Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 2 9781463216207

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
From the Editor
Forward
Christianity in Edessa and the Syriac-Speaking World: Mani, Bar Daysan, and Ephraem; the Struggle for Allegiance on the Aramean Frontier
Faith and Persuasion in the Book of the Laws of Countries: A Note on Bardaiṣanian Epistemology
Becoming Perfect: The Maturing of Asceticism in the Syriac Book of Steps
Trade Routes and the Christianization of the Near East
Kokhe, Cradle of the Church of the East: An Archaeological and Comparative Study
Syriac in International Research
Members of the CSSS for 2001-2002

Citation preview

JOURNAL OF THE CANADIAN SOCIETY FOR SYRIAC STUDIES

Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies/ de la Société Canadienne des Etudes Syriaques The JCSSS is a refereed journal published annually, and it contains the transcripts of public lectures presented at the Society and possibly other articles and book reviews

Editorial Board General Editor

Amir Harrak, University of Toronto

Editors

Sebastian Brock, Oxford University Marina Greatrex, University of Ottawa Sidney Griffith, The Catholic University of America Adam Lehto, University of Toronto Lucas van Rompay, Duke University

Publisher Gorgias Press 180 Centennial Ave., Suite 3 Piscataway, NJ 08854 USA www.gorgiaspress.com

The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies La Société Canadienne des Etudes Syriaques

Society Officers 2001-2002 President: Amir Harrak Vice-President and Secretary-Treasurer: Khalid Dinno Members of the Board of Directors: Khalid Dinno, Grant Frame, Robert Hanna, Amir Harrak, Antoine Hirsch, Adam Lehto, Albert Tarzi

The aim of the CSSS is to promote the study of the Syriac culture which is rooted in the same soil from which the ancient Mesopotamian and biblical literatures sprung. The CSSS is purely academic, and its activities include a series of public lectures, one yearly symposium, and the publication of its Journal. The Journal is distributed free of charge to the members of the CSSS who have paid their dues, but it can be ordered by other individuals and institutions through Gorgias Press (www.gorgiaspress.com).

JOURNAL OF THE CANADIAN SOCIETY FOR SYRIAC STUDIES

Volume 2 2002 [2009]

GORGIAS PRESS

Copyright © 2009 by The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. Published in the United States of America by Gorgias Press LLC, New Jersey ISBN 978-1-60724-065-5 ISSN: 1499-6367

GORGIAS PRESS 180 Centennial Ave., Piscataway, NJ 08854 USA www.gorgiaspress.com

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standards. Printed in the United States of America

Origins of Syriac Christianity

Papers presented at a Symposium on the “Origins of Syriac Christianity” November 24, 2001 Sponsored by The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada And The Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations, University of Toronto

The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies

Table of Contents

From the Editor

1

James Reilly,

3 Forward

Sidney H. Griffith, Christianity in Edessa and the Syriac-Speaking World: Mani, Bar Daysan, and Ephraem; the Struggle for Allegiance on the Aramean Frontier

5

Paul-Hubert Poirier, Faith and Persuasion in the Book of the Laws of Countries: A Note on Bardais̛anian Epistemology

21

Robert A. Kitchen, Becoming Perfect: The Maturing of Asceticism in the Syriac Book of Steps

30

Amir Harrak,

46 Trade Routes and the Christianization of the Near East

Marica Cassis,

62 Kokhe, Cradle of the Church of the East: An Archaeological and Comparative Study

Group of Scholars, Syriac in International Research

79

Members of the CSSS for 2001-2002

84

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FROM THE EDITOR

The present volume contains papers presented at the Symposium organized on November 24, 2001 by the Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations, University of Toronto, and the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies. The symposium explored the “Origins of Syriac Christianity,” a difficult subject because of the total lack of literary sources dated to the time when Christianity first expanded into the Near East. The quality of the papers, as well as the organization and strong participation of both the general public and the academy, contributed to the success of this symposium. It is now my pleasure to present to readers at large the papers presented by the five speakers whose research provided an important window into the origins and development of Syriac Christianity. The conference was officially opened by Prof. James Reilly, Chair of the Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations, who rightly qualified Syriac Christianity as a bridge between two major eras, the Ancient Near East and the “Islamic” (medieval and modern) Middle East. After reviewing early Syriac Christian sources, Prof. Sidney Griffith, of the Catholic University of America, stressed the role of Edessa as a frontier city between Roman Syria and Aramean Mesopotamia, then under Persian rule. The city where East and

West met witnessed allegiance struggles led by such 3rd century personalities as Bardaysan and Mani and the 4th century Ephrem. The first two were marked by their Aramean culture whereas the latter espoused Roman imperial orthodoxy, and hence the struggle was translated into one between orthodoxy and heresy. No one can deal with early Syriac Christianity without discussing the secondcentury Syriac author Bardaysan of Edessa. Prof. Paul-Hubert Poirier of Laval University, who has published extensively on early Christianity and Gnosticism, discussed the philosophical background of a statement made by one of Bardaysan’s disciples claiming that without faith no one can attain firm conviction. Prof. Poirier was able to find the echo of this claim in Coptic Gnosticism and ultimately in Greek philosophy. It even recalls Augustine’s maxim crede ut intellegas “believe and understand.” One of the most important sources of early Syriac Christianity is a treatise called The Book of Steps (4th century), which Dr. R.A. Kitchen, of Regina, Saskatchewan, has translated into English and which is now in press. Thus, he is well-qualified to discuss one aspect of this work: the asceticism that so clearly characterizes the early Syriac church. Excesses in this domain are well known, but admirably, the Book of Steps

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reflects the human experience of a community trying to reach evangelical perfection (¿š†ûÙãÄ). Rather than celebrating those who have achieved perfection, the Book of Steps accommodates those who are lessthan-perfect within the community and attributes a dignified ministry to them. Here is an early document that provides an impression of asceticism “in the flesh,” appreciating its inadequacies as well as its accomplishments. The lecture by the present writer dealt with two Syriac classical sources relevant to the general theme of the symposium. While the Teaching of Addai and the Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ suggest that Christianity entered Upper Syria and Mesopotamia triumphally thanks to powerful signs and wonders performed by the two missionaries, the paper highlighted a few references made by them to merchants and trade, suggesting the following: Since several religions, sects, and philosophies were disseminated in foreign lands by merchants and trade routes, the missionaries of Mesopotamia and Upper Syria could well have done the same. The last presentation was archaeological, focusing on the traces of the earliest Syriac churches in the ruins of Babylonia. Kokhe, the birthplace of the Church of the East, offers limited archaeological remains, but what was unearthed several decades ago is now better understood thanks to other Syriac remains recently uncovered in Sassanian Babylonia and the Arabian Gulf. Through comparison of building material, plans and motifs, Marica Cassis, a Ph.D. candidate in Syriac Studies at the University of Toronto, emphasized what made the remains at Kokhe unique. Participants at the symposium also remember the pleasure and the fascination of

hearing a 4th century poem attributed to Ephrem the Syrian, whose name cannot be ignored in any discussion on the origins of Syriac Christianity. The poem was “On the love of learning,” the wording of which recalls ancient wisdom literature, namely that of Ahiqar. Part of the poem was sung by the excellent choir of the Assyrian Church of the East, Toronto Parish, led by Farida. Many thanks to Farida and everyone in the choir, as well as to His Grace Mar Emmanuel, who facilitated the task of the Choir singing in the auditorium of the University. Participants also recall the presentation made by Dr. George Kiraz on the important project entitled eBeth Arké, or “The Syriac Digital Library.” Its aim is to make available on the Internet an eLibrary collection of outof-print books, journal articles, pictures, and music recordings. Led by Beth Mardutho in partnership with major university libraries, eBeth Arké is the first collection of published material on Syriac studies in electronic form using the latest in eBook technology. At the end of the Journal, the reader will find a report on the 5th International Congress of Syriac Studies, which took place in Kottayam, S. India, last September, as well as details about a new research project in Syriac Christianity that just started at Leiden University, the Netherlands. The project will investigate the development of an independent identity among the West Syriac people on the basis of the latter's historiographical, exegetical, and iconographical creations. The organization of the symposium and the publication of its papers were made possible thanks to the financial support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. A. H.

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FORWARD

JAMES REILLY UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

T

he papers published here originated in a symposium at the University of Toronto in November 2001 on the origins of Syriac Christianity. This subject is of interest for a number of different reasons. First, it illuminates a key transition in history from the ancient world to one in which the Middle East and Europe would be dominated by one or another monotheistic faith. Second, it captures formative moments in the development of a Syriac identity that molded literary output and communal life in late antiquity and beyond. Third, it underscores the historical importance of Christianity in the region of its birth, and points to the unbroken presence of Middle Eastern Christian communities for whom the Syriac language is one element of their modern identities. Finally, in today’s globalized world marked by massive population movements (whether voluntary or involuntary), a study of the origins of Syriac Christianity casts light on the heritage and history of communities that now form part of the North American social and cultural fabric. From a scholarly point of view, the papers gathered here offer a bridge between two eras that too often are considered or treated in isolation from one another: the ancient Near East and the Islamic (medieval

and modern) Middle East. Can meaningful links and associations be drawn between these two eras which, on the face of it, share little more than a common geographic space? The answer to this rhetorical question is yes, but the question must be asked because of a bias common both to Islamicists and Islamists, namely, that the advent of Islam as the governing and eventually majority faith in the region marked a major departure from earlier patterns. The study of Islam became the key, so it was believed, to understanding the history of the Middle East. Obviously one cannot begin to grasp the historical Middle East without acknowledging Islam any more than one can grasp historical Europe without giving due weight to the development of Christianity. But just as a dispassionate approach to the Christianization of Europe will acknowledge the incorporation of earlier cultural patterns into what became Christendom, so too will a dispassionate approach to Islam and Islamization take into account the existence and influence of pre-Islamic cultures and belief systems that were variously refuted by or incorporated into the new Islamic synthesis. Studying the origins of Syriac Christianity potentially will allow us better to understand the historical development of Islam and the phe-

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Forward ________________________________________________________________________________________________________

nomenon of Islamization. Indeed, the welfare of Syriac Christianity and the spread of Islam were not mutually exclusive phenomena. Though it is outside the scope of the papers published here, the Syriac church enjoyed one of its greatest periods of fluorescence in the early centuries of Arab rule. In sum, a seemingly narrow and specialized topic like the origins of Syriac Christianity in fact touches on wide-ranging and still-pertinent questions about the manner in

which belief systems are propagated, take root and flourish; and about the formation of the modern world and its dominant religions. I thank my colleague Professor Amir Harrak for the initiative that led to the convening of the original conference and the publication of these papers. It is a fitting project to come out of a department like ours, which seeks to understand the Near and Middle East in the broad sweep of the region’s millennia of history.

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CHRISTIANITY IN EDESSA AND THE SYRIAC-SPEAKING WORLD: MANI, BAR DAYSAN, AND EPHRAEM; THE STRUGGLE FOR ALLEGIANCE ON THE ARAMEAN FRONTIER

SIDNEY H. GRIFFITH CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA

I. Edessa and the Syriac Language

I

n Late Antiquity the geographical area to the east of Antioch, stretching from the northern reaches of the land between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers westward almost to the Mediterranean sea, and southward to the environs of Damascus, was often called ‘Aram’ by the local inhabitants. The name is that of the biblical son of Shem, the son of Noah, from whom the Christian inhabitants of the area in later times derived their legendary ancestry (Genesis 10:22-23).1 At some point after the Seleucids gained power in the area in the fourth century before the Christian era, people began to call all, or parts, of this indeterminate territory ‘Syria’, probably a shortened form of the ancient name Assyria. The local dialect of the Aramaic language spoken in this territory from the first three centuries of the Christian era onward is the language modern, western scholars call ‘Syriac’.2 During the years when the Severan Dynasty ruled in Rome, Edessa, the ancient Urhay and modern [Sanli] Urfa,3 was the center of Aramean, or Syriac, literary cul-

ture. For the Persians, i.e., the ‘Parthians’, it was the capital of the province of Osrhoene; in the 160s AD the territory came under Roman domination.4 As Steven K. Ross has recently written, “By the end of the century between Trajan (97-117) and Septimius Severus (193-211), the king of Edessa was squarely within Roman clientela, and the groundwork was laid for the even firmer incorporation of his realm into the empire.”5 King Abgar VIII, ‘the Great’ (178/9-212), was the king at the time. It was during his reign as a client king of Rome that “preChristian Edessan culture reached its zenith.”6 Edward Gibbon gave this still apt description of Osrhoene just prior to the Severan period: That little state occupied the northern and most fertile part of Mesopotamia, between the Euphrates and the Tigris. Edessa, its capital, was situated about twenty miles beyond the former of those rivers; and the inhabitants, since the time of Alexander, were a mixed race of Greeks, Arabs, Syrians, and Armenians. The feeble sovereigns of Osrhoene, placed on the dangerous verge of two contending empires, were attached from inclination to the

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Parthian cause; but the superior power of Rome exacted from them a reluctant homage.7

Gibbon here put his finger on a salient fact about life in Edessa, and the Syriacspeaking milieu generally. It was life on the frontier.8 Wars between the Romans and the Persians were an ever-present factor in this territory, in which the borders between the two empires were constantly shifting, depending on unpredictable military sallies and excursions from one side or the other.9 Moreover, another constant feature of life in this milieu was the often-forced transfer of whole populations from one jurisdiction to the other, depending on the fortunes of the wars.10 Intellectual life was deeply imbued with both ‘Roman’ and ‘Persian’ features; ‘Hellenism’ and the indigenous, ‘Semitic’ modes of thought and expression often clashed and then intermingled in both religious and more broadly cultural discourse.11 In these cross-frontier circumstances, some measure of local identity was preserved in the burgeoning success of the Syriac language. Developed in the environs of Edessa, it was spoken and understood on both sides of the indefinite, great divide between Rome and Persia, thereby creating a cross-frontier community. The language carried with it a family relationship to the Jewish world in which Christianity first appeared in the synagogue communities of Mesopotamia and Syria/Palestine. It was this language which eventually carried the Christian faith across the trade routes of Central Asia, eastward into China and southward into India.12 For it was Christianity that provided the cultural elan that made Syriac much more than just the Aramaic dialect of Edessa. From the third century onward it became the lingua franca of a

sizeable, mostly mercantile population group in Mesopotamia, who, until well into Islamic times, carried their cultural identity in their own distinctive idiom far and wide. II. Christianity in Edessa One no longer knows for sure when or exactly how Christianity first came to the Syriac-speaking communities. Modern scholars are divided between supporters of the view that it first appeared among Jews in the kingdom of Adiabene, to the north and east of Osrhoene, who had close ties to Palestine, and those who think that Christianity came first to Edessa, from Antioch. What is clear is that by the time of the Roman emperor Septimius Severus (193-211) there was a large enough community of Christians in Edessa to support a church building in the city. The Chronicle of Edessa records the fact that in the year 201AD the church of the Christians was destroyed by a flood. The same sixth-century chronicle dates the ‘apostasy’ of Marcion to the year 138 AD, and it records the date of Bar Daysan’s birth in Edessa in the year 154 AD.13 Both Marcion and Bar Daysan will figure prominently in the discussion to follow of the first notable Christians of Edessa. The Chronicle of Edessa presents a retrospective view of the glories of Edessa. It was composed around the year 540 AD, drawn from the records of the city’s archives and other sources. It is put together from the perspective of a compiler in the sixth century, anxious to highlight the city’s ancient heritage.14 From it and other sources one learns that from around the year 132 BC to AD 249, well into the Roman colonial period, Edessa enjoyed the rule of a local dynasty of kings. The dynasty is often called

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the ‘Abgarid’, after the name Abgar, the given name of a number of the city’s kings. But it is more correctly ‘the Aryu dynasty’, a family of Arab origin, whose rule fostered a dynamic of national consciousness.15 Inscriptions in Old Syriac and Classical Syriac from the first three centuries of the Christian era preserve the names of many of the noble families of the period.16 But for the origins of Christianity in Edessa and its environs, the Chronicle does not offer much help. In the first decades of the fifth century, a now anonymous writer working in Edessa, and also using the city archives, as he claims, put together a remarkable narrative which he called The Teaching of Addai the Apostle.17 At the end of the work the author says that he used records written by the scribe Labubna, the son of Senaq, the son of Abshadar, as his source, and that Hannan, the royal archivist, had testified to their accuracy.18 In his work the author undertook not only to tell the story of the coming of Christianity to Edessa, and to demonstrate its apostolic origins, but, perhaps even more importantly for his own purposes, he provided a profile of the doctrine that he represented as the Christian kerygma originally preached in Edessa. At the very beginning the author lists the three main moments of the narrative: i) “when Abgar, the king, the son of Ma’nu, the king, sent the letter to Jerusalem, to our Lord” ii) “when Addai, the apostle, came to Edessa/Urhay, and what he said in the announcement of his kerygma” iii) “the instructions he gave when he was leaving this world, to those who had received the hand of the priesthood from him”19

Following the third moment of the narrative, the account of Addai’s instructions to his Edessene followers, the author provides a brief, concluding recital of developments in the church of Edessa after the time of Addai. Finally, at the very end, there is the notice about Labubna, the king’s scribe, “the one writing down these things of Addai, the apostle,” and Hannan, the king’s trustworthy archivist, who “set down the hand of witness.”20 The literary heart of the work, as we now have it, is to be found in the speeches delivered by Addai in Edessa. The major themes in the speeches highlight the following issues: the Roman political and ecclesiastical alignment of Edessa and its territories; a hierarchical church order in communion with the sees of Antioch and Rome; a list of religious adversaries including pagans and Jews; a Christology reminiscent of that of Cyril of Alexandria; and moral imperatives concerned with the proper use of wealth in service of the poor. The study of the terms in which these themes are presented in the work leads to the conclusion that the Doctrina Addai in its final form comes from the pen of a writer in the entourage of Bishop Rabbula of Edessa (d.436) in the first third of the fifth century.21 The Doctrina Addai puts forward the several major themes as the component parts of a distinctly Edessan profile of the Christian faith that in its author’s opinion went back to the origins of Christianity in that city. He used documentary sources from the city’s archives, as well as legendary accounts of the first Christians in the city, to support the political and doctrinal point of view he wished to commend. For this purpose he evokes the memory of King Abgar V, ‘the Black’, (4 BC – 7 AD & 13 AD – 50 AD) and the legendary account of his hav-

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ing sent envoys to Palestine with a letter for Jesus at the time of his passion. He asked Jesus to come to Edessa to heal the king of an illness. According to the story, Jesus then responded with a message of his own. He promised to send a disciple to Edessa after his ascension into heaven, to heal Abgar and to preach the Gospel in his kingdom. Meanwhile, Hannan the archivist, a member of the king’s delegation to Jesus, is said to have brought a portrait he painted of Jesus back to Edessa with him from Palestine.22 And in due course, after Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection, according to the story, the disciple Addai came to evangelize Edessa, in fulfillment of Jesus’ promise, and to establish the city’s claim to an apostolic foundation for her church. The problem with this account, from the historian’s point of view, is that the legendary character of the framework narrative, and the Rabbulan profile of the main body of the work, make it unreliable as a source of information about how Christianity actually first came to the Syriac-speaking world. Of course, the legend may well have a historical fundamentum in re, but if so it is now indiscernible beneath layers of narrative color. From a reading of the Doctrina Addai, one goes on in the search for the first Christians of Edessa to other documents. The earliest, independent historical document one might mention, dating from around the year 192 A.D., is the epitaph of Abercius Marcellus, bishop of Hierapolis in Phrygia. It mentions the presence of Christians in the environs of Edessa from the second half of the second century onward. Finally, Julius Africanus (c. 160-240), who in 195 CE came with Septimius Severus’ expedition to Osrhoene, mentions in his Kestoi or ‘Embroideries’, that he had met Bar Daysan

in Edessa.23 Tatian the Syrian (c. 160 CE), who says of himself that he was from Assyria,24 by which he presumably meant northern Mesopotamia, is perhaps the earliest Christian whom we know by name to have come from the Syriac-speaking milieu. He had gone to Rome to study philosophy and there he converted to Christianity under the influence of Justin Martyr (c.100-c.165). Sometime after the latter’s death, perhaps around the year 172, Tatian returned to his native land. Therefore, Tatian himself may well have played a significant role in the dissemination of Christianity beyond the Euphrates. In the works of early Christian heresiographers he is often accused of the ‘heresy’ of the ‘Encratites’,25 a somewhat vague doctrine involving excessive ascetical practice. He is also remembered for two works that have survived: his Oratio ad Graecos, written in Greek, and the Diatessaron, a presentation of the four Gospels in a continuous narrative, which Tatian put together while he was still in Rome. While the original language of the latter is uncertain, it nevertheless had a wide circulation in Syriac, at least until the time of Bishop Rabbula of Edessa (d. 435), when it was officially banned.26 The translation of the Bible into Syriac was an important part of the introduction of Christianity into the Syriac-speaking milieu. It appears that all the translators of the Old Testament into the Syriac version that would come to be called the Peshitta or ‘Simple’ version by the ninth century, worked primarily from a Hebrew original. Many of them seem also sporadically to have consulted the Greek Bible, and there are parallels with the Targums that suggest dependence on a common oral tradition. As for the translators themselves, the current scholarly

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consensus is that “they constituted a single school, a non-rabbinic Jewish community, which eventually accepted Christianity. The evidence suggests that the work spanned perhaps one or two generations, towards the end of the second century CE, and that the likeliest location is Edessa.”27 The evidence is compatible with a date, c. 150 for the earlier books of the Hebrew Bible.28 A number of other Christian works in Syriac from the early period suggest vigorous literary activity by the Severan period. In this connection one might mention the Odes of Solomon, the Acts of Judas Thomas (including the Hymn of the Pearl), and the Gospel of Thomas.29 But these works are all problematic in terms of our knowledge of their origins; most of what we think we know about them is the product of modern scholarly surmise. The earliest Syriac writer whose name and work we actually know is Bar Daysan (154-222), of whom we will speak at greater length below. For now what is important to emphasize is the fact that all of the earliest Christian texts in Syriac supply ample evidence of a wide acquaintance of the Syrians with the rest of the world. Indeed, the Syriac-speaking milieu in the Severan period (193-235), along with all its heritage from the east and with its continuing fascination with Persia and Persians, was nevertheless busily absorbing Christian ideas from the wider Roman world into which Septimius Severus and his successors were bringing it. To this phenomenon Abercius, Tatian, Julius Africanus and the others also testify. By the time Eusebius of Caesarea (c.260-340) was writing his Ecclesiastical History (before 300?) Edessa and Osrhoene were seen to be playing a role in the by now empire-wide Christian movement; he reports events in the church there

on the basis of documents in the city’s archives, including the rudiments of what would become the legend of its apostolic origins.30 Eusebius also reports more ordinary events in the city’s ecclesiastical life, such as its participation in early doctrinal and liturgical controversies. This fact has led Steven K. Ross to make the following observation: Eusebius, however, reports (Hist. Eccl. 5.23.4) that the churches of Osrhoene were consulted when a controversy arose in the church over the date of Easter, around 197. If this report is genuine, it offers confirmation for the establishment of at least a small Catholic community in Osrhoene, and probably in its capital of Edessa, around 190-200.31

III. Edessa’s Early Christian Teachers From the later heresiographical literature in Syriac, notably the works of Ephraem the Syrian (306-373), one learns that already in the second century the ideas of Marcion of Sinope (d.c.154), who had become a Christian in Rome c.140, exerted a major influence in Syriac-speaking Edessa and its environs.32 Given the wide range of his ideas in the Christian world generally, it would be surprising if this had not been the case. At the time Edessa seems to have been absorbing Christianity in its entirety, including the ideas of that other daring thinker from Rome, Valentinus (d.c.165),33 along with the ever more popular Roman, political suzerainty. Although he was never a resident there, Marcion in particular became so important a figure in Osrhoene that the Chronicle of Edessa mentions it as a notable fact in the city’s official memory that “in the year

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449 [of the Seleucid era, i.e., 137/138 C.E.] Marcion left the Catholic church.”34 Marcion’s ideas had a powerful effect on Edessa’s native intellectual, Bar Daysan (154-222), whom Julius Africanus met in Abgar VIII’s court in the days of Septimius Severus, as we mentioned above. On the one hand, as we learn from Eusebius, Bar Daysan composed polemical works against the teaching of Marcion.35 On the other hand, this “Aramean Philosopher,” as Ephraem called Bar Daysan,36 was himself the author of a formidable system of thought, putting together elements from his own world beyond the Euphrates and the philosophy of the Greeks, as we shall discuss below. Radiating from Edessa, Bar Daysan’s teaching had a wide dissemination in the Syriac-speaking world. In the next generation it was to have a profound effect on a teacher from southern Mesopotamia, who had been brought up in the Aramaicspeaking, Jewish-Christian milieu of the ‘Elkasaites’ in Iraq, whose name was Mani (216-276). Mani was to become the founder of a major world religion, with the Persian court as the focal point of his activity. But this fact should not blind us to his Edessa connections. Not only was he indebted in important ways to the thought of Bar Daysan, Edessa’s own ‘Aramean philosopher’,37 but Mani himself is said to have addressed one of his epistles to the community in Edessa.38 By Ephraem’s day, in the judgment of Han J.W. Drijvers, Manichaeism had already gained a commanding presence in the environs of Edessa.39 In Edessa, and the Syriac-speaking world more generally, Bar Daysan and Mani can be seen to represent two responses to the intellectual challenges presented by the irruption of the influences of Roman arms and

ideas into the frontier region of Syria in Severan times. In personal terms, these influences came first with Tatian, Julius Africanus, and others who brought ideas from the imperial city to the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, including the ideas of their contemporaries, Marcion and Valentinus. But they were not the only ones to come, nor were they the only Christians in evidence in Edessa and its environs. There was, presumably, the presence of a larger community to welcome them. Later Christian legend, recorded in the famous Doctrina Addai (which, as we have seen, is a work of the first half of the fifth century), puts forward other names from the Severan period as representing the ancestors of those who would come to profess the Nicene faith in Edessa. The most important of these was Bishop Palut (c.200), who was said to have been consecrated bishop by Serapion of Antioch (c.190-209), who in turn was consecrated by Zephyrinus of Rome (d.217).40 It was their lineage that was claimed by Bishop Qûnâ (reg. c. 289-313), who, according to Walter Bauer, “organized orthodoxy in Edessa in an ecclesiastical manner and gave to it significant impetus.”41 And the names of both Bishop Qûnâ of Edessa and Jacob of Nisibis (d.338) are on the list of attendees at the Council of Nicea in 325, albeit that there are many historical problems with the surviving lists.42 Looking back from the second half of the fourth century, Ephraem the Syrian (c.306373), who was then the major voice in support of Roman ecclesiastical orthodoxy in the Syriac-speaking world, considered Bishop Palut to have been the man in Severan times who represented the Christian church’s best interests. Nevertheless, Ephraem renounced the name ‘Palutians’ for

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those whom he considered to be orthodox Christians, maintaining that the true followers of Christ are known simply as ‘Christians’.43 Furthermore, Ephraem considered Marcion, Bar Daysan, and Mani to have been the principal ‘outsider’ adversaries to the ‘true’ Christian faith in Edessa and its environs in the early years of the Roman imperial hegemony. Here is what he said about them in his Hymns against Heresies: Let them be interrogated about their times, about who is older than his associate. Would Mani seize primogeniture? Bar Daysan is prior to him. Would Bar Daysan claim to be older? His age is younger than the earlier ones. Marcion was the first thorn, the first-born of the thicket of sin, the tare that was the first to spring up. May the Just One trample his growth.44

Ephraem viewed the famous Christian teachers of Severan times in the environs of Edessa, both those from abroad, like Marcion and Valentinus, and those local to the Syriac-speaking world, like Qûq,45 Bar Daysan, and Mani, to have been anxious to win over disciples to their own doctrines. Here is what he said on this subject: Valentinus stole a flock from the church and called it by his own name; the ‘Potter’ (i.e., Qûq) made a denomination in his own name. The crafty Bar Daysan stole some sheep And they acted like the flock universal. Marcion deserted his sheep; Mani fell upon them to capture them from him. The one mad man was biting the other one!

They called the flock by their own names. Blessed is the One who has thrown them out of his house.46

In his polemical zeal, Ephraem even liked to make fun of the names of the great teachers revered in the environs of Edessa whose doctrines he loathed. In this vein, he wrote: Whoever gave the name of the Daysan47 to Bar Daysan, has caused more to die in Bar Daysan than [in] the Daysan. His volume swelled up to bring forth thistles and tares. Marcion (Mrqyon) he rubbed (mraq) so much as to make him rusty. He scoured him to the point of blunting his mind with blasphemy. Mani (Mani) became a garment (mana) fit to wear out its wearers.48

This polemical zeal on the part of Ephraem convinced Walter Bauer that Ephraem and the writers against heresies who came after him invented the history of Christianity in Edessa in the third century in order to support the cause of Roman imperial, ecclesiastical Orthodoxy in the fourth century. Bauer proposed the hypothesis that what would later be called ‘heresy’ actually came first in Edessa, and only subsequently the teaching that would be recognized as ‘orthodoxy’, and then only as espoused by a small, embattled group. More specifically, Bauer said that in Edessa “Christianity was first established in the form of Marcionism, probably imported from the West and certainly not much later than the year 150.”49 Here is not the place to argue about the Bauer hypothesis at any great length. True or false, it does nevertheless call attention to

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the tremendous intellectual vitality in Edessa and the Syriac-speaking world more generally in the Severan period of Roman history. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that when the exciting ideas of Marcion, Valentinus and the others came from the wider world into Syria and Edessa in the late second century, they must have found an already well-established Christian community there to receive them. Indeed it seems that their very success would have required a prior Christian commitment on the part of many who would have become their admirers, in the light of which their new ideas would have been eagerly received. Two third century thinkers in particular, Bar Daysan and Mani, both in some ways heirs to the teachings of Marcion, were to have major roles in the struggle for Christian allegiance in Syria in the third century and later. In the fourth century Ephraem portrayed the two of them as his major intellectual adversaries, outside the canonical boundaries of the ‘catholic’ church of the Roman Empire. IV. The Struggle for Allegiance on the Aramean Frontier Bar Daysan, Mani, and St. Ephraem were all frontier figures; they were native sons of the Aramaic-speaking world of the frontier between Rome and Persia, whose minds were challenged by the currents of political and religious thought that circulated in the wider worlds that came together in Mesopotamia.50 Their doctrines were made up of elements from both east and west, but they found a common expression in the literary genres of Syriac, particularly in the madrƗshâ, a poetic ‘teaching song’ reportedly

favored by all three teachers.51 The teachings of Bar Daysan (154-222) and Mani (216-276) dominated the third century.52 In the fourth century St. Ephraem emerged as the strongest voice in Syrian Christianity. He espoused Nicene orthodoxy and Roman political allegiance in a flawless Syriac idiom that set the standard for literary excellence in that language ever thereafter and eventually eclipsed the influence of the ideas of the earlier teachers as well. From this perspective St. Ephraem may be seen not only as the champion of Roman imperial Orthodoxy, but also as the one who found the most effective way intellectually to inculturate Christianity into the life and institutions of the Aramean frontier. Bar Daysan looked west. Epiphanius, the heresiographer, wrote in his Panarion that Bar Daysan was “a learned man in both Greek and Syriac.”53 While he was well schooled in the astral sciences of the Babylonians and the consogonical myths of the Persians, and was much concerned with planetary influences over human affairs, he was also much concerned with the science and philosophy of the Greeks. In fact, following the perception of Ephraem, who called him “the Aramean philosopher,”54 modern commentators have been inclined to consider Bar Daysan to have been more of a philosopher than he ever was a religious teacher.55 They find in his ideas about the origins of the world and human destiny reminiscences of the teachings of the Stoics and the Platonists.56 But from a cultural point of view, what is more interesting is that while the notes of his students portray him as almost a Socratic teacher,57 Ephraem presents him as a successful composer of madrƗshê in Syriac. Ephraem suggests that these compositions became the effective

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vehicles of Bar Daysan’s ideas in the Aramaic-speaking milieu. He complains of this in the Hymns against Heresies. Ephraem wrote: In the lairs of Bar Daysan are melodies and chants. Since he saw the youth longing for sweets, with the harmony of his songs he excited the children.58

For Ephraem the seduction of Bar Daysan’s Syriac melodies was virtually sexual. He said of them, Bar Daysan’s speech outwardly displays chastity. Inwardly it is perverted into the very symbol of blasphemy. It is a stealthy woman; she commits adultery in the inner room.59

The real issue here is that Bar Daysan, according to Ephraem, excelled in the composition of the rhythmically metrical ‘teaching songs’ (madrƗshê) that were the masterpieces of Aramaic didactic poetry. He goes on to say, For he composed madrƗshê and put them to music. He wrote songs, and introduced metres. According to the quantities and measures, He distributed the words. To the innocent he proffered the bitter in the sweet, The sick, who do not choose healthy food.60

Ephraem said that Bar Daysan emulated David, in that he composed 150 such ‘teaching songs’. But from Ephraem’s own point of view they were “the music of the

infidels, whose lyre is falsehood.”61 The reason was that these ‘teaching songs’ became the classical Syriac medium for the effective transmission of religious teaching. The madrƗshâ was a particularly effective genre in the indigenous, Aramean literary culture in the terms of which any teacher who would commend his views in the Syriac-speaking world would have to express his ideas. Ephraem claims that it was Bar Daysan, the master composer of madrƗshê, who provided the entrée for Mani and his doctrines into the minds and hearts of the Syrians. Mani looked east. He was born near Seleucia-Ctesiphon, the capital of the Persian Empire; Ephraem said he was from Babylon.62 While Mani was religiously nurtured in the Aramaic-speaking milieu of the Elkasaites, a Judaeo-Christian group in lower Mesopotamia, the backbone of his mature teaching was the dualism that Ephraem claimed he got from the Hindus.63 For a while Mani enjoyed the protection of the Persian royal court, in the person of the Shah Shapur I (241-272), and his teachings spread far and wide, both westward into the Roman empire, and eastward, across Central Asia into China. They exercised a major appeal in the Syriac-speaking environs of Edessa. According to Ephraem, Mani, like Bar Daysan, disseminated his teachings in Nisibis and Edessa in madrƗshê.64 Presumably he had in mind the book of Psalms and Prayers, composed originally in Syriac, that was one of the seven works in the official canon of Manichaean scriptures.65 But other Manichaean works were also available, and, as John Reeves has shown, Ephraem himself not infrequently quotes from them and alludes to them in his polemical writings.66 Nevertheless, it appears that Ephraem re-

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garded what he called Mani’s madrƗshê to be the most formidable expressions of Manichaean teachings; they are the only Manichaean scriptures he actually names. According to Ephraem then it was in his socalled madrƗshê that Mani made his strongest appeal for the allegiance of the Syriacspeaking peoples on the Aramean frontier. Ephraem himself was a notable composer of madrƗshê. While he also wrote simple prose, as well as rhythmic prose compositions and ‘verse homilies’ (mêmrê), the Syriac madrƗshâ was nevertheless Ephraem’s own genre of choice for commending the Nicene faith and Roman political alignment in the frontier area.67 The Syriac Vita of Ephraem even makes the claim that Ephraem wrote madrƗshê expressly to counteract the influence of Bar Daysan’s compositions.68 Concretely this means that he adopted the most compelling literary genre available in his Aramean culture to promote the ecclesiastical, theological, and political interests of the bishops whom he served. He seems to have been proud of his skill in this genre, for he sometimes ‘signed’ his madrƗshê by the acrostic device of beginning each successive stanza with words the first Syriac letters of which, in sequence, spell out his name.69 We learn from Jacob of Sarug’s mêmrâ on Ephraem, ‘the Teacher’, how important the correct performance of his madrƗshê was for him. He reportedly spent time and energy rehearsing the singers who would perform them.70 And at the end of his madrƗshê against heresies Ephraem expressed in a prayer what he hoped to have accomplished. He prays, O Lord, may the works of your pastoral minister (‘allƗnâ) not be discounted.

I will not then have troubled your sheep, but as far as I was able, I will have kept the wolves away from them, and I will have built, as far as I was able, enclosures of madrƗshê for the lambs of your flock.71

The ready appeal of Ephraem’s madrƗshê in the Syriac-speaking milieu in which he composed them is evident in the fact that they were gathered into collections by theme, and also by melody, by his disciples, and by later users and transmitters of his compositions. In the end, by the sixth century, nine comprehensive volumes of Ephraem’s collected madrƗshê were in circulation, arranged by subject matter and distributed according to the forty-five melodies according to which they were written and performed.72 This long-term popularity of Ephraem’s madrƗshê testifies both to his success as a composer in the traditional genre favored by Bar Daysan and other writers of Syriac, perhaps including even Mani, and to the power of the ideas Ephraem promoted in this most Aramean of literary genres. By St. Ephraem’s day, in the fourth century, his theological adversaries within the Nicene community were principally the socalled ‘Arians’. Against them Ephraem defended the Nicene faith, in terms reminiscent of the theology of St. Basil of Caesarea and of St. Gregory of Nazinanzus,73 without ever importing their Greek terminology into his Syriac diction.74 Outside his own theological community, Ephraem’s adversaries were the traditionally popular teachers in the environs of Nisibis and Edessa, the followers of Marcion, Bar Daysan, and Mani.75 Inevitably it is from the perspective of Ephraem’s works that the history of Christianity in Edessa in its beginnings is finally

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told. He won the struggle for allegiance at least in part by his success in commending the loyalties he championed in the Syriac idiom of Aram, as he called his homeland.76 Ephraem’s works have survived, preserved by the church he defended. The works of the earlier teachers, whose influence he surpassed, for the most part have not survived. But enough remains for us to conclude that the struggle for allegiance, both ecclesiastical and political, on the Aramean frontier was carried on in the language of the frontier community, and largely in the literary genre of the madrƗshâ, the ‘teaching song’. Bar Daysan may well have developed it in its classical form, but Ephraem perfected its use as an effective tool for the full inculturation of the Nicene faith in the Syriacspeaking world of Aram. In later years, well after Ephraem’s time, Rome and Persia would continue to pull the Syriac-speaking communities of the Aramean frontier in opposite directions in terms both of political and even ecclesiastical allegiance. One has only to think in this connection of the history of the emergence of the

independent Assyrian Church of the East in the early fifth century in SeleuciaCtesiphon. And one recalls in the next century, in the reign of the Roman Emperor Justinian (527-565), the final tension, begun at the council of Chalcedon in 451, between the communities that in the Syriac-speaking world would come to be called by their adversaries the ‘Melkites’ and the ‘Jacobites’ respectively. Then, in the second half of the seventh century, the Aramean frontier between Rome and Persia disappeared under the burgeoning Commonwealth of Islam. Under Islamic rule the Syriac-speaking communities were not only caught up in theological isolation from one another, but they were effectively cut off from the rest of the Christian world as well. Under the Muslims the Aramean frontier ceased to exist, and a new struggle for allegiance beset the Syriac-speaking churches. This one they had to address in Arabic, the language of the new challenge to their faith. But through it all, in all the Syriac-speaking communities, to this very day no one has ever questioned their allegiance to their ancestral teacher, St. Ephraem the Syrian.

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NOTES 1. The earliest textual reference to ‘Aram’ may actually occur before biblical times, in the archives of Ebla in the 3rd millennium. See Edward Lipinski, The Aramaeans, their Ancient History, Culture, Religion (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 100; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), p. 26. 2. On the development of what one might call ‘Classical Syriac’, see the important remarks of Lucas Van Rompay, “Some Preliminary Remarks on the Origins of Classical Syriac as a Standard Language; the Syriac Version of Eusebius of Caesarea’s Ecclesiastical History,” in Gideon Goldenberg & Shlomo Raz (eds.), Semitic and Cushitic Studies (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994), pp. 70-89. 3. See Amir Harrak, “The Ancient Name of Edessa,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 51 (1992), pp. 209-214. 4. See Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East: 31 BC – AD 337 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), pp. 472-481; Warwick Ball, Rome in the East: the Transformation of an Empire (London & New York: Routledge, 2000), pp. 87-94; Maurice Sartre, D’Alexandre à Zénobie: histoire du Levant antique, IVe siècle avant J.–C, IIIe siècle après J.–C. (Paris: Fayard, 2001), pp. 630-637, 961-962. 5. Steven K. Ross, Roman Edessa: Politics and Culture on the Eastern Fringes of the Roman Empire, 114-242 CE (London & New York: Routledge, 2001), p. 29. 6. Ross, Roman Edessa, p. 57. 7. Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (David Womersley, ed., 3 vols.; London: Penguin, 1994), vol. I, p. 224. 8. See Ernst Kirsten, “Edessa: eine römische Grenzstadt des 4. Bis 6. Jahrhunderts im Orient,” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 6 (1963), pp. 144-172. 9. See D. Kennedy, “The East,” in J. Wacher, The Roman World (vol. I; London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987), pp. 266-308. 10. See S.N.C. Lieu, “Captives, Refugees

and Exiles: a Study of Cross-Frontier Civilian Movements and Contacts between Rome and Persia from Valerian to Jovian,” in P. Freeman & D. Kennedy (eds.), The Defence of the Roman and Byzantine East (part 2; Oxford: British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, 1986), pp. 475508. 11. See G.W. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity (Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan Press, 1990), esp. pp. 29-40. 12. See Samuel Hugh Moffett, A History of Christianity in Asia (vol. I: Beginnings to 1500; San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1992; Ian Gillman & Hans-Joachim Klimkeit, Christians in Asia before 1500 (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1999). 13. See I. Guidi, Chronica Minora (CSCO, vols., 1 & 2; Louvain: Secretariat du CSCO, 1903 & 1907), pp. 2 & 3. 14. See W. Witakowski, “Chronicles of Edessa,” Orientalia Suecana 33-34 (1984-1986), pp. 486-498. 15. See Millar, The Roman Near East, 31 BC – AD 337, pp. 472-481. 16. See Han J.W. Drijvers & John F. Healey, The Old Syriac Inscriptions of Edessa & Osrhoene: Texts, Translations & Commentary (Handbuch der Orientalistik, 42; Leiden: Brill, 1999). 17. The text was first published and translated into English by George Phillips, The Doctrine of Addai, the Apostle, Now First Edited in a Complete Form in the Original Syriac (London: Trubner & Co., 1876). It is now also available, in Phillips’ edition, but with a new English version, in George Howard (trans.), The Teaching of Addai (SBL Texts and Translations, 16, Early Christian Literature Series, 4; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981). For further information about the text and its manuscript witnesses, see A. Desreumaux, “La Doctrine d’Addai; essai de classement des temoins syriaques et grecs,” Augustinianum 23 (1983), pp. 181-186. See also Alain Desreumaux, Histoire du roi Abgar et de

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Jésus (Paris: Brepols, 1993). 18. See Howard, The Teaching of Addai, pp. lii-liii; 105-107. 19. Howard, The Teaching of Addai, pp. 1 & 3. 20. Howard, The Teaching of Addai, pp. liii & 107. 21. See Sidney H. Griffith, “Writing History in Syriac in Late Antique Edessa: the Doctrina Addai as a Paradigm of Christian Thought on the Aramean Frontier of the Roman Empire,” in Richard Lim & Carole Straw (eds.), The World of Late Antiquity: the Challenge of New Historiographies (Berkeley: University of California Press, in press). 22. On the famous image of Edessa see now Han J. W. Drijvers, “The Image of Edessa in the Syriac Tradition,” in H. L. Kessler & G. Wolf (eds), The Holy Face and the Paradox of Representation (Villa Spelman Colloquia, Florence, 1996, vol. 6; Bologna: Nuova Alfa, 1998), pp. 13-31. 23. See the passage quoted in the prefatory material to M. J. Routh, Reliquiae Sacrae (vol. II, 1844), reprinted in PG, vol. X, cols. 45– 46. 24. See Molly Whittaker (ed. & trans.), Tatian, Oratio ad Graecos and Fragments (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), section 42, pp. 76-77: gennhqe;iV me;n ejn th/Ú tw:n Assurivwn gh/Ú. 25. See R.M. Grant, “The Heresy of Tatian,” Journal of Theological Studies 5 (1954), pp. 6268; L.W. Barnard, “The Heresy of Tatian–Once Again,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 19 (1968), pp. 1-10. 26. See W.L. Peterson, Tatian’s Datessaron: its Creation, Dissemination, Significance and History in Scholarship (Supplement to Vigiliae Christianae, 25; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994). 27. M.P. Weitzman, The Syriac Version of the Old Testament: an Introduction (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications, 56; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 13. 28. Weitzman, The Syriac Version, p. 258.

29. See Robert Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: a Study in Early Syriac Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), esp. pp. 24 ff. 30. See Sebastian Brock, “Eusebius and Syriac Christianity,” in Harold W. Attridge & Gohei Hata (eds), Eusebius, Christianity, and Judaism (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992), pp. 212-234. 31. Ross, Roman Edessa, pp. 127-128. 32. See Han J.W. Drijvers, “Marcionism in Syria: Principles, Problems, Polemics,” Second Century 6 (1987-88), pp. 153-172. 33. Aphrahat, the ‘Persian Sage’ (fl. 337345), spoke of the “fraudulent teachings” of both Marcion and Valentinus, along with Mani. See Joannes Parisot (ed. & trans.), Aphraatis Demonstrationes I – XXII (Patrologia Syriaca, vol. I; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1894), cols. 115-116. 34. Quoted from Drijvers, “Marcionism in Syria,” p. 153. See Guidi, Chronica Minora, p. 3 (npaq Marqyon men ‘edta qatholiqa). 35. See the passage from Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History (IV, 30) quoted, translated into English and discussed in H. J. W. Drijvers, Bardaisan of Edessa (Assen: Van Gorcum & Comp., 1966), pp. 169-170. 36. C. W. Mitchell, S. Ephraim’s Prose Refutations of Mani, Marcion and Bardaisan (2 vols.; London & Oxford: Williams & Norgate, 1912 & 1921), vol. II, p. 225. 37. See O.G. von Wessendonk, “Barde-sanes und Mani,” Acta Orientalia 10 (1932), pp. 336363; H. J. W. Drijvers, “Mani und Bardaisan: ein Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte des Manichäismus,” in Mélanges d’Histoire des Religions offerts à Henri-Charles Puech (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1974), pp. 459-469; Barbara Aland, “Mani und Bardesanes–zur Entstehung des manichäischen Systems,” in Albert Dietrich (ed.), Synkretismus im syrisch-persischen Kulturgebiet (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975), pp. 123-143. 38. See Ron Cameron & Arthur J. Dewey (eds.), The Cologne Mani Codex (P. Colon. Inv. Nr. 4780); ‘Concerning the Origin of his

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Body’ (Texts and Translations, n. 15, Early Christian Literature Series, 3; Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1979), pp. 50-51. 39. Drijvers made this point in a number of publications, most succinctly in H.J.W. Drijvers, “Addai und Mani, Christentum und Manichäismus im dritten Jahrhundert in Syrien,” in R. Lavenant (ed.), III Symposium Syriacum 1980 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta, 221; Rome: Pontificium Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1983), pp. 171-185. 40. See George Howard, The Teaching of Addai, pp. 52 (Syriac), 105 (English). 41. Walter Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (2nd ed.; trans. & ed. R. A. Kraft & G. Krodel; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), p.33. 42. See H. Gelzer, H. Hilgenfeld, O. Cuntz, Patrum Nicaenorum Nomina, Latine, Graece, Coptice, Syriace, Arabice, Armeniace (Lipsiae: Teubner, 1898), s.v. 43. See Sidney H. Griffith, “Setting Right the Church of Syria: Saint Ephraem’s Hymns against Heresies,” in W. E. Klingshirn & M. Vessey (eds), The Limits of Ancient Christianity; Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R. A. Markus (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1999), pp. 97-114; idem, “The Marks of the ‘True Church’ according to Ephraem’s Hymns against Heresies,” in G. J. Reinink & A.C. Klugkist (eds), After Bardaisan: Studies on Change and Continuity in Syriac Christianity; a Festschrift in Honor or Professor Han J. W. Drijvers (Orientalia Lovanenisia Analecta; Louvain: Peeters, 1999), pp. 125-140. 44. Edmund Beck, Des heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Hymnen contra Haereses (CSCO, vols. 169-170; Louvain: Secretariat du CorpusSCO, 1957), XXII:17. Occasionally, Ephraem would add the names of other ‘outsider’ adversaries. For example, in one stanza he wrote of Valentinus and Quq, in addition to the more frequently mentioned troika of Marcion, Bar Daysan, and Mani. See, e.g., ibid., XXII:3, quoted below. 45. Quq was a native of Edessa, who also lived in Severan times, but whose teachings, so

objectionable to Ephraem, are now largely unknown. See Han. J. W. Drijvers, “Quq and the Quqites; an Unknown Sect in Edessa in the Second Century A.D.,” Numen 14 (1967), pp. 104129. 46. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, XXII:3. 47. In ancient times, Daysan was the name of the river that flows by Edessa. Its devastating floods that damaged the city and claimed many lives were recorded in the chronicles. See, e.g., the account of one such major flood in the third century recorded in the Chronicle of Edessa, in Guidi, Chronica Minora, vol. I, pp. 1-4. 48. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, II:1. 49. Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, p. 29. 50. See Geo Widengren, “ ‘Synkretismus’ in der syrischen Christenheit,” in Dietrich, Synkretismus im syrisch-persischen Kulturgebiet, pp. 38-64. 51. Usually called simply a ‘hymn’ in the west, Andrew Palmer has proposed calling the madrƗshâ a ‘teaching song’, a rendering that certainly comes closer to the original sense of the term. See A. Palmer, “The Merchant of Nisibis; Saint Ephrem and his Faithful Quest for Union in Numbers,” in J. Den Boeft & A. Hilhorst, Early Christian Poetry; a Collection of Essays (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, vol. XXII; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993), pp. 167-233. On the inappropriateness of calling the madrƗshâ a ‘hymn’ see Michael Lattke, “Sind Ephraems MadrƗshê Hymnen?” Oriens Christianus 73 (1989), pp. 38-43. 52. For Bar Daysan, see Han J.W. Drijvers, Bardaisan of Edessa (Studia Semitica Neerlandica, 6; Assen: van Gorcum, 1966); Edmund Beck, “Bardaisan und seine Schule bei Ephraem,” Le Muséon 91 (1978), pp. 324-333; J. Teixidor, Bardesane d’Edesse: la primiere philosophie syriaque (Paris: Cerf, 1992); A. Camplani, “Note Bardesanitiche,” Miscellanea Marciana 12 (1997), pp. 11-43; idem, “Rivisitando Bardesane: note sulle fonti siriache del bardesanismo e sulla sua collocazione storico-religiosa,” Cristianesimo nella Storia 19 (1998), pp. 519-596.

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For Mani, see Edmund Beck, Ephraems Polemik gegen Mani und die Manichaeer; im Rahmen der zeitgenoessischen griechischen Polemik und der des Augustinus (CSCO, vol. 391; Louvain: Secretariat du CorpusSCO, 1978); Samuel N. C. Lieu, Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China, a Historical Survey (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985); idem, Manichaeism in Mesopotamia and the Roman East (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World, vol. 118; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994); Jason David BeDuhn, The Manichaean Body; In Discipline and Ritual (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000). See also Sidney H. Griffith, “ ‘The Thorn among the Tares’: Mani and Manichaeism in the Works of St. Ephraem the Syrian,” in M.F. Wiles & E. J. Yarnold (eds), Studia Patristica (vol. XXXV; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), pp. 403435. 53. Karl Holl, Epiphanius, (Ancoratus und Panarion) (2nd vol., Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller, vol. 31; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1922), LVI, p. 338. 54. Mitchell, Prose Refutations, vol. II, p. 225. 55. See Teixidor, Bardesane d’Edesse, esp. pp. 105-114. 56. See, e.g., Hans J.W. Drijvers, “Bardaisan von Edessa als Repräsentant des syrischen Synkretismus im 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr.,” in Dietrich, Synkretismus im syrisch-persischen Kulturgebiet, pp. 109-122. 57. The only sustained record of Bar Daysan’s teaching still extant is contained in a work put together by one of his interlocutors, Awida, usually called the Book of the Laws of Countries. See F. Nau, Bardesanes, Liber Legum Regionum (Patrologia Syriaca, vol. I; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1907), cols. 536-611; H.J.W. Drijvers (ed. & trans.), The Book of the Laws of Countries; Dialogue on Fate of Bardaisan of Edessa (Semitic Texts with Translations, III; Assen: van Gorcum, 1965). 58. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, I:17.

59. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, I:11. 60. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, LIII:6. On Bar Daysan’s role in setting the traditional madrƗshâ, a recitative, to music, see K. E. McVey, “Were the Earliest MadrƗshê Songs or Recitations?” in Reinink & Klugkist, After Bardaisan, pp. 185-199. 61. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, LIII:6. 62. See Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, XIV:8. 63. See Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, III:7. Citing other passages, Beck thinks that here Ephraem means ‘Persians’ rather than ‘Indians’. See Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, vol. 170, p. 13, n. 8, and idem, Ephraem’s Polemik, p. 25. 64. See Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, I:16. 65. See Lieu, Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire, p. 6. 66. See John C. Reeves, “Manichaean Citations from the Prose Refutations of Ephrem,” in Paul Mirecki & Jason BeDuhn, Emerging from Darkness; Studies in the Recovery of Manichaean Sources (Nag Hammadi & Manichaean Studies, XLIII; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997), pp. 217-288. 67. For more on Ephraem’s madrƗshê see Andrew Palmer, “ ‘A Lyre without a Voice’; the Poetics and the Politics of Ephrem the Syrian,” ARAM 5 (1993), pp. 371-399. 68. See Joseph P. Amar, The Syriac ‘Vita’ Tradition of Ephrem the Syrian, (Ph.D. Dissertation; Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America, 1988 / Ann Arbor, Michigan: University Microfilms International, # 8919389), chap. 31. 69. See Andrew Palmer, “St Ephrem of Syria’s Hymn on Faith 7; an Ode in His Own Name,” Sobornost 17 (1995), pp. 28-40. 70. See Joseph P. Amar, A Metrical Homily on Holy Mar Ephrem by Mar Jacob of Sarug (Patrologia Orientalis, vol. 47, fasc., 1, no. 209; Turnhout: Brepols, 1995), # 48, pp. 37ff. 71. Beck, Hymnen contra Haereses, LVI:10. 72. See André De Halleux, “Une clé pour les hymnes d’Éphrem dans le MS. Sinai Syr. 10,”

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Le Muséon 85 (1972), pp. 171-199; idem, “La transmission des Hymnes d’Éphrem d’après le MS. Sinai Syr., 10, f. 165v-178r,” in Symposium Syriacum 1972 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta, 197; Rome: Pontificium Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1974), pp. 21-36. 73. See Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem the Syrian and St. Gregory the Theologian Confront the Arians (Moran Etho, 5; Kottayam, Kerala: St. Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute, 1994). 74. See Sidney H. Griffith, “ ‘Faith Seeking Understanding’ in the Thought of St. Ephraem the Syrian,” in George C. Berthold (ed.), Faith Seeking Understanding: Learning and the Catholic Tradition; Selected Papers from the Symposium and Convocation Celebrating the Saint

Anselm College Centennial (Manchester, NH: Saint Anselm College Press, 1991), pp. 35-55. 75. See Sidney H. Griffith, “Setting Right the Church of Syria; Saint Ephraem’s Hymns against Heresies,” in William E. Klingshirn & Mark Vessey (eds), The Limits of Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R. A. Markus (Washington: CUA Press, 1999), pp. 97-114. 76. Ephraem speaks of Aram as ‘our country’ in a number of places. See, e.g., his boasting of ‘our land’ in the madrƗshê he wrote in praise of Julian Saba. See Sidney H. Griffith, “Julian Saba, ‘Father of the Monks’ of Syria,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 2 (1994), esp. pp. 201-203.

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FAITH AND PERSUASION IN THE BOOK OF THE LAWS OF COUNTRIES: A NOTE ON BARDAISҚANIAN EPISTEMOLOGY

PAUL-HUBERT POIRIER UNIVERSITÉ LAVAL (QUÉBEC)

T

his paper has grown out of my teaching of the Syriac language over the last few years at Laval University, which gave me the opportunity to read and translate with my students the Book of the Laws of Countries K (¿š†Ăš~ƒ ¾èÍãåƒ ¾ÁÿÜ, hereafter BLC).1 I have been interested in this work since I began my Syriac studies more than twentyfive years ago in Paris, but until now I have never had the occasion to seriously examine it. This examination was prompted by the fact that the first and last translation of the BLC into French was published over a century ago, in 1899!2 This paper is therefore my first foray, a rather modest and limited one into the field of Bardaisѽanian studies. 1.The Purpose of this Paper The purpose of this paper is to examine the section of the BLC in which one of the interlocutors of the dialogue, a certain Avida, says to Bardaisѽѽan: I even greatly desire to hear and to be persuaded, because it is not from any other I have heard this word; but I have spoken it of my own mind to my brothers here, and they are not willing

to persuade me, but say, ‘Believe really, and you will be able to know every thing’; but I am not able to believe unless I should be persuaded. (5, 540, 15-22)

The ‘word’ (¿ÿàâ) which had been the object of discussion between Avida and Bardaisѽan’s disciples was the assertion by Avida that, ‘if God is One, as you say He is, and He has created mankind intending you to do what you are charged to, why did He not create mankind in such a way that they could not sin but always did what is right’ (1). Bardaisѽan’s disciples had unsuccessfully tried to refute Avida and had, in desperation, argued that he must simply have faith. In the excerpt I have cited, I am particularly interested in the statement which ends Avida’s answer to Bardaisѽan’s disciples: ‘I am not able to believe unless I should be convinced’, in Syriac: ¾Ćß ¾å~ ÿéÙòҚ~ ~ ¾Ćß~ ÍæãØÌãß ¾å~ ÑÝýâ (540, 21-22). This statement, apparently commonplace, is the exact opposite of Bardaisѽan’s disciples’ injunction to Avida, that is, ‘Believe really, and you will be able to know every thing’. Avida’s declaration, to the effect that he would not believe without being first persuaded, has a close, if not literal, parallel in

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two Nag Hammadi tractates preserved in Coptic, but of which the originals were definitely Greek. In the first one, entitled The Interpretation of Knowledge (NHC XI, 1, hereafter Interp. Know.),3 it is stated that ‘each one is persuaded [by the things] he believes:’ p]oҗueҗei poueei gar Rpei[ce X_n ne]tҗfRpisteue arau (1, 30-31). The second writing, the Treatise on the Resurrection (NH I, 4, hereafter Treat. Res.),4 also provides an interesting parallel to both the BLC and the Interp. Know., when it asserts, regarding the resurrection, that ‘if there is one who does not believe, he cannot be persuaded, for it is the domain of faith, my son, and not that of persuasion, (to assert that) the dead will arise:’ ei¥pe oun oueei Nde emFpisteue en m_ntef Mmeu Mp_rpeice. ptopos gar Ntpistis pe pa¥hre auw pap_rҗpeice en pe petmaout natwwn (46, 3-7). I was struck by the similarities between the BLC and the Nag Hammadi tractates in their treatment of faith and persuasion. I also wondered whether, behind Avida’s lapidary statement, there might be a philosophical, or rhetorical, background which would be worthy of consideration, the examination of which could contribute to a better understanding of the origins of the BLC. But before getting to the heart of the matter, let us briefly discuss the BLC and some questions its study brings up.5 2. The Book of the Laws of Countries The BLC is a dialogue in which the participants are Bardaisѽѽan, his disciples (two of which, Philip and Bar-YamƗ, are named) and a certain Avida, who is a new-comer to the circle of the disciples and who will be the main interlocutor of Bardaisѽѽan. The dia-

logue takes place in the home of Šemašgram, a ‘brother’ of the disciples. According to the unanimous view of the critics, the BLC was written in Syriac, probably at the beginning of the 3rd century. However, at least part of it was translated into Greek very soon afterwards, as evidenced by the excerpts preserved by Eusebius of Caesarea, the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, Pseudo-Caesarius and Porphyry’s De Abstinentia. The title given at the end of the work in the one and only manuscript witness to the Syriac text, the British Library Add. 14568, ‘The Book of the Laws of Countries’, applies, strictly speaking, only to the ethnographic section of the BLC, devoted to the novmima barbarikav (26-40). The title transmitted by Eusebius, pro;V =Antwni:non peri; eiJmarmevnhV diavlogoV “Dialogue on Fate to Antoninus” (Eccl. Hist. IV, xxx, 2), is more appropriate given the form and the content of the work as a whole. The BLC is indeed structured around two main themes, which always go hand in hand in the philosophical reflection of Late Antiquity, namely free-will and astral fatalism.6 The dialogue opens with a prologue (1), in which Avida voices the question that I mentioned above, the question which is at the heart of the debate: ‘If God is One, as you say He is, and He has created mankind intending you to do what you are charged to, why did He not create mankind in such a way that they could not sin but always did what is right?’ Avida’s question is followed by a brief exchange (2-6) between him and Bardaisѽѽan, which serves as an opening for the core of the dialogue. The first section of the BLC proper (7-17) deals with free-will, in responding to a second question by Avida: ‘Why did not God create us in such fashion as not to sin and become guilty?’ It

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ends with a short development on the nature of man. The next section of the dialogue (18-22) consists of a philosophical refutation of Fate prompted by an affirmation of Bardaisѽѽan’s disciples, according to which ‘there are others who say, that people are led by the decree of Fate, sometimes ill, sometimes well.’ This section is introduced and structured by a remarkable doxography, which lists three opinions or aiJrevseiV on Fate:7 1st thesis: Of the Chaldaeans, and others, who value the knowledge of their art: ‘Everything in which they fail and everything good they do, everything that befalls them of riches and poverty, disease, health and physical injury, comes to them through the guidance of those stars which are called the Seven, and they are led by them.’ 2nd thesis: ‘Others maintain that this art is an imposture of the Chaldaeans, or even that Fate does not exist at all but that it is an empty name (= o[noma khnovn), and that all things, great and small, lie in the hands of man, and that physical injuries and defects happen and come to him by chance.’ 3rd thesis: ‘Others again say that man does everything he does according to his own will by virtue of the liberty given him, but that defects, injuries and grievous things that befall him are a punishment sent him by God.’ (18)

The first thesis, that of the astrologers, called here Chaldaeans, asserts a universal astral Fatalism, whereas the second and third, whose proponents remain anonymous according to Levi della Vida,8 they are respectively the later Aristotelians and the mainstream Christians, profess the existence of human free-will, while recognizing that

injuries, diseases and bodily defects are mere accidents (sumbebhkovta) or God-sent punishments. In his response, Bardaisѽѽan does not appear to favour one thesis over the others, not even the third, but he asserts that ‘these three sects (aiJrevseiV) seem to be partly right and partly wrong.’ Their truth lies in the fact that ‘people see how things happen to them by chance,’ ( –ûî = sumbaivnein) but they are mistaken, because they fail to understand the Wisdom of God, ‘which has established the worlds and created man, has ordained the Governors, and has given to all things the power which is suitable for each one of them’(19). Bardaisѽѽan’s own view of Fate is based upon the conviction that everything, including ‘God and the Angels, the Powers, the Governors and the Elements, men and animals,’ has its own proper power (¿šÍÓàýâ, ¾æÓßÍü) granted to it by God. Bardaisѽѽan’s theory of Fate distinguishes three levels of reality: Nature (¾æÙÜ = fuvsiV), Fate (¾ùàÏ = eiJmarmevnh) and Freewill (¿š†˜½Ï = ejleuqeriva), each with its own sphere of influence as regards mankind: ‘It is evident that we are governed by Nature equally, by Fate differently, and by our Free-will each one as he wishes.’ As to what is called Fate, it is nothing else than ‘the fixed course determined by God for the K Powers (¾æÓÙàü = dunastaiv or ejxousivai) K and the Elements (¾éÜÍÓè~ = stoicei:a).’ Bardaisѽѽan describes Fate’s action in these words: According to this course and order the spirits (or intellects) undergo changes while descending to the soul, and the souls while descending to the bodies. That which causes these changes is called Fate and native horoscope of that mixture which is being sifted and

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purified to the help of that which, by the grace and goodness of God, was and will be helped till the consummation of all. (20)

The belief in the absolute power of Fate and the ensuing denial of Providence are therefore the result of a deficient understanding of the order of Universe and ignorance of the domains proper to Nature, Fate and Free-will: Because of the division and the difference existing between the Powers, there are people who think that the world is governed without a fixed order, because they do not realise that this difference and division, innocence and guilt, arise from the order set by God in according them Freewill, so that these active beings also may either justify themselves or become guilty through their free disposing over themselves. As we have seen that fate can disorder Nature, so we can also see how man’s Free-will forces back and disorders Fate. Not in everything, though, as Fate does force back Nature in everything either. It is fitting, then, that these three things, Nature, Fate and Free-will keep each their own mode of being, until the course is completed and measure and number have been fulfilled. For thus has it been resolved by Him, who ordained what was to be the way of life and the manner of perfection of all creatures, and the condition of all substances and natures. (22)

In a passage which serves as a brief transition (23-24), Avida declares himself satisfied with Bardaisѽѽan’s demonstration to the effect that man does not sin by nature and that all men are not governed equally. He then asks Bardaisѽѽan to show that ‘those who sin do not do so under the influence of Fate

(¾ùàÏ) or Destiny (¾æùèÍñ),’ (23) but that ‘we have liberty to dispose over ourselves, so that we are not slaves of physical nature,9 nor moved by the control of the Powers’ (24). Bardaisѽѽan’s demonstration of this is made by means of the novmima barbarikav, which will serve to establish the vacuity of the Chaldaean science.10 This section (2540) is the longest and the best-known of the BLC, and it established once and for all the reputation of Bardaisѽѽan in Antiquity, as it appears from the borrowings by Eusebius, the Pseudo-Clementines, Pseudo-Caesarius and Porphyry. The BLC lacks a real conclusion—we are not told whether or not Avida let himself be persuaded by the second part of Bardaisѽѽan’s argument. After a short discussion of the astrological theory of the klivmata (41-47a), the dialogue ends (47b) with an eschatological fresco, which evokes the image of a New World, a ‘new mixture’, which, ‘by virtue of instruction’, will bring the present aeon to its end. Then, ‘at the establishment of this new world, all evil motions will cease, and all rebellions will end, the foolish will be persuaded, and deficiencies will be filled up, and there will be peace and safety, by the gift of him who is the Lord of all natures’ (47). Strictly speaking, the BLC is not to be ascribed to Bardaisѽѽan, no more than Plato’s dialogues can be seen as works or ipsissima verba of Socrates. Nevertheless, the BLC has always been considered as an important, if not direct, witness to Bardaisѽѽan’s thought. Here is not the place to pass in review the history of research on the relationship between Bardaisѽѽan and the BLC. It has been done recently by Alberto Camplani, in two remarkable articles, published respectively

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in 1997 and 1998.11 Let me just remind that, since Drijvers’ monograph on Bardaiś́an of Edessa (Assen 1966), the BLC has been considered either as a rather faithful rendering of Bardaisѽѽan’s views (Drijver’s position) or as a christianized and catholicising revision of the Aramaean philosopher’s teaching (Levi Della Vida,12 Jansma13). It is not my intention to enter into this debate, but it appears to me that the BLC in itself has received too little attention, and that much of its content is still awaiting explanation. 3. The Epistemological Argument in the Book of the Laws of Countries (5-7) After this long preamble, we arrive at our main point. We have already quoted the passage of the BLC which deals with the opposition between faith and persuasion. What I would like to examine now is the meaning of the verbs êÙñ~ (to persuade), êÙòҚ~ (to be persuaded) and çã؅ (to believe), and of the noun ¿šÍæã؅ (faith). At first glance, the renderings of these terms pose no problems. But, when one considers their use in the BLC, especially in chapters 5-7, the situation is not that simple. A good example of this difficulty is provided by the verb çã؅ (to believe). This verb occurs for the first time in chap. 5, in the discussion between Avida and Bardaisҗan’s disciples of the conditions of the access to certitude. Here is the text: Avida said: ‘I even greatly desire to hear and to be convinced, because it is not from any other I have heard this word; but I have spoken it of my own mind to my brothers here, and they are not willing to convince me, but say, “Believe really, and you will be able to know every thing.”

ÑÝý⠏Êâ á܆ :ÍæãØÌâ äß çã؅ “Êãß ÿå~ but I am not able to believe unless I am persuaded.’ ¾Ćß~ ÍæãØÌãß ¾å~ ÑÝýâ ¾Ćß ¾å~ .(5) ÿéÙòҚ~ ~

For Bardaisѽѽan’s disciples, the firm invitation to ‘believe really (or ‘strongly’)’ refers manifestly to an attitude of religious faith, as we have it with the movnon pivsteuson of Luke 8: 50, where the Curetonian has a wording similar to the BLC, çã؅ ÍæãØÌ⠃ÍÐàÁ. But Avida’s reply is situated on a completely different level. Faith is no longer placed in the foreground, but rather is set in second place. It is also subordinated to and conditioned by persuasion. Such a view is a bit surprising, since persuasion and faith normally fall within two different intellectual provinces, persuasion being the result of rhetorical, or dialectical, argumentation, and faith being ‘the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen’, according to the famous definition of Hebrews 11:1. We have therefore two opposite sequences: faith leading to persuasion and knowledge versus persuasion being the basis and condition of faith. The first sequence is what one would expect in a JudaeoChristian context. As for the second, despite the use of the verb ‘believe’, çã؅, a shift in meaning can be observed, from the Christian significance of faith and belief, to a philosophical, or rhetorical, import. Here we must remind ourselves that the Greek terms pivstiV and pisteuvein, besides their usual meaning of ‘faith’ and ‘to believe’, may also refer respectively to proof, persuasion or confirmation, and to the fact of being persuaded, that is, giving one’s assent to a per-

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suasive argumentation.14 Therefore, Avida’s reply, “I am not able to believe unless I be persuaded,” could be paraphrased as “I cannot give my assent to something unless I be given a persuasive proof.” Consequently, I would suggest that the BLC is built upon a misunderstanding, or a double entendre, of the verb çã؅ “to believe,” as Avida and his opponents made use of this term in two different ways.15 As for Bardaisѽѽan, even if, in 6-7, he seems to prove his disciples right, when he says that “there are many, because faith is not in them, who cannot arrive at a firm conviction,” he nevertheless engages in a fullfledged philosophical demonstration (ajpovdeixiV), so much what Avida has been expecting that he declares himself “persuaded” (ÿéÙòҚ~) by what Bardaisѽѽan has “shown” (ÿØÍÏ) (23). Bardaisѽѽan’s brilliant exposition of the previous chapters was thus the proof, the pivstiV, which Avida had in vain requested from his disciples. Now, the question I would like to address, is why the BLC resorts to a double meaning of the terms çã؅ and ¿šÍæã؅, identical to what is well attested for their Greek equivalents pivstiV and pisteuvein? My suggestion is that the use of these terms in the BLC reveals a clear, although discreet, polemical intention. The way Bardaisѽѽan deals with Avida’s questions is to propose a philosophical—even a scientific or ethnological—answer to what remains for him, and probably for many of his fellow Christians, a philosophical problem, namely the coexistence of Fate and Free-will, to which, in any case, no authoritative, unproved solution can be given, a problem for which the solution is also a kind a preamble, a praeparatio, to Faith in the Christian God. Such a polemical use of the term pivstiV

is not without parallel. There is an illuminating, though late, example of it in the commentary of Simplicius (circa 500 A.D.) on the De Caelo of Aristotle. Referring to the passage where Aristotle says that belief comes from reasoning (269 b 13-14 : ejx aJpavntwn a[n tiV touvtwn sullogizovmenoV pisteuvseien), Simplicius justifies the use of the verb pisteuvein by Aristotle in the following terms: Faith may be understood in two different ways. On the one hand, there is faith which arises without demonstration (cwri;V ajpodeivxewV), in an irrational manner (ajlovgwV)—such is the faith that certain persons (tine;V) conceive even about the most absurd things (…kai; ejpi; toi:V ajtopwtavtoiV). The other kind of faith arises from demonstration and from reasoning: this faith is altogether sure, irrefutable and akin to the truth of beings (ajsfalhvV ejsti kai; ajnevlegktoV kai; th/: tw:n o[ntwn ajlhqeiva/ sumpefukui:a). (In De Caelo, p. 55, 3-6 Heiberg)16

Philippe Hoffmann, in an article on the Chaldean triad e[rwV, ajlhvqeia, pivstiV has convincingly shown that Simplicius is to be situated in a long tradition of anti-Christian polemists, from Lucian, Marcus Aurelius and Celsus onward, and of Neoplatonist philosophers as well, who denounce the irrational faith of the Christians. In Simplicius’ text, and also I believe in the passage of the BLC which we are dealing with, the verb pisteuvein, or çã؅, is used in a double sense, intellectual and religious, and it refers at the same time to the philosophical conviction which arises from a demonstrative deduction and to the religious faith. To return to Bardaisѽѽan, the demonstration offered by the philosopher in the BLC,

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with all its intellectual rigorousness, may be seen as a protest against an antiphilosophical bias of certain Christians, a bias best exemplified by Tertullian, when he writes in a famous passage of his De Praescriptione Haereticorum: What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem? What concord is there between the Academy and the Church? What between heretics and Christians? Our instruction comes from ‘the porch of Solomon,’ who had himself taught that ‘the Lord should be sought in simplicity of heart.’ Away with all attempts to produce a mottled Christianity of Stoic, Platonic, and dialectic composition! We want no curious disputation after possessing Christ Jesus, no inquisition after enjoying the Gospel! With our faith, we desire no further belief. For this is our faith, that there is nothing which we ought to believe besides. (VII, 9-13)

Cum credimus, nihil desideramus ultra credere: it is difficult to imagine a motto farther from Bardaisѽѽan’s thought and manner than this! 4. From Bardaisѽѽan to Nag Hammadi papyri and Augustine As we have seen, the Interp. Know. and the Treat. Res. offer close parallels to the BLC in their use of the terms peivqesqai ~ pisteuvein / ajpistei:n ~ ouk peivqesqai. In

spite of a difference in the sequence of the elements, peivqesqai ĺ pisteuvein in the BLC, and pisteuvein ĺ peivqesqai in the Interp. Know. and the Treat. Res., we remain on either side in the domain of persuasion and proof, which suggests a philosophical, or rhetorical, instead of a theological, interpretation of pisteuvein. This dialectic of faith and persuasion receives an unexpected - and reversed - echo in Augustine’s famous dictum “Crede ut intellegas”, “Believe that you may understand”, which is based on the Greek Septuagint’s false rendering of Isaiah 7:9, “If you do not believe, you shall not understand” (eja;n mh; pisteuvshte, oujde; mh; sunh:te), where the Hebrew Masoretic Text (and the Latin Vulgate) has ‘If you do not stand firm in faith, you shall not stand at all.’ The Augustinian aphorism, though not identical to those of the BLC and the Coptic tractates, is nevertheless interesting in its combination of faith and intelligence. It also suggests that there might be a common tradition lying behind all three. The BLC is extant in a single Syriac manuscript, the composition of which is predominantly philosophical, and makes use of a highly technical vocabulary, either philosophical or astrological, which would require a comprehensive commentary, still to be written, a commentary which would do justice to its variegated background. This paper is nothing but a modest start in this direction.

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NOTES 1. First edition of the Syriac in Cureton 1855, with an English translation; new edition in Nau 1907 and Nau 1931. Nau’s edition of 1931 was reprinted without changes by Drijvers 1965. We use here the edition of Nau 1907. 2. Nau 1899. 3. Ed. and trans. Turner, Pagels 1990. 4. Ed. and trans. Peel 1985:150; cf. Ménard 1983:49 and Layton 1979:67-69. 5. For a good survey of the modern research on the BLC, see Drijvers 1966:60-76 and Camplani 1998. 6. On those questions, see Amand 1945 and Dihle 1982. 7. On this passage, see Dihle 1979. 8. Levi Della Vida 1920: 419. 9. Here is the only occurrence of the word ƑƀƏŴƘ=fuvsiV in the BLC; cf. Drijvers 1966:81:

“[…] there is a clear distinction between ¾æÙÜ and êÙèÍñ as we also see in Aphraates. The word êÙèÍñ is always used in a general sense, while the use of ¾æÙÜ is always specific, even where such is not immediately obvious.” 10. On the novmima barbarikav, see Amand 1945:55-60. 11. Camplani 1997, Camplani 1998. 12. See his articles reprinted in Levi Della Vida 1989. 13. Jansma 1969. 14. See Hay 1989 and Hoffmann 2000. 15. Cf. Drijvers 1966:77: “Awida, however, will not believe unless he is first convinced. Something of the contrast between ‘credo ut intellegam’ and ‘intellego ut credam’ already becomes visible here.” 16. On this text, see Hoffmann 2000: 471-72.

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LITERATURE Amand, D., Fatalisme et liberté dans l'Antiquité grecque. Recherches sur la survivance de l'argumentation antifataliste de Carnéade chez les philosophes grecs et les théologiens chrétiens des quatre premiers siècles (Université de Louvain, Recueil de travaux d'histoire et de philologie, 3e série, 19e fascicule), Louvain: Bibliothèque de l'Université, 1945. Camplani, A., “Note Bardesanitiche,” Miscellanea Marciana 12 (1997) p. 11-43. Camplani, A., “Rivisitando Bardesane. Note sulle fonti siriache del bardesanismo e sulla sua collocazione storico-religiosa,” Cristianesimo nella storia 19 (1998) p. 519-596. Cureton, W., Spicilegium Syriacum: Containing Remains of Bardesane, Meliton, Ambrose and Mar Bar Serapion, London: Rivingtons, 1855. Dihle, A., “Zur Schicksalslehre des Bardesanes,” in Ritter, A.M., ed., Kerygma und Logos. Beiträge zu den geistesgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zwischen Antike und Christentum. Festschrift für Carl Andresen, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979, p. 123-135. Dihle, A., The Theory of Will in Classical Antiquity, Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1982. Drijvers, H.J.W., The Book of the Laws of Countries. Dialogue on Fate of Bardaiśan of Edessa, Assen: Van Gorcum & Comp./Dr. H.J. Prakke & H.M.G. Prakke, 1965. Drijvers, H.J.W., Bardaiśan of Edessa (Studia Semitica Neerlandica, 6), Assen: Van Gorcum & Comp. N.V., 1966. Hay, D.M., “Pistis as Ground for Faith in Hellenized Judaism and Paul,” Journal of Biblical Literature 108 (1989) p. 461-476. Hoffmann, P., “La triade chaldaïque e[rwV, ajlhvqeia, pivstiV: de Proclus à Simplicius,” in Segonds, A.-P., Steel, C., edd., Proclus et la théologie platonicienne. Actes du Colloque international de Louvain (13-16 mai 1998) en l'honneur de H. D. Saffrey et L. G. Westerink (Ancient and Medieval Philosophy, DeWulf-

Mansion Center, Series I, 26), Leuven/Paris: University Press/Les Belles Lettres, 2000, p. 459-489. Jansma, T., Natuur, lot en vrijheid. Bardesanes, de filosoof der Arameeërs en zijn images (Cahiers bij het Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift, 6), Wageningen: H. Veenman & Zonen, 1969. Layton, B., The Gnostic Treatise on Resurrection from Nag Hammadi: Edited with Translation and Commentary (Harvard Dissertations in Religion, 12), Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979. Levi Della Vida, G., “Bardesane e il dialogo delle legi dei paesi,” Rivista trimestriale di studi filosofici e religiosi 1 (1920) p. 399-430. Levi Della Vida, G., Pitagora, Bardesane e altri studi siriaci, a cura di Riccardo Contini (Studi orientali, 8) Rome: Bardi Editore, 1989. Ménard, J.-É. Le Traité sur la Résurrection (NH I, 4): Texte établi et présenté (Bibliothèque copte de Nag Hammadi, section «Textes», 12), Québec: Les Presses de l'Université Laval, 1983. Nau, F., Bardesane l'Astrologue: Le livre des lois des pays. Traduction française avec une introduction et de nombreuses notes, Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1899. Nau, F., “Bardesanes, Liber legum regionum,” in Graffin, R., ed., Patrologia Syriaca, 1, 2) Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1907, p. 490-658. Nau, F., Bardesane. Le Livre des lois des pays. Texte syriaque publié avec un avertissement et une analyse, Paris: Librairie orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1931. Peel, M.L., “The Treatise on the Resurrection. I, 4:43.25-50.18,” in Attridge, H. W., ed., Nag Hammadi I (The Jung Codex): Introductions, Texts, Translations, Indices (Nag Hammadi Studies, 22), Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1985, p. 123-157. Turner, J.D., Pagels, E.H., “NHC XI, 1: The Interpretation of Knowledge, 1, 1-22, 34,” in Hedrick, C. W., éd., Nag Hammadi XI, XII, XIII (Nag Hammadi Studies, 28), Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990, p. 21-88.

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BECOMING PERFECT: THE MATURING OF ASCETICISM IN THE LIBER GRADUUM

ROBERT A. KITCHEN KNOX-METROPOLITAN UNITED CHURCH - REGINA, SASKATCHEWAN

I

n 1926 Michel Kmosko published the critical edition of a Syriac book which had acquired the nickname of ktƗbƗ dmasqƗtƗ.1 William Wright had earlier dubbed this work The Book of Steps,2 and Kmosko finished the task of naming by endowing it with the scholarly dignity of a Latin title, Liber Graduum, by which the book generally has been known since then. Known, but the Book of Steps has seldom been understood. The intent here is to reveal a few more aspects of this complex work. The Liber Graduum (hereafter referred to as LG) describes the development of an asceticism without hagiography. Normally, Syriac asceticism glorifies the higher levels of ascetic achievement. The LG pulls no punches in criticising the Perfect ones, its higher level, as well as building up the reputation and accomplishments of the lower level, the Upright. It is through these observations that one is able to see a response to alleged Messalianism, a long-time challenge to the orthodoxy of this work. The Liber Graduum in Brief

The LG is a collection of 30 mƝmrƝ, composed by an anonymous author who provides remarkably few details to locate the

work chronologically or geographically. Current opinion opts for a date in the midto-late-fourth century, while the only location noted is the Lesser Zab River.3 Situated between Mosul and Kirkuk in present-day Iraq, the Lesser Zab is part of the region classically known as the Adiabene. The 15 extant manuscripts offer no title. The LG is drawn from mƝmrƝ 19 and 20 which speak of the difficult steps (masqƗtƗ) on the steep road to the city of our Lord,4 a metaphor not used elsewhere in the collection. While the LG revolves around the levels of Perfection (gmƯrnjtƗ)5 and Uprightness (kƝnnjtƗ),6 the author does not set out a progressive series of steps towards heaven, as in John Climacus. The LG, however, appears to be the work of a single author, and as such should be perceived as the collected works of this intentionally anonymous author who did not wish to make known his name.7 While certain themes thread throughout the mƝmrƝ, the author has not composed a systematic theological treatise, but has utilized a variety of literary forms for different occasions and purposes. Piecing together numerous comments and observations by the author, usually in between the lines of theological discourse

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and Biblical exposition, is a sitz im leben of conflict, internal and external, evolving over a number of years.8 The author, in all likelihood the spiritual leader of a pre-monastic Christian community in the midst of or on the periphery of an unnamed town or village, has witnessed the rise and decline of his Christian ascetical ideal. His writings attempt to respond to and remedy this changing situation. The LG is not a static theoretical treatise on the ascetical life, but a dynamic chronicling of the experiment to develop and nurture a mature asceticism incarnate in a company of committed individuals—a fourthcentury version of Geneva in the 16th century. Being a collection of writings, the LG includes a variety of literary forms. Following the order of mƝmrƝ in Kmosko’s critical edition, several groupings are discernable: 1-8 (columns 12-200): Rules for the Perfect (gmƯrƝ)9 and the Upright (kƝnƝ).10 9 (201-248), 23 (692-712): Extended Biblical expositions on Old Testament conundrums. 10 (249-269), 25 (733-756), 29 (808857): Sermons—discourses directed personally to the faith community. 11 (272-284), 13 (305-321), 16-22 (388-689), 24 (713-732): Advanced Perfection, or how to continue to grow as a Perfect one and avoid stagnation. 12 (285-304), 15 (336-385): Essays responding to controversies on the role of the contemporary church and on sexuality and marriage. 14 (324-333): Evagrian-style couplets summarizing the relationship between the two levels of the Perfect and the Upright.11

26 (757-765), 27 (768-784), 28 (785805), 30 (860-932): The validation and encouragement of the ministry of the Upright.

The Upright and the Perfect Most readers and scholars have preferred to focus on the rules for the Perfect and Upright as the content for the LG. The definition of the Perfect and Upright is a central motif, but the Book contains much more than these definitions of an ascetic institution. If one takes the order of the mƝmrƝ as roughly chronological, the author appears to be concerned at the last to encourage the development of the Upright, the lower level. In this way a different direction is perceived. Instead of preserving an elite institution, the author urges a spirit-filled asceticism that permeates all of society. Within the collection the author changes perspective on the relationship between the Upright and the Perfect in his community. The Upright ones were those who had accepted the commitment to perform the active forms of ministry in the world: feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, assisting the poor and healing the sick. A significant number of the Upright were married, practiced secular occupations and had income. Indeed, they were expected by their calling to use their income and positions for the benefit and support of ministry to others, indicative of the role of village patrons in Late Antique society.12 The Perfect were generally defined apophatically—whatever the Upright did, they did not do or did so without the limits imposed upon the Upright. The Perfect did not engage in active forms of ministry—and were forbidden to work—being wandering charismatics who begged, taught, mediated

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conflicts, and aspired to a life of prayer without ceasing. In the low-numbered mƝmrƝ, the rules of Perfection and Uprightness impose a crisis of decision upon the fledgling Christian: one must choose initially one path or the other. Progression to the higher level is extremely difficult, the boundary line between the levels being the renunciation of the world along with celibacy, that is, the renunciation of married and family life. However, in the high-numbered mƝmrƝ, the author observes that some Upright are not far from Perfection and that with a little more work they might well achieve the higher status. It appears that the concreteness of the duties of the Upright enabled them to progress steadily in their spiritual journey, in contrast to the Perfect who always were not doing something, perhaps believing that their journey was complete. This attitude is the locus of the text’s struggle. The LG in Later Literature One of the enigmas regarding the LG is what happened to it in Syriac church literature. The Book is virtually never quoted or referenced in later literature. British Library Add. 17193 (ff. 3a-3b) refers to the work in a brief exegetical passage, while claiming that the work was written by a Eusebius the Solitary.13 That could well be true, but we have no other corroboration, and no idea who such a Eusebius the Solitary might be. The only Syriac author who has encountered the book or its institutional traditions is the early-sixth-century henophysite bishop Philoxenus of Mabbug. In his 13 Ascetical Homilies he utilizes the institution of the Perfect and Upright in a familiar way.14 Nevertheless, Philoxenus’ situation is

distinctly different from that of the LG. He delivers his discourses on the spiritual life to his charges in a monastery15 where the boundary issue between Uprightness and Perfection of celibacy is no longer an issue. Uprightness is no longer a decision, but a beginning, functioning as a de facto novitiate. Eventually, one is able to progress up into the ranks of the Perfect. There is no recognizable citation of the LG in Philoxenus’ mƝmrƝ. Yet the principal manuscript used by Kmosko for the LG, the 12th-century Codex Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris Syrus 201, is also the primary text for Philoxenus’ Ascetical Homilies. Some scribe or teacher who ordered the manuscript recognized the connection. There are only three relatively complete manuscripts: Bibliothèque Nationale Syrus 201 (Kmosko’s Ms Į), St. Mark’s Jerusalem Syrus 180 (7th-8th century) (Ms R),16 and British Library Add. 14613 (Ms ȕ) which contains 18 mƝmrƝ plus the Preface. Two more manuscripts contain five and four mƝmrƝ respectively: BL Add. 17178 (Ms Ȗ), and BL Add. 14621 (Ms E). Eight of the remaining manuscripts contain only one mƝmrƗ each. The St. Mark’s Ms R was made available to Kmosko only after he had completed his critical edition, though he was able to make reference to it on numerous occasions. The order of its mƝmrƝ is identical with Ms Į, but there is the interesting twist regarding memrƗ 30. The writer of the Preface (memrƗ 1) in Ms Į is full of praise for the genius of the author and decides to give the reader a sneak preview by including the last section of memrƗ 30 at the conclusion of the Preface. This section is not repeated at the end of memrƗ 30 in Ms Į. However, in Ms R this climactic section is right where it is said

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to belong, at the end of memrƗ 30. Ms R also contains a marginal note by the scribe (?) which attempts to identify the author of the LG a certain Abba Philo.17 Again, this is too little evidence—and contradictory at that—to reach any reasonably certain conclusion. Messalian Days Are Here Again The Messalian question is still alive. Many scholars have been interested in the LG, not so much for its spiritual subject matter, but for its alleged connection with the Messalian movement and controversy of the 4th and 5th centuries. When the presumption of heresy settled hard upon the LG as a result of Kmosko’s analysis and verdict, study of the work was effectively inhibited for nearly 30 years. Some scholars believed that the LG was the lost Asceticon of the Messalian movement, reputedly displayed by Bishop Valerian and condemned at Ephesus in 431.18 (The Pseudo-Macarian Homilies was the prime candidate for the identity of the Asceticon, being read in excerpted form at Ephesus.)19 The Messalian movement purportedly promoted attitudes which were anti-institutional and anti-sacramental, and perceived ceaseless prayer as the only effective religious action.20 There is considerable doubt now whether there ever was such an Asceticon. The anonymity of the LG allows aspersions to be easily cast upon it, without being able to fight back with specific names and places. Arthur Vööbus initiated the redemption of the LG in 1954, arguing that it was not a Messalian book.21 Gradually, other scholars began to cast off the Messalian label and see other virtues in the work. The last decade has seen a kind of neoMessalianism emerging in several studies of

the LG. Vincent Desprez suggested that the itinerant missionary work of the Perfect ones prefigured the Messalian communities.22 The Perfect were not Messalians, Desprez emphasized, but through their austerity, refusal to work, humility, poverty and prayer, they presented an unwitting model. Certainly this is not an improbable hypothesis, but the suggestion is outside our present ability to evaluate. Brian Colless has returned to the possibility that the LG is a, if not the, Messalian book.23 Noting that a number of early Christian texts were purged of perceived heretical material—if the rest of the text was considered spiritually beneficial—Colless suggests that this may have been the case with the LG. Extant copies of the LG, therefore, may contain alterations, omissions, and interpolations. There were four primary errors of Messalianism agreed upon by its opponents: (1) the indwelling of the soul by a demon from the time of one’s birth; (2) the inefficacy of the sacraments to purify the soul of this demonic power; (3) the exclusive efficacy of prayer to achieve this purification; (4) the resultant impassability (apatheia), and the coming of the Holy Spirit. Colless proceeds to illustrate these concepts in the LG in convincing manner, although showing occasional caution to allow that some so-called Messalian characteristics and beliefs appear in other orthodox authors. Colless suggests that the LG might have been read or written by Adelphios of Edessa, the original Messalian banished by Flavian of Antioch.24 He observes that the LG was considered worthy enough to be copied and handed down in the Syrian monasteries, though never quoted or referred to by name. There are echoes of the LG in later

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Syriac mystics, as Colless lifts up brief notices from Martyrius Sahdona on the visible, hidden, and heavenly church of mƝmrƗ 12; and also from Isaac of Nineveh who declared that there is a form of work and service which is concealed from the novices and laity. That there is something messalian about the LG appears probable. Nevertheless, there is no solid evidence, internally or externally, to link the work to Adelphios or any other known author. A seemingly small matter has a critical importance in the interpretation of the text: did the author primarily direct his message and mƝmrƝ inwardly to his community or outwardly to the world? Most scholars have opted for the latter, proceeding logically from the fact that the various manuscripts have come down to us, with the implication that they were circulated broadly for universal consumption. Coupled with the smell of Messalianism, this outward intention compelled Robert Murray to complain that the Liber Graduum protests too much to be a completely orthodox book.25 Murray understood the author’s explanation of the visible, hidden, and heavenly churches to be an apologetic epistle to the wider church. I wish to focus on several of the mƝmrƝ in which the author addresses internal issues and attitudes among the community members that point to the primary audience for the LG being the particular community of the author whom he was attempting at various points to encourage, revive, and reform. Three mƝmrƝ are sermons (10, 25, 29) which depart from the usual didactic pattern of the author to deal with the kinds of conflict the author was observing. The unique concern of the author for the lower level of Christians, the Upright, particularly in

mƝmrƝ 15 and 30, also provides indication of the internal intention of the Book. The historical issue may be whether there were Messalians circulating in the flesh at this time or even if the author had any awareness of their ideas. Nevertheless, we shall see several instances in which the author appears to be attacking messalianist practices he has perceived developing in his community. Rules for Upright and Perfect

MƝmrƝ 1-8 function to elucidate the fundamental basics or rules of an asceticallyoriented society. The author distinguishes the mandates of the major and minor commandments of Scripture and develops the profile of the characteristics and duties of the lower level, the Upright (kƝnƗ), along with those of the higher level, the Perfect (gmƯrƗ). MƝmrƗ 9, On Uprightness and the Love of the Upright and the Prophets (201248), is an extended Biblical exposition countering objections to the place of the Old Testament prophets in this scheme. Obviously, being perceived as God-filled persons par excellence, these prophets are still revered in the popular mind. However, Elijah, Elisha, David and many others killed opponents of their God. This was at the behest of God, but it still makes them personally fall well below the standards of Uprightness. The author assures the readers that, nevertheless, the prophets will enter heaven and Perfection after the Apostles (232:4-233:3; cf. Hebrews 11:39-40), somewhat tidying up the loose ends of this ascetical institution. The author implies throughout the mƝmrƝ that while the Old Testament is Scripture, it is superseded by the New Testament (212:14-21).

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MƝmrƗ 10: Body and Soul Within the corpus of the edited text, mƝmrƗ 10 is the first discordant note. MƝmrƗ 10 (249-269) bears no title at its head, but the concluding sentence identifies the mƝmrƝ as On Fasting and the Humility of Body and Soul. The literary approach is more personal, without the propositional style found in the first nine mƝmrƝ, the Upright and the Perfect being mentioned only twice. The audience is addressed as “my brothers” (249:4; 261:5), and it is obvious they are being scolded, cajoled, and encouraged in short succession. The author is attacking a spiritualizing or quietistic approach to asceticism that has developed among some members of the community. Physical fasting, for instance, is disdained by disciples who believe they have become superior to anything physical or bodily (268:3-269:2). The author begins by declaring that Satan afflicts us more intensely when we are doing good things. One must constantly be alert to the spirit in which one engages in doing good, for Satan will ingenuously manipulate and corrupt one’s motives and patterns of behaviour (249:4-18). In this way the author summarizes the current spiritual crisis. A person going on a trip makes sure that adequate provisions are in hand; in the same manner, one must be certain to have proper provisions when one departs from this world to the next (252:11-17). You can take something with you: your good deeds, and the benefits of your fasting and prayer. These attributes are recognizable in the body and also in the soul. God sees the lowliness in your heart, while other people can see it in your body. The body and soul do not compete against one another; either they

mutually succeed or else one fails. The body fasts from food, pleasures, and pride of clothing, while the soul fasts from spiteful words, controversies and jealousies, curses and anger (253:11-18). There is no dualism allowed here by the author. Just like Jacob bowing humbly before Esau, one’s lowliness must be evident before both God and people (256:10-13). The author has now addressed the root of the crisis: one cannot declare that one has taken the higher spiritual road and is fasting spiritually without fasting physically in the body. Even those who remain deeply involved in the commerce of this world are commanded to fast from the bonds of iniquity, from deceit, injustice, slander, fraud and adultery and luxury. Their calling is to treat people as well as they wish to be treated. God could have created a world in which all are rich and healthy and life-long residents26 (local natives), but as we see, God’s world contains rich and poor, healthy and sick, strangers and locals. The test is to see how those better off treat the less fortunate (260:9-18). The parable of Lazarus and the rich man (Luke 16:19-31) provides the script if there is a lack of compassion on the part of the wealthy and privileged (260:18261:4). The author knows that most people know the commandments, but rationalizations are the first tactic of Satan, and the author has heard them all. When we want to eat lustfully, “It is not what enters a belly which is harmful, but what comes out” (261:10-14; Matthew 15:11). When we don’t want to pray, “In our heart let us praise the Lord” (261:14-15). When we don’t want to be diligent and work hard for the church, “Our heart is a church” (261:15-17). If we want to put on luxurious clothing, Inwardly

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we mourn, for God does not care for visible things (261:17-19). If we do not want to be bothered comforting the naked or poor, In our soul we are justified and shall hear our own illnesses (first) (261:19-22). The author is not fooled, for he declares that evil teaches us all these things and makes us believe that we work in the heart, while in fact we work neither in the heart nor in the body. No one accomplishes righteousness with his heart who does not also accomplish righteousness with his body (263:23-264:3). This spiritualizing of physical asceticism qualifies as the alleged faults of the Messalian movement: an unhinged discipline which convinces its practitioners that they are spiritually advanced beyond the need to fulfill the law within the physical world. Literal fasting, prayer, simple clothing, and helping the needy do not matter anymore, if they can accomplish all these disciplines in their hearts. The author of the LG recognizes the bankruptcy of this attitude, calls it by name, and summons in particular the Perfect to repentance. The author has come to realize the practical consequences of such a misinterpretation and mispractice of the ideal of Perfection. It takes quite a while for ascetics to callous their bodies and spirits to the demands of physical asceticism. In the same way, little by little one can undo all the progress made in the pursuit of Perfection through an imbalanced spiritualizing (265:23-268:2). One becomes fat and petulant like the Israelites, the author complains, and after a while may even forget that one is a Covenanter (bar qiƗmƗ)27 and forget to serve God, just as the Israelites forgot God who had saved them (265:15-22).

MƝmrƗ 25: Discerning Voices MƝmrƗ 25, On the Voice of God and the Voice of Satan (733-753), is another sermon in which the author approaches the same problem of relaxed discipline, yet from a different angle. The author observes that the Perfect one, being childlike and not really mature, is susceptible to the scheming of the Evil One since he does not know how to discern the voice of God from the voice of Satan. The Evil One is crafty, changing his snares every day, so that the Perfect one cannot easily figure him out by means of a routine. Indeed, “because he does not understand the truth in any way, the Evil One makes [him] stray and binds him onto the earth, yet that person is convinced that, in fact, he is bound in heaven” (733:1-15). The results of the Evil One’s activities, however, are discernible to the author. Under the pretext of providing comfort for the afflicted, Satan convinces the Perfect one that acquiring a little wealth through occupations allowable in Uprightness and building a little dwelling adequate for hospitality to strangers is a virtuous initiative (741:2126). Cultivating a little garden to grow vegetables for the sick and healthy certainly cannot be a bad idea, even though labouring is usually not a prerogative of the Perfect (741:26-744:2). Gradually, Satan has made the Perfect one abandon his Perfect road and return unwittingly to Uprightness. The Evil One has beguiled the Perfect one back down to earth, just as he did to Adam (744:19-21). Then before long, the Evil One will pull him down as well from Uprightness. Satan send messengers to him telling him that peo-

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ple are plundering your house;” others are picking through your garden;” still others are stealing and killing his flock of sheep. All this starts with the Evil One advising a heavenly one to own property and build a house upon it (748:1-19). It is in this sermon that the author begins to laud the Upright ones whom he perceives to be more serious and often more mature in their asceticism. Nevertheless, it all begins with the witness and example of Jesus, for the ascetical, celibate life is deemed the original shape of existence. “[Jesus] demonstrated clearly through his person Perfection and the holiness28 of the first creation of Adam” (736:15-17). Perfection is still the goal of fallen humanity. The author muses that if all people had reached Perfection, God would have rained food and clothing upon them without them having to work for it (737:18-23). Moreover, if all people had earnestly desired holiness/celibacy, God would have created children for them just as God had made a daughter (Eve) for Adam without marriage or lust (737:26-740:2). But after God saw that Adam loved earthly things, God allowed him to be married and to become an Upright one in this world, and therefore to be saved and not utterly perish (736:23-26). Whoever works the earth in Uprightness will inherit eternal life, but will not become a Perfect one (740:4-7). Our Lord commanded the Upright to feed and clothe the Perfect, and they will then be able to live the life of the new world as a reward (737:13-18). The author remonstrates against a pattern of behaviour, perhaps recently begun, which works to undermine the basic mission of the Perfect. God commanded these heavenly ones to treat every person well. Evidently,

among the Perfect some exceptions had arisen. Where did you get the idea that no one should speak with a worthless or deceptive [person], because it may be [the case] that he will become a Perfect or an Upright one? The author refers to the incident of Jesus speaking to Ananais regarding the notorious Saul (Acts 9:11-15). Ananais recoils at the thought of dealing with such an evil man, but Jesus tells him that Saul is his chosen instrument, a fact which he may not yet understand (745:13-23). The Perfect appear unable to comprehend the mature nature of their calling and are easily manipulated to live a distorted version of the way of Perfection. The author perceives that they have lost their bearings on the nature of truth, hearing the voice of Satan rather than the voice of God. As such, these failings of the Perfect do not appear to be messalianistic—in some instances, a well-meaning intent to use their financial resources and property for the good of the needy. Yet, without a clear understanding of how the rigours of Perfection intersect daily living, they appear susceptible to a variety of libertarian and insidious misinterpretations of the Christian way of life. Certainly, one cannot make Messalians out of them at this point, but the litany of their misunderstandings of Perfection does till fertile soil for the excesses of Messalianism.

MƝmrƗ 29: Not By Rote MƝmrƗ 29, On the Discipline of the Body (808-857), is the third sermon in which the author laments the spiritless faith of many of his disciples who go about their duties by rote29 and not with passion. The problem is seen first of all in the

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way they muddle through worship and prayer: Look, my son, consider how much power is hidden in the praises of our Lord, yet we repeat them by rote without passion. Because of this the words of God do not effect in us good deeds, for we do not give them a place in our soul to lay down roots in us. For that matter, even pagans, if they want, [can] learn the words of our Lord by rote at the same time they are worshipping in the house of their idols and doing the will of the devils (816:17-817:1).

Echoing Paul (1 Corinthians 9:27), the author declares that he will subdue his body and his soul in order to honour everyone as a servant (809:1-3), the primary example being Jesus who called his betrayer Judas Iscariot “my friend” (809:25-812:3; Matthew 26:50). The author then digresses—or is this the main intent of the sermon?—to launch into a diatribe against the behaviour of some ‘un-Perfect’ disciples: Because you do not restrict your bodies from food, nor make supplication to our Lord that he set you free, there are many sickly and ill people among you and many who sleep and many who are drunken, greedy, and unrestrained, because they do not examine themselves and subdue their bodies30 (812:24-813:6;1Corinthians 11:30).

That the Perfect have lost their way clearly disappoints the author. The evidence does not permit facile labeling, yet could this not be a situation in which the Perfect have deteriorated from their discipline into Messalianesque practices?31 The charge of sleeping is a prime indicator of so-called Messalians who claimed that dreaming is a

form of prayer. The more you sleep, the more you dream—how better to pray unceasingly? The author continues to challenge the luxurious life-style the Perfect have adopted, denigrating the memory and reputation of the ascetical saints who have gone before them. “We teach others, but do not teach ourselves” (820:13-14). They eat meat and drink wine improperly, dress in lavish clothes, possess wealth and are lords of the domain, and keep a suspicious eye on strangers (820:14-821:3). Apparently, this way of life has led to an inhospitable, ungenerous spirit, creating a gulf between the Perfect and the less fortunate. “When is a person so poor that he cannot afford a cup of water and morsel of bread, nor afford the washing of feet nor the bandaging of [the wounds] of the sick nor hosting strangers [for the night], [if] he has a house? No one is too poor to [be able to give] compliments and a loving greeting, unless he wishes to become an evil one” (845:23-848:5). The author decries the spiteful words and gossip mongering in which many of these disciples have felt free to engage (848:11-849:13). The author never mentions Messalians and may well have had no idea of their existence in his frame of reference. He does not like the shift he has seen develop among his charges of undisciplined and luxurious living, boredom with aspects of the spiritual life, and a prideful elitism separating themselves from their inferiors. The author roundly condemns as illegitimate this behaviour, which has fallen from Perfection to a state below even that of Uprightness. All through the LG, the author has provided a worthy place and status for the Upright, albeit condescendingly at times. Now

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he seems no longer unsure about the level of the commitment of the Upright who have proved themselves by their compassion and piety. They will reap the rewards of salvation, and if only they would go the next step—the author urges—they would earn the greatest reward, that of Perfection: Therefore, as there are different [kinds of] fasts with respect to these foods, so also those people who are incapable of these fasts of which I have spoken and are married, when they loosen the bonds of iniquity and cut off the chains of deceit, and set the oppressed free (Isaiah 58:6), they will genuinely fast, as it is written, ‘this fast is preferred by God in which a person avoids evil things and eats food rather than fasting from food and doing evil things.’ If a person avoids evil things, gives alms, redeems the afflicted, and gives relief to the needy, he will steadily progress in his fast [even] when he eats and drinks well and when he dresses nicely and possesses wealth. He is an Upright one [even] while being married (825:19828:7).

Reminding his disciples that food and ornate clothing are not unclean of themselves, but what matters is how one eats and wears these things, the author infers that asceticism is not absolutely necessary. Certainly, too much food leads to gluttony and fancy clothes ease one towards a debauched life (833:1-836:13). However, as long as the Upright worship God wholeheartedly, and treat well and kindly everyone they meet, they have attained a worthy calling. Having witnessed the decline of the Perfect ones, the author would much rather settle for a faithful Upright one, as he implies by means of an apocryphal saying attributed to Jesus.

Therefore, the Lord reviled these false people who fraudulently fasted and lowered themselves falsely, and said, ‘I will not accept a deceitful lowliness and a false fast. It would be better for a person to eat and drink and wear white [clothes] than to do evil things while fasting and wearing sackcloth and causing everyone to wail through the evil things he does’ (844:11-17).

Marriage and Money The two pillars of traditional asceticism— celibacy and giving away one’s possessions—are never reputed by the author of the LG, but are muted for the sake of the developing Upright who live in the world. MƝmrƗ 15, On Adam’s Marital Desire (336-385), is an extended discourse on the origins and consequences of the human sexual drive, especially as it deals with the issues of the requisite of celibacy for perfection. The author uses the mƝmrƗ to prove that sexual lust is not innate in human beings, but derives from the temptations of Satan. After [Adam] had sinned and was censured, a law was established for him, inferior to that first [law]. By this same law [God] permitted him to marry. Because he had desired to become physical and not spiritual, that is, earthly and not heavenly, it was then that carnal desire came to exist in him, for Adam desired intercourse as a result of the teaching the Evil One who had plotted to make him fall from the sanctity of the angels and imitate wild beasts (336:3-13 ).

Adam and Eve, the author explains further, did not really desire intercourse, but did so in the hope they could become great like

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God. They did not have lust prior to the intrusions of the Evil One, as demonstrated by their unashamed nakedness similar to that of infants (340:7-344:1). However, in compassion, God provisionally and grudgingly blesses marriage: [If] your freedom listened to the Evil One and you desired [intercourse] like Adam, your Creator will angrily give it to you as he had to Adam. [God] is angry because we renounce the celibacy of the angels and imitate the beasts. But [God] will have compassion upon you as he had upon Adam and you will observe Uprightness and be alive/saved while you [are involved] in intercourse (352:3-10).

This is not the happiest tone of voice for the Upright, but the author’s emphasis is upon God’s compassion which is the example for human relationships. The author softens his perspective even more in defining the proper actions of the Upright: Those who bind and loose in the world and buy and sell, owning possessions justly and treating the needy well while not treating anyone badly, are the Upright who are inferior to the Perfect. For the Uprightness of people does not treat poorly anyone who treats it badly, but it does away with its goods and flees from evil, just as Isaac had left behind his father’s water wells when they quarreled with him. He named [the wells] ‘Satan’32 and ‘Contentious’33 because they had quarreled and contended with him,34 and he migrated from there; and just as Abraham and Isaac had given up their wives and neither condemned nor quarreled, yet God administered their judgment (357: 6-17).

The final mƝmrƗ (30), “On the Com-

mandments of Faith and the Love of the Solitaries” (860-932), begins by distinguishing between the disciples of faith and love and their commandments—these groups being the intermediaries between the Upright and the Perfect. This is a new dichotomy only hinted at previously: the disciples of faith being virtually synonymous with the Upright, while the behaviour of the disciples of love is barely distinguishable from the Perfect. What is even more new and striking is the report of conflict and violence that besets the disciples of faith and love. The disciples of faith are sometimes attacked and even martyred by idolaters and pagans “because [the disciples of faith] resolutely confront them for their evil doctrine, tearing down their altars and enduring wherever they are persecuted in order not to become vain idolaters in the land of the Lord our God” (869:21-25). The disciples/martyrs of love, on the other hand, are persecuted and killed by the members of the household of faith35 (872:15-17). The apparent conflict arises because the latter are confident they know the whole truth, so when a disciple of love mentions an idea normally not shared with the lower levels, they are outraged, not understanding that they do not know the whole truth (872:19-873:4). Obviously, civil society has broken down even within Christian and ecclesiastical circles. Such behaviour is not to be countenanced at all, for the author declares, “faith does not command its disciples to kill the evil ones, but to flee from their presence and to expel [the evil ones] from their midst. Therefore, those who kill do not become the disciples of faith, but are disciples of Satan” (873:9-13).

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Returning with the conviction of experience to an earlier theme that different levels of spiritual development and aptitude require different commandments and commissions, the author discusses at length the need to discern which people can manage a stringent way of life and for which ones a more open and flexible way is appropriate (893:10-901:11). His concern now shifts to advocacy for the status and well-being of the Upright, the lower level. One can be married, own property and possessions, and have income and still attain a significant measure of salvation. Abraham is cited as the model of a wealthy person who used his wealth for people who were in need, treating equally well both the good and the evil (925:3-928:14). Recalling Jesus’ references to Abraham, the author asserts that because of this [Abraham] became great and was glorified and called the ruler of the feast (Matthew 8:11), so that all the Upright and the righteous might be comforted in the bosom of righteousness (Luke 16:23). Lazarus, the archetypal poor man of the Gospels, is held in the bosom of Abraham, who knew how to use his wealth, in contrast to the rich man, who did not. It is Zacchaeus, though, that the author offers as the exemplar of the Upright one’s duty towards his wealth: Understand from this that people are saved if they do as they were commanded: [following] that precept which is lower than that perfect and superior precept, [even] while they are married and possessing wealth. [This is clear] by that demonstration when our Lord entered the house of Zacchaeus, a sinner and an extortioner and doer of evil things, and admonish-

ing him made him a disciple with these commandments which are inferior to Perfection. [Jesus] did not say to him, ‘Unless you leave your wife and your house and your children and empty yourself from everything you own, you will not be saved.’ Look, the response of Zacchaeus makes it clear that our Lord admonished him in such a way that he need not empty himself, because he knew that he could not reach the power of that great portion. Zacchaeus said, ‘Everyone whom I have cheated I will repay four-fold, and half of my wealth only (balh̛njd36— eisegesis!) I will give to the poor’ (Luke 19:8). See, while he did not say to our Lord, ‘I will abandon everything I have,’ our Lord did say the following to him, ‘Today salvation has come into this house’ (Luke 19:9). Zacchaeus shall be called a son of Abraham, he who when he promised to repay their lords what he had extorted had said, ‘half of my wealth only I will give’ (Luke 19:8). But whoever gives to the poor half of his wealth while not defrauding anyone, look, is he not greater than Zacchaeus who was called righteous? When he gave two portions of his wealth, look does not he grow greater still? Whoever gives all he possesses to the poor and strangers, look, is [that person] not better and greater? (924:13925:16).

It is in this generous attitude towards the vindication of the Upright that the LG ends its journey. In Search of Mature Asceticism What kind of book is the LG, what was its purpose, and how well did it accomplish that

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purpose? This diverse collection of 30 mƝmrƝ, written by a single anonymous author, with few historical or geographical clues, is not an easy work to classify. Written in a pre-monastic era, one is not able to bring the understanding of early monastic institutions into the analysis of the LG. Reconstructing the chronological order of mƝmrƝ would be a helpful, but very uncertain task, so for the time being I believe that there are more important tasks. If all one wants is a description of the characteristics and duties of the Upright and the Perfect, the author provides well. Usually, he is systematic in defining the contrasts between the two levels, although sometimes he notes something significant as a tangent. But he is consistent, both in the broad and nuanced strokes. Nevertheless, this is only a part of the picture, and not even the most useful part for the history of the development of asceticism. Viewed as the collected works of this author and pastor, the LG provides rules, essays, exegeses, and sermons chronicling the vicissitudes of his community of faith. Things do not always go well, so much so that the author develops the “rules” of Perfection and Uprightness in order to remind, reform, and reinforce the standards both levels had learned from the beginning of their pilgrimages. Giving strong voice to his disappointment and despair at how the Perfect have fallen from the standards of their way of life, either by spiritual ineptitude, seduction, naiveté, or delusion, the author is not happy with their debauched behaviour or their rationalizations. He names their problems for all to hear in a tone of voice which implies that the author is not writing a universal epistle, but a diatribe targeted at his own

community. If these less-than-Perfect ones are indeed nascent Messalians, then here is an intriguing scenario. The LG does contain some ideas which belong to the roots of Messalianism, though it is doubtful that the author consciously planted them as such. Messalianism was not a formal “-ism,” but a movement which was the result of good theology losing its compass. The author perceives his lapsed Perfect ones as betrayers of the Christian ascetical ideal, and in numerous sections, the LG assumes an anti-messalian agenda. So here is a book which provides both an unwitting source for the Messalian trajectory, while at the same time rejecting vehemently the legitimacy of any such distorted practices. Along the way, the author came to appreciate the more humble Upright, moneyed and married. Their structured life-style and discipline gradually moved them closer to the heights of Perfection, if only they could become poor and spouseless. To see a fourth-century ascetical writer lauding a group of Christians who have not totally embraced the full ascetical ideal is remarkable, if not unique. For that reason, the LG grapples with the same problems as do most contemporary churches: how does one progress towards mature and authentic discipleship in the midst of a sinful world? The author does have one answer or approach. Asceticism with a goal of Perfection is a matter of maturation, of training and development in the faith, not simply possessing an innate aptitude for spiritual matters. No level functions without error, and that is why the LG was written. Champions are made, not born. Our final problem regarding the mƝmrƝ of the LG is that we cannot tell whether or

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not it has ended as a literary work. Are we missing further mƝmrƝ or did the author die before the story was completed? Did the Perfect all run off and become full-fledged

Messalians and live and pray unhappily ever after? Of course, we do not know and we must be careful not to claim what we do not know. Anonymity exacts its price.

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NOTES 1. M. Kmosko, editor, Liber Graduum (LG) (Patrologia Syriaca 3; Paris, 1926); Syriac title: ò ŦƦƠƐƉĪ ťŨƦƃ. 2. W. Wright, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Part II (London: 1871) 949. 3. Kmosko, LG 896:2 (references to the text are column:line). K 4. LG mƝmrƗ 19, 445-525 (¿ÿùéâ ); mƝmrƗ 20, 528-581. 5. ŦŁĭƢƀƊū. 6. ŦŁŴƌŤƃ. 7. 1:3-4: ħƦƄƌĪ ťŨĽ ťƆ ťƌĬ ťƍŨŴŹĪ ƈźƉ ųƊƣ. 8. Cf. R.A. Kitchen, “Conflict on the Stairway to Heaven: The Anonymity of Perfection in the Syriac Liber Graduum,” Orientalia Christiana Analecta 256 (1998) 211-220. 9. ŧƮƀƊū. ò 10. ťƌŤƃ . 11. Cf. J. Muyldermans, ed., Evagriana Syriaca (Bibliothèque du Muséon 30; Louvain, 1952. British Library Add. 14578 contains this mƝmrƗ embedded (f. 102aff) in a manuscript devoted to the works of Evagrius. 12. Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Roman Studies 62 (1971) 80-101; also in Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (University of California Press: Berkeley & Los Angeles, 1982) 103-152. A more concise summary of the rural patron is found in: “Town, Village and Holy Man,” Assimilation et résistance à la culture gréco-romaine dans le monde ancien, ed. D.M. Pippidi (Bucharest, 1976) 213-220; also Society and the Holy 153-165. 13. Wright, Catalogue Part II, 949. Text and Latin translation, Kmosko, Praefatio, LG, xi-xiii. 14. E.A.W. Budge, ed., Discourses of Philoxenus, Bishop of Mabbogh, 2 vols. (London, 1894). 15. The late André de Halleux suggested that

Philoxenus was writing specifically to the monks of the monastery of Sennjn, to whom he had also written one of his most important defenses of the henophysite faith. Cf. A. de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabboug: Sa Vie, ses Écrits, sa Théologie (Universitas Catholica Louvaniensis Dissertationes ad graduum magistir, Series III, 8; Louvain, 1963) 45. 16. Cf. Mar Filoksinos Yohanna Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in St. Mark’s Monastery (Dairo DMor Marqos; Damascus, 1984) 377-380 for a list of mƝmrƝ titles. 17. Kmosko, Praefatio, ccxcv:ķŴƇƀƘ ťŨĥ. 18. Cf. “The Definition of the Holy and Ecumenical Synod of Ephesus Against the Impious Messalians Who are also ’Alled Euchetae and Enthusiasts,” in The Seven Ecumenical Councils of the Universal Church, H.R. Percival, ed., (Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Vol. 14; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1971) 240. 19. Columba Stewart, Working the Earth of the Heart (Oxford, 1991) 13. Stewart notes that from the historical perspective, the Messalian movement can only be described as a controversy, 5-8. ò 20. Thus their Syriac name: ťÿÿÿÿÿƍƀƆƞƉ (mś alliƗnƝ) “pray-ers.” 21. First in an article: A. Vööbus, “Liber Graduum: Some Aspects of its significance for the History of Early Syrian asceticism,” Papers of the Estonian Theological Society in Exile 7; Stockholm, 1954 108-128. Subsequently, in the first and third volumes of his History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient I (CSCO 184/Subsidia 14; Louvain, 1958) 178-184, 190-197; III (CSCO 500/Subsidia 81; Louvain, 1988) 1-18. 22. V. Desprez, “L’ascétisme mésopotamien au IVe siècle: III. Le ‘Livre des Degrés’, La Lettre de Ligugé 262 (1992) 16-29. 23. The following is summarized from excerpts from Brian Colless’ paper at the VIII Symposium Syriacum in Sydney, Australia, August 2000: “The Book of Degrees and Adelphios of Edessa.”

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24. Cf. C. Stewart, Working the Earth of the Heart, 39-41. 25. There is something ‘sectarian’, something isolated and defensive, about the Liber Graduum with its elaborate account of the Church ‘in the heart’ and its relationship to the public Church, to which the author perhaps protests too much fidelity. Robert Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom (Cambridge, 1975), 35. Also cf. 34-36, 263-269. ò . 26. ťŨĥ ƦƀŨ ƁƍŨ 27. ťƊƀƟ ƢŨ. 28. qaddƯšnjtƗ (ŦŁŴƤſűƟ). 29. ŧűƀƖŨĪ ƅſĥ

30. ķŴƄſƮŬƘ ķĭƦƌĥ ƎƀƍſĪ ťƆĪ ƋƆ ƈźƉĭ ò ķƢƊƆ ķĭƦƌĥ ƎƀƙƤƃƦƉ ťƆĭ ŦƦƇƃŤƉ ƎƉ ò ťƕƮƉ ķŴƄŨ ƎſŤƀŬƏ ťƌĬ ƈźƉ :ķŴƄſƞƙƌĪ ò ò ƎſĭĿĪ ŦŤƀŬƏĭ ƎƀƄƉĪĪ ŦŤƀŬƏĭ :ŦųſƮƃĭ ķĭųƤƙƌ ƎƀƍſĪ ťƆĪ ƈźƉ :ƎƀƇƆĪŵƉĭ ƎƀƍƖſƦƉĭ ĖķĭųſƮŬƘ ƎƀƤũƄƉĭ 31. cf. C. Stewart, Working the Earth of the Heart, “Themes 7 and 8: Avoidance of Work and Desire for Sleep,” 62-63. 32. ťƍźƏ SƗt́ƗnƗ . 33. ťƠƐƕ ǥ EsƗqƗ . 34. Genesis 26:19-22. ò 35. ŦŁŴƍƊſĬĪ ŦƦƀŨ ƁƍŨ Bnay baytƗ dhaymƗnnjtƗ. 36. ĪŴŷƇŨ

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TRADE ROUTES AND THE CHRISTIANIZATION OF THE NEAR EAST

AMIR HARRAK UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

T

Introduction

here are two main Syriac sources that deal with the introduction of Christianity into the Near East, particularly Upper Syria and Mesopotamia. If we believe them, the roots of Christianity in those lands extend into the time of Jesus himself. Once the new religion was firmly established in Edessa, near the upper Euphrates, it moved eastward to Nisibis, near the Tigris, until it planted itself in Babylonia at the hands of two disciples of Thomas the Apostle. The two sources are late in time, and countless details seem to conflict with what must have happened during the first Christian century in that part of the ancient world. Nonetheless, rather than dismiss these sources as academically useless, as some scholars did at the beginning of the 20th century,1 we shall use them to reconstruct a possible scenario: Christianity entered Mesopotamia through Edessa at the time of the Apostles through traceable trade routes and by merchants, as also hinted at by the Syriac sources. Syriac Sources and the Christianization of the Near East The two Syriac sources relating the expansion of Christianity in the Near East are the

familiar Teaching of Addai ( ‹ƒ~ƒ ¿šÍæòàâ ¾ÐÙàü)2 and the lesser-known Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ (¾ÐÙàü ‹˜½Ć⠋û⃠¿ÿÙïüš). 3 According to the Teaching of Addai (probably 5th century), the person who was at the origins of Christianity in Mesopotamia was none other than Jesus himself. The Teaching claims that before his crucifixion Jesus corresponded with Abgar, his contemporary who ruled over a small kingdom called Osrhoene (¾æ؆ûè~), the capital of which was Edessa. It is claimed that the letters were kept in the royal chancellery of Edessa. Abgar took the initiative, inviting Jesus to come to him to cure him from an undisclosed disease. Here is the wording of the famous letter:4 Abgar UkkƗmƗ5 to Jesus the good Physician who has appeared in the district of Jerusalem. Greetings, my Lord!6 I have heard concerning you and your healing, for you do not heal with drugs and herbs but by your word you give sight to the blind, cause the lame to walk, cleanse the lepers, and cause the deaf to hear; by your word the spirits are expelled, the lunatics and the sufferers are delivered. You even raise the dead! Once I heard that you are performing these great wonders, I thought you

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were either God who must have come down from Heaven to perform these things, or the Son of God for you have performed these things! For this reason, I write to beg you to come to me, so that I may pay you homage and that you may heal me from the pain that I have, for I believe in you. I also heard that the Jews murmur against you and persecute you, seeking to crucify you to destroy you. I rule over a small but beautiful city, enough for both to live in peace.

Jesus could not answer his request but promised that after his Ascension he would send one of his disciples to heal him. Moreover, Jesus blessed his city so that it would never be conquered again. This is what he said to Abgar’s messenger:7 Go and tell your lord who sent you to me: Blessed are you for though you did not see me you believed in me, for it is written concerning me that those who see me will not believe in me, and those who do not see me will believe in me.8 As for what you write to me to come to you, that for which I was sent here is now fulfilled and I am about to ascend to my Father who sent me. As soon as I have ascended to Him, I will send to you one of my disciples to treat and heal the illness that you have. He will return all who are with you to eternal life. And your city will be blessed, and no enemy will overpower it ever again.

True to Jesus’ promise, Addai was sent to Edessa through the Apostle Thomas. Addai resided in the house of Tobias, a local Jewish resident, and began to perform miracles, and before long the royal palace heard

of him. Once Abgar the king had been healed along with a number of his officials, he realized that Jesus had fulfilled his promise toward him. In a short time, Edessa was won to Christ, becoming the first Christian kingdom ever. The correspondence between Jesus and Abgar was also discussed by Eusebius (c. 260-c. 340), bishop of Caesarea of Palestine, in his Ecclesiastical History, which deals with the history of Christianity from the Apostles to his own time. He quoted the two letters exchanged by Jesus and Abgar, taken from the archives at Edessa, which was at that time a capital city.9 Eusebius claimed that he extracted the letters from the royal archives and translated them from Syriac into Greek. On the basis of a Syriac text appended to the letters, Eusebius commented on the outcome of the contacts between Jesus and Abgar. Here the information is roughly the same as that found in the Teaching of Addai, though Addai becomes Thaddaeus. Thus the detail about the correspondence between Abgar and Jesus was known at the beginning of the 4th century or even at the end of the 3rd century. At a much later date, perhaps the beginning of the 7th century, the Christians of Babylonia wrote the story of the Christianization of their own land. What they wrote was an expansion of the Teaching of Addai, in that this holy man sent his own disciple MƗrƯ (a Jew from Palestine)10 to Christianize Mesopotamia. The connection between the two sources is made as follows: So far were (the stories) about the conversion of Mesopotamia. Let us now return to show how the fear of God had moved from there to our own territories. Because this story is not told clearly, I am putting into writing

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the old tradition that is transmitted in the books, as follows. Before the blessed Addai died, he selected one of his disciples named MƗrƯ, who was living in the love of God and was adorned with virtuous manners. He placed his right hand on MƗrƯ, as conferred to him by our Lord Jesus Christ, and sent him to the eastern region, to the land of Babylonia, ordering him to go and preach there the word of our Lord (...)

MƗrƯ, his Acts tells us, moved from Edessa eastward, toward a major city to the east, Nisibis. From here he travelled progressively through Ediabene (modern northern Iraq), and southward through Babylonia where he founded the first church in Kokhe near Seleucia-Ctesiphon (south of presentday Baghdad).11 After securing Babylonia for the Christian faith, MƗr MƗrƯ moved to Persia proper, beginning with Beth-Hozaye (Ahwaz) and Elam to the southwest of present-day Iran. The whole of Mesopotamia was converted to Christianity, beginning with the rulers, through countless Miracles performed by MƗrƯ, a thaumaturge rather than a missionary. The churches founded by him in Mesopotamia and Persia were all furnished with priests, deacons, teachers, schools, hospitals, and monasteries, even though monasticism as an institution did not yet exist. In fact the Christian centres supposedly founded by MƗr MƗrƯ fit better with the time of the writer of the Acts or earlier rather than the apostolic age even at its end. Despite these shortcomings all Christian native sources concur that Christianity entered Mesopotamia during the apostolic age. The Christian Arabic KitƗb al-Majdal “Book of the Tower” (12th century), goes as far as giving the exact date of the death of MƗr MƗrƯ: July 19th, the year 393 of the

Greeks (Seleucid),12 which corresponds to AD 83, in the heyday of apostolic missionary activities. Objections to the Syriac Sources Much has been written refuting the authenticity of the two Syriac sources during the past two centuries. Some scholars went as far as denying the historical existence of Addai and MƗrƯ.13 Others denied Edessa’s role as the cradle of Syriac Christianity, claiming that this kingdom was converted by another kingdom located to its east, Ediabene (ÃØÊÏ), the capital of which was the ancient city of Erbil (modern ArbƯl).14 Some scholars thought that the aim of our Syriac sources was to stress the apostolic origins of Syriac Christianity, a propagandistic attempt also made by several other churches in the Near East as well as in Europe.15 As for the date of Christianity in Edessa, some scholars thought that it became powerful by the 3rd century,16 leaving the impression that the new faith was implanted there late in the 2nd century. It is true that we cannot accept our Syriac sources at face value. In 494, Pope Gelasius considered the letters supposedly exchanged by Jesus and Abgar to be apocryphal. Syriac funerary inscriptions from Edessa dated from the 1st to the early 3rd centuries seem to be entirely pagan, both in content and in the depictions that accompany them.17 The names attested there, such as Amat-Sin Servant of (the Moon-god) Sin, `Abd-Shamash Servant of the (Sun-god) Shamash, and `Abd-Lat Servant of Allat, highlight the worship of local pagan deities. The New Testament, including the Book of Acts, does not refer to the events in question either. As for the Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ, its author used the Teaching of Addai as a mold in which he

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cast his account. Both documents shared the belief that the Christianization of Mesopotamia occurred quickly and through miracles and wonders. They followed a pattern also detected in Syriac hagiography, in that Christianity almost everywhere began first with the royalty and the pagan priesthood and then passed on to the rest of the population in a comprehensive manner. In short, our sources belong to an ancient literary genre, which we may call golden-age literature, where origins are explained in an idealistic manner, and this is obviously due to the paucity or the non-existence of primary sources.18 Nevertheless, the Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ and the Teaching of Addai may contain reliable historical cores. In the first place, the cultural and linguistic unity of the Near East, in addition to the relative proximity of major cities within it, must have greatly facilitated the expansion of the Christian faith in Mesopotamia at an early, even apostolic, stage. Secondly, Christianity was introduced, not miraculously or victoriously as conveyed by the Syriac sources, but most probably with the help of Merchants and traders through traceable and easily recognizable trade routes. Cultural, Linguistic and Geographical Unity of the Near East When Christianity spread out from Palestine to the rest of the world, the Near East was divided into two major political entities, with Rome dominating Syria and the Mediterranean, and Parthia ruling over Mesopotamia and Persia. Rome conquered Syria and Palestine in 64 BC, thereby ending the Hellenic hegemony over them since Alexander’s conquest in 332 BC, whereas the Par-

thians (Iranian tribes) came to power around 250 BC, ending the Seleucid control over Mesopotamia. The Euphrates separated both superpowers, though this natural borderline was not always secure. This explains why some cities located along or near the Great River, a buffer zone between the two superpowers, remained mostly semi-independent. This was, for example, the case of Edessa, Ediabene, Hatra and Palmyra, which at the beginning of our era enjoyed remarkable wealth in addition to local political power despite their being mere city-states. Even though Edessa and the rest of Mesopotamia belonged, at the dawn of Christianity, to the Parthian political orbit (unlike Antioch and Jerusalem that were under Roman hegemony), one should not exaggerate the political division and cultural diversity of the Near East.19 Beginning in the first millennium BC a series of unifying powers appeared for the first time in history, with the aim of keeping the Near East and the rest of the accessible world under one and the same hegemony in spite of regional aspirations for independence. The Assyrians were the first to apply such a policy under the powerful Sargonid Dynasty (721-610 BC), which created the first true empire. This very extensive, centralized, and welladministered empire was Assyrianized in defense of the unifying policy.20 Roads connecting the various regions of the dominion were expanded, maintained, and used for trade and military purposes, becoming Royal Roads. Relocation of various peoples within the empire and the location of Assyrians across the entire dominion were part of their administrative policy. The Assyrians succeeded in politically unifying the Near East, setting an example for all political powers which followed.

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Thus the Babylonians (also called Chaldeans) walked in the footsteps of the Assyrians as far as the Near East was concerned, after the fall of the latter in 609 BC. The revolt of Jerusalem in 587 BC, which threatened the unifying policy of the Babylonians, was not tolerated and the capital of Judah was destroyed and its nobility deported to Babylon. The exile of the Jews in Babylonia at the hand of Nebuchadnezzar is another instance of mixing the various populations of the Near East together. We will see that the presence of Jews throughout Mesopotamia and Upper Syria helped the cause of the Christian mission in those lands. The next people to adopt this unifying policy were the Achaemenids, who solidified the unity of their vast empire after they had adopted Aramaic as the language of their diplomacy and communication worldwide. After Cyrus captured Babylon in 539, the entire Near East began to speak Aramaic from Persia to the Mediterranean and from Anatolia to Egypt. The impressive archives uncovered in Egypt that date to this period highlight the importance of Aramaic as the language of diplomacy, trade, law, correspondence and belles-lettres.21 From that time, Aramaic never lost its unifying power and that explains why it was the only language of communication shared by Jews, Arabs, Assyrians, Babylonians, Arameans and other peoples during the first century AD. It was also the language of all the caravan cities, such as Palmyra, Hatra, Edessa, and Petra, as their numerous Aramaic inscriptions show. While Aramaic represents the linguistic unity of the Near East, the peoples of this part of the ancient world shared enough customs, cults and beliefs that they can also be considered culturally united despite local characteristics.22 Even though Seleucus I

Nicator, who dominated the Near East after the death of Alexander of Macedon in 323, took drastic measures to Hellenize this region,23 a move toward the unifying policy, his dominion remained largely Semitic in tongue and culture. Jerusalem, Berytus (Beirut), Tyre, Edessa, and Babylon were furnished with gymnasia, theatres, temples, and such other landmarks of Greek civilization, but they remained faithful to their ancient traditions. In Mesopotamia, the New Year festivities (akƯu) were held annually as was done thousands of years before, religion and cultic rituals in the local temples continued to be practiced, and libraries such as the one in Uruk never desisted from producing literature written in Cuneiform until the beginning of our era. It seems Hellenism was Babylonized rather than the other way around.24 Thus, culturally the Near East remained deeply Semitic, and outside the major Hellenistic cities, such as Antioch, Seleucia on the Tigris, and Apameia,25 people continued to speak and write Aramaic until the advent of the Arabs in the early 7th century AD. Short distances between major cities and communities in the Near East also contributed to Near Eastern unity, and thereby to the early Christianization of Upper Syria and Mesopotamia. Edessa, claimed to be the cradle of Syriac Christianity in Syriac sources, was not far from the famous Metropolis of Antioch, where a Christian community had existed since the earliest days of Christianity. Here Paul the Apostle was converted to Christ and the followers of Jesus were first called Christians (Acts 11:26). About 270 kilometres separated these two cities, which correspond to a twelve-day march of caravans on the backs of donkeys. Some 730 kilometres separated Edessa from

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Jerusalem, heart of the Christian religion. All these Christian centres were located along trade routes linking northern Mesopotamia with Palestine, and the distances between them were minimal if we consider the rest of the ancient trade route that extended from Palestine to India26 and from Babylonia to deep inside Asia Minor.27 These routes were used very frequently, whether by pilgrims as in the case of Jews in the Diaspora, or by merchants whose profession was to travel. Thus, the Near East, from Palestine to Babylonia and from Upper Syria to Jerusalem, was a compact region, monolingual, and mostly unified culturally. This being the case, the missionaries who undertook the Christianization of Upper Syria and Mesopotamia had simply to take normal trade routes to disseminate their religious beliefs. Near Eastern Trade Routes and Caravan Cities The belief attested in Syriac sources that Christianity is rooted in Edessa and nowhere else is very old, though it may not date to the earliest Christian centuries. Given the fact that the Near East was politically divided, one would assume that the road from Roman Syria to Parthian Mesopotamia was not easy for individuals whose only purpose of travel was to preach a new religion. Unlike the case of the Apostles who had the freedom to move from Palestine and through Roman Syria, Anatolia and beyond, the travel from Roman land to Parthia must have been through trade and only via trade routes. Historically, trade routes were the usual, if not the only way religions, philosophies, and other intellectual trends travelled, disseminating in foreign lands. Christianity

must have entered Upper Syria from Edessa in like manner. By the beginning of the first century of our era, the Near East witnessed intensive trade activity, invigorated perhaps by the collapse of the Seleucid political power and the emergence of Rome and Parthia that brought relative peace in the region. Growing demand for goods and luxuries kept trade routes busy. Merchandise and goods were transported on the backs of donkeys on the Silk Road that linked China with the Mediterranean and on the backs of camels on the Incense Route that linked Arabia and the Mediterranean. A net of trade centres located along the trade routes covered the regions involved in trade. While en route, caravans settled in their caravansaries and local citizens took care of their welfare and maintenance. Administrators worked for the security of travellers thanks to their connections with tribal and nomadic peoples situated along the trade routes, especially those traversing steppes and deserts. Attested in Old Syriac, the Aramaic titles shallƯt̛Ɨ d`arab (governor of the Arabs) and malkƗ d`arab (king of the Arabs; often borne by the kings of Hatra) possibly refer to the connections of the bearers with the aforementioned nomads. In return, the international traders paid in kind and in hard currency fees for their transit and for all the services rendered to them. The caravan cities along the Euphrates and in the Syrian Desert gave evidence of their growing wealth and power in inscriptions, art and buildings. The monumental temples and palaces, stone sepulchers, funerary mosaics, and a great number of stone statues all point to the brilliant era lived by these cities thanks namely to trade. Consulting any map of the Near East in

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the first centuries of our era, one notices a number of strategic cities playing the role of gates to regions, districts, and seas, without which these would be difficult to access. Most remarkable are those located along the Euphrates, which we shall now survey to highlight the unique position of Edessa. The Nabatean kingdom of Petra (now in Jordan) was a major trade centre during at least the first centuries before and after Christ. After the creation of the Roman province of Syria in 64 BC, Petra remained independent, and during the reign of al-HҐƗrith (Aretas) IV (9 BC-40 AD), it proved to be a quite remarkable state, as the Aramaic inscriptions of and the money cast by this king show. The magnificent rock-cut tombs and temples in Petra that survived to this day are dated to his reign. The eclectic architectural style of the monuments, combining Mesopotamian, Syrian, Egyptian and Hellenistic features testifies to its cultural contacts with the rest of the Near East. According to Strabo, merchandise was shipped from Petra to everywhere in the ancient world, from Rhinocolura, south of Gaza.28 There is no doubt that the international trade, mainly of aromatics, was behind the political and economic fortunes of Petra. As in Palmyra, taxes were collected at both the arrival and the departure of the caravans in addition to fees levied on their loads. The so-called Palmyrene Tariff, an early 2nd century AD inscription in Aramaic and Greek, recorded all the taxes and finances dealing with trade and other commercial activities, thereby shedding light on the wealth of Palmyra as a caravan city, as well as on the commodities that flowed in it.29 What was practiced in Palmyra was presumably also the norm in other contemporaneous caravan cities. Hatra, another caravan city located in

Upper Mesopotamia, was founded around the mid-first Christian century, during which time the rulers bore the Aramaic title maria “lord.” In 116 the fortified city resisted the onslaught of Trajan in such a way that the Romans had to lift the siege and leave in failure.30 Many inscriptions written in Aramaic survived from this magnificent site, where the architecture bore Hellenistic and Oriental influences. Like Petra and Palmyra, Hatra was also politically independent from both Rome and Parthia at least during the time of the lords. The city was located on trade routes, and this is indicated by both written and archaeological sources. Though the local Aramaic inscriptions do not pertain to trade, the mere existence of Hatra, with its monumental architecture, magnificent statues, defense system, brilliant history, and great wealth, can hardly be explained in the absence of trade. Arbela, the capital of the small kingdom of Ediabene, was also a caravan centre of great significance because of its location in the heartland of Assyria. Our information about Ediabene is literary rather than archaeological. During the 5th century BC Arbela was mentioned in an Aramaic itinerary of a state caravan belonging to the Achaemenid Satrap Arshama.31 The caravan departed from Susa, in southeast Persia, passed through Babylonia and Assyria, where the travellers and their horses stopped at ’RBL and other Assyrian stations before reaching Damascus (DMŠQ). Our information on Ediabene during the first Christian century comes mainly from the 1st century AD Jewish historian and general Josephus, who wrote elaborately about Izates, the king of Ediabene and a convert to Judaism.32 Thanks to the support of the Parthian king Artѽaban II, Izates expanded his small do-

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minion up to and including Nisibis at the expense of Armenia.33 These events took place around 34 AD, but not much is known about Ediabene during the second half of the 1st century. One can assume with confidence that it remained a traditional passageway to the rest of Assyria and Syria, and that it continued to witness the influence of a strong Jewish community.34 Palmyra, located in the Syrian Desert halfway between the Euphrates and the Mediterranean, had been a caravan station since Old Assyrian and Old Babylonian times when its name appeared as Tadmur and Tadmar. By the early Christian era it connected with several caravan cities through a network of trade routes: DuraEuropos to the southeast and on the west bank of the Euphrates, Emesa to the west, Antioch to the northwest, and Petra in Nabataea southward. Though the Romans created the province of Syria in 64 BC, Palmyra enjoyed political independence for a while. Following its annexation to Syria by Emperor Tiberius (4-37 AD), it rose rapidly to become a Roman city in c. 129 AD and a Roman colony in 212 AD. Throughout its history Palmyra played the role of middleman between Rome and Parthia.35 Pliny the Elder (1st century AD) wrote that it had a destiny of its own between these two mighty empires, and even though Palmyra may not have been independent by the time of his writing, its position as indicated by him is very suggestive. Palmyrene inscriptions written in Aramaic shed much light on the work of the local citizens in trade. Their work consisted of assisting merchants journeying eastward to Babylon, organizing caravans, and ensuring security for the merchants and their loads while travelling through the desert on the backs of camels.

Camels, crucial beasts of burden of the desert, are depicted in many reliefs alongside figures of Palmyrene citizens. These were known to the Romans as merely Merchants, in Palmyrene taggaraya and taggare (the latter as in Syriac): Being merchants, they bring the products of India and Arabia from Persia, and dispose of them in the Roman territory, wrote Appian.36 Edessa can easily be considered the most important caravan city in comparison with all those mentioned above, as well as with others such as Dura-Europos on the Euphrates. Throughout at least two millennia before Christianity, this city-citadel enjoyed a strategic position, both politically and commercially, that no other site, even nearby Harran, could boast. The commercial role of Edessa is extremely ancient, dating to the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC if not earlier. The name of the place at that time differed from the Hellenistic Edessa, and from its Syriac counterpart ’Urhoy / ’Urhay (‹…˜†~). Based on evidence from the 10th century Syriac encyclopedia normally referred to as the Lexicon of Bar Bahlul, the ancient name of Edessa was Adme (¾Ćâƒ~).37 This name in turn, with various forms close to its Syriac spelling, is attested in Old Assyrian and Old Babylonian itineraries (2000-1700 BC), beside other city names, including Harran (spelled harrƗnu, lit. road). The itineraries followed a trade route which linked the ancient city of Ashur in Assyria with the land of Cappadocia in eastern Anatolia. For at least two hundred years, roughly between 1900 and 1700 BC, caravans of donkeys carrying goods, including textiles and tin, took that road to Cappadocia where the merchandise was exchanged with gold and silver. The textiles were brought to Ashur from Babylonia and

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tin from Iran, both through trade routes. The Babylonian route went up along the Tigris River until it reached Ashur, and from this point it stretched to Nisibis and Edessa eastward. The name Adme continued to be employed in reference to the ancient fortress of Edessa until the end of the 2nd millennium BC and presumably much later, though the available Cuneiform sources fail to mention it again. It was most probably this name that Seleucus eliminated in favour of Edessa, capital of ancient Macedonia, after he rebuilt the ancient fortress into a Hellenistic stronghold. Though the Cuneiform itineraries mention Adme as a mere caravan station, just as Harran and other unidentified places were, it was far more significant in terms of strategy. The fact that it was located near the Euphrates on its eastern side suggests that it was truly the gate to that part of the ancient Near East. Between c. 1500 and 1200 BC another fortress-city, Carchemich on the Euphrates, served the Hittites as a strategic stronghold watching the movement of tradesmen and enemy armies marching toward Anatolia from the region to the east side of the Euphrates.38 Carchemish lost its strategic importance and perhaps even its own existence long before the time when the Seleucids decided to use the fortress of Adme to play that same role.39 That Adme was of particular significance for the Seleucids is shown perhaps by the fact that they named it after the capital of their own homeland as seen above. The importance of Edessa as a caravan city is also highlighted by the fact that it was located on a trade route that was particularly well-used. While Palmyra and Hatra were located in the desert, where roads were often raided and lack of water proved to be detri-

mental, Edessa was located in a heavily populated region that was particularly fertile thanks to the plentiful water of two major rivers, several perennial river branches, and countless sources. Traders from Palestine or central Syria going to Mesopotamia had the choice of taking a short route that cut into the Syrian Desert or a long route along the Mediterranean coast up to Antioch, the Roman Metropolis of Syria. From Antioch the route led directly to the Euphrates, Edessa, Nisibis, and north of Mesopotamia before it descended toward Babylonia. Though this road was long and time-consuming, the state-caravan of Arshama, the 5th-century BC Persian Satrap mentioned above, took it from Susa in southwest Persia while heading toward faraway Egypt.40 The rations given to the people and horses within the caravan at each station were pitifully minimal. Probably Arshama could have saved some money had he ordered his caravan to take the road of the Syrian Desert, via DuraEuropos and Palmyra, but he opted for the longer travel via Erbil and Damascus. One can only assume that the Satrap, shrewd politician that he was, preferred the safe route along which he happened to have estates that furnished the expedition with provisions. The unique position of Edessa within Upper Syria and Mesopotamia explains why the city grew into a kingdom that managed to remain mostly independent before and after the Christian era. A number of kings who took up the name Abgar ruled Edessa and its people for more than three hundred years (132 BC-242 AD). We encountered Abgar V nicknamed the Black (¾Ćã܆~) who supposedly corresponded with Jesus. Abgar VIII the Great (177-212) is particularly well known, having also hosted in his

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own palace Bardaysan the Aramean Philosopher who wrote in Syriac. Local rulers struck money, and Edessene coins are found in great numbers in Edessa and elsewhere in Syria. No kingdom of the size of Edessa could have survived if that land could not have sustained itself economically. Though that region, like the rest of the Jazirah, was particularly fertile thanks to the abundant water in and around it, the kingdom’s economy must have been based on the fortunes of trade. There are no written sources from Edessa that shed light on this particular subject, but the reasons behind the wealth of the other caravan cities, particularly Palmyra, also shed light on Edessa’s economy. One can safely add that Edessa exceeded all the caravan cities in wealth, culture, power, and strategic importance. Reference to Trade and Tradesmen in Syriac Sources Now that we have surveyed the most important among the caravan cities that were active in the first century AD, allusions to trade and trade routes in the Syriac sources will be discussed. The Teaching of Addai and the Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ are both offshoots of the Acts of Thomas.41 It is quite significant that the mission of Thomas to India is placed in a trade context. His Acts states that he was hired by an Indian merchant searching for a carpenter able to build a palace for Gundaphar king of India. Though the Apostle’s mission is not our immediate concern, he was the one who sent Addai to Edessa according to the latter’s Acts. If this were true, the date would be the latter part of the 1st century AD. Addai could well have arrived at Edessa in a caravan travelling from Palestine via

Antioch. The road going eastward from Antioch passed through fertile fields, plentiful water, and densely-populated areas, ideal conditions for travellers. Antioch also played a key role in the early history of Christianity, and there must be a reason why all eastern churches proudly call themselves Antiochene. The only other way to reach Mesopotamia from Syria was through the Syrian Desert, but lack of security and want of water in the desert hindered travel. Upon his arrival at Edessa, Addai resided in the house of a Jew from Palestine named Tobias. As a foreigner in Edessa, Tobias must have worked in trade, or his presence in the city is unintelligible. For obvious reasons the Christian message was first addressed to the Jews of the Diaspora and the Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ makes the same claim. Jewish merchants also frequented the city on account of their profession, as many of them worked in international trade involving spices, silk, textile and jewels, benefiting from the Jewish presence in Upper Syria and Mesopotamia and from their synagogues, schools, and hostels. Once Addai settled in the city and felt free to preach Christianity, people from the East disguised as merchants passed over to the territory of the Romans in order to witness the signs performed by Addai. Since there were frontiers separating Roman lands from Parthian ones, only tradesmen could travel with relative freedom, following the rules of international trade. The Teaching of Addai is therefore credible at least with regard to the men disguised as merchants meeting Addai. It continues: And those who became disciples received from him the hand of priesthood, and in their own country of the

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Assyrians (i.e. Ediabene) they found disciples.

The statement above finds echo in the Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ. While this source celebrated the great achievements of this holy man in bringing Christianity to the whole of Mesopotamia, it modestly admitted that he was not at the origins of Christianity in Persian Khuzistan. For when MƗr MƗrƯ went there, to his amazement and satisfaction, he found the land already converted to Christ. Rather than precipitately crediting MƗr MƗrƯ with the Christianization of Persia, his Acts attributed it to none other than trades people and merchants from Persia proper: Tradesmen from both regions (BethHozaye and of Beth-Parsaye) went to the West for reasons related to their profession, where the blessed Addai the Apostle instructed them in the fear of God. And after these Khozian and Persian believers came down from the West, they instructed many people in faith in those territories. From that time, the Church of Beth-Hozaye and of Beth-Parsaye was founded.

This statement may not describe in every detail the way Christianity spread out in the region to the southeast of Babylonia. It nonetheless offers a possible scenario that tradesmen founded the first Christian community in Persia, and that their contacts were with Edessa through the usual trade route leading to it from Persia and Babylonia. The itinerary of MƗr MƗrƯ followed a route that continued from Edessa to Nisibis, an important caravan city along a trade route that extended at least from Assyria to the Euphrates. Thanks to its strategic position, IJ Nisibis42 became a border city, ¿ÿæØÊâ K ¾ĆâÍϚƒ , separating Sassanian and Byzan-

tine lands from the 4th century onward; it also witnessed a very active Christian community soon after its conversion to Christianity. There is therefore little doubt that this remarkable caravan city was Christianized shortly after Edessa. The route continued from Nisibis to Erbil in Assyria, and from this point to Maishan (Mesene of the classical sources) in southern Mesopotamia and then to Babylonia proper. In Babylonia Mar MƗrƯ laid the foundations of the future Church of the East in Seleucia-Ctesiphon. The trade route between Babylonia and Syria via Assyria is confirmed by the Aramaic itinerary of Arshama mentioned above. Moreover, the role of Maishan in trade is confirmed by a very ancient Syriac source, the Hymn of the Soul, that found its way into the Acts of Thomas.43 The hymn talks about a prince who left the East on a journey to Egypt. He passed through the borders of Maishan, the meeting place of the merchants of the East, before he reached the land of Babylonia. The Hymn mentions that on his return from Egypt, the prince went through Babylonia once again, coming to great Maishan, to the haven of merchants which sits on the shore of the sea, the ArabianPersian Gulf. Maishan, which had Spasinou Charax as centre, was under Parthian rule during the first century of our era. Admittedly, the references to trade and merchants in our Syriac sources are not numerous, but even if we consider them as only hints, they are suggestive. Trade routes and merchants always served as carriers of religions, sects, cults, and ideologies. During the first millennium of our era, monks, missionaries and religious zealots accompanied merchants along the Silk Road, the former spreading out their religions, philosophies, ideologies and intellectual trends, and

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the latter trading their goods and merchandise. The Silk Road passed through many countries and human settlements across Asia, corresponding to what is now China, including Tibet and Sin kiang, Outer Mongolia (the Republic of Mongolia), and the Southern Siberian republics, including Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan.44 The road took caravans to such oases as Bukhara, Samarkand, and Kashgar, and into the Tarim Basin, where it was divided into southern and northern branches, both leading into China.45 Along this famed route religious settlements of Buddhists, Zoroastrians, Manicheans, Syriac Christians and later Muslim were founded, some of which, remarkably, continued to exist for several centuries. In the case of Syriac Christianity, the churches and Syriac inscriptions that were recently uncovered in Kyrgyzstan on the northern Silk Road46 are a case in point, and there are many other Christian sites in Asia located along the same road. The well-known presence of Syriac Christianity in India, especially in the eastern province of that country, can also be explained through trade routes. There are still questions whether or not Christianity in India was founded by Thomas the Apostle, though there are pieces of evidence that the Apostle did travel there. What is sure, however, is that by the early 6th century there were Nestorian Christians already settled on the island of Socotra in the coastal region of modern Kerala, as well as in Ceylon (Sri Lanka) though in lesser numbers. The evidence comes from a diary written by a merchant from Alexandria, Cosmas Indicopleustes, who sailed to India in 520.47 That these settlers were converted by Christians from Mesopotamia is clear from the influence that Syriac Christianity exerted

over the Indians, in such a way that for time immemorial Indian bishops had to be consecrated by the Catholicos of the Church of the East in Babylonia (and later in Baghdad). As for the Southists among the Christians of Saint Thomas, they still trace their origins directly and unequivocally to seventy-two Babylonian families that immigrated to India as early as 345 AD under the leadership of Thomas Kenaya. Though the number of these families sounds symbolic (see the seventy-two disciples of Jesus), modern Kenanites are aware of their Near Eastern origins through ancient poems mentioning personal and place names reminiscent of Mesopotamian ones.48 Their claim is credible. Traders sailed to India from the Red Sea as early as the time of Alexander of Macedonia, and the travel of St. Thomas to that land as claimed by his Acts can at least be justified. From Mesopotamia merchandise was unloaded and loaded at a major trade centre, Charax-Spasinu (probably near modern Basra in Iraq) located at the mouth of the Arabian-Persian Gulf. Babylonian Jews certainly conducted missionary activities while travelling on commercial missions,49 as in the case of the exilarch Hiyya, whose sons and nephews worked as his own commercial agents.50 The Christian neighbours of the Babylonian Jewry merely did the same. Thus, if trade routes were carriers of religions throughout the ages, it is not a far-fetched scenario that Christianity too spread out in greater Mesopotamia and beyond through trade routes. Final Remarks If Christianity entered Upper Syria and Mesopotamia through merchants and trade, the first churches in those lands must have

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begun and developed slowly and modestly. This assumption agrees with what we currently know about Christianity during the second century in and around Edessa. Eusebius of Caesarea51 stated that the churches of Osrhoene and the cities there agreed with the churches elsewhere in the world to celebrate Easter on Sunday; the agreement took place when Victor I was Bishop of Rome between 189 and 199. In 201, a flood destroyed among other buildings the apse of the church of the Christians as reported by the Chronicle of Edessa on the basis of the royal archives of that city.52 Bardaysan also points in the Laws of the Countries to the existence of Christians in Mesopotamia, Persia, and elsewhere;53 this text was written by his disciple between 196 and 214 AD. Lastly, the Diatessaron (the four Gospels in one), which was widely used in Mesopotamia until the 5th century, was composed by Tatian the Assyrian between 150 and 170 AD. All these events suggest that Christianity was active in Upper Syria and Meso-

potamia during the second half of the 2nd century if not earlier, but was by no means victorious as claimed by our Syriac sources. The Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ tells us that MƗr MƗrƯ settled in the Parthian capital SeleuciaCtesiphon, a cosmopolitan city made up of Babylonians, Jews, Parthians, Greeks and foreigners, including traders, an attractive multi-ethnic community to address. The K , holy man settled in nearby Kokhe (¾ÜÍÜ ϲΧϮϛ), where a house of worship was built, and this site was destined to become the cradle of Babylonian Christianity. Interestingly, KitƗb al-Majdal interprets this toponym as ’akwƗkh (Υ΍Ϯϛ΍) “huts” belonging to the farmland of the leader of Ctesiphon.54 Most probably the first church in Kokhe was no more than a hut or a simple house (as at Dura-Europos and presumably in Edessa,) a reflection of the modest beginnings of Babylonian Christianity. Whether in Edessa or in Kokhe, a church founded by merchants who happened also to be missionaries need not have experienced a miraculous beginning.

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NOTES 1. J. Labourt, Le Christianisme dans l’Empire Perse, 15, claimed that the Acts of MƗrƯ is denuded of any historical value. 2. The Teaching is dated to the early 5th century; S. Brock, Brief Outline of Syriac Literature (Kerala 1997), 34. The most recent translation of the Syriac source is found in G. Howard, The Teaching of Addai (Ann Arbor 1981). This translation is based on the Syriac original previously published by G. Phillips, The Doctrine of Addai (London 1876). 3. The Acts in question is dated around the early 7th century; see my recent translation, The Acts of MƗr MƗrƯ the Apostle (forthcoming). 4. The letters were known to Eusebius of Caesarea; Ecclesiastical History I xiii, trans. K. Lake, Loeb Classical Library 153 (Cambridge, Massachusetts 1980); see below. 5. UkkƗmƗ “the Black.” The reference must be made to Abgar V, who reigned from 4 B.C.-7 A.D. and once again from 13-50. 6. The introduction of the letter reflects the way letters were formulated in antiquity, with the name of the greater person in rank (in this case King Abgar) at the beginning. Nonetheless, the letter lacks concluding formulae, including a fixed date, a fact which makes the letter unhistorical. 7. The 12th century Christian Arabic KitƗb al-Majdal claims that Thomas the Apostle was the scribe and that the material on which the message was written was Egyptian papyrus! See Maris, Amri et Salibae, AkhbƗr fat̛Ɨrika kursƯ alMashriq, edited by R. Gismondi (Rome 1899), 5. See also now the recently discovered (and intriguing) source Mukhtaśar al-`akhbƗr albay`iyyah (Short History of the Church), edited by Fr. Butѽrus HҐaddƗd (Baghdad 2000). 8. John 20:29. 9. Ecclesiastical History I xiii. 10. According to the 12th century KitƗb alMajdal, 5, MƗrƯ was not only of Hebrew origin, but also one of the seventy disciples of Jesus.

11. Kokhe, Seleucia, Ctesiphon and other nearby settlements were all grouped by the Arabs under one name, al-MadƗ’in, the Cities. For Kokhe, see M. Cassis, “Kokhe, Cradle of the Church of the East: An Archaeological and Comparative Study,” in the present issue. 12. Maris, Amri et Salibae, AhkbƗr, 5. 13. Labourt, Le Christianisme, 15. 14. R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom, Oxford 1975, 8-12; J. B. Segal, Edessa ‘The Blessed City’, (Oxford 1970), 41-42, 67-69. Segal suggested that the story about Abgar of Edessa and his conversion to Christianity was borrowed from an older account reported in detail by Flavius Josephus (1st century AD), concerning the conversion of the king of Ediabene to Judaism during the first century of our era (see below). Syriac Christianity would be born out of the flourishing Jewish community of Ediabene. 15. Labourt, Le Christianisme, 9. 16. Ibid. 17. See the most recent edition of these inscriptions in H.J.W. Drijvers and J.F. Healey, The Old Syriac Inscriptions of Edessa & Osrhoene: Texts, Translations & Commentary (Leiden 1999). 18. As a reflection of this idealistic approach, see the paradisiacal beginning of humankind in the early chapters of Genesis, and the Sumerian King List, which imagined early Sumerian history as an era of heroes and total harmony. 19. Some scholars believe that the borderline divided the Near East both politically and culturally; see W. Hage, Syriac Christianity in the East (Kottayam 1997), 1. What we mean by Near East here is the region that included Mesopotamia, Upper Syria, Syria proper, and Palestine. 20. One of the most favoured titles borne by the powerful Assyrians kings was šar erbetti, king of the four (quarters of the world.) Though some kings merely boasted in using this title, other aspired and certainly attained rulership

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over the civilized world of the ancient Near East. 21. W. Aufrecht, A Legacy of Syria: The Aramaic Language, in M. Fortin (ed.), Canadian Research on Ancient Syria: Annual Symposium of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies (Quebec 2001), 145-155. 22. The most powerful cultural link between the peoples of the Near East is religion; despite local cults of individual gods, the whole Near East believed in polytheism. Social, religious and royal institutions also differed but were often of the same origin; R. de Vaux, Ancient Israel, vol. 1: Social Institutions, vol. 2: Religious Institutions (New York 1961). 23. Hellenization is shown through Seleucus’s attempt to change local geographical names into Greek and Macedonian ones. Adme became Edessa, Aleppo Beroia, Amman Philadelphia, etc. 24. G. McEwan, Priest and Temple in Hellenistic Babylonia (Wiesbaden 1981), 186f. 25. Hellenization was probably not total even in the above-mentioned Hellenistic cities. The early 6th century Peter of Apamea, the contemporary of Patriarch Severus of Antioch, and who is very well known in Greek patristic sources, left us a commemorative inscription in Syriac; see my Notes on Syriac Inscriptions, I: The Inscription of Ma1ar-Zayta (Syria), Orientalia 64 (1995), 110-119. 26. There are hints in the Bible about international trade in Palestine during Solomon’s time, but it is the location of Palestine on a trade route linking it with Syria, Anatolia, and Mesopotamia that makes it part of long trade route linking the Indus Valley with the entire Near East. 27. The first hint to trade route occurs in an Epic related to Sargon of Akkad; see the Epic of the King of the Battle in J.G. Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade (Indiana 1997), pp. 102-139. But since the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC, the well-known Assyrian trade business with Cappadocia functioned for at least two centuries; see M. T. Larsen, The Old Assyrian City-State and its Colonies (Copenhagen 1976), 85-105.

28. The Geography of Strabo, trans. H.L. Jones, Loeb Classical Library VII (Cambridge, Massachusetts 1983), 359. Strabo is the best source, though not the only one, as far as trade routes around the first Christian centuries are concerned. 29. J.-B. Chabot, Corpus inscriptionum semiticarum, pars secunda, tomus tertius (Palmyra), fasc. I (Paris 1926), 3913. 30. Dio's Roman History, trans. E. Cary, Loeb Classical Library (London 1914), vol. VIII: LXVIII 31. 31. B. Porten and A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, vol. 1: Letters (Jerusalem 1986), 114. 32. Flavius Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, trans. L. H. Feldman, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass. 1965), vol. XI: XX 17-19. 33. Josephus XX 3.3. 34. Since the so-called Chronicle of Arbela is too controversial, we will not use its content about Ediabene. 35. Pliny the Elder, Natural History, trans. H. Rackham, Loeb Classical Library (London 1935), vol. V, 88. 36. Appian, The Civil Wars, trans. John Carter (London; New York 1996), 5.1.9 37. A. Harrak, “The Ancient Name of Edessa,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 51 (1992), 209-214. 38. About Carchemish see J.B. Hawkins, “Karkamiš”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie (1976-1980), 426-446. 39. The so-called Sea People destroyed Carchemish with the rest of the Hittite kingdom at the end of the 12th century BC. 40. Porten-Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents, 114. 41. For the edition see A.F J. Klijn, The Acts of Thomas (Leiden 1962). 42. J.-M. Fiey, Nisibe métropole syriaque orientale et ses suffragants des origines à nos jours (Louvain 1977). 43. Klijn, The Acts of Thomas, 121. 44. Hage, Syriac Christianity in the East, 14, 17. 45. W. Klein, “A Christian Heritage on the

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Northern Silk Road: Archaeological and Epigraphic Evidence of Christianity in Kyrgyzstan,” JCSSS 1 (2001), 85-100. 46. Klein, “A Christian Heritage.” 47. E.O. Winstedt, ed., The Christian Topography of Cosmas Indicopleustes (Cambridge 1909), Chapter XI. 48. J. Kollaparambil, The Babylonian Origins of the Southists Among the St Thomas Christians (Rome 1992). 49. J. Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia, vol. 1 (Leiden 1964), 98.

50. J. Neusner, Jews in Babylonia, 113, 98. 51. Ecclesiastical History xxiii-xxv. 52. The oldest historical mention of a Christian presence in Edessa is dated to AD 201, the year in which a Christian church was destroyed by the flooded Daysan River that passed through the city; see Chronicon Edessenum in I. Guidi (ed.), Chronica Minora I, T. CSCO 1/Syr. 1, 1-3, V. CSCO 2/Syr. 2 (Paris 1903), 1-3. An English translation can be found in Segal, Edessa, 24-5. 53. Syriac text in I. Parisot et al., in Patrologia Syriaca II (1907), cols. 607-608. 54. KitƗb al-Majdal, 5.

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KOKHE, CRADLE OF THE CHURCH OF THE EAST: AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL AND COMPARATIVE STUDY

MARICA CASSIS UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

A

Introduction

s early as the third century A.D. the Christians living in the Sassanian Empire were recognized as an important and distinctive community. Early Syriac and Greek sources refer to the arrival and development of Christianity in the Eastern provinces of Assyria and Babylonia.1 By the fourth century the Christian community in the Sassanian Empire was large enough to warrant a letter between Constantine the Great and King Shapur II of Persia, in which the Byzantine Emperor expressed his concern for the safety of these Christians: And now, because your power is great, I commend these people to your protection; because your piety is outstanding, I commit them to your care. Care for them with your accustomed humanity and kindness. By this proof of faith you will obtain an immeasurable benefit both to yourself and us.2

By the beginning of the fifth century the Eastern Christians of the Sassanian Empire had evolved into a well-ordered community. The Synodicon Orientale, the earliest clearly datable record of the Eastern Church as a hierarchical organization, is evidence for the firm establishment of Christianity in the re-

gion. In A.D. 410 the Synod of Seleucia established twenty-one canons, all of which clearly indicate that the Church of the East was organized, recognized by the state and growing, both through conversion and expansion.3 Following the fifth century Synod, it was the fate of Kokhe, a city in Babylonia, to become the counterpart of Byzantine Constantinople as the spiritual and ecclesiastical centre of the Sassanian Empire. In antiquity Kokhe was located on the banks of the Tigris and was established as one of the major Sassanian centres in southern Mesopotamia, usually named in conjunction with Ctesiphon. The Synod of Seleucia recognized Kokhe as the seat of the Catholicos and consequently as the ecclesiastical centre for the churches in the province of Babylonia.4 In addition to the written sources there have been some important early Christian archaeological finds at Kokhe which augment our knowledge of Christianity in southern Mesopotamia. While the Christian material is not overly extensive, its presence within a Sassanian context is significant for understanding the presence of Christianity as part of the Sassanian milieu and as an ecclesiastical organization independent of the Byzantine Empire. More research has been undertaken in

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southern Iraq and the Persian-Arabian Gulf during the last thirty years and has shed light on the origins of Christianity in Mesopotamia. The purpose of this paper is to survey the work that has been done to date, and to highlight the following key points concerning this corpus of material. Firstly, the archaeological data clarifies to some extent the existence and development of Christianity in Kokhe during the early Christian centuries. Secondly, the Christian architectural remains from Kokhe along with notable parallels found in other churches in the region suggest a local church architecture, but also confirm the growth of an independent branch of Christianity in Mesopotamia.5 Finally, both architectural and decorative elements of this early church echo those of the Sassanian world, linking Christianity in the region to Mesopotamian building traditions.6 Through a survey of the archaeological material relevant to Kokhe, we will be able to illustrate the independent identity of early Christianity in Mesopotamia. Archaeological Kokhe The archaeological finds from Kokhe and the surrounding vicinity on the Tigris have been discussed in a number of secondary sources. The first excavations at the site were done by the Germans, who mistakenly believed that what they were excavating was actually the Sassanian royal city of Ctesiphon.7 The most recent publication concerning this material, written by J. Kröger, is primarily concerned with the much neglected stucco (plaster) work from the site.8 Subsequent work in this general geographical area was undertaken by the Americans, although they concentrated on the Hellenistic settlement at Seleucia.9 The latest set of

excavations were undertaken by the Italians who worked in Kokhe and were able to decipher the convoluted settlement patterns of the region around Seleucia-Ctesiphon.10 Several authors have also tackled the question of the importance of Kokhe in understanding early Mesopotamian Christianity. In terms of the archaeological material, Okada was the first scholar to notice the major similarities which exist among the churches of the Persian-Arabian Gulf.11 J.M. Fiey used the literary sources in conjunction with archaeological material to help delineate the boundaries of the cities in the region of Lower Tigris.12 The geography, including the settlement patterns of the Seleucia-Ctesiphon area have remained a difficult issue until recently. When the German excavators began working on the area to the west of the Tigris, they believed that they were working in Ctesiphon.13 During the subsequent excavations the Italian team found that the archaeological data did not support this. Ctesiphon was known from the sources to have been the major Parthian city in the region.14 However, the stratigraphy of the site begun by the German team and taken over by the Italian excavators was almost exclusively Sassanian. The Italian team identified several stratigraphic layers and rebuildings and was able to prove conclusively that nothing above the very bottom level was preSassanian.15 Their analysis was based primarily on coin evidence and clearly indicated that this area was a Sassanian urban centre. As well, the evidence for the very bottom level was mortuary, suggesting that the Hellenistic or Parthian populations of the previous periods had used the area solely as a necropolis.16 Consequently the name Ctesiphon was given to a site further away, and

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the round city of Sassanian origin was given what must surely be its rightful name.17 Further, the recognition of this fact allowed Fiey to use Roman, Jewish and Syriac sources to help reconstruct the shifting of the Tigris over the years.18 Before A.D. 100 the Tigris flowed between Hellenistic Seleucia and Parthian Ctesiphon, with the two cities lying on alternate banks of the river. From approximately A.D. 100 until sometime in the seventh century the river shifted away from old Seleucia, perhaps contributing to the rise of Kokhe.19 As Kokhe developed into a major centre, the sources began to refer to it alongside of Ctesiphon as the pair of royal Sassanian cities in Mesopotamia called al-MadƗ’in or The Cities.20 The archaeological work at Kokhe indicates first and foremost that this city was a sizeable Sassanian centre on the Tigris [Figure 1].21 It is within this context that the members of the early East Syriac Church lived and worshipped. Until the discovery of the Christian evidence here our knowledge of Kokhe as both a Christian and an ecclesiastical centre came only from such literary sources as, for example, the Synodicon Orientale and the seventh century Letters of Išo‘yahb III. Both of these sources are important for understanding the hierarchical aspects of the church as well as how it operated within a Sassanian cultural context. The Synodicon Orientale makes mention of the position held by the Christian community as being very much a part of Sassanian society, rather than an entity standing in opposition to it. The letters of the Catholicos Išo‘yahb III, on the other hand, detail the problems encountered between the Holy See in Kokhe and the disparate Christian groups in Persia and the Persian-Arabian Gulf.22 Because of the discovery of the church at Kokhe, these

written sources now have independent physical proof of how significant Kokhe was to the early Church of the East. Let us now turn to the archaeological remains. Because the stratigraphy established by the Italian excavators falls almost exclusively within the Sassanian period, the finds provide a unique picture of Christianity within an enclosed Sassanian context. The actual material which is pertinent to this paper was found by the German excavators in the first half of the twentieth century and includes architecture, architectural decoration and some small finds. Architecturally, the most important discovery was the church [Figure 2].23 This structure exhibits two building periods, with the earlier structure becoming visible beneath the top one during excavation. The exact dates for this church are still uncertain, although the upper church probably dates to the final part of the sixth century.24 The two levels of building may be indicative of persecution and rebuilding, or may simply represent the need to accommodate a growing congregation. According to the original excavators the dimensions of the top church are 27.18 m. long by 15.06 m. wide, and the church is constructed of baked bricks filled in with gypsum mortar.25 The church is singleaisled, with four rectangular pillars set near each lateral wall and attached to the walls by small arches, by which are created a series of small niches. The top plan indicates that the church possesses six lateral doorways but does not possess a western entrance. The nave ends in a deep rectangular sanctuary with a straight back wall and is connected to two pastophoria (adjoining rooms which probably served as the diaconicon and the prothesis). These flanking chambers are connected to the sanctuary, to the nave and

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also to the outside of the structure. The sanctuary chamber has two niches (one in each lateral side); four holes in the floor suggesting the remains of either a ciborium (baldachino) or a mensa (altar table); and a large step against the back wall.26 Interestingly, however, no evidence for a bema has been found. Beneath this top structure were found the remains of an older church. The previous incarnation of this structure was a narrower building with round pillars on square bases instead of rectangular ones and with pastophoria accessible only through the sanctuary. The excavators indicated that the first structure was not completed.27 The entire structure was almost certainly roofed by means of a series of barrel vaults. In terms of architectural decoration and small finds the remains are not extensive and unfortunately do not tell us to whom the church was dedicated or how important it was compared to other churches in the city or the region. Nevertheless, several distinctive objects were excavated in the sanctuary, including a stucco figure of a holy man [Figure 3].28 According to Reuther: On the ground before this step [in front of the back wall] there was the debris of paving laid down in Islamic times, and underneath was the draped figure of a man, made of painted stucco in high relief, and broken into several fragments. Unfortunately, head, hands and feet are missing. The figure is about three-quarters life-size, and can hardly represent any other than a saint, probably the dedicatory saint of the church. We found with it pieces of ornamental framework, likewise coloured and in part gilded, halfpillars with shafts of zigzag pattern, palmettes, and other things.29

We will return to the architectural decora-

tion shortly, as it helps in placing this church within the context of other churches in the region, as well as within the Sassanian Empire. Finally, below the floor of the sanctuary, a small Estrangela ostracon was also unearthed [Figure 4].30 While the question of the significance of this ostracon is a difficult one, it would not be futile to revisit its content, which may read as follows:

¾Øûâ Úß ûâ~† .1 ƒÍÐàÁ ¾Ùæøƒ ¾ÙèÍå .2 ûâ~† ¾ĆâÊî ¾Ùæø .3 …ûÁ~ƒ …Ìß~ .4 úÐéØ~ƒ …Ìß~ .5 €Íùï؃ …[Ìß~†] .6 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

And the Lord said to me […] The trial of the stylus alone […trial?] of the stylus, until!, and he said God of Abraham God of Isaac [and Go]d of Jacob […]

The Syriac content was lately discussed in every detail by Erica Hunter,31 though it is fragmentary and in places quite uncertain. According to Hunter, the fragment bearing the inscription is of a wheel-made vessel, and is written in East Syriac Estrangela, in the classic angular style with cursive overtones.32 Of the five lines of the inscription the first line and the final three lines are quite clear. The difficulty lies in the second and third lines where some of the letters are obscure. Hunter read the first word of the second line as ¾Ùè†~ (Greek ousia), and the following one as ¾Ùæøƒ,33 suggesting that the latter must be a participle feminine singular which would fit ¾Ùè†~, a feminine singular noun. But the expression “trial of the stylus”

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suggested above finds support in a related expression in Syriac: ¿šÍ؃ƒ ¾ÙèÍå “trial of the ink” well-attested in dictionaries of Syriac. The context of the fragmentary inscription is now lost. The fact that it includes an abbreviated or paraphrased biblical text from the Old Testament34 highlights the religious or liturgical nature of the ostracon. In turn, its presence provides us with clear evidence of the liturgical language being used and helps to situate the church within the context of the East Syriac community. Despite the moderate size of the church as well as the important inscriptional evidence, we are no further ahead in gaining a sense of to whom the church was dedicated or of specific people who may have been associated with the structure. The question has been raised as to whether this could be the major cathedral of the Synodicon Orientale, the seat of the Catholicos and the most important church in the region.35 However, three elements weigh against this interpretation: the lack of further inscriptional evidence; the lack of patriarchal graves; and the size. It should also be added that more exploration in and around the church needs to be done in order to rule out this possibility.36 Consequently, at present we must assume that this was simply one of several ecclesiastical structures in Kokhe. In many ways this is a preferable explanation, as the existence of several churches would only enhance our idea of Kokhe as the ecclesiastical centre of the region. Comparative Analysis Now that we have seen that the archaeological remains confirm the presence of the early East Syriac church within the cultural

sphere of the Sassanians, let us turn to their position among the other Christian churches of the region. In looking at the archaeological material by itself we are able to locate regional similarities which help to establish the independent character of the early Christian church in Mesopotamia and the PersianArabian Gulf. This is extremely obvious when we look at a number of other churches which have been excavated recently in southern Iraq and the Gulf region. Thirty years ago only three churches had been found in this geographical area: the church at Kokhe and two churches at Hira, also in southern Iraq. These three churches were hardly enough to constitute a corpus, and as such were usually treated with a certain amount of ambivalence.37 However, by comparing some of the architectural aspects which are common to the church at Kokhe, those at Hira and these newly discovered churches, the emergence of a separate branch of church architecture becomes more conspicuous. Among the churches of Babylonia and the Persian-Arabian Gulf there are notable architectural similarities with the church at Kokhe, and consequently we will restrict our analysis to this geographical area. Some of the churches in this region fall within highly urbanized Sassanian centres, such as Hira, and some mostly monastic complexes like Ain Sha’ia occur in the hinterland of the Empire. In both cases, however, Hellenistic and Byzantine influences are minimal and it is clear that these churches are making use of local traditions as they establish themselves.38 The characteristics which are predominant in these churches are as follows: tripartite, straight-backed sanctuaries (as opposed to the apsidal sanctuaries); lateral entrances (often with no entrance in the

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western end of the church); and long, barrelshaped, vaulted naves (often single aisled, but not exclusively). While there are variations between the churches in the region, these three elements retain a certain uniformity which suggests both a common source and a common acceptance among the Christians of the region. The initial observation of the similarities has come from the excavator of one of the sites in southern Iraq, Y. Okada, who has established a basic rectangular shape for these churches which he calls the geometry of rectangles.39 One or more of these elements is evident in all the remaining churches from southern Iraq and the Persian-Arabian Gulf. For example, both of the churches from Hira, located south of Kokhe on the Euphrates, possess all three elements even though they are substantially larger than the church at Kokhe.40 The remains of the Church A at Qusayr, west of the Euphrates, also show the same elements but with such variations as a minor entrance in the west end.41 Finally, a small monastic church was excavated at Ain Sha’ia near Hira by a Japanese team. It too possesses the three basic elements, while also containing a narthex and at least one western entrance. 42 In the Persian-Arabian Gulf two churches are particularly noteworthy for containing these elements. The Kuwaiti island of Failaka has been undergoing extensive archaeological excavation over the last few years and a Christian church has been discovered there.43 This church also possesses the distinctive lateral entrances, a straight-backed sanctuary, and the same long nave [Figure 5].44 Again at this church we note some differences, including a definite narthex and western entrances, but these cohabit with the basic shape favoured by the other churches

in the region.45 On the Iranian island of Kharg a small monastic complex was also discovered.46 The initial publication of this church is somewhat short, but the same similarities can be seen. Finally, there are two very small churches which need to be mentioned, one on the mainland at Rahaliya north of Qusayr,47 and one in the PersianArabian Gulf on the Abu Dhabi island of Sir Bani Yas.48 Both of these structures are extremely small, making the comparison a little artificial in terms of the nave. However, the straight backed sanctuary is found in both of these churches. It should also be added that some of the common characteristics are found throughout Mesopotamia, as far north as the Tur Abdin.49 The closer the location was to Byzantine construction techniques, the more such western elements were included in church plans. However, for those structures isolated within the Sassanian Empire, there was less impetus to change known and proven construction techniques. A final element which needs to be compared is the remaining decorative material which was found in the church at Kokhe. Although not extensive, it does fit into a corpus of plaster decoration that has been found in a number of these churches, most notably at Ain Sha’ia, Qusayr and Failaka. As we have noted above, the remaining finds consist primarily of architectural decoration as well as the remains of a plaster relief statue.50 Although nothing has yet been found which is obviously religious in nature (e.g. plaster crosses), the manner of manufacture among the remaining fragments from several of the churches is similar. For example, if we compare the palmette fragments from the church at Kokhe [Figure 6]51 with two small pieces from crosses found at

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Qusayr [Figures 7 and 8],52 we are able to see a stylistic similarity and a parallel use of material, although not the same motif. This is also true if we look at decorative remains from other sites such as Ain Sha’ia and at Kharg, as in both locations plaster crosses were found. The distinctive nature of both the architecture and the architectural decoration suggests that they owed their origins and development to an independent source. Reuther was the first to suggest that a logical place to look for this source was the Parthian/ Sassanian context in which the early East Syriac Church came into existence.53 This idea has been encouraged by other authors, including Okada54 and Krautheimer, who says: “The plan [of the churches] has been linked to royal reception and judiciary halls in Sasanian and Umayyad palaces. If true, this derivation would constitute a neat parallel to the origin of Constantinian church building from the ambience of secular basilicas.”55 With the abundance of new archaeological material from southern Iraq and the Persian-Arabian Gulf, this seems increasingly probable. When we look at these structures, their essential shape parallels the basic iwan architecture of Parthian and Sassanian construction. The iwan refers to the long, often barrel-shaped hall, flanked by side chambers or alcoves, generally roofed with a vaulted ceiling.56 This can be seen, for example, in the Parthian palace at Sarvistan, the Taq-i Kisra of New Ctesiphon and in smaller secular houses at Kokhe itself. Not only is the architectural shape the same, but the manner of construction in the region is also parallel, since both Christian and Sassanian structures were built of mudbrick. Further, the decorative work described

above has clear parallels throughout the Sassanian milieu. Plaster stucco decorations were used throughout palaces, villas and public buildings. Several elements can be compared, including the motifs used, manner of manufacture and the realization of certain features. One such parallel can be seen when we compare the palmette fragments from the church at Kokhe [Figure 6] with other examples from secular house contexts in the region.57 The above evidence points to the interaction between the Sassanian and Christian communities. Given the overlap of the secular Sassanian world and the ecclesiastical Christian church, it is not difficult to see the Sassanians as the source for early East Syriac Christian architecture and decoration. By borrowing from the Sassanians, the Church of the East established its position as a full member of Sassanian society. The interplay between the Christians and the Sassanian Empire should not be underestimated. Both Michael Morony and Amir Harrak have drawn attention to the fact that the organization of the Church of the East often paralleled the Sassanian hierarchy.58 Both have shown that the Syriac titles Father of Fathers and Shepherd of Shepherds parallel the Persian King of Kings. If the East Syriac Church was willing to accept this structured terminology for themselves, albeit with a Christian overtone, it should be no surprise that they were willing to accept secular Sassanian architecture, again adapting it by applying Christian characteristics. Consequently there is no need to search for an external source for these structures. The Sassanian church took in a large number of wealthy Persian converts from the Zoroastrian faith. Thus the point of reference for many of these Christians in terms of art and

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decoration would not have been the Byzantine West, but rather the Mesopotamian and Persian East. In addition, the Christians living under the Sassanians certainly looked for at least some acceptance from the Sassanian kings. By the fifth century, rumours abounded in the royal court that the Christian community was sympathetic to Byzantium.59 The reality was quite different. Christianity in Mesopotamia and particularly in Babylonia took on its own identity, expressing its own architectural and cultural customs. By taking on Persian architecture and decoration as well as such characteristics as a hierarchical organization, the early Church of the East was able to establish its own regional character and attempt to show its loyalty to the Sassanian kings. As Young says, the result was a carefully defined hierarchy, with a designated Head. It meant that a relationship between the Head of the State and the Head of the Church was in effect a practical relationship between the State and the Church.60

Conclusion Let us now sum up our investigation. The archaeological material from Kokhe confirms our knowledge of the Christian community under the Sassanians. This evidence parallels the literary sources, giving us a sense of the physical context in which the Christians lived. By looking at the archaeological remains we can also establish the place of Kokhe within the context of other Christian communities in the region, as well as the Sassanian Empire. The church at Kokhe follows a number of set building and decorative patterns which are mirrored in structures throughout the Persian-Arabian Gulf and southern Mesopotamia. These elements are, in turn, an integral part of the Sassanian secular architectural corpus. The prevalence of these characteristics throughout the region establishes the independence of the Christian church in the Sassanian Empire and the importance of Kokhe as the cradle of Mesopotamian Christianity

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NOTES 1. The dates for the arrival and establishment of Christianity in Mesopotamia are far from secure. For a discussion of the texts relating to this period and their inherent problems, see S. Brock, A Brief Outline of Syriac Literature (Kottayam: St. Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute, 1997), pp. 13-19. There is still no consensus on when Christianity arrived in the region. J.M. Fiey, “Topography of al-Mada’in,” Sumer 23 (1967), pp. 16-17 places the arrival before the end of the first century, while W. S. McCullough, A Short History of Syriac Christianity to the Rise of Islam (Chico: Scholars Press, 1982), pp. 98-99 sets the date about a century later. 2. Eusebius, Life of Constantine 4: 13. For the translation and discussion of this letter, see W.G. Young, Patriarch, Shah and Caliph (Rawalpindi: Christian Study Centre), 1974, p. 22. Further confirmation of this letter is found in Sozomen 2:15. 3. Young, Patriarch, Shah and Caliph, p. 30. J.-B. Chabot, Synodicon Orientale (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1902), pp. 27f, 266f. See particularly Article 12 (as translated by Young): “We accept of our own free-will, and we have been commanded by Yazdgard, King of Kings ... to obey, in all things right and prescribed, the Bishop, Catholicos, Archbishop, Metropolitan, of Seleucia and Ctesiphon, until Christ shall come that is to say, every bishop who shall sit on the sublime throne of this Church of Kokhe.” 4. Young, Patriarch, Shah and Caliph, pp. 29f. 5. This idea was first proposed by Y. Okada, “Early Christian Architecture in the Iraqi SouthWestern Desert,” al-Rafidan 12 (1991), pp. 7183 and “Ain Sha’ia and the Early Gulf Churches: An Architectural Analogy,” al-Rafidan 13 (1992), pp. 87-93. 6. O. Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” in A.U. Pope, ed., A Survey of Persian Art, (London: Oxford University Press, 1964), Volume II, pp. 560-566, was the first to suggest this as a possibility. 7. For the German excavations, see O.

Reuther, “The German Excavations at Ctesiphon,” Antiquity 3 (1929), pp. 434-451; E. Meyer, “Seleukia und Ktesiphon,” Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 67 (1929), pp. 1-26; Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” pp. 560-566. For the original excavation reports, see O. Reuther, Die Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Ktesiphon-expedition im Winter 1928/29 (Berlin: Staatliche Museen in Berlin, 1930) and E. Kühnel, Die Ausgrabungen der Zweiten KtesiphonExpedition 1931/32 (Berlin: Staatliche Museen in Berlin, 1933). 8. J. Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor (Mainz am Rhein: Philip von Zabern, 1982), pp. 45-50. This book is an overview of Sassanian stucco, including the very important discussion of the material from Kokhe. 9. See for example, C. Hopkins, ed., Topography and Architecture of Seleucia on the Tigris (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1972). 10. Most useful for this paper were: G. Gullini, “Problems of an Excavation in Northern Babylonia,” Mesopotamia 1 (1966), pp. 7-38; M. Cavallero and M. Ponzi, “The Excavations at Coche (the Presumed Ctesiphon),” Mesopotamia 1 (1966), pp. 63-88; A. Invernizzi, “Ten Years’ Research in the Al-Mada'in Area Seleucia and Ctesiphon,” Sumer 32 (1976), pp. 167-174. Further excavation reports concerning the secular Sassanian material can also be found in the subsequent issues of Mesopotamia. 11. Op. cit. 12. Op. cit. There is also an article concentrating on the Arabic sources: S. A. el Ali, “AlMadƗ’in and Its Surrounding Area in Arabic Literary Sources,” Mesopotamia 3-4 (1968-69), pp. 417-439. Gulliani, “Problems,” and Invernizzi, “Ten Years’ Research,” also discuss this problem. 13. Fiey, “Topography,” p. 4 suggested that the German excavators named it Ctesiphon based on a generally held assumption by archaeologists and travellers that this site was Ctesiphon. 14. S.J. Simpson, “Ctesiphon,” in E.M.

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Myers, ed., The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 77-79. 15. Cavallero and Ponzi, “The Excavations at Coche,” pp. 63-73; Invernizzi, “Ten Years’ Research,” 172. 16. The identification of this material is still an open question, but does not concern us here. Invernizzi, ibid., pp. 172-3. 17. This city had several names during this period of antiquity, including Sassanian VehArdashir, Greek New Seleucia and Syriac (Aramaic) Kokhe, lit. “Huts.” 18. Fiey, “Topography,” pp. 14-25. 19. Ibid., p. 21. There is literary evidence for a village of some antiquity here, but the evolution of this area into a major city occurred only with the advent of the Sassanian dynasty. 20. The Cities are often referred to in the sources as Seleucia-Ctesiphon for the Sassanian period. However, given that the Hellenistic centre of Seleucia was eventually deserted through overpopulation and over-development, the reference must be to New Seleucia (Kokhe). 21. Figure 1: Topography of al-Mada’in. From Fiey, “Topography,” p. 37. 22. Išo‘yahb III Patriarcha. Liber Epistularum. R. Duval, ed. CSCO, Scriptores Syri, ser. 2, tom. 23 (Paris, 1905). 23. Figure 2: Upper and lower levels of the church at Kokhe; after Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” p. 562. I would like to thank Loretta James, of the Wadi Tumilat Project, University of Toronto, for the drawing. 24. There is as yet no clear idea about the exact date of the church, perhaps because it has not been completely excavated. Okada follows the excavators in giving it a date in the mid to late sixth century, based on the stylistic comparison of sculpture. Okada, “Early Christian Architecture,” p. 76. See also Reuther, “The German Excavations,” pp. 450-451, and Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, p. 48. The Italian team commits only to the end of the Sassanian period: Gullini, “Problems of an Excavation,” p. 34. 25. Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” p. 561.

26. The archaeological descriptions of the church can be found in ibid., pp. 560-566, and in Okada, “Early Christian Architecture,” p. 76. 27. Reuther, “The German Excavations,” p. 450. 28. Figure 3: Figural relief of a holy man. From Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, Tafel 12.3. Kt.W.292 B.IM. Reproduced by the kind permission of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Museum für Islamische Kunst. 29. Reuther, “The German Excavations,” p. 450. 30. Figure 4: Ostracon from the church at Kokhe. From Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, Tafel 12: 1. Kt.W. 295 B.IM. Reproduced by the kind permission of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Museum für Islamische Kunst. 31. See E.C.D. Hunter, “A Syriac Ostracon from Ctesiphon,” al-Rafidan 18 (1997), pp. 361367. Although the ostracon was published subsequent to excavation, the earliest real discussion and translation of this, was by Macuch in Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, p. 48. 32. Hunter, “A Syriac Ostracon,” p. 362. 33. Ibid., pp. 364-365. She bases the first suggestion on a potential letter change from alaph to ‘ayn, as found in Mandaic. 34. Ibid., pp. 365-366. See for example Exodus 3:6. 35. Fiey, “Topography,” pp. 18-19. 36. Ibid. Certainly these three aspects weigh heavily against this being the major church of the city. Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, pp. 48-49 mentions that an affiliated courtyard and possible cloister have not yet been completely excavated. 37. These churches have not received as much notice as they certainly deserve. Two sources which do discuss them as important and as representative of a separate branch of church architecture are R. Taft, “Some Notes on the Bema in the East and West Syrian Traditions,” OCP 34 (1968), pp. 326-359 and R. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine Architec-

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ture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), pp. 301-302. 38. Krautheimer, Early Christian, pp. 135, 301, recognizes the tendency of Christians in the hinterlands to utilize local architectural traditions. He cites evidence for adaptation of local architecture in both Syria and in Turkey. 39. Okada, “Ain Sha’ia,” pp. 89f. 40. D. Talbot Rice, “The Oxford Excavations at Hira,” Ars Islamica 1 (1934), pp. 51-73; D. Talbot Rice, “The Oxford Excavations at Hira, 1931,” Antiquity 6 (1932), pp. 276-91. The dimensions of the two churches are as follows: Mound XI = 35.7 X 18.6 m.; Mound V = 58 X 33.5 m. The first church is published as being sixth century, although Okada places it later. The second church is probably seventh century. From Okada, “Early Christian Architecture,” p. 76. 41. The best analysis of this material is B. Finster and J. Schmidt, “Sasanidische und Fruhislamische Ruinen im Iraq,” Baghdader Mitteilungen, 8 (1976), pp. 27-39. This site was recorded by travellers in the early twentieth century, discussed by the above authors and has recently been worked at by the Iraqis. However, the excavation reports are not readily available. By using the projected dimensions of the church, Okada gives it dimensions of approximately 43 X 19 m. Okada, “Early Christian Architecture,” p. 76. The date is still nebulous, but is probably mid- to late- Sassanian. 42. The dimensions are 26.5 X13.8 m. (including the narthex); ibid., p. 72. The date is suggested as eighth century, with the monastic complex falling into disuse by the ninth. Okada, “Ain Sha’ia and the Early Gulf Churches,” p. 93. 43. V. Bernard and J. Salles, “Discovery of a Christian Church at al-Qusur, Failaka, (Kuwait),” PSAS 21 (1991), pp. 7-22; V. Bernard, O. Callot, and J.F. Salles, “L’Église d’alQousour Failaka, État de Koweit,” AAE 2 (1991), pp. 145-181; and D. Kennet, “Excavations at the Site of Al-Qusur, Failaka, Kuwait,” PSAS 21 (1991), pp. 97-111. The dimensions are 35 X 19 m. (including the narthex) and the date, based on pottery, ranges between

the seventh and the ninth centuries. The excavators do indicate that there are stucco crosses which may be dated earlier based on style. Bernard and Salles, “Discovery of a Christian Church,” pp. 9, 12. 44. Figure 5: Simplified plan of the church at Failaka, Kuwait. From Bernard, Callot and Salles, “L’Église d’al-Qousour,” p. 167. Reproduced by the kind permission of the editor. 45. Ibid., pp. 166f, 178. The excavators at Failaka feel that there are many differences between the churches at Kokhe and at Failaka, most notably the cruciform shaped chambers flanking the sanctuary. Their belief is that there may be alternate purposes for these chambers. Nevertheless, there are still strong similarities between the plans of the two churches, even if the pastophoria were used for fundamentally different purposes. 46. R. Ghirshman, The Island of Kharg (Tehran: Iranian Oil Operating Companies, 1964), pp. 17f. No values are given in these reports for the dimensions, but Okada, “Ain Sha’ia,” p. 90 sets them at 28.7 by 15.5 m (including the narthex). The date is also a problem. In the original publication it is dated to the fifth or sixth century. However, Okada (Ibid., p. 93) places it somewhat later, and I would agree. 47. See Finster and Schmidt, “Sa-sanidische und Fruhislamishe,” pp. 40-43. 48. P. Hellyer, Filling in the Blanks (Dubai: Motivate Publishing, 1998), pp. 42f; G.R.D. King, “A Nestorian Monastic Settlement on the Island of Sir Bani Yas Abu Dhabi: A Preliminary Report,” BSOAS 60 (1997), pp. 221-235.; G.R.D. King, D. Dunlop, J. Elders, S. Garfi, A. Stephenson, C. Tonghini, “A Report on the Abu Dhabi Islands Archaeological Survey (1993-4),” PSAS 25 (1995), pp. 63-74; and G.R.D. King and P. Hellyer, “A Pre-Islamic Christian Site on Sir Bani Yas,” Tribulus 4 (1994), pp. 5-7. 49. Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” pp. 562-563. 50. Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, pp. 46-50. 51. Figure 6: Palmette fragments. From Ibid.,

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Tafel 12.5. Kt.W. 293 B.IM. Reproduced by the kind permission of the editor. 52. Figures 7 and 8: Two fragments of crosses from Qusayr. The Iraqi Museum. Photograph: Amir Harrak. No inventory numbers available; with the kind permission of the Iraqi Department of Antiquities and Heritage. 53. Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” p. 561. 54. Okada, “Early Christian Architecture,” pp. 80f. 55. Krautheimer, “Early Christian,” p. 302. 56. Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” p. 561. 57. See Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, p. 46 for a variety of comparisons. 58. A. Harrak, “Early Eastern Christianity

and Monasticism in Mesopotamia,” Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 18 (1989), pp. 12-23. M. Morony, “Religious Communities in late Sasanian and Early Muslim Iraq,” JESHO 17 (1974), pp. 113-135. Ultimately, these titles are rooted in Assyrian and Babylonian royal traditions inherited by the Parthians and then the Sassanians. 59. For a discussion of this see S. P. Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire: A Case of Divided Loyalties,” in Stuart Mews, ed., Religion and National Identity (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1982), pp. 1-19. 60. Young, Patriarch, Shah and Caliph, p. 31. See also page p. 53.

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Figure 1: Topography of al-MadƗ’in From: J.-M. Fiey, “Topography of al-Mada’in,” Sumer 23 (1976) p. 37 Courtesy of the Iraqi Department of Antiquities, Baghdad

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Figure 2: Kokhe Upper and lower levels of the church After O. Reuther, “Sasanian Architecture,” in A. U. Pope, ed., A Survey of Persian Art, vol. II (London: Oxford University Press, 1964) p. 562 (Drawing by Loretta James)

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Figure 3: Kokhe Figural relief of a holy man From J. Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1982) Tafel 12.3. Kt.W.292 B.IM. Reproduced by the kind permission of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Museum für Islamische Kunst.

Figure 4: Kokhe Ostracon from the church From J. Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 19) 82, Tafel 12: 1. Kt.W. 295 B.IM. Reproduced by the kind permission of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Museum für Islamische Kunst.

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Figure 5: Failaka, Kuwait Simplified plan of the church From V. Bernard et. al. “L’Église d’al-Qousour Failaka, État de Koweit,” Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 2 (1991) p. 167 Reproduced by the kind permission of the editor

Figure 6: Palmette fragment From J. Kröger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1982) Tafel 12.5. Kt.W. 293 B.IM. Reproduced by the kind permission of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Museum für Islamische Kunst ______________________________________________________________________________________________________ Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 2 (2002) - Page 77

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Figure 7: Qusayr Fragment of a cross (Iraqi Museum) Photo: Amir Harrak With the kind permission of the Iraqi Department of Antiquities and Heritage

Figure 8: Qusayr Fragment of a cross (Iraqi Museum) Photo: Amir Harrak With the kind permission of the Iraqi Department of Antiquities and Heritage ______________________________________________________________________________________________________ Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 2 (2002) - Page 78

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SYRIAC IN INTERNATIONAL RESEARCH

GROUP OF INTERNATIONAL SCHOLARS

UMBRELLAS AND SANDALS: V INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE ON SYRIAC LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE KOTTAYAM, KERALA, S. INDIA SEPT 8-14 2002 TH

DAVID J. LANE COLLEGE OF RESURRECTION, MIRFIELD

As it was the tail end of the monsoon, the presence of members of the conference at a reception could be deduced from the neat rows of sandals and miniature umbrellas on the porch of a building: the equivalent of the overshoes in a Canadian lobby in the winter months. The core membership of this conference was about 70, half from India and half from the rest of the world. Most Indians were from the southern state of Kerala, but the rest of us came from such diverse places as Australia, Canada, the U.K., the U.S.A., Japan, Iraq, Lebanon, France, Germany, Russia, Hungary, the Netherlands and Belgium. We had come to Kerala for the fifth in a series of world-wide conferences. This series had begun in 1986, following the previous year’s inauguration of the St Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute (SEERI) as a place in which the seven Syriac-patrimony churches could

come together for study and research on the language and literature of that patrimony. The Institute had its origins in a meeting of Indian bishops and scholars at the 1980 Goslar meeting of the European Symposium Syriacum, where it was planned to have a Kerala equivalent of the Institut Catholique in Paris, where Dr Jacob Thekkaparampil, the effective founder and present Director of SEERI, had studied. The present complex of lecture rooms, dining hall, common rooms, lecture rooms and church are evidence of the support and enthusiasm which the project engendered, and to the commitment of the churches who sponsor it. For this project Kottayam is the obvious choice. It lies almost about two-thirds of the way from the state capital Trivandrum in the south to the main port of Cochin towards the north of the state, which corresponds to some degree with the pepper-coast of Malabar, chief world source of the spice cardomon. The monsoon trading route from Arabia brought here, among others, Jews and Arabs, Christians and Muslims from at least the 3rd century B.C. It is here, too, that sea and land routes brought Christian traders and refugees from Persia in the 4th and 8th centuries A.D., so that representatives of the old Syriac church of Persia made their home here where Christians had been established

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from the time of St Thomas in 52 A.D. The old ports of the south are long-since silted up, and the Christian and Jewish settlements moved north to the port of Cochin and to its environs. The former moved south again, to Kottayam, in the 18th century so as to be at a greater distance from Tippoo Sultan, of brass tiger fame, in Mysore. Hence the appropriateness of the setting both for SEERI and for the congresses it has sponsored, for Syriac is a living part of the culture and is a second language in the school system. Conference members had in effect an immersion course in Syriac culture as much as if they had been in the Middle East or the Syriac diaspora. They found, too, an India of palm trees, coconuts, bananas and shady backwaters, rather than the hills and plains of Rudyard Kipling. They found, too, skilled performances of the dances which circled round a lampstand, signifying the coming of St Thomas to India and the miracles he performed here. The conference’s 70 papers covered almost the entire range of Syriac literature between the fourth and the nineteenth centuries, from the work of Ephrem of Nisibis and Edessa to laments for famine and drought in the Middle East, and even comment on the twentieth century work by Bede Griffith and Francis Acharya to integrate Syriac and Hindu theology and culture. More important, though, was the clear impression that there is a very able and accomplished group of younger scholars in Europe and India. Understandably there was minimal representation from the U.S.A. where there is also known to be a very able younger generation. Clearly it is not possible to mention here individual papers in detail or even summary, and it is invidious to mention individual scholars: but the follow-

ing account of the range of material offered gives an impressionistic landscape. Of particular interest were accounts of Syriac communities in places difficult to access: Tur Abdin in Turkey and the more remote area around Lake Urmiah, together with an account of the unhappy twentiethcentury history of the Assyrians, promised a homeland by the British for their support in 1914-18, but denied it because a wartime promise was not considered a binding promise. The Silk Road to China featured in a paper on the Nestorian expansion as traders, especially of materia medica, and in an account of the reverse journey by the thirteenth century monks of Kublai Khan to the courts of Europe. The Old Testament Peshitta featured in several papers, though now seen as a component of Syriac culture rather than an end in itself for text criticism of the Hebrew Bible. Naturally, classical writers of the first seven centuries featured at such a conference: whether as thematic presentations on the Bridal Chamber, or as studies of individual writers such as Ephrem. Jacob of Sarug was rightly chosen as the subject of several papers, as a notable example of east Syriac figurative poets. Jacob of Sarug leads into the world of liturgy, and here there were papers discussing elements of the Eucharist and the daily office, and also of the festivals, lectionaries and officiants, especially diaconal. Practical experience of liturgy was available through a daily Qurbono in Syriac, with notably excellent singing, especially at the Old Seminary (founded 1815). Doctrinal matters were addressed, for the most part concerning personalities and controversies of the Chalcedon Council period. No understanding of Syriac literature can be gained without a chronological perspec-

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tive. This was provided, with reference to the early middle and late periods, and to areas in Turkey, India, west Syria as well as lists of Patriarchs. Nor was the presentation of the Syriac tradition denied discussion of monasticism, both in its earlier and later-developed forms. While literature may be the higher slopes, the lower slopes of grammar and lexicography were given proper weight. These were shown to be matters of moment and current concern, but the wealth of material produced in Kerala came as a revelation to some of us. The most recent student grammar follows an excellent tradition known to classicists: the introduction of rhymes to facilitate the learning of grammar. Inevitably, some papers which do not fit easily into such categories can find the merest mention, even though of great importance. Among them are papers on iconography and archaeology and on inculturation, whether ancient or modern, and especially one on possible relationships between Hindu philosophy and Christian theology. But the summary above suggests both the range and competence of the speakers, and the capacity of the participants to engage in vigorous discussion of such papers. Not surprisingly, commentators at the evaluation deplored the busy-ness of the programme and demanded a ‘shopping afternoon’, and while wanting fewer papers to enable this, requested more papers to increase the range and depth of the conference. The papers delivered, and some which were submitted for publication but not delivery, will appear over the next couple of years in volumes of The Harp, the journal published by SEERI. In conclusion, participants left with a strong sense of the vigour

of Syriac studies in India and beyond, and of the welcome and generosity of our Indian hosts. They provided us with all the facilities of a conference, and also social outings where a meal and an entertainment were provided by different communities. This article should therefore be read as an expression of gratitude:

çàÜ ç⃠¿šÍÂÙÓàÁÍùß NEW RESEARCH PROJECT: IDENTITY FORMATION AMONG WEST SYRIAN CHRISTIANS BAS TER HAAR ROMENY LEIDEN UNIVERSITY

The Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO) and Leiden University have decided to finance a major research programme on Syriac Christianity, entitled The Formation of a Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians (451-1300). The programme is among the last 14 recipients of a PIONIER grant from NWO. Among the Christians who did not accept the acts of the Council of Chalcedon (451), the group now known as “West Syrians” or Syrian Orthodox” were probably least likely to form a national or ethnic community. Yet a group emerged with its own distinctive literature and art, its own network and historical consciousness. In an intricate process of adoption and rejection, the West Syrians selected elements from the cultures to which they were heirs and from those with which they came into contact, thus defining a position of their own. The new five-year research programme will investigate this process of identity formation. The study of the

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formative periods of the community will improve our understanding of the position of the Syrian Orthodox today. Many of them now live as refugees in Western Europe. In the debate on their identity they constantly refer to their “golden era,” the period before 1300. The programme will also contribute to the theoretical debate on identity, identity formation, and ethnicity. It offers a welldefined case of a group that can be followed from its very beginnings, as it comes into existence as a religious partnership or association, becomes a religious community, and develops further into a group that has all the characteristics of an ethnic community. The programme consists of three projects. Together they combine four different disciplines: religious studies, history, art history, and philology, while taking account of recent developments in the social sciences. The project “Michael the Syrian and His Sources,” led by Dr. Jan van Ginkel, will investigate the role of historiography. Historiography collects and interprets the shared memories of a common history that binds members together and distinguishes them from others. It has to present itself as objective, in order to give the community an anchor-hold in the past. However, selection, adaptation, and imagination always play a role, though the author himself is not necessarily conscious of this. The different historical sources can be seen as witnesses of the various attempts to foster a communal identity among their readers. Michael the Syrian’s twelfth-century Chronicle is an obvious starting point for this project because of its position, its extent, its wealth of sources, and the originality of its conception. However, in order to establish what Michael really intended, it will be necessary to compare his discourse on West Syrian

identity with a fuller picture of the historiography of the mid seventh to the end of the ninth century. This project therefore aims at a description of the way Michael perceived and processed the work of his most original predecessors, Jacob of Edessa and Dionysius of Tel-Mahre, with regard to their positioning of the Syrian Orthodox in history. The project “Two Exegetical Collections,” led by Dr. Bas ter Haar Romeny and a PhD student, will deal with the contribution of two important exegetical collections to identity formation. Considerable sections of these collections will also be edited and translated. Biblical interpretation plays a major role in shaping, legitimizing, and conveying any orthodoxy, but this seems to have been particularly true in the case of the West Syrians. A large part of the literary output of the Syrian Orthodox and some of the main genres of their literature were concerned with exegesis. Exegetical works used the authority of the Bible to discuss the creation of the world, its early history, and the future; to give moral guidance; and to inform the reader about physics, astronomy, and other sciences. Some works dealing with the Creation were in fact up-to-date encyclopaedias of contemporary scientific knowledge. Thus biblical interpretation served as a vehicle for a complete worldview. The oldest of the two collections is the London Collection (seventh or eighth century), which unites the opinions of various, mainly Greek, exegetes, and poses the question of the attitude of the Syrian Orthodox toward Greek learning. The second collection is that of the monk Simon, which dates from the end of the ninth century and is best known as the Catena Severi. This work combines the early Syriac interpretation

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from before the split of the fifth century with the explanations of Jacob of Edessa and other Syrian Orthodox authors, thus illustrating continuity and change in biblical interpretation and doctrine. As words do not tell the full story, the third project entitled “West Syrian Mural Paintings,” led by Dr. Mat Immerzeel and a PhD student, will approach the issue from an art-historical point of view. Works of art fulfill an obvious function by providing symbols of identity. This aspect of art, however, has not attracted very much systematic attention. Art can be seen as a means of expressing the identity of a group. This is particularly true in the case of religious art, which expresses religious beliefs, and these in turn are sometimes linked to political concepts. Pictures are an effective way of convincing people of true doctrine. The focal point of the study will be the wall paintings of Lebanon and Syria, the area where the Syrian Orthodox Church was well represented, and where a local artistic tradition existed alongside Byzantine art. These paintings will be placed in a wider context, taking into account both the earlier witnesses of Syrian Orthodox art, as well as

contemporary examples, Christian and Islamic, from the Crusader kingdoms, Egypt, the former Byzantine Empire, and other areas of the Mediterranean. The decision to focus on the wall paintings contributes to the ground-breaking nature of the project: many of these objects have not been studied sufficiently so far. Several discoveries are recent, and in other cases hidden murals are still being uncovered. The initial impetus to deal with the question of how ‘Syrian’ this art is has been given, but much remains to be done. The programme will be based at the Faculties of Theology (Peshitta Institute) and Arts (Languages and Cultures of the Near East, Paul van Moorsel Centre for Christian Art and Culture in the Middle East). It will seek cooperation with other scholars in the Netherlands and abroad. From time to time, colleagues will be invited to work with us for short periods on themes and issues of common interest. In addition, a workshop will be organized in the course of 2005. For more information about the programme, please contact its director, Dr. Bas ter Haar Romeny at [email protected].

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THE CANADIAN SOCIETY FOR SYRIAC STUDIES

MEMBERS OF THE YEAR 2001-2002 Corporate Member ZINDA Online Magazine, San Jose CA Life Members DINNO, Khalid, Mississauga ON MURAD, Janan, Mississauga ON SMITH, Helen, Toronto ON Members ABBA, Rev. Yusif, Toronto ON ASTO, Sami, Scarborough ON AZIZ, Mariam, Thornhill ON BADOVINAC, Edward, Mississauga ON BADOVINAC, Jocelyn, Mississauga ON BANDAK, Jean, Scarborough ON BANDAK, John, Markham ON BANDAK, Katya, Scarborough ON BANDAK, Yousseff, Scarborough ON BASMAJI, John, Markham ON BASMAJI, Samir, Markham ON BENJAMIN, Alda, Maple ON BET-SHLIMON, Andrew, Lincoln RI BEVAN, George, Toronto ON BIHNAN, Adnan, Brampton ON BOUJIKIAN, Stephen, Scarborough ON BROCK, Sebastian, Oxford UK CASEY, Kevin, Toronto ON CASSIS, Marica, Toronto ON CHAMOUN, Issa, Scarborough ON CHAMOUN, John, Scarborough ON CHAMOUN, Ruba, Scarborough ON CHERRY, Ashur, Brampton ON CHILDERS, Jeff W., Abilene TX CLARKE, Colin S., Hamilton ON CORBETT, John, Kingston ON

CRAWFORD, Brittmarie L., Shelburne ON CREGHEUR, Eric, Quebec PQ DAKGI, Abdo, Markham ON DAKGI, Bolos, Scarborough ON DAKGI, Mike, Markham ON DAOD, Nagham, Toronto ON DAVID, Sargon, Scarborough ON DAWOOD, Isaam, Thunder Bay ON DODD, Erica, Victoria BC FARJO, Gertrude, North York ON FERRIS, Paul A., Garden Grove CA FRAME, Grant, Toronto ON GREATREX, Geoffrey, Ottawa ON GREATREX, Marina, Ottawa ON GRIFFITH, Rev. Sidney H., Washington DC HANNA, Robert, Mississauga ON HARRAK, Amir, Toronto ON HINDO, Tariq R., North York ON HIRSCH, Antoine, Toronto ON ISSA, Rev. Stephanos, Scarborough ON JOHNSON, Nola J., Toronto ON KIRAZ, Dr. George, Piscataway NJ KITCHEN, Rev. Robert, Regina SK LAWTHER, Samuel, Toronto ON LEHTO, Adam, Waterloo ON LONDES, Arlette, Thornhill ON MAJID, Abdulwahid, Mississauga ON MARMURA, Michael, Toronto ON MESHKI, George, Hamilton ON MILLES, Külli, Toronto ON MISSICK, Stephen A., Shepherd TX MORRISON, Craig, Rome, Italy MOUSSA, Helene, Toronto ON MUSA, Musa, Toronto ON

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Members of the Year 2001-2002 _________________________________________________________________________________________________________

NISSAN, Yakdan, Scarborough ON ODESHO, Alexander, Toronto ON ROMPAY, Lucas van, Durham NC POIRIER, Paul-Hubert, Quebec PQ RUSSELL, Rev. Paul S., Chevy Chase MD RYAN, Stephen OP, Washington DC SAATI, Zak, Scarborough ON SAATI, Jacklin, Scarborough ON SAATI, Jack, Scarborough ON SAATI, Rema, Scarborough ON SALEEM, Sofia, Maple ON SHAMANI, Toma, Toronto ON SINGH, Mohan, Toronto ON

SKIL, Sonia, Toronto ON STIFO, George, N. Grafton ON TAKAHASHI, Dr. Idemi, Japan TARZI, Albert Unionville ON TARZI, George, Unionville ON TARZI, Habib, Unionville ON TARZI, Salwa, Unionville ON WEATLEY-IRVING, Linda, Chicago IL WERYHO, Jan, Montreal PQ WHITE, Wade, Toronto ON YAKO, Diklat, Mississauga ON ZAIA, Bishop Mar Meelis, Fairfield, Australia ZAIYOUNA, Ahsan, Thornhill ON

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The Canadian Society for Syriac Studies La Société Canadienne des Etudes Syriaques

Programme of Activities for 2002-2003 2nd Annual Symposium, November 23, 2002 Opening of the Symposium Prof. J. Reilly, Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations Revisiting the Syriac Role in the Transmission of Greek Science into Arabic Prof. George Saliba, New York Syriac Translators of Greek Philosophy in Abbasid Times: Motives and Background Dr. John Watt, Cardiff The School of Translation of Yahia ibn `Adi and Its Role in Transmitting Greek Philosophy and Science Prof. Sidney H. Griffith, Washington DC Syriac Translation Techniques in the Abbasid Period and Its Background Dr. Sebastian Brock, Oxford The Translation Movement in Its Early Abbasid Context Dr. Lawrence Conrad, Hamburg The Contribution of the Christians in the Transmission of the Greek Heritage During the Abbasid Period Prof. Samir Khalil, Beirut

Public Lectures January 23, 2003 They Do not Take Wives, or Build, or Work the Ground: Ascetic Life in the Early Syriac Christian Tradition Prof. John Corbett, University of Toronto March 12, 2003 Returning to the Womb and the Breast: Images of Joy in Ephrem’s Hymns on Paradise Prof. Kathleen McVey, Princeton Theological Seminary April 9, 1 2003 A Monk, Missionary and Martyr who also Wrote History: John of Ephesus, A Syrian Orthodox Historian in Sixth Century Byzantium Dr. Jan van Ginkel, Leiden University