Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies (Volume 3): 2000 [2010] 9781463214081

Table of contents :
TABLE OF CONTENTS
HUGOYE 3:1
Papers
THE FALL OF SATAN IN THE THOUGHT OF ST. EPHREM AND JOHN MILTON
DISPUTING WITH ISLAM IN SYRIAC: THE CASE OF THE MONK OF BÊT LÊ AND A MUSLIM EMIR
SIGNS OF EPHREM’S EXEGETICAL TECHNIQUES IN HIS HOMILY ON OUR LORD
PAST AND PRESENT PERCEPTIONS OF SYRIAC LITERARY TRADITION
BRIEF ARTICLES
THE TEACHING OF SYRIAC IN LEBANON: AN OVERVIEW
PUBLICATIONS AND BOOK REVIEWS
PROJECTS AND CONFERENCE REPORTS
PROJECTS AND CONFERENCE REPORTS
HUGOYE 3:2
INTRODUCTION TO THE SPECIAL ISSUE
Papers
MICHAEL THE SYRIAN AS A SOURCE FOR ECONOMIC HISTORY
ORIGINALITY AND FUNCTION OF FORMAL STRUCTURES IN THE CHRONICLE OF MICHAEL THE GREAT
EDESSA IN THE ERA OF PATRIARCH MICHAEL THE SYRIAN
NOTIZEN ZUR SPÄTEN GESCHICHTE DES BARAUM-KLOSTERS
PUBLICATIONS AND BOOK REVIEWS
PROJECT REPORTS
CONFERENCE REPORTS
CALL FOR PAPERS
FORTHCOMING CONFERENCES

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

Volume 3 2000 [2010]

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

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

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

TABLE OF CONTENTS HUGOYE 3:1 Papers The Fall of Satan in the Thought of St. Ephrem and John Milton........................................................................................3 Gary A. Anderson Disputing with Islam in Syriac: The Case of the Monk of Bêt hćlê and a Muslim Emir ............................................................29 Sidney H. Griffith Signs of Ephrem’s Exegetical Techniques in his ʚomily on Our Lord....................................................................................55 Angela Y. Kim Past and Present Perceptions of Syriac Literary Tradition ..............71 Lucas Van Rompay Brief Articles The Teaching of Syriac in Lebanon: An Overview ........................105 Ray Mouawad Publications and Book Reviews .........................................................111 Projects and Conference Reports ......................................................127 Forthcoming Conferences ..................................................................133

HUGOYE 3:2 Introduction to the Special Issue .......................................................139 George Kiraz Papers Michael the Syrian as a Source for Economic history...................141 Michael G. Morony Originality and Function of Formal Structures in the Chronicle of Michael the Great ..............................................173 Dorothea Weltecke

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Edessa in the Era of Patriarch Michael the Syrian..........................205 Joseph Tarzi Notizen zur späten Geschichte des Barsaumô-Klosters................225 Hubert Kaufhold Publications and Book Reviews .........................................................249 Project Reports .....................................................................................253 Conference Reports .............................................................................287 Call for Papers.......................................................................................297 Forthcoming Conferences ..................................................................299

Volume 3 2000 [2010]

Number 1

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

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.1, 3–27 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

THE FALL OF SATAN IN THE THOUGHT OF ST. EPHREM AND JOHN MILTON GARY A. ANDERSON HARVARD DIVINITY SCHOOL CAMBRIDGE, MA USA

ABSTRACT In the Life of Adam and Eve, Satan “the first-born” refused to venerate Adam, the “latter-born.” Later writers had difficulty with the tale because it granted Adam honors that were proper to Christ (Philippians 2:10, “at the name of Jesus, every knee should bend.”) The tale of Satan’s fall was then altered to reflect this Christological sensibility. Milton created a story of Christ’s elevation prior to the creation of man. Ephrem, on the other hand, moved the story to Holy Saturday. In Hades, Death acknowledged Christ as the true firstborn whereas Satan rejected any such acclamation.

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For some time I have pondered the problem of Satan’s fall in early Jewish and Christian sources. My point of origin has been the justly famous account found in the Life of Adam and Eve (hereafter: Life). 1 See G. Anderson, “The Exaltation of Adam and the Fall of Satan,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, 6 (1997): 105–34. 1

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I say justly famous because the Life itself existed in six versionsGreek, Latin, Armenian, Georgian, Slavonic, and Coptic (now extant only in fragments)-yet the tradition that the Life drew on is present in numerous other documents from Late Antiquity. 2 And one should mention its surprising prominence in Islam-the story was told and retold some seven times in the Koran and was subsequently subject to further elaboration among Muslim exegetes and storytellers. 3 My purpose in this essay is to carry forward work I have already done on this text to the figures of St. Ephrem and John Milton. Why Milton? Because the narrative problems faced in a work like Paradise Lost are not so dissimilar from those faced by Ephrem in his own Christian poetry. Indeed, over the course of my own research, I only came to understand the way the tradition functioned in Ephrem once I had a grasp on how Milton used it. As we shall see, though both writers have very different points of origin, they both are heir to a common Christian tradition and their deployment of this theme from the Life-though different in their own ways-share a single theological vision.

2 For a review of the critical issues and literature dealing with this complex document, see the recent work of M. Stone, A History of the Literature of Adam and Eve (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992) and M. de Jonge and J. Tromp, The Life of Adam and Eve and Related Literature (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997). For a synoptic edition of the work with the versions printed in parallel columns, see G. Anderson and M. Stone, A Synopsis of the Books of Adam and Eve, Second Revised Edition (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999). 3 The story can be found in the following Surahs of the Koran: 2:31–9, 7:11–8, 15:31–48, 17:61–5, 18:50, 20:116–20, 38:71–85. For a review of the issues in Islamic studies, see P. Awn, Satan’s Tragedy of Redemption: Iblis in Sufi Psychology (Leiden: Brill, 1983).

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1. SATAN’S FALL IN THE LIFE OF ADAM AND EVE [2]

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Let me begin with the text as we find it in the Life of Adam and Eve. 4 It occurs somewhat oddly in this story: Adam and Eve have been searching for food outside of Eden and find the earth to be completely lacking. All they can find is the herbage reserved for the animals. Despairing over their condition they resort to penitence and prayer. They hope to move the Almighty to bring them back to Eden or, failing that, to ameliorate their present circumstances. They embark on a forty-day rite of fasting. 5 Just over halfway, Satan appears before Eve in the form of an angel and tempts her to abort their penitential rite. He is successful this second time just as he was the first time. When Adam hears about this, he is outraged. He demands that Satan account for his enmity. Satan answers that his wrath is due to the honor bestowed upon Adam and Eve at creation. “When God blew into you the breath of Life,” he recounts, “your countenance and likeness were made in the image of God.” 6 Satan continues the story by recounting how Michael came forward and presented Adam to God, whereupon Adam did obeisance. Michael then turned to the angels in attendance and said, “Worship the image of the Lord God just as the Lord God has commanded.” Satan found this demand an outrage. “I do not have it within me to worship Adam,” he replied, “I will not worship him who is lower and posterior to me. I am prior to that creature. Before he was made, I had already been made. He ought to worship me.” The counterclaim of Satan is as true as it is remarkable. If birth order has any claim to privilege, then how could Adam, as a latter4 Because of the history of this tale’s publication, citation of the document has generally followed either the Latin or the Greek version. In the case of the story of Satan’s fall, the reference is Life, 12–7. The story occurs in the Latin, Armenian, and Georgian versions of the Life; the Slavonic and the Greek omit it. J. Daniélou in his book, The Angels and their Mission according to the Fathers of the Church (Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, 1953), is the only scholar I know of who relates this tradition in the Life to Patristic thought about the status of the human person over against the angels. His brief discussion has significant overlaps with mine. 5 On this part of the tale see G. Anderson, “The Penitence Narrative in the Life of Adam and Eve,” HUCA 63 (1992): 1–38. 6 The citation is from Life, 13:2–14:3 and is taken from the Latin version. The Armenian and Georgian are almost exactly the same.

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born, be worthy of such an honor? At one level, Satan’s remonstration is quite understandable. Indeed his reaction to Adam anticipates the behavior of other non-elect figures in the book of Genesis. Like many of these persons, he is surprised and angered by the mysterious electing hand of God. Time and again, God favors the latter-born over the first-born. Esau, though born before Jacob, is doomed to eternal servanthood: “The older shall serve the younger” (Gen 25:23). Joseph, the son of his father’s old age, becomes master over his brothers in Egypt as predicted in his dream. Satan’s surprise can equally be our surprise-even the patriarchs had difficulty grasping the ways of God with men. 7 Yet Satan’s reluctance to venerate has a darker side. His words, when compared to those of John the Baptist, can be read to reveal a not-so-subtle blasphemy. When Jesus is presented to John the Baptist, the writer of the Gospel of John records that the Baptist was loath to exercise any authority over him. Though John clearly preceded Jesus in time (“Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” John 1:26–7), John understands his honor to follow that of Christ: “After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me” (1:30). What the Baptist knows so well as revealed truth is an utter surprise and falsehood to Satan. The Life of Adam and Eve redeploys this literary topos later in the tale when Satan approaches the snake and suggests that he assist in the downfall of the human couple. The conversation is worth citing in full. When the devil came to your father’s portion, the devil summoned the serpent and told him, “Arise and come to me and I will teach you a useful word.” Then the serpent came and the Devil told the serpent, “I (hear) that you are wiser than all the animals and I have come to test your wisdom, for Adam gives food to all the animals, thus also to you. When then all the animals came to bow down before Adam from day to day and On the importance of the theme of the first-born in the Adam literature, see “The Exaltation of Adam and the Fall of Satan,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, 6 (1997): 107–9, 131–4. For an excellent review of the Biblical data and its theological importance, see J. Levenson, Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). 7

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from morning to morning, every day, you also come to bow down. You were created before him, as old (as you) are, and you bow down before this young one! And why do you eat (food) inferior to Adam’s and his spouse’s and not the good fruit of paradise? But come and hearken to me so that we may have Adam expelled from the wall of paradise just as we are outside. Perhaps we can reenter somehow to paradise.” 8

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There can be no doubt as to the source of Satan’s rhetorical ploy. The cause that set in motion his own fall is recycled to win over the serpent. It is also worth noting that not every version of the Life makes this correlation. It occurs only in those versions that contain the earlier tale of Satan’s fall. Thus the Greek version, which does not know the tradition of Satan’s fall, makes no mention of the serpent’s prior birth. 9 Satan tempts the serpent solely by pointing out the inferior nature of his food supply compared to Adam’s. It is certainly logical to conclude that Satan’s tempting of the snake through the suggestion of his latter-born status is directly and unambiguously mapped from his own experience. Alexander Altmann noted a clear parallel to this apocryphal tradition in Rabbinic sources. 10 There are several stories about the veneration of Adam by the angelic host that portray this event in the most negative of terms. In one midrash, the angels mistake Adam for a divine being and desire to shout “Holy” before him. 11 Rabbi Hoshaya compares this to a king who went about town in a chariot with his governor beside him. The subjects wished to shout 8 The citation is from the Georgian version [44]16:1–3. It is closely paralleled in the Armenian and the ATLC manuscripts in the Greek. On the problem of the Greek versions here, see below. 9 Yet it should be noted that the Greek ATLC manuscripts are quite different here. These texts present a figure of Satan who does know the argument about the first-born and uses it to entice the snake. Stone has asked, very perceptively, (“The Fall of Satan and Adam’s Penance: Three Notes on the Books of Adam and Eve,” JTS 44 [1993]: 153–5) if this does not demonstrate that the Greek version at one time included a tradition of Satan’s fall. On the nature of the ATLC manuscripts see de Jonge and Tromp, The Life of Adam and Eve, 31–35 and the dissertation of M. Nagel, La Vie grecque d’Adam et d’Eve (Strasbourg, 1974). 10 “The Gnostic Background of the Rabbinic Adam Legends,” Jewish Quarterly Review, 35 (1945): 371–91. 11 Genesis Rabbah 8.10.

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“Domine” before their king but did not know to whom their acclamation should be directed. What did the king do? He pushed the governor from the chariot in order to avoid any hint of error. Just so, the Holy One, blessed be He, created Adam in his own image. When the angels nearly venerated him, God put him to sleep in order to create Eve. Thereupon the angels learned of his non-divine status and did not mistake him for God. Altmann argued that a midrash like this only makes sense if we presume an antecedent story like that of the Life of Adam and Eve. Unlike that tale, the Rabbis teach that no human is worthy of angelic veneration. But the Jewish tradition cannot be interpreted quite that simply. As I argued in my earlier essay, the Rabbis were disinclined to shower such honors on the figure of Adam qua Adam. 12 However, when the topic of discussion turns to the election of Israel, the story changes quite dramatically. Here God acts to elect not only Israel over against the other nations, but also Israel over the angels. 13 The issue is not what is the ranking of the generic class ‘man’ over against the angels, but rather the value of the human person when viewed through the lens of Sinai. Considered from the vantage point of Rabbinic thinking, the status of the person is little different than that of the Life. The gift of Torah and its observance nearly deifies man. At Sinai he is made just “a little lower than the angels.” 14

2. THEOLOGICAL PROBLEMS WITH THE STORY OF SATAN’S FALL [9]

One question worth asking about this tradition of Satan’s fall in the Life is whether its provenance is Jewish or Christian. This has been exceedingly difficult question to answer, and in this essay we shall not be able to answer it. But the methodological problems this 12 G. Anderson, “The Exaltation of Adam and the Fall of Satan,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, 6 (1997): 111–23. 13 This surprising detail has eluded many interpreters. For an excellent analysis of the texts at issue, see P. Schäfer, Rivalität zwischen Engeln und Menschen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1975). 14 The reference is to Psalm 8. On the significance of this psalm to this entire problem see G. Anderson, “What Is Man That You Mention Him,” forthcoming in a volume edited by B. Daley on the Psalms in early Christian exegesis.

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question raises shall be central to my thesis. For even though Rabbinic and Patristic sources put the highest possible value on the human person, I would like to claim that both traditions become nervous if these anthropological concerns are too tidily cut off from their Christological or nomocentric matrix. Christian concerns about this tale are evident in a set of Quaestiones attributed (falsely) to Athanasius. 15 In one of them we read: Question: When and on account of what reason did the Devil fall? For certain mythmakers have said that he received a command to venerate Adam (and having refused to do so) fell. Answer: Such is the nonsense of foolish men. For the Devil fell prior to the existence of Adam. It is clear that he fell because of his arrogance as Isaiah the prophet says: “I shall place my throne upon the clouds and I will become like the Most High.” (Isa 14:14)

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This text evinces an argument that will become standard in the West after Augustine: Satan does not fall due to envy toward Adam but rather due to envy toward God. And, as such, the fall takes place prior to Adam’s creation. Augustine, of course, locates that fall as close to creation as possible without sacrificing the goodness of all creation at its inception. Even more striking is the rebuttal of this story that is found in Bartholomew of Edessa. 16 He claims that the story is not Christian at all, but rather Islamic in origin. “For the Muslims say,” Bartholomew writes, “that when Adam had been made, all the angels worshipped him at the command of God. But Beliar alone did not obey this command to worship Adam and on this account he fell.” What is lacking in these texts, however, is an account of why the Life of Adam and Eve traditions became objectionable. I would suggest from the outset that the reasons are Christological. By having the entire angelic host venerate Adam at his creation, there is nothing the second Adam can do that could go beyond this glorious moment. The angelic veneration which will be due the 15 Quaestiones ad Antiochum, PG 28:604C. The text is clearly not Athanasian, but a more precise attribution is not possible. 16 PG 104:1453C.

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resurrected Christ is simply a return to what was offered Adam at creation’s origin. The christological mystery, on this view, does not deepen or expand our sense of the human person. It simply recapitulates a glorious beginning. Like the Rabbis, the Church Fathers were unhappy with such a scenario. Adam was to be the subject of considerable glory but not apart from the revelation of Jesus Christ. In order to prove my thesis, I would like to examine the use of this tradition in two very different authors: St. Ephrem, the Syrian and John Milton, the English Puritan.

3. THE FALL OF SATAN IN PARADISE LOST [13]

There seems to be little doubt that Milton knew the story of Satan’s fall as we have in the Life. Yet he made one dramatic alteration that allowed him to maintain the narrative elements of the story without its accompanying theological problem: the heavenly host is witness to the sudden elevation of Christ rather than to the creation of Adam. Hear all ye angels, progeny of light, Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers, Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand. This day I have begot whom I declare My only Son, and on this holy hill Him have anointed, whom ye now behold At my right hand; your head I him appoint; And by my self have sworn to him shall bow All knees in heaven, and shall confess him Lord. 17

This decree to elevate God’s Christ among the heavenly host is made up of a pastiche of biblical texts including Colossians 1:16, Psalm 2:6–7, and Philippians 2:9–10. 18 From these texts, Milton Paradise Lost, V: 600–8. The form of this command is modeled on the famous hymn found in Philippians 2:9–10: “Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth.” In the use of this particular text, we see the outlines of a brilliant Miltonic irony. As any seasoned reader of the Bible recognizes, this hymn to Christ’s universal kingship is founded upon Christ’s emptying (kenosis) himself of his divine glory. For it was Christ Jesus “who, though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave and being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he 17 18

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derives the key elements of his plot: the assembly of the angels, the coronation of the Messiah, 19 and his subsequent veneration. Yet Satan’s reaction to all of this can be found nowhere in the Bible, and here Milton relies on the Vita. Satan refuses to honor God’s Christ for to do so, he infers, would be an affront to his stature. Yet Satan’s refusal to venerate Christ is not all of what is going on in this story. Milton has not dropped an interest in the status of Adam and Eve-and so of humanity in general-he has simply redeployed it. To appreciate Milton’s anthropology we must turn to his account of human origins. As it happens, Satan has heard a rumor about the creation of Adam and Eve just prior to the elevation of Christ. 20 We first hear of this rumor after Satan has been evicted from heaven and sits in Hades with his rebellious cohort. There he engages his comrades in conversation: O myriads of immortal spirits, O powers Matchless, but with the Almighty, and that strife Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-even death on a cross” (Phil 2:6–8). Yet Satan detests the elevation of Christ because he believes it to be naked power grab. Christ, he believes, is trying to violently wrest from him the honors that are his alone. But the truth of the matter is that Christ’s status as the exalted Son of God is predicated on His willingness to die for mankind (See Paradise Lost, III: 227ff). Only by giving up all that is his will he receive the honors due his name. 19 Much can be said about this daring narrative move, for Milton seems close to a semi-Arian position. There appears to be a time when the Son was not, or at the very least when His status in the heavenly realm was altogether unclear. For a fine discussion of the problem, see W.B. Hunter, “The War in Heaven: The Exaltation of the Son,” in W. Hunter, C. Patrides and J. Adamson (eds.), Bright Essence (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1971) 115–30. I don’t think Milton intends to verge on heresy here. As my discussion below will reveal, he wishes to link Christology to anthropology. 20 It is worth noting that Milton, following a Patristic and Medieval commonplace, explains the creation of human beings as a form of cosmic redress for the loss of an entire angelic array. Human beings fill the slot of the fallen angels. The fact that Satan hears a rumor of man’s creation prior to his fall reveals that there is a larger story to be told. The place of human beings in the created order has a firmer foundation than the theory of a cosmic rebalancing of the heavenly host might suggest.

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Gary A. Anderson As this place testifies, and this dire change Hateful to utter: but what power of mind Forseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge past or present, could have feared, How such united force of gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know repulse?21

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Satan, though pummeled by the heavenly armies, remains unbowed. He stirs his fellow militia members by reminding them of their “united force.” Carrying his argument forward, he concedes that a direct assault on heaven would be foolish. But so would a craven servitude in the dingy confines of hell. An avenue of revenge must be sought. He recalls to his comrades that sometime before the exaltation of the Son, “There went a fame in heaven that he ere long / Intended to create, and therein plant a generation, whom his choice regard / Should favor equal to the sons of heaven.” 22 Here is our opening, Satan argues. Let us wage war against this new creation and wreak our havoc on the heavenly throne. Sometime later, he returns to his suggestion of vengeance and reveals more about the rumor he had heard concerning the creation of man. Conceding yet again that the walls of heaven “fear no assault or siege” he suggests a simpler course: What if we find Some easier enterprise? There is a place (If ancient and prophetic fame in heaven Err not) another world, the happy seat Of some new race called Man, about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, but favoured more Of him who rules above; so was his will Pronounced among the gods, and by an oath, That shook heaven’s whole circumference, confirmed. 23

Having revealed the contents of this “ancient and prophetic fame,” Satan suggests that his cohort learn the nature of these creatures to be fashioned “of what mould, / Or substance, how endued, and Paradise Lost, I: 622–30. Paradise Lost, I: 651–4. 23 Paradise Lost, II: 344–53. 21 22

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what their power, / And where their weakness, how attempted best, / By force or subtlety.” 24 The source of this ancient fame is crystal clear. In Psalm 8 one reads of the figure of man to be created just slightly lower than the divine beings in heaven yet adorned with glory and honor that so distinguish them that God places below their feet all the works of his created order. Satan knows of this favor to be shown toward man and envies him all the more. But this is an altogether unexpected use of Psalm 8. For to use the psalm this way, Milton must presume that the psalm refers to the creation of Adam. Yet the New Testament understood the psalm in reference to Christ. 25 Why, then, does Milton go against the grain of the New Testament and redirect the psalm to the figures of Adam and Eve and their progeny? Milton himself gives no clear and explicit answer to this question, but a couple lines of reasoning do suggest themselves. First, Satan hears of the rumor of man’s creation and elevation, an elevation that will result in a figure more favored than he. Yet before the rumor is fulfilled, God elevates his Christ as king over the heavenly host. If Satan found this objectionable and a cause for rebellion, then it is hardly idle speculation to say that he would have found the figures of Adam and Eve more objectionable. In some sense the elevation of Christ is a provoking moment that provides the necessary occasion for Satan to vent his hostility towards God’s larger designs with His universe. The elevation of

Paradise Lost, II: 355–8. See the Epistle to the Hebrews 2:5–9, Someone bore testimony [to this] somewhere saying, “What is man that you should remember him or the son of man that you watch over him? You have made him for a little while lower than the angels; with glory and honor you have crowned him; you have subjected everything under his feet.” Now in subjecting all things, God left nothing unsubjectionable to him. As of now we do not yet see all things subjected to him; but do behold the one who “was made for a little while lower than the angels.” Jesus, because of his suffering death was “crowned with glory and honor,” so that by God’s grace he might taste death for everyone. The translation is that of H. Attridge, Hebrews (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989). 24 25

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Christ smokes-out the secret hatred of this formidable angel and foe. 26 Second, we can say that Christ’s elevation prior to the creation of man is itself a soteriological act. If the rebellion against God’s Christ and His armies was at times a seesaw battle that took nearly three days to overcome, then what would have happened if this vigorous fury had been unleashed on the figures of Adam and Eve? The destiny of humankind might have looked quite different. In any event, it is clear that the office of Christ has been closely juxtaposed with that of Adam and Eve. The character and status of the elected Christos is not clear without reference to the making of men and women, and the virtues of the anthropos shine by way of the reflected glory of Christ. The plot line of the Life of Adam and Eve has been changed to put primary emphasis on Christ, but the requisite honor due man as made in the image of God has not been lost.

4. THE FALL OF SATAN IN CARMINA NISIBENA [22]

The figure of Satan occupies a large place within the theology of St. Ephrem. It has been argued recently that Ephrem’s thought exerted considerable influence on the writings of Romanos the Melodist. 27 I mention this fact because Romanos was familiar with the tradition of Satan’s fall that we find in the Life. During Christ’s descent to Hades, Satan mentions the occasion of his jealousy over the state of humankind (On the Resurrection V:23). 28 The wily one, the hostile Serpent, lamented with groans What he had undergone from the beginning through Adam:

I owe this suggestion to James Nohrnberg (English Department, University of Virginia); indeed, he suggested the terms “provoking moment” and “smoking-out” the designs of Satan as the best way to characterize the story of his fall. 27 See L. van Rompay, “Romanos le Mélode, Un poète syrien à Constantinople,” in J. van Boeft and A. Hilhorst (eds.), Early Christian Poetry (Leiden: Brill, 1993) 283–96 and W.L. Petersen, The Diatessaron and Ephrem Syrus as Sources of Romanos the Melodist (CSCO 475; Louvain, 1985). 28 For the text, see J. Grosdidier de Matons, Romanos le Mélode, Hymnes. Introduction, texte critique et notes (Source Chrétiennes 128; Paris, 1967) 528. 26

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Saying, “When God created man from the earth, indeed He ordered us, All of us, as One who knows the future and is Lord, Saying, ‘Come, all powers together now Kneel before the one in my image whom I have created.’ And at that time I fled, since I did not wish this; I was not willing to kneel before a created being, And I did not know, wretched me, that He would save the mortal, He who has destroyed the weapons of Belial, The victory of Hades, And the sting of Death.”

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What is striking is that Ephrem, unlike Romanos, shows no explicit knowledge of this tradition. One might advance this as evidence for a relatively late dating of the origin of the tale. On this view, the appearance of the tradition in the writings of Romanos would show us that it was a product of the fifth century. But this does not seem likely to me. Ephrem does seem to be acquainted with a form of the tradition. This is evident from the way in which he treats the motivations of the serpent to tempt Adam and Eve. Consider the curious and quite imaginative conversation Ephrem has with Eve. He provides Eve with the type of response she should have given the snake in Genesis 3:29 8.

Come let’s compare you and Adam, With what can we compare an animal and a man? Should you claim to be more senior Than Adam; Then [the giving of] your name can rebuke you 9. For it is younger by far than Adam. God allowed Adam to name the animals Because he made Adam an elder over the animals. Children do not give names To their parents. From those who are older Come the names of the youngsters. 10. Just as God, being first in existence, Gave names to every created thing, So he allowed the last formed being, who was Older than all, to give names De Ecclesia 47; the translation is my own. For the text see E. Beck, Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers, De Ecclesia (CSCO 198–9; Louvain, 1960). 29

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Gary A. Anderson To all living things, on the basis that he was oldest. 11. He is both God’s last and first work, Though younger in physical construction, he was older in honor. Those who were born early, and came into being Before him, became latter-born When they received their names.

[24]

[25]

In these stanzas, Ephrem writes the script that Eve should have followed: the snake, Ephrem reasoned, should have been reproved by Eve for not paying heed to his subservient role. Why was the snake to be so docile? Because Eve and Adam were more senior than he was. This assertion contradicts the narrative order of scripture, for in the first chapter of Genesis the animals are created prior to human beings. Nevertheless, Ephrem declares, it was clear that Adam and Eve were the true first-born. Why? Because it was on account of them that all created matter had come into existence. The deeper mystery of who constitutes “the first-born of all creation” is hidden (kasyć) in the fabric of the universe. The insightful can tease out and adore this profound mystery while the proud and obstinate cannot; they are bound to the world of mere external appearances. Such an unusual and striking image! The snake fails in his role as creature because he cannot appreciate the true nature of Adam and Eve. He sees himself created prior to them and hence arrogates to himself a false air of superiority. It is difficult not to correlate these stanzas of Ephrem to the Life of Adam and Eve. There, as we saw, Satan teaches the snake to make the same mistake he did: to argue superiority on the basis of physical birth order. Yet the versional evidence of the Life is striking in that only those versions of the tale that included the fall of Satan also included a similar grounding for the serpent’s fall. There is no question of the secondary nature of this topos when applied to the snake. It takes its bearings from a prior story about Satan. But Ephrem, unlike Romanos, passes over the story of Satan’s fall in silence. How can we explain this curious fact? I would suggest that Ephrem has not included such a story because to do so would involve him in the same category confusion Milton worried about. Adam, at his creation, is not worthy of such laud and honor. It is only man in potentia (b-kasyć in the terminology of Ephrem) that could lay claim to such a privilege.

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How can such a claim be demonstrated? There is another place within the writing of St. Ephrem where the issue of first-born and latter-born comes to the surface: the descent of Christ into Sheol on Holy Saturday. In the remarkable portrait that Ephrem draws, he distinguishes quite carefully and clearly between the figures of Satan and Death. 30 Though they are comrades at one level and worthy of all the vitriol Ephrem’s pen can muster, one should not confuse this rhetoric with evidence for their having similar dispositions. Death has acted as a swift and just executant of the divine command. Though apparently heartless in his conscription of a reluctant citizenry, he takes human life with punctilious fairness. He is faithful to his charge. “Equality I have preached,” Death boasts, “I treat slave and owner alike in Sheol.” 31 Satan also serves a purpose within the economy of salvation-he tests human souls-but he does so for the most ignoble of reasons: he desires to destroy what God so dearly loves. Appropriately, Satan’s truer comrade goes by the name of “Sin,” whereas the bosom buddy of Death is “Sheol.” Because Death is a just and faithful servant in the larger divine economy, he is eager to please his creator. When Christ appears in Sheol, he confesses that the treasury he is guarding is merely “a temporary deposit.” 32 At the general resurrection, he will return the entire lot to Christ, its rightful owner. The humility of Death is touching in its own way, for Death does not stand to gain anything for his selfless acts. Easter, for him, represents the first stage in the demolition of his kingdom. At the general resurrection all his goods will be cleared out. In light of this it is all the more striking that he chooses to venerate Christ rather than rebel: Concerning Satan, who is enraged May seven woes be made. Though the Son of Mary has truly trodden upon him, (Gen 3:14) 30 See the excellent study of Carmina Nisibena in J. Martikainen, Das Böse und der Teufel in der Theologie Ephraems des Syrers (Dissertation, Stiftelsens fur Abo Akademi Forskningsinstitut, 1978), especially pp. 77– 100. 31 Carmina Nisibena 38:2; the translation is from a forthcoming edition of this cycle being prepared by G. Anderson [and Ed Mathews]. For the original Syriac see E. Beck, Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers, Carmina Nisibena (CSCO 240; Louvain, 1963). 32 Carmina Nisibena 37:3.

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Gary A. Anderson His spirit is exalted. He is the serpent who perseveres while being bruised. It is better for me to fall prostrate Before Jesus, this one who vanquished me by his Cross. 33

[28]

But there is more. Death does not just acquiesce to the inevitable, he confesses his error in reviling Christ. He reviled Christ because he was fooled by His bodily nature, which had covered over His divine attributes. And then the surprise: Death steps forward and acts like John the Baptist, heralding the advent of the Messiah to all the denizens of the Netherworld: When He enters the gate of Sheol, I will announce his arrival in place of John. I shall cry: “Behold, the One who gives life to the dead has arrived. I am your servant from henceforth, O Jesus. Because of Your body I reviled You With which you veiled your divinity. Do not be angry, O Son of the King, Against your treasurer. At your command I have opened and closed. 34

[29]

[30]

After the Centurion at Golgotha, Death is the first to understand the Christological mystery. Like John the Baptist, Death performs the role of a herald and reveals the cosmic implications of the death of this just man. But Death is like John in another respect: now he understands the peculiar nature of the elected status of Christ. Unlike Satan in the Life of Adam and Eve and its various congeners, Death is aware that the mystery of divine birth order need not conform to the appearance of physical birth order. Those who are last can truly be first: 7.

All who were resurrected were not the firstborn ones, 35 For our Lord is He who is the First-Born of Sheol. How can any dead one precede

Carmina Nisibena 38:5. Carmina Nisibena 38:6. 35 Cf. Col 1:18. 33 34

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That Strong One, though whom he was raised? Those who were first have become last, The most recent-born have become first-born. If Manasseh was the first-born How did Ephrem assume his rights? If a child born later could precede him, How much more should the Lord and Creator be first at his resurrection. Behold, John was like a herald, Informing that he was later though he was older. For he said: “Behold a man comes after me Who will become before me.” How could he precede that Strong One Through whom he was the herald? Everything exists for the sake of something else He was last even though He was first. For that cause which called it into being 36 Is older even though it is younger in every other way. 37

The language of election defines this Christological confession. According to the world of appearances, the latter-born son has usurped the rights of the first-born. But in actuality, the nature of the true first-born has surfaced for the first time in human history. Death avoids all the errors that had plagued the serpent in the Garden. True Christ was not the first to be resurrected-long ago, Elisha’s corpse had raised the body of a dead man, and the Gospel of Matthew records that at Jesus’ cry of dereliction on the Cross, tombs were opened and certain dead persons were raised to new life. Yet it was the person and work of Christ that provided both the type and the cause for these earlier events. Just as Adam’s naming of the animals established him as first-born, so Christ’s providential guidance of creation revealed his primordial glory. Up to this time, Death had thought his reign over Adam and Adam’s progeny was eternal. After Adam’s sin a contract had been signed, and all the children of Adam were consigned to the kingdom of Sheol: “Adam returned to his earth and made a pact 36 37

Cf. Gen 2:18. Carmina Nisibena 38:7–8.

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(cf. Col 2:14) / Through writing he became gravely liable (hab) to sin and death.” 38 But at the crucifixion, Death realizes that his charge over man was only temporary. His contract is about to be altered. At the end of time, Death promises to return all the captives, and he bids Christ to take Adam as a payment in kind: “Death rewrote (the contract), Sheol stood as surety with him. / All they had snatched and plundered would be returned at the resurrection.” 39 Through the taking of Adam all had died; through the resurrection of Adam all had the possibility of new life. The mention of the new status for Adam is hardly fortuitous. For, as we saw in the work of John Milton, Christology cannot be severed from anthropology. As Death confesses the true nature of Christ, so for the figure of man: The cause of Adam was older Than the other created things which were created for him. For the Creator had Adam in mind the whole time He was creating. And if Adam, who was not yet made, Was older than all of creation, then how much older, My Lord, Is Your manhood within Your godhead. That [manhood] which was with Your Begetter from aforetime. To You be praise and to Your father through You, from all of us. 40

[33]

Though Christ precedes Adam, the status of Adam is inseparably bound to the status of Christ. Both are first-born sons in relation to the present created order. Death acknowledges this; the serpent and Satan cannot. And what of Satan? In most patristic and apocryphal materials about the descent of Christ into Hades, the figures of Death and Satan are nearly inseparable. Both are equally culpable figures who must be destroyed in order for the Kingdom of God to take root. As Anna Kartsonis documents, the iconography of the anastasis

Carmina Nisibena 48:9. Carmina Nisibena 48:9. 40 Carmina Nisibena 38:9. 38 39

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[35]

[36]

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makes no attempt to distinguish between the two. 41 Whether it is Satan or Hades who resists Christ’s entry is of little significance. Not so for Ephrem. Death and Satan are two very different persons. Death confesses, Satan rebels. Where one sees his own error by dint of God’s light, the other remains blinded by his ignorance. Ephrem’s plot development is not always easy to follow. He skips back and forth between the overall drama and individual closeups that reveal the internal psychology of the respective characters. Hymn 35 presents the entire tableau in nuce, beginning with the moment of Christ’s death and tracing the reactions to it among all the denizens of the underworld: Death, Sheol, Satan and his henchmen, and Sin. Hymns 36–9 consider the events from the perspectives of Death and Sheol. In Hymns 40–1 we are privy to Satan’s understanding of the events. Martikainen, in his book on Satan, wrongly attributes the two reactions of Death and Satan to two separate climaxes in the narrative. 42 But the plot is not advancing in a sequential fashion. Ephrem, like Milton, has taken the liberty of proceeding in an atemporal fashion. Consider, for example, the last stanza of Hymn 41:16. Here Satan advances to Sheol to see the Christ who has lain dead in Sheol some three days. Satan and Death wait with some trepidation. They attempt to cover themselves with a show of bravado. Death begins the mockery: O raiser of the Dead, where are you? Are you to be my food in place of the sweet Lazarus? Lo, the taste of him is yet in my mouth. O daughter of Jarius, come and see This, your crucified one. The son of the widow gazes upon you. With wood I captured Adam; Blessed is the cross, which captured for me the son of David. And Satan, not to be outdone, mimics the mockery of Death: Open up for us that we might see and mock Him; Let us answer and say, “Where is your power?” 41 Anastasis: The Making of an Image, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986) 14–5. 42 Das Böse, 88–94.

22

Gary A. Anderson Lo, because He has spent three days here, Let us say to Him, “O Third-day One, who brought Lazarus, The fourth-day one, back to life, bring Yourself to life.” Death opened the gates of Sheol; The effulgence of the face of our Lord shone forth. Like those of Sodom, who were smitten with blindness, They groped and sought the gate of Sheol; which had perished. 43

[37]

Yet alongside this shared desire to slay Jesus at the point of crucifixion, they part ways when Christ’s divine status is revealed. Death learns; Satan remains ignorant. Unlike Death, Satan is not amenable to instruction. “The knowledge I possess,” he boasts, “little of it is from nature. / The far grater part is from learning. I was my own teacher, / I took great pains to learn; without a teacher I was instructed. / I armed myself with every weapon; / I seized the crown I coveted among mankind.” 44 For Death, Christ is the true first-born; Satan remains impressed with his own antiquity. “Lo I am thousands of years old,” Satan muses, “and never was I idle.” 45 At one level, this interest in contrasting the response of Satan with Death is a working-out of the teaching of Christ: “If a house is divided against itself it cannot stand” (Matt 12:26). Ironically, Death believed this teaching would be the key to Jesus’ own undoing. 46 Death recommended that Satan tempt Judas in order to turn the house of the disciples against one another. But in fact it became the occasion for the separation of sin from hell. Death became a disciple of Christ, thereby robbing Satan of his best weapon against the creatures so richly favored by God. In the Hymns that follow, the contrast becomes even starker. Death rewrites his contract such that he now promises to return all human beings to their Creator at the end of time. Death’s period of ignorance and tyranny is over; he is now an obedient servant in God’s kingdom. Satan, on the hand, is enflamed with still greater envy. He vows to carry on his fight among the apostles and all others who would claim their lineage through Christ. Here we Carmina Nisibena 41:16. Carmina Nisibena, 40:1. 45 Carmina Nisibena, 41:1. 46 Carmina Nisibena, 35:20–2. 43 44

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might simply observe that, for Ephrem, each and every Christian lays claim to the status of “first-born” at his or her baptism, when the storm and fury of the salvific drama is quickened anew. Yet I would suggest that there is another level to our story. I argued earlier that Ephrem knew a tradition like that found in the Life of Adam and Eve. We saw evidence of this in the way he has framed the story of the serpent’s fall and Death’s confession of Christ’s true status as first-born. I have claimed that it is hard to imagine that Ephrem would have constructed the story of the serpent’s temptation without a prior model for how Satan himself fell. But if this is so, what did Ephrem do with the story of Satan’s fall itself? The answer seems unavoidable. Like Milton, Ephrem has altered this story such that the main protagonist becomes Christ, not Adam. Or, perhaps to be truer to the irony of Milton and Ephrem, the antagonism toward Adam is made manifest through the figure of Christ. Satan falls, as it were, when the true nature of Christ is revealed. And he falls again and again as each Christian disciple steps forward to the baptismal font to lay claim to that inheritance. The ‘Fall of Satan’ is not just a literary motif in the theology of Ephrem, it is part of the fabric of Christian life.

5. ANGELIC RIVALRY IN THEOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE [39]

[40]

One can see a remarkable continuity between Rabbinic sources and the writings of Ephrem and Milton on the theme of angelic misgivings about the status of man. All three show familiarity with the ‘Fall of Satan’ tradition documented in the Life of Adam and Eve, and all three are uncomfortable with the tradition when it is tied to the figure of Adam alone. The human person is worthy of angelic adoration, but only when refracted through the prism of the elected nation, Israel, or the elect man of God, Christ. For Milton, the grounds for refracting Adam through the lens of Christ are several. The Miltonic picture is characterized by a very dense symbolism. Adam, as mere molded flesh, would be especially vulnerable to the unmediated fury of Satan. God smokes-out this antagonism toward man by elevating His Christ. This provoking moment solidifies Christ’s status as heaven’s ruler (in conformity with the pre-Pauline hymn in Philippians 2:5ff, though leaving a door open to charges of semi-Arianism); defines that rulership as his peculiar desire to empty himself of his divine attributes and die

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for men and women; and establishes Christ as mankind’s savior from the earliest possible moment because it is He-not Adam and Eve-who bears the full brunt of Satan’s ire. For Ephrem, Adam is not worthy of veneration at his creation because he was created as a mutable being. 47 Adam’s true nature was still a mystery to him and to Moses who recorded the story. Being halfway between human and divine form, it was within the 47 The closest that one comes to this view is in Carmina Nisibena 68:3–4 where Mankind rebukes Death and says: “Adam was chosen and put in authority. Under his yoke / You, O Death and the Evil One, your companion, were slaves.” Death then responds: “This is our cause for pride: Slaves have become lords / Death and Satan, his companion, trampled upon Adam.” Mankind then rebukes Death with the promise that all will be reversed at the end of time: “Tremble, O Death, at man, for though he be a slave / The yoke of his lordship shall reign over the created things.” Consider also Hymns on Paradise 3:15 (trans. S.P. Brock; St. Vladimir’s Press, 1990): Even though all the trees of Paradise are clothed each in its own glory, yet each veils itself at the Glory; the Seraphs with their wings, the trees with their branches, all cover their faces so as not to behold their Lord. They all blushed at Adam who was suddenly found naked; the serpent had stolen his garments, for which it was deprived of its feet. It is not clear whether the Seraphs stand in awe of Adam, their lord or the Lord, their maker. Compare the comments of Beck, (Ephraems Hymnen über das Paradies [Studia Anselmiana 26; Rome, 1951] 29–30): “Strophe 15 trägt zwei weitere Einzelheiten zur Flucht Adams aus dem Paradiese nach. Sie beginnt mit der Behauptung, dass im paradies auch die Bäume ihr Lichtkleid haben. Der Sinn des anschliessenden Sätzchens, in dem neben den Bäumen die Seraphim genannt werden, muss erst eindeutig festgelegt werden. Wer ist mit dem Ausdruck ‘ihr Herr’ gemeint? Man könnte an Adam denken, da Adam in der patristischen Literatur gelegentliche auch über die Engel und Bäume gestellt wird. Dann wäre der Sinn des Satzes folgender: Engel und Bäume bedecken ihr Antlitz um nicht die Schande Adams ihres Herrn zu sehen. Doch liegt eine erste Schwierigkeit gegen eine soche Interpretation im Pempus. Im Schluss der Strophe, wo offen von Adam Die Rede ist, steht das Perfekt, in dem fraglichen Satze dagegen das Partizip. Entscheidend ist aber wohl, dass Ephräm nicht ‘Engel’ schlechthin sagt sondern ‘Seraphim.’ Offenbar schwebte ihm Isaias cap. 6 vor Augen und der Sinn des Satzes ist daher: Die Bäume verhüllen wie die Seraphim ihr Angesicht aus Ehrfurcht vor Gott ihrem Herrn.” It would seem to me that Ephrem leaves the identification of “their Lord” intentionally ambiguous; but this matter warrants further study.

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power of Adam’s free will to become the full image of God. But to do so, he and Eve had to keep the command issued by God. The mutable and less-than-perfect status of Adam and Eve is evident from the way in which their luminous garments of glory are portrayed. This can be confusing because certain texts give the impression that Adam and Eve already possessed the perfect divine form. For example, in his commentary on their nakedness without shame, Ephrem remarks that “it was because of the glory in which they were wrapped that they were not ashamed.” 48 So luminous were those bodies that the animals could not look upon the radiance of their being: For Adam, who had been set in authority and control over the animals was wiser than all the animals, and he who gave names to them all was certainly more astute than them all. For just as Israel could not look upon the face of Moses, neither were the animals able to look upon the radiance of Adam and Eve: at the time when they received names from him they passed in front of Adam with their eyes down, since their eyes were incapable of taking in his glory. So even though the serpent was more astute than the other animals, compared to Adam and Eve, who had authority over animals, it was foolish. 49

[42]

Yet this glory, as great as it seems, was only partial. It awaited translation from a mutable state-and hence prone to devolution-to a permanent condition. Consider the following stanza in his Hymns on Paradise: God established the Tree [of Knowledge] as judge so that if Adam should eat from it, it might show him that rank which he had lost through his pride, and show him, as well, that low estate he had acquired, to his torment. Whereas, if he should overcome and conquer, it would robe him in glory and reveal to him also the nature of shame, 48 Commentary on Genesis II.14 (trans. Brock: St. Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on Paradise, 206). 49 Commentary on Genesis II.15 (trans. Brock, ibid., 207).

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[43]

Ephrem interprets the nature of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in a twofold manner. Had Adam persevered, he would have known (in the sense of experienced firsthand) the ravishment of the Divine Good, but he would have known only in a theoretical manner the nature of evil. Having exercised his free will irresponsibly, Adam came to know the tragic nature of human evil and to intuit only in an abstract way the promise of the true Good. And most importantly, had Adam persevered, he would have exchanged his glorious body for one more glorious still. Because Adam’s nature is still in need of perfection, his status as the image is inchoate. He wears less than perfect garments and exercises authority over the animals outside of Eden and the trees within. 51 Adam’s true status as image and likeness could have been realized in Eden had he been obedient to the command of God. But because of his transgression, the full revelation of that status would have to await the coming of the second Adam. For it is only in the dark bowels of Hades, as we see Death express the matter so eloquently, that the true brilliance of the human form comes to light.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Altmann, A. “The Gnostic Background of the Rabbinic Adam Legends.” Jewish Quarterly Review, 35 (1945): 371–91. Anderson, G. “What Is Man That You Mention Him?” forthcoming in a volume edited by B. Daley on the Psalms in early Christian exegesis. ———. “The Exaltation of Adam and the Fall of Satan.” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, 6 (1997): 105–34. ———. “The Penitence Narrative in the Life of Adam and Eve.” Hebrew Union College Annual, 63 (1992): 1–38. Anderson, G., and E. Mathews. Carmina Nisibena. trans. forthcoming. Anderson, G., and M. Stone. A Synopsis of the Books of Adam and Eve, Second Revised Edition. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999. Hymns on Paradise, 3:10 (trans. Brock). In Ephrem’s view, the animals were outside of the domain of Paradise; only he and Eve were granted entry to this sacred abode. Adam had to go to the boundary of Eden to name them and tend to them. Such is also the picture that obtains in the Life. 50 51

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Attridge, H. Hebrews. Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989. Awn, P. Satan’s Tragedy of Redemption: Iblis in Sufi Psychology. Leiden: Brill, 1983. Beck, E. Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers, Carmina Nisibena. CSCO, 240. Louvain, 1963. ———. Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers, De Ecclesia. CSCO, 198–9. Louvain, 1960. ———. Ephraems Hymnen über das Paradies. Studia Anselmiana, 26. Rome, 1951. Daniélou, J. The Angels and their Mission according to the Fathers of the Church. Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, 1953. de Jonge, M., and J. Tromp. The Life of Adam and Eve and Related Literature. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. Ephrem the Syrian. Hymns on Paradise. Trans. S.P. Brock. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1990. Grosdidier de Matons, J. Romanos le Mélode, Hymnes. Introduction, texte critique et notes. Source Chrétiennes, 128. Paris, 1967. Hunter, W.B. “The War in Heaven: The Exaltation of the Son.” In Hunter, W., C. Patrides, and J. Adamson, eds. Bright Essence. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1971. Kartsonis, A. Anastasis: The Making of an Image. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986. Levenson, J. Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Martikainen, J. Das BȄse und der Teufel in der Theologie Ephraems des Syrers. Dissertation, Stiftelsens fur Abo Akademi Forskningsinstitut, 1978. Milton, J. Paradise Lost. Nagel, M. “La Vie grecque d’Adam et d’Eve.” Strasbourg, 1974. Petersen, W.L. The Diatessaron and Ephrem Syrus as Sources of Romanos the Melodist. CSCO, 475. Louvain, 1985. Quaestiones ad Antiochum, PG 28. Schäfer, P. Rivaltät swischen Engeln und Menschen. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1975. Stone, M. “The Fall of Satan and Adam’s Penance: Three Notes on the Books of Adam and Eve.” Journal of Theological Studies 44 (1993): 153–155. Stone, M. A History of the Literature of Adam and Eve. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992. Van Rompay, L. “Romanos le Mélode, Un poète syrien Ǯ Constantinople.” In van Boeft, J., and A. Hilhorst, eds. Early Christian Poetry. Leiden: Brill, 1993.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.1, 29–54 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

DISPUTING WITH ISLAM IN SYRIAC: THE CASE OF THE MONK OF BÊT ʘĆLÊ AND A MUSLIM EMIR SIDNEY H. GRIFFITH INSTITUTE OF CHRISTIAN ORIENTAL RESEARCH THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA WASHINGTON, D.C. USA

I [1]

Although Islam was born, and became a world religion largely within the ambience of the Syriac-speaking communities of the eastern Christian patriarchates, little study has in fact been focused on the significance of Syriac culture in the early formation of Islam, or on the shaping influence of the academic and literary institutions of the Syriac-speaking churches on the early efflorescence of Islamic culture, particularly in Syria and Iraq. It is almost as if the scholarly world has accepted the apologetic claims of Muslim writers in the eighth and ninth centuries that in the somewhat remote world of the ʘijćz in the prophet Muʘammad’s day there was only ignorance (al-jćhiliyyah) and the worship of idols until the fateful moment when the angel Gabriel brought the earliest lines of the Qur‚ćn down from heaven to an ecstatic Muʘammad. 1 Of course, both the Qur‚ćn itself, and modern Islamicists, admit the 1 On the early apologetical and polemical claims of Islam see John E. Wansbrough, The Sectarian Milieu: Content and Composition of Islamic Salvation History (London Oriental Series 32; Oxford/New York, 1978).

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presence of Jews and Christians in the world in which Islam was born. And there have been a few venturesome studies into what one writer called “the foreign vocabulary of the Qur‚ćn,” 2 along with several more quixotic proposals about the Christian or the Jewish/Samaritan, or even the Manichee origins of early Islam. 3 But for the most part there has been a scholarly silence in modern times about the broader religio-cultural matrix from which Muʘammad and Islam emerged, and especially about that part of it which involves the Aramean heritage of the Syriac-speaking peoples. 4 The limitations of modern scholars may be largely responsible for this state of affairs, rather than any disinclination to study Islam from the point of view of the methods of Religionsgeschichte. Few are the Islamicists who have any skill in Syriac, let alone any sure grasp of the religious history and culture of the speakers of Aramaic more generally. And few too are the Syriac scholars whose command of Arabic and knowledge of early Islam is adequate to the requirements of comparative study in this See, e.g., A. Jeffrey, The Foreign Vocabulary of the Qurcãn (Baroda, 1938); J. Horovitz, Koranische Untersuchungen (Berlin, 1926). 3 On the supposed Christian origins see Günther Lüling, Über den Urc Qur ãn: Ansätze zur Rekonstruktion vorislamischer christlicher Strophenlieder im Qurcãn (Erlangen: H. Lüling, 1974); idem, Der christliche Kult an der vorislamischen Kaaba als Problem der Islamwissenschaft und christlichen Theologie (Erlangen: H. Lüling, 1977), idem, Die Wiederentdeckung des Propheten Muhammad; eine Kritik am “christlichen” Abendland (Erlangen, 1981). On the supposed Jewish and Samaritan origins see P. Crone and M. Cook, Hagarism; the Making of the Islamic World (Cambridge, 1977). On Manichaeism and early Islam see Moshe Gil, “The Creed of Abû Amir,” Israel Oriental Studies 12 (1992), pp. 9–47. 4 A notable exception to this neglect was the work of Tor Andrae, Les origines de l’islam et le christianisme, trans. J. Roche (Paris, 1955). Andrae originally wrote this study in German in 1923–1925, and published it in the journal, Kyrdohistorisk Arsskrift, which is not available to me. Several early works of Dom Edmund Beck, O.S.B. also are relevant: E. Beck, “Das christliche Mönchtum im Koran,” Studia Orientalia 13 (1946): 3–29; idem, “Eine christliche Parallele zu den Paradiesesjungfrauen des Korans?” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 14 (1948): 398–405; idem, “Die Gestalt des Abraham am Wendepunkt der Entwicklung Muhammeds; Analyse von Sure 2,118(124)–135(141),” Le Muséon 65 (1952): 73–94; idem, “Iblis und Mensch, Satan und Adam; der Werdegang einer koranischen Erzählung,” Le Muséon 89 (1976): 195–244. 2

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area. But this was not the case with the Syriac-speaking writers of the oriental churches from the eighth through the thirteenth centuries, who lived in the world of Islam. They have left behind not only accounts of Islam’s origins, but a number of fascinating works which had it as their purpose to defend the Christian faith in the face of religious challenges coming from Muslims, and to attempt to stem the tide of conversions to Islam. It is the purpose of the present communication to give a hurried overview of this literature, and then to concentrate on one intriguing work, still unpublished, which affords the modern reader a rare glimpse into how Syriac-speaking Christians met the challenge of Islam perhaps as early as the early eighth century.

II [2]

Aside from the occasional, brief allusion, 5 notice of the rise and religious challenge of Islam does not for the most part appear in Christian texts, be they Greek, Syriac, or Arabic, much before the early years of the eighth century. By this time, of course, the Arab conquest was long over and the first surge of creative energy was underway. The reign of the caliph ȨAbd al-Malik (685–705) signifies the inception of the new order. Indeed one Syriac chronicler of later times cites the reign of this caliph as the time of the beginning of what he calls the “Egyptian servitude” of his people. He says of ȨAbd al-Malik:

5 For example, Jacob of Edessa (633–708), refers to the Muslims in a letter on the genealogy of the Virgin Mary. See F. Nau, “Traduction des lettres XII et XIII de Jacques d’Édesse,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 10 (1905): 197–208, 258–82. See also Han J.W. Drijvers, “The Testament of the Lord: Jacob of Edessa’s Response to Islam,” ARAM 6 (1994): 104– 114. Ishô·yabh the Great (580–659) speaks briefly of the Muslims in a letter. See H. Suermann, “Orientalische Christen und der Islam; christliche Texte aus der Zeit von 632–750,” Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft und Religionswissenschaft 67 (1983): 128–31; idem, “Bibliographie du dialogue islamo-chrétien huitième partie); auteurs chrétiens de langue syriaque: une controverse de Jôhannan de Lîthârb,” Islamochristiana 15 (1989): 169–74. See other references cited in Robert G. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It; a Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 13; Princeton: The Darwin Press, 1997) 116–215.

32

Sidney H. Griffith He published a severe edict ordering each man to go to his own country, to his village of origin, to inscribe there in a register his name, that of his father, his vineyards, olive trees, goods, children and all that he possessed. Such was the origin of the tribute of capitation and of all the evils that spread over the Christians. Until then the kings took tribute from land but not from men. Since then the children of Hagar began to impose Egyptian servitude on the sons of Aram. 6

[3]

The dramatic building programs set underway at this time with the dome of the Rock in Jerusalem and the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus make the point dramatically. Both monuments symbolize not only the Islamic appropriation of the conquered territories, but they embody the religious challenge to Jews and Christians as well, since both buildings were literally founded on the sites of earlier religious structures and both loudly proclaimed the Islamic šahćdah in the land. 7 As Umayyad power gave way to the confident, new Abbasid dynasty in the mid-eighth century the conditions were already well in place for the full political and social consolidation of the new Islamic commonwealth. 8 For the socially upwardly mobile elements in the subject Christian communities the pressure to convert to Islam thereafter became overwhelming. By the ninth century the rush of conversions was in its first phase of

6 J.B. Chabot, Incerti Auctoris Chronicon Pseudo-Dionysianum Vulgo Dictum (part II, CSCO 104; Louvain, 1933, reprint 1952) 154. The English translation is that of D.C. Dennett, Conversion and the Poll Tax in Early Islam (Cambridge, Mass., 1950) 45–6, as quoted in W. Witakowski, The Syriac Chronicle of Pseudo-Dionysius of Tel-Mahrê; a Study in the History of Historiography (Uppsala, 1987) 45. 7 See Sidney H. Griffith, “Images, Islam and Christian Icons: a Moment in the Christian/Muslim Encounter in Early Islamic Times,” in P. Canivet & J.-P. Rey-Coquais (eds.), La Syrie de Byzance à l’islam VIIeVIIIe siècles: Actes du Colloque international Lyon-Maison de l’Orient Méditerranéen, Paris-Institut du Monde Arabe, 11–15 septembre 1990 (Damas, 1992) 121–38. See also Oleg Grabar, The Shape of the Holy; Early Islamic Jerusalem (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). 8 See Garth Fowden, Empire to Commonwealth; Consequences of Monotheism in Late Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993).

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enthusiasm. 9 An anonymous Syriac chronicler from ʝûr ȨAbdîn, who completed his narrative somewhere around the year 775, offers this comment on the behavior of some of his contemporaries. He says, The gates were opened to them to [enter] Islam. ... Without blows or tortures they slipped towards apostasy in great precipitancy; they formed groups of ten or twenty or thirty or a hundred or two hundred or three hundred without any sort of compulsion ..., going down to ʗarrćn and becoming Moslems in the presence of [government] officials. A great crowd did so ... from the districts of Edessa and of ʗarrćn and of Tella and of Resaina. 10

[4]

This state of affairs is what elicited an apologetical and polemical response from the Syriac writers of the early Islamic period. Historians chronicled the conquests and military occupation of the Arabs, and gave some accounts of the origins and basic tenets of Islam. Preachers, epistolographers and Bible commentators took such notice of the teachings of Islam as their own topics seemed to require. Some writers composed apocalyptic treatises that tried to make sense of the hegemony of Islam from the perspective of the traditional Christian readings of the prophecies of Daniel. And some controversialists wrote apologetic and polemical tracts in Syriac that addressed themselves to arguments about religion between Christians and Muslims.

III [5]

The historians/chroniclers were the ones who gave brief accounts of the rise of Islam and who occasionally furnished a thumb-nail portrait of Muʘammad. But for the most part their narratives 9 See Richard Bulliet, Conversion to Islam in the Medieval Period: an Essay in Quantitative History (Cambridge, MA, 1979), idem, Islam; the View from the Edge (New York, 1994). 10 Translation of J.B. Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City” (Oxford, 1970) 206, from J.-B. Chabot, Incerti Auctoris Chronicon Pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo Dictum (CSCO 104; Louvain, 1952) 381–5. See now the version of Amir Harrak, The Chronicle of Zuqnîn, Parts III and IV, A.D. 488–775 (Mediaeval Sources in Translation 36; Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999) 324.

34

[6]

Sidney H. Griffith

concentrated on recording current events as they impacted on the Christian communities. And in this connection they seldom failed to mention the disabilities and hardships inflicted on the subject populations by their Muslim masters, all the while taking note of the peculiarities of their rule. 11 It is clear that for the most part the historians considered the coming of Islamic rule as a punishment which God allowed to fall upon his people for their sins. In no way can one find in their chronicles any evidence for the thesis sometimes advanced by modern scholars that the Syriac-speaking Christians welcomed the Arab invasion and the Islamic conquest as a liberation from the oppressive fiscal and theological policies of Byzantine rule. It is true that large segments of the population were considered to be “Monophysite” or “Nestorian” heretics by the Byzantine government. But in texts emanating from the ‘Syrian Orthodox’ or “Church of the East” communities themselves one finds hostility not so much to Byzantine rule in principle, nor the desire for a unity of faith among all the patriarchates and language communities. Rather, the concern, to the degree that it is antiByzantine at all, is with the perceived heresy and malfeasance in office of the actual Byzantine rulers, both civil and ecclesiastical. 12 Contrariwise, there is nothing necessarily anti-Byzantine, or antiRoman, in the occasional remark in favor of the Arabs, such as the one attributed to Patriarch Ishôyahb III, writing to his See Andrew Palmer, The Seventh Century in the West-Syrian Chronicles (Translated Texts for Historians 15; Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1993). See also Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, 116–215; Harrak, The Chronicle of Zuqnîn. 12 See C. Cahen, “Fiscalité, propriété, antagonismes sociaux en Haute-Mesopotamie au temps des premiers Abbasides d’après Denys de Tell-Mahré,” Arabica 1 (1954): 136–52; J.B. Segal, “Syriac Chronicles as Source Material for the History of Islamic Peoples,” in B. Lewis & P.M. Holt (eds.), Historians of the Middle East (London, 1962) 246–58; M. Benedicte Landron, “Les rélations originelles entre Chrétiens de l’est (Nestoriens) et Musulmans,” Parole de l’Orient 10 (1981–2): 191–222; J. Moorhead, “The Monophysite Response to the Arab Invasions,” Byzantion 51 (1981): 579–91; S.P. Brock, “Syriac Views of Emergent Islam,” in G.H.A. Juynboll (ed.), Studies on the First Century of Islamic Society (Carbondale, Ill., 1982) 87–97; idem, “North Mesopotamia in the Late Seventh Century; Book XV of John bar Penkayê’s Rish Mellê,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 9 (1987): 51–75. 11

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correspondent Simeon of Rewardashir around the year 650, in the heat of the intra-Christian controversy of the time. He said: As for the Arabs, to whom God has at this time given rule (šulʞćnâ) over the world, you know well how they act toward us. Not only do they not oppose Christianity, but they praise our faith, honour the priests and saints of our Lord, and give aid to the churches and monasteries. 13

IV [7]

Perhaps the earliest Syriac writers to take account of the Islamic hegemony in religious language were those who sought to make sense of the conquest and occupation of the Arabs in terms of the prophecies of the book of Daniel. They wrote in the apocalyptic vein one would expect of anyone who took his cue from Daniel. The most well-known such work is the so-called Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius, which was first composed in Syriac, and which was subsequently translated into Greek and Latin, and a number of other European languages. According to its most recent editor, G.J. Reinink, the text was first composed during the reign of the caliph cAbd al-Malik, around the years 691/2. On the basis of his close analysis of the text, Reinink further proposes that the work was composed in a Syrian Orthodox milieu, in the border area between Byzantium and Persia around the city of Sinjćr, probably in reaction to certain acute, political and social developments in the area at that time. The author of this apocalypse is now completely unknown, but over the course of time the work has come to be attributed to a certain Methodius of Patara (a town in Lycia, in Asia Minor), who is said to have been both a bishop and a martyr. In fact, the Syrian author relies heavily on earlier works in Syriac such as the Cave of Treasures, the Alexander legend, and the Julian romance. His thesis is that in due course, after a time of tribulation, God will set the world’s affairs aright and at the end of time the emperor of the Romans will restore the Christian religion, and its symbol, the cross, in Jerusalem, and he will hand the converted world over to Christ at his second coming. To explain how this event will come about the author weaves a somewhat complicated scenario which invokes the apocalyptic vision of history set forth in 13

Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, 181.

36

[8]

[9]

Sidney H. Griffith

the book of Daniel, involving the fate of the four kingdoms of the Medes, the Persians, the Greeks, and the Romans, adjusted now to take account of the rule of the Arabs. 14 Other Syriac writers also used the apocalyptic option to account for the rule of the Arabs over the Christians and to project what they foresaw would be the outcome of it all. While they all agreed that the sinfulness of the community, and particularly doctrinal infidelity, was the root cause of their troubles, not all writers were as optimistic of the eventual outcome as was the author of the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius. A case in point is another apocalypse from the time of cAbd al-Malik called the Gospel of the Twelve Apostles. The author of this work seems much more pessimistic, as if he thought that the scourge of Arab rule was a permanent punishment inflicted upon the Christians for their sins. 15 The apocalyptic genre persisted in Syriac, and in later times was even combined with other types of apologetical/polemical writing, such as the Syriac account of the renegade Christian monk, Sargis/Baʘîrâ, who is said to have been Muʘammad’s teacher. 16 It had its roots in the patristic traditions of the exegesis of the biblical

14 See G. J. Reinink, “Ps.-Methodius: a Concept of History in Response to the Rise of Islam,” in A. Cameron & L. Conrad (eds.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I; Problems in the Literary Source Material (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam I; Princeton: The Darwin Press, 1992) 149–87; idem, Die syrische Apokalypse des Pseudo-Methodius (CSCO 540 & 541; Louvain: Peeters, 1993). This latter publication includes a full bibliography of the numerous studies devoted to this text prior to 1993. 15 See H.J.W. Drijvers, “Christians, Jews and Muslims in Northern Mesopotamia in Early Islamic Times; the Gospel of the Twelve Apostles and Related Texts,” in Canivet & Rey Coquais, (eds.), La Syrie de Byzance à l’Islam, 67–74; idem, “The Gospel of the Twelve Apostles: a Syriac Apocalypse from the Early Islamic Period,” in Cameron & Conrad (eds.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I, 189–213. See also Palmer, The Seventh Century, 222–53. 16 See Richard Gottheil, “A Christian Bahira Legend,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 13 (1898): 189–242; 14 (1899): 203–68; 15 (1900): 56–102; 17 (1903): 125–66. See also Sidney H. Griffith, “Muʘammad and the Monk Baʘîrâ: Reflections on a Syriac and Arabic Text from Early Abbasd Times,” Oriens Christianus 79 (1995): 146–74.

Disputing with Islam in Syriac

37

book of Daniel, such as had already been in vogue in the Syriacspeaking world since at least as early as the time of St. Ephraem. 17

V [10]

Beyond the realm of apocalyptic exegesis, the pressure of Islam also forced Christian writers to systematize and to present in a concise and useable form their traditional exegesis of the scriptures more generally. A notable case in point is the remarkable work of the scholar from the Church of the East in the late eighth century, Theodore bar Kônî (fl. c. 792). He wrote a summary presentation of his church’s doctrine in the form of an extended commentary on the whole Bible, the Old Testament and the New Testament. He called it simply Scholion because it is in the form of scholia, or commentaries, on what are taken to be difficult passages in the several biblical books. In fact the work also includes numerous definitions of philosophical terms which are important for the proper understanding of church doctrines and creedal statements. There are eleven chapters in the book, the first nine of them follow the order of the biblical books, presenting doctrine in the catechetical style of questions posed by a student and answered by a master. The same literary style appears in Chapter X, which is a Christian response to objections to Christian doctrines and practices customarily posed by Muslims in the late eighth century. Chapter XI is an appendix to the Scholion, being a list of heresies and heresiarchs, along with brief statements of their teachings. 18

17 See Sidney H. Griffith, “Ephraem the Syrian’s Hymns ‘Against Julian,’ Meditations on History and Imperial Power,” Vigiliae Christianae 41 (1987): 238–66. 18 Text: A. Scher, Theodorus bar Kônî, Liber Scholiorum (CSCO 55 & 69; Paris, 1910 & 1912). Versions: R. Hespel & R. Draguet, Théodore Bar Koni, Livre des Scolies, 2 vols. (CSCO 431 & 432; Louvain: Peeters, 1981 & 1982). For the Scholion in another text tradition see R. Hespel, Théodore Bar Koni, Livre des Scolies (CSCO 447 & 448; Louvain: Peeters, 1983). See also Lutz Brade, Untersuchungen zum Scholienbuch des Theodoros Bar Koni; der Übernahme des Erbes von Theodoros von Mopsuestia in der nestorianischen Kirche (Wiesbaden, 1975); Sidney H. Griffith, “Theodore bar Kônî’s Scholion: a Nestorian Summa contra Gentiles from the First Abbasid Century,” in N. Garsoïan et al. (eds.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period (Washington: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982) 53–72.

38 [11]

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It is chapter X of the Scholion that is of special interest in the present context. In the preface Bar Kônî states the purpose of the chapter, and in a single sentence he rather pithily states the pastoral problem the Christians faced in the Islamic milieu of his day. He says he is writing, Against those who while professing to accept the Old Testament, and acknowledging the coming of Christ, our Lord, are far removed from both of them, and they demand from us an apology for our faith, not from all of the scriptures, but from those which they acknowledge. 19

[12]

One notices in this sentence Theodore bar Kônî’s statement about the Muslims, whom he calls ʘanpê, 20 that “they demand from us an apology (mappaqbrûʘâ) for our faith.” And this is precisely what he supplies in chapter X of the Scholion, a reasoned reply to the challenge of Islam, in the question and answer format of the stylized dialogue between a master and his disciple. The style fits well the essentially controversial character of the theological enterprise in the world of Islam, in which the profile of the Christian self-definition necessarily follows the outline of the questions posed by Muslims. The topics discussed in the dialogue are: the Scriptures and Christ, Baptism, the Eucharistic mystery, the veneration of the Cross, sacramental practice, the Son of God, and, of course, interwoven with all of them, the all-embracing doctrine of the Trinity. 21 These same issues, mutatis mutandis, are the ones which appear in the topical outlines of almost all of the tracts of Scher, Liber Scholiorum, 231. The Syriac term ʚanpê was used in the classical language to mean ‘pagans’. After the rise of Islam it was often applied to Muslims, doubtless taking into account the double entendre deriving from the use of the cognate Arabic term ʚanîf (pl. ʚunafã) in the Qur‚ãn on a par with the adjective muslim, to mean devotees of the one God of the patriarch Abraham. See Âl ȨImrćn III:67. For further discussion see Sidney H. Griffith, “The Prophet Muʘammad, his Scripture and his Message according to the Christian Apologies in Arabic and Syriac from the First Abbasid Century,” in T. Fahd (ed.), Vie du prophète Mahomet (Colloque de Strasbourg, 1980; Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1983) 99–146. 21 See the discussion in Sidney H. Griffith, “Chapter Ten of the Scholion: Theodore Bar Kônî’s Apology for Christianity,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 47 (1981): 158–88. 19 20

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Christian theology written under the challenge of Islam. What is striking about the list of them is the obvious intermingling of questions of faith and practice in such a way that it is clear that the shape of theology itself is determined in this milieu by the apologetical imperative to justify religious beliefs in virtue of the public practices they entail. This became the agenda of almost all the theological treatises written by Syriac-speaking Christians from the eighth century onward, 22 and especially of the dispute texts, that is to say, texts written with the primary purpose of engaging in controversy with Muslims, or with fellow Christians attracted to Islam. 23

VI [13]

The earliest Syriac dispute text in the Islamic milieu may well be the report from the early eighth century which purports to be an account of the interrogation of Patriarch John III (631–48) of Antioch by a Muslim emir, now securely identified as ȨUmayr ibn SaȨd al-Anbćrî, on Sunday, 9 May 644. 24 But the most well-known early dispute text is undoubtedly the one which contains Patriarch Timothy I’s (780–823) account of the replies he says he gave to the questions the caliph al-Mahdî (775–85) put to him on the occasion of two consecutive audiences the patriarch had with the caliph. The questions all had to do with the standard topics of conversation between Muslims and Christians on religious matters. The caliph See for example the texts discussed in G.J. Reinink, “Communal Identity and the Systematisation of Knowledge in the Syriac ‘Cause of all Causes’,” in Peter Binkley (ed.), Pre-Modern Encyclopaedic Texts; Proceedings of the Second COMERS Congress, Groningen, 1–4 July 1996 (Leiden: Brill, 1997) 275–88. 23 For a survey of these texts see Sidney H. Griffith, “Disputes with Muslims in Syriac Christian Texts: from Patriarch John (d. 648) to Bar Hebraeus (d. 1286),” in F. Niewohner (ed.), Religionsgespräche im Mittelalter (Wolfenbütteler Mittelalter-Studien 4; Wiesbaden, 1992) 251–73. 24 See F. Nau, “Un colloque du patriarche Jean avec l’émir des Agaréens,” Journal Asiatique 11th series 5 (1915): 225–79; Kh. Samir, “Qui est l’interlocuteur musulman du patriarche syrien Jean III (631–648)?” in H.J.W. Drijvers et al. (eds.), IV Symposium Syriacum, 1984 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229; Rome, 1987) 387–400; G.J. Reinink, “The Beginnings of Syriac Apologetic Literature in Response to Islam,” Oriens Christianus 77 (1993): 164–87. 22

40

[14]

Sidney H. Griffith

raises the standard Islamic objections to Christian doctrines and practices, and the patriarch provides suitable apologetic replies. In its literary form, the account of this dialogue enjoyed a considerable popularity in the Christian community; it circulated in its original Syriac in a fuller and in an abbreviated form, and it was soon translated into Arabic, in which language the account of the dialogue has enjoyed a long popularity. 25 Literarily the dialogue is in the form of a letter from Timothy to an unnamed correspondent. 26 And while it undoubtedly does emanate from an occasion when the caliph really did query the patriarch about the tenets and practices of the Christian faith, it is clear that the report of the dialogue had a literary life of its own. It is a dialogue only in a very stylized form; the writer relegates the caliph to the role of posing concise leading questions in the style of a disciple, while the patriarch answers them with a master’s discursive reply. In other words, the literary genre of the dialogue has a life and a purpose of its own, independent of the report of Timothy’s moment in alMahdǼ’s majlis. The dialogue within the compass of a letter-treatise is an apologetical catechism for the use of Christians living in the world of Islam. The mention of the letter-treatise reminds one that this was in fact Patriarch Timothy’s preferred literary genre. He wrote many letters on theological and even philosophical themes. While they have received some modern scholarly attention, few have A. Mingana, Woodbrooke Studies; Christian Documents in Syriac, Arabic, and Garshuni, Edited and Translated with a Critical Apparatus, vol. II (Cambridge, 1928) 1–162. For a general study of Timothy and this dialogue, along with an edition, translation, and commentary on the Arabic translation, see Hans Putnam, L’église et l’islam sous Timothée I (780– 823) (Beyrouth, 1975). For the abbreviated form of the Syriac text see A. Van Roey, “Une apologie syriaque attribuée à Élie de Nisibe,” Le Muséon 59 (1946): 381–97. See also Robert Caspar, “Les versions arabes du dialogue entre le Catholicos Timothée I et le calife al-Mahdî (IIe/VIIIe siècle),” Islamochristiana 3 (1977): 107–75. 26 The letter-treatise was Timothy’s preferred literary form. See O. Braun, Timothei Patriarchea I Epistulae (CSCO 74 & 75; Paris, 1914); R. Bidawid, Les lettres du patriarche nestorien Timothée I (Studi e Testi 187; Città del Vaticano, 1956); G. Chediath, Letters of Patriarch Timothy I (778– 820 A.D.) (Kerala: Mar Thoma Darmo, 1982). The dialogue with alMahdî is not published in these collections, although it is generally reckoned as letter no. 59. 25

Disputing with Islam in Syriac

[15]

41

recognized how much Islam and the intellectual pre-occupations of Muslims affected the patriarch’s thought and gave shape to his presentation of traditional Christian teaching. 27 While the texts reporting the dialogues of the ‘Syrian Orthodox’ Patriarch John I and the ‘Church of the East’ Patriarch Timothy I with Muslim officials are thus the earliest, well-known examples of Syriac dispute texts in the Islamic milieu, there is in fact another such text with its roots in the eighth century which is much less well known, but which is very important for the study of the growth and development of Christian apologetical/polemical literature in the world of Islam. It is the Syriac account of the conversation between a monk of Bêt ʗćlê and a Muslim emir, to the discussion of which we now turn as to the main feature of the present communication.

VII [16]

Scholars have long known the report of an account of a “Disputation against the Arabs” featuring a monk named Abraham of the monastery of Bêt ʗćlê, who answers the questions and objections of a Muslim Arab about Christian doctrines and practices. 28 In recent years, members of the Talen en Culturen van het Midden-Oosten at the Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, the Netherlands, have acquired photographic copies of the text. In the near future a scientific edition, translation, and commentary on the work will appear under the direction of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers of Groningen. 29 In the meantime, having, through 27 See the study of Thomas R. Hurst, The Syriac Letters of Timothy I (727–823): A Study in Christian-Muslim Controversy (Ph.D. Dissertation, The Catholic University of America; Washington, D.C., 1986). 28 See the notice of Abdîshô· bar Brîkâ in J.S. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis, vol. III, pt. 1 (Rome, 1735) 205, who knows of an Abraham of Bêt ʗćlê who wrote a “disputation against the Arabs.” Diyarbekir Syriac MS 95, a MS of the early 18th century containing a copy of the ‘disputation’ is described in A. Scher, “Notice sur les manuscrits syriaques et arabes conservés à l’archevêche chaldéen de Diarbekir,” Journal Asiatique 10th series 10 (1907): 395–8. The Disputation is no. 35 of 43 entries, p. 398. 29 See P. Jager, “Intended Edition of a Disputation between a Monk of the Monastery of Bet Hale and One of the Tayoye,” in Drijvers et al. (eds.) IV Symposium Syriacum, 1984, 401–2. Professor Drijvers also

42

[17]

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the kindness of Professor Drijvers, gained access to the text, it is my purpose here briefly to review the contents of the dialogue, in an effort to show its importance for the study of the growth and development of a particular genre of popular Christian apologetics in the Islamic world which I have elsewhere called “the Monk in the Emir’s majlis.” 30 What I would like to highlight in particular is the fact that not only the genre but the major topics of controversy are here featured in a Syriac work which may emanate from the eighth century, which can be seen as the harbinger for future developments in the style and shape of Christian controversial theology in the Middle East. From the ninth century onward, in Arabic, the genre and its topics will come into full flower as the most popular of all genres of Christian apologetics in the Islamic world. There are two initial puzzles to discuss about the encounter between monk and emir which the narrative reports, assuming the integrity of the text in the rather late manuscript copies of it that are available: 31 the location of Bêt ʗćlê, and the date of the encounter. As for the location, it seems most likely to me, until further study would show otherwise, to assume that the monastery of Bêt ʗćlê of which the text speaks is the site known as Dayr Mćr ȨAbdâ near Kufa and ʗîrć in Iraq. 32 For in the preface to the work, the monk says that his Muslim dialogue partner was an Arab notable in the entourage of the emir Maslama. In this connection one thinks immediately of Maslama ibn ȨAbd al-Malik (d. 738), who was governor for a brief time in Iraq in the early 720’s, a discussed the work in a Major Theme presentation at the Oxford Patristic Conference of 1991, but did not publish the presentation in Studia Patristica, pending the appearance of the editon and translation. See the discussion of the work in Hoyland, Seeing Islam As Others Saw It, 465–72. 30 See Sidney H. Griffith, “The Monk in the Emir’s Majlis; Reflections on a Popular Genre of Christian Literary Apologetics in Arabic in the Early Islamic Period,” in Hava Lazarus Yafeh et al. (eds.), The Majlis; Interreligious Encounters in Medieval Islam (Studies in Arabic Language and Literature 4; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999), to appear. 31 The two available manuscript copies date respectively from the early 18th century (from Diyarbekir (MS 95), and the year 1890 (Mardin). See Jager, “Intended Edition.” 32 See J.M. Fiey, Assyrie Chrétienne, vol. III (Beyrouth, 1968) 223. For other locations see Hoyland, Seeing Islam As Others Saw It, 465.

Disputing with Islam in Syriac

[18]

[19]

43

circumstance that suggests both a place and a date for the reported encounter of monk and emir, both of which are plausible. 33 The circumstances of the dialogue that the author mentions in the preface to his account of it are instructive. He says that the Muslim notable was in the monastery for ten days because of sickness. He was a man interested in religion, the author says, “learned in our scriptures as well as in their Qur‚ćn.” At first he spoke with the monks only through an interpreter, as was proper because of his high position in government. And the monk reports that for his part, in discussions about religion with such people, his own custom was to prefer silence to forthrightness. But in this discussion, honesty and love for the truth were to prevail, the author says, and the dialogue went forward without the services of an interpreter. One supposes that the conversation was in Arabic, although the account of it is in Syriac. The text is Christian apologetics pure and simple. From the preface it appears that the monk involved in the dialogue, who is not named in the text, was himself the author. He says that in setting down the account of the conversation he is responding to the request of a certain Father Jacob for an account of: Our investigation into the apostolic faith at the instance of a son of Ishmael. And since it seems to me it would be profitable to you to bring it to the attention of your brethren, and because I know it will be useful to you, I am going to set it down in ‘Question’ and ‘Answer’ format. 34

[20]

Throughout the narrative, the Arab (ʝayyćyâ) 35 then poses the questions, and the monk (îʚîdćyâ) answers with long explanations of Christian beliefs and practices. At the end, the Arab is made to say,

33

447–8.

See H. Lammens, “Maslama ibn Abdalmalik,” EI, 1st ed., vol. III,

34 All of the quotations from the text are my translations of passages in Diyarbekir MS 95, from a private, typewritten transcript. Preface, pp. 1–2. 35 The term ʝayyãyê (pl.) was in common use in Syriac since early times to designate Arab nomads, being at root the name of the Arab tribe of aʜ-ʝayy. After the rise of Islam Syriac writers often used this term to mean simply “Muslims.” See J.S. Trimingham, Christianity among the Arabs in Pre-Islamic Times (London, 1979) 312.

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“I testify that were it not for the fear of the government and of shame before men, many would become Christians.” 36 The questioning begins when the Arab complains that although monks are very astute in prayer, “your creed,” he says, “does not allow your prayer to be acceptable.” 37 The monk replies to this challenge by inviting the Arab to pose whatever questions he wants, and he proposes to given an answer “either from the scriptures, or from the speculation of reason.” 38 The Arab then avers that Islam is the best religion because, as he says: We are careful with the commandments of Muʘammad, and with the sacrifices of Abraham. ... We do not ascribe a son to God, who is visible and passible like us. And there are other things: we do not worship the cross, nor the bones of martyrs, nor images like you [do]. ... But here is a sign that God loves us and is pleased with our religion (tawdîthan): He has given us authority over all religions and all peoples; they are slaves subject to us. 39

[22]

[23]

With this statement the Arab sets the agenda for the whole dialogue. But before he gets into the discussion of the religious issues as such, the monk reminds him that when one puts the rule of Islam in the perspective of world history, “You Ishmaelites are holding the smallest portion of the earth. All of creation is not subject to your authority.” 40 The first serious question then has to do with Abraham. The Arab wants to know, “why do you not acknowledge Abraham and his commandments?” 41 The monk’s reply is a recitation of the scheme of salvation history in which he explains that Abraham’s life and exploits are the type for Christ’s life and accomplishments; in particular the story of the sacrifice of Isaac is the type for the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ. So the Arab asks about Christ at his crucifixion, “How is it possible for divinity to be with him on the cross and in the grave, as you say, neither suffering nor Transcript, p. 16. Ibid., p. 2. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid., p. 3. 40 Ibid., p. 4. 41 Ibid. 36 37

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being harmed?” 42 The monk then explains that divinity truly was with Christ, but that “there was neither a mixture, nor an intermingling, nor a confusion, as the heretics say, but it was by way of the will (ʜebyćnâ‚îth), in such a way as not to be harmed or to suffer.” 43 As for the sacrifice itself, the monk explains, it is continued every day in the Eucharist, about which he then speaks briefly. The Arab proclaims himself to be satisfied with the monk’s explanations, and he turns to the question of Christ as the Son of God, and to the Christian faith in God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The monk replies with the statement that God “is one; He is known in three qnômê.” 44 And he cites a number of passages from the Old Testament and the New Testament to illustrate the point. Then he queries the Muslim on the issue of sonship. He asks, “Tell me, son of Ishmael, whose son do you make him to be, the one called ȨÎsć, son of Maryam by you, and Jesus the Messiah by us?” 45 The Arab answers with a quotation from the Qur‚ćn, “the Word of God and His Spirit” (an-Nisć‚ IV:171). The monk then argues that with this affirmation Muʘammad had, in effect, endorsed the teaching of the Gospel of Luke in the pericope of the Annunciation, when the angel Gabriel announced to Mary: Peace be to you, full of grace; our Lord be with you, blessed among women. The Holy Spirit will come, and the power of the Most High will cover you. Because of this, the one to be born from you is holy, and he will be called the Son of the Most High (Lk. 1:30).46

[25]

In the light of this passage, the monk then challenges the Arab, “Either you estrange the Word of God and His Spirit from Him, or you proclaim him to be the Son of God straightforwardly.” 47 At Transcript, p. 5. Ibid. The incarnational language used here, saying that the union of divinity and humanity was by way of the will (ÿؽæÙÁ–) echoes the socalled ‘Nestorian’ formula, according to which the union of divinity and humanity in Christ was accomplished ÿؽæÙÁ–† ÿؽñ†–ûñ. See L. Abramowski, A Nestorian Collection of Christological Texts, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1972). 44 Transcript, p. 7. 45 Ibid., p. 8. 46 Ibid., p. 10. 47 Ibid., pp. 9/10. 42 43

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this point the Arab opts for silence, and he asks the monk what he thinks of Muʘammad. The monk gives it as his opinion that Muʘammad “was a wise man and a God-fearer, who freed you [i.e., the Arabs] from the worship of demons and made you recognize the true God is one.” 48 If that is the case, the Arab then wants to know why Muʘammad did not teach his followers about the doctrine of the Trinity. The monk’s reply is that the Arabs were as yet in a childlike state in the matter of the knowledge of God, and not yet ready for the mature teaching of the trinity. So Muʘammad preached only “the doctrine he received from Sargis Baʘîrâ.” 49 This is the name of the monk who in both Islamic and Christian traditions is said to have tutored the youthful Muʘammad in religion and who is said to have recognized his future prophethood. The monk says that one reason why Muʘammad did not teach the Arabs about the doctrine of the Trinity was the fear that in their immaturity they would take it as a pretext for idolatry. And this concern reminds the Arab of his objection to Christian religious behavior, and particularly “that you worship images, crosses, and the bones of martyrs.” 50 In answer to this objection the monk cites numerous instances from the Old Testament in which the texts tell of occasions when, in the economy of salvation, and by way of typology, the fathers and prophets made prostration to material things, intending thereby to show honor to God. And he says in regard to Christ, the son of God, We make prostration and we pay honor to his image because he has impressed it with his countenance (parʜupâ) and has given it to us. Everytime we look at his icon (yuqnâ) we see him. We pay honor to the image of the king, because of the king. 51

[28]

In this connection the Arab then says that he knows of the icon which Christ “caused to be made of himself and sent it to Abgar, the king of Edessa.” 52 And, as if the very mention of this Transcript, p. 9. Ibid., p. 10. 50 Ibid., p. 9. 51 Ibid., p. 11. 52 Ibid. On this image see Averil Cameron, “The History of the Image of Edessa: the Telling of a Story,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 7 48 49

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famous icon explained the matter to his satisfaction, the Arab moves on to ask why Christians venerate the cross when there is no command to do so in the Gospel. It is in conjunction with his apology for the veneration of the cross that the monk brings up a matter that has been of interest to historians of early Islam ever since this Syriac text became known to scholars. He says to the Arab: I think that even in your case, Muʘammad did not teach all your laws and commandments in the Qur‚ćn, but you learned some of them from the Qur‚ćn; some of them are in surat al-Baqarah, and in G-y-g-y, and in T-w-r-h. 53

[30]

On the face of it, this remark seems to make a distinction between the Qur‚ćn and the second surah. And, if one assumes that the Syriac consonants have become somewhat garbled in transmission, it may be the case that the next two terms also refer to surahs, viz., The Spider XXIX (al-ȨAnkabût, Syriac, gwćgay), and Repentance IX (at-Tawbah, Syriac, tyćbûthâ). However, Professor Drijvers is probably nearer the mark when he suggests that one should understand the two terms to refer to the Gospel (al-injîl) and the Torah (at-Tawrat), a reading with the least philological difficulty, and one that repeats a word-pair common in the Qur‚ćn. 54 In either case, there remains what seems to be a reference on the author’s part to the Qur‚ćn, and to at least one of its constituent parts, as if they were two distinct texts, two different sources of Islamic law. From the historian’s point of view, the question then becomes, does this reference supply evidence from the early eighth century about the collection of the Qur‚ćn, to the effect that it might be used to challenge the customary ‘orthodox’ view of the time and manner of the coming-to-be of the Qur‚ćn? In other words, did al-Baqarah, and other surahs, at one time circulate

(1983): 80–94. See also H.J.W. Drijvers, “The Image of Edessa in the Syriac Tradition,” in H.L. Kessler and G. Wolf (eds.), The Holy Face and the Paradox of Representation (Villa Spelman Colloquia 6; Band, 1998) 13–31. 53 Transcript, p. 11. 54 See also Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, 471–2. At least seven times in the Qur‚ćn the text speaks of at-Tawrah wa l-injîl together, as in Âl Imrćn III:3.

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as independent compositions, distinct from the Qur‚ćn as such? 55 It is interesting to note in this connection that in some other Christian texts of the early Islamic period, there are also references to al-Baqarah as if it were a separate work in its own right, most notably in St. John of Damascus’ refutation of Islam in Chapter 101 of his De Haeresibus. 56 Following what may seem like an interruption in his discussion of the veneration of the cross, the author returns to the subject with the explanation that although there is no explicit warrant for such a practice in the Gospel, Christians have found many symbolic allusions to the cross in nature, and he even cites the case of the famous victory of Constantine at the battle of the Milvian bridge as evidence of the cross’ power. He concludes: Anyone who is a Christian, but does not worship (sćged) the cross, like one who will not look upon Christ, truly he is lost from life. When we worship the cross, we are not worshipping it as wood, or iron, or brass, or gold, or silver. Rather, we are worshipping our Lord Christ, God the Word, who dwells in the temple from us, and in this banner of victory. 57

[32]

[33]

Next the Arab inquires about the veneration which Christians show to the bones of the martyrs. The monk explains that “we worship the One who dwells in them and works prodigies and signs by means of their bones.” 58 And he likens the martyrs to the counselors and friends of an earthly king, through whom people are accustomed to seek the favor of the king. Changing the subject, the Arab then wants to know why Christians face toward the east when they pray. In answer the monk says, Our Lord Christ used to pray toward the east. The holy apostles received from him the practice of worshipping toward the east, and so they handed it on to us. The true proof that they received it from our Lord is the

See e.g., Crone & Cook, Hagarism, 12. See John of Damascus, De Haeresibus, PG, XCIV, col. 772D. 57 Transcript, p. 12. 58 Ibid., p. 13. 55 56

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fact that all of the churches on earth worship toward the east. 59

[34]

Impressed with the monk’s arguments, the Arab says, Truly you are in possession of the truth and not error, as men think. Even Muʘammad our prophet said about the inhabitants of the monasteries and the mountain dwellers that they will enjoy the kingdom. 60

[35]

[36]

This remark is intriguing because it does echo the positive things said about Christians, and particularly the monks, in both the Qur‚ćn and the ʙadîth, Islamic tradition which Muslim scholars trace back to Muʘammad himself. 61 Finally, the Arab comes to the question which most puzzles him, and which no doubt would also have puzzled the Christian readers of the dialogue. He puts it this way: While I know your religion is right, and your way of thinking is even preferable to ours, what is the reason why God handed you over into our hands and you are driven by us like sheep to the slaughter, and your bishops and your priests are killed, and the rest are subjugated and enslaved with the king’s impositions night and day, more bitter than death?62

[37]

Calling to mind the pertinent biblical precedents, the monk answers this question as follows. He says, “As for you, sons of Ishmael, God did not give you authority over us because of your righteousness, but because of our sins.” 63 In the end, the Arab then wants to know only one thing. He asks, “Are the sons of Hagar going to enter the Kingdom or not?” 64 The monk answers with the verse from the Gospel according to John, “Whoever is not born of water and the Spirit will not enter the kingdom of God.” (John 3:5) But he immediately adds:

Transcript, p. 14. Ibid., p. 15. 61 On this topic in particular see Jane Dammen McAuliffe, Qurcanic Christians; an Analysis of Classical and Modern Exegesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), esp. pp. 260–84. 62 Transcript, p. 15. 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid., p. 16. 59 60

50

Sidney H. Griffith If there is a man who has good deeds, he will live in grace, in abodes far removed from torment. However, he will think of himself as a hired man and not as a son. 65

[38]

The dialogue ends on this note, plus the Arab’s final testimony: I testify that were it not for the fear of the government and of shame before men, many would become Christians. But you are blessed of God to have given me satisfaction by your conversation with me. 66

VIII [39]

[40]

On the face of it, this dialogue, written in Syriac, was intended for Christian readers. It communicates the idea that Christians have answers for the religious challenges of Islam, and that even Muslims themselves would admit it if they dared. The text implies that it was written by the monk who was in conversation with the Arab, and that he wrote an account of it, adopting a Question and Answer format, at the request of a certain Father Jacob, because, as the writer says, “it seems to me it would be profitable for you to bring it to the attention of your brethren, and because I know it will be useful to you.” 67 The setting in which the author places the dialogue is rich in verisimilitude; monasteries were celebrated even in Islamic Arabic poetry as places where one might find a measure of rest and recreation from life’s troubles. 68 The name of Maslama ibn ȨAbd alMalik (d. 738) would, of course, have been well known to Christians and Muslims alike. So a scene in which “an Arab man, one of the notables who was in the entourage of the emir Maslama Transcript, p. 16. Ibid. 67 Ibid., p. 1. 68 Islamic Arabic literature features a sub-genre of poetry ‘On Monasteries’. While these compositions have most often to do with wine and revelry, they nevertheless do testify to the popularity of sojourns in monasteries. See a list of Muslim authors who wrote on monasteries in Girgis Awwad, Kitãb ad-diyãrãt (Baghdad, 1966) 36–48. See also S. Munajid, “Morceau choisis du livre des moines,” MIDEO 3 (1956): 349–58; G. Troupeau, “Les couvents chrétiens dans la littérature arabe,” La Nouvelle Revue de Caire 1 (1975): 265–79. 65 66

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K çâ ...¾ÙÙÁûî †…J ç؃ ÀûÂÄ (¾Ćãàéâ ÀûÙâ~ Êøƒ ¾ïØÊØ 69 ¿†… ‹…†ÿØ~),” who would come to a monastery for care in an illness, is realistic. To a Christian reader it might even suggest a certain cultural superiority on the part of Aramean Christianity in Mesopotamia in the eighth century. The author adds another important detail to the narrative which enhances its verisimilitude. He mentions the language difference. He says of the monastery’s notable guest, “Because he was a man of office in the emirate, he was engaged in governing much of the time. And because of his high rank, and my own abasement, he used to converse with us by means of an interpreter.” 70 The wording of this detail suggests that the monks could have communicated with their visitor in Arabic, but that the social circumstances of Christian monks in an Islamic society prevented this at first. (It seems unlikely, but not impossible, that the Arab would have been conversant in Syriac.) That these social circumstances included a reluctance on the part of the subject Christian to speak forthrightly to a Muslim official about religion is borne out by the sequel in the narrative. For at first the author portrays the monk as unwilling to engage in a forthright conversation about religion with the Arab. The monk even says to the Arab, “Because you are asking questions in a passing manner, our preferred choice is to take refuge in silence. ... But if you want accurately to learn the truth, speak with me without an interpreter.” 71 When the Arab agrees to this request the monk says further: Since you are very great, I know that on every issue, whatever it is, I should show you honor because of your authority and your eminence. Nevertheless, when you are pressing me about the truth of my faith, I know that I shall not be currying favor with your person. 72

[42]

This declaration on the monk’s part deftly testifies both to his subordinate position in society, and the courage he musters when it comes to defending his faith. Both of these features are important narrative elements in the other Syriac and Arabic works in the Transcript, p. 1. Ibid., pp. 1–2. 71 Ibid., p. 2. 72 Ibid. 69 70

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literary genre that I call, “the monk in the emir’s majlis.” They go together with the other apologetic and polemical strategies that the author employs to help him commend to his Christian reader the superiority of Christian faith to Islam, in spite of the social and political dominance of Muslims. The social verisimilitude of the narrative inevitably raises the question of its historicity. One notices that the work is in fact anonymous; the name Abraham comes from a late bibliographical notice. 73 The known manuscript witnesses to the text are late; they come from the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries respectively. 74 The mention of the name of the emir Maslama serves the narrative purpose of situating the story credibly in time and place. It does not necessarily date the compositon of the text to the 720’s. A later Syriac author could well have composed the work, including these details to strengthen the verisimilitude of the story. But until the text is edited, published and fully studied there can be no real answer to this question. What excites me about this Syriac work of Christian apology in the Islamic milieu is how much it seems to anticipate the apologetical methods that appear in the more popular Arab Christian apologetical texts that were composed from the ninth century onward. In particular, in many details, it foreshadows, if that be the correct verb, discussions one finds in the Arabic works of Theodore Abû Qurrah (c.755–c.830), who wrote very much within the Syriac-speaking milieu. 75 If the work in fact comes from the first quarter of the eighth century, as its author suggests, it goes together with other Syriac texts we have mentioned here, texts produced in the eighth century, which in the ensemble can then be seen as already determining in large part the stance Christians would take toward Islam in Arabic, and the apologetical strategies

See n. 28 above. See above, n. 31 75 In this connection see especially Sidney H. Griffith, “Faith and Reason in Christian Kalćm: Theodore Abû Qurrah on Discerning the True Religion,” in Samir Khalil Samir & Jørgen Nielsen (eds.), Christian Arabic Apologetics during the Abbasid Period (750–1258) (Studies in the History of Religions 63; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994) 1–43; idem, Theodore Abû Qurrah; a Treatise on the Veneration of the Holy Icons (Eastern Christian Texts in Translation 1; Louvain: Peeters, 1997). 73 74

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they would develop, when the conversation was taken up in Arabic by Muslims and Christians alike in the ninth century.

IX [45]

[46]

Of course, Syriac writers continued to write apologetical and polemical texts in the Islamic milieu, even after the beginnings of Christian Kalćm in Arabic, when Christian writers accommodated themselves to the Islamic way of doing controversial theology. A typical Christian thinker who wrote in Syriac in the ninth century and whose apologetical method was very much on the order of that of the contemporary Muslim mutakallimun was Nonnus of Nisibis (d. c. 870). He was a bilingual writer, with works in both Syriac and Arabic to his credit. He wrote in the service of the Syrian Orthodox community, whose characteristic teachings he energetically defended not only against Muslims, but against ‘Melkites’ and ‘Nestorians’ as well. The work in which he addressed himself to the intellectual challenge of Islam is a Syriac treatise that its modern editor calls simply, le traité apologétique. 76 On internal, literary critical grounds one must date the composition to a point between 850 and 870. It is an apologetical essay on the themes of monotheism, the doctrine of the Trinity, and the doctrine of the Incarnation. What strikes the reader almost immediately is the fact that while Nonnus writes in Syriac, and therefore for Christian eyes alone, he nevertheless expresses his thinking very much in the idiom of the Muslim mutakallimun of his day. His work clearly shows how by the second half of the ninth century Christian theology in the world of Islam, even in Syriac, had become thoroughly acculturated to the intellectual milieu of the Muslims. 77 This feature of the work marks a step beyond the apologetical style of the debate of the monk of Bêt ʗćlê. By far the longest and the fullest text in Syriac to do with disputation with Muslims is the one written by Dionysius bar ʙalîbî (d. 1171), the scholarly Syrian Orthodox bishop of Amida who was one of the bright lights in the world of Syriac letters. Dionysius included a long tract, “Against the ʝayyćyê,” as we may call it, in 76 See A. Van Roey, Nonnus de Nisibe; traité apologétique (Bibliothèque du Muséon 21; Louvain, 1948). 77 See Sidney H. Griffith, “The Apologetic Treatise of Nonnus of Nisibis,” ARAM 3 (1991): 115–38.

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what appears to have been a comprehensive treatise Adversus Haereses. It is composed of thirty chapters, included in three major sections of the work. The three major sections may in fact have originally been separate works, now put together to compose a single tract. In the first section Dionysius gives an account of the rise, the spread, and the divisions of the Muslims, together with an account of the objections they customarily pose for Christians, and the appropriate answers one might give to them. The second section consists of more detailed replies to the challenges Muslims customarily voiced against Christianity, along with a Christian evaluation of Islamic teaching. The third section contains quotations from the Qur‚ćn in Syriac translation, together with comments and refutations from Bar ʙalîbî. What makes Dionysius bar ʙalîbî’s tract “Against the ʝayyćyê” distinctive, apart from its length and comprehensiveness, is the amount of information about Muslims it contains, about their history, about the Qur‚ćn, and about the various schools of Islamic thought. This feature of the work makes it unique not only among Syriac dispute texts, but among Christian works on Islam in general in the medieval period. 78 Happily, Professor Joseph P. Amar of the University of Notre Dame is now at work on a critical edition, and English translation of the text.

78 For a discussion and further bibliography see Sidney H. Griffith, “Dionysius bar Salîbî on the Muslims,” in Drijvers et al. (eds.), IV Symposium Syriacum, 1984, 353–65.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.1, 55–70 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

SIGNS OF EPHREM’S EXEGETICAL TECHNIQUES IN HIS HOMILY ON OUR LORD† ANGELA Y. KIM UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME USA

ABSTRACT In his Homily on Our Lord, Ephrem employs a number of interpretive techniques to connect Exod 32–4 and Luke 7:36–50 in an essential way. Exod 32–4 and Luke 7 are interwoven through a literal and metaphoric understanding of the word sign which Ephrem introduces by a retelling of a conflated version of the water trial in Exod 32 (Homily, §6). Through typology, Ephrem transforms the golden calf into a proof for the excellence of Christ. The theme of sin and forgiveness that appears in Exod 32 is realized in Christ’s transformation of the sinful woman into the paradigmatic Christian.

[1]

The 59 sections of Ephrem’s Homily on Our Lord 1 are replete with richly woven scriptural images and biblical allusions. The rhetoric A version of this paper was read at the Syriac Symposium III: The Aramaic Heritage of Syria, The Summer Syriac Institute, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, Indiana, 17–20 June 1999. 1 The critical edition of this homily is edited by E. Beck, Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Sermo de Domino Nostro, (CSCO 270, 271; Louvain, 1966). See also the English translations by E.G. Mathews, Jr. And J.P. Amar, St. †

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of the Homily moves in an elegant circular fashion 2 between two biblical passages: the golden calf episode (Exod 32–34) 3 and Christ’s encounter with the sinful woman (Luke 7:36–50). While Ephrem’s rich scriptural language does not preclude his use of other passages from the Bible, these two texts provide the foci for the Homily and he freely moves between them. Ephrem skillfully alternates from the OT calf in the wilderness to the Gospel story of the sinful woman with an elaborate system of inclusios. Ephrem employs a number of interpretive techniques to scripture. 4 Ephrem the Syrian, Selected Prose Works (The Fathers of the Church 91; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1994) 269–332; and A.E. Johnston (trans.), “Homily on Our Lord,” The Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers II.13, ed. J. Gwynn (Oxford, 1898) 305–30. English citations of the Homily on Our Lord are adapted from the translation by J.P. Amar (1994). 2 On the use of inclusio by fourth century Syriac writers see R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom (Cambridge University Press, 1975) 2. 3 Select studies on the Jewish and Christian history of interpretation of the golden calf episode include L. Smolar and M. Aberbach, “The Golden Calf Episode in Postbiblical Literature, HUCA 36 (1968): 91–116; P.C. Bori, The Golden Calf and the Origins of the anti-Jewish Controversy, trans. by D. Ward, (SFSHJ 16; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990) and I.J. Mandelbaum, “Tannaitic Exegesis of the Golden Calf Episode,” in P.R. Davies and R.T. White (eds.), A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History, (JSOTSup 100; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990) 207–23. 4 Some formulations of Ephrem’s interpretive approach to scripture may be found in R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom, wherein he cites typological parallels and lists of testimonia; idem, “The Theory of Symbolism in St. Ephrem’s Theology,” Parole de L’Orient 6/7 (1975/76): 1–20; T. Kronholm, Motifs from Genesis 1–11 in the Genuine Hymns of Ephrem the Syrian with Particular Reference to the Influence of Jewish Exegetical Tradition, (CB; Lund Sweden: CWK Gleerup, 1978) and B. de Margerie, “La poésie biblique de Saint Ephrem exégète syrien (306–373),” In Introduction a l’histoire de l’exégèse: I. Les pères grecs et orientaux (Paris: Les Editions du Cerf, 1980) 179–84, who cites antithetical parallelism, literalism and symbolism as Ephrem’s three interpretive rules. Other studies on Ephrem’s interpretive techniques include N. el-Khoury, “Hermeneutics in the Works of Ephraim the Syrian,” OCA 229 (1987): 93–100; P. Yousif, “Exegetical Principles of St. Ephraem of Nisibis,” Studia Patristica 18.4 (1990): 296–302; C. McCarthy, “Allusions and Illusions: St. Ephrem’s

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Frequently he presents these two stories as antithetical parallels to one another and he connects them by means of verbal links 5 or common motifs. In addition to this, Ephrem uses typological exegesis 6 throughout the Homily. These techniques are used simultaneously, resulting in a complex theological work that is rich in scriptural allusions. In this paper, I will look specifically at Ephrem’s Homily on Our Lord, §6–17, 22–33, 35–43 and his use of the word “sign” (‚ćtć) which theologically and verbally connects the story of the golden calf and the sinful woman in an essential way.

VERBAL LINKS BETWEEN EXODUS 32–34 AND LUKE 7:36–50 [2]

Exod 32–4 and Luke 7:36–50 possess common theological motifs and vocabulary apart from their presence within Ephrem’s interpretive work. These mutual motifs and verbal links suggest possible reasons why the Syrian theologian considered these different passages to be suitable material for his prose work on Christ.

Verbal Magic in the Diatessaron Commentary,” in K.J. Cathcart and M. Maher (eds.), Targumic and Cognate Studies: Essays in Honour of Martin McNamara, (JSOTSup 230; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996) 187–207. 5 In the Homily on Our Lord, there are many examples of Ephrem linking different scriptural passages by means of a common word or motif. In §32, Ephrem establishes a parallel situation between the Old and New Testaments through common names. Saul the first king of Israel becomes analogous to Saul/Paul and David becomes the corollary to the Son of David, namely Jesus. Here Ephrem describes the persecution of David by Saul in light of the persecution of the Christ(ians) by Saul/Paul. A similar joining of different scriptural passages by means of a common word occurs in §50–8. In this instance, Ephrem compares Simon the priest with Simon Peter the apostle both of whom share the same Syriac name, Shemcun. The first Simon received the Christ child in the Temple (Luke 2:25–8) and the second was entrusted with the authority to lead the Church. Together, these two Simons are the antithetical counterpart to Simon the Pharisee in Luke 7:36–50. Examples such as these are plentiful in the Homily and I will not list them in this paper. 6 de Margerie, “La poésie biblique de Saint Ephrem,” 177–9; also see Murray, “Symbolism in St. Ephrem’s Theology,” 3.

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Exod 32–4 is a pivotal text in the Pentateuch and is viewed as the classic instance of sin in the Israelite history. 7 Because of this, it also has associations with sin and forgiveness and it is marked by the making, breaking and remaking of the tablets. In a comparable magnitude, the sinful woman associates both sin and forgiveness and she represents the paradigmatic Christian for Ephrem. 8 Both stories address the forgiveness of sins and share common vocabulary. For example, Luke 7:36–50 is verbally linked to the following italicized words of Exod 32:30, “you have sinned this great sin now, I will go up to the Lord for perhaps he may forgive your debts.” The word “sin,” (ʚʞć) is the same root as “sinful woman” (ʚaʞćytć) in Luke 7:37, 39 and “forgive”(šbaq) also appears in Luke 7:42, 43, 47, 48. In addition to this, it should be pointed out that the Peshitta text of Exod 32:30 translates the Hebrew, “your sin” (ʚaʞa’tkhem) as “your debts” (ʚawbaykun) thereby allowing for an additional verbal link between the Peshitta and the Lukan text (Luke 7:41, 42). Theologically, both stories deal with trust and faith. The Israelites pressure Aaron to make a god for them because they are distressed over Moses’ absence. Their lack of faith in Moses’ return results in apostasy but ultimately, Moses is able to appeal on their behalf. Similarly the Pharisee lacks faith in Christ (Luke 7:39) but the sinful woman’s faith saves her.

7 The scandal of the golden calf was so great that Josephus omits it from his history and the rabbis include among the list of forbidden Targumim. See L. Smolar and M. Aberbach, “The Golden Calf Episode in Postbiblical Literature,” 92–3, 107–9 and P.S. Alexander, “The Rabbinic Lists of Forbidden Targumim,” JJS 27.2 (1976): 179–80; 183–4; 188–9. The Church viewed the golden calf as the classic example of sin in Israel’s history. See Justin, Dialogue. 20:3; 21:1; 22:1; Apostolic Constitutions 6:4:20; Origen, Commentary on Romans 2:14; Lactantius, Divine Institutes 4:10; as cited by L. Smolar and M. Aberbach, “The Golden Calf Episode in Postbiblical Literature,” 96. 8 See the Homily on the Sinful Woman, devoted entirely to Luke 7:36– 50. Also H.M. Hunt, “The Tears of the Sinful Woman: A Theology of Redemption in the Homilies of St. Ephraim and His Followers,” Hugoye 1.2 (1998) and the literature cited there.

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EXODUS 32:25–9: THE INTRODUCTION OF THE SIGN (HOMILY, §6) [5]

[6]

In addition to these various associations between theological motifs and verbal links between the Peshitta OT and the Lukan text, Ephrem introduces an additional link between the OT calf story and the Gospel story of the sinful woman. While the word sign does not appear in the Peshitta text, it assumes particular importance in Ephrem’s Homily insofar as it functions as an essential link between the Old and New Testament stories. In the homily, the word sign is introduced in Ephrem’s retelling of Exod 32:25–9 (Homily, §6). The golden calf marks a scandalous episode in Israel’s history. 9 Within the context of Exod 32–34, the Israelites craft a golden calf and apostate cult at the very moment that Moses receives the tablets of the covenant and instructions for the wilderness sanctuary. The scandal of the calf is heightened by this juxtaposition of events: at the top of the mountain Moses receives the tablets while at the base of the mountain the Israelites are making their calf. In addition to this orchestration of events, the biblical narrative is filled with inconcinnities and repetition. 10 Thrice the reader is told of a punishment: first by a water potion (Exod 32:20), second by the slaughter by the Levites (Exod 32: 27–8) and third by a plague (Exod 32:35).

9 Aaron’s golden calf episode is tied to the calf cult of Jeroboam. The dependence of Exod 32 on 1 Kgs 12 is clear in the incorrect use of the plural, “calves” for Aaron’s cult (Exod 32:4). For studies on the tradition history of the golden calf in the Bible see A. Aberbach and L. Smolar, “Aaron, Jeroboam and the Golden Calves,” JBL 86 (1967) 129–40 which cites thirteen points of contact between Exod 32 and 1 Kgs 12:25ff. More recently, see G.N. Knoppers, “Aaron’s Calf and Jeroboam’s Calves,” in A.B. Beck et al. (ed.), Fortunate the Eyes that See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of his Seventieth Birthday (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995) 92–104. 10 For a general survey of the internal inconsistencies in form and content of Exod 32 see B. Childs, The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary, (OTL; Louisville: Westminster Press, 1974) and H.C. Brichto, “The Worship of the Golden Calf: A Literary Analysis of a Fable on Idolatry,” HUCA 54 (1983): 1–44.

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Exegesis and interpretation arise from problematic features that are perceived to be present in the text. 11 The multiple punishment scenes in Exod 32 may have been viewed as a problematic feature that in turn generated various interpretations. One attempt to address the problem of the multiple punishment scenes conflates the first two (Exod 32:20 and 32:27–28) by means of an external text. This type of exegesis (gezerah shavah) clarifies the ambiguous Hebrew word pćraȨ (“unbound” or “unrestrained”) in Exod 32:25 by introducing an unrelated text that also contains that word, namely Num 5:18. The water trial of the adulteress in Num 5:18 is then used to interpret the unrestrained people in Exod 32:25. In both instances, the water potion effects a sign of guilt upon the one who is charged with a crime. Targum Ps. Jonathan is one example of this type of exegesis. It reads as follows: He took the calf that they had made and burned (it) in the fire; he ground (it) until it was powder, scattered (it) on the surface of the water of the brook, and made the children of Israel drink (it). Whoever had given an object of gold there, a mark came out on his face (Ps.Jon 32:20).

A few lines later, the Targum goes on to state: The sons of Levi did according to the word of Moses, and that day, of the people who had the mark on their faces, there fell, slain by the sword, about the number of three thousand men (Ps.Jon 32:28).

The conflation of the water potion (Exod 32:19–20) with the slaughter by the Levites (Exod 32:25–9) by means of Num 5:18 is also attested in Pirkê de Rabbi Eliezer 45. 12 G. Vermes, “Bible and Midrash: Early Old Testament Exegesis,” in Post-Biblical Jewish Studies (Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 8; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1975) 62. 12 The relevant passage from Pirkê de Rabbi Eliezer 45 reads as follows: “He made Israel drink the water (with the dust of the calf). Everyone who had kissed the calf with all his heart, his upper lip and his bones became golden, and the tribe of Levi slew him, until there fell of Israel about three thousand men.” See G. Friedlander’s translation in Pirkê de Rabbi Eliezer: The Chapters of Rabbi Eliezer the Great According to the Text of the Manuscript Belonging to Abraham Epstein of Vienna (New York: Hermon Press, 1965) 356–7. See also L. Smolar and M. Aberbach, “The Golden Calf Episode 11

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While both Targum Ps. Jonathan and Pirkê de Rabbi Eliezer are much later than Ephrem, he relies upon a similar kind of exegetical tradition in his retelling of Exod 32:25–9 insofar as the word sign plays a key role in his version of events. Like the Targum, Ephrem understands the sign as an external mark of an interior state of adulterous guilt. The external sign is literally the distinguishing factor between the guilty and the innocent. The relevant section from the Homily reads as follows: The sons of Levi became avengers in the open: (Moses) placed a sign on the offenders to make it easy for the avengers to avenge. The drink of the calf entered those in whom the love of the calf was dwelling and left a clear sign on them, so that the drawn sword could assail them. (Moses) gave the waters of testing to the synagogue that had fornicated with the calf, so that the sign of the adulteress would appear on it. This is where the law comes from concerning women drinking the waters of testing, so that, in the sign which appeared on the adulteresses, the synagogue would recall its fornication with the calf, and with fear be on guard against another (fornication), and with regret remember the first one (Homily, §6).

[9]

It seems clear that Ephrem chooses to use this conflated exegetical tradition over the account found in the Peshitta. In his Commentary on Exodus, he abides by the standard biblical sequence of events found in the Peshitta. 13 Ephrem would not have been in Postbiblical Literature,” 102–3 and their reference to the T.B. Avodah Zarah 44a. 13 While poorly preserved at this juncture, the relevant section from Ephrem’s Commentary on Exodus reads as follows: “Only those who originated (the idea) in their minds, and then encouraged the others, were made to drink the dust. (Moses) said to Aaron: ‘What has this people done to you that you should lead them into so serious a sin?’ He did not (say): ‘You led them into sin. ...’ Moses stood at the entrance of the camp, and said: ‘Whoever is for the Lord, let him come to me.’ The sons of Levi gathered (around him). He said to them: Thus says the Lord: ‘Let every man put his sword on his hip.’ The Lord did not say to him ... before he relented. When (the Lord) was convinced by him, (Moses) said: ‘the Lord relented from the punishment He said He would inflict on the people.’ At the top (of the mountain) stood the intercessor, and at the bottom of the mountain, the avenger. Faced with justice ... mercy. And in the camp

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able to make the exegetical link with Num 5 from the Peshitta text alone because the Peshitta does not translate the Hebrew paraȨ (“unrestrained”) stereotypically, but rather contextually. Peshitta Exod 32:25 reads, “Moses saw that the people sinned, that Aaron made them sin,” in contrast to the Hebrew MT which reads, “Moses saw that the people were unrestrained because Aaron unrestrained (them).” The Peshitta contextually translates the ambiguous Hebrew root, pćraȨ with a form of the Syriac word, ʚʞć thereby breaking any connection with Num 5:18. In the Homily on Our Lord, Ephrem seems to be relying upon an exegetical tradition that is similar to the one found in Targum Ps. Jonathan. While Ephrem frequently refers to material that is common in the Aramaic Targums, 14 there are two possible reasons why the conflated version may have been more appealing to him for the Homily. The first may be due to the richer theological motifs that the conflated version provides. The conflation of Exod 32:25–9 with Num 5:18 provides a convenient transition to his treatment of Luke 7:36–50 since both texts center around women who have a questionable status in society. The second reason deals with the word sign itself. It is possible that Ephrem preferred the conflated version of Exod 32:25–9 on account of the prominence of the word sign. Later in the Homily, the word sign functions as an important interpretive element in Ephrem’s discussion of the Pharisee in Luke 7:36–50.

CHRISTOLOGICAL TRANSFORMATION OF THE SIGN (HOMILY, §6–17A) [11]

In the original context of Num 5:16–28, the absence of a sign is proof of her innocence and the presence of a sign determines her guilt. Similarly, in the conflated interpretations of Exod 32:25–9 (best seen in the Aramaic Targum) and in Ephrem’s retelling of the (stood) one who was anxious to discipline ... the command of God...” and here the text ends (as translated by J. Amar and E.G. Mathews, Jr. 1994). 14 On the preference for Jewish Aramaic Targum traditions over the Peshitta, see S. Brock, “Jewish Traditions in Syriac Sources,” JJS 30 (1979): 212–32, reprinted 1992. On the relationship between Palestinian Targums and Syriac, see more recently, idem., “A Palestinian Targum Feature in Syriac,” JJS 46 (1995): 274, 276, esp. 279–80 for reference to the relationship between Ephrem and Jewish Palestinian Targums. Also see the literature cited by T. Kronholm in Motifs from Genesis 1–11.

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calf story in Homily, §6, it is the disclosure of a sign that implies guilt. Ephrem then reverses this schema by describing how Christ transforms the notion that the visibility of a sign is a true and accurate indicator of guilt or innocence. Picking up on the literal understanding of sign as an external sign of an interior state, Ephrem writes the following concerning circumcision: In your own flesh you removed the external sign of circumcision, according to which the uncircumcised who were yours were not considered to be yours. Then you removed (the external sign), but you introduced (as) your sign, the circumcision of the heart, by which the circumcised were recognized as not being yours. For you came to your own, but your own did not accept you (Homily, §7).

[12]

In this excerpt, Ephrem appeals to Pauline theology. The mere presence of the external sign of circumcision is not an accurate indicator of belief. The external and visible sign of circumcision that once distinguished God’s special people from the other nations is replaced by its antithesis, the invisible sign of circumcision of the heart. This invisible sign now distinguishes true believers from non-believers. In this section, Ephrem effects the transformation of the external sign for it is no longer the case that the external sign is an arbiter between the faithful and the unfaithful. Ephrem continues to discuss signs in his christological excursus (Homily, §9–13). Here, Ephrem writes that the true signs that effect belief and faith are the Incarnation and Christ’s restorative powers for healing. He displays his command of scripture by writing, “The prophets worked all (sorts of) signs, but nowhere (is it recorded that) they filled up a deficiency in the parts of the body,” (Homily, §12). Healing is truly the greatest sign, i.e. testimony, of Christ’s power. Within this christological excursus, Ephrem writes about Christ’s healing of the deaf-mute. These restorative powers are theologically linked to Christ’s creative power, which is described in terms of the Incarnation and the creation of Adam. 15 However, Ephrem also links the christological excursus to the Luke 7 passage through a reference to a text that is Ephrem’s reference to the “Architect of the body” in Homily, §10, is probably an intentional link to the creation passage in Proverbs 8:22. 15

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adjacent to the Gospel story of the sinful woman, namely, the healing of the woman with the flow of blood (Luke 8:43–8). The most persuasive testimony or sign, in Ephrem’s opinion, is the healing and restorative power of Christ, the Medicine of Life. In this way, Ephrem establishes the link between the Gospel story of the sinful woman with the healing story from Luke 8:43–8 because healing is one of the great signs of Christ’s reign. Just as the conflated Aramaic Targum version of Exod 32:25–9 is connected by an external text about an adulterous woman, (Num 5:18), the NT story of the sinful woman is connected to the Homily by means of an external text about a woman (Luke 8:43–8). 16 That Christ alone is capable of this healing power is proof that Christ is greater than the prophets. This anticipates the Pharisee’s criticism in Luke 7:39, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is.” For Ephrem it is clear that the Pharisee’s criticism is misdirected from the very beginning for the Pharisee is concerned with the wrong type of sign. Ephrem writes: Simon the Pharisee had welcomed our Lord as a prophet on account of the signs (he had performed), not because of faith. For he was a son of Israel, who, when signs approached, likewise approached the Lord of the signs. But when signs ceased, there he stood, naked and without faith. This man also thought our Lord was a prophet when he saw signs accompany Him. But when our Lord stopped (performing) signs, (the Pharisee) was overcome with the doubt of his countrymen: “If this man were a prophet, he would know that this woman is a sinner” (Homily, §16).

[14]

In Ephrem’s version of the golden calf (Homily, §6), the presence of the guilty sign of the adulteress identified the unfaithful idolaters. In the New Testament, the opposite is the case insofar as the absence of signs reveals those who have little faith. Ephrem then constructs an antithetical parallel between Christ and the calf in order to illustrate the misguided faith of the Pharisee in the Lukan story. In his initial discussion of the calf Ephrem 16 H.M. Hunt (“The Tears of the Sinful Woman,” par. 13) writes that in Ephrem’s Commentary on the Diatessaron, part 5, section 7, both the hemorrhaging woman and the sinful woman see Jesus with “a physical manifestation of an inner need for healing.”

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writes the following: “dead idols with closed mouths fed on the life of their worshippers ... a single calf which they fashioned in the wilderness fed on their lives, as though on grass in the wilderness” (Homily, §5,6). The calf’s inability to eat is proof that idolatry is not able to lead people to true nourishment, namely everlasting life. As it is written in Exod 32:20, the golden calf was burnt, ground into a powder and strewn into the water for the Israelites to drink. According to the conflated account used by Ephrem, this potion of the idolatrous calf effected a sign for death by the Levites. Ephrem contrasts the golden calf that cannot eat with Christ who is able to nourish and heal. 17 In the christological excursus, Ephrem describes the healing of the deaf-mute (Homily, §10b–13). Immediately following, Ephrem constructs a parallel between Christ’s saliva and the yeast for the Eucharistic bread. Unlike the calf that brings death, Christ’s presence in the Eucharist gives life. In this way Ephrem presents the golden calf that neither eats nor nourishes as the antithesis to Christ whose presence in the Eucharist gives life.

THE TYPOLOGY OF THE GOLDEN CALF [15]

Ephrem creates a typological relationship between the golden calf and Simon the Pharisee. The golden calf’s inability to eat and live is further reinforced by Ephrem’s citation from Ps 115:5–6, “they have eyes but do not see, and ears but do not hear.” While he only cites vv. 5–6 of Ps 115 in Homily, §8, the Psalm continues with, “those who make them are like them; so are all those who trust in them” (Ps. 115:8). Later Ephrem draws the Pharisee into his antithetical parallel between the golden calf who cannot eat and Christ who truly nourishes. Ephrem writes, Now the Pharisee had made elaborate preparations for our Lord at his banquet, while the sinful woman did simple things for Him there. For all his elaborate fare, the Pharisee only let our Lord taste the feebleness of his love. But with her tears, the sinful woman let our Lord taste her abundant love. The one who had invited him to a grand banquet was chastised because of his 17 See Smolar and Aberbach, “The Golden Calf Episode in Postbiblical Literature,” 100–1 and their reference to Augustine’s sacramental interpretation of the golden calf.

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Thus Simon the Pharisee falls under the typology of the golden calf for he cannot provide Jesus with true nourishment at his dinner. In a similar vein, Simon the Pharisee falls under the typology of the false worshippers who created the golden calf in the wilderness. In Ephrem’s description of Simon the Pharisee in the Gospel story (Luke 7, Homily, §16), he writes about the limited efficacy of physical signs for the Pharisee’s belief is said to rely solely upon their presence. Ephrem writes, “But when our Lord stopped the signs, (the Pharisee) was overcome with the doubt of his countrymen.” Just as the Israelites had erred by worshipping a golden calf in the wilderness, Simon the Pharisee is marked by his trust in physical signs.

THEOPHANY (HOMILY, §22–33) [16]

[17]

The use of the word sign continues to be a distinguishing element in Ephrem’s exegesis of Moses’ theophany at Sinai (Exod 33:17– 23; 34:33–35) and Paul’s theophany on the road to Damascus (Acts 9) in Homily, §22–33. On one level, this part of the homily (§22– 33), centers on the virtue of humility 18 and attempts to explain why Jesus responds to the bold questioning of the Pharisee in Luke 7 with a parable and not with a stiff reprimand (Homily, §22). On a different level, these sections are an expansion of Ephrem’s words about the sinful woman herself, “Our Lord worked wonders with common things so that we would know of what those who scorn wonders are deprived” (Homily, §14). In other words, Christ, who is capable of magnanimous signs, namely the Incarnation and restorative healing (Homily, §10b–13), ironically presents the paradigmatic Christian (the sinful woman) in a simple and humble manner. Ephrem writes, “the Pharisee was unconvinced by the wondrous signs he saw, so He came to him to convince him with humble tones” (Homily, §42). The sinful woman who lies prostrate before Christ in her posture of repentance is also an allusion to Saul who falls to the 18 Ephrem’s exaltation of humility in the face of bold questioning probably is generated by 2 Cor 10–3 and Paul’s words that “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9).

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ground upon seeing the divine light (Acts 9:4). Unlike the Pharisee who doubts Christ, the woman recognizes the theophany before her. In this section, Ephrem points that Paul’s blindness ironically led to his ability to see. With similar irony, Moses is granted the opportunity to see the glory of YHWH but then conceals it from the Israelites with a veil. Ephrem writes, Even though the eyes of Moses were physical, like those of Paul, his interior eyes were Christian. For “Moses wrote concerning me...” In the case of Paul, his exterior eyes were as open as those within were closed. The exterior eyes of Moses radiated because his interior eyes saw clearly. Paul’s exterior eyes were kept closed, so that by the closing of his exterior eyes those within would be open. He who had been unable to perceive our Lord through His signs with exterior eyes, perceived Him with interior eyes once his physical (eyes) were closed. And because he took an example from his own experience, he wrote to those whose bodily eyes saw clearly: “May he enlighten the eyes of your hearts.” So visible signs in no way helped the exterior eyes of the Jews; faith of the heart opened the eyes of the hearts of the nations. If Moses simply had come down from the mountain without his face radiating, and had said, “I saw the radiance of God there,” the infidel fathers would not have believed him. And likewise with Paul: the crucifying sons would not have put faith in him if his eyes had not been injured, and he had said, “I heard the voice of Christ.” This is why, as though out of love, (God) set a desirable sign of radiance on Moses in order to convince them that (Moses) had seen the divine radiance. But on Saul, as on a persecutor, He set the infamous sign of blindness so that the liars would believe that he had heard the words of Christ. (Homily, §32).

[18]

[19]

Ephrem goes on to write that the Israelites fail to recognize the visible signs on their bodies and their clothes. The visible signs and transformations that God provides are ineffectual at persuading the Israelites of the wrong of their ways. In the passage cited above, Ephrem makes an allusion to his retelling of Exod 32:25 (Homily, §6) in which the sign of the adulteress is a visible sign of guilt. “Out of love, (God) set a

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desirable sign of radiance on Moses... but on Saul, as on a persecutor, he set the infamous sign of blindness.” The external sign corresponds to the interior state of the branded individuals. In the case of the Israelites, the sign is a guilty sign of the adulteresses because the calf was an act of infidelity. In the case of Moses, the sign refers to a state of grace because he was granted a vision of the glory of YHWH. For Saul the external sign is one of blindness. The implication is that it is only through interior vision that one comes to know Christ, not through physical sight and physical signs. Here, Ephrem reveals the complexity of his understanding of sign. The word sign is no longer used in a metaphoric sense, as in a sign on the heart (Homily, §7), but rather in a literal and visible way. In effect, Ephrem recapitulates to the literal understanding of the sign from his conflated retelling of Exod 32:20–9 (Homily, §6) wherein the external visibility of the sign plays an important role in distinguishing between people. Ephrem has transformed the visible sign of guilt into a visible sign of grace.

SOME CONCLUDING COMMENTS [21]

[22]

Ephrem employs a number of interpretive techniques to connect Exod 32–4 and Luke 7:36–50 in his Homily on Our Lord. In this paper, I suggested that Ephrem uses the word sign to connect these two passages in a complex system of inclusios. While both texts share the theme of sin and forgiveness, one text is the classic example of sin and the other is a paradigm for repentance. The stories of the golden calf and the sinful woman are interwoven through the use of the word sign which Ephrem introduces in his conflated account of Exod 32 and Num 5 (Homily, §6). The typology of the golden calf is one way in which Ephrem reflects upon Christ for the golden calf is the antithesis of Christ. In Ephrem’s discussion of the golden calf (Homily, §6) and the theophany (Homily, §32), the word sign functions in an essential way. The literal and the metaphoric understanding of the word sign plays an important role in illustrating the central theological theme of the homily, namely Christ’s transformative power. This central theme is established in the opening line of the Homily, “Goodness encountered slandering mouths and made them into praising harps” and demonstrated in Christ’s transformation of the sinful woman into the paradigmatic Christian (Luke 7:36–50). Similarly,

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Ephrem transforms the base golden calf into part of his proof for the excellence of Christ in his Homily on Our Lord.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Aberbach, A., and L. Smolar. “Aaron, Jeroboam and the Golden Calves.” JBL 86 (1967): 129–40. Alexander, P.S. “The Rabbinic Lists of Forbidden Targummim.” JJS 27.2 (1976): 177–91. Beck, E., ed. Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Sermo de Domino Nostro. CSCO, 270, 271. Louvain, 1966. Bori, P.C. The Golden Calf and the Origins of the anti-Jewish Controversy. Trans. by D. Ward. SFSHJ, 16. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990. Brichto, H.C. “The Worship of the Golden Calf: A Literary Analysis of a Fable on Idolatry.” HUCA 54 (1983): 1–44. Brock, S.P. “Jewish Traditions in Syriac Sources.” JJS 30 (1979): 212–32, reprinted 1992. Brock, S.P. “A Palestinian Targum Feature in Syriac.” JJS 46 (1995): 271– 82. Childs, B.S. The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary. OTL. Louisville, KY: Westminster Press, 1974. Friedlander, G., trans. Pirkê de Rabbi Eliezer: The Chapters of Rabbi Eliezer the Great According to the Text of the Manuscript Belonging to Abraham Ephstein of Vienna. New York: Hermon Press, 1965. Hunt, H.M. “The Tears of the Sinful Woman: A Theology of Redemption in the Homilies of St. Ephraim and His Followers.” Hugoye 1.2 (1998). Johnston, A.E., trans. “Homily on Our Lord.” The Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers Series II. Vol. 13. Ed. by J. Gwynn. Oxford, 1898. Reprinted by Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979: 305– 30. el-Khoury, N. “Hermeneutics in the Works of Ephraim the Syrian.” OCA 229 (1987): 93–100. Knoppers, G.N. “Aaron’s Calf and Jeroboam’s Calves.” In Beck, A.B., et al., ed. Fortunate the Eyes that See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of his Seventieth Birthday, 92–104. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995. Kronholm, T. Motifs from Genesis 1–11 in the Genuine Hymns of Ephrem the Syrian with Particular Reference to the Influence of Jewish Exegetical Tradition. CB. Lund: CWK Gleerup, 1978. Mandelbaum, I.J. “Tannaitic Exegesis of the Golden Calf Episode.” In Davies, P.R., and R.T. White. A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History, 207–233. JSOTSup, 100. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990.

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Margerie, Bertrand de. “La poésie biblique de Saint Ephrem exégète Syrien (306–373).” In Introduction a l’histoire de l’exégèse: I. Les pères grecs et orientaux, 165–87. Paris, Les Éditions du Cerf, 1980. Mathews, E.G., Jr., and J.P. Amar, eds. St. Ephrem the Syrian, Selected Prose Works. The Fathers of the Church, 91, ed. by K. McVey. Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1994. McCarthy, C. “Allusions and Illusions: St. Ephrem’s Verbal Magic in the Diatessaron Commentary.” In Cathcart, K.J., and M. Maher, eds. Targumic and Cognate Studies: Essays in Honour of Martin McNamara, 187–207. JSOTSup, 230. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996. Murray, R. Symbols of Church and Kingdom. Cambridge University Press, 1975. ———. “The Theory of Symbolism in St. Ephrem’s Theology.” Parole de L’Orient 6/7 (1975/6): 1–20. Smolar, L. and M. Aberbach. “The Golden Calf Episode in Postbiblical Literature.” HUCA 36 (1968): 91–116. Vermes, G. “Bible and Midrash: Early Old Testament Exegesis.” In PostBiblical Jewish Studies, 59–91. Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity, 8. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975. Yousif, P. “Exegetical Principles of St. Ephraem of Nisibis.” Studia Patristica 18:4 (1990): 296–302.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.1, 71–103 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

PAST AND PRESENT PERCEPTIONS OF SYRIAC LITERARY TRADITION1 LUCAS VAN ROMPAY DEPARTMENT OF NEAR EASTERN STUDIES (TCNO) UNIVERSITY OF LEIDEN THE NETHERLANDS

ABSTRACT Whereas Syriac literature is generally seen as the whole corpus of preserved texts as it is presently known to us, the present paper’s aim is to gain insight into the various ways Syriac literary tradition was viewed at specific moments in history. First, the letters of Jacob of Edessa (c. 700) and Timothy Catholicos (c. 800) are studied. Second, some relevant data are drawn from what we know about libraries and manuscript collections. Third, the period of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries leads to a few general observations on the development of Syriac literary tradition in the later period.

[1]

The nineteenth century produced several Syriac grammars and two Syriac dictionaries which to this day have not been surpassed in quality and usefulness. The early twentieth century provided us with a handbook of Syriac literature. On the eve of the twenty-first 1 This is a slightly adapted and expanded version of a lecture delivered at the opening of “Syriac Symposium III: The Aramaic Heritage of Syria” on June 17, 1999 at the University of Notre Dame, Indiana.

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century, Syriac scholars, looking at the basic tools of their discipline, may wonder what new tasks and challenges will present themselves in the years to come. Grammatical studies which are presently being carried out in various places have begun to challenge the authority of Theodor Nöldeke’s Kurzgefasste syrische Grammatik (Leipzig 1880; 2nd ed.: 1898). A new Syriac dictionary which will finally replace Robert Payne Smith’s (cum aliis) Thesaurus Syriacus (Oxford 1879–83) and Karl Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum (Berlin 1895; 2nd ed.: Halle 1928) is being discussed, and we will hear more about this in the course of this symposium. No one can fail to see that Anton Baumstark’s Geschichte der syrischen Literatur (Bonn 1922) is desperately crying out to be replaced by something more modern, more readable and more attractive. To my knowledge, however, no concrete plans to that end have yet been worked out. Those who embark in the twenty-first century on the preparation of an entirely new Baumstark will have to take some important decisions. These concern not only the present state of research on Syriac literary texts—quite different indeed from that of Baumstark’s day, more than seventy-five years ago—but also the various ways in which Syriac literary tradition has been perceived throughout the ages, by those who have built up and transmitted this tradition, by those who study it and, last but not least, by those who in our day see that tradition as part of their identity, as the legacy of their ancestors. A tradition which has existed for nearly two millennia cannot be studied solely as a linear development gradually unfolding in history, whose constituent elements are continuously being piled up like bricks, forming an ever growing, ever expanding monument. This image does not do justice to the dynamics of history. The way the past was viewed, the way people reflected on it, and reacted to it must always be taken into account. Not only the transmission of texts and motifs is important, but also the processes accompanying that transmission are equally important. The awareness of this fact is much stronger now than it was in Baumstark’s day. While it is now customary for editors, translators and students of Syriac texts to give attention to their sources and to carefully inventory them, it is quite another thing to actually understand how an author viewed not so much his individual sources, but the whole

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body of texts which constituted the literary background of his community, and how he defined his own position with reference to it. Very few authors have made statements about the literary tradition to which they belonged. In the case of the two most important ancient Syriac authors, Ephrem and Aphrahat, we know hardly anything about their sources and the literary background against which they themselves viewed their works. As regards Ephrem’s poetry, links with the older Aramaic tradition as well as with contemporary Jewish and Samaritan Aramaic traditions may be presumed, 2 and Aphrahat, too, must have had a literary tradition behind him. But we have no more than a few fairly vague suppositions to go on, and it must be admitted that the authors themselves are not very helpful in providing us with answers to our burning questions. In the case of other moments in Syriac literary history, however, we do have some hints or indications of how Syriac writers and readers viewed their own literary tradition and tried to deal with it. A selection of such data will be the subject of my presentation tonight. I will focus on the Syriac literary tradition, which is the body of written texts transmitted by Syrian Christians. The literary tradition is of course linked to the interesting question of the Syrian Christian identity. But the latter issue is broader, and the two are by no means interchangeable. After a few preliminary remarks, I will first discuss certain data culled from the writings of two authors who, primarily in their letters, have expressed themselves on the subject of Syriac literary tradition: Jacob of Edessa and Timothy Catholicos, one belonging to the West-Syrian or Syrian-Orthodox tradition who was writing around the year 700, the other representing the East-Syrian tradition and writing around 800. Second, a few words will be said about libraries. Third, the period of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries will lead us to some general observations on the Syriac literary tradition in the later period.

2 For a recent study in which an attempt is made to place Ephrem’s poetry within its larger Aramaic context, see A.S. Rodrigues Pereira, Studies in Aramaic Poetry (c. 100 B.C.E. – c. 600 C.E.). Selected Jewish, Christian and Samaritan Poems (Studia Semitica Neerlandica 34; Assen 1997).

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PRELIMINARY REMARKS [7]

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Syriac literature is nourished mainly by two cultural streams. One, linked with the Aramaic tradition of the Middle East, has provided first and foremost the language, in a form already well suited for literary use. The other, the Greek stream, is a direct result of the Greco-Roman domination in the Middle East, and the Greek impact on early Christianity. Although they are inextricably intertwined in the bilingual region of Syria, there are nevertheless two different languages and two cultural worlds behind these traditions. For centuries, Syrian Christians have coped with these two streams, complementing the one with the other, bringing them together sometimes in harmony, sometimes in tension. 3 The theological discussions of the fifth and sixth centuries certainly helped to reinforce the Greek impact on the Syrian world. From then on, there were mainly two separate traditions: one which adopted strict dyophysite theology and eventually became the East-Syrian tradition, and one which emanated from the rejection of the Council of Chalcedon and was subsequently known as the “Monophysite,” Syrian-Orthodox or West-Syrian tradition. Writings antedating the split and representing the common heritage of all Syrian Christians have in part been incorporated into one or both of the two later traditions. Others just happen to have been preserved, totally cut off from their original context, without any indication of when and where they originated. Many more have simply disappeared. And yet, it is this pre-fifth-century stage of Syriac culture, which is sometimes seen as “essentially semitic in its outlook and thought patterns” and less hellenized, 4 which has such a strong appeal today. Judging by the titles, more than half of the papers read at the present symposium deal with this period. There is no common denominator for this early literature: it consists of individual authors and anonymous works, each with its own characteristics, with very few connections between them. Much of this period soon must have fallen into oblivion. 3 See S.P. Brock’s illuminating essay “From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac Attitudes to Greek Learning,” in N.G. Garsoïan, T.F. Mathews, R.W. Thomson (eds.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period (Washington, D.C., 1982) 17–34. 4 Brock, “From Antagonism,” 17.

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As for the greatest author, not only of this period, but also of the entire Syriac literary tradition, Ephrem the Syrian, we know that his works did not cease to be copied, read, sung and enjoyed. 5 However, given the pervasive influence of Greek theology on Syriac thought, his position could not remain entirely unaffected. Even a profoundly Syrian author, like Philoxenus of Mabbog, found it increasingly difficult to maintain Ephrem as a theological authority. Writing at the end of his life (523) to the monks of the Monastery of Senun, he respectfully mentions “blessed Ephrem, our Syrian teacher” (mallpânâ dilan suryâyâ), yet found it necessary to take some distance and to subtly criticise Ephrem’s theological terminology as being lacking in precision. 6 That Ephrem, as a theologian, continued to lose ground in the course of the sixth century may be concluded from the theological treatises of the Syrian-Orthodox church leaders in the second half of the century. Although they were Syrian countrymen from the Euphrates region, their writings contain hardly any references to Ephrem or quotations from his work.7 5 On the transmission of Ephrem’s hymns, see S.P. Brock, “The Transmission of Ephrem’s Madrćshe in the Syriac Liturgical Tradition,” in E.A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Patristica, XXXIII (Louvain, 1997) 490–505 as well as Idem, “St. Ephrem in the Eyes of Later Syriac Liturgical Tradition,” Hugoye 2,1 (January 1999). 6 A. de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabbog. Lettre aux moines de Senoun (CSCO 231–2 / Syr. 98–9; Louvain, 1963) 49–51 (Syriac); 40–2 (French transl.). Compare Brock, “From Antagonism,” 20. At a much earlier date in his life, Philoxenus assigned a more prominent place to Ephrem’s theology, as becomes clear in the florilegium attached to the Mêmrê against Habbib (written between 482 and 484). Here, nearly half of the quotations are under Ephrem’s name. Cf. M. Brière & F. Graffin, Sancti Philoxeni episcopi Mabbugensis Dissertationes decem de Uno e sancta trinitate incorporato et passo (Mêmrê contre ʙabib), V (Patrologia Orientalis 41,1; Turnhout, 1982) 58– 129 (Syriac and French translation); A. de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabbog. Sa vie, ses écrits, sa théologie (Louvain 1963) 233–4; Brock, “The transmission,” 491–2. The second most frequently quoted authority in this florilegium is Eusebius of Emesa, the Greek writing Syrian of Edessene descent. 7 See, e.g., Peter of Callinicos’ theological work Contra Damianum, which is in the course of publication by R.Y. Ebied, A. Van Roey, and L. Wickham (Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 29, 32, 35; Louvain/ Turnhout 1994 ff.). It must be admitted, however, that this work had a different audience, not limited to the monks of the Syrian and Mesopotamian inland regions.

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JACOB OF EDESSA [11]

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The question of the balance between Greek and Syriac, between indigenous Syriac literary tradition and Greek writing translated into Syriac, is still very much at issue in the writings of Jacob of Edessa, almost two hundred years after Philoxenus. Jacob belonged to the first generation of Syrian Christians who grew up under Islamic rule. In those days West-Syrian Christians looked back on a period in which they had been part of the Roman Empire and of the imperial Church, from which they eventually divorced themselves in a long process which reached its decisive phase well before the Islamic conquest. They also looked back on a period that had produced great authors, like Ephrem, Jacob of Serug, Philoxenus of Mabbog and others. As he himself testifies in one of his letters, when searching for solutions to all kinds of problems, Jacob would consult the writings and commentaries of those “God-clad men” and “tried teachers” Athanasius, Basil, the (two) Gregorys, John (Chrysostom), Cyril, Severus (of Antioch), Ephrem, Aksnaya (i.e., Philoxenus of Mabbog), Jacob (of Serug) 8 —Greeks and Syrians coexisting peacefully. Such expressions as “the tried teachers” (mallpânê bʚirê), and “the saintly teachers” (mallpânê qaddišê), 9 turn up time and again in the letters. It was on the basis of their writings that he decided that something was true or correct (šarrirâ) and deserved to be accepted (metqabblânâ). These are the authors through whom the Spirit speaks. 10 We are very fortunate that Jacob’s friend, John the Stylite, had a burning curiosity, and rather than trying to find the answers to his many questions himself, used to write to Jacob for help. Jacob’s letters to John and several other correspondents constitute a wonderful tribute to the Syriac learned world a few decades after the Islamic conquest. 11 8 Jacob of Edessa, Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 100r–v. 9 Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 81v. 10 Letter to John the Stylite: R. Schröter, “Erster Brief Jacobs von Edessa an Johannes den Styliten,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 24 (1870): 269,16–17 (Syriac); 274 (German translation). 11 Dirk Kruisheer kindly put his personal collection of microfilms and photostats of Jacob’s letters at my disposal. A complete edition and translation of the letters is being prepared by Jan van Ginkel. For a

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Many questions concern the Bible, both textual and exegetical problems. Others deal with Greek or Syriac writings and authors who, as in the case of the biblical books, are the subject of philological or exegetical analysis. Problems of authenticity are discussed on several occasions. Although his correspondents must have had some knowledge of Greek, in all probability it was always the Syriac text—either the original Syriac or the translation from Greek—which formed the basis of the discussion. As for the Bible, Jacob did not content himself with the Syriac Bible, later known as the “Peshitta.” Since he himself was engaged in producing a revision of the Syriac Old Testament, which to a large extent took the Septuagint into account, 12 it comes as no surprise that in the letters, too, the Greek Bible—both Old and New Testament—is always in the back of his mind, for comparison or for reference. In addition to the quotations from the Greek Bible, there are a few instances where Jacob shows some knowledge of Hebrew. Not only is Hebrew the original language of the Old Testament, it is also the first language of mankind, as is clear—according to Jacob—from the connection established in the Bible between the names of the “man” and the “woman:” ‘iš and ‘iššâ. Referring to a homily by Eusebius of Emesa (now lost), Jacob is one of the rare Syriac authors who considers Hebrew the first language, rather than “Syriac or Aramaic.” 13 preliminary survey of the letters, with bibliographical references, see R.G. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It. A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 13; Princeton, NJ, 1997) 741–2. For Jacob’s dealings with Islam, see Idem, “Jacob of Edessa on Islam,” in G.J. Reinink and A.C. Klugkist (eds.), After Bardaisan. Studies on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 89; Louvain, 1999) 149–60. 12 Jacob made use of both the Syro-Hexapla and a number of Greek biblical manuscripts. There are two important recent monographs: R.J. Saley, The Samuel Manuscript of Jacob of Edessa. A Study in Its Underlying Textual Traditions (Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden 9; Leiden, 1998) and A. Salvesen, The Books of Samuel in the Syriac Version of Jacob of Edessa (in the same collection, 10; Leiden, 1999). 13 W. Wright, “Two Letters of Mâr Jacob, Bishop of Edessa,” Journal of Sacred Literature IV,10 (1867): [434–60: available to me in an offprint with independent page numbering] 20–1 (Syriac); F. Nau, “Traduction des lettres XII et XIII de Jacques d’Édesse (exégèse biblique),” Revue de

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In references to the language (leššânâ), Jacob sometimes juxtaposes “Aramaic” and “Syriac,” joined by the particle ‘awkêt “or” (Suryâyâ ‘awkêt ‘Ârâmâyâ). When referring to the written language (seprâ) or the language of culture, he employs a somewhat different terminology: nahrâyâ ‘awkêt ‘Urhâyâ ‘aw yattir mšawdcânâ’it l-mêmar suryâyâ, “(Meso-)potamian or Edessene or, to speak more specifically, Syriac.” 14 As we know, the term nahrâyâ “(Meso-) potamian” also occurs in the title of Jacob’s Syriac grammar (mamllâ nahrâyâ). 15 Aramaic and Syriac go together like Anglo-Saxon and English, or Germanic and German (“Germanisch” and “Deutsch”). Only the second of these terms can be used for languages of specific cultures: Syriac, English, German. The terms nahrâyâ and ‚Urhâyâ may point to the literary tradition of “Edessene Syriac,” comparable to such terms as “American English” or “Hochdeutsch.” Some literary or cultural standard is apparently at stake here. As for the content of Syriac literary tradition, it includes not only writings originally composed in Syriac, but also a number of translations: the Bible, of course, translated from Hebrew and Greek, and the writings of the Fathers referred to above. Foremost among the authors originally writing in Syriac was Ephrem, who prominently belongs to Syriac literary tradition. He is explicitly described as such, and passages from his works are discussed in great detail, especially the Madrâšê on Faith 16 and on

l’Orient Chrétien 10 (1905): 273–74 (French translation). Cf. R.B. ter Haar Romeny, A Syrian in Greek Dress. The Use of Greek, Hebrew, and Syriac Biblical Texts in Eusebius of Emesa’s Commentary on Genesis (Traditio Exegetica Graeca 6; Louvain, 1997) 28–9 and 205. 14 Letter to George of Serug: G. Phillips, A Letter by Mar Jakob of Edessa on Syriac Orthography (London, 1869) 11,1–2 (Syriac); 9 (English translation). 15 In the grammar one also finds mamllâ ‚Urhâyâ (2a,9), leššânâ ‚Urhâyâ (2b,12–13), and mamllâ nahrâyâ (2b,19–20): W. Wright, Fragments of the Turrâʛ Mamllâ Nahrâyâ or Syriac Grammar of Jacob of Edessa (London/ Clerkenwell, s.d). 16 Madrâšâ 44, discussed in a Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 85v. Summary in F. Nau, “Cinq lettres de Jacques d’Édesse à Jean le stylite (Traduction et analyse),” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 14 (1909): 438–40.

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the Nativity, 17 and the Hymns against Heresies. 18 In the latter case, Jacob provides information on the identity of the woman who was at the head of the sect of the Sabbatians, including some topographical details. His source may have been oral tradition in Edessa, which would indicate a living chain connecting the Edessa of Ephrem with the Edessa of Jacob. Another Syriac author regularly quoted by Jacob is the other Jacob, the periodeutes and later bishop of Serug. Jacob knows his works well and is able to recognise writings incorrectly transmitted under his name. 19 But also less well-known authors appear in the letters. He disentangled for his correspondent the complicated data concerning three authors known by the name of Isaac. 20 A most interesting example is that of ŠemȨon, the poet-potter (quqâyâ). His identity was unknown to Jacob’s correspondent, while Jacob is able to reveal the period in which he was active (the beginning of the sixth century) as well as his village, namely Gâshir, not far from the Monastery of Mar Bassus, where, according to Jacob, his shop still stood 21 —a possible reference to literary tourism in Jacob’s day. Jacob of Edessa’s letters are among the earliest and most explicit witnesses to a conscious perception of Syriac literature, having at its core such authors as Ephrem, Jacob of Serug, and Philoxenus of Mabbog. If we look at the language, we see that although Syriac literature is rooted in the Aramaic tradition, there is no reference to Aramaic outside Syriac. Syriac literature—in Jacob’s view—also includes the works of the famous Greek Church Fathers—Athanasius, Basil, the (two) Gregorys, John 17 Madrâšâ 25, discussed in a Letter to the deacon George: F. Nau, “Lettre de Jacques d’Édesse au diacre George sur une hymne composée par S. Éphrem et citée par S. Jean Maron,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 6 (1901): 120–31 (Syriac and French translation). 18 Hymn II,6, discussed in a Letter to John the Stylite: Wright, “Two Letters” [see note 12] 25–26 (Syriac); Nau, “Traduction” 277–8 (French translation); English translation of the relevant section in S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline of Syriac Literature (Kottayam, 1997) 232–3. 19 Letter to John the Stylite: Schröter, “Erster Brief” [see note 10] 267 (Syriac); 276 (German translation). 20 Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 123r–v. Cf. Brock, A Brief Outline, 41–2. 21 Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 121v–122r; partial edition in W. Wright, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Acquired since the Year 1838, 2 (London, 1871) 602–3.

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(Chrysostom), Cyril, and Severus (of Antioch)—known to his readers in Syriac translations. The Syriac Bible obviously belongs to Syriac literature. But at the same time Jacob is well aware of the characteristics of Greek biblical tradition and has some knowledge of Hebrew, the original language of Scripture. That is not to say that Syriac literary tradition as defined here—a number of inspired authors and canonised translations— entirely determined the spiritual and intellectual horizon of Jacob and his learned friends and readers. Jacob’s views are in fact broader, and his curiosity more wide-ranging. Jacob’s interest in Aristotelian philosophy reveals itself in some of the Letters, becoming clearer in certain of his other works. The same is true of his other scholarly interests, whether chronology or physics. 22 Another intriguing aspect is Jacob’s use of apocryphal stories related to biblical events or figures (in both the Old and the New Testament). Jacob refers to them as tašȨyâtâ “histories,” sometimes more specifically described as tašȨyâtâ yudâyâtâ “Jewish histories,” 23 tašȨyâtâ barrâyâtâ w-yattirâtâ “histories from outside (the Church) and additional,” 24 tašȨyâtâ d-hâlên da-lbar “histories (written) by those who (are) outside,” 25 tašȨyâtâ yattirâtâ da-ktibân “written additional histories” 26 Although Jacob occasionally calls them unreliable, more often he uses them in a positive way. In addition to such 22 That Greek secular culture was an integral part of Syriac literary tradition among the learned elite of North Syria in the first centuries of the Islamic period is convincingly argued by L.I. Conrad, “Varietas Syriaca: Secular and Scientific Culture in the Christian Communities of Syria after the Arab Conquest,” in Reinink & Klugkist, After Bardaisan [see note 11], 86–105. For a survey of Jacob’s fields of interest and bibliographical references, see D. Kruisheer & L. Van Rompay, “A Bibliographical Clavis to the Works of Jacob of Edessa,” Hugoye 1,1 (January 1998). 23 Letter to John the Stylite: Wright, “Two Letters” [see note 12] 5,4 (Syriac); Nau, “Traduction,” 203 (French translation). 24 Letter to John the Stylite: F. Nau, “Lettre de Jacques d’Édesse sur la généalogie de la sainte Vierge,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 6 (1901): 519,19–20 (Syriac); 525 (French translation). 25 Letter to John the Stylite: Wright, “Two Letters,” 14,20 (Syriac); Nau, “Traduction,” 265 (French translation). 26 Letter to John the Stylite: partial edition in E. Nestle, Brevis linguae syriacae grammatica, litteratura, chrestomathia (Porta Linguarum Orientalium 5; Karlsruhe/Leipzig, 1881) 84,8 (Syriac).

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tašȨyâtâ, Jacob refers on one occasion to “an old tradition of Jewish origin” (mašlmânutâ Ȩattiqtâ d-men Yudâyê) to explain why Daniel retained his youthful appearance. 27 Similar references to apocryphal stories are found in Jacob’s exegetical writings, 28 and some of the passages quoted or referred to have been identified in such Jewish apocryphal works as Enoch and Jubilees. 29 Jacob’s endorsement of these uncanonical works is somewhat surprising. We do not know whether he read them in Greek or Syriac or perhaps gleaned them from oral tradition. He himself did not bother to provide any details beyond the rather vague names quoted above. In the sixth century, as we have seen, an imbalance between the two streams of Syriac culture was threatening, due to the pervasive influence of Greek theological writing. Jacob of Edessa seems to have redressed the balance. Though one of the best hellenists the Syrian world ever produced, he was also a proponent of a culture which was conscious of its own Syriac identity. Before taking leave of Jacob of Edessa, it should be noted that his interest in Syriac literature is not without parallels in the early Islamic period. John the Stylite and George, bishop of the Arabs, certainly shared Jacob’s interests. It is interesting to note that one of George’s letters—which can be dated between 714 and 718— deals with the identity of the “Persian Sage,” later known as Aphrahat. 30 Aphrahat’s Demonstrations, which originated in fourthcentury Sassanid Persia, the homeland of later East-Syrian Christianity, had been incorporated into West-Syrian tradition quite early on, as demonstrated by the three surviving manuscripts, dating back to the fifth and sixth centuries. 31 Although Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 134r. Cf. D. Kruisheer, “Reconstructing Jacob of Edessa’s Scholia,” in J. Frishman & L. Van Rompay (eds.), The Book of Genesis in Jewish and Oriental Christian Interpretation. A Collection of Essays (Traditio Exegetica Graeca 5; Louvain, 1997) 189 and 194–6. 29 W. Adler, “Jacob of Edessa and the Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Syriac Chronography,” in J.C. Reeves (ed.), Tracing the Treads. Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (Society of Biblical Literature; Early Judaism and Its Literature 6; Atlanta, 1994) 143–71. 30 V. Ryssel, Georgs des Araberbischofs Gedichte und Briefe (Leipzig, 1891) 44–54. 31 Mss. Brit. Libr. Add. 14,619 and Add. 17,182. The latter manuscript is a combination of two different manuscripts, dated respectively AD 474 and 510. The first in all likelihood is a sixth-century 27 28

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speculations about Aphrahat’s identity were apparently circulating, George was unable to provide more information than could be deduced from the writings themselves. Aphrahat apparently belonged to a period that had been forgotten among West-Syrian Christians of the early eighth century.

TIMOTHY CATHOLICOS [24]

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A hundred years after Jacob of Edessa, another church leader and lover of books used the genre of letters to discuss various questions related to Syriac writers and books, thereby giving us some inkling of his views on Syriac literary tradition. He was Timothy, Catholicos-Patriarch of the Church of the East between 780 and 823. There are many parallels between the letters of the two men, Jacob and Timothy. When writing their letters, they both had a wider distribution in mind, and each of them had one favourite among his correspondents: John the Stylite for Jacob and Sergius for Timothy. Sergius was a fellow student of Timothy’s at the School of Bašoš, in North Iraq, before he became director of that school, and he was later consecrated metropolitan-bishop of Bet-Lapat, or Gundishapur, in the Persian province of Elam. While Jacob wrote under the Umayyads, who had their centre in Damascus, far away from Northern Syria and Mesopotamia where Jacob lived, Timothy had close contacts with the Abbasids residing in Baghdad. This means that he had a thorough knowledge of Arabic. In Timothy’s case, the church which he headed was more than a local church of Mesopotamia. It included, according to Timothy, not only “the regions of Babel and Persia and Atur,” but extended to the east as far as “the land of the Indians, the Chinese, the Tibetans, and the Turks,” and included “various and different regions and nations and tongues.” 32 In prouder terms than Jacob would ever use to describe his church, Timothy presents the Church of the East as the only one to have preserved the pure and orthodox faith. The East was the region from which Christ manuscript. Both manuscripts belonged to the collection of the SyrianOrthodox Monastery of the Syrians in Egypt. 32 Timothy, Letter to the monks of the Monastery of Mar Maron (XLI): R.J. Bidawid, Les lettres du patriarche nestorien Timothée I (Studi e Testi 187; Vatican City, 1956) 36,16–18 and 22 (Syriac); 117 (Latin translation).

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originated, through Abraham and David, where Nimrod the first king had reigned, and from where the twelve messengers 33 set off with their gifts for the new-born Christ. This eastern region, and more particularly the patriarchal throne of Seleucia-Ctesiphon, deserves to be honoured above the other patriarchates. 34 Timothy’s letters are of interest here for two reasons. First, in those of a theological or canonical nature, he regularly refers to the authorities on which his ecclesiastical and theological tradition is based. Second, many letters contain requests for books, as well as brief notes with information on certain writings. Among the authors Timothy uses and quotes in his theological explanations we find the names of Athanasius, Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa, Basil, John Chrysostom, Diodore, Nestorius, and Theodore. The honorific title “our father” is reserved for two of them: “our father Theodore the Interpreter,” i.e., Theodore of Mopsuestia 35 and “our father Gregory” 36 or “our father the Theologian,” 37 i.e., Gregory of Nazianzus. Other names, which appear less frequently and without quotes from their works, include Justin the Philosopher, Hippolytus of Rome, Methodius (of Olympus), Gregory (Thaumaturgus, one of the “three” Gregorys), Amphilochius (of Iconium), and Ambrose. 38 Timothy takes great 33 The number of the Magi is discussed in Jacob of Edessa’s Letter to John the Stylite referred to in note 25. Jacob and Timothy agree that they were twelve. Cf. E. Balicka-Witakowska, “Remarks on the Decoration and Iconography of the Syriac Gospels, British Library, Add. 7174,” in R. Lavenant (ed.), Symposium Syriacum VII (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 256; Rome, 1998), esp. 646–9. 34 Letter to Maranzka, bishop of Ninive (XXVI): O. Braun, Timothei patriarchae I Epistulae, I (CSCO 74–5, Syr. 30–1; Rome/Paris, 1914–5) 148– 150 (Syriac); 100–2 (Latin translation). 35 Letter to Nasr the faithflul (XXXV): Braun, 225,9 (Syriac); 154,31– 32 (Latin translation). 36 Letter to Sergius (XXI): Braun, 133,6 (Syriac); 89,17 (Latin translation); Letter to Sergius (XXXVIII) 277,1 (Syriac); 192,33 (Latin translation). 37 Letter to Sergius (XXXVIII): Braun, 267,16–7; 268,25; 269,10 (Syriac); 185,28; 186,31; 187,7–8 (Latin translation); Letter to Sergius (XXXIX) 276,12–3; 278,16 (Syriac); 192,16; 193,33 (Latin translation). 38 These authors, together with those mentioned in our first list, are those whose works, according to Timothy, had been translated into Syriac long before Nestorius. See the Letter to the monks of the Monastery of

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pains to defend the orthodoxy of Nestorius and Diodore against the accusations of Severus and others, mainly by arguing that Nestorius was in total agreement with Gregory of Nazianzus and that Diodore had received approval and even praise from Athanasius, Basil, and John Chrysostom. 39 Thus far I have mentioned only Greek authors. Interestingly, Timothy’s list is very similar to that of Jacob of Edessa’s Greek authors, which also mentions Athanasius, Basil, the two Gregorys, John Chrysostom. It does not include Cyril and Severus, whom Timothy knows but rejects, while the “Nestorian” authors Diodore, Nestorius, and Theodore are cherished by Timothy and rejected by Jacob. One may assume that Jacob and Timothy were familiar with most of these Greek authors via the same Syriac translations, which circulated among West- and East-Syrians alike, whether they originated during the period prior to the split or were later borrowed from the other community. But what about indigenous Syriac authors? We know that Jacob of Edessa’s main authors included Ephrem, Philoxenus, and Jacob of Serug. Timothy, too, quotes Syriac authors. In a letter to Nasr, apparently one of the protagonists in a christological controversy that had broken out in Basra and Huballat, Timothy replies to the passages that Nasr had selected in defence of his divergent view. These include quotations from both Henana of Adiabene (c. 600) and Mar Narsai (c. 500). With regard to the former, Timothy expresses his amazement, since Henana had been condemned as a heretic by the Synod of Catholicos Sabrišoc (596) and cannot, therefore, be taken as an authority. The quotation from “our great teacher Mar Narsai” is countered with another quotation from the same author, proving that Nasr’s position is not supported by Narsai. 40 It is tempting to speculate that Nasr, not unlike Henana, 41 was reacting against the “strict Theodorian” line Mar Maron: Bidawid, Les lettres [see note 31] 42,19–25 (Syriac); 121 (Latin translation). 39 Letter to the scholastic brothers of the Monastery of Mar Gabriel in Mosul (XLII): ms. Vat. Syr. 605, f. 279r–303r; summary in Bidawid, Les lettres, 34–35. 40 Letter to Nasr the faithful (XXXV): Braun, 233,21–235,29 (Syriac); 161,2–162,23 (Latin translation). 41 On Henana, see most recently G.J. Reinink, “‘Edessa Grew Dim and Nisibis Shone Forth:’ The School of Nisibis at the Transition of the

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of East-Syrian theology and exegesis, and thus was inclined to place more emphasis on authors of good Syrian stock. However, with so little evidence at our disposal, this conclusion must remain hypothetical. There are several other instances where Timothy refers to indigenous Syriac authors. In dealing with canonical matters, he has, among other things, a long quotation from Patriarch Henanišoc (I, d. 701) 42 and a reference to John of Bet-Rabban, a teacher at the School of Nisibis in the early sixth century. 43 More interestingly, at the end of his Letter to the monks of the Monastery of Mar Maron, after having spoken at length about the orthodoxy and the history of the Church of the East, Timothy draws his readers’ attention to the martyrs of his church, among them patriarchs, metropolitans, bishops, and lay people, men and women alike. The Maronite monks are referred to the Acts of the Martyrs, composed by Maruta, bishop of Mayperqat, who had himself relied on reports written by local writers. 44 This letter was intended to persuade the monks to join the Church of the East. Three elements are put forward which give this church its distinctive position: its orthodox theology, its unique history, and the blood and bones of the martyrs. As a matter of fact, the literary tradition of Syriac Christianity, in both the Eastern and the Western tradition, has been shaped by theologians, historians and hagiographers. Let us now put aside for a moment Timothy the churchman and turn to Timothy the erudite book collector. The works of Gregory of Nazianzus are mentioned time and again, here the Iambic Poems, there the Letters or the Homilies. As for the Homilies, he is familiar with the recension by Paul (of Edessa) and the correction of Athanasius (of Balad). But he is also looking for works by Athanasius, Eusebius of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom, Amphilochius, Eustathius, Flavianus, and Sixth-Seventh Century,” in J.W. Drijvers & A.A. MacDonald (eds.), Centres of Learning. Learning and Location in Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East (Leiden, 1995) 77–89. 42 Letter to Solomon, bishop of ʘedatta (I): Braun, 26,18–27,14 (Syriac); 15,18–16,3 (Latin translation). 43 Letter to Rabban Petion (IX): Braun, 95,30–96,4 (Syriac); 62,12–16 (Latin translation). 44 Letter to the monks of the Monastery of Mar Maron: Bidawid, Les lettres [see note 31] 45,20–46,15 (Syriac); 123–124 (Latin translation).

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Nemesius (of Emesa). The same book is sometimes requested several times, which proves that the searches were not always immediately successful. Timothy asks Rabban Petion to send him the works of Dionysius (the Areopagite), in the recension of Athanasius (of Balad?) or Phocas (bar Sergius). Later on, the same request is addressed three times to Sergius. 45 Not only Christian authors fall within Timothy’s sphere of interest. Aristotle and the Greek philosophic tradition are regularly mentioned. Timothy proudly reports on his translation of the Topics into Arabic, undertaken at the request of the caliph (alMahdi) in co-operation with Abu Nuh (the secretary of the governor of Mosul). 46 Syriac authors are mentioned from time to time. In one letter to Sergius, Timothy asks for the Mêmrê on the Soul by patriarch Mar Aba (middle of the sixth century)—there must be three of them, and he has only one—as well as for specific Mêmrê of Mar Narsai. 47 In another letter Timothy urges Sergius to search in all the monasteries and churches of Bet Huzaye for mêmrê of Mar Narsai which he might not have. Sergius is requested to note their incipit so that it would be easy to identify them and to order a copy. 48 The historian (Daniel) Bar Maryam is quoted once by Timothy, 49 who is somewhat dismissive of his biased account of Papa, the fourth-century bishop of Seleucia-Ctesiphon, which Letter to Rabban Petion (XLIII): O. Braun, “Briefe des Katholikos Timotheos I,” Oriens Christianus 2 (1902): 10–1 (Syriac and German translation); Letter to Sergius (XVI): Braun, 120,14–5 (Syriac); 80,6–7 (Latin translation); Letter to Sergius (XXXIII): Braun, 156,14–18 (Syriac); 106,17–21 (Latin translation); Letter to Sergius (XXXVII): Braun, 265,9– 14 (Syriac); 184,5–9 (Latin translation). 46 Cf. D. Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture. The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early cAbbâsid Society (2nd–4th/8th–10th centuries) (London/New York, 1998) 61 and most recently S.P. Brock, “Two Letters of the Patriarch Timothy from the Late Eighth Century on Translations from Greek,” Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 9 (1999): 233–46. 47 Letter to Sergius (XLVII): O. Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I über biblische Studien des 9 Jahrhunderts,” Oriens Christianus 1 (1901): 312–3. See also note 54. 48 Letter to Sergius (LIV): ms. Vat. Syr. 605, f. 324v–325r; summary in Bidawid, Les lettres, 40. 49 Letter to Sergius (XXI): Braun, 132,7–15 (Syriac); 88,24–31 (Latin translation). 45

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Timothy contrasts with Papa’s more favourable depiction in the Synodicon of the church. 50 On the basis of the letters, it would appear that the literary tradition that Timothy wanted to preserve and transmit was basically of Greek origin and focussed on Greek writings from the fourth and fifth centuries. As we have seen, it is almost identical to what was available to Jacob of Edessa. However, certain differences between the two men are noteworthy. Jacob knew Greek and must have had access to the Greek originals of at least some of the works he discusses. At the same time, the large number of works of Greek origin is counterbalanced by Jacob’s pronounced interest in Syriac authors, like Ephrem, Jacob of Serug and Philoxenus. Now if we look at Timothy’s letters, we see that they contain no reference to Ephrem, while the attention to Narsai does not even approach the place reserved for Jacob of Serug in Jacob’s letters. In Jacob’s day the process of borrowing Greek literature into Syriac was still going on. It had its proponents and its critics, and both groups needed to be accommodated. By Timothy’s day, this process had reached its completion. Greek works had been appropriated into Syriac and even naturalised, thereby receiving a new context and becoming dissociated from their original milieu. 51 Greek works in Syriac translation had become a legitimate part of the literary tradition and needed no further justification. There can be no doubt that in the same period—around the year 800—when many Syrian Christians had Arabic as their second or even first language, the knowledge of Greek in both the East and the West declined rapidly, becoming the privilege of a small For the wider context, see W. Schwaigert, Das Christentum in ʚûzistân im Rahmen der frühen Kirchengeschichte Persiens bis zur Synode von Seleukeia-Ktesiphon im Jahre 410 (Ph.D. Thesis; Marburg/Lahn 1989), esp. 75–6. 51 Some notions and terms have been borrowed from the introductory chapter of F.J. Ragep & S.P. Ragep (eds.), Tradition, Transmission, Transformation. Proceedings of Two Conferences on Pre-modern Science Held at the University of Oklahoma (Collection de travaux de l’Académie internationale d’histoire des sciences 37; Leiden, 1996), esp. xv–xix, and from the paper by A.I. Sabra, “The Appropriation and Subsequent Naturalization of Greek Science in Medieval Islam: A Preliminary Statement,” reprinted ibid., 3–27. 50

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learned elite. It is not without significance that in 775/6 a monk from a monastery near Amid used erased folios of six Greek Bibles in the writing of the so-called Chronicle of Zuqnin. 52 As we move back and forth between the West-Syrian and EastSyrian area, it should also be noted that despite their shared roots in early Christian tradition, the letters of Jacob of Edessa and Timothy bear witness to separate West-Syrian and East-Syrian traditions. The former includes authors like Cyril and Severus, who were known but rejected by the East-Syrians, and the Syriac authors Philoxenus and Jacob of Serug. The latter tradition venerates Nestorius, Diodore and Theodore, who had been anathematised by the West-Syrians. This is the parting of the ways between the two traditions. Taking shape during and in the aftermath of the councils of the fifth century, it was completed in the sixth century and never repaired. Or so it would seem. And yet in Timothy’s letters it becomes obvious that the line of demarcation between the two traditions is far from clear. In fact, the translations of Greek works produced in West-Syrian circles in the course of the sixth and seventh centuries are not only known to Timothy, but also highly appreciated and eagerly sought after. The Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus, in the recension of Paulus of Edessa and the correction of Athanasius of Balad—a ‘Monophysite’ bishop and a ‘Monophysite’ patriarch respectively— have already been referred to. The works of (Pseudo-) Dionysius the Areopagite, attested in West-Syrian circles from the beginning of the sixth century on, are mentioned by Timothy on several occasions. He is looking for a copy in the recension of either Athanasius or Phocas. Phocas bar Sergius is known to us as the translator of the Corpus Dionysiacum; in fact this version had been used by Jacob of Edessa. The earlier translation, preserved in a single anonymous manuscript, is now ascribed to Sergius of Reš c Ayna. 53 One wonders whether Timothy saw it as the work of 52 Cf. A. Harrak, The Chronicle of Zuqnin. Parts III and IV. A.D. 488– 775) (Mediaeval Sources in Translation 36; Toronto 1999) 1–2. For the reuse of Greek manuscripts of Homer, Galen, and Euclid in the ninth century and later, see Brock, “From Antagonism to Assimilation” [see note 3], 29 with note 149. 53 Cf. J.-M. Hornus, “Le corpus dionysien en syriaque,” Parole de l’Orient 1 (1970): 69–93 as well as S.P. Brock, “Jacob of Edessa’s Discourse on the Myron,” Oriens Christianus 63 (1979), esp. 21.

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Athanasius of Balad. In any case, this takes us back to the WestSyrian tradition. Another interesting example is the Syro-Hexapla, the work of the ‘Monophysite’ bishop Paul of Tella, which Timothy succeeded in borrowing with the help of Gabriel, the court physician, in order to have it copied for himself, for Gabriel, and for the library of Bet-Lapat. 54 It is not surprising that Timothy was so well informed about what was going on in the Syrian-Orthodox world. In some parts of Mesopotamia, the Syrian-Orthodox and East-Syrians lived side by side. This was certainly the case in the Mosul region. Not far from Mosul was the Monastery of Mar Mattai (which still stands today), a Syrian-Orthodox stronghold. On one occasion Timothy asks Rabban Petion, director of the school of Bašoš, to go to Mar Mattai and to make inquiries about commentaries or scholia on Aristotle’s work. 55 The same request is made to Sergius on three separate occasions, after the latter had succeeded Petion, in order to obtain information about the works of Dionysius the Areopagite, 56 Athanasius, Gregory of Nyssa, and Eustathius. 57 Timothy must have been convinced that despite the dogmatic division, the East- and West-Syrians did to a large extent share the same literary tradition. Not only was there a common written language and a shared literary history in the earliest period, but each tradition was able to incorporate the new achievements of the other. Libraries—like the one at Mar Mattai—bring scholars together and their shared love of books may even make them forget their dogmatic differences. In his letters, Timothy occasionally mentions libraries where he knows—for certain or by intuition—that certain books are kept. Unfortunately, these are for us mere names, faint Letter to Sergius (XLVII): Braun, “Ein Brief” [see note 47], 299– 313. Cf. R.B. ter Haar Romeny, “Biblical Studies in the Church of the East: The Case of Catholicos Timothy I,” forthcoming in E.J. Yarnold (ed.), Studia Patristica. Papers of the Thirteenth Patristic Conference (Oxford, 1999). An English translation of this letter is provided in Brock, A Brief Outline of Syriac Literature, 245–51. 55 Letter to Rabban Petion (XLIII): Braun, “Briefe” [see note 45], 4– 11. Cf. Brock, “Two Letters” [see note 46], 236 and 242. 56 See the references in note 45. 57 Letter to Sergius (XXXIX): Braun, 279,17–24 (Syriac); 194,28–33 (Latin translation). 54

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memories of a period of intense writing and reading activity. 58 He knows that Eusebius’ Apology for Origen must have been in the library of Šušterin. 59 He asks Sergius to send him the catalogue of the books of Mar Zayna, which he expects to contain some interesting items, 60 and he recalls having seen a manuscript from the monastery of Cyprian containing letters from John Chrysostom. 61 Timothy seems to have built up a private collection of some fifty books in the school of Bašoš, which he had received from Rabban (Abraham bar Dašandad) in return for various services. 62

LIBRARIES AND MANUSCRIPT COLLECTIONS [42]

In addition to these occasional references to Syriac libraries in Northern Mesopotamia in the early ninth century, we also hear of nascent collections in Egypt around the middle of the ninth century. Three monks from the “Monastery of Mar Yonan of the Syrians,” in Upper Egypt, donated ten manuscripts to the “Monastery of the Theotokos of the Syrians in the desert of Scetis,” the famous Dayr al-Suryan. Of these ten manuscripts, three have survived up to the present day. 63 In the course of the ninth century, other manuscripts were presented to the Syrian Monastery, 58 For some observations on book production and distribution in the period prior to Timothy, see M. Mundell Mango, “Patrons and Scribes Indicated in Syriac Manuscripts, 411 to 800 AD,” in XVI. Internationaler Byzantinistenkongress Wien, 4.–9. Oktober 1981, II/4 (Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 32,4; Vienna, 1982) 3–12. 59 Letter to Sergius (XIII): Braun, 109,6–13 (Syriac); 71,33–72,2 (Latin translation). 60 Letter to Sergius (XIX): Braun, 129,10–130,1 (Syriac); 86,16–32 (Latin translation). 61 Letter to Sergius (XLIX): ms. Vat. Syr. 605, f. 312v–313r; summary in Bidawid, Les lettres, 38. 62 Letter to Sergius (XVII): Braun, 123,5–16 (Syriac); 82,2–11 (Latin translation). Cf. H. Suermann, “Timothy and his Concern for the School of Basos,” The Harp 10,1–2 (1997): 51–8. The books had remained there when Timothy left for Baghdad and there subsequently arose some uncertainty about the ownership. 63 Cf. K. Innemée & L. Van Rompay, “La présence des Syriens dans le Wadi al-Natrun (Égypte). À propos des découvertes récentes de peintures et de textes muraux dans l’Église de la Vierge du Couvent des Syriens,” Parole de l’Orient 23 (1998): 182–3.

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mostly through monks from Tagrit. Thirteen of these items have been identified in European libraries, and three others are still in the monastery. 64 Biblical and liturgical texts are included, as well as ascetic writings (some of them, not inappropriately, dealing with the Egyptian desert fathers), while Philoxenus of Mabbog is also represented by a collection of discourses. What must already have been a considerable library at the end of the ninth century was substantially enlarged under the abbot Moses of Nisibis, who in 932 returned from a visit to Mesopotamia with 250 manuscripts, some sixty of which are now in European libraries. The library of Dayr al-Suryan continued to expand up to the early sixteenth century, but it may be worthwhile to focus on Moses’ acquisitions, for there is reason to believe that they were in part the result of a deliberate acquisition programme, planned by the learned abbot, who was well-off and had some influence with the Abbasid authorities in both Baghdad and Cairo. 65 Assuming that the sixty preserved pieces provide a fairly accurate picture of the entire collection, we cannot but be surprised at how much Moses’ taste—or his view of Syriac literary tradition—coincides with what we have found in the case of Jacob of Edessa and, mutatis mutandis, Timothy Catholicos. The classical patristic authors are well represented: Eusebius of Caesarea, Athanasius of Alexandria, Gregory of Nazianzus, 66 John H.G. Evelyn White, The Monasteries of the Wâdi ‘n Natrûn, II. The History of the Monasteries of Nitria and of Scetis (New York, 1932) 440–1 and Innemée & Van Rompay, “La présence,” 184. 65 On Moses, see J. Leroy, “Moïse de Nisibe,” in Symposium Syriacum 1972 (Orientalia Chistiana Analecta 197; Rome, 1974) 457–70, and M. Blanchard, “Moses of Nisibis (fl. 906–943) and the Library of Deir Suriani,” in L.S.B. MacCoull (ed.), Studies in the Christian East in Memory of Mirrit Boutros Ghali (Publications of the Society for Coptic Archaeology 1; Washington, D.C., 1995) 13–24. On the impact of the Library of Dayr alSuryan on Syriac studies, see S.P. Brock, “The Development of Syriac Studies,” in K.J. Cathcart (ed.), The Edward Hincks Bicentenary Lectures (Dublin: Department of Near Eastern Languages, University College, 1994) 94–109. 66 For a description of the manuscripts Brit. Libr. Or. 8731 and Brit. Libr. Add. 14,548, see A. Van Roey & H. Moors, “Les discours de Saint Grégoire de Nazianze dans la littérature syriaque,” Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 5 (1974): 80–4 and 84–7. For Gregory’s Homilies in Syriac, see also A. de Halleux, “La version syriaque des Discours de Grégoire de 64

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Chrysostom, Cyril of Alexandria, and Severus of Antioch. Some of the works Timothy so urgently requested from his friend Sergius, such as the Festal Letters of Athanasius or the works of Dionysius the Areopagite, could now easily be requested on microfilm from the British Library! Just think—a microfilm of a manuscript which in Timothy’s day was already of a respectable age! In one respect Moses’ collection differs markedly from Timothy’s picture of Syriac literature. It corresponds more closely to Jacob of Edessa’s views in that it is well stocked with indigenous Syriac writings: Ephrem, Jacob of Serug, Philoxenus of Mabbog, and others. Aphrahat should also be added to this list: although he is not mentioned by Jacob, he is discussed at length by George of the Arabs, as we have seen. The oldest manuscript, dated to AD 474, was bought by Moses in Reš cAyna, halfway between Edessa and Nisibis. Another noteworthy manuscript is a collection of hagiographic texts, beginning with the Teaching of Addai and written around the year 500. Not only the older representatives of Syriac literature have a place in Moses’ collection, but also more recent authors. The works of Iwannis of Dara and Nonnus of Nisibis, both belonging to the first half of the ninth century, are among the items collected by Moses, as is the Chronicle of Zuqnin, dated to 775, which was brought from the region of Amid in a manuscript which may very well be the author’s autograph. 67 There are a number of very old manuscripts in Moses’ collection, dating back to the seventh, sixth, and even fifth century. They were acquired in various places in Mesopotamia, such as the cities of Tagrit, Reš cAyna, and Harran. This region, east and south east of Edessa, is different from the area to the west and south west of Edessa, where important cities like Aleppo and Apamea are located as well as the monastic centres of Qennešrin, Tell cAda and many others. Syrian Christian culture of the latter region had its heyday in the sixth and seventh centuries, as the archaeological remains of the “dead cities of Syria” attest to this day. However, this culture rapidly declined in the early Islamic period and few Nazianze,” in J. Mossay (ed.), II. Symposium Nazianzenum (Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums, Neue Folge, 2,2; Paderborn, 1983) 75–111. 67 Harrak, The Chronicle of Zuqnin [see note 52] 9–21.

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traces of the rich manuscript collections that must have existed there remain. 68

DECLINE, RENAISSANCE, AND THE CONSOLIDATION OF TRADITION [48]

[49]

Syriac gradually lost its position as a spoken language in Syria and Mesopotamia, becoming instead a written Kultursprache. It may have been used in oral form from time to time, in a liturgical context or on special occasions. But all those who used the language also had access to one or more other languages, either Arabic or Persian. Even those who used one of the Aramaic dialects in their daily lives became increasingly alienated from the written language, which was on its way to becoming a leššânâ Ȩattiqâ (“ancient language”) or ktobonoyo (“written (language)”). People may have understood it and may have been able to read and even write it, but the direct interaction between the spoken and the written language had been halted; this happened at different moments in different regions, but the process was irreversible. Jacob of Edessa may have been the last Syrian author whose knowledge of Syriac was firmly rooted in the spoken language, 69 which in his day was not yet too far removed from “Classical” Syriac. However, the evidence at our disposal does not allow us to sketch this chapter of the history of the Syriac language in other than very general terms, skipping some centuries and passing over regional differences. This new situation drastically limited the role and scope of Syriac literature. Most importantly, the preservation of Syriac was itself no longer a natural fact, but was becoming increasingly dependent on the teaching carried out in the schools of monasteries and parish churches. The system of education had to be built on an ideology that saw the language and literature as 68 One of the rare surviving treasures indicative of the scribal and artistic skills existing in that region is the sixth-century Rabbula Codex, containing the four Gospels and an important set of illuminations. On the place of origin of this manuscript, see M. Mundell Mango, “Where was Beth Zagba?,” in C. Mango & O. Pritsak (eds.), Okeanos, Essays Presented to Ihor Ševcenko (= Harvard Ukrainian Studies 7, 1983) 405–30. 69 For an assessment of Jacob’s grammatical work, which was based on the real sounds of the language, not on its written form, see E.J. Revell, “The Grammar of Jacob of Edessa and the Other Near Eastern Grammatical Traditions,” Parole de l’Orient 3 (1972): 365–74.

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constituent elements of Syrian Christian identity. Moreover, in societies in which other languages and other patterns of culture prevailed—and to which Christians were obliged to adapt—Syriac no longer covered the whole range of intellectual and cultural activities. At the same time, Syriac heritage had to be trimmed to a manageable form. That is not to say that Syriac literature became something slightly artificial—comparable to Yiddish in present-day New York or Frisian in the Netherlands. This situation cannot be judged by the yardstick of our Western societies. Indeed, the Middle East has known periods of truly multicultural and multilingual activity, allowing different cultures to flourish at the same time and in the same region, sometimes given expression by the same individuals. Such phenomena could be witnessed until fairly recently in Jerusalem, Mosul, Beirut, or Aleppo. Unfortunately they no longer exist in present-day Europe, where a monoglot consciousness 70 is now becoming the rule. These ideas may be of some help in understanding the Syriac literature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, a period which has been variously described as decline 71 and revival. 72 To some extent both descriptions may be correct. However, when considering the works of this period, one cannot but be impressed by the tremendous achievements of Syrian Christians, who were nourished by their own tradition, but at the same time seized the opportunities of their new situation. Barhebraeus, Syrian-Orthodox mafryono of the thirteenth century, was a man of an exceptional breadth and openmindedness, who wrote in both Syriac and Arabic. As such he is an outstanding exponent of the Syriac culture of this period. In the case of Timothy, the East-Syrian Catholicos, we saw openings towards the Syrian-Orthodox world, but Barhebraeus’ view of 70 On the limitations of monolingualism and the “blessings of Babel,” see chapter seven in G. Steiner, Errata. An Examined Life (Second impression, London, 1997) 78–102 as well as J.M. Broekman, A Philosophy of European Union Law. Positions in Legal Space and the Construction of a Juridical World Image (On the Making of Europe 4; Louvain, 1999), esp. 310–323. 71 Cf. J.-B. Chabot, Littérature syriaque (Paris, 1934) 114: “Quatrième période (Xe–XIIIe siècle). Décadence et fin de la littérature syriaque;” compare 118, 121, 129. 72 Cf. P. Kawerau, Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance: Idee und Wirklichkeit (Berlin, 1955).

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Syriac literary culture fully encompasses both the West-Syrian and East-Syrian traditions, “two illustrious (we would say: official) traditions” (tartên mašlmonwon ʞbibon), as he puts it in the preface to his Book of Rays, or Syriac grammar. 73 That this is not merely a token veneration may be seen from the grammar itself. While it is based mainly on West-Syriac, it contains a great number of references to East-Syriac vocalisation and pronunciation. Among the authors quoted as examples we find the Syriac translations of the main Greek authorities, Gregory of Nazianzus, Basil, John Chrysostom, and Dionysius the Areopagite, as well as a number of Syrians: not only Ephrem, Jacob of Serug, and Jacob of Edessa, but also Narsai and once even Theodore of Mopsuestia! A similar incorporation of East-Syrian tradition is to be found in many of his other works, e.g., the Chronicle and the Ethicon. With regard to the latter two works, the Chronicle and the Ethicon, scholars have in recent years pointed to Barhebraeus’ fairly massive borrowing from Islamic sources. 74 This fact bears witness to the mafryono’s conviction that Syriac culture should not be fostered in isolation; rather, without giving up its own tradition, it should participate fully in the surrounding culture. While the idea has found few supporters since the time of Barhebraeus, the borrowing itself has remained firmly rooted in Syriac tradition, for precisely these two works have become tremendously popular. One could say that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries Syriac literature, especially the West-Syrian tradition, underwent a process of updating by such authors as Dionysius bar Salibi (d. 1171), Michael the Patriarch (d. 1199), Jacob bar Šakko (d. 1241) and Gregory Barhebraeus (d. 1286). Together these men, all A. Moberg, Le Livre des splendeurs. La grande grammaire de Grégoire Barhebraeus (Lund, 1922) 2,17–18 (Syriac); Idem, Buch der Strahlen. Die grössere Grammatik des Barhebraeus (Leipzig, 1913) 1–2 (German translation). 74 See H. Teule, “The Crusaders in Barhebraeus’ Syriac and Arabic Secular Chronicles: A Different Approach,” in K. Ciggaar, A. Davids, H. Teule (eds.), East and West in the Crusader States: Context—Contacts— Confrontations (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 75; Louvain, 1996) 39–49; Idem, Gregory Barhebraeus. Ethicon. Mêmrâ I (CSCO 535, Syr. 219; Louvain, 1993) XXX–XXXII as well as Appendix I (112–45), on the influence of Al-Ghazâlî’s work Iʚyâ‚ ȨUlum al-Dîn on the Ethicon. See also G. Lane, “An Account of Gregory Barhebraeus Abu al-Faraj and His Relations with the Mongols of Persia,” Hugoye 2,2 (July 1999). 73

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prominent personalities within their churches and societies, covered the whole range of Syriac literature. In their day, the intellectual and cultural infrastructure of Syriac Christianity was still largely intact. Their works of an encyclopaedic nature incorporate, summarise and complement earlier works, taking into account contemporary developments and allowing for borrowings from neighbouring cultures, as we have seen in the case of Barhebraeus. Through their achievements, Syriac literary tradition was remoulded into the shape in which it would be further transmitted in the centuries to follow. In terms of the fixation and consolidation of the tradition, these authors’ works are of paramount importance. The operation was a success, for their works enjoyed great popularity and were frequently copied. Unfortunately, due to the subsequent destruction throughout the Middle East and the decimation of the Christian population, many of the older works on which the twelfth- and thirteenth-century writings were based disappeared forever. The general profile of Syriac literature as perceived around the year 1300 in East-Syrian circles is somewhat different from what we find when we look at Jacob of Edessa and Timothy Catholicos. This is clear from the Catalogue of Books by ȨAbdišoȨ of Nisibis (d. 1318). 75 The list of “early and modern” writers (qadmâyê wa-‚ʚrâyê) has 198 entries, and although it starts with the books of the Old and New Testaments (nos. 1–2), followed by the “Greek Fathers” (nos. 3–48), by far the largest share (nos. 49–198) is for the “Syrian Fathers.” Many of the authors are no longer known to us, and one wonders whether ȨAbdišoȨ himself was actually familiar with all the authors and books he was listing or whether he sometimes just quoted from memory or copied some vague reference. 76 From the earliest period, ŠemȨon bar SabbćȨe, Acacius, Miles, and the Letters to Papa are referred to, alongside Ephrem, “the prophet of the Syrians” and Aphrahat. A number of East-Syrian authors are also mentioned. The lemma on Babai (fl. c. 600), which refers to 83 J.S. Assemani, “Carmen Ebedjesu Metropolitae Sobae et Armeniae continens catalogum librorum omnium ecclesiasticorum,” Bibliotheca Orientalis, III,1 (Rome, 1725) 1–362 (Syriac and Latin translation). There is a new edition, by J. Habbi (Baghdad, 1987), which, however, has not been accessible to me. 76 See, e.g., the otherwise unknown author Bar Yacqob (no. 159), about whom ȨAbdišoȨ only reports: ‚it leh ktâbâ “he has a book.” 75

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[55]

[56]

[57]

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books, puts this theologian on nearly the same level as Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Greek section. 77 This list of authors who “spoke through the spirit” (mallel(w) b-yad ruʚâ) 78 also includes contemporaries; in the last section cAbdišoc lists his own Syriac and Arabic works. And finally, there are also a few Syrian-Orthodox authors, including Jacob of Edessa, whose Chronicle is quoted. Not only are contemporary authors included in cAbdišoc’s Catalogue, they also appear in manuscripts preserved in the monastic libraries. In the case of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, our evidence is scanty, being limited to a few particulars on the libraries of the Monastery of Rabban Hormizd near Alqoš and the Monastery of Bet Qoqa (or Baquqa). We are better informed about the later collections of Siirt and Alqoš. Religious poetry, in particular, was a very popular genre. After Giwargis Warda and Khamis bar Qardahe (both from Erbil and working in the thirteenth century), monks associated with Bet Qoqa practised this genre—Gabriel Qamsa (end of the thirteenth century) and Brikhišoc bar Eškape (fourteenth century)—before passing the tradition on to poets in Gazarta and Alqoš in the sixteenth century. 79 These writings were immediately incorporated into the manuscript collections of “Classical” Syriac, which proves that the tradition of “Classical” Syriac was still seen as very much alive. 80 Another interesting aspect of these late East-Syrian manuscript collections is the presence of a number of Syrian-Orthodox authors: Jacob bar Šakko (first half of the thirteenth century), with his Book of Dialogues and above all Barhebraeus, whose works appear in various collections. It is tempting to see here a positive response of the East-Syrians to the mafryono’s open-mindedness. As is well-known, from the end of the sixteenth century onwards copying activities intensified in the village of Alqoš, where a number of priest-copyists were active, and to a lesser extent in several other places in Northern Iraq. This points in the direction of a new operation aimed at updating the tradition, comparable to Surprisingly Babai is not mentioned in Timothy’s correspondence. Compare a similar expression used by Jacob of Edessa, referred to in note 9. 79 Cf. Baumstark, Geschichte, 304–6, 321–3. 80 An article, by Heleen Murre-van den Berg and myself, on some aspects of the East-Syrian transmission of Classical Syriac literature after the thirteenth century is in preparation. 77 78

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that which took place in the Syrian-Orthodox milieu in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. However, in seventeenth-century Alqoš it was not the high-ranking officials of the church who took the lead, but rather learned village priests. Furthermore, the focus was on copying, i.e., retrieving and preserving ancient texts, rather than rewriting them. Due to the difference in social level, new types of texts came to the fore, such as the History of Alexander 81 and the “Aramaic” History of Ahiqar, texts which must have been popular down through the ages. Finally, in addition to the popular genre of Syriac religious poetry, the Alqošâyê experimented with a hitherto unexplored method of dealing with the tradition: religious poetry of traditional content in Sureth, the colloquial Aramaic language of the region. 82

EPILOGUE [58]

The copying activities of East-Syrian village priests in North Iraq in the seventeenth century, the rewriting and assembling of ancient texts by Syrian-Orthodox church leaders of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and the collecting of manuscripts by an abbot travelling between Mesopotamia and the Egyptian desert in the early tenth century, all testify to the manner in which Syrian Christians, under very different circumstances, valued their tradition. Comments by Jacob of Edessa and Timothy Catholicos have helped us to understand some aspects of the growth and It should be noted that in their letters both Jacob of Edessa and Timothy Catholicos have a reference to the meeting between Alexander and Queen Qandaqe. For Jacob, see his Letter to John the Stylite: ms. Brit. Libr. Add. 12,172, f. 122v (where TašȨyâtâ hâlên d-meʞʞol ‚Aleksandros malkâ d-Yawnâyê are explicitly referred to). For Timothy, see his Letter to Nasr the faithful (XXXV): Braun, 228,4–14 (Syriac); 156,32–157,3 (Latin translation). On the History of Alexander in Syriac, see most recently C.A. Ciancaglini, “Gli antecedenti del Romanzo siriaco di Alessandro,” in R.B. Finazzi & A. Valvo (eds.), La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale. Il “Romanzo di Alessandro” e altri scritti (L’eredità classica nel mondo orientale 2; Alessandria, 1998) 55–93. 82 Cf. H.L. Murre-van den Berg, “A Syrian Awakening. Alqosh and Urmia as Centres of Neo-Syriac Writing,” in Lavenant, Symposium Syriacum VII [see note 33] 499–515 as well as A. Mengozzi, “The Neo-Aramaic Manuscripts of the British Library: Notes on the Study of the Durikyâtâ as a Neo-Syriac Genre,” Le Muséon 112 (1999): 459–94. 81

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development of the tradition. It is upon the labour of all these people that we are building our own constructions, Syriac scholars and Syrian Christians alike. It is to be hoped that the result of our joint efforts will do justice to the perspicacity and openmindedness of the most eminent among them.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The ideas expressed here have developed during a class on Syriac literature taught in the course of several years at the University of Leiden. Not only the students but also my colleagues Judith Frishman (who suggested the title), Bas ter Haar Romeny, Dirk Kruisheer, Alessandro Mengozzi, and Heleen Murre-van den Berg discussed various aspects of the subject with me. George Kiraz and Thomas Joseph worked hard to give this text its Hugoye format.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adler, W. “Jacob of Edessa and the Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Syriac Chronography.” In Reeves, J.C., ed. Tracing the Treads. Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha, 143–71. Society of Biblical Literature; Early Judaism and Its Literature, 6. Atlanta 1994. Assemani, J.S. “Carmen Ebedjesu Metropolitae Sobae et Armeniae continens catalogum librorum omnium ecclesiasticorum.” Bibliotheca Orientalis, III,1 (Rome, 1725). Balicka-Witakowska, E. “Remarks on the Decoration and Iconography of the Syriac Gospels, British Library, Add. 7174.” In Lavenant, R., ed. Symposium Syriacum VII, 641–60. Orientalia Christiana Analecta, 256. Rome, 1998. Baumstark, A. Geschichte der syrischen Literatur mit Ausschluss der christlichpalästinensischen Texte. Bonn, 1922. Bidawid, R.J. Les lettres du patriarche nestorien Timothée I. Studi e Testi, 187. Vatican City, 1956. Blanchard, M. “Moses of Nisibis (fl. 906–943) and the Library of Deir Suriani.” In MacCoull, L.S.B., ed. Studies in the Christian East in Memory of Mirrit Boutros Ghali, 13–24. Publications of the Society for Coptic Archaeology, 1. Washington, D.C., 1995. Braun, O. “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I über biblische Studien des 9 Jahrhunderts.” Oriens Christianus, 1 (1901): 299–313. ———. “Briefe des Katholikos Timotheos I.” Oriens Christianus, 2 (1902): 1–32. ———. Timothei patriarchae I Epistulae, I. CSCO, 74–5; Syr., 30–1. Rome/Paris, 1914–5.

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Brière M. & F. Graffin, Sancti Philoxeni episcopi Mabbugensis Dissertationes decem de Uno e sancta trinitate incorporato et passo (Mêmrê contre ʚabib), V. Patrologia Orientalis, 41,1. Turnhout, 1982. Brock, S.P. “Jacob of Edessa’s Discourse on the Myron.” Oriens Christianus, 63 (1979): 20–36. ———. “From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac Attitudes to Greek Learning.” In Garsoïan, N.G., T.F. Mathews, R.W. Thomson, eds. East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, 17– 34. Washington, D.C., 1982. ———. “The Development of Syriac Studies.” In Cathcart, K.J., ed. The Edward Hincks Bicentenary Lectures, 94–109. Dublin: Department of Near Eastern Languages, University College, 1994. ———. A Brief Outline of Syriac Literature. Kottayam, 1997. ———. “The Transmission of Ephrem’s Madrashe in the Syriac Liturgical Tradition.” In Livingstone, E.A., ed. Studia Patristica, XXXIII, 490–505. Louvain, 1997. ———. “St. Ephrem in the Eyes of Later Syriac Liturgical Tradition.” Hugoye, 2,1 (January 1999). ———. “Two Letters of the Patriarch Timothy from the Late Eighth Century on Translations from Greek.” Arabic Sciences and Philosophy, 9 (1999): 233–246. Broekman, J.M. A Philosophy of European Union Law. Positions in Legal Space and the Construction of a Juridical World Image. On the Making of Europe, 4. Louvain, 1999. Chabot, J.-B. Littérature syriaque. Paris, 1934. Ciancaglini, C.A. “Gli antecedenti del Romanzo siriaco di Alessandro.” In Finazzi, R.B., & A. Valvo, eds. La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale. Il “Romanzo di Alessandro” e altri scritti, 55–93. L’eredità classica nel mondo orientale, 2. Alessandria, 1998. Conrad, L.I. “Varietas Syriaca: Secular and Scientific Culture in the Christian Communities of Syria after the Arab Conquest.” In Reinink, G.J., & A.C. Klugkist, eds. After Bardaisan. Studies on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers, 85–105. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 89. Louvain, 1999. Ebied, R.Y., A. Van Roey, L. Wickham. Petri Callinicensis Patriarchae Antiocheni Tractatus contra Damianum. Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca, 29, 32, 35. Louvain/Turnhout, 1994–8. Evelyn White, H.G. The Monasteries of the Wâdi ‘n Natrûn, II. The History of the Monasteries of Nitria and of Scetis. New York, 1932. Gutas, D. Greek Thought, Arabic Culture. The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early cAbbâsid Society (2nd–4th/8th–10th centuries). London/New York, 1998.

Past and Present Perceptions of Syriac Literary Tradition 101 ter Haar Romeny, R.B. A Syrian in Greek Dress. The Use of Greek, Hebrew, and Syriac Biblical Texts in Eusebius of Emesa’s Commentary on Genesis. Traditio Exegetica Graeca, 6. Louvain, 1997. ———. “Biblical Studies in the Church of the East: The Case of Catholicos Timothy I.” In Yarnold, E.J., ed. Studia Patristica. Papers of the Thirteenth Patristic Conference. Oxford, 1999 [forthcoming]. de Halleux, A. Philoxène de Mabbog. Lettre aux moines de Senoun. CSCO, 231– 232; Syr., 98–9. Louvain, 1963. ———. Philoxène de Mabbog. Sa vie, ses écrits, sa théologie. Louvain, 1963. ———. “La version syriaque des Discours de Grégoire de Nazianze.” In Mossay, J., ed. II. Symposium Nazianzenum, 75–111. Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums, Neue Folge, 2,2. Paderborn, 1983. Harrak, A. The Chronicle of Zuqnin. Parts III and IV. A.D. 488–775. Mediaeval Sources in Translation, 36. Toronto, 1999. Hornus, J.-M. “Le corpus dionysien en syriaque,” Parole de l’Orient, 1 (1970): 69–93. Hoyland, R.G. Seeing Islam as Others Saw It. A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam. Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, 13. Princeton, NJ, 1997. ———. “Jacob of Edessa on Islam.” In Reinink, G.J., & A.C. Klugkist, eds. After Bardaisan. Studies on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers, 149–60. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 89. Louvain, 1999. Innemée, K., & L. Van Rompay. “La présence des Syriens dans le Wadi al-Natrun (Égypte). À propos des découvertes récentes de peintures et de textes muraux dans l’Église de la Vierge du Couvent des Syriens.” Parole de l’Orient, 23 (1998): 167–202. Kawerau, P. Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance: Idee und Wirklichkeit. Berlin, 1955. Kruisheer, D. “Reconstructing Jacob of Edessa’s Scholia.” In Frishman, J., & L. Van Rompay, eds. The Book of Genesis in Jewish and Oriental Christian Interpretation. A Collection of Essays, 187–96. Traditio Exegetica Graeca, 5. Louvain, 1997. Kruisheer, D., & L. Van Rompay, “A Bibliographical Clavis to the Works of Jacob of Edessa.” Hugoye, 1,1 (January 1998). Lane, G. “An Account of Gregory Barhebraeus Abu al-Faraj and His Relations with the Mongols of Persia.” Hugoye, 2,2 (July 1999). Leroy, J. “Moïse de Nisibe.” In Symposium Syriacum 1972, 457–70. Orientalia Chistiana Analecta, 197. Rome, 1974. Mengozzi, A. “The Neo-Aramaic Manuscripts of the British Library: Notes on the Study of the Durikyâtâ as a Neo-Syriac Genre.” Le Muséon, 112 (1999): 459–94.

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Moberg, A. Buch der Strahlen. Die grössere Grammatik des Barhebraeus. Leipzig, 1913. ———. Le Livre des splendeurs. La grande grammaire de Grégoire Barhebraeus. Lund, 1922. Mundell Mango, M. “Patrons and Scribes Indicated in Syriac Manuscripts, 411 to 800 AD.” In XVI. Internationaler Byzantinistenkongress Wien, 4.–9. Oktober 1981, II/4, 3–12. Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 32,4. Vienna, 1982. ———. “Where was Beth Zagba?” In Mango, C., & O. Pritsak, eds. Okeanos, Essays Presented to Ihor Ševcenko, 405–30 (= Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 7; 1983). Murre-van den Berg, H.L. “A Syrian Awakening. Alqosh and Urmia as Centres of Neo-Syriac Writing.” In Lavenant, R., ed. Symposium Syriacum VII, 499–515. Orientalia Christiana Analecta, 256. Rome, 1998. Nau, F. “Lettre de Jacques d’Édesse au diacre George sur une hymne composée par S. Éphrem et citée par S. Jean Maron.” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien, 6 (1901): 115–31. ———. “Traduction des lettres XII et XIII de Jacques d’Édesse (exégèse biblique).” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien, 10 (1905): 197–208 and 258– 282. ———. “Cinq lettres de Jacques d’Édesse à Jean le stylite (Traduction et analyse).” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien, 14 (1909): 427–40. Nestle, E. Brevis linguae syriacae grammatica, litteratura, chrestomathia. Porta Linguarum Orientalium, 5. Karlsruhe/Leipzig, 1881. Phillips, G. A Letter by Mar Jakob of Edessa on Syriac Orthography. London, 1869. Ragep, F.J., & S.P. Ragep, eds. Tradition, Transmission, Transformation. Proceedings of Two Conferences on Pre-modern Science Held at the University of Oklahoma. Collection de travaux de l’Académie internationale d’histoire des sciences, 37. Leiden, 1996. Reinink, G.J. “‘Edessa Grew Dim and Nisibis Shone Forth:’ The School of Nisibis at the Transition of the Sixth-Seventh Century.” In Drijvers, J.W., & A.A. MacDonald, eds. Centres of Learning. Learning and Location in Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East, 77– 89. Leiden, 1995. Revell, E.J. “The Grammar of Jacob of Edessa and the Other Near Eastern Grammatical Traditions.” Parole de l’Orient, 3 (1972): 365–74. Rodrigues Pereira, A.S. Studies in Aramaic Poetry (c. 100 B.C.E. – c. 600 C.E.). Selected Jewish, Christian and Samaritan Poems. Studia Semitica Neerlandica, 34. Assen, 1997. Ryssel, V. Georgs des Araberbischofs Gedichte und Briefe. Leipzig, 1891.

Past and Present Perceptions of Syriac Literary Tradition 103 Sabra, A.I. “The Appropriation and Subsequent Naturalization of Greek Science in Medieval Islam: A Preliminary Statement,” reprinted in Ragep, F.J., & S.P. Ragep, eds. Tradition, Transmission, Transformation. Proceedings of Two Conferences on Pre-modern Science Held at the University of Oklahoma, 3–27. Collection de travaux de l’Académie internationale d’histoire des sciences, 37. Leiden, 1996. Saley, R.J., The Samuel Manuscript of Jacob of Edessa. A Study in Its Underlying Textual Traditions. Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden, 9. Leiden, 1998. Salvesen, A. The Books of Samuel in the Syriac Version of Jacob of Edessa. Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden, 10. Leiden, 1999. Schröter, R. “Erster Brief Jacobs von Edessa an Johannes den Styliten.” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 24 (1870): 261– 300. Schwaigert, W. Das Christentum in ʙûzistân im Rahmen der frühen Kirchengeschichte Persiens bis zur Synode von Seleukeia-Ktesiphon im Jahre 410. Ph.D. Thesis; Marburg/Lahn, 1989. Steiner, G. Errata. An Examined Life. Second impression, London, 1997. Suermann, H. “Timothy and his Concern for the School of Basos.” The Harp, 10,1–2 (1997): 51–8. Teule, H. Gregory Barhebraeus. Ethicon. Mêmrâ I. CSCO, 534–5; Syr. 218–9. Louvain, 1993. Teule, H. “The Crusaders in Barhebraeus’ Syriac and Arabic Secular Chronicles: A Different Approach.” In Ciggaar, K., A. Davids, H. Teule, eds. East and West in the Crusader States: Context— Contacts—Confrontations, 39–49. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 75. Louvain, 1996. Van Roey, A., & H. Moors, “Les discours de Saint Grégoire de Nazianze dans la littérature syriaque, II. Les manuscrits de la version ‘récente’.” Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica, 5 (1974): 79–125. Wright, W. Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Acquired since the Year 1838, 3 vol. London, 1870–2. Wright, W. “Two Letters of Mâr Jacob, Bishop of Edessa.” Journal of Sacred Literature, IV,10 (1867): 434–60. Wright, W. Fragments of the Turrâs Mamllâ Nahrâyâ or Syriac Grammar of Jacob of Edessa. London/Clerkenwell, s.d.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.1, 105–109 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

BRIEF ARTICLES

THE TEACHING OF SYRIAC IN LEBANON: AN OVERVIEW RAY MOUAWAD CENTRE D’ETUDES ET DE RECHERCHES ORIENTALES ANTELIAS, LEBANON [1]

[2]

Notwithstanding the important role of the Syriac language in Lebanon’s past, the teaching of Syriac up to the seventies was relatively modest. A new quest for roots and a new perception of history has led to a renewal in Syriac studies since the end of the Lebanese war. I had to conform myself to the realities of the Lebanese educational system in order to conduct this research. It is divided in two: private schools and universities for which there is a charge for admission, and the government schools and universities which are practically free of charge.

PRIVATE SCHOOLS [3]

[4]

The private schools in Lebanon are in their overwhelming majority dependent on the religious communities (17 of them—both Christian and Muslim—are officially numbered in the constitution of Lebanon). When we consider Syriac teaching at school, it is obvious that only the Christian communities—who still use Syriac as an every day means of communication—provide such programs. This includes the Syrian Orthodox community (whose Patriarchate is in Damascus, Syria) and the Assyrian community (whose Patriarchate 105

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is in Chicago, USA). Within these communities, we have the following schools: x

x

x

x

[5]

Saint George School (Mar Jirjis). Dependent on the Assyrian community in the north-eastern suburbs of Beirut, it caters for approximately 250 students, all of them Assyrian, from the primary level to the 10th year of school (Lebanese Brevet). They learn Syriac in the form of religious courses. The bishop of the Assyrian community in Lebanon, Mgr. Debaz, who is responsible for the school, informed me that they are in dire need of financial help. School of al-Taraqqi (commonly known as Taw Mim Simkath, since it initially derived its support from the American-based Taw Mim Simkath association). The school is dependent on the Syrian Orthodox community, also in the north-eastern suburbs of Beirut. It caters for approximately 250 students as well, all of whom are Syrian Orthodox. The school offers classes for students from the primary level to the 10th year of school (Lebanese Brevet). They too learn Syriac within the context of religious courses. Mar Severus School. Located in Mussaytbeh in West Beirut (a neighbourhood with a Muslim majority), this school also belongs to the Syrian Orthodox community. Only 10% of the students are Syrian Orthodox, the others are mostly Muslim. The school has approximately 700 to 800 pupils, and has a complete academic program, up to the Lebanese Baccalaureate. The Syriac children are required to take the Syriac language courses, but Muslim students are exempt. Saint George School (Mar Jirjis). Located in the city of Zahleh in the Bekaa Valley, this Syrian Orthodox school has about 200 pupils, but delivers a program up to the secondary level only. Here too, Syriac classes are given in the context of religious courses.

As for the Maronite community, there are no schools that teach the Syriac language to children. Learning Syriac depends on private initiatives from village priests or monks to impart a better understanding of the musical liturgy of the Maronite Church. There is nothing institutionalised or organised systematically at a community level.

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Public (government) schools do not teach Syriac at all, even as an optional language.

PRIVATE UNIVERSITIES [7]

The University of the Holy Spirit in Kaslik (USEK) is an institution that relies on the Lebanese Maronite monastic order. It is situated in the small coastal city of Jounieh north of Beirut. A two year course in Syriac is requested from the students that are in the following departments: x

x

x

[8]

[9]

The Faculty of Musicology: Offers a 3-year program that includes courses about sacred music, music history, choral singing and a research seminar. The Syriac music is studied in each of these courses as one variety of music (next to the Byzantine, the Gregorian etc.). The choir of the university performs beautifully Syriac hymns in regularly held events. The Institute of Sacred Arts: Offers a 3-year program that has a special course in Syriac iconography, theory and practice. It has about 30 students. Approximately ten of them later specialise for two more years pursuing a Masters or a DEA degree in Sacred Arts. The director of the institute performs a new style of Church frescoes in Syria and in Lebanon that takes its inspiration from the Syriac tradition. The Pontifical Faculty of Theology: In the academic year 1999–2000, a new department, “Syriac and Antiochian Studies,” is being opened. The department will specialize in all aspects of the Syriac culture: language, art, history, geography. It will offer a 3-year program. The department will also have a specialised Syriac library.

The University of the Holy Spirit has a quarterly publication, Parole de l’Orient, devoted to Syriac studies. It also publishes a collection of books on Syriac authors. The Patriarchal Maronite Seminary of Ghazir (North of Beirut): It caters for approximately 150 students. They are requested to study five years of Syriac at the Seminary, where they also take courses on the Syriac fathers in Ghazir. Theology, however, is taught to students at University of the Holy Spirit in Kaslik. Saint Joseph University (Jesuits) in Beirut and the American University of Beirut do not provide courses of Syriac at all. It is

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particularly regrettable for the former since from its foundation in the 19th century up to the fifties, it produced numerous Jesuit teachers and scholars who were well versed in the Syriac language. These scholars contributed to a better knowledge of Syriac liturgy, language, grammar, manuscripts and inscriptions (published mainly in their prestigious review in Arabic, al-Mashriq). The Syriac-French dictionary of Louis Costaz S.J. and his Syriac grammar are still invaluable tools for all French-speaking students who desire to learn the Syriac language.

PUBLIC UNIVERSITIES [10]

The Lebanese University is a public (government) university with five campuses around Lebanon. x

x x

In the Beirut area, the Faculty of Letters located in Fanar, includes in its Department of Arabic Literature an intensive course of Syriac for students who reach their fourth year of education. The same applies for the other campuses in Tripoli, Zahle, Sidon, and West Beirut. Syriac is offered as an optional language in addition to Hebrew, Greek, and Persian and is met positively by the students because of its similarity to Arabic and its easy access for the Arabic speaking students. In Tripoli alone, in June 1999, 110 students took the Syriac intensive course. The Philosophy Department of the Faculty also offers a 3-year course in Syriac, available on all the different campuses in the country. Finally, the Department of Archaeology of the University has a complete cycle of courses on the Syriac language in a 3-year program. After completion, the student can follow a course on The Reading of Syriac Manuscripts.

PRIVATE ASSOCIATIONS FOR THE SYRIAC LANGUAGE [11]

In addition to the official institutions, there are private associations that promote the learning of the Syriac language. The oldest and most active is The Friends of the Syriac Language based in Beirut. They provide private courses for those who desire to learn Syriac. Most of its members are Syriac teachers who created their original

The Teaching of Syriac in Lebanon

[12]

method of teaching. One of their last initiatives was the dubbing in Syriac of a 2-hour video film on the life of Jesus. Many other associations attempt to promote Syriac studies in the context of encouraging theological studies for the laity. Their access is free. The major ones include: x x x

[13]

[14]

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Lo tedhal “do not be afraid” in Fanar (Beirut hills), directed by Fr. Mansour Labaki. The Centre for Theological Culture for the Laity, in the College of the Apostles in Jounieh (ca. 35 students) The Antonine Maronite Monastic Order which provides night courses in theology and Syriac for the laity in its different institutions (located in Antelias, Baabda, and Hasroun).

To conclude this survey of Syriac studies in Lebanon, it is worth stressing the increasing interest in Syriac among local scholars. That interest is manifest among those who are interested in Arabic literature and who are eager to find in the Syriac language a rich field of research, as well as those who are interested in Syriac for religious and historical reasons. What appears to be missing in the actual situation is a link between the knowledge of the language and the possibilities of reading, researching and using Syriac. Many of the Lebanese who study Syriac for various reasons do not have the opportunity for a proper access to the culture related to it: the publications, the manuscripts, the history, the legends and the liturgy. However, as there is a progressive awareness of the richness of the Syriac patrimony, a certain number of institutions are planning to develop their Syriac departments further.

PUBLICATIONS AND BOOK REVIEWS Recent Books on Syriac Topics (1997–1999) SEBASTIAN P. BROCK, UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, ORIENTAL INSTITUTE

[1]

[2]

The following list continues on from earlier lists in Hugoye. Authors are listed alphabetically under each year, and a few items from 1997, missing in earlier lists, are included here. For the most part only books in European languages have been included. 1997 Cassingena, F. Ephrem le Syrien. Hymnes sur l’Epiphanie (Spiritualité orientale 70; Abbaye de Bellefontaine). Cerbelaud, D. Ephrem le Syrien. Hymnes sur le jeune (Spiritualité orientale 69; Abbaye de Bellefontaine). Dogan, H. Mhadyono Wörterbuch. Syrisch-Deutsch, Deutsch-Syrisch (Syriac Patrimony 17; Aleppo/Damascus: Mardin Press, POB 4194, Aleppo). Griffith, S.H. “Faith adoring the Mystery:” Reading the Bible with St. Ephraem the Syrian (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press). Odisho, M. Gewargis Ashitha: Hilqa de Leshana. Assyrian[i.e. Syriac]-Arabic Dictionary (Baghdad: the author). [With appendix of scientific terms, Syriac-Arabic-English]. Yousif, E.-I. Les philosophes et traducteurs syriaques. D’Athènes à Bagdad (Paris: L’Harmattan).

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1998 ——. The Good News of our Lord Jesus Christ according to the Four Evangelists (Pshitta of Mardin) (Istanbul: Mor Gabriel Monastery and the Bible Societies). ——. Il Restauro del Monastero di San Mose l’Abessino, Nebek, Siria (Damascus). Al-Rasheed, M. Iraqi Assyrian Christians in London. The Construction of Ethnicity (Mellen Studies in Sociology 22: Lewiston). Clackson, S., E. Hunter, S.N.C. Lieu, M. Vermes. Dictionary of Manichaean Texts, I, Texts from the Roman Empire (Texts in Syriac, Greek, Coptic and Latin) (Corpus Fontium Manichaeorum, Subsidia II; Turnhout: Brepols). Hansbury, M. Jacob of Serug, On the Mother of God (Crestville NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press).

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Humbert, J.B., and A. Desreumaux. Khirbet es-Samra 1, Jordanie. La voie romaine, le cimetière, les documents épigraphiques (Turnhout: Brepols). [Christian Palestinian Aramaic inscriptions]. Lenzi, G. Il Vangelo di Giovanni secondo l’antico versione siriaca (Sussidi Biblici, 60; Reggio Emilia). Mathews, E.G. The Armenian Commentary on Genesis attributed to Ephrem the Syrian (CSCO 572–3, Scr. Arm. 23–24; Leuven: Peeters). Müller-Kessler, C., and M. Sokoloff. A Corpus of Christian Palestinian Aramaic, IIA, The Christian Palestinan Aramaic New Testament Version from the Early Period, Gospels; IIB, Acts of the Apostles and Epistles (Groningen: Styx). [Pro Oriente]. Syriac Dialogue 3. Third Non-Official Consultation on Dialogue within the Syriac Tradition (Vienna: Pro Oriente). Suermann, H. Die Gründungsgeschichte der Maronitischen Kirche. Orientalia Biblica et Christiana 10 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz). Vazheeparampil, P. The Making and Unmaking of Tradition. Towards a Theology of the Liturgical Renewal in the Syro-Malabar Church (Rome: Mar Thoma Yogam).

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1999 Acharya, F. The Clothing of Monks (Moran Etho series 13; Kottayam: SEERI). Brock, S.P. From Ephrem to Romanos: Interactions between Syriac and Greek in Late Antiquity (Aldershot: Variorum). ———. (tr. M. Campatelli). L’occhio luminoso. La visione spirituale di sant’Efrem (Pubblicazioni del Centro Aletti 23, Rome: Lipa, 1999). [Italian tr. of The Luminous Eye (1992), with updated bibliography]. ———. (tr. M. Campatelli and M. Nin). L’arpa dello Spirito. 18 poemi di sant’Efrem (Pubblicazioni del Centro Aletti 22, Rome: Lipa, 1999). [Italian tr. of The Harp of the Spirit (1983)]. Chiala, S. Isacco di Ninive. Un’umile speranza. Antologia (Magnano: Edizioni Qiqajon). Drijvers, H.J.W., and J.F.Healey. The Old Syriac Inscriptions of Edessa and Osrhoene. Texts, Translations & Commentary (Handbuch der Orientalistik I.42; Leiden: Brill). [Centre d’Etudes et de Recherches Orientales]. Patrimoine Syriaque: Actes du colloque VI. Le Monachisme Syriaque du VIIe siècle à nos jours (Antelias: CERO). Erbes, J.E. The Peshitta and the Versions. A Study of the Peshitta Variants in Joshua 1–5 in Relation to their Equivalents in the Ancient Versions (Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis: Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 16; Uppsala).

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Escolan, P. Monachisme et l’Eglise. Le monachisme syrien du IVe au VIIe siècle: un monachisme charismatique (Théologie historique 109; Paris: Beauchesne). Gillman, I., and H-J. Klimkeit. Christians in Asia before 1500 (Richmond UK: Curzon). Harrak, A. The Chronicle of Zuqnin, Parts III & IV, A.D. 488–775 (Medieval Sources in Translation 36; Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies). Hogan, M. The Sermon on the Mount in St. Ephrem’s Commentary on the Diatessaron (Bern: Peter Lang). Hollerweger, H. Lebendiges Kulturerbe. Living Cultural Heritage. Canli Kultur Mirasi: TurAbdin (Linz: Freunde des Tur Abdin, Bethlehemstrasse 20, A–4020 Linz, Austria). Ica, I.I. Sfantul Efrem Sirul. Imnele Paresimilor, Azimelor, Rastignirii si Ivnierii (Sibiu: Deesis). Kiraz, G.A. (ed.). SyrCOM–99. Proceedings of the Third International Forum on Syriac Computing (Syriac Computing Institute). Lattke, M. Oden Salomos. Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar, Teil 1. Oden 1 und 3–14 (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus 41/1; Freiburg/ Göttingen: Üniversitatsverlag/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht). McLeod, F.G. The Image of God in the Antiochene Tradition (Washington: Catholic University Press). Müller-Kessler, C., and M. Sokoloff. A Corpus of Christian Palestinian Aramaic, Vol. V. The Catechism of Cyril of Jerusalem in the Christian Palestinian Aramaic Version (Groningen: Styx). Murre-Van Den Berg, H.L. From a Spoken to a Written Language: the Introduction and development of Literary Urmia Aramaic in the Nineteenth Century (Publications of the ‘De Goeje Fund’, 28; Leiden: Brill). Parry, K., D.J. Melling, D. Brady, S.H. Griffith and J.F. Healey, (eds.). The Blackwell Dictionary of Eastern Christianity (Oxford: Blackwell). [Contains many entries of Syriac relevance]. Pazzini, M. Grammatica Siriaca (Studium Biblicum Franciscanum, Analecta 46; Jerusalem). Petit F.: La chaine grecque sur l’Exode. I, Fragments de Sévère d’Antioche (Traditio Exegetica Graeca 9; Leuven: Peeters). Possekel, U. Evidence of Greek Philosophical Concepts in the Writings of Ephrem the Syrian (CSCO 580, Subsidia 102; Leuven: Peeters). Reinink, G.J., and A.C. Klugkist (eds.). After Bardaisan. Studies on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers (Orientalia Lovanensia Analecta 89; Leuven: Peeters). Salvesen, A. The Books of Samuel in the Syriac Version of Jacob of Edessa (Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden, 10; Leiden: Brill).

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Taylor, D.G.K. The Syriac Versions of the De Spiritu Sancto by Basil of Caesarea (CSCO 576–7, Scr.Syri 228–9; Leuven: Peeters). Valavanolickal, K. Aphrahat, Demonstrations, I (Catholic Theological Studies of India, 3; Changanassery: HIRS Publications). [Introduction and English translation of Dem. 1–10]. Vanstiphout, H.L.J., with the assistance of W.J. Van Bekkum, G.J. Van Gelder, and G.J. Reinink (eds.). All Those Nations... Cultural Encounters within and with the Near East. Studies Presented to Han Drijvers (Groningen: Styx). Weitzman, M. The Syriac Version of the Old Testament. An Introduction (Cambridge: University Press).

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The following can also be noted: 1.

2.

There is a new periodical whose coverage includes Syriac, Khristianskij Vostok (St. Petersburg). The editorial board secretary is Dr. Alexei Muraviev, 32a Leninski Prospekt, Room 1502, 117334 Moscow, Russia; Fax +7 095 938 1912; e-mail [email protected]. Cristianesimo nella Storia 19:3 (1998) is devoted to Syriac topics.

Robert Schick, The Christian Communities of Palestine from Byzantine to Islamic Rule: A Historical and Archaeological Study (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 2), Princeton, NJ: The Darwin Press, 1995. xviii + 583 pp. + 9 maps + 29 plates; ISBN 0-87850-081-2. WIM JANSE, UNIVERSITY OF LEIDEN

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This study is a revision and expansion of the author’s 1987 University of Chicago Ph.D. dissertation, presented under the title: The Fate of the Christians in Palestine during the Byzantine-Umayyad Transition, A.D. 600–750. The author (b. 1957) participated in excavations in Jordan. Unlike its present and original titles lead one to expect, the book furnishes no integral and integrated (socio-economic, political, or theological) history of late antique and early medieval Palestine Christianity. Instead, it amasses and assesses the extant historical and archaeological evidence for such a history. The volume focuses, geographically, on Byzantine Palestine and Transjordan, and, chronologically, on the period between Phocas’ overthrow of the Byzantine Emperor in 602 C.E. and the termination of the civil war in 198/813, that followed the death of the cAbbasid Caliph Harun al-Rashid in 193/809. The study is divided into two parts, the first presenting a chronological narrative of the period (Chs. I–V) with subsequent topical studies on churches, conversion to Islam, Muslim policies towards Christians, and iconoclasm (Chs. VI–IX) (pp. 1–224), and the second comprising a large, alphabetically arranged Corpus of Sites collecting literary and archaeological data and bibliographic information for Christian and Muslim presence at every known site in the area, whether a city, town, village, or isolated structure (pp. 225–484). At the end, we find a comprehensive Bibliography (pp. 485–548), a (defective) General Index (pp. 549–83), and, finally, nine rather sketchy maps, and 29 (color) plates. Unnecessarily, the lists of maps and of tables are printed twice. It would have been better for Schick to have integrated maps and plates into the text. The historical section opens with a sketch of the eve of the Sasanian invasion, which was relatively stable (Ch. I). The Sasanian occupation of 614–28 was the first major blow to the Christian population (Ch. II). The brief period of Byzantine restoration under Emperor Heraclius of 628 to the mid-630s was not long 115

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enough to have a decisive beneficial impact. The ecclesiastical hierarchy was disrupted by Heraclius’ doctrine of Monothelitism (Ch. III). The effects of the Muslim conquest in the course of the 10s/630s (Ch. IV) seem to have been less detrimental than those of the Sasanian invasion. Throughout the Early Islamic period (20/640–198/813; Ch. V), Christians seem to have experienced security and prosperity. The ecclesiastical hierarchy remained largely intact and monasticism continued to flourish. Ecclesiastical relations with the Byzantine Empire were greatly weakened during these years, although a few Palestine Christians were able to participate in church councils and they even managed to establish some contact with the Carolingians. In this period, the number of churches in use (Ch. VI) declined by peaceful abandonment due to economic change or earthquakes; churches were rarely deliberately destroyed or turned into mosques. Conversion to Islam (Ch. VII) was rare, but would appear to have taken place more extensively under the cAbbasids, who promoted the principle that all Muslims, including non-Arab converts, were social equals. Anti-Christian policies (Ch. VII) were implemented only slightly. Restrictions on building and repairing churches and a more pronounced subordination of Christians appear to belong to the latter part of the Umayyad period. In a compelling chapter on iconoclasm (Ch. IX), Schick, finally, relativizes generalizations as to deliberate destruction by Muslims. Focussing less on literary data, as previous studies had done, than on actual pictorial evidence (cf. the plates), he argues on account of the precision of removal and repair of church mosaics, that iconoclasm should not be attributed to Islamic opposition to images in art, but to Christians themselves. Perhaps due to the iconoclastic edict of Yazid II in 721, they acted to forestall others from doing it and to deflect criticism by Muslims and Jews. The author’s central conclusion is that, contrary to the accounts in the Greek literary sources, the decline in the number of Christian communities after the Islamic conquest (which anyway scarcely affected key centers as Jerusalem and Umm er-Rasas or the monastic communities) was connected less with specific MuslimChristian relations than with the broader changes resulting from the conquest: “It was the population as a whole that shifted, not only the Christian communities” (p. 223). The strength of the volume lies certainly not in its rather unexceptional and provisional conclusions, but in the thorough

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collation and integrated analysis of the immense amount of historical and archaeological evidence from literary sources and field excavations. The substantial corpus of some 330 sites and the bibliography make the book a useful reference and research tool, if not outdating the list of Asher Ovadiah (Corpus of the Byzantine Churches in the Holy Land, Bonn, 1970). Methodologically, this study is weakened by the fact that the author has only partially utilized Arabic sources (p. 5) and almost completely neglected Hebrew material (“due to my weak knowledge of Hebrew,” as he overtly admits, p. 6). He is only slightly familiar with excavations in Israel, Syria, and Lebanon (which is why the selection of photographs is restricted to sites in Jordan) (p. 7). Moreover, he has been unwilling to incorporate unpublished excavation results, “on the principle that information does not exist until it is published” (p. 7, cf. 230). As a result, for a great many sites in the Corpus the conclusion ad nauseam is that the history of a Christian presence is unknown. Inconsistently, the author has availed himself of unpublished M.A. and Ph.D. theses (pp. 493f., 519, 521, 524, 528, 540, 542). Earlier reviewers have pointed out some other problems. Thus, e.g., Paul M. Cobb justly observed the author’s ambiguity in using the notion of “decline” in a quantitative as well as a qualitative sense (IJMES 30 [1998], 127f.). Robert Hoyland questioned the postulated flourishing of the Christian population as late as the beginning of the seventh century, referring to Averil Cameron’s The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity A.D. 395–600, London/New York, 1993, Chs. vii-viii. Besides, Hoyland differentiated the question of tax incentives to conversion to Islam (BSOAS 61 [1998], 329f.). Serious objections were raised from an archaeological perspective by C.J. Lenzen, concerning defective interpretation and referential selectivity (BASOR 310 [1998], 90–3). Bibliographical omissions were mentioned also in OCP 64 [1998], 250–2. To this I would add that sometimes Schick seems to overrate the historical reliability of certain literary sources. While aware of “a considerable degree of distortion, bias, and outright fabrication and fantasy in the literary materials” (p. 3), he is ready to incorporate information from pilgrimage accounts like that of Arculf (c. 670) and Bernard (870). Thus, e.g., in respect to Jericho, which was destroyed in an earthquake in 659, Schick concludes from Arculf,

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who mentioned just after 659 that the city was uninhabited and that only the house of Rahab the Harlot (see Joshua 6:17,20–5) was left (Arculf: “Its walls are still standing, but it has no roof”): “The House of Rahab continued in use up to at least the early Umayyad period” (p. 323). Notwithstanding these shortcomings, Schick has provided an instructive reference book and an indispensable resource for further research. The work is lucidly composed, larded with summaries, carefully defined, plainly and succinctly phrased, is usually prudent in its conclusions, and is easily accessible and manageable. Its typeface, sturdy paper, and solid binding make it extra user-friendly. Author and readership are to be congratulated, therefore.

G.A.M. Rouwhorst, Les Hymnes Paschales d’Éphrem de Nisibe. Analyse théologique et recherche sur l’évolution de la fête pascale chrétienne Ǯ Nisibe et Ǯ Edesse et dans quelques Églises voisines au quatrième siècle. Vol. I: Étude, Vol. II: Textes (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae VII/1–2). Leiden 1989. ANDREAS JUCKEL, UNIVERSITY OF MÜNSTER

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Beside the numerous studies on Ephrem (†373), monographs on his work deserve special attention, especially those that provide comprehensive and summarizing research on an important Ephremic topic. In the case of Rouwhorst (his theol. Diss. submitted to the Catholic Theological University of Utrecht, The Netherlands in 1985), this attention must be paid even ten years after its publication, for it offers a thorough investigation of Ephrem’s Paschal Hymns and contributes to our knowledge about the paschal feast (date and liturgical celebration) in the area east of Antioch. The subtitle gives the work its true broad scope, which refers to the passage of the paschal tradition from the pre-Nicene quartodeciman celebration of the feast on the 14th of Nisan to the post-Nicene standard celebration on the Sunday following the 14th. Though opposed to the quartodeciman practice, essential features of Ephrem’s paschal hymns reflect the quartodeciman tradition and its remaining influence over him. This review can only give a general outline of Rouwhorst’s investigation and findings, without going into details, and present his interesting approach to Ephrem’s paschal hymns. Volume I offers the study; it is well presented and clear cut. Volume II gives an annotated French translation of the special sources Rouwhorst relies on, i. e., the collection of the paschal hymns edited by E. Beck in CSCO 248 (containing the cycles de Azymis, de crucifixione, de resurrectione) to which de Ieiunio is added (ed. by E. Beck in CSCO 246), Demonstratio XII of Aphrahat (ed. by J. Parisot) 1 and chapter XXI of the Didascalia Apostolorum (ed. by A. Vööbus in CSCO 407). 1 Recent translations of Aphrahat’s Demonstrations are the French one of M.-J. Pierre, Aphraate le Sage Persan. Les ExposǷs, vol. I–II [Sources Chrétiennes 349/359]. Paris 1988–9, and the German one of P. Bruns, Aphrahat. Unterweisungen, vol. I–II (Fontes Christiani V/1+2). Freiburg u.a. 1991.

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Chapter I of the study introduces Ephrem’s life and writings. Chapter II outlines the transmission of the Paschal Hymns in two manuscripts of the 6th century. Though neither the formation of the whole collection nor the titles of the cycles derive from Ephrem himself, the authenticity of these hymns can be taken as granted (except res. I and cruc. III,1). It is of some importance for Rouwhorst’s study that the titles obviously refer not to themes, but to single days of the paschal week, thus reflecting a liturgical background of this collection. Chapter III gives an analysis of the Paschal Hymns, including their general themes (cosmos, God, Christ, angels, salvation history, etc.), and their special paschal themes. The latter are divided into three paschal themes: 1) the Passover of the Israelites in Egypt, dealing with the rites to prepare and to eat the Passover lamb, with the exodus of the Israelites and with their crossing of the Red Sea, 2) the Passion of the Lord, dealing with the time from the Last Supper until the ascension, 3) the paschal feast of the Church which commemorates and celebrates the Lord’s passion prefigured by the Passover and the exodus of the Israelites in Egypt. Some conclusions concerning the liturgical setting (Eucharist, baptism, chants), date (month of Nisan), and antijudaism are drawn. By this analysis (which of course is of more detail than reported here), Rouwhorst describes the thematic structure of the hymns in order to indicate their archaic character and to prepare the stage for the interpretation. The archaic character is due to the dominance of the Passion as the key theme, contrasting with the reduced attention paid to the resurrection. This brings the paschal hymns in an obvious affinity with the Pascha Homily of Melito of Sardes, a quartodeciman of the 2nd century. Also the strong antijudaism, the peculiar significance given to the month of Nisan, and the absence of any baptismal typology are indeed unusual features in a set of paschal hymns. Chapter IV turns to sources contemporary with Ephrem in order to gain evidence for the paschal feast practiced in the area east of Antioch: the 12th Demonstration of Aphrahat (composed 343/344), and the Didascalia Apostolorum of northern Syria, translated from the Greek in the 4th century (according to Rouwhorst). To these sources, Eusebius’ record (Hist. eccl. V 23,4) on the quartodeciman controversy of the 2nd century between

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Victor of Rome and the Christian quartodecimans of Asia Minor is prefixed. According to this account, the bishops of Osrhoǹne and of all the cities of this area (i. e., the area where Ephrem lived) already shared the Roman practice to celebrate on Sunday instead on the 14th of Nisan which is the date of the Jewish Passover. Rouwhorst points to the absence of this record in Rufinus’ (†410) Latin translation of Eusebius’ text and casts suspicion on it to be a later addition in order to date back the final accord to the earlier period. Eusebius’ record also appears to be unreliable by the fact that the Council of Nicea (325) had to decide authoritatively in favour of the Sunday celebration 2 and still the Council of Antioch (341) had to resume the same topic. Finally, Aphrahat and the Didascalia provide evidence for the quartodeciman tradition still vivid in the post-Nicene east. For the church, a severe offence of the Christian quartodeciman celebration was the connection of its date with the Pesach of the Jews, though the quartodecimans in fact celebrated an anti-Pesach by commemorating the Lord’s Last Supper (which took place on 14th of Nisan), his passion, death, victorious descent to and ascent from the dead, and by giving a typological explanation of Exodus 12. 3 Accordingly, the Nicene rule to celebrate on Sunday following the 14th of Nisan aimed not only at the unification of the Christian paschal feast, but also at the definite separation of its date and theological meaning from any Jewish influence. For the same reason, the Nicene decision was based on the principle that the paschal full moon could never occur before the vernal equinox, thus avoiding two paschal feasts within one single solar year as it could happen according to the Jewish paschal computation based on the lunar year. And if the Christian and the We know the results (not the details) of the Council’s debate on this topic by the Emperor’s letter recorded in Eusebius’ De vita Constantini, ed. by I.A. Heikel in Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte, vol. 7 (Leipzig, 1902) 3–148. — On the paschal controversy see J. Hefele and H. Leclercq, Histoire des conciles d’aprǶs les documents originaux, vol. I,1 (Paris, 1907) 133–51 and 450–88. 3 See G.A.M. Rouwhorst, “The Quartodeciman Passover and the Jewish Pesach,” Questions Liturgiques 77 (1996): 152–73. The elements of the quartodeciman celebration are a fast, readings from the Scriptures (Exodus 12 and probably the Passion Narrative), singing chants and hymns, Eucharist and agape meal (no baptisms). 2

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Jewish feast still happened to coincide, the Christians followed the practice of celebrating one week later. Rouwhorst’s detailed presentation of Aphrahat’s 12th demonstration De paschate is the most comprehensive one so far. Avoiding discussions of isolated sections in favour of a thorough interpretation of the whole, Rouwhorst makes a quartodeciman imprint to be the red thread of the interpretation. He sees Aphrahat directing towards conservative people of quartodeciman tradition within his own community who oppose the paschal feast as it is practiced by Aphrahat himself (p. 191). According to Rouwhorst, 4 Aphrahat observed a feast which was already removed from the 14th of Nisan to the Friday after the 14th being an imperfect adoption of the Nicene norm and still exhibiting traces of a quartodeciman past, for Aphrahat is celebrating “the day of the great passion,” on “Friday, the fifteenth, both the night and the day” (XII,8), which looks like a modification (not like a decisive change) of the quartodeciman practice. On the other hand, Aphrahat offers an explicit (though curious) chronology for the passion (XII,6–7) which allows Christ to spend three days and three nights among the dead, in order to extend the one-day passion feast to Saturday/Sunday and the resurrection. 5 Rouwhorst explicitly points to the ambivalent character of Aphrahat’s “celebration of the passion:” according to its structure it culminates in the night of Saturday/Sunday (the night of resurrection, with fast, prayers, and a vigil, followed by prebaptismal onctions and baptisms), but the object of the celebration is the “Friday” and the events connected with it (passion, death, descent to sheol). The clue for a conclusive understanding of Aphrahat’s position is provided by Rouwhorst’s analysis of the Didascalia ch. xxi. Introducing the manuscript tradition of this text, Rouwhorst reports the existence of a longer and a shorter version. He abstains from giving priority to one of these versions in advance but prefers to be guided by the “tenor” of the chapter’s single sections, i. e., by their quartodeciman imprint. Applying this criterion, his analysis See G.A.M. Rouwhorst, The Date of Easter in the Twelfth Demonstration of Aphraates (Studia Patristica VII,3, ed. E. Livingstone; 1982) 1374–80. 5 This chronology is based on the view that Christ is dead from the moment he offered his body and blood to the disciples and that the three hours of darkness between the sixth and nineth hour on Friday are an extra night and the remaining three hours an extra day. 4

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results in the distinction of a quartodeciman nucleus within ch. xxi (mainly represented by the shorter version), which connects the Christian paschal feast with the 14th of Nisan and prescribes a fast and prayers for the Jews at the moment when the passover of the Jews starts. This nucleus (which Rouwhorst supposes to have originally been more complete) successively became extended and modified by textual strata which reflect the removal of the quartodeciman paschal feast to Friday and Saturday/Sunday after the 14th. One of these strata pays an explicit attention to a fast on Friday and to a vigil in the night of Friday/Saturday, a second stratum moves on to a peculiar significance of Saturday/Sunday night. From this analysis of Didascalia ch. xxi, Rouwhorst explains the ambivalent character of Aphrahat’s paschal practice by connecting it with the evolution of the paschal tradition reflected in this document. In the church of Aphrahat, the removal of the quartodeciman practice to the Friday after the 14th is regarded by Rouwhorst to be an event not too long ago, neither generally accepted nor elaborately reflected. Aphrahat obviously tries to meet the new situation by settling a correspondence between the old quartodeciman practice and the new one of his own using terms like “day of the great passion,” “Friday,” and “one night and one day” for the celebration which in fact had extended to a complete Holy Week under the influence of the Nicene norm, but imperfectly stripped of its quartodeciman past. The paschal feast in the area East of Antioch reflected in these two sources contemporary with Ephrem appears to be moved from a quartodeciman celebration in pre-Nicene time to the celebration in post-Nicene time on Friday and then Saturday/Sunday after the 14th, culminating in an Eucharist on Sunday morning at the time of the resurrection. This passage of the paschal tradition, which Rouwhorst can trace in Ephrem’s paschal hymns, provides the clue for the explanation of several motifs and details of the hymns which remained enigmatic before (pp. 195– 203): 1. the dominant role of the Friday events (passion and death) reveals a feast with a still minor accentuation of the Saturday/ Sunday celebration and of the resurrection; 2. the chronology of the three days (Friday morning until Sunday morning) Christ spent among the dead obviously serves to justify the (recent) introduction of a paschal Friday and Saturday (as in Aphrahat);

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3. traces of a quartodeciman past of the church in Nisibis and Edessa are a) the still great importance given to the typology of the paschal lamb and the Exodus story, b) the explicit mention of Christ’s “ascension” which is of no minor importance than his resurrection, c) the anti-Jewish polemic which may reflect the threat of Ephrem’s church (and its Jewish converts) by the Jewish community and at the same time may be a reminiscent of the Christian anti-Pesach formerly celebrated on 14th of Nisan, d) the reduced importance of the preparatory pre-paschal fast and of the paschal baptisms (the crossing of the Red Sea is hardly connected with baptismal typology, Az. VIII–IX) which both seem to be too recently introduced to Ephrem’s church to leave any imprint on his paschal theology; 4. the peculiar significance given to the month of Nisan 6 may reflect the Nicene rule to celebrate the paschal feast after the vernal equinox but (according to Rouwhorst) should also be regarded as a substitute for the still undeveloped theme of resurrection. Rouwhorst’s “quartodeciman” approach to the paschal hymns of Ephrem provides much light for a better understanding of their general thematic structure and of some of their details. It fits in well with our knowledge of the close connections between Aphrahat’s and Ephrem’s theology on the one hand and Judaism (or Christians attracted by Judaism) on the other. The interpretation of his sources (especially the 12th demonstration of Aphrahat) is admittedly difficult, and even one who does not agree with some of Rouwhorst’s views 7 will accept the general line of his approach.

6 See G.A.M. Rouwhorst, “L’evocation du mois de Nisan dans les Hymns ‘Sur la résurrection’ d’Ephrem de Nisibe,” in: IV. Symposium Syriacum (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229; Roma, 1987) 101–10. 7 See the review of Rouwhorst’s book by S.P. Brock in the Journal of Theological Studies 42 (1991): 740–4. The book of K. Gerlach, The Antenicene Pascha. A Rhetorical History (Liturgia Condenda 7; Louvain, 1998), excludes Ephrem’s Paschal Hymns, but includes Aphrahat’s 12th demonstration (pp. 231–43) and ch. 21 of the Didascalia (pp. 203–30). In the footnotes the author objects to a quartodeciman background of both (p. 207 note 51 and p. 233 note 105) without detailed discussion.

The Journal for the Aramaic Bible JOHANNES C. DE MOOR, THE NETHERLANDS

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In 1999 a new journal for the study of the Aramaic Bible was published by Sheffield Academic Press. The Executive Editoral Committee consists of Johannes C. de Moor (Kampen, The Netherlands), William L. Petersen (State College, PA, USA) and Abraham Tal (Tel Aviv University, Israel). Secretary is Willem F. Smelik (University College, London). Scholars from all disciplines concerned form the competent Editorial Board of the journal. A new journal requires some sort of justification. Up to this moment no international journal covering all Aramaic translations of the Bible has existed. As a result, articles dealing with aspects of these translations were scattered over many different periodicals which did not facilitate scholarly exchange. Moreover, it is becoming increasingly clear that several of these translations were somehow inter-related, whether directly or by sharing common exegetical traditions. This would seem to require a common platform for discussion since scholars working in this field are obviously facing similar problems and can learn from each other, especially with regard to the application of new methods. The Journal for the Aramaic Bible aims at providing this platform. In order to achieve a high level of quality, all contributions are subjected to peer review. The journal covers both Testaments, and will include the Aramaic Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha. It will publish articles, short notes and book reviews on the Targums, the Syriac translations (including the Peshitta), the Syro-Palestinian and Samaritan versions, the Diatessaron and the Vetus Syra. We have found means to print all the necessary alphabets, as well as a few more, so that all languages may be cited in their original scripts. Most quotations will be translated, however, so that a wide range of users can follow the argument. Every issue will contain a bibliographic section. The Peshitta Institute at Leiden will provide bibliographic data for the Syriac Bible. Provisionally, the Semitic Institute at Kampen will take care of other bibliographic data. Subscribers to the journal can ask the Secretary for an electronic copy of the bibliography by email (LaTeX-format). The last issue of every year will contain indices of abbreviations, authors, subjects and scriptural references. 125

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The Journal for the Aramaic Bible is published twice yearly. The subscription price is LJ20.00/$40.00 for individuals, LJ40.00/$70.00 for institutions. Orders to be sent to Sheffield Academic Press, Mansion House, 19 Kingfield Road, Sheffield S11 9AS, England, or, for North America, to Sheffield Academic Press, c/o CUP Services, P.O. Box 6525, Ithaca, NY 14851, USA.

PROJECTS AND CONFERENCE REPORTS Project Meltho—Syriac Fonts for the Microsoft Windows 2000™ Operating System GEORGE A. KIRAZ, BELL LABORATORIES, USA

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Since 1997, the Syriac Computing Institute (SyrCOM) [now Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute] has been working on the design and implementation of Syriac software on the Microsoft Windows™ platform. The project will deliver software that works on any computer with Windows 2000™ operating system, allowing users to write Syriac texts in various fonts and scripts (Estrangelo, Serto or West Syriac, and East Syriac). The first step of the project was to have Syriac added to Unicode, the newly international coding scheme, which is a prerequisite to have Syriac work under Windows. SyrCOM participated in putting forward a proposal to the Unicode Technical Committee (see http://www.unicode.org/pending/syriac). The proposal was accepted by the Unicode Consortium and the International Standard Organization. In fact, through the laborious work of Paul Nelson at Microsoft, there is already now built-in support for Syriac in the forthcoming Windows 2000™ Operating System, with Syriac Unicode support. Although Project Meltho was initially aimed at ‘wordprocessing’, it has matured now into a full Syriac support for the Windows 2000™ Operating System, allowing users to use Syriac in any Windows-based application that uses published Uniscribe APIs (the functions that handle complex scripts in Windows). This gives the end-user a wide range of applications to use Syriac with: wordprocessing, databases, Web pages, emails, presentations, etc. This also means that programmers who wish to program special applications for Syriac will not have to do any special handling for Syriac text; Windows handles it for them! Additionally, Syriac is in the list of languages that will be supported by the next version of Microsoft Office™ products (i.e., Word™, Access™, PowerPoint™, etc.). Already, the web browser Internet Explorer™ 5 supports Syriac using Unicode encoding. All this is possible provided the user has the appropriate (not any) Syriac fonts. 127

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Projects and Conference Reports

Project Meltho aims at providing the appropriate Syriac fonts for the Syriac-users community free of charge. To achieve this, SyrCOM made use of Kiraz’s fonts for the DOS-based MultiLingual Scholar™ software, and created from them new OpenType fonts. The OpenType font scheme is the latest font technology; it allows for automatic contextual replacement of letters (e.g., initial, medial, final), the accurate positioning of vowels and points per letter (e.g., high diacritic on Lomadh, but low on Yudh), the creation of ligatures, etc. SyrCOM believes that the quality of its fonts must be outstanding and must be of the quality of other Latin fonts that users are accustomed to. Hence, SyrCOM plans to have the final ‘touches’ of its fonts completed by a professional typographer. This includes ‘cleaning-up’ the fonts, making sure that spacing is accurate, and providing Latin support in the Syriac fonts in order to use them in multi-lingual documents without having to change the font every time the user goes from Syriac to Latin. Additionally, the professional typographer will ‘hint’ the fonts, a process that makes the fonts readable at low-resolutions (e.g., screens for Web pages, and 9- or 8-pt printing). A leading professional typographer, with an outstanding record in foreign-language font design (especially Arabic which presents the same challenges Syriac does), has agreed to work on the SyrCOM fonts. The cost to produce each font will be $1500. In order to cover its expense, SyrCOM is calling academic and community institutions, and end-users to support this endeavor through its “Adopt a Syriac Font Program.” Institutions and individuals may chose to adopt an entire font for $1500, or parts of a font for $500. In the latter case, SyrCOM will put together the contributions of three contributors to cover the cost of a font. The names of contributors will be acknowledged. The fonts will be distributed by SyrCOM to users free of charge through its web site. The fonts will be copyrighted by SyrCOM, and no commercial use of them will be allowed by any party including SyrCOM. The fonts will cover Estrangelo, Serto (West Syriac), and East Syriac. In addition to supporting Classical Syriac, full support will be given for Turoyo, Swadaya (modern Assyrian), Garshuni, and Christian-Palestinian Aramaic. SyrCOM plans to have the fonts available to the public in the first quarter of 2000.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS [8]

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SyrCOM would like to thank the Center for the Preservation of Ancient Religious Texts, Utah, for a general grant. Acknowledgements are also due to Paul Nelson of Microsoft for adding the Syriac support in Windows 2000™ on his free time. The Unicode Proposal was made possible through the assiduous efforts of Paul Nelson, George Kiraz, and Sargon Hasso. Microsoft, represented by Michael Suignard and Murray Sargent, kindly acted as a sponsor for Syriac at the Unicode Technical Committee, and in the person of Andy Abbar, provided SyrCOM with software at the early stages of this project. For further information and contributions, please contact George A. Kiraz (Bell Labs [now Gorgias Press]).

The Thirteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies. Oxford, 16–21 August 1999. SUSAN A. HARVEY, BROWN UNIVERSITY

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The Thirteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies convened in Oxford, England during the week of 16–21 August 1999 with roughly 800 participants. Among the many papers, there were a feast of offerings for the Syriac scholar. In the Communications, twenty-three papers were delivered in the Syriac section over three days; other Syriac papers, notably one by Kathleen McVey, were presented in other Communication sections defined by broader themes. Four Master Theme papers were presented in the “Ephrem/Syria” session over the course of two days. These were given by Sebastian Brock, Phil Botha, Sidney Griffith and Ephrem Lash. In fact, this Master Theme session attracted such a large audience that the original room assignment had to be changed to accommodate the crowd! A further four papers containing substantial Syriac scholarship were delivered at other Master Theme sessions, again defined by broader themes. These were given by J.W. Drijvers, Alexander Golitzin, Simon Mimouni, and Pauline Allen. Finally, the Public Lecture by Susan Harvey drew heavily on Syriac sources as well as Greek. Syriacists were additionally happy to find a full day’s Communication section given to Armenian and Georgian papers. It was a great pleasure to find many graduate students among those offering and attending the Syriac papers, and further, to learn that these students had come from as wide a geographical expanse as the conference itself. One had every indication that Syriac studies is thriving in many universities around the world. The opportunity to meet together was, as always, a rare and wonderful treat—inspiring and energizing for all.

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Symposium on Michael the Syrian (1126–1199). Ma’arat Saydnaya, Damascus, 1–8 October 1999. Adapted for Hugoye from a Communiqué by the St. Ephrem Theological Seminary, Damascus.

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The 800th anniversary of the passing away of the Syrian Orthodox Patriarch of Antioch and scholar Mor Michael the Syrian was celebrated at an international Symposium convened by H.H. Patriarch Mor Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, Patriarch of Antioch and all the East, and H.E. Metropolitan Mor Gregorios Yuhanna Ibrahim, Metropolitan of Aleppo. The Symposium met at the Patriarchate’s new educational facility, St. Ephrem Theological Seminary at Ma’arat Saydnaya outside Damascus on Oct 1–8, 1999. Twenty scholars from Belgium, England, Germany, Lebanon, Syria and the United States delivered papers on a wide variety of topics related to the great historical chronicle produced in the 12th century by Mor Michael, at what was the first scholarly meeting in modern times devoted to the study of Syriac historiography. Each session concluded with rigorous and learned discussions. A concert of sacred music presented by the seminarians of St. Ephrem’s preceded the symposium. Participants were also entertained with an excursion to local shrines and monasteries, and a magnificent dinner hosted by H.H. Mor Ignatius Zakka I. Speakers included: Prof. Michael Van Esbroeck, Prof. Susan Ashbrook Harvey, V. Rev. Dr. Joseph Tarzi, Ms. Dorothea Weltecke, Ms. Emma Loosley, Prof. Michael Morony, Dr. May Touma, H. E. Metropolitan Mor Gregorious Yuhanna Ibrahim, Rev. Fr. Abdo Badwi and Mr. Fadi Baroody, Rev. Fr. Elias Khalifeh, H.E. Archbishop Theophilos George Saliba, Prof. Dr. Robert Betts, and Prof. Dr. Seta Badoyan. H.H. Mor Ignatius Zakka I Iwas gave the Inaugural Address of the Symposium, stressing the importance of the Syriac scholarship in establishing a true history not only of the Syrian Orthodox people, but also of the Middle East as a whole. “I do implore respectful scholars and orientalists,” said H.H. “to attempt rewriting the history of this part of the world depending not only on western sources, but also on the historians from our Syrian Orthodox Church like St. Michael, and not only on the history recorded by the victorious, but also on the history written by the defeated people.”00000000000000000000000000000000000000000 131

FORTHCOMING CONFERENCES Eighth International Congress for Syriac Studies Monday 26th June—Friday 30th June 2000. Sixth International Congress on Christian Arabic Studies Sunday 2nd July—Wednesday 5th July 2000. RIFAAT Y. EBIED, THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY

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Prospective participants are asked to take note of the above dates and to indicate their intention of attending either the VIIItum Symposium Syriacum and/or the VIth Conference on Christian Arabic Studies. All seminar sessions of the VIIIum Symposium Syriacum and the VIth Conference on Christian Arabic Studies will be held at the University of Sydney. Accommodation will be available in either University Residential Colleges (approx. $A65–75) or in commercial Hotel/Motel style rooms (approx. $A100–125). Further and future correspondence, including the names of possible participants who would like to receive notification may be directed to Rifaat Ebied.

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Sixth International Conference On Bible And Computers (AIBI–6) The Bible from Alpha to Byte University of Stellenbosch, 17–21 July 2000 JOHANN COOK, UNIVERSITY OF STELLENBOSCH

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The Association Internationale Bible et Informatique and the University of Stellenbosch are hosting the Sixth International Conference on the Bible and Computers to be held at the the Faculty of the Humanities of the University of Stellenbosch from Monday, 17 July to Friday, 21 July. The conference languages will be English and French. For further information and registration, please contact the author. A workshop session will be held on Tuesday afternoon, 18 July on the Peshitta (CALAB). Papers dealing with the Peshitta, will also be presented during the course of the conference.

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

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At the end of the fifties, the Leiden Peshitta Institute undertook the publication of the Peshitta of the Old Testament on behalf of IOSOT. Thirteen volumes have been published so far and four more are to come. In addition, several detailed studies of the text of Peshitta manuscripts have given us a picture of the development of the Peshitta text. There is, however, still another important desideratum. Right at the beginning of the project, it was noted that a much better knowledge of the Old Testament texts preserved in the patristic literature of the Syriac Churches was a prerequisite for obtaining a full picture of the text history. The lack of critical editions of a large part of this literature forbade inclusion of this material at that stage. We believe that the moment has come to fill this gap. As much progress has been made on the Syriac Fathers in the intervening years, it is time to see where we stand: what has been done so far in this respect, what should be done, and how can we integrate the results of this research into the picture that has been formed on the basis of the study of Bible manuscripts? Connected to these are a number of other questions. Peshitta scholars have come to appreciate the importance of providing a context for the textual history of the Peshitta. On the one hand, this is the context of church history. Peshitta manuscripts should be linked, if possible, to their place of origin or use. The development of the text is an event within the history of the Syriac Churches. The witness of the Syriac Fathers can also be of great importance in this respect. On the other hand, we should think of the history of exegesis and liturgy. It is not only the text of the readings that is of interest; we should also investigate the way the Peshitta was received and assessed by its users, whether in exegetical or historical literature or in liturgy. It is our hope that during this Symposium attention will also be paid to the New Testament. We think that the issues mentioned above (in §3) will be of relevance for the Old as well as the New Testament. 135

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This complex set of questions is the subject of the Third Peshitta Symposium, to be held in Leiden just after the Basel IOSOT Conference of 2001. Keynote speakers include Professors Sebastian Brock and Luk Van Rompay. Prospective participants are kindly asked to take note of the dates and to indicate their intention of attending and reading a paper; a second announcement and a call for papers will be sent out in the course of this year.

Volume 3 2000 [2010]

Number 2

HUGOYE JOURNAL OF SYRIAC STUDIES A Publication of Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute SPECIAL ISSUE: MICHAEL THE SYRIAN

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.2, 139–140 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

INTRODUCTION TO THE SPECIAL ISSUE GEORGE KIRAZ PISCATAWAY, NJ [1]

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On the occasion of the 800th anniversary of the passing away of Mor Michael the Syrian (1126–1199), Patriarch of Antioch, a conference was hosted, between October 1–8, 1999, by the Syriac Orthodox Church at St. Ephrem Monastery in Maarat Saydnaya (outside of Damascus), the new Patriarchal seat and the headquarter of Church’s main Seminary. The conference was convened by His Holiness Moran Mor Ignatius Zakka I, Patriarch of Antioch and All the East, and Mor Gregorios Yuhanna Ibrahim, Metropolitan of Aleppo. A report describing the conference was published in Hugoye 3,1. In his inaugural address, H.H. the Patriarch welcomed scholars saying, “Hopefully, we will be able so soon to welcome scholars and orientalists in this monastery to benefit from our library and Syriac manuscripts, and enjoy communicating with Syriac speaking clergy and members of our Church.” It is hoped that this conference will be a significant step towards more interactions between Western and Eastern scholars. In the same speech, H.H. asked of scholars to view the history of the region from all angles. “I do implore respectful scholars and orientalists,” he stated, “to attempt rewriting the history of this part of the world depending not only on western sources, but also on the historians from our Syrian Orthodox Church, like St. Michael, and not only on the history recorded by the victorious, but also on the history written by the defeated people.” We publish in this Special Issue of Hugoye selected papers from the conference. I wish to thank H.H. the Patriarch and 139

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Metropolitan Gregorios Ibrahim for giving Hugoye this opportunity. The entire proceedings are planned for publication, with an Arabic translation, by Metropolitan Gregorios Ibrahim. Other papers from the conference will be published in future issues of Hugoye. A paper by Susan Harvey titled “Theodora the ‘Believing Queen:’ A Study in Syriac Historiographical Tradition,” which was presented at the said conference, will be published in the special issue on women.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.2, 141–172 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

MICHAEL THE SYRIAN AS A SOURCE FOR ECONOMIC HISTORY MICHAEL G. MORONY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY LOS ANGELES CALIFORNIA

ABSTRACT The economic information in the universal history of the Syrian Orthodox Patriarch, Michael the Syrian (1166–99), is analyzed and evaluated. It is shown that most of his information concerns conditions that affected agricultural production, livestock, the labor force, and commerce in the Jazira and northern Syria from the sixth through the twelfth century C.E. The factors that reduced production are discussed, such as drought, freezing weather, hailstorms, and plagues of locusts as well as the effects of plague and famine on labor. The circumstances of rural labor, property and wealth are examined as well as the insecurity of merchants. It is argued that much of Michael’s incidental economic information needs to be contextualized and compared to that in other sources.

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Claude Cahen, in a famous article, analyzed economic conditions in the Jazira in the third quarter of the eighth century C.E. based on

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information in the Syriac Chronicle of Zuqnin. 1 In partial homage to his work the object here is to evaluate the economic information contained in the monumental universal history of the Syrian Orthodox Patriarch, Michael the Syrian (1166–99). 2 Most of this information concerns conditions affecting agricultural production, livestock, the labor force, property, and commerce in the Jazira and northern Syria from the sixth through the twelfth century. Michael mainly has information for the dry farming region in northern Syria and the Jazira, including the upper Euphrates and Tigris watersheds. This region depends on winter rainfall brought by westerlies from the Atlantic across the Mediterranean to western Asia and the Iranian plateau as far as the mountains of Central Asia. This weather system provides progressively less rainfall the further east one goes. Hypothetically one could use what Michael says about droughts and their effects to extrapolate conditions both to the east and to the west. Sometimes he notes that such conditions were more widespread. The Chronicle of Zuqnin confirms that rain usually fell in the winter, from October to the end of May, 3 and that crops had usually ripened by May. 4 The agrarian economy was based on cereal grains (wheat and barley), grapevines, and olive trees, but Michael says hardly anything about normal production levels. He has much more to say about abnormal conditions that reduced production and caused famines and economic distress. Agricultural production was reduced by drought, snow, ice, frost, violent winds, hail storms, and plagues of locusts. Sometimes there was too much rain at the 1 Claude Cahen, “Fiscalité, propriété, antagonismes sociaux en HauteMésopotamie au temps des premiers cAbbasides d’après Denys de TellMahré,” Arabica, 1 (1954): 136–52. 2 This study is based on the edition and translation by J.-B. Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien (Paris: E. Leroux, 1899; repr. Bruxelles: Culture et Civilisation, 1963). The Syriac text is in volume four. 3 J.-B. Chabot, Chronique de Denys de Tell-Mahré, Quatrieme Partie, Bibl. Éc/Hautes Études, 112 (Paris: Bibliotheque de l’École, 1895), 145 [175], 159 [192]; Amir Harrak, The Chronicle of Zuqnin, Parts III and IV, A.D. 488– 775 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999) 274, 288. The Chronique edited and translated by Chabot is the text of Part IV of the Chronicle of Zuqnin, which is an independent source from the actual Chronicle of Dionysius of Tell Maʘre used by Michael. 4 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 101 [120]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 232.

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wrong time. Freezing weather meant that there was no liquid water for people or animals to drink or for crops until the ice and snow melted. Presumably it took longer to recover from damage to grapevines and olive and other fruit trees than from damage to grain crops. Mortality from plagues and famines could cause crops to go unharvested. The consequences of crop failure were rising food prices, famine, the abandonment of farms and villages, and emigration. 5 Whatever the immediate effects were, extreme variability in agricultural production from one year to the next was a fact of life that needs to be set against long term trends such as reinvestment in grapevines and olive trees, and the development of irrigation and of cash crops other than grapes and olives. Simeon of the Olives is said to have planted 12,000 olive trees at his monastery on Tur cAbdin before 700. They began to bear after five years, and the olive oil produced at his monastery provided all the churches and monasteries of Tur cAbdin with oil. 6 Michael says that when ʗanania, bishop of Marde and Kephar Touta from 793, founded a monastery near Marde, he planted grapevines and olive trees there. 7 Michael also notes an uncompleted canal project under Yazid ibn Mucawiya, 8 and the more successful project under Hisham, who brought canals from the Euphrates below Callinicus to irrigate crops and plantations, the revenue from which was greater than the taxes from his entire empire. 9 When Harun built Rafiqa in 790, he brought irrigation canals from the Euphrates and from Saruj and developed numerous gardens on their banks, 10 and, when al-MuȨtaʛim built Samarra‚, he brought canals from the Tigris, 5 Miquel Barceló, “Les plagues de llagost a la Carpetània,” Estudis d’Història Agrària 1 (1978): 76 notes that drought and plagues make it impossible to maintain minimum levels of consumption over long periods with the demographic consequences of mortality and/or emigration. 6 S.P. Brock, “The Fenqitho of the Monastery of Mar Gabriel in Tur ȨAbdin,” Ostkirchliche Studien 28 (1979): 175–6. 7 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 20, IV, 489. 8 Ibid., II, 470, IV, 446. 9 Ibid., II, 490, IV, 457. Evidently one should allow for exaggeration in both the extent of development and the consequences of disasters. The Chronicle of Zuqnin (Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 23–4 [26]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 160–1) gives more specific information about the irrigation projects of Hisham and his brother, Maslama, in this region. 10 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 10, IV, 493.

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planted groves, gardens, and palm trees, and brought balsam and rushes from Egypt to make paper and planted them on the banks of the canals. 11 In about 1001–3 Marouta, the son of Elishe, a merchant of Tagrit, built a cistern for the monastery of Bar Gagai, that irrigated the vegetables of the monks. 12 Irrigation canals certainly increased the land under cultivation and thereby agricultural production, but, since the canals were drawn from the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, they depended ultimately on rainfall upstream. As far as new crops are concerned, Michael’s earliest reference to cotton in the Jazira is in 842; 13 in 1134 he mentions cotton and sesame fields in the region of Edessa. 14 With regard to the effects of natural disasters on agricultural production, it is evident from the Chronicle of Zuqnin and other contemporary sources that there are gaps in Michael’s information about severe weather, droughts, plagues of locusts, and famine for the same region. Thus the lack of a reference by Michael to such events in a particular year cannot be taken to mean that all was well. 15 Both Michael and the Chronicle of Zuqnin based their accounts of much of the sixth century on John of Ephesus, but only the Chronicle of Zuqnin notes the severe winter of 528–9 and that wheat fields from Syria to Thrace went unharvested during the plague of 543–4, or notes the eight-year famine at Amida and its territory from 546 to 554 caused by crop failure and the flood that ruined vineyards at Tarsus in 549–50. 16 Michael also used the Chronicle of Dionysius of Tell Maʘre, the Syrian Orthodox Patriarch (818–45), who began his Secular History with the reign of Maurice in 582. This is probably why Michael begins to mention disasters that affected agriculture in 600, a year of drought and strong wind throughout Syria and Palestine, when olives and other trees withered. 17 Snow and cold, such that the Euphrates and other rivers froze, withered seeds and trees in 607. 18 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 88, IV, 531. Ibid., III, 127, IV, 554. 13 Ibid., III, 109, IV, 542. 14 Ibid., III. 239, IV, 617. 15 This is also true in the reverse direction. The Chronicle of Zuqnin omits disasters noted by Michael. 16 Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 89, 100, 116–17, 123. 17 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 374, IV, 387. 18 Ibid., II, 378, IV 390. 11 12

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Since he does not locate the drought of 611, when crops perished and the lack of wheat and other cereals caused a famine, 19 it may have been more general. After this cluster of events Michael mentions nothing until 647, when a violent wind uprooted trees. 20 This was followed in 669 by a severe winter with much cold, ice, and snow that withered olive trees and grapevines in all of Syria and Mesopotamia. 21 There was another very severe winter before 684 with much snow and ice, when the Euphrates froze for six days, the ground froze, olives withered everywhere and grapevines in certain places, and people and domestic animals died of the cold. 22 The great famine of 687 was presumably caused by a lack of grain, because wheat was sold at one modius for three dinars then. He does not say why wheat was scarce, but he does say that the price of three modii of wheat for one dinar caused by a drought in 694 was expensive. 23 Another freeze in 706 withered olives and vines. 24 In May of 713 there were locusts and a violent wind that uprooted trees, and a hard freeze in April of 714 withered plants, vines, and trees. 25 A lack of rain and snow, presumably in the winter of 720–21, caused springs to dry up and rivers to go down by August and September resulting in a shortage of cereals and all kinds of vegetables and the desertion of

Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 401, IV, 403. Ibid., II, 445, IV, 429. 21 Ibid., II, 456, IV, 436. Sebeos mentions an extremely cold winter in Armenia in the 650’s; see R.W. Thomson, The Armenian History attributed to Sebeos (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999) I, 146. 22 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 470–71, IV, 444. 23 Ibid., II, 474, IV, 447. 24 Ibid., II, 480, IV, 450. Michael also used the Chronicle of Jacob of Edessa (d. 708) up to 710, when it ends. Evidently the last two years were the work of a continuator. Michael says that he is beginning his own work in 711 (Ibid., II, 482–3, IV, 452), but he still used the work of Dionysius of Tell Maʘre. 25 Ibid., II, 482, IV, 452. The Chronicle of Disasters mentions drought in 713, along with the locusts, the violent gale in May that uprooted trees, and heavy hail in various regions that damaged vineyards and plants. See S.P. Brock, “A chronicle of disasters dated AD 716,” in A. Palmer (ed.), The Seventh Century in the West-Syrian Chronicles (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1993) 46. The latter also mentions heavy hail that destroyed plants and seedlings in 716 (Ibid., 47). 19 20

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many places. 26 The heavy rain that caused a flood at Edessa in March of 739 27 is probably the same event that the Chronicle of Zuqnin places in 742–3, when there was a severe winter with heavy snow followed by strong winds and rainstorms that caused floods on the Tigris at Amida and on the Daysan at Edessa. The latter wreaked havoc throughout the plain of Edessa and Harran, 28 presumably causing damage to agriculture. According to Michael the winter of 744–5 was both cold and dry. There was a hard freeze in January, when large rivers froze, and the lack of rain caused a great famine accompanied by an epidemic of bubonic plague. Farmers were reduced to seeking to work for bread, but no one hired them. 29 The Chronicle of Zuqnin puts this in 743–4, when there was no winter rain and widespread severe famine. 30 Michael records no more climatic disasters for the rest of the eighth century, but the Chronicle of Zuqnin mentions three successive hard winters in the entire southern region beginning in 750–51. Presumably this was in the southern Jazira if not southern Syria and Palestine, but, since rivers, including the Tigris, froze, this probably refers to the region south of the mountains. Heavy ice and hoarfrost settled on and damaged grapevines, olive trees, and gardens, while seeds perished under the snow or were up-rooted by the frost. After the snow melted the wheat was attacked by mildew and locusts, many fields went unharvested, and there was a famine. 31 The same chronicle records widespread drought and famine in 772–3, when there was no winter rain. This drought extended to the territory of Mawʛil, where the entire crop dried

Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 491, IV, 456. Ibid., II, 504–5, IV, 463. 28 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 29–30 [32–33]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 165–6. The Chronicle of Zuqnin is notoriously cavalier about chronology. 29 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 506–7, IV, 464. 30 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 31–2 [34–5]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 167. This may have been related to the great drought in Iberia, that lasted from 748 to 753, allowing for vagaries in chronology. See cA.D. Taha, The Muslim Conquest and Settlement of North Africa and Spain (London/New York: Routledge, 1989) 227, 229. 31 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 50–1 [56–8]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 184–6. 26 27

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out, and also affected the east (the Jazira) and the south. 32 In the fall of 773 there was an early winter, much snow fell in October and stayed on the ground, crushing vineyards and grapes. Hail as large as pebbles damaged trees and vineyards, and the harsh winter and wind destroyed vineyards and olive trees, dried up fig trees, and ravaged pomegranate, palm, and apple trees. 33 The Chronicle of Zuqnin ends in 775, so it cannot be used as a check on Michael after that. Michael only mentions two climatic disasters that affected agriculture in the ninth century. One probably occurred in 810, which began with a mild winter with moderate rain, when seeds and crops sprouted everywhere. But at the end of January the north wind blew for eight days and withered everything, mainly in the territory of Mawsil and the Jazira; there was absolutely nothing that year, neither grain, nor grapes, nor fruit. 34 A rainless winter in 842 was accompanied by much snow and freezing weather. Seeds failed to germinate after March resulting in high wheat prices, famine, and disease. 35 The Chronicle of Dionysius of Tell Maʘre ends in 843, 36 which probably explains the major gap in Michael’s information between the mid-ninth and early twelfth century. He has abundant information for the twelfth century, during his own lifetime, about climatic disasters which he probably experienced himself. This begins with a severe winter in 1121–2, when the Euphrates and other rivers froze, 37 and a general drought in 1123 followed by a great famine, especially in the east (the Jazira), that evidently lasted until 1125. 38 There was another severe winter in 1127–8, 39 while a 32 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 136, 145–6 [165,175–7]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 266, 274–6. 33 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 159, 161, 169 [192, 194–5, 203]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 287, 289, 296. 34 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 23, IV, 490. This may have been connected to drought and famine at Salakh in about 819. See E.A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Governors, (London: K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & co. ltd., 1893) I, 168, II, 337–8. 35 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 108, IV, 541. This drought may have been related to one in al-Andalus in 846–7. See Barceló, “Plagues de llagost,” 77. 36 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 111, IV, 543. 37 Ibid., III, 209, IV, 599. 38 Ibid., III, 212, 222, IV, 601, 606. 39 Ibid., III, 225, IV, 608.

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two-year drought beginning in 1133 caused famine in many places, especially on Cyprus. 40 The winter was severe again in 1135–6 and began mildly in 1136–7 but turned severe in January, when the Euphrates and other rivers froze, and there was much snow. 41 The winter of 1139–40 was severe from December to February, the Euphrates froze again, and there was no rain until May. When the rain came, there was a late harvest. 42 Hail broke trees and grapevines in the region of Militene in May of 1141, while in June a violent wind uprooted the rest of the trees. 43 In the general drought of 1148 the springs dried up, and many places without rivers and fountains were deserted. The drought lasted until midDecember 1149, when the rain came, the land was well watered, and there was a mild winter. 44 The winter was severe again in 1151–2 with unprecedented amounts of snow as late as March. When the precipitation turned to rain, there was too much; abundant rain everywhere destroyed the seeds, crops, and everything that had been sown, especially along the rivers. 45 The late twelfth century was even worse. There was a general dearth of wheat in 1165, especially in the region of Antioch and Cilicia. 46 A series of bad years began in 1172, when a widespread, sudden cold snap, accompanied by rain and snow, occurred in September in the territory of Mawʛil, the Jazira, Syria, Iran, Armenia, Palestine, and Egypt. Michael’s specific reference to the destruction of grapevines, olive trees, cotton, and sesame on this occasion probably applies to Syria, the Jazira, and the territory of Mawʛil. 47 This was followed by a great famine that lasted four years (1173–6) throughout Cappadocia, Syria, Palestine, the territory of Mawsil, Armenia, and Iran as far as Sistan and the borders of India. 48 In September and October of 1173 the crops were destroyed by snow again, and during the winter of 1173–4 rivers, fountains, and springs froze, so that people, animals, and birds Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 235, IV, 614. Ibid., III, 243; IV, 617–18. 42 Ibid., III, 250–51, IV, 623–4. 43 Ibid., III, 252–2, IV, 623–4. 44 Ibid., III, 277, 282–3, IV, 638, 640–41. 45 Ibid., III, 299–300, IV, 650–51. 46 Ibid., III, 325, IV, 679. 47 Ibid., III, 348–9, IV, 701. 48 Ibid., III, 349, 357, IV, 703, 707. 40 41

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perished as much from thirst as from hunger. These conditions were repeated from March to mid-June 1175. 49 There was also too much rain in 1174–75 causing a destructive flood of the Tigris at Baghdad. Although the fruits of trees and vines did not prosper that year, wheat seeds and other grains sprouted after the flood receded. 50 After four years of famine herbs and crops began to grow again in the summer of 1176, 51 but drought in the spring of 1177 withered seeds and all the grains. Thirst caused many villages to be abandoned, especially around Jerusalem and throughout Palestine, in southern Syria, in the region of Nisibis, and in Tur ȨAbdin. Crops went unharvested in the region of Mawʛil. 52 Then the drought ended, which had caused people and animals to perish, but the famine persisted everywhere, because the crops did not prosper that year, and the poor perished at Jerusalem, Damascus, Aleppo, and in the desert. 53 This probably means that people and animals had water to drink, but that the rain came to late for the crops. There was another drought in 1178–79, and the crops withered causing wide-spread famine in Syria, Palestine, Arabia, the Jazira, the territory of Mawʛil, and Armenia. There was absolutely no wheat or other grain to be found at Damascus and its vicinity, many people died of famine, and many left for distant lands. Then in mid-spring the rain came, crops prospered, and there was great abundance everywhere. 54 There was so much rain at Antioch in May of 1179 that there was flooding, but the winter of 1179–80 was mild at Antioch. 55 Michael’s information about the immediate effects of climatic disasters on agricultural production from the seventh to the midninth century, and again in the twelfth century, cannot be used to determine whether normal agricultural production was increasing or decreasing. But it is an excellent source for what kinds of crops were affected and for economic distress, price inflation, famine, mortality among humans and domestic animals, the abandonment of land, and emigration. It is worth noting that extreme cold, snow, Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 351–2, IV, 703–5. Ibid., III, 355, IV, 706. 51 Ibid., III, 357, IV, 707. 52 Ibid., III, 367, IV, 712. 53 Ibid., III, 369–70, IV, 714. 54 Ibid., III, 375–6, IV, 716–18. 55 Ibid., III. 377, IV. 718. 49 50

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ice, hail, and violent winds could be as destructive to crops as drought was in the Jazira and northern Syria. If the olive trees that withered actually died, along with those that were uprooted, the fact that it took newly-planted olive trees five years to bear fruit means that the production of olive oil was reduced for that long after each event. Arguably this should have reduced the tree-pollen count, and there is some evidence that this was so, provided by core samples from northern Palestine. Benjamin Kedar cites material from two bore-holes drilled by Aharon Horowitz in a swamp at the headwaters of the Jordan River, that shows a decrease in the percentage of arboreal pollen in the seventh century. Since the cores came from an uninhabited swamp, Kedar suggests that the decrease should be explained by some natural change rather than human (read: nomadic) activity. 56 This is relevant because Kedar uses the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius to argue that Arabs really might have cut down trees and destroyed the vegetation of the mountains at the time of the Muslim conquest, although he admits that vegetation could have been at least partly reduced by natural causes. 57 However, the chart published by Kedar (figure 3) shows a decline in tree-pollen that was much longer than the seventh century, although it began then. One of the curves for the two bore-holes has a much sharper decline than the other, but both of them begin at the line on the chart between “Byzantine” and “Early Arabic” (however defined) and then continue to fall until about the year 1000, at the line between “Early Arabic” and “Crusades.” 58 On the face of it this seems to indicate a long term trend unfavorable to trees. Kedar also cites a core taken from the southern part of the Sea of Galilee by Uri Baruch, that shows a steady, dramatic decrease in the percentage of arboreal pollen from about 180 to about 880. This was mostly due to a reduction in olive pollen, which Baruch explained by a decrease in oleiculture caused by humans. 59 Kedar notes that subtracting the olive values from Baruch’s total pollen B. Kedar, “The Arab Conquests and Agriculture: a seventh-century apocalypse, satellite imagery and palynology,” Asian and African Studies 19 (1985): 13. 57 Ibid., 8–9, 13. 58 Ibid., 14. 59 Ibid., 13. 56

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values produces a curve that peaks at about 650 followed by a slight decline until the late ninth century. Baruch’s curves also show a decline in evergreen oak and pistachio pollen, which usually grow where land is not plowed, similar to those from Hula. Kedar concludes that these declines may have been caused by a natural change as well as by nomads, 60 and uses this information to advance the hypothesis that a deterioration in the climate in the seventh century (whatever caused the drop in pollen) might have contributed to nomadic migration into settled territory, and that both together might have reduced the vegetation. 61 But the evidence presented by Horowitz and Baruch could be taken in another direction. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the information on climatic disasters presented by Michael and others goes a long way toward explaining why the arboreal pollen count fell from the seventh to the ninth or tenth century. Severe weather conditions do seem to have become more frequent from about the mid-seventh century. Granting that northern Palestine is on the southern edge of the same weather system that affects northern Syria and the Jazira, conditions might not have been exactly the same in any given year. A hard freeze in the north might not have been quite as cold in the Judean Hills, while a dry year in the north might have been even drier in the south. It is worth repeating that freezing weather and gale force winds were at least as important as drought in destroying trees, and are unlikely to have attracted nomads. But, if the arboreal pollen curves are to be trusted, then they reflect a long term trend, possibly largely explained by the long term effects of the recurring climatic events recorded by Michael and others. It is thus possible to suggest that the frequency of these events over a period of two centuries or more caused an absolute reduction in arboriculture. Simply put, from the seventh to the ninth century, the weather destroyed trees faster than they could be replaced. Animal pests, especially plagues of locusts, also destroyed crops and caused famines. There is still no satisfactory explanation for why the numbers of locusts increase, but it appears to be related to changes in temperature and moisture in their permanent breeding areas. There is no regular periodicity or cycle to the 60 61

Kedar, “The Arab Conquests,” 14–5. Ibid., 15.

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outbreak of plagues of locusts. Their transition from the solitary to the gregarious or swarming phase and back again lasts two or three years and is affected by a combination of factors. Hatching can be accelerated by a rise in temperature. Locust eggs can survive freezing temperatures and develop much more rapidly when they warm up after being exposed to low temperatures. Abnormally dry weather may also increase the chances of eggs surviving the winter and increase the number of locusts. Plagues tend to occur when spring rains follow several years of dry springs and increase the vegetation. Overgrazed pastures can also encourage breeding, because grass is replaced by the weeds favored by locusts. The swarming phase occurs when favorable breeding conditions results in the crowding of many locusts in a limited space. 62 The hatching of locust eggs in the spring means that the swarms arrive just when crops are ripening. Two species of locust cause plagues in western Asia. The Moroccan locust (Dociostaurus maroccanus, Thumb.) is found in the dry hills and mountains of the Mediterranean region and as far east as Central Asia. In western Asia it has permanent breeding areas in central Anatolia and the Transcaucasus and apparently in the dry, stony, semi-deserts on both sides of the middle Euphrates river. 63 From these zones it invades the plains occasionally and can survive there for several generations but not permanently. However, when swarms appear in temporary breeding areas, they increase extremely rapidly. 64 After its eggs are deposited in early summer there is an interruption in development (an embryonic diapause), possibly because of insufficient moisture. Development resumes the following spring, but the larvae can be mature without hatching. Some external stimulus is necessary, such as a rise in temperature, soil humidity, or light. Sudden mass hatchings have been observed after rain. The eggs usually hatch between March and April and the hopping locusts go through five stages before they acquire wings by mid-May to July, become sexually mature,

62 Barceló, “Plagues de llagost,” 71, 74; B.P. Uvarov, Locusts and Grasshoppers (London: The Imperial bureau of entomology, 1928) 34–8, 145–7, 160, 231, 233. 63 Uvarov, Locusts and Grasshoppers, 224–9. 64 Ibid., 229–31.

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mate, deposit their eggs, and die. 65 The Moroccan locust will eat anything. Grain crops, which are still green when the bands of hoppers are formed, suffer the most, but it does enormous damage to cotton. It will also nibble plants for water, not for food, eating the stems of leaves on trees and thus defoliating them. 66 The Desert locust (Schistocerca gregaria, Forsk.) is found across Africa, in Palestine and Arabia, and in Iran, Baluchistan, and the Punjab. It has no diapausal stage; the eggs hatch in sixteen to forty days, and the larval period of hoppers lasts from forty to fifty days. Since the swarms appear in early spring, when the crops are green, the next generation of hoppers eats the same crops and those that ripen later. It can destroy an entire year’s harvest, devouring vegetables, garden crops, and vines, and damaging orchards and vineyards. Its invasions of the regions of Palestine and the Transjordan have been infrequent, but it can do enormous damage to olives, vines, and other crops. 67 Michael does not mention the invasion of locusts in May of 499 and the subsequent plague of locusts in March of 500, when the hoppers devoured everything from the territory of Mawsil (Assur) to the Mediterranean and the land of Urtea (Armenia) in the north, that caused famine and high prices. 68 He does say that many locusts caused much damage in 582–3, which probably explains the lack of bread that year. 69 The drought of 600–1 was followed by unprecedented numbers of locusts in Syria in the spring of 602, that destroyed the seeds and the fruit of trees. Three years later (spring 605) the eggs they laid hatched and locusts caused ruin and increased the famine. 70 In 678–9 rats multiplied in Syria and Phoenicia, destroyed the seeds, and caused a great famine, and in the following year (spring of 680) there were Barceló, “Plagues de llagost,” 72; Uvarov, Locusts and Grasshoppers, 36–7, 39, 44–50, 146, 229. 66 Uvarov, Locusts and Grasshoppers, 74, 229–30. 67 Ibid., 252–8, 261. 68 Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 38–9; P. Martin, Chronique de Josue le Stylite (Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, VI. Band, No. 1; Leipzig: Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 1876) 30 [25], 34–5 [30]. 69 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II. 352, IV, 375. This coincides with the beginning of Dionysius of Tell Maʘre’s Secular History. 70 Ibid., II, 374, IV, 387. 65

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locusts. 71 To his brief note that innumerable locusts arrived in May of 714 the Chronicle of Disasters adds that there was a lack of rain that year and that the locusts destroyed vineyards, sown fields, and plants. 72 Michael has more to say about a plague in the spring of 721, when locusts were very numerous at harvest time, ate the grapevines, and ate fig and olive trees to the point that their trunks withered. Then they destroyed all their fruit, and there was a shortage of wine everywhere. 73 There was probably also a shortage of olive oil. This was followed by a drought in 721–2; then many locusts destroyed the harvest again in April of 723, increasing the suffering of people and animals from the lack of all kinds of food. 74 Michael omits the infestation of locusts and other insects that followed the harsh winter of 750–51, when the damage to vineyards, trees, and fruit by the hoppers and to wheat and barley by weevils at harvest time increased the famine, that is described in the Chronicle of Zuqnin. 75 However, he mentions invasions of locusts in the spring of 763 and 766, that devoured the seeds and caused damage, which the Chronicle of Zuqnin omits. 76 Overgrazing in the Jazira may have contributed to the breeding of locusts in the eighth century. According to the Chronicle of Zuqnin the Jazira was full of cattle, herds of horses, and flocks of goats in the 760s. 77 On top of that the drought of 772–3 led the Banu Taghlib and MaȨd to move north with their sheep and camels for pasture along the foothills. They consumed the open pasture leaving none for cattle. That livestock exceeded the resources is indicated by the information that, in the severe winter of 773–4, there was no pasture for grazing animals and no grain for stall-fed

Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 457, IV, 436. Brock, “Chronicle of Disasters,” 46; Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 482, IV, 452. 73 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 490, IV, 455–6. 74 Ibid., II, 491, IV, 456. 75 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 52–3 [59–60]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 186–7. 76 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 524, IV, 474–5. 77 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 83 [98], 98 [116]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 216, 230. 71 72

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livestock, with the result that goats, sheep, oxen, horses, and donkeys perished in the northern Jazira. 78 Then, in the spring of 785, winged locusts arrived, and the entire Jazira was full of them. After they devoured the wheat, barley, and all the vegetables, they laid their eggs everywhere in the plains and in the mountains. After remaining in the ground for one month, their progeny emerged and began to crawl over the ground devouring everything they found, spreading especially at Edessa, Saruj, and Resh Kepha. When they had consumed everything in the Jazira, they passed to the west (Syria), where they destroyed all the grain and then devoured the grapevines, trees, and all kinds of crops. This was followed by famine for the next three years caused by the high price of bread, wine, oil, and all sorts of vegetables. 79 Judging by the short incubation period, these were evidently Desert locusts. 80 Plagues of locusts continued in the ninth century. In the spring of 804 locusts destroyed every kind of crop everywhere. 81 Between that and 808–9 there were locusts for three years that laid their eggs and reproduced (i.e. the Jazira became a temporary breeding area), ravaged the entire Jazira, and caused famine. 82 After violent hail had destroyed the field crops in 829–30 or 830–1, locusts devoured the grapevines and olive trees, laid their eggs, and the next year devoured everything: field crops, vines, and trees. 83 The winter of 842–3 was cold and dry. Seeds did not germinate until April, when it rained, but hail ravaged most of the fields in the Jazira and the west (Syria). Then locusts devoured the late seeds, the cotton, and other crops. 84 Since this is where the Chronicle of Dionysius of Tell Maʘre ends, there is the usual gap in Michael’s information about natural disasters between the mid-ninth and eleventh centuries. But there is also a change in what he recounts. For whatever reason locust 78 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 146 [176–7], 160 [193]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 275–6, 288. 79 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 4–5, IV, 479–80. 80 That they were different is recognized by Michael, who says they were called “canine” (kalbaita) locusts. 81 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 17, IV, 487. 82 Ibid., III, 19, IV, 488. 83 Ibid., III, 78–9, IV, 524. 84 Ibid., III, 109, IV, 542.

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infestations in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries caused little damage; Michael ascribes this to divine intervention. One such event occurred in 1080–1 85 and another in 1120–1. On the latter occasion flying locusts came to Militene and ate a little of the crops, perished, and disappeared, having laid their eggs (locusts normally die after they mate and deposit their eggs). A little while later thin locusts appeared, that nibbled the trees and vines a bit and perished at once. 86 These were evidently Desert locusts again. In the spring of 1135 numerous locusts in the region of Edessa either left without causing damage, or retired to uncultivated land and ate hay, or invaded fields of cotton, vegetables, or sesame and devoured the refuse without harming the crops. 87 Locusts arrived again in May of 1136, after a severe winter, but caused no damage. 88 The locusts were back to normal again in 1195–6, when they devoured grain and grapevines all year from the borders of Egypt to Iberia (Georgia) and from Iran to the Black Sea. 89 Michael’s Chronicle ends in this year. Presumably all of the factors that served to reduce agricultural production in any particular year thereby reduced the ability of the rural population to pay taxes, which tended to be met by more oppressive measures from the government for their collection. Michael does not have much to say about this, but he does tell how, when ȨAbdullah ibn ʝahir besieged Arab rebels led by Naʛr ibn Shabat at Kaishum in 823, he required the people of Saruj to collect the wheat and straw his army needed. The entire Jazira and the west (Syria) were so hard pressed that people reaped wheat, barley, and other grains prematurely, threshed, and delivered them. Meanwhile Nasr went around massacring the reapers and burning everything he found. 90 Michael also says that, in the early ninth century, farmers were prevented from harvesting grapes before the government collected one dinar for every 1,000 vine-stocks. Nor could they press them before paying. Wine was kept in the barrels until the sellers and buyers had been taxed. Taxes were collected on the roads and at the gates of cities, at the beginning of the harvest, Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 177, IV, 582. Ibid., III, 208–9, IV, 598–9. 87 Ibid., III, 238–9, IV, 615–17. 88 Ibid., III, 243, IV, 618. 89 Ibid., III, 413, IV, 738. 90 Ibid., III, 52, IV, 510. 85 86

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on hay-stacks, when the farmers cleared out caterpillars, and when they picked olives. 91 Outright pillaging also occurred at the hands of brigands, rebels, and armies. In 812 a murderer named ȨAmr escaped from prison at Callinicus and fled to Samosata, where he killed the amir and pillaged the merchants. Then he went with his followers to Palestine, where they engaged in brigandage, killed, and pillaged. ȨAmr then joined forces with the rebel, Naʛr ibn Shabat, and the two of them crossed over to the Jazira and massacred, pillaged, collected wealth, and burned villages around Harran and Edessa. 92 In 842 the rebel, Tamim Abu Harb, followed by 30,000 starved and naked people, pillaged and killed in Palestine. 93 The same plagues, climatic disasters, and human depredation that reduced agricultural production also affected domestic and wild beasts that perished from drought, cold, and the lack of fodder. The economic consequences included a reduction in the supply of wool, meat, and milk products, the loss of draught animals for plowing, grinding grain, and pressing grapes and olives, that exacerbated any agrarian crisis, and the loss of pack-animals for transport. The plague of 543–44 struck domestic cattle and wild animals, and John of Ephesus, who travelled in Cilicia, Moesia, Syria, Iconium, Bithynia, Asia, Galatia, and Cappadocia during the plague years, noted herds of sheep, goats, oxen, and pigs that went feral, because there was no one to tend them. 94 Michael merely reports that during this plague fields went uncultivated for lack of cattle to plow them. 95 Beyond this he has little more to say. He does not note the heavy hail that killed camels and donkeys in April of 715, 96 the plague among horses in 763–4, 97 or the heavy snow that killed cattle and sheep in 768–9. 98 He does mention a plague among chickens at Militene in 1141, 99 and how cattle, donkeys, and Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 107, IV, 540. Ibid., III, 21–2, IV, 491–2. 93 Ibid., III, 103, IV, 541–2. 94 Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 100, 105. 95 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 245, IV, 309. 96 Brock, “Chronicle of Disasters,” 47. 97 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, [77]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 200–1. 98 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 95 [112–3]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 91 92

227.

99

Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 251, IV, 623.

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horses died of the cold in their stables during the winter of 1175, while the carcasses of sheep and goats piled up under the snow. 100 He also reports ȨAbd al-Malik’s order to kill all the pigs in about 694, 101 and how the Muslims killed all the pigs in the streets of Takrit in 820, 102 but those were not natural disasters. Just as the tale of agrarian disasters can be used to identify what the main crops were, the effects of natural disasters on animals can be used to identify the livestock in the economy. It is clear that bovine cattle, horses, donkeys, goats, sheep, camels, and pigs were all raised by the sedentary population. Nomadic pastoralists also raised cattle, sheep, goats, horses, and camels, so any conflict over the use of land was not between farmers and herdsmen but between sedentary and nomadic populations over pasture for the same animals. Michael has little to offer about nomadic pastoralism before the eighth century beyond the usual association of Arabs with camels and sheep. 103 But he has a valuable reference to the Christian Arabs of the Banu Tanukh who lived in tents in the vicinity of Aleppo in 779, rode Arab horses and were richly dressed. 104 He describes how their encampment near Aleppo had grown into a sprawling town by 813, which was so large it had no wall, but was very rich because of its resources and merchants. In that year the Tanukh were defeated by the Banu Qais and left for Qinnasrin, abandoning their houses and great encampments full of wealth, which were pillaged by the Banu Qais and the people of Aleppo. 105 Camels were also raised by villagers. Michael tells of a scam operated by a governor named ȨAli at Damascus in 840, who bought weak, thin camels and sent them to the villagers to nourish them during the winter. When the camels perished from weakness, he told them the camels belonged to the ruler and charged them thirty dinars per camel. There were also camels in the villages around Cyrrhus in 840, where a camel-driver allowed his camels to urinate on the road. 106 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 351, IV, 704. Ibid., II, 475; IV, 447. 102 Ibid., III, 48–9, IV, 506. 103 Ibid., II, 308, II, 36, IV, 347, 499. 104 Ibid., III, 1, IV, 478–9. 105 Ibid., III, 31, IV, 497. 106 Ibid., III, 105–6, IV, 539. 100 101

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In the twelfth century Michael mentions that snow covered the encampments of the tent-dwelling Arabs in 1173, 107 but his best information is about the transhumance of Türkmen. He describes how the tent-dwelling Türkmen would come down to spend the winter in the desert south of Syria, where snow did not fall, there was no ice, and pasture could be found. In spring they would return to the northern region for pasture. During both migrations the routes were full of their livestock, and the Kurds would steal their sheep, horses, cattle, and camels, and even kill their men. This led to a battle between the Türkmen and the Kurds in 1185, when the Türkmen drove the Kurds out of Syria and the Jazira. 108 Except for famines during sieges, famine was caused by crop failure and the death of domestic animals. Sometimes Michael records famines without saying what their immediate cause was, but these can be used as indirect evidence for a reduction in agricultural production. Human mortality during famines also reduced the labor force so that sometimes crops went unharvested. The hoarding of grain by the rich during famines meant that the poor (i.e. the work force) suffered the most. Accounts of famines often have information about the expedients to which people were reduced in order to find food. People also died from gorging when the famine was over. According to John of Ephesus there was famine for eight years from 546–7 to 554–5 in the region of Amida. 109 Michael notes that people died from gorging after the famine and plague during the reign of Justinian. 110 He also records a famine in the region of Marcash in about 655 and how people went out to gather herbs. 111 During the famine of 694 people made bread from lentils, peas, and oats, 112 while they collected animal manure and ground the kernels and skins of grapes to make bread in the famine of 745. 113 When women and children went out to gather herbs during the famine caused by locusts in the Jazira in 808, they were devoured

Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 352, IV, 704. Ibid., III, 400–1, IV, 732–3. 109 Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 116, 119. 110 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 244–5, IV, 309. 111 Ibid., II, 447, 449, IV, 431, 433. 112 Ibid., II, 474–5, IV, 447. 113 Ibid., II, 508, IV, 466. 107 108

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by wild beasts. 114 Michael does not say what caused the great famine in Khurasan in 833, but he reports that people ground the husks of straw to make flour and cooked it; they cut up palms, dried them, ground them in a mortar, and made bread; and they collected date stones, crushed and ate them.115 He also notes that there was a famine in Egypt following the last, great Coptic revolt in the reign of al-Ma’mun. 116 During the famine in the Jazira in 842, the poor, who went out to collect firewood or herbs for nourishment instead of bread, perished from the cold, while the rich, seeing that they had no more bread or seed in the ground, stopped taking pity, selling wheat, and relieving the poor. Salt, wheat, and walnuts grew expensive in a land that normally exported walnuts and wheat. 117 Although Michael has almost nothing to say about the climatic causes of disasters in the eleventh century, he records a widespread, great famine in 1037, when mortality among humans and domestic and wild animals was so great that people said it was the end of the world. 118 The famine of 1082, when bread and wine were expensive, 119 was evidently caused by a failure of the grain and grape crops. In the thirteenth century he tells how the Templars distributed wheat to the poor from their store rooms full of wheat, barley, wine, and vegetables during a famine at Jerusalem in 1120. 120 In contrast at the beginning of the great famine in the winter of 1173–4, because Ismacil, the ruler of Sebastea in Cappadocia, refused to distribute his hoarded wheat, the starving people attacked and killed him together with his wife and 500 members of their household, seized all they could, and fed themselves. 121 However, in the famine of 1178 Amaury, the “patriarch” of the Franks, distributed wheat and other grain abundantly at Antioch, but the Turkish amirs refused to allow a huge number of people, who had set out from Arabia driven by hunger, to cross the Euphrates lest they should make the famine Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 19, IV, 488. Ibid., III, 79, IV, 524–5. 116 Ibid., III, 83, IV, 527. 117 Ibid., III, 109, IV, 542. 118 Ibid., III, 136, IV, 559–60. 119 Ibid., III, 180, IV, 583. 120 Ibid., III, 207–8, 598. 121 Ibid., III, 349, IV, 703. 114 115

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worse. When they crossed anyway, the Turks massacred about 100,000 of them; the survivors tried to recross the Euphrates but were drowned with their camels in the river. 122 The human mortality from famine, the bubonic plague and other epidemics, and warfare substantially reduced the labor force, especially since the poor were the first to perish. Large numbers of people were also removed from Syria and the Jazira by the Persians in the warfare between the Sasanians and the Byzantines during the sixth and early seventh century and deported to their own territory. Captives were often enslaved as well. Deportation surely reduced economic production in the regions where captives were taken and increased it where they were resettled. One is tempted to speak of a labor crisis in Syria at the end of Late Antiquity. It would seem that the labor force in Syria was replenished by the Muslim Arabs with captives taken in Anatolia and among the Turks from the seventh to the end of the eighth century. Whether this was merely stabilizing or related to economic development remains to be seen. Among many similar accounts in various sources Michael reports (probably from John of Ephesus) that in 575 Khusraw I took 90,000 captives at Dara and others from the regions of Qinnasrin and Antioch. A total of 292,000 captives were all sent to Persia. 123 The 3,000 Persian slaves sent to Maurice by his general, Germanus, in 583 124 hardly balanced the score. Apparently this began with the Arabs. When Mucawiya took Euchaita in 640, he carried off all its people into slavery: men, women, boys, and girls, 125 and Maslama took captives at Tyana in 708. 126 It is difficult to understand why al-Walid I would have ordered captive Christians to be killed in all the cities of Syria in 711. 127 If there was already a surplus of captive labor, that would not explain the massive importation of captives over the next two decades. In 712 ȨAbbas ibn al-Walid returned from Antioch in Pisidia with many Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 375–6, IV, 717–8. Ibid., II, 311–2, IV, 349. Khusraw I had already deported farmers from Callinicus in 542. See Procopius, History of the Wars, II.xxi.32 (tr. H.B. Dewing, London: William Heinemann / New York: The Macmillan Co., 1914) 450–1. 124 Michael the Syrian Chronique, II, 359, IV, 379. 125 Ibid., II, 431, IV, 423. 126 Ibid., II, 478, IV, 451. 127 Ibid., II, 479, IV, 452. 122 123

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captives. 128 In 715 Maslama brought back many captives from Galatia, Pergamum, Sardis, and other cities, and from the land of the Turks. 129 In 726 the Arabs took numerous captives from a large city in the land of the Turks, 130 and in 727 Michael refers to prisoners and captives that the Arab troops brought and settled in Syria. 131 It should be noted that the deportation and resettlement of captives continued under the ȨAbbasi dynasty. In 769 the Arabs resettled captives from the valley of MarȨash and the land of Samosata in the land of Ramla, 132 presumably as a rural population. Approximately 7,000 people were taken captive by the Arabs in the region of Ephesus in 781. The Byzantine emperor, Leo, retaliated by sending an army that took orthodox Syrian Christians captive and resettled them in Thrace. 133 Michael also reports that, when alMahdi ordered Christian slaves to be sold at the beginning of his reign, the slaves fled. 134 Many captives were taken again in 792 and 793 in Byzantine territory (Anatolia), particularly in Cappadocia, at the beginning of the reign of ar-Rashid. 135 Michael has no more references to Arab military campaigns acquiring captives in Byzantine Anatolia after this, and, since this part of his Chronicle depends on Dionysius of Tell Maʘre, that probably means that there were none. By the early ninth century the cAbbasis were preoccupied with their own internal problems, and captive labor was no longer imported from Anatolia. However, Michael does Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 479, IV, 452. Ibid., II, 479, 483, IV, 452. These Turks were probably Khazars from north of the Caucasus. 130 Ibid., II, 490, IV, 457. 131 Ibid., II, 492, IV, 458. 132 Ibid., II, 526, IV, 476. Ramla had been founded by Sulayman (715–7). See T. Khalidi, “Tribal Settlement and Patterns of Land Tenure in Early Medieval Palestine,” in T. Khalidi (ed.), Land Tenure and Social Transformation in the Middle East (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1984) 183. 133 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 2, IV, 497. This would have been Leo IV (775–80). Michael’s chronology is at least one year off at this point. Theophanes puts this event in 770. The people would not have been Chalcedonians, but Syrian Orthodox Christians from Michael’s point of view. 134 Ibid., III, 3, IV, 478. 135 Ibid., III, 8, IV, 483. 128 129

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have information on the enslavement of Copts at the end of their revolt in Egypt in the reign of al-Ma’mun. Some 500 captive Copts were given as slaves to the Arabs and sent to Damascus, where they were sold. But Christians bought them back and freed them. 136 Michael also has some information on enslavement in the twelfth century. He reports that in 1176 Türkmen invaded the northern part of Byzantine territory (probably Bithynia), seized approximately 100,000 people, killed all the men, and sold the women and children to merchants, who took them to Persia. 137 He also tells how, after driving off the Kurds in 1185, the Türkmen carried off 26,000 Armenians and sold them as slaves. 138 Finally, he relates that 20,000 men and women, who were unable to ransom themselves for ten dinars apiece, were reduced to slavery, when Jerusalem fell to Salah ad-Din (in 1187). Four thousand old men and women were freed; 6,000 were divided among the troops of Salah ad-Din as slaves; he sent 5,000 to Egypt to make bricks to build the walls; and he left 5,000 at Jerusalem to rebuild the walls there. 139 Otherwise, Michael does not have a great deal to say about exactly where enslaved captives were resettled or how they were employed. But he does indicate that some people had huge numbers of slaves; slaves were a form of property as well as labor. It is worth noting his report that the Christian plutocrat, Athanasius bar Gumaye of Edessa, owned 4,000 slaves in the early eighth century. 140 Although it is important to know that Christians could own slaves, Michael also says that the Christians of Edessa were required to free their slaves in 825, so the latter could become Muslims. 141 ȨUbayd ibn Sari, who rebelled at Fusʜaʜ and in middle Egypt in 826, owned 80,000 slaves, most of whom were “Moors.” 142 When the caliph, al-MuȨtaʛim died in 843, some 8,000 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 83, IV, 527. Ibid., III, 309, IV, 715. 138 Ibid., III, 401–2, IV, 733. 139 Ibid., III, 405, IV, 734–5. 140 Ibid., II, 475, IV, 448. 141 Ibid., III, 62, IV, 514. 142 Ibid., III, 59, IV, 513. Chabot says this means that they were black, but they could have been Berbers. For Maureye as an ethnonym for the people of Mauritania see Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 231. 136 137

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slaves, who had been bought with silver, were freed. He also left 40,000 saddle horses and 20,000 baggage mules that were tended by 30,000 slave grooms. 143 The free agricultural labor force in the Jazira appears to have been fairly mobile. The Chronicle of Zuqnin has much more information about this for the third quarter of the eighth century than Michael does in his entire Chronicle. It is clear that there was a landless labor force in the Jazira that worked for wages or merely for food in hard times. Landholding farmers might also work on someone else’s land for extra income. The greatest demand for such labor was at harvest time. Sometimes a flood of refugees from drought, famine, or oppression elsewhere meant there was no work for the natives. Sometimes the mortality and flight from famine or plague left no one to harvest the crops. What Michael has to say fits this pattern. He describes a group of probably seasonal workmen in the village of ȨUfrai in the region of MarȨash at the time of vintage in 655, who were willing to exchange their wine for a meal. 144 As already noted, he says that during the great famine and bubonic plague of 745 farmers would have worked for bread, but no one hired them. 145 He describes how the plague that broke out in 842 and lasted two years began in the Jazira and spread to Syria, Palestine and the coast, leaving many villages deserted and their fields without harvesters. 146 He also tells how an Arab of the Banu Iyad prevented a Christian from plowing his field and made him work on his own field in the early ninth century. This Arab also requisitioned a man and his family to reap his own crop and work with him. 147 The labor requisitioned for sieges and building projects was supposed to be paid. 148 They were at least given provisions in 715, when Maslama marched against Constantinople. According to Michael Maslama collected 12,000 workmen, 6,000 camels to carry 143 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 104, IV, 543. The Christian patrician of Greater Armenia is said to have had over 100,000 slaves in 772–3. He was killed that year and his property confiscated by al-Manʛur. See Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 148 [180]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 278. 144 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 447, IV, 431. 145 Ibid., II, 605–7, IV, 464. 146 Ibid., III, 109–10, IV, 543. 147 Ibid., III, 107, IV, 540. 148 Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 82 [97]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 215.

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the weapons and siege equipment, and 6,000 donkeys to carry food for the camels and provisions for the workmen. 149 The caliph arRashid also gathered many workmen to build Heraclea in 804. The information that the people suffered famine because of the building of the city probably means that local farmers were requisitioned. Michael says that the caliph then ordered for the workmen to be paid full wages. 150 In 814 the rebel, ȨAmr, rebuilt the wall of Samosata with an army of poor Christians. 151 Michael also has an important, first-hand account from Dionysius of Tell Maʘre about the working conditions of the Coptic flax weavers at Tinnis in 826, when Dionysius was in Egypt himself. Dionysius relates how he addressed ȨAbdullah ibn ʝćhir, who was in Egypt suppressing the Coptic revolt, telling him that he had never seen such misery. When he had asked the people of Tinnis about it, they had told him that their town was surrounded by water, they had neither crops nor other resources, could not have herds, and the water they drank came from a distance and cost them four zuze (dirhams) per pitcher. Their only work was flax, which their women spun and the men wove. The clothing merchants paid them one-half zuza (dirham) per day for it, which was not enough to feed them. But they had to pay five dinars when they were taxed. They were beaten and thrown into prison and (to borrow the money to pay the tax) were forced to mortgage their sons and daughters to work like slaves (for the creditors) for two years for one dinar. If a girl or a woman should have a child with the creditors, the weavers had to swear that they would not bother them about it. It also happened that it would be time to pay the tax again before a woman was liberated. They had asked Dionysius to tell the amir about their plight, so he would take pity on them. According to Dionysius the amir ordered for them to be taxed according to the system in the Jazira. The most well off should pay 48 zuze (dirhams), those of moderate means 24, and the poor 12 when the poll-tax was collected from them. 152 In addition, Michael reports from Dionysius that before 835 some of the Copts taken to

Michael the Syrian, Chronicle, II, 484, IV, 453. Ibid., III, 16, IV, 489. 151 Ibid., III, 27, IV, 494. 152 Ibid., III, 63–4, IV, 516. 149 150

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Iraq after the revolt were kept by al-Muctasim to weave clothing of linen according to the embroidery work of the Egyptians. 153 There is a great contrast between the condition of the weavers of Tinnis and what Michael has to say about the rich. Evidently there was a class of wealthy, propertied, Christian notables in the Jazira. Michael’s account of the career of one of them, Athanasius bar Gumaye of Edessa, is revealing in many ways. 154 In the first place he was not only intelligent but noble, which is probably why he got an education, studying the books of the Church and secular literature (Michael does not say in which language/s). Secondly, his intelligence and learning got him a position in the Arab administration, where he made a fortune. cAbd al-Malik entrusted his young brother (ȨAbd) al-ȨAziz to Athanasius when ȨAbd al-ȨAziz was appointed governor of Egypt. Athanasius became his tutor, and in addition to presents and wealth given to him by the caliph, the sons of Athanasius took one dinar from each of the soldiers, when they were issued their pay. Since there were 3,000 soldiers in Egypt, and one dinar apiece returned to Athanasius (at least annually), during the 21 years he was in Egypt he became very rich. Athanasius seems to have returned to Edessa afterwards, where he owned 4,000 slaves as well as villages, houses, gardens, gold, silver, and precious gems. Michael says that he owned three shops in Edessa, but this is probably mistaken. According to Bar Hebraeus, Athanasius owned 400 shops in Edessa, which seems to be more realistic, since he used the revenues (most likely rents) from his shops to build the church of the Mother of God in Edessa. He also built a baptistery in Edessa (the great church was held by Chalcedonians), which he decorated with gold, silver, and a revetment of marble. In addition he built churches and monasteries in many places in Egypt including two great and magnificent churches in Fustat. 155 Before the time of ȨAbd al-Malik the Muslim soldiers in Egypt were given rations but not cash stipends, so Michael provides important information about military finance there. Athanasius is also a good example of the involvement of Ibid., III, 84, IV, 529. Michael does not give exact dates for the career of Athanasius, but his administrative service coincided with the reign of ȨAbd al-Malik. Michael’s account immediately follows his information that cAbd al-Malik ordered all the pigs to be killed in about 694 in his text. 155 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 475–6, IV, 447–8. 153 154

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members of the non-Muslim class of notables in administration, of the tremendous wealth held by some of them, and of the use of this wealth for patronage toward the Church. The notables of Edessa intermarried so that property passed from one family to another through inheritance. Sometime during the seventh and eighth centuries the house of Iwannis Rasafaya at Edessa passed by inheritance to the Tell-Maʘraye family and then to the Gumaye, when a woman of the Tell-Maʘraye married a Gumaya. The house devolved to their son, Silvestros. 156 Apart from what this tells us about inheritance by and from women, Iwannis Rasafaya had been very wealthy with a palatial house. When Khusraw II had stayed in Edessa during his exile, Iwannis had entertained him and displayed his wealth to show that he was richer than his rival, Marinus. He brought out gold and silver plates, tables, platters, spoons, and vases. The bowls and vases to drink wine, amphorae, phials, and carafes were all of silver. 157 The wife of Iwannis had buried this treasure in the house, when Khusraw II exiled her to Persia after the fall of Edessa (in about 524–5). The sons of Silvestros inherited the house with the rest of his fortune, but they were debauched and dissipated their fortune. In about 803 they thought of digging in the house, because they had heard that a treasure was hidden there. When they found it, instead of using it wisely, they displayed even more luxury with horses and dogs for the chase. But, by selling the silver, their secret was out. Ar-Rashid imprisoned them at Callinicus and sent his eunuch to Edessa to confiscate everything, including vases of gold and silver, and Roman denarii. When their sister, who had been imprisoned in the house of a Chalcedonian, leapt to her death from a fourth-storey window, the caliph was grieved and freed the brothers, returning to them one-fifth of what the eunuch had taken. 158 In this account Michael provides rare information about a coin hoard of Roman dinars that was buried when Edessa fell to Khusraw II, which would support the assumption that coins might have been buried when cities fell. That it was dug up nearly 200 years later is evidence for how long a hoard might stay in the ground. Taken together Michael’s accounts of the career of Athanasius and the behavior of the sons of Silvestros (both of Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 13, IV, 485. Ibid., II, 380, IV, 390. 158 Ibid., III, 13–14, IV, 485–6. 156 157

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which come from Dionysius of Tell Maʘre) contain fairly obvious moralizing about the responsible and irresponsible use of wealth and the danger of displaying wealth too openly. Rural property could include entire villages and was bought and sold. In the context of the foundation of Dara in the early sixth century, the emperor Anastasius paid the bishop, Thomas, in gold for a village that belonged to the Church. 159 But an unscrupulous official might take advantage of his position to lower the price. For example Michael reports from Dionysius of Tell Maʘre that ȨAbd al-ȨAla increased the taxes on the people of Edessa, when ʝahir appointed him over the city in 816. He was evidently in charge of collecting taxes in the environs of Edessa as well and multiplied the charges on a village he coveted, that belonged to the Edessenes, until they were forced to sell it to him at a low price. Then he expelled the Edessenes from the village and settled members of his own tribe, the Banu Sulayman, there. 160 Also from Dionysius is Michael’s account of Aʘmad ibn Abi Da‚ud of the Banu Iyad in the early ninth century. When he coveted a village (probably in the Jazira), he charged taxes on it to the point that its owner had to sell it, and he bought it himself for a low price. He is said to have seized many villages that way. 161 Urban rental property was another source of income. The shops that Athanasius bar Gumaye owned at Edessa have already been mentioned. The income of the great church of Edessa came from inns, shops, and similar buildings that it owned. Michael says that most of this income went to pay the tribute owed by the Edessenes and that, in 829 or 830, the caliph al-Ma’mun freed them from it. 162 Baths could also be lucrative. According to Michael (again from Dionysius) the rent (probably for a year) from a single bath at Samarra’ under al-Muctasim amounted to 30,000 dirhams, while the monthly income from all the baths in the city was 300,000 dirhams. 163 Michael does have some unusual information about taxation. For instance, he reports that Christian farmers did not pay tribute at first under Arab rule. It was only under Mucawiya, in 669, that Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 160, IV, 260. Ibid., III, 35, IV, 499. 161 Ibid., III, 107, IV, 540–1. 162 Ibid., III, 74, IV, 523. 163 Ibid., III, 104, IV, 543. 159 160

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Abu l-ȨAwar had the Christian farmers recorded for tribute throughout Syria. 164 It would seem that the tribute imposed on cities in the terms of surrender at time of the conquest in the seventh century had not included the countryside in Syria. Cities were supposed to make a lump sum annual payment; the inhabitants could raise it anyway they liked. It was probably in the early eighth century that the people of Edessa lacked the means to pay part of the tribute they owed. So they borrowed 5,000 dinars from Athanasius bar Gumaye and repaid him later. 165 Michael also reports that coins went out of circulation except among merchants in 772, because al-Manʛur had collected all the gold and silver in his treasury. People resorted to grave-robbing to find gold and silver to pay their tribute. 166 Although Michael notes the presence of merchants in the economy, he has precious little to say about commerce. He does refer to a market outside the wall of Amida, where workers brought wheat and wine in the early sixth century, 167 and to a deacon named Damianus of the monastery of Mar Mari, who went to the village of ȨUfrai at the time of vintage to buy wheat. 168 He remarks that, when Nicephorus and ar-Rashid made peace in 803, the armies and peoples mingled and engaged in commerce. 169 In 813 he mentions the house of a cotton merchant at Baghdad and that merchants were a source of wealth for the encampment of the Banu Tanukh near Aleppo. 170 He has the details about the exchange between the Nubians and the Arabs in Egypt, that was set up when the frontier was stabilized after the conquest of Egypt in the seventh century. The Nubian kings gave the king of the Arabs 360 “Moors” as slaves, monkeys, giraffes, elephant tusks, and tiger (?) skins each year, and the kings of the Arabs gave the Nubians wheat, olive oil, and cloth for precious clothing each year. What is valuable, and somewhat surprising, is that Michael says that Ibid., II, 450, IV, 434. Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 476, IV, 448. 166 Ibid., II, 526, IV, 476–7. This is also reported by the Chronicle of Zuqnin. See Chabot, Chronique de Denys, 147–8 [179–9]; Harrak, Chronicle of Zuqnin, 277–8. 167 Michael the Syrian, Chronique, II, 161, IV, 260. 168 Ibid., II, 448, IV, 431. 169 Ibid., III, 16, IV, 488. 170 Ibid., III, 30–1, IV, 497. 164 165

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this lasted until the disorders during the ȨAbbasi civil war in the second decade of the ninth century. 171 Michael has more to say about the vulnerability of merchants. He tells how merchants were pillaged at Nisibis by al-Walid the ʗaruri in 789, 172 at Samosata by the rebel/brigand ȨAmr in 812, 173 and at Antioch by the Byzantines, who attacked the city by sea in 838. 174 Because pirates in Baʘrayn prevented merchants or ships from India, China, and Persia from reaching Baʛra, some 30,000 Basrans attacked Baʘrayn by ship in 825 only to be caught in a ford, where the Baʘraynis attacked them in boats, killing them all. 175 Ten years later, in 835, Zuʜʜ rebels in lower cIraq pillaged and massacred merchants going to Baghdad from Baʛra, India, and China. 176 Mangshur, the son of Afshin’s sister, began to pillage and kill merchants in Armenia in 841, but was executed himself soon afterwards. 177 It is curious that all of this information is clustered between the late eighth and mid-ninth century, and, of course, it all comes from Dionysius of Tell Maʘre. There is no similar information in Michael’s Chronicle either before or after. Was Dionysius the only one among Michael’s sources to be interested in such information, or were conditions really becoming more dangerous for merchants by the early ninth century? It is difficult to believe that merchants were robbed and killed only then. Apart from the slave-merchants in Anatolia in 1176 noted above, the only other information Michael has about commerce in the twelfth century consists of a couple of references to caravans. During the winter of 1133–4 a caravan of approximately 400 Persian merchants, including four Christians, set out from Constantinople (presumably for Iran) and all perished in the snow. 178 Michael also reports that, during the famine of 1176 in Jerusalem, Damascus, Aleppo, and the desert, caravans of Arabs

Ibid., III, 90, IV, 531. Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 9, IV, 482. 173 Ibid., III, 21, IV, 491. 174 Ibid., III, 101, IV, 539. 175 Ibid., III, 61–2, IV, 514. 176 Ibid., III, 84, IV, 528. 177 Ibid., III, 101, IV, 539. 178 Ibid., III, 236, IV, 614. 171 172

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set out with their camels and imported wheat to Syria, without saying from whence they came. 179 Taken altogether the economic information in Michael’s Chronicle is overwhelmingly negative. Life was clearly hard and precarious. It was even harder when calamities converged on each other. For instance Michael says that, in addition to the famine caused by locusts between 803 and 808, calamities were caused at the same time by taxes and tributes and by the scarcity of silver, which had been collected in the royal treasury. 180 Part of the reason for this negative image, and for the value of his Chronicle, lies in the fact that he presents the point of view of the subject population. But there is also a bit of sensationalizing similar to the modern news media. What was worth reporting were the remarkable exceptions to normal expectations. Almost all of Michael’s economic information relates to the period from the sixth to the mid-ninth century and comes from John of Ephesus, Jacob of Edessa, and Dionysius of Tell Maʘre or to the twelfth century during Michael’s own lifetime. It can thus be treated as contemporary, although Michael appears to have been somewhat selective in drawing on earlier sources. Much of this information consists of isolated entries or is incidental to some other theme. Although it is usually intrinsically interesting and valuable, much of his incidental information needs to be contextualized and compared to that in other sources. Thus it is dangerous to draw conclusions about economic history from Michael alone.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Barceló, M. “Les plagues de llagost a la Carpetània.” Estudis d’Història Agrària, 1 (1978): 67–84. Bedrosian, R. Sebeos’ History. New York: Sources of the Armenian Tradition, 1985. Brock, S.P. “A chronicle of disasters dated AD 716.” In Palmer, A., ed. The Seventh Century in the West-Syrian Chronicles. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1993. Brock, S.P. “The Fenqitho of the Monastery of Mar Gabriel in Tur ȨAbdin.” Ostkirchliche Studien, 28 (1979): 168–82.

179 180

Ibid., III, 369, IV, 714. Michael the Syrian, Chronique, III, 19, IV, 488.

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Cahen, Claude. “Fiscalité, propriété, antagonismes sociaux en HauteMésopotamie au temps des premiers cAbbasides d’apres Denys de Tell-Mahré.” Arabica, 1 (1954): 136–52. Chabot, J.-B. Chronique de Denys de Tell-Mahré, Quatrieme Partie. Bibl. Éc. Hautes Études, 112. Paris: Bibliotheque de l’École, 1895. Chabot, J.-B. Chronique de Michel le Syrien. Paris: E. Leroux, 1899; repr. Bruxelles: Culture et Civilisation, 1963. Harrak, A. The Chronicle of Zuqnin, Parts III and IV, A.D. 488–775. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999. Kedar, B. “The Arab Conquests and Agriculture: a seventh-century apocalypse, satellite imagery and palynology.” Asian and African Studies, 19 (1985): 1–15. Khalidi, T. “Tribal Settlement and Patterns of Land Tenure in Early Medieval Palestine.” In Khalidi, T., ed. Land Tenure and Social Transformation in the Middle East. Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1984. Martin, P. Chronique de Josue le Stylite, Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, VI. Band, No. 1. Leipzig: Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 1876. Procopius. History of the Wars, tr. H.B. Dewing. London: William Heinemann / New York: The Macmillan Co., 1914; Harvard University Press, 1914; repr. 1996. Taha, cA.D. The Muslim Conquest and Settlement of North Africa and Spain. London and New York: Routledge, 1989. Thomson, R.W., The Armenian History attributed to Sebeos. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999. Uvarov, B.P. Locusts and Grasshoppers. London: The Imperial bureau of entomology, 1928. Wallis Budge, E.A., The Book of the Governors. London: K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & co. ltd., 1893.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.2, 173–202 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

ORIGINALITY AND FUNCTION OF FORMAL STRUCTURES IN THE CHRONICLE OF MICHAEL THE GREAT DOROTHEA WELTECKE FAKULTÄT FÜR GESCHICHTE UND PHILOSOPHIE ABTEILUNG GESCHICHTE UNIVERSITÄT BIELEFELD

ABSTRACT The world chronicle or the universal chronography by Michael the Great is the most voluminous historical work written within the Syriac Orthodox tradition. Usually its content is used to gain historical data, either about events it is dealing with or about its sources. In the present paper some suggestions are made to read the work as a historical achievement in its own right. Though very different from each other, both modern and post-modern thinking often evaluate historiography—at least historiography written by others—with categories developed for poetic literature. One of the consequences of this approach was and is a rather critical attitude towards the world historical achievement of the patriarch, which does not consist of a narrative in the strict sense of the term. While reserve and distance are useful elementsof sober historical analysis it should not exclude detachment from one’s own point of view: History of historiography should be questioning both, the source and the self.

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Dorothea Weltecke Ancient and medieval chronography is not directly linked to ancient and medieval narrative historiography, it served different functions, and it was not a “premature” stage of it. Chronography developed scientific methods to measure past time within specific sets of questions, it was writing about time, not stories. In this context one can take a closer look at Michael’s chronicle, a “look” in the literal sense of the word, for the chronicle not only consists of “text” but also of graphical elements. These graphical and language elements are the specific formal structures of the work. An interpretation of the formal structures seems to be useful, and indeed vital for evaluations of the chronicle. But there are good reasons to believe that the disposition represented by Chabot’s facsimile and the Aleppo version respectively is not congruent with the original version. Still there seems to be no doubt as to the “originality” of the chronicle as a synthesis of different historical genres of its tradition, a synthesis which needed both high calligraphic skills, and a strong cognitive drive growing out of a still lively scientific tradition. Some reflections on the function of the formal structures are presented.

I. HISTORIOGRAPHY [1]

What is the object of historiography? 1 Historiography deals with the past, one might say. This definition, however, leads historians into intricate epistemological problems, for “the past” is not a scientific object like any other. In fact, a number of historians have been experimenting with definitions and redefinitions of the object of historiography. They have tried to determine the various relations between “historiography,” as a technique to write down a

1 The present contribution is based on a paper given at the symposium on Mor Michael the Great in Damascus, 1–8 October 1999. I would like to thank H.H. Mor Ignatius Zakka I and H.E. Mor Gregorius Yohanna Ibrahim for the honour of their friendly welcome and all the participants of the conference for inspiring talks and discussions. I would also like to thank the reviewer from the editorial board of Hugoye for revising the language and for improvement of the Syriac passages and the translations.

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record of an analysis of events, 2 and “history,” as a cultural construction based on a variety of elements only one of which is historiography, and finally “the past,” which might be defined as everything that ever happened. In contrast to the modern understanding of the term “historiography” writing of “historiae” in the Latin and Greek term often meant writing mainly about the present, about the recent past, or about limited subjects. Writers of “historiae” analysed clearly defined events or diachronic developments conceived as “important,” and integrated these into specific historical conceptions, which could be universal at times, but they did not deal with “the past.” 3 Some ancient and medieval writing of “historia” seems to be comparable to a definition by an influential French historian, Marc Bloch, who explicitly disputed the conception of historiography as a science about the past. In his essay “Apologie pour l’histoire ou métier d’historien” he stated: Car d’abord, l’idée même que le passé, en tant que tel, puisse être objet de science est absurde. Des phénomènes qui n’ont d’autre caractère commun que de ne pas avoir été nos contemporains, comment sans décantage préalable en ferait-on la matière d’une connaissance rationelle? 4 Bloch argued among others that historiography does not deal with “the past” but with mankind, with unique, living, and dying people, their creations, their social relations and structures. 5

[3]

Bloch’s work was shaped by his deep humanity, and so was his actualisation of the already ancient demand on the historian to step out of the library, and to take notice of everything done by people This is the most literal sense of the word, see Herodot, Historiae, Proem, 1. (H.B. Rosén (ed.), Herodoti Historiae, I–II (Leipzig/Stuttgart, 1987–97)). 3 See Herodot, Historiae; G.P. Landmann (ed. and trs.), Thukydides, Geschichte des Peloponnesischen Krieges, I–II (Darmstadt, 1993); F. Paschoudl (ed.), Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle, I–V (Paris, 1971–89); G. Waitz, L. Bethmann (eds.), Paulus Diaconus, Historia Langobadorum (MGH SRG 48; 1887/1978); H. Hagemayer (ed.), Fulcherius Carnotensis, Historia Hierosolymitana (Heidelberg, 1913). 4 M. Bloch, Apologie pour l’histoire ou métier d’historien (Cahiers des Annales 3; Paris, 1967) 2. 5 Ibid., 4. 2

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in order to gain a deeper understanding of the world we are living in. 6 And it is also true that Bloch sympathised with the ancient “historia” as the most useful term for his own conception. 7 But is historiography exactly the same as anthropological analysis including a diachronical perspective? It is true, historiographical methods have improved a great deal, but it also seems to be useful to question our assumptions and categories about this peculiar occupation. For historians usually prefer to look at the diverse and multicoloured world of historical phenomena instead of looking at themselves. This could be one of the reasons for the fact that systematic thoughts about the nature of historiography have largely been developed by disciplines other than historiography: 8 Historians are being informed that historiography is a narrative. By way of narration the historiographer is said to introduce order into and fabricate meaning about the contingent flow of life. Historiography seen from this perspective is closely connected to or even identical with poetical literature, and rhetoric, it is the production of a story, a story like any other story. 9 Poetical categories, but usually within a modernist rather than a postmodernist perspective are also used, when medieval historiography is analysed by literary critique. Many historians, again like Marc Bloch, would not deny the artistic aspects of their science. At the same time the postmodernist conception of narrativity as a fabrication of order and meaning See Chap. VI “Comprendre le présent par le passé,” Chap. VII “Comprendre le passé par le présent,” Bloch, Apologie, 11–6. Against this optimism see E. Domanska, “Universal History and Postmodernism,” Storia della Storiografia 35 (1999): 129–39. 7 Bloch, Apologie, 15. 8 For the slow reception of postmodern theory among professional historians see the recent critical article by P. Zagorin, “History, the Referent, and Narrativity: Reflections on Postmodernisms Now,” History and Theory 38,1 (1999): 1–24. 9 See S. Hook (ed.), Philosophy and History. A Symposium, (New York, 1963); W.J.T. Mitchell (ed.), On Narrative (Chicago, 1981). As an example for this conception within professional historiography see A. Munslow, Deconstructing History (London/New York, 1997), see also reactions like J. Stückrath, J. Zbinden (eds.), Metageschichte: Hayden White and Paul Ricoeur, dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der europäischen Kultur im Kontext von Husserl, Weber, Auerbach und Gombrich (Baden-Baden, 1997); D. Carr, Time, Narrative, and History (Bloomington, 1993). 6

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collides with a certain positivistic attitude inherent to historiography. Historians strive to state something, which is “true,” or, more precise, something, which is accurate. The production of meaning does not seem to be wholly congruent with the production of a set of accurate statements, relative, subjective, and unsure though they might be. As the analysis is not as yet brought to a close some additional questions remain unanswered: It is obvious that modern historiography does not always read like narrative literature, and that it deliberately developed well defined forms of historical language not even designed to be narrations. 10 It is also true that historians in general are not very innovative in their usage of language nor genre. Many an ancient or medieval work of historiography does not read like poetical literature either. Here again the usage of language and genre usually is simple and traditionalistic rather than creative, and often also deliberately so. 11 However, the “deconstructionistical challenge” is not to be refuted by these hardly controversial observations, for the representatives of the conception of narrativity have their theoretical reasons to ignore these differences. 12 In fact, the present paper does not intend to refute this conception, for it has proved to be a very useful device for the analysis of historiography in many of its aspects. 13 Instead the reflections shall be confined to discuss the assumption that historiography which does not read like a fluent narrative is historiography in its infancy or mediocre historiography. P. Lehy (ed.), Droysen, Johann G., Historik. Historisch-kritische Ausgabe, I (Stuttgart: Bad Canstatt, 1977) 445–50: “Die Topik.” In this passage Droysen (1808–84) describes the following forms of historical language: “untersuchende Darstellung,” “erzählende Darstellung”—in its filiations of “pragmatische,” “monographische,” biographische,” katastrophische”—“didaktische Darstellung,” and “diskursive Darstellung.” See also J. Kocka, “Zurück zur Erzählung? Plädoyer für historische Argumentation,” in idem, Geschichte und Aufklärung, Aufsätze (Göttingen, 1989) 8–20. 11 See the collection of prefaces e.g. by E. Riad, Studies in the Syriac preface (Uppsala, 1988). Statements about the intended language are not necessarily wholly topical as a means for the captatio benevolentiae, for the language indeed is a specific one. 12 Against Zagorin, “History, the Referent, and Narrativity.” 13 See J. Straub (ed.), Erzählung, Identität und historisches Bewußtsein: Die psychologische Konstruktion von Zeit und Geschichte (Erinnerung, Geschichte, Identität I; Frankfurt a. M., 1998). 10

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II CHRONOGRAPHY [7]

[8]

[9]

A “chronicle” by early modern, modern and postmodern definition is a text in which material from the past is compiled and brought into a sequential order. The material is said to have been arbitrarily collected, with no sense for meaning. This is widely seen as a deficiency, and it seemed to allow for wide ranging assumptions on the intellectual abilities of the authors, or the cultural mentality they shared. 14 This reputation has been under question for quite some time; there are some advocates, who argue that this definition is an anachronism as long as medieval chronicles are concerned, and who have shown that even some extremely meagre chronicles do have their own ways of producing historical meaning, hence, of narrative. 15 This approach led to many new insights into medieval chronicles; methods of production have been successfully investigated, etc. The assumption seems to be correct that some tropic devices are almost always in use; perhaps they are inherent to this genre as well. In the present paper, however, I should like to turn the argument upside down. One could also maintain that many chronicles are not narratives. And this could be a virtue, not a vice. For the debate just sketched it could be of interest to know more precisely, which devices other than narrative are used in historical texts. The most important clues for the analysis could be the very features of the chronicles which led to the replacement of the genre

14 A. Wirth, Aus orientalischen Chroniken (Frankfurt a. M., 1894) III–IV; K. Krumbacher, Geschichte der byzantinischen Literatur. Von Justinian bis zum Ende des Oströmischen Reiches (527–1453) (München, 1897) 220. More recent: H. White, “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality,” in W.J.T. Mitchell (ed.), On Narrative (Chicago, 1981) 2–23. 15 This field is currently expanding very rapidly. As an early example I would like to mention R. Schmidt, “Aetates mundi. Die Weltalter als Gliederungsprinzip der Geschichte,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 67 (1956): 288–317. A meagre chronicle in Hebrew has been reinterpreted by Gerson Cohen, comp. his edition and translation of the Book of Tradition (Sefer ha-Qabbalah) by Abraham ibn Daud (Philadelphia, 1969); meagre chronicles have also been investigated by A. Palmer, with contributions by Sebastian Brock and Robert Hoyland, The Seventh Century in the West Syrian Chronicles (Liverpool, 1993).

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in western historiography: 16 Medieval chroniclers seem to have been less interested in understanding mankind in an anthropological manner. Instead, the chronicle seems to have been a historical genre which was occupied with past events as such, and what could be known of them. A medieval scholar situated in Paris, Jarrow, Melitene or Edessa cannot be expected to make use of Babylonian, Hellenistic or Roman archives. But he also collected data according to his purpose, and his abilities. As has been said, this occupation did not necessarily lead to the production of a narrative nor even to fluency of speech. But there seems to be a crucial misconception. Writers of Europe and the Middle East in fact shared not only the same early Christian tradition but also the same terminology: Isidore of Seville (+636) explains the term “Chronica” like this: “Chronica Graece dicitur quae Latine temporum series appellatur, qualem apud Graecos Eusebius Caesariensis episcopus edidit, et Hieronymus presbyter in Latinam linguam convertit. &+52126 enim Graece, Latine tempus interpretatur.” 17 Bede the Venerable (+735) composed a work called “De temporum ratione”/about the calculation of times.” 18 And likewise we find the K K term ¾Ùæüƒ ¾æÙæâ áîƒ ¾ÁÿÜ “books about the calculation of the years.” 19 The consequence of these well known facts is at the same time obvious and baffling. The chronicler was neither a writer of stories, nor of “historiae.” For he was a writer of time. Hence, he produced time-writing, descriptions of times, chronographia, maktbônût zabnê. “Time” was an intricate problem of theology, for theologians discovered that time itself was not an eternal, but itself a historical phenomenon, that is to say, a phenomenon which was once brought into being and which would perish like everything else. Consequently Augustine of Hippo (+430) started to question God and himself about the nature of time. What is time? And how could future, present and past be? None of these are, for time is either not 16 For the transition from medieval to modern historiography see U. Muhlack, Geschichtswissenschaft im Humanismus und in der Aufklärung. Die Vorgeschichte des Historismus (München, 1991). 17 Isidor, Etymologiae, V, 28 (W.M. Lindsay (ed.), Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive originum Libri XX (Oxford, 1911). 18 Th. Mommsen (ed.), “Bedae Chronica maiora ad a. 725 eiusdem Chronica minora,” in MG AA 13 (1898): 247–327. 19 Michael, Chronicle, 377 (II, 357).

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yet or not any more. 20 Time was also a problem of mathematics. Chronography is related to both these disciplines, 21 which are both designed to produce order and meaning, but which are not poetry. Analytical tools become blunt when they are used indiscriminately. And as little as one would describe mathematics and theology as infant stages of rhetoric and poetry, one should view chronography as a premature stage of rhetorical historiography. The main occupation of the chronicler was the measuring of “the past,” something Augustine in fact thought to be impossible, for it obviously did not exist. Time, Augustine said, could only be measured as it was lived through: “Cum ergo praeterit tempus, sentiri et metiri potest, cum autem praeterierit, quoniam non ‘est’, non potest. / As time is passing by, it is possible to sense and to measure it, when it is passed, however, it is not possible, because it is not.” 22 The impossible came into being by a scientific trick invented before the days of Augustine: 23 The chronographers measured memories. Memories contained time, lived through, and therefore existent, by others. And hence, an intersubjectively intelligible conception of time was brought into being. Time might have been created by God, this is not for the historian to decide. “Time” in the way we conceive it, was also created by man, it is a cultural construction. Different notions and aspects of historical writing can therefore be perceived: Ancient historiographers of contemporary history wrote down an analysis of a certain human problem and integrated their results into their specific conception of time, without seeing neither the need nor the possibility to prove their 20 Augustine, Confessiones XI, 14. (M. Skutella et al. (eds.), S. Aureli Augustini confessionum libri XIII (Stuttgart, 1996). 21 The position of historiography and chronography within the medieval systems of science still needs further comparative research. But it seems to be methodologically adequate to use with all due reservations some results about the Latin West, like H.-W. Goetz, “Die Geschichte im Wissenschaftssystem des Mittelalters,” in F.J. Schmale, Funktion und Formen mittelalterlicher Geschichtsschreibung (Darmstadt, 1987) 164–213. 22 Augustine, Confessiones XI, 16. 23 The reasons for the invention have been analysed and need not be discussed in the present paper, see A.-D. von den Brincken, Studien zur lateinischen Weltchronistik bis in das Zeitalter Ottos von Freising (Düsseldorf, 1957); A. Momigliano, The Conflict Between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford, 1963), A.A. Mosshammer, The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic Tradition (Lewisburg/London, 1979).

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particular conception with ‘hard data’ about “the past” in general. Modern professional historians also make use of ready made conceptions of time, unlike their ancient predecessors they can now move several millenniums backwards and forwards within them to integrate their records. Pre-existing conceptions of time have become traditional, then naturalised; they are now seemingly self-evident. But once they were not. And chronography was thinking about time, a pragmatic process of inventing models, of finding abstract symbols and signs to record the measurement of memories and thereby of creating or reworking the conception of time itself. This was done within a theological framework of thoughts about the nature of timeliness, eternity, createdness, and the Creator. The result would be universal chronography, a world chronicle, like the chronicle by Michael the Great.

III. SOME FORMAL STRUCTURES IN MICHAEL’S CHRONICLE [15]

Before we are sufficiently prepared to invite the venerable patriarch to take part in our discussion, one additional methodological problem should be mentioned. Is it possible to analyse Michael’s chronicle without knowing all its sources? Certainly it would be a great advantage to know them. Does there exist anything within it apart from its sources? 24 And if not, is the present work identical with them? Since it has been proven elsewhere that in fact Michael’s chronicle is not identical with its known sources, 25 the question is answered adequately for the present purpose. If it is not identical, what is the difference between the chronicle and the sources? And why did the Syriac chroniclers who shared the same sources make not exactly the same use of them? There are differences of size, wordings, forms of language, forms of 24 See the methodological approach by H. Teule, “The Crusaders in Barhebraeus’ Syriac and Arabic Secular Chronicles: A Different Approach,” in K. Ciggaar, A. Davids, H. Teule (eds.), East and West in the Crusader States: Context—Contacts—Confrontations (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 75; Louvain, 1996) 39–49. 25 For example by J. van Ginkel, John of Ephesus. A Monophysite Historian in Sixth-Century Byzantium (Groningen, 1995); idem, “Making History: Michael the Syrian and His Sixth-Century Sources,” in Symposium Syriacum VII (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 256; Rome, 1998) 351–8.

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representation. These features are specific formal structures, some of which shall be the object of the present reflections. How did these differences occur? One of the methodological preconditions of the present paper is the assumption that they did not occur haphazardly but because different authors had different purposes about which the analysis of the entire work rather than of the sources will produce the decisive clues. After leafing through the book for a while the most prominent feature becomes evident: Aesthetic devices are being used, text is arranged in certain patterns. Usually three columns of text material are to be seen, containing different aspects of earthly life: the churches, the states, and some mixture of material not easily defined in the third. This system is further enlarged with charts of figures. These charts show the synchronisation of different calculations of time. In addition to this, the flow of the texts and of the times is frequently interrupted by headings, headings of chapters, and headings of books respectively, which produce succeeding portions. Hence different systematic, chronological, and mathematical structures are being blend on the page of the book, the text is a texture as it were, a tapestry like organisation of words, figures, and lines. Such devices at work allow only one conclusion: In Michael’s chronography everything matters, not only the letters of the text. The letters can be read, transformed into a new medium, translated into Arabic or French. But something is lost along the way, the features in Michael’s chronicle, which only can be looked at. While some of the sources for this disposition shall be discussed later on it shall be stressed here that no direct predecessor can be traced. It seems to have been an original invention. This also seems to have been the impression of the first European editor of the chronicle. When abbé Jean-Baptiste Chabot ordered a copy of the manuscript of Michael’s chronicle in Edessa in 1897 he explicitly asked for a documentary copy, which would conserve all important optical features. Chabot reports that a youngster, whom he calls Abdallah, was appointed to supervise this difficult and unusual procedure. 26 And Chabot justified his surprising decision to publish Michael’s chronicle not as a transcription. He stated, that “il nous a paru fort utile pour ne pas dire 26

J.-B. Chabot, Mes chroniques (Paris, 1947).

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indispensable, de garder cette disposition du texte dans notre édition.” 27 His edition therefore is an exceptional case of editorial prudence. Chabot for obvious reasons never had the opportunity to see the Edessene version again, 28 and consequently was not able ever to evaluate the quality of his copy. He also must have been aware of the fact that Abdallah cannot have taken his task very seriously, for there are no glosses by a second hand. After the comparison between the layout of Chabot’s edition and of the microfilm of the Edessene Manuscript Chabot’s assumption can be confirmed: Chabot’s copy is indeed documentary insofar as it imitates the disposition correctly, apart from some minor mistakes. But is the disposition of this copy original? In his introduction Chabot led the reader to believe that the layout of his copy resembled the autograph; hard proof, however, he had none. 29 There are strong reasons for doubt: Editorial and codicological experience has shown that chronicles with aesthetic features can become distorted and even utterly incomprehensible through the copying process. 30 Medieval and early modern scribes in Europe did not produce documentary copies, each manuscript is unique in its layout. However improbable by analogical comparison, it is true that this kind of evidence has not as yet been produced for chronicles in Syriac. There still might be the slight possibility that Syriac scribes of chronicles followed a different practice. To study their customs one would like to compare different versions, but

Idem, “La chronique de Michel le Syrien. Note de M. l’Abbé J.-B. Chabot,” in Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. Comptes rendues des Séances, 476–48, here: 483. 28 Thanks to hints by H. Kaufhold I was able to allude to the painful circumstances of Chabot’s acquisition in “The World Chronicle by Patriarch Michael the Great (1126–1199): Some reflections,” Journal of Assyrian Academic Studies 11 (1997): 6–29, here: 9–10. Some further details will be mentioned in the forthcoming publication of my doctoral thesis. 29 J.-B. Chabot, “Introduction,” in idem (ed.), Chronique de Michel le Syrien. Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioch (1166–1199), I–IV (Paris, 1899–1924) I, i–lx, here: xli. 30 See e.g. R. Helm, Eusebius’ Chronik und ihre Tabellenform (Berlin, 1924); A.-D. von den Brincken, “In una pagina ponendo pontifices, in alia pagina imperatores. Das Kopieren der tabellarischen Papst-KaiserChronik des Martin von Troppau OP (+1287),” Revue d’histoire des textes 18 (1988): 109–36. 27

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alas, this method is of no use for the analysis of a historical tradition, where almost every work is preserved only in one copy. The only way to determine the relation between the original and the only extant copy is a study of the copy itself: the Edessene manuscript, now preserved in St. George in Aleppo. Although it is possible to work with Chabot’s edition the differences between the copy by Michael bar Barsaumô of 1598 and Chabot’s copy should be stressed. 31 With Chabot’s edition in view it is very difficult to imagine that Michael’s chronicle could once have been a beautiful work of chronographical art. The Aleppo manuscript on the other hand was executed with care, the hand is good and regular, colours were used, calligraphic effort is to be seen. The scribe’s care reflects his own aesthetic aims. One feature of his personal style obviously was his liking for symmetry and evenness of the disposition, which has been blurred by the modern hand. This personal taste causes a lot of problems for the reader of his version, as we shall see. His care rather than his style, however, might be a shadow of the original: Patriarch Michael himself took great interest in writing and in calligraphy. A reproduction of the Aleppo manuscript therefore seems to be the best solution in view of any decision about a possible new edition of the text. A close study of this manuscript, search for clues for possible distortions, for remarks of the author, and the scribes might offer insights into the original disposition: There can be no doubt that without the precise determination of the relation between the copy and the autograph evaluations of the chronicle seem to be premature. Any assumption about the clarity of Michael’s historical vision—depends on our ability to see. The data already established can be grouped as follows: Firstly, several oddities in the text and in the layout together with complaints of the scribes about the bad condition of the manuscript they were copying, e.g. about fragmented folios, corroborate the hypothesis formed on methodological grounds. The present state is indeed not the original disposition. The second group of oddities and comments by the scribes indicate some features of the original.

See Chabot, “Introduction,” on all matters of transmission and the providence of the manuscript. 31

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In the present paper a detailed description of these data is not possible, 32 a few examples shall suffice: Chabot states in his introduction that the columns were arranged from right to left as church, state, and mixed column. This description is inaccurate, as he himself must have known. The church history is always placed in the outer column, that is to say, it forms the right column on the right page and the left column on the left page. Accordingly the mixed column is always placed in the inner margin. This disposition collides with the description of the original preserved by the first scribe, who had the autograph at his disposal. Moses of Mardin’s description does only allow the assumption of a congruent instead of a symmetrical disposition: 33

™ûñ ¾Áÿ܃ ÌéÜÍÓß äØÊøƒ ¾ýÙå ÞØ~ ÊÜ K À˜ÍÅÁ ¾Ø÷⃠¾Ćã܆ ¿ÿÙåÿØ~ çÙßÌß K ¿šÍÝàãß ¾ĆàÁÍ؆—çÁÿ܃ ÞØ~—áãÏ ¿ÿÙàî K K ¿š†š~† ¾üÊÄ áî† ¿ÿÙî÷â À˜ÍÅÁ .¿ÿØÿϚ À˜ÍÅÁ It must have been Michael bar Barʛaumô, the second scribe, who distorted this feature of his model. He explicitly regretted his decision after a while, and formed the resolution to change his arrangement from now on, as he tells us: 34

¾ÝØ~ áÜ ŽÌ߆ ¾Ýâ ¿…ƒ ¾Ø†ûø †~ “ƒ †~ ¾ñƒ ¾åÌÁ ~ ¾Áûü ‹˜Íü ÃÙÒÿ⃠K K ¿šÌÁ~† ¾ÐÙàü áîƒ ¾Áûü :¾åûÏ~ †ÌÁ J J †ÌÁ—¾æÁÿÜ Íå…—çæÙÁÿÜ ¿ÿÙàî À˜ÍÅÁ K À˜ÍÅÁ †ÌÁûü† ¿šÌÁ~ƒ ‹…J ¿ÿÙøƒ‡ ¾Ć߃ .††Ìå ¿ÿØÿϚ

[25]

Whether or not a chapter starts on the right or on the left page he always resolves to write the beginning of the church history on the right side “for it is not suitable for the fathers and their deeds to be in the inferior column.” This intention leads to much further trouble, for the scribe starts to confuse his columns now as he noticed himself. 35 The symmetry therefore was his invention, and it was one, as he See the forthcoming edition of my doctoral dissertation. Michael, Chronicle, 377 (II, 356–7). 34 Ibid., 98 (I, 161). 35 Ibid., 112 (I, 188); 114 (I, 192), 338; 323 (II, 269). 32 33

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discerned himself, which blurred a specific function of patriarch Michael’s ʞukôsô. In the original there apparently was a hierarchical order which underlined the importance of the deeds of the fathers and expressed the veneration for them. Moreover a decreasing ‘importance’ of historical notes from right to left can be suspected. Compared to the content of the columns this observation seems to make sense. Moses also tells us that the patriarch not always used the threecolumn-system. He states that Michael used a one-column layout for more detailed chapters—be it church or secular history—and that he, Moses, imitated it closely: 36

ÑÜÿü~ƒ Êâ Àûâ½Ć⠆~ ¿ÿÙïüš áî† K ~† ¿šÍÝà⃠¾ÁăýÁ ~ ¾Øÿñ† ¾Ýؘ~ €ÿÜ ¾òàøƒ ¿ÿñ ÌàÝÁ ÌàÜ ¿šÊîƒ çÙßÌÁ ¾òàø ÿؽýÒûÓ⠚Í܅ 37 çæφ ¾ÜûØûÓñ ÌÁ ƒ†ƒÿå† úéñÿå ¾Ć߃ ¾æÝØ~ çæÁÿÜ ¾òàùÁ .¾Ø†ăø

[27]

[28]

A one-column layout is nowhere to be seen in the Aleppo manuscript. But its original place might be suspected: The books VII to XI contain a lot of detailed material. Here linear text can be found written in three columns. Additionally, a two-column layout occurs, which is again used for book XIV. This mîmrô consists of a systematic treatise about the origins and the history of the Turks in several chapters. In the present manuscript these chapters are arranged side by side; the reader is compelled to leaf forwards and backwards to read them in their proper order; the original numeration has been skipped. One consequence of the scribe’s unauthorised artistic ambitions is probably most strongly felt by readers who only deal with the Syriac version: In contrast to patriarch Michael’s and the scribe Moses’ intentions just quoted, the reader is time and again confused by changes in the arrangement of the columns; he never knows where to continue his reading after reaching the bottom of a page. But the first scribe must have changed the chronicle as well. At the end of the comment quoted above he tells us that for reasons of explaining method and sources “[...]sôm hwô l-hônô skôlyôn haw 36 37

Michael, Chronicle, 377 (II, 356). Emendation by Chabot.

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paʞeryarkô mnôʚô d-Môr Mîkô‚îl.” 38 That is to say, the patriarch once placed a comment on this page, but what we see today is a text by the scribe, who, for unknown reasons, only paraphrased the author’s gloss. He might have abbreviated it, as he probably also did with another gloss, which shall be discussed in greater detail later on. 39 In both cases the patriarch himself was originally elucidating the principles of his arrangement. The first one mentioned must have been a recapitulation of the exposition, probably in form of a proem (i.e. the nîshô da-qdîm l-ʞukôseh da-ktôbô‚.), which was lost already when Moses was copying the book. Moses understood that the patriarch had reasons to recapitulate some points. He also gives the patriarch’s reasons for the three-column-system: To achieve the utmost clarity possible—as Michael tells us through Moses—his task was d-kad kmô d-maʜyô ʞakes w-paresh w-awsep hû Môr Mîkô‚il “as far as possible Môr Michael organised, and separated, and supplemented his material.” He reworked the entire corpus of his sources, synchronically and diachronically, as he compared and interwove earlier and later sources at his disposal. But why did Moses not copy the entire text? What could he possibly gain from paraphrasing these glosses? He might not have wanted to lay open explanations for those features of the disposition he did not imitate. There are some more features, which must have been distorted by the copying process, maybe by Moses: The chronological canon obviously is badly damaged as was already noticed by the second scribe, who complained about its corruption with increasing indignation. 40 He also asked the right question. Who, the first scribe or the author, is responsible for the confusion? 41 The trouble already starts in the very beginning of the canon, on page 18 in the Syriac version. Instead of writing down one figure after the other per line and column, someone hoped to facilitate his task. The once identical columns of the kûnôshô da-shnayô and of the years of the Hebrews e.g., both starting with number ‘a’ are out of order after only seven lines in Chabot’s copy. Although it cannot be ruled out that some of the mistakes in the calculation date back Michael, Chronicle, 377 (II, 356–7). Michael, Chronicle, 450 (II, 483). See further down in this paper. 40 Ibid., 74; 110 (I, 237); 112 (I, 237); 117 (I, 238); 255 (II, 533, nr. 7). 41 Ibid., 113 (I, 238). 38 39

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to the author, mistakes like these are occurring by copying without understanding. In the present manuscript there is no connection between the canon and the text, which is odd and lends credence to the suspicion that Moses changed the arrangement of canon versus text. Two points in favour of this suspicion shall be mentioned here: First, page 21 and page 32 in the Syriac text do show a connection between the canon and the text. The disposition of these pages cannot be discussed in detail in the present paper. These pages apparently have been composed out of fragments of folios and thus some original features might have been conserved here by chance. Second, as was mentioned above, the chronographer needs both dated memories and mathematics to establish a time scale. By comparing several dated events he achieves synchronisation: He can now prove that event X in the year 6 of king Y happened at the same time as event W in the year 21 of king Z. This method can be observed everywhere in Michael’s chronicle, primarily in the headings of the books and in the column describing and counting the kings of the earth. The canon or the chart is established accordingly: The chronographer would, confronted with the informationthat event X took place in the year 6 of king Y, count down from 1 to 6 in his chart—for the numbers 1 to 6 are now proven to have been existent—and write down the said event at number 6. This method is the reason for ‘empty spaces’ in chronography. If there is no lemma for year 5 or the years 7 to 12 of king Y the space is left empty, albeit counted down in the charts, provided the chronographer discovered yet another event dated for the year 12 of king Y. Several aspects I hope to have demonstrated: Events are needed to prove the time scale, not vice versa. Only after the initial time scale is sufficiently established it can in turn be used to date events, now by comparisons like “event B must have happened before event X which happened in the year 6 of king Y.” Secondly, this process is very complicated. To arrange the record of the analysis on a sheet of parchment or paper preliminary experiments and high calligraphic skills are acquired. 42 Thirdly, a disposition which shows no connection between the calculation and the events 42

See Mosshammer, The Chronicle of Eusebius, 66.

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necessarily requires a pre-existing chronological system, which already provides the complete structure of the time scale. For Michael there was no such a system. He himself calculated the chronology from the 8th to the 12th century as we shall see. For these parts at least the canon must have been connected with the memories. It becomes clearer now, why Michael would change to a one-column system to write down some detailed narratives: In these parts, certainly in the books VII to IX, the calculation was interrupted, narrative parts were inserted, and the canon taken up again afterwards. And last but not least: Any chronological canon is difficult to copy, but this is even more the case with an intricate system like the one by patriarch Michael. How exactly Michael’s disposition must have looked like certainly needs further examination and discussion of the data presented here. Two further clues shall be mentioned: On page 21 the (upright) canon is identified with a heading in a larger script as the “menyônô da-shnayô.” Page 21 also shows a second heading above the left column: “yûbôl kôhnê.” / “the succession of the highpriests.” These headings could be a relic of the original disposition; in the present system they are redundant. Until page 88 the side columns show approximately half the width of the middle column, the script is likewise half sized. This feature provoked a far reaching interpretation by Andrew Palmer, who assumed that “the natural disasters [...] and the church history [...] appeared as ‘handmaidens’ of secular history.” 43 This assertion collides with the prominent place given to priesthood in Michael’s chronicle. Through the discussion of several sources, the most prominent being the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy by Dionysios the Areopagite and the treatise on priesthood by John of Dara, Michael leaves no doubt that priesthood exists as a gift from heaven. 44 The kings of the earth on the other hand are established by manhood, they are part of people’s drive for power, and violence. 45 Unlike priesthood, the kingdoms are wholly part of the historical, the transitory world, of Ȩôlmô Ȩôbûrô. 46 Hence, the reason for the uneven

Palmer, The Seventh Century in the West Syrian Chronicles, 86. Michael, Chronicle, 1–17 (I, 3–32). 45 Ibid. 46 See the heading of Appendix I, which originally must have been serving as an index to the chronicle, Michael, Chronicle, 741ff. These 43 44

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layout until page 87 must be a different one. Maybe the middle column expanded at the expense of something originally arranged there as a fourth column, i.e., the canon? The prime model for Michael’s arrangement, the chronicle by Jacob of Edessa (+708), is extant only in a fragmentary state of yet again another secondary copy, Ms. London BM Add 14, 685. 47 Nevertheless it clearly shows the iconographic elements of the Eusebian chronicle in the Eastern tradition. The chronological canon is placed in the middle of the page, and events are coordinated to it in loose text patterns necessary for the chronographical method. Patriarch Michael addresses those readers who have come across his book in search for knowledge and informs them that he used good and acknowledged sources, especially the chronicle by Jacob, as far as the calculation of time was concerned. 48

¾Ùéσ …šÍæÁÿÝ⠋…J ¾Ýè ¾Ü˜…ƒ áÓ↠ÊÂîƒ çæÐÝü~ ¾Ćß …˜ÿÁ ç⃠áÓ↠[...] u¾ÙKæüƒ ¾ýåÍ܆ ¾Ćãü†˜ çÙ߅ áî ¿šÍàÙÓÁ K ¾ÙæÁ‡ ¾Ù܆ăÝß çØÍÐâ ÿØ~ûØÌå ûØÿØ Í元 ç↠½ø ¿ÿÙÁ ÿî÷ãÁƒ ¾åÍÓè~ šÍâÊÁ† K :½øƒ “ÊØÿâ ÌÁƒ ¿ÿÙÁƒ ÌàÙàҚ çÙÂÄ áÜ K K çÙãÙèƒ ¾Ùæüƒ ¾æÙæ⃠¾Ćãü†Ă çÙ߅ ¾æ܅ šÍâÊÁ çØÍÐ↠¾å… ¾Áÿ܃ À˜ÍÄ ÿî÷ãÁ K çâ ÊÏ áÝß ¾Ćãߖ ¿š˜†– ¾åăîÍè† ¾æÁ‡ Àƒ…ƒ .††… ¾æÝØ~† ¾ÝØ~† ‹ÿâ~ƒ ¾ÐØăø ...šÍÒÍ؃Ìß šûÙî~ƒ ¿ÿàî ‹…J Because here the chronicle of the bishop [...] ends, and because after him we have found nobody who undertook with such diligence a presentation and a summary of years, which could so especially clearly show the temporal cycles, like a pillar standing in the middle of a house, and from all sides supporting the roof of the house, likewise these representations of calculations of years, which are placed in the middle of headings resemble the headings on page 21, and therefore corroborate the assumptions mentioned above. 47 See W. Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum, III (London, 1872), 1062–4. 48 Michael, Chronicle, 450 (II, 483). Emendations by a member of the editorial board.

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the page of this book, and they show like a painting the picture of each time, and the specific events, and when, and where, and how they had been. And this very thing awakened my stupidity.

[39]

This passage might be mutilated, and, what is more, at this point Moses might have broken off, as mentioned above. But still it is crucial for the understanding of Michael’s chronicle. Michael’s style usually is rather sober and shaped by every-day language. Poetical outbursts were not of his liking. His enthusiasm for Jacob must be genuine, and consequently his metaphors must be taken seriously: Jacob’s (original) chronographical work triggered artistic associations in Michael’s mind, to him it resembled a painting. For one short moment the person Môr Mîkô’îl materializes. We catch a glimpse of a medieval power, a power brought about by the practice of meditation: Just as it may turn a few coloured concentric circles on a parchment into the vibrant vision of the beauty of the Heavenly Jerusalem in the mind of the viewer, 49 so here it brings abstract structures into blooming life. This passage also informs about the specific reading technique required by a construction like this one: It cannot be read quickly but rather it requires study, meditation, movement of the eyes back and forth, left to right, right to left. Together with the clues already discussed, this passage provides the basis for the assumption that the metaphor of the upright pillar was the decisive motive for the original shape of Michael’s own chronological canon. This reminds us of the fact that the most prominent iconographic elements in copies of Eusebius’ evangelical canon, the original model for his chronological canon, are pillars and arches. 50 The same arches—albeit simplified a great deal—are one iconographic element still preserved in the present version of Jacob’s chronography. 49 Representations of the Heavenly Jerusalem in medieval book painting are amazingly abstract, see B. Kühnel, From the Earthly to the Heavenly Jerusalem, Representations of the Holy City in Christian Art of the First Millennium (Rom/Freiburg/Wien, 1987). 50 See J. Leroy, Les manuscrits syriaques à peintures, conservés dans les bibliothèques d’Europe et d’Orient. Contribution à l’étude de l’iconographie des églises de langue syriaque, I–II (Paris, 1964); C. Nordenfalk, Die spätantiken Kanontafeln. Kunstgeschichtliche Studien über die eusebianische Evangelienkonkordanz in den ersten vier Jahrhunderten ihrer Geschichte (Göteborg, 1938).

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There are many more points to reflect concerning the Occidental and the Oriental tradition of Eusebian canons in theological, and historico-theological literature. In the present paper the main problem, however, is the function of the features. For Michael the function of Jacob’s—and most probably of his own—system was a methodological one: How to visualise when, and where, and how everything happened. At this point some important differences between traditional chronography and Michael’s work already alluded to come to mind. As soon as one takes Michael’s work into one’s hand one will discern a feature, which is banal to mention only on first sight: It is rather voluminous. Michael’s chronicle is not of the type of meagre chronography but one which is particularly concerned with the concrete content of the Ȩuhdônê (memoriae) alongside with the time they preserved. To show and to reflect this content, the suȨrônê or the šarbê (gesta), and the tašȨyôtô (historiae) must have been one of the author’s purposes. The vastness of the work cannot be explained by the abundance of source material at his disposal as becomes evident, when Michael’s chronicle is compared to the work by Elia of Nisibis (+1046). Elia shared many of the sources with Michael, but he summarised the same texts a great deal further, because his own intention for establishing a chronography was apparently a different one. His chronography needs analysis of its own right, but since one part of Elia’s chronicle deals with the problem of calculating with different chronological systems it may be assumed that Elia, like the Latin author Sigebert of Gembloux (+1112), might have been primarily concerned with the calculation, and the establishment of a good chronology and transparent charts to show it. 51 51 Elia’s chart has been distorted in the edition, because the editors were interested only in the historical notes: E.W. Brooks, J.-B. Chabot (eds.), Eliae metropolitae Nisibeni opus chronologicum, I–II (CSCO 62–3; SS, 21–4; Paris, 1909–10). L.K. Bethmann (ed.), “Chronica Sigeberti Gemblacensis a. 381–1111,” in MGH, SS VI (1844) 300–374. See A.-D. von den Brincken, “Contemporalitas Regnorum. Beobachtung zum Versuch des Sigebert von Gembloux, die Chronik des Hieronymus fortzusetzen,” in D. Berg, H.-W. Goetz (eds.), Historiographia Mediaevalis. Studien zur Geschichtsschreibung des Mittelalters, Festschrift für Franz-Josef Schmale zum 65. Geburtstag (Darmstadt, 1988) 199–211.

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And there is the systematic component, the distinction between church-, world-, and mixed column. Distinctions were made before, but such a clear juxtaposition was indeed new. In the West a somewhat similar structure was developed in the Late Middle Ages, the ‘pope-emperor-chronicle’, like the one by Martin of Troppau. 52 Hence, the iconographical elements “chronological canon,” and “world chronicle” are not the only features of Michael’s chronicle. They are enhanced by additional optical features, the juxtaposition, and by features of language, like the systematic headlines for books and chapters not used in traditional chronography, but in narrative historical genres. The new character of Michael’s chronicle and some other Syriac historical works has been noticed before and it has been explained by influence brought about by profane historical narratives. 53 This explanation causes a number of logical and historical problems. 54 Why reach out so far, when the solution is close at hand? Prior to Jacob’s chronography a universal narrative genre was in use. It seems to have died out in the late 6th century with the work by Cyrus of Batnô: 55 Adaptations, translations, and continuations of the Eusebian church history. The church history by Eusebius represented an exegesis of the present since the moment of the incarnation as a process of progress, brought about by one church, acting on and within one world. Five hundred years later there were many churches, and the view of the historical process as a progress of inner worldly salvation collided with the permanent existence of Islam. Islam posed a great challenge to any kind of Christian universal historical

See above, van den Brincken, “In una pagina ponendo pontifices, in alia pagina imperatores.” 53 W. Witakowski, The Syriac Chronicle of Pseudo-Dionysius of Tel-Mahrê. A Study in the History of Historiography (Uppsala, 1987) 83–89; R. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw it: A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Princeton, 1997) 408–9. 54 To mention just one: Michael did not use profane historiography, see on all matters of his use of sources Chabot, Introduction, about the genre of sources also Weltecke, World chronicle, 21. 55 See the latest discussion of the material in Ginkel, J.v., John of Ephesus, 46–85. 52

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thinking. 56 One could expect a complete drying out of universal historical writing in the Syriac tradition, and it did take place eventually, but not until the greatest efforts were made to adapt the concept to the new situation. One such adaptation was achieved by the venerable patriarch Dionysius of Tel-Maʘrê (+842). He explicitly intended to follow Eusebius’ tradition, and to continue the church history by Cyrus of Batnô. 57 But he split the genre in two, and wrote one part about the church, and a second one about the state. Patriarch Michael made use of church historical as well as of chronographical sources, as did Jacob and Elia. But Michael did not only use both, the features of his chronicle can best be explained as a synthesis out of the two genres. Michael’s chronicle, thus, is just as much a church history as it is a world chronography—both aspects have become one. And at the same time one can clearly distinguish the two different genres it has been made of, including the juxtaposition of churches and states he observed in Dionysius’ work.

IV. ASPECTS OF A READING [47]

J ¾Ø†ûø †~ The venerable patriarch addressed his reader as äϘ ¿š†ÿØÿÏ áÙÓÁƒ †~ À˜ûü, 58 the one who loves the truth or cares for accuracy. His discursive historical language, his diligence in quoting his sources, prevents us from declaring expressions like these to be ‘topical’: They are consistent with his method. Michael cared for ʚatitûtô, he wanted to know exactly. He also was J fascinated by the Eusebian canon ç⃠ÿØ~ûØÌå ÃÒ ¿ÍÐ⃠K ¾Ćã܆ ¾Ýè ÿàùü ¾ÝØ~† ¿šÍÝàâ çâ ÀÊÏ áÜ ÿØûü ‹ÿâ~ K . 59 J K ¿†… ¾Ùæü ¾ĆãÜ ÊÏ á܆ ÌÁ ††… ¾Ýàâ

56 See e.g. the forthcoming edition of the papers of Redefining Christian Identity: Christian Cultural Strategies Since the Rise of Islam. Symposium organised by the Universities of Groningen and Leiden, April 7–10 (1999), especially the paper by G. Reinink, on John bar Penkâyê; Palmer, “The Seventh Century,” here also S. Brock, “Two Related Apocalyptic Texts Dated AD 691/2,” 222–250. 57 Michael, Chronicle, 378 (II, 358). 58 Ibid., 121 (I, 240). 59 Ibid., 18.

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Someone who is driven by a strong cognitive drive as Michael was, and who took such great care to visualise his results, has most probably got something to say. And an important though mutilated passage in the beginning of the chronicle also leaves no doubt as to the question that his readers are not only to learn, but are also asked to follow his representation closely from the start in order to understand something. 60 Indeed many aspects can be understood, that is to say, if the patriarch was asked about his opinion on questions like the importance of priesthood for universal history, the development of the churches, about the nature of man, about God, about the process of civilisation, i.e. script, cities, religion, and science, the reason for catastrophes and death, he seems to have a lot to answer, well grounded on quotations, and “footnotes.” Many readings of the chronicle are possible, and the suggestions in the present paper can merely touch the surface. But Michael did not tell a story. Inherent to narrativation is a process of simplification. We see this process of simplification at work, when Michael’s chronicle is compared to the adaptation made by Bar Hebraeus. 61 When the great scholar used Michael’s chronicle for his own purposes, he simplified Michael’s representation to one succession of highpriests of Antioch in the first part of his ecclesiastical history, and to one succession of “our own high-priesthood” in the second. In his world chronicle one empire is neatly succeeded by another. This method seems to clarify phases of history, but it is less enlightening, should one try to understand the experience of change of power, and the reasons for that change. Bar Hebraeus might not have been studying this problem, but Michael was. He reflected upon the existence of war, emphasised the importance of the beginning of earthly rule, and the invention of weapons. 62 From the very first kings onwards he saw empires competing for land, involved in wars and campaigns of conquest. Not one empire dominates the world in his succession of the kings, but at least two, and the number of earthly powers is further enlarged by the chronological canon and the mixed column. They Ibid., I (I, 4). P. Bedjan (ed.), Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon Syriacum (Paris, 1890); J.B. Abbeloos, Th.J. Lamy (eds.), Gregorii Barhebrei Chronicon Ecclesiaasticum, I–III (Louvain/Paris. 1872–7). 62 Michael, Chronicle, 2–22 (I, 5–22). 60 61

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fight with one another, make peace at some other time, start war again, expand and fade away. As Michael struggles with the reality of diversity of rule he observes and represents another point very clearly: There usually are no clear-cut successions, states take time to grow and to fade. 63 Hence, there is not only synchronic diversity of rule, but also diachronic diversity of the changes of rule. Michael’s representation, which is not a linear text but uses four dimensions at the same time through graphical devices, suddenly appears to have many advantages. For it is able to bring about a subtly differentiated view of universal change of power. Through the parallel representations of states and church, and the heresies in the mixed column, the reader is invited to compare these different spheres. The history of the church, or rather, the succession of the high priests, is different in crucial aspects, as mentioned above. But a lot of similarities are too be seen, for Michael was a critical observer. There is a lack of unity within the church as well, there are heresies with their own history, there are ambitious bishops and wilful priests, there is dispute, and sometimes banal quarrel. And these factors again bring about change, and they lead to the existence of a diversity of confessions, each of which Michael tries to show in its specific successions as long as possible. 64 More than in the “split chronicles” of Dionysius, the anonymous author of the chronicle ad a. 1234, or Bar Hebraeus some additional insights are possible through comparison: Often interrelations between the spheres emerge, direct impact of earthly rule on the succession of the patriarchs and the development of the churches, impact of the rule of the patriarchs on the development of heresies, and so on.

Bar Hebraeus’ succession is based on Michael, see Chronicle, 27 (I, 49); 34 (I, 58); 63–64 (I, 101–104); 72f (I, 113); 87f (I, 137), 353 (II, 316), 403 (II, 400), 408f (II, 408f). 64 Michael, Chronicle, 452–453 (II, 486–7). This passage is not written by Dionysius of Tel-Maʘrê but by Michael. It was not of Dionysius’ concern. See also e.g. Michael, Chronicle, 239 (II, 122). 63

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Michael’s work cannot be used as a “simple tool for demonstrating God’s plan of salvation.” 65 There are chronicles which are primarily written to this effect. One of the most famous works to mention in this context, and one which cannot justly be called “simple” either, is the “Chronica sive Historia de duabus civitatibus” by Michael’s Latin contemporary, bishop Otto of Freising (+1158). 66 We also see chroniclers write about the last part of earthly history as if it was part of history already. So did Bede the Venerable, and Otto. Unlike the exceptional thinker Joachim of Fiore (+1202), 67 however, Augustine, Isidore of Seville, Bede, Otto, and others observed the theological restraint against temptations to any concrete prophecies about the times to come, even if they were sure that the age they lived in would be the last one. Michael surpasses the Latin writers mentioned in consistently avoiding apocalyptic thinking. He used neither Daniel’s prophecy of the ages of the world, 68 nor the equation of time and the ages of man nor any other apocalyptic narrative figure, which allows to determine the position of the presence within the time system of the transitory world. 69 He knew about these figures, of course, but 65 B. Croke, “The Origins of the Christian World Chronicle,” in: B. Croke, A.A. Emmet (eds.), History and Historians in Late Antiquity (Sydney/Oxford/New York, 1983) 116–31, here: 127. 66 W. Lammers (ed.), Otto Bischof von Freising: Chronik oder Die Geschichte der zwei Staaten (Darmstadt, 1960); see H.-W. Goetz, Das Geschichtsbild Ottos von Freising. Ein Beitrag zur historischen Vorstellungswelt und zur Geschichte des 12. Jahrhunderts (Köln/Wien, 1984). 67 Joachim of Fiore, Expositio in Apocalypsim (Venice, 1527, repr. Frankfurt a.M., 1964); idem, Liber de Concordia novi ac veteris testamenti (Venice, 1519); see Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Studi Gioachimiti. Storia e messagio in Gioacchino da Fiore, I–II (Naples, 1980, 1986); M. Reeves, The influence of prophecy in the later Middle Ages. A Study in Joachimism (Notre Dame, 1993). 68 Dn 2, 31–44. 69 See Schmidt, Weltalter; A. Funqenstein, Heilsplan und natürliche Entwicklung. Formen der Gegenwartsbestimmung im Geschichtsdenken des hohen Mittelalters (München, 1965); Schmale, Funktion und Formen, 55ff, A. Angendendt, Geschichte der Religiösität im Mittelalter (Darmstadt, 1997), 213–35 (“Die christliche Zeit”), compare the differences in the interpretation of specific time systems, e.g. like the thinking of Anselm of Havelberg (+1158)—another contemporary of Michael.

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any apocalyptic speculation was inconsistent with his repeatedly emphasised belief that God was almighty, and he told his flock accordingly, when they were shaken by eschatological fear in 1186. 70 For him contemplation about the future was futile: äàü

J çæ؃Í↠çæÙîÊØ À˜ÍÂî ¾Ćãàî äàüƒ† ¿ÿüƒ ¾òß~ ç؃ J áÜ “ÊØ ‹…†ƒÍÐàÁ †…ƒ ¿Ìß½Ćß .çæÙܘÊâ ¾Ćß ç؃ ‹ÿâ~ƒ N .çæÙÝéâ çØÊØÿ ¿†Ìåƒ Êø ¿†…ƒ. 71

[56]

By the process of narrativation, “meaning,” that is to say metaphysical “sense,” and often teleology is applied to the changing world. But does change have any “meaning”? Michael for one narrativates change far less. To represent historical change without narrativating it too far is one achievement, which could be of importance today, should one try to rethink “time” again. The experience of contingency, of anarchy, of lack of security, is fully acknowledged, hope for the future is trust in God’s almighty power, but responsible for change is neither fortuna nor God alone, but man. It was Michael’s own experience of a time which was especially anarchical and unpredictable, due to the wars brought about by Frankish knights, Byzantine emperors, Armenian warlords, Turkish governors, and Kurdish nomads. But it is another matter to undergo experiences and to face them with chronographical study. Whereas “winners” in history—as some Latins saw themselves—perceived “history” to be a story of success and themselves its climax, “losers,” like some medieval Byzantine chroniclers, closed their eyes and narrowed their horizon. 72 The great medieval Syriac Orthodox historians, Jacob of Michael, Chronicle, 731 (III, 399). Ibid., 264–5 (II, 168). 72 See e.g. F. Kurze (ed.), Reginonis Abbatis Prumiensis. Chronicon. Cum continuatione Treverensi (MGH SRG 50; 1890); Lammers, Otto Bischof von Freising: Chronik, etc. To see history as a process of progress seems to be so much naturalised in Western historical thinking that the development of this view is usually been described not as a historical and contingent phenomenon but itself as a progress in philosophy of history: It is widely seen as the “discovery” of a “truth.” Joachim of Fiore e.g. is welcomed by Robert Lerner, “Joachim von Fiore,” TRE 17 (1988): 84–8, here: 88 as “the first European to present a clear concept of progress.” See also Funqenstein, Heilsplan. For the shrinking Byzantine horizon and its historical context see C. Mango, “The Tradition of Byzantine Chronography,” Proceedings of the International Congress Commemorating the Millenium of Christianity in Rus’—Ukraine, Harvard Ukrainian Studies 12/13 70 71

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Edessa, Dionysius of Tel-Maʘrê, Michael, the Anonymous, and Bar Hebraeus, were courageous enough to keep their eyes open, and to acquire sources even from those who might be their enemies. Michael’s work came into being by immense research, and through a talent to visualise. But the vastness of his chronicle draws attention to another precondition of his achievement. The venerable patriarch did not turn his back on worldly life but took active notice of it. It had moved him to vigorous action, tireless travels, and negotiations. As Michael started to write more personally in the last parts of his chronicle, compassion and sensitivity become visible, sadness about death through violence and war, sympathy for living beings in pain. 73 He for one had stepped out of the library, and taken notice of everything.

QUOTED LITERATURE Sources Abbeloos, J.B., Th.J. Lamy, eds. Gregorii Barhebrei Chronicon Ecclesiaasticum, I–III. Louvain/Paris 1872–7. Bedjan, P., ed. Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon Syriacum. Paris, 1890. Bethmann, L.K., ed. “Chronica Sigeberti Gemblacensis a. 381–1111.” In MGH, SS VI, 300–374. (1844). Brooks, E.W., J.-B. Chabot, eds. Eliae metropolitae Nisibeni opus chronologicum, I–II. CSCO, 62–3; SS, 21–4. Paris, 1909–10. Chabot, J.-B., ed./trs. Chronique de Michel le Syrien. Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioch (1166–1199), I–IV. Paris 1899–1924. Cohen, G., ed./trs. The Book of Tradition (Sefer ha-Qabbalah) by Abraham ibn Daud. Philadelphia, 1969. Hagemayer, H., ed. Fulcherius Carnotensis, Historia Hierosolymitana. Heidelberg, 1913. Joachim of Fiore, Expositio in Apocalypsim. Venice, 1527, repr. Frankfurt a.M., 1964). Joachim of Fiore, Liber de Concordia novi ac veteris testamenti. Venice, 1519. Kurze, F., ed. Reginonis Abbatis Prumiensis. Chronicon. Cum continuatione Treverensi. MGH SRG, 50. 1890.

(1988): 360–71. I expect that one of the outcomes of a systematic comparison between Eastern and Western Christian historical thinking could be a better understanding of the close relation between historical experience and historical theory, and hence, the relativity of the latter. 73 Michael, Chronicle, 733 (III, 402); 737 (III, 407) etc.

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Lammers, W., ed. Otto Bischof von Freising: Chronik oder Die Geschichte der zwei Staaten. Darmstadt, 1960. Landmann, G.P., ed./trs. Thukydides, Geschichte des Peloponnesischen Krieges, I– II. Darmstadt, 1993. Lindsay, W.M., ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive originum Libri XX. Oxford, 1911. Mommsen, Th., ed. “Bedae Chronica maiora ad a. 725 eiusdem Chronica minora.” MG AA 13 (1898): 247–327. Paschoudl, F., ed. Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle, I–V. Paris, 1971–89. Rosén, H.B., ed. Herodoti Historiae, I–II. Leipzig/Stuttgart, 1987–97. Skutella, M., et al., eds. S. Aureli Augustini confessionum libri XIII. Stuttgart, 1996. Waitz, G., L. Bethmann, eds. Paulus Diaconus, Historia Langobadorum. MGH SRG, 48. 1887/1978.

Literature Angenendt, A. Geschichte der Religiösität im Mittelalter (Darmstadt, 1997). Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Studi Gioachimiti. Storia e messagio in Gioacchino da Fiore, I–II (Naples, 1980, 1986). Bloch, M. Apologie pour l’histoire ou métier d’historien (Cahiers des Annales 3; Paris, 1967). von den Brincken, A.-D. “Contemporalitas Regnorum. Beobachtung zum Versuch des Sigebert von Gembloux, die Chronik des Hieronymus fortzusetzen,” in Berg, D., H.-W. Goetz (eds.), Historiographia Mediaevalis. Studien zur Geschichtsschreibung des Mittelalters, Festschrift für Franz-Josef Schmale zum 65. Geburtstag (Darmstadt, 1988) 199–211. ———. “In una pagina ponendo pontifices, in alia pagina imperatores. Das Kopieren der tabellarischen Papst-Kaiser-Chronik des Martin von Troppau OP (+1287),” Revue d’histoire des textes 18 (1988): 109–136. ———. Studien zur lateinischen Weltchronistik bis in das Zeitalter Ottos von Freising (Düsseldorf, 1957). Brock, S. “Two Related Apocalytpic Texts Dated AD 691/2,” in Palmer, A., with contributions by Sebastian Brock and Robert Hoyland, The Seventh Century in the West Syrian Chronicles (Liverpool, 1993) 222–250. Carr, D. Time, Narrative, and History (Bloomington, 1993). Chabot, J.-B. “Introduction,” in idem (ed.), Chronique de Michel le Syrien. Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioch (1166–1199), I–IV (Paris, 1899–1924) I, i-lx. ———. “La chronique de Michel le Syrien. Note de M. l’Abbé J.-B. Chabot,” in Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. Comptes rendues des Séances, 476–48.

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———. Mes chroniques (Paris, 1947). Croke, B., “The Origins of the Christian World Chronicle,” in Croke, B., A.A. Emmet (eds.), History and Historians in Late Antiquity (Sydney/Oxford/New York, 1983) 116–31. Domanska, E. “Universal History and Postmodernism,” Storia della Storiografia 35 (1999): 129–39. Funqenstein, A. Heilsplan und natürliche Entwicklung. Formen der Gegenwartsbestimmung im Geschichtsdenken des hohen Mittelalters (München, 1965). van Ginkel, J. “Making History: Michael the Syrian and His Sixth-Century Sources,” in Symposium Syriacum VII (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 256; Rome, 1998) 351–8. ———. John of Ephesus. A Monophysite Historian in Sixth-Century Byzantium (Groningen, 1995). Goetz, H.-W. “Die Geschichte im Wissenschaftssystem des Mittelalters,” in Schmale, F.J. Funktion und Formen mittelalterlicher Geschichtsschreibung (Darmstadt, 1987) 164–213. ———. Das Geschichtsbild Ottos von Freising. Ein Beitrag zur historischen Vorstellungswelt und zur Geschichte des 12. Jahrhunderts (Köln/Wien. 1984). Helm, R. Eusebius’ Chronik und ihre Tabellenform (Berlin, 1924). Hook, S. (ed.). Philosophy and History. A Symposium (New York, 1963). Hoyland, R. Seeing Islam as Others Saw it: A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Princeton, 1997) 408–9. Kocka, J. “Zurück zur Erzählung? Plädoyer für historische Argumentation,” in idem, Geschichte und Aufklärung, Aufsätze (Göttingen, 1989) 8–20. Krumbacher, K. Geschichte der byzantinischen Literatur. Von Justinian bis zum Ende des Oströmischen Reiches (527–1453) (München, 1897). Kühnel, B. From the Earthly to the Heavenly Jerusalem, Representations of the Holy City in Christian Art of the First Millennium (Rom/Freiburg/Wien, 1987). Lehy, P. (ed.). Droysen, Johann G., Historik. Historisch-kritische Ausgabe, I (Stuttgart/Bad Canstatt, 1977). Lerner, R. “Joachim von Fiore,” TRE 17 (1988): 84–8. Leroy, J., Les manuscrits syriaques à peintures, conservés dans les bibliothèques d’Europe et d’Orient. Contribution à l’étude de l’iconographie des églises de langue syriaque, I-II (Paris 1964). Mango, C. “The Tradition of Byzantine Chronography,” Proceedings of the International Congress Commemorating the Millenium of Christianity in Rus’—Ukraine, Harvard Ukrainian Studies 12/13 (1988): 360–71. Mitchell, W.J.T. (ed.). On Narrative (Chicago, 1981).

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Momigliano, A., The Conflict Betwen Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford 1963). Mosshammer, A. A. The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic Tradition (Lewisburg/London 1979). Muhlack, U. Geschichtswissenschaft im Humanismus und in der Aufklärung. Die Vorgeschichte des Historismus (München, 1991). Munslow, A. Deconstructing History (London/New York, 1997). Nordenfalk, C. Die spätantiken Kanontafeln. Kunstgeschichtliche Studien über die eusebianische Evangelienkonkordanz in den ersten vier Jahrhunderten ihrer Geschichte (Göteborg, 1938). Palmer, A., with contributions by Sebastian Brock and Robert Hoyland. The Seventh Century in the West Syrian Chronicles (Liverpool, 1993). Redefining Christian Identity: Christian Cultural Strategies Since the Rise of Islam. Symposium organised by the Universities of Groningen and Leiden, April 7–10 (1999) (forthcoming). Reeves, M. The influence of prophecy in the later Middle Ages. A Study in Joachimism (Notre Dame, 1993). Riad, E. Studies in the Syriac preface (Uppsala, 1988). Schmale, F.J. Funktion und Formen mittelalterlicher Geschichtsschreibung (Darmstadt, 1987). Schmidt, R. “Aetates mundi. Die Weltalter als Gliederungsprinzip der Geschichte,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 67 (1956): 288–317. Straub, J. (ed.). Erzählung, Identität und historisches Bewußtsein: Die psychologische Konstruktion von Zeit und Geschichte (Erinnerung, Geschichte, Identität I; Frankfurt a.M., 1998). Stückrath, J., J. Zbinden (eds.). Metageschichte: Hayden White and Paul Ricoeur, dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der europäischen Kultur im Kontext von Husserl, Weber, Auerbach und Gombrich (Baden-Baden, 1997). Teule, H. “The Crusaders in Barhebraeus’ Syriac and Arabic Secular Chronicles: A Different Approach,” in K. Ciggaar, A. Davids, H. Teule (eds.). East and West in the Crusader States: Context— Contacts—Confrontations (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 75; Louvain, 1996) 39–49. Weltecke, D. “The World Chronicle by Patriarch Michael the Great (1126–1199): Some reflections,” Journal of Assyrian Academic Studies 11 (1997): 6–29. White, H. “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality,” in Mitchell, W.J.T. (ed.), On Narrative (Chicago, 1981) 2–23. Wirth, A. Aus orientalischen Chroniken (Frankfurt a.M., 1894). Witakowski, W. The Syriac Chronicle of Pseudo-Dionysius of Tel-Mahrê. A Study in the History of Historiography (Uppsala, 1987). Wright, W. Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum, III (London, 1872).

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Zagorin, P. “History, the Referent, and Narrativity: Reflections on Postmodernisms Now,” History and Theory 38,1 (1999): 1–24.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.2, 203–221 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

EDESSA IN THE ERA OF PATRIARCH MICHAEL THE SYRIAN JOSEPH TARZI BURBANK, CALIFORNIA

INTRODUCTION [1]

[2]

The year 1999 not only marked the 800th anniversary of the departure of Patriarch Michael the Great, but also the 75th anniversary of the forced mass-exodus of the Syriac Orthodox people of Edessa, and the migration of the Syriac Church of Edessa to Aleppo, Syria. To commemorate the two occasions, I chose the topic of my paper to be “Edessa at the time of Patriarch Michael the Great.” Although Patriarch Michael was born in 1126, and died in 1199, the period covered in this presentation is almost entirely the 12th century that is from the year 1100 to 1200 AD.

A QUICK GLANCE AT EDESSA

IN THE PERIOD BETWEEN THE 7TH AND 12TH CENTURIES

[3]

As of the seventh century and until the beginning of the thirteenth century, Edessa was ruled predominantly by men of alien stock, professing a faith alien to that of most of its inhabitants. The Edessans were, however, already accustomed to being ruled by strangers. Since the end of the Abgar dynasty, the city had been administered by governors nominated by Constantinople, who were rarely native to Osrhoene. Most of these governors were of different religions. As of the end of the fifth century, the largest 205

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community in the city was Syriac Orthodox, 1 whereas most of the governors were Melkite. Between the two sects the animosity had become so bitter, and persecution so violent that the Edessans had welcomed the Moslems to their city as deliverers. Edessa fell to the Moslem Arabs in 639 AD. It surrendered to the Arab general Iyad Ibn Ghanm 2 who granted to the Bishop of Edessa the terms of the surrender. According to these terms, lives and property of the Christian inhabitants were to be secured as “ahl-al-dhimma,” in return for one dinar and two measures of flour to be paid for each male citizen. The first Moslem governor of Edessa is said to have been a certain Abu Badr. At the beginning of the second half of the eighth century, the Abbasids captured Edessa. By order of the Caliph, the walls of Edessa were demolished completely. Edessa was involved in the struggle between al Amin and al Ma’mun for the succession which followed the death of Harun al Rashid. Its citizens seem to have favored Amin. In about 814, a certain Abu Shaikh Ganawaya who collected the expenses of the work from the “notables and rich men of the city” rebuilt the walls of Edessa. 3 The misrule and disunity of the Moslem Arab Empire encouraged the Byzantines to launch vigorous offensives across the eastern frontier. From the year 927, and under the leadership of John Curcuas, their incursions met with little resistance. In a new campaign in Mesopotamia, the Byzantines besieged Edessa in the summer of 943. Their prize was not military conquest but the portrait of Jesus (the Mandylion). In 1030, the citadel of Edessa was handed over 4 by Salman, the Turkish Envoy of Naser al Dawlah, to the Byzantine general George Maniaces, 5 in return for an annual pension and a patent of 1

192.

J.B. Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City” (Oxford University Press, 1970)

2 The Chronography of Bar Hebraeus, tr. by E.A. Wallis Budge (Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1932) 96, and Tarikh Mukhtasar al Dual of Bar Hebraeus (Beirut: Catholic Press, 1958) 101. 3 The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, Arabic translation by Fr. Albert Abouna (Baghdad, 1986) Vol. 2, 22. 4 According to the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, Maniaces seized the citadel by force (See the Arabic translation by Albert Abouna, pp. 160–2.) 5 Matthew of Edessa as quoted by Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City,” 217–8.

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nobility from the Emperor. Later, the Byzantine garrison took possession also of the city. The following years were a chronicle of violence. The ravages of war continued. In March 1087, Edessa surrendered to the Saljuqi general Buzan, 6 and in February 1098, Baldwin de Bourg took control of Edessa. Edessa had summoned the Crusaders as hired mercenaries to rescue the Eastern Christians from the Moslem Turkish yoke. 7 But it quickly discovered that it had exchanged one master for another. Despite the fact that the city assumed its former prominence as a bastion of Christendom, its new rulers were foreigners who had no sympathy for the traditions and the way of life in the region. Edessa was set upon a dangerous course. 8

EDESSA IN THE 12TH CENTURY General [9]

For Mesopotamia, the twelfth century was a crucial period. It was characterized by turbulent changes that encompassed political, military, ethnic structure, social and economic conditions. The period was one of turmoil, conspiracy, political assassinations, tyranny, and oppression. The Islamic Empire was in disarray. The Caliphate in Baghdad had lost its power and influence. The Turks were tightening their grip on the region. Byzantines were seizing every opportunity to regain territories lost to Moslems. Power struggle among the Turkish generals was at its highest, each of them trying to take possession of as much territory as possible. The Crusaders were battling the Turks everywhere. Constantinople was rivaling the Crusaders for hegemony over the region. As a result of this chaotic situation, the inhabitants of the region suffered heavily. Continuous atrocities, massacres, captivity, enslavement, dislodgment, evacuations and property destruction had become familiar scenes in their lives. This continuous suffering had induced corruption, fear, moral degradation, loss of hope and faith, and hardening of hearts, and had eroded mercy from souls. Poverty and epidemics were a natural outcome of such continuous afflictions. The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 66–7. Ibid., 75–6. 8 Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City,” 226. 6 7

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Being one of the most important cities in the region, Edessa was hit the hardest. Political Situation [10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

By the dawn of the twelfth century AD, Edessa, under Crusader rule, had become a fief of the kingdom of Jerusalem. Its ruler, Baldwin de Bouillon, had succeeded his brother Godfrey as king of Jerusalem. He, according to Matthew of Edessa, had bought the crown of Jerusalem with the “enormous sums” which he had extorted from the inhabitants of Edessa. Edessa’s new ruler, Baldwin de Bourg, instated by his kinsman Baldwin de Bouillon, along with the ruler of Antioch shared the right of the king of Jerusalem to strike coins. The prince of Antioch also regarded the ruler of Edessa as his vassal; and the Byzantine Comneni emperors still continued to insist on treating both Antioch, and Edessa as subject to Constantinople by virtue of the oath of allegiance which the Franks had taken at the outset of the Crusade. Between the Edessans and the warrior Crusaders there was now little sympathy. It seems that the code of chivalry of the Crusader nobles certainly had more in common with that of the Moslem generals than with the way of life of their native fellowChristians. There is some justification for Matthew’s comment that Baldwin de Bourg “had more hatred for Christians than for the Turks.” After the defeat of Crusaders at Harran around 1102, the Turks under the leadership of Jekermish besieged Edessa. 9 Tancred, 10 with the help of local citizens repulsed the Turkish attack. Edessa was saved, but it had been near to falling into the hands of the enemy. The County of Edessa was entrusted to Tancred until Baldwin who was taken prisoner at the battle of Harran was released. Tancred, however, was recalled to Antioch whose prince (Bohemund) was on a visit to Europe, and the rule of Edessa was delegated to Richard, a kinsman of Bohemund. Richard was described by the Anonymous Chronicler of Edessa (1234) as “a bad, tyrannical, unjust and greedy man. He inflicted on the Edessans cruel tortures, imprisonment, and disgrace.” He collected 9

The Amir (Prince) of Mosul. The Prince of Antioch and Bohemund’s nephew.

10

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money, especially as he knew that “he was a sojourner and a passer-by, not the true lord and heir.” Edessa was again besieged, perhaps during Richard’s tenure, by Jekermish in 1105 or 1106. The Turks withdrew with a partial victory. The Western side of the church of Hagia Sophia collapsed and a great part of the building was ruined. The repeated raids of the Turkish soldiers led to scarcity of food in the city. 11 In 1108 both Baldwin and Joscelyn obtained their freedom. Tancred refused to hand over the County of Edessa to Baldwin. Baldwin engaged him in battle with indecisive results. He then sought the help of his former Turkish captor against Tancred, who also found allies among the Turks. Here we find the unedifying spectacle of Crusader fighting Crusader for the control of the County, each with the aid of Moslem Turks. The final outcome was a victory for Tancred. Baldwin and Tancred were reconciled, and Baldwin remained in Edessa. 12 In 1110, Mawdud, the governor of Mosul, threatened Edessa with a great Turkish army. Matthew of Edessa insinuates that Mawdud came at the invitation of Baldwin. Other sources allege that Tancred had summoned him. The Turks destroyed the crops and monasteries around Edessa, and a good number of Edessans were killed. In the spring of 1112, Mawdud once again besieged Edessa, devastating the countryside. The city was in great distress. The city would have fallen to Mawdud “thanks to some Edessan traitors,” 13 had it not been for Joscelyn de Courtenay’s courage. Mawdud withdrew. The Franks killed and tortured innocent Edessans once again as punishment for the betrayal. Matthew of Edessa declares, “This unjust severity was odious in the eyes of the Lord.” Edessans suffered mercilessly from the Crusaders, who having crushed the aristocratic families, now turned to the populace. In 1113 Baldwin was informed by some Franks that the Edessans intended to surrender their city to the Turks. Subsequently, Baldwin expelled all the inhabitants and settled them in Samosata. He burned the houses of those who remained in Edessa in defiance Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City,” 232. The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 93. 13 Matthew of Edessa, as quoted by Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City,” 233. The Anonymous Edessan calls them “some ten Armenians,” The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 96. 11 12

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of his order. All but 24 departed (another account has 80). The 24 people had taken refuge in the Church of St. Theodore. The city was deserted. After the assassination of Mawdud of Mosul, in 1113, Edessa was once again besieged in 1114 by the Turks, led by al-Barsuqi. The gardens and crops outside the city were once again systematically destroyed, two years in a row. The Turks were not able to penetrate the defense line of the Franks. Baldwin de Bourg left Edessa for Jerusalem without appointing a successor to himself. He left Waleran 14 as his deputy. He was not to return to the County. He was made king of Jerusalem after his namesake king Baldwin of Jerusalem died in 1118. After engaging in few battles with Turks, Waleran was removed. Baldwin appointed Joscelyn de Courtenay as his successor in the County. Ilghazi, the Artuqid ruler of Mardin, ravaged the region of Edessa in May 1120, but he did not dare to attack the city itself. The fortifications of the city were strengthened. Toward the end of 1131, Joscelyn died of wounds received in an earlier campaign. Joscelyn’s son and namesake, an Armenian on his mother’s side, succeeded to the County of Edessa. Both Matthew of Edessa and the Anonymous Edessan describe him as “a foolish youth, void of understanding.” The events were to prove the soundness of these historians’ judgement. The desultory fighting was continued with varying outcome. But, significantly, it was now invariably in the close neighborhood of Edessa itself. The Artuqid Timurtash made frequent raids into Edessan territory, pillaging villages and farms. In 1135, a Turkish army was apparently beaten off outside the city. Three years later, in 1138, Edessa was again besieged by the Turks. A great company of Franks set out from Samosata to raise the blockade. When they had advanced a few miles they were suddenly attacked by the army of Timurtash. Most of the Franks were killed, the rest with great booty of horses and mules, were paraded in rows, bound with ropes, below the walls of Edessa. The Turks had no siege engines, and after capturing the important fort of Kisas east of Edessa they withdrew.

14

Lord of Birtha.

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Miscellaneous Events [23]

In 1103 AD Edessa had a serious flood, documented by Matthew of Edessa. The flood destroyed part of the city. In November 1114, the neighboring cities were struck by a violent earthquake that caused much damage. In Edessa, 13 towers of the wall collapsed. A flood demolished the dam, attributed to Apostle Addai, in the following year. There must, nevertheless, have been a shortage of water in the city, for at this period a certain Bar Halabi 15 caused a spring of water to be conveyed to Edessa. 16

THE DISASTER OF 1146 [24]

Before presenting an account on the disaster of 1146, it is appropriate to have a glance at the Christian communities in the Eve of this disaster. Christian Communities in the Eve of the Great Disaster of 1146

[25]

At the dawn of the 12th century, there were four principle Christian communities in Edessa. Syrian (referred to by Western writers as Monophysities or Jacobites), Armenian, also known as Monophysites, Melkite, and Latin. The Syrians

[26]

[27]

The Syrians were the most important community in the city of Edessa and its neighborhood, thanks to their sheer number, if not for other reasons. It is no wonder, therefore, that we hear most at this period about Syrians especially since contemporary chroniclers belonged to this community. The Syriac Orthodox community of Edessa was an indivisible part of the corrupt and unstable Edessan society as mentioned earlier. Syria and Mesopotamia were in a state of misery. The Franks and Turks were ravaging the region in its entirety, killing, robbing and brining destruction everywhere. One would not hear anything but news of turmoil, wars and fighting. As a consequence, the faith of many Syriac Christians weakened, their hearts became troubled and their thoughts were in a state of confusion. A large 15 16

Perhaps Barsauma Bar Shalabi. J.B. Chabot (ed.), The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian (Paris, 1910) 595.

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number of them had lost hope because of the severity of distresses and the continuous changes and fluctuations of political, social and ecclesiastical situations. Given this situation, it is not surprising to hear local historians complain of a decline in devoutness of Christians and in their respect and submission to their pastors. 17 Following the death of Athanasius Bar Shumana, the Syriac Metropolitan of Edessa, in 1099–1100, Patriarch Athanasius, distinguished for his learning and much respected both within and outside his own church, hoped to leave the see vacant and reside at Edessa himself. The Edessan Syrians insisted, however, on exercising their prerogative of electing a Metropolitan of their own choice. They selected a monk distinguished for his eloquence and erudition, Abu Ghalib bar Sabuni of Melitine. The choice of Abu Ghalib greatly vexed the Patriarch, for he regarded him with distrust. Nevertheless he had no alternative but to accept the nomination. First, however, he imposed a condition. Volumes of the Gospel bound in silver and gold belonging to the treasury of the Patriarchate had been used as a pledge by a Syriac leader of Edessa to obtain money with which to bribe the rulers of the city. These volumes, the Patriarch insisted, were to be returned to the Patriarchate. 18 Abu Ghalib assented to the condition in writing. He was consecrated in 1100–1 under the name of Basil. Basil, under the influence of obstinate troublemakers among his congregation, refused to return the Gospels. There ensued a period of discord which was exploited by persons of ill will: on both sides the quarrel was exacerbated by unprincipled advisers. The Patriarch excommunicated Basil. This dissension in the Syriac Church came to the notice of count Baldwin of Edessa, of Joscelyn, and even of the king of Jerusalem. Bernard, the Latin Patriarch of Antioch, intervened personally in the dispute. The details of the incidents that followed illustrate the strenuous relations between the Syrians and the Frankish authorities. Bernard failed in his reconciliatory effort and this angered the Frankish authorities. As a result, the Syrians were in great distress. The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 157. Detailed accounts on the status of the Syriac Orthodox community of Edessa in this period can be found in Chabot, The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, 590–611, and in The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, vol. 2, 334–8 and 342–3. 17 18

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The breach widened. The Patriarch deposed the Metropolitan and closed the churches of Edessa. For the Syrians of Edessa the situation was critical. They began to baptize their children in Latin churches. The leading priests interceded with the Patriarch, and undertook not to associate with the Metropolitan; the churches were then reopened. Metropolitan Basil was now isolated. He retired to an estate to the northwest of the city. Upon the death of the Patriarch at the Monastery of Mar Barsauma, the Franks felt free to interfere in the ecclesiastical affairs of their Syrian subjects. Joscelyn seized the Patriarchal insignia, declaring that the election to the office of Patriarch should take place in his territory. This was done; the ceremony was held in February 1130 in the great church of the Latins, in the presence not only of the Maphrian of the East but also of Joscelyn and his officers. The new Patriarch, John, is described as dissolute, feeble in theological matters, but vigorous in anger and strife. His first act, no doubt on the advice of his Frankish masters, was to release Basil of Edessa from excommunication; but it was too late, for the letter of absolution reached the Metropolitan as he lay on his death-bed. Power among the Syrian community now passed into the hands of “evil men”—Abdun, the chief priest and steward, and a certain Saliba, a rich priest, who was proud of his scholarly ability. When the See of Edessa became vacant, they arranged for the election of the archdeacon and steward of the church to the position of Metropolitan; he was Abdun’s uncle by marriage. He received the formal name of Athanasius. His appointment was well received by the citizens, because he was a good and modest man. For five or six years he endured the intrigue and insolence of his patrons. On the death of Patriarch Athanasius in 1143 or 1144, Basil Abu’1-Farag bar Shumana, brother of Michael bar Shumana, who had previously been Bishop of Kaishum, was transferred to the diocese of Edessa. It may have been the influence of his brother, the Administrator of Edessa that procured for Basil the appointment to the Metropolitan see. The Syrians also had disputes with the members of other Christian sects. The incident of locust infestation in the countryside of Edessa and the use by the Edessans of the relics of St. Bar

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Sauma to dispel the swarms and their ensuing dispute with the Melkites portray rather clearly this background of sectarian strife. 19 The Armenians

[36]

[37]

Some of the wealthiest citizens of Edessa in this period were Armenians. Their prestige had been especially high since several rulers of Edessa and other cities in the region were Armenians. Some of these rulers were Armenian by race only, but by religion followers of the Greek Church. 20 With the fall of Toros son of Hethum in 1098, and the gradual elimination by Baldwin du Bourg of the Armenian princes of the neighboring principalities, the prominence of the community, whether as a confessional or an ethnic unit, declined. The Armenians of Edessa acted as individuals rather than as a group, and they were sharply divided in their loyalties. Some had conspired to admit the Turks into the city in 1112 as we have seen; on the other hand, it was, according to one account, 21 Armenians from Edessa who rescued Count Joscelyn from prison in 1123. The Armenian Catholicus, on a visit to Edessa in 1103, was received by Baldwin du Bourg with extravagant honor and lavish gifts. On the whole, indeed, the Latin princes showed a partiality for rich Armenian chieftains. But this did not save the latter when political expediency was involved; ultimately the goodwill of the Franks brought upon the Armenian leaders, as Matthew of Edessa puts it, “terrible chastisement…on the part of the Turks and their brothers, the Byzantines.” The Melkites

[38]

The Melkites were in a difficult position in those areas under Crusader control where the political influence of Constantinople had suffered complete eclipse. The Franks insisted that the Greeks were subject to the authority of the Latin Church. At Antioch, for example, the ascendancy of the Latin Patriarch was rarely challenged by the Melkites. Nor did the Melkites fare better with Chabot, The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, 615–7. Philaretos, Thoros son of Hethum, Vasak of Antioch, Gabriel of Melitini, Bagrat at Tell Bashir, and his brother Kogh (thief) Basil, Constantine of Gargar. 21 The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 113–5. 19 20

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the two Orthodox groups, the Armenians and the Syrians, who were independent of the Latins; for they had not abandoned their traditional distrust and hatred of the Greek Church. There was no Melkite bishop at Edessa. But the community, though small in number, continued in existence. Their cathedral church was the famous Church of Hagia Sophia; among their members was Abdu’l-Masih, a philosopher well known in his time. A Melkite inscription has survived in the neighborhood of Edessa; dated probably 1118–19, it is written in the Serta script employed in the regions under Byzantine rule. 22 The Latin Community

[40]

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The cathedral church of the Latin community was the Church of St. John the Baptist in this period, where the remains of Addai (Thaddaeus) and Abgar rested in a silver coffin as we learn from an interesting description of the Church in 1145. 23 Beside it stood a monastery. The Latins worshiped also in the Church of St. Stephan, in the Church of St. Thomas, probably also in the Church of the Virgin Mary. According to St. Michael the Syrian, Archbishop Benedict had a vision about the relics of Addai and Abgar. They were then discovered in the Church of St. John. The story of the vision may have been a pretext for the appropriation of this church by the Latins as their cathedral. 24 Under the rule of the Franks, the head of the Latin confession in Edessa had, for political reasons, influence out of all proportion to the size of his flock. He was warrior and spokesman of the citizens as well as churchman. And among the religious groups in the city he naturally assumed leadership. With matters of dogma he appears to have had little concern. But when negotiations with an enemy were to be opened it was the Latin Archbishop who took the initiative. When Baldwin was defeated by Tancred in 1108, it was evidently the Latin Archbishop who convened the citizens, and

The reconstructed inscription reads, “This is the grave of Constantine [in the year] 1400 and thirty. Let who [ever] reads [this, ask] pardon [for] his soul.” 23 By an Anonymous semi-poetic Western Syriac text written before 1109, quoted by Segal in Edessa “The Blessed City,” 249. 24 Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City,” 237. 22

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in 1144 the Syrian Metropolitan Basil submitted his truce proposals to Zangi through his Latin colleague. 25 Events Leading to the Disaster of 1146 [42]

[43]

[44]

[45]

The Crusaders, who had managed to maintain their hold on the immediate neighborhood of Edessa, met with the Atabeg of Mosul, Imad ul-din Zangi, an exponent of skill, resourcefulness and determination at the time when the ruler of Edessa was the ineffective Jocelyn the younger. Edessa was a thorn in the side of the Moslems, and Zangi exerted every effort to neutralize it. He had earlier conveyed a message of friendship to the Franks. But later, Joceylyn drew upon himself the Atabeg’s enmity by making a pact with his Artuqid rival Qara Arslan, by which time (in 1143) the two Christian kings, the Byzantine Emperor John II Comnenus, and Fulk king of Jerusalem had died. Zangi kept watching the development at Edessa and waiting for the best opportunity to attack. When at the end of 1144 Jocelyn had left the city accompanied by a large force, Zangi sent an Army to surprise Edessa. On the 30th of November 1144, Zangi arrived to surround the city on all sides. The events that followed are described graphically as eyewitnessed by the Syriac Metropolitan Basil bar Shumana. From his account we know that some four weeks after the siege had begun, on the 23 of December, on Christmas Eve, Zangi’s troops succeeded in breaking through the walls of Edessa. Men and women, and even the monks from the hills of Edessa, fought in the two breaches from dawn. At the third hour, the Turks forced their way into the city across the bodies of the dead. For three days Zangi gave over the city to his soldiers to ransack. On the first day about six thousand helpless Edessans were slain. Women, children and youths, who ran towards the upper Citadel in the south of the city “pressing upon each other, from fear of death and slavery, pushing upwards, treading upon one another, all were suffocated and trampled down into a solid mass,” 26 for the Latin Archbishop Hugo had ordered the gate of the Citadel to be kept closed. Some five thousand people perished The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 147. Chabot, The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, 630–1, and The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 149. 25 26

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miserably. About ten thousand boys and girls were taken into captivity. Archbishop Hugo, on attempting to enter the Citadel, was himself cut down to pieces by an axe. 27 Many priests, deacons, and monks were killed. Zangi entered the city, and, wondering at its beauty, showed magnanimity and the slaughter stopped. The lives of those in the Citadel were spared, and the city was surrendered by a certain Barsauma. The Turks set guards the next day so that the citizens would not be at the mercy of the soldiers, and the troops were forbidden to enter. Some two thousand women and children, who were found in the upper Citadel, were carried into slavery; about ten thousand soldiers were released. The Syrians, Armenians, and Melkites were spared. The Franks were plundered of their gold and silver, their church vessels, cups and bowls, crosses and jewels. All Franks who were found were killed. Priests and notables of Edessa were stripped and sent to Aleppo. Craftsmen were set apart and put to work at their trades as prisoners. About a hundred men were tortured and slain. The remaining citizens were allowed to keep some of their possessions. Metropolitan Basil was made to swear on the Cross that he would observe loyalty to the new masters of the city. Although the capture of Edessa was not a particularly tremendous victory as claimed by some, 28 nevertheless the consequences for the Crusaders were serious. It brought to an end their pretensions to dominion east of the Euphrates. The news spread throughout Christendom that the city of Abgar had fallen to Moslems. Christian Antioch and even Jerusalem itself seemed vulnerable.

EDESSA BETWEEN 1144–1146 [48]

The emotions of the Western Christians brought little consolation to the Edessans. The disaster of 1144 was commemorated by laments in Syriac by Dionysius Bar Salibi, Basil Bar Shumana and

27 Gregory the Priest reports that Hugo was suffocated (quoted by Fr. Albert Abouna in The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 150. 28 Ibn al Athir exaggeratingly describes it as “a feat of arms as glorious as that of Badr.” (quoted by Segal, in Edessa “The Blessed City,” 247).

218

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others. The Catholicus Narsai IV Shnorhali wrote an elegy in Armenian on the ruined city. The period between 1144–1146 enjoyed relative peace and prosperity. The strong Turkish rule had restored security to the city. In 1445 Zangi visited Edessa at harvest time. The account of Zangi’s visit provides an interesting description of the appearance of the city at this time.29 Some of the changes brought about by the capture of Edessa by the Turks included the following: The breaches in the wall and the seven towers were rebuilt with Arabic inscripions on them characterizing the account of the capture and the name of the ruler (Zangi). The shrine of the Confessors outside the city was razed, and its stones were used to rebuild the wall. The Turks had begun to build a castle for the ruler beside the splendid shrine of St. John in which the ruler lived. The conquerors took the shrines of Sts. Stephan and Thomas the Apostle, because, it was said, the Franks prayed in these shrines. They made the shrine of St. Thomas a stable, and that of St. Stephen a storehouse for corn and the other crops of the ruler. The shrines of St. Theodore and that of the Angel Michael on the south side of the city were pulled down and their stones were used wherever needed. The Turks also renewed and restored the mosque and the Moslem chapel which had been made the residence of the bishop of the Franks.

THE DISASTER OF 1146 [51] [52]

The story of Edessa does not end with the happy incident of the visit of Zangi and his acknowledged tolerance and generosity. In September 1146, Zangi was assassinated to the joy of his enemies. Joscelyn had been humiliated by the loss of his county. Shortly after the fall of Edessa in 1144, Armenians in the city had plotted to seize it for him. The plan was discovered and the guilty men executed. With the death of Zangi, Joscelyn’s hope was revived. Less than forty days after the death of Zangi, he set out with Baldwin of Mar’ash and a small troop of soldiers to surprise the city at night. The prince of Antioch refused to join. But the element of surprise had been lost. The Moslems of Aleppo heard of Joscelyn’s plan and warned the Turkish garrison at Edessa. The

29

The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 158–62.

Edessa in the Era of Patriarch Michael The Syrian

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Turks took about fifty Christian master-builders, smiths and artisans as hostages and prepared to defend the citadel. Joscelyn’s advance party reached Edessa on Sunday, September 27. They scaled the walls at night, apparently with the aid of some Armenians inside the city, 30 slew the guards, and opened the gate in the south west of the walls. The Frankish cavalry and infantry entered the city. But “the brainless fools,” as the chronicler 31 calls them, did not engage the Turks in the citadel. On that very night they turned to plunder the shops and houses of the citizens, Moslem and Christian, good and bad, alike. The Moslems immediately retired with their families and property to the citadel. Some Moslems escaped to Harran during the night. The Crusaders spent six days in futile activity. In the meantime, the Turks were massing around the city. A spy informed Joscelyn on the sixth day that about ten thousand Turkish soldiers were in the hills and the plain ready to join forces the next day with their compatriots inside the city. He determined to leave the same night from the North Gate. Michael the Syrian reports that Joscelyn’s men set fire to the houses and goods of the Christians of Edessa before leaving the city. A great number of Edessan men, women, children, soldiers and horses caught in terror, rushed out of the city seeking protection from the Frankish forces. The Turks chased the disorganized crowd of soldiers and people who fled in panic, and slaughtered them mercilessly. Joscelyn escaped with a few followers to Samosat. Baldwin was slain along with many soldiers. Thirty thousand people were killed. Sixteen thousand women, youths and children were taken into slavery, stripped of their clothes, barefoot, their hands bound, forced to run beside their captors on horses. Those who could not endure were pierced by lances or arrows, or abandoned to wild animals and birds of prey. Priests were killed out of hand or captured; only few escaped. The Archbishop of the Armenians was sold in Aleppo. Basil bar Shumana narrowly made his escape to Samosata. The whole city of Edessa was given over to looting. At the first destruction in 1144, the pillage lasted two days only, and the city 30 31

Chabot, The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, 634. The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 166.

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was hurriedly saved and the destruction restrained at the command of Zangi. In this destruction of 1146, ruin was complete. The Turks went about the city looting and destroying not for days, but for a whole year. 32 Living only about 100 km North in the Monastery of Mar Barsauma near Melitene, Patriarch Michael, then a monk at the age of 20, must have heard and read detailed eyewitness accounts, including that of Metropolitan Basil Bar Shumana, of the disaster of 1146 and the previous one in 1144. In his Chronicle he gives detailed accounts on the painful events that took place during his lifetime in Edessa.

THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY AFTER THE DISASTER OF 1146 [58]

[59]

[60]

The Christian community of Edessa never recovered after the disaster of 1146. During and after the disaster, they felt they had been abandoned. The Anonymous Syrian Edessan Chronicler wrote: “The Christians who lived in the Western regions (of Mesopotamia) had no mercy in their hearts, but cruelty, callousness, hardness of heart and wickedness of thought, especially among the priests, monks, and bishops. Christians east of the Euphrates used their limited resources to ransom the Edessans who had been carried into captivity. John, Bishop of Mardin, an Edessan in origin, is singled out for an especial praise. The tragedy of Edessa was commemorated in sermons and elegies as mentioned earlier. “After the passage of few years,” writes Segal, “the story of the city of Abgar, whose traditions were woven into the fabric of Christian history, had become no more than a subject for academic argument on the workings of Providence.” 33 After the disaster of 1146, Christian community suffered a swift moral decline. Corruption became widespread. Christian population became an insignificant minority and virtually disappeared from view. Less than thirty years after the disaster of 1146, they tried to stage a half-hearted demonstration “like the old practices.” “The church bells rang, the populace were sworn by the Cross and the Gospels, meetings were called for, and delegates 32 33

The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 172. Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City,” 254.

Edessa in the Era of Patriarch Michael The Syrian

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were dispatched. The governor, however, thwarted the movement by a contemptuous use of bribes and banished its instigators. The only result, comments the Chronicler sadly, “was that the Christians became unpopular, ...and won a bad name.” 34 Christian shrines which had long been a memorial of Roman and Byzantine Edessa were now empty and deserted. We have seen how the famous churches of St. Thomas and St. Stephen were put to menial use as a stable and granary. Other churches were dismantled and their stones were used to build the citadel and the walls. The church of Hagia Sophia, once counted as one of the wonders of the world, had deteriorated and was demolished and its fabric transferred to the citadel and to the mosque of Harran. The beautiful church of St. John the Baptist had been employed as a storehouse for wool. In 1183 a lighted lamp set fire to the inflammable material, and the whole building perished in a molten blaze. Meanwhile the Moslem population of Edessa grew and so too did the number of its mosques side by side with the public baths, khans and markets. Edessa could no longer survive as a Christian city alone in a cohesive Moslem empire. On the death of Zangi’s son it passed to his generals. Later it became the property of Saladin and his Ayyubid successors. A flash of the old spirit of independence flared up in 1234 when its inhabitants resisted the troops of Mosul. The soldiers breached the walls, sacked the town and deported its inhabitants to the west. Edessa shared passively the fate of its neighbors. It experienced the visitation of the Tatars in 1244 and surrendered to Hulagu in 1260. In 1637 it was incorporated in the Ottoman Empire by the campaign of Murad IV. A census published in 1908 by Ottoman authorities puts the population of Edessa and surroundings (the County of Edessa consisting of Edessa, Birejik, Qal’at Rrum and Harran) in the vicinity of 72,000. Only 19% were Christians. As a result of the 1914 massacres of Armenians and Syrians in Turkey, the Christian population of Edessa greatly diminished. On the eve of their forced mass exodus in 1924, the Syriac Orthodox population of Edessa was approximately 2,500. Today no Christian soul exists in Edessa. 34

The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan, 1234, 221–2.

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REFERENCES CITED The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian. Published by J. B. Chabot. Paris, 1910. The Chronography of Bar Hebraeus. Translated by E. A. Wallis Budge. Amsterdam, 1932. Gregorius Ibn al Ibri (Bar Hebraeus) Tarikh Mukhtasar al duwal. London, repr. 1976. Gregorius Bar Ebroyo, Makhthbonuth Zabne, in Eastern Syriac. Leipzig, 1890. Tarikh al Rahawi al Majhul, (2) “The Chronicle of the Anonymous Edessan,” vol. 2, 1234. Arabic Translation by Fr. Albert Abouna. Baghdad, 1986. Abouna, A., and J. M. Fiey. Anonymi auctoris Chronicom ad annum Christi 1234 Pertinens, II. CSCO, 2, Scr. Syri, 154; 1974. Segal J. B., Edessa “The Blessed City.” Oxford University Press, 1970.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Baldwin, M.W. The First Hundred Years (K. M. Setton, A History of the Crusades). 1955. Bar Hebraeus, Gregory abu l-Farag: J.B. Abbeloos and T.J. Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon Ecclesiasticum. 1872–7. Bayer, T.S. Historia Osrhoene et Edessena, ex numis illustrata. 1734. Chabot, J.B. Edesse pendant la premiere croisade’ CRAI. 1918, 431. ———. Incerti auctoris Chronicon Pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo dictum. CSCO, 91, 104, Scr. Syri, 43, 53; 1952–3. ———. Anonymi auctoris Chronicon ad annum Christi 1234 Pertinens. CSCO, 81–2, Scr. syri 36–7; 1953. Dowesett, C.J. “A Twelfth-century Armenian Inscription at Edessa,” in In Memoriam Vladimir Minorsky. 1970. Duval, R. Histoire Politique, religieuse et litteraire d’Edesse jusque a la premiere croisade. 1892. Ibn al-Athir, ‘Izz al-din abu 1-Hasan ‘Ali Muhammad, Al-Kamil Fi l-ta’rikh, ed. C.J. Tornberg. 1867–76. Le Strange, G. The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate. 1930. Matthew of Edessa: J.P.L.F.E. Dulaurier. Chronique de Matthieu d’Edesse (962–1136) avec la continuation de Gregoire le Pretre jusqu’en 1162. 1858. Ostrogorski, G. History of the Byzantine State. 1956. Parry, O.H. Six Months in a Syrian Monastery. 1895. Runciman, J.C.S. “Some Remarks on the Image of Edessa,” Cambridge Historical Journal III (1929–31): 238. ———. A History of the Crusades. 1965. Segal, J.B. “New Syriac Inscriptions from Edessa,” BSOAS XXII (1959): 23.

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Segal, J. B. Edessa and Harran. An Inaugural Lecture. 1963. Thomson, R.W. “An Eighth-century Melkite Colophon from Edessa,” JTS N.S. XIII (1962): 249. Tritton, A.S., and H.A.R. Gibb. “The First and Second Crusades from an Anonymous Syriac Chronicle,” JRAS (1933): 69, 273.

Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, Vol. 3.2, 223–246 © 2000 [2010] by Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute and Gorgias Press

NOTIZEN ZUR SPÄTEN GESCHICHTE DES BARʙAUMŇ-KLOSTERS HUBERT KAUFHOLD LEOPOLD-WENGER-INSTITUT FÜR RECHTSGESCHICHTE DER UNIVERSITÄT MÜNCHEN

ZUSAMMENFASSUNG Zur Zeit Michaels des Syrers, aber auch darüber hinaus, war das Kloster des hl. Barʜaumň Residenz der syrischen Patriarchen. Nach der grundlegenden Darstellung von Ernst Honigmann (Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 1954) endete die Geschichte des Klosters gegen Ende des 13. Jh. Aber schon Patriarch Aphram Barsaum wies in seiner Geschichte der syrischen Literatur (2. Aufl. 1956) darauf hin, wenn auch ohne nähere Angaben, daß das Kloster bis zum Ende des 17. Jh. bestand. Im folgenden Beitrag werden historische Notizen über das Kloster bis 1676 n. Chr. zusammengestellt, die hauptsächlich aus Kolophonen von Handschriften stammen.

I [1]

Nach seinem Tod vor 800 Jahren, am 7. November 1199, wurde Patriarch Michael der Syrer (“der Ältere”) im Barʛaumň-Kloster begraben. Barhebraeus berichtet in seiner Kirchengeschichte, daß Michael in der “neuen Kirche,” die er von 1180 bis 1193 im Kloster hatte erbauen lassen, beigesetzt wurde, “in einem Grab vor dem nördlichen Altar, das er bereits zu seinen Lebzeiten 225

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eingerichtet hatte.” 1 Ernst Honigmann 2 hat mit guten Gründen das Kloster mit den Ruinen von Borsun Kalesi identifiziert, die sich auf einem ungefähr 1600 m hohen Berg zwischen Malatya und Adiaman in der Südosttürkei — unweit des bekannten Nimrud Dag — befinden. Dort sind Reste einer Kirche mit drei Apsiden erhalten. Wegen der Zerstörungen des Klosters und des an der betreffenden Stelle aufgehäuften Schutts war bisher nicht feststellbar, ob sich dort das Grab befindet. 3 Ausgrabungen wurden noch nicht durchgeführt. Die Anfänge des Barʛaumň-Klosters lassen sich bis zum Ende des 8. Jh. zurückverfolgen. Es spielte zunächst wohl keine besondere Rolle, gewann aber im 11. und 12. Jh. größere Bedeutung. 4 Vor allem Michael, der zunächst Abt des Klosters war, ließ mehrere größere Baumaßnahmen durchführen. Nach seiner Wahl zum Patriarchen 1166 hielt er sich — wie schon einige seiner Joannes Baptista Abbeloos et Thomas Josephus Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei chronicon ecclesiasticum, tomus I (Leuven, 1872) 605/606. In der bis zum Jahre 1234 reichenden anonymen Chronik ist der Teil, in dem der Bericht über Michaels Tod gestanden haben dürfte, nicht erhalten, vgl. Jean-Baptiste Chabot (Hrsg.), Anonymi auctoris chronicon ad A. C. 1234 pertinens, II (Leuven, 1916) 335, bzw. die Übersetzung von Albert Abouna und Jean Maurice Fiey (Leuven, 1974) 250 (= CSCO 82, 354). 2 Ernst Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie (CSCO 146; Leuven, 1954). 3 Hansgerd Hellenkemper, Burgen der Kreuzritterzeit in der Grafschaft Edessa und im Königreich Kleinarmenien (Bonn, 1976). Zum BarʛaumňKloster: insbesondere S. 99–103 (hier 102). Abbildungen: Tafeln 18, 19. Vgl. auch M. Thierry, “Monuments chrétiens inédits de HauteMésopotamie,” Syria 70 (1993): 179–204 (192–5: III. Le couvent de Barsauma [mit einem Photo und einem Grundriß der Kirche]). Weitere Photos von André Maricq und Friedrich Karl Dörner sind bei Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʛaumć, bzw. Peter Kawerau, Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance (Berlin, 1960), abgedruckt. 4 Es hatte seine eigene liturgische Ordnung, die der Metropolit Dionysios von Melitene Anfang des 11. Jh. festgelegt hatte (Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, tome III (Paris, 1905) 190). Die Hs. Vat. Syr. 51 nimmt Bezug auf den Ritus des Klosters des Mňr Barʛaumň (Stephus Evodius und Joseph Simonius Assemani, Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae codicum manuscriptorum catalogus, partis primae tomus secundus (Rom, 1758) 322), die Hs. Brit. Libr. 14,716 enthält Hymnen nach der “Ordnung des Klosters des Mňr Barʛaumň” (William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum, part 1 (London, 1870) 375a). 1

Notizen zur späten Geschichte des Barʛaumô-Klosters

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Vorgänger — des öfteren im Kloster auf, so daß man es als Patriarchatsresidenz bezeichnen kann. Von 1074 bis 1283 fanden dort mehrere Synoden statt. 5 Auch Michaels Nachfolger im 13. Jh. lebten teilweise in diesem Kloster. Nach dessen Zerstörung hielten sie sich zunächst in Sis im armenischen Königreich Kilikien auf, bevor das ʗananyć-Kloster bei Mardin (Dair az-ZaȨfarćn) der bevorzugte Aufenthaltsort der Patriarchen wurde. Die insbesondere aus den Chroniken bekannten Daten hat Honigmann zusammengestellt, so daß darauf verwiesen werden kann. 6 1285 wurde das Kloster durch ein Erdbeben erneut zerstört. Als letztes Ereignis erwähnt Honigmann eine Plünderung des Klosters durch die Kurden im Jahre 1293 oder wenig später. 7 Die Geschichte des Klosters war damit jedoch nicht beendet, wie es nach der Darstellung Honigmanns scheinen könnte. 8 Der syrisch-orthodoxe Patriarch Ignatius Aphram Barsaum (1887 bis 1957) hat — wie so oft — recht, wenn er in seiner Geschichte der syrischen Literatur darauf hinweist, daß das Kloster bis zum Ende des 17. Jh. bestand. 9 Er macht jedoch keine näheren Angaben. Im folgenden sollen deshalb einige Lesefrüchte vor allem aus syrischen Handschriften zusammengestellt werden, die ein paar Schlaglichter auf die spätere Geschichte des Klosters werfen. Zu seinem alten Glanz hat es offenkundig nie wieder zurückgefunden.

Vgl. etwa Joseph Mounayer, Les synodes syriens Jacobites (Beirut, 1964) 78–92. 6 Le couvent de Barʜaumć, vor allem S. 47–76. Zu ergänzen sind nur einige Ereignisse, die in der bis zum Jahre 1234 A. D. reichenden Chronik berichtet werden; auf einige wird unten eingegangen. 7 AaO 50f., 75. 8 So z. B. — unter Berufung auf Honigmann und Hellenkemper, Burgen der Kreuzritterzeit 103: “1285 zerstört ein Erdbeben ein Großteil der Klosterbauten und wohl 1293/94 ist die Stätte von einfallenden Kurden gebrandschatzt worden und in der Folge verfallen.” Auch Joseph Simonius Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-Vaticana, Band 2 (Rom, 1721) S. (97) des unpaginierten Teils macht keine weiteren Angaben. 9 Histoire des sciences et de la littératur syriaque [arabisch], 2. Auflage, Aleppo 1956 (mehrere Nachdrucke), 509. Syrische Übersetzung von Ph. Y. Dolabani: Ktňbň da-brullĔ bdĪrĔ (QćmišlĪ, 1967) 633. Auf diese Angabe stützt sich offenbar Jean-Maurice Fiex, Pour un Oriens Christianus Novus (Beirut, 1993) 176: “Le couvent exista jusqu’au milieu du XVIIe siècle.” 5

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II [4]

Die mir bekannten Nachrichten über das Kloster sind leider nur sehr dürftig und lassen auch nicht annähernd eine zusammenhängende Darstellung seiner weiteren Geschichte zu. Sie setzen erst wieder in der zweiten Hälfte des 15. Jh. ein. Dies deutet darauf hin, daß es fast zwei Jahrhunderte tatsächlich verfallen und unbewohnt war. Das Gebiet, in dem es liegt, gehörte seit dem Schisma 1292/3 zur kilikischen Linie der Patriarchen, die später in Damaskus residierte. Dieses kilikische Patriarchat hatte wohl bald keine große Bedeutung mehr und erlosch 1444/5. Wegen des allgemeinen Niedergangs konnte das Barʛaumň-Kloster zunächst wohl nicht wiederbelebt werden. 10 Es gab aber in der Gegend damals zweifellos syrische Bevölkerung. Seit dem Ende des 14. Jh. ist eine lange Reihe von syrisch-orthodoxen Bischöfen von Gargar belegt. 11 Gargar (heute Gerger), 12 in dem es eine Kirche der Muttergottes und des hl. Barʛaumň gab, 13 liegt unweit des Barʛaumň-Klosters in der Nähe des Euphrat. In dem Gebiet bestanden zwei andere, in unserem Zeitraum sicher bedeutendere syrische Klöster, nämlich das “Kloster der Stufen” (Dairň d-seblňtň), auch: Kloster des Mňr Abʘai, am Euphrat, 14 und das Kloster des AbŠ ğćlib (oder: der Muttergottes und des Zachäus [Zakai]) bei Wank. 15 Im Kolophon der Hs. Jerusalem 62 werden noch zwei weitere Klöster genannt: (das Klosters des Mňr Abʘai liege) “im Gebiet von Gargar, am nördlichen Abhang (des Flußufers?) in der Nähe des Klosters der Barfüßer (šamiʞćyĔ), das PesqĪn genannt wird, und gegenüber dem Kloster des Mňr Šabtai, das ŠĪrć benannt ist.” 16 10 Yohannan Dolabani, Die Patriarchen der syrisch-orthodoxen Kirche von Antiochien [syrisch], Holland (Glane/Losser, 1990) 181 Z. 7 von unten. 11 Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus Novus, 199–201 (die Liste läßt sich noch erweitern). 12 Honigmann, Le Couvent de Barʜaumć, 123 (Nr. 40); Hellenkemper, Burgen der Kreuzritterzeit, 79–83. 13 W. F. Ainsworth, Travels and Researches in Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, Chaldea and Armenia (London, 1842) 277, und K. Humann, O. Puchstein, Reisen in Kleinasien und Syrien (Berlin, 1890) 354, berichten nur von einer armenischen Kirche mit einem Priester. 14 Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 81f. (No. 15). 15 Ebd., 80 (No. 10). 16 Filoksinos Yohanna Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in St. Mark’s Monastery. Ed. by Gregorios Yohanna Ibrahim (Aleppo, 1994)

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Wahrscheinlich soll damit nur die örtliche Lage beschrieben werden. In sonstigen Quellen werden diese älteren Klöster nicht erwähnt. Wahrscheinlich waren sie nicht mehr bewohnt; das bestätigt eine Handschrift aus dem Jahre 1599 ausdrücklich (s. unten [21]). Wir wissen darüber hinaus von einigen Ortschaften im Gebiet von Gargar, in denen es auch später noch syrische Kirchen gab: ȨWYWS (Aussprache: Ćwios?) (Barʛaumň-Kirche), ʗalʘal (?, HLHL) (Mćmć-Kirche), Karmň d-Dakyň (?; KRM‚ DDKY‚ 17 ) (Barʛaumň-Kirche), MaĠzŠnĪr (?; MGZWNYR bzw. MğZWNYR 18 oder MaNGZNR 19 ) in der Nähe des Klosters des Mňr Abʘai (Abʘai -Kirche), Tabsiyas 20 (Barʛaumň-Kirche, Muttergotteskirche), ȨUrbĪš 21 (Georgskirche) und Wank 22 (Muttergotteskirche). Wir kennen ferner aus Handschriftenvermerken viele Personen aus den genannten Orten namentlich. Dabei treffen wir öfter auf armenische Namensformen. Das weist, ebenso wie der Ortsname “Wank” (armenisch: “Kloster”) darauf hin, daß wir uns in einer Gegend befinden, in der es zahlreiche Armenier gab.

190. Zur Lage des Klosters vgl. die Beschreibung von Henri Pognon, Inscriptions sémitiques de la Syrie, de la Mésopotamie et de la région de Mossoul (Paris, 1907) 117f. Zu dem Kloster der Barfüßer und dem des Mňr Šabtai vgl. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 59, 60f., 82 (Nr. 16). 17 Hs. Dam. Orth. 5/16, Ordinationsliste; Hs. Scharfeh 111 (Behnam Sony, Le Catalogue des manuscrits du patriarcat au couvent de Charfet — Liban [arabisch] (Beirut, 1993) 285b [Nr. 780]: KRMW DHYW. Von der Schrift her ähnelt der Name einer Ortsbezeichnung nahe beim BarsaumňKloster: Karmň (d-metqrĔ) d-PĪlň “Weinberg des Elefanten,” s. Chabot, Chronique de Michel, III 287b (IV 644); Abbeloos-Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei chronicon, I 507. 18 Filoksinos Yohanna Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts, 68 bzw. Sony, Catalogue ... de Charfet, 13 (Nr. 2), 285b (Nr. 780). 19 Ms. Mardin Orth. 326. 20 Vgl. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 80 (Nr. 10). In der noch zu nennenden Hs. Aleppo Orth. 4 wird der Ort wie folgt teilweise vokalisiert: Tbseya’s, in der Hs. Aleppo 15: Tbsiyas. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 80, 171, meint, er sei identisch mit “Taraksu,” einem Ort, der auf der zweiten Karte Honigmanns eingezeichnet ist. 21 Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 82 (No. 15), 171. 22 Cf. ebd., 80 (No. 10).

230 [6]

Hubert Kaufhold Nun zu den einzelnen Belegen.

a. Die Hs. Vat. Syr. 564 wurde 1463 im Kloster des Mňr Abʘai geschrieben. Im Kolophon gibt der Schreiber an, es liege in der Nähe des Klosters des Barʛaumň. 23 Hieraus kann nicht unbedingt der Schluß gezogen werden, daß letzteres bewohnt war. Möglich ist, daß der Kopist durch die Erwähnung des berühmten Barʛaumň-Klosters nur die örtliche Lage bezeichnen wollte. [7]

b. Mein erster sicherer Beleg für die Spätzeit des BarʛaumňKlosters ist jedoch nur sechs Jahre jünger und stammt von 1781 A. Gr. (1469/70 A. D.). In diesem Jahr entstand eine Handschrift mit der Geschichte des Apostels Thomas und anderem, geschrieben im Barʛaumň-Kloster. 24 Näheres erfahren wir nicht.

[8]

c. Nach dem Kolophon eines 1549 im Kloster Surb Karapet geschriebenen armenischen Tetraevangeliums, das sich in Lille befindet, gaben die Besteller es “zur Erinnerung an die Tür des hl. Barʛaumň” (jišatak i duŎn surb Parsoma). 25 Anhaltspunkte dafür, daß das syrische Barʛaumň-Kloster gemeint ist, sind nicht erkennbar, ein Bezug zu unserem Gebiet fehlt völlig. Für Michel Thierrys Überlegung, die Armenier könnten sich des Klosters bemächtigt haben, 26 gibt es jedenfalls keinen Grund.

[9]

d. In der bisher nicht katalogisierten Hs. Aleppo Orth. 116, die ein Marienleben enthält, steht am unteren Rand einer Seite ein kurzer Vermerk aus dem Jahre 1880 A. Gr. (= 1568/9 A. D.). Darin bittet der Schreiber um ein Gebet für Rabban MalkĔ, den Abt des Klosters des Mňr Abʘai, und für sieben weitere Mönche. 27 Er fordert dann auf, “für Rabban ʗananyć (den Abt?) von Mňr Arn. van Lantschoot, Inventaire des manuscrits syriaques des Fonds Vatican (490–631) Barberini Oriental et Neofiti (Vatikanstadt, 1965) 89. 24 Hs. Diyarbakir, Baÿaranlar 41, s. Arthur Vööbus, Handschriftliche Überlieferung der MĔmrĔ-Dichtung des Ja’qob von Serug, III (CSCO 421; Löwen, 1980) 49. Eine Abschrift davon ist die Hs. Damaskus Orth. 9/15, in deren Beschreibung sich jedoch kein Hinweis auf das Barʛaumň-Kloster findet. 25 Frédéric Macler, Rapport sur une mission scientifique en Belgique, Hollande, Danemark et Suède (Paris, 1924) 61, 63. 26 Monuments chrétiens, 193. 27 Rabban Simeon, Rabban Johannes, Rabban Barʛaumć, another Rabban Barʛaumć, Rabban Theodoros, Rabban ‘Abdallah and Rabban Pilatos. 23

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Barʛaumň (l-Mňr Barʜaumň) und Rabban YŠ’annĪs” zu beten. Da er anscheinend alle Mönche aufzählt, waren die beiden letztgenannten wohl die einzigen Insassen des Barʛaumň-Klosters. [10]

e. Etwa zwei Jahre später verkaufte der Priestermönch SlĪbň eine von ihm kopierte andere Handschrift mit dem Marienleben (Aleppo Orth. 120) an den Priestermönch Abʘai, Sohn des MaqdisĪ (Jerusalempilgers) Badrćn, aus Gargar. Der sprachlich nicht einwandfreie Kolophon fährt fort: ‘tktb l-ktb’ hn’ dyr’ d-mry d-mrn mry Brʜwm’ qlyt’ Ȩly’ Ȩl mȨrt’ rb’ Ȩl qbrh d-mry Brʜwm’ Ȩl k’p’. slw. b-(š)nt ‚lp wtmn’ m’’ w-tmnyn w-tryn d-ywny’ Ȩl mȨrt’ d-mry Brʜwm’ Ȩl k’p’. Gemeint ist wohl: “Geschrieben wurde dieses Buch im (?) Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň, in der oberen Zelle bei (über?) der großen Höhle bei (über?) dem Grab des Mňr Barʛaumň auf dem Felsen. Betet! [Weiter quer am Rand:] Im Jahr 1882 A. Gr. [1570/1 A. D.] bei (über?) der Höhle des Mňr Barʛaumň auf dem Felsen.” Leider wissen wir nicht genau, wo sich das Grab des Namenspatrons, des berühmten Mönches Barʛaumň aus dem 5. Jh. befindet. Begraben wurde er nach der syrischen Vita offenbar in seinem Kloster. 28 Im Barʛaumň-Kloster auf dem Berg verehrte man später nur eine Reliquie, nämlich die rechte Hand. Honigmann nimmt an, daß sich das Kloster, in dem der Heilige lebte, zwar in der näheren Umgebung, aber am Fuße des Berges befand. 29 In der Vita heißt es nämlich: “Il demeurait l’hiver dans la caverne et l’été ... il allait avec ses disciples sur une montagne eloignée d’environ 25 milles de toute habitation ...” 30 In der Vita wird auch berichtet, daß sich das alte Kloster in einer Höhle befand, die von einem überhängenden Felsen gebildet wurde. 31 Möglicherweise wohnte also der Kopist der Hs. Aleppo 120, der ebenfalls von einer Höhle und einem Felsen spricht, nicht im späteren Kloster auf dem Berg, sondern beim ursprünglichen Kloster, vielleicht als Einsiedler. Offenbar war damals die Lage des Grabes noch bekannt. Es fällt allerdings auf, daß sonst — etwa in der Chronik Michaels des 28 François Nau, “Résumé des monographies syriaques: Barsauma...,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 18 (1913): 270–6, 379–89; 19 (1914): 113–34, 278–89 (hier: Band 19, 284–6). 29 Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 25. 30 Nau, “Résumé des monographies syriaques,” 18 (1913): 380. Vgl. auch Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 24. 31 Arthur Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient, volume 2 (Leuven, 1960) 199f.

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Syrers — davon keine Rede ist. Eine Ausnahme macht allenfalls die bis zum Jahre 1234 reichende Chronik, wonach Michael auf der Synode von 1193 im Barʛaumň-Kloster eine Ansprache hielt und am Schluß die Formulierung verwendete “... durch die Gebete der Muttergottes und des heiligen Mňr Barʛaumň, vor dessen Reliquien (Grab?) wir versammelt sind (da-qdňm škĪnteh etkanašnan).” 32 Wahrscheinlich galten sowohl die Höhle des Heiligen wie das Kloster auf dem Berg als Barʛaumň-Kloster. Daß es zwei Örtlichkeiten dicht beieinander gab, die als Kloster des Barʛaumň bezeichnet wurden, ist gut möglich. Das mittelalterliche Kloster lag zweifellos auf einem hohen Berg und war wie eine Festung gebaut. Michael der Syrer berichtet über die Plünderung des Klosters durch Josselin im Jahre 1148 A. D. und dessen Brief an den Emir von Melitene, in dem es heißt: “Ich aber habe das Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň eingenommen, das eine Festung ist, die höher ist als viele, wie ein Adler über den Vögeln.” 33 Bei seiner ausführlichen Schilderung des Baus der Wasserleitung für das Kloster erwähnt er die Skepsis der Mönche, “die nicht glaubten, daß man jemals eine Leitung auf dem Gipfel eines Berges wie diesem errichten könne, der voller Steine und Felsen ist.” 34 1066 wurden einige armenische Räuber die Felsen “herabgestürzt” (šdau b-kĪfň); ihre Spießgesellen waren “unten” (l-taʚt) geblieben. 35 In der Regel wird für den Weg ins Kloster der Ausdruck “hinaufsteigen” (sleq) verwendet. In der bis zum Jahr 1234 A. D. reichenden Chronik finden sich aber auch Hinweise auf ein Barʛaumň-Kloster am Fuß eines Berges, offenbar ganz in der Nähe: 1163 war der Winter hart und wegen der Menge des Schnees stieg der Fluß so stark an, daß die Mühle des Klosters überschwemmt wurde; 36 dieser Fluß kann wohl nur der Kahta Çay

32 Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 1234 pertinens, II (= CSCO 82, 354) 317 (Text) bzw. 237 (Übersetzung: “devant le tombeau duquel nous sommes réunis”). Michael selbst berichtet über die Synode in seiner Chronik nur ganz kurz (Chabot, Chronique de Michel, III 387). 33 Chabot, Chronique de Michel, III 287a (IV 644). 34 Ebd., 322. 35 Ebd., 163f. (IV). 36 Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 1234 pertinens, II, 159 (text), 120 (Übersetzung).

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weit unterhalb des Klosters auf dem Berg gewesen sein. 37 Im Februar 1206 verwüstete ein Brand die Gebäude des Klosters, ein Jahr später zerstörte ein Erdbeben die neuaufgebauten Bauwerke. Im Winter 1207/8 gab es dann starken Regen, der “zu einem Strom und einem großen Sturzbach wurde, und er stieß mit Heftigkeit gegen das Kloster und zerstörte alles, was er vorfand.” 38 Es ist nicht leicht vorstellbar, wie ein Sturzbach auf der Spitze eines Berges solche Schäden verursacht haben sollte, auch wenn das Kloster auf einem Sattel 60 Meter unterhalb des Gipfels lag. 39 1207 starb Patriarch Athanasios im Barʛaumň-Kloster und wurde “in der alten unteren Kirche” (b-Ȩidtň taʚtňytň ȨatĪqtň) bestattet. 40 Da im Kloster auf dem Berg nur die “Neue Kirche” den Brand von 1183 überstanden hatte, müssen wir die “alte Kirche” vermutlich anderswo suchen. Da sie als “die untere” bezeichnet wird, stand sie vielleicht am Fuß des Berges, im alten Kloster des Barʛaumň. Möglicherweise bezieht sich auch die Erneuerung der “Wasserquelle des Klosters” (Ȩainň d-mayň ... d-Ȩumrň), die Michael der Syrer 1173 A. D. vornahm, 41 auf ein tiefer gelegenes Kloster, weil — wie Hellenkemper schreibt — “diese Nachricht ... nicht ganz verständlich [ist], denn sie setzt eine natürliche Quelle im Felsgrat voraus, was nach den heutigen topographischen Bedingungen [des Klosters auf dem Berg] wenig wahrscheinlich erscheint.” 42 Genauere Feststellungen lassen sich wohl nur an Ort und Stelle und durch Ausgrabungen treffen. Die Höhle, die auf das alte Kloster des Barʛaumň hinweist, wird noch in Handschriften aus den Jahren 1599 und 1622 erwähnt (s. unten [21] und [22]). Bei allen Belegen wäre also zu bedenken, Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 39; Hellenkemper, Burgen der Kreuzritterzeit, 99; Thierry, Monuments chrétiens, 192. Natürlich könnte die Wassermühle auch getrennt vom Kloster unten am Fluß gelegen haben. 38 Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi 1234 pertinens, II 346 (Text), 257f. (Übersetzung). 39 So Humann-Puchstein, Reisen in Kleinasien, 206 (abgedruckt bei Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 3f.; Thierry, Monuments chrétiens, 193. 40 Ebenda 349 (Text), 260 (Übersetzung). In der Chronik des Barhebraeus ist nicht vermerkt, wo der Patriarch bestattet wurde, s. Abbeloos-Lamy, Chronicon, I 615 (wo die Jahreszahl fälschlich mit “Chr. 1107” statt 1207 angegeben ist. 41 Chabot, Chronique de Michel, III 350 (IV 703). 42 Burgen der Kreuzritterzeit, 101. 37

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ob wirklich das Kloster auf dem Berg gemeint ist. Für den Aufstieg vom unten gelegenen Dorf Peres zum Kloster auf dem Berg benötigte Thierry übrigens eine Stunde. 43 [11]

f. 1574 A. D. beendete ein unbekannter Schreiber die Hs. Istanbul, Mart Maryam 7. Die Handschrift gehörte früher zur Sammlung des Fehim Bei in Istanbul. Aus dieser Zeit stammt die genaueste Beschreibung, in der es am Schluß heißt: “Beendet am 17. des Monats August im Jahre 1885 A. Gr. im berühmten Kloster (b-Ȩumrň ʞabĪbň) des Mňr Barʛaumň.” 44 Vööbus kannte die Handschrift ebenfalls und gab an einer Stelle an, sie sei “geschrieben im Kloster von Mćr Barsaumć in Melitene.” 45 Wenn überhaupt, wird in der Handschrift allenfalls etwas stehen wie “im Gebiet von Melitene;” wahrscheinlich jedoch stammt die (unzutreffende) Ergänzung von Vööbus.

[12]

g. Etwa zweieinhalb Jahre später entstand die Hs. Scharfeh 5/3, ein BĔt Gazň. Laut einem Vermerk wurde ein Teil von einem Rabban Johannes im Dezember des Jahres 1888 A. Gr. beendet, also 1576 A. D.; “der Anfang aber dieses Buches war im Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň und seine Beendigung im Kloster des AbŠ ğćlib.” Nach einem zweiten Vermerk wurde ein weiterer Teil abgeschlossen im Jahre 1889 A. Gr. (1578/79 A. D.) durch YćnĪs (= Johannes), Sohn des Jerusalempilgers (maqdšňyň) Mardiros, Sohn des Jerusalempilgers Barʛaumň aus dem Dorf Wank. 46 Der Name Mardiros (das ist die westarmenische Aussprache von Martyrios) spricht für armenische Abstammung. Die Hs. Oxford Marsh 706 (= Syr. 15) bestätigt das für den Schreiber ausdrücklich (bar Monuments chrétiens, 192, Fußnote 27. Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts, 7–9. 45 So Arthur Vööbus, Syrische Kanonessammlungen. Ein Beitrag zur Quellenkunde. I. Westsyrische Originalurkunden (Löwen, 1970) (= CSCO 307, 317) 236. In seinem Aufsatz “Die Entdeckung einer neuen Schrift des MňšĔ bar KĔphć über das Priestertum” (in: Ostkirchliche Studien 23 [1974]: 324–7) verweist er auf S. 325 nur auf “eine kleine Notiz am Ende, wonach die Handschrift im Monat ’Ćb im Jahre 1885 A. Gr., d. h. im August 1574 n. Chr. fertiggestellt wurde. Als Ort ihrer Herstellung wird das Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň genannt.” Das entspricht der Angabe bei Dolabani. 46 Isaac Armalet, Catalogue des manuscrits de Charfet [arabisch] Jounieh 1936, 92f. 43 44

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maqdšňyň Barʜaumň armnňyň). 47 Bei der Datierung wird neben dem Patriarchen, dem Maphrian und dem Metropoliten von Jerusalem der heimische Bischof von Gargar genannt. [13]

h. Der nächste Beleg ist die Hs. Leningrad 13, ein Tetraevangelium. Sie wurde beendet “am 9. September 1889 A. Gr. [= 1578 A. D.] ...; geschrieben wurde sie im heiligen Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň ...” Bei der Datierung werden dieselben kirchlichen Würdenträger genannt. Der Schreiber, der Priestermönch IwannĪs, bittet dann um ein Gebet für “Rabban ʗananyć, den Abt des Klosters des Mňr Barʛaumň, der mein Meister und mein Lehrer ist.” Der Kopist stammt eigentlich nicht aus dem BarʛaumňKloster, denn am Anfang des Lukasevangeliums bezeichnet er sich als “Yň’annĪs, Mönch aus dem Kloster der Muttergottes Maria und des seligen Mňr Zakai, das auf dem nördlichen Berg oberhalb des gesegneten Kastra Wank, bekannt als Kloster des AbŠ ğćlib, und (oberhalb von) Tabsiyas ist, im Gebiet von Gargar.” 48 Der Wechsel eines Mönches von einem Kloster zum anderen war nicht unüblich. Trotz der unterschiedlichen Schreibung des Namens Johannes dürfte der Kopist der beiden Teile der Hs. Scharfeh 5/3 und derjenige der Hs. Leningrad 13 also identisch sein. ʗananyć und sein Schüler Johannes sind sicherlich dieselben Mönche, die schon 1568/9 nach der Hs. Aleppo Orth. 116 (s. oben d) dort wohnten. Da der Schreiber der Handschrift Aleppo Orth 116 zum Gebet für die Mönche von Mňr Abʘai und Mňr Barʛaumň auffordert (aber nicht für die von AbŠ ğćlib), hat es offenbar engere Beziehungen zwischen diesen beiden Klöstern gegeben. Vielleicht wurde das Barʛaumň-Kloster damals von Mňr Abʘai aus wieder besiedelt. Ob 1578 mehr als zwei Mönche dort lebten, wissen wir nicht.

Robert Payne Smith, Catalogi codicum manuscriptorum bibliotheca Bodleianae, pars sexta, codices syriacos, carshunicos, Mendaeos complectens (Oxford, 1864) 56–8. Vgl. auch Baraum, Histoire, 460. 48 Beschreibung der Handschrift: I. W. Pigulewskaja, Katalog sirijskich rukopisej Leningrada (Moskau/Leningrad, 1960. = Palestinskij Sbornik 69) 45–8. 47

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[14]

i. Aus derselben Zeit stammt die Handschrift Dublin 1503. Sie wurde 1578 A. D. ebenfalls von Johannes, Sohn des Mardiros, Sohn des (Bar)ʛaumň, im Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň kopiert. 49

[15]

j. Nach der in der Hs. Oxford Hunt. 444 (= Syr. 68) enthaltenen Ordinationsliste wurden “am Gedächtnistag der Apostel des Jahres 1891 A. Gr.” (1580 A. D.) Michael und GĪwargĪs zu Diakonen “für das Kloster des heiligen Mňr Barʛaumň” geweiht (fol. 2b). Daß es Mönche waren, läßt sich nicht sicher sagen, ist aber wahrscheinlich. Bei Michael wird es sich um den späteren Bischof Gregorios Michael von Gargar handeln, der zumindest zeitweilig im Barʛaumň-Kloster residierte (s. unten p und q), oder um den gleichnamigen Abt (s. unten q). Am 5. Dezember 1895 A. G. (1583 A. D.) erhielt der Mönch Toros (Theodoros) — der Namensform nach armenischer Abkunft — die Weihe zum Priester “für das Kloster des Barʛaumň” (fol. 3b). 50 Die Zahl der Mönche scheint also angestiegen zu sein.

[16]

k. 1583 besuchte der päpstliche Legat Leonardo Abel das Gebiet von Gargar, um mit dem syrisch-orthodoxen Patriarchen im Kloster des Mňr Abʘai zusammenzutreffen. In seiner “Relazione” über seine Mission an Papst Sixtus V. erwähnt er daneben die Orte Gargar und ȨUrbĪš. In der Aufzählung der Bischöfe kommt ein “Anania Vescovo di Santo Barsome” 51 vor, womit unser Kloster und der in der Hs. Leningrad 13 genannte frühere Abt dieses Namens (s. oben [9] und [13]); gemeint sein dürften; dieser ʗananyć wurde vom Patriarchen DawŠdšćh (1576–

49 T. K. Abbott, Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin (Dublin, 1900) 403 (“in the convent of Mćr Bar-Sammć”). 50 Er kann nicht mit dem Besteller der Hs. Oxford Marsh 706 (= Syr. 15) namens Theodoros identisch sein, weil dieser 1578 bereits Priester war. 51 Relazione Di quanto ha trattato il Vescovo di Sidonia nella sua missione in Oriente data alla Santità di N. Signore Sisto V a XIX Aprile MCLXXXVII, in: J. D. Mansi, Stephani Baluzii Tutelensis Miscellanea novo ordine digesta et ... aucta, Band 4 (Lucca, 1776) 150–8 (hier: 153); AĠnćʜius AnʜŠn ʗćyik, cAllćqćt kanĪsat as-suryćn al-yacćqiba mac al-kursĪ ar-rasŠlĪ (Beirut, 1985) 129–42 (hier: 139). Unrichtig Adolphe d’Avril (Hrsg.), “Relation de l’évêque de Sidon,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 3 (1898): 200–16; 215: “Ananias, évêque de Sainte-Bertonie.”

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1581) zum Bischof von Gargar geweiht, 52 residierte aber — wie üblich — weiter in einem Kloster. Honigmann ging offenbar davon aus, daß das berühmte Kloster nicht wieder bewohnt war und vermutete zu Unrecht, daß Abel ein anderes meinte: “Il s’agit probablement du couvent du saint près de Hašraï, BegadšĪ et Tell Qobab” bei KephartŠtć (südwestlich von Mardin). 53 Zum einen spricht die Reihenfolge der Bischofssitze in der Liste (Maipherqaʜ — Mňr Abʘai 54 — Barʛaumň-Kloster — HarpŠt) für das Kloster in unserem Gebiet, zum anderen paßt der Name des Bischofs zu den sonstigen Nachrichten aus dieser Zeit. ʗananyć wird nämlich — zusätzlich mit seinem Amtsnamen Athanasios — für die Jahre 1587 bis 1594 in weiteren Handschriften erwähnt (s. etwa oben [13], unten [17] und [18]). [17]

l. Am 13. Dezember 1587 A. D. (1899 A. Gr.) stellte der Priestermönch Sňhdň, Sohn des Maqdis(Ī) Ohannes (’whns) aus dem Gebiet von Gargar einen Liturgiekommentar, die Hs. Mardin Orth. 121, fertig, und zwar zur Zeit des Patriarchen DawŠdšćh, des Maphrians Basileios Pilatos und “unseres Bischofs Mňr Athanasios ʗananyć.” 55 Wegen der armenischen Form des Vatersnamens ist auch bei ihm armenische Abstammung wahrscheinlich. Am Schluß des in nicht ganz fehlerfreiem Syrisch verfaßten Kolophons heißt es: ktbt hn’ ktb’ dyr’ bryk’ d-mry Brʜwm’ ʞwr’ d-Psk’ lwqbl ʞwr’ d-qryr “Ich habe dieses Buch geschrieben (im?) gesegneten Kloster unseres Herrn Mňr Barʛaumň (auf?) dem Berg PSK’ gegenüber dem Berg von QarĪr. 56 ” 57

52 Ms. Cambridge Dd. 81, s. William Wright and Stanley Arthur Cook, A Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge, vol. II (Cambridge, 1901) 985. 53 Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 180, Fußnote 7. 54 Beim Kloster des Mňr Abʘai gibt Abel keinen Namen eines Bischofs an; wahrscheinlich gab es dort damals keinen, weil ja der Metropolit von Gargar im Barʛaumň-Kloster residierte. 55 Bisher nicht katalogisiert. 56 Die Namen der Berge kommen auch in der Hs. HarpŠt 34 von 1622 vor (s. unten q); weitere Belege dafür kenne ich nicht. 57 Sňhdň kopierte auch die Hss. Oxford Marsh 528 (= Syr. 199) (1594) und Damaskus Orth. 5/9 (1600), offenbar jedoch ohne Hinweis auf das Barʛaumň-Kloster. Diese beiden Daten gibt Barsaum, Histoire, 495, Nr. 255, an.

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[18]

m. Am 18. Juli 1899 A. Gr. (= 1588 A. D.) beendete der uns schon bekannte Johannes, Sohn des Mardiros, die Hs. Aleppo Orth. 4, 58 ein Evangeliar, zur Zeit des Patriarchen Ignatios DawŠdšćh, des Maphrians Basileios Pilatos und des Bischofs Athanasios von Gargar. Die Handschrift entstand auf Veranlassung der Gläubigen des Dorfes Tabsiyas im Gebiet von Gargar, in der Nachbarschaft des Kloster des Mňr Zakai, in dem das Buch geschrieben wurde, des Klosters des AbŠ ğćlib, nämlich Kastra Wank, des Klosters des Mňr Barʛaumň, des Hauptes der Asketen (rĪšň d-abĪlĔ ), und des Klosters des Mňr Abʘai. 59

[19]

n. Da der frühere Abt ʗananyć Bischof geworden war (s. oben k), wurde offenbar ein neuer ernannt. Barsaum gibt für 1590 den Mönch Barʛaumň, Sohn des AstrazadŠr aus Gargar als Abt des Barʛaumň-Klosters an, 60 dem Vatersnamen (armenisch Astuacatur = Theodatus) nach ebenfalls Armenier; ich kann ihn nicht belegen. An anderer Stelle nennt Barsaum allerdings für 1590 Johannes aus Wank als Abt des Barʛaumň-Klosters. 61 Das wird eher stimmen, denn bei ihm dürfte es sich um den uns schon bekannten Johannes, Sohn des Mardiros, handeln, der sich vorher zeitweise im Barʛaumň-Kloster aufgehalten hatte, Schüler des früheren Abtes ʗananyć war (s. oben h) und dann um 1595 Bischof wurde (s. unten [20]).

[20]

o. 1594 bezeichnet Johannes, Sohn des Mardiros, in der Hs. Scharfeh Patr. 277 die Lage des Zakai-Klosters wie folgt: “im Gebiet von Gargar, auf dem Berg des Klosters des Mňr Barʛaum.” 62 Wir kennen noch eine Reihe weiterer Handschriften, die auf ihn zurückgehen, aber nicht Bezug auf das BarʛaumňKloster nehmen. In dem Tetraevangelium Oxford Poc. 1 (= Syr. 31), geschrieben 1594/5 im Kloster des Mňr Zakai, nennt er zunächst seinen Namen WćnĪs (= Johannes) bar Mardiros, Bisher nicht katalogisiert. Nach Barsaum, Histoire 461 soll die Handschrift kurze geschichtliche Nachrichten über die Klöster von Gargar enthalten. 60 Histoire, 494 (No. 251). 61 Barsaum, Histoire, 460, gibt als Datum für die Weihe zum Metropoliten an: “um 1599.” 62 Sony, Catalogue ... de Charfet, 72f. (Nr. 223). Die Angabe “Berg des Mňr Barʛaumň” (ʞŠrň d-Mňr B.) findet sich auch in der Chronik Michaels des Syrers (Chabot, Chronique de Michel, III 163a, 290 = IV 574, 647). 58 59

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erscheint in der Handschrift später aber als (Metropolit) “Gregorios (Johannes) von Kappadokien.” 63 Er ist also nach 1594/5 A. D. Bischof geworden. 64 [21]

p. Die Hs. Istanbul Meryam Ana 49/46 (aus dem Besitz von Thomas Baÿaranlar in Diyarbakir) enthält eine Sammlung von Heiligenviten. Nach der Geschichte des Barʛaumň findet sich ein Vermerk vom 13. Februar 1599 A. D. (1810 A. Gr.), in dem der Schreiber Bischof Gregorios (Michael) von Gargar angibt, er habe das Buch geschrieben “in der Muttergotteskirche des gesegneten Kastra Wank, das bekannt ist als Kloster des AbŠ ğćlib ... in der Nähe des Klosters der Muttergottes Maria und des heiligen ... Mňr Zakai und der übrigen Klöster, die in unserer Zeit entleert sind von Menschen und auch zerstört, und ferner in der Nähe des Klosters und der Höhle des heiligen Mňr Barʛaumň.” 65 Die Höhle, die auch im nächsten Beleg erscheint, läßt wieder an das alte Kloster aus dem 5. Jh. denken.

[22]

q. 1622 A. D. (1933 A. Gr.) schrieb der Priestermönch Barʛaum, Sohn des MWSS (wohl MowsĔs, die armenische Form des Namens Mose) einen ŠʘĪmň für die Winterzeit (olim Hs. HarpŠt 39), 66 zur Zeit “... unseres Metropoliten von Gargar, Mňr Michael, im Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň.” Der Kopist schrieb “in einer Höhle im Berg PSK’, gegenüber dem Berg QarĪrň, im Gebiet von Kaktć 67 in der Gegend von Melitene, im nördlichen Berg.” Die Namen der Berge sind uns schon in der Hs. von 1587 (oben l). begegnet. Der Kopist gedenkt des Abtes Michael und des Mönches Isaak, eines “würdigen Greises.” Da er den Abt als “Rabban” kennzeichnet, kann dieser kaum mit dem zuvor genannten “Bischof” Michael von Gargar “im Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň”

63 Payne Smith, Catalogi, 94–6. Nach dem syrischen Text im Katalog wurde die Handschrift 1906 (’ʜw) A. Gr., d. h. 1594/5 A. D. geschrieben, was zu den sonstigen Daten für den Schreiber paßt. Die Übersetzung “anno Graecorum 1900 (A. D. 1695)” ist jedenfalls falsch. 64 Barsaum, Histoire, 460, gibt als Datum für die Weihe zum Metropoliten an: “um 1599.” 65 Die Handschrift ist nicht katalogisiert. Die Angaben verdanke ich Andrew Palmer. 66 Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts, 71f. 67 Vgl. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 38f., 82.

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identisch sein. 68 Einer von beiden ist wohl der Michael, der 1580 zum Diakon für das Kloster geweiht worden war (s. oben [15]). Bei dem Bischof Michael handelt es sich sicherlich um Michael, Sohn des Barʛaumň aus ȨUrbĪš, der mehrere Handschriften kopierte, unter anderen 1588 den erhaltenen Archetypus der Chronik Michaels des Syrers. 69 Ob diese Abschrift im Barʛaumň-Kloster erfolgte, also am Entstehungsort der Chronik, wissen wir nicht, weil sich nicht feststellen läßt, ob Michael damals dort lebte. 70 Für 1580 und 1594 ist sein Aufenthalt im Kloster des Mňr Abʘai bezeugt. Leider gibt er in seinen Kolophonen selten den Ort an. Seine Abschrift der Chronik befand sich Mitte des 18. Jh. im Kloster des Mňr Abʘai und diente dem Mönch ʗannć ibn Ȩĩsć aus ʙadad als Vorlage für seine arabische Übersetzung. 71 Um 1800 war sie vorübergehend in Dair az-ZaȨfarćn. 72 Dann gelangte sie zu einem unbekannten Zeitpunkt von Mňr Abʘai nach Edessa, wo sie sich bis zur Auswanderung der dortigen syrischen Bevölkerung nach Aleppo im Jahre 1924 aufbewahrt wurde. Heute befindet sie sich in Aleppo. Michael war ab ungefähr 1600 Metropolit von Gargar mit dem Amtsnamen Gregorios. Mehr Mönche als die Genannten wird das Kloster damals kaum gehabt haben. [23]

r. Nach der Ordinationsliste der Hs. Paris Syr. 395 nahm 1623/4 (?) Kyrillos Johannes aus Gargar, Metropolit von Hiʛn Ziyćd (d. h. HarpŠt), eine Weihe für das Barʛaumň-Kloster vor. 73

68 Barsaum, Histoire, 494 (Nr. 251) kennt einen “Rabbćn MĪhć ibn Naüüćr Daulatšćh al-WankĪ al-KarkarĪ (1589–1606).” 69 J.-B. Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, I (Paris, 1899) xxxvi f. 70 Die Angabe von Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 82, Fußnote 1, die Handschrift sei in ȨUrbĪš geschrieben, läßt sich der von ihm zitierten Stelle nicht entnehmen. Der Schreiber stammte nur aus ȨUrbĪš. 71 Athanasius Afram Baraum, Nubda min ta’rih al-’abrašiyyćt assuryćniyya, in: al-Maüallat al-baʞriyarkĪya 7 (1940): 187. Vgl. auch Georg Graf, Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, Band 2 (Vatikanstadt, 1947) 267. 72 Chabot, Chronique de Michel, I, xxxviii. 73 Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet, Manuscrits syriaques de la Bibliothèque nationale de France ... (Paris, 1997) 115, die leider die Weihen nicht einzeln aufführt, so daß nicht sicher ist, wann die Weihe für das BarʛaumňKloster (fol. 13) stattfand. Die Hs. war früher in Istanbul, s. Dolabani,

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[24]

s. 1623/4 (1935 A. Gr.) weiht vermutlich derselbe Bischof Kyrillos (Johannes) jemanden für das Barʛaumň-Kloster, wie der Weiheliste der Handschrift Scharfeh 111 zu entnehmen ist. 74

[25]

t. Die Ordinationsliste der Hs. Damaskus, Syrisch-orthodoxes Patriarchat 5/16 enthält die Weiheeinträge des für dieses Gebiet zuständigen Metropoliten Kyrillos Ephräm von Gargar 75 für die Jahre 1638 bis 1655. Die Weihen finden — soweit angegeben — im Zakai-Kloster (1638), in Wank/AbŠ ğćlib (1645, 1654), im Barʛaumň-Kloster “im gesegneten Gebiet von Kaktć” (1645, 1647), im Abʘai-Kloster (1647, 1654), in ȨUrbĪš (1654) und Karmň dDakyň (1655) statt. 1645 und 1647 wird jeweils ein Barʛaumň im Barʛaumň-Kloster (und wohl für das Kloster) zum Diakon geweiht.

[26]

u. Von 1658 bis 1661 entstand in diesem Gebiet auch die Hs. Mardin Orth. 326, die den Nomokanon des Barhebraeus und einige weitere Rechtstexte enthält. 76 In ihr finden sich mehrere aufschlußreiche Schreibervermerke. Kopist war der Metropolit Kyrillos Ephräm von Gargar, der uns im vorigen Abschnitt schon begegnet ist. Er taucht auch in Schreibervermerken weiterer Handschriften auf. Sein Vater hieß ‚Ohannes, was wieder auf armenische Abstammung deutet. Geboren ist er kurz nach 1580, weil er 1659 in der Hs. Harvard Syr. 54 angibt, er sei 77 Jahre alt. 77 Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts, 10–3 (mit Weiheliste, in der aber gerade der Eintrag für das Barʛaumň-Kloster fehlt). 74 Sony, Catalogue ... de Charfet, 285b (No. 780). Leider ist im Katalog auch diese Liste zu pauschal aufgenommen. 75 Er fehlt bei Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus Novus, 200. 76 S. Arthur Vööbus, An Unknown Recension of the Syro-Roman Lawbook (Stockholm, 1977) 7f (as No. 316), und mehr oder weniger gleich in zahlreichen weiteren Veröffentlichungen. Ein Katalog der Handschriften juristischen Inhalts von Hubert Kaufhold und Walter Selb ist in Vorbereitung. 77 D. S. Margoliouth, “The Syro-Armenian Dialect,” The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1898): 839–61 (insbesondere: 840, 846); M. H. GoshenGottstein, Syriac Manuscripts in the Harvard College Library. A Catalogue (Missoula, 1979) 59f. Vgl. auch Barsaum, Histoire, 34 (Handschrift in Boston). Entgegen der Annahme von Vincenzo Poggi und Mar Grigorios, “ʗannć IbrćhĪm, Il commento al Trisagio di Giovanni Bar QŠrsŠs,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 52 (1986): 202–10 (hier: 207) kann Ephräm nicht erst 1612 geboren sein. Die Angabe beruht auf Barsaum, Histoire, 495, der für Ephräm die Jahreszahlen 1612–75 angibt, damit nach meinen

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1622 schrieb er den größten Teil der Hs. Vat. Syr. 159, die verschiedene theologische Schriften enthält; einen weiteren Teil davon kopierte er 1629 bereits als Metropolit von Hattćkć, 78 einem Bischofssitz in der Nähe von Maipherqaʜ. 79 1638 wechselte er auf Wunsch des Patriarchen von Hattćkć auf den Sitz von Gargar über; der in ȨUrbĪš (Mňr Abʘai) residierende Bischof (Gregorios) Pilatos ging später nach Edessa. 80 Trotz seines Wechsels nach Gargar bezeichnet Ephräm in einer 1950 A. Gr. (1638/39 A. Gr.) beendeten Handschrift (Scharfeh Patr. 221) Pilatos noch als Ortsbischof: “zur Zeit ... des Mňr Gregorios Pilatos aus Kastra Ȩ UrbĪš, des Metropoliten von Gargar und Mňr Abʘai.” 81 Wie die Lage kirchenrechtlich war, wird nicht klar. Offenbar für seine Amtstätigkeit als Bischof fertigte er im Kloster des Mňr Zakai das Pontificale Damaskus Orth. 5/16 an, das er 1639 A. D. (1950 A. Gr.) beendete, 82 aber vorher begonnen haben muß, weil sich bereits die oben unter [25]). erwähnten Weiheeinträge ab 1638 darin befinden. Die letzte mir bekannte Erfahrungen aber nicht unbedingt die Lebensdaten meint, sondern den ersten und letzten Beleg, den er für die betreffende Person kennt. 78 St. E. und J. S. Assemani, Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae codicum manuscriptorum catalogus, partis primae tomus tertius (Rom, 1759) 307–19, insbesondere 312f., 316. Vgl. auch Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis, II, 237f. und Poggi und Mar Grigorios, “ʗannć IbrćhĪm, Il commento,” 207 (deren Angabe, er habe die Handschrift zwischen 1628 und 1640 kopiert, muß ein Versehen sein; der spätere Teil wurde im September 1940. A. Gr., also 1629 A. D. beendet). 79 Zu Hattćkć vgl. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 166. 80 Hs. HarpŠt Nr. 39, s. Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in Syrian churches and Monasteries, 73. Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus Novus, 209 führt ihn unter den Bischöfen von Hattćkć auf, ohne nähere Daten anzugeben; er vermerkt nur, offenbar in Anschluß an die Literaturgeschichte von Patriarch Barsaum (S. 495, Nr. 263), daß er als Kopist von 1612 bis 1675 bekannt sei. Der Name ist bei Fiey unrichtig angegeben. “Jean” ist nicht sein Bischofsname, sondern der Name des Vaters (Fiey verkennt die armenische Namensform und schreibt “Ahanis”). Barsaum bezeichnet ihn an der angegebenen Stelle nur als Bischof von Hattćkć. 81 Sony, Catalogue ... de Charfet, 339 (No. 856). 82 Yuhanon Dulabani, René Lavenant, Sebastian Brock, Samir Khalil Samir, “Catalogue des manuscrits de la bibliothèque du patriarcat Syrien Orthodoxe à Homs (auj. à Damas),” Parole de l’Orient 19 (1994): 555–661 (here: 577).

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Handschrift aus den Jahren 1658 bis 1661, Mardin Orth. 316, soll uns gleich noch näher beschäftigen. Barsaum vermerkt als letztes Datum 1675. Der Bischof müßte dann über 90 Jahre alt geworden sein. In einem Kolophon von 1660/61 in der Mardiner Handschrift gibt Ephräm an, daß es in dem Jahr im Gebiet von Gargar eine große Hungersnot gegeben habe, so daß der Preis für das Getreide sehr hoch gewesen sei; außerdem sei der Euphrat so gestiegen, daß er beim Kloster des Mar Abʘai die Leitern überflutet habe. Einen weiteren Vermerk, in dem unser Barʛaumň-Kloster vorkommt, beendete er in der Nacht des Pfingstsonntags 1661 in der Marienkirche in Wank, zur Zeit des Patriarchen JešŠ Qamšah, des Maphrians Basileios ȨAbd al-MasĪʘ sowie “des Bischofs von Kappadokien, der im Kloster des Mňr Abʘai wohnt, (nämlich) Mňr Gregorios Barʛaumň aus Wank, und des Timotheos ȨAbd al-ûalĪl, des Metropoliten von Amid, aus Mosul, und eines anderen Bischofs, der im Kloster unseres Herrn Mňr Barʛaumň wohnt, nämlich ȨAbdallćh aus Wank.” Dann fährt er fort: “Gott möge Rechenschaft fordern von diesen Patriarchen am Tage des Gerichts! Im Gebiet von Gargar gibt es drei Bischöfe. Seht ihr denn, o unsere Väter, überhaupt nicht, was geschieht? Wir sehen nicht, daß Gott diese Patriarchen verflucht, die unter uns diese Trennungen verursacht haben.” Er berichtet dann noch, daß er im Kloster des Mňr Zakai von Räubern überfallen und beraubt worden sei, ohne daß ihm jemand geholfen hätte; er überlege, ob er in die Stadt Edessa gehen solle. Ob er dies wahrgemacht hat, wissen wir nicht. 83 Es war damals offenbar eine Zeit innerkirchlicher Wirren. Patriarch YešŠȨ Qamšah war 1652 zum Gegenpatriarchen geweiht worden und wurde erst 1660 nach dem Tod des seit 1639 amtierenden Patriarchen Simon allgemein anerkannt, starb aber schon 1662. Ab 1662 gab es dann den unierten Gegenpatriarchen Andreas Ahiüćn. Auf den im dritten Vermerk erwähnten Bischof von Kappadokien Gregorios Barʛaumň aus Wank kommen wir gleich noch zurück (unten w). Bischof ȨAbdallćh aus Wank (bei Gargar) war wohl derjenige, der 1653 als Rabban ȨAbdallćh al83 Vermutlich sind die Kolophone der Hs. Mardin 316 die “Autobiographie,” von der Patriarch Barsaum, Histoire, 137 (syr. Übersetzung: 188), spricht. Danach Poggi und Mar Grigorios, “ ʗannć IbrćhĪm, Il commento,” 207.

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GargarĪ die Hs Oxford 68 kaufte; mehr wissen wir von ihm nicht. Mit seiner Klage, daß es im Gebiet von Gargar drei Bischöfe gebe, meint Ephräm anscheinend sich selbst im Kloster des Mňr Zakai, Gregorios Barʛaumň im Kloster des Mňr Abʘai und ȨAbdallćh im Barʛaumň-Kloster. Nach dem insoweit etwas distanziert klingenden Vermerk scheint der Bischof im Barʛaumň-Kloster dem Gegenpatriarchen angehangen zu haben. [27]

v. 1675/6 A. D. (1987 A. Gr.) fand eine nicht näher bezeichnete Weihe eines Rabban Barʛaum, also eines Mönchs, für “Mňr Barʛaumň” statt (Weiheliste der Hs. Oxford Hunt. 444 [= Syr. 68], fol. 184a). Die Eintragung wirkt allerdings ziemlich unbeholfen. Da vorher auf fol. 183a Weihen des Jahres 1673/4 für die Muttergotteskirche in Wank verzeichnet sind, ist sicher unser Barʛaumň-Kloster gemeint.

[28]

w. Am 26. August 1987 A. Gr. (1676 A. D.) beendet Rabban Jakob aus der Familie Sabadiar aus Wank die Hs. Scharfeh 32 “im Kloster des Barʛaumň, das Kloster der Stufen genannt wird.” 84 Mit dem “Stufenkloster” ist sonst immer nur das Kloster des Mňr Abʘai gemeint, nicht das des Mňr Barʛaumň. Ob hier ein Versehen des Kopisten oder des Katalogverfassers vorliegt, kann ich nicht feststellen. Der weitere Inhalt des Kolophons sei gleichwohl mitgeteilt, weil er für die damalige traurige Lage bezeichnend ist, die schon Bischof Kyrillos Ephräm beklagte. Das Kloster sei in gutem Zustand gewesen, “aber der Teufel war neidisch und warf Zwietracht unter die Mönche;” sie hätten den Metropoliten (Gregorios) Barʛaumň aus Wank bekämpft, der sei abgereist und habe sich anderswo niedergelassen; einem Aufstand der Kurden hätten sie nicht standgehalten. Diese pessimistisch gestimmte Notiz ist die letzte mir bekannte Erwähnung des Barʛaumň-Klosters. 85 Seine Geschichte ging in diesen Jahren wohl endgültig zuende. Sony, Catalogue ... de Charfet, 75 (No. 229). Nicht hierher gehört die Hs. Scharfeh Patr. 297, ein FanqĪtň. Sie wurde 1722 A. D. (= 2033 A. Gr.) geschrieben “im Kloster des Mňr Theodoros, und ihre Beendigung geschah im Kloster des heiligen Mňr Barʛaumň” (Sony, Catalogue ... de Charfet, 3, Nr. 112). Der Schreiber, der Diakon Joseph IbrćhĪm, stammte aus dem Dorf ʙadad im Bezirk Qćrć in Syrien, so daß man an die Theodorkirche in ʙadad denken muß, auch wenn meines Wissens nicht belegt ist, daß sich dort ein Kloster befand. Jedenfalls ist nicht unser Barʛaumň-Kloster gemeint, wie sich aus einer 84 85

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III [29]

Das Gebiet von Gargar war in den letzten Jahrhunderten sicherlich nicht ohne Bedeutung für die syrisch-orthodoxe Kirche, und seine Geschichte bedürfte einer eingehenderen Untersuchung. Die oben erwähnten Bischöfe Gregorios Johannes, Sohn des Mardiros, 86 und Kyrillos Ephräm von Gargar waren von ihren geistigen Interessen her für ihre Zeit herausragende Erscheinungen. Allerdings ist der allgemeine Niedergang des kirchlichen Lebens offensichtlich. An den Weihelisten läßt sich ablesen, daß es im Bistum Gargar nur noch wenige Gemeinden gab. Wenn George Percy Badger um die Mitte des vorigen Jahrhunderts berichtet, ein syrisch-orthodoxer Metropolit habe ihm erzählt, in der Gegend von Gargar lägen nicht weniger als 60 christliche Dörfer, 87 erscheint das kaum glaubhaft. Jedenfalls gab es offenbar nur in den oben genannten wenigen Ortschaften Kirchen der Syrer. Die Zahl der Mönche in den drei noch bewohnten Klöstern war offenbar nicht groß. Unter ihnen spielte das Barʛaumň-Kloster die geringste Rolle. Ob in den späten Quellen das Kloster auf dem Berg gemeint ist oder das offenbar an dessen Fuß gelegene alte Kloster des heiligen Barʛaumň, ist meist nicht zu entscheiden. Archäologische Untersuchungen könnten vielleicht weiterführen. Im Barʛaumň-Kloster haben nach der Wiederbelebung wohl nur für etwa zweihundert Jahre Mönche gelebt, und es scheint Ende des 17. Jh. endgültig aufgegeben worden zu sein. Die Klöster des Mňr Abʘai und des AbŠ ğalĪb bestanden noch einige Zeit länger. Ungünstig wirkten sich nicht nur die unsichere politische Lage, sondern auch die Streitigkeiten innerhalb der westsyrischen Kirche aus.

weiteren Handschrift desselben Kopisten ergib, nämlich einem unkatalogisierten Evangelienkommentar in der syrisch-orthodoxen Metropolie in Homs, der am 1. 4. 2032 A. Gr. (1721 A. D.) “im Kloster des Mňr Barʛaumň in ʙadad” beendet wurde. Weitere Nachweise für dieses Kloster kenne ich nicht. Es erscheint nicht bei H. al-ȨArab, “ʙadad fi’t-tć’rĪh,” The Patriarchal Journal, Jahrgänge 20–2 (1982–4), in Fortsetzungen. Zu weiteren Barʛaumň-Klöstern vgl. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barʜaumć, 44f. 86 Zu ihm s. auch Macuch, Geschichte der spät- und neusyrischen Literatur, 23. 87 The Nestorians and their Rituals, vol. I (London, 1852) 318.

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LITERATURVERZEICHNIS Abbeloos, Joannes Baptista, und Thomas Josephus Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei chronicon ecclesiasticum, tomus I. Löwen, 1872 Abbott, T. K. Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin. Dublin, 1900. Anonymi auctoris chronicon ad A.C. 1234 pertinens. II. Traduit par Albert Abouna, introduction, notes et index de J. M. Fiey. CSCO, 154. Louvain 1974. Ainsworth, W. F. Travels and Researches in Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, Chaldea and Armenia. London, 1842. al-ȨArab, H. “ʙadad fi’t-tć’rĪh.” The Patriarchal Journal, Jahrgänge 20–2 (1982–4) Armalet, Isaac. Catalogue des manuscrits de Charfet [arabisch]. Jounieh, 1936 Assemani, Stephanus Evodius, und Joseph Simonius. Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae codicum manuscriptorum catalogus, partis primae tomus secundus, Rom, 1758; partis primae tomus tertius, Rom, 1759 Assemani, Joseph Simonius. Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-Vaticana, Band 2. Rom, 1721 d’Avril, Adolphe, Hrsg. “Relation de l’évêque de Sidon.” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien, 3 (1898): 200–16 Badger, George Percy. The Nestorians and their Rituals, vol. I. London, 1852. Barsaum, Ignatios Aphrem. Histoire des sciences et de la littératur syriaque [arabisch], 2. Auflage. Aleppo, 1956 (mehrere Nachdrucke), 509. Syrische Übersetzung von Ph. Y. Dolabani: Ktňbň da-brullĔ bdĪrĔ. QćmišlĪ, 1967 Barsaum, Agnatius Afram. “Nukba min ta’rih al-abrćšiyćt as-suryćnĪya.” al-Maüallat al-baʞriyarkĪya, 7 (1940). Briquel-Chatonnet, Françoise. Manuscrits syriaques de la Bibliothèque nationale de France ... Paris, 1997 Chabot, Jean-Baptiste, Hrsg. Anonymi auctoris chronicon ad A.C. 1234 pertinens, II. Löwen, 1916. ———. Chronique de Michel le Syrien, tome I–IV. Paris, 1899–1900. Dolabani, Yohannan. Die Patriarchen der syrisch-orthodoxen Kirche von Antiochien [syrisch]. Holland [Glane/Losser]. 1990. Dolabany, Filoksinos Yohanna. Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in St. Mark’s Monastery. Ed. by Gregorios Yohanna Ibrahim. Aleppo, 1994; Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in Syriac Churches and Monasteries. Aleppo, 1994. Dolabani, Yuhanna, René Lavenant, Sebastian Brock, Samir Khalil Samir. “Catalogue des manuscrits de la bibliothèque du patriarcat Syrien Orthodoxe à Homs (auj. à Damas).” Parole de l’Orient, 19 (1994): 555–661. Fiex, Jean-Maurice. Pour un Oriens Christianus Novus. Beirut, 1993.

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Goshen-Gottstein, M. H. Syriac Manuscripts in the Harvard College Library. A Catalogue. Missoula, 1979. Graf, Georg. Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, Band 2. Vatikanstadt, 1947. ʗayik, AĠnćʜius AnʜŠn. ȨAllaqćt kanĪsat as-suryćn al-yaȨćqiba maȨ al-kursĪ arrasŠlĪ. Beirut, 1985. Hellenkemper, Hansgerd. Burgen der Kreuzritterzeit in der Grafschaft Edessa und im Königreich Kleinarmenien. Bonn, 1976. Honigmann, Ernest. Le couvent de Barʜaumć et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie. CSCO, 146. Löwen, 1954. Humann, K., O. Puchstein. Reisen in Kleinasien und Syrien. Berlin, 1890. Kawerau, Peter. Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance. Berlin, 1960. van Lantschoot, Arn. Inventaire des manuscrits syriaques des Fonds Vatican (490–631) Barberini Oriental et Neofiti. Vatikanstadt, 1965. Macler, Frédéric. Rapport sur une mission scientifique en Belgique. Hollande, Danemark et Suède, Paris, 1924. Macuch, Rudolf. Geschichte der spät- und neusyrischen Literatur. Berlin/New York, 1976. Mansi, J.D. Stephani Baluzii Tutelensis Miscellanea novo ordine digesta et ... aucta, Band 4. Lucca, 1776. Margoliouth, D.S. “The Syro-Armenian Dialect.” The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1898): 839–61. Mounayer, Joseph. Les synodes syriens Jacobites. Beirut, 1964. Nau, François. “Résumé des monographies syriaques: Barsauma ...” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien, 18 (1913): 270–6, 379–89; 19 (1914): 113–34, 278–89. Pigulewskaja, I. W. Katalog sirijskich rukopisej Leningrada. Moskau/ Leningrad, 1960 (= Palestinskij Sbornik, 69). Poggi, Vincenzo, Mar Grigorios, ʗanna IbrćhĪm, “Il commento al Trisagio di Giovanni Bar QŠrsŠs.” Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 52 (1986): 202–10 Pognon, Henri. Inscriptions sémitiques de la Syrie, de la Mésopotamie et de la région de Mossoul. Paris, 1907. Smith, Robert Payne. Catalogi codicum manuscriptorum bibliotheca Bodleianae, pars sexta, codices syriacos, carshunicos, Mendaeos complectens. Oxford, 1864. Sony, Behnam. Le Catalogue des manuscrits du patriarcat au couvent de Charfet — Liban [arabisch]. Beirut, 1993. Thierry, M. “Monuments chrétiens inédits de Haute-Mésopotamie.” Syria, 70 (1993): 179–204 Vööbus, Arthur. History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient, Band 2. Löwen, 1960.

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Vööbus, Arthur. Handschriftliche Überlieferung der Memre-Dichtung des Ja’qob von Serug, III. CSCO, 421. Löwen, 1980. ———. Syrische Kanonessammlungen. Ein Beitrag zur Quellenkunde. I. Westsyrische Originalurkunden. CSCO, 307, 317. Louvain, 1970. ———. “Die Entdeckung einer neuen Schrift des MňšĔ bar KĔphć über das Priestertum.” Ostkirchliche Studien, 23 (1974): 324–7. ———. An Unknown Recension of the Syro-Roman Lawbook. Stockholm, 1977. Wright, William. Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum, part 1. London, 1870. Wright, William, and Stanley Arthur Cook. A Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge, vol. II. Cambridge, 1901.

PUBLICATIONS AND BOOK REVIEWS M.P. Weitzman, The Syriac Version of the Old Testament, An Introduction (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 56), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. 355 + xiv pp; ISBN 0 521 63288 9 (hardback) LJ50.00 (US$79.95). D.J. LANE, OVERTON COTTAGE, NEW GALLOWAY

[1]

[2]

The late Michael P. Weitzman has given an excellent statement of his own conclusions with regard to the key topics in OT Peshitta studies. His Introduction is not therefore a manual for beginners which summarises consensus positions, but one which argues with detail for the author’s own position. He combines detailed analysis of phrases and words, trenchant criticism of others’ theories, imaginative insight into the mind of a Syriac translator, statistical mapping of manuscript relationships, and a sagacious portrayal of likely circumstances for the version’s origin and early transmission history. Here is a masterly survey of two centuries of OT Peshitta studies, reviewed in the context of late BCE and early CE Jewish and Christian practice and thought, and of statistics-based text analysis. The author has drawn on detailed studies of the Peshitta of individual books, pointed out the flawed arguments which result when particular findings are extrapolated to universal conclusions or commenced with unexamined, if reasonable, presuppositions. The Introduction summarises the present state of Peshitta studies; Chapter 2 discusses the relationship between the extant Hebrew and Syriac texts; Chapter 3 the relationship between the Peshitta and other versions; Chapter 4 the homogeneity of the Peshitta as a version; Chapter 5 the background of the Peshitta; Chapter 6 the establishment of the text. This objective and analytic approach enables Weitzman to give, almost as asides, his responses to the questions which are commonplace in Syriac biblical studies, and to criticise conclusions made on the basis of un-examined literary traditions. But, most importantly, the very large number (some 2,000) of quotations of biblical passages and their Peshitta renderings, from the whole range of the OT, enable him to give solutions which are more reliable than those based on evidence from only one biblical book. 249

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However, Weitzman does take one observation and three working hypotheses as starting points. He rightly points out that the version comes from the Hebrew (Old Testament), and is transmitted solely through the Syriac churches. The hypotheses are: (a) that the version has its origin in a Massoretic text, (b) that the version is homogeneous, translated within a single community (c) the translator has a ‘maximalist’ rather than ‘minimalist’ role, matching demands of logic, clarity and religious belief to fidelity to the Hebrew. His evidence, discussion, and conclusions demonstrate these pre-suppositions and observation to be wellfounded. These starting points enable him to take fullest advantage of his extensive and critical knowledge of material relevant to Judaism at the turn of the era, and of textual cruces and their interpretational resolution in the same period. The reviewer considers that seven questions exercise students of the Peshitta: (a) is the Peshitta dependent on the Massoretic Text, consonantal or vocalised? (b) does it depend upon LXX, either directly or by way of occasional consultation? (c) does it depend on Targum and/or Jewish tradition, whether regarded as text or method? (d) is the version piecemeal, or entire in its construction? (e) when, where, and for whom was it made? (f) does the history of the transmission of the text enable or disable a search for “the original Peshitta”? (g) Is “translation technique” or difference of Vorlage responsible for apparent divergences from MT? Weitzman answers: (a) The version depends on the sense of the MT, usually in its pointed form: there is no evidence supporting later revision towards MT. (b) LXX has been consulted, more in some books than others, to resolve difficulties presented in MT; there is no evidence of later revision for conformity. (c) Resemblances between Peshitta and a Targum or Jewish tradition indicate a tradition of exegesis not a textual dependence. (d) While there is “...an impressive degree of cohesion between the different books in this biblical version...” biblical books were translated broadly in the Hebrew canonical order, within about 50 years: there is evidence of linguistic change and literary borrowing and referring. (e) Early quotations of Peshitta text, comparison of its language with that of Syriac inscriptions, translation of place and personal names: cumulatively these suggest Osrhoene, even Edessa, as place of origin. Most books were translated about 150

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CE, Ezra/Neh 1–2 Chr about 50 years later. It originated in a nonrabbinic Jewish group whose members after Tatian’s mission gradually shifted to Christianity. (f)The present text, the “received text” from the 9th century, as been reliably transmitted for the most part, though the closer proximity to the sense of MT by 5b1 and 9a1 where present shows that inner Syriac corruptions are responsible for variants. (g) Differences between Syriac and Hebrew grammar and syntax, together with the need for clarity and comprehensibility in the target language, explain apparent divergences from MT. The present reviewer is convinced by his conclusions on the role of MT as Vorlage, on LXX as a consultative document, and of Jewish traditions (some found in Targums) as a defining intellectual climate for Peshitta’s exegesis and translation. He would also accept the arguments for a late date and Edessene provenance, and most certainly those for the homogeneity of the Peshitta. But he is not convinced by his arguments concerning a Jewish community whose nature dictated the type of version made. The early history of the Syriac churches (and indeed of non Palestinan Judaism) is more complex than Weitzman allows: the name of Bardaisan as well as Tatian, the presence of such groups as Ebionites in textual and interpretational tradition, the complexities of the St Thomas and Abgar traditions are pointers to this. Weitzman has most valuably pointed the way to further Peshitta debate including political, social, commercial and sectarian elements on and beyond the eastern periphery of the Roman empire rather than ended it. Again, the range and kind of variants in the Peshitta tradition makes this reviewer reluctant to put them all down to inner Syriac corruption: in Leviticus at least there are variants which correspond to other and equally valid equivalents of MT readings opaque to Syriac translators. Interpretational influence in the transmission as well as the construction process of the version are not fairly to be classified simply as inner Syriac corruption. Finally, while Weitzman is right to emphasise the role of Timothy the Great in the consolidation of Peshitta text tradition, more weight needs to be given to the textual authority of the Upper Monastery in Mosul, which heavily influenced liturgical and NT as well as Peshitta text. Attention needs to be given to the basis as well as the context for text consolidation.

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The volume is a most excellent bequest to the Peshitta world, for the version is demonstrably a world to inhabit rather than merely a text to study. Dr Weitzman has entered the mind of the translator, who has “to be familiar with biblical Hebrew, to apply that knowledge to the understanding of the text, and to express that understanding in Syriac” (p. 95, see also p. 203) The volume’s production is admirable, and the use of Hebrew and Syriac and Greek founts excellent (with a curious appearance of East Syriac alphabet words on p. 272); footnotes and indices are well prepared. A comprehensive bibliography containing all the footnote references has, regrettably, not been provided. The real regret, however, is that we cannot now continue the discussion with Michael Weitzman in person, as in the past we did with so much pleasure because of the intellectual courtesy and vivacity with which he presented his detailed and wide-ranging knowledge.

PROJECT REPORTS Deir al-Surian (Egypt): New Discoveries of January 2000. Since 1995 a Dutch-Polish-Egyptian team is doing research and conservation work on the wall-paintings of the church of the Holy Virgin in Deir al-Surian (Egypt). Since then a number of paintings and inscriptions have come to light from behind a layer of 18th century plaster. They have given us a new insight into the history of this monastery, its church and its community. In the following two reports Karel Innemée and Lucas Van Rompay give a preliminary account of the fieldwork in January 2000.

I. Wall-Paintings. KAREL C. INNEMÉE, UNIVERSITY OF LEIDEN

1. Introduction. [1]

During the previous campaigns it became evident that the church of the Virgin has been decorated and re-plastered a number of times. Three layers of painted plaster can be distinguished. The first layer of plaster must have been applied soon after the building was completed, in the middle of the seventh century. The oldest painted decorations on it probably date back to the second half of the 7th century. These paintings, as far as they have been found, are of a decorative character, showing geometrical motifs, crosses and peacocks. It seems that this layer was covered, partially with whitewash, partially with lime-sand plaster, before the paintings were completed. A second layer of paintings was begun, probably around the year 700. This layer was decorated with paintings that show a certain iconographical and stylistic coherence, as far as the paintings in the khurus are concerned. The lower part of the walls of the whole church interior was decorated with a dado-zone of 2 meters high, imitating marble inlay work and columns. The figurative paintings were made over this level. The dado and the figurative paintings directly over it in the khurus probably belong to the first half of the 8th century. Subsequently the higher parts of the walls in the khurus and the walls of the nave must have been decorated. Not only paintings, also inscriptions were added in the following centuries. This process must have continued until the 253

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third layer of painted plaster was applied at the beginning of the 13th century. In 1998 and 1999 work was concentrated in the khurus. During the campaign of January 2000 work was resumed on the southern wall of the nave, right of the previously uncovered painting of the Three Old Testament Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. As before, only undecorated 18th century plaster was removed. Initially only the upper part of the wall, over a height of 2 meters, was investigated and consolidated. Here a number of inscriptions on layer 2 and remains of paintings on layer 3 were found. After that, a part of the decorative lower zone of the wall, belonging to layer 2, was uncovered. In the following paragraphs the remains of paintings will be discussed per layer (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1: Western part of the southern wall of the nave with schematic indications of the paintings. 2.1. Paintings on layer 2. 2.1.1. The lower decorative zone (Fig. 2).

[3]

During the last part of the campaign 18th century plaster was removed from a stretch of about three meters on the lower part of the wall. In this area no remains of 13th century plaster were found: the 18th century plaster was directly on top of layer 2. In this area an important part of the lower decorative painting (dado)

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was found. This dado consists of regular panels of painted marbleimitation, between painted columns, supporting an architrave. At intervals of approx. 2 meters there are niches in the wall. Each niche is flanked by two painted columns, while below and between the niches there are panels with painted imitation of inlaid marble. This decoration belongs clearly to the earliest phase of paintings in the church. It is very much similar to the dado in the khurus of the church [cf. Innemée 1999, Fig. 2]. The basic composition is the same, while there is a difference in the way the columns have been decorated. Whereas the columns in the khurus have decoration of diagonal lines, the columns found on the southern wall have a pattern of flowers on their shafts. Doubtlessly the dados in the nave and in the khurus belong to the same period and should date back to the beginning of the 8th century. The painting of the Three Patriarchs was added in a later phase (possibly ca. 1000 A.D), but so far no evidence has been found that on other parts of the southern wall there was any other painting over a level of 2 meters. On the other hand several inscriptions, most of them in Syriac, have been found higher on this wall. 2.1.2. Remains of a painting on the easternmost column.

[6]

During the first season in 1995 a window was opened on the easternmost column in the southern nave (window 26) [cf. Innemée 1999, Fig. 10). This revealed a fragment of a painting belonging to layer 3. This painting was damaged before the 18th century replastering and after removing all of the 18th century plaster from this lacuna, a capital of the column and a part of a painting belonging to layer 2 appeared. On the eastern face of the capital a text in Syriac was found, while on the northern face a Coptic text was found. Underneath fragments of a painting are visible. Unfortunately too little is visible to identify this painting; it just provides us with the evidence that the columns of the church were adorned with paintings prior to the replastering of the early 13th century. 2.2. Paintings on layer 3.

[7]

On the upper part of the southern wall several fragments of paintings belonging to layer 3 have been found. Apart from the paintings in the three half-domes of the church and the painting of

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Fig. 2: Part of the lower decorative zone.

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St. Dioscorus, not more than scant remains of layer 3 had been found so far. So far these are the best preserved remains of this layer. It seems that in most other places the 13th century plaster was removed in the 18th century, before replastering the interior. These newly discovered fragments will be described from left to right. 2.2.1. Three mounted saints and a standing figure (Fig. 3).

[8]

Directly right of the painting of the Three Patriarchs there is a fragment in which a figure on horseback, turned towards the right is visible. Only part of the breast and back of the horse with a fragment of the horseman are visible, but it is evident that he was wearing a military costume, judging from the pteriges, the armour protecting his waist. Immediately right of him there is a standing figure, depicted frontally and holding a cross. Right of him there is a second soldier on horseback, also turned towards the right. This horseman is facing another one who is almost symmetrically in front of him. Since only a narrow strip of the composition has survived, there are no ways to identify the persons. The only thing that can be said is that the riders are dressed in military costumes. It is most likely that they are saints, but we cannot even speculate about their identity.

Fig. 3: Remains of a mounted figure and a standing person. 2.2.2. The Three Men in the Fiery Furnace (Fig. 4–7).

[9]

Further to the right there is a large composition, depicting the story of the Three Men in the Fiery Furnace, an episode from the Book of Daniel (3:1–30). The lower part of the composition is missing,

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while the figure of the middle of the three men has faded away altogether.

Fig. 4: The Men in the Fiery Furnace. [10]

[11]

The angel, dressed in white, is standing left, holding a staff in his outstretched arms, protecting Ananias, Misael and Azarias, who are facing him. All three are dressed in Persian costume, short tunics, trousers, a cloak and a bonnet on the head. Their gestures are identical, holding their hands raised in front of them. Of the middle of the three men only very vague contours have survived. This must be due to a blocked window under the 13th cent. plaster. Possibly humidity has permeated the plaster and destroyed the painting. Right of the men and the angel there is the small figure of king Nebuchadnezzar, seated on a throne under a canopy. In front of him there are three standing men. This part of the painting is again heavily damaged, so that identification of these men remains uncertain. They could be the three Hebrews in dispute with the king before their conviction, judging from the raised arms of the men. Another possibility is that they are the king’s servants, following his orders to light the fire of the furnace as high as possible. Another detail that is difficult to explain is the axe, represented under the seat of king Nebuchadnezzar. Is this just a tool for cutting the firewood or should we attach a symbolical meaning to it? The theme of the three Hebrews was very popular in Coptic tradition and several representations are known from Coptic wall-

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paintings [cf. Van Loon 1999, 67–176]. There is, however, too little evidence yet concerning the paintings of layer 3 to explain their place in its iconographical programme.

Fig. 5: Detail—the angel.

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Fig. 6: Detail—one of the men.

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Fig. 7: Detail—king.

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2.2.3. The Prophets Daniel and Habakkuk (Fig. 8).

[12]

In the far right of the eastern wall there has been a representation of the prophet Daniel, standing frontally. Also this painting has almost completely disappeared, due to a blocked window underneath. Only the vague traces of a standing figure in Persian costume can be distinguished and it is due to a detail that we are able to identify the painting. At the right edge we see an angel, lifting a man by his hair. This must be the prophet Habakkuk, being brought to Babylon to feed Daniel, an episode from Daniel 14. The theme is not very common in early Christian iconography. One of the few examples is the panel on the wooden door of Sta. Sabina in Rome (5th century) [Jeremias 45, Taf. 38]. The newly discovered painting is the only example of the theme in Coptic art so far.

Fig. 8: The angel abducting Habakkuk.

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2.2.4. Standing patriarch (Fig. 9).

[13]

On the easternmost column in the southern nave, a window from the 1995 season (window 26) was enlarged to show the total painting. The painting shows a standing figure in a costume that has both monastic and liturgical elements. He wears a monastic hood (qalansuwa) in combination with a tunic, an epitrachelion and a phelonion, decorated with nine medallions, containing portraits of Christ, two angels and six saints, maybe apostles. This remarkable outfit has a counterpart on the column on the opposite side of the nave, where patriarch Dioscorus was represented [Innemée 1998a, 149, Fig 6]. This could mean that the painting uncovered now also represents a patriarch, may be patriarch Severus of Antioch, who also occurs as a counterpart to Dioscorus in the wooden doors between the khurus and the haykal. 3. Observations concerning the architecture.

[14]

As in the southern wall of the khurus, in the southern wall of the nave a number of blocked windows were found and as in the khurus they correspond to the niches below. In Fig. 1 they are indicated and numbered 3–7 (nrs. 1–2 being to the left, on the part of the wall that has not yet been investigated). These blocked windows confirm the idea that was already proposed earlier, namely that the church was freestanding at the time of its construction and that only after the construction of the outer wall of the monastery (in the 9th century?) the windows lost their function. During the 13th century refurbishing of the building the windows were blocked with limestone and mud mortar and plastered over. In the lower left corner of each window a hole with remains of a wooden beam were found. These may be the remains of the scaffolding that was put up in the church during these renovation works.

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Fig. 9: Standing patriarch.

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II. Syriac Inscriptions LUCAS VAN ROMPAY, UNIVERSITY OF LEIDEN

[15]

[16]

During the conservation campaign that took place in the Church of the Virgin of Deir al-Surian, in January 2000, the upper layer of plaster, dating from the eighteenth century, was removed from parts of the southern wall of the nave. This allowed the thirteenthcentury layer to become visible in some places, showing portions of the iconographic programme which most probably must be dated to the thirteenth century. In other places—where the thirteenthcentury layer had apparently been in such a poor state of preservation that it was removed before the newest layer of plaster was applied in the eighteenth century—direct access was gained to an earlier layer of plaster. This layer is the so-called “second layer,” which is found throughout the church and which received paintings and texts between the seventh and twelfth centuries [cf. Innemée—Van Rompay 1998, 169]. The texts that will be presented here briefly were applied on this second layer. They are to be found to the right of the painting of the Three Patriarchs, in a zone of approximately 2 meters high and 3 meters wide, above the decorative lower zone of painting (which itself reaches up to a height of approximately two meters from the floor). In our description we will move from the front to the back of the nave. In addition to the inscriptions on the southern wall, we will discuss a few fragments of text which have been uncovered on the capital of the easternmost column in the southern nave. 1. Inscriptions on the southern wall.

[17]

This part of the wall abounds with remnants and traces of inscriptions, written by different hands and in different periods. I have numbered them from 1 to 19. There are formal inscriptions as well as more informal ones, which both in their content and in their graphic presentation remind us of our present-day graffiti, applied by visitors or passers-by [cf. Van Rompay 1999, 39]. While the large majority of the texts are in Syriac and are always written vertically, from top to bottom, there are also a few lines of Coptic, written horizontally (nos. 1, 4, and 5). In some cases the ink or paint has faded so much that the readability is very limited. Some texts may have been washed off. Additional damage and loss of

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pieces of plasters add to the frustration of the present-day beholder and student. A few inscriptions of this part of the wall have been known since 1995–1996. This holds true for the large Coptic inscription which borders on the painting of the Three Patriarchs (no. 1) [Innemée—Van Rompay 1998, 171] and—on the other side of the section to be studied presently—for the inscription by Petros bar Isʘaq, dated to the period between AD 932 and 940 (no. 18) [Jenner—Van Rompay 1998, 96–9; Innemée—Van Rompay 1998, 174–5] and accompanied with some words of an earlier graffiti-like text (no. 19) [Jenner—Van Rompay 1998, 96, with note 42]. Inscription no. 2 has also been briefly mentioned in an earlier survey [Van Rompay 1999, 42]. Awaiting the final edition of all inscriptions in the church, I here would like to present some of the latest discoveries. My observations are based on an analysis of photographs taken by Karel Innemée as well as on an inspection in situ, in April of this year. The present drawing indicates the position of the texts, along with the number of lines (even when only a few characters of a line are visible).

Fig. 1: Drawing of a section of the southern wall, with the location of the Coptic (horizontal) and Syriac (vertical) inscriptions on the second layer of plaster. [20]

Whereas the Coptic prayer, which borders on the painting of the Three Patriarchs (no. 1) can be read with relative ease, two

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other Coptic inscriptions (nos. 4 and 5, consisting of two and three lines of text respectively) are in a poor state of preservation. The same is true for most of the Syriac inscriptions on the left side of the wall. In the section which bears no. 3, traces of one or more Syriac inscriptions can be detected, of which next to nothing can be read. These texts seem to be younger than the Coptic inscription (no. 1), which may date back to the tenth century. Syriac texts nos. 6, 7, 8, 10, 13, and 15 only show a few characters and occasionally one or two words (e.g. [day]rô briktô, “the blessed [monas]tery,” in no. 6, and Tagritônô[y]ô, “Tagritan,” i.e. from Tagrit, in no. 15). Particularly tantalizing is no. 9, which shows a monumental Estrangela script similar to that of the Maruta inscription [Jenner— Van Rompay 1998, 101–2]. In the first line [šna]t ‚ôlep ..., “the year thousand ...” seems to indicate the presence of a date; in the second line the name of a certain Athanasius is partly visible. Of inscription no. 11 only a few words and characters remain, although the ink of this inscription is blacker than in most other cases. The first line contains the word ʚaʞʞôyô “sinner,” the second line must have included a proper name. Inscription no. 12 (Fig. 2).

[21]

[22]

Of this text thirteen lines are visible. The first five lines all lack the initial part. Damage has affected all other lines and of the last lines only a few characters have been preserved. We are dealing with an obituary text. The script is a very regular and beautiful Estrangela, which is similar—though not identical—to the script of an inscription on the northern wall, which is also an obituary [Innemée—Van Rompay 1998, 180: C.5.2; photograph on p. 202]. The ink of this inscription has become yellow ochre; the original colour was probably much darker, as can be seen from the last preserved words. The photograph (Fig. 2) shows the complete inscription, of which lines 1–3 may be read as follows: [ ... côlm]ô hônô mlê côqôtô [ ... ] l-’atrô d-ʞ[u]bê wa-d-ʚadwôtô [ ... ] os ‘aʚô w-dayrôyô nakpô “[(Has departed from)] this [worl]d full of afflictions [ ... ] to the land of blessings and delights [ ... ]os, chaste brother and monk.”

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In the following lines, which are badly damaged, the virtuous life of the deceased monk (whose name must have stood in the third line) is mentioned and the hereafter is described in paradisiacal terms. No remnants of a date seem to be visible. The wording of this inscription is very similar to that of an obituary inscription in the Monastery of Mar Moses near Kfarzê (Tur Abdin). This is dated to AD 1172/3 and begins as follows: npaq men côlmô mlê côqôtô w-kul nesyônê w-šanni wa-ʚzaq l-‚atrô d-ʞubê wad-ge(‘)wôtô ... “Has departed from the world full of afflictions and all trials, and has left and embarked for the land of blessings and of pleasures ...” (Palmer 1987, 85–7).

Fig. 2: Inscription no. 12—Obituary of a deceased monk.

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Fig. 3: Inscription no. 14— Prayer of Simeon (or Solomon). Inscription no. 14 (Fig. 3).

[24]

This text of two lines has the same phraseology as the Maruta inscription [Jenner—Van Rompay 1998, 101–2], although this one, written in a rather awkward mixture of Estrangela and Serto, seems to be much younger. The name of the person is Š[emc]un (Simeon) or possibly Š[leym]un (Solomon). The text can be read as follows:

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Inscription no. 16 (Fig. 4).

[25]

This text of four lines is written in Serto. It deserves our special attention because of the date it contains. The photograph shows the full text, of which the first two lines run as follows. 1. ‘etʞayybet ‘enô Yu[ʚa]nnôn bar [ .. ]ʜ[ .. ] ‘Amedôyô (?) [b-N]isan yarʚô šnat ‘arbacmô w-NH d-ʝayyôyê 2. bô[cê (‘)]nô men ‘Alôhô raʚmê cal ʚawbay [ ... ]hy [ ... ha]b li ʚartô ʞôb[tô] 1. “I have been present here, I, Yu[ʘa]nnôn, son of [ ... ] from Amid (?), in the month of Nisan, the year four hundred and 55 of the Arabs 2. [I] be[g] from God mercy over my sins [ ... gi]ve me a goo[d] end.” Yuhannan’s visit is dated according to the Muslim era, just as Petros bar Isʘaq’s visit (Jenner—Van Rompay 1998, 96–99; Innemée—Van Rompay 1998, 174–175). Nisan of the year 455 of the Arabs corresponds to AD April 1063. The city of Amid, present-day Diyarbakir (the reading is not absolutely certain) has not yet been found in the inscriptions, although it is regularly mentioned in the colophons of the manuscripts. Inscription no. 17 (Fig. 5).

[26]

This text, written in a very regular, somewhat pointed Estrangela, is found at a considerable height, more than three meters from the floor. The entire text is well-preserved. Sunodiqê d-Môr(y) Diyon[u]sius [P]atr. d-(‘)Anʞi’yokia d-Sur ʜêd Môr(y) Qurillos d-(‘)Aleksandria šnat ‘ôle[p] w-Šʛ d-Môq[ . ]. b-yawmay Môr(y) Yuʚa[nnôn] [d-Ta]grit.

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Fig. 4: Inscription no. 16—Note of a visitor AD 1063.

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Fig. 5: Inscription no. 17— Mention of a synodical letter AD 1077–8.

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“Synodical (letter) of Mar(y) Dion[y]sius [P]atriarch of Antioch of Syria to Mar(y) Cyrillus of Alexandria, the year thousand and 390 of the Macedonians, in the days of Mar(y) Yuʘa[nnan] [of Ta]grit.”

[27]

[28]

The year 1390 “of the Macedonians” (i.e. of the Seleucid era) corresponds to AD 1078–9. The ecclesiastical authorities mentioned here can be identified. The Syriac-Orthodox patriarch Dionysius V Lazarus was elected in A.Gr. 1388, i.e. AD 1076–7, and died after a pontificate of (slightly more than) one year, probably in December 1078. The Coptic-Orthodox patriarch Cyrillus II was enthroned in March 1078. Yuʘannan IV Saliba was maphrian of Tagrit between 1075 and 1106. As is common in other inscriptions, as well as in manuscripts, little crosses have been placed above the names of the patriarchs. Short lines have been placed above both the words written in abridged form and the letters used as numerals. The use of official terminology as well as the elegant writing indicates that we are dealing here with a formal message endorsed by the authorities of the monastery and executed by a professional scribe. The Greek loan word Sunodiqê may be used in Syriac as well as in Christian Arabic for “a synodical letter,” in particular for the official letter which a newly elected patriarch sent to his fellow patriarch(s) to express his feelings of collegiality within the community of orthodox churches. The exchange of such letters was common between the patriarchs of the non-Chalcedonian sister churches of Egypt and Syria. Our inscription must have served to announce the existence of such a letter to the monks and to the visitors. Now, information about the beginning of the pontificates of Dionysius and Cyrillus is provided in Michael the Syrian’s Chronicle as well as in the Arabic History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria. The section on Patriarch Cyrillus in the latter work has Mawhub ibn Mansur ibn Mufarrig as its author, a Coptic layman from the entourage of the patriarch, who must have been well informed about ecclesiastical affairs of his day [Den Heijer 1989]. For the Syriac-Orthodox Church this was a period of great confusion. After the death of Patriarch Yuʘannan bar Šušan (November 1072), the bishops could not agree on a new patriarch, the unpleasant monk ȨAbdun being one of the candidates.

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Eventually, lots were drawn and Basil, monk and administrator of the Monastery of Barsauma, near Melitene, was designated. He was enthroned in January 1074, but died after a year and a half, in July 1075 [Michael XV,4—Syriac: Chabot IV, 1909, 580; French: Chabot III, 1905, 174]. The Arabic History notes that a synodical letter from Patriarch Basil did not arrive and that his name was not mentioned in the churches of Egypt; instead, the name of Yuʘannan, Basil’s predecessor, continued to be mentioned [Atiya—ȨAbd al-Masiʘ—Burmester 1959, Arabic: 206; English: 320]. After Basil’s death, the rebel ȨAbdun tried his luck again. By using bribery, he could win some support, but the majority of the bishops did not recognize him. A number of them (thirty-four, according to the Arabic History) assembled in the Monastery of Barʛauma and elected Lazarus, abbot of this monastery, as the new patriarch. Although he anathematised himself forty times in order to escape the election, the bishops forgave him this offence and forced him to accept the patriarchate, under the name of Dionysius (V). He was enthroned at the end of Lent in 1077. According to Michael, he lived one year as patriarch, without having consecrated a bishop [Michael XV,5—Syriac: Chabot IV, 1909, 581–582; French: Chabot III, 1905, 177]. Barhebraeus, in his Chronicle, repeats the information provided by Michael and adds that Dionysius died in December 1078 [Abbeloos—Lamy I, 1872, 453– 456]. This is what Syriac historiography has to tell us about the uneventful pontificate of Dionysius V. The Arabic History, which does not mention ȨAbdun’s rebellion, but speaks of a long vacancy, reports that Dionysius, upon his election, wrote a synodical letter (risćlat sunodiqê). This letter, the History states, was brought to Egypt by a Syrian priest whose name was Thomas and who later became bishop of Baghdad [Atiya—ȨAbd al-Masiʘ—Burmester 1959, Arabic: 207; English: 320]. This must be the letter mentioned in our new inscription! By highlighting it in the inscription, the monks must have expressed their support for the new patriarch. The fact that a Syrian priest was involved, who may have had some connections with Deir al-Surian, may have been an additional reason why this event received special attention. However, there is a further complication with regard to this letter. A few pages further in the History, it is said that the letter, written by Dionysius, was addressed to Patriarch Christodulus.

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This patriarch, however, was no longer alive when Thomas arrived in Egypt (Christodulus died in December 1077 and Thomas arrived, according to the History, in the month of Hatûr, i.e. November, of 1078). Thomas then replaced the addressee’s name with that of Cyril and delivered the letter to the new patriarch. Thereupon, “(the letter) was read in the churches of Egypt, and his (Dionysius’) name was recited in their sanctuaries, and prayers were said for him in them at the time of the Prayers and Liturgies, as was the custom, and he (Cyril) wrote to him (Dionysius) a Synodical Letter in answer to this Letter” [Atiya—ȨAbd al-Masiʘ—Burmester 1959, Arabic: 210; English: 327]. Finally, the reference in our inscription to the (metropolitan) bishop of Tagrit, Yuʘannan (IV Saliba), should probably not be explained by the fact that it was he who consecrated the new patriarch, but rather by the special relationship which always has existed between Deir al-Surian and the Syriac-Orthodox community of Tagrit. Like many of his predecessors, Yuʘannan had to cope with various problems in Tagrit. Within the SyriacOrthodox Church his position was also far from unproblematic, as a paragraph in Michael’s Chronicle implies [Michael XV,5—Syriac: Chabot IV, 1909, 581; French: Chabot III, 1905, 177; Barhebraeus: Abbeloos—Lamy III, 1877, 303–12; Fiey 1963, 322–3]. In conclusion, it may be said that this recently discovered fiveline Syriac inscription in a certain way bridges the gap between Coptic-Arabic and Syriac historiography on this turbulent episode in the eleventh century. The walls of the church seem to have served for public announcements—like mural newspapers—giving us an impression of how contemporary events were recorded and perceived. At the same time, one can easily imagine that the monks of Deir al-Surian were particularly sensitive to all matters involving the official relations between the Syriac-Orthodox and the CopticOrthodox Churches. 2. Inscriptions on one of the capitals (Fig. 6, 7, and 8).

[33]

On the easternmost column in the southern nave a saint has been uncovered, painted on the thirteenth-century layer of plaster (see Innemée, above, 2.2.4). In the halo of the saint, part of the thirteenth-century layer was lost and filled in with eighteenthcentury plaster. When this was removed, the second layer came to light, showing parts of inscriptions.

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Fig. 6 shows two faces of the capital, the one on the left, i.e. the eastern face, showing a Syriac inscription (written vertically), the one on the right, i.e. the northern face, a Coptic inscription (written horizontally). The Syriac text can be read as follows: hu nasmek[kun ... (?)] da-šmayyô “He will make [you (?)] recline [ ... ] of heaven.”

One is tempted to read “He will make you recline at the table (pôturô ?) of heaven,” assuming that there would be, after the verb form of the first line, enough place for a noun. This might be a reference to the Eucharist, which in Syriac tradition is often described as a heavenly meal [Youssif 1984, 372–374 and passim]. It cannot be ruled out, however, that the reference is to life in the hereafter, which would be fitting in the context of an obituary. The Coptic inscription (Fig. 7) is difficult to interpret. In the first line one may read “In the name (PAN) ...”. My colleague Jacques van der Vliet suggests to read in the first letters of the second line the ending of the formula API (imperative) ) MEBI (for -ME8 I), “Remember ...”, followed by EN A* [A3 + ] (?), “in love (?).” After the name of the person to be remembered, the third line may have the remnants of the words “his son.” .

Fig. 6: Syriac and Coptic inscriptions on the capital of a column.

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Fig. 7: Coptic inscription on the capital.

Fig. 8: Detail of the capital: Traces of a Syriac inscription. [35]

Below the Coptic inscription, just on the spot where the thick thirteenth-century layer of plaster begins, there are traces of a Syriac inscription, written vertically (Fig. 8). Although next to nothing can be read, there must have been five lines of writing. Now, above the first letters of the second and fifth line, one finds the little crosses which usually accompany the names of patriarchs. It is legitimate, therefore, to suppose that two patriarchs, of Antioch and of Alexandria, were named in this inscription. If only after l-Môr(y) in line 2 as well as in line 5 one or two more letters could be read! They would allow us to identify the patriarchs and give us a clue to the date of the inscription. III. References. Abbeloos—Lamy 1872–1877: Joannes Baptista Abbeloos & Thomas Josephus Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon Ecclesiasticum, I–III (Louvain, 1872–77). Atiya—ȨAbd al-Masih—Burmester 1959: ȨAziz Suryal Atiya—Yassa ȨAbd al-Masih—O.H.E. Khs.-Burmester, History of the Patriarchs of the

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Egyptian Church, Volume II. Part III. Christodoulos—Michael (A.D. 1046–1102) (Publications de la Société d’archéologie copte; Cairo, 1959). Chabot 1899–1924: Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, patriarche jacobite d’Antioche (1166–1199), I–IV (Paris, 1899–1924). Fiey 1963: J.-M. Fiey, “Tagrît. Esquisse d’histoire chrétienne,” L’Orient Syrien 8 (1963): 289–342. Den Heijer 1989: Johannes den Heijer, Mawhub ibn Mansur ibn Mufarriü et l’historiographie copto-arabe. Etude sur la composition de l’Histoire des Patriarches d’Alexandrie (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 513 / Subsidia 83; Louvain, 1989). Innemée 1998a: Karel Innemée, “The Iconographical Program of paintings in the Church of al-ȨAdra in Deir al-Sourian: Some Preliminary Observations,” in M. Krause, S. Schaten (eds.), ƊEMEƍIA Spätantike und koptologische Studien Peter Grossmann zum 65. Geburtstag (Wiesbaden, 1998) 143–54. Innemée 1998b: Karel C. Innemée, “Recent Discoveries of Wall-Paintings in Deir al-Surian,” Hugoye 1/2 (1998). Innemée 1999: Karel C. Innemée, “New discoveries at Deir al-Sourian, Wadi al-Natrun,” in S. Emmel e.a. (eds.), Ägypten und Nubien in spätantiker und christlicher Zeit, Akten des 6. Internationalen Koptologenkongresses Münster, 20.–26. Juli 1996, Band 1 (Wiesbaden, 1999) 213–22. Innemée—Van Rompay 1998: Karel Innemée & Lucas Van Rompay, “La présence des Syriens dans le Wadi al-Natrun (Égypte). À propos des découvertes récentes de peintures et de textes muraux dans l’Église de la Vierge du Couvent des Syriens,” Parole de l’Orient 23 (1998): 167–202. Jenner—Van Rompay 1998: Konrad D. Jenner & Lucas Van Rompay, “New Syriac Texts on the Walls of the al-ȨAdra‚ Church of Dayr al-Suryân,” in Karel C. Innemée—Peter Grossmann—Konrad D. Jenner—Lucas Van Rompay, “New Discoveries in the alc Adra’ Church of Dayr al-Suryan in the Wâdi al-Natrûn,” Mitteilungen zur christlichen Archäologie 4 (1998): 96–103. Jeremias 1980: Gisela Jeremias, Die Holztür der Basilika S. Sabina in Rom (Tübingen, 1980). Van Loon 1999: Gertrud J.M. van Loon, The Gate of Heaven, Wall Paintings with Old Testament Scenes in the Altar Room and the ʙûrus of Coptic Churches (Leiden, 1999). Palmer 1987: Andrew Palmer, “A Corpus of Inscriptions from ʝur ȨAbdin and Environs,” Oriens Christianus 71 (1987): 53–139. Van Rompay 1999: Lucas Van Rompay, “Syriac Inscriptions in Deir alSurian: Some Reflections on Their Writers and Readers,” Hugoye 2/2 (July 1999).

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Yousif 1984: Pierre Yousif, L’eucharistie chez saint Éphrem de Nisibe (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 224; Rome, 1984).

Acknowledgements We are grateful to His Grace the Bishop Mattaos of Deir al-Surian for his permission to study and publish the wall-paintings and the inscriptions as well as to the monks of Deir al-Surian who were hospitable and helpful while we were working in the Church and the Monastery. Jacques van der Vliet was of great help in deciphering the Coptic inscription on the capital and Han den Heijer kindly checked our comments on the inscription of AD 1077–8.

Meltho: OpenType Fonts for Windows 2000 GEORGE KIRAZ, PISCATAWAY, NJ

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

The Syriac Computing Institute (SyrCOM) has been working to add Syriac support for Microsoft’s Windows™ 2000. Syriac is now in the list of languages that will be supported by the next version of Microsoft Office™ (Word™, Access™, PowerPoint™, etc.). Already, the web browser Internet Explorer™ 5 supports Syriac. All this is possible provided the user has the appropriate (not any) Syriac fonts. Project Meltho aims to provide freely the appropriate Syriac fonts for the Syriac-users community. In the last issue of Hugoye, a call for financial assistance was published. The response was overwhelming. Over 15 fonts are under development. SyrCOM has released a beta version of the fonts for testing purposes. Users interested in testing the software should contact George Kiraz at [email protected]. The fonts are in Estrangelo, Serto (West Syriac), and East Syriac. They provide support not only to texts in Classical Syriac, but also in Garshuni (Arabic written in Syriac), Swadaya (Eastern Neo-Aramaic of the Assyrian and Chaldean communities), Turoyo (Central Neo-Aramaic of the Syriac Orthodox communities of Tur Abdin), and Christian Palestinian Aramaic. The aim is to provide a system that is useful for the scholarly community as well as to the heirs of the tradition. The artwork of the fonts is based on printing types and old manuscripts. The typographical design was commissioned to an outstanding firm, made possible by generous donations from the Syriac Orthodox and Assyrian communities, as well as Western scholars and universities. It is the contribution of these fine individuals and institutions (both sacred and secular) that made this project possible. A full list of donors will be published with the release of the software. The following image gives a number of Syriac fonts in Microsoft Word 2000. The fonts (in verse order): 1a Estrangelo Edessa, based on the popular Estrangelo type used in printed editions; 1b Estrangelo Nisibin, based on types used in the press of the Assyrian Church of the East, Mosul; 1c Estrangelo Midyat, based on a manuscript at Mor Gabriel Monastery, Tur ȨAbdin (formerly Manuscript 64/1 of Mort Shmuni Church in Midyat), 280

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dated 1226/7; 2 Serto Kharput, based on types used at the former press in Leipzig (among other places); 3 East Syriac Adiabene, based on types used in the press of the Assyrian Church of the East, Mosul; 4 Serto Mardin, based on types used in many Middle Eastern presses, including The Syriac Orthodox presses of Deir alZacfaran, Mardin, and St. Mark’s Monastery, Jerusalem, and the Syriac Catholic press at Charfeh; 5 Serto Qezhayya (named after the first Syriac press in the Middle East), based on types also used at presses in the Middle East and Europe; 6 Estrangelo Antioch, based on Manuscript 12/21 of the Syriac Orthodox Patriarchal Library, Damascus, dated A.D. 1041/2. Other East Syriac, Serto and Estrangelo fonts are under development, pending funds. Donors who are interested in adopting fonts are encouraged to send their contributions to George Kiraz, 46 Orris Ave., Piscataway, 08854. (Please make checks payable to The Syriac Computing Institute).

The Digitizing of Selected Syriac MSS in the Vatican Apostolic Library E. JAN WILSON, BRIGHAM YOUNG UNIVERSITY

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In an effort to facilitate access to important Syriac manuscripts, the Center for the Preservation of Ancient Religious Texts (CPART) of Brigham Young and the Vatican Apostolic Library (VAL) have begun work on a joint project which involves digitizing 28 selected Syriac manuscripts in the possession of the VAL. The agreement was signed on March 20, 2000 and according to the terms of this agreement, CPART and the VAL will electronically co-publish the texts and electronic images of these manuscripts. The manuscripts to be digitized were chosen from a short list of manuscripts prepared by Sebastian Brock and include the following: Vat. Syr. 37 Vat. Syr. 42 Vat. Syr. 59 Vat. Syr. 68 Vat. Syr. 83 Vat. Syr. 110 Vat. Syr. 111 Vat. Syr. 112 Vat. Syr. 113 Vat. Syr. 114 Vat. Syr. 120 Vat. Syr. 124 Vat. Syr. 125 Vat. Syr. 135 Vat. Syr. 140 Vat. Syr. 141 Vat. Syr. 147 Vat. Syr. 151

*Lives

of Saints East Syriac Euchologion (1202 AD) West Syriac funeral services (1266 AD) West Syriac Beth Gazo (1465 AD) East Syriac ʘudra (1537/9 AD) Ephrem, commentary on Genesis (523 AD) Ephrem, Hymns on Church etc. (522 AD) Ephrem, Hymns on Paradise (551 AD) Ephrem, Hymns on Faith (552 AD) *Jacob of Serugh, verse homilies (523 AD) *Isaac of Antioch, verse homilies (6th century) Isaac of Nineveh (14th century) Isaac of Nineveh *Philoxenos etc. (7th/8th century) Severus, Against Julian (528 AD) Severus, Cathedral homilies (tr. Jacob of Edessa) *Moshe bar Kepha etc. (1234 AD) *Timothy II, On Sacraments (1631 AD)

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Vat. Syr. 157

Ishoಫyahb III, Letters (10th century)

Vat. Syr. 161 Vat. Syr. 163 Vat. Syr. 165 Vat. Syr. 189 Vat. Syr. 191 Vat. Syr. 367

*Acts

Vat. Syr. 586 Borgia Syr. 13 Borgia Syr. 60

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of Persian Martyrs Chronicle of Edessa Thomas of Marga, Monastic history (1663 AD) *John of Dalyatha (11th century) *Ibn Sina (Syriac translation) Isaac of Nineveh (8th century) *Questions and answers on Aristotle, Categories (13th century) Melkite Euchologion (12th century) East Syriac Beth Gazza *indicates a text that has not yet been published

Phase 1: [4]

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During the first phase of this project, the manuscripts are being digitized in the VAL by CPART and VAL staff. In all cases, highresolution images are being created in grayscale using a Kodak MegaPlus camera with an array of 2x3k. These images are stored in TIFF format and are 6 megabytes each. In addition to these highresolution grayscale images, low-resolution color images are being created of many of the manuscripts. In the case of certain mss, however, such images are not made. For example, Vat. Syr. 110 and Vat. Syr. 111 are sixth century manuscripts of Ephrem, and the ink is so monotone (and on many folios very faded) that color pictures do not add anything substantial to the viewing of these texts. The images thus obtained are stored both on CD’s and on AIT tapes for archival purposes. In most cases, the mss are clear enough that even the low resolution images allow a user to read the texts easily. In those cases where the ink is very faded, or the manuscript otherwise damaged, we have been using filters, or else choosing specific wavelengths of light in order to get clearer grayscale images. Ultimately, these electronic images will constitute a backup system for these valuable texts, but this is not the primary purpose of the project. The primary purpose of the project is the electronic

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publication of these texts, as will be explained in the following paragraphs.

Sample of an from Vat. Syr. 83

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The texts of these 28 mss will be keyed into computer files and then marked and put into WordCruncher, the search engine which CPART used to create its Dead Sea Scroll database (published in 1999 by Brill). This phase will be quite labor intensive, and it is anticipated that it will take approximately two years to complete. Final publication:

[9]

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After the texts have been prepared electronically in WordCruncher, they will be published on CD’s along with the electronic images. It is anticipated that at the beginning of each page, there will be an icon which, when activated, will display the image of the original manuscript for that page. The publication will be a joint publication of the VAL and CPART/BYU. At the time of this writing, we are in the middle of phase 1, i.e. digitizing the manuscripts in the VAL. We expect that this first phase will be completed before the middle of July. We hope that we will be ready for final publication during the summer of 2002.

CONFERENCE REPORTS The Second Syriac Symposium in Germany Lutherstadt Wittenberg, July 14–16, 2000 CLEMENS LEONHARD, UNIVERSITÄT WIEN (VIENNA UNIVERSITY)

[1]

[2]

From 14th to 16th July 2000 the “Second Symposium on the History, Theology, and Liturgy of the Syriac Churches” was held in the “Leucorea” (from the 16th to 19th centuries one of the oldest and most famous universities of Europe) in Lutherstadt Wittenberg (Germany), where Martin Luther and Philipp Melanchthon taught. The symposium (organized by A. Heinz, M. Tamcke, J. Tubach, and H. Suermann) is intended to convene scholars who are working with Syriac sources and who are interested in the past and present of the Syriac churches. The subject of Syriac studies is represented in its full breadth of literary genres and epochs. The sessions were opened by two papers on Ephrem Syrus. M. Schmidt spoke about conceptual parallels between “Ephraem Syrus und Hildegard von Bingen.” C. Lange discussed the relative antiquity and textual priority of the Armenian versus the Syriac version of the commentary on the Diatessaron on the basis of three texts concerning baptism (“Zum Taufverständnis im syrischen Diatessaron-Kommentar”). D. Boumajnov studied the traces of Melito’s “De anima et corpore” in later sources (”Die Fortschreibung von ‘De anima et corpore’ des hl. Melito von Sardes in syrischer und koptischer Überlieferung”). F. Mali discussed the quotations of a work called “De symbolica theologia” by Dionysius Pseudo-Areopagita in Sergius of Reshcaina’s works (“Hat es die Schrift ‘De symbolica theologia’ von Dionysius Ps.-Areopagita gegeben? Anmerkungen zu den Nachrichten des Sergius von Reshcaina über Dionysius Ps.-Areopagita”). T. Hainthaler read her paper on Christology at the end of the 6th century (“Eine christologische Kontroverse Ende des 6. Jahrhunderts unter den Antichalcedoniern des Patriarchats Antiochien”). M. Westerhoff presented the first results of a major study on the use of the Pauline epistles in the Liber Graduum (“Die Paulus-Rezeption im Liber Graduum”). P. Nagel presented the bilingual (Syriac/English) Synopsis of the Old-Syriac Version of the Gospels prepared at the University of Bonn. The project enters its final stage of typesetting 287

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and proofreading (“Synopse der altsyrischen Version der Evangelien Matthäus, Markus, Lukas—Vorstellung eines Projektes am orientalischen Seminar der Universität Bonn”). W. Hage discussed arguments in favor of the authenticity of the Chronicle of Arbela (“Synodicon Orientale und Chronik von Arbela”) against the assertion that the text was actually composed by its editor, A. Mingana. This lecture introduced a series of papers on historiography: J. Rist discussed the so-called ecclesiastical history of Zacharias Rhetor (“Die sogenannte Kirchengeschichte des Zacharias Rhetor: Überlieferung, Inhalt, theologische Bedeutung”). M. Kohlbacher read a paper on the reception of the legend of pope Silvester and Constantine’s baptism in eastern Christianity (“Die Taufe Konstantins und ihr geheimer Held. Anmerkungen zur Rezeption der Silvester-Legende bei Jakob von Batnan [BHO 1070 syr., 1071 arab.]”). H. Younansardaroud discussed the legend of Behnam (“Behnam und Sarah”). J. van Ginkel presented the tradition of Jacob of Edessa in Michael Syrus’s chronicle (“Jakob von Edessa in Michael Syrus’ Chronographie”). K.-P. Todt discussed the ecclesiastical history of the patriarch Athanasios III. Dabbas and its historical background (“Die kurzgefaßte Geschichte [Synopsis] der griechisch-orthodoxen Patriarchen von Antiocheia des Patriarchen Athanasios III. Dabbas [1647–1724]: Entstehung, Quellen, historischer Gehalt”). C. Walbiner read his paper on the early Arabic printing and the Syriac churches (“Die syrischen Kirchen und die arabischen Frühdrucke”) leading to the papers on the 19th and 20th centuries: F. Heyer on the Russian-Orthodox Church in Urmia (“Die russisch-orthodoxe Kirche in Urmia”), H. Anschütz (“Die Auswirkungen der Aktivitäten abendländischer Missionare, Kirchen, Wissenschaftler und Hilfsorganisationen auf die Gegenwartslage der ostsyrischen Christen”) and B. Harb (“Die Auswanderung von christlichen Jungakademikern aus dem Libanon und ihre Folgen”), who also presented two of their films on the Christians in the middle east. H. Hollerweger presented a sample of his collection of slides of the evangeliaria in use in present day Tur Abdin. As a contribution to the fields of archeology and epigraphy, K. Fitschen discussed the reading and emendations of a bilingual (Greek and Syriac) building inscription (presently covered by a layer of concrete) in Qalat Siman (“Die zweisprachige Bauinschrift

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aus dem 10. Jahrhundert auf Qalat Siman im Kontext der byzantinisch-syrischen Kirchengeschichte”). Several papers were read on topics related to the history of Liturgy. C. Leonhard discussed the interpretation of baptism according to the Anonymi Auctoris Expositio Officiorum Ecclesiae (“Die Interpretation der Taufe nach der Expositio Officiorum Ecclesiae”). B. Schmitz explained the symbolism of the ring and the crown in the liturgy of wedding (“Ring und Krone— vergleichende Untersuchung zur Symbolik in der antiochenischen Trauungsliturgie”). M. Vidalis presented his studies on “The PostSanctus Prayer in the Dionysius Areopagita Syriac Liturgy.” D. Winkler reported on the progress of the ecumenical consultations organized by Pro Oriente (“Sakramente in der syrischen Tradition. Zur vierten Pro Oriente Konsultation [Syriac Dialogue] im Februar/März 2000”). Five papers were read on the later medieval Syriac writers. Regarding Bar Hebraeus: K. Pinggéra (“Bar Hebraeus’ Buch der Taube — einige Beobachtungen”) and H. Takahashi on the Islamic sources of Bar Hebraeus (“Barhebraeus und seine islamischen Quellen. Teghrath teghratha und al-Gazzalis Maqasid al-falasifa”). W. Baum read a paper (based on his recent book) on the myth of the priest and king John which arose in the time of the Crusades (“Der Mythos vom Priesterkönig Johannes und die syrische Christenheit”). D. Weltecke analyzed the social history of the Syriac Orthodox Church in the 12th century (“‘Viele erfuhren eine Minderung ihres Glaubens’. Zur Sozialgeschichte der syrischorthodoxen im 12. Jahrhundert”). G. Rabo reported on his collection and new findings regarding the manuscript tradition of Dionysius Bar Salibi’s works (“Dionysius bar Salibi [†1171] und sein literarisches Lebenswerk”). Three papers dealt with the tradition of the Syriac churches from the perspectives of sociology and musicology. C. Lembert read her paper on the beliefs of Syriac Christians who are living in Germany in magic, the power of amulets, etc., and their memories of methods of healing in their former homeland of Tur Abdin (“Böser Blick und Magie. Volksglauben syrisch-orthodoxer Christen in der Migration”). R. Randhofer compared musical patterns of the west-Syriac liturgy with elements of Jewish cantillation of Biblical texts (“Zu den ‘takhshfotho’ der Totenfeier im westsyrischen Ritus”). A. Takhsh reported on her study of the

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position of the Syriac women in Germany and the promising initiatives and movements in Northern Iraq (“Assyrische Frauen zwischen Tradition und Moderne”). The broad variety of topics treated and methods used together with the active participation of members of the Syriac Churches who could rely on their own personal experience and cultural background in addition to their academic learning made the symposium an important experience for all participants. Most of the papers are going to be published in the conference volume. M. Tamcke could present the publication of the first symposium, which was held two years ago: M. Tamcke and A. Heinz (Ed.) 2000, Zu Geschichte, Theologie, Liturgie und Gegenwartslage der syrischen Kirchen. Ausgewählte Vorträge des deutschen Syrologen-Symposiums vom 2.–4. Oktober 1998 in Hermannsburg. Münster/Hamburg/London: LIT-Verlag (Studien zur orientalischen Kirchengeschichte 9) ISBN 3-8258-3906-0. The next symposium will be held in 2002 in Bamberg.

Symposium Syriacum VIII Sydney, Australia, June 26 – July 1, 2000 UTE POSSEKEL, ST. JOHN’S SEMINARY, BRIGHTON, MA

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The Eighth International Congress for Syriac Studies, Symposium Syriacum VIII, convened from Monday, June 26 to Saturday, July 1, 2000 at the University of Sydney in Australia. The Symposium Syriacum was followed by the Sixth International Conference on Christian Arabic Studies, which convened at the same place from July 2–5, 2000. Participants from around the world came together in the beautiful and hospitable city of Sydney, which will be the site of the Olympic Games in September of 2000. More than sixty scholars from five continents and fifteen different countries attended one or both congresses. Slightly more than half of the participants came from European countries (England, Germany, France, The Netherlands, Sweden, France, Hungary, Austria, Poland); the remainder of the participants came from Australia and New Zealand, Lebanon, India, Egypt, the United States, and Canada. Among the participants were several ecclesiastical dignitaries. The conference also drew interest among the members of local Syriac Christian communities. The Symposium Syriacum VIII was opened by the convenor, Professor Rifaat Ebied, on Monday afternoon. His kind words of welcome were followed by greetings by representatives of the government of New South Wales and the University of Sydney. A reception followed, which provided the first of many occasions for stimulating conversation. At the Symposium Syriacum, twenty-nine sessions with 57 papers were held from Tuesday through Friday. There were always two parallel sessions, each lasting 90 minutes and consisting of two papers. The time allotted to each paper was thus longer than at many conferences, and it provided the opportunity to explore themes in more detail. There were no plenary lectures. The papers will be published in the Conference Proceedings. The papers presented at the Symposium Syriacum covered a broad chronological, geographic, and thematic range. Since it would be impossible to summarize all of the papers, I will confine myself to a brief presentation of the themes addressed. The subsequent overview is based on my own attendance of sessions 291

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and personal conversations, and I apologize for any oversights and misrepresentations. Among presentations with a theological emphasis were the following: Both J. Tubach and J. Ferreira addressed aspects of the Hymn of the Pearl. Th. Hainthaler examined the christological controversy on Proba and John Barbur. Two papers, by A. Sauma and H. Takahashi, focused on Bar Hebraeus. H. Gauke’s presentation discussed Abdiso de Soba’s writings, and Isho bar Nun’s exegesis was the topic of J. Hofstra’s paper. B. Colless examined the Liber graduum, and Ch. Lange the Commentary on the Diatessaron ascribed to Ephrem. Papers in the area of history included those of J. van Ginkel on Jacob of Edessa in Michael the Syrian’s Chronicle, and of W. Witakowski on Ps.-Zachariah of Mitylene. J. Coakley addressed the History of the Eastern Patriarchs by Elia of Alqosh, and E. KhalifeHachem discussed Syrian monasticism. L. Wickham spoke on the preparation of the edition of Peter of Callinicus’ Contra Damianum. J. Sanders introduced the audience to his recent publication on Assyrian-Chaldean Christians in Eastern Turkey and Iran. Three papers focused on archeology, namely the presentations by Y. Sader on fifth-century sarcophagi in Lebanon, by A. Badwi on mediaeval Syriac mural paintings in Mount Lebanon, and by W. Klein on Christianity in Krygyzstan. The history of mission stood in the center of the papers by E. Hunter on the conversion of the Turkic tribes, and by A. Vallavanthara on the mediaeval East Syrian mission as reflected in the writings of Cosmas Indicopleustes. Several papers addressed the relation between Syriac Christians and other sects, religions, or cultures: A. Harrak discussed antiManichaean propaganda in Syriac sources, M. Hutter the polemics against Zoroastrianism, R. Hoyland the early Syriac wrintings on Muhammed, and U. Possekel Ephrem’s polemics against astrologers. S. Edris examined the authenticity of Syriac polemical and apologetic writings. M. Franzmann studied the Manichaean Syriac pieces from the Dakhleh Oasis, and Mother Philothea of Sinai spoke on the Sian-Fu stone in the context of the relations between the Syriac and the Asian world. R. Gabriel focused on the relation between Syriac Christians and the crusaders in the 12–13th centuries. T. Saed addressed Mandean baptismal practices.

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Various papers focused on spirituality. J. Thekeparampil addressed the image of “gardener” in the Syriac liturgical and patristic tradition; W. Parker focused on the image of “fiery flame” in Ephrem’s writings. C. Horn discussed John Rufus’ view of Peter the Iberian’s pilgrimages; A. Makhlouf studied the spirituality of the 18th-century mystic Umm Hindiyya Ajaymi; and J. Wozniak examined aspects of Syriac demonology. Asceticism was the subject of two papers, namely those by J. Sanders on the sermons of Mar Bishoi, and by N. Ricklefs on the vita angelica. R. Mouawad spoke on the Maronites in the 12–15th centuries. The liturgy was the theme of the presentation by Metropolitan Bishoy, who spoke on the relation between the Syrian and Alexandrian hymns. Mar Aprem spoke on the fast of the Ninevites, and J. Kallarangatt on the Feast of the Twelve Apostles in the East Syrian tradition. J. Vellian addressed the monastic liturgy of the hours in the East Syrian church, and B. Varghese the West Syrian commentaries on the Eucharist. Papers that focused on the Syriac Biblical versions included those by A. Juckel and B. Romeney on the Peshitta, P. Hill on the Harklean marginalia, and D. Taylor on the Diamper translation of the Latin canon. Several presentations emphasized the transmission or translation of texts. Into this category fall the papers of S. Brock on Mushe of Nisibis (in absentia read by J. Coakley), of M. QaschningKirsch on the Syriac reception of Gregory of Nazianzus, and of M. van Esbroeck on the Syriac Life of Gregory the Wonderworker. H. Teule’s presentation offered a comprehensive overview of translations from Arabic into Syriac. Three scholars introduced the audience to various collections of manuscripts: I. Perczel presented the joint Indian-HungarianFrench project to produce on CD-ROM the Syriac manuscripts of Kerala. A.M. Saadi introduced the microfilm-holdings of the Vööbus collection at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, and E. Thelliyil introduced the Syriac manuscripts of the Mannanam collection. Several of these scholars addressed the need for both financial and scholarly support for the continuation of these projects. Four other scholars addressed lexicographical concerns. G. Yonan introduced Theodor Nöldeke’s unpublished materials, E. Odisho spoke on the transliteration of loanwords, and T. Falla

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presented general lexicographical considerations. G. Kiraz gave a progress report on the Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage, to which scholars are invited to contribute. As this overview shows, the conference program was diverse, and attention was given to all important aspects of Syriac studies. An emphasis was put on the medieval and modern periods, which may mark a general shift in the field. At previous conferences, more attention had been given to the study of the patristic period. In the evenings, the conference guests could experience the warm hospitality of local Syriac Christian communities and could get to know other parts of Sydney. One night, the participants were invited to attend a service at St. Gabriel’s Syriac Orthodox church, followed by a wonderful reception which provided the opportunity to hear about the contemporary concerns of the Syriac-speaking churches. Later during the evening, G. Kiraz showed a video of a recent visit to the Tur Abdin, which he had undertaken together with S. P. Brock and A. Juckel. On another evening, the conference dinner was held at Edessa Hall of the Assyrian Church of the East. At another occasion, conference participants had the opportunity to listen to Syriac hymns, sung by the choir of the Assyrian Church of the East. During one evening, the participants were invited to visit the Manichaean Documentation Centre at Macquarie University, where S. Lieu and his colleagues welcomed us with a reception, and S. Lieu gave an informal lecture on “Nestorian Angels and Syro-Turkish Inscriptions from the South China Coast.” Finally, there was the opportunity to visit a concert at the Sydney Opera House. The Symposium Syriacum ended on Saturday with a cruise on the Sydney Harbor. During the business meeting on Friday afternoon, the conference participants approved the establishment of an Interim Executive Committee, consisting of eleven scholars chosen by R. Ebied. The Committee’s task will be to offer administrative help and to draft a constitution. At the next Syriac Symposium, a vote will be taken whether or not to establish a Society for Syriac Studies. The participants voted to establish a conference website. Concerning the location of the next symposium, the majority of those present voted for the Holy Spirit University in Kaslik and St. Joseph University, near Beirut, Lebanon. Overall, the Eighth Symposium Syriacum was a wonderful, stimulating, and interesting gathering that was well worth the long

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journey. Many thanks should be expressed to Prof. Ebied, who organized this international gathering so well and welcomed all of us so warmly. Thanks are due also to his colleagues and assistants, and especially to Mar Meelis Zaia. The interest and hospitality of the local Syriac Christians demonstrated that Syriac studies have contemporary relevance and are not merely an academic undertaking.

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

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

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FORTHCOMING CONFERENCES The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies AMIR HARRAK, UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

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The purpose of this Society, which has been recently established at the University of Toronto, is to stimulate interest among the general public in the history, archaeology and culture of the Syriacspeaking people: Assyrians, Chaldeans, Maronites, Orthodox and Catholic Syriacs. The Society is a non-profit organization with no political or ideological affiliations or functions. Its areas of activity are: Public lectures and symposia, archaeology, research, films and music, exhibitions, evening courses, and travel. Public Lectures for the Year 2000–2001

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Exact dates and titles will be announced in due time. NOVEMBER 2000 Recent Archaeological Excavations in Takrit and the Discovery of Syriac Inscriptions, by Prof. A. Harrak, Near & Middle Eastern Civilizations, University of Toronto. JANUARY 2001 (Syriac Art and Inscriptions in the Monastery of the Syrians in Egypt), by Prof. Lucas van Rompay, Duke University. MARCH 2001 (Excavating an East Syriac Church in Kyrgyzstan), by Dr. Wassilios Klein, University of Bonn.

Membership [3]

Membership in the Society includes free admission to lectures, the annual symposium, and Member’s receptions, as well as subscriptions to the CSSS Bulletin, which will include the transcripts of the public lectures. Please make cheques payable to: Canadian Society for Syriac Studies Inc. and mail them to the address given below. Outside Canada payment is made in US dollars.

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Forthcoming Conferences Annual regular membership

$35

Sponsorship, from

$450

Life membership

$500

Corporate membership (per year) $250

Address [4]

The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies Inc. c/o Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations University of Toronto 4 Bancroft Avenue Toronto, Ontario, Canada M5S 1C1 E-mail: [email protected] Tel. 416/978-3184 FAX 416/978-3305