fevers are mostly devoid of sweat. But under the same conditions, if there is little rain, there is more sweat. When 〈this happens〉 at the outset, the cases present some more difficult crises than otherwise, but they were of less difficult 〈crises〉 if they came under these conditions and not from the nature of the disease. Causus occur more in summer; they also occur in other seasons, but are drier in summer. To sum up, as one can see from the apparatus, Ermerins (1859–67) is the first modern editor who pointed out that the text of the manuscripts means the opposite of what the author is trying to establish. For example, the author writes a few lines below that cardialgia, which is caused by the autumnal season, is less harmful than when the disease itself is of cardialgic nature.19 To remove the contradiction, Ermerins makes a strong emendation and deletes the words ἢ ἄλλωϲ, ἀτὰρ ἧϲϲον, whereas there is no contradiction in Galen’s lemma, about which, of course, Ermerins knew nothing. As one can see in the apparatus presented here, the Arabic allows one to restore the original reading in a very conservative way. In the first clause of line 3, one finds no negation in the Arabic text; thus, one must read μέν instead of the μή of the Hippocratic manuscripts from the Arabic ‘when it is due to this cause (āǛ΀ ȇʒʶ̑ ƦLJ͛ ȅʓͲ)’. But the second clause is negative, as one can see from the Arabic: ‘and not 〈due〉 to the state of the disease (ŰǨ˳ͫā ƛLJ̤ ȇʒʶ̑ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫć)’. The corresponding affirmative Greek clause can explain easily a misreading of uncial characters: ‘μή (not)’ is confused with ‘ἀλλά (but)’.

19 Epidemics ii.1.3 HV (v. p. 72, lines 14–16 L; ed. Smith 1994, 18, lines 16–18).

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Improving the Hippocratic Text I would now like to comment on several examples to show how one may either improve the Hippocratic text or our understanding of difficult passages by using Ḥunayn’s Arabic text. My first example is related to the usefulness of Galen’s commentary itself. It comes from a very difficult passage (Epidemics ii.1.7) about segregations (apostásies) of humours, which reads as follows:

2 4 6 8 10 12

1.7 Ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ ἢ διὰ φλεβῶν, ἢ τόνων, ἢ δι’ ὀϲτέων, ἢ νεύρων, ἢ δέρματοϲ, ἢ ἐκτροπέων ἑτέρων· χρηϲταὶ δέ, αἱ κάτω τῆϲ νούϲου, οἷον κιρϲοί, ὀϲφύοϲ βάρεα· ἐκ τῶν ἄνω, ἄριϲται δὲ αἱ μάλιϲτα κάτω καὶ αἱ κατωτέρω κοιλίηϲ, καὶ προϲωτάτω ἀπὸ τῆϲ νούϲου, καὶ αἱ κατ’ ἔκρουν, οἷον αἷμα ἐκ ῥινῶν, πύον ἐξ ὠτόϲ, 〈ἱδρώϲ,〉 πτύαλον, οὖρον, κατ’ ἔκρουν. Οἷϲι μὴ ταῦτα, ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ, οἷον ὀδόντεϲ, ὀφθαλμοί, ῥίϲ[, ἱδρώϲ]. Ἀτὰρ καὶ τὰ ὑπὸ δέρμα ἐϲ τὸ ἔξω ἀφιϲτάμενα φύματα, οἷον ταγγαὶ καὶ τὰ ἐκπυοῦντα, ἢ ἕλκοϲ, καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐξανθήματα, ἢ λοποί, ἢ μάδηϲιϲ τριχῶν, ἀλφοί, λέπραι, ἢ τὰ τοιαῦτα· ὅϲα ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ μέν εἰϲιν ἀθρόωϲ ῥέψαϲαι καὶ μὴ ἡμιρρόπωϲ, καὶ ὅϲα ἄλλα εἴρηται, 〈κακόν,〉 ἢν [μὴ] ἀναξίωϲ τῆϲ περιβολῆϲ τῆϲ νούϲου, οἷον τῇ Τημενέω ἀδελφιδῇ ἐκ νούϲου ἰϲχυρῆϲ, ἐϲ δάκτυλον ἀπεϲτήριξεν, οὐχ ἱκανὸν δέξαϲθαι τὴν νοῦϲον, ἐπαλινδρόμηϲεν, ἀπέθανεν. Testimonia: 3–4 ἄριϲται δέ-νούϲου] Cf. Gal. In Hippocratis Prognosticum comm. (ed. Heeg 18b 216 4). Apparatus: 1 Ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ IRH] -ϲηεϲ V 1 τόνων V I2rasRH] ȇˀˈͫLJ̑ i. e. νεύρων Gal. 1 νεύρων codd.] ĢLJ̒ćΑҙҏLJ̑ i. e. τόνων Gal. 1–2 δέρματοϲ V I2RH Gal.] δόγματοϲ I 2 ἐκτροπέων codd. ɡʉ˳ͫā ɬͲ Gal.] om. Gal. in comm. ut u. l. 2 κιρϲοί] κριϲοί falso Artemidorus; uide Gal. comm. 3 ὀϲφύοϲ V RH] ὀϲφῦοϲ Iras 3 ἐκ τῶν ἄνω codd.] trsp. post κάτω Langholf e Gal. uide Medical Theories, p. 81 n. 7 3 ἄριϲται V RH] ἄριϲτα I: ἄριϲτοι Gal.P(P) 3 αἱ (pr.) Gal.P apud Heeg ƦǍ˜̈ LJͲ ȅˀ͘Αā ɡˏ̵Αā ȅͫΒā Gal.] trsp. ante κάτω IRH Littré : om. V Smith. 3–4 καὶ αἱ–κοιλίηϲ] om. Gal.P apud Heeg 3 κατωτέρω scripsi ƦćĔ Gal.] κατωτάτω codd. edd. 4 καὶ ante προϲωτάτω Iras 4 προϲωτάτω codd.] πορρωτάτω Gal.P(P) αἱ πορρωτάτω Gal.P(VRF) Ƚ̀ǍͲ ǚˈ̑Αā ǽ͎ ƦLJ͛ LJͲć Gal. 4 ἀπὸ] om. Gal.P apud Heeg 4 νούϲου V I2RH Gal.P(F)] νόϲ. I ut uid. 4 αἱ κατ᾽ ἔκρουν codd.] ǚ˳̤Αā Ǎ͎́ … ķǨʤ̈ LJͲć i. e. ἄριϲται iter. Gal. ut uid. 4 κατ’ ἔκρουν, οἷον IRH] κατέκκρουνοι οἷον (sic) V 4 αἷμα V IpcRH] αἵμα Iac 5 ῥινῶν scripsi] ῥινέων codd. 5 πύον V Ipc?RH] πῦον Littré : πύου Iac ut uid. 5 ἱδρώϲ hic legit Gal. uide adn. 5 πτύαλον V IrasRH 6 ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ IRH] -ϲηεϲ V 6 ἱδρώϲ codd. edd.] inclusi et supra reposui (uide supra l. 5) e Gal. 6 τὰ V H2] τὸ IRH 6 δέρμα V IrasRH 7 ἀφιϲτάμενα V Smith] trsp. ante ἐϲ τὸ IRH Littré 7 ταγγαί IRH] γαγγαί V ȇˀˈͫā ǚ˙ˈ̒ Gal. 7 ἐκπυοῦντα V IrasRH 7 ἢ codd. ć Gal. ut semper in hac sent.] οἷον Littré e cod. Par. Gr. 2144 (= F) Smith 8 ἐξανθήματα I2ras 8 λοποί IRH] λόποι V Littré 8 μάδηϲιϲ V] μάδιϲιϲ IRH 8 λέπραι Iras 9 ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ IRH] -ϲηεϲ V 9 μέν εἰϲιν V R] μὲν εἰϲὶν IH : ras. ante εἰϲιν praebet I 9 ῥέψαϲαι V] ῥεύϲαϲαι IRH 9 ἡμιρρόπωϲ I] ἡμίρροποϲ V RH 10 εἴρηται V IRH] εἰρέαται H2 in marg. 10 κακόν scripsi ƹǽ̶ ҨҞ͎ Gal.(M)] ȅ̵ ҨҞ͎ Gal.(E1) : ƹķĔǨͫLJʒ͎ Hallum, Vagelpohl so ist sie doch Schädlich Pfaff : κακὰ Smith : καὶ codd. Littré 10 μὴ inclusi Gal.

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secutus sicut Smith ŰǨ˳ͫā Ģāǚ˙Ͳ ȇʶʥ̑ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫ ƦΒā uidelicet ἀναξίωϲ sine μή 11 Τημενέω IH ťǍʉ͵LJͲLJ̒ Gal. Littré] Τημενίω R : Τιμενέω V Smith 11 ἀδελφιδῇ V R ut uid.] -ίδῃ I : ἀδελφίδι Hras 11 νούϲου V] νόϲ. IRH 11 δάκτυλον V IH] δάκτολον R sed pr. -ο- puncto notatum 12 οὐχ V IH] οὐχ’ R 12 τὴν V IRpcH] τῆν Rac.

1.7 Segregations occur either through the vessels, or the sinews, or the bones or the tendons or the skin, or other outlets. Those beneath the disease are good, such as varicose veins, heaviness in the loins. Coming from above, the best are those that go furthest downwards, and those that go beneath the belly and are most distant from the disease, and those that come through outflow, as blood from the nose, pus from ear, urine, sweat, through outflow. Those 〈patients〉 to whom this does not occur, have segregations, for example in teeth, eyes, nose. There are also 〈swellings〉 under the skin that turn outward, like scrofulas and suppurations, or ulcer and similar eruptions, or peeling, loss of hair, white scaliness, leprosy, or the like. Those segregations which occur massively and are not half-complete, and all the others that have been discussed, are bad if they are inadequate for the size of the disease, as with Temenes’ niece: from a strong disease, 〈segregation〉 settled in one toe, which was unable to receive the disease: it ran back up and she died. I would like to make just two remarks in this paper on this very difficult text. The first remark is about the word ἱδρώϲ, ‘sweat’, which is given after ῥίϲ, ‘nose’, by the manuscripts but is found nowhere in Galen’s lemmas. Langholf, who edited this passage in his book on Medical Theories in Hippocrates (1990, 81, n. 7), rightly points out: ‘ἱδρώϲ VIHR: om. Arabs’, whereas Smith says nothing about this variant. But, no editor has noticed that Galen could read this word in his own manuscripts. We know from his commentary that he did not read ἱδρώϲ after ῥίϲ but rather one line above in the list which is given from καὶ αἱ κατ’ ἔκρουν to οὖρον, κατ’ ἔκρουν, ‘and those that come through outflow, as blood from the nose, pus from ear, urine, sweat, through outflow’ (lines 4–5 above). So, the question is not whether we have to retain ἱδρώϲ or not, but where we have to read it. Galen gives us two important bits of information in his commentary. Firstly, commenting on oἷϲι μὴ ταῦτα, ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ, οἷον ὀδόντεϲ, ὀφθαλμοί, ῥίϲ (line 6), Galen says we should read ‘ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ ἄλλαι’ instead of ‘ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ’20 and understand that those patients to whom the first kind of segregation does not occur have other kinds of segregations. Then, Galen adds21:

20 In English: ‘we should read “other segregations” instead of “segregations”’. 21 See ii.1.88 HV.

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Ǩ̇LJ̵ć ƈǨˈͫāć ƛǍʒͫā ɡʔͲ ŸǨˏʓʶʉ͎ Έ ҨҞʉ̵ ķǨʤ̈ LJ˳̑ ƦǍ˜̈ œćǨʦͫā ȶˈ̑ ƦΒā ƛLJ͘ ɷ͵ΑLJ͛ 22Ǩ͛ĕ LJͲ Ńǚʥ͎ LJ˳́ˈͲ ƱǨ͛ĕ LJͲ What he mentioned happens as if he had said that some discharges occur by means of something that flows and is excreted like urine, sweat and others he mentioned along with them both … So, Galen explicitly states that he could read ‘sweat’ in the first list of segregations. Nevertheless, it is rather striking that he says nothing about sweat while commenting on this first list a few lines above23:

œćǨʦͫā žLJ˶̿Αā ɬͲ Ʉ˶̿ žLJ͇Ǩͫā ƦΒā ƛLJ͘ ɷ͵ΑLJ͛ ɬ̈Ǩʦ˶˳ͫā ɬͲ ķǨʤ̈ ķǛͫā Ƣǚͫā ɬͲ Έ ҨҞʔͲ ɑͫǛͫ ŁǨ̀ć Ǩ̥ΐā Ʉ˶̿ ƛǍʒͫāć Ǩ̥ΐā Ʉ˶̿ ƈāǩʒͫāć 24Ǩ̥ΐā Ʉ˶̿ ɬʉ͵ĕΑҙҏā ɬͲ ķǨʤ̒ ǽʓͫā ƴǚ˳ͫāć Έ ҨҞʉ̵ ķǨʤ̈ ķǛͫā 25.ƦLJʉˈʉʒ̈́ ƦāǨͲΑā ɬ̈Ǜ΀ ƦΑā ȅˬ͇ He gave as an example for this blood that flows from the nostrils, as if he had said that nosebleeds are one kind of discharge that flows. Pus that runs from the ears is another kind, saliva is another kind, and urine is yet another kind, these [last] two are natural. It is very hard to be conclusive in such a delicate matter. I would note, however, that Galen, when writing in both of these passages ƛLJ͘ ɷ͵ΑLJ͛, ‘as if he had said’, did not intend to give us the full list of the segregations on which he was commenting. This is obvious in the first passage quoted here. The second passage lets us understand that saliva and urine are the last two elements of the list. Assuming from the first passage, which I have quoted above, that ‘sweat’ is to be found in the first list of segregations, I would thus move ἱδρώϲ of the Hippocratic manuscripts back to between πύον ἐξ ὠτόϲ and πτύαλον. This move is much easier if we retain minhu of MS E1, which introduces a small break in Galenʼs list. On the other hand, one may assume that because Galen only mentioned ἱδρώϲ when commenting on the second list of segregations, this word was moved there in the Hippocratic manuscripts. But the first list is about fluids: blood, pus, saliva, urine, whereas we only find body parts in the second one: teeth, eyes, nose. As in this latter case, segregations occur because humours settle in parts of the body and not because they flow out. It would have been nonsense 22 Ǩ͛ĕ] E1: Ʉ̿ć M. 23 See ii.1.86 HV. 24 Post Ǩ̥ΐā add. ɷ˶Ͳ E1. 25 ƦLJʉˈʉʒ̈́ ƦāǨͲΑā] M: ɬʉˈʉʒ̈́

ɬ̈ǨͲΑā E1.

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to mention the fluid instead of the affected body part. Thus, as one can see from Galen’s Commentary, ἱδρώϲ must be read in the first list. My second remark concerns the reading κατωτέρω on the basis of Ḥunayn’s dūna (see my apparatus ad loc.), instead of κατωτάτω given by the Hippocratic manuscripts. The text reads as follows: ‘the best [sc. segregations] are those that go furthest downwards, and those that go beneath the belly and are most distant from the disease, and those that come through outflow (ἄριϲται δὲ [sc. ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ] αἱ μάλιϲτα κάτω, καὶ αἱ κατωτέρω κοιλίηϲ, καὶ προϲωτάτω ἀπὸ τῆϲ νούϲου, καὶ αἱ κατ’ ἔκρουν)’; see above, p. 82, line 3–4. Pfaff’s translation of the Arabic as ‘unter dem Bauche (under the belly)’,26 which may induce us to read κατωτέρω, does not help, since we know that the Arabic translators are not always consistent in rendering the Greek comparatives and superlatives. However, the end of this passage (ii. 1.7) provides further evidence of this; it reads as follows in the Hippocratic manuscripts: ‘Βηχώδειϲ ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ αἱ μὲν ἀνωτέρω τῆϲ κοιλίηϲ, οὐχ ὁμοίωϲ τελέωϲ ῥύονται (as for segregations 〈that come〉 from coughing conditions, the ones, above the belly, do not cure completely the same way…)’. This is the text which one reads in all of the editions, including Smith’s. But Ḥunayn includes more words which are obviously missing from the Hippocratic tradition27:

ƈǍ͎ ɬͲ 29ɷ˶Ͳ ƦLJ͛ LJͲć ɨˬ̵Αā 28Ǎ͎́ ɬ˅ʒͫā ƦćĔ ɬͲ ƛLJˈʶͫā ɡˬ͇ ȽͲ ƦǍ˜̒ ǽʓͫā łLJ̣āǨʦͫā ɬͲ ƦLJ͛ LJͲ 30ɑͫĕ ɡʔͲ ȅˬ͇ ɷʉ͎ ɼͲҨҞʶͫā ƛLJ˳͛ ȫʉˬ͎ ɬ˅ʒͫā discharges that occur alongside coughing illnesses from below the belly are more benign, and in those from above the belly, the recovery does not occur so fully completely. These additional words allow the modern editor to restore from the Arabic the Hippocratic text as follows: Βηχώδειϲ ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ αἱ μὲν 〈κατωτέρω τῆϲ κοιλίηϲ, ɨˬ̵Αā Ǎ͎́· αἱ δὲ〉 ἀνωτέρω τῆϲ κοιλίηϲ, οὐχ ὁμοίωϲ τελέωϲ ῥύονται. ‘As for segregations that come from coughs, the ones, 〈below the belly, are good, whereas the others,〉 above the belly, do not cure completely the same way’. In this particular case, I think that we may very well understand ƦćĔ ɬͲ as parallel to ƈǍ͎ ɬͲ, for which we have the Greek ἀνωτέρω, as κατωτέρω. If this is the case, one would for the same reason have to read the same κατωτέρω from the Arabic ƦćĔ instead of κατωτάτω in the first passage quoted. 26 Ed. Wenkebach/Pfaff 1934, 175, lines 31–2. 27 Book ii.1.100 HV. 28 Ǎ͎́] scripsi: ǽ͎́ E1, M, A2. 29 ɷ˶Ͳ] scripsi: LJ́˶Ͳ E1, M, A2. 30 ɑͫĕ ɡʔͲ] E1, M: ƛLJʔ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ A2.

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I would like to express my gratitude to Oliver Overwien with whom I had the opportunity to discuss this passage. According to him, we may also have here a case of ‘contextual translation’.31 In other words, unable to understand the meaning of κατωτάτω κοιλίηϲ in this passage, Ḥunayn may have interpreted it as ‘from below the belly’ by transferring the easily understandable κατωτέρω τῆϲ κοιλίηϲ, which he found in the Hippocratic text a few lines below. If so, one would not change the text above. Admittedly, there is no final conclusion on such a difficult matter, for one may also argue that κατωτάτω of the Hippocratic manuscripts may have been ‘attracted’ from the comparative to the superlative in a sentence where superlative forms are so abundant. Since the two branches of the Hippocratic manuscripts derive from one common source and we know that this tradition has in toto been influenced by Artemidorus Capito’s edition and conjectures, Galen’s lemmas represent the only external witness which may allow us to assess normalisations such as those provided by this example.

Interpretation of the Hippocratic text Before concluding, I would like to point out other examples which illustrate the usefulness of Ḥunayn’s Arabic text for understanding difficult passages in the Epidemics. The Arabic version sometimes prevents us from proposing unnecessary and misleading conjectures. One of the passages for which scholars have tried to suggest many conjectures is the following one:32

2

2.9 Ἀπήμαντοϲ καὶ ὁ τοῦ τέκτονοϲ πατὴρ τοῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν κατεαγέντοϲ, καὶ Νικόϲτρατοϲ οὐκ ἐξέβηϲϲον· ἦν δὲ ἑτέρωθι κατὰ νεφροὺϲ ἀλγήματα· 2.9 Apemantus, the father of the carpenter and Nicostratus did not cough; but they had pain elsewhere, in the kidney region. Apparatus: 1 Ἀπήμαντοϲ H V ťǍ˅˶ͲLJ͎Αā Gal.(M)] Ἀποίμ. IR : ȫ˅ʑ˳͗ (sic) Gal.(E1) 1 κατεαγέντοϲ V] καταγ. IRH 2 ἐξέβηϲϲον] āǍˬˈʶ̈ Gal. ut uerbum simplex ut uid. 2 δὲ IRH] δ’ V 2 ἑτέρωθι codd. Ǩ̥ΐā Ƚ̀ǍͲ Gal.(M) … ǽ˶͇ā Ǩ̥ā Ƚ̀āǍͲ Gal.(E1)] alii alia.

31 About Ḥunayn and ‘contextual translations’, see Overwien, below, pp. 156–69; see also Overwien 2010, 61–2. 32 Epidemics ii.2.9. The story of these three patients has been abundantly discussed by Nikitas 1968, 161–8; see also Langholf 1990, 182, 184.

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One must also read this story in connection with Epidemics iv. 29 (v. p. 172, line 9 L; ed. Langholf 1977b, Per. 203–6) which is much more elaborate.33 I would only point out here that all three patients of Epidemics iv.29 share common symptoms: Apemantus has ‘pains in the right flank (ἀλγήματα ἐν τῷ δεξιῷ κενεῶνι)’, the carpenter34 is likely to have pain ‘in the same region (ἐκ τῆϲ αὐτῆϲ ἴξιοϲ)’; as for Nicostratus, he too has something ‘on the right side (ἐκ δεξιῶν)’. In other words, the physician is extremely specific in localising the part of the body where pains — or segregations, which is roughly the same in his mind — occur.35 I would finally point out that all these patients feel pain in the same region of their bodies, but either on the left or on the right side. Given such precision, looking back at the text of Epidemics ii.2.9, ‘elsewhere (ἑτέρωθι)’ in the phrase ‘they had pain elsewhere, in the kidney region (ἦν δ’ ἑτέρωθι κατὰ νεφροὺϲ ἀλγήματα)’ seems like a ‘riddle with no clue’, as Langholf 1977b, 117 described it: ‘hetérōthi is perhaps not corrupt, but in any case obscure; for solutions, see Nikitas 1968, 161-3. (ἑτέρωθι ist vielleicht nicht korrupt, jedenfalls aber rätselhaft; Lösungsvorschläge bei Nikitas ...)’. Indeed, how can one understand ἑτέρωθι, ‘on another side’, whereas the pain is κατὰ νεφρούϲ, ‘in the region of the kidneys’ with the plural νεφρούϲ? Among the numerous conjectures scholars have made, one may quote ἑκατέρῳ (Ermerins 1859-67),

33 This passage reads as follows (translation by Smith 1994, 125, modified according to the Greek text edited by Langholf 1977b, 154–5 quoted here): Ἀπημάντῳ, ᾧ τὰ ἐν ἕδρῃ, ἀλγήματα ἐν τῷ δεξιῷ κενεῶνι, καὶ παρὰ τὸν ὀμφαλὸν (κάτωθεν ὀλίγον, καὶ ἐκ δεξιοῦ). πρὸ τοῦ ἀλγήματοϲ προούρει αἱματῶδεϲ. ἔληξε τρίτῃ. καὶ ὁ τέκτων ἐπὶ τὰ ἕτερα ἐκ τῆϲ αὐτῆϲ ἴξιοϲ. καὶ οὗτοϲ προούρει αἱματῶδεϲ. λήγοντοϲ δὲ ἀμφότεροι ὑποϲτάϲειϲ εἶχον, καὶ τοῦτο τρίτῃ. ἐπεχλιαίνετο δὲ πλεῖϲτα Ἀπήμαντοϲ· ὁ ἕτεροϲ οὐκ ἐνόει εἰ μὴ ἐπὶ τὰ ἀριϲτερά. καὶ Νικοϲτράτῳ προϲεγένετό τι τὰ ὕϲτατα ἐκ τῶν δεξιῶν (κατώτερον ἢ οἷϲιν ἐν τοῖϲ ἀριϲτεροῖϲι). πρόμακρα δὲ πρὸ τοῦ κενεῶνοϲ μέχρι πρὸϲ ὀμφαλὸν ἀμφοτέροιϲιν. Apemantus, who had problems in his seat: pains in the right flank and beside the navel (slightly below and from the right). Before the pain began, he made bloody urine. That stopped on the third day. The carpenter had 〈pains〉 on the other side, from the corresponding direction. He too made bloody urine. When it stopped, both had segregations, and that on the third day. Apemantos was very hot; the other did not feel 〈hot〉, except on the left. Nicostratus too ended up having something in the right (lower down than those who had it in the left); both 〈groups〉 had protrusions in front of the flank up to the navel. 34 In my opinion, one may not distinguish the carpenter of Epidemics, Book Four from the carpenter’s father of Epidemics, Book Two; on this point see the commentary of my forthcoming edition; see also Nikitas 1968, 240–1. 35 The details given by the physician are numerous. See for instance, ‘beside the navel (παρὰ τὸν ὀμφαλὸν)’; ‘slightly below (κάτωθεν ὀλίγον)’; ‘and from the right (καὶ ἐκ δεξιοῦ)’, with additional effort in localising, as ‘slightly (ὀλίγον)’, shows; ‘the same place (ἐκ τῆϲ αὐτῆϲ ἴξιοϲ)’ for the carpenter, but ‘towards the left (ἐπὶ τὰ ἕτερα)’; ‘on the right side’ for Nicostratus, but ‘a little lower than the others’, etc.

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ἑκατέρωθι (Nikitas 1968, 162), ‘on both sidesʼ.36 As for Smith, in his edition of Epidemics, Book Two (1994, 34-5), while retaining ἑτέρωθι of the manuscripts, he interprets the passage as follows: ‘but they had pains around the kidneys on both sides’. In this latter case, the Greek text is not conjectural but the translation is. Pfaff’s translation of this passage does not help modern editors improve their understanding of the passage: ‘…but instead they had pains in their kidneys (… sondern sie hatten dafür Schmerzen in den Nieren)’ (Pfaff in Wenkebach / Pfaff 1934, 204, lines 39–40). Langholf identified ‘dafür (instead)’ as a possible variant, and interpreted it as pro eo, eius uicem. But, fortunately, Hallum’s and Vagelpohl’s edition of the Arabic text puts an end to any further discussion. There is no variant in Galen’s lemma, and ἑτέρωθι must be read in the Greek text and interpreted as ‘but they had pain elsewhere, I mean in the kidneys (ɨ́̑ ƦLJ͛ ɬ˜ͫć ȅˬ˜ͫā ǽ͎ ǽ˶͇Αā Ǩ̥ΐā Ƚ̀ǍͲ ǽ͎ Ƚ̣ć)’ (ii.1.191 HV). In 1999, I myself proposed to translate this passage as follows: ‘they experienced pain elsewhere, in the kidneys (ils éprouvaient des douleurs ailleurs, aux reins)’, and stated in my commentary:37 pourquoi ne pas établir un lien entre cette section et la précédente, où il est question de paralysie au bras droit et à la jambe gauche, et constater que pour ces trois patients les douleurs, nous dit l’auteur, étaient situées «à un autre endroit» (ἑτέρωθι), c’est-à-dire dans la région des reins? why should one not establish a link between this section and the previous one, where paralysis in the right arm and left leg is discussed; the author states that in the case of these three patients, the pain is located ‘at a different place (hetérōthi)’, that is to say in the kidneys? Today, if I may add, this interpretation almost matches the Arabic text of the MS E1, which is ‘pains elsewhere, that is to say [ʾaʿnī] in the kidneys (ǽ͎ Ƚ̣ć ȅˬ˜ͫā ǽ͎ ǽ˶͇Αā Ǩ̥Αā Ƚ̀āǍͲ)’. Must we retain the reading of the MS E1 as Ḥunayn’s attempt at explaining ἑτέρωθι in this particulary difficult passage? Does the text of the Ambrosianus come from an emendation which Colville made about words that he did not find in the Hippocratic text? I would incline to retain ʾaʿnī of MS E1, even if one cannot be positive about this. As a matter of fact, scholars have connected sections eight and nine of Epidemics ii.2,38 but no one has suspected that one may read them as one and the 36 Nikitas 1968, 162, n. 2 points out the difficulties which editors have had in translating this passage: Foes: ‘alioqui in renes’; V. D. Linden: ‘alibi circa renes’; Littré: ‘ailleurs’; Kapferer: ‘auf der einen oder der anderen Seite’. See the references in Nikitas 1968, 161–2. 37 Alessi 1999, 238. 38 See for example, Deichgräber 1933, 69 and Nikitas 1968, 63–4. Epid. ii.2.8 must be read in turn in connection with Epid. vi.7.1, in which one finds an overall sketch of coughing conditions accompanied by descriptions of possible outcomes. See in particular Manetti/

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same section. By adding ‘that is to say (ʾaʿnī)’, if we posit that he did so, Ḥunayn may have been aware that he gave us both his translation and his interpretation of this difficult passage. Unfortunately, the Arabic ‘they did not cough (lam yasʿalū)’ does not allow us to distinguish between mere coughing conditions (Gr. βήϲϲειν, cough) and coughing conditions with expectoration (Gr. ἐκβήϲϲειν, ‘cough out’), see my apparatus above. In this context, one should note that Galen’s commentary on this section is poor and does not make any explicit distinction. Nevertheless, we must admit that Apemantus, the father of the carpenter, and Nicostratus did cough, but without expectoration. Hence, according to the sketch of Epidemics vi.7.1, they did not suffer from quinsy or paralysis. The female patient of ii.2.8 (the preceding section), also did have a coughing condition (ἐκ τῶν βηχωδέων), but her cough was brief (βραχὺ βηξάϲῃ): hence she had paralysis, but her paralysis was insignificant.39 Since the three patients of Epidemics ii.2.9 do not expectorate, paralysis does not occur, but instead they have segregation of humours towards another part of the body, ἑτέρωθι.40 Whether we follow the text of MS E1 or not, Ḥunayn’s interpretation shows that he perfectly understood the connection between the two sections, but was unable to distinguish between the various forms of coughing, for Galen’s commentary did not help him in this regard.

Roselli 1982, 142: ‘The normal criterion for the explanation of individual phenomena is an increase from diseases caused by lighter coughing to more virulent and more serious forms (Il criterio ordinatore dell’esposizione dei singoli fenomeni è un crescendo dalle malatie generate da tosse più lievi alle forme più violente e più gravi)’. 39 I will not discuss how I established the text of ii. 2.8 for my forthcoming edition; it runs as follows: ‘case of someone who had a brief cough: the right arm and the left leg were affected after some coughing by a paralysis that is not worth mentioning (ᾗ ἡ χεὶρ ἡ δεξιή, ϲκέλοϲ δὲ ἀριϲτερὸν ἐκ τῶν βηχωδέων, βραχὺ βηξάϲῃ· οὐκ ἄξιον λόγου παρελύθη παραπληγικῶϲ; cas de celle qui eut une toux brève: le bras droit et la jambe gauche connurent, à la suite des toux, une paralysie de peu d’importance)’. I based my interpretation on the Arabic: ‘she coughed little which did not afflict her with as difficult a paralysis as that through hemiplegia (Έ ҙҏLJˈ̵ Ȉˬˈ̵ć șͫLJˏͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ ȅˬ͇ ƹLJ̥Ǩʓ̵ā LJ́ʉˬ͇ ĢǛˈʓ̈ ȫʉͫ ΈāǨʉʶ̈)’ (ii.1.189 HV). See already Pfaff in Wenkebach/Pfaff 1934, 204, lines 6–8: ‘(…) und das (sc. das Mädchen) nur wenig hustete, gewann die Lähmung nicht die Gewalt, wie bei den Seitenlähmung’. 40 One would think that such a vague word as ἑτέρωθι is rather striking from a physician who tried to localise with great accuracy the body parts where segregations of humours occurred; but accuracy is found in Epid. iv.29. As one can see, examples which even Galen found unclear and unspecific could be in fact perfectly clear and elaborate for the physician, his colleagues and disciples. This seems to me the strongest evidence that Books Two, Four and Six of the Epidemics should not be read in isolation.

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Conclusions I intentionally commented in this paper on examples which illustrate different points. The first two examples (Epidemics ii.1.1–2) showed how one can assess accurately the influence of Artemidorus Capito on the extant Greek manuscripts. In fact, every single time Galen reports a particular reading in Capito’s edition, we find it in all the extant manuscripts of Epidemics, Book Two.41 So, for the modern editor, the great benefit of such improvements in the Hippocratic text not only brings a better sense to particular passages but also allows us to understand that this difficult book is far from being unstructured. As seen above, with the help of Galen’s lemmas, one can observe that the author examines in Epidemics ii.1.1–2 the influence of the environment on the course of diseases. Actually, he continues to examine this environmental influence in the first five sections of Epidemics ii.1, before explaining, in sections six and seven, the development of the disease itself, paying particular attention to fevers and segregations of humours as critical phenomena. In the case of difficult passages such as Epidemics ii.1.7, Ḥunayn’s Arabic text undoubtedly allows us to improve the received Hippocratic text by using Galen’s lemmas, as the example of the misplaced word ἱδρώϲ illustrates. Furthermore, this same example shows us how the Arabic stimulates discussions that may lead to new readings (for example, κατωτέρω instead of the transmitted κατωτάτω), or how one can restore words that are obviously missing in the Hippocratic text. My final example shows that at times Ḥunayn understood Galen and Hippocrates extremely well. This aspect may be the most important one: translating is also interpreting. The Arabic translator possesses the distinction of not only giving us today a translation of the Greek, but also of revealing the proper understanding of a great scholar. He helps the modern editor to understand how to approach difficult passages, both when he has to make conjectures of his own and when he has to retain the text given by the Greek tradition.

41 Of course, this influence has to be examined for every single book of the Hippocratic corpus, since the manuscripts are not necessarily homogeneous. In Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Two, Capito is mentioned five times: ii.1.13 HV ≈ Epid. ii.1.1; ii.1.82 HV ≈ Epid. ii.1.7; ii.2.86 HV ≈ Epid. ii.2.20; ii.3.61 HV ≈ Epid. ii.3.7; and ii.3.90 HV ≈ Epid. ii.3.10. Apart from the orthographic reading κιρϲοί/κριϲοί in Epidemics ii.1.7 (see my apparatus above p. 82), the Hippocratic manuscripts are always consistent with Capito’s emendations. I will discuss this further in my forthcoming edition of Epidemics, Book Two.

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 The Syriac Epidemics and the Problem of Its Identification1 Grigory Kessel

In piam memoriam Raineri Degen

Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq (d. 873) reports that Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics, Books One, Three and Six, was translated into Syriac by Job of Edessa (ʾAyyūb al-Ruhāwī, d. c. 835).2 Unfortunately, this Syriac translation does not survive.3 The late antique Alexandrian commentaries on the Epidemics, Book Six, have only partially come down to us in their original Greek. Moreover, before now, there were no extant Syriac translations of these commentaries.4 This is not an uncommon phenomenon in the field of Syriac studies, as so many translations perished, owing to the vagaries of transmission. But, it rarely happens that one discovers a completely unknown Syriac translation of a late antique medical text. I shall argue, however, in this article that a Syriac translation of an otherwise lost commentary on the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Six, does survive in a unique manuscript. First, I shall review the scholarship on this manuscript and describe it, thereby revealing some peculiar characteristics of the text, henceforth called the Syriac Epidemics. Then, I shall take one lemma from the Hippocratic text as an example, and carefully examine the commentaries on it by Galen and John of Alexandria, in order to compare them to the Syriac Epidemics. This allows me to reach positive conclusions: I shall identify the author who wrote the Greek source 1 I would like to express my heartfelt appreciation to Peter E. Pormann (Warwick) who invited me to contribute first to the conference and then to the volume; at the final stages, he was kind enough to offer constructive criticism and greatly helped improve the text. I should like to express warm thanks to Sebastian Brock (Oxford) and Ivan Garofalo (Siena) who read a first draft of the paper and made some important corrections. All imperfections and errors are solely mine. I gained access to the manuscript discussed here through a digitised microfilm from the Arthur Vööbus Collection of Syriac Manuscripts on Film, owned by the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago and administered by the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. I am deeply grateful to Stewart Creason (Oriental Institute, Chicago) who readily assisted me in this matter. 2 See Pormann 2008a, 252–7. 3 See Degen 1981 and Kessel forthcoming. 4 See Degen 1972, Gignoux 2001, Habbi 2001.

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of the Syriac Epidemics, as well as the translator who rendered it into Syriac. The results of my investigation will have significant consequences not only for Syriac studies, but also for the history of medicine in late antiquity, and for the textual criticism of the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Six, and the commentaries on it by Galen and John of Alexandria.

The manuscript The unique manuscript of the Syriac Epidemics—Damascus (Maʿarat Ṣīdnāyā), Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate, MS 12/25 (henceforth MS D)—was virtually unknown to European scholarship before 1978. Arthur Vööbus (d. 1988), a renowned scholar of Syriac studies, first announced his discovery of the manuscript during a special lecture in Toronto.5 He discovered that the manuscript contained parts six through eight of Galen’s Commentary on the Epidemics, book six.6 Vööbus highlighted the importance of the finding by stating that7 … in this manuscript we have before us a very precious monument: in it the very first record of the Graeco-Syro translation of the medical works by such meritorious translator as Job of Edessa has come into our possession. Thus, Vööbus unequivocally concludes that MS D contains a Syriac version of Galen’s commentary that was produced by Job of Edessa, an active exponent of the Greek-Arabic translation movement of the ninth century.8 Since we have very little evidence of the intermediary role which Syriac translations played in the transmission of Greek medical knowledge into Arabic,9 one can appreciate Vööbus’ enthusiasm for such an extensive text as Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Six.10 The absolute certainty of Vööbus’ identification arouses, nevertheless, certain doubts, especially when one learns that he initially described the medical treatise very differently. Vööbus did not identify the translation as containing Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Six, but rather as a work of the previously unknown Syriac author Šemʿōn of Bēṯ Hūzāyē.11 5 For the life and career of Vööbus, see Kasemaa 2007. 6 Vööbus 1978, 3. 7 Vööbus 1978, 6. 8 On him, see Ullmann 1970, 101–2 and Sezgin 1970, 230–1. 9 For the possible reasons, see Brock 2004b, 10–11. 10 Vööbus reiterated his identification in Vööbus 1988, 439. 11 Fischer 1977, plate 24, contains a reproduction of MS D, fols. 28b–29a; see also Vööbus 1978, 2.

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Vööbus was not the only one who managed to get access to and examine MS D. The manuscript appears to be mentioned for the first time in Anton Baumstark’s (d. 1948) Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, where the learned German scholar assumed that the codex contained the Syriac version of the Hippocratic Epidemics.12 The Syriac Orthodox Patriarch Iġnāṭiyūs Afrām I Barṣūm (d. 1957),13 one of the most educated and prolific Syriac scholars of the twentieth century, unambiguously attributed the medical treatise to an East Syriac monastic author of the seventh century, Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūṯēh.14 Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūṯēh is documented as having written a medical text which until very recently was considered to be lost.15 Rainer Degen examined a few available fragments and concluded that the manuscript contains a Syriac version of parts six (incomplete), seven and eight of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Six, and was copied by Šemʿōn of Bēṯ Hūzāyē sometime in the tenth century.16 Finally, one may mention two available catalogue descriptions of the manuscript that were compiled by the Syrian Orthodox bishop Yūḥannā Dōlobānī (d. 1969).17 In the first catalogue, the manuscript is listed among the manuscripts belonging to the Syrian Orthodox St. Mark’s Monastery Library in Jerusalem.18 In the other catalogue, the codex is described as an item belonging to the holdings of the Patriarchal Library in Ḥimṣ.19 On the basis of the colophon, Dōlobānī argues that a Mar Šemʿōn of al-ʾAhwāz was the author. The summary of the proposed identifications is as follows: the manuscript contains 1) a Syriac version of Hippocrates’ Epidemics (Baumstark); 2) a medical treatise of the East Syriac author Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūṯēh (Afrām I Barṣūm); 3) a medical treatise of Šemʿōn of Bēṯ Hūzāyē (original identification of Vööbus); 4) a Syriac version of a part of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Six (Vööbus, Degen) that was produced by the East Syriac translator Job of Edessa (final opinion of Vööbus) and copied by Šemʿōn of Bēṯ Hūzāyē (Degen); 5) a medical treatise on the Epidemics written for Šemʿōn of al-ʾAḥwāz (Dōlobānī). Similarly, scholars dated the manuscript differently, with opinions ranging from 12 Baumstark 1922, 353, additional note to p. 231, n. 15 [Syriac version of Hippocrates]. 13 On him, see Macuch 1976, 441–5. 14 Barṣūm 1987, 161, n. 4. The first Arabic edition appeared in 1943 and an English translation in Barṣūm 2003; on p. 187, n. 2, he indicates that the manuscript has been allocated the number 234 in the library. 15 I am currently preparing a study on the literary heritage of Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūṯēh, in which I shall discuss all available evidence and partially reconstruct the content of Šemʿōn’s medical treatise. 16 Degen 1981, 151; Degen 1979, 1986 dealt with the Arabic version of the Hippocratic Epidemics without, however, discussing MS D or the Syriac Epidemics. 17 See Macuch 1976, 446–9 for information on Yūḥannā Dōlobānī. 18 Dōlobānī 1994, 430–1 [no. 234]. The catalogue was originally compiled in Syriac by Dōlobānī approx. in the 1920s but remained unpublished until its facsimile edition in 1994. 19 Bahnām 1959, 167; Dōlobānī et al. 1994, 607 [no. 12/25].

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the eighth to eleventh centuries: 1) AD 705 (Afrām I Barṣūm); 2) AG20 1017 [AD 706] (Dōlobānī’s earlier catalogue); 3) AG 1024 [AD 712] (Dōlobānī’s later catalogue), 4) ca. tenth century (Degen); and 5) AD 1024 (Vööbus). The conflicting opinions about the manuscript can only be resolved by studying it more closely.21 Until the 1950s, MS D was preserved in the library of St. Mark’s Monastery in Jerusalem, where it was consulted by Baumstark, Afrām I Barṣūm and Dōlobānī for his earlier catalogue. Sometime in the 1950s, it was transferred to the Patriarchal Library, first in Ḥimṣ and later in Damascus, where it is kept at present. It is in the Patriarchal Library that Dōlobānī accessed it for his later catalogue, and Vööbus photographed it.22 A modern copy of the MS D exists, although I was unable to see it.23 MS D was written on parchment and originally consisted of 104 folios in eleven quires; the first quire is lost at present. The text is arranged in one column and the number of lines per page varies from thirty-four to thirty-nine. The manuscript is ruled with lead. All the quires are made of five bifolia and quire marks appear regularly on the first and last page. The original foliation is preserved throughout.24 The characteristics of its neat and regular hand suggest that it belongs to the earliest manuscripts written in East Syrian script during the seventh and eighth centuries.25 The codex is in a satisfactory condition of preservation and bears some traces of restoration. There is one colophon in the manuscript. It runs as follows (fol. 104b):

20 AG or ‘Anno Graecorum (in the year of the Greeks)’ refers to the Seleucid era that began on 1 October, 312 BC. 21 The following description is based upon the black-and-white microfilm made by Vööbus and thus depends on its (sometimes imperfect) quality. For instance, it is not possible to distinguish clearly a red ink that was normally used in the Syriac manuscripts for marking the rubrics and titles. Therefore, a direct inspection of the codex is still necessary. 22 Desreumaux 1991 does not mention that MS D was formerly in the library of St. Mark’s monastery in Jerusalem, whereas a few of the transferred manuscripts are nevertheless mentioned. On fols. 2a and 103b, however, there is a seal indicating that the manuscript belonged to this library. 23 Athanasius Y. Samuel, the late Archbishop of the Syrian Orthodox Church in the U.S. and Canada, possessed this manuscript (Degen 1972, 121, n. 48) and it is now preserved in the Archdiocese of the Eastern United States, Teaneck, New Jersey (personal communication of George A. Kiraz). 24 I deduce the absence of the first quire relying on quire marks and foliation. In the present study, I refer to the original folio numbers. 25 See plates 160 and 163 in Hatch 1946.

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[…] ¾å…ĂÍ܃ ¿ÿؚ½âƒ úýñÿ⃠¾ÙâÊÙñ~ƒ ¾ÁÿÜ €ÿÝãß äàü K ‰ûèƒ ¾ÙÓÏ ffjde áî Ā÷å Ìæâ J çãàÜ J äÐòâJ †~ Ìæâ J €ÿÜJ †~ Àƒ… ¿ÿÙùæòÁ Àûøƒ J ǿ]ǿúæñ €ÿ܃ N ‹ÍÂÁ ¾åÌß ç؃ ‹…†ÿØ~ o¿ÿßÍÅÄ áîƒ ¾éÙÄ ÞØ~ ‹…ÍÙåÍÐå ¿Ìß~ƒ [¿ÿæØ]Êâ çüÍü ç⠾؇†… ÿÙÁ ç⠐Íïãü ‹ûãß ¾ÙâÊÙñ~ƒ Àƒ… ~[ÿØ K The writing of the Book of Epidemics, meaning ‘arrivals of diseases (mēṯyāṯā d-ḵūrhānā)’, has been finished.26 […] Everyone who will read this volume or will copy from it, or will collate with it, let him pray on behalf of Baboy27 the sinner, who wrote [it]. Let God have mercy upon him as [He had upon] the robber on Golgotha. The very same Baboy wrote that volume of Epidemics for Mār Šemʿōn of Bēṯ Hūzāyē from the city Šūšan. Thus, the colophon provides us only with the name of the scribe (Baboy) and the person who commissioned it, Mār Šemʿōn, probably a bishop of the region Bēṯ Hūzāyē in Ḫūzistān.28 No date is provided. The various dates proposed for this manuscript stem from three notes on the last page that contain the following dates: October 1017; November 1020, November 1024. The dating depends on the era to which these dates refer. The Syriac Christians generally used the Seleucid era, called the ‘era of the Greeks’.29 According to this era, the three dates would correspond to AD 705, AD 708 and AD 712. Vööbus contested this interpretation on paleographical grounds and argued that the given dates refer to the Christian era.30 Vööbus’ view cannot be accepted for two reasons. Firstly, as it was said earlier, the handwriting of the manuscript clearly belongs to the period between AD 600 and AD 768. Secondly, the Christian era only began to be commonly used in East Syriac (mainly Chaldean) manuscripts in the sixteenth century.31 Therefore, both internal and external evidence exclude the possibility that the dates provided in the notes refer to the Christian era. Therefore, MS D must have been produced before AD 705 and the palaeographical evidence suggest that this happened not long before this date. In its original with the missing quire, MS D contained the commentary of the second half of Epidemics, Book Six. Furthermore, some characteristics of MS D, such as handwriting, punctuation, arrangement of the text, are similar to those found in 26 See Sokoloff 2009, 704 for this rendering. 27 The name is enciphered by means of ancient numerical symbols 〈10-6-2-2〉 (I owe this explanation to Sebastian Brock), for which see Duval 1881, xv and 14–5. 28 None of the known bishops of that ecclesiastical province (Fiey 1993, 83–5) can be identified with the given Šemʿōn. 29 Bernhard 1969, 64–98. 30 Fischer 1977, plate 24. 31 Kaufhold 2008, 314.

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London, British Library, MS Add. 14661 (henceforth MS Add.). This manuscript dates back to the sixth or seventh century and contains Sergius of Rēšʿaynā’s Syriac translation of Galen’s Powers of Simple Drugs.32 Although the manuscript was brought to the British Library from the Syrian Orthodox monastery in Wādī l-Naṭrūn, Egypt, some of its paleographical and codicological characteristics are very similar to those of early East Syriac manuscripts.33 Therefore, these two manuscript represent, in a way, the earliest period in which scribes produced manuscripts containing translations of Greek medical texts. This begs the question of who authored the Syriac Epidemics in MS D and how.

Text: Preliminary observations Firstly, an examination of the Syriac text reveals that it is a lemmatic commentary on the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Six. Each section starts with a lemma that is marked by red ink; sometimes, special marks appear in the margins. The extant text approximately begins with the commentary on lemma vi. 5.3 and continues until the last lemma at end of Book Six.34 Thus, the surviving Syriac text represents parts five through eight of Epidemics, Book Six. Superficially, the text gives the impression that it is a Syriac translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Six.35 Indeed, a comparison of the two texts clearly shows that Syriac Epidemics is based upon Galen’s commentary and occasionally follows it almost word for word. Nevertheless, the Syriac Epidemics cannot be a translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Six, for its interpretation, although based on Galen’s commentary, presents an independent treatise. In other words, the Syriac Epidemics is in a certain sense a supercommentary, a commentary on Galen’s commentary. One frequently comes across such explicit references to Galen’s text, such as ‘Galen | )’36; ‘Galen accepts ( )’37; ‘Galen rejects said/says ( 38 )’ . Occasionally, the opinion of Galen is commended: ‘Galen said ( )’39 and ‘Galen offers a profound interpretation well ( )’40. The absolute authority of Galen for the author ( 32 See Renan 1852, 324; Wright 1870–72, iii. 1187; Sachau 1870b, 73; Merx 1885, 237; Bhayro 2005, 152. 33 For the history of this library, see Evelyn-White 1932, 439–58 and Brock 2004a. 34 That is, it discusses the text in v. p. 316, line 3–p. 356, line 15 L. 35 Ihm 2002, 102–3 (§ 70). 36 Fol. 14b, 15b and passim. 37 Fol. 21b and passim. 38 Fol. 14a and passim. 39 Fol. 95b. 40 Fol. 88a.

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is confirmed by the use of such expressions as ‘our interpreter Galen ( )’41 or merely ‘the interpreter ( )’.42 The Syriac text is, therefore, based on Galen’s Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six, but who is its author? To answer this question and to investigate the nature and scope of the Syriac Epidemics, we shall now take one Hippocratic lemma, and discuss in turn how Galen, John of Alexandria, and the author of the Syriac Epidemics each approached their task. By comparing these three commentaries, we will shed new light on their interrelationship and interdependence. The choice of these three commentaries is determined by the fact that they survive; it would also have been interesting to compare Palladius’ approach, but unfortunately, his commentary on this lemma is lost. To facilitate the discussion, I have divided the Hippocratic lemma as well as the commentaries into corresponding sections. In my discussion, I shall refer to them by the letter of the text: H for Hippocrates; G for Galen’s commentary; J for John; and S for Syriac Epidemics. This letter is followed by the section number. The Hippocratic lemma in question already poses some difficulties of interpretation43: [1] Ὀδμαὶ τέρπουϲαι, [2] λυποῦϲαι, [3] πιμπλῶϲαι, [4] πειθόμεναι· [5] μεταβολαὶ, ἐξ οἵων οἵωϲ ἔχουϲιν. [1] Odours: pleasant, [2] noxious, [3] filling, [4] persuading. [5] Alterations, from the sort of things which they are. The lemma occurs in the context of a list of things to which the physician should pay heed. At the beginning of the paragraph, we merely have the enigmatic statement: ‘Things from the small tablet (τὰ ἐκ τοῦ ϲμικροῦ πινακιδίου)’. Paragraph seven where this lemma occurs and the next two appear to form a homogenous section, presumably once written on this ‘small tablet’.44 The text basically consists of a list of words in the nominative, with very few verbs. Therefore, the exact sense often remains incomprehensible. We have such an instance in this lemma: the word ‘peithómenai’, literally ‘persuaded’ (H 4), has already puzzled ancient interpreters and remains a crux even for modern editors.45 Apart from this difficultly, the overall sense appears to be clear: smells may have various effects (H 1–4); and one should examine how and why these smells change (H 5). 41 Fol. 13a. 42 Fol. 40a. 43 Hippocrates, Epidemics, vi. 8.7 (v. p. 344, line 19–p. 346, line 1 L); translation by Smith 1994, 279 (slightly modified). 44 Manetti/Roselli 1982, 167–8. 45 This sentiment also is reflected in the translation of Manetti/Roselli, 169 and 171): ‘Odori: che arrecano godimento, che arrecano dolore, che saziano …: I cambiamenti, da che cosa, come sono’.

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This lemma gave rise to various interpretations, the most influential one being by Galen; it only survives in Arabic translation46:

.ɼ˙͎āǍ˳ͫLJ̑ Ƚ˙̒ ǽʓͫāć Α ҨҞ˳̒ ǽʓͫāć ķĕnj̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫāć Ǩʶ̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘

ǽʓͫā Ț̈āćǨͫā» LJͲΑāć [2] .ĕǛˬ̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā LJ́̑ ǽ˶ˈʉ͎ «Ǩʶ̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» LJͲΑā :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘ ƹLJʶ˶ͫā ɡˬ͇ ǽ͎ ɬ̈Ǩʦ˶˳ͫā ɬͲ LJ΀Ǎ̑Ǩ˙̈ ƦΑā ƹLJʒ̈́Αҙҏā ƴĔLJ͇ ɬͲ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā ɡʔͲ ɼ́̈Ǩ˜ͫā Ț̈āćǨͫā LJ́̑ ȅ˶ˈ͎ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā LJ́̑ ȅ˶ˈ͎ «Α ҨҞ˳̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» LJͲΑāć [3] .ɨ̤Ǩͫā Ɏ˶̥ LJ́ͫ ƛLJ˙̈ć ȫˏ˶ʓͫā LJ́ʉ͎ ȫʒʥ̈ ǽʓͫā ȉʥʒͫā ǽ͎ āǍ̀LJ̥ ǚ͘ć [4] .Ǩ˳ʦͫā ɼʥ̇āĢć ĢLJʥͫā ǩʒʦͫā ɼʥ̇āĢć Ɏ̈Ǎʶͫā ɼʥ̇āĢ ɡʔͲ ćǛˉ̒ ƦΑā LJ́͵ΑLJ̶ ɬͲ Ƚ˙̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» ɷͫǍ͘ ȅ˶ˈͲ ƦΑā āǍ˶ͅ ɨ́͵Αā ɑͫĕć .ǽ΀ Ț̇āćǨͫā ķΎ Αā «ɼ˙͎āǍ˳ͫLJ̑ Ƚ˙̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» ɬ͇ ɬ˜̈ ɨˬ͎ «Ǩʶ̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» Ǩ͛ĕ ǚ͘ ƦLJ͛ ĕΒāć ṳ̈̌āć ȅ˶ˈͲ «Ǩʶ̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» ɷͫǍ͘ ȅ˶ˈͲć «ɼ˙͎āǍ˳ͫLJ̑ LJ˳͵Βā «ɼ˙͎āǍ˳ͫLJ̑ Ƚ˙̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» ɷͫǍ͘ ƦΑā ƢǍ͘ ƛLJ͘ ɑͫǛͫć [5] .ȅ˶ˈͲ «ɼ˙͎āǍ˳ͫLJ̑ Ƚ˙̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā» Ǩ͛Ǜͫ .Ƚˏ˶̒ ǽʓͫā Ț̇āćǨͫā ɷ̑ ȅ˶͇ [1] «ķĕnj̒

Hippocrates said: Smells which please, smells which irritate, which fill and which are suitable. [1] Galen said: By ‘smells which please’, [Hippocrates] means the smells which are delightful. [2] By ‘smells which irritate’, he meant repulsive smells such as the smells that the physicians usually bring near the nostrils in the case of women’s diseases that cause shortness of breath; this [condition] is called ‘uterine suffocation [ḫanq al-raḥim]’. [3] By ‘smells which fill’, he meant smells which by their nature are nourishing such as the smell of barley-mush, the smell of the hot bread, and the smell of the wine. [4] They became engrossed in trying to find out which smells are ‘the smells which are suitable’. For they thought that his words ‘smells which are suitable’ had the same meaning as his words ‘smells which please’. Since he had already mentioned the ‘smells which please’, there was no sense in mentioning ‘smells which are suitable’. [5] Therefore some people said that by saying smells ‘which are suitable’ he meant only those smells which are useful. Galen only comments on H 1–4 here. Since H 5 is missing, scholars have questioned what sort of Hippocratic text Galen used. Manetti and Roselli have argued that this omission of H 5 already occurred in the text that Galen used. Moreover, the Arabic version of Galen’s commentary varies from the Greek text of the Hippocratic work as it has come down to us. For H 1–3, the Arabic version appears to reflect the Greek original, but H 4 poses some problems. Is 46 Galen, Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ vi.8 (Madrid, Escorial, MS árabe 805, fol. 167b, lines 17–26; cf. p. 443, lines 10–28 Pf).

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‘which are suitable [allatī taqaʿu bi-l-muwāfaqati]’ an adequate rendering for the difficult ‘persuading (peithómenai)’?47 Galen (G 4) already noted that this term aroused some controversy in antiquity. Apart from the difficult word ‘persuading (peithómenai)’, Galen comments on this lemma in a fairly succinct way. He gives a number of synonyms for the various smells (G 1–3). In G 2, he gives a concrete medical example for irritating smells: they are used in treating uterine suffocation. And in G 3, he explains the meaning of filling smells as those associated with certain foodstuffs. Interestingly, John of Alexandria, a medical author from late antiquity, both depends on Galen but also significantly goes beyond him48: [0.1] Ὀδμαὶ τέρπουϲαι, [0.3] πιμπλᾶϲαι, [0.4] πειθόμεναι· [0.5] μεταβολαί, ἐξ οἵων ὡϲ ἔχουϲιν. [1.1] Περὶ ὀϲμῶν ἐνταῦθα διαλέγεται ὁ Ἱπποκράτηϲ. [1.2] ἀλλὰ δεῖ ἀναμνῆϲαι τὸν τελειότερον τῶν πολλάκιϲ ἡμῖν εἰρημένων· εἴρηται γάρ, ὅτι ϲύγκειται τὸ ἡμέτερον ϲῶμα ἐκ τῶν ϲτερεῶν, ἐξ ὑγρῶν, ἐκ πνευμάτων, καὶ πνευμάτων 〈ψυχικῶν〉, φυϲικῶν, ζωτικῶν· ὅτι τὰ ϲτερεὰ ἐκ ϲτερεῶν τρέφεται, τὰ δὲ ὑγρὰ ἐκ τῶν ὑγρῶν, αὔξεται δὲ τὰ πνεύματα ἐκ τῶν πνευμάτων καὶ ἀναρρώννυται. [1.3] χρείαν οὖν ἔχομεν εὐώδων καὶ δυϲώδων πνευμάτων, ἀλλὰ πρὸϲ τὴν διάφορον διάθεϲιν τὴν ὑποκειμένην. [1.4] ψυχροῦ γάρ, εἰ τύχοι, πάθουϲ ὑποκειμένου τότε βούγλωϲϲα, τότε λιβανωτὸν ῥαίνω, τότε κλάδουϲ ἐλαίαϲ προϲφέρω ὀϲφραίνεϲθαι καὶ κλάδουϲ δρυΐνουϲ καὶ ἁπλῶϲ πάντα τὰ θερμά. [1.5] εἰ δὲ καῦϲόϲ ἐϲτι καὶ ζέϲιϲ πολλὴ καὶ διακαὴϲ ὁ πυρετόϲ, τότε μυρϲίναϲ, τότε ῥόδα προϲφέρω, τότε καὶ τὴν γῆν ὕδατι ῥαίνω, πολλάκιϲ δὲ καὶ ἀμπέλων ἕλικαϲ ὑποϲτρωννύω. [1.6] ὅτι γὰρ τοῦτο ἀληθέϲ, κέχρημαι πολλάκιϲ τοῖϲ εὐώδεϲιν διὰ τὸ ἀναρρῶϲαι τὰϲ δυνάμειϲ. οὕτω πολλάκιϲ ἐπὶ τῶν λιποθυμούντων τὰ εὐώδη προϲφέρω καὶ ἀναρρώννυμι τὰϲ δυνάμειϲ· ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἢ θερμὰ εὐώδη ἢ ψυχρὰ εὐώδη πρὸϲ τὴν διάφορον αἰτίαν τὴν ποιήϲαϲαν τὴν λιποθυμίαν. [2.1] Τί δὲ λέγει; ὅτι ‘ἐμπιπλᾶϲαι’ ἀντὶ τοῦ ‘πλήρωϲιν ἐργαζόμεναι’. [2.2.] πολλάκιϲ γὰρ γίνεται διαφόρηϲιϲ οὐ μόνον πνευμάτων, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑγρῶν, καὶ προϲφέρω οἶνον. καὶ οὗτοϲ ὁ οἶνοϲ, καθὸ μέν ἐϲτιν οἶνοϲ, ὑγρὸϲ καὶ ποιεῖται ἀναπλήρωϲιν τῶν ὑγρῶν, καθὸ δὲ εὐώδηϲ, ἀναρρώννυϲι τὰ πνεύματα. [2.3] δεῖ δὲ ὑμᾶϲ εἰδέναι κἀκεῖνο τὸ βαθύτερον, ὅτι οὐ μόνον τῶν εὐώδων χρείαν ἔχομεν ἐν τοῖϲ ἔργοιϲ τῆϲ τέχνηϲ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν δυϲώδων. [2.4] 47 ‘Welche passen’ in Pfaff’s translation. 48 John of Alexandria, Commentary on ‘Epidemics’, Book Six (ed. Duffy 1997, 100, line 29– 104, line 9); translation, with slight modifications, by Duffy as well. The final section (4) is lacking in the Greek text, but present in the Latin translation (ed. Pritchet 1975, 404; 148d, lines 2–4).

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οὕτω γοῦν ἐὰν χόριον ἀναδράμῃ καὶ μὴ κενοῦται, τὸ ἔμβρυον δυϲχερῶϲ ἐξάγεται. τότε τρίχαϲ καίομεν ἢ ῥάκοϲ ἢ ἕτερόν τι τοιοῦτον δυϲῶδεϲ, καὶ παρέχομεν τῇ γυναικὶ ὀϲφραίνεϲθαι, ἵνα τῇ δυϲωδίᾳ ἀνιωμένη ἡ φύϲιϲ ϲυϲταλῇ καὶ τῇ ϲυϲτολῇ ἐκκρίνῃ τὸ ἐπεχόμενον. [3.1] Καὶ ὅτι τοῦτο ἀληθέϲ ἐϲτιν, ὅτι αἱ ὀϲμαὶ μάλιϲτα αἱ εὐώδειϲ ἀναρρωννύουϲι τὰϲ δυνάμειϲ, λέγουϲί τι θαυμαϲτὸν περὶ Δημοκρίτου· [3.2] ἡνίκα γὰρ ὁ Δημόκριτοϲ ὁ τὸν βίον γελῶν ἠβουλήθη ἐξαγαγεῖν ἑαυτὸν ἐκ τοῦ βίου, πανήγυριϲ ἔμελλεν ἐπιτελεῖϲθαι ἐν Ἀβδήροιϲ, ἔνθα ἦν ὁ Δημόκριτοϲ. [3.3] εἶτα οἱ Ἀβδηρῖται ᾔτηϲαν αὐτὸν μὴ ἐξαγαγεῖν τέωϲ, ἵνα μὴ ἐν τῇ ἑορτῇ πένθοϲ ϲχοίη ἡ πόλιϲ. [3.4] καὶ λέγει αὐτοῖϲ ὁ Δημόκριτοϲ· ‘Ἕωϲ πόϲων ἡμερῶν βούλεϲθε ἀναμείνω;’ οἱ δὲ εἰρήκαϲιν· ‘Ἕωϲ τεϲϲάρων ἡμερῶν τῶν τῆϲ ἑορτῆϲ.’ [3.5] καὶ ἐκέλευϲεν ὁ Δημόκριτοϲ ἐνεχθῆναι ἀγγεῖον μέλιτοϲ, καὶ εἰϲ αὐτὸ ὀϲμώμενοϲ διέμεινεν τὰϲ τέϲϲαραϲ ἡμέραϲ. [3.6] ὡϲ δὲ ἕτεροί φαϲιν, ἐκέλευϲεν κλίβανον ἐνεχθῆναι καὶ ἐν αὐτῷ ἄρτουϲ ὀπτᾶϲθαι, καὶ οὕτωϲ ἐκ τῆϲ ὀϲμῆϲ τῶν ἄρτων διέμεινεν. [3.7] λοιπὸν εἰ βούλει πιϲτεῦϲαι, πίϲτευϲον. ἔϲτι δὲ τῷ ὄντι εἰπεῖν, ὅτι δυνατόν ἐϲτιν δι’ αἴτηϲιν καθαρᾶϲ ψυχῆϲ πρὸϲ τὸ θεῖον μεῖναι πλείονα χρόνον τὴν ψυχὴν ἐν τῷ ϲώματι. καὶ πολλάκιϲ τοῦτο ἐποίηϲεν ὁ Δημόκριτοϲ. ἀλλὰ ταύτην τὴν αἰτίαν ὡϲ ἰατροὶ οὐ δεχόμεθα. [3.8] ἀμέλει γοῦν καὶ ὁ Γαληνὸϲ ὡϲ ἰατρὸϲ ἰατρῷ ἐγκαλεῖ τῷ Θεϲϲαλῷ εἰϲ ἓξ μῆναϲ ἐπαγγελλομένῳ παραδιδόναι τὴν ἰατρικήν. ὁ γὰρ Θεϲϲαλὸϲ οὐ ταύτην ἔλεγεν τὴν ἰατρικὴν παραδιδόναι εἰϲ ἓξ μῆναϲ· ἀλλ’ ἰϲτέον, ὅτι ἀπελθὼν οὗτοϲ εἰϲ Αἴγυπτον ὠφελήθη τὸ ἐξ ὑπερτέραϲ δυνάμεωϲ θεραπεύειν, καὶ ταύτην ἔλεγε διὰ ἓξ μηνῶν παραδιδόναι. [4] Permutationes ex qualibus ut habent. ecce communis epilogus inquirendi a qualibus in qualia. Oportet fieri permutationes ab odorabilibus ad fetida aut econtrario. Odours: pleasant, noxious, filling, persuading. Alterations, from the sort of things which they are. [1.1] At this point, Hippocrates discusses the subject of odours. [1.2] But we should remind the more advanced student of what we have said on numerous occasions, namely that our body is composed of solids, fluids and pneumas; that the pneumas are the psychic, natural and vital; that the solids are nourished by solids, the fluids by liquids and the pneumas are increased and fortified by gases. [1.3] We, therefore, have a need for pleasant and unpleasant gases, but according to the different underlying conditions. [1.4] For example, if the disease I am dealing with is a cold one, then I sprinkle sometimes with bugloss, sometimes with frankincense, at other times I offer [the patient] to smell olive branches and oak branches and in a word all the hot things. [1.5] But if there is burning heat and considerable seething heat and the fever is burning, then I variously offer myrtle and rose, or I sprinkle the ground with water, or perhaps I strew the

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ground with vine tendrils. [1.6] Since this is true, I often employ fragrant things in order to revive the powers [of the body]. Thus, I frequently in cases of fainting apply fragrant substances and restore the powers; and in these cases [I use] either warm fragrances or cold ones depending on the different causes responsible for the fainting. [2.1] And what does [Hippocrates] say? He says that they are filling, in the sense that they produce fullness. [2.2] For perhaps dispersion occurs, not just of pneumas, but also of fluids, and then I offer wine. And this wine, to the extent that it is wine, it is moist and replenishes the fluids, but to the extent that it is fragrant, it revives the pneumas. [2.3] But you should also be aware of a deeper point, namely, that in the works of the art, we have a need not only of fragrances, but also of foul smelling substances. [2.4] Thus, for example, if the chorion recedes and is not passing out, then the foetus is delivered with difficulty. In this situation we burn some hair or a rag or something similar that has a foul smell and offer it to the woman to inhale, in order to provoke nature into contradiction by means of the malodour and then, due to the contraction, to expel the retained [chorion]. [3.1] And the truth of this, namely, that smells, but especially fragrant ones, revive the powers, is borne out by the noteworthy story told about Democritus. [3.2] For at the time when Democritus, who made little of life, wanted to remove himself from it, a festival was about to take place in Abdera, where Democritus lived. [3.3] At that point, the Abderites requested him not to take his life immediately in order to save the city from going into mourning during a festival. [3.4] And when Democritus asked them, ‘How many days do you want me to wait?’ they replied, ‘For the four days of the festival’. [3.5] So Democritus ordered a jar of honey to be fetched and he spent the four days inhaling from it. [3.6] But as other tell it, he ordered an oven to be brought and loaves of bread to be baked in it, and in this way, he survived on the smell of the loaves. [3.7] Now, if you want to believe that, go ahead. And one can state as a fact that it is possible for a pure soul, by virtue of praying to the divinity, to remain in the body for a longer time. Perhaps that is what Democritus did. However, as doctors we do not accept this explanation. [3.8] In the same way, Galen too in his capacity as a doctor criticised Thessalus as a doctor because he promised to teach medicine in six months. The fact is that Thessalus did not claim to be teaching this kind of medicine in six months; you should know that he went to Egypt where he acquired the ability to cure with the help of a higher power and this is what he said he would teach in six months. [4] ‘Alterations from what kinds of things, how they are’. This is a general conclusion that enquires ‘from what kinds of things to what kinds of

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things’. [It means that] it is necessary that odours change either into foul smelling substances or vice versa. John’s commentary on this lemma is significantly longer than that by Galen. Although the former differs from the latter, it is nonetheless based on it and makes considerable use of its interpretations. The text of the lemma which John quotes varies in two significant aspects from that found in the Hippocratic text and in Galen’s commentary; firstly, it omits ‘noxious (λυποῦϲαι)’, present in H 2 and Galen; and secondly, it includes the difficult phrase in H 5, omitted in Galen’s commentary. The Latin version of the commentary has the following list: ‘smells, uplifting, pleasing, filling, fulfilling (Odores leuatorii, delectabiles, replentes, perficientes)’.49 It has four adjectives, but it is difficult to see how the first two Latin ones relate to the first two Greek ones, ‘pleasant, noxious (τέρπουϲαι, λυποῦϲαι)’: the former are synonyms, whereas the latter are antonyms. Be that as it may, although we find clear signs that John knew Galen’s commentary, the text of his lemma must here be of a different origin, perhaps going back to an independent strand of the Epidemics’ textual tradition. John follows Galen in his explanation of the lemma: he builds upon Galen’s interpretation and aims to present comprehensively the therapeutic value of the smells. John begins by describing how smells can affect the body (J 1). He divides the body into solids, fluids, or pneumas, and further distinguishes between psychic, natural and vital pneumas. Gases [pneúmata], presumably associated with smells, influence pneumas [pneúmata]. John maintains that both good and bad smells are necessary, thereby picking up on ideas in the Hippocratic lemma (H 1–2) and in Galen’s commentary. John provides a few examples of the use of different smells, couching them in terms of cold and hot. None of these examples corresponds to those mentioned by Galen (G 2); they therefore appear to reflect the medical practice of John’s time. In the next paragraph, John first (J 2.2) deals with ‘filling smells’ (H 3). In each case, John goes beyond Galen: he explains ‘filling smells’ in terms of pneuma, and he develops Galen’s example of uterine suffocation (J 2.3–4). Likewise, in the next paragraph (J 3), John includes a vivid story about Democritus who prolongs his life through fragrant smells (that of honey or that of bread, according to two different versions). This leads John to an interesting reflection about Methodism and religion, again absent from Galen’s commentary. The final paragraph (J 4), extant only in the Latin version, deals with the end of the lemma (H 5), which is omitted in Galen’s commentary. It consists of a short reflection that things necessarily change. The Syriac Epidemics shares many features with John’s commentary50: 49 Ed. Pritchet 1975, 401; 148c, lines 17–18. 50 MS D, fols. 73b–74b.

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Í元 N áÓâ ÿØ~ûØÿØ .¾ÐØĂ šÍß êÙÒûùñÍØ ¾æýâ [1.1] :çÙùÙïâ uçÙòàÏÿý⃠u¾ÐØĂ ÌàÝß ÀăÙÐå ÊÙÁ† v¾ÙæÙÝß ¾åšÍÙÏ ÊÙÁ† v¾åšÍÙÐß ¾ãýå ÊÙÁ† .¾æýòå ¾Ï†ûß çÙàÙÐâ çÙàØ~ çâ .çÙàÙÐ⠐†Ìæ↠.¾Ï†ûß çÙÁû⠐†Ìæâ ¾ÐØà ûÙÄ ‹…N ¾ÙàÄ [1.2] .¾ãüÍÄ 51¾æñ˜÷↠ÀûØûø āÙÏ †Ìß ÿØ~ƒ çÙàØ~† vêØÿæå†~† Àƒ˜†ƒ ¾åÎÜ~ çÙñ˜–† çØûØûøƒ J ¾Ï†ûß çÙàÙÐ↠.¾å†Ìß çÙýæÝâ ûÙÄ çÙ߅. çÙæÁ‡ vçÙÁûøÿâ ¾ïø†Ă ÊÙÁƒ Íå…J .52çÙåÿâƅƒ ”~ .½ÙÅè K K ûÙÄ çæÙÐýÏÿâ [2.1] 53¾æàÂÐâ ¾Á½Ü ½ÙÅè ûÙÄ çÙæÁ‡ [2.2] ¾ãüÍÅÁ ¿†Ìãß ƒÿï⃠Êâ ¾ýÏ áÓâ K K ˜~~ƒ ¿šÍÙéâ çâ Ā~ ¿†…J [2.3] ¾ãüÍÅÁ ÌÁ ÌàÝÁ ¿†…N Ā ÊÜ ¾ÏÍãÁ ¿†…J †~ vāÁÍÐß óàÏÿýåƒ ˜~Ā ÊÂîƒ ¾æÁ‡ƒ ¾ýÙÁ ¾éÜÍÒ áÓâ v™½ÏJ ¾æ܅ 54ûØÊσ N uçæÙÁûùâ çÙ߅ ¾â†Ă…ƒ ç؃ ‹…J [2.4] ˜~Ā ¾Ð߃ƒ vçØûÙÂø Āƒ ÀăÅñƒ ¿šÍÙéâ áÓâ ¾ÏÍ⃠ÀûÓïß 55ÍýüÍòã߆ .¾æàÂÐâ ¾ýÏ ÌÁ ÿØ~ƒ ¾ÏÍãß ÍæÓùãß çØ÷⃠[3.2] .¾æãÐ߃† ¿ÿØÿÐüƒ ¾ÐØĂ ç؃ çÙè˜ÿâ .çÙè˜ÿ⃠¾ÐØĂ ”~ ç؃ ÿØ~ [3.1] K ÞØ~ƒ ÀûÙÝü ûÙÄ Ā çØûâ~ƒ Àƒ… ÞØ~ƒ ¿ÿÙïüš ç⠋…N ¾ïØÊØ çÙ߅ ûÙÄ çÙè˜ÿ⃠J ÊÜ êÙÒûøÍ⃃ :çÙýå~ K ûÙÄ çØûâ~J [3.3] .Êâ ¿ÿÙïüš ¾åÿå ÿà⃠¿šÍæãØÌ߃ ¿ÿÙæÙÜ ¿Îσ N áÓâ .¿Íùå Ā† ¾ãüÍÄ çâ ¾æýåƒ ÚÂҖ~ u¾Âè ¿†…N K ¿šÍåÊÂïãß K .¿šÍ⃠¾ãéÁ āñ~ ÑýϚ~ ¾òÙéÁ Ā ûïéãß ¾Á– N Àƒ… Ê܆ [3.4] .ÚàÐâš~ƒ ¿ÿÙåƒ €…˜ÿè~ ¾åÌàÓ↠.Ãéå Ā ¿šûÂÙè ¾åÌàÓ↠ÌãüÍÅß ¾è˜ÿå Āƒ Ā~ N u…ÿæØÊãÁ ¿†…N ¿†…ƒ ¿šÍÝà⃠Àƒ½î ¿ †… ˜ƒ~ ç؃ ÊÜ [3.5] .¿šÍ⠋…Íàî N J †š~ ÌéæÄ ÚæÁ† K êÙÒûùↃƒ …šÍÏ~ K :¾Á˜ ¾ÅÏ †ÊÂïåƒ ¾ýæÙæÁK ††… çØÊØÿî† .Àƒ½ïÁ šÍ⚃ ¾ïÁš Ā† ûÂØÿè~ƒ Ìß çØûâ~† ¿šûÂÙè áÂùåƒ Ìæâ çÙïÁJ ÊÜ …šÍß Ž½üJ :ðãü N çÙ߅ Ê܆ .āÁ~ ÞàÁÍå ÿÙÁ ÚæÁ† K çæÏ .Àƒ½î çØÊÂîJ ¿ÿæØÊâ ÚæÁK ÊÜ Āƒ ¿ÿߚ Ìß çØûâ~† Í æ î .¾Ï~ƒ Úß  †ÿå~ çÙïÁ ¾ã܆ Àƒ½î ÞÂß ¿ÿâÍØ N K ¾ã܃ Íå~ J ÊÙÁ† v¾ãÐ߃ ¾Ðؘ —Íéåƒ v¾ãÐß Íñ½å† À˜Íåš …šÍß ÍÁûùåƒ Êùñ† [3.6] .çÙâÍØ K Ìà؃ ‹Íåš çâ āñ~† .úÙïå …ÿÙÁ ÚæÂß K Āƒ ¾Á– ÊÁ vçÙâÍØ ¿ÿߚ ¾Ðå† ¾è˜šÿå ¾Ðؘ çÙàØ~ ç؃ çÙýå~ J ç؃ ÞØ~ [3.7] .ûÂïå K .Ìß ÿÙ↠†…N ¾Ðؘ Ñå :çÙâÍØ K ¿ÿߚ ¾Ðåƒ úòèƒ Ā~ .¿†…N —½èJ ¾ãÐ߃ ¾Ðؘ çâ ¿†…N Āƒ çØûâ~J [3.8] :‘ÍÓØûùↃ áî çÙîÿý⃠vçÙâÍØ K ¿ÿߚ 56Úàüƒ ¾âÊî ¿†…N ÑØûâ ¾åÌÁ :‹…†ƒ~– ¿†…N äÙèƒ ¾ýÁƒƒ ¾å½â ç⠗½è ¾ãÐ߃ ¾Ðؘƒ çØûâ~ƒ J Íå… çØûØûüƒ ¾åûÂèJ ç؃ ÿØ~ûØÿØ [3.9] .ÿÙâ çØÊ؅† çæýæ܃ ˜ÿÁ çâ áÙ܅ çæÏ ç⃠.57¿ÿØÍϚ š†… Àƒ… ¿ÿÙïüš ¾æ܅ [3.10] .¿†…N .¾Ï†Ăƒ ¾Üûý߆ v¾æýòå ¾Ï†ûß çÙÁûâ[ƒ] †Ìæâ ¾Ðؘƒ ¾æ܅ ûâ½å :¾øÍè áîƒ ÿàâ .¾æàÂÐâ K ¾ýÏK çâ ¿ÿÙéܚ ç؆…J †Ìæ↠.çØÌß çÙàÙÐâ[ƒ] ç؃ †Ìæâ 51 See Bhayro 2005, 160. 52 The word is apparently written incorrectly and should be emended to . 53 See ¾æàÂÐâ ¾ãè (BL Add. 14460, fol. 68a, line 26) for ἀμβλωθρίδιόν ἐϲτι φάρμακον (xii. p. 130, line 1 K). 54 See ûØÊσ ¾å… ˜~~ (ed. Sachau 1870a, 89, line 15) for εὔκρατον ᾖ τὸ περιέχον (i. p. 370, line 7 K); çß ûØÊσ ¾å… ˜~½Á (ed. Sachau 1870a, 89, line 22) staying for ἐπὶ μὲν τοῦ περιέχοντοϲ (i. p. 370, line 13 K). 55 See þüÍñÿâ (ed. Merx 1885, 270, line 10) for διαφορητικώτερον (xi. p. 853, lines 12–13 K); ¾ýüÍò↠(ed. Merx 1885, 305) for καὶ τὸ περιεχόμενον (xii. p. 116, lines 15–16 K). 56 My conjecture: the manuscript reading Úàïüƒ is corrupt. 57 See ¿ÿØÍϚ (ed. Sachau 1870a, 92, line 3) for ἡ ἔνδειξιϲ (i.384, line 16); (ed. Merx 1885, 303, line 11) for ἀποδείξειϲ (xii. p. 84, line 3 K).

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çÙòàÐý⃠¾ÐØà áÙ܅ ûâ~J ¿ÿà⠚Íß çß ¿š½å :¾æ܅ ûâ~š~ áÙ܅ çÙ߅ ÊÜ [4.1] ¾æÝØ~ [4.2] vçÙåÌâ çÙàØ~† çÙùÙïâ çÙàØ~ƒ v¾ÐØĂ áî ÍÂùïãß —ƒ‡ ç؃ Íå…J .çÙùÙïâ .çÙùÙï⃠çÙàØ~ çâ ç؃ —†ûïå çÙÙ元 çÙàØĀ çâ ¾ÂÅå —†ûïå †Ìæ↠€ûøÿå 58†Ìæã߃ .çÙåÌ↠çÙùÙï⃠¾ÐØăß “Êãß —ƒ‡ƒ çØûâ~J Ā~ çÙùýòâ ¾æ܅ Íß ç؃ ¾åăÏ~ [4.3] çÙàØ~ƒ ¾åÎÜ~ [4.4] vÀ˜ƒ†÷Á† ¾ïßÍÓÁ çØÊϚÿ⃠çÙàØĀ çÁÎÁ €ûùå çÙùÙï⃠çÙàØ~† .āÙÐß ûÙïå† ÿÏÿÐå †ÌØÊؽÁƒ vçÙãÙãφ çÙòØûσ K ÍØÍÐãß ÿØ~ ¾Ü˜… ç↠[5.2] .çÙè˜ÿ⃠çÙàØĀ ç؃ Íå…J :ûâ~J ç؃ ÍïÂéâ [5.1] —ƒ‡ .ûÙâ~ †ÊÜ ç⃠ÞØ~ ¿ÿØÿÐü ç↠¾ãÐß ç⃠çÙàØ~ ç؃ çÙè˜ÿâ ¾æÐØĂ çÙè˜ÿ⃠¾ÐØĂ çÙàØĀƒ ÍÂùïãß āø šûÂÁ .…ûâ~ çÙýσ ‹… óàÏ çÙéÙòÒÿ⃠‹…ƒ J J :áÙ܅ çæØûâ~J .59çÙéÙòÒÿ⃠ûâ~J [6] †ÌØÿØ~ƒ v¾Ùåš~K ÿÙÁ ”~ ¾å… ûÙÄ †…N ÀÊÙî ¿šÍåÊÂïâ óàÏ ÑýϚ~ ¿ÿüÍýÏ .¿ÿàãÁ çÙÐýÏÿâ ¾å… ÞØ~ƒ ¾ãÝè½Á ½ÙÅè çÙæÁ‡ K ûÙÄ çÙ߅ ”~ .ā⃠K ¿ÌÁ~ K ûâ~J :çÙéÙò⃠ûâ½åƒ óàφ .êÙÒûùñÍØ ¾Ü˜… ”~ ÑýϚ~ ¾ãÝè~ ¾åÌÁ ÌÁ o.¾ÐØĂ ÚÙå… ç؃ Íå…J .çØûòü ¿ÌØăÝ߃ çÙàØ~ ¾ÐØĂ ç؃ çÙéÙòÒÿâ .çÙéÙòÒÿ⃠áî ƒÍÐàÁ ¾Ü˜… :Íùýñ çÙýå~K ¾òàÏÍü K o†ÌØÿØ~ƒ :ÞØ~ :†ÌàÜ :çâ :¾òàÏÍü K [7.1] ¿šûÂÙè ç؃ çÙýå~K [7.2] .†ÌØÿØ~ çÙàØ~ ¿šăÂÙèƒ ¾òàÏÍü áî Ãùïåƒ —ƒ‡ƒ .…ûâ~ J ‹Ìß †ÌàÜ áî .¿ÿàãß çØÊÂî ÿؽæàÜ .‘˜~~ áî† .¿ÿàܽâ K J …Íãè J K áî .¾òàÏÍüƒ çØûâ~† ¾ãÙãÐß ÀûØûø 60¾Ä‡Íâ ç⠐~ƒ vÃùïå ˜~~ƒ ¾òàÏÍü N K áîƒ —ƒ‡ƒ ûâ~ƒ 61 . ¾ÂÙÒûß ¾ýÙÂØ ç↠v¾ýÙÂÙß ¾ÂÙҘ ç⠐~† vÀûØûùß ¾ãÙãÏ ç⠐~† vóàÏÿüš áî ”~ uÍÂùïãß ç؃ —ƒ‡ [7.3] v¾ÙæãØÿß ¾æÙÁûÄ ç⃠¾åÎÜ~ .çÙòàÏÿý⃠62¾éÜÍÒ K ¾æÝØ~ƒ vçß ûØÊσ ˜~~ áî uÍÂùïãß ÿØ~ûØÿØ ûÙÄ —ƒ‡ .¾ÙÙÁûÅß ¾Ùæãؚ ç↠63[…] ”~ †ÌØÿØ~ ¾æ܅ [7.4] uóàÏÿý⃠¾æÝØ~† ÌćÍâ óàÏÿýâ

‘Odours that are variable, [odours that] oppress’. [1.1] Hippocrates proceeds to the odours [rīḥē] mostly because they strengthen the psychic pneuma; through breathing [they strengthen] the vital [pneuma]; through the vital [pneuma they strengthen] the natural [pneuma]; and through the nostrils [they strengthen] the entire body. [1.2] For it is known that some smells increase the pneuma, some strengthen 58 My conjecture: the manuscript reading is corrupt. 59 See çÙéÙòÒÿ⃠(ed. Merx 1885, 283, line 9) for ὅτι πειϲθήϲονται (xii. p. 2, line 1 K); çÙéÙòÒÿâ Āƒ (ed. Merx 1885, 283, line 12) for ἀπειθήϲουϲι (xii. p. 2, line 4 K). 60 See ç⠾ćÍâ (ed. Merx 1885, 270, line 7) staying for ἐπὶ [...] κράϲει (xi. p. 853, line 10 K). 61 See þÙÂØ āñ~† ÃÙҘ Ā† ûØÿØ. äÙãÏ āñ~ ûØÿØ ûØûø Ā† (ed. Sachau 1870a, 91, lines 6–7) for μηθ’ ὑπερεψυγμένον, μήθ’ ὑπερτεθερμαϲμένον, ἢ ἐξηραϲμένον, ἢ ὑγραϲμένον ἀμέτρωϲ (i. p. 372, lines 2–3 K). 62 See (ed. Sachau 1870a, 90, line 21) for τῆϲ κατὰ φύϲιν ϲυϲτάϲεωϲ (i. p. 371, lines 13–14 K); (ed. Sachau 1870a, 91, line 4) for ῶν ἔξωθεν περιϲτάϲεων ἁπαϲῶν (i. p. 372, line 1 K). 63 The rest of the sentence (four words) is illegible.

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[it], and others cool and purify, such as [those of] roses and grape bloom.64 Those that possess a cooling and purifying power focus the mind and strengthen the pneuma. [2.1] We often use fragrant things65 which are applied by means of rags in case of a certain pain that is going to be in a body. [2.2] Often an pernicious [mḥabblānā] pain occurs in the brain [mūḥā], whilst it is not present in the entire body [gūšmā].66 [2.3] The pain may be due to the corruption of the ambient air: he [the patient] suffers because of a previous bad constitution [ṭūkkāsā]67 of the air which became pernicious. Or it may be due to the corruption of unburied bodies that disturbs the air. [2.4] We apply the fragrant substances, because they are able to contract the brain [mūḥā] in which pernicious pain occurs, and to expel the vapour of the brain [mūḥā].68 [3.1] ‘There are odours that nourish’. The nourishing odours are those of barley flour and bread. [3.2] That they nourish can also be illustrated by a story such as the one that we are going to tell; for our credibility will not suffer because we tell a story. [3.3] People say that when Democritus became old, he wanted to depart from the body and not to remain [in it], because he saw that [his] natural actions had weakened. [3.4] When he decided to do that, he did not want to use a sword nor a lethal poison. Rather [he decided] not to feed his body, and therefore did not take any food. In this way, death would come quickly upon him. [3.5] When the feast of the realm took place in his town, and people were preparing for the great celebration, the sisters and relatives of Democritus came to him, begging him to take some nourishment. They said to him: ‘Eat, and do not seek to die during the feast, lest we and [other] members of your household have to mourn you profoundly, whilst the people of the town are celebrating’. When he heard this, he asks them: ‘How many days will the feast last, and how long do you ask me to live?’ They replied by saying to him: ‘Three days’. [3.6] Then Democritus ordered that an oven be brought to him and that bread be baked [in it] so that he could inhale the odour of bread. He would be nourished by the odour, and live for three days. For he did not want to distress the members of his household nor to infringe the law. [3.7] When the three days were over, the smell ceased, and he died. [3.8] Others say that Democritus did not inhale the smell of bread, but of 64 Syriac ʾwnntys is a transliteration of the Greek ‘oinánthē (grape bloom)’; it does not exactly correspond to ‘ἀμπέλων ἕλικα (tendrils of the ivy)’ found in John’s commentary. 65 Syriac hōrmaṯānā (〈 Greek arṓmata) is not an appropriate translation for the Greek δυϲώδηϲ, found in John’s commentary. 66 This is one of the places where Syriac Epidemics departs considerably from John’s commentary; see below pp. 110–11 for a discussion of the discrepancies. 67 Corresponding to Greek katástasis. 68 For a detailed interpretation of the mistranslation, see below p. 118.

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a jar of honey that stood close to him. In this way, he smelled [it] until the three days had passed; then he died. [3.9] I firmly believe that those who say that he was inhaling the smell of bread are right. [3.10] Thus this story [tašʿīṯā] is a demonstration [taḥwīṯā], provided by us after we have composed an explanation about smelling. Therefore, we say [to sum up] that some odours increase the psychic pneuma, and [also] other pneumas; some fortify them; and some are a protection [taḵsīṯa] against pernicious pains. [4.1] Having said that, let us return to the lemma. He [Hippocrates] says: ‘odours that are variable and oppress’. It is therefore right to examine odours which oppress and which please. [4.2] As we seek out some of them and avoid others, we should prefer those that please and avoid those that oppress. [4.3] Others interpret [the lemma] not like this, but say that it is necessary to know which odours oppress and [which] please. Sometimes we should use those that oppress for patients affected by lethargy and nausea. [4.4] Likewise, with sharp and hot [odours], we can excite and revive the strength. [5.1] He [Hippocrates] says ‘to fill’. It means those [odours] that nourish. [5.2] From here [Hippocrates] is going to demonstrate that odours are nourishing. The [odours] of bread and barley flour are nourishing, as it was already said that it is right to examine these odours. [6] He says ‘being persuaded’. We say that [Hippocrates] said ‘being persuaded’ instead of ‘suffering (ḥaššīn)’. He used a passive word instead of an active one, as it is common among Athenians, who produced the words. They often used the word in this way. Hippocrates used it in this way here too: instead of saying ‘persuading’, he said ‘being persuaded’. Therefore, ‘persuading’ odours are those that delight the sick; they are the pleasant odours. [7.1] ‘Alterations from everything, how they are’. Some people interpret ‘alterations’ [as follows]: in this place he [Hippocrates] only talked about nourishment, for it is necessary to examine what the changes of nourishment are. [7.2] Others [maintain] that the phrase is to be treated comprehensively and apply ‘alterations’ to everything, both food and air. They claim that he [Hippocrates] said that it is necessary to examine the changes in the air: whether a cold mixture [of air] turns into a warm one; whether a warm one turns into cold one; and whether a moist one turns into dry, or dry into moist one. [7.3] It is necessary to examine constitutions [ṭūkkāsē] that change, for instance, from northern to southern and from southern to northern. For, most of all one ought to investigate the air that surrounds us: how does its mixture change and how it changes [further]. [7.4] Thereby there are also […].

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This extract from the Syriac Epidemics covers the entire Hippocratic lemma quoted above. After a short general introduction (S 1), the author breaks up his discussion of the lemma into smaller units, taking the individual words in their turn. He includes an examination of the difficult ‘peithómenai’ (H 4), omitted in John’s commentary. One can argue that the Greek text of the lemma which underlies the Syriac Epidemics must have been identical to the Hippocratic text here. The author begins his interpretation of the lemma with a general introduction that aims to demonstrate how smells can affect the physical condition. He develops the explanation by employing the concept of three pneumas (sg. rūḥā), that is psychic (rūḥā nāp̄ šānā), vital (rūḥā ḥayūṯānā) and natural (rūḥā kyanāyā). The interplay of these three pneumas affects the human body (S 1.2). The effect which is produced by a smell, namely increasing, strengthening, cooling and purifying the pneuma, may vary depending upon the smell’s quality (S 1.2). Next, the author talks about ‘fragrant’ smells (S 2.1), presumably the ‘pleasant smells (odmaì térpousai)’ mentioned in H 1. The example of uterine suffocation (S 2.2–4), however, appears in Galen’s commentary when the latter explains ‘noxious (lypoûsai)’ smells (H 2). Therefore, the two lemmas may perhaps have been conflated here. Then (S 3.1), the author turns to ‘nourishing’ smells (mentioned in H 3), explaining that they are the smells of barley flour and bread. He tells the story of Democritus (S 3.2–7) who survives a little longer on the pleasant smell of baked bread, as he did not want to die during a holiday. Another version of the story, favoured by the author, has Democritus surviving on the smell of honey (S 3.8–9). Finally, the author summarises his main points (S 3.10). Then (S 4.1), the author returns to the beginning of the Hippocratic lemma (H 1–2). He discusses the reviving and oppressing effects of smells and presents two points of views on the subject (S 4.2–4). Moving on in the lemma (to H 3), the author discusses the filling smells in S 5 that he had already treated in S 3. The next word in the lemma (H 4) poses particular problems and requires philological tools (S 6): the commentator proposes to emend the middle/passive participle ‘peithómenai (being persuaded)’ to the active participle ‘peíthousai (persuading)’. Galen had already reported diverging opinions about this word, although he did not offer this particular solution (G 4–5). The Syriac Epidemics proves, however, that the reading peithómenai already existed in the Hippocratic text by the second half of the fifth century. The author comments on the last passage from the lemma (H 5) by presenting two possible interpretations (S 7.1– 2) and appears to favour the second one: that Hippocrates talks about changes of food and air here. Finally (S 7.3), the author mentions changes in the ‘constitution’ or katástasis.

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Comparison of the interpretations The Hippocratic lemma quoted here poses considerable problems for all the commentators: the language is cryptic and the text perhaps corrupt. Galen interpreted the lemma as referring to the therapeutic value of smells and illustrated his points with examples. The later commentators, John and the author of the Syriac Epidemics, adopted some of them. Most puzzling is the fact that Galen did not quote nor comment on the last part of the lemma, although the two later commentators did. From the extracts quoted above one can easily see that John’s Commentary on the Epidemics, Book Six, and the Syriac Epidemics often resemble each other. To put it more precisely, the former consistently agrees with the latter when the latter diverges from Galen’s text. For instance, the introductory section in both later commentaries about pneumas (J 1.2; S 1.1–2) are similar, but no such information is found in Galen. Likewise, both mention the example of uterine suffocation (J 2.4; S 2.2–4) and the story of Democritus (J 3; S 3). Moreover, both texts are structurally similar. As we have seen, John’s commentary commences with a general introduction and then progresses to the subject of H 1–2 without explicitly referring to this part of the lemma. Then, he considers H 3 and subsequently treats H 2. Then, he narrates the story of Democritus as an example illustrating H 3. He concludes with a discussion of H 5. Approximately the same sequence is found in Syriac Epidemics: general introduction, discussion of H 1–2 without direct reference to the lemma, story of Democritus (illustrating H 3), a return to H 1–2, and finally discussion of H 3–5. In addition to the similarities, the texts also exhibit some significant divergences. From the beginning, John speaks in the first person singular, whereas the author of the Syriac Epidemics employs a more neutral plural form, ‘we’. Similarly, the latter is concerned with more theoretical and didactic issues (S 1, 4, 6, 7), whereas the former provides more cases of a therapeutic nature (J 1.4–6, 2.4). The author of Syriac Epidemics mentions roses and grape bloom as examples of smells that produce a cooling effect (S 1.2). John mentions the same ingredients but in the context of real medical practice (J 1.5). But is this John’s own medical practice, or does he merely report the practice of others? If John’s commentary draws on a common source, shared with the Syriac Epidemics, as I shall argue, then the latter appears to be the case. On two occasions, Syriac Epidemics provides more extensive treatments than John. The author of Syriac Epidemics gives two possible reasons why uterine suffocation occurs (S 2.3). John, however, is more concise and limits himself exclusively to its treatment (J 2.4). The story of Democritus is also presented differently in the two commentaries. Syriac Epidemics has a longer version. In John, Democritus is asked to live for four days (J 3.4), whilst in Syriac Epidemics the period is three days (S 3.5). Both John and Syriac Epidemics mention variants

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in the story (J 3.5–6, S 3.6–8), but they occur in a different order. We find this story already in earlier Greek sources, but these versions do not shed any light on the variations found in the two commentaries.69 Moreover, John ponders the influence of prayer in all of this (J 3.7), something which is absent from the Syriac Epidemics. Furthermore, whilst the author of Syriac Epidemics offers his own opinion on both variants (S 3.9), John appears reluctant to do so. Finally in J 3.8, John refutes the idea that medical knowledge can be taught within a short period of time, whereas the Syriac Epidemics makes no mention of this. Strikingly, John suggests that uterine suffocation can be treated by means of a malodour (J 2.4), whilst the author of Syriac Epidemics argues that it is fragrant smells which can cause contractions (S 2). Since Galen recalls this case as an example of the use of unpleasant smells (G 2), one wonders whether the divergent account in Syriac Epidemics presents the authentic position of its author or is attributable to a possible corruption that a scribe or a translator has introduced. The extracts quoted above thus show that John’s Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six and the Syriac Epidemics often agree. This is more generally the case throughout the Syriac Epidemics, although space does not permit to adduce more parallels here. But from this wider comparison, it is clear that John draws on the underlying Greek source of the Syriac Epidemics.70

Some general observations on the text Both John’s Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six and the Syriac Epidemics are in close proximity to the genre of late Alexandrian medical commentaries. For instance, we find elements of lecture room teaching in these texts: fundamental concepts such as pneumas are repeated; individual words explained; the principle of division is generally applied; and earlier commentators are quoted.71 The notion of three pneumas in the introductory part (S 1.1) points specifically to the Alexandrian tradition. This concept influenced the European scientific tradition profoundly.72 According to Owsei Temkin, Galen did discuss the issue, but it was canonised later.73 Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq had been thought to be the first to define it specifically in his Questions on Medicine (Masāʾil fī l-ṭibb),

69 Diogenes Laertius, Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosopher’s, bk. ix., ch. 43; and Athenaeus, Dinner-Table Philosphers, ii.46 e/f; see also Taylor 1999, 54–66. 70 Corroborative evidence for this conclusion is provided below in the section ‘Author.’ 71 On this, see Duffy 1984, esp. 22–3 and Pormann 2010. 72 Klier 2002. 73 Temkin 1951, 160.

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and subsequently it became widespread in mediaeval Islamic medicine.74 Vivian Nutton, however, noted that the doctrine of three pneumas, presented as faculties, already occurred in the John’s Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six and in Agnellus of Ravenna’s Commentary on ‘The Sects’. Both authors present a sevenfold classification of physiology. Nutton stresses the significance of this concept for the development of Galenism, for if ‘John here represents accurately Greek lectures at sixth-century Alexandria, then the credit for this logical systematisation of Galen’s ideas rests with the Greeks, not their later interpreters’.75 Nutton, however, argues that this is not the case; rather, the sevenfold classification in which the three pneumas occupy an independent position that was interpolated into the Latin translation at a later stage under the influence of Ḥunayn’s work.76 But if the Greek original of the Syriac Epidemics was written in the second half of the fifth century and was a source for John’s commentary, as I have argued, then 1) the doctrine of three spirits must date back to this period; and 2) John was not the first to discuss it, but he rather drew on an earlier exegetical tradition, reflected in the Syriac Epidemics. The lemma from the Syriac Epidemics discussed above shows that this commentary is a translation of a Greek medical treatise produced in late antique Alexandria. The aforementioned elements are only some of the many distinctive features of the Alexandrian commentary tradition that it contains.77 It suffices to mention one more: the teaching was organised as a special lecture (prâxis), consisting of a general discussion (theōría) and an explanation of the text (léxis). Syriac Epidemics follows this pattern, but not consistently. In the case of some lemmas, the author first provides a general discussion and then turns to individual points; this also happens in the lemma under discussion here. At other times, the author turns strait to the explanation of the text. We also find Greek terminology used in the Syriac Epidemics. For instance, when commenting on the beginning of Epidemcis, Book Six, section 8, the author states: ‘Now that we 74 See Ullmann 1970, 62–3. For the edition of the Syriac version of the text, see Wilson/ Dinkha 2010 (a diplomatic edition based on one manuscript). Although the beginning of the treatise that contains the main principles of the medical science is lost, one can still find occasional references to the notion of three pneumas in other parts of the text (see above). See below, footnote 113. 75 Nutton 1991, 514. 76 Nutton 1991, 514. Elsewhere, Nutton expressed his position even more straightforwardly: ‘Thus it was Arabic authors who first wrote about the three spirits ruling the body […]’ (Nutton 2006, 58). 77 Since the first part of the Syriac Epidemics is lost, one can argue only hypothetically that it contained this characteristics of Late Alexandrian exegetical literature, that is a checklist of eight preliminary questions (kephálaia) which would be addressed in a given work. These preliminary questions are present in John’s Commentary on ‘Epidemics’, Book Six. See Wolska-Conus 1992, esp. 8–12; and the discussion below in Joosse’s and Pormann’s article, on p. 254.

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have provided a general discussion [tēōriyā] about the meaning [reʿyānā] of this lemma [mēmrā], let us proceed to the words [peṯgāmē] ƈƕ ƈƀƄƉ ƎſĪ ƎƆ ŦŁŤƌ ò .ƎƌƢƉĥ ťƌĬ ŧƢƉŤƉĪ ťƍƀƕĿ ƈƕ ťſĿĭĥƦŨĪ ƅſĥ ƎƉ ƎƀƆĬĭ ťƊūƦƘ). ’78 Therefore, the Syriac Epidemics reflects the late antique medical tradition both in approach and in diction. But how faithful was this Syriac version to the presumed Greek original? As the Greek source is lost, we cannot answer this question with any degree of certainty. Some noteworthy traits of the Syriac text, however, suggest that the Greek text underwent at least a minimal editorial interference. For example, it is not clear how we should qualify the presence of logical79 and astronomical material,80 which is absent in John’s Commentary on ‘Epidemics’, Book Six: was it present in the Greek original or did the translator add it?81 To sum up: the Syriac Epidemics is a translation of a Greek medical treatise written in late antique Alexandria; it bears a strong resemblance to John’s Commentary on ‘Epidemics’, Book Six. The translator may, however, have altered the original text.

Author The author of the Greek original underlying the Syriac Epidemics therefore belonged to the medical milieu of late antique Alexandria. Can we identify him further? We know of three commentaries on Epidemics, Book Six, written in late antique Alexandria: 1) by John of Alexandria; 2) by Palladius82; and 3) by Gesius.83 John’s commentary survives entirely in a Latin translation and partially in Greek.84 Palladius’ commentary, however, has only come down to us in a number of fragments in the Greek, whereas no traces of Gesius’ work have yet been 78 MS D, fol. 43b. It is worth noting that theōría in the sense of ‘vision, contemplation’ also features extensively in the corpus attributed to Dionysius the Areopagite; Sergius of Rēšʿaynā produced the Syriac translation. Subsequently this term became quite popular among later Syriac authors (Brock 1999). 79 For instance, it can be found in the commentary on the following lemmas: MS D, fols. 77a–b, discussing v. p. 346, line 7 L; MS D, fols. 34b–36a, discussing v. p. 326, lines 8–10 L; MS D, fol. 39a, discussing v. p. 328, lines 7–9 L. 80 For instance, it can be found in the commentary on the following lemmas: MS D, fols. 87b–88a, discussing v. p. 348, lines 12–15 L; MS D, fol. 66a, discussing v. p. 342, line 4 L. 81 For the author’s interest in astronomical matters, see footnote 93. As for the translator, see Hugonnard-Roche 1997a. 82 Ihm 2002, 177–9, § 191. 83 Ihm 2002, 122–3, § 99. Two anonymous fragments from commentaries on Epidemics VI (Roselli 1999, Duffy 1997, 122–5) cannot be compared with Syriac Epidemics because the corresponding sections of the Syriac texts are not preserved. 84 Ed. Pritchet 1975; Duffy 1997.

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discovered. A comparison of Syriac Epidemics with the extant commentaries by John and Palladius demonstrates that this text is not a translation of either of them. One remaining option is to assess whether it could be a translation based on Gesius’ commentary. As we cannot compare the Greek text of Gesius directly with the Syriac Epidemics, we rely on indirect evidence. In the manuscript tradition, a certain ‘John of Alexandria’ is identified as the author of the commentaries on Epidemics, Book Six, and Sects for Beginners; this John probably lived in the sixth or seventh century.85 Some scholars, however, argued that John, the author of the Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six, drew on Palladius’ commentary.86 Other scholars suggested that a possible source for John’s commentary is the Alexandrian iatrosophist Gesius, although they were unable to provide solid evidence to support this assertion.87 There is one indirect piece of evidence, however, which corroborates this assertion. When John discusses the case of someone succumbing to consumption because of an outflow of semen, he provides an opinion of ‘the thrice blessed and great sophist (triseudemon … et maximus sophista)’ who ‘calls consumption of the body “phthísis” here (ptisicum dicit hic consumptionem corporis)’.88 In the commentary to the same lemma, the author of the Syriac Epidemics states the following89: ûÙÄ ¾ùñÍè çâ :¾î˜‡ƒ ¾æÙâ~ ¾Á†ƒ ç⃠uÿؽãÙÐü ûâ½ã߃ ÞØ~ äÙè ¾Á–š ~† êÙèÿñ êÙÒûùñÍØ Àûøƒ J ¾å… v¾ãüÍÄ úàÒÿâ uĀ†…ƒ ¿½ÙÅè To put it simply: because of a constant flow of semen, that is, because of an abundant outflow of matter, the body decays. This is what Hippocrates calls ‘phthísis’. This is just one of the many parallels between the Syriac Epidemics and John’s commentary. It is likely that both John and the author of the Syriac Epidemics had a common source: Gesius’ commentary; this would explain the similarities, as the two cannot depend directly on each other. Moreover, the Syriac Epidemics also refers directly to Gesius, as in the following instance90:

85 On the problem of distinguishing between the various Johns, see Garofalo 1999; and Pormann 2003a. 86 Bräutigam 1908, 89; Irmer 1973, 181. 87 Roselli 1999, 494, n. 8; Duffy 1997, 12. 88 Ed. Pritchet 1975, 451; 150Ba, line 48. 89 MS D, fol. 101a. 90 MS D, fol. 72a; commentary on the lemma v. 344, lines 10–12 L.

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çØÌàÝÁƒ †…J ûâ~† K uáÙ܅ ǂ‹… ðØÊØ J .¾éò܃ ¾Ù܆ƒƒ ¾æÁÎÁ ¾Á½Ü K ç؆…J ½ÙÅèK çÙæÁ‡ƒ ¾æÁ‡ áÙàø ç⃠uÀƒ… ÞØ~ƒ ¿šÿå½Á [cis] ÍÅñƒ u‘ÍÓéñÍè†ûÓØ~ ‘ÍÙéÄ ûØûü š†… ¾Á½Ýâ ÚÅè uÌéò܃. J For it is known that pains often occur at the time of purification of menses. The iatrosophist Gesius, who is always right, says that he met such a woman: shortly after the beginning of the menses, she felt severe pain. One may think that if Gesius is quoted here by name, he can hardly be the underlying source. But this is simply not the case, as the example of Caelius Aurelianus shows: he quoted Soranus by name, but probably also simply translated much of his work. A discussion of this complicated phenomenon, however, lies beyond the scope of the present article. Furthermore, we have additional external evidence that Gesius’ commentary on the Epidemics was translated into Syriac. The underlying writing of two palimpsest manuscripts appears to preserve a commentary referring to Galen (Gālīnōs) and Gesius (Gēsyōs). Importantly, both these manuscripts were originally produced in the eighth or ninth century and reused in Alexandria in the late eleventh century.91 Moreover, one of them fortunately preserves part of the title which can be emended seamlessly into ‘Of Gesius. The Sixth [Volume (fem.) of] Epidemics (o¿ÿØÿØÿü ~[ÚÙâÊÙñ]~ €†š o‘ÍÙèÌă)’.92 Thus, Gesius probably can be identified as the author of this commentary. To sum up: Gesius’ commentary probably was the source of the Syriac Epidemics, because 1) it shares a lot of material with John of Alexandria’s commentary; 2) Gesius is mentioned in it; and 3) because external evidence suggests that a Syriac version of Gesius’ Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’ existed.93

91 They are London, British Library, MSS Add. 14490 and Add. 17127; see Wright 1870–72, i. 159–61, ii. 1020–1. 92 London, British Library, MS Add. 17127, fol. 21b; see also Degen 1972, 114, n. 7; Degen 1981, 160; Ihm 2002, 124–5, § 104. 93 A famous Syriac polymath of the thirteenth century, Gregory Bar ʿEbrōyō (more commonly known by his Latinised name Barhebraeus), provides additional, although oblique, evidence on the circulation of Gesius’ works in Syriac; see Budge 1932, 57; King 2010, 175, n. 68. Moreover, the eleventh-century East Syriac Christian author ʿAbd Allāh ibn al-Ṭayyib (see Ullmann 1970, 156–7) quoted from Gesius’ commentary on Galen’s Mixtures; Gesius includes some astronomical material in this quotation, as does the Syriac Epidemics; see Garofalo 2008, 68, n. 7. I am indebted to Ivan Garofalo for this reference.

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Translator The preceding examination has revealed a number of definitive points about the Syriac Epidemics. It is likely that the text is a Syriac translation of a late Alexandrian commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics, Book Six, which was written by the iatrosophist Gesius. Bearing all these elements in mind, I would like to propose a possible identification of the text’s translator. For, in my opinion, the distinctive features of the text suggest only one possible candidate, namely Sergius of Rēšʿaynā (d. 536). Sergius of Rēšʿaynā is a well known translator who lived and worked around the second half of the fifth century to the beginning of the sixth century. He introduced Aristotelian philosophy into a Syriac milieu94 and translated into Syriac for the first time key texts of late antiquity such as the works of Galen, Alexander of Aphrodisias’ On the Principles of the Universe, and the corpus of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite. These translations laid the foundation for the development of medicine, philosophy and theology.95 Little is known about the life of Sergius, apart from the fact that he studied philosophy and medicine at Alexandria some time in the 470s–90s.96 His teachers must have been Ammonius in philosophy and Gesius in medicine.97 The image of Sergius as presented in the extant sources matches with the distinctive features of the translator of Syriac Epidemics. One of the most notable among them is the explicit reference to the iatrosophist Gesius, who is regarded as a great authority. Next, as we shall see, the translation techniques applied to this text differs considerably from later approaches such as that by Ḥunayn. Furthermore, the Syriac Epidemics is similar to Sergius’ other medical translations not only in translation technique but also in vocabulary. As far as I could check, the botanical terms in the Syriac Epidemics always correspond to those used in the Syriac translation of Galens’s Powers of Simple Drugs, and Sergius produced this version. Some of Syriac Epidemics’ traits allow us to correlate the translation of this treatise with a particular period of Sergius’ life. From Ḥunayn’s Epistle, which records Sergius’ translations of Galen, we know that Ḥunayn was very critical of the quality of Sergius’ translations because they did not correspond to the standards of his time.98 While evaluating Sergius’ work, Ḥunayn places each translation under one of three categories which correspond with particular peri94 Watt 2010. 95 The authorship of some anonymous translations (for example, Aristotle’s Categories) is disputed. For an overview of Sergius’ life and works, see Hugonnard-Roche 1997a. 96 On Sergius, see Baumstark 1894, 358–84; and McCollum 2009, 16–26; Fiori 2010, 79–109; on Sergius in Alexandria, see Greatrex 2011, 368–9; King 2010, 176, n. 73. 97 King 2010, 177, n. 68. 98 Brock 1991, 151–2.

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ods of Sergius’ life: a certain text was translated by Sergius 1) before his study in Alexandria; 2) after his study in Alexandria; 3) at the peak of Sergius’ activity.99 As will be demonstrated below, the Syriac Epidemics reveals that its translator did not render correctly certain sophisticated medical ideas, whereas in his later period, Sergius became more experienced and precise, as exemplified by his Syriac version of the Powers of Simple Drugs.100 Since the text contains an explicit reference to Gesius, Sergius cannot have translated this text before he arrived in Alexandria, for he only became acquainted with Gesius there. Therefore, Sergius probably translated the Syriac Epidemics either in the course of his studies in Alexandria (ca. 470–90) or shortly afterwards. Sergius may have chosen to translate Gesius’ Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six, because he attended lectures on this Hippocratic treatise, as it was part of the so-called ‘Hippocratic Canon’, a selection of core curriculum texts presumably used in the amphitheatres of Alexandria.101 As I briefly mentioned earlier, we find additions by the translator, namely Sergius, in the Syriac Epidemics. One could compare these additions with those present in two other translations by Sergius, that of Galen’s Powers of Simple Drugs and that of Alexander of Aphrodisias’ On the Principles of the Universe. Whilst the former is a very accurate translation, the latter had previously been thought to be an independent treatise by Sergius, but it is now clear that it is a Syriac adaptation of a Greek text.102 Daniel King argued that Sergius followed Alexander’s treatise closely but also added to the text and changed it in order to make it more acceptable and comprehensible to a Christian audience.103 Therefore, since Sergius’ approach was not uniform, we must establish as precisely as possible the extent of his editorial interference as regards his translation of Gesius’ commentary. My preliminary study suggests that although there must be a certain level of interference, the Syriac Epidemics as a whole should be considered a translation of Gesius’ commentary rather than a treatise of Sergius.104

99 See, for instance, Bergsträsser 1925, 7, 12. 100 Unfortunately, Ḥunayn does not evaluate the quality of this translation of Sergius. 101 See Weiser 1989; Strohmaier 1991b; and Overwien 2005. 102 Miller 1994. 103 King 2010. 104 Sergius mostly translated medical texts; see Hugonnard-Roche 1997a, 123–5; but he also produced an extant commentary on Aristotle’s Categories; see Hugonnard-Roche 1997b.

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Quality of the translation Therefore, the Syriac Epidemics is not an original Syriac composition but rather a translation of a Greek text. Apart from its similarity to the commentary of John’s Commentary on the Epidemics, Book Six, the grammatical nature of the text also reveals that there was an underlying Greek text. I will mention only one of these grammatical points: that pertaining to the quality of the translation. The translator often provided quite inaccurate renderings. For instance, in the example discussed above, the word meštaḥlapīn (‘variable’, ‘being changed’; S 1.1) is a somewhat strange translation for the Greek word ‘pleasant (térpousai)’. Was the translator influenced here by the word ‘changes (metabolaí)’, which occurs in the same lemma and which he translates with the cognate ‘šūḥlāpē (changes)’ (S 7.1)? This would suggest that the translator misunderstood his text rather than that there was a textual variant in the Greek text.105 Moreover, the vocabulary used in the section on uterine suffocation (S 2) suggests that the translator was not able to convey accurately the meaning of the Greek original. Thus, quite unexpectedly, one finds (S 2.2, 2.4) mūḥā (‘brain / yolk’) as the rendering for chórion. Also, in the final passage (S 2.4), the underlying Greek text must have been ‘to expel the retained [chorion] (ἐκκρίνῃ τὸ ἐπεχόμενον)’ which we find in John’s commentary (J 2.4). Yet, Sergius translated this as ‘to secret the vapour of the brain (wa-la-mpāwšešū l-ʿeṭrā ḏ-mūḥā)’, which is by no means a felicitous rendering. These weaknesses in Sergius’ translation may at least in part be explained by the complexity of the underlying Greek medical text. In fact, Sergius gained great proficiency in Greek106, and produced more accurate versions later in his career. For instance, when translating Galen’s Powers of Simple Drugs, he rendered the Greek ‘chórion (afterbirth)’ consistently as ‘šlīṯā (afterbirth)’.107 In the Syriac Epidemics, as in Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, the Aphorisms are frequently quoted. Because Ḥunayn’s Syriac translation of this text is extant, it is possible to compare the quotations of the Aphorisms in Syriac Epidemics, that is, the version produced by Sergius, with Ḥunayn’s version. The following aphorism occurs in both versions108: ἢν δὲ βόρειον ᾖ, βῆχεϲ, φάρυγγεϲ, κοιλίαι ϲκληραί.

105 Manetti / Roselli 1982, 168 list no variant reading here. 106 Watt 2010, 32 and the literature cited there. 107 MS Add, fol. 47a, line 4, corresponding to xii. p. 52, line 1 K; MS Add, fol. 68a, line 26, corresponding to xii. p. 58, line 17 K; MS Add, fol. 48a, line 11, corresponding to xii. p. 130, line 2 K. 108 Aphorisms 3.5; translation based on that by ed. Jones 1959, 123.

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If there is a north wind, then [there are] coughs, sore throats, and constipation. Sergius translated this as follows109: ¿ÿÙýø K ¿ÿèăÜ ¿šûÅÄ €½Ü āïü† K ¾ÙÁûÄ North wind – coughs, pain of the throat, constipation And Ḥunayn renders it thus110: ¿ÿÙýø K ¿ÿèăÜ .¾ÝÏ K .ç؆… K āïüK .¿†…š ¿ÿÙÙÁûÄ çØÊå~ In case of the northern wind, coughs, palates, constipation occur. Although the two translations are quite similar and the differences between them are almost impossible to convey in English, both passages reveal approaches that are characteristic to Sergius and Ḥunayn. The Greek adjective ‘bóreion (northern)’ designates the ‘northern wind’ here. Sergius renders the term through a Syriac cognate noun ‘garbyā (northern wind)’. Ḥunayn’s version, however, is more precise, for he provides a calque by using the corresponding adjective ‘garbyāyāṯā (northern)’.111 Ḥunayn retains the Greek expression ‘ḕn dé (if)’—using the etymologically cognate endēn—, and the verb ‘êi (there is)’—by using ‘tehwē (there is)’. Therefore, the opening words of Ḥunayn’s translation are more easily understood that those in Sergius’ version, which lacks both conjunction and verb. Both versions also provide identical words for ‘bêches (coughs)’, namely šʿālē, and ‘koilíai sklēraí (constipation)’, namely karsāṯā qašyāṯā. The rendering of ‘phárynges ([sore] throats)’ differs in the two translations. Sergius made the translation easier to understand by resorting to explicitation: he translated the simple word ‘throats’ as ‘pain of the throat (kēḇ gaḡārṯā)’. Ḥunayn, on the other hand, produced another loan translation by employing the noun ‘palate (ḥekkā)’. Ḥunayn, however, customarily used this word to render Greek ‘throat (phárynx)’.112 The example provided above also supplies material for comparison. In the general introduction (S 1.1), three kinds of pneumas are mentioned, psychic (rūḥā nāp̄ šānā), vital (ḥayūṯānā), and natural (kyanāyā). In the Syriac version of the Questions on Medicine (Al-Masāʾil fī l-ṭibb), one comes across these same 109 Fol. 19b. 110 Ed. Pognon 1903, 10. 111 The same form also is employed in the Syriac version of Ḥunayn’s Questions on Medicine for Students (ed. Wilson / Dinkha 2010, 408, line 12). 112 See ed. Budge 1913, 177, line 23.

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terms, but they are rendered as rūḥā nāp̄ šānāyā and ḥayūṯānāyā.113 In other words, the author employed the same same suffix -āyā, which Ḥunayn used to produce a literal translation of ‘northern (bóreion)’ in the case of the Aphorisms. Similarly, the name Hippokrátēs is translitterated in Syriac Epidemics as YWPQRṬYS, whereas in Ḥunayn’s Questions on Medicine and the translations of Aphorisms, we find the more literal ʾYPPWQRʾṬYS.114 A similar transliteration is found in Sergius’ translation of the Powers of Simple Drugs: ʾYPQṬRYS.115 In sum, the traits of both translations correspond to what we know about Sergius’ and Ḥunayn’s translation techniques. Thus, one can detect the followings elements in the above examples. Sergius adds or omits words, phrases, and even whole sentences.116 Sergius also mixes elements belonging to an earlier stage of freer Syriac translations with the elements typically associated with the later seventh century. Ḥunayn follows closely the grammatical categories and builds the appropriate Syriac form by adding the suffix –āyā.

Conclusions Despite a complete absence of external indications such as title, author, or date, the study of the text of Syriac Epidemics allows us to reach positive conclusions about its author and translator: 1. The Syriac Epidemics is a lemmatic commentary on the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Six. 2. The text of the unique manuscript (MS D) is damaged and in its present state covers the commentary on lemmas v. p. 316, line 3–p. 356, line 15 L. 3. In its original form, the commentary most likely covered the entire text of Epidemics, Book Six. 4. The present Syriac text is a translation of a commentary on Epidemics, Book Six, by the Alexandrian iatrosophist Gesius (second half of the fifth century). 5. The translator may have adapted, and added to, the original text of Gesius, but to what extent is yet to be determined. 6. The translator appears to be Sergius of Rēšʿaynā (d. 536). 7. The commentary of Gesius was one of the sources of John of Alexandria’s Commentary on Epidemics, Book Six. The Syriac Epidemics is significant in two ways. Firstly, it is a unique witness of an otherwise lost Greek medical commentary that was composed by the 113 Ed. Wilson / Dinkha 2010, 356, lines 5–7. 114 Ed. Wilson / Dinkha 2010, 304, line 11; ed. Pognon 1903, 3. 115 Ed. Merx 1885, 263, line 3. 116 McCollum forthcoming. For the translation technique applied to the Corpus Dionysiacum, which probably reflect a later period of Sergius’ translation activity, see Fiori 2010, 118–34.

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iatrosophist Gesius in late antique Alexandria. As such, it stands as an important document for the history of the Alexandrian medical tradition and for the output of Gesius in particular.117 Secondly, the Syriac Epidemics also is an important witness to the development of medicine in the Syriac milieu, and especially during its formative period. Undoubtedly, this discovery of a Syriac translation of Gesius’ Commentary on the Epidemics, Book Six, is important for classical studies as well as for the history of medicine. Being a notable authority of his time, Gesius certainly composed a number of medical treatises, mostly in the form of commentaries on Galenic texts.118 By a quirk of fate, the fame of Gesius is reflected both in a few Christian lampoons which malign his trust in the rational science of medicine and in a few reverent references in the works of later Alexandrian scholars.119 Until today, none of his works seem to have survived.120 Therefore, the discovery of an original treatise of Gesius makes it possible, for the first time, to analyse the doctrine of this late fifth-century Alexandrian iatrosophist. The example provided in the present study clearly demonstrates the outstanding importance of the Syriac Epidemics for the study of the history of the Hippocratic Epidemics, Book Six. Since the manuscript of Syriac Epidemics was written before AD 705, it is the oldest, indirect manuscript witness to Hippocrates’ Epidemics, Book Six.121 In our discussion of one lemma, we have seen that the Syriac Epidemics preserves the Greek lemma quite faithfully. Moreover, the author attempted to solve a textual problem, namely the presence of the somewhat inappropriate passive form ‘peithómenai (being persuaded)’. Because the Syriac version of Gesius’ commentary is based on Galen’s commentary, it is an important early witness to the text of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, Book Six, for it indirectly represents the form of the text at the end of the fifth century. Where the Greek text is missing, that is from part six onwards, one can use the Syriac Epidemics to improve the text of the Arabic translation, produced by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq.122 Moreover, the Syriac Epidemics also offers indirect evidence for the text of John’s Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’, Book Six, as the two share a common source. As the example discussed above shows, John often drew on previous material, presumably Gesius’ commentary, even where he went beyond Galen. Further study of this interdepend117 See Pormann 2010. 118 Ihm 2001, 122–5, § 98–104. 119 Watts 2009. 120 It was, however, suggested that the Latin commentaries attributed to Agnellus of Ravenna might be in fact heavily based on Gesius or may be mere translations of Gesius’ own treatises (Nutton 1991, Palmieri 1989 and 1993). 121 The oldest manuscript of Epidemics, Book Six, is dated to the tenth century; see Manetti / Roselli 1982, xxv–xxvii. 122 On this, see Degen 1979 and 1986.

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ence could yield interesting results about the identity of this mysterious John of Alexandria. Finally, the Syriac Epidemics contains many quotations from a variety of medical, philosophical, logical, and astronomical sources, which also appear to be present in John’s commentary.123 This topic, too, deserves further investigation, as it can shed light on how later authors used earlier authorities. If my conclusion is correct and the translation is by Sergius of Rēšʿaynā, then Syriac Epidemics provides us with Sergius’ most extensive extant contribution to the field of medicine, for presently, only three shorter texts from Sergius survive.124 The Syriac Epidemics can also be used not only to study Sergius’ translation technique but also to compare it with that of Ḥunayn. Since Syriac Epidemics contains a number of quotations from Aphorisms, these quotations may be juxtaposed with Ḥunayn’s extant Syriac translation of the Aphorisms, as we have done above for one example.125 Moreover, Syriac Epidemics can play an instrumental role in the diachronical study of Sergius’ translation activity. With the exception of the much debated Book of Medicine, which apparently is a compilation, the Syriac Epidemics has the merit of being the largest extant medical text in Syriac.126 Therefore, Syriac Epidemics may provide important evidence for the formation of medical and pharmacological terminology in Syriac. One might endeavour to trace its influence in later, especially Eastern, Syriac texts because it could have been one of the textbooks in the East Syriac school movement.127 Whereas the impact of late antique Alexandrian, especially Aristotelian, philosophy has been acknowledged by recent scholarship,128 there have been few attempts to trace and analyse the influence of Alexandrian medicine on the Syriac tradition.129 In the Syriac Epidemics, one finds direct testimony that both

123 It is worth noting in passing that Syriac Epidemics is remarkable for its great number of quotations from Aphorisms (see above, note 108). One wonders if this frequency is due to the Gesius’ personal interest in this Hippocratic text, for there is evidence that he wrote a commentary on this text (Ihm 2001, 122, §98). 124 On the Power of Simple Medicines (Books 6–8), The Art of Medicine (chapters 23–4, 28–31), The Properties of Foodstuffs (chapters 58–61); see Hugonnard-Roche 1997, 123–5. In addition, there exists a commentary on Book Three of Critical Days, which is predominantly of astronomical content, as well as a recently discovered Judeo-Arabic version of the introduction to Galen’s Commentary on the Hippocratic On the Power of Foodstuffs (Bos / Langermann 2009). 125 See pp. 118–19. 126 On surveys of medical literature in Syriac, see Degen 1972, Gignoux 2001, Habbi 2001. 127 See Becker 2006. 128 Daiber 2001. The influence of Neoplatonic philosophy was by no means limited to philosophical and theological texts. For its repercussions on one hagiographic text, see Walker 2004. See also Becker 2006, 126–54, for a speech addressing the incoming class at the school of Nisibis. 129 For instance, see the recently discovered Judeo-Arabic version of Sergius of Rēšʿaynā’s introduction to Galen’s Commentary on Hippocration Foodstuffs, which was composed

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Western and Eastern Syrians were aware of the heritage of late Alexandrian medicine.130 The significance of Syriac Epidemics should by no means be measured solely in terms of the evidence it provides for other subjects such as classics, Arabic studies, or history of medicine. It is of intrinsic importance to Syriac studies, as the manuscript documents the process of the expansion of the classical tradition into the realm of Persia and its later reception and development in Islamic civilisation. Although Syriac Epidemics is a Syriac translation of an Alexandrian medical commentary which was produced by the West Syriac translator Sergius of Rēšʿaynā, the text is preserved in an East Syriac codex which was copied around the year 700 for a patron who resided in the Persian province Ḫūzistān.131 Thus, this text provides a unique possibility to observe the transfer and circulation of medical knowledge from Alexandria to Persia, that is from the late antique Neoplatonic school to the East Syriac schools, which would initiate the GreekArabic translation movement.132 This transfer is usually taken for granted or reconstructed from its impact. The Syriac Epidemics offers primary evidence for this process. Through it, we can see Syriac science in the making.

following the list of eight preliminaries that were standard in the Alexandrian exegetical tradition (Bos/Langermann 2009). 130 I am planning to demonstrate elsewhere the influence of Alexandrian medicine upon the East Syriac tradition, as exemplified by a treatise of Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūṯēh (end of the seventh century). 131 On medicine in Ḫūzistān, and particularly at Gondēšāpūr, see Pormann/Savage-Smith 2007, 20–1; Dols 1987, 377. 132 Angeletti 1990, Touwaide 2010.

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 Galen, Epidemics, Book One: Text, Transmission, Translation Uwe Vagelpohl

The Greek edition When, several years before the beginning of World War 1, Ernst Wenkebach undertook to edit the Greek text of Galen’s commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics, he was well aware of the enormity of his task.1 According to his own admission several years later, his plan to re-edit Galen’s commentary on the basis of the flawed Greek manuscript tradition alone had been foolish, the more so since he had known early on about the ‘unprecedented corruptness of the text’.2 Previous editions of Galen’s works, from the Aldine editio princeps published between 1516 and 1526 to the most recent, issued in 1828–9 as part of Karl Gottlob Kühn’s edition of Galen’s Opera omnia, relied on the same set of Greek manuscripts.3 Wenkebach reported that the manuscripts used to edit the Epidemics suffered from numerous defects, including the loss of entire books of the work. Two substantial issues stood out: firstly, none of the manuscripts predated the fourteenth century and, in addition, all of them depended on the same archetype, probably also from the fourteenth century. For Book 1, Wenkebach listed six manuscripts, none older than the fifteenth century, most of which were also available to the first editors. Secondly, there was no independent transmission to supplement or correct the extant Greek text.4 In addition, in the process of producing the editio princeps, the Hippocratic lemmas in Galen’s commentary had been contaminated by the independently transmitted Hippocratic text.5 1 Unless specified otherwise, references to the Epidemics in this article refer exclusively to Galen’s commentary, not the Hippocratic source text he commented on. 2 ‘[F]ast beispiellose Verderbtheit des Textes’; Wenkebach 1918, 48. 3 Kühn 1821–33, vols. xvii/a–b. 4 Cf. Wenkebach 1927, 3–5 and 1934, ix. 5 Cf. Wenkebach 1927, 28–36. The Hippocratic lemmas, often present only in abbreviated form in the main manuscript of Galen’s commentary used by the editors, were supplied from a manuscript of Hippocratic works; cf. Potter 1998, 246–7. Potter also demonstrated that the two volumes of Aldus’ Hippocratis Opera omnia and volume 5 of the works of Galen, which contained his commentary on the Epidemics, were published within days of each other in

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Successive generations of scholars had introduced the occasional textual improvement; others, however, had filled substantial gaps in the Greek text with whole chapters and books of their own invention.6 These and other shortcomings of the Greek text led Wenkebach to pronounce the Aldine edition and all others based on it ‘unreadable’.7 At the time he wrote these words, Wenkebach and his colleague Franz Pfaff were in the process of comparing the Greek text with a short sample taken from a manuscript of the Arabic translation donated by the Escorial.8 After securing a complete set of reproductions a few years later, Wenkebach’s hopes about the quality and importance of the Arabic witness produced by the famous translator Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq were decisively confirmed: it preserved a more or less complete and also much older version of the commentary than the extant Greek manuscripts.9 The apparatus of the Greek edition illustrates the extensive use Wenkebach made of Pfaff’s German version of the Arabic translation. It indicates that he considered it at least as reliable as his best Greek manuscripts, if not more so. Occasionally, faced with textual loss and damage through scribal errors and misunderstandings, Wenkebach relied solely on Pfaff to fill gaps in the Greek text. Especially in the badly preserved sections of the mostly lost prooemium of Book 1, Wenkebach cautiously reconstructed passages of the Greek text by re-translating Pfaff’s German into Greek and inserting the material into the skeleton provided by the fragmentary Greek text.10 Obviously flawed Greek passages were sometimes ‘assimilated’ to the Arabic translation with the help of a small number of targeted conjectures and additions.11 Again in the prooemium to Book 1, Wenkebach cited Ḥunayn’s text to justify substantial additions and quotations, e.g. from Book 2 of the commentary and other texts.12 On one occasion, a lacuna that had already disfigured the Greek exemplar had grown even longer in the extant Greek manuscripts but could be partially filled on the basis April 1526 (258) and that the texts assembled in these volumes were prepared in a similar fashion and from similar sources (250–1). 6 E.g. Book 2 (cf. Wenkebach 1917) and the lost prooemium to Book 1 (cf. Wenkebach 1918). 7 ‘[U]nlesbar’; Wenkebach 1927, 3. 8 Cf. Wenkebach 1918, 3, n. 2. For his comparison, Wenkebach relied not on the Arabic text but Pfaff’s and Max Simon’s German translation. Simon had originally been assigned to edit and translate the Arabic version of the commentary. After his untimely death, Pfaff was commissioned by the Prussian Academy of Sciences to complete the project. He had intended to edit the Arabic text alongside the German translation; however, the financial resources of the Academy of Sciences did not allow for the costly printing of the Arabic (cf. Wenkebach 1934, xxxii–xxxiii). 9 Cf. Wenkebach 1925, 5 and 1934, xxi–xxii. 10 Cf. Wenkebach 1918. 11 E.g. p. 11, lines 1–10 W with Wenkebach 1918, 29. 12 Cf. p. 8, lines 13–17 and 20–1 W with Wenkebach 1918, 13–14; and p. 69, lines 3–4 W with Diller 1937, 269.

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of the Arabic translation.13 Where the Arabic text suggested substantial gaps in the Greek that could not be reconstructed with the help of parallels elsewhere, Wenkebach supplied Pfaff’s German translation in the apparatus, as he did in the case of lacunae explicitly indicated in the Greek manuscripts.14 Not all of his interventions, however, were as dramatic: most of the time, i.e. on almost every single page, Wenkebach simply noted readings suggested by Pfaff’s German text and weighed them against the evidence of his Greek manuscripts. The Arabic version frequently served to support conjectures. Distinguishing between valid variants and additions introduced by the Arabic translator was not always unproblematic. Wenkebach knew well about Ḥunayn’s tendency to expand his text with glosses, explicitations and explanations, but his reviewers spotted a number of other additions that still made it into the edition.15 Finally, Wenkebach also used Ḥunayn’s translation to identify inauthentic material. In two cases, the Arabic version of the prooemium lacked additional quotations from Hippocratic writings transmitted by the Greek manuscript tradition. Wenkebach ascribed these quotations to a later Byzantine interpolator and cited their absence in the Arabic text as evidence for its insertion into a manuscript younger than those Ḥunayn worked with.16 The crucial role of the Arabic translation for reconstituting the Greek of Book 1 of the Epidemics suggests that in his attempt to produce a faithful representation of the Greek original behind his defective manuscript sources, Wenkebach’s version at times resembled a hybrid confected from the results of four separate stages of translation and interpretation spanning more than ten centuries. As reported in Ḥunayn’s Epistle (Risāla), a summary of the translation history of Galenic texts Ḥunayn and his associates worked on, the first step consisted of a translation from Greek into Syriac of Book 1, produced in the early ninth century by ʾAyyūb al-Ruhāwī / Job of Edessa.17 ʾAyyūb frequently appears in the Epistle as a translator from Greek into Syriac; Ḥunayn noted that he corrected several of his translations and he criticised ʾAyyūb on a number of occasions.18 Mostly, however, he just mentioned his translation without comment. The second step, also reported in the Epistle, consisted of the translation of ʾAyyūb’s

13 P. 66, lines 9–10 W; cf. Diller 1937, 269. 14 Cf. p. 9, line 5 W. 15 For examples of explicitations that did not enter the Greek text, cf. Wenkebach 1918, 6 ad p. 5, line 16 W and 8 ad p. 6, line 14 W. Some of the expansions that remained in Wenkebach’s text were listed by Diller 1937, 267–8 and Alexanderson 1967, 122 ad p. 27, line 5 W; 124 ad p. 73, line 27 W; 129 ad Epid. III, 37, line 23; 136 ad Epid. VI, 51, line 11. 16 Cf. Wenkebach 1918, 19–20, 21–2 and p. 9, lines 5–15, 20–4 W. 17 Bergsträsser 1925, 41, line 21 (Arabic); 34 (German). 18 Cf. Bergsträsser 1925, 20, line 7; 21, line 5; 24, line 7; 34, line 6; 40, line 7 (Arabic); 16, 19, 27, 32–3 (German).

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Syriac text of Book 1 into Arabic, produced by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq himself.19 Interestingly, Epidemics Book 1 is one of only a handful of ʾAyyūb’s translations which, according to the Epistle, Ḥunayn used to prepare an Arabic translation. In his account in the Epistle, Ḥunayn then informs us that he himself collated the Greek text of Book 2 and translated it first into Syriac, then into Arabic.20 Without mentioning Book 3, Ḥunayn reports that ʾAyyūb also translated Book 6 into Syriac and that, after some time, Ḥunayn produced an Arabic version of this book—without, however, specifying the language or version he translated from.21 More than a millenium later, we reach the third step: Max Simon and, after his death, Franz Pfaff produced a translation of the Arabic Epidemics into German. Their source for Book 1 was the same unique manuscript we have today. Finally, Wenkebach used Pfaff’s translation, which he took to be faithful replica of Ḥunayn’s Arabic version, to check and supplement his Greek manuscript sources. Clearly, the Greek edition of the Epidemics has many fathers, not just Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn. Galen’s discussion of textual variants and scribal mistakes and Ḥunayn’s ‘corrections’ of the defective textual transmission of Galen illustrate that not even Hippocrates or Galen themselves were speaking with one voice.22 Drawn from several sources, parts of the Greek text of Book 1 are a construct based both on the defective Greek manuscripts and the Arabic text. With Wenkebach’s edition, the circle of translation from Greek, the language of origin, seems to close: from Greek to Syriac to Arabic to German and finally back to Greek. The complexities of the Greek edition are compounded by factors Wenkebach could not have been aware of. As we now know, his trust in Pfaff’s German

19 Ḥunayn’s ambiguous phrasing ‘ʾAyyūb translated them (sc. the three parts of Book 1) ... and I translated them (naqalahā ʾAyyūb ... wa-naqaltuhā)’ (Bergsträsser 1925, 41, lines 19–20 [Arabic]; 34 [German]) suggests that he may have re-translated the Greek text into Arabic instead of ʾAyyūb’s Syriac version. A translation from the Syriac, however, seems more likely; in his Epistle, Ḥunayn did not miss a chance to highlight his achievements and would in all likelihood have made it sufficiently clear if he had discarded ʾAyyūb’s text and started from scratch. 20 As Pormann 2008a, 255 explains, the passage in question as it appears in the Epistle was the result of an interpolation that aimed at including information about the otherwise unmentioned Book 3 of the Epidemics. The version of the Epistle entry appended to Ḥunayn’s translation does not contain the interpolation and only speaks of Book 2. 21 Bergsträsser 1925, 42, lines 6–7, 13–15 (Arabic); 34 (German). 22 Examples for Galen’s examination of variants at p. 35, line 30–6, line 6 W (cf. i.1.107 V); p. 43, lines 22–9 W (cf. i.1.144 V); p. 98, line 20–99, line 8 (cf. i.2.219 V). Some of Ḥunayn’s critical notes on Galen’s text can be found in Book 2.1 of the Epidemics: ii.1.111 HV (cf. p. 182, lines 9–16 Pf) and ii.1.130 HV (cf. p. 187, line 39–188, line 4 Pf; cf. also Pormann 2008a, 256); also in Book 2.6: ii.6.22 HV (cf. p. 361, line 44–362, line 30 Pf) and in Book 6.2: MS E2, fol. 55a, line 16–fol. 55b, line 16.

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translation of Ḥunayn’s Arabic was not always well-placed.23 For one, Pfaff did not know of some important manuscript sources available today. For his translation of Books 1 and 2 of Galen’s commentary, he relied on two manuscripts:24 E1 (for Books 1–3) and P1 (for Books 2 and those parts of Book 6 that were lost in Greek); also, he claimed that there were no ‘material variants’ between E1 and P1. As we now know, this claim is incorrect.25 The most significant of the additional sources for Book 2 Pfaff was unaware of is manuscript M, from which P1 was copied;26 another partial copy of Book 2 covering parts 3–6, manuscript A1, came to light recently in Istanbul.27 Also, he was not aware of P2, a manuscript that contains only the Hippocratic lemmas from Book 1 extracted from the commentary.28 Its readings are frequently better and closer to the Greek than those of E1. Additions in the margin of E1 and a comparison of E1 with the often more complete and reliable second main manuscript source for Book 2, M, suggests that we have to assume a certain amount of textual loss in the Arabic version of Book 1 and a certain degree of unreliability of E1, our only witness for it. A number of superior readings of the Hippocratic lemmas we find in P2 also indicates that E1 may be of lesser quality than this manuscript or their potentially shared archetype. For the Hippocratic lemmas, we can now also consult A2, a manuscript that contains the commentary on the entire Hippocratic Epidemics by the thirteenth-century physician Ibn al-Nafīs.29 Additional material from both the lemmas and Galen’s commentary on Book 2 was preserved in a collection of often verbatim extracts from the translation compiled by the eleventh-century Cairene philosopher and physician Ibn Riḍwān. These observations should not distract us from the fact that Wenkebach’s edition, given the textual resources at his disposal, was a major achievement. There are even examples of omissions in Ḥunayn’s translation that can be identified and filled on the basis of Wenkebach’s Greek text.30 At the same time, the Epidemics strongly confirms the importance of the Arabic tradition for the reconstruction of this text and large sections of Greek medical literature more generally, a fact Wenkebach and also his predecessors were clearly aware of and 23 Cf. Strohmaier 1981, 189. 24 With the exception of A1, A2, P1 and P2, the sigla used below are those introduced by Pormann 2008a, 251–2. They refer to the following manuscripts: Istanbul, Suleymaniye, Ayasofya 3592 (A1); Istanbul, Suleymaniye, Ayasofya 3642 (A2); Cambridge, University Library, Cantab. Dd.12.1 (C); Madrid, Escorial, árabe 804 (E1); Madrid, Escorial, árabe 805 (E2); Milan, Ambrosiana, B 135 sup. (M); Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, arabe 2846 (P1); and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, arabe 6734 (P2). 25 ‘[S]achliche Varianten’, Wenkebach 1934, xxxii; cf. Pormann 2008a, 263, 267. 26 Wenkebach 1934, xx; cf. Pormann 2008a, 263. 27 See above, pp. 15–22. 28 Cf. the description in Degen 1986, 271. 29 Cf. Bachmann 1971. 30 E.g. p. 143, line 19 W.

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that still applies to most of the Greek medical texts that survive in both their original language and in an Arabic translation.31

The Epidemics in Arabic: a methodological excursus Apart from its importance for the reconstruction of its Greek source text, the Arabic translation of Galen’s Epidemics became a major source and inspiration for the study of medicine in the Islamic world. Practicing physicians were particularly attracted by its thorough and detailed case notes. Eagerly read and commented on, the text and the diverse medical literature it gave rise to illustrates its widespread use in both theoretical and practical, clinical contexts.32 At the same time, the Arabic Epidemics represents one of the milestones of the Greek-Arabic and Syriac-Arabic translation movement of the eighth to tenth century, during which a substantial part of the Greek philosophical, scientific and medical literature became available to Arabic-speaking scholars. Here, we are not concerned with the motivations and historical circumstances that occasioned this massive wave of translation activities.33 For a full understanding of this text, its significance and its terminological and methodological profile, however, we need to situate it in the context of the translation movement. Unfortunately, literary evidence to contextualise and date Arabic translations is often limited or non-existent and for many translations, authorship and dating have remained uncertain.34 Reconstructing the history of Greek-Arabic translation and determining the linkages between texts and the impact they had on each other and on associated original writings is and always will be a very delicate task. The existence of Ḥunayn’s Epistle has proven very helpful, but it still leaves many gaps: his information is sometimes vague and, by Ḥunayn’s own admission, most likely incomplete.35 Another, more reliable source for relevant information are the translations themselves, i.e. their terminology, stylistic features36 and (whenever available) annotations and marginalia transmitted alongside the texts.

31 Wenkebach 1934, xxii, quoting Mewaldt et al. 1914, xiv. 32 Cf. Pormann 2008a, 248 and 268–71; see Hallum, below, pp. 185–210. 33 Still the best introduction to the translation movement, its historical background, scope and methods: Gutas 1998. 34 Ascriptions given in manuscripts and secondary sources such as the bio-bibliographical literature have also frequently proven to be unreliable; cf. Endress 1992, 5–6. 35 Cf. the introduction to his Epistle: Bergsträsser 1925, 1 (Arabic); 1 (German). 36 Cf. Pormann 2004, 131–2.

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The systematic study of linguistic characteristics of translations and their correspondence with source texts, a staple of many philologies and also at the centre of methodological discussions in the field of translation studies, is firmly established among Graeco-Arabists.37 While there is considerable consensus about the analytical tools for studying source texts and translations, their practical application often exposes the limits to which this kind of evidence can be stretched. Without outside confirmation from secondary sources, e.g. remarks in contemporary writings that securely tie a text to an author, how much linguistic evidence is suffient to establish date and authorship? How large a body of texts do we need in a comparative study for our findings to become conclusive? In a medieval setting in which scribes and scholars, at least in some fields, did not put as much emphasis on verbatim transmission as their modern counterparts and held different views on authenticity and authorship, how do we factor in the possibility of intentional modifications and inandvertent textual changes over time?38 The translation scenarios commonly investigated in translation studies involve translation from and into modern languages. They do not normally deal with the challenges outlined above. The study of Greek-Arabic translations therefore requires methodological adjustments that could be usefully applied to any translation situation of the past in which contemporary actors operated on different concepts of translation and where information about individual texts and translators is scarce.39 I would argue that before linguistic information drawn from such translations can be used to its full potential in Greek-Arabic studies, two requirements need to be met: firstly, we need to establish a comparative baseline, one or several texts reliably dated and ascribed on the basis of internal and external evidence that can serve as starting points from which to explore undated and anonymous translations. Secondly, we need to establish a set of translation ‘metrics’, i.e. linguistic features (including terminology, phraseology and stylistic characteristics) that can be investigated in parallel in each individual specimen of a set of translations. The application of these metrics should, however, be flexible enough to allow for the specific styles and terminologies of fields such as mathematics and astronomy. The Arabic translation of Galen’s commentary on the Epidemics brings us as close to such a baseline in medical literature as we are likely to get. The text is substantial enough to provide a large amount of data on terminology and translation techniques. In addition, for a number of reasons, its dating and 37 For a short sketch of recent disputes in translation studies between more empirically and linguistically oriented approaches and those influenced by cultural studies and textual theory, cf. Olohan 2004, 5–8. 38 Cf. Vagelpohl 2010a. 39 The complications introduced by varying concepts of translation have been studied e.g. for medieval translations from Latin into vernacular languages, cf. Evans 1994 and Pratt 1991.

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ascription are reasonably secure: all relevant biographical and bibliographical sources unanimously credit Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq with a translation of this text; as we have seen above, he himself attested to his Arabic translation, based on the Syriac version by Job of Edessa; also, all extant manuscripts of this text name him as the author of the translation; and, finally, the translation contains a set of notes introduced by ‘Ḥunayn said (qāla Ḥunayn)’ in which he discussed in the first person translation issues and medical problems he encountered while working with the text.40 The second requirement, a set of agreed-upon translation ‘metrics’ that can be applied to a wide range of translations irrespective of age, translator and contents, remains to be met in full. There are already numerous outstanding examples of translation analyses that study a large number of translation features. So far, however, there has not been a comprehensive effort to pool the findings of these studies (as pointed out by Oliver Overwien in his contribution to this volume), caused no doubt in part by the issue of comparability between individual studies—a comparability only to be achieved by compiling an agreed-upon catalogue of translation metrics for diachronic and synchronic comparison of a wide variety of texts.

Translating by numbers: toward a quantitative analysis of the Epidemics Notwithstanding the traditional notion that translation necessarily has to be a derivative activity based on another, ‘original’ text that remains epistemologically and literarily superior, the act of translation has much in common with the creation of an ‘original’ piece of writing. Just like any other written text, translations are informed by numerous terminological and stylistic decisions that cannot always be explained as a mechanic substitution of word for word and syntactic structure for syntactic structure. The further the remove (e.g. historical, cultural, linguistical) between ‘original’ text and translation, the more creative the task of the translator and the more complex the connection between corresponding words and sentences can become. Comparing translations of the same source text into another language, even those produced in close geographical and chronological proximity, reveals the substantial influence of personal technique and style on the finished product.41 This ‘presence’ of the translator leaves individual traces, conscious or unconscious choices in wording and style of each translation. Recognising a sub40 For an edition and analysis of all of the notes and a comparison with those appearing in other translations, especially pseudo-Aristotle’s Physiognomics, cf. Vagelpohl 2011. 41 Baker 2000, 244 maintains that ‘it is as impossible to produce a stretch of language in a totally impersonal way as it is to handle an object without leaving one’s fingerprints on it’.

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set of such characteristic markers is the most important aim of the study of translation metrics mentioned above: they are crucial for spotting the work of individual translators or closely collaborating groups of translators such as the so-called Ḥunayn ‘school’ or the slightly earlier Kindī circle.42 The nature of such markers, however, is not limited to the kind of terminological and stylistic features captured by an analysis of translation metrics, they comprise a wide variety of phenomena: on one end of the scale, they include the choice of source texts to translate, e.g. specialisations in particular fields such as medicine or mathematics; a distinct attitude to the source text and the task of translating documented in individual translations, marginal notes or secondary writings; strategies such as the existence or absence of annotations and in-text glossing; and, on the other end, stylistic characteristics such as a preference for certain conjunctions over others, a recurring set of technical terms or marked tendencies to use specific syntactic constructions. The set of markers associated with a specific translator or group of translators can be termed his / their translational ‘thumbprint’.43 Not all of these markers lend themselves equally well to analysis and not all of them can be unambiguously linked to just one individual or group. Ascriptions and datings based on anecdotal evidence or small collections of markers, while not necessarily incorrect, remain open to conflicting interpretations. This is where the aforementioned set of translation metrics comes into play: testing for a substantial number of metrics across translations allows us to discover and substantially refine the translational ‘thumbprint’ of a text. Before we follow this thought any further, let us review some of the translational features or markers of the text at hand, Ḥunayn’s Arabic Epidemics. The data and comparative evidence introduced below will illustrate some of the issues I have raised above and confirm the need for methodological adjustments that can help us improve our understanding of the Greek-Arabic translation movement and other, similar translation episodes.

42 For attempts to isolate stylistic and terminological features typical for these two groups, cf. e.g. Strohmaier 1970, 26–32 on Ḥunayn and his associates and Endress 1997 on the Kindī circle, a group of translators who produced the texts used by the philosopher al-Kindī (d. 870). Their translations date from around 817 to 870 (cf. Endress 1997, 43). On the somewhat problematic notion of the Ḥunayn ‘school’, cf. Vagelpohl 2010a, 252–3. 43 Cf. Baker 2000, 245.

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1. Particles One of the more prominent features of ancient Greek is the the ubiquity of so-called ‘connecting particles’, mostly single-syllable words that establish connections between equal grammatical and textual elements (e.g. words, phrases or clauses) and also express subtle nuances of tone and emphasis.44 These shifts in emphasis help establish underlying logical relations between these elements.45 While individual instances of connecting particles often fulfil functions that can be replicated with Arabic connectors, the Greek system of connecting particles as a whole differs substantially from its Arabic-language counterpart. Ambiguities in meaning and function of Greek particles meant that they could be translated or paraphrased with a variety of Arabic expressions. As we will see below, translators’ actual choices depended to a large degree on their stylistic preferences. In addition, the frequency of such particles provides a relatively large amount of data. In all probability, textual revisions by later readers and copyists were less likely to influence the overall numerical distribution of these Arabic equivalents. For these reasons, the translation of Greek particles seems well suited to become part of a translation’s ‘thumbprint’. Among the most frequently occurring Greek particles in Book 1 of Galen’s Epidemics (and almost all other translated texts) are μέν (203 occurrences), δέ (470), γάρ (115) and οὖν (80), either separately or in combination (e.g. μέν—δέ or γὰρ οὖν). Let us look at them one by one. The particle μέν can occur alone or, more frequently, as part of a μέν—δέ construction. In both cases, it is mostly left untranslated in Arabic or replaced with the neutral connector wa (17 of 31 isolated occurrences, 94 of 111 occurrences in μέν—δέ constructions). Of the remaining translations, only combinations of ʾammā—fa (6 times for isolated μέν, 4 for μέν in μέν—δέ constructions) and isolated fa (6 times for isolated μέν, 2 for μέν in μέν—δέ constructions) appear with any frequency. The remaining occurrences are translated with a variety of Arabic expressions. For isolated μέν, we encounter one instance each of fa-ʾinnahū and wa-ʾinna-mā, for μέν as part of a μέν—δέ construction, we find (wa-)ʾinna-mā (5) and one instance each of li-ʾanna, wa-ʾammā, wa-ʾammā li-ʾanna, ʾimmā, ṯumma and wa-qad. We observe the same pattern for combinations and compounds with μέν. The combination μὲν οὖν is left untranslated 14 times out of 30; fa follows with 7 occurrences, wa-/ fa-qad with 6 and fa-ʾammā—fa with 3. The compound μέντοι remains untranslated 6 times out of 17, followed by ʾillā ʾanna(hū) (3), fa-ʾammā—fa (3)

44 Cf. Denniston 1954, xliii–xlv. 45 Cf. Denniston 1954, xxxix.

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and one case each of fa, ṯumma, fa-ʾammā—fa-ʾinna-mā, wa-maʿa hāḏā and wa-lākinna.46 In the case of the particle δέ, the proportion of untranslated instances is also prominent but somewhat lower. Unlike μέν, the majority of instances of δέ occur in isolation (323) rather than as part of a μέν—δέ construction (124). Of the former, 171 instances remain untranslated compared to 75 of the latter. Isolated δέ is also frequently translated as wa-/fa-ʾammā—fa (47 of 323), wa-qad (24), ṯumma (18), fa (17) and fa-lammā (14). Less prominent are ʾillā ʾannahū/hā (9), wa-ʾammā (7), wa-lammā (5), wa-/fa-ʾinna-mā (4) and (wa-)matā (3). The final four instances of isolated δέ are covered by single occurrences of wa-ʾammā liʾannahū, ṯumma ʾannahumā, lākinna and fa-iḏan. As part of a μέν—δέ construction, the second-most frequent translation of δέ is ʾillā ʾannahū/hā (12 of 75), followed by wa-/fa-ʾammā—fa (11), fa (7), wa-/fa-ʾinna-mā (6) and ṯumma (5). The remaining translations are lākinnahū/hā (3), wa-/fa-ʾammā (2), fa-lammā (2) and wa-ʾimmā (1).47 The expression δὲ καί also remains mostly untranslated (7 of 16) or is variously rendered as fa (3), wa-ʾammā—fa and wa-qad (2 each), wa-ʾammā and ʾayḍan (1 each). Both instances of δὲ οὖν are untranslated. Whereas the translator apparently regarded the semantic content of many instances of μέν or δέ as negligible, he puts at least some emphasis on occurrences of γάρ and οὖν. His preferred translation for γάρ is wa-ḏālika ʾanna(hū/hā) (28 of 105), followed by 21 instances of non-translation. Similarly prominent are faʾinnahū (14), li-ʾanna(hū/hā) (13) and fa (12). Further down the list, we find wa-/ fa-qad (6) and various combinations of wa-ḏālika, e.g. wa-ḏālika li-ʾanna(hū/hā) (3), wa-ḏālika kāna li-ʾanna (1), wa-ḏālika kānat bi-ḥasb (1), wa-ḏālika huwa (1). The series of translations concludes with isolated instances of wa-huwa ʾanna (2), wa-li-ḏālika (1), and wa-ʾinna-mā (1). The explanatory character of γάρ is stressed even more in the collocations μὲν γάρ and γὰρ οὖν. The former occurs 9 times and is translated with wa-ḏālika anna(hū) (6), fa (2) and li-ʾanna (1); the only instance of the latter appears as wa-mimmā tadullu-ka. Finally, of the 47 isolated occurrences of οὖν, 25 are translated with fa and 9 left untranslated. Less prominent are al-ʾān (4), wa-/fa-qad (4), wa-ḏālika ʾanna(hū), wa-/fa-lammā (2) and min ḏālika ʾanna (1). The following table shows the most frequent translations of each of the particles discussed above in isolation (i.e. not combined with other particles). Instances of μέν and δέ inside μέν—δέ constructions are listed separately (the counted item is italicised): 46 Although semantically different from the other instances of μέν discussed above, the same holds for the combination ὁ μέν—ὁ δέ: the first part remains untranslated (2 out of 5), the remaining instances are translated with three different Arabic equivalents (ʾaḥaduhumā; wa-qawluhū; baʿḍuhum). 47 Instances of δέ in ὁ μέν—ὁ δέ structures are left untranslated (2 of 5) or are translated as wa-ʾammā l-ṭarīq al-ʾāḫar, wa-ʾammā qawluhū and wa-baʿḍuhum.

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-0fa ʾammā—fa ʾinna-mā ṯumma lammā ʾillā ʾannahū/hā ʾammā lākinnahū/hā ḏālika ʾannahū/ hā ʾinnahū/hā li-ʾannahū/hā al-ʾān

Uwe Vagelpohl μέν (31)

μέν—δέ (111)

δέ (323)

17 (55%) 6 (19%) 6 (19%) 1 (3%)

95 (86%) 2 (2%) 4 (4%) 5 (5%) 1 (1%)

195 (60%) 17 (5%) 45 (14%) 4 (1%) 18 (6%) 19 (6%) 9 (3%) 7 (2%) 1 (0%)

1 (1%)

μέν—δέ (124) γάρ (105) 75 (60%) 7 (6%) 11 (9%) 6 (5%) 5 (4%) 2 (2%) 12 (10%) 2 (2%) 3 (2%)

23 (22%) 22 (21%)

1 (1%)

12 (26%) 26 (55%)

1 (1%) 2 (4%) 2 (4%)

28 (27%) 1 (3%)

οὖν (47)

2 (4%)

14 (13%) 13 (12%) 4 (9%)

Table 1: The translation of Greek particles in Book 1 of the Arabic Epidemics.

Simply counting instances of various Arabic translations for Greek particles as I have done above is an admittedly primitive procedure. Lumping together all occurrences of a particle could be seen as glossing over the large variety of roles each of them can play, especially isolated δέ and γάρ. Indeed, a comprehensive analysis of the treatment of particles by the Arabic translator would probably require us to determine the exact function of each instance separately and to produce a separate breakdown of the respective Arabic translations of each of these functions. In addition, it requires us to assume that the Syriac intermediary Ḥunayn worked with either consistently reproduced Galen’s characteristic use of Greek particles or that Ḥunayn relied on his Greek manuscripts more than on ʾAyyūb’s Syriac translation. We will discuss this problem in more detail later on. But we can already glean some interesting information from this data. For one, my rough tabulation shows that the translator was perfectly aware of the diversity of uses and meanings of particles: in accordance with the context, he modulated his response between non-translation on one end of the range to Arabic particles that strongly emphasise a particular function on the other end. In fact, the translations especially of the semantically more flexible particles seem a good match for specific functions of these particles, e.g. li-ʾanna and wa-ḏālika ʾanna for the causal and explanatory functions of γάρ, non-translation and fa for its progressive and perhaps also assentient functions.48 In explanatory and didactic texts such as the Epidemics, the main role of the particle μέν consists in emphasising or affirming an idea or, in conjunction with δέ, to introduce the

48 Cf. Denniston 1954, 58, 81, 86.

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first in a list of balanced or contrasted items.49 Neither of these meanings has to be made explicit in written Arabic, explaining the large number of cases in which μέν was left untranslated.50 For most of the remaining cases, the translator switched between fa, ʾammā—fa and ʾinna-mā, all of which impart emphasis or signal a transition to a next step or new item. Compared with the relatively limited number and semantic scope of translations for μέν, the particle δέ required a slightly wider range of translations to accommodate a wider range of possible meanings: from mere connection and coordination to affirmation and even contrast.51 Again, non-translation is the most frequent strategy we encounter, but some of the translations clearly reflect semantically stronger notes of emphasis and coordination (e.g. ʾammā—fa and ṯumma) or opposition (e.g. ʾillā ʾannahū/ hā). In the case of the particle οὖν, we notice that the proportion of untranslated instances resembles that of γάρ, suggesting that the translator considered it to be a similarly strong marker for emphasis and temporal or logical progression.52 In addition to the preferred rendering fa, which reproduces both temporal and logical shifts, the translator introduced a small number of other equivalents that stress one or the other of these meanings, e.g. al-ʾān and ṯumma for indicating temporal progression and ḏālika ʾannahū/hā for a logical relationship. In spite of the apparent variety of Arabic equivalents for particular particles, the numerical distribution of such translations suggests that the translator strove for consistency: in identifying and reproducing the exact semantic content of potentially ambiguous words, he relied on a limited number of terms from a range of possible Arabic equivalents. This means that we should also be able to determine further stylistic preferences of the translator by looking at the particular Arabic choices this and other translators made to replicate certain functions of a Greek particle. To put the data from Book 1 of Galen’s Epidemics into perspective, let us take a look at a similar data set extracted from a translation from an earlier stage of the translation movement: the Arabic version of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, most likely produced in the first half of the ninth century in close chronological and perhaps geographic proximity to the Kindī circle.53 Its style and terminology, while already remarkably sophisticated, cannot compete with the consistency and diligence we encounter in translations produced by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq or one of his associates. Do these differences also include the translator’s handling of Greek particles? 49 The ‘emphatic’ and ‘preparatory’ functions, cf. Denniston 1954, 359, 369. 50 Cf. Gutas 2010, 98. On this and the following page, he also outlines other possible reasons for the conscious omission of words from Greek source texts in Arabic translations. 51 The ‘continuative’ and ‘adversative’ functions, cf. Denniston 1954, 162, 165. 52 Cf. Denniston 1954, 425–6. 53 Cf. Vagelpohl 2008, 180, 205–8. The sample text comprises a little less than the first half of Book 3 of the Rhetoric (1403b6–12a16; Lyons 1982, 171, line 1–204, line 3).

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-0fa ʾammā—fa ʾinna-mā ṯumma lammā ʾillā ʾannahū/hā ʾammā lākinnahū/hā ḏālika ʾannahū/hā ʾinnahū/hā li-ʾannahū/hā al-ʾān

Uwe Vagelpohl μέν (43) 24 (56%) 4 (9%) 4 (9%) 1 (0%) 3 (7%)

δέ (197) 93 (47%) 17 (9%) 59 (30%) 3 (1%) 4 (2%)

2 (1%) 5 (2%) 6 (14%)

8 (4%)

γάρ (116) 29 (25%) 28 (24%) 3 (3%) 1 (1%) 2 (2%)

οὖν (10) 2 (20%) 3 (30%) 1 (10%)

1 (10%) 1 (1%) 3 (3%) 32 (27%) 17 (14%)

2 (20%) 1 (10%)

Table 2: The Arabic translation of Greek particles in Aristotle’s Rhetoric.

In spite of the limited size of the sample, certain tendencies stand out. With few exceptions, the base stock of Arabic translations for Greek particles seems to remain stable, but their relative proportions differs, sometimes significantly. Among other phenomena, we notice a smaller share of untranslated particles, especially μέν and δέ. The translator of the Rhetoric tends to explicitate the emphasis imparted by particles, e.g. by more frequently rendering δέ as ʾammā—fa instead of leaving it untranslated. Also, he displays a marked preference for the Arabic particle ʾinna with suffixed pronouns for all of the Greek particles we are studying, especially μέν and γάρ; Ḥunayn only uses it with some frequency to translate γάρ. At the same time, we find considerably less instances of Arabic particles strongly emphasising the causal function of γάρ, e.g. li-ʾanna or Ḥunayn’s preferred translation ḏālika ʾannahū/hā. This suggests that, at least for γάρ, the translator of the Rhetoric was more likely to pick less explicit equivalents such as ʾinna, downplaying any strong causal connotation individual instances of γάρ may have expressed. This does not necessarily indicate that he generally understated the semantic import of stronger particles, but it at least demonstrates that he operated with a somewhat different set of Arabic particles. For example, Ḥunayn is more partial to ʾillā ʾanna with suffixed pronouns to render adversative δέ than lākinnahū/hā. We do not find any instances of ʾillā ʾanna in the sample of the Rhetoric we analysed. Instead, its translator uses the expression ġayra ʾanna which does not occur in the Epidemics. These findings suggest that the individual treatment of Greek particles in translation should be included among the markers that constitute a translator’s stylistic ‘thumbprint’. There is of course more to a translator’s technique than style. Of at least equal weight is the terminology of a translation. As many scholars have pointed out, however, especially some of the prominent technical

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terms we encounter in extant manuscripts may not reflect the terminological choices of the original translator but be the result of revisions by readers and scribes in the course of textual transmission who sometimes either misread the manuscript or were tempted to ‘update’ a seemingly obsolete text with the help of technical terms en vogue at the time.54 This means that a handful of conspicuous terms have little evidentiary value unless confirmed by additional evidence drawn from other stylistic features or reliable external sources.

2. Compounds Let us now turn to a phenomenon that straddles the border between terminology and style: the translation of Greek compounds. Given the morphological system of Arabic and Semitic languages in general, there was no straightforward and uniform technique to replicate combined terms made up from two or more words or those created with affixes. Rather, translators used a variety of methods to convey the meaning of such terms. One prominent and frequently encountered class of Greek compounds are negations with the negative prefix α, so-called ‘alpha privative’. The very variety of Arabic options to express such terms also gave individual translators the opportunity to make stylistic choices, both unconsciously and deliberately. The options available to Arabic translators can be grouped together as follows: firstly, they can convey the meaning of a negated term with an Arabic word denoting the direct opposite or the lack or scarcity of the negated concept. This technique obviates the need for a particle or other marker indicating negation. Secondly, they can use Arabic negative particles, e.g. lā or laysa, in conjunction with verbs, nouns and adjectives. Thirdly, instead of negative particles, they can combine the same verbs, nouns and adjectives with other words that denote the absence or deficiency of the negated concept, e.g. ġayr (unlike), ʿadam (absence) or qilla (deficiency). The first of these shows up so frequently that it will be traced separately.55 A search for negative terms with alpha privative in Book 1 of Galen’s Epidemics brings up 78 distinct or unique terms (not counting repetitions). These were translated with 309 unique Arabic equivalents from the groups described above.56 Of these, 182 (59%) consist of opposites. Among terms generated with Arabic negative particles, the second-biggest share (61 or 20%), we find the fol54 Cf. e.g. Kruk 1979, 23. 55 Cf. the slightly different classification of Arabic translations for the negative prefix and a discussion of translators’ treatment of additional varieties of Greek compounds in Pormann 2004, 239–45. 56 In doublets (or hendiadyoin), i.e. translations of Greek terms with more than one Arabic term, each item of the doublet is counted separately.

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lowing constructions: lā with a verb (26 or 8%), absolute negations (7 or 2%) or a participle (1 or 1%), adding up to 34 (11%); lam with a verb, especially prominent for forms of ἄπεπτοϲ and ἀπεψία (15 or 5%); and laysa (12 or 4%), either with a verb (7 or 2%), an adjective or participle predeced by the preposition bi (2 or 1%), other prepositions in conjunction with adjectives or participles (5 or 1%), and in one case with an adjective without preposition (less than 1%). Paraphrases with ġayr in conjunction with nouns, adjectives or participles account for 41 cases or 13%; they tend to cluster around the terms ἄκαιροϲ, ἄκριτοϲ, ἄπεπτοϲ and ἄχρουϲ. Finally, we find 17 paraphrases (5.5%) with other terms such as ʿadam (3 or 1%), qilla (3 or 1%), ḫilāf (difference; 2 or 1%) and ʾibṭāʾ (delay; 2 or 1%) and one instance each of ʾaqall (less), buṭlān (invalidity), mumtaniʿ (prevented), qalīl (little), ḏahāb (departure), iḫtilāf (difference) and istimsāk (adherence). To provide some context for this data, I have compiled statistics for several groups of texts from different stages of the Greek-Arabic translation movement based on the glossaries of printed editions. The first group consists of ten Hippocratic and Galenic texts assigned to Ḥunayn or one of his associates.57 Comparing Galen’s Epidemics to this set of texts helps to determine how typical the translation of the Epidemics is in the context of medical translations produced in Ḥunayn’s workshop. In this first group of texts, we find 172 negative terms with 355 translations. While less prominent, translation with opposites is again the most frequent choice (150 or 42%). Arabic negative particles appear 92 times (26%). Among them, lā takes the largest share (67 or 19%), used in conjunction with verbs (31 or 8%), absolute negations (31 or 8%), with preceding bi and a noun (7 or 2%) and with participles (3 or 1%). Negations with lam and a verb occur less frequently (14 or 4%), as does the negative particle laysa (11 or 3%), either with a noun or participle preceded by the preposition bi (6 or 1.5%) or with another preposition with a noun or participle (5 or 1.5%). Paraphrases with terms other than ġayr, e.g. ʿadīm (lacking; 13 or 4%), ʿadam (8 or 2%), qilla (7 or 2%), ʾaqall (5 or 1%), qalīl (3 or 1%) etc. account for 68 translations (19%), paraphrases with ġayr for another 41 (11%). The second group of texts consists of five non-medical works translated by either Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq or one of his associates. With this step, the comparative pool is extended to cover non-medical translations; this allows to check whether some or all of the phenomena identified in the previous step were typical only of medical texts or applied to all of the translations from Ḥunayn’s workshop regardless of subject matter. These mostly philosophical works included 116 negative terms with 203 translations. Of these, 63 were covered by opposites (31%) and 57 (28%) by Arabic negative particles, i.e. lā (51 or 25%: 28 times/14% in absolute negation, 16/8% 57 The sets of texts and editions I used are listed in the Appendix.

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with verbs, 5/2% with adjectives or participles and 2/1% as bi-lā with a noun), laysa (4 or 2%: 2 cases of adjectives or participles with the preoposition bi, 2 cases without) and lam with verbs (2 or 1%). Also prominent are paraphrases with ġayr (53 or 26%) and with terms other than ġayr (30 or 15%, e.g. 7 examples/3% of ḫurūǧ (departure), 4/2% of ʿadīm, 3/1.5% each of ʿadam and qalīl, 2/1% of qilla etc.) Finally, I examined a third group of non-medical texts from the Kindī circle. In this step, the results of the synchronic textual comparisons are put into diachronic perspective to determine possible developments in terminology and translation methodology across time. This final sample contains 91 negative terms with 229 translations. The distribution differs somewhat from that of the other groups: by far the most frequent translation option we encounter is negations (109 or 48%), among them lā (73 or 32%, 45 times/20% with verbs, 18 times/8% in absolute negation, 7 times/3% with a participle or noun and 3 times/1% as bi-lā with a noun), laysa (30 or 13%, i.e. 16 times/7% followed by bi with an adjective or participle, 6/3% without, 4/2% in conjunction with lahū and a noun, 3/1% with verbs etc.) and lam (6 or 3%). Opposites (61 or 27%) follow in second place, paraphrases with ġayr (32 or 14%) in third. The remainder consists mainly of paraphrases with terms other than ġayr (27 or 11%), among them ʿadam (8/3.5%), ʿadīm and qilla (each 4/2%), ʾaqall and radāʾa (badness; each 2/1%) etc. The following table gives an impression of the differences between Book 1 of the Epidemics and the three groups of sampled texts (only the more important translation options are listed): Epidemics negative/translation opposite negation, including —lā+verb —absolute negation —laysa —lam paraphrase, including —ġayr —≠ġayr

78/309 182 (59%) 61 (20%) 26 (8%) 7 (2%) 12 (4%) 15 (5%) 58 (18.5%) 41 (13%) 17 (5.5%)

Ḥunayn workshop medical non-medical 172/355 116/203 150 (42%) 63 (31%) 92 (26%) 57 (28%) 31 (8%) 16 (8%) 31 (8%) 28 (14%) 11 (3%) 4 (2%) 14 (4%) 2 (1%) 109 (30%) 83 (41%) 41 (11%) 53 (26%) 68 (19%) 30 (15%)

Kindī circle non-medical 91/229 61 (27%) 109 (48%) 45 (20%) 18 (8%) 30 (13%) 6 (3%) 59 (25%) 32 (14%) 27 (11%)

Table 3: Arabic translations of the negative prefix α.

Some qualifications apply to the numbers presented above: unlike the comprehensive data compiled from Epidemics Book 1, the information about the other texts is drawn not from a thorough analysis of each of them, but from their

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respective glossaries. Some of these are selective, others more comprehensive; some offer contextual information, others do not; only a few of them include quantitative data, i.e. the number of occurrences of individual translations compared to others; most, however, do not. Hence, the data is necessarily inconsistent and we can only pinpoint the most obvious tendencies and draw relatively general conclusions. A look at the numbers illustrates these problems. On the negative side, the differences in translating the negative prefix are already very pronounced between texts allegedly produced by the same person or group of translators. The data from the two sets of texts from Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq and his associates offers a very uneven picture, e.g. insofar as the quota of each of the translation options listed in the table above varies widely between these groups of texts and the Epidemics. The data from Epidemics Book 1 does not seem to match closely either the medical nor the non-medical set. In some columns, the Epidemics seem to be more similar to the translations of the Kindī circle than those produced by the same translator or his associates. On the positive side, the table shows that some translation options do indeed seem to be suited as markers for a specific group of translators or stage of the translation movement. For example, the later translations show a clear preference for the ‘translation’ of the negative prefix, i.e. for opposites over negations with lā or laysa. The percentage of negations with the negative particle lā seems to drop considerably over time. The use of laysa, especially in conjunction with the preposition bi, also falls off quickly after the earlier stage of the translation movement. Composites of ġayr in combination with nouns, adjectives or participles remain prominent and even increase in importance between the older and the more recent translations. In addition, the latter experiment with a much wider range of paraphrastic structures; in addition to ġayr, we find a variety of qualifying nouns, adjectives and particles to bring out the negative sense of the negative particle. Even on the basis of our imperfect data set, we notice stylistic tendencies and differences in the translation of the negative prefix between the Epidemics and the translations associated with Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq on the one hand and the slightly older texts produced by the Kindī circle. These findings are still in need of further confirmation, but they already suggest that the handling of compounds, including those with alpha privative, should form part of the translation ‘thumbprint’ we seek to establish. The assumption that certain features of translated texts, e.g. their terminological consistency (defined as little variety and consistent application of terms), correlate with periodisations of the translation movement, i.e. that the consistent application of a limited set of Arabic translations for Greek terms is the hallmark of ‘better’ (and chronologically later) translations is highly problematic, not just because some ‘late’ translations display the same range of alleged

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defects earlier translations suffer from.58 My impression so far is that it is at least very difficult to establish a direct link between terminological variation and consistency on the one hand and the age and authorship of a translation on the other.59 In our review of translations of alpha privative, the mere number of different renderings by itself (expressed as the average ratio of Greek terms to Arabic translations) does not seem to be associated with the date or author of a translation: for the Epidemics, we arrive at a ratio of almost 1:4 (78:309); the medical translations of Ḥunayn and his collaborators have a ratio of about 1:2 (172:355), the non-medical translations 1:1.75 (116:203); and the Kindī circle translations exhibit a term:translation ration of ca. 1:2.5 (91:229). The evolution of translation methods apparently does not necessarily limit the terminological choices of translators.60

Improving on Galen: Ḥunayn’s translational approach Quantitative data can help us establish stylistic and terminological linkages between texts and between a text and its translator. With the right tools, we may even be able to overcome the shortcomings of this and similar quantitative analyses outlined above. This is something that I will return to later on. Knowing what happened on the page, however, does not necessarily tell us why it happened; the criteria for a successful translation and the distinction between translation on the one hand and other genres such as paraphrase, summary and commentary remained fluid throughout the history of translation.61 Tracking the outcome of sometimes unconscious stylistic and terminological decisions therefore gives us only an incomplete picture of Ḥunayn’s approach and his thought about translation and the role of the translator. Besides his Epistle, Ḥunayn left us with a number of notes and remarks transmitted alongside some of his translations.62 Among them, the Epidemics stand 58 Frequently noted in this context is the (in some respects admittedly extreme) example of ʾAbū Bišr Mattā’s tenth-century translations of Aristotle’s Poetics and Posterior Analytics; cf. Zimmermann 1981, lxxvi. Since ʾAbū Bišr’s problem may have been philosophical rather than translational competence, these texts could also be seen as outliers that do not invalidate the developmental narrative. 59 Cf. Vagelpohl 2008, 166, 172, 179–80. 60 For a thorough critique of and alternative to the ‘chronological paradigm’ of translation history that postulates several stages of methodological improvement over time, cf. Gutas 1998, 141–50. The author proposes a different model based on ‘clusters’ of translators or translations centred around specific personalities or subjects. 61 Cf. St-Pierre 1990, 255 and Vagelpohl 2010a, 245–6. 62 For a survey of his relevant statements in the Epistle and the concept of translation they suggest, cf. Vagelpohl 2010a, 248–53.

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out: Books 1–3 and 6 contain the most and also most extensive of such notes.63 In length, they range from a few lines to several pages. Their contents also vary widely: Ḥunayn added amplifications and explanatory notes on medical issues, explained terminology (including etymological remarks) and provided background information, commented on philological issues such as gaps and apparent contradictions in the text and justified omissions. In addition to noting gaps, Ḥunayn occasionally attempted to fill them on the basis of additional sources, parallel Galenic texts or simply the principles he derived from Galen’s writings.64 The image that emerges from the Epistle and these notes is that of a translator whose loyalty lay first and foremost with his readers. Rather than produce a mirror image of his source text replicating as many of its linguistic and terminological features as possible, Ḥunayn emphasised transmitting its ideas and concepts.65 From the Epistle, we know that many of the sponsors commissioning translations were, like Ḥunayn, practising physicians. They did not pay the substantial rates accomplished translators such as Ḥunayn commanded66 for philological accurracy, but for theoretical and practical medical knowledge they could put to use in their own work. This explains not just the many explanatory notes that appear under Ḥunayn’s own name in the translation, but also his many unmarked and less conspicuous interventions, e.g. short glosses based on his own knowledge or parallel Galenic texts, repetitions, expliciations, terse explanations scattered throughout the text and the occasionally ‘modernised’ terminology (see Overwien in this volume). Ḥunayn’s unmarked interventions could also become relatively lengthy. Galen occasionally referred to whole clauses or previously discussed points by pronouns. In Arabic, these could result in confusion and we sometimes encounter expansions to make explicit what Galen was talking about. Some examples: in his discussion of the location of cities and the attendant weather conditions, Ḥunayn added the clause ‘when its ordinary condition of the air arose, during which it is extremely hot and wet (ɼ̑Ǎ̈́Ǩͫāć Ǩʥͫā LJ́ʉ͎ ɷʉˬ͇ ŴǨ͎Αā ǽͲLJ͇ ƛLJ̤ ƹāǍ́ˬͫ Ȉ̓ṳ̈̌ LJ˳ͫ)’ to gloss the Greek ‘for this reason (διὰ τοῦτο)’.67 To remind his readers of the current topic and to make the relation between it (coarseness [τραχύτηϲ] of the voice) and the drying out of the vocal apparatus explicit, Ḥunayn inserts the reminder ‘as we explained, its coarseness is the result of dryness (ƦǍ˜̒ LJ́͵ćĔ ɼ͵Ǎʷʦͫāć ȫʒʉͫā ɬͲ LJ˶ˬ͘ LJ˳͛)’ before returning to Galen’s explanation about dryness: ‘dryness 63 A small number of the notes have previously appeared in print, cf. Degen 1979, 81–2, 90. On the contents and importance of the notes, cf. Vagelpohl 2011. 64 ‘I added comments I thought corresponded to Galen’s procedure in his commentary and what belongs to it (ɷ̑ ɡˀʓ̈ LJͲć ɷͫ ƱǨʉʶˏ̒ ǽ͎ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ȇ΀ǛͲ ɡ͛LJʷ̈ ƦΑā Ȉ˶˶ͅ LJͲ Ǩʉʶˏʓͫā ɬͲ ɷʉͫΒā Ȉˏ̀Αā)’ (ii.1.130 HV, cf. p. 188, lines 1–4 Pf). 65 Cf. Gutas 1998, 140–1 and Overwien in this volume. 66 Cf. Gutas 1998, 138–9. 67 Book i.1.67 V; cf. p. 23, line 21 W.

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alone combines with both mixtures (μόνη δ ἡ ξηρότηϲ ἀμφοτέραιϲ ταῖϲ κράϲεϲι ϲυνέρχεται)’.68 In one of his case descriptions, Ḥunayn elaborated on Hippocrates’ terse expression ‘he grew cold all around (περιέψυκτο)’ with ‘the chill affected his extremities and the surface of his body (ɷ͵ǚ̑ Ǩ΀LJͅć ɷ͎āǨ̈́Αā ǽ͎ ĔǨ̑ ɷ̑LJ̿Αā)’.69 Another interesting example illustrates the tendency of Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq and his associates to remove or tone down references to polytheism to accommodate the religious sensibilities of their audience. He explained a reference to the Greek name ‘Atlas (τῷ Ἄτλαντι)’ with ‘the angel the poets claim (ǚ͘ ķǛͫā ɑˬ˳ͫā ƹāǨˈʷͫā ɨ͇ǩ̈)’: the titan Atlas becomes an ‘angel’.70 It should be noted, however, that some of the apparent discrepancies between the Greek and Arabic versions could also be the result of Greek text loss rather than Arabic expansion. Discussing the tenets of Quintus and the Empiricists, the Arabic text appends the clause ‘on the basis of which they determine the required treatment; this is analogy (ɼ͵ĢLJ˙˳ͫā Ǎ΀ć ɡ̣LJˈ̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ LJ́̑ ƦǍͫǚʓʶ̈ ǽʓͫā)’ to the term ‘syndromes (ἃϲ ϲυνδρομὰϲ)’.71 This may be yet another explanatory addition by Ḥunayn, but the reference to ‘analogy (muqārana)’ could also suggest that this remark was part of the source text Ḥunayn translated from and that, according to Galen, the empiricists regarded the collection of symptoms Hippocrates links with seasonal weather conditions as syndromes, analogous to their own definition of the term. There is also no Greek equivalent in Wenkebach’s edition for the Arabic clause ‘at the very beginning of the study of medicine, before I practised it or observed anyone else practising it (ƛćΑā ǽ͎ ɑͫĕ ƦLJ͛ć ɷʤͫLJˈ̈ Ǩʉ͈ Ǩˁ̤Αā ćΑā ΈLJʈʉ̶ ɷ˶Ͳ șͫLJ͇Αā ƦΑā ɡʒ͘ ȇ˅ͫā ɨˬˈ̒ ƹāǚʓ̑ā)’, which forms part of a paragraph in which Galen explains the importance of the maxim that physicians should help the patient or at least not harm him.72 In the following passage, Galen recollects instances of malpractice he used to see during his very first years of attending other physicians. This sentence seems too personal and specific to have been Ḥunayn’s invention; on the other hand, he could have added it from a parallel source without notifying his readers. Less frequently, the Arabic text is shorter than its Greek counterpart. Apart from instances of gaps caused by loss or damage (e.g. two folia from MS E1), a certain number of omissions were intentional.73 On the Greek side, several Hippocratic quotations in the prooemium that do not appear in the Arabic ver68 Book i.2.206 V; cf. p. 95, lines 5–6 W. 69 Book i.3.93 V; cf. p. 134, line 1 W. 70 Book i.3.18 V; cf. p. 107, line 28 W. On the translation of polytheistic material into Arabic, cf. Strohmaier 1968, 131 and his contribution to this volume (below, p. 179). 71 Book i.1.45 V; cf. p. 17, lines 9–10 W. 72 Book i.2.137 V; cf. p. 76, line 6 W. 73 Other apparent gaps in the Arabic text preserved in E1 were recorded in the margin by the copyist who produced MS M, David Colville (cf. Pormann 2008a, 265–7). This suggests that some of the other lacunae (e.g. p. 133, lines 7–8 W) may also be due to a scribal error.

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sion may have been the work of later interpolators manipulating the Greek text.74 Although, as we can see in this and other translations, Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq strove for comprehensiveness, we have his own testimony for cases in which he consciously omitted material he regarded as irrelevant, overly difficult to translate or of little interest to his audience.75 The evidence from the Epidemics and Ḥunayn’s Epistle demonstrates that Ḥunayn’s understanding of the task of the translator hardly agrees with modern notions of translational accuracy. In a way, it goes beyond the remit of a translator according to our own understanding and frequently approaches that of a commentator. The fluidity of boundaries between genres such as translation, paraphrase and commentary we observe in this and other translations does not just affect translation from Greek into Syriac and Arabic, it is a common characteristic of medieval translation as a whole.76 In addition to comparing Arabic translations with each other and their Syriac and Greek source texts, we urgently need to widen our perspective and take advantage of current scholarship on medieval translation into and out of Latin and the vernacular languages of Western Europe and between Arabic and Latin.77 The flexibility of Ḥunayn’s approach is, as we have seen in the first part of this article, also one of the factors that complicated the task of editing the Greek text. Wenkebach’s reliance on the Arabic translation to navigate the shallows of the Greek textual tradition often led him to incorporate Ḥunayn’s glosses into the Greek text or athetise material he erroneously ascribed to Ḥunayn. When comparing Greek with Arabic, we may sometimes be dealing with one and the same text in different guises. The vagaries of textual transmission (in both languages) and Ḥunayn’s pragmatic attitude need to be taken into account when analysing and comparing the Greek and Arabic Epidemics. What looks like inconsistency, inaccuracy or mistranslation may be an editorial mishap, scribal error or even further proof for Ḥunayn’s versatility. Finally, an additional factor that may or may not have a bearing on our assessment of the relationship between the Greek and Arabic Epidemics: the Syriac translation. In his Epistle, Ḥunayn wrote that ʾAyyūb translated some parts (i.e. Books 1 and 6) of the Epidemics into Syriac and that he (Ḥunayn) then translated the text into Arabic. In the case of Books 1 and 6, his report does not 74 Wenkebach 1918, 16–22 suspects this to be the case for p. 9, lines 6–14 W; p. 9, lines 20–3 W; and p. 9, line 30–10, line 6 W. 75 E.g. p. 11, line 23–12, line 2 W; p. 12, lines 8–15 W; p. 28, lines 28–30 W; p. 47, lines 5–6 W; p. 113, lines 5–11 W. On this phenomenon and its occurrence in other texts, cf. also Gutas 2010, 99. 76 Cf. Ellis 1989, 7. 77 To give but two examples, cf. the fascinating comparative work on changing theories of translation in the Arabic-Latin and Latin-vernacular translation traditions published in Fidora 2009 and the essays collected in Speer and Wegener 2006.

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reveal whether Ḥunayn translated from Greek or from ʾAyyūb’s Syriac version; he may only have used the latter in the process of collating his Greek source text. For Book 2, ʾAyyūb seems to have played no role, Ḥunayn affirms that he himself produced both a Syriac and an Arabic version. Book 3 is not mentioned at all.78 As it stands, the secondary literature leaves us unable to determine the influence of ʾAyyūb’s (or someone else’s) Syriac version of Galen’s Epidemics commentary. Unfortunately, we also cannot rely on primary texts to answer this question: a large majority of Syriac intermediary translations did not survive. This is also the case for the Epidemics, although, as Grigori Kessel reports in his contribution to this volume, we may have parts of a commentary that is at least closely related to Galen’s.79 Without any textual evidence, we need to keep in mind that any characteristic we now ascribe to Ḥunayn or another Arabic translator or classify as a stylistic peculiarity or misunderstanding of the Arabic version may ultimately go back to the Syriac intermediary. For a comprehensive assessment of the role of Syriac translators, we also ultimately need to extend the study of Greek-Arabic translations both in terms of subject matter and translation history and include the rich parallel tradition of translations of Greek Christian texts into Syriac and Arabic,80 overcoming a tendency artificially to exclude non-scientific and philosophical material. The translators, while not always the same people, were likely trained in the same institutions or in institutions which followed the same scholarly tradition.81

Conclusions The Arabic translation of the Epidemics has already rendered invaluable services to the editor of the extant Greek parts of this pivotal Galenic work. It can, and will, do the same for historians of the transmission of antique medical thought to the Islamic world and beyond and students of the Greek-Arabic translation movement and the wider field of medieval translation. Thanks to its extensiveness, its translational sophistication and its annotations, it could provide an ideal starting point for comparative studies, not least because it is 78 Cf. my discussion in the first part of this paper. 79 This commentary covers a section of Book 6; cf. e.g. Degen 1981, 151, no. 74. Galen must have been an important source for the text, as was the commentary of John of Alexandria, to which we find numerous similarities. 80 Documented e.g. in Graf 1944. 81 For a discussion of the often close link between Greek-Syriac translations in subjects as different as (Christian) theology on the one hand and logic and medicine on the other, cf. Vagelpohl 2010b, 138–9 with references.

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one of the few translations we can, on the basis of a wide range of internal and external evidence, tie with some confidence to a particular translator, Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq. Starting from the assumption that we need to establish an agreed-upon set of translation characteristics that can serve to provide data for further comparative work, we have tested two such potential markers and gathered interesting data on the translation of the Epidemics, including a tentative comparison to a variety of translations from different stages of the translation movement. We have also identified a number of factors that complicate an assessment of this translation, e.g. the partial dependency of the Greek text on its Arabic counterpart and the impact this could have on a comparison between the two. Others apply not just to the Epidemics but to numerous translations from Greek. Two of them seem particularly important: firstly, the potential influence of Syriac intermediaries on the finished Arabic product which, in the absence of extant Syriac versions, remains hard to measure. Secondly, the divergences between our understanding of the task of the translator and contemporary thought about translation. These two factors complicate the application of criteria such as ‘consistency’ on the terminology and style of this and other translations and have a direct bearing on identifying what we may regard as translation problems or mistranslations. Fortunately, the text of the Arabic Epidemics and its annotations yield an enormous amount of information on Ḥunayn’s approach. Much work, however, remains to be done, not just on Arabic translations, but also on the wider context of medieval translation and its theoretical underpinnings. Also, as pointed out before, there has been little effort so far to pool the findings of previous work on individual texts and translation analyses. Too much valuable information still exists in isolation, scattered across a wide variety of text editions and studies. Another, equally urgent task is of course the edition and, where possible, translation of the enormous amount of unedited material. The most promising strategy to solve the problems outlined above or at least mitigate their impact and at the same time to take care of the issues raised by the uneven quality of the data, small sample size and comparative basis of this and other translation analyses is to operate on larger samples of texts: analyses of individual texts may furnish data about the terminology and translation methods that may perhaps be generalised to apply to an individual translator or at most a closely collaborating circle such as that of Ḥunayn. To draw a more comprehensive, diachronic picture of translation trends, however, we need a much larger textual base. We are in the fortunate position to have available a full set of tools and methodologies for analysis and comparison of source and target texts that has been applied to a wide variety of translation scenarios: corpus linguistics and cor-

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pus-based translation studies.82 The creation of a digital corpus of Greek-Arabic translations and its thorough terminological and stylistic examination would allow us to put the study of Greek-Arabic literature on a whole new footing, e.g. by compiling a ‘translation grammar’ to assist in reading, editing and translating Greek-Arabic translations. By aiding in the compilation of comprehensive terminological and phraseological information connected to specific translators, groups or eras, corpus analysis could become an invaluable tool for the study of translation history: it would help identify authors of anonymous translations or assign them to particular personal and chronological translation contexts (e.g. the Ḥunayn ‘workshop’ or the Kindī circle). In addition, it would facilitate research into the reception of these translations and the traces they left in Arabic literature as a whole. Powerful and efficient search mechanisms could identify quotations from and references to translations and establish relationships and dependencies based on the transmission of this material across a wide variety of Arabic texts. A number of required computer programs and electronic texts needed to establish corpus-based translation analyses in Greek-Arabic studies are now becoming available. At this point, for instance, there are applications that automate the process of correlating texts and translations by matching corresponding sentences or even phrases and individual words of a text with those of one or more translations and presenting them side by side; also, applications that carry out morphilogical analyses of Greek and Arabic terms and generate lists and statistical information about terminological and stylistic characteristics of texts. Finally, a project to digitise a substantial sample of Greek texts and Arabic translations is under way, supported by the Mellon foundation and hosted jointly by Harvard and Tufts. The aim of this project is to make these texts, both Greek and Arabic, freely available online and to provide a set of easy-to-use tools for analysis and comparison. Only with large-scale comparative analyses of Greek-Arabic translations will we be able to establish a historical translation grammar for Greek-Arabic translations. This, in turn, will provide a reliable foundation for re-constructing the history and influence of the translation movement. This is also where the interests of classical scholars and Graeco-Arabists meet: anything that helps us improve and refine our knowledge about individual translations and the history and influence of the Greek-Arabic translation movement will in the end also benefit those reconstructing and editing the Greek writings they are based on.

82 Cf. Baker 1993 and Tymoczko 1998.

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Appendix Group 1: Medical translations by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq or his associates 1. Galen: Anatomical Procedures (De anatomicis administrationibus) V–IX (ed. Garofalo 1986–2000, vol. 2) 2. —: Containing Causes (De causis contentivis, ed. Lyons 1969) 3. —: Regimen in Acute Diseases in Accordance with the Theories of Hippocrates (De diaeta in morbis acutis secundum Hippocratem, ed. Lyons 1969) 4. —: The Parts of the Art of Medicine (De partibus artis medicativae, ed. Lyons 1969) 5. —: Distinctions in Homogeneous Parts (De partium homoeomerium differentia, ed. Strohmaier 1970) 6. —: Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Surgery’ (In Hippocratis De officina medici, ed. Lyons 1963) 7. —: The Faculties of the Soul Follow the Mixtures of the Body (Quod animi virtutes corporis temperamenta sequantur, ed. Biesterfeldt 1973) 8. —: The Best Doctor is also a Philosopher (Quod optimus medicus sit etiam philosophus, ed. Bachmann 1966) 9. —: Hippocrates: Airs, Waters, Places (De aere aquis locis, ed. Mattock and Lyons 1969) 10. —: Regimen in Acute Diseases (De diaeta acutorum, ed. Lyons 1966) 11. —: The Nature of Man (De natura hominis, ed. Mattock and Lyons 1968a) 12. —: In the Surgery (De officina medici, ed. Mattock and Lyons 1968b) Group 2: Non-medical texts translated by associates of Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq 13. Aristotle: Nicomachean Ethics (Ethica Nicomachea, ed. Dunlop et al. 2005) 14. pseudo-Aristotle: Physical Problems (Problemata physica, ed. Filius 1999) 15. —: Physiognomics (Physiognomonica, ed. Ghersetti 1999) 16. —: Themistius: paraphrase of On the Soul (De anima, ed. Lyons 1973) 17. —: Theophrastus: Metaphysics (Metaphysica, ed. Gutas 2010) Group 3: Non-medical texts translated by members of the Kindī circle 18. —: Aristotle: Generation of Animals (De generatione animalium, ed. Drossaart Lulofs et al. 1971) 19. —: Parts of Animals (De partibus animalium, ed. Kruk 1979) 20. —: Proclus: Elements of Theology (Institutio theologica, ed. Endress 1973)

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 The Art of the Translator, or: How did Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq and his School Translate? Oliver Overwien1 To state this right from the start: Ḥunayn did not have a school; this term only is employed here as an allusion to the well-known study by Gotthelf Bergsträsser, to which I shall return shortly. It would be more appropriate to talk about a group or circle of translators. But who belongs to this group? Naturally, Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq belongs but also his son ʾIsḥāq ibn Ḥunayn, as well as his nephew Ḥubayš ibn al-Ḥasan al-ʾAʿsam. Moreover, ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā is associated with this group and a certain Mūsā ibn Ḫālid, of whose works nothing has come down to us.2 Likewise, ʿĪsā ibn ʿAlī is mentioned as a pupil of Ḥunayn, and finally the physician ʾAbū ʿUṯmān Saʿīd ibn Yaʿqūb al-Dimašqī appeared in his entourage. This group was established to satisfy the demand for Greek scientific texts in the ninth century, for the political class, certain professions such as physicians, and wealthy private individuals all requested Arabic translations of these texts.3 This growing demand led to a shortage of translators. Since those who commissioned these translations paid handsomely for them, the translation business became extremely profitable. This led, however, to increased competition among the translators. In order to survive in this environment, the translators had to work very hard and achieve a certain professional standard. Firstly, they required extensive linguistic abilities. For instance, we know that in his youth, Ḥunayn travelled to Constantinople for a number of years in order to perfect his knowledge of Greek.4 In addition to linguistic abilities, the translators also needed thorough knowledge of their textsʼ subject matters. It was not sufficient as in the previous generations simply to comprehend the Greek original on a linguistic level and to render it into Arabic. Rather, it had become customary for the translators to be experts in the subjects as well. Ḥunayn, for instance, who focussed on translating the writings of Hippocrates and Galen, was him-

1 I would like to thank Peter E. Pormann for translating this article into English. Moreover, I am grateful to him and Uwe Vagelpohl for their various comments and corrections. 2 See Meyerhof 1926, 708–10. Later Arabic sources also mention al-ʾAḥwal and al-ʾAzraq, who worked as scribes in this circle; see Rashed 2006, 173. 3 See Gutas 1998 and Rashed 2006. 4 See Strohmaier 1980 and Strohmaier 1991, 166–7.

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self a practising physician.5 When Ḥunayn received a commission to translate a certain text, he sometimes travelled extensively in order to obtain Greek manuscripts. For example, he searched for Galen’s work Demonstration in the whole of Mesopotamia, Syria, Palestine, and Egypt, but only found it in Damascus.6 Exhaustive knowledge about the languages and subjects involved as well as the willingness to make great efforts in the search for manuscripts were just the beginning. When the texts were available, the translators needed to be quick, efficient and organised. As for the majority of Galenʼs works, Ḥunayn was able to draw on the earlier renderings of his predecessors. Even though he generally criticised them severely, they undoubtedly accelerated his work. These earlier translations facilitated Ḥunaynʼs understanding of the original and sometimes provided convenient turns of phrase which he could employ in his own translation. In the case of the treatise Anatomy of Erasistratus, Ḥunayn only had access to a defective Greek manuscript, which made his task quite laborious. If he had had an earlier translation at his disposal, his task would have been much easier.7 But even when Ḥunayn worked swiftly and efficiently, sometimes he could not finish his translations because the amount of texts to translate was too large. Ḥunayn recounts on a number of occasions that he was unable to complete the commissioned translations, so he had to leave them unfinished or pass them on to others.8 What would have been more obvious than to form a group, in order to specialise? Some translators focussed on philosophical texts and others on medical ones; some translated from Greek and others from Syriac. But did this professionalisation have an effect on the translations? In other words, did the translators as a group follow the same criteria and adopt the same principles in their philological work in order to facilitate their task and to distinguish themselves from others in the quality of their products, which would please their potential patrons? And indeed, Ḥunayn does tell us in his Epistle (Risāla) that his translations of Galen established certain theoretical guidelines for the translation process. He recounts that Ḥubayš also aimed to emulate his ‘method of translation (ṭarīq fī l-tarǧama).9 What was this method? To answer this question is a pressing problem for scholarship in this area, although we only have begun to broach it. Previous scholars primarily endeavoured to define the particular style of members of this group. These scholars mostly did so when they edited Arabic translations of Greek texts. In this context, they investigated individual features of the style and language of the translated text; for instance, they established that 5 6 7 8 9

See Rashed 2006, 170–73. See ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 47, lines 14–17 (Arabic text). See ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 22, lines 4–8 (Arabic text) and Brock 1991, 141. See ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 25, lines 19–20 and 35, line 13 (Arabic text). See ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 15, line 9 (Arabic text).

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Ḥunayn’s group often resorted to rendering one word in the source text with two synonymous words in the target text—a phenomenon known as hendiadys. These individual insights are, of course, important, as they provide a certain impression of the linguistic peculiarities of translators such as Ḥubayš who had a ‘preference for pleonasms’ or displayed an ‘inconsistency in his language’.10 But these scholars did not give a detailed description of how the translators worked—and, of course, this was not the aim of their investigations.11 Moreover, the Greek and Arabic Lexicon, edited by Gerhard Endress and Dimitri Gutas, and Manfred Ullmann’s Dictionary of the Greek-Arabic Translations of the Ninth Century in three volumes both present the vocabulary employed in the GraecoArabic translations in a comparative perspective, which facilitates the task of attributing the various translations to the translators who produced them.12 If one were to compile the results on vocabulary and style which are found in previous editions of Graeco-Arabic translations and take into consideration the information which is available in these two dictionaries, it now should be possible to distinguish much more clearly than before the lexicographical and stylistic features that the individual translators belonging to Ḥunayn’s group displayed. One could use the results of this compilation to distinguish between the various members of the group. Ḥunayn already hinted at the individual abilities of his colleagues when he characterised Ḥubayš as talented, but not very careful, whereas ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā belonged to the few who were capable of maintaining Ḥunayn’s high standards.13 In 1913, Gotthelf Bergsträsser attempted to do this for the first time.14 He mainly aimed at differentiating between Ḥunayn and Ḥubayš on the basis of linguistic differences. He proceeded very methodically, but his study falls short owing to a number of methodological mistakes. His textual sample was clearly too small, which is apparent from the size of his study, comprising only 81 pages. Moreover, in each case, he compiled this sample only on the basis of one or two manuscripts; this, of course, was because only very few Graeco-Arabic translations were available in critical editions. Yet, one should note that some of the linguistic features that he described may be due to the scribe and not the translator; by collating additional manuscripts, one could exclude this possibility. Furthermore, he did not consider how the Syriac intermediary translations influenced Ḥunayn, who often used them to produce his Arabic versions. For, Bergsträsser lists many characteristics that could be 10 The quotations are taken from Biesterfeldt 1973, 19. 11 For Ḥunayn, see for example, Bachmann 1966, 9–11; for Ḥubayš, see Meyerhof / Schacht 1931, 4–6 and Biesterfeldt 1973, 16–28; Al-Dubayan 2000, 65–93 discusses the Arabic version of Galen’s On the Anatomy of the Nerves extensively, and compares the particular style of its translator, al-Dimašqī, with that of Ḥunayn and Ḥubayš. 12 Endress / Gutas 1992– and Ullmann 2002, 2006, 2007. 13 See ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 15, lines 9–10 and 35, line 13 (Arabic text). 14 Bergsträsser 1913.

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a feature of the intermediary Syriac translation and not the Arabic translator. Finally, if one takes into account that Bergsträsser’s explanations are sometimes quite unsystematic, one can easily understand why, at least, the scholarship of the last decades paid hardly any attention to his results.15 In 1970, Gotthard Strohmaier demonstrated with his edition of Galen’s Distinctions in Homogeneous Parts that it is possible to arrive at tangible results in this area. He was able to describe some salient differences between the translations of Ḥubayš and ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā in their renderings of technical terms.16 To determine the translational characteristics of this group, one also should compare them with the works of other translators. John Mattock did this in 1989 by examining a short passage of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, which was rendered into Arabic many times, as is well known.17 Mattock aimed at comparing an earlier translator, ʾUsṭāṯ, with a later one, ʾIsḥāq ibn Ḥunayn.18 He investigated individual passages, sometimes in great detail, but apart from the rather trite conclusion that ʾIsḥāq was the better translator, he did not exploit his results so as to determine a possible difference in their methodology. Somewhat more productive is Manfred Ullmann’s discussion about the Arabic versions of Galen’s Capacities and Mixtures of Simple Drugs. He compared an older version by alBiṭrīq with the more recent one by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq and found that the latter is superior linguistically than the former.19 Uwe Vagelpohl proceeded differently. He collected the remarks that Ḥunayn made in his translations of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ and the Physiognomics, which is attributed to Aristotle, about his translation technique.20 One can divide them—in a somewhat simplified manner—into the following categories: 1. Sometimes Ḥunayn encountered gaps in the Greek original. He filled in these gaps by supplying relevant information based on his own knowledge and in the spirit of the Greek source.21 15 See ed. Strohmaier 1970, 26. 16 See ed. Strohmaier 1970, 29–30. 17 Mattock 1989. 18 See also now Ullmann 2011, 440. 19 Ullmann 2002, 41–8. Pormann (forthcoming a) comes to a similar conclusion. 20 See Vagelpohl 2011. I would like to thank the author for sharing his article with me before its publication. 21 Ḥunayn also reports this procedure in his translation of Galen’s Medical Names where he says (ed. Meyerhof / Schacht 1931, 17, line 30–18, line 4 of the Arabic):

ƦΑā ɷˈͲ ǽ˶˶˜˳̈ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫ Ģāǚ˙Ͳ Ⱥ˙ʶͫāć ΑLJ˅ʦͫā ɬͲ LJ́ʉ͎ ƦLJ͛ ǽ͵LJ̈Ǩʶͫā ȅͫΒā ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ Ȉ˳̣Ǩ̒ LJ́˶Ͳ ǽʓͫā ɼʉ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ɼʦʶ˶ͫā ƦΑā ҙҏΒā ȫ͵LJ͎Ǎ˅̵ĢΑā ƢҨҞ͛ LJͲΑLJ͎ ĿǨ̥Αҙҏā ɷʒʓ͛ ɬͲ ɷʉ͵LJˈͲ ɡ̣ Ȉ͎Ǩ͇ć ɼʉ͵LJ͵ǍʉͫLJ̑ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƢҨҞ͛ ɨ͎́ łĔǍˈ̒ć ȈˏͫΑā ǚ͘ ǽ˶͵Αā ҙҏǍͫ LJ́ʉ͵LJˈͲ ȵˬ̥Αā ɨͫ ɷ̒ΑāǨ͘ LJ˳ͫ ǽ˶͵Αā Ǎ΀ć Ǩ̥ΐā ȇʒ̵ LJˁ̈Αā ɷ͛Ǩ̒ ȅͫΒā ǽ͵LJ͇Ĕć. ɷʓ͛Ǩ̒ć ɷˀʉˬʦ̒ ǽˬ͇ ɡ́ʶ̈ ɨͫ ȇʒʶͫā āǛ́ˬ͎ ƱĔǍˈ̒Αā ɨˬͲ ɷˏͫΐā ɨͫ ǽ˶͵ΒLJ͎ .ɷ˶Ͳ Ƚˏ͵Αā Ǎ΀ LJͲ ȅͫΒā ƱLJ˅ʦ̒Αāć ɷ̑ ǽʶˏ͵ ɡˉ̶Αā ҙҏ ƦΑā Ȉ̈ΑāĢć ɷʉ͵LJˈͲ ǽ͎ ɷˬˀ̤ ǚ͘ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ łụ̈̌ć LJͲ ȅˬ͇ ɡˁ͎ ȅ˶ˈͲ ɷʉ͎ ụ̈̌Αā The Greek manuscript from which I translated this work into Syriac, however, contains such a large number of mistakes and errors that I could not have understood the meaning of the text, had I not been so familiar with and accustomed to Galen’s Greek speech and acquainted

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2 Ḥunayn used parallels from other texts in order to even out contradictions or correct mistakes in his source text; these texts could either be verbatim parallels or correspond with the content of the doubtful passage. We shall see below that the use of parallels will also be important in other respects for this group of translators. 3. Ḥunayn omitted certain passages in the Greek original when he thought that he would not be able to render them satisfactorily or that they did not provide any benefit to the reader. 4. Ḥunayn added at times substantial explanations of terms which were difficult to understand. These points show that the text of the Greek original was not sacrosanct to Ḥunayn. On the contrary, he sometimes dealt with it quite independently, and his prime concern was the reader. For example, he offered explanations of issues in the original that the readers would not know because he did not want to confront them with contradictions or burden them with unnecessary textual material. These remarks obviously need to be taken into consideration when we judge the variant readings which his translations offer. One should ask how often Ḥunayn supplemented the text or omitted certain passages without providing any indication of doing this. Also, it would be useful to learn more about the principles which Ḥunayn followed while translating. Ḥunayn’s methodological discussions circle around the four axes outlined above; however, it is also clear that these discussions do not cover the whole spectrum of his activity as a translator. In other words, Ḥunayn’s remarks in these two versions only offer us a vignette on the work of his group. Gotthard Strohmaier broaches another important aspect in the present volume, namely how Ḥunayn and his collaborators adapted the ancient concepts for religious motives. For instance, they changed the names of the gods, as polytheism was apparently unacceptable for the monotheistic Christian translators. And yet, this strict religious attitude is surprising, as we we find it also in other translations, but not in all of them.22 This phenomenon has not yet been explained sufficiently. This short overview cannot claim to be comprehensive. Yet, it should show that we are still a long way from a complete appreciation of the working methods which this group of translators employed. What principles did they follow? What tools did they use? What linguistic abilities did they possess? How do the members of this group of translators differ from each other and from those with most of his ideas from his other works. But I am not familiar with the language of Aristophanes, nor am I accustomed to it. I could therefore not understand the quotation easily so that I omitted it. I had an additional reason for omitting it: when I read it, I found no idea that went beyond what Galen had already said elsewhere. Hence, I thought that I should not occupy myself with it any further, but rather proceed to more useful matters. 22 One can remark in passing that Christian adaptations of ancient Greek texts can also be found among Greek scribes; see West 1973, 18.

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outside the group? How did they become so successful? These are all questions which still need answering. Owing to the current state of research in this area as well as the subject itself, it is not possible here to treat this issue comprehensively. On the contrary, only certain individual aspects can come under scrutiny here; they all appear under the heading ‘contextual translation’. By this I mean those renderings which are not only influenced by the source text but also by its context. The word ‘context’ can denote different things: the medical and scientific context, the Galenic context, and a parallel text as context. As this volume deals specifically with translations of works by Hippocrates and Galen, especially those produced by Ḥunayn, his nephew Ḥubayš, and ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā, I shall focus on them.

The medical and scientific context It is well known that Ḥunayn practised medicine. He also made certain Greek texts available in translation to his colleagues and thereby advanced medical research considerably. For this reason, he necessarily partook in the scientific discourse of his time. This background appears at times in his translations, as the following phrase from the Hippocratic work Regimen in Acute Diseases, chapter 22, shows. The Greek original runs as follows:23 ἀλλ’ ἢν μὲν ϲημαίνῃ ἡ ὀδύνη ἐϲ κληῗδα […], τάμνειν χρὴ τὴν ἐν τῷ ἀγκῶνι φλέβα τὴν εἴϲω. Should, however, the pain show signs of extending to the collar-bone […], you must open the inner vein at the elbow. The important expression here is the ‘inner vein at the elbow’. In humans, this vein runs through the lower and upper arm and is called ‘basilic vein’ in modern medicine. Let us now look at the Arabic version of this passage:24 .Ɏʉˬ̵LJʒͫā

ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā ƈǨˈͫā ǚˀˏ̒ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ ǚ˙͎ … ƴǍ͘Ǩʓͫā ȅͫΒā Ƚ̣Ǎͫā Ⱦˬ̑ ȅʓͲć

When the pain reaches the collar bone …, then you should cut the so-called basilic vein. 23 The Greek text is based on ed. Helmreich 1914, 168, line 27–169, line 1, the English translation is taken from ed. Jones 1923, 81. 24 Text and translation are taken from ed. Lyons 1966, 14, line 11 (text); and 14, lines 9–12 (translation).

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It is remarkable that the modern medical term ‘basilic vein’ is already found in the Arabic version: ‘al-ʿirq al-musammā l-bāsilīq (the so-called basilic vein)’. This begs the question of its origin. Could this be the invention of the Arabic translator?25 Certainly not. The term bāsilīq clearly goes back to the Greek ‘basilikós (royal)’. Moreover we already find the Greek source of the technical term ʿirq bāsilīq, namely ‘phlèps basilikḗ (basilic vein)’ in certain post-Galenic sources.26 But the question remains: how did this term end up in the Arabic text. A competent Greek copyist could well have introduced this term phlèps basilikḗ into Ḥunayn’s source. This possibility cannot, of course, be excluded, but it is more likely that Ḥunayn himself rendered the expression ‘the inner vein at the elbow (ἡ ἐν τῷ ἀγκῶνι φλὲψ ἡ εἴϲω)’ as ‘al-ʿirq al-musammā l-bāsilīq (the so-called basilic vein)’; in other words, he employed the current and usual terminology of his time. For this vein had already been called ‘royal’ in other translations which his group produced, such as the Anatomical Procedures. Furthermore, Ḥunayn practised medicine, as we have said above, and had a number of caliphs as his patients. One would expect that he was well versed in the current terminology.

The Galenic context It is obvious that translators occasionally take the context of the whole work into account. The following discussing will show that the translations produced in Ḥunayn’s circle are no exception to this rule. These translators rendered translations of Galenic texts for decades. In this process, they obviously acquired considerable knowledge. They sometimes incorporated this knowledge into the texts which they would translated, as the following passage from Galen’s Distinctions in Symptoms shows:27 ὀνομάζω δὲ τὴν μὲν διὰ φάρυγγοϲ ὁλκήν […] τοῦ πέριξ ἀέροϲ ἀναπνοήν I call the drawing in of outside air through the throat ‘respiration (anapnoḗ)’. Ḥubayš translated this passage as follows: 25 This was, for example, the opinion of Simon 1906, ii. 269. 26 The patristic author Athanasius of Alexandria uses the expression phlèps basilikḗ in his Book of Definitions (ed. Migne 1857–66, xxviii, col. 553, lines 24, 26) and On Body and Soul (ed. Migne 1857–66, xxviii, col. 1433, line 35, 37). Temkin 1961 already suspected that this term was not of Greek origin. 27 Book v, ch. 3 (ed. Gundert 2009, 246, lines 12–14); for the Arabic text which is still unpublished, see Overwien 2009b, 139.

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.ɷͫ

Ģǚˀͫā ŁāǛʓ̣LJ̑ ɼ̇Ǩͫā ɼʒˀ͘ć ƴǨʤ˶ʥͫā ɬͲ ƹāǍ́ͫā ƛḀ̌Ĕ «ȫˏ˶̒» ǽͫǍ˙̑ ǽ˶͇Αā

When saying ‘respiration (tanaffus)’, I mean the entering of air through the throat and windpipe as the thorax draws it in. The Arabic translation contains additional information about the windpipe (qaṣabat al-riʾa) and thorax (ṣadr). This raises the question of where these additions came from. Galen notes repeatedly in his writings that respiration (anapnoḗ) results from the activity of the chest; moreover, in his Opinions of Hippocrates and Plato, he adds that during respiration air is sucked in through the windpipe:28 ὁ θώραξ διαϲτελλόμενοϲ ἕλκει διὰ τῆϲ τραχείαϲ ἀρτηρίαϲ ἀναγκαίωϲ εἰϲ τὸ ϲτόμαὸντ ἔξωθεν ἀέρα. The thorax as it expands draws necessarily through the trachea the outside air into its mouth. By adding the two terms ‘thorax’ and ‘windpipe’ to the passage quoted above, the translator clearly wished to utilise his own knowledge of Galen in order to supplement the statements by the physician from Pergamum. These additions give the reader a more complete picture of respiration.29 I would like to introduce another example of this phenomenon, which will demonstrate that modern editors should consider the Galenic context. The example comes from the first book of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ and runs in the Greek original:30 ὅταν δὲ εἰϲ τὰ ϲτερεὰ μόρια τοῦ ϲώματοϲ ἀφικνῆται, […] When it [the bile] reaches the solid parts of the body […] The Arabic translation of Ḥunayn, however, has the following text: […]

ɼʉˬ̿Αҙҏā Ʀǚʒͫā ƹLJˁ͇Αā ȅͫΒā ĢāǨ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ ĢLJ̿ ȅʓͲć

When this bile arrives at the elementary [al-ʾaṣlīya] parts of the body […] 28 Book 8, ch. 6; text and translation are taken from De Lacy 2005, 528, lines 26–8 and 529, lines 30–1. 29 For the translation of thṓrax with ṣadr and artēría tracheîa with qaṣabat al-riʾa, see Ullmann 2002, 136, 302 and Ullmann 2007, 174; see also Overwien 2009b, 139. 30 The Greek text is taken from ed. Wenkebach 1934, 89, lines 1–2.

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It is surprising that ‘stereós (solid)’ is rendered by ‘ʾaṣlī (elemental)’ here. At first, one might suspect that this is due to the negligence of the Arab scribe, who could have confused ‘ṣulb (hard)’ with ‘ʾaṣlī (elemental)’. Such a mistake could easily be explained from a palaeographical point of view. Yet, in two other places of the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, we find this translational pair stereós—ʾaṣlī, and also in other works by Galen such as Containing Causes.31 All these cases can hardly be explained by a mistake on the Arab scribeʼs part. Here again, it is worthwhile to look at the Galenic context. According to Galen, the body consists, in addition to pneumas and humours, of solid parts, by which he meant for instance, the arteries, sinews, or bones. Sometimes, Galen defines these solid parts as in his work Natural Capacities:32 καλεῖται δ’ οὕτω τὰ ϲτερεὰ μόρια τοῦ ϲώματοϲ, ἀρτηρίαι καὶ φλέβεϲ καὶ νεῦρα καὶ ὀϲτᾶ καὶ χόνδροι καὶ ὑμένεϲ καὶ ϲύνδεϲμοι καὶ οἱ χιτῶνεϲ ἅπαντεϲ, οὓϲ ϲτοιχειώδειϲ τε καὶ ὁμοιομερεῖϲ καὶ ἁπλοῦϲ ὀλίγον ἔμπροϲθεν ἐκαλοῦμεν. The solid parts of the body [tà stereà mória toû sṓmatos] are called thus, namely all the arteries, veins, sinews, bones, cartilage, tissues, ligaments, and membranes. A little earlier, we called them ‘elemental [stoicheiṓdeis]’ ‘homoeomerous’ and ‘simple’.33 Here, one finds that the solid parts of the body are called ‘elemental (stoicheiṓdēs)’, and this was probably the model for ʾaṣlī. In other words, such a definition was undoubtedly the reason why Ḥunayn understood the ‘solid’ parts of the body as ‘elemental’. It is difficult to say to what extent this translation, which was influenced by the Galenic context, was helpful or more easily understandable for Muḥammad ibn Mūsā who commissioned it. Perhaps this alternative terminol-

31 Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ i: p. 74, line 22 W, i.2.128 V; p. 101, line 27 W, i.2.229 V; Contentaining Causes: ed. Lyons 1969, 58, line 2. In the latter case, we can be certain that the lost Greek had the form stereós since the translation by Nicolaus of Reggio has ‘solidorum’ (see ed. Lyons 1969, 135, line 29). 32 Book i, ch. 7 (ed. Κühn 1821–33, ii.16, lines 11–15). 33 See also, Galen, Art of Medicine chapter 16: ‘The solid [part] of the body, those that are really solid and primary’ (τὰ ϲτερεὰ τοῦ ϲώματοϲ, τὰ ὄντωϲ ϲτερεὰ καὶ πρῶτα), ed. Boudon 2000, 324, lines 5–6. Galen probably equates the solid parts of the body with the primary ones because he conceives of the solid parts as being in principle identical with the homoeomerous ones. Conversely, Galen describes the homoeomerous parts of the body as elemental and primary, for example, in Matters of Health vi, ch. 2: ‘the elemental (stoicheiṓdē) and primary parts of the body, called “homoeomerous” by Aristotle (τὰ ϲτοιχειώδη τε καὶ πρῶτα τοῦ ϲώματοϲ μόρια, καλούμενα δ’ ὑπ’ Ἀριϲτοτέλουϲ ὁμοιομερῆ)’, ed. Koch 1923, 169, line 10–11.

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ogy for the solid parts of the bodies had simply become dominant.34 In any case, these examples show that one should always consider the working methods and intentions of the translators when editing and analysing Arabic versions of Greek texts. It may be more surprising, at least at first glance, that this Galenic context also played a significant role in the translation of Hippocratic works. For, most Hippocratic writings were not translated on the basis of independent Hippocratic manuscripts but from the lemmas in the Galenic commentaries on these texts. In other words, the Hippocratic writings in Arabic only represent a compilation of individual lemmas from Galen’s commentaries on the various Hippocratic works. Therefore, the translators always had access to Galen’s explanations when rendering their Hippocratic texts. They used these explanations and sometimes incorporated them into their translation when this seemed helpful. We can produce an example of this procedure from the second book of the Epidemics:35 … οἷον τῇ Τημένεω ἀδελφιδῇ ἐκ νούϲου ἰϲχυρῆϲ ἐϲ δάκτυλον ἀπεϲτήριξεν. … as with Tēmenēs’ niece: from a strong disease it settled in her toe.

ɡˁˏͫā ƛLJͲ 37ĕΒā LJ́̑LJ̿Αā ķǛͫā ǚ̈ǚʷͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā LJ́ʒ˙͇Αā ǽʓͫā 36ťǍʉ͵LJͲLJ̒ Ȉ̥Αā Ȉ˶ʒͫ ŰǨ͇ LJͲ ɑͫĕ ɬͲ .Ȉ̒LJ˳͎ LJ΀ĔćLJˈ͎ ŰǨ˳ͫā ƛǍʒ˙ͫ ɼˬ˳ʓʥͲ Ƚʒ̿ Βҙҏā ɬ˜̒ ɨˬ͎ LJ́ˈ̑LJ̿Αā ɬͲ Ƚʒ̿Βā ȅͫΒā For instance what happened to Tēmenēs’ niece, who suffered from the severe disease that struck her because the excess drifted [māla l-faḍl] to one of her digits and the digit was unable to receive the disease so she relapsed and died. The text talks about an apóstasis (apestḗrixen) that formed in the finger of Tēmenēs’ niece. The concept of apóstasis was central for Hippocratic physi34 One also should note that in the Arabic versions of the Aristotelian Physical Problems, which is attributed to Ḥunayn, the parts of the body are referred to as ‘elemental’ (ed. Filius 1999, 46, lines 17–18):

.ɼʉˬ̿Αҙҏā ƹLJˁ͇Αҙҏā ǽ΀ć ζȇˬ̿ Ǩ΀Ạ̌ć ζǽ̤ćĢ Ǩ΀Ạ̌ć ζȇ̈́Ģ Ǩ΀Ạ̌ ɬͲ :ƹLJʉ̶Αā ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɬͲ ȇ͛ǨͲ Ʀǚʒͫā ƦΑҙҏ For the body is composed of three things: of a moist substance, a spiritual substance, and a hard substance; the last is the elemental parts [of the body; al-ʾaʿḍāʾ al-ʾaṣlīya]. 35 The Greek text is taken from Littréʼs edition (v. 78, lines 9–10 L); see ed. Smith 1994, 25 for the English translation. The Arabic text and its English translation are from ii.1.89 HV. 36 ťǍʉ͵LJͲLJ̒] M: ťćāLJ̐LJͲ E1, A2. 37 ĕΒā] E1: Ʀā M, A2.

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cians, although its exact meaning is uncertain. Hippocratic physicians generally took it to denote the shift of disease matter or a humour from one part of the body to another; this influenced the progression of the disease. This shift often resulted in the patient being saved, but sometimes it appeared merely to be part of the development of the disease. When we look at Galen’s explanation of this lemma in his Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, we see that it was not clear to him of what exactly this apóstasis in the finger consisted:38

ɬͲ Ƚ̀ǍͲ ȅˀ͘Αā ȅͫΒā ƛLJͲ ǚ͘ LJ́ʉ͎ ɡˁˏͫā ƦLJ͛ć […] LJ́ˈ̑LJ̿Αā ɬͲ Ƚʒ̿Βā ȅͫΒā ŰǨ˳ͫā ƴĔLJͲ Ȉˈ͎ǚ͵LJ͎ […] […] LJ́ʉͫΒā Ȉˈ͎ǚ͵ā ǽʓͫā ŴҨҞ̥Αҙҏā ƛǍʒ˙ͫ ɼˬ˳ʓʥͲ ɬ˜̒ ɨͫ […] Ƚʒ̿ Βҙҏā ƦΑҙҏ […] Ʀǚʒͫā ɡ͎LJ̵Αā […] and the matter of the disease was pushed towards one of her digits […] The excess in her drifted [māla l-faḍlu] towards the furthest place […] since the toe […] was not able to receive the humours pushed towards it […] Galen talks in this passage first about the ‘disease matter (māddat al-maraḍ)’, then about an ‘excess (al-faḍl)’ and finally about ‘humours (al-ʾaḫlāṭ)’. When we consider how the Arab translator rendered the word ‘it settled (apestḗrixen)’ as ‘the excess drifted (māla l-faḍlu)’, we notice that he did not have a clear concept of the apóstasis but simply adopted the second explanation by Galen. One could find many more examples of this process, namely that the translator took a phrase from the Galenic commentary and used it to render the Hippocratic lemma.39 How exactly this process took place remains to be investigated. Perhaps the translators read the lemma in question together with Galen’s explanation first, then considered whether they should rephrase it in light of Galen’s explanations and finally proceeded to translate it. Alternatively, they may have produced a preliminary translation of the lemma first and then revised it on the basis of Galen’s explanations.

38 Book ii.1.91 HV. 39 See Overwien 2010, 64–6 and my forthcoming CMG edition of Hippocrates’ On Humours.

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Parallel texts as contexts Parallel texts are texts that occur in nearly identical form in different works. The Hippocratic works are particularly replete with them.40 When the translators encountered a parallel text which they already had translated in the context of a different work, they did not translate it afresh but rather used their earlier rendering. This procedure can be illustrated quite well with parallel texts from the Hippocratic works Aphorisms and Humours. Let us begin with a passage occurring in Humours, chapter 6, and Aphorisms, section 1, number 22, in which the Greek source text is identical and the Arabic target texts are extremely similar, although the Arabic versions were produced by different translators, namely ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā in the case of Humours and Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq in the case of Aphorisms. The Greek runs as follows in both texts:41 πέπονα φαρμακεύειν καὶ κινέειν, μὴ ὠμὰ μήδ ἐν ἀρχῇϲιν, ἢν μὴ ὀργᾷ. τὰ δὲ πολλὰ οὐκ ὀργᾷ. Purge and move cooked [humours], but not raw [ones], nor at the onset, when they are not in virulent motion. They are mostly not in virulent motion. Likewise, the Arabic translations are nearly identical; the slight variations are indicated in the footnotes:42

ҨҞ͎ ŰǨ˳ͫā ƛćΑā ǽ͎ć LJʉ͵ 43ƢāĔ LJͲ LJͲΑLJ͎ ŰǨ˳ͫā șˁ˶̈ ƦΑā ǚˈ̑ ɑ̈Ǩʥʓͫāć ƹāćǚͫā ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ LJ˳͵Βā 45.ΈLJʤ̇LJ΀ ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ĔLJ˜̈ ȫʉͫ ǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩʔ͛Αā ǽ͎ć 44ΈLJʤ̇LJ΀ ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ҙҏΒā ɑͫĕ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈

40 On the phenomenon of parallel texts, see Langholf 1977, Roselli 1989 and Overwien 2009a. 41 As I said above, the Hippocratic texts which the translators had at their disposal are not based on Hippocratic manuscripts but on the lemmas of Galen’s commentary. For this reason, I take the Greek text of the Aphorisms from Galen’s commentary in the old edition by Kühn (xvii/b. p. 441, lines 1–2 K). Unfortunately, we do not know which Hippocratic text that Galen read for Humours, as his commentary on it is lost in the Greek tradition. But the text of the Aphorisms quoted here is identical to that contained in the edition of Humours by Littré (v. p. 484, lines 15–16 L). 42 The Arabic texts are taken from ed. Mattock 1971, 13, line 1–5, and ed. Tytler 1832, 8, lines 7–10. 43 ƢāĔ] in the Aphorisms, there is ŰǨ˳ͫā after ƢāĔ. 44 LJʤ̇LJ΀] in Humours; Aphorisms: LJ̣LJʉ́Ͳ. 45 Ǩʔ͛Αā ǽ͎ć … ΈLJʤ̇LJ΀] in Humours; Aphorisms: ΈLJ̣LJʉ́Ͳ ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩʔ͛Αā ǽ͎ ĔLJ˜̈ ȫʉͫć.

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One only ought to use remedies and induce movement after the disease has ripened. As long as it remains raw, however, and at the onset of the disease, one only ought to use this when the disease is virulent [hāʾiǧ / mihyāǧ]. For the most part, the disease is hardly ever [laysa yakādu] virulent. It is striking here that the translators modified the text in ways that are not warranted by the Greek source. For instance, they begin with ‘ʾinnamā (only)’, the Greek ‘ouk orgâi (are not in virulent motion)’ is qualified in both cases by ‘hardly ever [laysa yakādu]’ without any apparent reason, and the adjective ‘ōmá (raw)’ is preceded by ‘mā dāma (as long as it remains)’. It is hard to imagine that these features in the translations appeared independently. Rather, the translations undoubtedly depend on each other. It is strange, however, that this process which we have just observed in the previous example is not replicated in another place where we have parallel texts in Humours, chapter 7, and Aphorisms, section 4, numbers 31–3. In this case, in the Arabic versions, not only does the syntax differ but occasionally, a different terminology is employed. Let us look at the following concrete example, namely aphorism 32, where the Greek text is as follows: ὁκόϲοιϲι δὲ ἀνιϲταμένοιϲιν ἐκ τῶν νούϲων, ἤν τι πονήϲῃ, ἐνταῦθα ἀποϲτάϲιεϲ γίνονται In those who recover from disease, if something hurts, abscesses [apóstasies] occur there. The Arabic version renders this thus46:

œāǨ Ό̥ Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ɷ̑ Ńṳ̈̌ ɷ͵ǚ̑ ɬͲ Ƚ̀ǍͲ ɷ˶Ͳ ɡ˜͎ ŰǨͲ ɬͲ ɡʷʓ͵ā ɬͲ If one recovers from a disease, and then some place of his body becomes weak [kalla], an abscess [ḫurāǧ] occurs in this place. The Greek in Humours is similar:47 οἷϲι δὲ ἀνιϲταμένοιϲιν ἐκ τῶν νούϲων, αὐτίκα δὲ χερϲὶ ἢ ποϲὶ πονήϲαϲιν, ἐν τούτοιϲιν ἀφίϲταται.

46 The Greek text is taken from xvii/b. p. 699, lines 9–10 K and the Arabic text from ed. Tytler 1832, 33, lines 7–8. 47 The Greek text is taken from v. p. 488, lines 2–4 L.

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In those who recover from disease, but hurt again in their hands or feet, abscesses occur [aphístatai]. The Arabic version contains a lacuna:48 〈[…]〉,

ƱǛ΀ ȅͫΒLJ͎ ɨ́̀āǨͲΑā ɬͲ ɨ̣́ćǨ̥ ǚ˶͇ ɨ́ˬ̣ĢΑāć ɨ́̈ǚ̈Αā ƦǍʒˈʓ̈ ɬ̈Ǜͫā

Those who suffer fatigue in their hands and feet, when they emerge from the disease, [suffer from eruptions]49 in these parts. In this case, unlike the previous one, the Greek source texts differ in part, but even when we look at the identical phrases, we find significant differences in the Arabic versions. In the Aphorisms, the phrase ‘in those who recover from disease (ἀνιϲταμένοιϲι ἐκ τῶν νούϲων)’ is translated as ‘if one recovers from a disease (mani ntušila min maraḍin)’, whereas in Humours, it is rendered as ‘when they come out of diseases (ʿinda ḫurūǧihim min ʾamrāḍihim)’. Moreover, the subordinate clause ‘if something hurts (ἤν τι πονήϲῃ)’ in the Aphorisms or the corresponding participle construction ‘hurting (πονήϲαϲιν)’ in Humours is translated by the verb ‘kalla (to be weak)’ in the Aphorisms, but with the verb ‘taʿaba (to be tired)’ in Humours. Therefore, the two versions differ substantially in this case. Why is this so? As we have already said, the translations of most Hippocratic texts were not based on manuscripts containing the Greek originals but on the lemmas contained in the Galenic commentaries. Therefore, the translator could have drawn on the information which was given in these commentaries when translating the Hippocratic works. Let us now look look at the Galenic commentary on the Aphorisms. We find that Galen refers in his commentary on Aphorisms, section 1, numbers 19–23 to the parallels in Humours, but not in his commentary on Aphorisms, section 4, numbers 31–3. In this way, Galen drew the attention of Ḥunayn and ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā to these parallel texts in Humours, chapter six, and consequently they took these references into consideration when rendering these texts. But they did not know that Humours, chapter seven, also contained a parallel to Aphorisms section 4, numbers 31–3, because Galen did not say so in his commentary. For this reason, Ḥunayn and ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā translated the two texts separately into Arabic, which resulted in two different versions. It is not difficult to guess why the translators drew on the parallel texts: they were thus able to lighten their workload and achieve a certain stylistic unity, something which undoubtedly pleased those who commissioned the transla-

48 Ed. Mattock 1971, 17, lines 3–4. 49 The words ‘suffer from eruptions’ were obviously omitted by an Arab scribe.

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tions.50 This procedure could, however, lead to mistakes, as we shall see from the next example. The example concerns a parallel text which occurrs in both Humours, chapter twenty, and the Epidemics, book six. Firstly, let us look at the Greek texts. In Humours, we find the following short phrase:51 ὅϲα πέφυκεν ἐπιφαινόμενα ῥύεϲθαι, τούτων προγενόμενα κωλύματα The things that, when they occur afterwards, naturally protect [against diseases], prevent these when they occur beforehand. In the Epidemics, the parallel text runs as follows:52 ϲκῆψιϲ μὲν ἐφ οἷϲι γενόμενα ῥύεται, τούτων προγενόμενα κωλύει Skêpsis [?] cures conditions on which it supervenes, prevent them when it precedes. One of the problems with the Greek text of the Epidemics is that the sense of skêpsis still remains elusive. The Arabic versions also differ. In Humours, we have:53 .LJ́̓ćṳ̈̌ ɬͲ Ȉˈ˶Ͳ Ȉ̓ǚʥ͎ ȈͲǚ˙̒ āĕΒā ȵˬʦʓͫā LJ́̑ ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ƴǨ̥ΑLJ̑ łǨ́ͅ āĕΒā LJ́͵ΑLJ̶ ɬͲ ǽʓͫā ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā The things that naturally bring release when they appear afterwards, prevent their (the illnessesʼ) occurrence, when they appear beforehand. And in Epidemics:54

LJ́̓ćṳ̈̌ ɬͲ Ȉˈ˶Ͳ Ȉ̓ǚʥ͎ ȈͲǚ˙̒ āĕΒā LJ́˶Ͳ ȵˬʦʓͫā LJ́̑ ƦǍ˜ʉ͎ ɡˬˈͫā 55ǚˈ̑ Ńǚʥ̈ ķǛͫā ȵˉ˳ͫā 50 One should note as well that translations belonging to Ḥunayn’s circle also used parallel texts when translating Syriac versions. For instance, when ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā translated Ḥunayn’s Questions on the Epidemics from the original Syriac into Arabic, he drew heavily on the Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, as it contained many parallels; see Pormann 2008a, 261–2. 51 The Greek text is based on my own collation of the Greek manuscripts (cf. v. p. 500, lines 12–13 L). 52 The Greek text is taken from ed. Wenkebach 1956, 184, lines 3–4; I have modified slightly the English translation by ed. Smith 1994, 245. 53 The Arabic text and the English translation are taken from ed. Mattock 1971, 35, lines 2–3. 54 MS E2, fol. 69b, lines 4–5. 55 Reading baʿda instead of the fīhi in MS E2.

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When the gripes that occur after the diseases and then alleviate them appear beforehand, they prevent that they occur. The passage from the Arabic version of the Epidemics clearly contains a grammatical error. The subject at the beginning of the phrase, ‘al-maġaṣu (gripes)’, is masculine singular. The verbs and the pronouns that refer to it, such as bihā, minhā, taqaddamat, ḥadaṯat, manaʿat, and ḥudūṯihā, are all, nevertheless, in the feminine singular. Moreover, in Ibn al-Nafīs’ Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’, the lemma has ‘disease (maraḍ)’ instead of ‘gripes (maġaṣ)’.56 Given the difficulty of the Greek skêpsis, it is perhaps more likely that the original had the former reading rather than the latter. Be that as it may, both words are masculine and cannot account for the discrepancy with the following female singular pronouns. But, the following explanation may provide a solution. As in the case of the Aphorisms and Humours, the translator rendered the Epidemics not on the basis of a Greek manuscript containing the Hippocratic text but on the basis of the lemmas in the Galenic commentary. He learned from this commentary that Humours contained a parallel text.57 Therefore, he drew on this parallel from Humours when translating this passage. He changed, however, the subject by replacing ‘al-ʾašyāʾu (the things)’, which corresponds to ὅϲα, with ‘al-maġaṣu’, which corresponds to ϲκῆψιϲ, whilst retaining the original phrasing from Humours for the rest of the quotation. The translator did not notice that al-ʾašyāʾu is a so-called broken plural that requires verbs and pronouns in the feminine singular, whereas al-maġaṣu is a masculine singular that would require verbs and pronouns in the masculine singular. Therefore, the resulting sentence is grammatically incorrect.58 It is well known that Ḥunayn translated the Epidemics, but we have to state that he did not always work carefully. I did not merely adduce this example to show the negative aspects of this procedure. If my explanation is correct and the mistake in the Arabic version of the Epidemics is due to a misappropriation of a parallel text in Humours, then we must conclude that Humours was translated into Arabic before the Epidemics, or at least Book Six of this text. Ḥunayn and his circle of translators generally strove to render their source text faithfully, but they did not imitate it slavishly, as did some medieval Latin translators. There were various reasons why they would deliberately depart from the source text. On the one hand, it was impossible to reproduce the Greek original literally since the resulting Syriac or Arabic version had to be comprehensible to the reader. This balancing act between the Greek source text and the

56 Ed. Mattock 1971, 35, note 1. 57 See for example, ed. Wenkebach 1956, 185, lines 11–13. 58 Ed. Mattock 1971, v–vi, explains this error in this way.

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target text, in this case in Syriac, posed some difficulties for Ḥunayn, as he tells us in his Epistle in the entry on the Galenic work Fullness59:

Ⱦˬ̑Αā Ǎ΀ć ζƢҨҞ˜ͫā ɬͲ ɼ˳̣Ǩʓͫā ǽ͎ ɷˬ˳ˈʓ̵Αā ƦΑā ǽ̒ĔLJ͇ ɬͲ LJͲ Ǎʥ͵ ȅˬ͇ ŷǍʷʓʦʒͫ ȇ̈Ǩ͘ Ǜ˶Ͳ ɷʓ˳̣Ǩ̒ ǚ͘ć .ɼʉ͵LJ̈Ǩʶͫā ƈǍ˙ʥͫ ǚΊ ˈ̒ Ǩʉ͈ ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ɬͲ ɷ̑Ǩ͘Αāć ɷˬʥ͎Αāć ķǚ˶͇ ƢҨҞ˜ͫā I recently translated this for Buḫtīšūʿ in the manner that I usually adopt when translating, namely what I think is the most elegant and expressive language, and closest to the Greek, without, however, violating the laws of Syriac. Moreover, the translators deliberately omitted certain words in the source text, something that we can observe particularly in the case of particles. This phenomenon occurs too often for it to be explained as happenstance or being due to a corrupt source text. It remains to be seen to what extent the translators followed a systematic approach here.60 Apart from linguistic reasons, the original may also have been changed because of its content. For instance, in Galen’s work Distinctions in Symptoms, the translator silently corrected a logically incorrect sequence of arguments.61 The translations that are based on context, which we have discussed above, also have been edited for content. We have seen that the translators took the scientific context of their time into consideration, notably by employing contemporary medical terminology. They did so, because the texts were addressed both to physicians and partly also to laypeople. The translators would have become the laughing stocks if they had preserved the terminology of their centuries-old source texts. Moreover, they aimed at being easily comprehensible and instructive by supplementing certain passages with the help of the context in which the source text is situated. We have seen that they interpreted certain ambiguous phrasing in the Hippocratic Epidemics with the help of Galen’s explanations. For example, they supplemented the concise exposition of respiration in Galen’s Distinctions in Symptoms with information from other works so that the reader would receive a comprehensive account of the question at hand. All these different aspects confirm the impression which Ḥunayn gives in his methodological musings about himself and his work. When he encountered a

59 Ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 30, line 22–31, line 1 (Arabic text). 60 See Overwien 2009b, 132–3 and Overwien 2010, 61–2. Gutas 2010, 98–9 notes that such omissions could be due to the fact that the translators regarded such words as superfluous. This may be true some of the time, but it does not apply to all cases, since words that are important to the overall sense are sometimes omitted. 61 See Overwien 2009b, 134.

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gap in the second book of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, he subsequently filled it in, as he explains:62

āǛ΀ ƱLJʒ̶Αā Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ǽ͎ ƱǍʥ͵ Ǎʥ˶̈ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ȉ̈ΑāĢ LJͲ ȇʶʥ̑ ǽʶˏ͵ ǚ˶͇ ɬͲ ȵ˙͵ LJͲ ƢLJ˳ʓʓ̵ā Ȉˏˬ˜ʓ͎ ɷʒʓ͛ ɬͲ ɷ˶͇ LJ́̒Ǜ̥Αā ǽʓͫā ƛǍ̿Αҙҏā ȅˬ͇ć ƢҨҞ˜ͫā I took it upon myself to fill the gap in accordance with what I thought was Galen’s method in commenting on similar lemmas and according to the principles I took from his writings. Sometimes he wanted to save the reader from the burden of superfluous matter, as in the case of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Six, where he omitted the sayings of various Greek authorities:63

Ɏʶ͵ć LJ́ʉ͎ Ɏʶ˶ͫā ȅˬ͇ ƛǚ̈ ǚ͘ ƹLJͲǚ˙ͫā ɬͲ LJ˳΀Ǩʉ͈ć ƦǍ̈́ҨҞ͎Αāć ťćǨʉͲćΑā ɡ̈ćLJ͘Αā ɬͲ ɡ̈ćLJ͘Αā ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ȵʓ͘ā ǽ͎ LJ́̑ Ƚˏʓ˶̈ ҙҏ ɷ͵Αҙҏ LJ́ʓ˳̣Ǩ̒ Ȉ͛Ǩʓ͎ .ɬʶʥ̒ Ǩ̇LJˆ͵ ɼʉ̑Ǩˈͫā ǽ͎ ɷͫ ȫʉͫ ζɷͫ ɨ̇ҨҞͲ Ǎ΀ LJͲ Ǩʉ͈ ȅˬ͇ ƹǽʷͫā .LJ́̈ Ƚˏʓ˶̈ ćΑā ɬʶʥʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ɬ͇ ҨҞˁ͎ ɨ́ˏ̒ ҙҏ Ȉ͵LJ͛ ĕΒā ζɼʉ̑Ǩˈͫā Then, Galen related sayings by Homer, Plato and others of the ancients in which he indicates that the [grammatical] congruence betweem them is inappropriate. In Arabic, there are no suitable equivalents for it. I have therefore not translated them into Arabic; they have no useful purpose in Arabic, because they are incomprehensible, let alone pleasant or useful. All these considerations admit only one conclusion: Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq focussed primarily on the reader of his translation in the process of producing them.64 The reader was supposed to not only read the translations but also understand them on the levels of both language and content. Other remarks that Ḥunayn makes in his Epistle about his translations of Galen confirm this focus on the reader. He states that his rendering of Galen’s Bones for Beginners should be as comprehensible as possible because the patron who paid for it wanted it thus. When he translated Galen’s work Voice, he adapted the level according to the intelligence of the person who commissioned it. Additionally, he took the linguistic preferences of his patron into considera62 MS E1, fol. 51a, lines 24–5; text and translation are taken from ii.1.111 HV. 63 MS E2, fol. 145a, lines 17–20; for the text and translation, cf. Vagelpohl 2011, Appendix, no. 15. 64 See also Brock 1991, 142.

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tion when rendering Galen’s Fullness.65 Here, we can see how Ḥunayn’s group conceived of the Galenic text and how they envisioned the conservation and transmission of the Greek originals. Although they endeavoured to collect multiple manuscripts of a single text in order to constitute a good working text and carefully considered the quality of their source text, they did not intend to preserve verbatim the ‘archetype’ which they reconstructed in this way. Rather, they aimed at expanding their base text for the purpose of usefulness, instruction, and perhaps also reading pleasure, at least as much as the Greek source would allow. Thus, one can understand why the translations which Ḥunayn’s group produced met with so much success. For, we should not forget that those who commissioned them paid highly for them and were therefore entitled to received works of commensurate quality. We could only establish the translational characteristics of Ḥunayn’s circle on the basis of a few textual examples. Therefore, this paper is only an attempt at describing the working methods of this group of translators. By taking additional evidence from this circle of translators into consideration, one may modify the results somewhat and perhaps put them into a different light. And one could, of course, adduce examples for other aspects of their translational procedures; to name but two, there is the development of technical terminology and the use of dictionaries. In this way, many other characteristics would emerge other than the qualifications ‘engaged’, ‘organised effectively’, or ‘focussed on the reader’. Perhaps, it would be possible to situate this group in the long line of antique, medieval, and early modern translation movements and thereby determine its relationship to them. But even if we cannot yet give a comprehensive view, the present investigations still produces useful results, even if they are limited. There are enough scholars who would benefit from them. Classical philologists are better able to judge the value of the Syriac and Arabic translations, Graeco-Arabists can receive important help with their edition of such translations; and Arabists can obtain an important piece of the puzzle about the intellectual life of the ninth century.

65 See ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 8, lines 9–11; 24, lines 18–9; 31, lines 1–2 (Arabic text).

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 Galen the Pagan and Ḥunayn the Christian: Specific Transformations in the Commentaries on Airs, Waters, Places and the Epidemics Gotthard Strohmaier The Arabic translations from Greek that Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq and his pupils produced are generally characterised by philological accuracy and a thorough understanding of the text. He collected as many Greek manuscripts as possible in his private library and collated them in order to establish an improved Greek text by inserting his corrections into one of the manuscripts.1 But at times, he deviated from his philological standards when religious matters were involved and altered the text to such an extent that it is difficult to guess what Galen actually said, when the original is lost. This might come as a surprise, for contemporary Byzantine scribes and copyists did not tamper with Greek texts in order to conceal the pagan expressions of their authors. The contemporary Muslim writer al-Ǧāḥiẓ accuses Ḥunayn and his fellow Christian translators of falsifying the texts in order to bring them into line with their religion.2 Al-Ǧāḥiẓ should have added that these alterations also made the texts more adapted to Islam. Owing to the ‘scientific’ context of these texts, the religious utterances which had to be modified or even falsified occur only rarely. Until now, only a small number of texts translated from Greek into Arabic are available where both the source and the target texts survive. With these texts, one can compare them so as to get a better insight into the particular methods of the Christian translators, and how they coped with the difficulties posed by the pagan character of the texts. There may be different reasons why the Eastern Christians eliminated pagan references from their translations. Were they concerned about Muslim suspicions that they might introduce pagan beliefs under the cover of Greek science? A similar cautiousness can be observed in translations from Pehlevi into Arabic.3 Or were they afraid that their fellow Christians would take offence? One can already observe this phenomenon in Syriac translations which were produced for Christian audiences. Furthermore, we must take into account that the clients of these various Syriac or Arabic translations may have had different ex1 Strohmaier 1994, 2005 (reprinted in Strohmaier 2003, 97); see also Overwien’s article in this volume. 2 Finkel 1926, 17 (translation in Finkel 1927, 327). 3 Henning 1956, 76.

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pectations and been more or less sensitive about pagan references in the translations. Ḥunayn also had to comply with the literary taste of his various clients. In his Epistle (Risāla) about the Syriac and Arabic translations of Galen, he tells of one incident when a Syrian client urged him to adopt a more prolix style, although he himself usually endeavoured to be as concise as possible.4 Or was a rivalry with the Ḥarrānian Sabians at the origin of this phenomenon? These Sabians had gained a certain prominence (riyāsa) in Baghdad at the caliph’s court and some such as Ḥunayn’s colleague Ṯābit ibn Qurra loudly claimed that their paganism was identical with that of the old Greeks, the true founders of civilisation.5 The Christians certainly had no interest in supporting these claims by providing the Sabians with new arguments. The reasons just listed are not mutually exclusive. Perhaps, Ḥunayn also thought that his favoured author Galen did express some truth in a more hidden way which might be brought to light by an allegorical interpretation, a method which was employed when commenting on difficult passages in the Old Testament. Ḥunayn illustrates this use of allegorical interpretation in his translation of a passage from a commentary on the Hippocratic Oath, the fragments of which were collected by Franz Rosenthal.6 Galen’s authorship is currently under dispute, but Ḥunayn, who had the full text before him, did, at any rate, believe in its authenticity.7 He states in his Epistle that he translated it into Syriac and added explanations to difficult passages.8 In the commentary, Galen alludes to the old myth that Zeus killed Asclepius with a lightning bolt because the latter had dared to raise a man from the dead when immortality was reserved exclusively for the Olympians. Ḥunayn first translated the text into Syriac and originally prepared his notes, which appear in the Arabic version, for his fellow Christians. Consider the following passage from his translation of Galen’s commentary9: ƱǨͲΑā ɬͲ ĢǍ́ʷ˳ͫā ɬͲć .ɎʥͫLJ̑ ҙҏ łLJ͎āǨʦͫLJ̑ Ɏʉˬ̒ LJ˳͵Βā ɷ́ͫΑLJ̒ ǽ͎ ɼ̑Ǎʓ˜Ͳ LJ΀ǚʤ͵ ǽʓͫā ɡ̈ćLJ͘Αҙҏā ƦΑā ɑͫĕć

ǽ˶͇ ɬ˳Ͳ LJ˳́́ʒ̶Αā ɬͲ Ǩ̇LJ̵ć ȫˬ͘ĢΒāć ȫ̵Ǎ͵Ǎ̈ĕ ǽ͎ ƛLJ˙̈ LJ˳͛ ζĢLJ͵ ɬͲ ĔǍ˳͇ ǽ͎ ɼ˜̇ҨҞ˳ͫā ȅͫΒā Ƚ͎Ģ ɷ͵Αā āǛ΀ ɷ́ʒ̶Αā ɬͲ Ǩ̇LJ̵ć ťǍʉʒʉˬ˙̵ΑLJ̑ ɡˈ͎ ȅͫLJˈ̒ć ƋĢLJʒ̒ ɷˬͫā ƦΑā ƛLJ˙̈ ɼˬ˳ʤͫLJ̑ć .ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ǚ́ʓ̣āć ťLJ˶ͫā Ƚˏ˶̑ łǍ˳ͫā ɡʒ˙̈ ҙҏ ķǛͫā Ʊƹḳ̌ ɑͫĕ ǚˈ̑ ŁǛʓʤ̈ ɨ̓ ζĢLJ˶ͫLJ̑ ɷ˶Ͳ ǽ̀ĢΑҙҏā Ȉʉ˳ͫā ƹǩʤͫā ǽ˶ˏ̈ LJ˳ʉ͛ ζɡˈˏͫā .ƹLJ˳ʶͫā ȅͫΒā ɷʶˏ͵ Ƚ͎Ǩ̈ć

4 Ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 30, lines 22–31, line 2. 5 Green 1992, 114. 6 Ed. Rosenthal 1956, 67 (reprinted in Rosenthal 1991, item iii, 67). 7 Strohmaier 2004, 152–3. 8 Ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 40, lines 2–4. 9 Ed. Müller 1882, 18, lines 19–23; translation (with slight modifications) by Rosenthal 1956, 67 (reprinted in Rosenthal 1991, item iii, 67).

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The written accounts that we find about his [sc. Asclepius’] deification are more like idle talk than the truth. It is a well known fact that he was raised to the angels in a column of fire. The same is also said about Dionysus and Heracles and similar men who worked zealously for the benefit of mankind. In general, God, blessed and exalted, is said to have done this with Asclepius and all the others like him in order to destroy his mortal earthly part through fire and, afterwards, attract his immortal part and raise his soul to heaven. Similarly, Galen did not refrain from such mythological deliberations in his Exhortation to Study the Arts. There, he remarks in passing that Asclepius and Dionysus were either first mortal men and then became gods, or were gods from the very beginning.10 Therefore, Galen may well have authored the passage above, but it is also possible that Ḥunayn made some additions or alterations. In a note on this passage, Ḥunayn states:11

ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ƦΑā ƛǍ˙̈ ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕć ȅͫLJˈ̒ć ƋĢLJʒ̒ ɷˬͫLJ̑ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ɷʒʷ̒ ƦǍ˜̈ Ʉʉ͛ ɬʉʒ̈ Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ɬ̈ģć «ǽ̀ĢΑҙҏā Ȉʉ˳ͫā Ʊƹḳ̌» LJ́̑ ǚ̈Ǩ̈ ǽʓͫā ǽ΀ć LJ́˶͇ ƋLJʶͲ Βҙҏāć Ǩʒˀͫā ĢLJ˶ͫLJ̑ ɼʉ͵LJ˳ʶʤͫā ɷ̒āǍ̶́ ĔLJ̑Αā āĕΒā ƦLJ͛ «ƹLJ˳ʶͫā ȅͫΒā ŷLJˏ̒Ģҙҏā» LJ́̑ ǚ̈Ǩ̈ ǽʓͫā ǽ΀ć ɡ̇LJˁˏͫLJ̑ łāǍ́ʷͫā ƱǛ΀ ɬͲ ǽˏ˶ͫā ǚˈ̑ ɼ˙̈́LJ˶ͫā ɷʶˏ͵ ȅͫLJˈ̒ć ƋĢLJʒ̒ ɷˬͫLJ̑ LJ́ʉʒ̶ Galen explains here how man can become more similar to God, blessed and exalted. He says that when a human being annihilates his bodily desires—this is what he means by ‘his mortal earthly part’—through the fire of endurance and abstention, and adorns his rational soul, after driving it away from those desires, with virtues—this is what he means by ‘being raised to heaven’—, he becomes similar to God, blessed and exalted.12 Let us further investigate how Ḥunayn approached pagan references in his translations by looking at two Galenic commentaries on Hippocratic works. For the first, on Airs, Waters, Places, I am currently preparing an edition of the Arabic version for the Corpus Medicorum Graecorum, as the Greek original is lost; the Arabic translation is preserved in a unique manuscript.13 The other is Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, which survives only partly in Greek but in its entirety in Arabic. In the edition of the Corpus Medicorum Grae10 Ch. 9, § 2; ed. Barigazzi 1991, 132, lines 18–19. 11 Ed. Müller 1882, 18, lines 23–7; I partly follow the translation by Rosenthal 1956, 67 (reprinted in Rosenthal 1991, item iii, 67). 12 About the affinities with Nestorian theology, see Strohmaier 2002, 262–4 (reprinted in Strohmaier 2007, 147–8). 13 This is Cairo, Dār al-kutub, MS Ṭalʿat ṭibb 550, henceforth MS C, of which Sezgin 2001 produced a facsimile; see also Sezgin 1972, 36–7 and 123–4.

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corum, the editor of this text, Ernst August Wenkebach, filled in lacunae in the Greek with a German translation prepared by Franz Pfaff on the basis of Max Simonʼs earlier draft.14 The following examples will illustrate how Ḥunayn and his translators deviated from the pagan references in the original. As such examples only rarely occur in these scientific texts, we will turn to Artemidorus’ Dreambook, where the gods and godesses play understandably a greater role.15 But here Ḥunayn’s authorship of the translation has remained controversial. Manfred Ullmann vigorously denied that Ḥunayn translated this text, arguing that it uses a terminology that differs from that found in other translations by Ḥunayn.16 The question must be left open, as there always exists the possibility that he rendered it into Syriac, and someone else then translated the Syriac version into Arabic.17 The translator may not have been necessarily one of Ḥunayn’s pupils, and this could explain the different terminology. Furthermore, this translator may not have put his own name on the translation out of modesty, as was often the case. In the Epistle on the translations of Galen, Ḥunayn lists fifty-seven Arabic versions made directly from the Greek but also another fifty seven made from a Syriac intermediary.18 Although we cannot extrapolate from this ratio how often Ḥunayn produced Syriac intermediaries for non-medical texts, the possibility that he translated Artemidorusʼ work into Syriac still exists. Even as late as in the twelfth century, new Arabic translations were made on the basis of Ḥunayn’s Syriac, as was the case with the two versions of Dioscorides made by ʾAbū Sālim al-Malaṭῑ and Mihrān ibn Manṣūr.19 A rather simple method adopted by the translator to conceal the paganism of ancient authors was the replacement of the old gods and goddesses by the one God of the Christian or Muslim faith. Fairly early on in the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Ḥunayn translates the Greek sentence ‘they often send to the gods to enquire about treatment (πέμπουϲί γε πολλάκιϲ εἰϲ θεοὺϲ περὶ τῆϲ ἰάϲεωϲ αὐτῶν πυνθανόμενοι)’ as ‘they often take refuge in God [Allāh] for their recovery (ɷˬͫā ȅͫΒā ɷ˶Ͳ ɨ́̇LJˏ̶ ǽ͎ āǨʉʔ͛ Ʀćnjʤˬ̈)’.20 Parallels of the same kind exist in the translations of Anatomical Procedures, The Affected Parts, the Synopsis of

14 Wenkebach / Pfaff 1934; Wenkebach / Pfaff 1956; see Vagelpohl’s article on the vagaries of transmission and rediscovery in this volume. 15 Fahd 1964; see Strohmaier 1968, 131–3 (reprinted in Strohmaier 1996, 231–3); Schmitt 1970, 223–6. 16 Ullmann 1971, 204–11. 17 For a mistranslation caused by the double meaning of a Syriac term, see Strohmaier 1968, 130, note 11 (reprinted in Strohmaier 1996, 230, note 11). 18 Strohmaier 1994, 2009–10 (reprinted in Strohmaier 2003, 100). 19 Ullmann 2009, 339–56. 20 Book i.1.23 V; p. 9, line 29 W.

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Plato’s Timaeus, and the Dreambook of Artemidorus.21 In Anatomical Procedures, the translator rendered the word ‘ἐπόμνυμι τοὺϲ θεοὺϲ πάνταϲ (I swear by all the gods)’ as ‘I honestly swear by God [Allāh] (āǚ́ʓʤͲ ɷˬͫLJ̑ ɨʶ͘Αā)’.22 In Medical Experience, where the Greek original is lost, a similar Greek expression must underlie the exclamation ‘and we call upon God (ɷˬͫā ȅͫΒā ȉʉˉʓʶ͵ ɬʥ͵ć).23 Even such simple expressions as ‘yes, by Zeus (νὴ Δία)’, ‘by Zeus (μὰ Δία)’ or ‘by the gods (μὰ τοὺϲ θεούϲ)’ were rendered as ‘I swear by God (ɷˬͫLJ̑ ɨʶ͘Αā),24 or through less solemn expressions such as ‘by my life (ķǨ˳ˈͫ)’ in the commentary on Airs, Waters, Places.25 In Anatomical Procedures, the translator encountered the phrase ‘someone sacrifices a cock to the gods (ἀλεκτρυόνα γοῦν τιϲ θύων θεοῖϲ)’. As the translator could hardly talk about sacrificing a cock to God, he turned the phrase somewhat differently, saying ‘that a man sometimes sacrifices a cock in order to draw nearer to God (ɷˬͫā ȅͫΒā ɷ̑ ŁǨ˙ʓ̈ LJ˜̈Ĕ łLJ͘ćΑҙҏā ȶˈ̑ ǽ͎ Ț̑ĕ ҨҞ̣Ģ ƦΑā)ʼ.26 In his commentary on Airs, Waters, Places, Galen says that some people believe that epilepsy is caused by ‘a divine wrath’. Here the Greek wording ‘ἐκ θείου χόλου (through divine wrath)’, which is preserved in a scholion to Oribasius,27 is quite naturally rendered as ‘by the wrath of God, praised and exalted (ƋĢLJʒ̒ ɷˬͫā ȇˁ͈ ɬͲ ȅͫLJˈ̒ć)’.28 But here as in many other texts, one has to ask whether the doxology ‘praised and exalted’, which is quite common in Arabic manuscripts, was added by the Christian translator or a later scribe; if the latter, then we should mark it as an addition by putting it in square brackets in our editions. In the Arabic version of Difference of Homoeomerous Parts, we observe that the doxology ‘exalted and great (ɡ̣ć ȅͫLJˈ̒)’ was added only in one of the two existing manuscripts.29 The commentary on Airs, Waters, Places contains more such doxologies such as ‘blessed and exalted (ȅͫLJˈ̒ć ƋĢLJʒ̒)’30 or ‘mighty and great (ɡ̣ć ǩ͇)’31. More doubtful are other typical Arabic expressions. When Galen speaks of the physician’s success with the right therapy, we find that the following con21 Ed. Garofalo 1986, xxiii; ed. Garofalo 1995, 29; Kraus / Walzer 1951, xxv; Strohmaier 1968, 131, note 3 (reprinted in Strohmaier 1996, 231, n. 3). 22 Ed. Garofalo 2000, 445, line 29 (Greek) = 444, line 25 (Arabic). 23 Galen, Medical Experience, ch. 12, § 1 (ed. Walzer 1944, 25, line 1 [text], p. 104 [translation]). 24 Galen, Medical Experience, ch. 15, § 4 (ed. Walzer 1944, 34, line 14 [text], p. 112 [translation]; Distinctions in Homogeneous Parts (ed. Strohmaier 1970, 56, line 11). 25 Ed. Sezgin 2001, 2, line 10, corresponding to MS C, fol. 28b, line 10; 3, line 21; MS C, fol. 29b, line 21; 65, line 10; MS C, fol. 60a, line 10. 26 Ed. Garofalo 2000, 449, line 7 (Greek), 448, line 6 (Arabic). 27 Ed. Raeder 1933, 148 in the apparatus. 28 Ed. Sezgin 2001, 18, line 1; MS C, fol. 36b, line 1. 29 Ch. 3, § 5: Strohmaier 1970, 56, line 11. 30 Ed. Sezgin 2001, 41, lines 19–20; MS C, fol. 48a, lines 19–20. 31 Ed. Sezgin 2001, 41, line 18; MS C, fol. 48a, line 18; Sezgin 2001, 63, lines 2–3; MS C, fol. 59a, lines 2–3.

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ditional clause has been added ‘if God, the exalted, wills it, as he grants success (Ɏʉ͎Ǎʓͫā ɷ̑ć ȅͫLJˈ̒ ɷˬͫā ƹLJ̶ ƦΒā)’32; or ‘with the permission of God, mighty and great, as he accomplishes the treatment (œҨҞˈͫā ƢLJ˜̤Βā ɑͫĕć ɡ̣ć ǩ͇ ɷˬͫā ƦĕΒLJ̑)’33; or simply ‘with God’s permission (ɷˬͫā ƦĕΒLJ̑)’34. This is a reminder of the same formula used in the Koran, when Jesus is authorised by God to heal the sick (Sura 3: 49; 5: 110). Very doubtful, indeed, are two other common phrases that appear totally senseless within the context, and which cannot be attributed either to Galen or to competent translator. At the beginning of the fourth book of his Commentary on Air, Waters, Places, Galen talked about completing the whole commentary, but the sentence ends with a ‘God knows (ɨˬ͇Αā ɷˬͫā)’, although the reader can easily see that Galen completed it.35 In another passage, Galen promises further to discuss the disease called kédmata, and this is again followed by ‘God willing (ɷˬͫā ƹLJ̶ ƦΒā)’.36 All this leads us to the conclusion that the doxologies, too, at least in this text, should be regarded as later additions, although it cannot totally be excluded that Ḥubaysh, who translated Ḥunayn’s Syriac into Arabic, might already have added them in order to please the Muslim client. The translation of the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ belongs to those texts where such pious reservations appear less conspicuous. In some of his notes, Ḥunayn speaks of his hope to find more Greek manuscripts, and there, the addition of ‘God willing (ɷˬͫā ƹLJ̶ ƦΒā)’ makes good sense for a Christian.37 In another case, when Galen himself uses the words ‘to speak with God as witness (ϲὺν θεῷ δ’ εἰπεῖν)’ when boasting of his success in predicting the course of an illness, the translation ‘with God granting success (ɷˬͫā Ɏʉ͎Ǎʓ̑)’ is not quite exact but surely is Ḥunayn’s own rendering.38 One other addition remains suspect in the following sentence39: καὶ ϲὺ τοίνυν, ἐὰν ἀϲκήϲῃϲ ϲαυτὸν ἐν τοῖϲ εἰρημένοιϲ περὶ κρίϲεωϲ, Ἱπποκράτουϲ τε καὶ τῆϲ τέχνηϲ ἄξιοϲ ἔϲῃ. Now if you train yourself in what I have just said on crisis, then you will be worthy of both Hippocrates and the art [of medicine].

ƦĕΒLJ̑ Ǩʉˀʓ̵ ɑ͵ΒLJ͎ ζłLJ͵āǨʥʒͫā ǨͲΑā ɬͲ ɷʓˏ̿ć LJ˳ʉ͎ ɑʶˏ͵ Ȉʉ̀Ģ ƦΒā ζǽʒ̒LJ˜ͫ ĶĢLJ˙ͫā LJ́̈Αā ζLJˁ̈Αā Ȉ͵Αāć ɷʓ͇LJ˶̿ć ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ȅͫΒā ȇʶ˶̒ ƦΑā LJ́ˈͲ Ɏʥʓʶ̒ ƛLJ̤ ȅͫΒā ɷˬͫā 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Ed. Sezgin 2001, 150, line 1; MS C, fol. 102b, line 1. Ed. Sezgin 2001, 63, lines 2–3; MS C, fol. 59a, lines 2–3. Ed. Sezgin 2001, 4, line 21; MS C, fol. 29b, line 21; and 64, line 18; MS C fol. 59b, line 18. Ed. Sezgin 2001, 97, line 12; MS C, fol. 76a, line 12. Ed. Sezgin 2001, 127, line 14; MS C, fol. 91a, line 14. Book ii.5.2 HV and ii.6.123 HV. Book i.3.76 V; p. 125, line 27 W. Book i.3.77 V; p. 125, lines 28–9 W.

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If you agree with what I described about crises, you, the reader of my book, will also, God willing [bi-ʾiḏni llāhi], come to a point when you deserve to be associated with Hippocrates and his art. As the typical Arabic expression ‘God willing’ is missing in the Greek, it probably is an addition. Ḥunayn often translated the same Greek word in a number of different ways. This versatility clearly appears his treatment of Asclepius, who could be regarded either as a god or as a human being, and the ancestor of the medical art. In Medical Substances of Dioscurides, translated by ʾIṣṭifān ibn Basῑl, the collection of hellebore was accompanied by prayers to Apollon and Asclepius (εὐχόμενοι Ἀπόλλωνι καὶ Ἀϲκληπιῷ). Here, the solution was simple: the translator has supplied ‘they pray to God (ɷˬͫ ƦǍˬˀ̈)’.40 In Anatomical Procedures, Galen mentioned the Pergamene Zeus Asclepius; when translating this reference, Ḥunayn takes into consideration that Asclepius is related to health and writes: ‘God who restores health (ɼʥˀˬͫ ǚʉˈ˳ͫā ɷˬͫā)’.41 In My Own Opinions Galen mentions him only as the god who is revered in Pergamum and who has healed him from an illness, without calling him by name42: Ὁ δὲ παρ’ ἐμοὶ τιμώμενοϲ ἐν Περγάμῳ θεὸϲ ἐπ’ ἄλλων τε πολλῶν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ δύναμιν καὶ πρόνοιαν ἐνεδείξατο ἐμέ τε θεραπεύϲαϲ ποτέ. The god, who is honoured at my place in Pergamum, demonstrated his providential power on many other occasions and he also once treated me. The Arabic translation is lost but can be reconstructed with the help of one Hebrew and one Latin version which were made independently from one another. In these translations, we find that Asclepius simply is replaced by God.43 But in Medical Experience, he is called ‘the old authority of our grandfathers’ days (LJ͵Ĕāụ̈̌Αā ǚ͇́ ȅˬ͇ ƦLJ͛ ķǛͫā ɨ̈ǚ˙ͫā ɼͫLJʔ˳ͫā)’. The Greek is missing, but the corresponding expression probably was ‘The ancestral god (ὁ πατρῷοϲ θεόϲ)’. Here, Ḥunayn adds a note:44

40 Bk. iv, ch. 162, § 4 (ed. Dubler / Terés 1952–7, ii. 361, line 11; ed. Wellmann 1958, 308, lines 17–18). 41 Ed. Garofalo 1986, 11, line 18 (Greek); 12, lines 15–16 (Arabic). 42 Ch. 2 (ed. Boudon-Millot / Pietrobelli 2005, 173, lines 4–6). 43 Ch. 2, § 2 (ed. Nutton 1999, 58, line 9 [Hebrew]; 58, line 8 [Latin]). 44 Ch. 30, § 7 (ed. Walzer 1944, 80, lines 12–13 [Arabic]; p. 152 [translation]).

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.ȅˁͲ LJ˳ʉ͎ LJ͵LJʶ͵Βā ƦLJ͛ ɷ͵Αҙҏ ζLJ΀ҙҏΒā LJˁ̈Αā ƱLJ˳̵ LJ˳̑Ģć .ɼͫLJʔͲ ƱLJ˳̵ LJ˳͵Βāć .ťǍʉʒʉˬ˙̵Αā āǛ́̑ ǽ˶ˈ̈ :ɬʉ˶̤ ƛLJ͘ Ḥunayn says: He means Asclepius45 and calls him ‘authority [maṯāla]’, and sometimes also calls him a god [ʾilāh], because46 he was deified after having been a human being in the past. Another example is the introductory invocation of the gods in the Hippocratic Oath: Ὄμνυμι Ἀπόλλωνα ἰητρόν καὶ Ἀϲκληπιὸν καὶ Ὑγείαν καὶ Πανάκειαν καὶ θεοὺϲ πάνταϲ τε καὶ πάϲαϲ … I swear by Apollo Physician, by Asclepius, by Hygieia, by Panacea and by all the gods and goddesses … This is translated as47:

ɨʶ͘Αāć œҨҞ͇ ɡ͛ć ƹLJˏʷͫā ɎͫLJʦ̑ć ťǍʉʒʉˬ˙̵ΑLJ̑ ɨʶ͘Αāć ɼʥˀͫā ȇ΀āćć łǍ˳ͫāć ƴLJʉʥͫā ŁĢ ɷˬͫLJ̑ ɨʶ͘Αā ǽ͵Βā LJˈʉ˳̣ ƹLJʶ˶ͫāć ƛLJ̣Ǩͫā ɬͲ ɷˬͫā ƹLJʉͫćΑLJ̑ I swear by God, the lord of life and death who grants health, and I swear by Asclepius and by him who creates health and every therapy and I swear by God’s saints, both males and females. Asclepius appears under his name, whereas all the other deities have lost their identity. Thus, it comes as no surprise that Ḥunayn has retained both Asclepiusʼ name and even his divine character in his translation of the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ. We read about the ‘inspiration [waḥy] that Asclepius sent in a dream or whilst [the receiver] is awake (ƢLJ˶˳ͫā ǽ͎ ťǍʒʉˬ˙̵Αā … ȅ̤ćΑā ǽ̤Ǎ̑ ɼˆ˙ʉͫā ǽ͎ ćΑā)’.48 In other examples, where temples of various deities such as Hera, Artemis, Aphrodite, Heracles and Dionysus are mentioned in order to describe the localities of the patients, the translator preserved the deitiesʼ names since there was no direct relationship between them and human beings.49 We have already seen that Ḥunayn translated Galen’s Commentary on the Hippocratic Oath, where the author talks about how man can become more simi-

45 46 47 48 49

The ‘Asclepiades’ in the manuscript is probably only a scribal error. ʾilāhan li-annahū corr. Levi Della Vida: al-dallāla MS. Ed. Dunlop 1979, 77, lines 1610–11; see also Pormann / Savage-Smith 2007, 33. Book ii.4.4 HV (cf. p. 311, lines 38–9 Pf). Book i.3.144 V, p. 151, line 10 W; and ii.2.92–4 HV (cf. p. 233, line 9–p. 234, line 1 Pf).

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lar to god; in this context, the angels replace the gods and goddesses.50 Other examples are found in Character Traits51, in the Synopsis of Plato’s Timaeus52, and in an Arabic fragment of Proclus’ commentary on Plato’s Timaeus53. In the Dreambook of Artemidorus, this procedure to replace gods and goddess with angels sometimes led to strange consequence.54 For example, ‘Common Aphrodite (Ἀφροδίτη πάνδημοϲ)’, the female goddess representing the vulgar kind of love, appears here as ‘the angel called Aphrodite, ruler of the peoples (ɷͫ ƛLJ˙̈ ķǛͫā ɑˬ˳ͫā ɨͲΑҙҏā ȇ̤LJ̿ ǽ˅̈ĔćǨ͎Αā)’; the Greek pándēmos literally means ‘of all the people’ which probably led to this literal translation ṣāḥib al-ʾumam.55 Against this background, one or two passages in the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ can now be read correctly. Galen twice relates the case of a mentally disturbed man who fears that Atlas may no longer be able to bear the vault of the heaven, so that it would crash on the earth. The phrase ‘if Atlas were to decide no longer to carry the sky because he is tired (εἰ δόξειε τῷ Ἄτλαντι κάμνοντι μηκέτι βαϲτάζειν τὸν οὐρανόν)’ is rendered as56:

ȫˬ̈́Αā ɷ͵Ǎ˳ʶ̈ć ƹLJ˳ʶͫā ɡ˳ʥ̈ ɷ͵Αā ƹāǨˈʷͫā ɨ͇ǩ̈ ǚ͘ ķǛͫā ɑˬ˳ͫā ĿǨ̑ ƦΒā ŰǨˈ̈ ķǛͫā LJͲ Ǩˆ˶̈ć Ǩ˜ˏʓ̈ he thinks and ponders what happens when the angel [al-malak] who the poets claim carries the heaven and call Atlas becomes exhausted. It is clear that ‘al-malak (the angel)’ must be vocalised in this way and not as ‘almalik (the king)’, as Franz Pfaff did in his German translation of the same story in the sixth book of Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, which is preserved only in Arabic.57 The Christian standpoint of the translator also is present in other less conspicuous modifications. In The Best Doctor is also a Philosopher, Galen praises medicine as ‘a philanthropic art (τέχνη φιλάνθρωποϲ)’; by ‘philanthropicʼ, he refers to human kindness. Ḥunayn translated this phrase as ‘the art that God had bestowed on mankind out of his mercy (ɼ˳̤Ǩͫā ɬͲ ɷʉˬ͇ ɷˬͫā LJ́ˬˈ̣ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ ɼ͇LJ˶ˀͫā ƱǛ΀)’.58 Furthermore, there are other statements where it is difficult to discern whether they originate with the Christian translator or rather some Muslim scribe. In 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

See above, p. 178. Ed. Kraus 1937, 40–1 (translation by Walzer 1963, 166). Ed. Kraus / Walzer 1951, xxiv–v. Translation by Franz Pfaff in Schmutte 1941, 57. Strohmaier 1968, 137–40 (reprinted in Strohmaier 1996, 237–40). Ed. Strohmaier 1968, 139 (reprinted in Strohmaier 1996, 239). Book i.3.18; p. 107, lines 28–9 W. P. 487, lines 9–10 W. Ch. 2 (ed. Bachmann 1965, 18, line 51; ed. Müller 1891, 3, lines 19–20; i. p. 56, line 11 K).

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the Commentary on Airs, Waters, Places, Galen deals with the Hippocratic expression ‘to get old before the appropriate time (προγηράϲκειν τοῦ χρόνου τοῦ ἱκνευμένου)’59; Galen ponders what the ‘appropriate timeʼ might be. He says that according to the opinion of the physicians, only the elderly die a natural death, whereas the young die by accident, owing to the air, food, or something similar. In the following passage of this text, there are interesting differences between the Arabic and the Hebrew versions. The Hebrew version was produced by the famous Jewish translator Šelōmō ha-Meʾati and is earlier than the Cairo manuscript which contains the Arabic translation. The Arabic version has the following text60:

ɷˬͫā Ǩ̈ǚ˙ʓ̑ ǽˈʉʒ̈́ łǍͲ Ǎ΀ ɼˬ͇ Ǩʉ͈ ɬͲ ɬ̇LJ˜ͫā łǍ˳ͫā ƦΑā ƦǍ˳͇ǩ̈ ɨ́͵ΒLJ͎ .ɑͫĕ Ǩʉˉ͎ ƹLJ˳˜ʥͫā ķΑāĢ LJͲΑāć ƦǍ˜̒ LJ˳͵Βā LJ́ˬ͛ ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā ƦΒLJ͎ .ȅͫLJˈ̒ć ƋĢLJʒ̒ ɎͫLJʦͫā Ǩʉ̑ǚʓ̑ ɷ͵Ǎ˜͎ LJˁ̈Αā łLJ͎ΐҙҏLJ̑ ɬ̇LJ˜ͫā łǍ˳ͫāć .ɡ̣ć ǩ͇ ȅͫLJˈ̒ć ƋĢLJʒ̒ ɷˬʒ͘ ɬͲ. The philosophers’ opinion is different, since they claim that the death that occurs without cause is natural through the decision of God, mighty and great [bi-taqdīri llāhi ʿazza wa-ǧalla]. Also, the death that occurs owing to damage is due to the providence of the creator, blessed and exalted [bitadbīri l-ḫāliqi tabāraka wa-taʿālā], for all things are caused by him, blessed and exalted. In the Hebrew version61: ‫ואמנם סברת החכמים הנה היא זולת זה כי הם יחשבו שהמות ההווה מבלי סיבה הוא מות‬ ‫טבעי ביכולת השם וההווה מהפגעים גם כן אמנם יהיה מהנהגת הבורה ושהדברים כולם‬ ‫יהיו מפני העליונים‬ In the Hebrew version, the doxologies ‘mighty and great’ etc. are missing; this omission may be due to the Hebrew translator. Yet, whilst the Arabic reads ‘all things are caused by him, blessed and exalted [min qibalihī tabāraka wa-taʿālā]’, the Hebrew has: ‘all things are due to superior beings [mip-penei hā-ʿelyōnōṯ]’. The Hebrew version surely was nearer to Galen’s own opinions, which were tolerated by Ḥunayn but intolerable for some later reader or scribe. Galen probably stated that according to the philosophers, death due to old age and likewise death caused by some illness or accident are both natural, for all things are ruled by the heavenly beings. The original Arabic must have had something like ‘the 59 Ch. 7, § 6 (ed. Diller 1999, 36, line 20; ed. Jouanna 1996, 201). 60 Ed. Sezgin 2001, 41; MS C, fol. 48a, lines 18–19. 61 Ed. Wasserstein 1982, lines 303–5.

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heavenly movements (al-ḥarakāt as-samāwῑya), that is, the movement of the planets, sun, and moon. For a few lines earlier, we read:62

ɼ̈ćLJ˳ʶͫā łLJ͛Ǩʥͫā ɡʒ͘ ɬͲ ƴĔćǚʥͲ ƴLJʉ̤ ț̇LJʷ˳ͫā ɬͲ țʉ̶ ɡ˜ͫ ƦΑā ɨˬˈ͵ ƦΑā LJ˶ͫ ǽˉʒ˶̈ :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘ LJ́ͫ ƋǨʥ˳ͫā LJ́˙ͫLJ̥ ɡʒ͘ ɬͲ łLJ͛Ǩʥͫā ɑˬ̒ ɡʒ͘ć. Galen says: We should know that every old man has a life span determined by the heavenly movements, and, before these movements, by the will of their creator, who has set them in motion. Here the translator, or a later scribe was content to keep the ‘heavenly movements’, and only added a theological qualification. A few lines later, however, in the Arabic translation, ‘heavenly movements’ is deleted. A Muslim was surely responsible for this deletion, for the Hebrew version has retained this expression.63 We must not expect too much consistency either from the translator or from the later scribes. In Critical Days, Galen underlines how the sun and the moon, according to their position in the zodiac, exert their influence on sublunar processes, which include the course of diseases. He concedes that the other planets of the old world system are also responsible for this particular process, though to a lesser degree.64 A striking example of the translators’ dexterity is found in My Own Opinions. Ḥunayn translated this treatise into Syriac and his pupil ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā rendered the Syriac version into Arabic; Ḥunayn’s son ʾIsḥāq ibn Ḥunayn then checked it.65 In this treatise, Galen speaks at the end of his life about his religious convictions and the reason why he still is inclined, despite his innate scepticism, to believe in the existence and the power of the gods. He refers to the marvellous structure of the animal body and the help he had received from Asclepius during an illness. Ḥunayn has transformed Asclepius here into the one God of his faith.66 Galen continues with another personal experience that he had on high sea67: κατὰ θάλατταν δὲ Διοϲκούρων ἔχω πεῖραν οὐ μόνον τῆϲ προνοίαϲ ἀλλὰ καὶ τῆϲ δυνάμεωϲ. 62 Ed. Sezgin 2001, 41, line 11; MS C, fol. 48a, line 11. 63 Ed. Wasserstein 1982, line 298. 64 Bk. iii, ch. 2 (ix. p. 901, line 18–p. 902, line 2 K) and bk. iii, ch. 6 (ix. p. 911, line 14–p. 913, line 16 K); about Galen’s contradictory statements about astrology see Gundel 1966, 289–90. 65 Ed. Bergsträsser 1925, 46, line 23–47, line 3. 66 Ch. 2 (ed. Boudon-Millot / Pietrobelli 2005, 173, lines 1–6; ed. Nutton 1999, 58–9). 67 Ch. 2 (ed. Boudon-Millot / Pietrobelli 2005, 173, lines 6–8).

182

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On sea, I experienced not only the providence but also the power of the Dioscuri. In this passage, the translator found himself caught in a dilemma. He could not adduce the Dioscuri, the two sons of Zeus, as further proof for the power of the Almighty. He evades the difficulty by paraphrasing what Galen must have seen on his sea travels; however, the Greek text gives no hint whatsoever about the actions of the Dioscuri. The translator knew, nevertheless, what Galen meant when he referred to the appearance of the Dioscuri. It was the weather phenomenon later called St Elmo’s fire, described by the Encyclopaedia Britannica as ‘the glow accompanying the brushlike discharges of atmospheric electricity that usually appears as a tip of light on the extremities of such pointed objects as church towers or the masts of ships during stormy weather.’ It was taken as a promise of an immediate salvation from shipwreck.68 Those who reached the shore, like Galen, could testify to this, whereas the drowned had, of course, no chance to tell a different tale. The Arabic translation of My Own Opinions is lost, but its content can be recovered by the Latin and Hebrew versions which were made independently from each other69: Et quod uidetur in mari liberatione illorum qui sunt propinqui pati naufragium per signa que uident et firmiter credunt liberari, et significat significatione manifesta uirtutem mirabilem et hoc expertus sum egoipse. ‫ומה שיראה בים מהצלת היורדים בו באניות אחר שחשבו להשבר ולשקוע בים באות אשר‬ ‫יראו אותו ויבטחו ויושעו יורה ראיה ברורה על כח נפלא‬ The salvation that appears at sea for those who go out in ships and who, after having thought that they would suffer shipwreck and drown in the sea, see a sign and firmly trust that they will be saved clearly shows a wonderful power. The phrase which we read in Latin ‘and, indeed, I experienced it myself (et hoc expertus sum egoipse)’ is missing, but it corresponds to ‘I have experience (ἔχω πεῖραν)’ in the original Greek and therefore must have existed in the lost Arabic version. On the basis of these two translations, before the Greek original was published, it was almost impossible to guess what Galen actually had intended to say.70 68 Kraus 1957, 1131. 69 Ch. 2 (ed. Nutton 1999, 58b, lines 11–16); the following translations are based on Nutton 1999, 59b, lines 15–23. 70 See the commentary in Nutton 1999, 139–40.

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A similar vagueness of expression, which Ḥunayn may have rendered to avoid displeasing his readers, is found in the translation of Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two, which is preserved only in Arabic. Galen first tells us how his contemporary Lucian of Samosata played with the antiquarian spirit of the so-called second sophistic by forging a philosophical tract in the name of Heraclitus. Then, an unnamed expert began to compose a commentary on it, until it was revealed that the tract was a fake.71 The passage is especially valuable as we have no further testimony about the famous satirist’s biography from a contemporaneous author. But, the unknown philosopher was not the only victim of Lucian’s jokes. After this story, Galen adds another brief story that consists only of one sentence72:

LJ΀ǍͫćΑLJʓ͎ 73ɬ̈Ǎʥ˶ͫā ɬͲ ƢǍ͘ ȅͫΒā LJ́˳̵Ģć ȅ˶ˈͲ LJ́ʓʥ̒ ȫʉͫ ǽ̤Ǎͫā œǨʦͲ LJ̣́Ǩ̥Αā ɡ̈ćLJ͘Αā ťǍ͵LJʉ͘Ǎͫ ɡˈʓ͎āć LJ́̑ āǍʥˁʓ͎LJ͎ LJ΀ćǨʶ͎ć Lucian faked also meaningless words, which he pronounced in the manner of divine inspiration [al-waḥy], and wrote them down for people of the two ways [qawm min al-naḥwayn] who interpreted and explained them and so were exposed by them. The enigmatic statement has occasioned many conjectures, including my own, which I now deem to be altogether unnecessary.74 The word ‘the two ways (alnaḥwayn)’ appears especially mysterious. As in the Escorial manuscript, the ending -īyīn (ɬʉʉƼ) is sometimes written carelessly and is equated with -ayn (ɬʉƼ)75, Franz Pfaff understood the whole sentence as follows76: Dieser Lukian machte auch für sich grammatische Bemerkungen, die sinnlos waren, und übergab sie einigen Grammatikern, diese erklärten und erläuterten sie und machten sich dadurch lächerlich. This Lucian also produced grammatical remarks that made no sense and handed them to some grammarians; they explained and expounded them, and thus became ridiculous. 71 Book ii.6.145 HV (cf. p. 402, lines 31–9 Pf). 72 Book ii.6.145 HV; p. 402, lines 39–42 W. 73 ɬ̈Ǎʥʐͫā E1: ɬ̈Ǎʥ˶ͫā M: ɮʐ̏Ǎʥʐͫā A1. 74 Strohmaier 1976, 118 (reprinted in Strohmaier 1996, 89). 75 The newly found manuscript A1 deviates from manuscripts E1 and M by presenting the ending with two undotted hooks (see above, n. 73), which should be read as -īyīn. I take this to be an attempt by a scribe to correct the seemingly meaningless reading -ayn, just as Pfaff did centuries later. 76 P. 402, lines 39–42 Pf.

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But, waḥy in the language of the time always means ‘divine inspirationʼ and has nothing to do with grammar. Moreover, it is also difficult to imagine grammarians being in need of a divine inspiration.77 Lucian made ‘remarks that made no sense that he uttered in the way of divine inspiration (ʾaḫraǧahā maḫraǧa l-waḥyi)’ and wrote them down afterwards (rasamahā). In his report on Alexander of Abonuteichos, Lucian describes how this pagan prophet pretended to receive such revelations and produced them while emitting foam from his mouth.78 The reading al-naḥwayni makes sense when we take into account Ḥunayn’s intimate knowledge of the Bible. He is credited with an Arabic version of the Septuagint and was surely familiar with the Greek New Testament.79 The Arabic naḥw corresponds exactly with the Greek hodós, which means both in a real and in a metaphorical sense ‘direction, a way, a path to followʼ. In Arabic, it additionally acquired the notion of grammar and the way to master the language80, which meaning cannot, of course, be present here. The Greek hodós, on the other hand, has another special meaning in the language of the New Testament. In the Acts of the Apostles, we read how Saint Paul tried to ‘track down people of the Way (ἐάν τιναϲ εὕρῃ τῆϲ ὁδοῦ ὄνταϲ)’ (Acts 9, 1–2) before his conversion. Afterwards, he spoke before a Jewish audience about his former life: he was zealously protective of the ancestral law and therefore persecuted this ‘Way’ until death (ταύτην τὴν ὁδὸν ἐδίωξα ἄχρι θανάτου) (Acts 22, 3–4). The expression ‘the Way (hē hodós)’ is used here without further qualification to denote the Christian way of life; we also find this usage elsewhere in the Acts and in early Christian literature.81 It is therefore plausible that the ‘people of the two ways’ in Ḥunayn’s rendering were the Christians and the Jews. In his Distinctions in Pulse, Galen called them ‘those [hailing] from Moses and Christ (οἱ ἀπὸ Μωϋϲοῦ καὶ Χριϲτοῦ).82 This phrase may also be the underlying Greek here. The phenomenon of speaking in tongues was not altogether extinct by the end of the second century, nor was it unknown in the Jewish community.83 At this time, it had a strong revival in the movement of the Montanists, a millenarian and ascetic Christian heresy.84 It is understandable that Ḥunayn felt obliged to veil the mockery, and as in the case of the Dioscuri, he resorted to a vague paraphrase that did not, however, totally falsify what Galen had said. 77 Wensinck / Rippin 2000, 53–6. 78 Lucian, Alexander the False Prophet, chs. 12–13. 79 Ed. de Goeje 1894, 112 (translation by Carra de Vaux 1896, 159). 80 Troupeau 1992, 913–15. 81 Acts 19: 9.23 and 24: 14.22; see Bauer 1988, 1125. 82 Distinctions in Pulse bk. 3, ch. 3 (viii. p. 657, line 1 K); about Galen’s general attitude towards Jews and Christians, see Strohmaier 2006, 140–56. 83 Dautzenberg 1979, 225–46; for a fuller discussion of the historical context, see Strohmaier 2012 (forthcoming). 84 Brüggemann 2011.

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 The Arabic Reception of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ Bink Hallum The Epidemics and Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ fascinated Islamic physicians throughout the medieval period. During the four centuries between the mid-ninth and mid-twelfth centuries, no fewer than fifteen Arabic-speaking, mostly medical authors wrote texts which were devoted to, or mentioned, the Epidemics. But these authors approached the Hippocratic and Galenic texts from a number of different angles and with varying aims. Galen himself clearly saw much value in the Epidemics, even in those sections that he considered to be unedited notebooks which contained spurious material, and he composed a commentary on this text which is longer than any of his other Hippocratic commentaries. The Epidemics lacks a coherent order, and the aphorisms and case notes it contains are often worded obscurely, so Galen’s commentary is a necessary key to understanding these texts.1 But his commentary is unmanageably long and follows the Hippocratic text lemmatically, thus mirroring its often apparently random order of subjects. Even with Galen’s key to the text, it would have been extremely difficult for students to navigate the material contained within it and to extract, and benefit from, what was useful. This problem was clearly felt by the Arabic readers of this text and, as we shall see, a number of them took steps to rectify it. But the majority of Arabic authors who dealt with the Epidemics did not write commentaries on it or try to digest it for readers who wanted to approach the text as a whole. Rather, they extracted nuggets of information from the Hippocratic and Galenic texts to fit a given subject. In this paper, I will survey the Arabic literature on the Epidemics and explore the reasons why Islamic medical authors wanted to deal with this text, how they approached it and what use they made of it. It should be noted from the outset that, as is commonly the case with Hippocratic works in Arabic, the Epidemics was known only from Galen’s commentary and was not transmitted independently.2 For this reason, whenever the 1 See Alessi, above, pp. 71–90. 2 An apparent exception to this rule is found in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, MS arabe 6734, fols. 1a–19a, which contains Epidemics, Book One. Closer inspection, however, reveals that this Arabic text is none other than the Hippocratic lemmata culled from Ḥunayn’s translation

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Epidemics is mentioned below in the context of its Arabic reception, reference is in fact being made to Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’.

The Arabic translation and its initial reception 1) Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq (d. ca. 873) The reception of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ in the Arabic speaking world begins properly with Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq’s production of the first Arabic translation. In Ḥunayn’s famous Epistle (Risāla),3 in which he lists and describes his translations of Galenic texts, Ḥunayn tells us that he based his translation on a number of Greek manuscripts as well as an earlier Syriac translation by Job of Edessa (d. ca. 835). Furthermore, he tells us that his translation was commissioned by ʾAbū Ǧaʿfar Muḥamad ibn Mūsā (d. 873). But Ḥunayn did not simply translate Galen’s Commentary and leave it at that. He clearly considered the varied materials in this text to be of great value and produced a number of shorter works in which he set out extracts from the Epidemics in a form that was more readily digestible by medical students. The scientific bibliographer Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa (d. 1270) presents a list of 112 separate works attributed to Ḥunayn other than his translations.4 This list contains four works concerning the Epidemics: (a) Fruits of the Nineteen Extant Parts of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics in the Form of Questions and Answers (Ṯimār al-tisʿ ʿašra maqāla al-mawǧūda min tafsīr Ǧālīnūs li-kitāb ʾIbīḏīmīyā li-ʾAbuqrāṭ ʿalā ṭarīq almasʾala wa-l-ǧawāb)5 The text of Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa has ‘seventeen (al-sabʿ ʿašra)’ instead of ‘nineteen (al-tisʿ ʿašra)’, but we can say with confidence that this is due to a simple and commonly encountered scribal error: Ƚʒʶͫā (al-sabʿ) for Ƚʶʓͫā (al-tisʿ), which are almost indistinguishable when unpointed. This title must refer to ‘nineteen extant parts’, for although Galen only wrote commentaries on four of the six books of the Epidemics, namely Books One, Two, Three, and Six, we know from Ḥunayn’s Epistle (Risāla) as well as from the extant manuscripts of his translation of Galen’s Commentary and thus not a truly independant transmission of the Epidemics. See also Overwien 2005. 3 See Bergsträsser 1925, p. 21, line 18–p. 22, line 19 (text), pp. 34–35 (tr.); Bergsträsser 1932, 28–29; and Pormann 2008a, 251–7. 4 ʿUyūn al-ʾanbāʾ, ed. Müller 1882, i. 197, line 24–200, line 27; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 150, line 13–158, line 2. 5 ʿUyūn al-ʾanbāʾ, ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, lines 10–11; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 153, lines 14–15.

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that Galen divided his commentary into twenty parts. Of these twenty parts, Ḥunayn was unable to find either a Greek manuscript or a Syriac translation of the fifth part of the commentary on Book Two, leaving a total of nineteen extant parts of the commentary.6 A copy of this text may be preserved in a manuscript in the library of the University of Mumbai under the title The Fruits of Hippocrates’ Book on Epidemics (Ṯamarāt Kitāb Buqrāṭ fī l-ʾamrāḍ al-wāfida), but I have not been able to view this manuscript and to confirm its identification.7 The text may not be the Fruits (Ṯimār) of Ḥunayn, but another treatise on the Epidemics by the physician Ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. 1043), who also composed a number of commentaries on the works of Hippocrates and Galen, as well as on Ḥunayn’s summaries of them, which he called Fruits (both Ṯimār8 and Ṯamarāt9). Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Commentary on the Epidemics is mentioned by Sezgin, who says that it was catalogued by Sbath in Aleppo in the nineteenth century.10 Unfortunately, I have not been able to track this manuscript down either in Sbath’s catalogue or in the libraries of Aleppo, so the relationships between Ḥunayn’s Fruits, Ibn Ṭayyib’s Fruits and the Fruits in the University of Mumbai manuscript remain an unresolved question for the time being. (b) Aphorisms Drawn from the Epidemics (Fuṣūl istaḫraǧahā min kitāb ʾIbīḏīmīyā)11 This text is lost, but the famous physician Muḥammad ibn Zakariyā al-Rāzī (d. ca 932) cites it twice in his Comprehensive Book on Medicine (al-Kitāb alḤāwī fī l-ṭibb, xix. 139, lines 5–14 and p. 144, line 8). In the second passage, he specifically states that he is quoting from the Aphorisms of the Epidemics by Ḥunayn (Fuṣūl ʾIbīḏīmīyā ʿamal Ḥunayn) and not from another work with a similar title. (c) Questions on Urine Extracted from Hippocrates’ Epidemics (Masāʾil fī l-bawl intazaʿahā min kitāb ʾIbīḏīmīyā li-ʾAbuqrāṭ)12 Again, al-Rāzī cites this text in the Comprehensive Book (xvii. p. 250, lines 11–13) where he calls it the Questions on Urine from the Epidemics (Masāʾil fī l-bawl min ʾIbīḏīmīyā li-Ḥunayn), again specifying Ḥunayn as the author. 6 See Pormann 2008a, 257. 7 Mumbai, University Library, MS 313. See Bryson 2000, 344, citing Sezgin 1970, 35, but no such reference is found on that page nor is this text found in Sezgin’s index of titles in that volume. This manuscript is not listed in printed catalogue of Manuscripts held by the University of Mumbai (Sarfarāz 1935). 8 See Sezgin 1970, 82, 90–91, 95–96 and 146–8. 9 See Ullmann 1972, 157 and Sezgin 1970, 41. 10 Sezgin 1970, 35, citing Sbath 1928, vol. i, p. 24, no. 154. 11 ʿUyūn al-ʾanbāʾ, ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, line 16; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 154, line 1. 12 ʿUyūn al-ʾanbāʾ, ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, lines 20–21; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 154, line 10.

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(d) Summaries of the Contents of the First, Second and Third Books of Hippocrates’ Epidemics in the Form of Questions and Answers (Ǧawāmiʿ maʿānī13 l-maqāla al-ʾūlā wa-l-ṯānīya wa-l-ṯāliṯa min kitāb ʾIbīḏīmīyā li-ʾAbuqrāṭ ʿalā ṭarīq al-masʾala wa-l-ǧawāb)14 Ḥunayn tells us in his Risāla that he wrote an abridgement of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ in Syriac and that a certain ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā, a pupil of Ḥunayn’s, then translated this summary into Arabic.15 What is somewhat surprising here is that Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa states that this summary covered only Books One, Two, and Three of the Epidemics, while Ḥunayn appears to make it clear in his Risāla that his summary covered all four books of Galen’s Commentary, that is the commentaries to Books One, Two, Three, and Six. That Ḥunayn did, in fact, write a summary of the commentary on Book Six is shown by the fact that his summaries of the entire commentary on Book Two and of Parts 6, 7 and 8 of the commentary on Book Six are extant.16 Thus, it seems that either Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa was mistaken about the scope of Ḥunayn’s Summaries of the Epidemics or that our text of Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa is corrupt at this point. Of these four texts by Ḥunayn that deal with the Epidemics and are mentioned by Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa, three appear to have been composed in questionsand-answer format. This was a didactic strategy that had become popular in late antiquity. The tradition was carried on in the Arabic-speaking world, and the format was clearly favoured by Ḥunayn.17 Nineteen of the works attributed to him by Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa are specifically said to be in question-and-answer format (ŁāǍʤͫāć ɼͫΑLJʶ˳ͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ ȅˬ͇) or else are known to be so from the extant texts themselves, while a further three are simply called ‘Questions’ (Masāʾil).18 The 13 The editions of the ʿUyūn al-ʾanbāʾ by both Müller and al-Naǧǧār have ǽ͎ LJͲ instead of ǽ͵LJˈͲ but ǽ͵LJˈͲ is found in the unique manuscript of part of this text (Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, MS B 135 sup., fols 119a–131b in which the text bears the title ǽ͵LJˈͲ ȽͲāẠ̌ … ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ŁāǍʤͫāć ɼˬʈʶ˳ͫā ɡʉʒ̵ ȅˬ͇ LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ͎Βā ŁLJʓ͛), the wording of Ḥunayn’s Risāla regarding these summaries implies this title (‘I abridged their contents by way of question and answer’ [ȅˬ͇ LJ́ʉ͵LJˈͲ łǨˀʓ̥ā ŁāǍʤͫāć ɼͫΑLJʶ˳ͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́; Pormann 2008a, 257 and 260]), and cf. Ḥunayn’s Ǧawāmīʿ maʿānī l-ḫams al-maqālāt al-ʾūlā min Kitāb Ǧālīnūs fī quwat al-ʾadwiya al-mufrada al-mansūqa ʿalā ṭarīq al-masʾala wa-l-ǧawāb (Istanbul, Nuruosmaniye, MS 3555; Sezgin 1970, 253-54) and the less similarly titled Maʿānī staḫraǧahā Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq min kutub Buqrāṭ wa-Ǧālīnūs fī l-bawl ʿalā ṭarīq al-masʾala wa-l-ǧawāb (Tehran, MS, Millī 1142; Sezgin 1970, 253), which Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa calls the Kitāb fī l-bawl ‘excerpted from the words of Hippocrates and Galen (œǨʦʓʶͲ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ć ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƢҨҞ͛ ɬͲ)’ (ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, lines 24–5; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 154, line 17). 14 ʿUyūn al-ʾanbāʾ, ed. Müller 1882, ii. 200, lines 21–22; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 157, line 15. 15 See above, n. 3. 16 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, MS B 135 sup., fols. 119a–131b (Book Two) and fols. 133a–144b (Book Six). See Löfgren and Traini 1975–95, i. 67; Pormann 2008a, 259–63. 17 See Pormann 2010, 431–3. 18 (a) The Book of Questions, that is, the Introduction to the Art of Medicine (Kitāb al-Masāʾil wa-huwa l-mudḫal ʾilā ṣināʿat al-ṭibb) (ed. Müller 1882, i. 197, line 24; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 150, line 14), which is a recension of Hunayn’s Introduction (Mudḫal) in question-and-answer

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fact that Ḥunayn went to the trouble to write four treatises based on the Epidemics indicates the importance he attached to this text, and the fact that he abridged the text three times in question-and-answer format shows that he considered the Epidemics to be of great use to students, although its contents were difficult to navigate in its original form. Of Ḥunayn’s four texts on the Epidemics, the only one that is not in question-and-answer format is the Aphorisms Drawn from the Epidemics. Because it was written in the form of aphorisms extracted presumably for their usefulness, it too can be assumed to have been composed to fulfil a didactic function. Thus, we can say that all of Ḥunayn’s works concerning the Epidemics were written to give students access to the text of the Epidemics in an abridged and digested format for ease of memorisation. So, from the beginning of its reception, Arabic-speaking authors took steps to condense and systematise the Epidemics to make it more accessible to its wouldbe readers.

2) ʿAlī ibn Sahl Rabbān al-Ṭabarī (fl. ca 850) and ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿAlī al-Ruhāwī (fl. 850–70) (a) Paradise of Wisdom concerning Medicine (Firdaws al-ḥikma fī l-ṭibb) The first Arabic author to draw on the Epidemics after its translator seems to have been the physician ʿAlī ibn Sahl Rabban al-Ṭabarī, who was one of al-Rāzī’s teachers at Rayy and was also active in Baghdad. In his Paradise of Wisdom, he relates the following story19:

ŁǨ˜ͫā ƱǛ̥Αāć ɷ˙ˬ̤ ǽ͎ Ȉˬ̥Ĕ ǚ͘ ɼΈ ʉ̤ ƦΑā ĿǨ̈ Ǎ΀ć ɷʒʓ͵ā Έ ҨҞ̣Ģ ƦΑā LJ˶ˉˬ̑ ǚ˙͎ ɨ́ʉ̒ΑLJ̒ć ɨ́ˬʉ΋ ̤΍ LJͲΑLJ͎ [1] ɑͫĕ ɡʒ˙̈ ɨˬ͎ ɷ˳͎ ҙҏć ƹǽ̶ ɷ˶˅̑ ɡ̥ǚ̈ ɨͫ ɷ͵Αā ɷ˳ˬ͇Αāć ɷ˶˅̑ ọ̈̄ć ɷʉͫΒā Ǩˆ͵ć ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƱLJ̒Αāć [2] ɨˉͫāć ǚ͘» ƛLJ͘ć [4] .Ƚ̣Ģć ȫ Ί ʉ͛ ǽ͎ LJ́ˬ˳̤ć ɼΈ ʉ̤ ȇˬ̈́ć ɷ˶͇ œǨ̥ ζŁǨ˅ˁ̈ć ɑͫĕ ɡʒ˙̈ ҙҏ ƱΐāĢ LJ˳ˬ͎ [3] .ɷ˶Ͳ [6] .Ị̏Ǩ̥ āĕΒā ɼʉʥͫā ĿǨ̈ ҨҞʈͫ ɷʉ˶ʉ͇ ȇˀˈ̈ ƦΑā ǚˈ̑ ΑLJʉ˙ʓ̈ ƦΑā ƱǨͲΑāć [5] ΈLJʈʉ̶ ƱLJ˙̵ć «ƹǽ˙ͫā ƹāćǚ̑ ɑʓʈ̣ ȅͫΒā ɡ̣Ǩͫā Ǩˆ͵ LJ˳ˬ͎ [7] .«ɑ͎Ạ̌ ɬͲ ɼʉʥͫā Ị̏Ǩ̥ ǚ˙͎ Ʀΐҙҏā łǍʤ͵» ƛLJ͘ć Ȉʷ˅ͫā ǽ͎ ɼʉʥͫā ɡ̵ĢΑā .ɷ͵LJ˜Ͳ ƈLJ͎Αā ɼʉʥͫā [1] As for their [sc. the physicians’] stratagems and tricks, I have heard that a man awoke, thinking a snake had entered his throat, so he was seized by anxiety and distress. [2] Galen came to him, examined him, felt his belly format; (b) Questions on Urine (Masāʾil fī l-bawl) (ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, lines 20–21; ed. alNaǧǧār 2001, ii. 154, line 10); (c) Questions Extracted from the Four Books on Logic (Masāʾil istaḫraǧahā min kutub al-manṭiq al-ʾarbaʿa) (ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, lines 22–3; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 154, line 13); (d) Book on Arabic Questions (Kitāb fī l-Masāʾil al-ʿarabīya) (ed. Müller 1882, i. 199, lines 29; ed. al-Naǧǧār 2001, ii. 155, line 5). 19 Ed. Siddiqi 1928, 537, line 22–538, line 5.

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and informed him that nothing had entered his belly or mouth, but he [sc. the man] did not accept this from him. [3] So, when he [sc. Galen] saw that he did not accept this and was upset, he left him, found a snake, took it up in a bag and returned. [4] He said ‘I have brought you an emetic medicine’ and he gave him some to drink. [5] He ordered him to vomit after he had bound his eyes so that he would not see the snake when it came out. [6] He put the snake in a metal basin (ṭašt) and said ‘You are safe now, for the snake has come out of your belly.’ [7] When the man saw the snake, he recovered immediately. (b) Ethics of the Physician (ʾAdab al-ṭabīb) Within about twenty years of the composition of the Paradise of Wisdom, this anecdote was repeated, with some embellishment, by ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿAlī al-Ruhāwī in his Ethics of the Physician. There, it appeared as an example of the positive use of a stratagem in a chapter ‘warning against the deceits of quacks who would call themselves physicians, and the difference between their deceits and medical stratagems (ɡʉʥͫāć ɨ͇́ǚ̥ ɬʉ̑ ƈǨˏͫāć ȇ˅ͫā ɨ̵LJ̑ ƦǍ˳ʶʓ̈ ɬ̈Ǜͫā ɬʉͫLJʓʥ˳ͫā ŷ΋ǚ Ό̥ ɬͲ Ǩ̈Ǜʥʓͫā ǽ͎ ɼʉʒ˅ͫā)’20:

LJ˳ˬ͎ [2] .ɷʉ͎ Țʤ˶̈ ɨˬ͎ ƹāćĔ ɡ˜̑ șͫǍˈ͎ ɼʉ̤ Ƚˬ̑ ǚ͘ ɷ͵Αā ɨ΀Ǎ̒ ΈLJ͵LJʶ͵Βā ƦΑā ȅ˜̤ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƦΑā ɑͫĕć [1] LJ΀Ģāǚ˙Ͳć ζǽ͵ҨҞˏͫā ƦǍˬͫā Ǎ΀» ƛLJ˙͎ [3] «τɼʉʥͫā ɑˬ̒ ƦǍͫ žǨˈ̒ ɡ΀» ɷͫΑLJ̵ ƱǨʒ̥ ȅˬ͇ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ʉ͘ć [6] ɼˬʉʥͫā Ʉʉ˅ˬ̑ LJ΀LJˏ̥Αāć [5] ƴĢǍˀͫā ɑˬʓ̑ ɼʉ̤ ɷͫ ĔLJ̿ ɬ˳̑ ɡʉˬˈͫā ɬ͇ ΈāǨ̵ ǨͲΑLJ͎ [4] .«ǽ͵ҨҞˏͫā Ģāǚ˙˳ͫā ǨͲΑāć [8] žǛ˙ͫā ȽͲ ƴĢǍ͛Ǜ˳ͫā ɼʉʥͫā ŔǨ̵ć žǛ˙̈ Ǜ̥Αā ɬʉ̤ ɷʉ˶ʉ͇ ǚ̶ć [7] ɷ͎Ǜ͘ ƹāćĔ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ȅ˙̵ć ƱǛ΀» ƛLJ͘ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ǽ˶ʉ͇ ɬ͇ ȶ͎ ɬʉʥ͎ [9] .žǛ˙ͫLJ̑ ɼʉʥͫā œćǨʦ̑ Ǩʉ̶LJʒʓͫLJ̑ ɨ́̒āǍ̿Αā Ǎˬˈ̈ ƦΑā Ǩˁ̤ ɬͲ .ɷ˳΀Ǎ̒ ɬͲ ΈLJͲLJ̒ ΈāƹǨ̑ ĶǨʒ͎ ζɼ̤āǨͫā łụ̈̌ć ǚ͘ć [10] «LJ́˶ʉˈ̑ LJ́ʓˈˬʓ̑ā ǽʓͫā ɼʉʥͫā ǽ΀ [1] Galen relates that a man once imagined that he had swallowed a snake, and every remedy was used without success. [2] When he found this out, Galen asked him, ‘Do you know the colour of this snake?’ [3] He replied, ‘It is such a colour, and its length is such a length.’ [4] Then he [that is Galen] had a hunter find a snake with those specifications. [5] This was unknown to the patient and was concealed well. [6] Then he gave the patient a remedy to drink, which caused him to vomit. [7] When he began to vomit, Galen bound his eyes and dropped the aforementioned snake in with the vomit. [8] He ordered those present there to raise their voices at the good news of the snake coming out together with the vomit. [9] When the patient’s eyes were uncovered, he [that is Galen] said, ‘This is 20 Ed. ʿAsīrī 1992, 273, lines 4–10. The words ɼʉʥͫā œćǨʦ̑ Ǩʉ̶LJʒʓͫLJ̑ ɨ́̒āǍ̿Αā Ǎˬˈ̒ ƦΑā Ǩˁ̤ ɬͲ ǨͲΑāć žǛ˙ͫā ȽͲ do not appear in ʿAsīrī’s edition, but have been transcribed from Edirne, Selimiye MS 1658 (see facsimile ed. Sezgin 1985, 209, lines 14–15).

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the very snake which you swallowed.’ Thus, he was relieved and recovered completely from his delusion.21 The origin of this story is found at the beginning of Galen’s commentary on the second part of Epidemics, Book Two (ii.2.6 HV):

ɼΈ ʉ̤ Ȉˈˬ̑ ǚ͘ LJ́͵Αā ɬˆ̒ Ȉ͵LJ͛ ƴΊ ΑāǨͲā œҨҞ͇ ȅͫΒā ǽ͇Ĕ ķǛͫā ȇʒ˅ʓ˳ͫā ɡ̣Ǩͫā ɑͫĕ ȵˬʦ̒ Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ āǛ́̑ć .ɨ΀Ǎʓͫā ɑͫĕ ɬͲ LJ́ˀˬʦ͎ ɼΈ ʓʉͲ ɼΈ ʉ̤ Ǩˈʷ̒ ҙҏ ǽ΀ć ɷʉ͎ łƹLJ͘ ǽʓͫā Ȉʶ˅ͫā ǽ͎ ȅ˙ͫΑā ɨ̓ Έ ΑLJʉ˙Ͳ ƹāćĔ Έ LJ΀LJ˙ʶ͎ In this way [that is using a common-sense stratagem] the doctor who was summoned to treat a woman who thought she had swallowed a snake found the right solution. He gave her an emetic drug to drink, and then, unbeknownst to her, he threw a dead snake into the metal basin (ṭast) in which she had vomited, and so he freed her of that delusion. The simple and brief nature of this anecdote, as reported by Galen, contrasts with the more fleshed out versions given by al-Ṭabarī and al-Ruhāwī, both of whom share details that contradict Galen’s version, such as the patient being male and not female and Galen himself being the physician who performed the cure rather than merely the transmitter of the anecdote. It seems likely then that al-Ruhāwī depends upon al-Ṭabarī for this anecdote and certainly not directly upon Ḥunayn’s translation, but where did al-Ṭabarī get his version? Since al-Ṭabarī completed the Paradise of Wisdom in 850, around the same time Ḥunayn was producing his translation of the Epidemics, his version of the anecdote could be derived ultimately from Job of Edessa’s Syriac translation and not from Ḥunayn’s Arabic translation,22 and perhaps al-Ṭabarī is reporting an embellished version of the anecdote that was already current in Syriac literature. Furthermore, this is just the kind of witty and amusing yet edifying anecdote that circulated in the gnomologia or books of wisdom literature, and it may be that al-Ṭabarī was drawing upon works of this genre. On the other hand, the appearance of the unusual Persian loanword ṭašt / ṭast (‘metal basin’) in both Ḥunayn Arabic version of Galen’s anecdote and in al-Ṭabarī’s version (§ 6 of the passage above) suggests al-Ṭabarī’s dependence upon Ḥunayn. However this may be, the anecdote reported by al-Ṭabarī and al-Ruhāwī is an unusual case in the Arabic reception of the Epidemics. For, although the Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ contains a number of interesting anecdotes about the actions of physicians and patients, these were not generally cited by Arabic 21 Translation Levey 1967, 90 adapted. 22 See Ullmann 1970, 122 who notes al-Ṭabarī’s dependence on Syriac translations rather than Arabic translations from the school of Ḥunayn.

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medical authors who seem to have appreciated the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ for its exposition of medical theory and examples of diseases and their progression.23

3) ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿImrān (d. 907) (a) Treatise on Melancholy (Maqāla fī l-mālīḫūliyā) Galen’s Commentary on the Epidemics was a fundamental text for the study of melancholy in the medieval Islamic world. It is thus not surprising to find that ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿImrān, personal physician at Kairouan to the Aġlabid princes ʾIbrahīm II (reg. 875–902) and Ziyādat Allāh III (reg. 903–9), included four citations from Galen’s Commentary in his Treatise on Melancholy (Maqāla fī l-mālīḫūliyā). In her doctoral thesis, Pauline Koetschet shows that while ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿImrān was clearly using Ḥunayn’s translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, he did not always follow Galen’s interpretation of the Hippocratic text but rather views the text in the light of Rufus of Ephesus’ treatise On Melancholy.24 He cites the Epidemics on matters concerning the psychological and physical causes of melancholy, the connection between melancholy and epilepsy and the treatment of melancholy.25

4) ʾAbū Bakr Muḥammad ibn Zakarīyāʾ al-Rāzī (d. ca. 925) (a) Comprehensive Book on Medicine (Kitāb al-ḥāwī fī l-ṭibb) It has already been noted in relation to Ḥunayn’s own writings about the Epidemics that al-Rāzī’s Comprehensive Book on Medicine (al-Kitāb al-ḥāwī fī l-ṭibb) contains numerous citations of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ as well as Ḥunayn’s other writings based on this work. Al-Rāzī cites not only Ḥunayn’s translation of Galen’s Commentary, but also frequently specifies that he is citing Ḥunayn’s Summaries of the Epidemics in the form of Questions and Answers (text 1[d] above), which he calls simply the Questions on the Epidemics (Masāʾil ʾIbīdīmiyā). Al-Rāzī also specifically cites Ḥunayn’s Aphorisms Drawn from the Epidemics twice (vi. 183, last line–184, line 5 and xix. 23 For a discussion of stratagems and fraudulent tricks employed by physicians see Pormann 2005, esp. 198 (citing al-Ṭabarī and al-Ruhāwī’s versions of this anecdote). 24 Koetschet 2011; I am indebted to Pauline Koetschet for sharing with me the section on ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿImrān and the Epidemics from her thesis. Rufus’ treatise, which only survives in fragments in Greek, Arabic and Latin, has recently been edited by Peter E. Pormann (2008c). 25 Ed. Omrani 2009, 40, lines 5–10 (Arabic text) (cf. p. 280 W; Pormann 2008a, 292–3); ed. Omrani 2009, 46, lines 1–5, p. 55, line 17–p. 56, line 4 (cf. p. 505 W); and ed. Omrani 2009, 64, lines 7–12 (cf. p. 346 W).

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139, lines 5–14) and his Questions Concerning Urine Extracted from the Epidemics once (xvii. 250, lines 11–13). To be more specific, the Comprehensive Book contains at least 68 discussions of these various Epidemics-related texts, ranging in length from just a few lines to more than four pages in the Hyderabad edition and comprising at least 108 separate citations. Forty-eight or just under half of these citations are specified as coming from Ḥunayn’s summary known as the Questions on the Epidemics, an indicator of the importance and popularity of this text even amongst readers who had access to the full text of Ḥunayn’s translation. The total number of citations of the Epidemics, however, is likely to increase as research into the Comprehensive Book progresses. The Comprehensive Book is a huge multivolume work and al-Rāzī is not always careful to specify the sources of his citations, so certain unattributed citations are likely to prove to be derived from the Epidemics. Relating the material cited by al-Rāzī to his source texts is not always easy. Much like Book Two of the Epidemics, the Comprehensive Book is comprised of al-Rāzī’s unedited notes that were compiled posthumously and published by his students. It is possibly for this reason that al-Rāzī is not always careful in each instance to specify which of Ḥunayn’s Epidemics-related texts he is citing and from which section of each text his citation comes. In nineteen places, he only says that his citation comes from the Epidemics, giving no indication of exactly where the citation derives from,26 and in six places, he only cites the Questions on the Epidemics, again not indicating the book or part from which the citation is drawn.27 Elsewhere, he specifically refers to the title, book and part from which he drew his citation, but the references he gives are wrong and the cited passage is in fact found at a different place within the text in question.28 Also, al-Rāzī’s quotations are usually not exact, but rather paraphrases that were perhaps quoted from memory, as has already been noted by a number of scholars.29 On the basis of a study of the quotations from Paul of Aegina in the Comprehensive Book, Peter E. Pormann has concluded that “quotations in the modern sense appear to be absent from the Ḥāwī [Comprehensive Book]”.30 All of this makes it difficult, for example, to use al-Rāzī’s numerous citations to improve 26 Vol. iii. 220, lines 2–12; iii. 222, line 4–223, line 2 (twice); iii. 239, line 5–240, line 17; iii. 242, lines 2–18 (twice); ix. 110, lines 4–14 (cf. Epid. ii.6.96 HV); ix. 166, lines 7–9; ix. 181, line 16–182, line 11 (twice); x. 140, line 8–141, line 14; xviii. 49, lines 3–8; xviii. 97, line 15–98, line 10 (twice); xix. 37, line 10–38, line 13; xix. 173, line 4–175, line 3 (twice); xix. 238, ult.–239, line 7; xix. 316, ult.–317, line 5. 27 Vol. vi. 250, lines 10–18; xiii. 48, lines 1-7; xvi. 147, lines 3-5; xvii. 253, lines 5–8; xvii. 255, lines 2–4; xix. 144, line 10. 28 For example, iii. 287, line 9–288, line 17 where al-Rāzī claims that the quotation is from Epidemics 6 when, in fact, it is from ii.3.57 HV. 29 See Weisser 1997; Bryson 2000, 23–73, esp. 36–37 with reference to the Questions on the Epidemics; Garofalo 2002; Pormann 2004, 60–64 and 91–92 and Pormann 2009a, 106. 30 Pormann 2004, 92.

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the received text of Ḥunayn’s translation of the Commentary on the Epidemics or of his Questions on the Epidemics. But this is hardly surprising, since al-Rāzī clearly did not have future editors in mind when he was writing notes for his own personal use. The number and extent of these citations make it abundantly clear that alRāzī valued the Epidemics and Galen’s Commentary, as well as Ḥunayn’s various writings based on these works for the useful medical knowledge they contained. But al-Rāzī also shows us in the Comprehensive Book that the Epidemics was important to him because it provided a respected and authoritative model for the careful and thorough recording of case notes that could be emulated by practising clinicians. The Comprehensive Book itself contains many of al-Rāzī’s own case histories, the most important of which is a discrete collection of 33 such case histories (xvi. pages 189, line 4-208, line 8).31 Al-Rāzī consciously took the Epidemics as his inspiration and advised his audience to read his case histories alongside those in the Epidemics and Ḥunayn’s Questions on the Epidemics. AlRāzī prefaced this collection of case histories in the Comprehensive Book with the following words32:

LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ǽ͎ LJͲć LJʉ˳̈ǚʉ̑Βā ɡ̇LJʶͲ ǽ͎ LJͲ LJ˶́΀ ȅͫΒā ĔǨ̈ [2] .ĢĔāǍ͵ LJ˶ͫ łLJ̈LJ˜̤ć ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ȵˀ͘ ɬͲ ɼˬʔͲΑā [1] ɼˬʔͲΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ LJ˶ˈ˳̣ ǚ͘ LJ͵ΒLJ͎ [4] .ɡ̇LJʶ˳ͫā ɬͲ ɼΈ ̿LJ̥ć Έāụ̈̌ ΈLJ˳ʉˆ͇ ΈLJˈˏ͵ LJ́ʉ͎ ƦΒLJ͎ ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ǽ͵āǍʓͫāć ƋLJ̈Βāć [3] .ɷˬͫā ƹLJ̶ ƦΒā LJ́ʉˬ͇ ȫʉ˙͵ ɨ̓ LJ́ʉͫΒā LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ɡ̇LJʶͲ Ƚ˳ʤ͵ ƦΑā LJ͵ĔĢΑāć LJ˶́΀ [1] Examples of patients’ histories as well as our own accounts and anecdotes. [2] Here one [should] also cite the case histories contained in the Questions on the Epidemics and the Epidemics. [3] Beware not to neglect them, for they are extremely useful, especially those contained in the Questions [on the Epidemics]. [4] We have already collected these examples here and [also] wanted to join to them the Questions [on the Epidemics], in order to compare the latter with the former, God willing. So, even if al-Rāzī only cites the Epidemics once during the course of these 33 case histories,33 nonetheless he wanted his case histories to be read in the light 31 Scholarly attention was first focussed on this collection of case histories by Meyerhof 1935. 32 Vol. xvi. p. 189, lines 4–8; translation by Pormann 2008a, 107. 33 Meyerhof 1935, 352–3 (English), 11–12 (Arabic); Comprehensive Book (Hyderabad edition) xvi. p. 203, line 7–p. 206, line 2; cf. i.1.88–135 V (p. 28, line 18–p. 45, line 10 W). This discussion of the Epidemics appears to have become misplaced within the text of the Comprehensive Book, or perhaps a case history has dropped out of the text before or after it since neither the case history directly preceding it nor the one following it contains any obvious parallels for comparison.

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of the Epidemics. One can also see that al-Rāzī took the case histories in the Epidemics as a model, as shown by his own candid admissions of failure, as well as of cases in which patients recovered in spite of not following his advice. For it is a notable feature of the case histories in the Epidemics that the patients frequently die in spite of the attentions of the physician.34 More generally, we can see from the preface to the case histories in the Comprehensive Book that alRāzī believed that the Epidemics and the Questions on the Epidemics were, in his words, ‘extremely useful (Έāụ̈̌ ΈLJ˳ʉˆ͇ ΈLJˈˏ͵ LJ́ʉ͎ ƦΒLJ͎)’. (b) Doubts About Galen (Kitāb al-Šukūk ʿalā Ǧālīnūs) It should not be thought that just because al-Rāzī valued the writings of Galen and Hippocrates in general and the Epidemics and Galen’s Commentary in particular that he accepted uncritically the claims he found in their writings. In his Doubts About Galen, al-Rāzī takes Galen, and sometimes Hippocrates as well, to task for making claims that are either self-contradictory or contrary to what he knows to be true from his own clinical experience. In the section of the Doubts about Galen which deals with ‘His Contradictions Concerning Crises and Fevers (łLJʉ˳ʥͫā ǽ͎ć ƦāǨʥʒͫā ǨͲΑā ǽ͎ ɷʓˁ͘LJ˶Ͳ)’, al-Rāzī discusses the classifications and progressions of fevers and their crises. He admits that this is a ‘very controversial and obscure subject (ƱLJʒʓ̶ҙҏā ǚ̈ǚ̶ žҨҞʓ̥ҙҏā ǚ̈ǚ̶ ǨͲΑҙҏā)’ and concludes that one can only confirm or deny Galen’s teachings in this area ‘on the basis of his great experience and long, meticulous attention and study (łǚʓ̶āć ȈͫLJ̈́ć ɷʓ̑Ǩʤ̒ łǨʔ͛ ɬͲ Ʊǚ˙ˏ̒ć ɷʓ̈LJ˶͇)’.35 Al-Rāzī, therefore, draws heavily on his clinical experience as well as his reading of Galen and other medical authorities in formulating his Doubts. It is in this context that al-Rāzī presents his only citation of the Epidemics in the Doubts About Galen36:

ɬͲ Ǜ̥ΑLJ̈ ǚ͘ ɼ˳̇āǚͫā ȅ˳ʥͫā ƦΒā» [2] ɷ˙˙̤ć ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƱǨʶ͎ć LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ɬͲ ƛćΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ ǚ͘ć [1] ƦǍ˜̈ ǚ͘ āǛ΀ ƦΒāć [3] ƦāǨʥʒͫā Ȉ͘ć ǽ͎ Ģǚʥ˶̈ ɨ̓ 37ɼ̑Ǎˈˀͫāć ƴǚʷͫā ɬͲ LJ́ʓ̈LJ͈ ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ć ƴǍ˙̑ LJ́̇āǚʓ̑ā .ǚˁͫLJ̑ LJ́ʉ͎ ǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩʉˀ̈ ɡ̑ [5] ĢāćĔΑҙҏā ƛLJ̤ ǽ͎ Ǩˆ˶ͫā āǛ΀ ǽ͎ ǚʶˏ̈ć [4] .«łLJʉ˳ʥͫā ŷāǍ͵Αā Ƚʉ˳̣ ǽ͎ 34 For study of the development of the genre of case histories with special reference to both the Epidemics and al-Rāzī, see Álverez Millán 1999, 2000, and, without reference to the Epidemics, Álverez Millán 2010. See also Pormann 2008b, 105–8. 35 Ed. ʿAbd al-Ġanī 2005, 165, lines 2–4. 36 Ed. ʿAbd al-Ġanī 2005, 168–9. Al-Rāzī mentions the Epidemics again below (ed. ʿAbd alĠanī 2005, 191, line 12), but he neither quotes the text there nor criticises it, merely saying that he will conduct further research in that text concerning the benefits of following a diet suited to one’s temperament. 37 The most recent editor of this text (ed. ʿAbd al-Ġanī 2005) reads Ʉˈˁͫāć instead of ɼ̑Ǎˈˀͫāć, but the latter should be read as part of the phrase ɼ̑Ǎˈˀͫāć ƴǚʷͫā ɬͲ LJ́ʓ̈LJ͈, all of which translates the Greek χαλεπώτατον (p. 120, line 26 W).

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[1] At the beginning of the Epidemics, on which Galen commented and which he edited, Hippocrates has said: [2] ‘Continuous fever sometimes starts strongly from its onset, is extremely severe and difficult, and then declines at the time of the crisis. [3] This can occur in all types of fevers’. [4] He is wrong in this opinion concerning the periods [of the fever]. [5] Rather, the opposite is the case. Al-Rāzī quotes only from the Hippocratic lemma, not from Galen’s comments on it. It is clear that al-Rāzī paraphrased the lemma rather than quoting it verbatim, and this typical style of his was noted above with reference to his Comprehensive Book:

ɼ˳̇āǚͫā ȅ˳ʥͫā ƦΑā ɑͫĕ ɬͲ [2] ζȇ̇āǍ͵ć ƢLJˆ͵ć ɼ̣́ łLJʉ˳ʥͫā ƱǛ΀ ɬͲ ƴṳ̈̌āć ɡ˜ͫć :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ [1] Ȉ͘ć ȽͲć ƦāǨʥʒͫā Ȉ͘ć Ǎʥ͵ LJ́͵Αā ɨ̓ ζɼ̑Ǎˈˀͫāć ƴǚʷͫā ɬͲ LJ́ʓ̈LJ͈ ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̒ć ƴǍ˙̑ LJ́̇āǚʓ̑ā Ǜ˶Ͳ Ǜ̥ΑLJ̒ ǚ͘ ɼ̈LJ͈ ȇ́ʓˬ̒ć ƢǍ̈ ɡ͛ ǽ͎ ȇˈˀʓʶ̒ć ɨ͘LJˏʓ̒ LJ́͵Αā ɨ̓ ɼ͵Ǎ͎ǚͲ ɼ˶ʉͫ ǽ΀ć łΑāǚʓ̑ā LJ˳̑Ģć [3] ζɄʦ̒ ƦāǨʥʒͫā ζLJ΀LJ́ʓ˶Ͳ Ȉˉˬʒ͎ LJͲ ƴǚͲ ȅͫΒā Ȉʒˈˀʓ̵āć łǚ̈ǩ̒ ɨ̓ ƹćǚ΀ć ɬʉˬ̑ łΑāǚʓ̑ā LJ˳̑Ģć [4] ζƦāǨʥʒͫā Ǎʥ͵ LJ́̑LJ́ʓͫā ɡ͛ ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ ǚ͘ ƹLJʉ̶Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ć .ƦāǨʥʒͫā Ǎʥ͵ć ƦāǨʥʒͫā Ȉ͘ć ȅͫΒā LJ́̑ ɑͫĕ ƢāĔć ȵ˙˶ͫā ǽ͎ łǛ̥Αā ɨ̓ 38.ŰǨͲ ɡ͛ć ȅ˳̤ [1] Hippocrates said: Each of these fevers has a specific character, order and attacks. [2] For instance, non-intermittent fever sometimes starts strongly from its onset and is extremely severe and difficult, but near the time of the crisis and during the crisis, it lifts. [3] Sometimes, it starts gently and in a concealed manner, then intensifies and grows more difficult each day and flares up most violently around the [time of the] crisis. [4] Sometimes, it begins gently and mildly, then intensifies and becomes more difficult for a time and reaches its climax, then begins to wane and continues to do so until the crisis and near the crisis. [5] These things can occur in every fever and disease. Al-Rāzī criticises Hippocrates concerning the matter of the progression of nonintermittent fever. Contained within this, there is an implicit criticism of Galen, because in his commentary on this lemma Galen struggled to understand what Hippocrates meant here. Galen, however, does not dismiss Hippocrates’ claims about the progression of this fever as false, as does al-Rāzī.

38 Book i.3.57 V (p. 120, line 23–p. 121, line 5 W).

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(c) On Sexual Intercourse, its Harmful and Beneficial Effects and Treatment (Kitāb al-Bāh wa-manāfiʿihī wa-maḍārrihī wa-mudāwātihī) In his treatise On Sexual Intercourse, al-Rāzī devoted the fourth chapter to ‘The Benefits of Having Sex’ (Fī l-manāfiʿ al-kāʾina fī stiʿmāl al-ǧimāʿ) in which he cites Galen’s Commentary on the Epidemics vi.5:

Ȉ͵LJ͛ āĕΒā ƱLJʒͫā ɬͲ ĢLJʔ͛ Βҙҏā ƦΒā» [2] :ɼ̵ĔLJʶͫā Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ɬͲ ɼʶͲLJʦͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ 39LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉʒ̈Βā ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ƛLJ͘ć [1] «.ɼʉ˳ˉˬʒͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ Ƚˏ˶̈ ɼ̈Ǎ͘ ƴǍ˙ͫā ɑͫĕć [5] ζΈLJʉ͵LJ̥Ĕ ΈāĢLJʦ̑ Ǩʦʒ̈ ǚ͘ ŴҨҞ̥Αā ɷ͵ǚ̑ ǽ͎ ɬΏ Ͳ΋ Ƚˏ˶̈ ŷLJ˳ʤͫā ƦΒā» [4] :ɷ˶͇ ΈLJˁ̈Αā ɷʉ͎ ɡʉ͘ć [3] ĿǨ̈ ǚ͘ć [6] ζɼˏ̈Ǩ̤ ƴĔLJ̤ łLJʉ˳̤ LJ́͵LJ˙ʓ̤ā ɬͲ ǚͫǍʓ̈ć ζƦǚʒͫā ǽ͎ łāĢLJʦʒͫā ƱǛ΀ ƦLJ˙ʓ̤ā Ƚ˶˳̈ ɷ͵Αā ζťǍ́ͫāć ζĢǚˀͫā Ɏʉ̀ć ζɄ̣Ǩͫāć ζĔānjˏͫā ƦLJ˙ˏ̥ łĔćģ ɷʓ͵Ǎʦ̵ć ɷ͇LJ˳ʓ̣ā ƴǨʔ͛ć ȅ˶˳ͫā Ʉ̓LJ˜̒ ƦΑā œҨҞ͇ ҙҏć ζŷLJ˳ʤͫā Ʀāǚ˙͎ ɬͲ ƹLJʶ˶ͫLJ̑ Ńǚʥ̈ LJ˳͵Βā ƢLJ̤ĢΑҙҏā ƈLJ˶ʓ̥ā ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā Ƚ̣Ǎͫā ƦΑāć [7] ζƦāĢćǚͫāć 40«.ɷ˶Ͳ Ⱦˬ̑Αā ɷͫ [1] He [scil. Galen] said in [his Commentary on] the Epidemics, in the fifth part [maqāla] of the commentary on the sixth [book]: [2] ‘Frequent sexual intercourse when the power is strong is useful against phlegmatic diseases.’41 [3] There, it is also said about it: [4] ‘Sex is useful for someone in whose body there are humours which produce a smoke-like vapour. [5] For it [scil. sex] prevents these vapours from becoming congested in the body, which would generate acute and acrid fevers. [6] One can observe that when the semen thickens, and a lot of it accumulates and becomes warm, it increases the palpitation of the heart, trembling, tightening of the chest, craziness, and vertigo. [7] Moreover, the pain called “uterine suffocation” occurs in women only because of the loss of sexual intercourse, and there is no better remedy for this than it [scil. sex].’42 Al-Rāzī clearly valued the Epidemics and Galen’s Commentary very highly as is indicated by the great number of quotations from it in his Comprehensive Book. The Comprehensive Book, however, was merely a set of unedited notes, so although the quotations are arranged head to toe, as the Comprehensive Book is, al-Rāzī does little to help the reader gain a better understanding of the text quoted. What his head to toe arrangement does do is to allow the reader to compare the opinions of various authors concerning a given subject and to see what clinical observations al-Rāzī has himself made on that subject. In the Doubts 39 40 41 42

For the reading of this word, see Pormann 2007, p. 118, n. 13. Ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz / ʿAbd al-Ḥamīd 1999, 161,1-8. See below, pp. 206–7 (Section 12a), for this same passage quoted by al-Tīfāšī. Translation Pormann 2007, 118 [with adaptations].

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about Galen, he criticises Hippocrates’ understanding of non-intermittent fevers in the Epidemics, and this criticism appears to be based on his own experience. In On Sexual Intercourse, however, al-Rāzī cites the Epidemics as an authoritative text with no hint of criticism.

5) Yaʿqūb al-Kaskarī (fl. ca. 920s) (a) The Compendium (al-Kunnāš) Yaʿqūb al-Kaskarī, a younger contemporary of al-Rāzī and also a physician active in the hospitals of Baghdad, cited nine passages from the Epidemics and from Ḥunayn’s Questions on the Epidemics in his Compendium.43 These citations have been studied in two recent papers by Peter E. Pormann, who shows that al-Kaskarī’s citations are more accurate than those by al-Rāzī and also that, like al-Rāzī, al-Kaskarī drew from his own clinical experience in responding to the Epidemics material.44 Al-Kaskarī engages with the text critically and clearly had great respect for its worth since he called it the ‘most glorious of [Hippocrates’] books (ɷʒʓ͛ ɡ̣Αā)’.45 6) ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās al-Maǧūsī (d. between 982 and 995) (a) Complete Book of the Medical Art (Kāmil al-ṣināʿa al-ṭibbīya, also called the Royal Book [al-Kitāb al-Malakī]) In the second half of the tenth century, ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās al-Maǧūsī included three citations of the Epidemics in his Complete Book of the Medical Art. He cited brief passages from Epidemics Two and Six concerning melancholy and

43 For more information about this author and his Compendium see Pormann 2003b, 197–205 and Pormann 2009a, 105–6. A facsimile edition of the unique manuscript (Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3716) of al-Kaskarī’s Compendium was published by Sezgin 1985. There is also a printed edition, which is of limited use both because it is extremely rare and also because of its uncritical nature, by al-Šīrī 1994. I am thankful to Peter E. Pormann for making available to me his draft edition and translation of this text. 44 Pormann 2009a, 131–5 and 2008a, 102–3 deal with three of the citations of the Epidemics in the Compendium. The remaining six citations are found at Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3716 fol. 136b, line 12–fol. 137a, line 3 (ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 249, line 12–250, line 2); fol. 155a, lines 8–10 (ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 283, lines 12–21); fol. 155b, lines 1–5 (Epid. vi.5?; ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 284, lines 3–5); fol. 170a, 8–16 (Epid. i?; ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 309, line 22–310, line 6); fol. 180a, lines 1–6 (ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 328, lines 11–14); and fol. 268b, lines 8–17 (Ḥunayn’s Questions on Epid. vi [cf. p. 25, lines 4–5 W]; ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 509, lines 1–9). 45 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3716, fol. 155a, line 16 (ed. al-Šīrī 1994, 283, line 21).

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consumption respectively,46 but he also gives a slightly longer explanation of the constitution or katástasis with which Epidemics Two begins. This longer citation is of particular interest because it appears to be the first instance of an Arabic speaking author writing something like a commentary, albeit a very short one, on part of the Epidemics. Al-Maǧūsī is talking about the length of the seasons and their divisions and mixtures, when he comments on a false belief about spring:

Έ ҙҏǍʒ͘ ŷǨ̵Αā ȇ̈́Ǩͫā ĢLJʥͫā œāǩ˳ͫā ƦΑҙҏ ɑͫǛ͛ ǨͲΑҙҏā ȫʉͫć ȇ̈́Ģ ĢLJ̤ Ƚʉ̑Ǩͫā œāǩͲ ƦΑā ƢΉ Ǎ͘ Ǩ͛ĕ ǚ͘ć [1] ƦǍ˜̈ LJͲ ɼͫǩ˶˳̑ ȇ̈́Ǩͫā ĢLJʥͫā œāǩ˳ͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā ȅˬ͇ ȇˬ͈ ȅʓͲ ɑͫǛ͛ć [2] ɼʉ̇LJ̑Ǎͫā ŰāǨͲΑ ҨҞͫ ȇˬ̣Αāć ɬˏˈˬͫ [3] ƦLJ̒Ǎ˳ͫāć ɼʉ̇LJ̑Ǎͫāć ɼʈ̈ĔǨͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ ɼʉˏʉˀͫā ĢLJ˅ͲΑҙҏā Ńćṳ̈̌ć ɼʉ̑Ǎ˶ʤͫā ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā ŁǍʒ΀ Ȉ͘ć ǽ͎ [5] ɷͫǍ͘ Ǎ΀ć [4] LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā Ǩ͛ĕ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ ǽˏʉˀͫā Ǩ˳ʤͫā ɬͲ ƦǍ͵āǨ͘Βā ɼ˶̈ǚ˳̑ Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫLJ͛ LJͲ Ǩʔ͛Αā ƦLJ͛ć [7] ɷˬ͛ Ʉʉˀͫā Ǩ̤ 47ȽͲ ɷʉ͎ ĔẠ̌ ĢLJ˅ͲΑā łƹLJ̣ [6] ƦǍ͵āǨ͘ΒLJ̑ ƦLJ͛ ķǛͫā ǽˏʉˀͫā Ǩ˳ʤͫā» ɼ́ʉʒ̶ łLJ̥LJˏ͵ œǨʦ̒ ɼ˜̤ ǚͫćć ɬʦ̵ ɬ˙ʓ̤ā āĕΒLJ͎ [9] ǚΉ ̈ǚ̿ ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ Ǩʉˀ̒ć [8] ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ȽͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ƱǛ΀ ƦΒLJ͎ «ƦǍ͵āǨ͘Βā ɼ˶̈ǚ˳̑» ɷͫǍ͘ LJͲΑLJ͎ [11] .«ΈLJ͘āǨʓ̤ā ƈǨʓʥ̈ ǚˬʤͫā ƦćĔ LJͲ ƦΑā ɨ́ʉͫΒā ɡʉʦʓ͎ [10] ĢLJ˶ͫā ƈǨʥ̑ [13] .ɼʒ̈́Ģ ƴĢLJ̤ ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ɼʉ̤LJ͵ć [12] ΈāǨʉʶ̈ ҙҏΒā ɼʉͫLJ˳ʷͫā ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā LJ́̑ ȇ́̒ ҙҏć ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ɼʉ̤LJ͵ ǽ͎ ɼ˶̈ǚ˳ͫā ɑͫǛ͎ [14] «ŁǍ˶ʤͫā Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā ɬͲ ȇ́̈ LJͲ Ǩʔ͛Αā ƦLJ͛ć ĔẠ̌ ĢLJ˅ͲΑā łƹLJ̣» LJ́͵Βā ɷͫǍ͘ LJͲΑLJ͎ ɬˏˈ̒ ǽ͎ ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā ĿǍ͘Αā œāǩͲ āǛ΀ć [15] .Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ƹāǍ́ͫā ȅˬ͇ ɼ̑Ǎ̈́Ǩͫāć ƴĢāǨʥͫā ŴāǨ͎Βā ȅˬ͇ ɡʉͫĔ ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ Ǩʉˀ̒» [17] ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛǍ͘ ɬˏˈͫā ȅˬ͇ ɡʉͫǚͫāć [16] .ɬˏˈͫā LJ́ʉ͎ ɬ˜˳̈ ǽʓͫā ƢLJʶ̣Αҙҏāć ŴҨҞ̥Αҙҏā ƦLJ͛ Ƚ̀ǍͲ ķΑā ǽ͎ ɬ˙ʓʥͲ Ⱥˬ̥ ɡ͛ ƦΑā ɑͫǛ͎ ɷ˶ˏˈͫ ɷʓ͵Ǎʦ̵ LJͲΑāć [19] .«ɬʦ̵ ɬ˙ʓʥ̒ āĕΒLJ͎ [18] Έāǚ̈ǚ̿ LJͲ ƦΑā» Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ɡʉˬˈͫā ȅͫΒā ɡʉʦ̒ ƦLJ͛ LJͲć [20] ɼ͵Ǎˏˈͫā ȅͫΒā ƛLJʥʓ̵ā ȫˏ˶ʓͫā Ƣǚ͇ āĕΒā Ʀǚʒͫā ɬͲ 49.48Ǩ˳ʤˬͫ Ńǚʥ˳ͫā Ⱥˬʦͫā āǛ΀ ƴĢāǨ̤ ƴǚʷͫ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳͵Βā «ΈLJ͘āǨʓ̤ā ƈǨʓʥ̈ ǚˬʤͫā Ȉʥ̒ [1] Some people say that spring’s mixture is hot and wet, but this is not the case because the hot and wet mixture is more prone to putrefaction and conducive to pestilential diseases. [2] It is the same when a hot and wet mixture predominates the air like the serious, pestilential diseases and plague that come when southerly winds blow and summer rains occur, [3] such as the summer carbuncles which occurred in the city of Crannon according to what Hippocrates said in the Epidemics. [4] This is what he said: [5] ‘Summer carbuncles which occurred in Crannon; [6] abundant rain came there with the heat throughout summer. [7] This happened mostly together with a south wind. [8] Pus develops under the skin. [9] When it is congested, it becomes hot and generates itching that brings forth blisters 46 Vol. i, p. 333, lines 26–31 (Epid. 2 on melancholy) and p. 158, lines 21–3 (Epid. 6 on consumption). 47 ȽͲ] scripsi (cf. ii.1.1 HV): ɬ͇ Bulaq edition. 48 Ǩ˳ʤˬͫ] scripsi (cf. ii.1.14 HV): ȅ˳ʥˬͫ Bulaq edition. 49 Bulaq edition 1877, i. 156, lines 11–25.

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similar to the burning of fire. [10] They imagined that what is under the skin is burning strongly’. [11] He says ‘in the city of Crannon’ and this city is in a southern direction in which northerly winds blow only rarely. [12] A southern direction is hot and wet. [13] Then he said ‘abundant rain came. Most of the winds that blew at that time were southerly’. [14] This indicates that, at that time, the weather was excessively hot and wet. [15] This mixture is the strongest cause of the putrefaction of humours and of bodies in which putrefaction is possible. [16] Hippocrates’ statements that [17] ‘Pus develops under the skin. [18] When it is congested, it becomes hot’ indicate putrefaction. [19] As for the heat caused by its putrefaction, this occurred because every congested humour, no matter where in the body it is, becomes putrid when it does not pour out. [20] The fact that the patient then imagined ‘that what is under the skin is burning strongly’ was due to the severity of the heat of this humour that caused the carbuncles. Here, al-Maǧūsī bases his comments only loosely on Galenʼs (ii.1.3–15 HV) and chooses to focus on the role of putrefaction. He is not composing an entirely new commentary on this passage which is independent of Galen’s commentary, but he chooses carefully from the material which Galen presents to construct a commentary tailored to his present purpose. In paragraphs 5-10, al-Maǧūsī presents the Hippocratic lemma almost verbatim. This lemma, the first of Epidemics Two, is found at ii.1.2 HV. But al-Maǧūsī then picks and chooses just a few elements of Galen’s commentary to work into his own. His assertion about Crannon (§11) that ‘this city is in a southern direction in which northerly winds blow only rarely (ΈāǨʉʶ̈ ҙҏΒā ɼʉͫLJ˳ʷͫā ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā LJ́̑ ȇ́̒ ҙҏć ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ɼʉ̤LJ͵ ǽ͎ ɼ˶̈ǚ˳ͫā ƱǛ΀)’ is drawn from ii.1.8 HV: ‘Crannon … is a city … in a southern direction (… ɼ˶̈ǚͲ ǽ΀ … ƦǍ͵āǨ͘ć ŁǍ˶ʤͫā ɼʉ̤LJ͵ ǽ͎).’ The subsequent statement that ‘northerly winds blow in it only rarely (ΈāǨʉʶ̈ ҙҏΒā ɼʉͫLJ˳ʷͫā ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā LJ́̑ ȇ́̒ ҙҏć)’ is merely a simpler way of saying what Galen said a few lines earlier in ii.1.8 HV: ‘the winds at that time, even if they blew occasionally, were only southerly (LJ́͵ΒLJ͎ ɬʉ̈LJ̤Αҙҏā ǽ͎ Ȉʒ΀ ƦΒāć Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā Ȉ͵LJ͛ ǚ͘ ɼʉ̑Ǎ˶̣ ƦǍ˜̒ Ȉ͵LJ͛ LJ˳͵Βā)’. What al-Maǧūsī says in §§12 and 14 about heat and wetness and their excessiveness (ŴāǨ͎Βā) in Crannon is a clearer rephrasing of what Galen says in ii.1.8 HV, namely that Crannon’s position ‘was conducive to the excessive character of this condition (ŴāǨ͎ Βҙҏā ɬͲ ƛLJʥͫā ɑˬ̒ ɷʉˬ͇ Ȉ͵LJ͛ LJͲ Ɏ͎āǍ̒)’; that is to say its hot winds and heavy rains. The assertion (§15) that ‘This mixture (sc. hot and wet) is the strongest cause of the putrefaction of humours and of bodies in which putrefaction is possible (ɬ˜˳̈ ǽʓͫā ƢLJʶ̣Αҙҏāć ŴҨҞ̥Αҙҏā ɬˏˈ̒ ǽ͎ ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā ĿǍ͘Αā œāǩͲ āǛ΀ć ɬˏˈͫā LJ́ʉ͎)’ is based on ii.1.10 HV: ‘the temperament of the air by which they are brought about is warm, windless, and is moist. We see with our own eyes that all bodies putrefy in this state, even if the cause is unknown (Ńṳ̈̌ ķǛͫā ƹāǍ́ͫā œāǩͲ

ȇʒʶͫā ɨˬˈ̈ ɨͫ ƦΒāć ƛLJʥͫā ƱǛ΀ ǚ˶͇ ɬˏˈ̒ ƢLJʶ̣Αҙҏā Ƚʉ˳̣ ƦΑā ΈLJ͵LJʉ͇ ĿǨ͵ ǚ˙͎ LJʒ̈́Ģ ŔLJ̈Ǩˬͫ ΈLJ˳̈ǚ͇ ΈāĢLJ̤ ƦLJ͛ ɷ˶Ͳ ɑͫĕ ǽ͎)’. The sentence (§20) ‘The fact that the patient then imagined “that what

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is under the skin is burning strongly” was due to the severity of the heat of this humour that caused the carbuncles (Ȉʥ̒ LJͲ ƦΑā» Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ɡʉˬˈͫā ȅͫΒā ɡʉʦ̈ ƦLJ͛ LJͲć Ǩ˳ʤˬͫ Ńǚʥ˳ͫā Ⱥˬʦͫā āǛ΀ ƴĢāǨ̤ ƴǚʷͫ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳͵Βā «ΈLJ͘āǨʓ̤ā ƈǨʓʥ̈ ǚˬʤͫā)’ depends upon ii.1.14 HV ‘By saying “when it is congested, it becomes hot”, he indicated the way in which this cause brings about carbuncles, namely the excessive heat of the humour predominant in the body (ȇʒʶͫā ɑͫĕ Ńǚʥ̈ LJ́̑ ǽʓͫā ɼ́ʤͫā ȅˬ͇ «ɬʦ̵ ɬ˙ʓ̤ā āĕΒLJ͎» ɷͫǍ˙̑ ƛĔć Ʀǚʒͫā ǽ͎ ȇͫLJˉͫā Ⱥˬʦͫā ƴĢāǨ̤ ŴāǨ͎Βā Ǎ΀ ɑͫĕć Ǩ˳ʤͫā)’. In al-Maǧūsī’s adaptation of Galen’s commentary, we can see that he simplified Galen’s wording and chose only those elements that pertained to his subjects of putrefaction and the hot and wet mixture. Al-Maǧūsī passed over both Galen’s philological discussions and also his definitions of the terminology used for such symptoms as carbuncles. But al-Maǧūsī’s also added his own ideas, for example in §19, that are not based on Galen’s commentary.

7) Ibn al-Ǧazzār (d. ca 1005) (a) Reliable Support Concerning Simple Drugs (al-Iʿtimād fī l-ʾadwiya almufrada) ʾAbū Ǧaʿfar ʾAḥmad ibn ʾIbrāhīm, known as Ibn al-Ǧazzār, a physician of Kairouan, wrote the Reliable Support about Simple Drugs in which he cited a passage from Epidemics 2 about the use of narcissus bulbs as an emetic.50 This relatively popular passage was already cited by al-Kaskarī and was later cited by Maimonides.51

8) ʾAbū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī ibn Riḍwān (d. 1061) (a) Useful Passages (Kitāb al-fawāʾid) In the second half of the eleventh century, ʾAbū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī ibn Riḍwān, the famous Egyptian physician, became the first Arabic speaking author since Ḥunayn to write an extensive work specifically concerning the Epidemics. In his Fawāʾid or Useful Passages, Ibn Riḍwān often cites verbatim, and frequently provides approximate paraphrases of, a number of Galen’s works, and he very occasionally offers a few brief comments on them. These are not lemmatic commentaries, as explanations are kept to a bare minimum, but simply collections of extracted materials kept, for the most part, in the order in which they appear in Galen. Ibn Riḍwān appears to have chosen the material which 50 Ed. al-Qašš 1998, 80, line 16–81, line 1. 51 For the citation by al-Kaskarī, see Pormann 2009, 129–30; for Maimonides, see Fuṣūl 14.8, ed. Bos forthcoming. I am grateful to Gerrit Bos for providing me with materials from the unpublished portions of his edition of Maimonides’ Aphorisms (Fuṣūl).

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he extracts purely on its merit as information useful to practising physicians or medical students. The Useful Passages is preserved in a unique manuscript in Cambridge (Cambridge, University Library, MS Dd. 12.1), and 70 folios (127b–197a) of that manuscript are devoted to the Epidemics. The manuscript is unfortunately defective at the beginning, so the general introduction to the text is missing, which may have explained Ibn Riḍwān’s rationale for, or the criteria he employed in, dealing with Galen’s works in this way. The manuscript is also defective at the end, so that we cannot be sure of the full extent of the Galenic works he treated. We can, however, see that Ibn Riḍwān called the sections on individual texts ‘notes’ (taʿālīq) on ‘useful passages’ (fawāʾid) drawn from whichever text he happens to be dealing with.52 Ibn Riḍwān’s Useful Passages is not a commentary proper, but is rather like Ḥunayn’s Questions on the Epidemics in that it extracts useful passages from the text for the most part in the original order in which they appear. This is extremely useful in helping to establish the text of Ḥunayn’s translation both because Ibn Riḍwān often cites Ḥunayn’s translation verbatim, and also because Ibn Riḍwān’s Useful Passages for all four books of the Epidemics that were commented on by Galen are extant, whereas Ḥunayn’s Questions on Epidemics Books One, Three, and slightly more than the first two thirds of Book Six are lost. Thus, although Ibn Riḍwān’s Useful Passages adds little to our knowledge of how Arabic-speaking readers intellectually engaged with the Epidemics, it is an invaluable resource for editors and critical readers of Arabic translations of Galenic writings. (b) Treatise on Achieving Happiness through Medicine (al-Maqāla fī taṭarruq al-saʿāda bi-l-ṭibb) In this text, Ibn Riḍwān lists and briefly discusses 55 works attributed to Hippocrates. The only piece of information he gives specifically about the Epidemics is the fact that Thessalus and not Hippocrates himself is said to be responsible for Epidemics, Book Two, a point repeatedly stressed by Galen in his commentary.53

52 For example, the section on the Epidemics is called ‘ʿAlī ibn Riḍwān’s Notes on Useful Passages from Hippocrates’ Epidemics [in] Galen’s Commentary (ɬͲ ǚ̇āǍˏͫ ƦāǍ̀Ģ ɬ̑ā ǽˬ͇ ɎʉͫLJˈ̒ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ŴāǨ˙̑Αҙҏ LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā)’ (Cambridge, University Library, MS Dd. 12.1, fol. 127b, last line). 53 Ed. Dietrich 1982, 21. On Thessalos and his hand in the authorship of Epidemics 2, see above n. 1.

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9) ʾAbū ʿAbdallāh Muḥammad ibn Mālik al-Murrī al-Ḥāǧǧ al-Ġarnāṭī alṬiġnarī (fl. ca 1087) The Book of the Garden’s Blossom and Minds’ Entertainment (Kitāb Zuhrat albustān wa-nuzhat al-aḏhān) Al-Ṭiġnarī was an agricultural author who was born near, and active in, Granada.54 He wrote the The Garden’s Blossom and Minds’ Entertainment sometime between 1107 and 1114, that is to say during the service of the Qāḍī of Granada ʾAbū Muḥammad ʿAbdallāh ibn Mālik ibn Samaǧūn al-Hilālī through whose mediation al-Ṭiġnarī presented his work to the Almoravid governor of Granada ʾAbū l-Ṭāhir Tamīm ibn Yūsuf ibn Tašufīn.55 In the course of a discussion of the properties of sour pomegranate, al-Ṭiġnarī makes the following reference to the Epidemics56:

Ĕānjˏͫā Ƚ̣ć LJ́̀Ǩˈ̈ ƦLJ͛ ƴΑāǨͲā ƦΑā [3] LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ŁLJʓ͛ ɬͲ ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ͎ [2] ŴāǨ˙̑ ɡ̀LJˏͫā Ǩ͛ĕć [1] 58Ⱥˬ̥ ɡˁ͎ ɬ͇ 57ΈLJ͇Ǜͫ ɷʉ͎ ǚʤ̒ Ȉ͵LJ͛ LJ́͵Αāć [5] ζƴǚˈ˳ͫā ɨ͎ ɼˏ̵ҨҞˏͫā ǚ˶͇ Ǎ΀ ķǛͫā [4] Ǩˉ̿Αҙҏā Ǎ΀ć [7] .ȶͲLJʥͫā ƦLJͲǨͫā ƹLJ˳̑ Ǩʉˈʷͫā Ɏ̈Ǎ̵ Ǜ̥ΑLJ̒ ҙҏΒā LJ́˶͇ ɬ˜̵ LJ˳͎ [6] .ƴǚˈ˳ͫā łLJ˙ʒ̈́ ǽ͎ ɬ˜ʶʓͲ .ɷ̿āḀ̌ ṳ̈̌Αā [1] The esteemed Hippocrates mentioned, [2] in Book Two of the Epidemics, [3] that a woman suffered pain in her ‘lesser heart’, [4] which according to the philosophers is the mouth of the stomach. [5] [Moreover, he mentioned] that she felt a burning in it owing to the superfluous humour settled in the layers of the stomach. [6] It only abated when she took barley mush with sour pomegranate water. [7] This is one of its properties. This passage is based on the lemma at Epidemics ii.1.166 HV:

ƦLJͲǨͫā ƹLJͲ ȽͲ Ǩʉˈʷͫā Ɏ̈Ǎʶ̑ ҙҏΒā ƹǽ̶ LJ́˶͇ ɷ˶˜ʶ̈ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫć LJ΀Ĕānj͎ LJ́ˈ̣Ǎ̈ ƦLJ͛ ƴāΑ ǨͲā :ŴāǨ˙̑āΑ ƛLJ͘ .ƦǍ̈ĢLJ̥ ΑLJʉ˙ʓ̈ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳͛ ΑLJʉ˙ʓ̒ ɬ˜̒ ɨͫć ƢǍʉͫā ǽ͎ ƴΈ ǨͲ ķǛʓˉ̒ ƦΑLJ̑ ǽˏʓ˜̒ Ȉ͵LJ͛ć Hippocrates said: A woman suffered from pain in her heart. Nothing could relieve her except barley mush with pomegranate water. Eating once a day sufficed for her. She did not vomit as Charíōn had vomited. 54 I would like to thank Phoebe Luckyn-Malone, who brought this material to my attention. Further details on this text will appear in her forthcoming PhD thesis on al-Ṭiġnarī’s botanical theories and representation of plants in The Garden’s Blossom and the Minds’ Entertainment. 55 García 1988 and Garćía Sánchez 2006, 13–14. 56 Ed. García Sánchez 2006, 156, lines 7–11. 57 ΈLJ͇Ǜͫ] conieci; ΈLJ͈ǚͫ García Sánchez. 58 Ⱥˬ̥] conieci; ǚˬ̣ García Sánchez.

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To this lemma, additional explanatory material has been added from Galen’s commentary in paragraphs four, five and seven.59 Paragraph four explains that the ‘heart’ mentioned in the lemma, called the ‘lesser heart’ by al-Ṭiġnarī, is in fact the ‘mouth of the stomach’. This is not made explicit in Galen’s commentary on the lemma at ii.1.166 HV, where Galen discusses the mouth of the stomach without mention of the term ‘heart’. Previously, however, at ii.1.26 HV, Galen has already clarified this terminology by referring to ‘the mouth of the stomach, which the ancients called the “heart” (ɷ͵Ǎ˳ʶ̈ ƹLJͲǚ˙ͫā ƦLJ͛ ǚ͘ ķǛͫā ƴǚˈ˳ͫā ɨ͎ Ĕānjˏͫā ɨ̵LJ̑)’. Paragraph five adds information about the causes of the condition, which is based rather loosely on Galen’s comments at the beginning of ii.1.168 HV. Finally, in paragraph seven, al-Ṭiġnarī links the conversation back to his topic: the properties of the sour pomegranate. Although, al-Ṭiġnarī cites the Epidemics only once, this is evidence for one more genre of scientific literature, agricultural texts, in which the Epidemics was considered a valuable resource. Furthermore, his blending of material from the Hippocratic lemma, Galen’s commentary on that lemma and Galen’s wider commentary on the Epidemics shows that al-Ṭiġnarī was relatively familiar with the text of the Epidemics and was not merely mining it for information relevant to his own interests.

10) ʾAbū Naṣr ʾAsʿad ibn ʾIlyās ibn al-Muṭrān (d. 1191) (a) Garden of Physicians (Bustān al-ʾaṭibbāʾ wa-rawḍat al-ʾalibbāʾ) Ibn al-Muṭrān, a physician active in Baghdad in the latter half of the twelfth century, included seven brief passages from Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ in his Garden of Physicians. Although these citations are neither extensive nor numerous, they are notable. This is because Ibn al-Muṭrān refers to four of his citations according to the consecutive sections of Galen’s Commentary (that is parts 1–19) rather than by book number followed by part number within a given book (that is i.1–vi.8).60 This unusual numbering may suggest that Ibn alMuṭrān drew his citations from Ḥunayn’s Fruits of the 19 Extant Parts of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics rather than directly from Ḥunayn’s translation of Galen’s commentary itself or from Ḥunayn’s Questions on the

59 Interestingly, paragraphs five and seven, as well as paragraph two, which cites the source of the passage, are not found in the primary manuscript from which the critical edition has been prepared. 60 The citations of the Epidemics are found in the facsimile edition by Muḥaqqiq 1989, 13, line 56; p. 23, lines 5–9; p. 132, lines 7–2 from the bottom (Epid. vi.3); p. 206, line 8–p. 207, lines 7 (Epid. vi.5); p. 222, line 9-p. 223, line 4 (Epid. vi.6); p. 238, last line–p. 239, line 9 (Epid. vi.7); p. 240, line 7–p. 241, line 3 (Epid. vi.7).

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Epidemics. Of course, until a manuscript containing Ḥunayn’s Fruits comes to light, there is no way to confirm or deny this suspicion.

11) Mūsā ibn ʿUbayd Allāh ibn Maymūn (Maimonides, 1135–1204) (a) Medical Aphorisms (Kitāb al-Fuṣūl fī l-ṭibb) The Arabic-speaking author who preserves the largest number of citations of Galen’s Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’ is Maimonides, in the largest and most well-known of his medical works, the Medical Aphorisms.61 This text contains 113 citations of the Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, so in fact, its primacy in regard to the number of Epidemics citations which it contains could well be overtaken by al-Rāzī’s Comprehensive Book, as more such citations are discovered in that book. The accuracy of the citations in the Medical Aphorisms is variable, since, as Maimonides says in the his introduction, he sometimes quotes his texts verbatim, sometimes paraphrases and sometimes condenses Galen’s ideas and expresses them in his own words, giving references in each instance for the main source for these ideas.62 Maimonides clearly wrote his Medical Aphorisms for a didactic purpose, and also, so he tells us, so that he can have easy access to passages mostly from Galen that he finds particularly important and useful.63 To this end, he arranged nearly 1,500 aphorisms into twenty-five books, each one devoted to a specific medical topic. Thus, the citations from the Epidemics come arranged by topic for easy digestion by the student. In this respect, the treatment of the Epidemics in Maimonides’ Medical Aphorisms is similar to that in al-Rāzī’s Comprehensive Book, in which materials have for the most part been arranged by their relation to the various parts of the body from head to toe. Like al-Rāzī in the Doubts about Galen, but unlike any other Arabic-speaking author before him as far as I know, Maimonides specifically criticises Galen’s Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’. He does this in three places in aphorisms 12, 15 and 18 of Book 25, which ‘contains doubts which occurred to me [sc. Maimonides] concerning passages in the writings of Galen’ (taštamilu ʿalā šukūkin ḥadaṯat lī fī mawāḍīʿa min kalāmi Ǧālīnūsa).64 The first and third passages re-

61 See the list of these citations with German translations in Wenkebach, Pfaff 1956, 521–43. Maimonides’ Medical Aphorisms is in being reedited and translated into English by Gerrit Bos. To date Books 1–15 have been published (Bos 2004, 2009, 2011), and I am grateful to Professor Bos for generously making the unpublished sections of his edition available to me. 62 Bos 2004, i. 2–3. 63 Bos 2004, i. 4. 64 Ed. Bos 2004, i. 6.

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fer to internal contradictions in Galen’s commentary,65 but the second refers to a statement in Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ ii.6 that contradicts general medical opinion. Maimonides’ topical arrangement of the Epidemics material represents a major didactic advance in the presentation of this material, while his criticisms of Galen, while not entirely unique or new in the Arabic-speaking world, represent a major advance in scholarship.

12) ʾAḥmad ibn Yūsuf Šaraf al-Dīn al-Tīfāšī (1184–1253) (a) The Old Man’s Return to Youth Concerning Sexual Potency (Ruǧūʿ al-šayḫ ʾilā ṣibāhi fī l-qūwa ʿalā l-bāh) Al-Tīfāšī was an Egyptian author active in Tunis, Cairo and Damascus and was known for his writings on mineralogy and sexology. His treatise on sexual hygiene called The Old Man’s Return to Youth Concerning Sexual Potency contains a single citation from the Epidemics in its sixth chapter ‘On the Benefits of Intercourse’ (Fī ḏikr manāfiʿ al-bāh).66 This citation is identical to the one presented by al-Rāzī in his treatise On Sexual Intercourse in the fourth chapter ‘On The Benefits of Having Sex’ (Fī ʾl-manāfiʿ al-kāʾina fī stiʿmāl al-ǧimāʿ) and is probably dependent upon that work.67 The citation as presented by al-Tīfāšī in the edition of al-Qawīy reads as follows: .ɼʒ́ˬ˳ͫā

ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ Ƚˏ˶̈ ɼ̈Ǎ͘ ɷˈͲ ƴǍ˙ͫā Ȉ͵LJ͛ āĕΒā ƱLJʒͫā ɬͲ ĢLJʔ͛ Βҙҏā ƦΒā :68LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ć

In the Epidemics: ‘Frequent sexual intercourse when its (?) power is strong is useful against inflammatory diseases’. A comparison with the citation of the same passage in al-Rāzī’s On Sexual Intercourse corrects the reading printed by al-Qawīy. Where al-Tīfāšī (al-Qawīy [ed.]) claims that sex is beneficial against ‘inflammatory diseases’ (ɼʒ́ˬ˳ͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā), al-Rāzī’s text speaks more sensibly of ‘phlegmatic diseases’ (ɼʉ˳ˉˬʒͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā).69 It is, 65 Between Epidemics 1.1 and 1.2, and between the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Airs, Waters, Places’ 2 and Epidemics 4.7 respectively. 66 Ed. al-Qawīy 2001, p. 56, lines 9-10. 67 Ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz / ʿAbd al-Ḥamīd 1999, 161, lines 1–2; translated in Pormann 2007, 118. See above, p. 197 (Section 4c). 68 Al-Qawīy prints LJʒ˳̈Ǩ̑Βā instead of LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā and makes many other mistakes with names of authors and books (e.g. ɼʉͫΐҙҏā ƹLJˁ͇Αҙҏā for ɼ˳ͫΐҙҏā ƹLJˁ͇Αҙҏā [On the Affected Parts] on page 55, line 6 and ťǍʉ̵LJ˶̈ĢćΑā for ťǍʉ̵LJʒ̈ĢćΑā [Oribasius] on page 57, line 5). 69 The two words ‘inflammatory’ (ɼʒ́ˬͲ) and ‘phlegmatic’ (ɼʉ˳ˉˬ̑) are palaeographically quite similar. For al-Rāzī’s text see ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz / ʿAbd al-Ḥamīd 1999, page 161, lines 1–2 (printed above, p. 197 [Section 4c]).

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however, questionable whether this error is due to al-Tīfāšī and the text he was working from or merely to the modern editor of al-Tīfāšī’s text.

13) ʿAlāʾ al-Dīn ibn al-Nafīs (d. 1288) (a) Commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics (Tafsīr ʾIbīḏīmiyā li-ʾAbuqrāṭ) It is perhaps surprising, given the longstanding and widespread interest in the Epidemics in the Islamic world, that it was not until the second half of the thirteenth century that ʿAlāʾ al-Dīn Ibn al-Nafīs composes the first Arabic commentary on the Epidemics.70 Ibn al-Nafīs’ commentary is quite long—200 folios and 192 folios in the two extant manuscripts (Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3642 and Cairo, Dār al-Kutub MS, Ṭalʿat ṭibb 583 respectively)—but only slightly more than half as long as Ḥunayn’s translation of Galen’s commentary, which runs to 377 folios across the two manuscripts that contain it. The fact that Ibn al-Nafīs’ commentary is shorter than Galen’s should not come as a great surprise, especially when we note that, in the words of the biographer al-Ṣafadī (d. 1363), Ibn al-Nafīs ‘loathed Galen’s style and described it as inability of expression and useless prolixity’ (ɷˏˀ̈ć ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƢҨҞ͛ ȶˉʒ̈ ƦLJ͛ć ɡ̇LJ̈́ ɷʓʥ̒ ȫʉͫ ķǛͫā ŁLJ̵́ Βҙҏāć ǽˈͫLJ̑).71 Ibn al-Nafīs’ writing, by contrast, is said to be concise to the point of obscurity, but he comments in the scholastic style, often explaining his lemmata word for word and employing repetitive formulae to introduce his explainations such as ‘his words … mean …’ (qauluhū … yurīdu …) or simply ‘as for … it is …’ (wa-ʾamma … fa-…).72 An example of Ibn al-Nafīs’ succinctness can be seen in his treatment of the first lemma of Epidemics 2, a passage already dealt with by al-Maǧūsī,73 concerning the carbuncles that appeared at Crannon. The lemma begins with the word ‘carbuncles’ (ǧamr, sing. ǧamra), so Ibn al-Nafīs begins his commentary with a definition of this term: ‘A carbuncle is an ulcer: scabby, blackish, inflamed and blistered around it (LJ́ͫǍ̤ LJ˳ͫ ɼ˅ˏ˶Ͳ ɼʒ́ˬͲ ĔāǍ̵ ȅͫΒā ɼʷ̈Ǩ˜ʷ̥ łāĕ ɼ̤Ǩ͘ ƴǨ˳ʤͫā)’.74 By comparison, Galen’s commentary is longwinded75:

Ȉ͵LJ͛ LJ˳̑Ģć ƹāĔǍ̵ ǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩʔ͛Αā ǽ͎ ɼʷ̈Ǩ˜ʷ̥ LJ́ʉˬ͇ć [2] LJ́ʶˏ͵ ƹLJ˙ˬ̒ ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̒ ɼ̤Ǩ͘ ǽ΀ ƴǨ˳ʤͫāć [1] LJ́˶Ͳ LJ́ʶ˳ˬ̈ ɬͲ ȫʥ̈ ȅʓ̤ ƴǚ̈ǚ̶ ƴĢāǨ̤ LJ́̑ Ⱥʉʥ̒ ǽʓͫā Ƚ̀āǍ˳ͫā ǽ͎ LJ́ˈͲ ƦǍ˜̈ć [3] .ĔLJͲǨͫā ƦǍˬ̑ 70 This ignores the supposed eleventh-century commentary by Ibn al-Ṭayyib (see above, p. 187) since I have not been able to find any trace of this text or to ascertain that it was indeed a commentary proper. On Ibn al-Nafīs’ commentary, see Bachmann 1971. Regrettably, Bachmann never published his planned edition of Book One of Ibn al-Nafīs’ commentary. 71 Quoted by Bachmann 1971, 306. 72 Bachmann 1971, 308. 73 See above, pp. 198–302 (section 6a). 74 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3642, fol. 45b, lines 3–4. 75 Book ii.1.6 HV.

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Ȉʶʉͫ ɼʷ̈Ǩ˜ʷʦͫā ƛǍ̤ ǽʓͫā ΈLJˁ̈Αā Ƚ̀āǍ˳ͫāć [4] ζɼ̤Ǩ˙ͫā ȇ̤LJ̿ LJ́ʶʥ̈ ƦΑā ɬ͇ Έ ҨҞˁ͎ ƴǨʉʔ͛ ƴĢāǨʥ̑ [5] ĔāǍʶͫā ȅͫΒā Έ ҨҞ̇LJͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ɷ˶˜ͫ ǽ͵Ǎ˳ˉˬ͎ ȅ˳ʶ̈ ķǛͫā ĢLJʥͫā ƢĢǍͫā ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ˳͛ ƴǨ˳ʥͫā ɼ͘ĔLJˀ̑ .Ǩʉʔ͛ Έ ǚ̈ģΑā ɷʉ͎ ΈLJˁ̈Αā ɼ̑ҨҞˀͫāć [1] A carbuncle is an ulcer which occurs by itself. [2] On it there is a scab, mostly black, although it sometimes has the colour of ashes. [3] In the places surrounding it, it is accompanied by severe heat, so that if someone touches them, he feels a lot of heat, not to mention that the patient suffering from the ulcer also feels it. [4] The places, too, around the scab are not truly red, as in the case of the inflammation [waram ḥārr] called phlegmonḗ, but rather are blackish. [5] Moreover, it is much harder. Ibn al-Nafīs condenses the information contained in §§1–4 into an extremely concise sentence and leaves out the contrast with phlegmonḗ. It is notable that Ḥunayn began Book Two of his Questions on the Epidemics with a definition of carbuncles that is based on that given by Galen, but is far less condensed than that given by Ibn al-Nafīs76: [3] .ǽ˜ͫ

ƦǍ˜̈ ǽʓͫā ɼ̶Ǩ˜ʷʦͫā ɡʔͲ ɼ̶Ǩ˜ʷ̥ LJ́ʉ͎ LJ́ʶˏ͵ ƹLJ˙ˬ̒ ɬͲ ɼ̤Ǩ͘ ǽ΀ [2] τƴǨ˳ʤͫā ǽ΀ LJͲ [1] Ʊṳ̈̌ć ɡʉˬˈͫā ȫʉͫ LJ́ͫǍ̤ LJ˳ʉ͎ ƴǚ̈ǚ̶ ƴĢāǨ̤ ȽͲ [4] ĔLJͲǨͫā ƦǍˬ̑ Ȉ͵LJ͛ LJ˳̑Ģć ĔǍ̵Αā ǨͲΑҙҏā Ǩʔ͛Αā ǽ͎ LJ́͵Ǎͫ ƢĢǍͫā ƴǨ˳ʥ͛ ɼˀͫLJʦͫLJ̑ Ȉʶʉͫ ƴǨ˳ʥͫā 〈ƦΒLJ͎ āǛ΀〉 ȽͲć [5] .œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ Ƚ̀Ǎ˳ͫā ȫ˳̈ ɬͲ ɬ˜ͫ LJ́ʶʥ̈ .ķǍͲǚͫā ɼ̑ҨҞ̿ ɬͲ ǚ̈ģΑā ɼ̑ҨҞ̿ ȽͲ [6] ĔāǍ̵ ɡˁ͎ ȅͫΒā ɼˬ̇LJͲ LJ́˶˜ͫ ķǍͲǚͫā [1] What is a carbuncle? [2] It is an ulcer occurring by itself in which there is a scab like the scab that comes from cautery. [3] Usually it is black, but sometimes it is the colour of ashes. [4] It is accompanied by intense heat in the area around it that can be felt not only by the patient, but also by those who feel the spot from the outside. [5] Furthermore, the redness is not total as it is in a bloody swelling, but tending towards an excess of blackness, [6] and it is harder than a bloody [swelling]. Although like Ḥunayn, Ibn al-Nafīs produced notes on the Epidemics that were more succinct than Galen’s, he was clearly not dependant upon Ḥunayn’s Questions on the Epidemics for his commentary. This can be seen by his lack of any mention here of cautery (kayy; Ḥunayn §2) and his use of the terms inflamed and blistered (mulahhaba and munaffaṭa), which are found in neither Galen nor Ḥunayn. But his brevity and concentration on definitions indicates a methodology similar to that of Ḥunayn in the Questions on the Epidemics. However, being a lemmatic commentary that aims to concisely explain the Hippocratic 76 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, MS B135 sup., fol. 119a, lines 3–6; translated following Pormann 2008a, 283 (adapted).

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text to readers and neither to extract for them points of wider medical interest and application nor to expand on the points made by the Hippocratic text, Ibn al-Nafīs remains closer to the text of the lemma than either Galen and Ḥunayn do. For example, he omits Galen’s and Ḥunayn’s comparison of carbuncles with phlegmonḗ or ‘bloody swellings’. Bachmann sums up the relationship between the two commentaries by pointing out that while Ibn al-Nafīs had clearly read Galen’s commentary and made use of it in his own, he did not follow Galen slavishly and introduced his own examples into his commentary that are not found in Galen’s.77 So, while Ibn al-Nafīs did think and write originally on the Epidemics, producing a commentary that enabled readers to understand the Hippocratic text without dealing with much of the extra material introduced by Galen, his commentary was largely informed by that of Galen. This should not be surprising since there were no alternative commentaries on the Epidemics from which he could draw inspiration.

Conclusion The Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’ had an enduring interest and attracted the attention of at least fifteen authors from the ninth to the thirteenth centuries, including some of the most brilliant physicians of the Islamic world. Yet, it appears that shortly after the publication of Ḥunayn’s translation of Galen’s Commentary, Ḥunayn’s translation and later texts derived from it were the only access to and perspective on the Epidemics available in the Arabic-speaking world. No other late antique Greek or Syriac commentaries on the Epidemics appear to have been translated into Arabic, and no authors with the possible exception al-Ṭabarī and al-Ruhāwī in the ninth century seem to have drawn from Syriac sources on the Epidemics. Thus while Ḥunayn’s translation of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ was undoubtedly highly successful, its very success seems to have had a stultifying effect both on the translation of commentaries on the Epidemics other than that of Galen as well as on the production of original Arabic commentaries. In general, Arabic-speaking authors restricted themselves in dealing with the Epidemics to extracting aphorisms and information useful for specific topics or to summarising or systematising the Epidemics material for didactic purposes. Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq wrote entire didactic works for physicians and medical students devoted to the Epidemics in the form of aphorisms (1b), summaries (1a and d), and extracts (1c) on a given topic. His aim was clearly to make both the obscure Hippocratic text and Galen’s prolix and meandering commentary di77 Bachmann 1971, 306–8.

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gestible by those who needed to use the gems of medical learning hidden within them. This didactic approach to the Epidemics sets Ḥunayn apart from the other authors who worked with this text, since he dealt with the Epidemics as a whole, either summarising it in its entirety or searching its entire text for material dealing with a specific subject. ʾAbū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī ibn Riḍwān dealt with the whole of Galen’s Commentary on the ‘Epidemics’ in his Useful Passages (8a), but as useful as this text is, it is little more than a heavily abridged version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ with very little creative input by Ibn Riḍwān, apart from the decisions concerning which passages to extract. In his Complete Book of the Medical Art, ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās al-Maǧūsī (6a) wrote notes on the first lemma of Epidemics 2 that are reminiscent of a commentary, but can hardly be termed such given their brevity. Unless Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Commentary on the Epidemics turns out to be a full, lemmatic commentary, ʿAlāʾ al-Dīn ibn alNafīs Commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics (12a) is the first and only example of an Arabic commentary on this Hippocratic text. His Commentary, however, appears to have been written for those who wanted to read and understand the Hippocratic text itself, rather than for those who wanted to extract from it material that would be useful in clinical practice. This latter group of readers was the intended audience of Ḥunayn’s works on the Epidemics. Al-Rāzī in his Comprehensive Book on Medicine (4a) and Maimonides in his Medical Aphorisms (10a) included extracts from the Epidemics arranged according to subject alongside extracts from other works. In these works, little effort is made to preserve or to explain the original context of the material extracted from the Epidemics, and the aim was clearly not to aid readers of the Hippocratic text or Galen’s commentary but rather to survey a number of opinions concerning given topics. These authors, al-Rāzī in his Doubts about Galen (4b) and Maimonides in his Medical Aphorisms, also directly criticised the Epidemics in a way that was alien to Ḥunayn’s didactic approach, which aimed to simplify the text for students and not to obscure it with doubts. Elsewhere, medical authors dipped into the Epidemics for nuggets of information on whichever topic they had at hand. This was the most common use to which the Epidemics was put in medieval Arabic literature. From al-Ṭabarī and al-Ruhāwī’s (2a and b) anecdote about the stratagem of the cunning physician to al-Rāzī (4c) and al-Tīfāšī’s (11a) or al-Kaskarī’s (5a) extracts on sex, the eclectic nature of the Epidemics and Galen’s expansive commentary, combined with the great value placed on these works not least because they were thought to have come from the pens of the two greatest physicians of antiquity, continued to fascinate Islamic medical authors and supply them with material for over four centuries.

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 Commentaries on the Hippocratic Aphorisms in the Arabic Tradition: The Example of Melancholy1 Peter E. Pormann, N. Peter Joosse Few secular texts had such an impact on subsequent generations as the Hippocratic Aphorisms. They influenced not only medical theory and practice, but also affected popular culture. In the Arabic tradition, we have more than a dozen commentaries on the Aphorisms from the eleventh to the sixteenth centuries, in addition to the Arabic version of Galen’s commentary, produced by the famous Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq (d. c. 873). These texts survive in well over a hundred manuscripts. No other Greek secular text was more commented upon in Arabic than the Aphorisms. The famous Jewish physician Mūsā ibn Maymūn even reports that school children knew some of the more famous Hippocratic Aphorisms by heart.2 In other words, the Aphorisms were nearly ubiquitous in the medieval Arabic medical tradition. According to one Arab physician, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī, they constituted the most important Hippocratic text for medical teaching; therefore, he, like so many others, penned a commentary on them.3 Other commentators echoed his opinion that the Aphorisms lend themselves

1 We would not have been able to write this and the next article without the generous funding provided by the Wellcome Trust which made this research possible. Moreover, we are indebted to the following individuals and institutions for their assistance: the director and staff of the Süleymaniye Library in Istanbul; the director and staff of the Beyazid Devlet Library in Istanbul; the Netherlands Institute in Turkey (Hollanda Araştirma Enstitüsü), especially its director Dr Fokke Gerritsen, and its assistant Ms Ayşe Dilsiz; the staff of the Universiteitsbibliotheek Leiden (especially Dr Arnoud Vrolijk); Dr Emily Cottrell, of Leiden University; the staff of the ʾAsad National Library in Damascus (especially Mr ʾAḥmad Rāmī al-Ġāzī); the Institut Français du Proche-Orient, Damascus (especially its director, François Burgat); Monsieur Nabīl of the Fondation Georges et Mathilde Salem, Aleppo; Professor ʾAḥmad ʿEtmān, Dr ʾĪmān Ḥāmid and Dr Našwā Ǧumʿa, of Cairo University; Ms Pamela Forde of the Heritage Centre of the Royal College of Physicians in London; Dr Mohsen Zakeri (Johann-Wolfgang-Goethe Universität, Frankfurt am Main) for his essential and indispensable mediation in the communication with the different Iranian libraries; the libraries at the University of Hamburg; and, last, not least, PEP’s doctoral students Aileen Das and Pauline Koetschet, and our colleagues Bink Hallum and Uwe Vagelpohl, who all commented on earlier drafts of the articles. 2 Ed. Schliwski 2007, vol. i., p. xx. 3 Rosenthal 1966, 237–40.

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ideally to didactic ends: students should study medicine through the Aphorisms and the commentaries on them. Despite their importance and the huge amount of source material that is available, Arabic commentaries on the Aphorisms have attracted only limited scholarly attention, or, to speak with Manfred Ullmann4: ‘Despite its great importance, this text [sc., the Arabic version of the Aphorisms] has hardly attracted any attention in modern scholarship’. Franz Rosenthal undertook a pioneer study of the Arabic commentaries on the Aphorisms more than half a century ago.5 In it, he surveyed the tradition by looking at the most famous aphorism, namely the first one, ‘Life is short, the art is long …’. A very restricted number of other scholars have discussed certain aspects of this tradition as well, but they largely focussed on points of detail or mentioned it in passing.6 Moreover, two Arabic commentaries on the Aphorisms have since been edited.7 Yet, as Ullmann’s recent statement shows, relatively little progress has been made since Rosenthal published his seminal article in 1966. The present article aims at helping to rectify this imbalance between the importance of the Arabic commentaries on the Aphorisms and the paucity of scholarship on them. Our methodology is partly inspired by Rosenthal’s earlier article. We pursue three separate, yet related objectives. First, we shall survey the extremely rich manuscript tradition of these commentaries. Here, we follow Rosenthal, who also surveyed the manuscript tradition; yet, we also go well beyond him: where Rosenthal only knew of one or a few manuscripts, we were able to list a few, and sometimes even a few dozen, more. We were partly able to do this, because many new catalogues and studies on Islamic medicine appeared after Rosenthal’s article. The two most important ones were undoubtedly Ullmann’s Die Medizin im Islam and Sezgin’s Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, volume three.8 Especially the latter contained very rich information about hitherto unknown manuscripts. But as it relied also to a large extent on previous catalogues, we also noticed that not all the information provided there was accurate. We collated the information provided by Ullmann and Sezgin with that found in other sources quoted throughout this article. We also ordered some twenty manuscripts as microfilms or pdfs in order to gain access to at least one manuscript of most of the commentaries. And we visited a large number of libraries, notably in Cairo, Damascus, and Istanbul to get a clearer picture of what 4 Ullmann 2002, 52: ‘Trotz seiner großen Bedeutung hat dieser Text in der modernen Forschung kaum Beachtung gefunden’. 5 Rosenthal 1966. 6 Bar-Sela and Hoff 1963; Weisser 1989, 406; Abou Aly 2000; Overwien 2005, 2009; Strohmaier 2006. See also Biesterfeldt 2007 for the Arabic version of Palladius’ commentary, which is lost in Greek. 7 Zaydān 1991; Schliwski 2007. 8 Ullmann 1970, 50; Sezgin 1970, 28–32.

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manuscripts really existed and what their current shelfmarks are. In the lists of manuscripts that we provide for all the different commentaries, we have documented how we verified the information notably provided by Sezgin. Where possible, we consulted the catalogues from which he drew his information, and sometimes, as in the case of the catalogue compiled by Ahlwardt, this information was so rich and detailed that it allowed us to identify other manuscripts that we saw. In a few cases, we were unable to verify the information, but we felt that it would still be useful to quote it here, so that the reader can easily gain an impression of this rich tradition. The second objective is to provide more ample information about the working methods and approaches of the various commentators. We achieve this through two main strategies. Rosenthal only had access to the text of some commentaries, and could only refer to others on the basis of previous bibliographical studies. By surveying the manuscripts that we obtained, and notably the prefaces where the authors discuss their methods, we are able to give first impressions about commentaries that were only titles for Rosenthal. Furthermore, we decided to concentrate on one aphorism to see how the different commentators approached their task. Rosenthal had focused on the first aphorism, and this brought both advantages and disadvantages. Often the commentaries on this famous first aphorism served as a preface where the authors would explain their rationale for writing it and their approach. The exceptional character of the commentaries on the first aphorism also meant, however, that they were hardly representative of how the authors normally proceeded. Therefore, we modified Rosenthal’s approach and decided to focus on one aphorism that could illustrate the commentators’ working methods. Here our choice fell on aphorism vi. 23, the foundation text of medical melancholy. Aphorism vi. 23 brings us to the third objective of this article: to trace the ideas about melancholy in the Arabic commentary tradition on the Aphorisms. In the Greek original and the Arabic translation, this aphorism runs as follows9: Ἢν φóβoϲ καὶ δυϲθυμίη πολὺν χρόνον διατελέει, μελαγχολικὸν τὸ τοιοῦτον. If fear [phóbos] and despondency [dysthymía] last for a long time, then this is something melancholic [melancholikón].

9 Greek text iv. p. 568, lines 11–12 L. and ed. Jones 1959, 184; Arabic text ed. Tytler 1832, p. 44, lines 3–2 from the bottom. We retain the reading ‘and (καὶ)’ instead of ‘or (ἢ)’ of some of the manuscripts, as it is supported by the Arabic tradition.

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.ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵

ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ

If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his [the patient’s] illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī]. The two symptoms mentioned here, fear and despondency, retain their characteristic status also in the later Arabic tradition: through them, the physician is able to distinguish melancholy from other diseases.10 This aphorism is both enigmatic and easy to understand. Unlike other aphorisms, it has a clear syntactical structure that leaves little doubt how to interpret it. Yet, what the author meant with the word ‘melancholic [melancholikón]’ is far from clear. In the late antique and the later Arabic tradition, Galen’s explanation of this aphorism became particularly important. It runs as follows in Kühn’s edition11: (1) Ἐὰν μὴ διά τιναϲ φανερὰϲ αἰτίαϲ φοβεῖταί τιϲ ἢ δυϲθυμῇ, (2) φανερῶϲ ἐϲτι μελαγχολικὰ καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ϲυμπτώματα, (3) καὶ μᾶλλον εἰ τύχῃ κεχρονικότα. (4) διὰ μέντοι φανερὰν αἰτίαν ἀρξάμενα, (5) κἄπειτα χρονίζοντα, (6) μὴ λανθανέτω ϲε μελαγχολίαν ἐνδεικνύμενα. (7) καὶ γὰρ καὶ μανία πολλοῖϲ ἤδη φαίνεται γεγενημένη, (8) διὰ θυμὸν ἢ ὀργὴν ἢ λύπην ἀρξαμένη, (9) αὐτοῦ τοῦ ϲώματοϲ δηλονότι πρὸϲ τὸ παθεῖν τὰ παθήματα ταῦτα κατὰ τὸν καιρὸν ἐκεῖνον ἐπιτηδείωϲ ἔχοντοϲ. (1) If someone is afraid or despondent without any apparent reason, (2) then these are clearly melancholic symptoms, (3) especially when they happen to have lasted a long time. (4) If they begin owing to an apparent cause, (5) and then last a long time, (6) then it should not escape you that they indicate melancholy [melancholía]. (7) For in many cases it is clear that madness [manía] has already occurred, (8) having begun because of anger [thymós], rage [orgḗ] or sadness, (9) since the body itself is obviously predisposed to suffer these affections at that time. In the following, we shall see how the Arabic authors both based their exegesis of this aphorism on Galen’s commentary, but also how they offered significantly new explanations. Before tackling the Arabic commentary tradition on the Aphorisms, it is useful briefly to consider the Aphorisms in Greek and Syriac.

10 See now Koetschet 2011. 11 xviii/a, p. 35, line 10–p. 36, line 3 K; Kühn’s hypercorrect forms have been corrected.

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Hippocratic Aphorisms in Greek and Syriac The Hippocratic Aphorisms are divided into seven sections (Greek tmḗmata), containing between 25 (section one) to 87 aphorisms (section seven); however, the textual transmission of the last two sections is particularly fluid.12 Galen followed this division into sections in his commentary, and we also find it in the Arabic version of his commentary. Galen himself defines the genre of the Aphorisms in the following terms: τό τε γὰρ ἀφοριϲτικὸν εἶδοϲ τῆϲ διδαϲκαλίαϲ, ὅπερ ἐϲτὶ τὸ διὰ βραχυτάτων ἅπαντα τὰ τοῦ πράγματοϲ ἰδία περιορίζειν, χρηϲιμώτατον τῷ βουλομένῳ μακρὰν τέχνην διδάξαι ἐν χρόνῳ βραχεῖ· The genre of the aphorisms is that of didactic [literature]. This means that it defines all aspects of a concept in the shortest possible way, as it is extremely useful for anybody who wants to teach the whole medical art in a short period of time. Because of its didactic features, the Aphorisms became extremely popular, as one can easily gauge from the many quotations of this text in later authors.13 Since the Aphorisms enjoyed so much popularity, it comes as no surprise that many Greek physicians wrote commentaries on them. Unfortunately, the commentaries that date back to the time before Galen, such as that by Rufus of Ephesus, are now lost.14 We are, however, in the fortunate position to have two commentaries of late antiquity, namely that by Stephen of Alexandria and Palladius. Whereas the former survives in Greek15, the latter has come down to us only in Arabic.16 Both these commentaries reflect the intellectual milieu of late antiquity, and notably the teaching practices there.17 Both are lemmatic commentaries, meaning that they quote the Hippocratic text, the lemma, and then explain it. They display certain elements of orality, and appear to have been taken down whilst the lecturer was dictating, or ‘from his voice (apò phōnês)’. Stephen’s commentary is quite substantial, whereas that by Palladius, at least those parts extant in Arabic translation, are significantly shorter. Both Biester-

12 Magdelaine 1994 has investigated the text and tradition of the Hippocratic Aphorisms in her Paris thesis. Apart from her thesis, the most recent edition of the Greek text remains Jones 1959. 13 Anastassiou / Irmer 1997–2006, i. 46–109; ii.1. 56–143; ii.2. 48–105. 14 Anastassiou / Irmer 1997–2006, i. 46–8, list the various exegetes. 15 Ed. Westerink 1985–95; see also Wolska-Conus 1992, 1994, 1996, 1998, 2000. 16 Biesterfeldt 2007. 17 Pormann 2010.

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feldt and Ullmann also argued convincingly that the Arabic version of Palladius’ commentary goes back to an older translator, probably al-Biṭrīq.18 The Syriac translation of the Aphorisms survives and has been edited.19 It appears that Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq produced this version, and it is therefore of paramount importance, as it is the only Syriac translation by him that has come down to us in its entirety.20 The translation of aphorism vi. 23 runs as follows in the Syriac version21: ÞØ~ƒƒ ¾ýÏ .¿½ÙÅè ¾æÁ‡ þå~ ÊÙÏ~ ÊÜ ¿Íøš ¾ýòå šÍýÙÁ †~ J ¿ÿàσƒ †Ìå~ .ÆÜ .†… ¾ÙùÙßÍÝåĀÌâ ¾å… 23. If fear [deḥlṯā] and badness of soul [bīšūṯā d-nafšā] remain, whilst someone has [it] for a long time, this kind of illness is melancholy. The expression ‘kaḏ aḥīḏ nāš zaḇnā saggīʾā (whilst someone has [it] for a long time)’ is somewhat strange. Pognon suggested that we have a textual corruption here that might have occurred as follows.22 The translator originally had the text ‘πολὺν ἔχουϲα χρόνον διατελέῃ’—attested by some manuscripts. He then rendered this literally as ‘kaḏ aḥīḏā zaḇnā saggīʾā ‘having taken a long time’. This literal translation then became difficult to comprehend, and an overeager scribe changed the text to the present form in order to make sense of it. The exact relationship between this Syriac version of the Aphorisms, probably produced by Ḥunayn, and Ḥunayn’s Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on the Aphorisms that includes the Hippocratic lemmas will have to be the subject of future research. Likewise, although both Biesterfeldt and Ullmann have offered some analysis of the Arabic version of Palladius’ commentary, a comprehensive linguistic assessment of it will have to wait until it is edited.23 Let us therefore now turn to the commentaries on the Aphorisms in the Arabic tradition.

18 Biesterfeldt 2007, Ullmann 2002, 52–5. 19 Pognon 1903. 20 Degen 1978, Brock 1991. 21 Pognon 1903, 43 22 Pognon 1903, p. 43, n. 2. 23 Hans Hinrich Biesterfeldt is currently preparing such an edition, based on the manuscript that he discovered some forty years ago; see Ḥaddād, Biesterfeldt 1984, no. 5, pp. 34–36.

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The Arabic Version of Galen’s Commentary In his Epistle (Risāla) about the Arabic translations of Galen, Ḥunayn says the following about the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’24:

ƢāĢć .ɼʈ̈ĔĢ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ ŁǍ̈Αā ɷ˳̣Ǩ̒ ƦLJ͛ ǚ͘ć .łҙҏLJ˙Ͳ Ƚʒ̵ ǽ͎ ɷˬˈ̣ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ :ƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ˜ͫ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ζɼ˳̣ǨʓͫLJ̑ LJ́ʉʒ̶ LJ̤ҨҞ̿Βā ɷʓʥˬ̿Αāć ζǽ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ɷ̑ Ȉˬ̑LJ˙͎ .āĔLJʶ͎ ƱĔāǩ͎ ɷ̤ҨҞ̿Βā ŷǍʷʉʓʦ̑ ɬ̑ ɡ̈Ǩʒ̣ ζǨ̑ǚ˳ͫā ɬ̑LJ̑ žćǨˈ˳ͫā ǚ˳ʥͲ ɬ̑ ǚ˳̤Αā ǽ˶ͫΑLJ̵ ƦLJ͛ ǚ͘ć .ɷ̒ṳ̈̌ ȅˬ͇ ŴāǨ˙̑ ƢҨҞ͛ ȵ͎ ɷʉͫΒā Ȉˏ̀Αāć ΑāǨ˙̈ ȅʓ̤ ζĿǨ̥Αā ɼͫLJ˙Ͳ ɼ˳̣Ǩʓ̑ Ķǚʓ̑Αā ҙҏΑā ǽͫΒ Ύ ā Ƣǚ˙̒ ɨ̓ .ɼʉ̑Ǩˈͫā ȅͫΒā ƴṳ̈̌āć ɼͫLJ˙Ͳ ɷ˶Ͳ Ȉ˳̣Ǩʓ͎ .ɷͫ ɷʓ˳̣Ǩ̒ ǚ˳ʥͲ ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ɑˬ̒ ĿΑāĢ LJ˳ˬ͎ .ŁLJʓ˜ͫā ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ Ȉˈ˅˙͵āć ζɡ̣Ǩͫā ɡ΋ ˉ΍ Ό̶ć .LJ́ʓ˳̣Ǩ̒ Ȉ˶͛ ǽʓͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ɑˬ̒ .ƱǨ̥ΐā ɬ͇ ɷʓ˳̣Ǩʓ͎ .ŁLJʓ˜ͫā ƢLJ˳ʓʓ̵ā ǽ˶ͫΑLJ̵ ζȅ̵ǍͲ ɬ̑ The commentary on the Book of Aphorisms. He [sc. Galen] composed this book in seven sections [maqālāt]. ʾAyyūb [ar-Ruhāwī, d. after 832] had translated it badly. Ǧibrīl ibn Buḫtīšūʿ wanted to improve it, but he only corrupted it further. Then I collated the Greek with it, and corrected it in a way that amounted to retranslating it. Then I added the essence of Hippocrates’ text [faṣṣ kalām Buqrāṭ] on its own. ʾAḥmad ibn Muḥammad, known as Ibn al-Mudabbir, had asked me to translate it for him. I translated one section of it into Arabic. Then he asked me not to begin with the translation of another section before he had read the one that I had translated. Yet, the man was too busy, and therefore, the translation was interrupted. When Muḥammad ibn Mūsā saw this section, he asked me to complete [the translation] of the book. Therefore I translated it completely. This account shows that Ḥunayn worked on Galen’s commentary at various times throughout his professional career. Others had rendered it into Arabic before him, but he first substantially revised their translations, and then translated it afresh himself, with some time intervening between the initial translation of one section and the remainder. This translation survives in some 17 manuscripts: Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS ṭibb 119 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS ṭibb 1702m Deoband, Maktabat Dār al-ʿUlūm, MS ṭibb 58 Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana, Orientali 41325 Istanbul, Üniversite Kütüphanesi, MS A. 472326 24 Bergsträsser 1925, p. 40, lines 6–14 (no. 88); see also Lamoreaux forthcoming. 25 This is the new shelfmark, and we owe this information to Dott.ssa I. Giovanna Rao; it was earlier mentioned by Ullmann 1970, 50. 26 Sezgin 1970, 29; according to Şeşen 1984, 7, the number of this manuscript is 4743.

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London, Wellcome Library, MS Arabic 6427 Madrid, Escurial, MS árabe 78928 Madrid, Escurial, MS árabe 79029; E3 Madrid, Escurial, MS árabe 79130; E4 Madrid, Escurial, MS árabe 818, fol. 88–12931 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS 2837 (fonds arabe)32; MS P3 Rampur, Raza Library, MS ṭibb 4033 Teheran, Maǧlis, MS 3561, fols. 1b–37b Teheran, Maǧlis, MS 627234 Teheran, Maǧlis, MS 8512 Vatican 426 (Arabic in Hebrew characters). Let us now consider how Ḥunayn rendered the Greek text of the commentary on aphorism vi. 23, quoted above, into Arabic. Some interesting linguistic features appear even in this short sample35:

ɬʉΎ ̑ ɷʉ͎ ǨͲΑҙҏLJ͎ [ϕ] ζǨ΀LJͅ ȇʒ̵ Ǩʉ͈ ɬͲ ȫˏ͵ ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏ̒ 37ƦLJʶ͵ ΒҨҞͫ ŰǨ͇ ȅʓͲ [ϔ] :ȫ˶ʉͫLJ̣ 36ƛLJ˙͎ ȈͫLJ̈́ ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ɑˬ̒ ɬ˜̒ ɨͫ ƦΒāć [ϖ] ζķćāĔǍʶͫā ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ ɬͲ Ǎ΀ LJ˳͵Βā ɑͫĕ ɬͲ ɷͫ ŰǨ͇ LJͲ ƦΑā [ϙ] ζLJ́ʔʒͫ ƛLJ̈́ć ȈͲāĔ ɨ̓ [Ϙ] ζǨ΀LJͅ 38ɬʉΎ ̑ ȇʒ̵ ɬͲ ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ ƹāǚʓ̑ā ƦLJ͛ ȅʓͲć [ϗ] .ɷ̑ ȈͲāĔć ȅˬ͇ ҨҞˁ͎ ƦǍ˶ʤͫā ťLJ˶ͫā ɬͲ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫ ŰǨˈ̈ ƱāǨ͵ ǚ͘ LJ͵ΒLJ͎ [Ϛ] .39ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā ȅˬ͇ ƛǚ̒ LJ́͵Αā ɑʉˬ͇ ɬΎ ʒ΀Ǜ̈ ҨҞ͎ ɷ͵Αā ɬʉ̑ć [Ϝ] .ɷ͵Ǎ˶̣ ƹāǚʓ̑ā ɑͫĕ ƦǍ˜ʉ͎ ζɷͫ ŰǨˈ̈ ɨ͈ ćΑā Ʀǩ̤ ćΑā Ȼʉ͈ ćΑā ȇˁ͈ ɬͲ [ϛ] 40ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā .ɡˬˈͫā ɑˬ̒ ƛǍʒ˙ͫ 41āǚˈʓʶͲ LJʈʉ́ʓͲ Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ Ʀǚʒͫā ƦLJ͛ āĕΒā ɑͫĕ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ˳͵Βā Galen said: ‘[1] When one suffers from fear [tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] without any apparent reason, [2] then the matter is clear: these [symptoms] that have affected him [occurred] by way of melancholy [min ṭarīqi l-waswāsi l-sawdāwīyi], [3] even if these symptoms 27 Iskandar 1967, 198. 28 Derenbourg-Renaud ii. 2 (1941), pp. 1–2. 29 Derenbourg-Renaud ii. 2 (1941), p. 2. 30 Derenbourg-Renaud ii. 2 (1941), pp. 2–3. 31 Derenbourg-Renaud ii. 2 (1941), p. 29, reports that these folios originally belonged to MS E3, comprising the commentary on Aphorisms iii. 3–iv. 39. 32 De Slane 1883–95, 511. 33 Sezgin 1970, 29; the signature has changed to 3819, ʿAršī 1963–1977, v. 148–9. An excellent overview with regard to Indian libraries, catalogues and the present conditions of manuscript collections in Indian libraries is presented by Khalidi 2002–3. 34 Ḥāʾirī 1965–xix. 248–9. 35 MS P3, fol. 111a, lines 5–13; MS Ε3, fol. 112b, lines 3–10; MS E4, fol. 120a, lines 13–19. 36 ƛLJ˙͎] P3; E3, E4: ƛLJ͘. 37 ƦLJʶ͵ ΒҨҞͫ] P3, E4; E3: ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏ. 38 ɬʉ̑] om. E3, E4. 39 ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā] P3, E3; E4: ķćāĔǍʶͫā ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā. 40 ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā ȅˬ͇ ҨҞˁ͎ ƦǍ˶ʤͫā ťLJ˶ͫā ɬͲ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫ ŰǨˈ̈ ƱāǨ͵ ǚ͘ LJ͵ΒLJ͎] om. P3 ex homoeoteleuto. 41 āǚˈʓʶͲ] om. E4.

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have not lasted long and continued in him. [4] When the beginning of these symptoms is due to a clear and apparent cause, [5] and they then continue and remain long, [6] it should not pass you by that they indicate melancholy [al-waswās]. [7] For we may observe that madness [al-ǧunūn] rather than melancholy [al-waswās] befalls many people [8] because of anger [ġaḍab], ire [ġayṯ], sadness [ḥuzn], or sorrow [ġamm] that befalls them. This therefore is the beginning of their madness. [9] It is evident that this occurs only when the body is prepared and disposed at that time to accept these diseases [tilka l-ʿilal]. The comparison between the Greek text and the Arabic translation shows certain characteristics that are typically associated with Ḥunayn and his school, although it already occurs in earlier translated texts such as Aristotle’s Rhetoric.42 For instance, we find two instances of hendiadys to render a single Greek word.43 The end of § 4, Ḥunayn translates one Greek term, phanerós (‘clear’), through two Arabic ones, bayyin and ẓāhir, both meaning ‘clear’, ‘apparent’. In § 5, the Greek verb chronízein (‘to last long’) is again rendered through two verbs in Arabic: dāma wa-ṭāla labṯuhū (‘to continue and remain long’).44 Likewise, the Greek phrase epitēdeíōs échein (‘being predisposed’) in § 9 is rendered in Arabic as kāna mutahayyiʾan mustaʿiddan (‘to be prepared and disposed’). But there is one very significant difference between the Greek source as printed by Kühn and the Arabic translation: in § 3, the Greek source text has an affirmative statement, whereas the Arabic target text is negated. The source text says that fear and despondency without cause indicate melancholy, especially if they last for a long time, whereas the target text states that they indicate melancholy, even if they do not last for a long period of time. Although one statement is negative and the other positive, they do not contradict each other. Therefore, we might have here an instance where Ḥunayn consciously chose to modify the emphasis in his translation, although one cannot exclude a possible corruption in the Greek source text or the Syriac intermediary translation. Be that as it may, it seems that the subsequent Arabic commentary tradition generally followed Ḥunayn and did not question his translation, although we know that in his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf sometimes compared Ḥunayn’s rendering to an older one.45 Ḥunayn’s version, however, remained largely unchallenged in case of aphorism vi. 23, as we shall see.

42 Pormann 2004, 249, 257–8; Vagelpohl 2008, 147; Vagelpohl 2009, 546. 43 On this phenomenon, see Pormann 2004a, 257–8; see also Overwien pp. 151–69 and Vagelpohl, pp. 125–50 in this volume. 44 For the periphrastic expression ṭāla labṯuhū, see WKAS, ii. 104b, line 40–105a, line 23. 45 Rosenthal 1966, 230; for ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, see below, pp. 231–4.

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Early Commentaries ʾAbū Bakr Muḥammad ibn Zakarīyāʾ ar-Rāzī (d. 925) probably wrote a commentary on the Aphorisms.46 Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa lists it among ar-Rāzī’s writings47, although al-Bīrūnī only mentions an abridgment of such a commentary in his bibliography of ar-Rāzī.48 Moreover, Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa also lists a work by ʾAbū Sahl Saʿīd ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz al-Nīlī (d. 1029) that is entitled ‘Abridgment of Galen’s Commentary on the Aphorisms with anecdotes [nukat] from ar-Rāzī’s Commentary (ķģāǨͫā ŔǨ̶ ɬͲ Ȉ˜͵ ȽͲ ƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ˜ͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ŔǨ̶ ȵʉʦˬ̒)’; al-Nīlī’s work, unfortunately, has not come down to us, nor does any manuscript of either ar-Rāzī’s commentary or his abridgment survive. Yet, Rosenthal discovered a number of quotations attributed to ar-Rāzī in later commentaries on the Aphorisms by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq and Ibn al-Quff.49 These quotations show ar-Rāzī as someone who clearly criticised Galen and came to his own interpretation of the aphorism in question (i. 1). Therefore, Rosenthal speculated whether these quotations were perhaps taken from ar-Rāzī book Doubts about Galen (al-Šukūk ʿalā Ǧālīnūs), which had not yet been edited when Rosenthal wrote his article.50 We can, however, answer this question in the negative now: although ar-Rāzī comments on some thirty aphorisms in this work, he does not touch upon the very first one here.51 A systematic exploration of all the Arabic commentaries on the Aphorisms will probably yield more quotations which will allow us to form a better idea about the nature and scope of this commentary by ar-Rāzī. In his catalogue of private libraries in Syria, Paul Sbath listed a commentary on the Aphorisms by ʾAbū l-Faraǧ ʿAbd Allāh ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. 1043).52 Ibn alṬayyib is well known as commentator on the so-called Sixteen Books of Galen, that is, Galenic works that were popular for teaching medicine both in late antique Alexandria and later in Baghdad.53 But he also had an interest in Hippocratic commentaries, as ‘he also wrote many commentaries on the books

46 See the earlier discussion by Rosenthal 1966, 231–2. 47 Ed. Müller 1889, i. 320, line 15: ‘Commentary on Galen’s book on the Aphorisms of Hippocrates (ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛǍˀˏͫ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ŁLJʓ͛ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ŁLJʓ͛)’. 48 Ed. Kraus 1936, p. 16, no. 112 : ‘His abridgment of Hippocrates’ Aphorisms (ƛǍˀˏͫ ɷˀʉʦˬ̒ ŴāǨ˙̑)’. 49 Rosenthal 1966, 234–5. 50 Rosenthal 1966, 231. 51 See Strohmaier 1998, 282–5. Two editions of ar-Rāzī’s interesting text now exist (Muḥaqqiq 1993; ʿAbd al-Ġanī 2005), although they are both somewhat unsatisfactory. Ar-Rāzī also discusses the first aphorism in his Letter to One of His Students (Risāla ʾilā baʿḍ talāmīḏatihī); see Pormann 2008b, 99–100. 52 Sbath 1938, i. p. 24, no. 153. 53 See Ullmann, 1970, 156–7; on the sixteen books and medical teaching, see Pormann 2010 with further literature.

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of Hippocrates (ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ȇʓ͛ ɬͲ ƴǨʉʔ͛ LJʒʓ͛ LJˁ̈Αā ŔǨ̶ć)’, as Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa put it.54 The latter also lists a Commentary on the Aphorisms (ŴāǨ˙̑Αҙҏ ƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ͛ Ǩʉʶˏ̒) among Ibn al-Tayyib’s books.55 As many of the manuscripts listed in Sbath’s 1938 Fihris have remained untraceable, nothing more can be said about this commentary at this stage.

Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq (d. after 1068) The first commentary on the Aphorisms that was originally written in Arabic and has come down to us is that by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, simply entitled Commentary on Hippocrates’ Aphorisms (Šarḥ Fuṣūl Buqrāṭ). The author’s association with Hippocrates was so great, that he was sometimes labeled as ‘the second Hippocrates (Buqrāṭ al-ṯānī)’. He hailed from the city of Nīšāpūr in the Persianspeaking East, and may have been a student of the famous Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna, d. 1037).56 Not only is his commentary the oldest to have survived, but it is also the one preserved in most manuscripts. There exist at least two versions of Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq’s commentary in the manuscript tradition. The first is divided according to the seven sections in the Hippocratic original that Galen also followed; in other words, the commentary consists of seven books (maqālas). This is the arrangement that occurs in most of the manuscripts, at least of those that have been sufficiently catalogued or that we have inspected ourselves. The commentary, however, was also organised according to topics and divided into twenty chapters [ʾabwāb, sg. bāb]. We find this arrangement in Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, MS Ahlwardt 6223 and Deoband, Maktabat Dār al-ʿUlūm, ṭibb 61. The aphorisms no longer follow the same order as in the Greek original, but are grouped together according to subject.57 The book begins with a chapter on ‘what he [sc. Hippocrates] said at the beginning of his book and the general principles (ɼʉˬ˜ͫā ƢLJ˜̤Αҙҏāć ŁLJʓ˜ͫā Ģǚ̿ ǽ͎ ƛLJ͘ LJ˳ʉ͎)’. This chapter only comprises eight aphorisms, and other chapters are equally brief: chapter 17 ‘On milk’ only consists of a single aphorism, and others only of a few (e.g., ch. 6 ‘On the types of surgery’; ch. 16 ‘On the diet of the reconvalescent’). Another feature distinguishes this group of manuscripts from the first one. In the former, each aphorism is introduced by the word ‘aphorism (faṣl)’, whereas in the latter, we find the formula ‘Hippocrates said (qāla Buqrāṭ)’. In both cases, 54 Ed. Müller 1888–9, i. 239, lines 8–7 from the bottom. 55 Ed. Müller 1888–9, i. 240, last line. 56 Lutz Richter-Bernburg, article: ‘Ebn Abī Ṣādeq, Abu’l-Qāsem ʿAbd-al-Raḥmān b. ʿAlī b. Aḥmad NAYŠĀBŪRĪ’, in: E. Yarshater (ed.): Encyclopaedia Iranica 7, 663. 57 Ahlwardt 1893, p. 496, gives the list of the twenty chapters.

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however, the commentary by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq is preceded by the word ‘the commentary (al-tafsīr)’. We know of some forty manuscripts containing this commentary. It has to be said, though, that some of the information below, especially when we have not been able to see the manuscripts and therefore rely on fairly old catalogue entries, is liable to correction. The manuscripts are the following: Aleppo, Fondation Salem, MS Ar. 45458 Alexandria, Bibliotheca Alexandrina, MS Maktabat Baladīyat al-ʾIskandarīya 3740 ǧīm ṭibb59 Algiers, Fagnan 1743–460 Baghdad, al-Matḥaf al-ʿIrāqī, MS 52461 Beirut, American University, Jafet ASC MS 610:B93fA:c.1 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, MS Ahlwardt 622362 Bursa, Haraççioğlu, MS 1150 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS ṭibb 48063 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS ṭibb 1121 Cambridge, Trinity College, MS R.13.4264 Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, MS 315265 Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, MS 695666; MS DA1 Deoband, Maktabat Dār al-ʿUlūm, ṭibb 6167 Dublin, Chester Beatty, MS Ar. 380268; MS CB1 Harvard, Houghton Library, MS Arab. SM 427269 Istanbul, Hekimoğlu Camii, MS 574 (fols. 1-87a)70 Istanbul, Laleli Camii, MS 1632 58 Sánchez 2008, 253. Previously mentioned in Sbath 1928–34, vol. iii, p. 96, no. 1289. 59 Zaydān 1996, p. 275, no. 281. 60 Fagnan 1893, pp. 486–7 (nos. 1743–4). 61 ʿAwwād 1959, p. 36, no. 38. 62 Ahlwardt 1893, 495–6. 63 A copy of this manuscript is available in Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, microfilm no. 836; see the online catalogue at http://alassad-library.gov.sy/new/Default.aspx for further details [accessed on 1 June 2011]. 64 Palmer 1870, 91–2. 65 See also Ḥamārneh 1969, 436–7. The commentary is found on pp. 146–305. Book One begins on p. 146; Book Three on p. 225; Book Four on p. 260; between pp. 276 (discussing iv. 14) and 277, there is a significant gap of more than three books; on p. 277 the ink changes and the text is in the second half of Book Seven. A modern copy of this manuscript, originally kept in the Ẓāhirīya, is also available in Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, 4751; see below p. 261. 66 This is a former Ẓāhirīya manuscript 212; see the online catalogue. 67 A microfilm of this manuscript is also available at Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, microfilm no. 1315; see the online catalogue for further information. 68 Arberry 1955–64, iv. 16. 69 This manuscript is now available online at http://pds.lib.harvard.edu/pds/view/10811895. 70 This and all the other Istanbul manuscripts are listed in Şeşen 1984, 8.

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Istanbul, Nuruosmaniye Kütüphanesi, MS 3527 Istanbul, Nuruosmaniye Kütüphanesi, MS 3528 Istanbul, Topkapi Saray, Emanet, MS 1825 [kept in: Ağalar Camii] (fols. 21b–148) Istanbul, Üniversite Kütüphanesi, MS Arabic 4218 Istanbul, Veliyeddin Efendi, MS 2508 Istanbul, Hasan Hüsnü Paşa, MS 1369 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek Or. 1341 Voorhoeve71 London, British Library, MS Or. 582072 Madrid, Escurial, MS árabe 87773 Oxford, Bodleian Library MS, Thurston 197774 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS 2838 (fonds arabe)75; MS P4 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS 2839 (fonds arabe) Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS 2840 (fonds arabe) Princeton, Islamic Manuscripts, MS Garrett 192B76 Tashkent, Akademija Nauk Uzbekskoj SSSR 3139 Teheran, Maǧlis, MS 529177 Teheran, Sanā, MS 36078 Teheran, Dānišgāh, MS 993 (fols. 1–227)79 Teheran, Sipahsālār, MS 834080 Teheran, Malik National Library, MS 252381 Teheran, Malik National Library, MS 4420 Teheran, Malik National Library, MS 6049 Washington, Library of Congress, MS call number R126.H6 A844 1300z ARABIC MSS82; MS LC1. Let us now consider the entry on aphorism vi. 23 in order to glean some more insight into the way Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq worked83: 71 See Voorhoeve 1980, 85. 72 Hamarneh 1975, p. 4, no. 4. 73 Derenbourg-Renaud ii. 2 (1941), p. 89. 74 Savage-Smith 2011. 75 This and the next two Paris manuscripts are listed in Slane 1883–95, 511–12. 76 See Hitti 1938, pp. 343–4 (no. 1096). 77 Munzawī 1969, 212–13. 78 Dānišpažhūh / ʾAnwārī 1979, i. 186. 79 Munzawī et al. 1951–, iii. 772. 80 Dānišpažhūh / Munzawī 1977, v. 215. 81 This and the next two manuscripts are described in ʾAfšār Sīstānī / Dānišpažūh 1973–96, 419–20. 82 See the online catalogue entry at http://lccn.loc.gov/2008427062 [accessed 5 July 2011]; a pdf of the manuscript is available for download there. 83 MS P4, fol. 131b, lines 8–16; MS CB1, fol. 176b, line 7–fol. 177a, line 1; MS DA1, p. 247, line 6 from the bottom–p. 248, line 4.

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.ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ Ǎ΀ 86LJ́˶Ͳ 85ɨ́˳ˈ̒ ǽʓͫā ƦāΑ ҙҏΒā ζɼ˶˶ˏʓͲ ƴǨʉʔ͛ 84LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJ˳ͫā ŁLJʥ̿Αҙҏ ụ̈̌Ǎ̒ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā :Ǩʉʶˏʓͫā ŸLJͲǚͫā ȅˬ͇ ȇˬ͈ āĕΒā ķćāĔǍʶͫā ĢLJʦʒͫā 89ćΑā ƹāĔǍʶͫā 88Ⱥˬ̥ ƦΑā ɑͫĕć .ɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć ŷǩˏʓͫā 87ǽ˶͇Αā ƦāǛ΀ ƢāĔ ȅʓ˳͎ .Ʀǩʥͫāć žǍʦͫā ɬͲ ɼ˳ˬˆͫā ǽ͎ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ķǨʓˈ̈ LJͲ ɷʒ̤LJ̿ ķǨʓˈʉ͎ ζǽ͵LJʶˏ˶ͫā ŔćǨͫā ɨˬͅΑā Ǩ̥ΐā ŰǨͲ ǽ͎ 90ćΑā ɼͫLJʥͲ ҙҏ ķćāĔǍʶͫā ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā ǽ͎ Ƚ͘āć ɷʒ̤LJˀ͎ ȇʒ̵ ɷͫ žǨˈ̈ ȫʉͫć ŰĢLJˈͫā āǛ΀ .91ĔǍ̵Αҙҏā Ɏ́ʒͫāć ŁǨʤͫāć ƹLJ̑Ǎ˙ͫāć ǚˬʤͫā LJ́ʉ͎ Ǩʷ˙ʓ̈ ǽʓͫā ɼˬˈͫāć ƦLJ̈́Ǩʶͫā ćΑā ƢāǛʤͫLJ͛ Hippocrates said: If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī]. The explanation [al-tafsīr]: the symptoms that people suffering from melancholy [ʾaṣḥāb al-mālinḫūliyā] have are many and variegated. But there are two [symptoms] that generally affect them, namely fear [altafazzuʿ] and depression [al-kaʾāba]. For when the humour black [bile] or a melancholic vapour [al-buḫār al-sawdāwī] dominates the brain, it darkens the psychic pneuma [ar-rūḥ al-nafsānī], so that the patient is affected by the fear [al-ḫawf] and sadness [al-ḥuzn] that occur when one is in the dark. If this symptom persists, whilst one does not know any cause for it, then the patient is necessarily suffering from melancholy [al-waswās al-sawdāwī], or from another disease such as leprosy [al-ǧuḏām], cancer [al-saraṭān], the disease during which the skin flakes off [al-ʿilla allatī yataqaššaru fīhā l-ǧildu]92, tetter [al-qūbāʾ], mange [al-ǧarab], or black leprosy [al-bahaq al-ʾaswad]. Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq begins his commentary by paraphrasing the main idea of the aphorism: that fear and despondency are general symptoms of melancholy. But it is here already that the first subtle change occurs that will be influential in the subsequent tradition: the ‘fear (al-tafazzuʿ) and ‘despondency (ḫubṯ al-nafs)’ of the aphorism are turned into ‘fear (al-tafazzuʿ) and ‘depression (al- kaʾāba)’. In other words, the somewhat awkward ḫubṯ al-nafs, a calque for dysthymía, is 84 LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJ˳ͫā ŁLJʥ̿Αҙҏ ụ̈̌Ǎ̒ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā] om. CB1. 85 ɨ́˳ˈ̒ ǽʓͫā ƦΑā ҙҏΒā ζɼ˶˶ˏʓͲ] is repeated in LC1. 86 LJ́˶Ͳ] P4, DA1; CB1: āǛ΀. 87 After ǽ˶͇Αā, we find in LC1: ƦāǛ΀ Ǎ΀ āǛ΀ ɬͲ ɨ́˳ˈ̈ ɨ́ˏ̈ ǽʓͫā, which appears to be a corrupt repetition. 88 Ⱥˬ̥] P4, CB1; DA1: Ⱥˬʦͫā. 89 ćΑā] P4; CB1, DA1: ć. 90 ćΑā] P4, DA1; CB1: ć. 91 ĔǍ̵Αҙҏā Ɏ́ʒͫāć ŁǨʤͫāć ƹLJ̑Ǎ˙ͫāć ǚˬʤͫā LJ́ʉ͎ Ǩʷ˙ʓ̈ ǽʓͫā ɼˬˈͫāć] P4; CB1, DA1: ŁǨʤͫā ćΑā ǚˬʤͫā LJ́ʉ͎ Ǩʷ˙ʓ̈ ǽʓͫā ɼˬˈͫā ćΑā ĔǍ̵Αҙҏā Ɏ́ʒͫā ćΑā. 92 This is a synonym for leprosy; see WGAÜ under λέπρα and λεπρόϲ.

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replaced by a simple Arabic noun.93 Then Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq links the feeling to a physiological process: a dark vapour rises in the body and darkens the psychic pneuma. Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq compares the fear that one feels in a dark place to the fear resulting from the darkness of the vapour in the brain. This idea goes back to Galen’s work The Affected Parts, where he discusses melancholy in Book Three, chapters nine and ten.94 There, Galen compares the fear felt in the darkness (skótos, ẓulma) by children and others to that caused by the darkness of the black bile in the brain.95 We also find a similar idea already in ʾIsḥāq ibn ʾImrān’s treatise On Melancholy96, and we will encounter it again in other later commentaries.

Al-Sinǧārī (fl. 12th cent. ?) Two works by an author called al-Sinǧārī (or al-Sanǧarī in some of the sources) and related to the Hippocratic Aphorisms have generally been confused.97 The first is the Arrangement of the Aphorisms (Tartīb Fuṣūl Buqrāṭ), attributed to one ʾAbū l-Ḥasan (or Ḥusayn) Ṭāhir ibn ʾIbrāhīm ibn Muḥammad ibn Ṭāhir al-Sinǧārī.98 The second is a lemmatic commentary entitled Making It Easy to Arrive at an Explanation of Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’ (Kitāb Taysīr al-wuṣūl ʾilā tafsīr al-fuṣūl li-ʾAbuqrāṭ) by one ʿAlī ibn ʾAbī Ṭāhir al-ṭabīb al-Sinǧārī. The forms of the name would suggest that the two authors are the same, and this seems likely. The only external evidence that we have for this author is a short entry in Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa’s Sources of Information on the Classes of Physicians.99 Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa remarks that al-Šayḫ ʾAbū al-Huṣayn Ṭāhir ibn ʾIbrāhīm ibn Muḥammad Ṭāhir al-Sanǧarī was a competent physician who wrote: 1) The Explanation of the Method of Treatment (Kitāb al-ʾĪḍāḥ minhāǧ maḥaǧǧat alʿilāǧ) for the judge ʾAbū l-Faḍl Muḥammad ibn Ḥammūǧa100; 2) a Commentary on Urine and Pulse (Kitāb Šarḥ al-Bawl wa-l-nabaḍ); and 3) a Division of Hippocrates’ Book of Aphorisms (Taqsīm kitāb al-Fuṣūl li-ʾAbuqrāṭ). As the entry on alSanǧarī occurs after that of Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq (d. after 1068) and before that of Faḫr al-Dīn ar-Rāzī (d. 1209), al-Sanǧarī has generally been dated to the early twelfth 93 See Ullmann, WKAS, i. 11b, lines 34–42 (under kaʾāba). 94 Philip J van der Eijk, Peter E Pormann, ‘Appendix 1: Greek Text, and Arabic and English: Translations of Galen’s On the Affected Parts iii. 9–10’, in Pormann 2008a, 265–87. 95 Vol. iii. 191 ed. Kühn; van der Eijk, Pormann 2008, 284–5. 96 Omrani 2009, p. 45, lines 6 from the bottom–last (Arabic text); p. 57 (French translation). 97 See Emilie Savage-Smith 2011, no. 4. 98 Dietrich 1966, pp. 236–7, no. 121 lists the author as al-Šaǧarī, but this is clearly a based on a scribal error. 99 Ed. Müller, ii. p. 23, lines 3–6. 100 This text is extant in Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, MS 6338 Ahlwardt; see Ahlwardt 1893, 585.

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century. The question of his lifetime will have to remain open for the time being, until the works attributed to him have come under investigation. There is now also the problem of how to relate the two works on the Aphorisms attributed to al-Sinǧārī, the Arrangement and the lemmatic commentary, to the third work quoted by Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa, the Division. It is perfectly possible that Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa conflated the two works into one, giving it a slightly different title. The first, the Arrangement of the Aphorisms, survives in a number of manuscripts; moreover, one Oxford manuscript preserves a fragment that is just one folio long: Alexandria, Bibliotheca Alexandrina, MS Maktabat Baladīyat al-ʾIskandarīya, MS 4796 bāʾ ṭibb101 Istanbul, Ragip Paşa Kütüphanesi MS 1482 (fols. 164–79)102 Istanbul, Veliyeddin Efendi, MS 2474 Istanbul, Üniversite Kütüphanesi, MS A. 4265 (fols. 1b–26b) Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, Şehid Ali Paşa, MS 2095 (fols. 1a–36a) Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Thurston 10, fol. 168103. In this text, al-Sinǧārī rearranges the Aphorisms according to topics; it does not really constitute a commentary as such. The lemmatic commentary by ʿAlī ibn ʾAbī Ṭāhir al-ṭabīb (i.e., ‘the physician’) al-Sinǧārī is called Making It Easy to Arrive at an Explanation of Hippocrates’ Aphorisms (Kitāb Taysīr al-wuṣūl ʾilā tafsīr al-fuṣūl li-ʾAbuqrāṭ). In the preface, the author states that he wrote it for the library of the ruler, and does so in modulated and florid prose104:

ĢǍˀ˶˳ͫā ǚ̈nj˳ͫā ǚ΀LJʤͫā ƛĔLJˈͫā ɨͫLJˈͫā Ǩˏˆ˳ͫā ɑˬ˳ͫā ɑͫLJ˳ͫā ɨˆˈ˳ͫā ƦLJ˅ˬʶͫā LJ͵ҙҏǍͲ ɼ͵āǩ̥ ɷ̑ ȈͲǚ̥ć ɬʉ˳ͫLJˈͫā ǽ͎ ƛǚˈͫā ǽʉʥͲ ɬʉ̈́ҨҞʶͫāć ƋǍˬ˳ͫā ǚʉ̵ ɬʉ˳ˬʶ˳ͫāć ƢҨҞ̵ Βҙҏā ŃLJʉ͈ ɬ̈ǚͫāć Ɏʥͫāć LJʉ͵ǚͫā Ǩʦ͎ […] ƱǨˀ͵ ɷˬͫā ǩ͇Αā ŁǨˉͫāć ƈǨʷͫā ƹāǨͲΑā ɑˬͲ ǽͫLJˈ˳ͫā [Ȓ] ɡˁ͎ ɬʉ˳ͫLJˆͫā ɬͲ ƢǍˬˆ˳ͫā Ʉˀ˶Ͳ With it [his commentary on the Aphorisms] I served the library [ḫizāna] of our master, the ruler, the great, the possessor and king, the victorious and wise, the just and energetic, receiver of [divine] support and triumph, the glory of the world, truth and religion, the succour of Muslims, the lord of kings and rulers, the reviver of justice in the universe, the dispenser of justice to those who suffered injustice from the iniquitous, the highly pious, the king of princes in East and West—may god strengthen his victory […]

101 102 103 104

Zaydān 1996, pp. 291–2, no. 319. This and the next three Istanbul manuscripts are briefly described in Şeşen 1984, 10–11. See Savage-Smith 2011, no. 4. MS AFS1, fol. 2a, lines 10–14.

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This long eulogy is preserved only in the first of the three extant manuscripts, which are: Aleppo, Fondation Salem, MS Ar. 1037105; MS AFS1 Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, MS 4722106 London, Wellcome Library, MS Or. 43107; MS LWL1. The scribe of the London manuscript, however, significantly shortened this eulogy, by simply calling the library ‘the supreme library of the master, ruler, possessor, king, glory and the victorious (ɼʉ˜ˬ˳ͫā ɼʉ˜ͫLJ˳ͫā ɼʉ͵LJ˅ˬʶͫā ɼ̈ǍͫǍ˳ͫā ɼʉͫLJˈͫā ɼ͵āǩʦͫā ɼ̈Ǩˏˆ˳ͫā ɼ̈Ǩʦˏͫā)’108. Of which ruler and which library is al-Sinǧārī talking here? The answer to this question would help with providing some context to his writing. Sbath dated the Aleppo manuscript to the fourteenth century, and if he is right, then this could provide a date before which the author must have been active.109 Unfortunately, however, there is little to corroborate his dating, as the manuscript itself is undated, the script is nasḫ, and the paper does not have any watermarks. Sbath’s dating of the manuscript sometimes appears to have been misunderstood as a dating of the text itself. We have, however, another date before which al-Sanǧarī’s commentary must have been written: al-Kilānī specifically takes it as his model for his own commentary, written in the middle of the fourteenth century.110 The author of the lemmatic commentary provides some more information about his approach and outlook in the preface. He says that quite a few earlier authors had commented on the Aphorisms, ‘but that they pursued the path of rhetoric and brevity (al-ʾīǧāz), and treaded the way of strangeness and wonderment (al-ʾiʿǧāz) (ģLJʤ͇ Βҙҏāć ȇ̈Ǩˉʓͫā ș́͵ āǍ˜ˬ̵ć ģLJʤ̈ Βҙҏāć ɼ͈ҨҞʒͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ ɷʉ͎ āǍʒ͛Ģ ɨ́͵Αā ҙҏΒā).’ His own purpose is to make the art of medicine understandable to the students of his day. These students, however, need teachers able to employ ‘ruses (ḥiyal)’ to explain medicine. The Book of Aphorisms is the key medical text. Al-Sinǧārī even says that it occupies an analogous place to the most important part in the body; ‘no, but it is even like the soul (nafs), with which no precious stone (ǧawhar nafīs) can be compared (ȫʉˏ͵ Ǩ΀Ạ̌ LJ́ʉͫΒā ťLJ˙̈ ҙҏ ȫˏ˶ͫLJ͛ ɷ˶Ͳ Ǎ΀ ɡ̑ ҙҏ)’. His aim then is to explain clearly the meaning of the aphorisms for students of medicine. In doing so, al-Sinǧarī followed previous authorities more than his own intellect, as he says, and invites his readers to correct any mistakes that they may find. 105 Sánchez 2008, p. 131, no. 235. 106 This manuscripts only comprises the beginning of the fifth book (maqāla) on fol. 1b, then has a lacuna of a folio; then again between folios 2 and 3, there is a lacuna of a number of folios; the remaining folios contain roughly the second half of book five. The manuscript had previously been catalogued as anonymous, but we were able to identify the text through comparison with the other two manuscripts. See now the updated online catalogue. 107 Iskandar 1967, 202-03. 108 MS LWL1, fol. 6a, lines 3–4. 109 Sbath 1928–34, vol. ii, pp. 147–8, no. 1289. 110 See below pp. 242–3.

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Al-Sinǧārī’s method can again be illustrated by looking at the explanation of aphorism vi. 23. It runs as follows111:

ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ ȽͲ ɷ˶Ͳ ƦLJ͛ LJͲć ρɨˬ̵Αā Ǎ͎́ ζɑʥ̀ ȽͲ ɡ˙ˈͫā ŴҨҞʓ̥ā ɬͲ ƦLJ͛ LJͲ»:ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ ǚ͘ [1] :ŔĢLJʷͫā ƛLJ͘ ƴǨ˜ˏͫā ƹǍ̵ć ŷǩˏʓͫā :ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ɬͲ ɷʒ̤LJˀͫ ŰǨˈ̈ ķćāĔǍʶͫā ŰǨ˳ͫāć [2] «.āǨ˅̥ ǚ̶Αā Ǎ͎́ ζƦǩ̤ć ɨ΀ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏāć [3] .ɼ˳ˬˆͫā ǽ͎ ƱLJ˶˜̵ Ƣćǚ̈ ɬ˳ͫ ȫ͵Αҙҏā Ƣǚ͇ć ŦLJʥʉʓ̵ҙҏā ɬͲ ŰǨˈ̈ LJ˳͛ ζȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć .LJ́˶͇ ƴĢĔLJˀͫā ŰāǨ͇ΑҙҏLJ̑ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ́̑LJʒ̵Αā ȅˬ͇ ƛҙҏǚʓ̵ҙҏā .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵

Hippocrates said: If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then [fa-ʾinna]112 his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī]. The commentator [al-šāriḥ] says: [1] Hippocrates said: ‘The confusion of the mind that is accompanied by laughter is safer [ʾaslam], whereas that accompanied by concern [hamm] and sadness [ḥuzn] is more dangerous [ʾašadd ḫaṭaran]’.113 [2] Melancholy [al-waswās al-sawdāwī] occurs to the patient because of occurrences [al-ʾaʿrāḍ]: fear [al-tafazzuʿ], bad thought [sūʾ al-fikra] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs], as it is caused by desolation [al-istīḥāš] and lack of social intercourse [ʿadam al-ʾuns] in the case of someone who remains for long in the dark. [3] The causes of diseases are indicated by occurrences that result from them. Al-Sinǧārī first relates the present aphorism to another one, which would allow the physician to differentiate between milder and more severe cases of mental confusion on the basis of the mood of the patient. Then he subtly adds ‘bad thought’ to one of the things causing melancholy. This idea refers to the famous notion of scholarly melancholy: too much thinking leads to melancholy.114 Finally, al-Sinǧārī takes up the idea of darkness, already found in Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq; he links it to the feeling of despondency, without, however, comparing the feeling of sitting alone in darkness to certain processes in the brain as Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq had done.

111 MS AFS1, fol. 106b, lines 3–8; MS LWL1, fol. 64b, lines 7–10. In the latter manuscript, there is a lacuna of roughly one folio after the words ‘ŰǨˈ̈ ķćāĔǍʶͫā ŰǨ˳ͫāć’. 112 fa-ʾinna ʿillatahū is a minor variant of the fa-ʿillatuhū found in the edition of the Arabic Aphorisms, the Arabic version of Galen’s commentary, and most other commentaries. 113 Aph. vi. 53: ‘Αἱ παραφροϲύναι αἱ μὲν μετὰ γέλωτοϲ γινόμεναι, ἀϲφαλέϲτεραι· αἱ δὲ μετὰ ϲπουδῆϲ, ἐπιϲφαλέϲτεραι.’ 114 On this, see Pormann 2008a, FF 33–6, and pp. 289–92; Pormann forthcoming.

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Ibn Bāǧǧa (Avempace, fl. 12th cent.) Ibn Bāǧǧa, the celebrated thinker from Muslim Spain, is mostly known for his philosophical works, which had a great impact on the Latin Middle Ages. But he also wrote a commentary on the Aphorisms. A substantial fragment of it survives in one manuscript.115 This manuscript had previously been part of the Staatsbibliothek Berlin (MS Ahlwardt 5060).116 It is now kept in the Jagiellonian Library (Biblioteka Jagiellońska) in Krakow.117 The fragment appears on fols. 83b–90a and comprises the preface and the commentary on the first aphorism (i. 1).118 From this entry, it would appear that the commentary was lemmatic, and that, not unexpectedly, Ibn Bāǧǧa was interested in the philosophical aspects of this text. He discussed questions of medical epistemology in the entry, and generally explored the relationship between experience (taǧriba) and analogical reasoning (qiyās).

Mūsā ibn ʿUbaid Allāh al-Qurṭubī (Maimonides, d. 1204) Mūsā ibn ʿUbaid Allāh al-Qurṭubī, known as Mūsā ibn Maymūn (Maimonides), was probably the most important Jewish thinker of the Middle Ages.119 He also wrote important medical works. Among them is not only his own book of Aphorisms120, but also a Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, extant in a few Arabic and Judaeo-Arabic manuscripts.121 Carsten Schliwski edited the text and translated it into German in his Ph.D. thesis, and he and Gerrit Bos are currently preparing an edition and English translation of this commentary for Bos’ series The Medical Works of Moses Maimonides.122 Mūsā ibn Maymūn’s commentary is by far the shortest of those extant today in their entirety. Because of the author’s preeminence, it also has attracted the greatest amount of scholarly interest.123 Mūsā ibn Maymūn states in his preface 115 See Forcada 2011, who edited the fragment in this article and discusses its epistemological implications. 116 Ahlwardt 1892, 396–9. 117 We would like to thank Joanna Jaskowiec of the Manuscript Department for this information (email 4 March 2010). 118 At least according to the current foliation; Ahlwardt catalogued this part of the manuscript as appearing on fols. 85b–90b (his no. 5). 119 Accessible introductions are Davidson 2005 and Kraemer 2008. 120 Bos 2004, 2007, 2010. 121 On the manuscript tradition, see see Savage-Smith 2011: no. 5; Schliwski 2007, i. xxx– xxxi. 122 Schliwski 2007. 123 Already in 1963, Bar-Sela and Hoff devoted an article to it.

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that he endeavoured to adhere to brevity (ʾīǧāz), and that he mostly followed Galen’s aims and objectives, ‘except for some aphorisms where I am going to mention with attribution to myself what happened to me (mā waqaʿa lī).’124 But there are also many aphorisms for which Mūsā ibn Maymūn’s commentary is limited to a remark that ‘this is clear (hāḏā bayyinun)’. We can discern Mūsā ibn Maymūn’s dependence on Galen also in his entry on aphorism vi. 23125: .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵

ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ ɬͲ ɑͫĕ ȇʒʶ͎ ζǨ΀LJͅ ȇʒ̵ Ǩʉ͈ ɬͲ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏ̒ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏ ŰǨ͇ ȅʓͲ :Ǩʶˏ˳ͫā ƛLJ͘ Ǩ΀LJͅ ȇʒ̵ ɬͲ ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ ƹāǚʓ̑ā ƦLJ͛ ȅʓͲć .ɼ˳̇āĔ ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ɑˬ̒ ɬ˜̒ ɨͫ ƦΒāć ζķćāĔǍʶͫā ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā .ķćāĔǍʶͫā ťāǍ̵Ǎͫā ȅˬ͇ ƛǚ̈ ɷͲāćǚ͎ ζLJ́ʔʒͫ ƢāĔć ȈͫLJ̈́ ɨ̓ ζƦǩ̤ ćΑā Ȼʉ͈ ćΑā ȇˁ͈ ɡʔͲ If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī]. The commentator [al-mufassir] says: when fear [tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] occur without any apparent reason, then the cause of this is by way of melancholy [min ṭarīqi l-waswāsi l-sawdāwīyi], even if these symptoms are not constant. When these symptoms begin owing to an apparent cause such as anger [ġaḍab], ire [ġayẓ], or sadness [ḥuzn], and they then continue and remain long, then the fact that it lasts indicates melancholy [al-waswās al-sawdāwī]. In fact, Maimonides’ commentary is limited here to summarising Galen’s main points in the first part of his commentary on this aphorism (§§ 1–6), but omits the information in the second part (§§ 7–9). He does not add any new information. For the topic of melancholy, this seems somewhat surprising, since Mūsā ibn Maymūn had a unique experience in this area: he treated the sultan al-ʾAfḍal for this condition; and he addressed an epistle to him in which he advises the sultan on the correct treatment.126 A near contemporary of Mūsā ibn Maymūn, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī, displays far greater originality.

124 Ed. Schliwski 2007, ii. p. 7, line 5. 125 Ed. Schliwski 2007, ii. 133 (slightly altered). 126 Koetschet 2006–7; Pormann 2008a, 185–187.

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ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī (d. 1231) ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī excelled in both medicine and philosophy. In the former domain, he called for a return to the sources of Hippocrates’ and Galen’s writings, although one should not think that this antiquarianism made him an uncritical or uninnovative thinker.127 He notably claimed that the two most important texts for clinical medicine were the Hippocratic Aphorisms and Prognostics, and he wrote commentaries on both these works.128 His commentary on the Aphorisms survives in six manuscripts129: Dublin, Chester Beatty Library, MS Ar 5458 (fols. 1b–112a)130; MS CB2 Hyderabad, OMLRI (Osmania University Campus) [formerly: ʾĀṣafīya], II, 926 ṭibb 204 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Yazma eser Kütüphanesi, MS Köprülü-Fazil Ahmet Paşa 885131 Patna (Bankipore), Khuda Baksh Oriental Public Library, cat. IV, p. 88, No. 60132 Qom, Grand Ayatollah Marʿaši Naǧafī Public Library, MS 6617133 Teheran, Dānišgāh, MS 834134 Before commencing his commentary, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, in a long preface, insists on the importance of writing a commentary, and criticises in rather strong terms the prevalent mode of teaching and the defective knowledge possessed by his contemporaries. At the end of the introduction, he discusses the eight subjects which he calls the eight ‘headings (ruʾūs)’ or preliminary points, which he feels are useful to an author: goal [ġaraḍ], benefit [manfaʿa], analogy [nisba], rank [martaba], method of teaching [naḥw al-taʿlīm], parts of the book [ʾaǧzāʾ alkitāb], title [ʿunwān], and author [wāḍiʿ]. He will later repeat these eight points in the much shorter preface of his commentary on the Hippocratic Prognostic.135 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf quotes each aphorism and then explains it. He gives its general meaning, then its application, and finally provides an explanation of linguistic difficulties. Sometimes, he discusses the connection of one aphorism with another. Rosenthal praised ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary as a work of great originality, but 127 Joosse, Pormann 2010. 128 For the latter treatise, see our article in this volume on pp. 251–83. There, we also offer a more detailed discussion of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf. 129 ʿAwwād 1959, p. 36, no. 39, records an anonymous manuscript, namely Baghdad, alMatḥaf al-ʿIrāqī, MS 1244, and speculates whether it contains the commentary by ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī. 130 Arberry 1955–64, vii. 134. 131 This manuscript has been described briefly in Şeşen 1984, 8. 132 ʾAḥmad / Nadwī 1910, pp. 88–94, no. 60. 133 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī 1994, xvii. 187–8. 134 Munzawī 1951–, iv. 775–7. 135 See below, pp. 262–3.

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also noted that, unlike most of his successors, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf hardly referred to earlier commentators (with perhaps the exception of Galen) and avoided using multiple interpretations of the aphorisms. Instead, he preferred to present a single and unified interpretation whenever this was possible.136 Rosenthal wrote his article in the 1960s and had only one manuscript at his disposal, namely the Istanbul one. He concluded that ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s ‘singlemindedness’ had prevented the work from becoming popular. But the list of manuscripts above shows that the commentary must have circulated quite widely, as it survives in so many manuscripts. Moreover, later commentators such as Ibn al-Nafīs and Ibn al-Quff used ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary. It therefore did not remain as obscure and without influence as Rosenthal thought. It does appear, however, to be based largely on theoretical considerations and shows no demonstrable signs of any form of practical medical experience.137 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf only provides a relatively short commentary on aphorism vi. 23. And yet, he does introduce a new element, which, unsurprisingly, is of a rather theoretical nature138: .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵

ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ Α .ɨ˜ʥʓʶ̈ ɨͫ ķćāĔǍ̵ ťāǍ̵ć ɷ͵ā ɬʉΎ ʒ͎ ζĶĔLJ̑ ȇʒ̵ ɷͫ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫć LJ͵LJͲģ ɑͫĕ ƢāĔ āĕΒā :Ʉʉ˅ˬͫā ǚʒ͇ ƛLJ͘ Ƣǚ̈ ɨͫ [Ł Ϝϛ] ɷ͵Αҙҏ ζķćāĔǍ̵ Ǎ͎́ ζƢāĔ ɨ̓ ζɨ͈ ćΑā ɨ΀ ćΑā Ȼʉ͈ ćΑā ȇˁˉ͛ ĶĔLJ̑ ȇʒʶ̑ ŰǨ͇ ƦΒā āǛ͛ć ƦǍ˶ʤͫā ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ ɡʔͲ ɬ͇ ŰǨˈ̈ LJͲ Ǩʉʔ˜͎ .ĶĔLJʒͫā ȇʒʶͫā ɷ͛Ǩ̤ LJ˳͵Βāć ζɷ̓ćǚʥͫ ǚˈʓʶͲ Ʀǚʒͫāć ҙҏΒā .āĔāǚˈʓ̵ā Ȉ͎ĔLJ̿ āĕΒā ζɼ˙ʉ˙ʥͫLJ̑ Hippocrates said: ‘If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī].’ ʿAbd al-Laṭīf [al-Baġdādī] says: ‘If this lasts for a time, without having an initial cause [sabab bādiʾ]’, then it clearly is melancholy [waswās sawdāwī] that has not [yet] become firmly established. It is similar if it occurs owing to an initial cause such as anger [ġaḍab], ire [ġayẓ], concern [hamm], or sorrow [ġamm], and then persists. Then he [the patient] is melancholic [sawdāwī], for it only persists when the body is predisposed to it [sc. melancholy] to occur. The initial cause only moves it. True madness [alǧunūn bi-l-ḥaqīqati] is often brought about by these causes when they coincide with a predisposition. Thus, like Galen and other commentators, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf divides long-lasting fear and despondency that occur without any apparent cause, and that are due to a 136 Rosenthal 1966, 230–31, 237–40. 137 Joosse 2011. 138 MS CB2, fol. 94a, line 4 from the bottom–fol. 94b, line 2.

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visible cause; in both cases, we have instances of melancholy. Yet, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf talks about an ‘initial cause (sabab bādiʾ)’, corresponding to the Greek notion of ‘antecedent cause (αἴτιον προκαταρκτικόν)’. Galen developed this notion, drawing on Stoic logic.139 But this idea also entered the late antique curriculum. The Alexandrian Summary to On the Sects for Beginners gives a definition of ‘initial causes’: ‘Some causes come to the body from the outside, and are called “initial causes” like a blow or a bite (LJ́ͫ ƛLJ˙̈ć œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ Ʀǚʒͫā ȅˬ͇ ĔΌ Ǩ΍ ̈΋ LJͲ LJ́˶Ͳ ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏāć ɼʷ́˶ͫāć ɼ̑Ǩˁͫā ɼͫǩ˶˳̑ ɼ̇ĔLJʒͫā ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏā).’ And the so-called Viennese tables cite other examples for antecedent causes, including ‘cold, burning, fatigue, drunkenness, and plague (ψῦχοϲ ἔγκαυϲιϲ κόποϲ μέθη λοιμόϲ)’140. In other words, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf applies the popular Galenic system of three causes—antecedent, precedent, and containing—to our aphorism. Anger [ġaḍab], ire [ġayẓ], concern [hamm], or sorrow [ġamm]—nearly the same causes as mentioned by Galen141—become the initial causes that can lead to fear and despondency, and thus indicate melancholy when they last for a long time. Finally, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf picks up on Galen’s link between melancholy and madness. As with other commentators, ʿAbd alLaṭīf’s main reference remains Galen.

Ibn al-Nafīs (1213–88) Ibn al-Nafīs gained fame not only in medicine, but also as a Šāfiʿī theologian and jurisconsult. He studied and worked in a hospital environment in Syria and Egypt. He authored a number of commentaries, notably on the Hippocratic On the Nature of Man and the Aphorisms. The latter survives in some 30 manuscripts. Yūsuf Zaydān edited it on the basis of five manuscripts.142 SavageSmith, however, noted that the text in this edition is significantly different from that in the two Oxford manuscripts.143 As one of these manuscripts (Pococke 294) was copied thirty years before the author’s death, and therefore constitutes an important witness, it seems desirable to reedit this text on the basis of a wider selection of manuscripts; therefore, we provide a list of the manuscripts here: Aligarh, Maulana Azad Library [Subḥānallāh Or. Library], MS 610 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, MS Ahlwardt 6224144 139 See Hankinson 1998, with further literature. 140 Gundert 1998, p. 132, n. 127. 141 Galen has ‘anger [ġaḍab], ire [ġayṯ], sadness [ḥuzn], or sorrow [ġamm]’, so that ‘concern (hamm)’ replaces ‘sadness (ḥuzn)’. 142 Zaydān 1991. 143 Savage-Smith 2011, no. 6. 144 Ahlwardt 1893, 496–7.

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Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS 565 ṭibb145; MS C1 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS 1848 ṭibb Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS 40519 G/565 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS 366 ṭibb Gotha, Landesbibliothek, 1897–8146 Hyderabad, OMLRI (Osmania University Campus) [formerly: ʾĀṣafīya], II, 926, ṭibb 15 Hyderabad, OMLRI (Osmania University Campus) [formerly: ʾĀṣafīya], II, 934, ṭibb 21 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3554 (fols. 35b–137b)147 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3644 (fols. 1–109b) Istanbul, Ragip Paşa Kütüphanesi, MS 1482 (fols. 81–163) Istanbul, Köprülü 967 (697 AH) Istanbul, Topkapi Saray, Sultan Ahmet III [kept in: Ağalar Camii], 1941 (fols. 34a–71a) Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, Şehid Ali Paşa, MS 2046 (fols. 1–94) Istanbul, Veliyeddin Efendi, MS 2509 Istanbul, Carah Paşa, MS 243 (fols. 1a–128b) Istanbul, Haci Mahmut, MS 554 Kabul, Kitābḫāna-i Riyāsat-i Maṭbūʿāt, MS Arabic 144148 London, British Library MS Or. 5914149 London, British Library, MS Or. 6419150 Madrid, Escurial, MS árabe 792151 Manisa, Kitapsaray, MS 1814152 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Pocock 294153 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS 2843 (fonds arabe)154 Patna (Bankipore), Khuda Baksh Oriental Public Library, cat. IV, p. 94, No. 61–2155 Qom, Library of the Markaz ʾIḥyāʾ al-Turāṯ al-ʾIslāmī, MS 2580156 145 A microfilm of this manuscript is kept at Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, microfilm no. 750. 146 Nos. 1897–8; cf. Pertsch 1859–93, iii. 444–5. 147 This and the other Istanbul manuscripts are listed in Şeşen 1984, 9–10. 148 De Beaurecueil 1956, p. 94, no. 33. Obviously, this department no longer exists in the same form as in 1955 when de Beaurecueil undertook his voyage to Kabul and Herat; the present whereabouts of this collection and this particular manuscript are unknown to us. 149 Hamarneh 1975, pp. 4-5, no. 6. 150 Hamarneh 1975, p. 4, no. 5. 151 Derenbourg-Renaud ii. 2 (1941), p. 3. 152 Şeşen 1984, 9; Dietrich, 1966, 21. 153 Savage-Smith 2011, no. 6. 154 Slane 1883–95, 512. 155 ʾAḥmad, Nadwī, 1910, pp. 94–5 (nos. 61–2). 156 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī 2003–4, vii. 70.

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Qom, Grand Ayatollah Marʿaši Naǧafī Public Library, MS 4685157 Teheran, Maǧlis, MS 6149158 (pp. 208–403) Teheran, Maǧlis, MS 6197159 (pp. 6–143) Teheran, Malik National Library, MS 4467160 Teheran, Malik National Library, MS 6650 Like Mūsā ibn Maymūn, Ibn al-Nafīs sometimes limits his comments to a brief statement that a certain aphorism is clear and does not require further. This is also the case with aphorism vi. 23, where Ibn al-Nafīs simply states161: .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ .Ǩ΀LJͅ ɷ˙ʉ˙ʥ̒ć ɡˀˏͫā āǛ΀ ȅ˶ˈͲ Hippocrates said: ‘If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī].’ The meaning of this aphorism and how to apply it is clear.

Ibn al-Quff (1233–86) Ibn al-Quff, a Christian physician who studied with Ibn al-Nafīs, spent most of his life in Syria. He wrote on surgery, but also composed a popular commentary on the Aphorisms. It is by far the longest commentary, yet despite its length, it survives in some twenty manuscripts: Alexandria, Bibliotheca Alexandria, MS al-Maktaba al-Baladīya 3352 ǧīm ṭibb;162 Algiers, Fagnan 1745, fols. 33–205163

157 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī 1994, xii. 272–3. 158 Ḥāʾirī, xix. 137. 159 Ḥāʾirī, xix. 185. 160 This and the next manuscript are described in ʾAfšār Sīstānī / Dānišpažūh 1973–96, 420– 21. 161 Ed. Zaydān 1988, 443; this is also the reading in MS C1 [without foliation]. 162 According to the catalogue entry by Zaydān 1996, p. 61, no. 19 (there is also a colour reproduction of two facing pages in the unnumbered section between pp. 24 and 25), this manuscript is signed by the author who has listened to it being read out and approved of it. The manuscript was writen in AD 1284, shortly before Ibn al-Quff’s death. A microfilm of this manuscript is available in Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, microfilm no. 830. The manuscript only contains Ibn Quff’s commentary on the first three sections of the Aphorisms; this is evident from the colophon which states: ‘End of the third section [maqāla] (ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā Ȉ˳̒)’. 163 Fagnan, 1893, no. 1745, 487; the manuscript comprises sections four to seven.

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Beirut, Bibliothèque Orientale de l’Université Saint-Joseph, MS 280164 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, ṭibb 4m165 Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, ṭibb 1732; this is a modern copy of the previous item Gotha, Landesbibliothek, 1894–6166 Hyderabad, OMLRI (Osmania University Campus) [formerly: Āṣafīya], II, 926, ṭibb 70 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Yeni Camii 919167; MS I1168 Istanbul, Üniversite Kütüphanesi, MS Arabic 3261 London, British Library, MS Or. 1348 Suppl.169; MS BL1 London, Royal College of Physicians, MS Tritton 2170 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS 2842 (fonds arabe)171; MS P3 Tavşanli-Kütahya, Zeytinoğlu Ilçe Halk Kütüphanesi, MS 421: 3721172 Tavşanli-Kütahya, Zeytinoğlu Ilçe Halk Kütüphanesi, MS 422: 2685 Tunis, University of Tunis, MS 2853–5 [formerly: Zaytūna]173 Tunis, ʾAḥmadīya, 7–10 [formerly: 5321–4] Rosenthal described Ibn al-Quff’s commentary as lengthy and argumentative.174 He often quotes previous authorities, especially Galen, but also Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq and later Arabic commentators, and engages with their interpretation. Nor does he shy away from criticising his predecessors or rejecting their points of view. In organising his long entries, Ibn al-Quff employs the principle of division. In each case, there are a number of ‘topics for investigation (mabāḥiṯ)’, with which

164 See Hamarneh 1974, 153; Cheikho 1922, 403–4. 165 On this manuscript: Hamarneh, 1974, 153, especially footnote 80. 166 Pertsch 1859–93, iii. 443–4. 167 A microfilm of this manuscript is available in Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, microfilm no. 802. This and the other Istanbul manuscripts are listed in Şeşen 1984, 9. At the end of this manuscript [no foliation], we read:

ɼ̈Ǩʤ΀ ɼ̇LJ˳ʓ̵ć ɬʉ͵LJ˳̓ć Ŀṳ̈̌Βā ɼ˶̵ ƢǨʥ˳ͫā ɡ́ʓʶͲ ƋĢLJʒ˳ͫā ŔǨʷͫā āǛ΀ ɬͲ ŸāǨˏͫā Ɏ͎āć ɷʉˬ͇ ɷˬͫā ɼ˳̤Ģ ŔĢLJʷͫā ƛLJ͘ .ɼ̈Ǩʤ΀ ɼ̇LJ˳ˈʒ̵ć ɬʉ̓ҨҞ̓ ɼ˶̵ ƦLJʒˈ̶ Ǩ̶́ Ǩʷ͇ ȉͫLJ̓ ɼ͛ĢLJʒ˳ͫā ɼʦʶ˶ͫā ƱǛ΀ ɬͲ ŸāǨˏͫā Ɏ͎āćć ܸ The commentator—God’s mercy be upon him—said: ‘The [date of] the completion of this blessed commentary corresponds to the beginning of Muḥarram, AH 681.’ The completion of this blessed copy corresponds to 13 Šaʿbān, AH 730. 168 Another manuscript belonging to the Şehid Ali Paşa collection appears to be kept in the Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, although we were unable to get its shelfmark. 169 Rieu 1894, p. 545–6, no. 804. 170 Tritton 1951, 182. 171 Slane 1883–95, 512. 172 Ihsanoğlu 1995, p. 58, no. 89. 173 Further info on the Tunis manuscripts of Ibn al-Quff’s commentary can be found in Hamarneh, 1974, 154. 174 Rosenthal 1966, 242; cf. also Hamarneh, 1974, 149-164.

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he deals one after the next. This feature also appears in the entry on aphorism vi. 23, where he deals with three topics175: .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵

ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ .ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ȉ̤LJʒͲ LJ˶́΀ ŔǨʷͫā Ǩ͛ĕ ɬ˳ˁʓ̈ ƛćΑҙҏā ɡˀˏͫā Ʀ ΒҨҞ͎ ƛćΑҙҏā LJͲΑā .LJˁ̈Αā ɑͫĕ ɡʒ͘ LJ˳̑ć ɷˬʒ͘ LJ˳̑ ɡˀˏͫā āǛ́ͫ ɼˬˀͫā ǽ͎ ƛćΑҙҏā ƴĔLJͲ LJ́ʒʒ̵ ɼͫLJ̤ Ǩ͛ĕ ɬ˳ˁʓ̈ ɑͫĕ Ʀ ΒҨҞ͎ ǽ͵LJʔͫā LJͲΑāć .ɑͫĕ ɬ˳ˁʓ̈ āǛ΀ć ζɷʉͫLJ͇Αā ɬͲ Ʀǚʒˬͫ ɼˬ̿LJ̤ ɼͫLJ̤ .ɡˀˏͫā āǛ΀ ɑͫǛ͛ć ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ 176 Α LJ˳΀ć ζƦLJ̀Ǩ͇ LJ́˳ˈ̈ ķǛͫā ƦΑā Ǩʉ͈ ζāụ̈̌ ƴǨʉʔ͛ ƹāĔǍʶͫā ŁLJʥ̿ҙҏ ụ̈̌Ǎ̒ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ǽ͵LJʔͫā ȉʥʒͫā LJ́͵Ǎͫ 177ɼ̈ćāĔǍʶͫā ƴĔLJ˳ͫā ƦΑā ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ɼˬˈͫāć .ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ LJ́̑ ĔāǨ˳ͫā ζɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć ŷǩˏʓͫā :LJ˶́΀ ƦāĢǍ͛Ǜ˳ͫā ɼ̣́ ȅͫΒā ĢLJʦʒͫā ɑͫĕ LJ́˶Ͳ Ƚˏ̒Ģā łǨʦ̑ āĕΒāć .LJ́ʉ͎ ƴĢāǨʥͫā ɡ˳ˈͫ łǨʦ̑ Ʀǚʒͫā ǽ͎ łǨʔ͛ 178āĕΒLJ͎ .ĔǍ̵Αā ζɷ˳ˬˆ̈ć ŔćǨͫā Ģǚ˜̈ ɑͫĕ ǚ˶͇ć .ĔǍ̵Αā ƦǍ˜ʉ͎ ζLJ́˶Ͳ ƹḳ̌ ɷ͵Αҙҏ LJ́͵Ǎˬ͛ ɷ͵Ǎͫ ƴĔLJ˳ͫā ĢLJʦ̑ć .ŸLJͲǚͫāć ȇˬ˙ͫā ɬ˳ͫ ɡˀʥ̈ ɑͫĕ ǚ˶͇ć .ƴǚ̈ǚʷͫā ɼ˳ˬˆͫā ǽ͎ ǚˈ͘ āĕΒā ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ƛLJʥ͛ ƴĢǍˀͫā ƱǛ΀ ǽ͎ ɷͫLJ̤ ƦǍ˜̈ć ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ łĢLJ̿ 179ɑͫǛͫć .ȇʒ̵ ҨҞ̑ ɨˉͫāć ɨ́ͫāć ɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć Ʀǩʥͫāć ɼʷ̤Ǎͫā ĢLJʦʒͫā āǛ΀ ɷʉˬ͇ ȅͫǍʓ̵ā .ƹāĔǍʶͫā ǽ͎ Ƚ͘āć LJ́ʒ̤LJˀ͎ ζœĢLJ̥ ɬͲ ȇʒ̵ LJ́ͫ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫć ζƦLJʶ͵ΒLJ̑ łǨ́ͅ ȅʓͲ ȅˬ͇ ŰǨ˳ͫāć ɼˬˈͫā ɼˆˏͫ Ɏˬ˅̈ LJͲ āǨʉʔ͛ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΑā ɨˬ͇ ǚ͘ ɷ͵Αҙҏ ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ ɷ̒ĔLJͲ ķΑā «ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ ɷʓˬˈ͎» ɷͫǍ͘ć ɼʉ̀Ǩ˳ͫā 180ƴĔLJ˳ͫā. ƦΑā ɬͲ Ǩʉ̥ ŁāǨʷͫā ɬͲ Ʀǚʒͫā Α ҨҞ˳̒ ƦΑҙҏ» ɷͫǍ͘ ŔǨ̶ LJ͵Ǩ͛ĕ ȉʉ̤ Ƣǚ˙̒ LJ˳ʉ͎ Ȉ͎Ǩ͇ ǚ͘ :ȉͫLJʔͫā ȉʥʒͫā ĔǨ̈ LJ˳ͫ ƛǍʒ˙ͫā 181LJ́ͫ Ǽʉ΀ ǽ΀ ȉʉ̤ ɬͲ ǽ͵āǍʉʥͫā ŔćǨͫā ƦΑLJ̑ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ ɼʉ͵LJ̓ ǽ͎ «ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɬͲ ƱΑ ҨҞ˳̒ ƱǛ΀ ƦΑā ɑ̶ ҙҏć .182ƴLJʉʥͫā ĢLJ̓ΐā ƛǍʒ˙ͫ ɼʉ͵ǚʒͫā ŔāćĢΑҙҏā ǚˈ̒ ƦΑā LJ́͵ΑLJ̶ ɼʉ͵āǍʉʥͫā ƴǍ˙ͫā ƦΑā ɨˬ͇ ǚ͘ ɷ͵Αҙҏ ζɷʉˬ͇ Ĕāǚˈʓ̵ҙҏā ƦΒā ɡʉ͘ ɑͫǛͫć .LJ́ʉˬ͇ ɼ̇ĢLJ̈́ ĢǍͲΑ ҨҞ͎ Ĕāǚˈʓ̵ҙҏā LJͲΑāć Ⱥ˙͎ ƛǍʒ͘ LJ́ͫ ŔćǨͫLJ͎ .183ƴLJʉʥͫā ĢLJ̓ΐā ɬͲ łāǚˈͲ ƦǍ˜̒ ƦΑā ȇʤʉ͎ ζŔǨˏˬͫ łāǚˈ˳ͫā Ȉ˳ˬ͇ ǚ͘ć .ɬʉˬ̑LJ˙ʓ˳ͫā ṳ̈̌ ȅͫΒā ťLJʉ˙ͫLJ̑ ƴǍ˙ͫā ƛLJ˳˜ʓ̵ā Ǎ΀ Ȼˬˉͫāć ɼ͘Ǩͫā ɬʉ̑ LJ́ͲāǍ͘ ƛāǚʓ͇āć ŔćǨͫā Ģāǚ˙Ͳ Ǩ͎Ǎ̒ Ȉ͎Ǩ͇ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ ŔǨˏͫā łāǚˈͲć .ɑͫǛͫ ɼˬ̑LJ˙Ͳ ɨˉͫā LJ́ͲāǍ͘ ƴĢćǚ͛ć ǽ͵āǍʉʥͫā ŔćǨͫā ɼˬ͘ ǽ΀ć ζɑͫĕ łҨҞ̑LJ˙Ͳ ɷʉ͎ Ƚ˳ʓ̣ā ǚ͘ 185ķćāĔǍʶͫāć .184LJ́ʓʉ͵āĢǍ͵ć Ȉ͵LJ͛ ȅʓͲ LJ́͵Αҙҏ ζLJ́ʉˬ͇ LJ͎Ḁ̌ ɬ̈́LJʒͫā ǽ͎ LJ́˜ʶ˳̒ć LJ́̑ ɼˈʉʒ˅ͫā ɡʥ˶̒ Ģāǚ˙˳ͫā ɼˬ͘ ȇʒʶʒ͎ .LJ́ʓ˳ˬͅć 175 MS P3, fol. 325a, line 8 from the bottom–fol. 325b, line 2 from the bottom; I1 [no folation] b, line 7–a, line 4 from the bottom; MS BL1, fol. 160a, line 4 from bottom–fol. 160b, line 18 (this manuscript contains a lot of errors and omissions, and its readings are therefore not quoted and reported here systematically). 176 ƹāĔǍʶͫā] om. P3. 177 in cod.: ɼ̈ćāĔǍʶͫā ƴĔLJ˳ͫā {ɼˬ˳ͫā ƦΑā}. 178 āĕΒLJ͎] I1, BL1; P3: ƦΒLJ͎. 179 ɑͫǛͫć] P3; I1: ɑͫĕć. 180 ƴĔLJ˳ͫā] I1, BL1; P3: ɼ̈ĔLJ˳ͫā. 181 LJ́ͫ Ǽʉ΀ ǽ΀] I1, BL1; P3: LJ́̑ Ǽʉ΀. 182 ƴLJʉʥͫā] P3, BL1; I1: ƴĢāǨʥͫā. 183 ƴLJʉʥͫā] P3, BL1; I1: ƴĢāǨʥͫā. 184 LJ́ʓʉ͵āĢǍ͵ć] coni. (recte?); P3: LJ́ʓ̈āĢǍ͵ć; I1: LJ́͵āĢǍ͵ (without dots). 185 ķćāĔǍʶͫāć] I1, BL1; P3: ƹāĔǍʶͫāć.

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LJ˳͛ ɑͫĕć ζΑāǚʒ˳ͫā ǚ˶͇ ɬ̈́LJʒͫā ǽ͎ LJ́ʓ˜ʶͲ ɑͫǛ̑ Ʉ̒ ɨͫ ȅʓͲć .ɬ̈́LJʒͫāć Ǩ΀LJˆͫā Ǩʉ̑ǚʓ̑ Ʉ̒ ɨͫ ɑͫǛ͛ ζĿǍ˙ͫā Ⱥʶʒ˶̒ ɨͫ Ǩ΀LJˆͫā ɼ̣́ ȅͫΒā ŔāćĢΑҙҏā Ⱥʶʒ˶̒ ɨͫ ȅʓͲć .ƦǍͫćǩ́˳ͫāć ț̈LJʷ˳ͫāć ƦǍ́͘LJ˶ͫā ɷʉˬ͇ Ǎ΀ ɑͫĕ ȽͲ ŔāćĢΑҙҏā Ȉ͵LJ͛ ƦΒLJ͎ .ɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć ɨˉͫā ɡ̑ Ȉ͎Ǩ͇ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ ŔǨˏͫā ɡˀʥ̈ ɨˬ͎ .ŔāćĢΑҙҏā ɼͫǍ˳ʥͲ LJ́͵Αҙҏ LJͲΑā .ǚ˙ʥͫā Ǎ΀ć ζȈ̑LJ̓ ȇˁ͈ ɑͫĕ ɬͲ ɡˀ̤ ζǨ΀LJˆͫā ǽ͎ ŴLJʶʒ͵ҙҏLJ̑ ǽˏ̒ LJ́͵Αā ȉʉʥ̑ ζĢāǚ˙˳ͫā ƴǨʉʔ͛ ҙҏ Ȼˬˉͫā ȇʒʶ̑ć .ƴĔLJ˳ͫā Ȼˬˉˬ͎ łLJʒʔͫā LJͲΑāć .ɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć ɨˉˬͫ LJ΀Ĕāǚˈʓ̵ҙҏć ƴǚʥͫā ȅͫΒā ƴĔLJ˳ͫā ɡʉ˳ˬ͎ ȇˁˉͫā Ʀǩʥͫāć ɨˉͫā ɡˀʥʉ͎ ζɬ̈́LJʒͫā ɼ̣́ ȅͫΒā ȈͫLJͲ ŷćLJ˅̒ ɨͫ ȅʓͲć .Ʉʉ˅ˬͫā ŷāǍ˅̒ LJ˳͛ ɼ͛Ǩʥͫā ǽ͎ ŷćLJ˅̒ ĢǍͲΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ Ȉˈ˳ʓ̣ā LJ˳ͫć .œĢLJʦͫā ǽ͎ ɼ˳ˬˆͫā ƛLJ̤ ɷʉˬ͇ Ǎ΀ LJ˳͛ ȫˏ˶ͫā Ȭ̤Ǎ̒ LJ́ʓ˳ˬͅ ȇʒʶ̑ć .ɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć ɬͲ ŔǨˏ̈ ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ .žҨҞʦͫLJ̑ ɷͫLJ̤ ƦLJ͛ ɬͲ žҨҞʦ̑ āụ̈̌ ķǍ͘ ŔǨˏ˳ͫ ҙҏΒā ŔǨˏ̈ ҙҏ ĢLJ̿ ķćāĔǍʶͫā ǽ͎ ɼ̓ҨҞʔͫā .ɨˬ͇Αā ɷˬͫāć ɼʥˀͫā Ȼˏ̤ ǽ͎ ƱLJ͵Ǩ͛ĕ LJͲ ɷ̑Ǩ̶ ǽ͎ [τ] ȅ͇āĢ āĕΒā ζǨ˳ʦͫā ŁĢLJ̶ ɷʉˬ͇ Ǎ΀ LJ˳͛ ŔǨˏͲ ȅ͵ĔΑā ɡ̥āĔ ɬͲ ɷͫLJ˙ʓ͵ā LJͲΑāć ζĔǍ˳ʥ˳̑ ȫʉͫ ɡ̥āĔ ȅͫΒā œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ ƴǨ˳ʥͫā ȅ͇ǚ̈ ķǛͫā ƢĢǍͫā ƛLJ˙ʓ͵ā» :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ «.ĔǍ˳ʥͲ œĢLJ̥ ȅͫΒā Hippocrates said: ‘If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī].’ Here, the explanation [al-šarḥ] consists of three topics [mabāḥiṯ]. The first concerns the connection of this aphorism with what came before it, and again what came before that. As regards the first, the first aphorism186 contains a discussion of the state that affects the body from the top.187 This contains that.188 The second189 contains the discussion of a state that is caused by melancholic [disease] matter [mādda sawdāwīya].190 This is similar to this aphorism.191 The second topic concerns the fact that the symptoms [al-ʾaʿrāḍ] that the patients have are extremely numerous, but that two symptoms are common to them, namely the two mentioned here: fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and depression [al-kaʾāba], meaning despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs]. The reason [al-ʿilla] for this is that the melancholic matter [al-mādda al-sawdāwīya] has a black 186 That is, that directly preceding, vi. 22: ‘Those ruptures in the back which spread down to the elbows are removed by venesection (Ὁκόϲα ῥήγματα ἐκ τοῦ νώτου ἐϲ τοὺϲ ἀγκῶναϲ καταβαίνει, φλεβοτομίη λύει).’ tr. Francis Adams. 187 In other words, melancholy affects the body from the top [the brain], and this is also the case for aphorism vi. 22, where ruptures spread from the top of the back to the elbows, that is, a lower part of the body. 188 That is, the present aphorism vi. 23 contains the feature of something spreading from the top. 189 That is, aphorism vi. 21: ‘In maniacal affections, if varices or hemorrhoids come on, they remove the mania (Τοῖϲι μαινομένοιϲι κιρϲῶν ἢ αἱμορροΐδων ἐπιγινομένων μανίηϲ λύϲιϲ).’ tr. Francis Adams. 190 That is, madness, mentioned in aphorism vi. 21, is caused by melancholic disease matter, as is melancholy itself. 191 Again, vi. 23 is similar to vi. 21 in that melancholic disease matter is present in both.

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colour. If a lot of it [the melancholic matter] is present in the body, it turns into vapour because of the effect of the heat [contained] in it. When it turns into vapour, this vapour [buḫār] rises up from it in the direction of the heart and brain. The vapour of the [disease] matter has a colour similar to that of it [the disease matter itself], since it [the vapour] is part of it [the disease matter]; it therefore is black. During this [process]192, it [the vapour] renders the pneuma [ar-rūḥ] turbid and dark. Its condition in this form is like that of someone sitting in extreme darkness. During this [process] someone overpowered by this vapour is affected by forlornness [al-waḥša], sadness [al-ḥuzn], depression [al-kaʾāba], concern [al-hamm], or sorrow [al-ġamm] without cause [sabab]. Therefore, when these symptoms appear in someone whilst they do not have an external cause, then the patient suffering from them has been affected by black [bile; al-sawdāʾ]. By his phrase ‘then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī]’ he means ‘its [disease] matter is melancholic [māddatuhū sawdāwīyatun]’, because it is known that Hippocrates often applies the terms ‘disease [al-ʿilla]’ and ‘illness [al-maraḍ]’ to the disease matter [al-mādda al-maraḍīya]. The third topic. You have learnt previously when we discussed the explanation of his phrase ‘to fill the body with drink is better that to fill it with food’ in the second [section] of this book193 that the vital pneuma (ar-rūḥ al-ḥayawānī) has been prepared by it [?] to receive what comes upon it. For it is known that the vital power naturally predisposes the bodily pneumas to accept the effects of life [ʾāṯār al-ḥayāt]194. The pneuma is only able to receive, whereas the predisposition belongs to things that occur to it. For this reason one says that predisposition is the completion of the power through analogy [istikmālu l-qūwati bi-l-qiyāsi] to be at [one] extreme of two things being opposite each other [ʾilā ḥaddi l-mataqābilatayni]. You already know the things that predispose to joy; therefore, the things that predispose to sorrow [al-ġamm] are the opposite of this. As you know, the things that predispose to joy are an overabundant amount of pneuma, its consistency that is balanced between thinness and thickness, and its luminosity. In the case of the melancholic [al-sawdāwī], the opposite things of this come together, namely a small amount of vital pneuma and that its consistency is turbid and dark. Because of the small amount, nature is dissolved through it [the small amount of vital pneuma], keeping it [the vital pneuma] in the inside, because it [nature] is afraid for it [the vital pneuma]. For when it [nature] is in this state, it [nature] cannot satisfactorily arrange the outside and inside [lam tafi bi-tadbīri l-ẓāhiri 192 That is, when melancholic disease matter turns into vapour and rises to the heart and the brain. 193 Aphorisms ii. 11: ‘Ῥᾷον πληροῦϲθαι ποτοῦ ἢ ϲιτίου.’ 194 An important variant reading has ‘effects of heat (ʾāṯār al-ḥarāra)’ here.

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wa-l-bāṭini]. When it [nature] cannot do this satisfactorily, it [nature] keeps it [the vital pneuma] in the inside during the beginning. This is the situation of people who convalesce, the old and the emaciated. When the pneumas do not spread to the outside, the powers do not spread [there either], because they are carried by the pneumas. Then, as you know, joy does not supervene, but sorrow [al-ġamm] and depression [al-kaʾāba]. If the pneumas are present in large quantity under these circumstances, so that they can satisfactorily spread to the outside, then this causes constant anger [ġaḍab ṯābit], that is, rancour [al-ḥiqd], to supervene. Anger [occurs] because the [disease] matter is somewhat sharp, and predisposed to sorrow [al-ġamm] and depression [al-kaʾāba]. The constancy [of the anger] is due to the thickness of the [disease] matter. Because of the thickness, it [the pneuma] does not consent to move, as does the thin one. When it does not consent, it tends towards the inside, so that sorrow [al-ġamm], sadness [alḥuzn], and depression [al-kaʾāba] occur. Because it [the pneuma] is dark, it makes the soul forlorn, as is the case with darkness in the outside. When these three things come together in the melancholic [patient], he no longer feels joy, except when there is an extremely strong cause for joy, unlike someone who is in the opposite situation. For he [such as person] feels joy for the simplest of causes, as happens in the case of someone who drinks wine, if he is excessive [?] in his drinking, as we have mentioned in On the Preservation of Health. God knows best. Ibn al-Quff’s entry on aphorism vi. 23 is too long and too complex to do it justice here. He discusses first the connection between this and the previous aphorisms. Then he investigates the problem of the ‘disease matter (al-mādda al-maraḍīya)’. In both these cases, Ibn al-Quff approaches his task quite differently from his predecessors, as they did not explicitly deal with these topics. His third investigation is by far the longest: it considers the role of ‘pneuma (rūḥ)’ in this disease. He also touches on the problem of predisposition for this disease, a topic already raised by Galen and other commentators. Even here, most of what Ibn al-Quff says is original in the context of this aphorism. Yet, one cannot help but notice that Ibn al-Quff’s discussion appears to be based largely on theoretical considerations: nowhere does he mentions his own practical experience.

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ʿAbdallāh ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn Mūsā al-Sīwāsī (early 14th cent.) Al-Sīwāsī195 completed his commentary with the title Support of the Paragons to Comment on the Aphorisms (ʿUmdat al-fuḥūl fi šarḥ al-Fuṣūl) in 1314. It survives—apart from a fragment in the Bodleian Library196—in the following five manuscripts: Alexandria, Bibliotheca Alexandrina, MS Maktabat Baladīyat al-ʾIskandarīya 1846 dāl ṭibb197 Istanbul, Veliyeddin 2509 (fols. 109b–164b)198 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3721 (fols. 68–109) Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, Şehid Ali Paşa, MS 2045 (fols 1–55) Paris, BnF 2844 (fonds arabe) (fols. 1–98)199; MS P4. Emilie Savage-Smith convincingly proved that the text of this specific commentary closely follows that by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, but that it is certainly not identical to it. According to her ‘this contention is further supported by the extract of al-Sīwāsī’s introduction given in the Kašf al-ẓunūn by Ḥaǧǧī Ḫalīfa (Kātip Çelebi), where it is evident that al-Sīwāsī intended his commentary to be an exposition and final improvement on that by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq’.200 This conclusion is also confirmed by the introduction of the MS P4, which gives evidence of alSīwāsī’s deep respect for Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq. The latter namely solved a fair portion of the problems of the Hippocratic text and he was able to shed light on its profound difficulties. However, he was not able to do away with the repetitive character of the text and its long-windedness. Al-Sīwāsī intends, however, to set the record straight, and to improve these matters in his own commentary. Al-Sīwāsī’s entry on aphorism vi. 23 demonstrates both his indebtedness to Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq and his independence in interpreting Hippocrates. Here, a linguistic misunderstanding gives rise to an interesting exegetical solution201:

ɷʓˬˈ͎ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ LJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ ķǨʓˈ̈ LJͲ ɷʒ̤LJ̿ ķǨʓˈʉ͎ ζɷ˳ˬͅΑāć ǽ͵LJʶˏ˶ͫā ŔćǨͫā Ģǚ͛ ŸLJͲǚͫā ȅˬ͇ ȇˬ͈ āĕΒā ķćāĔǍʶͫā Ⱥˬʦͫā :Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ȅΎ̒ΑLJʓ̈ ҙҏ ȅʓ̤ ɼ͛Ǩʥ˳ͫā ƴǍ˙ͫā Ʉˈˁ̒ ǽ͵LJʶˏ˶ͫā ŔćǨͫā ƴĢćǚ͛ć .Ʀǩʥͫāć žǍʦͫā ɬͲ ɼ˳ˬˆͫā ǽ͎ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā .ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ ɑͫĕć ŰǨˈ̑ć Ǩʶˈ̑ ҙҏΒā ȫˏ˶ͫā łҙҏΐāć Ģǚˀͫā ɑ̈Ǩʥ̒ .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵

195 196 197 198 199 200 201

Zaydān 1991, 16 (Arabic 32) calls him "a Turkish physician". Savage-Smith 2011, no. 7. Zaydān 1996, pp. 272–3, no. 296. The three Istanbul manuscripts are listed in Şeşen 1984, 10. Slane 1883–95, 512. Savage-Smith 2011, no. 7. MS P4, fol. 87a, lines 3–9.

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Hippocrates said: ‘If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī].’ Explanation [tafsīr]: When the melancholic humour [al-ḫilṭ al-sawdāwī] dominates the brain, it renders the psychic pneuma turbid and dark. Then the patient suffers from the fear [al-ḫawf] and sadness [al-ḥuzn] that someone in the dark experiences. The turbidness of the psychic pneuma weakens the faculty of movement [al-qūwa al-muḥarrika], so that the movement of the chest and the instruments of breathing [ʾālāt al-nafas] can only be accomplished with difficulty and accidentally. This is ‘badnessof-breathing’ [ḫubṯ al-nafas]. Al-Sīwāsī begins by picking up on the idea darkness (ẓulma) affecting the psychic pneuma that we already encountered in Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq. But then, his interpretation seems to rely on the misreading of the Arabic calque ḫubṯ al-n-f-s. Nafs (‘soul’) is the correct vocalisation that corresponds to the Greek dysthymía. But al-Sīwāsī reads ḫubṯ al-nafas, literally meaning ‘badness of breathing’. For this reason, he explains the difficulty to breathe that results from the darkening of the psychic pneuma. From our perspective, this explanation is obviously wrong, as it is based on a linguistic mistake. Yet it still testifies to the originality of the interpreter when faced with a difficult phrase such as ḫubṯ al-n-f-s.

Ibn Qāsim al-Kilānī Al-Kilānī, about whom little is known, composed his commentary between 1340 and 1356.202 It only survives in a single manuscript: London, British Library, MS Or. 5939.203 In the preface, the author extols medicine as the art that is necessary for all branches of knowledge, since a healthy body is the basis of sound thinking. In this context, he quotes the prophet as saying: ‘If someone’s nature is sound, then his [observance of the] law is sound (ǚ˙͎ ɷʓˈʉʒ̈́ Ȉʥ̿ ɬͲ ɷʓˈ̈Ǩ̶ Ȉʥ̿)’.204 The author is going to write a commentary on the Aphorisms, but he criticises the previous commentary by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq205: 202 Zaydān 1991, 16 (Arabic 32), avers that Ibn Qāsim al-Kilānī composed his commentary for a certain dignitary, namely the Batuʾid sultan of Qipčaq, Ǧānī Beg Maḥmūd Ḫān (d. 1357); see also Hamarneh 1975, 5. 203 Hamarneh 1975, p. 5, no. 7; MS BL2. Bink Hallum was kind enough to inspect this manuscript for us, and he provided us with a preliminary transcript on which the following quotations are based. 204 MS BL2, fol. 1a, line 11. This ḥadīṯ does not occur in the canonical collections; see, for instance, Wensinck 1992, under ṣaḥḥa. 205 MS BL2, fol. 1b, lines 9–13.

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ŁLJʓ͛ ƛǍˀˏͫ ȇʉ̒Ǩʓͫā Ɏ͎āǍͲ ɷʉ͎ LJ̤́Ǩ̶ć ƛǍˀˏͫā Ǩ͛ĕ ȫʉͫć ȇ̒ǨͲ Ǩʉ͈ ȺˬʓʦͲ ƈĔLJˀͫā ǽ̑Αā ŔǨ̶ ƦΑҙҏ ɬͲ ɡˀ͎ Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ȇͫLJ˅ͫā ǚʤ̈ ҙҏć ƹLJ˳˜ʥͫā ɬʉ̑ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ˳ͫāć ƹLJʒ̈́Αҙҏā ɬʉ̑ ƛćāǚʓ˳ͫā ȇ̒Ǩ˳ͫā ɬʉʶʥͫā ǽ̑Αā Ǩʶ͇ć Ǩˆ͵ ƛǍ˅̑ ҙҏΒā ŴǍʒˁ˳ͫā Ǩʉˉͫā ƈĔLJˀͫā ǽ̑Αā ŔǨ̶ ǽ͎ ȇ̒Ǩ˳ͫā ŁLJʓ˜ͫā For the commentary by [Ibn] ʾAbī Ṣādiq is confused and unorganised. In it, the discussion and explanation of the aphorisms does not correspond to the Arrangement of the Aphorisms in the Arranged Book by ʾAbū l-Ḥusayn [al-Sanǧarī]. It circulates among the physicians and is used by the doctors. But someone who wants to look up the explanation of an aphorism in the Arranged Book will only find [the information] in the inaccurate commentary by [Ibn] ʾAbī Ṣādiq after looking for a long time and with difficulty. Then, the author gives his name as ʾAḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Qāsim almutaṭabbib al-Kilānī, and says that he explained the aphorisms ‘according to the arrangement of the book by al-Sanǧarī (ķǨʤ˶ʶͫā ŁLJʓ͛ ȇʉ̒Ǩ̒ ȅˬ͇)’.206 Although al-Kilānī complained about Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, he remains an important source for his commentary on aphorism vi. 23207: .ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ ɷʓˬˈ͎ ζΈ ҨҞ̈Ǎ̈́ ΈLJ͵LJͲģ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā ɷ̑ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ ƦǍ˶ˆͫā Ǩʉˉ̒ Ǎ΀ LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJ˳ͫāć [2] .LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJ˳ͫā ŁLJʥ̿Αҙҏ ɼͲģҨҞͫā ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ɬͲ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏʓͫā [1] ŸLJͲǚͫā ŔćĢ Ȭ̤Ǎ̈ ķćāĔǍʶͫā œāǩͲ ƴƹāĔǨͫć [3] .žǍʦͫā ȅͫΒāć ĔLJʶˏͫā ȅͫΒā ǽˈʉʒ˅ͫā ĿǨʤ˳ͫā ɬ͇ Ǩ˜ˏͫāć Ί ȫ̑LJʉͫā ĔĢLJʒͫā œāǩͲ ƦΑā ȅˬ͇ [4] ζɼ̣ĢLJʦͫā ɼ˳ˬˆͫā Ȭ̤Ǎ̒ć ŷǩˏ̒ LJ˳͛ ζɼ˳ˬˆ̑ ɷ͇ǩˏ̒ć ɡ̥āĔ ɬͲ žLJ˶Ͳ ƦΑā LJͲΒā ɷʒʒ̵ć [6] .ɼ͘ǨʥͲ Ǩʉ͈ ƹāĔǍ̵ ɬ͇ ɷ̓ćṳ̈̌ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳ͫ 208LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJͲ ƛLJ˙̈ LJ˳͵Βāć [5] .ƱLJ̈Βā ɄˈˁͲ ŔćǨˬͫ ƹǍ̵ ɬͲ ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā LJͲΒLJ͎ ζɷʶˏ͵ ŸLJͲǚͫā ǽ͎ ķǛͫāć [7] .ŸLJͲǚͫā œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ LJͲΒāć ζɷʶˏ͵ ŸLJͲǚͫā ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̒ ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā LJͲΒāć [8] ζɼ˳ˬˆͫā ȅͫΒā Ǩʉ˶ͫā ŔćǨͫā œāǩͲ Ǩʉˉ̒ć Ȼʉˬˉʓ̑ ŸLJͲǚͫā Ǩ΀Ạ̌ ɡ˙ʔ̒ ƴǨͲ ҨҞ̑ ȫ̑LJ̈ ĔĢLJ̑ œāǩͲ žǍʦͫā ŰǨˈʉ͎ ζǽ͵LJʶˏ˶ͫā ŔćǨͫā Ȉ˳ˬͅΑLJ͎ [9] .ŸLJͲǚͫā ȅˬ͇ ɼʒͫLJ͈ ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ łāĢLJʦ̑ ćΑā ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ ƴǨͲ ȽͲ ζLJ˳́͵LJͲģ ƛLJ̈́ć ζLJ˳́ʒʒ̵ žǨˈ̈ ɨͫć [11] †ζɬʉ̀ĢLJˈͫā āǛ΀ ƹǨ˳ͫā ȅˬ͇ ɨʤ̿ LJ˳́Ͳ ƛǍ˙̈† [01] Ʀǩʥͫāć .ƢāǛʤͫāć ƦǍ˶ʤͫLJ͛ ķćāĔǍ̵ Ǩ̥ΐā ŰǨͲ ćΑā LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJ˳ͫā ǽ͎ Ƚ˙̈ ɷ͵Αā ɨˬ͇LJ͎ [21] Hippocrates said: ‘If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī].’ [1] Fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] belong to the symptoms that necessarily befall those suffering from melancholy. [2] Melancholy is the change of opinion and thought from its natural state 206 MS BL2, fol. 1b, line 14. 207 MS BL2, fol. 85b, line 3–fol. 86a, line 6. 208 LJʉͫǍʦ˶ͫLJͲ] inserted above the line by the same hand.

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to corruption [al-fasād] and fear [al-ḫawf]. [3] Because the mixture of the melancholic is bad, the pneuma of the brain is made to feel forlorn internally and is frightened by darkness, just as the darkness outside makes one feel forlorn and frightened. [4] For the mixture of someone cold and dry is contrary to the pneuma of the brain and weakens it. [5] One calls something melancholy when it is brought about by black [bile] that is not burnt. [6] It is either caused by the fact that it [the bile] is inside the brain itself, or outside the brain. [7] The [type] that is in the brain itself is caused by a cold, dry bad mixture. This happens either without bile [mirra]. Then the substance of the brain is made heavy through thickening, whilst the mixture of the psychic pneuma changes to darkness. [8] Or it is accompanied by melancholic bile or thick melancholic vapours that dominate the brain. [9] Then they [the bile and the vapours] darken the psychic pneuma, so that fear [al-ḫawf] and sadness [al-ḥuzn] occur. [10] If one of these two symptoms befalls someone [?]209 [11] without their cause being known, whilst they last for a long period of time, [12] then know that he will succumb to melancholy or another melancholic disease such as madness [ǧunūn] or leprosy [al-ǧuḏām]. Al-Kilānī begins his commentary with some fairly standard statements: fear and despondency characterise melancholy (§ 1), which he then defines (§ 2). Then he draws on Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq’s comparison between the inner darkness of the brain and the outer darkness that frightens people (§ 3). He then explains the action of the pneuma in terms of the primary qualities of the black bile, dry and cold (§ 4), and classifies the type as that which is not burnt (§ 5); melancholy due to black bile resulting from burning is normally associated with fury or lethargy. Then al-Kilānī resorts to an interesting division and subdivision of melancholy, according to whether it occurs inside or outside the brain (§ 6); and whether in the former case black bile is present or not (§§ 7–9). In the following (§§ 10–11), he appears to give information already found in Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, namely that prolonged fear and despondency without an apparent cause lead to melancholy and other related diseases (§ 12). Like other commentators, al-Kilānī combines the familiar with the novel. The fact that melancholic vapours cause the psychic pneuma to darken, resulting in fear and despondency is well known. His explanation for this phenomenon in terms of primary qualities, however, does not appear in any other commentary discussed here. Likewise, his division of types of melancholy is equally absent from his predecessors. And it is quite different from the standard division of melancholy into epigastric, encephalic, and general, that we know well from 209 The Arabic text as printed above is clearly corrupt, but we have not been able to find the right conjecture yet; the translation conveys the probable meaning of this phrase.

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Galen’s Affected Parts, but that probably goes back to Rufus.210 Compared to our next and last commentator to be discussed here in detail, al-Kilānī therefore appears as a quite interesting figure.

ʾIbrāhīm al-Kīšī Al-Kīšī wrote a commentary on the Aphorisms entitled Means to Arrive at the Questions about the Aphorisms (Wasāʾil al-wuṣūl ʾilā masāʾil al-Fuṣūl). To date, little has been ascertained about the author of this commentary. In the Leiden manuscript, the author’s full name is given as ʿIzz al-Milla wa-l-Dīn ʾIbrāhīm al-Kīšī.211 A person by the same name is the author of an Abridgment of the Generalities in the Canon of Medicine (Muḫtaṣar Kullīyāt al-Qānūn fī l-ṭibb); this text is preserved in a Turkish manuscript.212 As this manuscript was finished in AH 753 (corresponding to AD 1352) in Damascus, al-Kīšī must have been born at least a few decades before this date. According to various scholars, his Means to Arrive at the Questions about the Aphorisms is extensively quoted in the glossary of a certain ʿImād al-Dīn ʿAbd ar-Raḥīm al-Ṭabīb.213 The latter appears to have finished his work in AH 785 (AD 1383). This could be correct, since the scribe of the Istanbul manuscript finished his copy four years later, namely in AH 789 (AD 1387). Rosenthal, who refers to our author as ʾIbrāhīm al-Kaššī, did not have the opportunity to consult the Means to Arrive at the Questions about the Aphorisms in manuscript. He speculated that it may ‘raise interesting points or contain certain information not known to us from earlier works’.214 This commentary is preserved in four manuscripts: Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS Ṭalʿat 594 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Ayasofya 3670;215 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS Or. 58 Voorhoeve216; MS LUB1 Mašhad, Riḍawīya, MS 123217 From our initial investigation of the manuscripts, we can give the following assessment. It is a short, lemmatic commentary: the Hippocratic text is quoted, 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217

Pormann 2008a, 5–6. MS LUB1, fol. 1b, line 9. Manisa, Kitapsaray, MS 1766, fols. 4a–88b; see Dietrich 1966, 96–8; Şeşen 1984, 72. Brockelmann 1937–49, suppl. ii. p. 1029, no. 21; Sezgin 1970, 31; Şeşen 1984, 11. Rosenthal 1966, 244–5. Şeşen 1984, 11. Voorhoeve 1980, 85. Dānišpažhūh et al. 1926–93, vol. iii, p. 290, no. 123.

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and then a brief explanation follows. The commentary begins with a short reflection on the name ‘Buqrāṭ (Hippocrates)’ and briefly retells the the events that allegedly occurred at Hippocrates’ graveside; ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī also deals with this topic in the preface to his commentary on the Prognostics.218 After this short reflection, the commentary commences with the first aphorism. The short and somewhat derivative character of the commentary also appears from the following sample dealing with aphorism vi. 23219: .ƹāĔǍ̵ ɷʉ͎ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ŷǩˏ̒ ƢāĔ ɬͲ :ƛLJ͘ Α ɼ̈ćāĔǍ̵ łāĢLJʦ̑ ƹLJ˙̒Ģā ȅˬ͇ Ʀҙҏǚ̈ LJ˳́͵ҙҏ ķćāĔǍ̵ ŰǨͲ ȅˬ͇ Ʀҙҏǚ̈ ȫˏ˶ͫā ȉʒ̥ć ɨ̇āǚͫā ŷǩˏʓͫā :ƛǍ͘Αā ɬͲ ƢāĔ āĕΒLJ͎ ɼ̑ΐLJ˜ͫāć žǍʦͫā ɬͲ ɼ˳ˬˆͫā ǽ͎ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ķǨʓˈ̈ LJͲ LJ́ʒ̤LJˀͫ ķǨʓˈʉ͎ ǽ͎LJˀͫā ŔćǨˬͫ ɼ˳ˬˆͲ LJ́́ʒ̶Αā LJͲć ƦLJ̈́Ǩʶͫāć ƢāǚʤͫLJ͛ ɼ̈ćāĔǍʶͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ŷǍ͘Ǎˬͫ ɬʉʒʒ̵ LJ͵LJ͛ Ǩ΀LJͅ ȇʒ̵ Ǩʉ͈ He said: ‘If fear [al-tafazzuʿ] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] last for a long time, then his illness [ʿilla] is melancholic [sawdāwī].’ I say: constant fear [al-tafazzuʿ al-dāʾim] and despondency [ḫubṯ al-nafs] indicate a melancholic illness [maraḍ sawdāwī], because they indicate that melancholic vapours that darken the clear pneuma [ar-rūḥ al-ṣāfī] have ascended. Then the patient is affected by the fear [al-ḫawf] and depression [al-kaʾāba] that affects someone in the dark. If it persists without any apparent cause, then these two [things] become causes for the occurrence of melancholic diseases such as leprosy [al-ǧuḏām], cancer [al-saraṭān] and the like. The entry in al-Kīšī’s commentary appears to be based entirely on that by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq. In the second part, al-Kīšī merely copied a few phrases with very little alteration. The only somewhat surprising feature in this commentary is the ‘clear pneuma (ar-rūḥ al-ṣāfī)’ which does not have any parallels in the other commentaries listed above.

Other commentaries In the bibliographical literature, six other commentaries are mentioned for which we have been unable to see any manuscripts. We can therefore only provide some references to them here, without being able to shed any new light on their character. They are: 218 See our article on al-Baġdādī in the present volume. 219 MS LUB1, fol. 50a, lines 15–21.

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1. Commentary by Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Salām al-Miṣrī, entitled Good Imported to Arrange the Aphorisms (Baḍāʾīʿ al-nuqūl fī tafṣīl al-Fuṣūl). It is preserved in two Cairene manuscripts (Dār al-Kutub, MSS ṭibb 876 and ṭibb 7m).220 2. Commentary by Zayn al-Dīn Ḫālid ibn ʿAbdallāh ʾAzharī (fl. c. 1500), extant in one Iranian manuscript (Qum, Library of the Markaz ʾIḥyāʾ al-Turāṯ alʾIslāmī, MS 740)221 3. Commentary by Masʿūd Farzand Ḥusayn Ǧunābaḏī, also extant in only one Iranian manuscript (Qum, Maktabat ʾĀyat ʾAllāh al-ʿUẓmā al-Marʿašī alNaǧafī, no. 657)222 4. Commentary by Muḥammad al-ʿAṭṭār al-Dimašqī, extant in only one Cairene manuscript (Dār al-Kutub, MS ṭibb 440)223 5. Commentary by Al-Manāwī (d. 893 AH), entitled Taḥqīq al-wuṣūl ʾilā šarḥ al-Fuṣūl. It is preserved in one manuscript from Madrid: Escurial, MS árabe 878.224 6. Commentary by Naǧm al-Dīn ʾAḥmad ibn al-Minfāḫ (or: al-Minfāḥ) (d. AH 652 or 656), one of the medical teachers of the aforementioned Ibn al-Quff,225 entitled Epistle Refuting the Objections against the Book of Aphorisms (Risāla fī radd al-iʿtirāḍāt ʿalā kitāb al-Fuṣūl). It is preserved in one short fragment only: Istanbul, Hekimoğlu Camii, MS 574 (fols. 124b–155b).226 In the bibliographical literature two anonymous commentaries are mentioned, for which we also have been unable to see any manuscripts. They are: Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, MS Ahlwardt 6225227 Rampur, Raza Library, MS ṭibb 3820228

Conclusions In this article, we could only offer vignettes on the exegetical tradition of the Aphorisms in Arabic, and future research will have to explore this fascinating subject further. There are, however, a number of tentative conclusions that we 220 Sezgin 1970, 31; Zaydān 1991, p. 15 (p. 31 Arabic), mentions the same text, but now composed by a certain Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Salām al-Muẓaffarī. 221 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī, 2003–4, ii. 397. 222 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī, 1994, xxix. 541-2. 223 Zaydān 1991, p. 15 (p. 31 Arabic). 224 Zaydān 1991, p. 16 (p. 32 Arabic). 225 See Hamarneh, 1974, 48-9, 65, 67, 174. 226 This manuscript has been described in Şeşen 1984, 8–9. 227 Ahlwardt 1893, 497–8. 228 ʿAršī 1963–1977, v. 150–51.

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can draw from the present survey. First of all, perhaps the most striking feature of this tradition is its richness. The sometimes long lists of manuscripts provided above illustrate that the interest in the Aphorisms continued for centuries in the Arabic-speaking world. It encompassed the three Abrahamic religions as well as a large geographic space. And we have not even broached the subject of how the Aphorisms and the Arabic commentaries on them impacted on the medical and non-medical literature more generally. We also saw that the commentators engaged in a rich dialogue across time and space. The Arabic version of Galen’s commentary remained a starting point for many later authors. But the most popular commentary by an Arabic author, that by Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, also remained a strong reference point. Al-Sinǧārī, al-Sīwāsī and al-Kīšī, for instance, appear to be drawing on him in their own works, the last quite heavily. Others had a more critical attitude: al-Kilānī, for instance, rejected Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq’s commentary as ‘confused and unorganised’, preferring that by al-Sinǧārī as a model; but he also drew on it, as our discussion above demonstrated. Therefore, a rich tapestry of interrelations between the commentaries is woven; future research will again be required to investigate its intricate details. The comparison of the various explanations of aphorism vi. 23 not only illustrates the continuities with earlier commentaries, but also the innovations. Galen remains the starting point, but our authors significantly depart from him. In all the investigated passages, apart perhaps from the commentary by al-Kīšī, we find at least one new idea or insight. Often, theoretical considerations led to them. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī, for instance, drew on the Galenic system of causes to introduce the notion of the initial cause to explain the symptoms of melancholy mentioned by Hippocrates. And a misunderstanding of the term despondency entices al-Sīwāsī to link melancholy with breathing difficulties. It is highly likely that at least some of these theoretical innovations also had some practical applications. After all, a number of commentators such as ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī or al-Kilānī mention teachers and students as their target audience, and insist on the usefulness of the Aphorisms for medical teaching. If this is the case, then future physicians came into contact with these commentaries, and must have been influenced by them to some degree also in their praxis. But this is, again, a topic that future research will have to tackle. The present survey could only offer vignettes, as we have said, and it raises more questions than it answers. We therefore hope that it could complement and correct the image of this rich tradition, and that it will serve as a starting point for subsequent investigations. This volume arises out of a project to edit the Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on the Epidemics. This text had a great impact on medical theory, practice, and research in the medieval Islamic world. The present article shows that the Aphorisms, and the Arabic

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commentary tradition on them, appear to have been even more influential and crucial for the development of the medical tradition in Arabic. This fascinating topic clearly deserves to be studied in much greater depth than it has been until today.229

229 We have the great pleasure to announce that Peter E. Pormann has just been awarded a European Research Council Starting Grant (value €1.5m), which will make it possible to study this topic in great detail in the near future.

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 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’: A Preliminary Exploration N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann The ability to predict the course and outcome of a disease is one of the most important weapons in a physician’s armoury. Therefore, we already find a treatise dealing with this subject in the Hippocratic Corpus, namely the Prognostic.1 This treatise remained relevant to medical practitioners and professors until late antiquity, for they still taught it in the amphitheatres of Alexandria in the sixth and seventh centuries. As so many medical texts, it travelled from ‘Alexandria to Baghdad’2; it was translated twice into Arabic, and subsequently enjoyed great popularity in the medieval Muslim world. The enduring relevance of the Hippocratic Prognostic can be seen from the fact that quite a few prominent Muslim physicians penned commentaries on this text, among them ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī. The commentary on the Prognostic by this famous physician and philosopher is the subject of the present contribution. We shall first discuss the place of this commentary in the medical œuvre of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf. Then we shall briefly consider the Prognostic in Greek, and notably the commentaries by Galen and Gesius on this work, in order to lay the foundation for our discussion of how these works were rendered into Arabic. After a short overview of commentaries on the Prognostic by authors other than ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, we shall come to our main subject. In this way, we hope to achieve a twofold objective: to provide a survey on the commentaries on the Prognostic in Arabic (of which there were many fewer than on the Aphorisms); and to offer a first detailed exploration of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary.

1 See Fichtner 2011a, no. 3 for bibliographical information about editions, translations, and studies. 2 Gutas 1999.

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The Commentary on Hippocrates’ Prognostic within ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s medical œuvre ʿAbd al-Laṭīf greatly esteemed Greek medical writers, especially Hippocrates and Galen.3 He urged students strongly not to neglect these two authors, and to read their works carefully. Like the earlier physician Ibn Riḍwān, he warned students against relying on easy abridgments of the Hippocratic and Galenic works. To put it differently, students should study the words of these two Greek physicians carefully, and not rely on summaries of their content. It therefore comes as no surprise that ʿAbd al-Laṭīf penned two commentaries on Hippocratic works, the Aphorisms and Prognostic. Yet, slightly more startling is the fact that ʿAbd al-Laṭīf also wrote a number of abridgments of works by Greek authors. A thirteenth-century source, Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa, lists the following abridgments by ʿAbd al-Laṭīf in his entry on this author4: ‘Abridgment (iḫtiṣār) of Galen’s Function of the Parts of the Body; abridgment of The Opinions of Hippocrates and Plato; abridgment of The Embryo5; abridgment of The Voice6; abridgment of Sperm; abridgment of Instruments of Breathing7; abridgment of Muscles8’. Unfortunately, these abridgments are all lost today, so that it is difficult to explain the apparent discrepancy between ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s warnings against abridgments, and his writing them himself. Another apparent discrepancy exists between ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s advice to students and his own activities as a writer. For he warned against relying simply on the Generalities in the Canon of Medicine by Avicenna. But he also wrote a critique of Faḫr al-Dīn al-Rāzī’s Commentary on the first section of Avicenna’s Canon of Medicine discussing generalities (Kullīyāt). Moreover, he authored a commentary on Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq’s Medical Questions (al-Masāʾil al-ṭibbīya), which, like the Canon, had become a standard textbook by ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s day.9 Therefore, although ʿAbd al-Laṭīf proclaimed to view the medical textbooks of his time—including the abridgments of Greek works and the Generalities of Ibn Sīnā’s Canon—with an unfavourable eye, he himself engaged with this material. Be that as it may, in his commentaries on the Hippocratic works, he clearly meant to give students and teachers a means to gain access to the original works in Arabic translation. In the preface to his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognos3 Joosse, Pormann 2010, 8 and 22–23. 4 Ed. Müller 1882, ii. 211, lines 20–22. 5 Perhaps the Hippocratic On Semen, known in the Arabic tradition as Book on Embryos (Kitāb al-ʾAǧinna); see ed. Lyons, Mattocks 1978. 6 This work, called Περὶ φωνῆϲ in Greek, is largely lost and only survives in a few fragments. 7 It is not clear to which work ʿAbd al-Laṭīf is referring here. 8 Presumably, a reference to Galen’s Motion of Muscles and Dissection of Muscles. 9 For further information about these two extant works, see Joosse, Pormann 2010, 6.

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tic’, he insists that the Aphorisms is the most important book for future medical practitioners, but that the Prognostic comes straight after the Aphorisms.10 We have already discussed ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s Commentary on the Aphorisms above, and we are going to focus on his Commentary on the Prognostic here. For the ensuing discussion it is, however, important to bear ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s interest in both Greek medical literature and commentaries in mind. Before dealing with ʿAbd al-Laṭīf himself, however, it is useful to survey the Greek and Arabic traditions to which he is heir.

The Prognostic in Greek Among the many books by Hippocrates, the Prognostic is of particular interest. It discusses a central theme of clinical medicine, namely the question how one can predict a patient’s ‘present, past, and future’ state. By doing so, the physician can gain the trust of the patient. He describes the symptoms that occurred before he was called in, and thus ensures that the patient follows doctor’s orders. Moreover, if he is able to articulate how the patient feels at present, he gains his or her trust. And predicting the final outcome of a disease or a treatment will make the physician less liable to blame. The author of Prognostic is mainly concerned with acute diseases, which can be detected from a variety of factors such as bodily secretions (stool, urine, sweat, vomit, saliva); behaviour; and bodily changes such as swellings, inflammations and so on. Fevers obviously occupy a prominent position, and the theory of critical days is developed here. This short overview of the main themes already shows why physicians in the medieval Islamic world took a particular interest in it: it related directly to a number of key issues in clinical medicine. It was undoubtedly for this reason that some authors also wrote commentaries on it. Their model for doing so was Galen, who wrote an extensive commentary on it.11 Galen approached his task as a commentator very differently from what a modern scholar would do. First, he viewed Hippocrates in an ahistorical manner: he often read the medical doctrine of his time, and especially his own, into the Hippocratic text. Moreover, he pursued a polemical agenda, refuting and ridiculing other previous and contemporaneous commentators.12 In his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, he often endeavours to provide a theoretical framework that underlies the Hippocratic doctrines.13 Moreover, Galen takes a particular interest in certain 10 Prologue § 9; see below, p. 270 (Arabic) and p. 277 (translation).. 11 Ed. Heeg 1915; Jenner 1989. 12 See van der Eijk, above, pp. 28–9, and note 16 with further literature. 13 Especially in the commentary on the lemmas of the first chapter, which serve as an introduction to the rest (for example, ed. Heeg 1915, 197).

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terms: through a philological as well as a medical effort, he elucidates the disputed text.14 Apart from his commentary, Galen also produced his own work Prognosis. It is not, however, chiefly concerned with the theoretical aspects of how to predict the course of a disease, but rather with concrete cases from Galen’s own experience where prognosis helped him to heal the sick.15 It would appear that four books by Hippocrates enjoyed particular favour with teachers and students of medicine in late antique Alexandria; they were, in order of importance: Aphorisms; Prognostic; Regimen in Acute Diseases; and Airs, Waters, Places.16 We have already seen that Stephen of Alexandria and Palladius wrote commentaries on the first one.17 Likewise, we know of at least two late antique authors who wrote commentaries on Prognostic, namely the same Stephen of Alexandria and the famous but somewhat elusive Gesius. The first one survives in Greek and is available in a critical edition.18 Like other commentaries by Stephen of Alexandria, this one, too, combines Galenic material with Aristotelian philosophy in interesting ways. But it also reflects the teaching methods of the classroom and lecture theatre, notably the tendency to use division (dihaíresis). For instance, at the beginning of his commentary, Stephen discusses eight main points (kephálaia): intention (skopós); usefulness (chrḗsimon); authenticity (gnḗsimon); title (epigraphḗ); reading order (taxis tês anagnṓseos); division into parts (hē eis tà mória dihaíresis); where it belongs; and didactic method (trópos didaskalikós).19 We will see that ʿAbd al-Laṭīf and others followed this concept of main points in the prefaces to their commentaries. This likewise illustrates the great influence that Stephen exerted on the subsequent tradition. As Kessel discussed above the Alexandrian professor of medicine, or ‘iatrosophist’, Gesius at some length, we can deal with him here in a fairly summary fashion.20 In the preface to his Commentary on Prognostic, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf reports that Gesius described Hippocrates as being educated by nature, whereas Galen was educated by study.21 Interestingly, a pupil of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s by the name of ʾAbū Yaḥyā Zakarīyāʾ ibn Bilāl ibn Yūsuf ibn ʾAmīrī al-Marāġī produced a composite manuscript that contains the Arabic translation of the Hippocratic Prognostic as item five.22 Before the translation, this scribe added the list of contents 14 See Roselli 1994, 1538–40; and especially Jenner 1989 for a more ample discussion. 15 Nutton 1979. 16 The eleventh-century physician Ibn Riḍwān reports this in his Useful Book on the Quality of Medical Education (ȇ˅ͫā ɼ͇LJ˶̿ ɨʉˬˈ̒ ɼʉˏʉ͛ ǽ͎ Ƚ͎LJ˶ͫā ŁLJʓ˜ͫā), ed. Sāmarrāʾī 1986, 108, lines 4–5, see also Iskandar 1976, 249. 17 See above, pp. 215–16. 18 Ed. Duffy 1983. 19 Ed. Duffy 1983, 26–35. 20 See above, pp. 113–15. 21 Prologue § 12, see below, p. 271 (Arabic) and p. 278 (tranlation). 22 Dietrich 1966, 221–4.

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from ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary, and the latter’s remark about Hippocrates’ grave and Gesius’ description of Hippocrates that we have just mentioned. But he changed his source text a little bit: where ʿAbd al-Laṭīf said ‘Gesius described him well (ɬʶ̤Αāć ťǍʉ̵LJ̣ ɷˏ̿ć ǚ͘ć)’, al-Marāġī wrote ‘The commentator of Ga΋ Αā Ʉ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ Ƣ΍ ҨҞ͛ ŔĢLJ̶ ŴāǨ˙̑ len’s text, Gesius, described Hippocrates (ťǍʉ̵LJ̣ Ό ΋ ̿΋ ć΋ )’. In Ό ΋ other words, where ʿAbd al-Laṭīf merely states that Gesius described Hippocrates well, his pupil called Gesius ‘the commentator of Galen’s text (šāriḥ kalām Ǧālīnūs)’. This would seem to suggest that Gesius authored a commentary on the Prognostic, although it remains doubtful whether al-Marāġī really had access to this commentary, or whether he used the apposition in a much looser sense. Be that as it may, the influence of the late Alexandrian tradition on the Arabic commentaries on the Prognostic is keenly felt, as we shall see. But we first ought to trace the journey of the Greek commentaries into Arabic.

The Prognostic in Arabic As with the Aphorisms, the Prognostic appeared to have been translated in the wake of Galen’s commentary.23 This translation, probably that by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq, has been edited by Martin Klamroth, who also argued that an earlier translation of this text existed as well.24 He found excerpts of this older translation in the early historian and geographer al-Yaʿqūbī (d. after 905). The philosopher and polymath al-Kindī (d. ca. 866) also used this older translation in his Summaries of Medicine, of which only an extract on the signs of death survives.25 The Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, however, has not yet been edited. It survives only in a half a dozen manuscripts.26 As ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary is partially based on that by Galen, it is useful to give a provisional edition of the first lemma in the Arabic version, as it is preserved in the Oxford manuscript27:

23 Overwien 2005, 205–8. 24 Klamroth 1886; text edited on pp. 204–33; many new manuscripts have come to light; see note 26 below. 25 Bos 1990; see also Daiber, 1996, 164–5. 26 See now for instance Savage-Smith 2011, no. 8 with further literature, and Zaydān, 1996, pp. 92–3, no. 60 on Alexandria, al-Maktabat al-Baladīya, MS 3722 ṭibb. 27 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Or. 140, fol. 1b–3a; for a detailed description of the manuscript, see Savage-Smith 2011, no. 8; the Hippocratic lemma can be found in Klamroth 1886, 204, where the first word is ‘ʾinnī’ instead of ‘ʾinnanī’.

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Ɏ̑LJ̵ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ĢǍͲΑҙҏā ɡˁ͎Αā ɬͲ ɷ͵Αā ĿĢΑā ǽ˶͵Βā» :ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘ .ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ ƦLJ˜Ͳ ζǨˆ˶ͫā Ɏ̑LJ̵ ǽ˶͇Αā ζɼˆˏˬͫā ƱǛ΀ ɡ˳ˈʓ̵ā LJ˳͵Βā ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƦΑā ɬʉʒͫā ɬͲ» :ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƛLJ͘ Ģǚˀͫā āǛ΀ ɡ˳ˈʓ̵ā LJ˳͵Βāć .«ĢǛ͵ΑLJ͎ Ƣǚ˙̒ć ɨˬˈ͎ Ɏʒ̵ āĕΒā ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕć» ƛLJ͘ ƦΑLJ̑ ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀ Ƚʒ̒Αā ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕ ɬͲ ɼͫǩ˶˳̑ ζƱǚ͇́ ȅˬ͇ āǍ͵LJ͛ ƹLJʒ̈́Αҙҏā ɬͲ ƢǍ͘ ȇʒʶ̑ āǨʉʔ͛ ɑͫĕ ɡˈˏ̈ ƦΑā ɷ̒ĔLJ͇ ɬͲ ȫʉͫć ζāǛ΀ ɷ̑LJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɡˈ͎ ƦΑā ƦǍ˳͇ǩ̈ć ɼˬʉʥͫā ŁLJʥ̿Αā ɨ́ʶˏ͵Αā ƦǍ˳ʶ̈ ɬ̈Ǜͫā ζāǛ΀ LJ͵Ǩ΀Ĕ ǽ͎ ɨ΀Ĕǚ͇ Ǩʉʔ˜ͫā ƹҙҏnj΀ .ȇʉʒ˅ͫā LJ́̑ Ƚˏʓ˶̈ ǚ͘ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ LJ˳͵Βāć .łǚʶ͎ āĕΒā ɨ́ʉˬ͇ LJ΀ĔĢć ƹLJʥ̿Αā ȅˬ͇ ɼʥˀͫā Ȼˏ̤ Ǎ΀ LJ˳͵Βā ƛǍʒ͘ ƦLJ͛ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ ɡ˳ˈʓ̵ā āĕΒā ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ƦΑā LJ΀ṳ̈̌Αā :ƹLJʉ̶Αā ɼʔˬ̓ ɑͫĕ ɬͲ ĔLJˏʓʶ̈ LJͲ ɼˬ˳̣ ɡˈ̣ć LJ˳ʉ͎ ȅ̀Ǩ˳ˬͫ ŰǨˈ̈ LJͲ žǨˈ͎ Ƣǚ˙̒ āĕΒā ɷ͵Αā ǽ͵LJʔͫā ρǚ̶Αā ɷ̈ǚ̈ ǽ͎ ɨ́ͲҨҞʶʓ̵āć ɷ̑ ɨ΀ǨͲΑLJ̈ LJͲ ɷ˶Ͳ ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā łǍ˳̈ ɬͲ ȇʒʶ̑ łǍͲ ɷ͵Αā ɷʉˬ͇ ɨ΀Ǎʓ̈ ҙҏ ȉͫLJʔͫāć .ɷʓˬ̑LJ˙˳ͫ ǚˈʓ̵LJ͎ ɼˬ̈Ǎ̈́ ƴǚ˳̑ ɑͫĕ ɡʒ͘ Ɏʒ̵ Ʉ͵ΑLJʓʶ̈ ɼʥˀͫā ŁLJʒ̵ΑLJ̑ ɼ͎ǨˈͲ Ʀćǚ̑ ȫʉͫ ɨˬˈͫā ɬͲ ɬˏͫā āǛ́̑ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɼ͎ǨˈͲ ƦǍ˜̒ ƦΑā ĿǨ̈ ŴāǨ˙̑ΑLJ͎ .ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ɬͲ LJ΀LJ˶ˏ̿ć ǽʓͫā Ƚ͎LJ˶˳ͫā ȉˬʔͫā ƱǛ΀ ɬͲ ƴṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ LJ́ʉ͎ Ʉ˶ˀ̈ 28ǽʓͫā ɷˬ̈ćLJ͘Αā ǽ͎ ƴǨˆ˶˳̑ Ʀΐҙҏā ǚˀ˙˶ˬ͎ «Ǩˆ˶ͫā

Hippocrates said: ‘I think that it is best for the physician to employ foresight [sābiq al-naẓar].’ Galen said: ‘It is clear that Hippocrates uses this expression, I mean ‘foresight [sābiq al-naẓar]’, instead of ‘prognosis [taqdimat al-maʿrifa]’. Therefore, he continues the text by saying: ‘For if he foreknows, and then forewarns’. He only employed this beginning in this book, as he normally does not do so often. For there were some physicians in his age, just as there are many of them in our age, who call themselves ‘empiricists [ʾaṣḥāb al-ḥīla]’. They believe that the physician’s task is merely to preserve health in healthy people and to restore it when it has been lost. But the physician may well find prognosis useful. He summarised the benefit derived from it in three points. First, when the physician employs prognosis, the patients accept more readily what he prescribes, and give themselves into his hands more freely. Second, when he foreknows what is going to happen to the patient in the future long before [it actually happens], then he [the patient] becomes ready to meet him [the physician]. Third, one does not suspect of him that if one of the patients dies, he is the cause. Hippocrates believes that the physician can only know the aspect of the [medical] art, if he also knows the causes of health. Let us now aim at investigating his words with which he classified each one of the three uses that we have described. Before we turn to ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary, it is, however, useful briefly to mention the two other extant commentaries on Prognostic.

28

ǽʓͫā] scripsi; cod.: ҙҏΒā.

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Commentaries on the Prognostic by al-Daḫwār, Ibn al-Nafīs and others The first is a near contemporary of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s, the physcian Muhaḏḏab alDīn ʿAbd al-Raḥīm ibn ʿAlī al-Daḫwār (d. 1230). He acquired fame both as a medical teacher and as the founder of the ‘first medical school’ in the medieval Arab world.29 One of al-Daḫwār’s students by the name of Badr al-Dīn Muẓaffar ibn Qāḍī Baʿlabakk prepared this commentary for publication. In the preface, he describes the process of how he came to write it down as follows.30 Badr al-Dīn had studied this text with al-Daḫwār, and proved to be an excellent student. Therefore, al-Daḫwār took special care that Badr al-Dīn learnt by heart each chapter of his commentary as his teacher explained it in class. After the student had completely memorised it, al-Daḫwār made sure that he also understood it fully. The commentary that Badr al-Dīn learnt by heart also comprised some explanations from his teacher’s teacher, Ibn al-Muṭrān (d. 1191). Al-Daḫwār demanded a solemn pledge from Badr al-Dīn not to pass this commentary on to the undeserving or the ignorant. After being appointed to teach medicine in the ‘school [madrasa]’ set up by his master, Badr al-Dīn noticed that the students would rightly benefit from having access to this commentary. Consequently, he wrote it down from memory. Therefore, the commentary by al-Daḫwār, that his pupil Badr al-Dīn ‘fixed in writing’, as Sezgin put it, contains material that potentially goes back to the second half of the twelfth century. It survives in a number of manuscripts; and it has been edited, although the edition is not very well distributed.31 The commentary is lemmatic. But al-Daḫwār did not follow the very short lemmas that we have in Galen’s commentary; he rather took longer passages and explained them together. Al-Daḫwār’s commentary is often quite paraphrastic. He rehearses the main point made by Hippocrates (as Galen understood it), and then offers his own insights and illustrations. To give just one example: we have seen that Galen talked about three useful aspects of prognosis. The third use was that if the patient dies and the physician predicted this correctly, he will not be blamed. Al-Daḫwār also mentions these three points, but then illustrates the third one as follows32:

29 Pormann, Savage-Smith 2007, 83 with further literature. 30 Ed. Muḥammad et al. 2000, 145–6. 31 Ed. Muḥammad et al. 2000. 32 Ed. Muḥammad et al. 2000, 148, lines 6–14; we compared the edition to Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Thurston 10, and have followed the readings of this manuscript occasionally; see also Savage-Smith 2011, no. 9.

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ɬ͇ ɑͫĕ ƦLJ͛ć ζɷ͵ǚ̑ ĔǨ̑ć ƱLJ˳̤ ƴĢāǨ̤ Ȉ˶˜̵ ǚ͘ LJˁ̈ǨͲ ĿΑāĢ LJ˳ͫ ζƛLJ́ʤͫā ƹLJʒ̈́Αҙҏā ȶˈʒͫ ŰǨ͇ LJ˳͛ ƈǨˈ͎ ζɷ̒Ǎ͘ Ȉˏˈ̀ ζɡ̥Ĕ LJ˳ˬ͎ .ƢLJ˳ʥͫā ɷͫ Ʉ̿Ǎ͎ .Țˬ̿ ǚ͘ ɷ͵Αā ɷˬ́ʤ̑ ǚ˙ʓ͇ā ζɼ̈ǩ̈Ǩˉͫā ƴĢāǨʥͫā Ʉˈ̀ :ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɡ΀Αҙҏ ƛLJ͘ć .ɼͲҨҞʶͫāć ƹǨʒͫā ȅˬ͇ ҙҏāĔ ƈǨˈͫā Ɏˬ˅Ͳ ƦΑā ǚ˙ʓ͇āć ζɷˬ́ʤ̑ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ŔǨˏ͎ .āǨʉʔ͛ LJ͘Ǩ͇ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā Ɏʥˬ͎ .ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā łLJͲć ζƴǍ˙ͫā Ȉ˅˙̵ ζƈǨˈͫā ɡ˳͛ LJ˳ˬ͎ «.LJͲLJ̒ LJ̤ҨҞ̿ Țˬ̿ ǚ͘ć ζƈǨ͇ ǚ͘ ɷ͵Βā» .łLJͲҨҞ͇ ɷͫ ƹǨʒͫā ȅˬ͇ ƛāǚͫāć ζłLJͲҨҞ͇ ɷͫ łǍͲ ȅˬ͇ ƛāǚͫā ƈǨˈͫā ƦΑā ɨˬ͇āć .Ǩʉʒ͛ Ǩ̶ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɡ΀Αā ɬͲ For instance, the following happened to one of the stupid physicians. When he saw a patient whose temperature had subsided and whose body had become cold—the reason for this being that the innate heat had grown weak—, he [the physician] thought in his ignorance that he [the patient] had recovered. Therefore, he prescribed [going to] the bath for him. When he [the patient] entered, his strength weakened, and he sweated a lot. Therefore the physician was happy in his foolishness, as he firmly believed that a discharge of sweat indicated recovery and health. He [the physician] said to the family of the patient: ‘He has sweated, and has made a full recovery.’ Yet, when he finished sweating, the patient’s strength subsided, and he died. The physician met with a lot of ignominy on behalf of the family. Know that sweat that indicates death has certain signs, and sweat that indicates recovery has [also] certain signs. In this way, al-Daḫwār peppered his commentary with anecdotes that could illustrate his main points. A second commentary on Prognostic was composed by the famous Syrian physician Ibn al-Nafīs al-Qurašī (d. 1288), who practised in Egypt for the major part of his life; he gained widespread fame in modern times through his ‘discovery’ of the pulmonary transit.33 His lemmatic commentary has been preserved in about seven manuscripts.34 He also penned several commentaries on other Hippocratic texts such as the Aphorisms and On the Nature of Man.35 Ibn alNafīs’ commentary often shares the same division into larger lemmas with the earlier ones by al-Daḫwār and ʿAbd al-Laṭīf. Each lemma starts with ‘Hippocrates said (qāla Buqrāt)’, which is then later followed by the words ‘the commentary (al-šarḥ)’. In a brief introduction, some seven lines long in one manuscript, the author states that he was inspired to write a commentary on the Prognostic, because his earlier commentary on the Aphorisms had met with so much success.36 As a good Šāfiʿī theologian, he attributes this success to God. Moreover, he says that 33 Pormann and Savage-Smith 2007, 47-48. 34 See Pertsch 1859–93, 446; Şeşen 1984, 5; Savage-Smith 2011, no. 10; Slane 1883–95, 512; Voorhoeve 1980, 367; Zaydān 2005, nos. 57, 92. 35 For his commentary on the Aphorisms, see above, pp. 233–5. 36 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliothek, MS Or. 49/1, fol. 1b, lines 2–8.

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he is going to follow the same method as before: to conduct investigations about words and meanings, and to explain the information contained in the lemmas. Ibn al-Nafīs’ explanation of the second lemma illustrates both his attention to the meaning of words and their overall content. This lemma, identical to ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s second lemma given below, deals with the problem of patients’ dying because of the disease or a ‘divine (theîon)’ factor.37 His explanation runs as follows38:

žǨˈ̈ ǽʓͫā ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ƛāǍ̤ΑLJ̑ ΈāĢǛ˶Ͳ ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ǽ͎ œLJʓʥ̈ ǚ͘ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ƦΑā ƦLJʉ̑ LJ˶΀LJ΀ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ŰǨ͈ :ŔǨʷͫā — ķćLJ˳̵ ǨͲΑҙҏ ćΑā ɷʶˏ˶ͫ LJͲΒā — Έāụ̈̌ ɼ͇Ǩʶ̑ ɡʓ˙̈ ķǛͫā ŰǨ˳ͫā ƦΑҙҏ ɑͫĕć ρŰāǨ͇Αҙҏā ɬ͇ ǚ̇āģ ǨͲΑLJ̑ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒā ǛΊ ʈ˶ʉ̤ć .ɑͫĕ ȅˬ͇ ɷ̑ ƛҙҏǚʓ̵ҙҏā ɬ˜˳̈ ΈāǨʉˉ̒ ƴǨ΀LJˆͫā Ʀǚʒͫā ƛāǍ̤Αā Ǩʉˉ̒ ɡʒ͘ ɷˬʓ͘ ƦǍ˜̈ ǚ͘ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫ ƦΒāć .ŰǨ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ ɼˈʉʒ̈́ žǨ͇ āĕΒā ζɷʉ͎ ĢāǛ͵ Βҙҏā ɬͲ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɬ˜˳̈ LJ˳͵ΒLJ͎ ζŰǨ˳ͫā ɼˈʉʒ˅ͫ ɑͫĕ ĔāǨ˳ͫāć .ɑͫĕ ɼ͎ǨˈͲ ɬͲ ǚ̑ ҨҞ͎ ζƹLJ̑ǍͫLJ̑ ƹāǍ́ͫā ĔLJʶ͎ ǚ˶͇ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ˳͛ ɑͫǛ͛ć ζɷ˶͇ œĢLJ̥ ǨͲΑҙҏ ɡ̑ ɑͫǛ͛ ƋĢLJʷͲ ɡ͛ ȅˬ͇ć ɑˬˏͫā ȅˬ͇ ƛLJ˙̈ «ƹLJ˳ʶͫā» Ȼˏͫ ƦΒLJ͎ .Ǎʤͫā ƛLJ̤ ȇʒʶ̑ ƦǍ˜̈ LJͲ «ķćLJ˳ʶͫā ƹǽʷͫLJƼ»Ƽ̑ ƹLJͲ ƹLJ˳ʶͫā ɬͲ LJ˶ͫǩ͵Αāć» ȅͫLJˈ̒ ƛLJ͘ ɑͫǛͫć .ŁLJʥʶˬͫć Ʉ˙ʶˬͫ «ƹLJ˳̵» ƛLJ˙̈ ɑͫǛͫć .ŷLJˏ̒Ģҙҏā ǽ͎ ɷͫ .«ΈāĢǍ́̈́ The commentary: Hippocrates here aims at explaining why the physician needs to predict the state of the patient which can only be known by something that goes beyond the symptoms [al-ʾaʿrāḍ]. For a disease that kills very quickly, whether because of the disease itself or something ‘heavenly [samāwī]’, does so before the visible state of the body changes in a way that can be detected in this way [i.e., from the visible signs]. Then, if this is due to the nature of the disease, the physician can predict it, provided that he knows the nature of this disease. If this is not the case, but it is rather due to something external, then it is similar. For instance, if it is due to the corruption of the air through a plague [wabāʾ], then he ought to know this. By ‘something heavenly’ he means that which occurs because of the state of the air [al-ǧaww]. The word ‘heaven [al-samāʾ]’ denotes the firmament and anything that shares with it its high position. Consequently, ‘heaven [samāʾ]’ is used for the roof or the clouds. Therefore, God, most high, said: ‘We let pure water come down from heaven [al-samāʾ].’39 In the first part of this commentary, Ibn al-Nafīs mostly paraphrases some central ideas already found in Galen’s commentary, although in a much more concise manner. The second part, however not only shows him elucidating the 37 See below, p. 270 (Arabic) and p. 277 (Tranlation); the Greek text is found in ed. Heeg 1915, p. 199, line 11–p. 20, line 5 (xviii/b. pp. 5–6 K; ii. p. 110 L). 38 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliothek, MS Or. 49/1, fol. 5b, lines 8–17. 39 Koran, Sūrat al-Furqān (The Criterion), no. 25, verse 48.

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meaning of the word ‘heavenly (samāwī)’, but also how a Koranic verse could be used to illustrate his point. To give some background: Galen discussed the meaning of the word ‘divine’ at length. He first rejected the interpretation that it could have anything to do with the Gods. Rather, Galen argued that ‘divine (theîon)’ referred to the ‘constitution of the surrounding air (ἡ τοῦ περιέχοντοϲ ἡμᾶϲ ἀέροϲ κατάϲταϲιϲ)’.40 It is probably because of this definition by Galen that the translator chose the word ‘samāwī (heavenly)’ rather than ‘ʾilāhī (divine)’, used elsewhere in Graeco-Arabic translations to render theîon.41 Ibn al-Nafīs repeats Galen nearly verbatim, but then also quotes from the Koran. He wants to show that the word ‘heaven (al-samāʾ)’ is naturally associated with weather phenomena. After all, God sends rain from heaven, as the quotation shows. Finally, the Syriac author Mar Gregory ʾAbū al-Faraǧ ibn al-ʿIbrī, better known as Barhebraeus (d. 1289), also authored an abridged commentary on the Prognostic in Arabic. Until recently, most manuscripts of this abridgment (talḫīṣ) were thought to be lost, but we were able to identify one extant and accessible manuscript in Turkey.42 Two other texts related to the Prognostic deserve to be mentioned here, even if they have remained anonymous until today. The first, present in Istanbul, Nuruosmaniye, MS 3553, is a collection of quotations, mainly from Hippocrates and Galen, under the title ‘Collection of prognosis and its results; and collection of present signs, the outer appearance of the patient, especially during fever and acute diseases, and indications of death (ɼͲǚ˙̒ ɡ˳̣

ɡ̇ҙҏĔć ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏāć łLJʉ˳ʥͫā ǽ͎ ɼ̿LJ̥ć ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɼ˶ʥ̵ć ƴǨ̀LJʥͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ɡ˳̣ć ɷʒ͘āǍ͇ć ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā łǍ˳ͫā)’.43 The second is Istanbul, Topkapi Sarayi: Ağalar Camii, MS Sultan Ah-

met III 2125 (fols. 201b–394b).44 At present, this manuscript is inaccessible to the public. Therefore, we cannot say whether it constitutes a lemmatic commentary or an abridgment. According to Dietrich, however, it rather resembles the Nuruosmaniye manuscript.45

40 Ed. Heeg 1915, p. 208, lines 10–11 (xviii/b. pp. 21 K). 41 See ed. Ullmann 2006–7, under θεῖοϲ; for the phenomenon of contextual translation, see Overwien above, pp. 156–69. 42 Takahashi 2005, 86: 33B; and 390: B33B.M1 lists the inaccessible manuscripts. The Turkish manuscript is Istanbul, Beyazit Devlet Umumi Kütüphanesi, MS Veliyeddin Efendi 2506, fols. 1a–67b; see also Şeşen 1984, 5 who records the author’s name as ʾAbū al-Faraǧ Ġriġūrīyūs alMalaṭī. The old catalogue of the Beyazit Devlet library (Istanbul, n.d.) records the commentary as ‘anonymous (maǧhūl)’. The manuscript is dated to AH 719 (AD 1319), and was copied in Aleppo by ʾAḥmad ibn ʿAbdallāh Yūsuf al-Ḥamawī. 43 See Dietrich 1966, 29–31; Şeşen 1984, 5. 44 Şeşen 1984, 5. 45 Dietrich 1966, 31–2.

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ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ Prognostic Let us now turn to ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’. As it has not yet been edited, the manuscript tradition deserves to be discussed in detail.46 The following six manuscripts preserve this text: Cairo, Dār al-Kutub, MS 4751 ṭibb lām (pp. 1–164); a modern copy of the next manuscript; MS C2 Damascus, Maktabat al-ʾAsad, MS 3152 (pp. 1–142), formerly MS Ẓāhirīya, ṭibb 27; MS DA247 Dublin, Chester Beatty Library, MS Ar. 5458 (fols. 113b–156a); MS CB248 Istanbul, Süleymaniye Yazma eser Kütüphanesi, MS Köprülü-Fazil Ahmed Paşa 885 (fols. 96b–130a) ; MS ISY149 Qom, Grand Ayatollah Marʿaši Naǧafī Public Library, MS 6617 (fols. 133b–186b); MS QN150 Qom, Grand Ayatollah Marʿaši Naǧafī Public Library, MS 7400 (fols. 2b–57a); MS QN251 Manuscript DA2, which also contains Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’ in the second part, appears to preserve the whole text of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s Commentary on the ‘Prognostic’. The pages, however, have been bound erroneously. Folios 112–43 should appear in the following order: 112; 141–2; 125–40; 113–24; 143. The manuscript also shows signs of slight water damage. Moreover, Sezgin reported that Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS Or. 49/1 Voorhoeve, contained ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary, but this is incorrect; in fact, it contains the Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’ by Ibn al-Nafīs.52 On the basis of the six manuscripts to which we had access, we can provide the following overview about the content of the commentary. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf composed his commentary on the Hippocratic Prognostic in lemmatic form: in each case he first quotes a relatively short section from Hippocrates’ work, and then proceeds to explain it. But here, we can already see the first departure from his hero Galen: like al-Daḫwār, he takes larger chunks of texts as lemmas to be commented on. In fact, it would appear that he often shares the same division 46 N. Peter Joosse is currently preparing a critical edition with English translation and commentary. 47 See Ḥamārneh 1969, 432–6; Dietrich, 1966, 17–21. 48 This manuscript is lacking in Arberry’s handlist of the Arabic manuscripts kept at the Chester Beatty Library; see Arberry 1955–64, vol. vii, p. 134, no. 5458/1, where he lists only ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’. 49 İhsanoğlu 1984, 4–5. 50 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī 1994, xvii. 187–8. 51 Ḥusaynī Aškiwarī 1994, xix. 197–8. 52 Voorhoeve 1980, 367, was still hesitant about the authorship of this commentary and therefore labelled it as ‘an anonymous commentary’.

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into larger lemmas with al-Daḫwār, and Ibn al-Nafīs follows their lead in this respect as well. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf divides the Hippocratic text into three ‘books (maqāla)’, each containing a number of ‘sections (taʿlīms)’, numbered consecutively. The first book comprises sections one to seven (7 sections), the second sections eight to sixteen (9 sections), and the third book sections seventeen to twenty (4 sections). The three books with their twenty sections follow the arrangement of the Greek text, which, in Littré’s edition, is divided into 25 chapters. Book One of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary deals with the general topic of prognostics (section 1; pp. 6–19 in MS DA253; corresponding to chapter 1 in Littré’s edition); facial signs (sect. 2–3; pp. 19–29; ch. 2); feeling the limbs (sect. 4; pp. 29–34; ch. 3–4); breathing and perspiration (sect. 5; pp. 34–9; ch. 5–6); the hypochondriac region (sect. 6; pp. 40–45; ch. 7a); and some general points about haemorrhage (sect. 7; pp. 45–50; ch. 7b). Book Two deals with dropsy, and the colour and abscesses of the limbs (sect. 8; pp. 50–57; ch. 8–9a); contraction of the testicles and the penis, and sleep (sect. 9; pp. 57–8; ch. 9b–10); stool and wind (sect. 10; pp. 59–67; ch. 11); urine (sect. 11; pp. 67–75; ch. 12); vomiting and spitting (sect. 12; pp. 75– 82; ch. 13–14a); pleurisy (sect. 13; pp. 82–6; ch. 14b); suppuration in the chest (sect. 14; pp. 86–92; ch. 15–16) ; persistent suppuration (sect. 15; pp. 92–6; ch. 17a); and recovery through removal of disease matter (sect. 16; pp. 96–105; ch. 17b–18). Book Three deals with fevers (sect. 17; pp. 105–26; ch. 19–23a); inflammation of the throat (sect. 18; pp. 127–136; ch. 23b); rarity of headache in nonlethal fevers, and spasms accompanied by fevers (sect. 19; pp. 136–7 [?]; ch. 24); and general advice (sect. 20; pp. 137–43; ch. 25). This division into three books and twenty sections must go back to a Greek source, probably from late antiquity. For we already find it in the extracts from al-Yaʿqūbī that reflect an earlier translation.54 The name for section, ‘taʿlīm’, literally meaning ‘instruction’, also points in the direction of late antique Alexandria: for as we have seen, the Prognostic were part of the medical core curriculum there. This late antique influence is also visible in ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s preface. In it, he first explains that he wrote the commentary at the behest of a friend who had liked his Commentary on the ‘Aphorisms’. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf states that he is going to adopt now the same method as he had done in his earlier work. Then, the rest of the preface consists of a discussion of the eight main points that we already know from Stephen of Alexandria. He puts them, however, in a slightly different order, namely: 1) intention; 2) usefulness; 3) division into parts; 4) where it belongs; 5) reading order (or level of difficulty); 6) title; 7) didactic method; and 8) authenticity (or authorship). But ʿAbd al-Laṭīf probably 53 Page numbers from MS DA2 are here provided to give the reader an appreciation of the relative length of each section. 54 Klamroth 1886, 201–2.

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did not draw directly on Stephen of Alexandria here. In fact, we already find these eight headings in modified form in the introduction to Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘On Nutriment’ by Sergius of Rēš ʿAynā (d. 536); and this introduction survives only in Arabic.55 Closer to ʿAbd al-Laṭīf in temporal terms is Ibn Hindū (d. 1029), the author of The Key to Medicine and a Guide for Students (Miftāḥ al-ṭibb wa-minhāǧ al-ṭullāb).56 He also has the eight headings, but again with some minor variations.57 This tradition of the eight headings also continues in the medieval Latin world.58 How long ʿAbd al-Laṭīf takes to explain each heading varies significantly. For instance, he merely refers the reader to later discussions about the usefulness (heading 2), but gives a detailed list of the contents under heading 3 about division. In certain aspects, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf offers quite a different perspective from that found in Stephen of Alexandria. On the subject of where the Hippocratic treatise Prognostic fits in, Stephen merely noted that ‘the present work belongs to the theoretical category and it is a theoretical treatise of the semiotic class (Ἀνάγεται δὲ τὸ παρὸν ϲύγγραμμα ὑπὸ τὸ θεωρητικόν, καὶ τὸ θεωρητικὸν ὑπὸ τὸ ϲημειωτικόν.)’ ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, however, insists that although formally part of medical theory, it also has practical applications.59 Under heading 7, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf discusses the didactic method employed in the Prognostic. It consists of analysis through opposition, one of the four didactic methods. Here again, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s proximity to Ibn Hindū appears: the latter, like the former, also talks of four didactic methods, although in a somewhat different order and with different emphasis.60 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf discusses his own didactic method also in the preface. He wants to write for students in clear language and straightforward arguments so that they can easily understand and remember. Finally, under heading 8, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf gives a very brief sketch of Hippocrates’ ancestry, and describes how people used to flock to his grave in search of a cure. It is here also that he talks about Gesius, as we have already discussed.61 The rest of the commentary after the preface consists of the Hippocratic lemmas followed by ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf often begins his commentary with the expression ‘By saying … he means (qawluhū … ʾayy)’. In other words, he quotes parts of the longer lemma and explains it in various ways. Oc-

55 Bos, Langermann 2009, especially on 183–6. 56 Tr. Tibi, Savage-Smith 2010. 57 Ibid. 51–2; ed. and tr. Muḥaqqiq, Dānišpažūh 1989, 85–88. 58 Wallis 2010, 10–13. 59 Prologue § 8, see below, p. 270 (Arabic) and p. 277 (translation). 60 They are: 1) division (qisma); 2) analysis (taḥlīl); 3) definition (ḥadd); and 4) proof (burhān); see tr. Tibi, Savage-Smith, 2010, 51–2; Arabic ed. Muḥaqqiq, Dānišpažūh 1989, 82–5. 61 See above, pp. 254–5.

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casionally, he also reflects on the lemma as a whole, as in the case of the second lemma (also edited and translated below). His comments vary in length, content, and methodology. For we find some quite short remarks in which he merely clarifies an expression or provides a synonym.62 At times, his interest in Arabic grammar shows through. For instance, he analyses the compound Arabic word ‘foreknowledge (taqdimat al-maʿrifa)’, a calque of the Greek pró-gnōsis, according to the morphological categories.63 This is just one instance illustrating ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s ample use of grammar. It probably reflects his social and professional environment: he possessed such expertise in this field that the Sultan in Damascus appointed him as a professor of grammar and lexicography in the year 1192. But we also see ʿAbd al-Laṭīf comparing different manuscripts of the Arabic version of the Prognostic. At one point, he provides a variant text in full, although it would appear that a lemma has merely been omitted in the main manuscript that he follows.64 Elsewhere in the commentary, however, he talks about a number of manuscripts or ‘versions (nusḫas)’ at his disposal and notes discrepancies between them.65 But ʿAbd al-Laṭīf goes even further. By comparing different translations, such as the older one as reflected in al-Yaʿqūbī and the younger one by Ḥunayn, he tries to come to a better understanding of the text. As this textual comparison is quite unique in the Arabic commentary tradition, we would like to illustrate it by an example. It concerns the beginning of lemma i. 8 in Galen’s commentary, which runs as follows66: Ἢν μὲν οὖν ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆϲ νούϲου τὸ πρόϲωπον τοιοῦτον ᾖ καὶ μήπω οἷόν τε ᾖ τοῖϲιν ἄλλοιϲι ϲημείοιϲι ϲυντεκμαίρεϲθαι, ἐπανερέϲθαι χρή, μὴ ἠγρύπνηϲεν ὁ ἄνθρωποϲ … Therefore, if at the beginning of the illness the face is like this, and if it is not yet possible to come to a conclusion from other signs, you must go on to make further enquiries, in case the patient has been sleepless … Ḥunayn translated this passage as follows67:

62 For example, MS ISY1, fol. 98a, line 11, fol. 111b, line 5, fol. 115b, line 2, fol. 125a, lines 2021, fol. 129a, line 6. 63 Lemma One, § 2; see below, p. 272 (Arabic) and p. 279 (translation). 64 Lemma Two, § 4; see below, p. 275 (Arabic) and p. 283 (translation). 65 See, for instance, MS DA2, p. 95, line 17; p. 119 (bound erroneously), lines 5–7; p. 139 (bound erroneously), lines 7–8. 66 Ed. Heeg 1915, 214, lines 15–18; ii. 114 L; tr. Jenner 1989, 126. It corresponds to lemma i. 25 in Stephen of Alexandria, ed. Duffy 1983, 80–81. 67 According to ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary; MS DA2, p. 19, lines 7–9.

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ǽˉʒ˶̈ ǚ˙͎ ζɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā Ǩ̇LJʶͫ ɑͫĕ ȽͲ ƛǚʓʶ̒ ƦΑā ǚΌ ˈ̑ ɑ˶˜˳̈ ȫʉͫć ƛLJʥͫā ƱǛ́̑ ɷ̣Ǎͫā ƦLJ͛ ƦΒLJ͎ :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ … ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ɑͫĕ Ǩ̵́ ɡ΀ ƛΑLJʶ̒ ƦΑā ɑͫ If the face is in this state [fī hāḏihi l-ḥāli], whilst you cannot yet deduce with this the other indications, then you ought to ask, whether this man was sleepless… Ḥunayn renders the complex Greek syntactical structure quite faithfully, but he omits the words ‘at the beginning of the illness (ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆϲ νούϲου)’. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf must have noticed this by comparing Ḥunayn’s to the older translation, for he says68:

ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶ʉ͎ ζāǛ΀ ȅˬ͇ ŰǨ˳ͫā 70ƹǚ̑ ǽ͎ ɷ̣Ǎͫā ƦLJ͛ ƦΒLJ͎» :ɡˀˏͫā āǛ΀ ƛćΑā āǛ˜΀ ɬʉ˶̤ 69Ǩʉ͈ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ ǽ͎ć .ɬʉ˶̤ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ Ǩʶˏ̒ ɼ˳̣Ǩʓͫā ƱǛ΀ć .«Ǩ̵́ ɡ΀ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɬ͇ ƛΑLJʶ̒ć LJ́ʉͫΒā Ǩ˜ˏͫā ĔǨ̒ć łLJ̈ΐҙҏā Ǩ̇LJ̵ ǽ͎ Ǩˆ˶̒ ƹāǚʓ̑LJ̑» ǚ̈Ǩ̈ć ρ«ɼʈ̈ĔǨͫā ƛLJʥͫā ƱǛ́̑ ŰǨ˳ͫā ƹāǚʓ̑ā ǽ͎ ƦLJ͛» ķΑā «ƛLJʥͫā ƱǛ́̑ ɷ̣Ǎͫā ƦLJ͛ ƦΒLJ͎» ɷͫǍ˙͎ .«ŰǨ͇ ɷͫ ķǛͫā ƹāǚʓ̑ҙҏā» 71«ŰǨ˳ͫā In a translation that is not that by Ḥunayn, the first part of this lemma [faṣl] [runs as follows]: ‘If the face is at the beginning of the illness [fī badʾi l-maraḍi] like this [ʿalā hāḏā], then you ought to look at the other signs, think about them again, and ask whether patient has been sleepless.». This translation explains that of Ḥunayn. His words: ‘If the face is in this state’ mean that ‘it was at the beginning of the illness [fī btidāʾi l-maraḍi] in this bad state [fī hāḏihi l-ḥāli l-radīʾati]’. By ‘at the beginning of the illness’, he means ‘the beginning that has a symptom [ʿaraḍ]’. The older translation is much more paratactical, and this is a feature of the translations of the late eighth century.72 But it does translate the phrase ‘at the beginning of the disease’. Thus, the older translation helps interpret the younger one by Ḥunayn. In fact, this is just one of more than a dozen instances where ʿAbd al-Laṭīf compares the different translations [tarǧamas].73 In this way, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf displays his philological prowess. Not only does he use his knowledge of Arabic grammar to best effect, but he also compares manuscripts and the two 68 MS DA2, p. 19, line 14–p. 20, line 1. 69 Ǩʉ͈] DA2, C2, CB2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ǨʒΎ ͇. 70 ƹǚ̑] DA2, C2, CB2, QN2; ISY1: ķǚ̈ ; QN1: ǚ̈. 71 ŰǨ˳ͫā] DA2, C2, CB2, QN2, ISY1; QN1: ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā. 72 Ullmann 2002, 44–5; Pormann forthcoming a. 73 See MS DA2, p. 20, line 3; p. 26, line 10; p. 30, line 17; p. 32, line 1; p. 35, line 5; p. 39, line 2; p. 86, line 12; p. 90, line 16; p. 139, line 12; and p. 140, line 4.

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translations of the Prognostic to which he had access. To be sure, he cannot go back to the Greek original, but he is intelligent enough to try to comprehend the meaning of the text by using the older translation to shed light on that by Ḥunayn where the latter is more obscure. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s originality as a thinker is not, however, limited to philology. He also makes some highly interesting theoretical points. In what seems to be a very modern statement, he describes medicine as ‘knowledge of probabilities (al-maʿrifa al-ʾakṯarīya)’. To understand this statement, we need to bear in mind that he advocated ‘artful conjecture (al-ḥads al-ṣināʿī)’ in another work.74 This conjecture relies on probabilities: certain signs and indications make it more probably that the disease will take a certain turn, but there is no absolute certainty in medicine. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf compares this uncertainty in medicine to the mathematical impossibility of determining irrational numbers such as pi or the square root of ten.75 By setting mathematical inexactness side by side with medical inexactness, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf reasserts the value of medicine, which is classified fairly lowly in the Aristotelian hierarchy of knowledge.76 Yet, the theoretical discussion about probability that we find in the commentary on the first lemma (§ 3) displays a sophistication that goes beyond previous ones. To be sure, in the Hippocratic Corpus one already finds certain statements that display an awareness about probability. In the Hippocratic Epidemics, for instance, the author talks about the necessity to deduce the ‘most likely (málista)’ course of a disease from certain signs.77 And in his commentary on this passage, Galen refers the reader to the Prognostic, but does not take the opportunity to reflect on the sense of ‘most likely’ here.78 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, however, goes beyond this by casting medicine in stochastic terms.79 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary was not only innovative, but also highly relevant in terms of medical teaching. For he thought that both the Aphorisms and the Prognostic lent themselves ideally to didactic ends, since they treated most of the key issues in clinical medicine. He believed that students should be taught medicine through the works of Galen and Hippocrates alone, and especially through their Aphorisms and Prognostic and the commentaries thereon. Moreover, the Prognostic was used in medical teaching as can be seen from a manuscript that we mentioned earlier.80 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s pupil ʾAbū Yaḥyā Zakarīyāʾ ibn Bilāl ibn 74 Bursa, MS Hüseyin Çelebi 823, fol. 64b, line 15; see Joosse, Pormann 2008, 426. 75 Joosse, Pormann 2008, 426. 76 See Biesterfeldt 2000, Gutas 2003. 77 Book i. 11 (i. p. 189, lines 23–4 Kw; ii. p. 634 L): ‘But it is by a consideration of other signs that one must decide which of these results will be most likely (ὅ τι δὲ τούτων ἔϲται μάλιϲτα ϲκεπτέον ἐξ ἄλλων)’ (tr. Jones 1923, 165). 78 Book i.2.131 V; p. 75, lines 9–19 W. 79 See also Maclean 2002, 181–8. 80 See above, pp. 254–5; see also Dietrich 1966, 217–36.

ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’:

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Yūsuf ibn ʾAmīrī al-Marāġī produced this manuscript, which also contains an Arabic version of the Prognostic, as he studied under him and followed him around Anatolia and North-Syria for a number of years. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf then read, collated and approved this and three other texts copied by his student, as well as one original work composed by the latter. Prognosis played a prominent role in medical practice. Therefore, one would expect to find at least some indications as to how physicians treated patients in ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s time. After all, in his magnificent Book of the Two Pieces of Advice (Kitāb al-Nasīḥatayn), ʿAbd al-Laṭīf commented elaborately and in innovative ways on medical ethics and education, on clinical techniques and tricks. But where the social commentary in the K. al-Naṣīḥatayn remained boisterous and extrovert with many staccato notes, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf uses a rather introvert and subdued style in his Commentary on the Prognostic. The reason therefore is rather obvious: the text is of a completely different nature, exhibits dissimilar sensitivities and had to be approached by the author in a new and refreshing way. The tone is therefore more solemn. The commentary’s text presents us with the language of personal encounters and does from time to time provide one with a description of the self and the other. The social element therefore can be detected in subtilities and small, hidden gems: it is for instance present in the introduction and in the description of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf meeting his friend, who accordingly asks him to write the commentary. It is, of course, omnipresent in the commentary itself, and appears wherever the commentator deviates from the Hippocratic text and gives his own comments upon the prognostic skills, and the conduct and dealings of the physicians.

Conclusions From the late eighth century, when the Prognostic was first rendered into Arabic, until the late thirteenth century, when Ibn al-Nafīs wrote his commentary on this work, generations and generations of Arab and Muslim physicians read, studied, and engaged with this seminal Hippocratic treatise. We could only offer an initial survey of the commentaries by authors other than ʿAbd al-Laṭīf. Yet, one can already see that the commentaries by al-Daḫwār and Ibn al-Nafīs deserve further scholarly attention. For they are not just works of scholastic stultification: the former illustrated his points with anecdotes from his medical practice, and the latter included Koranic material in his commentary, thus fusing his interest as a theologian with those as a physician. Our initial survey of ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s commentary also showed that its author was a highly original thinker, and as such one not devoid of contradictions. We already noted some of them at the beginning of the article: he inveighed

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against abridgments, but wrote them himself; and he vilified the Generalities in Ibn Sīnā’s Canon, but also commented on them. This tension can also be felt in his Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’. The subject itself has immediate practical applications, since doctors need to be able to take a patient’s history intelligently, and predict the course of an illness reliably. Moreover, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf insisted on the necessity for practical experience, not mere book learning, in order to treat patients and to devise and discover new treatments. And yet, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, himself, did not spend much effort on the practical side of medicine, the patients and their diseases. As a good Aristotelian, he favoured the knowledge of medical universals. He was concerned with widening his own learning, and, above all, instructing his students. His preference for teaching and learning is strongly attested throughout his oeuvre, just as his aversion for treating and meeting his patients is likewise well documented. There can be no mistake: ʿAbd al-Laṭīf was a theoretician at heart who stayed far away from what he called himself the basic occupations of life.81 If one wants to portray him at all, then one should think of the Alexandrian iatrosophist rather than of the Galenic philosopher-physician. This, then, appears to be another contradiction in ʿAbd al-Laṭīf’s life: he preaches practice, but has a predilection for theory. The medieval hospital of al-Nūrī in Damascus (in which nowadays the museum of medical history is housed) possesses a series of portraits of famous Arabic physicians who almost without exception are portrayed as interacting with their patients. These portraits do not sketch a realistic picture, and, moreover, stem from a recent past. The artist, however, knew his classics: for he portrayed ʿAbd al-Laṭīf as a lecturer who was surrounded by a group of students attentively listening to their teacher discoursing on medicinal plants.

81 Joosse 2011, 41–3.

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Appendix .82Ƚ˶˳̒

ҙҏć ζǨʶ̈ ŁĢ .ɨʉ̤Ǩͫā ɬ˳̤Ǩͫā ɷˬͫā ɨʶ̑ [1] ɬ̑ Ʉ̵Ǎ̈ ɬ̑ Ʉʉ˅ˬͫā ǚʒ͇ ɡˁˏͫā ǽ̑Αā ɡ̀LJˏͫā ƢLJͲ Βҙҏā țʉʷˬͫ ƱǨʉʶˏ̒ć ŴāǨ˙ʒͫ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ ŁLJʓ͛ [2] ǚ˳ʥͲ ɬʉˬ̵Ǩ˳ͫā ǚʉ̵ ȅˬ͇ ɷˬͫā ȅˬ̿ć ζɬʉ˳ͫLJˈͫā ŁĢ ɷˬͫ ǚ˳ʥͫāć .84ɷ˶͇ ɷˬͫā 83ǽ̀Ģ ķĔāǚˉʒͫā ǚ˳ʥͲ .85ɬ̈Ǩ΀LJ˅ͫā ɷͫΐāć [Prologue]

ɬ˳Ͳ ǽˬ͇ ɷ˙̤ ȇʤ̈ ɬͲ ȶˈ̑ ǽͫΒā ȇ͈Ģ ζƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ˜̑ ƦǍ˶ˈ˳ͫā ŴāǨ˙̑ ŁLJʓ͛ ɬͲ ǽ͈āǨ͎ ǚˈ̑ć [3] ɼͲǚ˙̒ ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ș́˶˳ͫā ɑͫĕ ș́͵Αā ƦΑā ɷʓ˶ʉ̈́ ɼˬʉˁˏͫā 86ĢLJ̓ΐā ȅˬ͇ Ȉˬʒ̣ć Ό ɷʓʒ͈Ģ Ȉ͘ǚ̿ć ɷ̒ĔǍͲ Ȉˀˬ̥ Ḳ̌Αҙҏā ƹLJ̣Ģ ɷͫLJ͘ LJͲ Ȉ˳ʶ̒Ģāć ɷͫānj̵ Ȉʒ̣ΑLJ͎ .ɼʒ̒Ǩ˳ͫāć žǨʷͫā ǽ͎ ƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ͛ 87Ǎˬ̒ ƦLJ͛ ĕΒā ζɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā .Ǩ͛Ǜͫā ɬʶ̤ć ȅͫΒā ɡˀˏ̒ ŁLJʓ͛ ɡ͛ ķǚ̈ ɬʉ̑ LJ́͵ǍͲǚ˙̈ ƦΑā ŔāǨʷͫā ƴĔLJ͇ łḲ̌ ǽʓͫā ɼʉ͵LJ˳ʔͫā 88ťćĆǨ̑ Ķǚʓ̑Αāć [4] ζĢLJˉˀͫāć ĢLJʒ˜ͫā ɷ̇āḳ̌Αā ȅͫΒā ɷʓ˳ʶ͘ć ζƱǨʉ͈ ǽ͎ ɷʓˈˏ˶Ͳć ζŁLJʓ˜ͫā ɬͲ ĔǍˀ˙˳ͫā ŰǨˉͫā :ǽ΀ć ρɷ̤Ǩ̶ Ɏ̈Ǩ˅ͫāć ɼͫǚˈ˳ͫā ɼ̣́ ȅˬ͇ ǽ˳ˬ͇ ŁLJʓ͛ Ƚ̀āć ɡ͛ ƦΒLJ͎ .ɷ˳ʉˬˈ̒ Ǎʥ͵ć ζɷ͵āǍ˶͇ć ζ89ɷʓʒ̒ǨͲć ζɷʓʒʶ͵ć ȫʒʓˬ˳ͫāć ǽʷ̤Ǎͫā Ȼˏˬͫā ȇ˶ʓʤ̈ ƦΑā ƛćΑҙҏā :ɷ̣ćΑā ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɬͲ ɨˬˈʓ˳ͫā ȅˬ͇ ɷˬʉ́ʶ̒ Ʊǚˀ˙͎ ζɼʉ͵LJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ɼ˶˜˳˳ͫā șʤʥͫLJ̑ ɷʒʷ̈ ƦΑā ǽ͵LJʔͫāć ρƦLJ˜Ͳ Βҙҏā ɼ̈LJˉ̑ ɨˬˈʓ˳ͫā ȫˏ͵ ǽ͎ ȅ˶ˈ˳ͫā ĢǍˀ̈ ƦΑā ǚ́ʓʤ̈ć ζȺˬˉ˳ͫāć ɬͲ ɬͲLJʔͫā LJͲΑāć .ɷ˅ʒ̀ ȇˈˀ̈ ҙҏć ɷˆˏ̤ ɡ́ʶ̈ LJʒʉ̒Ǩ̒ 90ɷˬ͛ ɑͫĕ ȇ̒Ǩ̈ ƦΑā ȉͫLJʔͫāć ρɼʥ̀āǍͫā ɼͫĔΑҙҏāć ȫˏ˶ͫā Ȉ˶˜̵ ζ91ɷʓ˙̓ ȅͫΒā āǚ˶ʶͲ ƦLJ͛ āĕΒā ŁLJʓ˜ͫā ƦΒLJ͎ ρŰǨˈͫLJ̑ Ƚ͎LJ͵ āǛ΀ć ζɷˈ̀āć ɨ̵ā Ǎ͎́ ťćĆǨͫā .92ɷʈˬ˳̑ ǽ͇āćǚͫā łǨ͎Ǎ̒ć ɷʉͫΒā LJ́˶Ͳ ǚͫǍʓ̈ LJͲć ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙ʓ̑ LJ˳ˬ͇ LJ͵ǚʉˏ̈ ƦΑā āǛ΀ ɷ̑LJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑ ŰǨˉ͎ [5] Ʉ͵ΑLJʓʶ˳ͫāć Ǩ̀LJʥͫā ƦLJͲǩͫā ȇʶʥ̑ ɑͫĕć .LJ́̿LJʦ̶Αāć LJ͇́āǍ͵Αā ȅˬ͇ łLJͲҨҞˈͫāć ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ɬͲ ɡ˳̣ Ǩ͛Ǜ̑ .93Ʉ͵ΐҙҏāć 94 .ƱāǨʓ̵ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ Ƚ͎LJ˶Ͳ ŃҨҞ̓ LJ΀LJˀ̤Αāć ζɷ̑LJʓ͛ Ģǚ̿ ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑ LJ́̑ ɷʶˏ͵ ŔǨ̿ ǚ˙͎ ɷʓˈˏ˶Ͳ LJͲΑāć [6] 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Ƚ˶˳̒ ҙҏć Ǩʶ̈ ŁĢ] om. CB2, C2, ISY1, QN1, QN2. ǽ̀Ģ] CB2, DA2, QN2; QN1: ɨ̤Ģ. ɷ˶͇ ... ŁLJʓ͛] om. C2, ISY1. ɬ̈Ǩ΀LJ˅ͫā] CB2, DA2, QN2; QN1: add. ill. [?]. ĢLJ̓ΐā] DA2; C2: ĢLJ́̓Αā; CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2: ĢLJʔ̈Βā. ǽ͎] add. QN1. ťćĆǨͫLJ̑] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: ťćĢǚͫLJ̑. ɷʓʒ̒ǨͲć] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: ɷʓʒ̒Ģć. ɷˬ͛] om. QN2. ɷʓ˙̓] scripsi: ɷʉʓ̓ DA2: Ȉʒʔ̒ C2: ill. sine punctis ISY1, QN1, QN2; CB2: ɷʉʒ͵. ɷʈˬ˳̑] scripsi: CB2, C2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2: ɷʉˬ͇. Ʉ͵ΐҙҏāć] om. ISY1. ɷʶˏ͵] om. QN1.

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N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann

ɬͲ ɼʶʒʓ˙˳ͫā ȉˬʔͫā Ƚ͎LJ˶˳ͫā ɬ˳ˁʓ̈ ƛćΑҙҏā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .LJ˳ʉˬˈ̒ ƦćǨʷ͇ć łҙҏLJ˙Ͳ ŃҨҞ̓ Ǎ͎́ ɷʓ˳ʶ͘ 95LJͲΑāć [7] ɬͲ LJˁ̈Αā Ǜ̥nj̒ łLJͲҨҞ͇ ǽ͎ ȉͫLJʔͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ɷ̣Ǎͫā ɬͲ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ ǽ͵LJʔͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ ŷLJ̀ćΑā ǽ͎ć ȅͫćΑҙҏā ɬͲ ΑāĔĢΑā ĿǨ̥ā ɼˈʤ̀ ǽ͎ Ƚ̑āǨͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɼˈʤ̀ ɬͲć ȅͫćΑҙҏā ɬͲ ΑāĔĢΑā ɷ̣Ǎͫā ǽ͎ ťĔLJʶͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ƈǨˈͫā ɬͲć ȫˏ˶ʓͫā ɬͲ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ ȫͲLJʦͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .LJ́ʓʶʤͲć žāǨ̈́Αҙҏā žLJ͇Ǩ̑ LJ́˶Ͳ ɡʥ˶̈ 97LJ˳ʉ͎ć 96Ʉˬ̵ LJͲ ɡ˳̣ ǽ͎ Ƚ̑LJʶͫā .ɨʉˬˈʓͫā Ʉʉ̵āǨʷͫā ƦćĔ LJ˳Ͳ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ć ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ ɬ̇LJ˜ͫā ƹLJ˙ʶʓ̵ҙҏā ǽ͎ ɬͲLJʔͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .99ȅͫćΑҙҏā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ȅ́ʓ˶Ͳ āǛ΀ć .Țʓˏ̈ 98LJͲć ɬͲ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ Ƚ̵LJʓͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ƈāǨʓ͎ҙҏā ɷ̑ ķǛͫā œāǨʦͫāć ɷ͎āǨ̈́Αā ƦāǍͫΑāć ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā 100ƈLJˀ̑ .ƴǨ͘Ǩ˙ͫāć Ț̈Ǩͫāć ģāǨʒͫā ɬͲ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ Ǩ̶LJˈͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ƈĢΑҙҏāć ƢǍ˶ͫā ɬͲć ȇʉˁ˙ͫāć ɬʉʉʔ͵Αҙҏā ȵˬ˙̒ ƹǽ˙ͫā ɬͲ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ ǽ͵LJʔͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ƛǍʒͫā ɬͲ ƴĕḀ̌ΑLJ˳ͫā ɡ̇ҙҏǚͫā ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ ķĔLJʥͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā Țʉ˙ͫā ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ Ƚ̑āǨͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā ƱǨʉ͈ć ȉˏ˶ͫā ɬͲ ɼ̇Ǩͫā łāĕ ƛāǍ̤Αā ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ ȉͫLJʔͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ȉˏ˶ͫā ɬͲć ɷ̒ǚͲ ƛǍ˅̒ LJ˳ʉ͎ Ǩʷ͇ ȫͲLJʦͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ɑͫǛͫ ɼͲģҨҞͫā ŰāǨ͇Αҙҏāć ɷ͵LJ˜Ͳć ƱĢLJʤˏ͵āć Ģǚˀͫā łҙҏΐā ǽ͎ ɬ̇LJ˜ͫā ǽ͎ć ƴĔLJ˳ͫā ƛLJ˙ʓ͵LJ̑ ůҨҞʦͫā łLJͲҨҞ͇ ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ ťĔLJʶͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ȇ˅ˈͫāć ɼͲҨҞʶͫā łLJͲҨҞ͇ć ɑͫĕ ɬͲ LJ́˶Ͳ ɨʉˬʶͫāć łLJʉ˳ʥͫā ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ Ƚ̑LJʶͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ǽ́ʓ˶̒ āǛ΀ ǚ˶͇ć .Ʉʉ̵āǨʷͫā ƦćĔ LJͲ ƢāĢćΑā ƹǽ˙ͫāć žLJ͇Ǩͫā ɡ̇ҙҏĔć ɡ́ʶ̈ LJͲć ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā 102ɬͲ 101ɷ͎Ǩˈ̒ Ǩʶˈ̈ LJͲć ɬ̈ĢLJʥʒͫā ƢLJ̈Αā ŁLJʶ̤ć ȉʉʒʦͫāć LJ́͵āǨʥ̑ ǽʓͫā łLJʉ˳ʥͫā ǽ͎ć LJ́ˈ˅͘ć ƴLJ́ˬͫā ƢĢćć Ț̑Ǜͫāć Ɏˬʥͫā ƢāĢćΑā ǽ͎ Ǩʷ͇ ɬͲLJʔͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ƦĕΑҙҏā Ƣҙҏΐāć ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .ȅ˳̤ ȽͲ 103ș˶ʷ̒ ǽ͎ć ɼͫLJʓ͘ Ǩʉ͈ łLJʉ˳̤ ǽ͎ ŷāǚˀͫā ɷ̑ ĢǛ˶̈ LJ˳ʉ͎ Ǩʷ͇ Ƚ̵LJʓͫā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā .œāǨʦ̑ .ƱǨ̵ΑLJ̑ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā ɨʓ̈ LJ́̑ć ζ104ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼͫLJ˙˳ͫā ɼ˳ʓ̒ ǽ΀ć ζɼˈ͎LJ͵ LJ̈LJ̿ć ɬ̈Ǩʷˈͫā Ȉʥ̒ ɡ̥āĔ Ǎ΀ć .ťLJʉ˙ͫā 105ŁLJ̑ĢΑā ķΑāĢ ȅˬ͇ ȇ˅ͫā ɼ͇LJ˶̿ ɬͲ Ŀćǚʤͫā ɨʉˆ͇ ƹḳ̌ ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ ɷʓʒʶ͵ LJͲΑāć [8] ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ȵʉʦʷ̒ ΑLJʉ́ʓ̈ ɷ˶Ͳ ĕΒā ζ106ǽˬ˳ˈͫā ɨʶ˙ͫā ƢǍʦ̒ ǽ͎ ɷ˶Ͳ Ǎ΀ć .ɼ͇LJ˶ˀͫā ǽ˳ʶ͘ ɬͲ ǽ˳ˬˈͫā ɨʶ˙ͫā ɬͲ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ Ⱥ˳͵ ɬͲć ɷʓ̣ĢĔ ǽ͎ć ɷ̒ǨͲģ ǽ͎ ǚˈ̈ ƦΑā ȇʤ̈ LJ˳Ͳć .107LJ́̑ ҙҏΒā œҨҞ͇ ɬ˜˳̈ ҙҏ ǽʓͫā .ɼ̈LJˏ˜ͫā ɬ͇ Ʉʷ̒ ɑͫĕ ǽ͎ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ȇʓ͛ć .ȶʒ˶ͫā ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā Ƚ̑āǍ̒ žǨˈ̒ ȅˬ͇ ĢǍˀ˙Ͳ ɷ͵Αҙҏ ζƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ͛ ǚˈ̑ ΑāǨ˙̈ ƦΑā ȇʤ̈ ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ ɷʓʒ̒ǨͲ LJͲΑāć [9] .108LJ̣́ҨҞ͇ ɨˁ˶̈ ɷ͵Αҙҏ ζƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ŁLJʓ͛ Ʊǚˈ̑ ΑāǨ˙̈ ƦΑā ȇʤ̈ć .LJ́ͲģāǍͫć

95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108

LJͲΑāć] om. C2. Ʉˬ̵] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: Ʉˬ̒. LJ˳ʉ͎ć] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: LJͲć. LJͲć] CB2, C2, DA2, ISY1, QN2; QN1: āǛ΀ć. ɨˬ͇Αā ɷˬͫāć] add. C2, DA2. ƈLJˀ̑]; fort. leg.; codd.: łLJʒˀ͵. ɷ͎Ǩˈ̒] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN2; C2: ɷʓ͎ǨˈͲ ; QN1: Ʉ̈Ǩˈ̒. ɬͲ] C2, DA2, ISY1, QN2; QN1: ǽ͎. ș˶ʷ̒] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: șʷͫā. ɼʔͫLJʔͫā] CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2, DA2: ɼʉ͵LJʔͫā. ŁLJ̑ĢΑā] CB2, ISY1, C2, QN1, QN2; DA2: ŁLJʥ̿Αā. ǽˬ˳ˈͫā] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN2; C2, QN1: ǽ˳ˬˈͫā. LJ́̑] C2, DA2; CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2: LJ́ͫ. Ǎʥ͵] add. C2, DA2.

ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’:

271

ɼͲǚ˙̒ ɷʓ˳̣Ǩ̒ć ζƦǍ˙ʉ˅ʶ˶͈ćǨ̑ ǽ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ɷ˳̵āć .ɷʉ͎ LJ˳ͫ Ɏ̑LJ˅Ͳ Ǎ΀ć ζɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙ʓ͎ ɷ͵āǍ˶͇ LJͲΑāć [10] .ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā .ŁLJʒ̵Αҙҏāć ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɼ͎ǨˈͲ ȅͫΒā ƢģāǍˬͫā ɬͲ Αāǚʓ̑āć .ȫ˜ˈͫLJ̑ ɡʉˬʥʓͫā Ɏ̈Ǩ̈́ Ǎ͎́ ɷ˳ʉˬˈ̒ 109Ǎʥ͵ LJͲΑāć [11] .110ȫ˜ˈͫLJ̑ ɡʉˬʥʓͫāć ζȇʉ͛Ǩʓͫāć ζɼ˳ʶ˙ͫāć ζǚʥͫā ɡʉˬʥ̒ :ɼˈ̑ĢΑā ɨʉͫLJˈʓͫā ƹLJʥ͵Αā ƦΒLJ͎ 111ķǛͫā Ǩʒ͛Αҙҏā ťǍʉʒʉˬ˙̵Βā Ǩʷ͇ ǽ͵LJʔͫā Ʊụ̈̌ ƦǍ˜̈ć .ťāǚʉˬʉ͘ĢΒā ɬ̑ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā Ǎ͎́ ɷˈ̀āć ɨ̵ā LJͲΑāć [12] ɡ͛ ƱǨʒ͘ ǚ˶͇ ǚ͘Ǎ̈ ƦLJ͛ć .ƱǨʒ͘ ǚ˶͇ ƦǍˏʷʓʶ̈ āǍ͵LJ͛ć .ȇ˅ͫLJ̑ ɷʉͫΒā ǽ̤Ǎ̈ ƦLJ͛ ɷ͵Αā Ʀćǚ˙ʓˈ̈ ƦǍʉ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ƦLJ͛ 112Ǩ˜ˏͫā Ɏʉ˳ˈͫā ɡ̣Ǩͫā Ǎ΀ ŴāǨ˙̑Αāć .ǽ˳˅ʦͫā ƴǨʤ̶ Ʊǚ̈ ǽ͎ć ƱǨʒ͘ ȅˬ͇ ɷ͵ćĢǍˀ̈ āǍ͵LJ͛ć .ɡ̈ǚ˶͘ ɄͫΑā ɼˬʉͫ LJ˳̑ LJ́˶͇ Ńǚʥ˳ͫā ɼˈʉʒ˅ͫā ƛāǍ̤ΑLJ̑ 113Ǩ͛Ǜ˳ͫā ɷͲLJ˜̤Αāć ƱLJ̈LJˁ͘ ǽ͎ ǚ̈nj˳ͫā ƴǨ˅ˏͫā Ɏ̇LJˏͫā ɼ˶˅ˏͫā ǽ˙˶ͫā ĿǨ̥Αā ƴǨͲ ƛLJ˙͎ .ɼˈʉʒ˅ͫā ɷΏʓ̑ĔΎ Αā ŴāǨ˙̑ć ťĢǚͫā ɷ̑ĔΎ Αā ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ƦΒā ƛLJ˙͎ ζɬʶ̤Αāć ťǍʉ̵LJ̣ ɷˏ̿ć ǚ͘ć .LJ́ʉ͎ .ƋLJ˶΀ ǚ΀LJ̶ LJ˳͇ Ǩʒ̥Αāć LJ́͘LJ˳͇Αā ȅͫΒā ȅ́ʓ͵ā ȅʓ̤ LJ́ˈͲ ĿǨ̵ć ɼˈʉʒ˅ͫā ǽ͎ ȫ˳ˉ͵ā ŴāǨ˙̑ ƦΒā ĢǍ́ʷͲ ƢҨҞ˜̑ ȫʒʓˬ˳ͫāć ȇ̈Ǩˉͫā ƢҨҞ˜ͫā Ǩʉʶˏ̒ ƛćΑҙҏā :ƢLJʶ͘Αā ɼʔˬ̓ ȅˬ͇ ķǨʤ̈ ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛāǍ͘Αā Ǩʉʶˏ̒ć [13] ҨҞ˙͇ ƱǨ͛ĕ LJͲ ɡˬˈ̑ ĢLJʒ̥ Βҙҏā ȉͫLJʔͫāć ρɷ˶΀ĕ ɼˏʉ˅ͫć ɼʉˬ˙͇ ɼʶ̥ ɬͲ ɷͲҨҞ͛ ǽ͎ LJͲ ĢLJ́ͅΒā ǽ͵LJʔͫāć ρɬʉʒͲ ɬʥ͵ć .ɷʶˏ͵ ƹLJ˙ˬ̒ ɬͲ ɷ˙ʥˬ̈ ƦΑā ɨˬˈʓͲ ȅˬ͇ ҙҏLJ˜̒āć ҨҞ΀LJʶ̒ ɷ˶͇ łǍ˜ʶͲ ćΑā ǽˏʦͲ ŴǨ̶ ȅˬ͇ ɷʶʒʓͫāć ƦΑā ƛćnjʶ˳ͫā ɷ͵LJʥʒ̵ ɷˬͫāć .Ȉ͘Ǎͫā ɷˈʶ̈ LJͲ ȇʶ̤ć ƴǍ˙ͫā ƴLJ̒āǍͲć ɼ͘LJ˅ͫā Ģǚ˙̑ ɑͫĕ ɬͲ ɡ͛ ɬͲ ǽ̒ΑLJ͵ .ɷʉˬ͇ ĢĔLJ˙ͫāć ɑͫĕ 114ǽͫć ɷ͵Βā ζɼ˳ˀˈͫLJ̑ ɷ˙ʉ͎Ǎ̒ ɬͲć ǚʉ̈ΑLJʓͫLJ̑ ɷˏ˅ͫ ɬͲ LJ͵ǚ˳̈ [Lemma One]

ɨʉ̤Ǩͫā ɬ˳̤Ǩͫā ɷˬͫā ɨʶ̑ ƛćΑҙҏā ɨʉˬˈʓͫā Ƣǚ˙̒ć ɨˬˈ͎ Ɏʒ̵ āĕΒā ɷ͵Αā ɑͫĕć Ǩˆ˶ͫā Ɏ̑LJ̵ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ĢǍͲΑҙҏā ɡˁ͎Αā ɬͲ ɷ͵Αā ĿĢΑā ǽ͵Βā» :ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ ɬ͇ Ǩˀ͘ LJͲ ɡ͛ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɬ͇ Ǩʒ͇ć Ʉ͵ΑLJʓʶ̈ LJͲć ȅˁͲ 115LJͲć ɨ́̑ LJ˳Ͳ Ǩ̀LJʥͫā ƹǽʷͫLJ̑ ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ĢǛ͵ΑLJ͎ ɼ˙ʔͫā ȅͫΒā ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ āǍ͇ǚ̈ ȅʓ̤ ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ĢǍͲΑā ɨˬˈ̈ ƦΑā ȅˬ͇ ĢĔLJ͘ ɷ͵ΑLJ̑ ɷ˶Ͳ Ɏ̓Ǎ̈ ƦΑLJ̑ LJ̈Ǩ̤ ƦLJ͛ ɷʓˏ̿ ɡˬˈͫā ɬͲ ɨˬˈʉ͎ Ƣǚ˙ʓ̈ ƦLJ͛ ĕΒā ƱẠ̌Ǎͫā ɡˁ͎Αā ȅˬ͇ ɨ́ͫ ɷ̣ҨҞ͇ ƦLJ͛ć ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ķǚ̈ ǽ͎ ƢҨҞʶʓ̵ҙҏāć 116ɷ̑ «ɷʉͫΒā ƛćnj̒ LJͲ ƴǨ̀LJʥͫā

109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116

Ǎʥ͵] CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; om. C2, DA2. ȫ˜ˈͫLJ̑ ... Αāǚʓ̑āć] om. C2. ķǛͫā] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: ɼͫΐā. Ǩ˜ˏͫā] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ƴǨ˜ˏͫā. Ǩ͛Ǜ˳ͫā] CB2; ISY1, DA2, QN1; QN2: ǩ͛Ǩ˳ͫā; C2: ɬ͛ǩ˳ͫā. ǽͫć] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: ǽ͎ć. LJͲć] CB2, C2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; DA2: LJ˳Ͳć. ɷ̑ ɼ˙ʔͫā] CB2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ɷ̑ ƈǍ̓Ǎͫā; sed gr. τολμᾶν ἐπιτρέπειν; C2: ɼ̑Ǩ˙ʓͫā.

272

N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann

ɄͫLJʦ̒ ķǛͫā ɷʒ΀ǛͲć ɷ̈ΑāĢ ȅˬ͇ ɷ̑ ƛĔć ɼʥʉˀ˶ͫāć ƴĢǍʷ˳ͫā œǨʦͲ ƛǍ˙ͫā œǨ̥Αā «ĿĢΑā ǽ͵Βā» 117ɷͫǍ͘ [1] .ɷͫLJ̤ ɬ͇ ĢLJʒ̥ Βҙҏā ɼ̣́ ȅˬ͇ ɡ̑ ζĔLJ˶ˈͫā ɼ̣́ ȅˬ͇ ҙҏ ζɨ́ˬʉʒ̵ ș́ʓ͵ā ɬͲć ɡʉʥͫā ŁLJ̑ĢΑā ɷʉ͎ Ɏ̑LJ̵ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɨˬˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ɼʉ̵LJʉ˙ͫā ȇ˅ͫā ɼ͇LJ˶̿ ƹāḳ̌Αā ɡˁ͎Αā ɬͲ ƱLJ˶ˈͲ «ĢǍͲΑҙҏā ɡˁ͎Αā ɬͲ ɷ͵Αā» ɷͫǍ͘ć [2] LJ˳ʉ͎ LJ΀Ǩ͛ĕ ǽʓͫā ȉˬʔͫā Ƚ͎LJ˶˳ˬͫ ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ȽͲ ɡˈˏͫLJ̑ ɷˬ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ɨ̓ ɷʶˏ͵ ǽ͎ ɼ˜ˬͲ ɑͫĕ Ǜʦʓ̈ ķΑā Ǩˆ˶ͫā ƱĢǍ́ͅ ɡʒ͘ ćΑā ɷ͵Ǎ͛ ɡʒ͘ ƹǽʷͫā žǨˈʉ͎ Ƣǚ˙ʓ̈ ƦΑā ƱLJ˶ˈͲć .118ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙ʓͫ žĔāǨͲ Ǩˆ˶ͫā Ɏ̑LJ̵ć .ǚˈ̑ ɷ͵ΑLJ͛ «ƢǨΎ ͛»ć «ŁǨΎ ̣» āĢǚˀͲ ɼͲǨ˜ʓͫāć 120ɼ̑Ǩʤʓͫā ɡʔͲ119 ɼΉ ˬ΋ ˈ΍ ˏΏ ̒΋ ɼͲǚ˙ʓͫāć .ɡ̇ҙҏĔć ĢLJ̓ΐāć łLJͲҨҞˈ̑ ɷͫ ɡ˳ˈ̒ć ɼ̈ĆĢć ƴǨ˜͎ ɷͲǚ˙ʓ̒ LJͲ ȅˬ͇ Ɏˬ˅̈ Ǩˆ˶ͫā Ɏ̑LJ̵ć .ɷʉˬ͇ ȫʥͫā ŷǍ͘ć ɡʒ͘ ƹǽʷͫā ɼ͎ǨˈͲ ɼͲǚ˙̒ ƛǍ˙̈ žǍʶ˜ͫā ɡʔͲ ζƦǍ˜ͫā ķĢćǨ̀ Ǎ΀ LJ˳ʉ͎ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ć .Ǩˆ˶ͫā Ɏ̑LJ̵ 121ȅ˶ˈ˳ͫ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ć .Ĕāǚˈʓ̵āć ƴǍʓʷͫā ƱǛ΀ ƦΑā ɡʔͲ ζĢụ̈̌Αҙҏāć ĿǨ̤Αҙҏāć Ǩʔ͛Αҙҏāć ȇˬ͈Αҙҏā ɼ̣́ ȅˬ͇ ɷ͵Ǎ͛ LJ˳ʉ͎ć ζɼ˶ʶͫā ƛǍˀ͎ ĔẠ̌ćć ȅˬ͇ ƛĔ ɡʉ˳ͫā ɬʉΎ ̑ ɷ˶Ͳ ȅˬ͇Αҙҏā žǨ˅ͫā ƦLJ͛ āĕΒā Ǩ˳˙ͫā ƦΑāć ζāǛ͛ ɼͲҨҞˈ̑ ɼʈʉ͎Ĕć ζāǛ͛ ɼͲҨҞˈ̑ ĔǨʒͫā ɼ̈Ǎ͘ .ŁǍ˶ʤͫā 122ŁǍʒ΀ ȅˬ͇ ƛĔ LJ˅ʶʒ˶Ͳ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒāć ζƛLJ˳ʷͫā ŁǍʒ΀ :ƛǍˀˏͫā ǽ͎ ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ ɑͫǛͫć .ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ɼ̿LJ̥ć ζɼ̈Ǩʔ͛Αҙҏā ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ȇ˅ͫā ŷǍ̀ǍͲć [3] .«ɼ˙ʔͫā ɼ̈LJ͈ ȅˬ͇ ƦǍ˜̒ Ȉʶʉͫ—ɼͲҨҞʶͫLJ̑ ćΑā Ȉ͵LJ͛ łǍ˳ͫLJ̑—ƴĔLJʥͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ɼʉˁ˙ͫLJ̑ Ƣǚ˙ʓͫā ƦΒā» .ŰǨ͇ LJ˳́ͫ ȫʉͫ ƦLJ͎Ǩ̈́ 123Ƚ˶ʓ˳˳ͫāć ķĢćǨˁͫā ƦΒLJ͎ .ɡ͘Αҙҏāć Ǩʔ͛Αҙҏā ɡ˳ʓʥ̈ ŰǨ͇ ɷͫ ĢǍͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ ķǨʔ͛Αҙҏāć žǨ̈́ ɬͲ ŁǨ͘ LJͲć ζɼ̈Ǩʔ͛Αā ǚ̈ģΑā ƦLJ͛ ζķĢćǨˁͫā žǨ̈́ ȅͫΒā ŁǨ͘ LJ˳͎ 124Ƚ̵āć Ⱥ̵ǍͫLJ˜͎ ɬ˜˳˳ͫā LJͲΑāć āǨˆ͵ ķćLJʶʓ˳ͫāć ɡ͘Αҙҏā ǽ͎ ɷͫ ƦΑā ȅˬ͇ ζǨʔ͛Αҙҏā ȅˬ͇ ƱĔẠ̌ć LJ˳ʉ͎ Ǩˆ˶̈ LJ˳͵Βā ȇ˅ͫāć .LJʉˬ͘Αā ƦLJ͛ ζ125Ƚ˶ʓ˳˳ͫā .ɷ̤Ǩ̶ Ƚ̀ǍͲ āǛ΀ ȫʉͫ ζǨ̥ΐā ɷ̣Ǎ̑ ζƛҙҏǚʓ̵ҙҏLJ̑ Ǩ̀LJʥͫāć ζĢāǛ͵ ΒҙҏLJ̑ ɡʒ˙ʓʶ˳ͫā ȵʦ̈ć ɼ̓ҨҞʔͫā ɼ˶ͲģΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫLJ̑ Ƣǚ˙ʓͫāć [4] LJ́˶Ͳć ζłāǛͫLJ̑ Ǎ΀ LJͲ LJ́˶Ͳ :ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ ɬͲ ɼˬ̿LJʥͫā ŃҨҞʔͫā Ƚ͎LJ˶˳ͫāć .ĢLJ̓ΐҙҏā ɼ͎ǨˈͲć ĢLJʒ̥ ΒҙҏLJ̑ ǽ̀LJ˳ͫāć ɷ˶˜ͲΑā ζɡʒ˙ʓʶ˳ͫā ɨˬˈ͎ Ƣǚ˙̒ āĕΒāć .ɷͲćLJ˙̈ ƦΑā ɷ˶˜ͲΑā ζǨ̀LJʥͫā ɨˬˈ͎ Ƣǚ˙̒ āĕΒā ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ łāǛͫLJ̑ LJͲΑā .ŰǨˈͫLJ̑ Ǎ΀ LJͲ ζɷ˶͇ ɼˀʉ˙˶ͫā ǽˏ͵ Ǩ̥ΐҙҏāć ζƈǛʥͫLJ̑ ɷʉ͎ ǚ˙ʓˈ̈ ƦΑā LJ˳΀ṳ̈̌Αā :ƦLJʈʉʷ͎ ŰǨˈͫLJ̑ LJͲΑāć .ɷˬ̑LJ˙̈ LJ˳̑ ɷͫ ǚˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ƦǍ˜̈ ŰǨˈͫLJ̑ LJͲć ζȺ˙͎ ɡʒ˙ʓʶ˳ͫāć Ǩ̀LJʥͫā ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ LJ˳͵Βā łāǛͫLJ̑ LJͲć .Ȉ̓ṳ̈̌ ƦΒā 126ɼ͎ΐā ɷʉͫΒā ȇʶ˶̒ ҨҞ͎ ζɡʒ˙ʓʶ˳ͫāć Ǩ̀LJʥͫā ǽ͎ łāǛͫLJ̑ LJͲ ɷ̣Ǎ̑ Ƚˏ˶̈ ǚ͘ ɷ͵Αā ȅˬ͇ 127ǽ̀LJ˳ͫLJ̑ ůLJ̥ Ǎ΀ć ζɼ̓ҨҞʔͫā ɼ˶ͲģΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ɡʒ˙ʓʶ˳ͫLJ̑ ĢāǛ͵ Βҙҏāć ζ129Ʀΐҙҏā ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ķǚ̈ ǽ͎ ƢҨҞʶʓ̵ҙҏā ẹ̑Ǎ̈ ɬ̇LJ͛ Ǎ΀ LJͲć .ȅˁͲ LJ˳̑ 128ĢLJʒ̥ Βҙҏā ɬ˜ͫ .ɡʒ˙ʓʶ˳ͫā ǽ͎ ɷ̑ ɬˆͫā ɬʶ̤ ẹ̑Ǎ̈ 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129

ɷͫǍ͘] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: Ʉʉ˅ˬͫā ǚʒ͇ ƛLJ͘. ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙ʓͫ ɡʥʓ˶˳ͫā Ǎ΀ ɡ̀LJˏͫā ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ƦΑā āǛ˜΀ ŷǍʷʉʓʦ̑ ɬ̑ ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ ǽ͎ć] add. CB2, QN1, QN2. ɼΉ ˬ΋ ˈ΍ ˏΏ ̒΋ ] om. C2; QN1: ɼˬˈˏͫ. ɼΉ ˬ΋ ˈ΍ ˏΏ ̒΋ ] add. C2. ȅ˶ˈ˳̑] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2:ȅ˶ˈ˳ͫā. ŁǍʒ΀ ȅˬ͇ ƛĔ LJ˅ʶʒ˶Ͳ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒāć ζƛLJ˳ʷͫā] C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1; in marg. add. CB2. Ƚ˶ʓ˳˳ͫā] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: Ƚ˶˳˳ͫā. Ƚ̵āć] ISY1; add. ŰǨˈͫāCB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2. Ƚ˶ʓ˳˳ͫā] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: Ƚ˶˳˳ͫā. ɼ͎ΐā] ISY1; om. CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2. ǽ̀LJ˳ͫLJ̑] ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2, DA2: ǽ̀Ǩ˳ͫLJ̑. ĢLJʒ̥ Βҙҏā] ISY1; CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2: LJ˳̑Ģ. Ʀΐҙҏā] CB2, ISY1, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: łҙҏΑā.

ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’:

273

ǽ͎ ɨˬ͇ ķΑā «ɨˬˈ͎ Ɏʒ̵ āĕΒā» ɷͫǍ͘ć [5] .ɨˬˈͫā Ƣǚ˙̒ āĕΒā ƛǍ˙ͫā ɷ˶˜˳̈ LJ˳͵Βāć ƛǍ˙ͫLJ̑ 130ƱĢǛ͵Αā ķΑā «ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ĢǛ͵ΑLJ͎ Ƣǚ˙̒» ɷͫǍ͘ć [6] Ȉ̑Ǩ̀» ŁLJ̑ ɬͲ ɷ͵Αҙҏ «ɨˬˈƼ»Ƽ̑ ɷˬʔͲ Ǩ̥ΐā Ɏˬˈʓ̈ć «ĢǛ͵ΑLJƼ»Ƽ̑ ɎˬˈʓͲ «ɨ́̑ LJ˳Ͳ Ǩ̀LJʥͫā ƹǽʷͫLJ̑» ɷͫǍ͘ć [7] LJͲ ɼ͎ǨˈͲ LJͲΑāć .ɷʉˬ͇ ɡ̵́Αҙҏāć 131ɨ΀Αҙҏāć ɷʓ͎ǨˈͲ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ȅˬ͇ ẹ̑ćΑҙҏā ɷ͵Αҙҏ ζǨ̀LJʥͫā Ƣǚ͘ć «āǨ˳͇ Ȉ˶΀Αāć ζȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ƛāǍ̤Αā ɬͲ Ǩ̀LJʥͫā žǨˈ̈ ɨͫ ɬ˳͎ .ɼ͘āǛʥͫā ɡʉͫǚ͎ Ʉ͵ΑLJʓʶ̒ LJͲ ɼ͎ǨˈͲ LJͲΑāć .ŷǨʒ̒ ƱǨʔ͛ΑLJ͎ ȅˁͲ ɬͲć ζȵ͘LJ͵ Ǎ͎́ ζɨ́ͫ ȅˁͲ LJͲ žǨˈ̈ ɨͫ ɬͲć .ƱẠ̌Ǎͫā ɬͲ ɷ̣Ǎ̑ œҨҞ͇ ɷ˶˜˳̈ ҙҏć ζҨҞ̿Αā ȇʉʒ˅̑ ȫʉˬ͎ .ȵ˙͵Αā Ǎ͎́ Ʉ͵ΑLJʓʶ˳ͫā žǨˈ̈ ɨͫ 133 .Ǩ̀LJʥͫāć ǽ̀LJ˳ˬͫ ɡͲLJ̶ «ɷʓˏ̿ ɬ͇ Ǩˀ͘ LJͲ ɡ͛ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɬ͇ 132Ǩʒ͇ć» ɷͫǍ͘ć [8] ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā Ǩʒ̥Αā āĕΒLJ͎ .ɷ̑ ŔǨˀ̈ ɨͫć ɷ˶͇ Ȉ˜̵ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ƦΑā LJ˳΀ṳ̈̌Αā :ƦLJʉ˶ˈͲ ɷͫ «ɷʓˏ̿ ɬ͇ Ǩˀ͘» ɷͫǍ͘ć [9] Ǩʒˈ̈ ƦΑā ɬʶʥ̈ ҙҏ ɬ˜ͫć ζɷ̑ ȫʥ̈ ǚ͘ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ƦΑā ǽ͵LJʔͫāć .ɷʓ͎Ǩˈ˳̑ Ɏ̓ć ζɷ˶͇ Ȉ˜̵ LJ˳Ͳ ɷʶˏ͵ ǽ͎ LJ˳̑ ɡʔͲ ζɷʶˏ͵ ɬ͇ ɬͲ ȇʤ͇ć ɷ͘ǚ̿ć ĢĔLJ̑ ζƱǚʤ̈ LJͲ ɼʉˏʉ͛ ɬ͇ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā Ǩʒ͇ āĕΒLJ͎ .135ɡʉ˙ʔͫāć Ĕǚ˳˳ͫāć ȫ̥LJ˶ͫā134Ƚ̣Ǎͫā ɬͲ ɷˈ˳̵ āĕΒLJ͎ .Ʊǚʤ̈ ŰǨ͇ ɬ͇ ҨҞ͎LJ͈ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ǚ͘ć .ɷʓˏ̿ ɬ͇ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā Ǩˀ͘ LJ˳͇ 136ƱǨʉʒˈ̒ ɬʶ̤ .ɷʉˬ͇ ɷ͘ǚ̿ć ɷͫ Ȼ˙ʉ̒ ζȇʉʒ˅ͫā 137 . LJ˙ʉˬ̥ć āǨ̈ụ̈̌ ƦLJ͛ ķΑā «LJ̈Ǩ̤ ƦLJ͛» ɷͫǍ͘ć [10] 138 . ɷ˳ˬ͇ ȅͫΒā ɬ͛Ǩ̈ć ɷʓ͎ǨˈͲ ȅͫΒā ƢLJ˶ʓʶ̈ ķΑā «ɷ˶Ͳ Ɏ̓Ǎ̈ ƦΑLJ̑» ɷͫǍ͘ć [11] .ťLJ˶ͫā Ƚʉ˳̣ ɷ˶Ͳ Ɏʔ̈ ķΑā «139ɷ˶Ͳ Ɏ̓Ǎ̈» ɷͫǍ͘ć [12] .ɷʉ͎ ɼ͘āṲ̈̀ć ɑͫĕ ȅˬ͇ ɼ˜ˬͲ ɷͫ ƦΑā ķΑā «ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ĢǍͲΑā ɨˬˈ̈ ƦΑā ȅˬ͇ ĢĔLJ͘ ɷ͵Αā ȅˬ͇» ɷͫǍ͘ć [13] ɨ̵́Ǎˏ͵ ƦǍ˳ˬʶ˳ͫā ɨ΀ ɨ́͵Αҙҏ ζȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫLJ̑ ůLJ̥ āǛ΀ «ƢҨҞʶʓ̵ҙҏā ȅͫΒā ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ɑͫĕ āǍ͇ǚ̈ć» ɷͫǍ͘ć [14] .ɷʉͫΒā Α Α žǨˀʓͫā ɬ͇ ζɷ˶͇ ǽ˶˜̒ ǚʉͫā ƦΒLJ͎ .ɷʉ́͵ć ƱǨͲā ƛLJʔʓͲāć ɷ͎Ǩˀ̒ ǽ͎ ķā «ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ķǚ̈ ǽ͎» ɷͫǍ͘ć [15] Ƣǚ͘ LJ˳͵Βāć .ɷ̈ǚ̈ ǽ͎ ƛǍ˙̈ ƦΑā ɷʉˏʓ˜̈ ƦLJ͛ ǚ͘ ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ ζǚʉ͛ΑLJʓˬͫ LJ˶΀ «ȇʉʒ˅ͫā» Ȼˏͫ ĔLJ͇Αāć .ƹǽʷͫā ɬͲ ɬ˜˳ʓͫāć .ɷͫ ɼʤʉʓ͵ć ɷ˶͇ Ƣģҙҏ ǽ͵LJʔͫāć ζǽ͵LJʔͫā ȇʒ̵ ƛćΑҙҏā ƦΑҙҏ ζ«ƢҨҞʶʓ̵ҙҏā» Ǩ͛ĕ ȅˬ͇ «ɼ˙ʔͫā» Ǩ͛ĕ LJ΀Ǩ͛ĕć ζłāǛͫLJ̑ ǽʓͫā ɼˈˏ˶˳ͫā 142ǽ΀ 141ƱǛ΀ :«ƱẠ̌Ǎͫā ɡˁ͎Αā ȅˬ͇ ɨ́ͫ ɷ̣ҨҞ͇ ƦLJ͛ć» 140ɷͫǍ͘ć [16] ɬ˜ͲΑā ζȇʉʒ˅ͫā ķǚ̈ ǽ͎ ɨˬʶʓ̵ā āĕΒā ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ƦΒLJ͎ .ɼʉ͵LJʔˬͫ ɷʈ̈́Ǎ̒ ȅͫćΑҙҏā ƦΑҙҏ ζŰǨˈͫLJ̑ ǽʓͫā ȅͫćΑҙҏā Ǎˬ̒ .ɷʶˏ͵

130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142

ƱĢǛ͵Αā] C2, DA2; CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2: ƱģǨ̑Αā. ɨ΀Αҙҏāć] ISY1; add. Ʊǚ˶͇CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2. Ǩʒ͇ć] ISY1, DA2; C2: ƹāǛ͈; CB2, QN1, QN2: Ǩʒ͇. ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ɬ͇] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2.; ɬ͇ ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫātrsp. C2. Ƚ̣Ǎͫā] om. QN2. ɡʉ˙ʔͫāć Ĕǚ˳˳ͫāć ... ȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā Ǩʒ̥Αā āĕΒLJ͎] in marg. add. CB2. ƱǨʉʒˈ̒] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ƱǨʉ̑ǚ̒. LJ˙ʉˬ̥ć āǨ̈ụ̈̌] ISY1; āǨ̈ụ̈̌ć LJ˙ʉˬ̥ trsp. CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2. ɷ˳ˬ͇] CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2, DA2: ɷˬ˳͇. ɷ˶Ͳ] CB2, ISY1; om. C2, DA2, QN1, QN2. ɷͫǍ͘ć] CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; om. C2, DA2. ƱǛ΀] CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2, DA2: āǛ΀. ǽ΀] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1; om. QN2; C2: Ǎ΀.

274

N. Peter Joosse, Peter E. Pormann

ζȶ̈Ǩ˳ͫā ƛLJ̤ ɷʉͫΒā ƛćnj̈ LJͲ ɨˬˈ͎ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā Ƣǚ˙̒ āĕΒāć .ɷ̒Ģǚ͘ ɷˈʶ̒ć ɷ˳ˬ͇ ɷˉˬ̑ LJͲ ɡ͛ ɡ˳ˈ̒ ƦΑā 143ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ŔLJ̈Ǩͫā ƦǍ͛ 144ɨˬ͇ ζLJ͘ĕLJ̤ ƦLJ͛ āĕΒā :ɼ˶ʉˏʶͫā ƦLJ̑Ģ ɼͫǩ˶˳̑ ζɷʓ̈ĔLJ͇ ɬͲ Ǩʶ˜̈ć ŃĔLJʥͫā ɡ̑LJ˙̈ LJ˳̑ ǚˈʓ̵ā ɷʓ̈ĔLJ͇ ɡˬ˙̈ ƦΑā LJͲΒāć ɼˬ˳̣ Ƚ͘Ǎʓ˳ͫā Ƚ͎ǚ̈ ƦΑā LJͲΒā ɷ͵ΒLJ͎ .ƴǚˈͫā ΑLJʉ΀ć ɼʒ΀Αҙҏā Ǜ̥ΑLJ͎ ζƈLJʷ˳ͫā ɬͲ ǽ˙ˬ̒ LJͲć .ɷ̒ĢǍ̵΋ Ǩʶ˜̈ć [Lemma Two]

ɨ́̀āǨͲāΑ ɼ̑Ǎˈ̿ ɬͲ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɷͫ ȅ͇ǚ̈ ƦΑā ɡʒ͘ łǍ˳̈ ǚ͘ ȅ̀Ǩ˳ͫā ȶˈ̑ ƦLJ͛ LJ˳ˬ͎» :145ŴāǨ˙̑ ƛLJ͘ ǚˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ɡʒ͘ Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘ ɑͫĕ ɬͲ Ǩʔ͛Αā ćΑā Έāṳ̈̌āć ΈLJͲǍ̈ ҙҏΒā ȅ˙ʒ̈ ҨҞ͎ łǍ˳̈ ƦΑā ƱǍ͇ǚ̈ ɬʉ̤ ȉʒˬ̈ ҙҏ ɨ́ˁˈ̑ć ǽ΀ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɑˬ̒ Ƚ̇LJʒ̈́ žǨˈ̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ ǚ˙͎ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ƢćLJ˙ʉ͎ ɷʓ͇LJ˶ˀ̑ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ƦǍ˜̈ ƦΑā ǽˉʒ˶̈ ǚ˙͎ ķćLJ˳̵ ƹǽ̶ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ɑͫĕ ȽͲ LJˁ̈Αā ƦLJ͛ ƦΒāć Ʀāǚ̑Αҙҏā 147ƴǍ˙ͫ 146ƴģćLJʤͲ «ΈāǨʉʒ̥ ɷʉ͎ Ǩˆ˶ͫā Ɏ̑LJʶ̈ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā Α Έāụ̈̌ ȇˈ̿ Ǎ΀ LJͲ ŰāǨͲҙҏā ɬͲ ƦΑā ɑͫĕć .ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ ɬͲ ɼʔͫLJʔͫā ɼˈˏ˶˳ͫā ɬ˳ˁʓ̈ 148ƛǍ˙ͫā āǛ΀ [1] ρǚˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā 151ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɡ́˳̈ ҙҏ LJ́ˁˈ̑ć ρȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɷͫ ȅ͇ǚʓʶ̈ LJ˳ʔ̈Ģ ɷʒ̤LJ̿ 150ɡ́˳̈ ҙҏ 149ŔǨʒͲ ƱǛ΀ Ƚ̇LJʒ̈́ ɨˬˈ̈ ƦΑā ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ȅˬ͇ ẹ̑āǍͫā ƦLJ͛ ɷˬ͛ ɑͫǛˬ͎ .ǚˈʓ̵ā LJ˳̑ șͫLJˈ̈ ȅʓ̤ ɷˬ́˳̈ ҙҏ LJ́ˁˈ̑ć Ǩ̥ΐҙҏāć ζLJʈʉ̶ ķǚʤ̈ ҙҏ ɑͫĕ ƦΑā LJ˳΀ṳ̈̌Αā ζ153ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫ œҨҞˈ̑ LJ́ʉͫΒā Ʊǚʉ̑ ŁǨˁ̈ 152ҨҞ͎ ζŰāǨͲΑҙҏā LJ˳͛ ζɼˈˏ˶˳ͫā ƱǛ΀ ɬͲ ɡ̿LJʥ͎ ɷʓ͎ǨˈͲć ɷ˳ˬˈ̑ ɬˆͫā ƦLJʶ̤Βā LJͲΑāć .ɷ̒ǍͲ ȇʒʶ̑ ƦLJ͛ ɷ͵Αā ɷ̑ 154ɬˆ̈ ҨҞʈͫ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒLJ͎ .ƦLJͲģ ȅͫΒā Ǩ˙ʓˏ̈ œҨҞˈͫā ƦΑҙҏ «șͫLJˈ̈ ƦΑā ɷˬ́˳̈ ҙҏ» 155LJ˶ˬ͘ LJ˳͵Βāć .Ȉ˙ʒ̵ ǽʓͫā ɬͲ ɡ̿LJ̤ Ǎ΀ LJ̣LJʓ̤ā LJ˳̑Ģć ρɑͫĕ ɬͲ ɡ͘Αā ȅͫΒā œLJʓʥʉ͎ ζƹǽ˙ͫLJ̑ ćΑā ƛLJ̵́ ΒҙҏLJ̑ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒāć ρƢLJ̈Αā ȅͫΒā œLJʓʥʉ͎ ζœLJˁ͵ ΒҙҏLJ̑ œLJʓʥ̈ 157LJ˳͵ΒLJ͎ ǚˀˏͫLJ̑ œҨҞˈͫā LJͲΑāć .ƴǍ͘ć ƦLJͲģ ȅͫΒā œLJʓʥ̈ ɷˬ͛ āǛ΀ć .ɼʈʉ́̒ć œLJˁ͵Βā 156LJ˳́Ͳǚ˙̈ ƦΑā ƦΑā ɨˬ͇ ζƦāǚ̑Αҙҏā ƴǍ˙ͫ ƴģćLJʤͲ 158ǽ΀ ǽʓͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɑˬ̒ Ƚ̇LJʒ̈́ ɨˬˈ͎ ȇʉʒ˅ͫā Ƣǚ˙̒ āĕΒLJ͎ .Ⱥ˙͎ ƴǍ˙ͫā ȅͫΒā .ɷ̣ҨҞ͇ Ʉ͛ć Ʊǚ̈ Ƚ͎Ǩ͎ .Έ ҨҞ̈́LJ̑ ȇ΀Ǜ̈ ɷ̣ҨҞ͇ 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158

ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ɬ˜ͲΑā] om. DA2. ɨˬ͇] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; om. ISY1. ŴāǨ˙̑Αā ƛLJ͘] om. C2, DA2. ƴģćLJʤͲ ǽ΀] CB2, C2, DA2, ISY1, QN2; ǽ΀ ƴģćLJʤͲ trsp. QN1. ƴǍ˙ͫ] CB2, C2, DA2, ISY1, QN2; QN1: ƴǍ˙ͫā. ƛǍ˙ͫā] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ɡˀ͎. ŔǨʒͲ] DA2, ISY1, QN1; CB2, C2, QN2: ŔǍͲ. ɡ́˳̈] CB2, C2, DA2, ISY1, QN2; QN1: ɡ́ʶ̈. ȇʉʒ˅ͫā] ISY1; om. CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2. ҨҞ͎] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ć. ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫ] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2: ɬʉ̣́Ǎͫā. ɬˆ̈] C2, DA2, ISY1; CB2, QN1, QN2: Ǩˁ̈. LJ˶ˬ͘] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2: Έ ҨҞʉˬ͘. LJ˳́ˈͲ] add. C2. LJ˳͵ΒLJ͎] CB2, C2, DA2, ISY1, QN2; QN1: LJ́͵ΒLJ͎. ǽ΀] om. QN2.

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ƹāǍ́ͫā ĔLJʶ͎ LJ́ʒʒ̵ ǽʓͫā ƴǚ͎āǍͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɷ̑ ǚ̈Ǩ̈ 160«ǽ̇LJ˳̵ ƹǽ̶ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒāć» 159ɷͫǍ͘ć [2] ǽʓͫā ƴǚ͎āǍͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā žǨˈ̈ ƦΑā ȇʉʒ˅ͫā ȅˬ͇ ẹ̑āǍͫLJ͎ LJ͇́LJ̀ćΑā žҨҞʓ̥ҙҏ ȇ͛āǍ˜ͫā ɼˈ̶Αā žҨҞʓ̥ā ɬ͇ LJ́͵Ǎ͛ 163ɡʒ͘ 162LJ́ͲćLJ˙ʉͫ LJͲ 161ɼͲΑā ɨˈ̒ ǽ͎ LJʉ˳̈Ǜʉ̑Βā ŁLJʓ͛ć .ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ƢLJʶ͘Αā ȇʶʥ̑ ƢLJʶ͘Αā ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɨʶ˙˶̒ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ 164ŴāǨ˙̑ ȇʓ͛ ƦΒLJ͎ [3] ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ƱǨʔ͛Αā ƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ͛ć ρ165ɼ̈ǚˬʒͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ Ʀāǚˬʒͫāć ɼ̈Ǎ΀ҙҏā ŁLJʓ͛ć ρƴǚ͎āǍͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā .ɷ˅˳͵ 166ɬͲć ƱǍˬ̒ ŁLJʓ˜ͫā āǛ΀ć .ɼ̿LJʦͫā ζƱǨ̥ΐā ȅͫΒā ɷʉ˜ʥ͵ ɬʥ͵ ƛΉ Ǎ͘ «167ǽ̇LJ˳̵ ƹǽ̶ ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ǽ͎ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒāć» ɷͫǍ͘ ƛΌ ǚ̑ ĿǨ̥Αā ɼ˳̣Ǩ̒ ǽ͎ć [4] :LJ́̑LJʒ̵Αāć ĔLJʶ̣Αҙҏā ȅˬ͇ LJ́̒Ǎ͘ 168ƴĔLJ̈ģ Ģāǚ˙Ͳć ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ƱǛ΀ Ƚ̇LJʒ̈́ žǨˈ̈ ƦΑā ȇʉʒ˅ˬͫ ǽˉʒ˶̈ ɑͫǛˬ͎» Ǎ΀ć ζɼ͎ǨˈͲ ɼͲǚ˙ʓ̑ ɑͫĕ žǨ͇ āĕΒLJ͎ .ƱǨʉ͈ć 169ƹāǍ́ͫLJ͛ œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ LJ́ʉˬ͇ ɼˬ̥āĔ ćΑā ǚʶʤͫā ŴҨҞ̥Αā ɬͲ Ȉ͵LJ͛ ƦΒā ɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫā ɼͲǚ˙̒ Ƚ˳͎ ζŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɑˬ̒ ȅˬ͇ ƴǍ͘ ɷͫ Ȉ͵LJ͛ ƦΒāć .ΈLJʥͫLJ̿ ΈLJʒʉʒ̈́ ǚˈ̈ć ɷ˶Ͳ ȇʤˈ̈ ƦΑā Ɏʥʓ̵ā ƱǨ́˙̈ 172LJ˳ͫ ǨͲΑā ɡ˜ͫ 171ɡʥʓ˶̈ć ɑͫĕ ǚ˶͇ LJ́̑ 170ǽ˶ˈ͎ .Ƚ˙̒ ƦΑā ɡʒ͘ ĢǍͲΑҙҏā žǨ͇ āĕΒā ζĿǍ͘Αā LJ́ʉˬ͇ ƦǍ˜̈ ΈLJʈ̈Ǩ̑ ƦLJ͛ć .ȵˬʦ̈ ɬͲ ůҨҞ̥ć ɨ́˶Ͳ łǍ˳̈ ɬͲ łǍ˳̑ Ǩʒ̥ΑLJ͎ ζɼ͎Ǩˈ˳ͫLJ̑ Ƣǚ˙̒ ζɑͫĕ ȅˬ͇ Ǎ΋ ˙̈ ɨͫ ƦΒāć .ɷ̑ «.ɼ˳̇ҙҏ ṳ̈̌Αā ɬͲ ɷ˙ʥˬ̈ ҙҏ ζȇʉˈͫā ɬͲ [1] In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Lord, make it easy, and do not prevent [this endeavour]. [2] The Book On Prognostic by Hippocrates and its commentary by the revered and excellent master ʿAbd al-Laṭīf ibn Yūsuf ibn Muḥammad alBaġdādī, may God be pleased with him. Praise be to God, the Lord of the universe. May God bless and grant salvation to the Lord of the prophets, Muḥammad, and his family, the righteous.

159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172

ɷͫǍ͘ć] om. C2, DA2. ǽ̇LJ˳̵] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ķćLJ˳̵. ɼͲΑā] CB2, DA2, QN1, QN2; C2: ɼ̑āISY1: ɷͲā. LJ́ͲćLJ˙ʉͫ] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2: LJ́˶̈LJ˙ʉͫ. ɡʒ͘] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2: ɡʒ͘ LJ˳̑. ŴāǨ˙̑] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ŴāǨ˙̑Αā. ɼ̈ǚˬʒͫā] CB2, DA2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; C2: ɼʉ͵ǚʒͫā. ɬͲć] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ć om. ISY1. ǽ̇LJ˳̵] CB2, C2, DA2, QN1, QN2; ISY1: ķćLJ˳̵. ƴĔLJ̈ģ] CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2; DA2: łāĔLJ̈ģ C2: łĔLJ̈ģ. ƹāǍ́ͫLJ͛] C2, DA2; CB2, ISY1, QN1, QN2: ƹāǍ́ͫā. ǽ˶ˈ͎] CB2, C2, DA2, QN2; ISY1: ǽ˶ˈ̈ QN1: ǽʒ͇. ɡʥʓ˶̈ć] CB2, C2, QN1, QN2; DA2: Ȉ̈ć ISY1: ill. (?). LJ˳ͫ] DA2, QN1; CB2, C2, QN2: LJ˳̑ISY1: LJͲ.

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Prologue [3] After I finished with Hippocrates’ book, entitled the Book of Aphorisms, someone to whom I am deeply obliged, as his love and wishes are pure and sincere, and whose character has been formed in the mould of virtue, requested me to follow this method in the Book On Prognostic. For it comes after the Book of Aphorisms in importance and rank. I acceded to his request, and followed up on what he had said, hoping thus to obtain recompense and a good reputation. [4] I begin with the headings of the eight [things] that commentators usually present at the beginning of each book, distinguishing them [the eight headings] in order to explain it [the book]. They are: 1) the intended objective of the book; 2) its usefulness for something else173; 3) its division into large and small parts; 4) its ‘belonging [nisba]’174; 5) its level; 6) its title; and 7) the method of teaching it. For everybody who writes a scholarly book [kitāb ʿilmī] in an equitable and humane way aims at making it accessible for the student in three respects. First, he avoids barbarous, obscure, and incorrect expressions, and endeavours to mould the meaning of the text into the soul of the student as much as possible. Second, he illustrates it with plausible arguments and clear proofs. Third, he arranges all of this in a mnemonic way, so that it is not too difficult to grasp. The eighth heading is the name of the author. This is indirectly useful, for if one can rely on a book, then the soul is content with it, and there are motives for wanting to complete it. [5] 1) Hippocrates’ aim in this book is to provide us with knowledge of how to foreknow acute diseases and their effects by discussing the general principles of indications and signs for the various diseases in the patients, taking into account the present, future, and past times. [6] 2) Hippocrates himself explained the usefulness of this at the beginning of this book, and listed aspects of why it is useful, as you shall see. [7] 3) Its division is into three books [maqāla], and twenty sections [taʿlīm]. The first section contains the three useful aspects of prognosis. The second section deals with facial signs. The third section also deals with facial signs, but reflects on those which are worse than the first; and [with signs] derived from how the patient lies down. The fourth section deals with [signs derived from] a different way to lie down, worse than the first, and from the position of the limbs; and with how to palpate them. The fifth section discusses indications from breathing and sweating. The 173 See Stephen of Alexandria, Commentary on the ‘Prognostic’, p. 27, line 1–2 ed. Duffy 1983: ‘Τὰ εἰωθότα ἐπὶ ἑκάϲτου ϲυγγράμματοϲ προλέγεϲθαι ηʹ κεφάλαια καὶ νῦν προλάβωμεν, τὸν ϲκοπόν, τὸ χρήϲιμον καὶ τὰ ἑξῆϲ.’ 174 In the sense of under what category of text it belongs.

ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’:

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sixth section deals with indications taken from the hypochondriac region. The seventh section provides a summary of the previous points, and deals with [conditions] that dissolve through nosebleed, and open. This is the end of book one [al-maqāla al-ʾūlā]. The eighth section deals with dropsies resulting from acute diseases, and with the patient’s saliva, the colours of his limbs, and abscesses causing loosening [iftirāq]. The ninth section is on the indications taken from the contraction of the testicles and the penis, and on sleep and sleeplessness. The tenth section deals with signs taken from the stool, the wind, and the rumbling noises in the stomach. The eleventh lesson discusses the indications taken from the urine. The twelfth section deals with indications taken from vomit and spit. The thirteenth section discusses the states of pneumonia [ḏāt al-riʾa] [indicated] by spit and so on. The fourteenth section discusses pus generated in organs of the chest, its bursting, location, and the accompanying symptoms. The fifteenth section deals with [pus] lasting for a long time, and signs for survival and death. The sixteenth section discusses signs of recovery by removing disease matter, and swellings in the hypochondriac region. Here ends the second book [al-maqāla al-ṯāniya]. The seventeenth section is on fevers, whether benign or malignant; on how to calculate critical days; on which diseases are difficult or easy to diagnose; and on the indications of nosebleed, vomiting, and ear pains. The eighteenth section discusses swellings in the throat; angina [al-ḏabḥ]; swellings of the uvula, and how to cut it; and fevers the crisis of which is brought about by an abscess [ḫurāǧ]. The nineteenth section is on the warning provided by headaches during non-lethal fever and spasm accompanied by fever. The twentieth section consists of useful [general] advice, thus completing the third book [al-maqāla al-ṯāliṯa]. With this ends the whole work [al-kitāb bi-ʾasrihī]. [8] 4) As to where it belongs [nisba], it is an extremely important part of the medical art according to the rationalists [ʾarbāb al-qiyās]. It features in the theoretical part of the two parts of the [medical] art.175 Some of it borders on the practical part, for one depends on it for diagnosing diseases which can only be treated through it. Therefore one ought to take it [prognosis] to be in its [i.e., practical medicine’s] group and in its class, and of the type to which prognosis through the pulse belongs. Galen’s works about this reveal enough. [9] 5) As for its level [martaba], it needs to be read after the book of Aphorisms, because it [the Prognostic] is confined to knowing the subsequent and accompanying symptoms of acute diseases. Afterwards one ought to read the book On Acute Diseases, because it contains their treatment.

175 The other part is the practical one.

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[10] 6) Its title is Prognostic [taqdimat al-maʿrifa], which corresponds to its content. Its Greek name is Prognostikón, meaning ‘prognostic’. [11] 7) Its didactic method is to analyse through opposition [al-taḥlīl bi-lʿaks]. He [Hippocrates] begins with accompanying symptoms [lawāzim] [and proceeds] to the diagnosis of diseases and their causes. For there are four didactic methods: 1) analysis of definition [taḥlīl al-ḥadd]; 2) division [al-qisma]; 3) composition [al-tarkīb]; and 4) analysis through opposition [al-taḥlīl bi-l-ʿaks]. [12] 8) The name of the author is Hippocrates, son of Heraclides. His twelfth great grandfather was the great Asclepius who the Greeks think revealed medicine to him [Hippocrates]. They [the Greeks] used to seek cures at his grave. Each night, a thousand lamps were lit at his grave. They imagined that he was at his grave, with a marshmallow tree in his hand. Hippocrates was a man of profound thought, clear sagacity, and outstanding character, who supports his issues and judgements, and focusses on and discusses the conditions of nature in [all] its aspects. Gesius described him well. He said that Galen was educated by studying, whereas Hippocrates was educated by nature. Another time he said that Hippocrates plunged into nature and traveled with it until he had sounded its depths; and [then] he related what he had witnessed. [13] To comment on Hippocrates lemmas involves three parts. First, one explains strange and confused expressions by well-known and clear ones. Second, one points out the intellectually faulty or rationally thin points in his argument. And third, one relates the causes for the things that he discussed in an intelligent way, but that he obscured [by basing it] on a hidden or implicit condition; he did so out of negligence, thereby relying on the pupil to provide it by himself. We will furnish all these as best we can and are able to, and as time allows. We ask God, praise be to Him, to grant us support through his grace, and success through his protection. He is the master in this [matter], and capable of it.

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Lemmatic Commentary In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate.

The first section [taʿlīm]. [Lemma One] Hippocrates said176: ‘I think that it is best for the physician to employ foresight [sābiq al-naẓar]. For if he foreknows, and then forewarns the patients about something that they have at present, had in the past, or are going to have, and if he expresses about the patient all that he [the patient himself] failed to describe, then he [the physician] is appropriate to be trusted to be able to know the affairs of the patients. Then this [the physician’s ability to foreknow] urges the patients to trust him, and to entrust themselves to the physician. He will treat them in the best possible way, since he foreknows what the present diseases will lead to.’ [1] By saying ‘I think [ʾinnī ʾarā]’, he [Hippocrates] qualified the lemma as being a counsel and advice. He thereby indicated his own view [raʾyihī] and school, which is different from that of the methodists and those who follow their ways. He did so not out of stubbornness, but to state his own case. [2] By saying ‘that it is best’ he means that it is one of the best parts of the rationalist medical art that the physician should employ foresight, i.e., that he makes this [foresight] an ability [malaka] of his, and then actually employs it in patients for the three benefits that he mentioned later. Foresight [sābiq al-naẓar] is a synonym of foreknowledge [taqdimat al-maʿrifa]. It means that one foreknows something before it occurs or before it displays signs, marks, and indications [hinting] at it. The [Arabic word] ‘fore- [taqdima]’ [represents the morpheme] tafʿila, like taǧriba [experience] and takrima [honour], which are the verbal nouns of ǧarraba [to experience] and karrama [to honour]. For instance, one says ‘foreknowledge [taqdimat al-maʿrifa]’ of something before sensation can grasp it; ‘foresight [sābiq al-naẓar]’ is employed for things preceded by thought, vision, effort, and preparation. Foreknowledge [taqdimat almaʿrifa] has the meaning of foresight [sābiq al-naẓar]. It is used for things which are necessary, such as an eclipse [kusūf], or determining the seasons of the year; and for things which are probable, most likely, more likely, and more probable, as for instance that this winter will be very cold, [indicated] by such a sign, and that it will be mild, [indicated] by such a sign; and that 176 Vol. i, p. 78, lines 2–10 Kw (cf. ed. Heeg 1915, 197–9; Jenner 1989, 107–9).

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when the moon’s upper part clearly slants this indicates northern winds, and when it is extended, this indicates southern winds. [3] The subject of medicine is the knowledge of probabilities [wa-mawḍūʿu l-ṭibbi l-maʿrifatu l-ʾakṯarīyatu], especially in the case of acute diseases. Therefore, Hippocrates said in the Aphorisms177: ‘To determine beforehand [the course] of acute diseases, whether it is death or health, is not entirely trustworthy [laysa yakūnu ʿalā ġāyati l-ṯiqati].’ The probable [al-ʾakṯarī] has an element of happenstance [ʿaraḍ] which is more or less likely. For the necessary and the impossible are two extremes which do not have an element of happenstance [ʿaraḍ]. The possible is like something that is in the middle over a wide range. That which is close to the extreme of necessity is more probably, whereas that which is close to the extreme of impossible is less likely. Medicine investigates things which probably occur, although it also considers the less probable and that which is equally likely in a different way, although it is not here the place to explain it. [4] Prognosis regards the three times: the future through warning; the present by inference; and the past by reporting and knowing the signs [bi-l-ʾiḫbār wa-maʿrifat al-ʾāṯār]. The three benefits which result from prognosis either occur essentially or accidentally. [They occur] essentially, when one knows the present and can then counteract it; and when one knows the past, and can then make preparations accordingly. [They occur] accidentally in two ways: first his [the physician’s] intelligence is confirmed; and second, his shortcomings are denied, so that a disease is not attributed to him, if it occurs. Essential [benefits] only occur as regards the present and future, whereas accidental [benefits] occurs in all three times, this being specific to the past, although it can benefit essentially as regards the present and future. Reporting the past, however, is something which makes it necessary [for the patient] to give himself over to the physician now. Warning about the future makes it necessary [for the patient] to have a good opinion about him [the physician] in the future. [5] By saying ‘if he foreknows’, he means ‘knows by himself’. [6] By saying ‘and then forewarns the patients’, he means ‘to show them by saying’, for he [the physician] is only able to say [something], when he has foreknown it. [7] The words ‘something that they have at present’ depend on ‘he [fore] warns’. There is another similar [verb] on which it depends, namely ‘he [fore]knows’, because this is part of the [grammatical] heading ‘I struck and humiliated ʿAmr’.178 The ‘present’ comes first, because it is more necessary, 177 Aphorisms ii. 19 (iv. pp. 474–5 L): ‘Τῶν ὀξέων νοϲημάτων οὐ πάμπαν ἀϲφαλέεϲ αἱ προδιαγορεύϲιεϲ, οὔτε τοῦ θανάτου, οὔτε τῆϲ ὑγιείηϲ.’ 178 That means that we have here a case where two different verbs have the same object (maf‘ūl bihi).

ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Baġdādī’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’:

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important, and easier for the physician to know. Knowing the past requires greater skill. Knowing the future is an indication of intelligence. Someone unable to know the present state of his patients is not a physician at all, and cannot provide treatment in any way. Someone who does not know what affected them [the patients] is deficient, whereas someone who does not know the future, is [even] more deficient. [8] The phrase ‘he expresses about the patient all that he failed to describe’ includes both past and present. [9] The expression ‘he failed to describe’ has two meanings. First, that the patient said nothing about it and did not explain it. For if he [the physician] reports to the patient his own state about which he said nothing, then he [the patient] will trust in his knowledge. Second, the patient feels something, but is unable to express it well by himself, as for instance in the case of a pricking, stretched out and heavy pain. Then when the physician expresses the [exact] properties of what he [the patient] perceives, then he [the patient] will quickly believe him [the physician] and be amazed by his ability to express something well that the patient was unable to describe. The patient may have neglected a symptom which he perceives. Then when he hears it from the physician, he will pay attention to him and believe him because of it. [10] By saying ‘he is appropriate’, he means that he is worthy and suitable. [11] The phrase ‘to be trusted’ means that he [the patient] is reassured by his [the physician’s] knowledge and relies on his expertise. [12] The phrase ‘be trusted’ means that all people trust him. [13] The phrase ‘to be able to know the affairs of the patients’ means that he has the ability [malaka] and intelligence [ḥaḏāqa] to do this. [14] The phrase ‘ this urges the patients to entrust themselves’ is especially about the patients, because it is they who entrust themselves to him [the physician]. [15] The expression ‘to the physician’ means that he [the physician] can dispose of them, and that [the patients] follow his instructions and obey his absolute command. For the [word] ‘hand’ alludes to it, to disposing and having power over something. He repeats the word ‘physician’ here for emphasis [taʾkīd], for it would have been sufficient for him to say ‘to his hands’, as ‘to trust’ was mentioned before ‘to entrust themselves’, for the former is the cause of the latter, and the latter necessarily follows from the former and is a result of it. [16] The phrase ‘He will treat them in the best possible way’ refers to the benefit which occurs essentially. He mentions it after the first which occurs accidentally, because the first [benefit] prepares for the second. For if the patient entrusts himself to the physician, the physician is able to do all that his knowledge indicates and that his ability makes possible. If the physician

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foreknows to what the state of the patient will lead, he prepares what is appropriate for what is going to happen and breaks some of its adversity. He resembles the captain of a ship who, if he is intelligent, knows how winds are generated and the troubles that they bring. Therefore he makes his preparations and gets ready, so that he can either repel altogether what he expects, or reduce its adversity and break its severity.

[Lemma Two] Hippocrates said179: ‘Some patients may die as a result of the severity of their illnesses before the doctor has been summoned. Others [die] soon after they call for him, only staying alive for one day or a little longer: [they die] before the physician could fight each disease with his art [i.e., through medicine]. Therefore he [the physician] ought to know the nature of the diseases that are stronger than the power of the body. If there is also something heavenly [samāwī] in the disease, then the physician ought to foresee expertly.’ [1] This lemma contains the third benefit resulting from prognosis. For some diseases are very difficult and troublesome, and give the patient no time to call the physician. Other diseases do not give [the physician] the time to prepare [a treatment], and yet other diseases do not give him the time to treat [the patient] with what he has prepared. For all these reasons it is incumbent on the physician to know the nature of such diseases, so as not to attempt to treat them. He should not do so out of two considerations: first, it would not be useful; and second, one might think that he is the cause for his [the patient’s] death. A good opinion about his [the physician’s] erudition and knowledge is achieved through this benefit as well as through the previous one. We have said that it [the disease] did not give him time for treatment, because treatment requires time. If it [the treatment] takes place by way of ‘ripening [ʾinḍāǧ]’180, then it needs days; and if it takes place by way of purging or vomiting, then it needs less [time]. Moreover, both [purging and vomiting] may need to be preceded by ‘ripening [ʾinḍāǧ]’ and [other] preparations, and all this requires time and strength. The treatment through venesection only requires strength. If the physician foreknows the nature of the diseases that go beyond the strength of the body, then he knows that the treatment will be conducted 179 Vol. i, p. 78, line 10–p. 79, line 3 Kw (cf. ed. Heeg 1915, 199–209; Jenner 1989, 109–120). 180 By ‘ripening [ʾinḍāǧ]’, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf may refer to the ripening of a humour or disease matter, in the sense that it is digested or altered in one way or another; or he may even refer to the ‘ripening’ of disease as a whole, in the sense that it has to be brought to a stage of crisis.

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in vain. Therefore, he holds up his hand and refrains from treating him [the patient]. [2] By saying ‘If there is also something heavenly [samāwī] in the disease’, he [Hippocrates] talks about epidemic diseases [al-ʾamrāḍ al-wāfida] that are caused by the corruption of the air. This corruption is due to the fact that the stars all radiate differently because of their different positions [in the firmament]. Therefore, the physician ought to know the epidemical diseases that generally affect a nation in order to counter them before they occur. [3] Hippocrates’ works on diseases are divided into three groups, just as the diseases are. His book Epidemics deals with epidemic diseases [ʾamrāḍ wāfida]; his book Airs, Waters, [Places] deals with local diseases [ʾamrāḍ baladīya]; and the major part of his book Aphorisms discusses specific diseases. This book comes after the previous one [Airs, Waters, Places] and follows the same model. [4] In another translation [tarǧama ʾuḫrā], instead of the passage ‘If there is also something heavenly [samāwī] in the disease’, there is another passage that we are going to quote in full. It runs181: ‘Therefore, the physician ought to know the nature of these diseases, and the amount by which their strength exceeds [that of] the body, as well as their causes: whether they are caused by the humours of the body, or whether they come to it from the outside, as for instance in the case of air and so on. If he knows this beforehand, he deserves to be admired and considered to be a proper physician. Even if he has a certain ability to deal with these diseases, it will be stronger when used with prognosis [taqdimat al-maʿrifa], [that is], when he knows things before they occur. Then he deals with them by adopting for each [disease] that with which he will conquer it. If he is unable to do so, then he knows this beforehand, and predicts the death of those who are going to die, and the recovery of those who will be saved. He is thus free from blame, and no-one will criticise him.’

181 Vol. i, p. 78, line 18–p. 79, line 8 Kw.

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Recipes by Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn

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 Recipes by Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn in the Epidemics and in Medieval Arabic Pharmacopoeias Leigh Chipman1 It is a commonplace that one of the fields in which Arabic medicine advanced far beyond Greek medicine is pharmacology.2 This paper aims to examine this commonplace by looking at the use of drugs in one book written in Greek, Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, which was translated into Arabic by Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq, and then by considering how recipes attributed to these three masters appear in medieval Arabic pharmacopoeias. I will begin by discussing the drugs that appear in Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two, and then continue to the Hippocratic, Galenic and Ḥunaynian recipes in later pharmacopoeias. As we will see, Galen is the most prominent of the three authorities; thus I will end by asking what these sources can tell us about Galen’s image among pharmacists and physicians in the Islamic tradition. A few words about my sources: my starting point is, of course, the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ as edited and translated by the Warwick team.3 I found no reference to drug therapy (or at least, to the word ‘drugʼ) in Book One, so I have concentrated here on Book Two. As points of comparison, I chose three of the most prominent Arabic pharmacopoeias: two which were meant for use at the famous ʿAḍudī hospital in Baghdad (these are Sābūr ibn Sahl’s ninth-century Dispensatory [ʾAqrābāḏīn] in the recension of that hospital;4 and its eventual replacement, Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s twelfth-century Dispensatory [ʾAqrābāḏīn])5 and one for community pharmacists (al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār’s The Running of an [Apothecary’s] Shop [Minhāǧ al-dukkān], composed in Cairo in 1260).6 I originally planned to use Ibn Abī l-Bayān’s The Hospital Formulary 1 I would like to thank Peter E. Pormann and Donna Shalev for their comments on earlier drafts of this article. I particularly wish to thank Peter E. Pormann for his generous sharing of his own work, translations and articles, both published and unpublished. This material improved the article immensely; all mistakes remain my own. 2 Savage-Smith 2000, 455. 3 All references to Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ, Book Two are to the forthcoming edition by Hallum / Vagepohl 2012. 4 Ed. Kahl 2008. 5 Ed. Kahl 2007. 6 Ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992.

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(al-Dustūr al-bīmāristānī),7 as representing an Egyptian hospital pharmacopoeia as well, but it turned out that he does not quote his sources directly; thus, there are no references there to Hippocrates, Galen, or Ḥunayn. In addition to these phamacopoeias, I consulted Ibn Sīnā’s Canon of Medicine (al-Qānūn fī l-ṭibb),8 since it is representative of the Arabic learned medical tradition in general and specifically of the physicians’ view of that tradition.9 Book Five of the Canon deals with composite drugs, and this is where, if anywhere, I would expect to find references to Hippocratic and Galenic recipes, or to Ḥunayn’s. Another, less well-known physician, whose quotation of Greek sources (and specifically of Galen’s commentary on the Epidemics) has already been studied, is al-Kaskarī, and I refer to him where relevant.10 Let me turn now to to the drugs that appear in Book Two of the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ. In part one, paragraphs 161–4, a case of soft and thin excrement is described. Hippocrates prescribes millet boiled in oil; Galen interprets this diet as drying and constipating. While Hippocrates states that a remedy works, Galen in his commentary explains why this is so. As Philip van der Eijk has shown, Galen puts Hippocrates into a specific theoretical context.11 Also, in part one, paragraphs 166–9, for a woman who is suffering from pain in the mouth of her stomach, Hippocrates prescribes barley mush and pomegranate water; Galen interprets this diet as drying and strengthening. This section is paraphrased by al-Kaskarī,12 who follows it with a series of recipes useful against nausea.13 In part two, paragraph five, as part of his commentary on how to recognise real and pretended pains, Galen refers to giving philonium for colic, a usage that survived down to al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār.14 The sixth and final part has the greatest number of references to drug therapy. In paragraph fifty-seven, Hippocrates prescribes broth for a sore throat if the air is too cold to allow water to be poured on the patient’s head; Galen makes no theoretical comment on this, but agrees that broths are good nourishment when there are internal swellings: they serve the same purpose there as poultices do externally. In paragraphs 65–6, Hippocrates prescribes beans, or beans and cumin, for an upset stomach; Galen disagrees with this as treatment for diarrhoea saying that 7 Sbath 1932–3. 8 Ibn Sīnā 1999. 9 I originally planned to consult Abū Bakr al-Rāzī’s Comprehensive Book (al-Kitāb al-Ḥāwī fī l-ṭibb) also, but due to its structure, it is difficult to locate citations of specific authors easily. The reception of the Commentary on Hippocratesʼ ‘Epidemicsʼ in Arabic is studied fully by Bink Hallum in his contribution to this volume. 10 See Pormann 2009a. 11 Eijk 2010. 12 For a discussion of the differences between this passage in the Epidemics and al-Kaskarī’s quotation of it, see Pormann 2009a, 131–3. 13 Ed. Šīrī 1994, 439–40. 14 Ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992, 105–7.

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beans are difficult to digest and cause flatulence, while cumin is burning and drying and has diuretic properties. None of these are appropriate for someone with diarrhoea, and Galen ends his commentary by rejecting this lemma’s attribution to Hippocrates outright, saying ‘I do not think that what was said in this lemma was said by Hippocrates.ʼ In paragraphs 72–3, Hippocrates prescribes Egyptian nitre, coriander and cumin, ground and mixed with oil, as an anointing treatment for epilepsy; Galen interprets this medicine as heating and drying and also good for upset stomachs.15 In paragraphs 110–11, Hippocrates prescribes a purgative for cancer; Galen interprets the purgative as ridding the body of yellow bile. He adds that the word purgative here can either mean purgatives generally or can refer more specifically to a drug made from the juice of palm seeds (ʿuṣārat našāʾ al-ǧummār), and that in this context, the general meaning is preferable. In paragraphs 116–24, Hippocrates prescribes wine and milk for anxiety, shivering and yawning; Galen interprets this diet as a method of dealing with slack muscles. In paragraphs 137–8, Hippocrates prescribes black gallnuts in honey for whitlow, an infection of the finger; Galen agrees with this prescription in cases that are not severe. In paragraphs 149-150, Hippocrates prescribes unmixed wine for a headache which is caused by a hangover; Galen disagrees and adds his own ideas as follows16:

ķǛͫā ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɬͲ ǚˈ̑ ɬͲ ɷ˳ˈ˅̒ ɨ̓ Έ ҙҏćΑā ƢLJ˳ʥͫā 17ȅͫΒā ɷˬ̥ǚ̒ ƦāΑ ĢLJ˳ʦͫā Ǜʉʒ˶ͫā ŁĢLJʷͫ ŰǨ͇ ȅʓͲ ĔẠ̌Αҙҏā ǽͲćǨͫā Ǩʉˈʷͫā ɬͲ 18ɷ˶Ͳ Ǜʦʓ̈ LJͲć Ǩʉˈʷͫā ɑʷ͛ ƹāǛˉͫā ĔǍ˳ʥ˳ͫā ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɬͲć ȇ͵Ǩ˜ͫā ĢLJ˳ʦͫLJ̑ ȇ΀Ǜ̈ āĕΒLJ͎ ƢǍ˶ͫā ȇˬ˅̑ ƱǨͲΑLJ̒ ɨ̓ .ƹLJ˳ͫā ɷ̣āǩͲ ȅˬ͇ ȇͫLJˉͫā ΈLJ˙ʉ͘Ģ ΈLJ̑āǨ̶ ɷͲLJˈ̈́ ǚˈ̑ ɷʉ˙ʶ̒ ɨ̓ 19.ťĢǚ˶̥ ȅ˳ʶ˳ͫā .Ŀǚˉ̒ LJͲ ɡʔ˳̑ ȅʷˈʓ̈ ɨ̓ ɨʥʓʶʉ͎ ƢLJ˳ʥͫā ȅͫΒā ĔǍˈ̈ ɨ̓ ΈāǨʉʔ͛ ΈLJʉʷͲ ǽʷ˳̈ ƦΑā ǽ͎ ɷʉͫΒā Ƣǚ˙ʓ͎ ɷͲǍ͵ ȅ͎Ǎʓ̵ā […] When a wine drinker suffers from a hangover, it is best for you to send him to the baths first, then afterwards to feed him cabbage, one of the foods that get rid of a hangover, and barley gruel, one of the healthy, nourishing foods, and that [gruel] which is made from Roman barley, called chondrós. Then, after his meal, give him thin wine that is mixed predominantly with water. Then advise him to try to sleep, and when he has had his share of sleep, suggest to him that he take a long walk, return to the baths and bathe, and then dine as he ate [before].

15 See ii.6.9 HV, in which the same substances are ground and made into vaginal pessaries so that a woman may become pregnant. I have not traced this usage further. 16 Book ii.6.150 HV. 17 ȅͫΒā] A1: om. E1, M. 18 ɷ˶Ͳ] E1, A1: om. M. 19 ťĢǚ˶̥] scripsi: ťĢǚʐ̤ E1: ŦćǨ˶̤ M.

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Similar ideas are expressed by Ibn Sīnā, who also sends those suffering from hangovers to the bath so that they may be anointed there with rose oil before eating lentils, verjuice, and cabbage. This advice is itself followed by a long quotation from Galen who explicates the treatment of hangover in different cases. Nothing there is precisely equivalent to the passage quoted above.20 In the following paragraphs (ii.6.151–7 HV), Hippocrates recommends hot bread soaked in unmixed wine for headaches which arise from other causes. Galen agrees that nourishing food is helpful in such cases, as they balance the sharp superfluities collecting in the stomach that cause the headaches; he, however, prefers mixed to unmixed wine. Again, we see Galen spelling out ideas which are latent in Hippocrates. Finally, in paragraphs 158–9, Hippocrates prescribes narcissus bulbs as an emetic; Galen agrees with this prescription. These paragraphs are quoted by al-Kaskarī, who adds21:

ҨҞ͎ .ɷͫLJ˳ˈʓ̵LJ̑ ƴĔLJˈͫā Ǩ΍ ʤ̒ ɨͫć .ŴāǨ˙̑āΑ ƛLJ͘ LJͲ žǨˈʉͫ ɷʓʒʓ͛ LJ˳͵Βāć .ƦLJʓ̵ĢLJ˳ʉʒͫā œҨҞ͇ ɬͲ āǛ΀ ȫʉͫ ǽ͎ ɬ˜̈ ɨͫ ɬͲ ɷ˶͇ ǽ́˶̈ć ζƛǍˀˏͫā ŁLJʓ͛ ǽ͎ ƹǽ˙ˬͫ ȶʉ̑Αҙҏā Ɏ̑Ǩʦͫā ŁǨ̶ ŴāǨ˙̑ Ǩ͛ĕ ǚ͘ć .ɷˬ˳ˈʓʶ̈ .Ǩ˅̥ ɷͫLJ˳ˈʓ̵āć ζș˶ʷʓͫā ɷͫ Ńǚʥ̈ ҨҞʈͫ ζŵҨҞ͈ ŴҨҞ̥Αā ɷ͵ǚ̑ This is not a hospital treatment. I only wrote it down [here] so that one can know what Hippocrates said; one normally does not use it; it should not be used. Hippocrates mentioned drinking white hellebore for vomiting in his book of Aphorisms. He enjoins people who have viscous humours in their body not to use it, lest they suffer from spasm. Its use is dangerous. The use of narcissus bulbs as an emetic persisted despite al-Kaskarī’s disapproval. This use is attested in al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār’s recipe for a narcissus syrup (šarāb al-narǧīs) which contains fresh narcissus, water, sugar and honey that is ‘good for treating shortness of breath and vomiting.ʼ22 The vast majority of the materia medica referred to by Hippocrates is composed of foods and spices that would have been quite simple to prepare and were readily obtainable. Many of the remedies should perhaps be considered as diet rather than drug therapy. According to Laurence Totelin in her general study of Hippocratic recipes, the Hippocratic recipes are a type of medicine that is ‘characterised by variety, by the mingling of expensive, “fashionable” remedies with re-interpreted folk remedies of all kinds.ʼ23 It seems to me that what we see here in the Epidemics is largely what can be termed ‘home remedies,ʼ 20 Ibn Sīnā 1992, ii. 65–6. 21 Ed. Šīrī 2004, 198. For a discussion of this passage, see Pormann 2009a, 130, and also Bink Hallum’s contribution to this volume. 22 Ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992, 29. 23 Totelin 2009, 127.

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preparations that are halfway between the culinary and the medicinal, bearing, as David Waines has put it, ‘the physicians’ stamp of approval, but which were left to the household domain for their preparation and application.ʼ24 According to Waines, home remedies ‘shared certain general characteristics. They were relatively simple both in terms of their ingredients and preparation; if desired, most could be prepared and stored for future use; they were intended for specific restorative purposes, unlike certain daily dishes recommended for their balanced nourishment and suitable for persons of every temperament.ʼ25 Most of the ingredients that Hippocrates refers to would seem to fulfil these conditions; furthermore, it is remarkable that Hippocrates makes no reference whatsoever to a theoretical framework when he recommends these remedies, while Galen, in contrast, almost always explains the action of the remedy in terms of their functions. This difference could have implications for the development of therapies. As medical treatment became more theory-laden, case histories—of which the Epidemics is an example―became an important source for engagement with prior practice. As Galen comments here on Hippocrates’ practice, agrees or disagrees with Hippocrates’ therapy, and brings his own suggestions, usually supported by the humoral theory, so later authors in the Islamic world (most famously al-Rāzī) used their own case notes to formulate their responses to Galen and Hippocrates alike.26 Clinical observations provided a means of resolving contradictions that appeared in classical medical writings and case notes could record whether treatments (including medicaments) had worked or not. Turning now from the Epidemics proper to the Arabic pharmacopoeias, I examined how many recipes were attributed to Hippocrates, Galen, and Ḥunayn. The findings were surprising. From my previous work on pharmacopoeias, I did not anticipate very many references to Hippocrates and Galen―but an almost total absence, especially of Hippocrates, was unexpected. Recipes attributed to Hippocrates appear only in Ibn Sīnāʼs Canon, and there only twice on the theme of hieraí (compound purgative drugs, called ‘holy’).27 There is a single reference in the pharmacological literature, that is in Sābūr ibn Sahl’s dispensatory in the recension of the ʿAḍudī hospital. Furthermore, that reference in not a recipe as such, but rather dietetic advice28:

ɼ͵LJʔ˳ͫā Ⱦ̑ǚ̈ć ζɼ˶ʉ̑ ƴĔLJ̈ģ ŷLJ˳ʤͫā ǽ͎ Ĕāģć ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɨˁ΀ć ƴǚˈ˳ͫā Ⱦ̑Ĕ ζɡʶˈͫLJ̑ Ǎˬʥͫā ģǍˬͫā ɡ͛āΑ āĕΒā .ṳ̈̌āć ɷ̣ć ȅˬ͇ ȫ˳ʦͫā ǽˬˀʉͫ ɡ̣Ǩͫā ƦΑā ȅʓ̤ LJ΀ǚʷ̈ć 24 25 26 27 28

Waines 1999, 238. ibid., 238–9. See Meyerhof 1935; Álvarez-Millán 1999, 2000. Ibn Sīnā 1999, iii. 439. Ed. Kahl 2008, 103, 213.

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When one eats sweet almonds with honey, it fortifies the stomach, promotes digestion of food, and significantly increases [the desire for] sexual intercourse; it [also] fortifies and tightens the bladder, so much so that a man can perform the five [daily] prayers as though they were one. This prescription is more like the home remedies that appear in the Epidemics than the two recipes for hieraí that appear in the Canon, which are polypharmaceutical concoctions typical of this type of preparation. Totelin states that ‘[a]s a pioneer in the field of pharmacology, Hippocrates plays an important role in Galenʼs writings; but Hippocratic recipes are passed over in silence, most probably because Galen found more recent recipes to be more useful.ʼ29 Could this be a reason for the far greater number of recipes attributed to Galen found in the Arabic pharmacological literature? Has Galen elbowed Hippocrates aside, as it were, in this field? Galen is by far the most prominent of the three masters in the pharmacopoeias. Twelve drugs—three electuaries,30 a turmeric medicine,31 three hieraí,32 a cumin stomachic,33 a pennyroyal stomachic,34 an oxymel35 and two potions36— are ascribed to him in the Canon, as opposed to the two ascribed to Hippocrates as mentioned above, while none are ascribed to Ḥunayn. Sābūr refers to Galen seven times for recipes—a quince wine,37 a liniment of oil and wax,38 and a wash for wax taken from his book on simple drugs39—and for advice on how to wash pitch,40 how to test theriac,41 a remedy for quinsy42 and another for an open artery,43 as opposed to a single reference to Hippocrates, the one just discussed, and three recipes ascribed to Ḥunayn (amber pastilles,44 a treatment for warts45 and an enema).46 Ibn al-Tilmīḏ ascribes three recipes each to Galen—qūqāyā

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Totelin 2009, 273. Ibn Sīnā 1999, iii. 414, 430. Ibid., iii. 422. Ibid., iii. 438–9. Ibid., iii. 442. Ibid., iii. 443. Ibid., iii. 462. Ibid., iii. 470–72. Ed. Kahl 2009, 43, 143. Ibid., 63, 165–6. Ibid., 62, 164. Ibid. Ibid., 91, 197. Ibid., 100, 208. Ibid., 96, 203–4. Ibid., 30, 127. Ibid., 94, 201. Ibid., 58, 159.

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pills,47 quince wine48 and a liniment of dates49—and to Ḥunayn—amber pastilles,50 and treatments for warts51 and for freckles,52 but none to Hippocrates; while alKūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār ascribes seven recipes to Galen—a marking-nut electuary,53 a compound eye-salve54 and an eye-powder,55 qūqāyā pills,56 Androchoron pills,57 and two kinds of liniment58—and four to Ḥunayn, of which one recipe must be included in Galen’s account, as Ḥunayn quotes Galen. This recipe is for marking-nut electuary (maʿǧūn al-balāḏur), which is meant to strengthen the memory. According to al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār, it is ‘ascribed to Galen, Ḥunayn quoted it in [his] treatise on drinking the fruit of the marking-nut ... and said that when he used it, he would remember [or memorise] in a day what he had memorized in six [days], or even more; these are his words.ʼ59 The Arabic is rather ambiguous: after the clear ‘naqalahū Ḥunayn (translated by Ḥunayn)’, we have the verbs ‘ḏakara (he mentioned)’, ‘istaʿmalahū (he used it)’, ‘hāḏā qawluhū (this is what he said)’, and it is not clear whether Galen or Ḥunayn is reporting his experience and confirming the efficacy of this drug. The other recipes ascribed to Ḥunayn are for an electuary of dates,60 the lesser yellow powder61 and a poultice for young men with swollen livers.62 Some of the recipes ascribed to the different masters repeat themselves. For example, comparing Sābūr ibn Sahl63 and Ibn al-Tilmīḏ64, Ḥunayn’s recipe for amber pastilles is almost identical and uses the same ingredients—many of them red—to treat bleeding. Both recipes ask for amber, red coral, roasted coriander, light-coloured poppy, burnt mussel shells, henbane seeds, haematite and stamped clay; Ibn al-Tilmīḏ adds burnt staghorn and gum arabic. The directions for preparation are the same, as is the dosage, although the quantities of each ingredient are not the same. Again, Ḥunayn’s treatment for warts, a paste made of the fruit of the tarfa pounded in vinegar, appears in identical form in both 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Ed. Kahl 2007, 67, 197–8. Ibid., 107, 241. Ibid., 141–3, 274–6. Ibid., 52, 183. Ibid., 153, 286. Ibid. Ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992, 68. Ibid., 92. Ibid., 114. Ibid., 126; see below, n. 67. Ibid., 132. Ibid., 154. Ibid., 68. Ibid., 65. Ibid., 137. Ibid., 198. Ed. Kahl 2008, 30, 127. Ed. Kahl 2007, 52, 183.

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dispensatories (ʾaqrābāḏīnāt), although Ibn al-Tilmīḏ does give the alternative of blue bdellium, pine resin and the peel of the caper root with vinegar. This recipe is followed by an identical recipe for treating tetter: a paste of burnt staghorn or gum arabic melted into wine vinegar, which while not stated as having been quoted from Ḥunayn, may well run on from the previous recipe. In contrast to these, al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār gives totally different recipes under Ḥunayn’s name, such as an electuary of dates,65 the marking-nut electuary mentioned previously, and a poultice for a swollen liver.66 These recipes are certainly more complex than the ones quoted by Sābūr and Ibn al-Tilmīḏ not only in the number of ingredients, but as we have seen, in the way the recipes are transmitted. If Galen is known via Ḥunayn’s transmission, Ḥunayn is also known through the transmission of later authors, such as Ibn Ǧumayʿ (d. 1198), whose Book of Guidance for the Welfare of Souls and Bodies (Kitāb al-ʾIršād li-maṣāliḥ al-ʾanfus wa-l-ʾaǧsād) is the proximate source for Ḥunayn’s poultice for swollen livers; ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās (d. 982), whose Royal Book (al-Kitāb al-Malakī) is the proximate source for Ḥunayn’s date electuary; and an unknown Book of Choice (alMuntaḫab), possibly ʿAmmār al-Mawṣilī’s (flourished around the second half of the ninth century) Book of Choice in the Treatment of Eye Disorders (al-Muntaḫab fī ʿilm al-ʿayn), is the proximate source for Ḥunayn’s lesser yellow powder. In other words, it appears that by al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār’s day (thirteenth-century Egypt), Ḥunayn is known mainly through other somewhat later sources rather than through his own works, which is how he was known for certain to Sābūr (who lived in Baghdād in the ninth century) and at least ostensibly to Ibn alTilmīḏ (in twelfth-century Baghdād). Returning to Galen, there are certain overlaps among the various pharmacopoeias, such as the qūqayā pills that appear in both Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s and al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār’s books, and a quince wine, quoted by both Sābūr ibn Sahl and Ibn al-Tilmīḏ. Curiously, in both cases, Oliver Kahl, who edited both Sābūr’s Dispensatory and that of Ibn al-Tilmīḏ with great meticulousness and erudition, was unable to substantiate this attribution.67 Looking at the recipes themselves, we see that the recipe for quince wine is almost identical: much the same indications, and the same ingredients combined in the same order. Sābūr’s version68:

65 Ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992, 65. 66 Ibid., 198. 67 Qūqāyā pills: ed. Kahl 2007, p. 197, n. 46; quince wine: ed. Kahl 2007, p. 241, n. 140 and 2008, p. 143, n. 40. 68 Ed. Kahl 2008, Arabic p. 43, English p. 143 (slightly modified).

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ȅˬ͇ ɷͲLJˈ̈́ ĶǨ˳ʓʶ̈ ҙҏ ɬ˳ͫć ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɬ͇ ɷ̒Ǎ̶́ Ʉˬʓʦ̒ ɬ˳ͫ Țˬˀ̒ [ϕ] ζťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ LJ́ˏͫΑā ɼʒʉͲ ɼˏ̿ [ϔ] LJ́ʉͫā ȇˬʤ˶̈ ɷ̒ǚˈͲ Ȉ͵LJ͛ ɬ˳ͫć ζĢLJ̤ œāǩͲ ƹǍ̵ Ʊǚʒ͛ć ɷ̒ǚˈͲ ȅˬ͇ ȇˬˉ̒ ɬ˳ͫć ζɬ̈ĢćǨʥ˳ˬͫ ȅˉʒ˶̈ LJͲ .ƦLJ˶̵Αҙҏā ɬͲ ȇʷ͵ Ǜ̥nj̈ć Ǩˀˈ̈ć ɡ̥āĔ ɬͲ ȅ˙˶̈ć œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ Ǩʷ˙̈ć ɼʥ̇āǨͫāć ɨˈ˅ͫā ȇʉ˅ͫā ĢLJʒ˜ͫā ɡ̣Ǩˏʶͫā ɬͲ Ǜ̥nj̈ [ϖ] Ǩ˳ʤͫā ĢLJ͵ ȅˬ͇ țʒ˅̈ć Ƚ͎Ǩ̈ć ɬʉˬ̈́Ģ Ʉʉ˙ʔͫā ɡʦͫā ɬͲ ɷˈͲ Ⱥˬʦ̈ć Ǩ˜̵ ɷˈͲ Ⱥˬʦ̈ć ƛLJ̈́ĢΑā ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɷ̇LJͲ ɬͲ ȅˬ͇ ȇͫLJˉͫā ƦLJ͛ ɬͲ LJͲΑāć [ϗ] .ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ć ȅˏˀ̈ć ɡʶˈͫā ƢāǍ͘ ǽ͎ Ǩʉˀ̈ ȅʓ̤ Ȉˈˏ̒Ģā LJ˳ˬ͛ ɷ̒Ǎ͈Ģ Ǜ̥nj̈ć ȇʉ˅̈ ƦΑā ɬ˜˳̈ ǚ͘ć ɬʉ˳΀ĢĔ ȶʉ̑Αā ɡˏˬ͎ ɨ΀āĢĔ ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɡʉʒʤ͵ģ ɷˈͲ Ⱥˬʦʉ͎ ƴĔćǨʒͫā ɷ̒ǚˈͲć Ʊǚʒ͛ć ɷ̣āǩͲ Ǜ̥Αā ƦΑā Ǩʉ̿ ҙҏć ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɡʒ͘ ƹāćǚͫā āǛ΀ Ǜ̥Αā łLJ͘ćΑā ĔẠ̌Αāć [Ϙ] .ɑͫĕ ɷʒ̶Αā LJͲć ȅ˜˅ˀͲć ɑ̵ć ĔǍˈ̑ ɷ˶Ͳ ɼ̑Ǩʷͫā .ɬʉʓ͇LJʶ̑ ƹLJʷˈͫā ɡʒ͘ ƹLJʷˈͫLJ̑ ĔāĢā ɬͲć ƴāǚˉͫLJ̑ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏā ɷͫćLJ˶̒ ȅʓͲ ɷˈ͘ǍͲ ɬʶʥ̈ć ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ǚˈ̑ .ĢLJ̤ ƹLJ˳̑ ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ȅͫΒā ɬʉʓʉ͘ćΑā [1] The prescription of a quince ‘wine’ made up by Galen [2] which is suitable for those who have lost their appetite in food, for those who cannot digest their food as they ought to, for those who have a hot temper, for those whose stomach and liver are overcome by a bad hot [humoral] mixture, and for those whose stomach has received [a lot of] filth from [between] the teeth. [3] Take large, good-tasting, sweet-smelling quinces, peel them from the outside, clear them from the inside, express their juice, take from it three riṭl, mix it together with [some] sugar and two riṭl of sour vinegar, lift [this] and cook it on a fire of smouldering embers, remove the scum as it rises, [wait] until it gains the consistency of honey, [then] strain it, and use it. [4] As for those whose [humoral] mixture, liver and stomach are dominated by coldness, admix three dirham of ginger [and] two dirham of white pepper, and maybe flavour [this] with some lignaloes, sukk, mastic and the like. [5] The best time to take this remedy is before food—never after—, preferably in the morning or else in the evening [about] two hours before supper. The dose is two to three ʾūqīya with hot water. Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s version69:

ĢāǨ˳ͫā ŁLJʒˀ͵āć ƴǚˈ˳ͫāć ǚʒ˜ͫā ǽ͎ ĢLJ̤ œāǩͲ ƹǍ̵ ȽͲ ƴǍ́ʷͫā ƦLJˀ˙˶ͫ [ϕ] ťǍ˶ʉͫLJʤͫ œĔLJʶͫā ɼʒʉ˳ͫā [ϔ] .LJ́ʉͫā ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɷ̇LJͲ ɬͲ Ǩˀʓˈ̈ć ƈǚ̈ ɨ̓ ɡ̥āĔ ɬͲ ȅ˙˶̈ć œĢLJ̥ ɬͲ Ǩʷ˙ʉ͎ ɼʥ̇āǨͫā ȇʉ̈́ ĢLJʒ͛ ɡ̣Ǩˏ̵ Ǜ̥nj̈ [ϖ] ɑͫĕ ɡˈˏʉˬ͎ āǨ˜̵ ɡʶˈͫā ƦLJ˜Ͳ ɡˈʤ̈ ƦΑā ĔāĢΑā ɬͲć .ɷˬʔͲ Ɏ̇LJˏͫā ǚʉʤͫā ɡʶˈͫā ɬͲ ɷˈͲ Ⱥˬʦ̈ć ƛLJ̈́ĢΑā Ǩʉˀ̈ ȅʓ̤ Ȉˈˏ̒Ģā LJ˳ˬ͛ ɷ̒Ǎ͈Ģ Ǜ̥nj̒ć Ǩ˳̣ ĢLJ͵ ȅˬ͇ țʒ˅̈ć Ƚ͎Ǩ̈ć ƦҨҞ̈́Ģ Ʉʉ˙ʔͫā ɡʦͫā ɬͲ ɷˈͲ Ⱥˬʦ̈ć ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ɡʉʒʤ͵ģ ɷˈͲ Ⱥˬʦʉˬ͎ ĔǨʒͫā ȅͫΒā ƴǚˈ˳ͫāć ǚʒ˜ͫā œāǩͲ ƦLJ͛ ƦΒLJ͎ [ϗ] .ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ć ȅˏˀ̈ć ɡʶˈͫā ƢāǍ͘ ǽ͎ 69 Ed. Kahl 2007, Arabic p. 107, English p. 241.

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ƢLJˈ˅ͫā ɡʒ͘ ɼ̑Ǩʷͫāć [Ϙ] .ɑͫĕ Ǎʥ͵ć ɑʶͲć ĔǍ͇ć ȅ˜˅ˀͲ ɡʉˬ˙̑ ȇʉ˅̈ć ƦLJ˳΀ĢĔ ȶʉ̑Αā ɡˏˬ͎ ɨ΀āĢĔ .LJˁ̈Αā ƢǍ˶ͫā ǚ˶͇ Ģāǚ˙˳ͫā āǛ΀ ƛćLJ˶ʓ̈ ǚ͘ć ɼʓ̵ ȅͫΒā ɡʉ͘LJʔͲ ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ [1] Plain quince ‘wine’ [mayba] from Galen [2] for [the treatment of] loss of appetite combined with a bad hot [humoral] mixture in the liver and the stomach, and a downflow of bile towards them. [3] Take large sweet-smelling quinces, peel them from the outside and clear them from the inside, then pound them, express three riṭl of their juice, and mix it together with a similar [amount] of first-rate honey—[but] whoever wishes to employ sugar instead of honey may do so; [now] mix [that] together with two riṭl of sour vinegar, lift it on a fire of smouldering embers, take away the scum as it rises, [wait] until it gains the consistency of honey, and [thus] use it. [4] If, however, the [humoral] mixture in the liver and stomach is somewhat cold, admix three dirham [of] ginger and two dirham [of] white pepper, and flavour [this] with a bit of mastic, lignaloes, musk, and the like. [5] The dose is three to six miṯqāl [of it] before food, and at bedtime you may take the same amount [again]. Parts of Sābūr’s version of the recipe are more detailed than Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s. The indications which he records include in addition to digestive problems and excessive hot humours ‘those whose stomach has received a lot of filth from between the teeth,ʼ while the recommedations for dosage that he provides are much clearer. In contrast, Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s actual recipe specifies that the quinces must be pounded before juice is extracted, and either sugar or honey may be used to transform the juice into a syrup. These changes may be the result of practical experience in the ʿAḍudī hospital—but this is mere speculation. As noted, Kahl was unable to find this recipe in Galen’s writings which are extant in Greek; however, he did find a similar recipe in Dioscorides’ book on materia medica. As Dioscoridesʼ book was translated into Arabic, this may be the source of the recipe here. The Arabic Dioscorides contains two recipes for syrups based on quinces: al-šarāb al-safarǧalī and al-šarāb yuqālu lahū malūmālī. The recipes are as follows70:

Ģāǚ˙Ͳ ɷ˶Ͳ Ǜ̥nj̈ć .ɨʤˬʶͫā Ƚ˅˙̈ LJͲ ɼͫǩ˶˳̑ Ƚ˅˙̈ć ζɷʒ̤ ĢǍ˙ʉ͎ ɡ̣Ǩˏ̵ Ǜ̥nj̈ :ǽˬ̣Ǩˏʶͫā ŁāǨʷͫā ɼˏ̿ ɷ˶Ͳ ɡ˳ˈ̈ ǚ͘ć .Ƚ͎ǚ̈ć ȅˏˀ̈ ɨ̓ LJͲǍ̈ ɬʉ̓ҨҞ̓ ɷʉ͎ ƋǨʓ̈ć ζȇ˶ˈͫā Ǩʉˀ͇ ɬͲ ƴḲ̌ ȅˬ͇ ȅ˙ˬ̈ć ζLJ˶Ͳ Ǩʷ͇ ǽ˶̓ā Ⱥʶ͘ ɷ̒ĢLJˀ͇ ɬͲ Ⱥʶ͘ Ǩʷ͇ ǽ˶̓LJ̑ Ⱥˬʦ̈ć Ǩˀˈ̈ć ƈǚ̈ ɨ̓ .Ƚ˅˙ʉ͎ ζɡ̣Ǩˏʶͫā Ǜ̥nj̈ .ĿǨ̥Αā ɼ̣́ ȅˬ͇ ɬͲć ζɼ̤Ǩ͘ ɷ̇LJˈͲΑā ǽ͎ ɷ̑ ƦLJ͛ ɬ˳ͫ Ɏ͎āǍ̈ć ƴǚˈ˳ˬͫ ǚʉ̣ ȶ̑LJ͘ ɡ̣Ǩˏʶͫā ŁāǨ̶ć .Ƚ͎ǚ̈ć ɡʶ͇ ɬͲ ṳ̈̌āć .ƛǍʒͫā Ǩʶ͇ ɷ̑ ƦLJ͛ ɬͲć ζȅˬ˜ͫā Ƚ̣ć ɷ̑ ƦLJ͛ ɬͲć ζǚʒ˜ͫā Ƚ̣ć ɷ̑ ƦLJ͛ 70 Ed. Dubler / Terés 1952–7, ii. 386, nos. 17–18.

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ɨ͎ ǚʷ̈ć ζɡʶˈͫā ǽ͎ ȅ˙ˬ̈ć ζɷ͎Ạ̌ ȅ˙˶ʉ͎ ɡ̣Ǩˏʶͫā ɬͲ Ǜ̥nj̈ :ǽͫLJͲǍˬͲ ɷͫ ƛLJ˙̈ ķǛͫā ŁāǨʷͫā ɼˏ̿ LJ˳ͫ ŷLJ̣ćҙҏā ɬͲ Ɏ͎āǍ̈ć ǽͫLJͲǍ̑ā ɷͫ ƛLJ˙̈ ķǛͫā ŁāǨʷͫLJ̑ LJ́ʉʒ̶ LJʶˬ̵ ƦǍ˜̈ć ζɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ɼ˶̵ ǚˈ̑ć ƹLJ͵ Βҙҏā ɷˬʒ͘ LJ͵Ǩ͛ĕ ķǛͫā ŁāǨʷͫā Ɏ͎āǍ̈ How to make the syrup of quinces: Take a quince and remove its seeds and cut it in the place where beets are cut and take of it the quantity of twelve manns and throw it in a pitcher of grape juice and leave it there for thirty days, then strain and store. Some make it in another way: take the quince and cut it, then pound and squeeze the juice out of it and mix one qisṭ of honey with twelve qisṭs of its juice and use. And quince syrup is astringent, good for the stomach, suitable for those with intestinal ulcers, and whoever has pain in the liver or the kidneys, and whoever suffers from suppression of the urine. How to make the syrup known as malūmālī: Take a quince and clean its insides [i.e., remove the seeds] and place in honey, then stop the mouth of a vessel and after a year, use it. It will be a beverage similar to the syrup called apómeli [abūmālī] and is suitable for the pains that the above-mentioned syrup soothes. Both recipes combine quince juice and honey; neither include vinegar. The second recipe is very different from the recipe called apómeli or simply ‘mālī’ according to Ibn al-Tilmīḏ, which combines honey, water, cyperus, mastic, cinnamon, and saffron—quince is not mentioned at all.71 One wonders, however, why these recipes for ‘quince wine’ were attributed to Galen, rather than to their original author, as Dioscorides was well known.72 In a similar context, Penelope Johnstone has suggested that ‘Galen is a more familiar figure to the Arabs and as such is given pride of place, even when he himself is taking material from Dioscorides.ʼ73 With regard to the qūqāyā pills, there are some very interesting details there, that arise from the comparison between Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s and al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār’s versions. Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s version74:

ǽ͎ ɷ̑ ҨҞʔ˳ʓͲ ǚ̶Ǩ˳ͫā ǽ͎ ķģāǨͫā ƱǨ͛ĕ ǚ͘ć [ϕ] .ĢǍ́ʷ˳ͫā Ǎ΀ć ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ȅͫΒā ȇʶ˶̈ LJ̈LJ͘Ǎ͘ ȇ̤ [˺] .ɼˬ́ʶ˳ͫā ɼ̈ćĔΑҙҏā ȇʉ͛Ǩ̒ 71 72 73 74

Ed. Kahl 2007, 245. On the Arabic Dioscorides, see now Ullmann 2009. Johnstone 1981, 207. Ed. Kahl 2007, Arabic on p. 67, English on pp. 197–8 (slightly modified).

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ƹLJ˳̑ Ƚ˳ʤ̈ [ϗ] .ƹāǍ̵ ƹāḳ̌Αā ɡˆ˶ʥͫā ɨʥ̶ć LJʉ͵Ǎ˳˙̵ć ɷ͘Ģć ćΑā ɬʉʓ˶ʶ͎Αҙҏā ƴĢLJˀ͇ć ȅ˜˅ˀͲć Ǩʒ̿ [ϖ] Ɏʉ͵āćĔ ɼˈ̑ĢΑā LJ́ʉ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ āǛ΀ ɬͲ ɬʉ˳΀Ģǚͫā ƦΑā ɷͫ [Ϙ] .ɬʉ˳΀ĢĔ ȅͫΒā Ʉˀ͵ć ɨ΀ĢĔ ɬͲ ɼ̑Ǩʷͫā .ȫ͎Ǩ˜ͫā ȅͫΒā ɨ΀ĢĔ Ʉˀ͵ ɬͲ ɼ̑Ǩʷͫā ƦǍ˜̒ ƦΑā ķǚ˶͇ ȇʤ̈ć āụ̈̌ ķǍ͘ Ǎ΀ć ɼˏ̿LJ˶Ͳ ɡˆ˶̤ ɨʥ̶ć LJʉ͵Ǎ˳˙̵ ƴǚʉ̣ ɼ̑Ǩ̶ ǽ΀ć ɬʉ˙͵āĔ ɨ΀Ģǚͫā ǽ͎ć ɼˏʉˈ̀ ɼ̑Ǩ̶ ǽ΀ć LJ˳́˶Ͳ Ɏ͵āĔ ɨ΀ĢĔ Ʉˀ˶ͫā ǽ͎ ƦǍ˜̈ ȅʓ̤ ɨ΀ĢĔ .Ǩ͛ĕ LJ˳͛ ɬʉ˳΀Ģǚͫā ɷ̑ Ⱦˬ̑ ζǽʤ˶ͫǍ͘ ķǍ͘ ǽ͎ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ƦΑā ƱLJʶ͇ć [1] The qūqāyā pill which is attributed to Galen, the famous [2] and which is [also] mentioned by al-Rāzī in [his book entitled] The Guide (al-Muršid) as an example for the composition of purgative drugs. [3] Aloe, mastic, the sap or leaves of absinthe, scammony, and colocynth pulp in equal parts. [4] [This] is brought together with celery-water. The dose is one and a half up to two dirham of it. [5] Ibn al-Tilmīḏ, [however, says]: ‘[A final dose of] two dirham would contain [a relative share of] four dānaq scammony and just as much colocynth pulp, making this [prescription] very strong indeed. In my opinion the dose should be half a dirham up to one dirham— so that half a dirham would contain [a relative share of] one dānaq of [each of] these two [ingredients], which is weak dose; and that [a final dose of] one dirham would contain [a relative share of] two dānaq [of each], which is the perfect dose. It may well be that it is used for something strong and caused by colic; then [the dose] goes up to two dirham, as mentioned. Al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār’s version75:

ķĢḀ̌LJˏͫā ɨ̵ā ƦΑҙҏ ɷ˳̵LJ̑ ƱLJ˳̵ć ķĢḀ̌LJ͎ ƦLJʶ͵ Βҙҏ ɷˬ˳͇ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ ȅͫΒā ŁǍʶ˶˳ͫā Ǎ΀ć LJ̈LJ͘Ǎ˙ͫā ȇ̤ [ϔ] ɨˉˬʒͫā ɡ́ʶ̈ ǽ͇LJˁ˙ͫā ɬ̑ ɬ̈ǚͫā ƹLJʉ̀ ǽ̀LJ˙ͫā ɬ͇ Ȼˏˬͫā āǛ΀ Ȉˬ˙͵ [ϕ] .LJ̈LJ͘Ǎ͘ ɬʉʉ͵LJ͵Ǎʉͫā ɼˉͫ ǽ͎ ɼͲĔLJ˙ʓ˳ͫā ŰāǨͲΑҙҏā ɬͲ ȵˬʦ̈ Ƚ͎LJ˶˳ͫā Ǩʉʔ͛ Ǎ΀ć ɼˏˬʓʦͲ LJ̈́ҨҞ̥Αā œǨʦ̈ć ŸLJͲǚͫāć ƴǚˈ˳ͫā ǽ˙˶̈ć ƹāǨˏˀͫāć .ĢLJʒ˜ͫā łLJ̣ĢLJ̈ҙҏā ƢLJ˙Ͳ ƢǍ˙̈ć ɼͲĔLJ˙ʓ˳ͫā ɬʉˈͫā ŷLJ̣ćΑāć ɨˉˬʒͫā ɬ͇ ɼ˶̇LJ˜ͫā LJʉ͵Ǎ˳˙̵ć ɷ͘Ģć ćΑā ɬʉʓ˶ʶ͎Αҙҏā ƴĢLJˀ͇ć ρɼ˙ˈˬͲ ζȅ˜˅ˀͲć ρɷˏ̿ć Ƣǚ˙̒ LJ˳͛ ζķǨ˅˙̵ Ǩʒ̿ Ǜ̥nj̈ [ϖ] ƹLJ˳̑ ɬʤˈ̈ć ɡʦ˶ͫāć Ɏʥʶͫā ǚˈ̑ [ϗ] .ɨ΀ĢĔ Ƚ̑Ģ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζɡˆ˶ʥͫā ɨʥ̶ć ɼ̈ǍʷͲ Ǩʉ͈ ćΑā ɼ̈ǍʷͲ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ɬͲ ɨ̓ć ɼ̑ćǨ̥ć ɨ΀ĢĔ Ƚ̑Ģ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ ɬͲ ɨ̓ć [Ϙ] .ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ć ȫ͎Ǩ˜ͫā ɼ˙ʓʶ͎ ȇˬ͘ć ƹāǨʉʔ͛ ɨ΀ĢĔ ɬ˳ʔ̑ ɡˆ˶ʥͫā ɨʥ̶ Țˬˀ̈ ƦΑā ƹLJʒ̈́ҙҏā ȫʉ̇Ģ ĢLJ̶Αā ƢLJ̈Αҙҏā ƱǛ΀ ǽ͎ć LJ˶˳̓ć LJˈ̑Ģ .ɡ˳ˈʓʶ̈ć ȇʒʥ̈ć ģǍͫ ɬ΀Ĕ ƴǨ˅͘ć The qūqāyā pill, which is attributed to Galen. He made it for a man who was a potter (fāḫūrī), and named it after him, as ‘potter’ in the Greek

75 Ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992, 114.

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language is qūqāyā.76 [2] I transmitted this text from the qāḍī Ḍiyā l-Dīn ibn al-Quḍāʿī. It purges phlegm and yellow bile, cleanses the stomach and the brain, and evacuates various humours. It has many benefits, purifies (the body) from old illnesses caused by phlegm and old eye aches, and takes the place of the great theriacs. [3] Take Socotran aloe as described above, and a spoonful of mastic, the sap or leaves of absinthe and boiled or uncooked scammony, and colocynth pulp, of each a quarter of a dirham. [4] After grinding and sifting, knead with celery-water and use. [5] There are those who use of each a quarter dirham and a ḫarūba, there are those who use of each three-eighths of a dirham, and in these days the Chief Physician has ordered that colocynth pulp be improved by an eighth of a dirham of gum tragacanth, a pistachio kernel and a drop of almond oil, made into pills and used. While Ibn al-Tilmīḏ received his version of the recipe from a book, al-Kūhīn alʿAṭṭār seems to have received this recipe orally, as indicated by the expression naqaltu hāḏā al-lafẓ, from a prominent practitioner of the previous generation, Ḍiyā al-Dīn ʾAbū al-Barakāt ibn al-Quḍāʿī, one of Saladin’s court physicians.77 As he does in other cases,78 he explains the meaning of the name. Furthermore, al-Kūhīn al-ʿAṭṭār has a far more detailed list of indications. The actual recipe itself has identical ingredients, and very similar proportions in both versions. The particularly fascinating thing is the commentary that appears at the end of both recipes. Both authors quote the received wisdom of Galen, but then promptly make their own suggestions as to how to improve on him. Ibn al-Tilmīḏ is directly quoted by his students who wrote down the book, whereas al-Kūhīn alʿAṭṭār reports the Chief Physician’s directive, as well as alternative quantities of the ingredients. Indeed, Ibn al-Tilmīḏ’s commentary is much longer than the original recipe. As for the Canon, it has very different recipes under Galen’s name from those which appear in the pharmacopoeias. While there are indeed far more recipes attributed to Galen in the former than in the latter, none of the Canon’s recipes appear in the pharmacopoieas. A surprising example is the fact that none of the 76 Syriac qūqāyā appears to come from Greek kokkíon, a diminutive of kókkos (‘berry’), which is also used to denote ‘pills’. But there also is the word qūqā that can come from kaûkos (a cup) or kókkos (berry). Moreover, Syriac qūqāyā can also mean ‘potter’. Generally speaking, the Arabic ḥabb al-qūqāyā is the name of a compound pill in which the original Greek meanings have been lost. Ibn al-Tilmīḏ provides here a popular etymology, based on a confusion in the Syriac. See ed. Sokoloff 2009, 1341; ed. Duval 1888–1901, col. 1747, line 22; and col. 1748, line 18. 77 On him, see ed. Riḍā 1965, 582. 78 For example, the šabyār pill, glossed as ‘friend of the night (rafīq al-layl)’ (ed. al-ʿĀṣī 1992, 114).

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pharmacopoieas have a recipe for Galen’s hierá, while the Canon has no less than three versions of this drug which is known generally as nusḫat al-ǧumhūr: versions from Galen, Paul of Aegina, and Ibn Sarābiyūn.79 Nusḫat al-ǧumhūr according to Ibn Sīnā is very similar to Ibn Sarābiyūn’s version of Galen’s hierá as it appears in his Small Compendium (al-ʾAqrābāḏīn al-saġīr)80:

ɼʈ̈ĔǨͫā ŴҨҞ̥Αҙҏā ɬͲ ǚʶʤͫā ǽ˙˶̒ć ƹLJ̥Ǩʓ̵ҙҏāć ș˶ʷʓͫāć ƴǍ˙ˬͫā ɬͲ ɼˈ͎LJ˶ͫā LJ́ʉˬ͇ Ƚ˳ʓʤ˳ͫā ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ œĢLJ̈Βā .ƴĔāĢΒā ҨҞ̑ ƛǍʒ̈ ɬ˳ͫ LJˁ̈Αā Țˬˀ̈ć LJˏˈ̀ ҙҏć ƴǚ̶ Ńǚʥ̒ ƦΑā Ǩʉ͈ ɬͲ ɼˏˬʓʦ˳ͫā Α ƦǍ˙̈ĢLJ͎Ǎ΀ć ĔǍ̵ā Ɏ̑Ǩ̥ć LJʉ͵Ǎ˳˙̵ć Ɏ̶Αāć LJ̈ǍʷͲ ɡˀ˶ˈͫā ɡˀ̑ć ƦǍ˙̈ĢLJ͈Αāć ɡˆ˶̤ ɨʥ̶ Ǜ̥nj̈ :ɷ̈́ҨҞ̥Αā ɬͲ ζɼʦʉˬ̵ć ƦǍʉ̵āǨ͎ć ťǍ̈ĢĔLJ˳͛ć ɡ˙Ͳć ƦǍ˳ʔʉ͎Αāć ș̈LJʒʶ̑ ρLJ˳΀ĢĔ Ǩʷ͇ ɼʓ̵ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζƦǍʉ̑Ǩ͎Αāć Ǩʓ̵ĔLJ̑ǚ˶̣ć Ǩʉ̶ćLJ̣ć ǽ˶ʉ̿ĢāĔć LJ́ʓ̓ҨҞ̓ ɡ͎ҨҞˏͫāć ɡ̈Ǎ̈́ ǚ͵ćāĢģć ș˶ʉʒ˜̵ć ǨͲ ρɨ΀āĢĔ ɼʉ͵LJ˳̓ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɼˈ̑ĢΑā ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζāǨʒ̿ć LJ͵āǨˏ͇ģ LJˁ̈Αā ŔǨ˅̈ ɬͲ ťLJ˶ͫā ǽ͎ć .ɨ΀āĢĔ ɼˈ̑ĢΑā ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζƦǍʉͫLJ̵āǨ˅͎ć .Ǎ͛ ɼˬ˳ʤͫā .ƦǍ˳ʔʉ͎Αҙҏā țʉʒ˅̑ ɡʉ͘LJʔͲ ɼˈ̑ĢΑā ɼ̑Ǩʷͫā .ɡʶˈͫLJ̑ ɬʤˈ̒ć ɡʦ˶̒ć ƈǚ̒ .ɨ΀āĢĔ Galen’s hiera on which one agrees, and which helps against facial paralysis, spasm, and paralysis, cleanses the body of different bad humours without provoking discomfort or weakness, and which is also beneficial for those urinating involuntarily. Its ingredients are: Take colocynth pulp, agaric, roasted squill onions, ammoniac, scammony, black hellebore, St. John’s wort, and spurge, of each sixteen dirham; polypody, epithyme, bdellium, true germander, horehound, and cassia, of each eight dirham; myrrh, sagapenum, long birthwort, the three peppers, cinnamon, opoponax, castor, and parsley, of each four dirham. Among the people there are some who also put saffron and aloe, of each four dirham. Crush, sieve, and knead with honey. The dose is four miṯqāl with epithyme decoction. The sum is 26. Ibn Sīnā’s nusḫat al-ǧumhūr (that is, the recipe generally agreed upon) contains the same ingredients, with the exception of seven rather than eight dirham of polypody, epithyme, bdellium, true germander, horehound, and cassia. Ibn Sīnā knows of people who add saffron to the recipe but not myrrh. He gives no recommended dose but merely says ‘use as necessary after six months,ʼ a reference to the time which is needed for the hierá to ripen. Ibn Sarābiyūn does not mention this fact. Ibn Sarābiyūn ends all his recipes with the phrase ‘the sum is’ followed by the number of ingredients mentioned, but this indication does not appear in any of Ibn Sīnā’s recipes.

79 Ibn Sīnā 1999, iii. 438–9. 80 The text and translation of Ibn Sarābiyūn are taken from Peter E. Pormann’s draft edition and translation of ch. VIII 9 on hieraí of the Small Compendium.

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As for Paul’s version of Galen’s hierá, it is quoted both by Ibn Sīnā and by Ibn Sarābiyūn, whose version follows:

ťćĔḀ̌Ǎ˅̵Αāć ƦǍ˙̈ĢLJ͈Αāć ɡˏˬ͎ĢāĔć ȶʉ̑Αā ɡˏˬ͎ć ťǍ̈ĢĔLJ˳͛ Ǜ̥nj̈ .ťǍͫǍ̑ ɼʦʶ͵ ȅˬ͇ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ œĢLJ̈Βā ƦāǨˏ͇ģć ǨͲ ρɡʉ͘LJʔͲ ɼʓ̵ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζƦǍ˳ʔʉ͎Αāć ɡˀ˶ˈͫā ɡˀ̑ć ȇʉ˅ͫā ɡʒ˶̵ć LJʉ͵Ǎ˳˙̵ć ĔǍ̵Αā Ɏ̑Ǩ̥ć .ǚ̈ ɼˬ˳ʤͫā .ɼ̣LJʥͫā Ģāǚ˙Ͳ ɡʶ͇ ρɡʉ͘LJʔͲ ɼʉ͵LJ˳̓ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζƦǍ˙̈ĢLJ͎Ǎ΀ć Ɏ̶Αāć Take true germander, white pepper, long pepper, agaric, cassidony, black hellebore, scammony, Indian nard, squill onions, and epithyme, of each six miṯqāl; myrrh, saffron, ammoniac, and St. John’s wort, of each eight miṯqāl; honey, as much as needed. The sum is fourteen. Ibn Sīnā’s version of this recipe is identical, the only difference being the wording for ‘as much as needed’ being bi-qadr al-kifāya rather than miqdār al-ḥāǧǧa. The version of Galen’s hierá that Ibn Sīnā attributes specifically to Ibn Sarābiyūn appears in the Ibn Sarābiyūn’s pharmacopoeia under a different heading; Ibn Sarābiyūn attributes it to ʾAhrun: .ƦǨ΀Αā

ɼʦʶ͵ ȅˬ͇ ťǍ˶ʉͫLJ̣ œĢLJ̈Βā ĔǍ̵Αā Ɏ̑Ǩ̥ć LJʉ͵Ǎ˳˙̵ć ƦǍ˙̈ĢLJ͈Αāć LJ̈ǍʷͲ ɡʶ˶ˈͫā ɡˀ̑ć ťǍ̈ĢĔLJ˳͛ ρɨ΀āĢĔ ɼˈ̑ĢΑā ζɡˆ˶ʥͫā ɨʥ̶ ťǍ˅ʉ͎LJ˳͛ć ɡ˙Ͳ ρƴǚˈ̣ć ƦǍ˳ʔʉ͎Αā ȉˬΏ Ό̓ć ρɨ΀āĢĔ ɼ̓ҨҞ̓ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζƦǍ˙̈ĢLJ͎Ǎ΀ć Ɏ̶Αāć ťćĔḀ̌Ǎ˅̵Αāć ǨͲć LJ́ʓ̓ҨҞ̓ ɡ͎ҨҞˏͫā ρɄˀ͵ć ɨ΀ĢĔ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ ζșʓ̵LJʷ͵ Ǎ΀ć ƦǍ̈Ģǚ˶͎ǍͫǍ˙̵Βāć ɼʦʉˬ̵ć Ǩʒ̿ć ƦǍʉ̵āǨ͎ć ζƦǍʉ̑Ǩ͎Αāć ƦLJʉ˅˶̣ć œǨ̤ǚͲ ǚ͵ćāĢģć ƦǍʉͫLJ̵āǨ˅͎ć Ǩʓ̵ĔLJ̑ǚ˶̣ć ș˶ʉʒ˜̵ć Ǩʉ̶ćLJ̣ć ƦāǨˏ͇ģć ǽ˶ʉ̿ĢāĔć .ƛ ɼˬ˳ʤͫā .ƛLJ˳ˈʓ̵ҙҏāć LJ̈ĕLJ͈Ǎˬͫā ɡʔͲ ɷ˶Ͳ ɼ̑Ǩʷͫāć .ɼ̣LJʥͫā Ģāǚ˙˳̑ ɡʶˈͫā ρɎʉ͵āćĔ ɼʶ˳̥ ṳ̈̌āć ɡ͛ ɬͲ Galen’s hierá according to Ahrun’s version. Colocynth pulp, four dirham; true germander, roasted squill onions, agaric, scammony, black hellebore, cassidony, ammoniac, and St. John’s wort, of each three and a third dirham; epithyme, germander, bdellium, ground pine, horehound, aloe, cassia, and miltwaste (skolopéndrion), i.e. starch (našāstaǧ); of each one and a half dirham; the three peppers, myrrh, cinnamon, saffron, opoponax, sagapenum, castor, parsley, round birthwort, gentian, and spurge, of each five dānaq; honey, as much as needed. Its dose is like that of Logadius’ [hierá], and [also] the use. The sum is thirty. Ibn Sīnā’s version of this recipe has slightly different quantities (only three dirham each of true germander, roasted squill onions, agaric, scammony, black hellebore, cassidony, ammoniac, and St. John’s wort; only a dānaq of epithyme) but is otherwise identical. As before, the wording for “as much as neded” is

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slightly different. The attribution of identical recipes to different authorities is not unusual and is another aspect of the problems of attribution in medicopharmacological literature (see below). According to the Canon, Galen’s hierá is supposed to be gentler and more effective (ʾalṭaf wa-ʾaʿmal) than either the theodṓrētos (‘god-given’; tiyādurīṭūs) one, or the hierá attributed to Logadius (lūġādīyā) and is good for paralysis, especially facial paralysis, and spasms, cleansing the body of thick superfluous humours, and strengthening the bladder, thus preventing involuntary urination. Because the Galenic recipes are so varied, it is difficult to make any sweeping pronouncements as to a difference between the kinds of recipes appearing in the various sources. The Canon includes recipes that are brief yet contain quite extensive commentary, such as the recipe for Galen’s oxymel, in which two and a half lines of direction for preparation are followed by twenty-two lines (almost two-thirds of a page) of suggestions for slight variations that depend on the temperament and tastes of the patient.81 It also includes very matter-of-fact recipes, such as the two electuaries attributed to Galen, in which a line, or a line and a half, of indications is followed by four lines of instructions for preparation and dosage.82 What image of Galen, then, arises from this comparison of recipes? First of all, looking at Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn, of the three, Galen is by far the most important. This is not surprising—his commentaries influenced the reception of Hippocratic medicine, and while Ḥunayn was a well-known physician in his day, his lasting fame is as a translator. Hippocrates was important as the prototype of the ideal physician but not necessarily as a pharmacologist. Indeed, there are not that many prescriptions in the Hippocratic Corpus, at least not in the form in which it has come down to us. It was Galen who codified the Hippocratic Corpus with his commentaries by placing everything within the framework of the four humours. This framework seems to have become more rigid yet more encompassing over time. Galen is much more important to Ibn Sīnā and al-Rāzī, the theoretician and clinician respectively who both shared Galen’s belief that the best physician is also a philosopher, than to the more practical pharmacologists. They have almost no interest in Hippocrates and are interested only slightly in Ḥunayn. Galen is certainly not the source which is quoted most by the pharmacopoieas; like Galen himself who seems to have preferred more current recipes to the prescriptions appearing in the Hippocratic Corpus, the authors of dispensatories (ʾaqrābāḏīnāt) seem to have preferred to peruse later writers and select recipes from them rather than from Galen. In a comparison between the professional ethics and etiquette of physicians and pharmacists, I came to the conclusion that Galen and Hippocrates were of far 81 Ibid., iii., 462. 82 Ibid., iii. 470–72.

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greater importance to physicians.83 Indeed, they were barely of interest to pharmacists. The recipes that appear in the Canon as opposed to the pharmacopoieas confirm this conclusion. The question also arises why so many different medicines were attributed to these authorities to the extent that there is hardly any overlap between my various sources. I suggest that this reflects a tension between pseudepigraphy, which results from an aspiration to high status and the urge to put one’s personal stamp on the recipes handed down from these same high-status authorities. Another expression of this tension in pharmacological recipes is between what John Riddle has called ‘fossils,ʼ blocks of text that are transmitted from pharmacopoeia to pharmacopoeia without necesarily ever being used,84 and the actual prescriptions preserved in the Cairo Genizah. Study of these prescriptions reveals that they show generic similarities to recipes in the pharmacopoeias but are never precise copies of any single one. It may also be the case that Tzvi Langermann’s point that ‘the assumption that Greek thought somehow fossilized, and that therefore one can in any way expect to find the original teachings of Democritus, Epicurus, and others in Arabic form, seems to us to be one of the major illusions of the search for ‘sources’ʼ85 is true of medicine in general: Hippocrates, Galen and Ḥunayn serve as ‘great namesʼ of authorities, but each author of a pharmacopoeia (or indeed, any medical book) felt free to pick and choose what suited him and to adapt his findings to his own purposes.

83 Chipman 2002. 84 See Riddle 1974. 85 Langermann 2009, 279.

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Bibliography

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 Bibliography The following list provides the abbreviations used in this book. Primary sources are listed under the name of the editor, apart from printings that do not specify the name of the editor (e.g., under Ibn Sīnā, al-Rāzī). HV K L Kw Pf V W

Hallum / Vagelpohl 2012 Kühn 1821–33 Littré 1839–61 Kühlewein 1894–1902 Wenkeback / Pfaff 1934, 1956, referring to the parts extant only in Arabic and translated into German by Pfaff Vagelpohl 2012 Wenkeback / Pfaff 1934, 1956, referring to the parts extant in Greek and edited by Wenkebach; and Wenkebach 1936.

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323

 Index ʿAbd Allāh ibn al-Ṭayyib, 115n93 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf ibn Yūsuf ibn Muḥammad alBaġdādī (d. 1231), 231–3, 246, 248, 251–83 (passim) adopts Galen’s system of causes, 248 Book of the Two Pieces of Advice (Kitāb al-Nasīḥatayn), 267 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 211, 231–3 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, 12, 261–7: division of, 262; lemmatic, 261 medical works, 252–3 on Gesius, 254–5 on Hippocrates’ grave, 246 philological methods, 264–6 theoretical innovation, 266 abscesses, 163–4, 262, 277 ʾAbū Bišr Mattā, 143n58 ʾAbū l-Faḍl Muḥammad ibn Ḥammūǧa, 225 ʾAbū Ǧaʿfar ʾAḥmad ibn ʾIbrāhīm see Ibn al-Ǧazzār ʾAbū Ǧaʿfar Muḥammad ibn Mūsā, 186 ʾAbū Sālim al-Malaṭī, 174 ʾAbū l-Ṭāhir Tamīm ibn Yūsuf ibn Tašufīn, 203 ʾAbū ʿUṯmān Saʿīd ibn Yaʿqūb al-Dimašqī, 151, 153n11 accidental, 242, 280–81 cause, 30 age, 35 death due to old, 180 Aġlabids, 192 Agnellus of Ravenna (fl. ca. AD 600), 112, 121n120 agriculture, 203 ʾAḥmad ibn ʿAbdallāh Yūsuf al-Ḥamawī, 260n42 al-ʾAḥwal, 151n1 air, 31, 45, 56, 259, 283 cause: of death, 180; of disease, 30–32, 45

change of, 109 coldness of, 286 condition of, 144 constitution of (katástasis), 260 corruption of, 107, 259, 283 mixture of, 33–5, 107, 199–200 outside, 157–8 Aldine edition, 75, 125–6 Alessi, Robert, 62 Alexander of Abonuteichos (fl. middle of 2nd cent. AD), 184 Alexander of Aphrodisias (fl. ca. AD 200), 116–17 Alexandria, 112–13, 115, 121–3, 255, 262; see also Athanasius of Alexandria, Gesius, John of Alexandria, Palladius, Stephen of Alexandria anatomy in, 5 ‘from Alexandria to Baghdad’, 220, 251 medical commentaries in, 93, 111, 113, 116 medical teaching in, 7, 112, 116–17, 220, 251, 254 physicians in, 11 Alexandrian Summaries, 233 ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās al-Maǧūsī (d. ca. 982), 198–201, 292 ʿAlī ibn Sahl Rabban al-Ṭabarī (fl. ca. 850), 189–192 allegorical interpretation, 172 Almoravids, 203 Ammonius (fl. ca. AD 500), 116 analysis comparative, 28 linguistic, 8, 27, 148, 216: corpus: 149; quantitative, 132–43 of definition (taḥlīl al-ḥadd), 278 stylistic, 27 through opposition (taḥlīl bi-l-ʿaks), 263, 278 Anatolia, 267

324

Index

anatomy, 4, 70 Hellenistic, 51–2, 58 Hippocratic vascular, 39–40, 57–9, 62 angels, 145, 173, 179 anger (thymós, ġaḍab), 214, 219, 230, 232–3, 240 angina, 277 anthrax (carbuncles), 33n23, 45, 79, 199, 207–9 Aphrodite, 178–9 Apollo, 177–8 apóstasis, 82, 160–61 appearance, external, 34, 36, 70, 260 Aristotle Categories in Syriac, 116n95, 117n104 Galen indebted to, 34, 39, 159n33 History of Animals, 62 in teaching, 29 Metaphysics, 154 Rhetoric, 8, 137–8, 219 Artemidorus Capito (fl. first half of 2nd cent. AD), 72–3, 80, 84, 86, 90 Artemidorus of Daldis (fl. ca. 2nd cent. AD), 174–5, 179 Asclepius, 9, 172–3, 177–8, 181, 219, 278 Athanasius of Alexandria, 157 Atlas, 145 Avempace (Ibn Bāǧǧa, fl. 12th cent.), 229 Avicenna see Ibn Sīnā ʾAyyūb al-Ruhāwī see Job of Edessa al-ʾAzraq, 151n1 Baboy, 97 Baccheios, 72 Bachmann, Peter, 209 Badr al-Dīn Muẓaffar ibn Qāḍī Baʿlabakk, 257 Baghdad, 1, 10, 189, 204, 292 ‘from Alexandria to’, 220, 251 hospitals in, 198, 285 Sabians in, 172 Barhebraeus see Ibn al-ʿIbrī Bible, 178 New Testament, 184 Old Testament, 172; translation of (Septuagint): 184 blood, 83–4 menstrual, 54 vessels (phlébes), 39–40, 51–2, 55n26, 61–7 Boerhaave, Herman (d. 1738), 25n3

brain, 228, 239, 244, 297 melancholic humour dominates, 242 melancholy situated in, 5 pain in, 107 pneuma of, 244 translated as mūḥā, 118 vapour in, 107, 117–18, 225: melancholic, 224–5, 244, 246 breathing, 106, 262, 266 badness of (ḫubs al-nafas), 242 common, 52n18 instruments of (ʾālāt al-nafas), 242 problems with, 43, 248 Buḫtīšūʿ, 167 Byzantium, 177 Caelius Aurelianus (fl. ca. AD 400), 115 Cairo, 212, 285 Genizah, 301 physicians in, 206 caliphs court of, 172 as patients, 157 cancer (saraṭān), 224, 246, 287 carbuncles (anthrax), 33n23, 45, 79, 199, 207–9 cardialgia, 81 case histories, 1, 3, 25, 27–8, 57, 185, 194–6, 289 detailed, 130 Galen’s approach to, 42–6 genre of, 5, 13 causality, 51, 56, 62, 68–70 causation, 31 cause(s), 30–39 accidental, 30 account of, 35 antecedent (aítion prokatartikón), 33, 233 apparent, 216, 219, 230, 232, 244, 246 as opposed to description, 67 enquiry into, 70 explanation of (aitiología), 32 external, 79, 239 for fainting, 103 for joy, 240 Galen infers causes in Hipporatic text, 50–51, 57, 61–3 hidden, 51 humour as, 45, 200–201 individual, 31

Index initial (sabab bādiʾ), 232–3, 248 internal, 79 of melancholy, 192 of putrefaction, 200 physician is cause of death, 256, 282–3 precedent, 233 predisposing, 33 procatarctic, 33 search for (aitiología), 35 three types of, 31, 233, 248 underlying, 56, 69 unknown, 224, 244 visible, 233 without, 180, 219, 239, 244 Christian(s), 10 adaptations, 155n22 audience, 117, 171, 176 era, 97 God, 174 Greek texts, 147 heresy, 184 lampoons, 121 literature, 184 physicians, 115n93, 235 and Sabians, 172 Syriac, 97 translators, 9, 155, 171, 175, 179 way of life, 184 climate, 26. See also environment, weather patterns of, 33 Colville, David (d. 1629), 2n6, 15, 88, 145n73 commentator(s) see ʿAbd al-Laṭīf, Alexander of Aphrodisias, ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās, Avempace, Badr al-Dīn Muẓaffar, alDaḫwār, Galen, Gesius, Ǧunābaḏī, Heraclides, Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq, Ibn Hindū, Ibn al-ʿIbrī, Ibn al-Muṭrān, Ibn al-Nafīs, Ibn al-Quff, Ibn al-Ṭayyib, John of Alexandria, Mūsā ibn ʿUbayd Allāh, Naǧm al-Dīn, al-Nīlī, Palladius, al–Rāzī, Sergius of Rēšʿaynā, al-Sinǧārī, al-Sīwāsī, Stephen of Alexandria, Zayn al-Dīn, Zeuxis Imperial, 29 on Aphorisms, 211–49 on Epidemics, passim: first, 36; critiqued by Galen, 45–6, 50n7, 57n32, 60n57, 64; retain variant readings, 71–2, 79–80 on Prognostic, 251–83

325

commentaries, passim Alexandrian medical, 111–13, 116–17, 121–3 lemmatic, 29 on Aphorisms, 211–49 on Prognostic, 251–83 written for private consumption, 45 comparative (grammar), 85 conjecture and approximation, 44 artful (al-ḥads al-ṣināʿī), 266 in textual criticism, 8, 71, 87–8, 126–7, 183: Capito’s, 86; Colville’s, 15 constitution (katástasis), 25, 35–6, 43, 77, 109, 199 of the surrounding air, 260 Syriac term for (ṭukkāsā), 107 consumption (phthísis), 114, 199 contamination (textual), 72, 77 copyist, 17, 134 Byzantine, 173 Greek, 157 mistakes of, 74 corpus linguistics, 148–9 corruption, 244 of air, 107, 259, 283 textual, 58n33, 71, 111, 216, 219 coughs, 54, 57, 85–6, 89, 119 Crannon (Krannṓn), 79, 199–200, 207 crisis, 26, 36, 75, 176, 195–6, 282n180 ‘critical days’, 26, 36, 253, 277 of fevers, 277 nosebleed form of, 66 al-Daḫwār, Muhaḏḏab al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥīm ibn ʿAlī, 257–8, 261, 267 Damascus, 96, 152, 206, 212, 245, 261, 264 hospitals in, 268 Democritus of Abdera (fl. 2nd half of the 5th cent. BC), 103–4, 107, 109–10 depression (kaʾāba), 224, 226, 238–40, 246 desolation (istiḥāš), 228 despondency (dysthymía, ḫubṯ al-nafs), 11, 213–46 (passim) diagnosis, 25–7, 57, 278 retrospective, 25 diet, 31, 195n36, 286–9 dietetics, 40 al-Dimašqī, Muḥammad al-ʿAṭṭār, 247 Diocles, 40–41 Dionysus, 173, 177

326

Index

Dioscorides, Pedanius (fl. 1st cent. AD), 174, 294–5 Dioscuri, 182 disease(s) common, 30 diverse, 30 endemic, 29 epidemic, 29–30, 32n21, 283 general, 30–31 history of, 26 individual, 30 local, 30 matter (māddat al-maraḍ), 114, 161, 262, 277, 282n180: melancholic, 238–40; superfluous, 168 phlegmatic, 197 variable, 31 dissection, 5, 39–40, 56–9, 67–70 division, 276 into lemmas, 258, 261–2 into sections, 75–6, 215, 262, 276 of melancholy, 244 of the year, 33 principle of (dihaíresis), 111, 236, 254 Ḍiyā l-Dīn ibn al-Quḍāʿī, 297 doxology, 175 dreams, 67, 174–5, 178–9 dropsy, 262, 277 Duminil, Marie-Paule, 62 Egypt, 152 Eijk, Philip J. van der, 286 elucidation (exhḗgēsis), 36 Empiricist(s), 50, 145, 256 appropriation of Hippocrates, 47 criticism of Hippocrates, 46 interpretation of the Epidemics, 36–8, 52 physicians, 4 reject anatomy, 5 environment, 1, 26, 28, 80. See also climate, weather and medicine, 33–4 influence on disease, 90 epilepsy, 175, 192, 287 epistemology, 43 Erasistratus (fl. 3rd cent. BC), 39 General Observations, 39n39 Ermerins, Franz Z. (d. 1871), 81 error, Hippocratic, 60 essential, 280–81

eulogy, 227 exegesis, 29, 32–3, 35, 46, 57, 68, 70 exercise, 31 experience (empeiría, peîra) and reason (lógos), 38, 43–4 and theory, 41 fear (phóbos, ḫawf), 11, 179, 213–46 (passim) fever(s), 65, 81, 90 acrid, 197 acute, 37, 197 burning, 102 continuous, 196 Galen contradictory on, 195–6 in prognosis, 253, 260, 262, 277 nonan, 40–41 non-intermittent, 196, 198 non-lethal, 277 quintan, 40–41 septan, 40–41 Flemming, Rebecca, 29 fluids, bodily, 26, 56, 84–5, 102–4 Foës, Anuce (d. 1595), 73 food, 31 foreknowledge (taqdimat al-maʿrifa), 264, 279 foresight (ṣābiq al-naẓar), 256, 279 forlornness (waḥša), 239–40, 244 al-Ǧāḥiẓ (d. 869), 173 Galen, passim Affected Parts, 174, 225, 245 Anatomical Procedures, 157, 174–5, 177 Anatomy of Erasistratus, 152 approach to case histories, 42–6 Breathing Difficulties, 43 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Airs Waters Places’, 44, 171–82 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 44: Arabic version, 217–19, 261 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Diseases of Women’, 63n58 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, passim: new manuscript, 15–18; Renaissance editio princeps, 125–6; Syriac translation, 93–4, 127–8, 136, 146–8; Wenkebach edition, 126–30 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘On Nutriment’, 263

Index Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘On the Nature of Man’, 34 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, 43–4, 253–6 Commentary on the Hippocratic Oath, 178 Critical Days, 43, 181 Demonstration, 152 Distinctions in Homogeneous Parts, 154 Distinctions in Symptoms, 157–8, 167 Elements according to Hippocrates, 34 Embryo, 252 Exhortation to Study the Arts, 173 Fullness, 167, 169 Function of the Parts of the Body, 252 Instruments of Breathing, 252 Medical Experience, 175, 177 Mixtures, 34, 36 Muscles, 252 My Own Opinions, 177, 181–2 Natural Capacities, 67, 159 Opinions of Hippocrates and Plato, 158, 252 Powers of Simple Drugs, 154; Syriac translation: 98, 116, 118 Prognosis, 254 Sperm, 252 Synopsis of Plato’s ‘Timaeus’, 174–5 Therapeutic Method, 42 Voice, 252 Garofalo, Ivan, 15 Genizah, 301 genre(s), 111, 143, 191, 204 of Aphorisms, 215 fluidity between, 146 of case histories, 5, 13, 27 Gesius Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, 113–17, 120–21 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, 251, 254–5, 263, 278 Ǧibrīl ibn Buḫtīšūʿ, 217 Glaukias, 72 gods, 173–5, 179, 181, 260 God (Allāh), 10, 174–5, 177, 258; in formulae: 16, 97, 173, 176–7, 180, 194, 228, 236n167, 240, 259–61, 278– 9; man’s similarity to: 173, 178–9 ‘god-given’ (theodṓretos), 300 invocation of, 178

327

names of, 9, 155 Olympian, 172 goddesses, 174, 178–9 grammar, 184 Arabic, 12, 264–5, 280–81 translation, 149 grammarians, 10, 183–4 Granada, 203 Graumann, Lutz Alexander, 27 Gregory Bar ʿEḇrōyō (d. 1286), 115n93, 260 Grmek, Mirko (d. 2000), 27 Ǧunābaḏī, Masʿūd Farzand Ḥusayn, 247 haemorrhage, 262 Ḥaǧǧī Ḫalīfa, 241 happenstance (ʿaraḍ), 280 Ḥarrān (Carrhae), 172 headaches, 262, 277, 287–8 headings, eight (kephálaia), 112n77, 122–3n129, 230–31, 254, 262–3, 276 heaven, 259–60, 282–3 Atlas carries, 179 heavenly beings (hā-ʿelyōnōṯ), 180 movement of, 181 soul’s rise to, 173 Hellweg, Rainer, 27 hendiadys, 153, 219 Heraclides, father of Hippocrates, 278 Heraclides of Erythrae (end of 1st cent. BC), 72 Heraclides of Tarentum (1st cent. BC), 36, 72 Herophilus, 40 al-Hilālī, ʾAbū Muḥammad ʿAbdallāh ibn Mālik ibn Samaǧūn, 203 Hippocrates, passim Hippocratic Corpus Airs Waters Places, 27, 30, 37, 206n65, 283 Aphorisms, 11–12, 27, 37, 162–4, 211– 49 (passim), 258; Syriac translation: 118–20, 122 authorship of, 44 Epidemics, passim: in eighteenthcentury medicine, 25n3; title, 29–32 Humours, 162–6 Nature of Man, 27–8, 32, 233, 258 On Nutriment, 52 Prognostic, 27, 43, 251–83 (passim): in Greek, 253–5; in Arabic: 255–6 Regimen in Acute Diseases, 156, 254 Hippocratic triangle, 26

328

Index

Homer, 168 hospitals ʿAḍudī, 285, 289, 294 in Baghdad, 1, 198; see also ʿAḍudī Nūrī, 268 pharmacopoeia in, 285–6, 288–9 physicians in, 13, 198, 233 humour(s), 45, 159 cause of disease, 283 cooked, 162 dominance of, 33 evacuation of, 297–8 four, 300 heat of, 200–201, 294 in the skin, 79 melancholic (al-ḫilṭ al-sawdāwī), 241–2 movement of, 161 producing vapours, 197 putrefaction of, 200 ripening of (ʾindāǧ), 282n180 segregations of (apostásies), 82, 89–90 settling of, 84 states of, 41 superfluous, 203, 300 viscous, 288 Ḥubayš ibn al-Ḥasan al-ʾAʿsam, 151–7, 176 Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq (d. 873), passim Aphorisms Drawn from the ‘Epidemics’, 187, 189, 192 Arabic Questions, 189n18 as Christian, 171–84 Epistle (Risāla), 116, 127–8, 130, 143–4, 146, 152, 167–8, 172, 186, 188, 217 Fruits of the Ninteen Extant Parts of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’ in the Form of Questions and Answers, 186–7, 204–5 importance of Arabic translations for Greek text, 72, 126–7 Introduction (Mudḫal), 188n18 on dearth of manuscripts, 2, 8 pharmacopoeia by, 290–92, 300 practised medicine, 157 Questions Extracted from the Four Books on Logic, 189n18 Questions on Medicine, 111–12, 119–20, 188n18 Questions on the Epidemics, 1, 188, 192–5, 198, 202, 204–5, 207 Questions on Urine, 189n18

Questions on Urine Extracted from Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, 187, 193 reader-centred approach, 168 ‘school’ / ‘workshop’, 8, 133, 140–43, 148–9, 151 Syriac translations, 122: intermediary, 136; of Aphorisms, 8, 118–20, 216 translation methods, 143–7, 152–6 use of explicitation, 9 Ḫūzistān, 97, 123 iatrosophists, 7, 114–16, 120–21, 254, 268 Ibn ʾAbī Bayān Hospital Formulary, 285–6 Ibn ʾAbī Ṣādiq (d. after 1068), 11, 220, 228 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 221–5, 237, 241–4, 248, 261 Ibn ʾAbī ʾUṣaybiʿa (d. 1270), 186, 188, 220–21, 225–6, 252 Ibn Bāǧǧa (Avempace, fl. 12th cent.), 229 Ibn al-Ǧazzār (d. ca. 1005), 11, 201 Ibn Ǧumayʿ (d. 1198), 292 Ibn Ḥammūǧa,ʾAbū l-Faḍl Muḥammad, 225 Ibn Hindū (d. 1029), 263 Ibn al-ʿIbrī (Barhebraeus, d. 1289), 115n93, 260 Ibn al-Mudabbir, ʾAḥmad ibn Muḥammad, 217 Ibn al-Muṭrān, ʾAbū Naṣr ʾAsʿad ibn ʾIlyās (d. 1191), 12, 204–5, 257 Ibn al-Nafīs, ʿAlāʾ al-Dīn (d. 1288), 1 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 232–5 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, 129, 166, 207–10 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘On the Nature of Man’, 233 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Prognostic’, 12, 257–63, 267 Ibn Qāḍī Baʿlabakk, Badr al-Dīn Muẓaffar, 257 Ibn al-Quff (d. 1286), 11–12, 220 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 232, 235–40, 247 Ibn Riḍwān, ʾAbū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī (d. ca. 1068), 252 excerpts from Galen, 129 Treatise on Achieving Happiness through Medicine, 202, 210

Index Useful Book on the Quality of Medical Education, 254n16 Useful Passages, 201–2 Ibn Samaǧūn, ʾAbū Muḥammad ʿAbdallāh ibn Mālik, 203 Ibn Sarābiyūn (Ibn Serapion, fl. ca. 870s), 13, 298–9 Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna, d. 1037), 221, 288, 298–300 Canon of Medicine, 13, 251–2, 268, 286, 289 Ibn Tašufīn, ʾAbū l-Ṭāhir Tamīm ibn Yūsuf, 203 Ibn al-Ṭayyib, ʾAbū l-Faraǧ ʿAbd Allāh (d. 1043), 187, 207n70, 210, 220–21 Commentary on the Epidemics, 187, 210 Ibn al-Tilmīḏ (d. 1165), 13, 290–97 Dispensatory (ʾAqrābāḏīn), 285 ʾIbrāhīm II (Aġlabid), 192 ʿImād al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥīm al-Ṭabīb, 245 immortality, 172 inflammation, 79, 208, 253 of the liver, 61n44 of the throat, 260 ʿĪsā ibn ʿAlī, 151 ʿĪsā ibn Yaḥyā 151, 153–4, 156, 162–4, 165n50, 181–2 ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿAlī al-Ruhāwī (fl. 850–70), 189–92 ʾIsḥāq ibn Ḥunayn, 151, 154, 181 ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿImrān, 10, 192, 225 ʾIṣṭifān ibn Basīl, 177 Jesus, 176 Jew / Jewish, 10 audience, 184 physicians, 1, 11, 211, 229. See also Mūsā ibn Maymūn translator, 180 Job of Edessa (ʾAyyūb al-Ruhāwī, d. after 832), 93–96, 127–8, 136, 146–7, 217 John of Alexandria (fl. 7th cent.), 93–4, 99, 101, 104, 109–15, 118, 120–22 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, 6, 99, 110–11, 113–14, 118, 120–22, 147 jokes, 183 Kairouan, 10, 192, 201 al–Kaskarī, Yaʿqūb (fl. ca. 920–40), 13, 41n46, 201, 210 Compendium, 198

329

katástasis see constitution kidneys, 86–8, 295 al-Kīlānī, ʾAḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Qāsim (fl. 1340–56), 242–5, 248 al-Kindī (d. ca. 866), 133 circle, 133, 137, 141–3, 149 Koran, 176, 259–60, 267 Kühn, Karl Gottlob (d. 1840), 125 Langholf, Volker, 26–7, 83, 87–8 libraries, 226–7 Bodleian, 241 British Library, 98 Jagiellonian (Biblioteka Jagiellonska), 229 Patriarchal, 95–6 private, 173 of St. Mark’s Monastery, 95–6 of the University of Mumbai, 187 Lucian of Samosata (2nd cent. AD), 10, 183–4 Lycies, case of, 65–8 Maʿarat Ṣīdnāyā, 94 al-Maġārī, ʾAbū Yaḥyā Zakarīyāʾ ibn Bilāl ibn Yūsuf ibn ʾAmīrī, 254, 266–7 magnets, 67 al-Maǧūsī, ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās (d. ca. 982), 11, 198–201, 207, 210, 292 Maimonides see Mūsā ibn ʿUbayd Allāh ibn Maymūn al-Manāwī, 247 Manetti, Daniela, 29, 100 Manutius, Aldus P. (d. 1515), 125–6 Masʿūd Fazand Ḥusayn Ǧunābaḏī, 247 Mesopotamia, 152 meteorology, 26, 33; see also climate, environment, weather Methodists, 37, 279; see also Thessalus of Tralles methodology, 26 Mihrān ibn Manṣūr, 174 mixture(s) (krâsis), 33–6, 45, 293–4 combination of, 145 humour generated by, 45 natural, 46 of (ambient) air, 33, 35, 108 of melancholic, 244 physiological, 36 seasonal, 38, 199–201 theory of, 34 Montanists, 184

330

Index

moon, 181, 280 Moses, 184; see also Mūsā Muḥammad al-ʿAṭṭār al-Dimašqī, 247 Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Salām al-Miṣrī, 247 Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Salām al-Muẓaffarī, 247n220 Muḥammad ibn Mūsā, ʾAbū Ǧaʿfar (d. 873), 159, 186, 217 Mūsā ibn Ḫālid, 151 Mūsā ibn ʿUbayd Allāh ibn Maymūn (Maimonides, d. 1204), 211 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 229–30, 235 Medical Aphorisms (Kitāb al-Fuṣūl fī l-ṭibb), 205–6 mythology, 172–3 Naǧm al-Dīn ʾAḥmad ibn al-Minfāḫ, 247 al-Nīlī, ʾAbū Sahl Saʿīd ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (d. 1029), 220 observations, 68 clinical, 1, 5, 27, 50, 71, 75, 77, 197, 289 during dissection, 39, 59 empirical, 25, 28, 40 not value-free, 27 systematic, 28 Oribasius, 175, 206n68 Overwien, Oliver, 86, 132 paganism, 171–4 Palestine, 152 Palladius Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 11–12, 212, 215–16, 218n6, 254 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’, 99, 113–14 paralysis, 88–9, 300 facial, 298, 300 parts of the body, 36, 84 ‘community’ (koinōníē) between, 54–7, 60, 64 elementary, 158–60 solid, 158–60 Paul of Aegina, 13, 193, 298–9 Pehlevi, 171 Pergamum, 158, 177 Perinthus, 16, 75–7 pestilence, 31n20, 45, 199 Pfaff, Franz, 2, 15, 126–9, 174, 179, 183 pharmacology, 12, 40, 285–301 (passim) Syriac terminology of, 122

physiognomy, 75–7 physiology, 36, 112, 225 planets, 181 Plato, 168 phlebotomy (venesection), 65, 67n70, 238n186, 282 pneumas, 102–4, 107, 110–11, 159, 239–40 bodily, 239 of the brain, 244 clear, 246 natural, 106, 111 psychic, 108, 111, 224–5, 242–4 theory of three, 109, 111–12, 119 vital, 106, 111, 239–40 poetry, 145, 179 oracular, 10 Pormann, Peter E., 15, 193, 198 practice, 42, 289 and theory, 38, 211, 268 clinical, 11, 13, 210 medical, 37, 104, 267 teaching, 29, 215 ‘private’ writing, 50, 58–61 Proclus (d. AD 485), 179 prognosis, 26, 35–7, 254–7, 267, 276, 280–83 pseudo-Aristotle Physiognomics, 132 pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, 116 pus, 33n23, 80, 83–4, 199–200, 277 Quintus (fl. ca. 120–45), 4, 37, 46, 145 Rayy, 189 al–Rāzī, ʾAbū Bakr Muḥammad ibn Zakariyāʾ (Rhazes, d. ca. 925), 1, 11, 187, 189, 192–8, 300 Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’, 220 Comprehensive Book on Medicine (al–Kitāb al–Ḥāwī), 187, 192–7, 205, 210 Doubts About Galen, 195–98, 205, 210 Guide (al-Muršid), 296 On Sexual Intercourse, 197–98, 206 pupil of al-Ṭabarī, 189 quoting earlier authors, 187, 205, 210 took case notes, 289 al–Rāzī, Faḫr al-Dīn (d. ca. 1209), 225, 252 reason (lógos), 4; see also cause(s) analogical reasoning (qiyās), 229 and experience (empeiría, peîra, taǧriba), 38, 42–4, 229

Index inferential reasoning, 36 universal (kathólou lógos), 40 ‘relatednessʼ (homoethniē), 56 religion, 104, 226 Abrahamic religions, 248 Christian, 173 Roselli, Amneris, 29, 100 Rufus of Ephesus (fl. ca. AD 100), 27n10, 192, 215, 245 al-Ruhāwī, ʾAyyūb see Job of Edessa al-Ruhāwī, ʾIsḥāq ibn ʿAlī (fl. 850–70), 189–92, 210 Ethics of the Physician, 190–1 Sabians, 172 al–Ṣafadī (d. 1363), 207 Saint Elmo’s fire, 182 Saint Paul, 184 saints, 178 saliva, 83–4, 253, 277 Samuel, Athanasius Y., 96n23 Savage-Smith, Emilie, 233, 241 scepticism, 181 season(s), 33–4, 37–8, 45–6, 80 constitution of, 77; see also constitution description of, 71 determination of, 279 length of, 199 segregations (apostásies), 75, 82–90; see also apóstasis Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūṯēh, 95, 123n130 Šemʿōn of Bēṯ Hūzāyē, 95–7 Septuagint, 184 Sergius of Rēšʿaynā (d. 536) Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘On Nutriment’, 263 translator of the Syriac Epidemics, 7, 11, 98, 116–20, 122–3 sex (gender), 35, 54, 65n62 sex (sexual intercourse), 197, 206–7, 210, 290 signs, 64n60, 79, 182, 259–60, 265–6, 276–80 critical, 54 facial, 262, 264 muhmal, 16 of death, 255, 258 physiognomonical, 36 Simon, Max, 126, 128 al-Sinǧārī, Ṭāhir ibn ʾIbrāhīm ibn Muḥammad ibn Ṭāhir (or al-Sanǧarī, fl. 12th cent.?), 225–8, 243

331

al-Sīwāsī, ʿAbdallāh ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn Mūsā (early 14th cent.), 241–2 Smith, Wesley D., 26, 62, 73–5, 80, 83–4, 88 snakes, 189–191 Soranus, 115 speaking in tongues, 184 Stephen of Alexandria, 215, 254, 262–3 Commentary on the ‘Prognostic’, 276 suffocation, uterine (ḫanq al-raḥim), 100–101, 104, 109–11, 118, 197 superlative (grammar), 85–6 Šūšan, 97 sweat, 65, 81, 83–4 in prognosis, 253, 258 Syennesis of Cyprus, 62 sympathy, 52–3, 57, 63–7 ‘on the same side’, 66–7 symptoms, 41 Syria, 152 Syriac medical tradition, 121–3 al-Ṭabarī, ʿAlī ibn Sahl Rabban (fl. ca. 850), 189–192 Ṯābit ibn Qurra (d. 901), 172 teaching in Alexandria, 112, 215, 220 in Baghdad, 220 lecture hall, 7, 111, 254 medical, 12, 28–9, 266–8: criticism of, 231; use of Hippocrates in, 211, 248 method of (naḥw al-taʿlīm), 231, 276 Methodism in six months, 103 temperament see mixture tenses, 79–80 terminology, 27, 67, 144 and style, 130, 137–9, 148 disease, 26 Greek, 112 in translations, 130–31, 138, 141, 174 medical, 9, 167, 201, 204 modernisation of, 146 pharmacological, 122 technical, 169 used by Kindī circle, 137 unusual, 163 usual, 157 tetter (al-qūbāʾ), 224, 292

332

Index

theology, 116 Christian, 147 Jewish, 5 Nestorian, 173n12 Šāfiʿī, 233, 258, 267 theory, 268, 289 and experience, 40–43 and practice, 38–9, 42, 130, 144, 211 humoral, 289 medical, 47, 192, 248, 263 objections (logikós), 40 of critical days, 253 of disease causation, 31–2 of environmental medicine, 33 of mixtures, 33–6 Thessalus of Cos (son of Hippocrates, fl. 5th-4th cent. BC), 49, 50, 58, 202 Thessalus of Tralles (Methodist physician, fl. ca. AD 60), 103 al-Tīfāšī, ʾAḥmad ibn Yūsuf Šaraf al-Dīn (d. 1253), 206–7 al-Ṭinġārī, ʾAbū ʿAbdallāh Muḥammad ibn Mālik al-Murrī al-Ḥāǧǧ al-Ġarnāṭī (fl. ca. 1087), 203–4 translation, passim analysis (‘metrics’/‘thumb print’), 132–3, 138–9, 142–3, 147–9 contextual, 6, 9, 86, 156–69 Greek-Syriac-Arabic movement, 130–32, 142–3, 147, 149 Ullmann, Manfred (b. 1931), 153–4, 174, 212, 216 urine, 66, 83–4 bloody, 87n33 in prognosis, 253, 262, 277 suppression of, 295

ʾUstāṯ, 154 uvula, 277 van Swieten, Gottfried (d. 1803), 25n3 vapours, 239 in brain, 107, 117–18, 225 melancholic (al-buḫār al-sawdāwī), 224–5, 244, 246 smoke-like, 197 vein(s), 52, 55–64, 66, 69–70, 75–7; see also blood vessels Basilic, 157 varicose, 83 venesection (phlebotomy), 65, 67n70, 238n186, 282 Viennese Tables, 233 vomiting, 262, 277, 282, 288 von Staden, Heinrich, 29 Vööbus, Arthur (d. 1988), 7, 93n1, 94–7 Wādī l-Naṭrūn, 98 weather, 26, 71, 79–81, 200. See also climate, environment, St Elmo’s fire. and epidemics, 25n3 conditions, 16 in cities, 144–5 phenomena, 260 stormy, 182 Wenkebach, Ernst August (d. 1955), 2, 8, 15, 125–9, 145–6, 174 wind (flatulence), 262, 277 al-Yaʿqūbī (d. after 905), 255, 262, 264 Zayn al-Dīn Ḫālid ibn ʿAbdallāh ʾAzharī (fl. ca. 1500), 247 Zeus, 172 Zeuxis (2st cent. BC), 36, 72 Ziyādat Allāh III (Aġlabid), 192 zodiac, 181

List of Contributors

333

 List of Contributors Robert Alessi is Assistant Professor of Greek at the University of Poitiers. As a researcher, he belongs to the French Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (CNRS), ‘Laboratoire Orient & Méditerranée’, UMR8167, University of Paris-Sorbonne. He is currently preparing a critical edition with a commentary of Books Two, Four and Six of the Hippocratic Epidemics, to be published in the Collection des Universités de France, Paris, Les Belles Lettres. Leigh Chipman is currently (2011–12) a research associate at the ‘Galen in the Hebrew and Arabic Traditions’ project at Bar-Ilan University, funded by the German Israeli Foundation. Her research interests are the social and intellectual history of medicine and science in the Islamicate world. She is also currently working on a study of the uses of codes and ciphers in the late medieval and early modern Middle East, and is completing a book on the medical prescriptions of the Cairo Genizah together with Efraim Lev (under contract to Brill). Her previous book was a revised version of her Hebrew University dissertation, called The World of Pharmacy and Pharmacists in Mamlūk Cairo (Brill, 2010). Philip J. van der Eijk is Alexander von Humboldt Professor of Classics and History of Science at the Humboldt University, Berlin. He has published widely on ancient medicine, philosophy and science. Among his more recent publications are Medicine and Philosophy in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge University Press, 2005), Philoponus: On Aristotle On the Soul I (Duckworth, 2005–6) and (with R.W. Sharples) Nemesius: On the Nature of Man (Liverpool University Press, 2008). Bink Hallum is Wellcome Trust Research Fellow at the Department of Classics and Ancient History, University of Warwick. His research focuses on the transfer of scientific knowledge from Greek into Arabic and Latin. He is currently collaborating with Peter E. Pormann, Simon Swain and Uwe Vagelpohl to produce an edition and English translation of Books One and Two of Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq’s Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’. Brooke Holmes is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Classics at Princeton University, where she specializes in the history of ancient medicine, Greek literature, and ancient philosophy. Her first book, The Symptom and the Subject: The Emergence of the Physical Body in Ancient Greece, appeared in 2010. A second book, Gender: Antiquity and its Legacy, will be published by I. B. Tauris and Oxford University Press in 2012, when a co-edited (with W. H. Shearin) volume on the reception of Epicureanism is also expected to appear in the Classical Presences series at Oxford University Press. N. Peter Joosse is Wellcome Trust Research Fellow at Department of Classics and Ancient History, University of Warwick. His research interests concentrate on the history of Arabic-Islamic science and medicine; practical philosophy (ethics, politics and economics) in the Arabic-Islamic and Syriac-Aramaic traditions; and the Arabic New Testament and Diatessaronic Studies. His edition, translation and study of the Two Pieces of Advice (Kitāb al-Naṣīḥatayn) by ʿAbd al-Laṭīf is forthcoming in Vasileios Syros (ed.), Medicine and the Art of Rulership in the Medieval World (Brill).

334

List of Contributors

Grigory Kessel is a post-doctoral researcher at the Faculty of Theology of the Marburg University. He is the author (in co-authorship with Karl Pinggéra) of A Bibliography of Syriac Ascetic and Mystical Literature (2011) and of a range of articles on different aspects of transmission and reception history of some Syriac texts. His research is mainly concerned with study of Syriac manuscripts. Oliver Overwien is a lecturer at the Department of Classical Philology, Humboldt University, Berlin. He is currently finalising his edition of the Hippocratic treatise On Humours for the Corpus Medicorum Graecorum. Peter E. Pormann is Professor of Classics and Graeco-Arabic Studies at the University of Manchester. His recent publications include Islamic Medical and Scientific Tradition, Critical Concepts in Islamic Studies, 4 vols (Routledge 2011), and, with Peter Adamson, The Philosophical Works of al-Kindī (Oxford University Press 2012). Gotthard Strohmaier is honorary professor at the Free University of Berlin. Although retired, he continues to work as researcher and editor at the Corpus Medicorum Graecorum. Recent publications include Hellas im Islam. Interdisziplinäre Studien zur Ikonographie, Wissenschaft und Religionsgeschichte (Harrassowitz 2003), and Antike Naturwissenschaft in orientalischem Gewand (Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier 2007) Simon Swain is professor of Classics and chair of the Arts Faculty at the University of Warwick. His recent publications include Seeing the Face, Seeing the Soul. Polemon’s Physiognomy from Classical Antiquity to Medieval Islam (Oxford University Press 2007); and, with Jaś Elsner and Stephen J. Harrison, Severan Culture (Cambridge University Press 2007) Uwe Vagelpohl is Wellcome Trust Research Fellow at the Department of Classics and Ancient History, University of Warwick. His research focusses on the reception of Greek philosophical and scientific literature. He also contributed to the upcoming Ovid volume of the Catalogus Translationum et Commentariorum. At present, he is finalising the forthcoming edition and translation of Books One and Two of Ḥunayn ibn ʾIsḥāq’s Arabic version of Galen’s Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Epidemics’. His recent publications include Aristotle’s Rhetoric in the East. The Syriac and Arabic Translation and Commentary Tradition (Brill 2008).