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Rise and Fall of the Church of the East in China

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 16:07:17 -0400

Contents
Text
Introduction Origins of the Nestorian Church Rediscovery (Martin Palmer) The Church, the Tang Dynasty, and After The Missionary Jesus Sutras The Liturgical Sutras The Stone Sutra Reflection Bibliography
Illustrations
China Part of the Silk Roads Da Qin Pagoda (drawing) Tang Dynasty China

Introduction

The story of the mission of the Church of the East into China and its adaptation into an indigenous Church is a one of attachment of a faith to a culture and its authorities. To some extent this experience is a demonstration how a faith identifies and partly changes an identified core message within another culture and certainly adapts the apparent wider packaging for communicating. This story of the Christian Messiah in a Buddhist, Taoist and Confucian setting is told in full by Martin Palmer, as he interprets it, in The Jesus Sutras (2001), from which much of this material comes.
Another background to his work is the emergence of documents before 1900 from a cut cave in Dunhuang. It contained 50,000 items of manuscripts, paintings and printed documents on paper and silk dating from 400-1000 CE. It included the world's oldest printed book. Whilst most were Buddhist, Taoist and Confucian, some where different and of a Christian character too (Palmer, 2001, 1). There were other Silk Road sites too. They have contained tens of thousands of documents, including almanacs on wooden strips from the 100s BCE, letters from Sogdian merchants in the 200s BCE, documents in an lost Indo-European Tocharian language; a Judeao-Persian document (again of interest here), and secular and religious material in over 15 languages and scripts. The material was dispersed to museums and private collections, but is being collected digitally and can be investigated online (Hampson, et al., 2003).

Origins of the Nestorian Church

The myth that there was one single, Holy and Apostolic Church which thus had unique authority was never quite as true as its advocates pretend. Until 312 and the conversion of Constantine the Churches developed variable beliefs around the figure of Christ, some tending towards his humanity (Antioch, Syria) and some towards his divinity (Alexandria, Egypt). 325 saw the Council of Nicaea as one process of coming together (it was not the only creed around) which stressed that Jesus was truly God.
Nicaea was the last united world Church credal statement the Church of the East participated in and accepted (until some parts entered into renegotiations centuries later). It has been otherwise called Nestorian, which was the original movement of the later mission into China. The Church came about with arguments over vital details.
In 421 Nestorius, a priest-monk of Greek origins, of the Antioch side, but made patriarch of Constantinople (Turkey), objected to the new cult of Mary as the Mother of God. Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria, gained the acceptance of these Marian beliefs at the Council of Ephesus in 431 but with mobs fighting both he and Nestorius lost their positions.
The Alexandrian side in time produced the Coptic Church divorced from the Western which later added others and they were called the Monophysites. Just like Cyril, they believed that Christ had one nature, divine, and so could not accept the Chaleconian definition in 451 that Christ was both fully Man and fully God. For Nestorians, only the man Jesus was the son of the Virgin Mary and so she could not be called mother of God. Nestorius could accept "Mother of Christ". His stress was on Jesus' humanity rather than two persons: the Logos itself was in Jesus the man rather as if in a temple. After the Council of Ephesus Nestorius lost his patriarchal position, was exiled to Antioch and then Egypt. Even without him the Church developed as most followers had gone to Syria within four years and then went on to Persia, safer from Rome/ Byzantium. He always maintained his orthodox credentials. (Palmer, 2001, 93-96)
The Church of the East, dating from 431 CE, became increasingly cut off from Antioch being beyond Roman power, and with other differences it ploughed its own furrow. Its last remaining link was a theological college in the Roman border town of Edessa purged in 457 and closed by Emperor Zeno in 489 with its members exiled (Palmer, 2001, 100), partly to try to impress with Monophysites. In fact this separation intensified because the Sassanian Empire feared a Roman invasion of Persia, and from 310 to 450 the Zoroastrian faith and State began to persecute the once tolerated Christians as a foreign threat (or more because it lost people converting to Christianity) just as Constantine would have invaded ostensibly on the basis of protecting persecuted Christians (98). So it stayed unconnected from Rome, Constantinople or Antioch and developed its own forms. It was developed into autonomy by Mar ("Father" or "Holy") Barsauma in the 400s in Persia (183). Even in China it retained Syriac as a special religious language whilst it translated much into Chinese.
A crucial difference from the Western Church was that it avoided Augustine of Hippo's conclusion of original sin (Palmer, 2001, 176). It rather instead followed a view not unlike the original blessing of Matthew Fox, corrupted by weakness but always open to recovery. In China it adopted the Taoist and Buddhist understandings on goodness being affected by the wearing down of life. Therefore the emphasis was always going to be on teachings even if there is a supernatural basis of the appearance of the one who can provide this truth.
The Church had a confederal structure and the character of a minority missionary Church (Palmer, 2001, 101) and, culturally spread, stretched from the Sassanian Empire to India (Thomarist Church) and Tibet (with a Church community starting with the conversion of the White Huns from 549 (113), until the 1200s). This diverse Church had to use consensus and suffered great communication problems across warring territories and the rise of Islam. (Palmer, 2001, 85-104) The Church of India, said to have been founded by Thomas, was a long standing partner Church after it rejected the changes to the Western Church and the Monophysites (112), and this Church influenced the Jesus Sutras, as did Buddhism, the Greeks, Taoism and Jainism (via the Indian Church) so that the Da Qin Christians were vegetarians, promoted non-violence, charity, sexual equality, care for nature and were anti-slavery (113, 253).
Its difference then from the West was demonstrated in the conceptual adaptations made when the Church prepared for mission further afield. It was happy to use concepts derived from other well developed faiths and civilisations in transmitting its own. Whereas the official Western Church used pagan festivals and had a folk religion aspect to its practices, it never worked with other concepts in a sense of sharing with others. It ran largely through one empire. It controlled doctrine and liturgical practice. It absorbed into itself varieties which could no longer exist alone within its orbit. For example, even the British Celtic Church (co-existing alongside Roman customs after Augustine) was absorbed into Rome (remnants retreated to Iona and Ireland) at the Synod of Whitby in 664 CE. King Oswiu declared that if Peter had the key to heaven given to him then he was not to be contradicted when Columba (Celtic) (died 597, the year Augustine was sent to Kent) did not have this key, even if lineage was claimed to John. Plus, Paul was in Rome as well as Peter, who outvoted John. Heaven was a place of unified practice and so should be earth. (Van de Weyeer, 1997, 58-60; Pagan, 1988, 28-29)
So the Western Church wanted universal total control and power. The Church of the East, however, wanted to transmit a simpler message about Christ, the Messiah, and seemingly could do this in several ways respecting existing pathways to religious truths. Nevertheless it still existed under political authorities, being a source of stregth and weakness.
This must not be confused with Eastern Orthodoxy. This came out of the Western Church and Byzantium (the eastern inheritor of Roman Empire centred on Constantinople). It was from the historic division in 1054 and this Church maintains a strict unity of doctrine and practice even without a Pope. Only in the Reformation did diversity come back in within the West, and sometimes within communions, but still each Church attempts to control its ideological universe. The Church of the East was clearly seen as a threat to orthodoxy, Nestorian was a term of abuse and heresy, and many exiles and intellectuals were cast out to it over time giving it creative strength. This Church had its own saints and martyrs too.

Rediscovery

In his book Martin Palmer tells of his rediscovery in 1998 of a pagoda with a specifically Christian feng shui (arrangement) and his visit a year later (Palmer, 2001, 1-38). There was still a local folk memory of Christian monks who built a church and monastery there. The pagoda followed. This was the site of the lost Da-Qin Christian monastery (in the environs of a Taoist monastery) and the arrival to construction happened between the 600s and 800s CE. The Great Stone of the Church of the East, created in 781 CE, which includes Syriac script, described the Christian mission. It had been dug up in 1625 and was lodged in the Forest of Stele museum (Palmer, 2001, 23). When he returned after a year (26) the Chinese authorities had already begun restoration work and with some difficulty he and others were able to go inside (30). Up some scaffolding to get through a window there was inside a 10 feet high 5 feet wide huge statue. It was in the symbolic form of the five sacred mountains of Tibet but the figure was more like an Orthodox icon in posture than Chinese. This was a nativity scene, from about 800 CE (30-35). Another floor up showed again a Chinese setting (bell drum towers, then a tree in front) but the un-Chinese figure is Jonah (36-38). This fusion of forms and difference were evident in the Sutras too.

The Church, the Tang Dynasty, and After

Aluoben was the monk and likely bishop who led the mission of the Church of the East to Tang Dynasty China. He probably came from central Asia (Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan) in a Church and area fluid for ideas and religious interfacing.
The Tang Dynasty itself was a golden age for China. It started with the fall of the repressive to peasants Sui Dynasty (581-618 CE) when Sui soldiers deserted the regime and an officer called Li Shimin captured Chang-an (Xian today) and installed his father as the first Emperor. He killed his brothers as part of removing all opposition, and then removed his father. He became the second Tang Emperor Taizong. He then normalised and improved he country, bringing in a meritocratic Confucian based civil service open to scholarship and examination. It undermined the nobility and local warlords but its certainty and reliability encouraged trade and business (Palmer, 2001, 120). The armies did their work and soon this empire spread from the Caspian Sea to Vietnam and Korea (the extent of territory declined by the 750s) and securing the Silk Road also meant greater certainty and protection on that principle trade route. It was also the connecting route travelled by monks and nuns of the Church of the East. Thus Chang-an could grow and became cosmopolitan. There was plenty of foreign trade including with Persians and Arabs, many going into Chang-an. Chang-an became a grid pattern planned huge city of a million people. Peasants were no longer repressed although the regime tried to placate landlords (Carter, 1978, 90-91). There was spare land from Sui civil wars to give to peasants and forced labour was reduced while construction for water transport continued and agricultural improvements took place. There were good roads across country too. Ideas flourished with a double edged multi-cultural multi-religious feel.
It was into this context that the Church of the East arrived and expanded. Its scriptures, positive in a revelatory, salvic and practical message (compares with Buddhism and Taoism), and its subservience about proper authority (compares with Confucianism), were welcomed.
The missionaries went along the Silk Road from eastern Persia arriving in Xian, then called Chang-an, in 635 CE. They were expected and well received and the teachings on the "origins of things" were well regarded, as shown on the Stone Sutra. The Chinese gave the religion the new name of Religion of Light or Religion of Illumination, as interpreted by Palmer (2001, 42-43) with the longer title "Da Qin Luminous Religion" or Religion of Light from the West. The mission received offices to work in a foreigners' enclave where there were over 100 temples of many religions and there they translated the Sutras. They also built the first monastery there, and later in 650 built the one at Da Qin. Many others followed throughout China with the favour of the Emperor Taizong. (Palmer, 2001, 44-49) It can be seen that the Church upheld the Emperor's authority as well as introduced a moral order based on salvation from suffering, Jesus the Messiah who saves, Buddha nature and principles in teaching and escaping from suffering, and the impact of karma with reincarnation.
China was tolerant and syncretistic, and yet nationalistic in knowing the differerence between home grown and foreign imported religions. Taoism was developed because, as a home grown religion, it covered the fact that Taizong himself was more Turkic than Chinese (Palmer, 2001, 129). Buddhism had become an intellectual religion (130), whose importance for Christianity was that it provided a rationale for salvation in its later imported pietistic Mahayana form (131). The earliest Hinayana form was too tough for popularity, and that looking at reality and non-reality was a theoretical development which suffered after the persecution that came from the authorities aided by home religions in 845 CE (132-133).
All empires decline and in the end peasants nevertheless did revolt and the basis of the dynasty declined. (paragraphs above: Carter, 1978, 90-91, Palmer, 2001, 118-120, 128-133)
The Stone Sutra in particular tells of the support of a succession of emperors but when that was missing and indeed in the negative happened the Church of the East fell rapidly and had only an unsteady revival based on who ruled. (Palmer, 2001, 228-231, 244-250)
The short lived Zhou Dynasty, created when the wife of Emperor Gaozong (650-683 CE) took power in 695 and had exiled her husband's successor, invested huge support into Buddhism. She claimed to be the expected Future Buddha Maitreya. She did persecute the Christians (as on the Stone Sutra), but by boosting Buddhism she upset the home grown faiths and Confucian belief in order (for example, she was a woman in charge). By 705 she was out with the Tang Dynasty name back again and, with Confucianism and Taoism rising, Buddhism and other things foreign were to come under attack. (Palmer, 2001, 234-235)
By 751 Arab Muslims took over control in Central Asia and China lost its political confidence so that the Uighurs came in and took control. However, they were largely Christian (and Manichaean) as were Central Asian rulers. (233-234)
With the Chinese defeat by Arabs in 752 in Central Asia, the route from Persia for monks and nuns was difficult or impossible (238). Islam was the power of that region, and sapped its power in Persia to reduce it over time to little.
In China, Buddhism was increasingly attacked as foreign and this became full blown persecution. In 843 CE, 3500 Buddhist monks and nuns were defrocked, and two years after all metallic based statues were confiscated. Then all those in religious orders were forced out, all temples and shrines were destroyed and Buddhism's 150,000 slaves were removed. It was in this context that the 3000 Zoroastrian and Religion of Light monks and nuns were also forced to be defrocked in 845 CE. The Da Qin monastery was probably destroyed then (but not the Pagoda). Although Buddhism did return, the Church of the East monasteries seemed to be finished. (Palmer, 2001, 236) It seems that Christianity went underground in some places but perished rapidly in others so that at least by 1000 CE nothing seemed to be left. About this time a group of Buddhists, Manichaeans and Christians hid their treasures and scriptures in caves in the desert around Dunhuang necessitated by invasions by Tibetans. (Palmer, 2001, 233-250)
Then came the Sung Dynasty (960-1279 CE) which was a world leader in military technology but weaker in military power (Carter, 1978, 91). The Yuan Dynasty was the period of Mongol Power.
Mongol power attacked Islamic power with massacres and human 'cleansing' in the 1220s including Persia. It might have happened in China, turning it into horse grazing land. This did not happen and the wife of his son Tolui, Sorkaktani, was Christian and her third and youngest son became emperor of a retained China, Kublai Khan (1260-1294) (the other two ruled Mongolia and Persia). (Palmer, 2001, 246-247). Kublai Khan moved the capital city to Peking/ Beijing. Only the Persian Khan might have been baptised, but Christians did well again as evidenced by Marco Polo discovering Nestorian Christians in many cities. These may have been Mongolian or Turkic; they might well have included Chinese groups from underground fragments (248). There were memories of the persecution of 845 CE leaving nothing of structure and they knew this was the religion of their ancestors in China. No one knew about the hidden trasures including the descriptive Stone Sutra. Marco Polo brought the people to court and an edict of freedom followed, and there were 700,000 in number. (249).
Then came the end. Mongolian Yuan Dynasty rule was not prosperous and agriculture declined (Carter, 1978, 91-92). In 1260 the Marmaluks of Egypt defeated the Mongols near Nazareth and the Mongolians turned towards Islam, and the Church finally fell (except for a time on the east coast) when the Yuan dynasty fell in 1368 (Palmer, 2001, 249) by its withdrawal north of the Great Wall of China after attacks by the Red Turbans (Carter, 1978, 91). Chi Yuan Chang took power and was the first Ming Dynasty emperor.
When in the 1500s and 1600s Roman Catholic Jesuits went to China they knew nothing of the Church of the East there, a Church where an altered but recognisable and faithful Christian core spoke in the language of Chinese issues of salvation, yet which had relied on the support of the Chinese State for its wellbeing as had the imperial Church of the West. However, not being the only religion and always foreign, reliance on the State was something that was to be its downfall.

The Missionary Jesus Sutras

The Jesus Sutras were created for the mission to Tang China. They had been written with reference to other Buddhist, Taoist and Greek teachings that were known about at the time. They were then translated in China where the language and its concepts came into play. The Jesus Sutras grew in number in China (thus new ones were specifically Chinese) and were sealed in Dunhuang at around 1005 CE, along with those of other religions, although it is possible some Christian ones as others may have come from elsewhere. (See Palmer, 2001, 50-59)
The first Sutra Martin Palmer has called The Sutra of the Teachings of the World-Honoured One, translated in 641 CE (Palmer, 2001, 51) and the Chinese name is The Lokajvesta Teaching on Charity, Part 3. Lokajvesta is a title for the Buddha as World Teacher. The translations of this are the simplest and make errors into the Chinese characters. It probably used as its source a book popular within the Church of the East called Teachings of the Apostles by Tatian (110-180 CE) (103-104), attempting to summarise Jesus in the gospels but drawing on Chinese images and characters when translated.
The first Sutra speaks of the physical manifestation 641 years ago (that precise - earliest use of Exigus' calendar) and that its teachings are across the world with its believers. It contains a Lord's Prayer fragment for teaching. It claims the One Sacred Spirit will give what one really needs so not to worry. People should tell the truth but not in front of swine, look for the best in others and correct oneself, and do to others as would have done to oneself. Jesus could not have avoided death, and it discusses the crucifixion and burial and is specifically against the idea the disciples stole the body (it was a Jewish rumour, it says in an anti-semitic competitive point). Jesus rose through the action of the World Honoured One's qi (dynamic spirit). The first woman Eve caused the lies of humanity so the women were the first witnesses to tell the truth about this to show that the Messiah had forgiven them and should be treated properly in future. Jesus will be with them and the Sutra describes Pentecost and early Church sufferings. People should actually follow the true Way or will end up in the Earth Prisons. Jesus told the disciples (of ordinary people) to go out and teach the world and baptise in the names of the Trinity (Pure wind for Holy Spirit). It is, though, unitarian in theology (which puzzles Palmer):
The Messiah is not the Honoured One [God]. Instead through his body he showed the people the Honoured One. (4:12-13, in Palmer, 2001, 58, and 63).
The Heavenly Honoured One sends the Spirit force to save and this force teaches the truth, unique compared with spirits and deities. Of the resurrection it says:
Nothing like it has ever been heard of before. (66)
(Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 60-69)
The second Sutra Martin Palmer has called The Sutra of Cause, Effect and Salvation although its Chinese name is The First Treatise on the Oneness of Heaven (52). It is similar to the Indo-Greek Buddhist sutra Milindapanha about cosmology and philosophy (origin 100s to 000s BCE) and involves a Christian-Buddhist engagement of concepts and world views. (See Palmer, 2001, 135-139)
It says everything is created by the One Sacred Spirit, and humanity by that which can be seen and that which cannot. The Sacred Spirit brings about the elements of earth, fire, water and air, which was an act of compassion. Nothing else can bring about existence. Everything contains the Sacred Spirit. Things are visible and invisible in two natures: everything has body which dies and the animating Sacred Spirit which does not. The soul has Five Skandas of form, perception, consciousness, action and knowledge and without their physicality the soul cannot exist, and they clothe the soul. The ghosts of the dead will again be clothed by the Five Skandas and come back to life, but this time in perfection and without needs. Qi creates the body (like clay) and soul (like a sculptor). A rich karma by living properly (and only possible in this world) will enhance the Five Skandas formed in the mother's womb and go on to shape the next life. Knowledge and soul are eternal. There was no way to be free of sins except by the One Sacred Spirit entering this world. He suffered pain and rejection before returning. Bad ghostly spirits try to draw people into confusion and evil. Evils ones do truly evil, foolish ones get into evil. The leader here is the Cruel Evil Ghost or San nu. People who do not know the One Sacred Spirit cannot have good fortune: there is no chance of the compassion of release and they are like animals who cannot understand, cannot make sacrifices and do not worship the One Sacred Spirit. People so led are doomed to be reborn in the 10,000 kalpas [ages] and cannot escape rebirth. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 139-146)
The third Sutra is The Sutra of Origins, translated probably with the first one in 641 CE. It uses distinctly Taoist concepts for missionary purposes.
Everything visible and invisible is from the One Sacred Spirit. By its mysterious powers and work heaven and earth are stable and without change, and heaven stays in place. Their stability is evidence for His existence. Humanity is restless, however, in between heaven and earth. Each person has just one heavenly soul in the body just as there is in heaven and earth. Spirit and soul are the two seeds of being (both needed to create a true human being): each is all pervasive. The One Sacred Spirit is everywhere, existing in wu wei (actionless action): existing in nonexistence but never extinguished into nonbeing. Existence needs the nonexisting unending Spirit. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 146-150)
The fourth Sutra Martin Palmer has called The Sutra of Jesus Christ or perhaps The Sutra of Jesus Messiah, as Ye-su Mishisuo is a transliteration of Jesus Messiah. This is from 645 CE and distinctly Buddhist in the teachings of Jesus. It has a string Tibetan influence too, and odd in terms of not fitting into religious and philosophical traditions, where qi is more passive and simply exists in every body during life (152). It has Jainism and Hinduism in it. Confucian ideas (about loyal harmonious order, 122-125) are there too. (See Palmer, 2001, 150-157)
The Messiah taught the laws of Yahweh. He was surrounded by Buddhas and arhats (semi divine Buddha disciples). He saw the suffering of the living and taught: everything is born, dies and decays, returns to the earth and continues suffering. God is like the Wind everywhere and humanity lives because it is filled with God's breath. The Wind moves all teachers like Buddha. God is beyond death and birth, and it is heard but its shadow is not seen. Buddha's nature bestows grace: God gives grace. A person's heart and mind are not theirs but created by the Wind. The Wind's departure (death) is a time of distress but it is not seen. God's path is unknown too. People should show wisdom to be in the presence of the God they cannot see and this is following the Way of Heaven. Others die in ignominy.
God suffered to free all from karma, and no one is beyond this Buddha principle. No one can give life into statues of gods. Only those who worship the God can teach the Sutras. But one has to do good too and encourage others to do good. Those attracted to life's [surface] pleasures will end up with King Yama, God of judgment and rebirth. However, everyone should fear God: people who follow the laws of the Buddha but do not fear God will not be saved. Secondly, the Emperor had good previous lives, was appointed by God and should be obeyed. On the third level of importance, parents should be feared too: God will not reward fearing the Emperor but not parents. It follows that there are many covenants:
Evil will be punished
Not respecting the elderly will be punished
We come from our parents
Be kind and considerate and do no evil
No living being should take a life of another living been and should encourage others not to too
Do not to commit adultery and do not encourage others to commit adultery
Do not steal
Do not covet another man's wife, lands, palace or servants
Do not to let envy lead to false witness
Offer to God only what is one's own to give
There are more:
Do not bully the weaker or despise the more powerful
Take care of the hungry even if an enemy
Help the hardworking
Clothe the naked
Do not be dishonest to workers when there is no real work and so end up being unable to pay them - the Sacred Spirit will severely punish this
Give generously to the poor beggar
Do not mock the ill or handicapped, or laugh at the ragged
Tell the truth if someone is arrested, do not hinder the weak seeking justice
Do not brag and boast
Do not pick quarrels, do not side with parties, do not use influence with authority
Be humble and charitable
Those that know the precepts follow the covenants and this needs belief. God protects all life and replaced the former law with good deeds.
The Sutra looks at the Jesus story. God caused the Cool Breeze to come upon Mo Yan (Mary) with no husband and made her pregnant. The whole world saw it and the star was as big as a wagon wheel and understood. She gave birth to Ye Su in Wen-li-shi-ken [Jerusalem] in the orchard of But Lam [Bethlehem]. At five he talked and at twelve received the Holy Word and started to teach until thirty two. Ye Su came to the one who survived on vegetables and honey at the Shu-Nan [Jordan]. The Messiah took the precepts to the people. He followed the Way of Heaven saying do good and renounce evil. He instructed his twelve disciples, taught and healed. Scholars attacked and denounced the Messiah (but the people believed). They schemed and went to the King Pilate but the Messiah ignored them and became famous. When aged thirty two they went to Pilate who first washed his hands but the evil ones pressed the case until death was the only option. The Messiah gave up his body for the sake of all living beings. After washing his hair the evil ones took him to Chi-Chu for execution. He hung between two criminals on a scaffold for five hours on the sixth cleansing, vegetarian day. Early that morning came darkness, quaking and trembling and the dead walked from opened tombs. Those who saw this believed him to be who he said he was. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 159-168)
The first three early Sutras were compiled before mission but using other missionary experiences drawing on other faiths that might make sense to others, although the acts of translating changed them further towards the concepts within the Chinese language. The fourth sutra is a compilation of texts after getting to China (150). It would be seventy years before another Sutra was written (168).

The Liturgical Sutras

All the later Sutras originated in China by the Chinese some 130 years after Aluoben arrived and these engaged with the Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist world view and their existential questions (Palmer, 2001, 174). These are liturgical sutras, used in worship, hidden and preserved at Dunhuang (169). The final three come from Jingjing (meaning Luminous Purity) a likely Chinese convert and monk at Da Qin (181) of huge stature and a saint of the Chinese Church. (See Palmer, 2001, 169-177)
The first is dated 720 CE written by Su Yun, a monk at Da Qin monastery. It is called Da Qin Christian Liturgy of Taking Refuge in the Three, which Martin Palmer calls Taking Refuge in the Trinity (177). Its use of Jade reflects the Bodhissatva Avalokitesvara (Kuan Yin or Guanyin) or goddess of compassion which itself probably has source concepts in Mary mother of Jesus (179, also 241-245). (See Palmer, 2001, 177-180)
Reverence is given to the Great Holy Compassionate Father of all things. This radiant Jade-faced One is exhalted as the sun and moon with virtues greater than all the Holy Ones and Dharma Lords. The laws of compassion save like echoes through the world of a tolling golden bell. The Great Holy Law Giver brings people back to their original nature, saving countless souls, raising from the dust, redeeming from the saddened worlld of ghosts. The hundred ways bring clarity and kind hearted mercy. Angelic spirits cross the Ocean of Dharma. Peace in people's hearts is practiced through God, and is sung to by the congregation. The Great Law is the Heavenly Wheel returning to God. The Dharma Kings (saints) should be worshipped starting with the Sutra of Dharma King John, then the Sutra of the Psalms and the Path of Grace Sutra. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 180-181)
The second Sutra is called Invocation of the Dharma Kings and Sacred Sutras, which Martin Palmer calls Let Us Praise, as it repeats this often. It refers to some Sutras not yet discovered. (See Palmer, 2001, 181-183)
Its praise opens with Allaha, great Father and mysterious one, the Messiah his supreme Son, and the Holy Spirit who witnesses divinity, three beings creating as one. It lists as Dharma Kings to praise: John, Luke, Mark, Matthew, Moses, David, of Easter, Paul, of the Thousand Peacock Eyes, Simeon, Mar Sergius, George, Mar Barsauma, Simon and the Twenty Four, Henana, Hosea, Michael, Silas, Gur, Announcing Teachings - John. It calls to praise many Sutras which are the Constantly Bright Supreme Happiness; Origins; Subtle Peace and Happiness; Heavenly Treasures; Psalms; Message of Grace; Origin of Life; Understanding Truth; Precious Brilliance, and of Revealed Teaching; Charity and the Origin of the Soul; Broad Teaching and of the Three Levels; Discipline, Grace; Proclamation; The Acts of the Apostles according to Luke (not a Sutra!); Paul's Dharma, and of Zakarias; George the Monk, and of Anchillia; Ceremonies, and in Praise of three Powers; Laws of Moses, and of Elijah; Bethlehem, and Announcing Dharma King; Messiah - creator of Heaven and Earth; Four Gates, and of Revelation; Mar Sergius, and of the Cross, and of Hymns. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 183-185)
The Sutra of Returning to Your Original Nature is a text for chanting about salvation and comes from 780-790 CE. It is an explanatory conversation composed by Jingjing featuring the Messiah, his disciple Simon and all characters who have escaped desire. It uses Buddhist and Taoist concepts of salvation. (See Palmer, 2001, 185-189)
Simon starts by saying we did not know the truth but need salvation and the Messiah relies that everything needs the True Law and what runs deep. Spiritual life can be damp. People thus must clear their minds, and stop wanting and doing; be open to purity and stillness; to receive the truth; understand cause and effect; and lead to Peace and Happiness.
Simon is told if the Messiah is everywhere then he does not know who he is, and similarly if truly in his words then he does know what he signifies; and if a person has a made up name no one knows him truly (all of which sounds quite postmodern!). People try to find out who they are generating desire, thus movement and anxiety, thus cannot find contentment. So he teaches no wanting and doing without doing. Disturbing thoughts are not sought and one can find the source of pure empty being. So one should be detached and go towards enlightenment.
He, the Messiah, is the Way to the Spirits. Among the people he can embody forms beyond knowledge. He protects everyone and anyone, helps those who have gone wrong, as never seen before. Pure effortless emptiness has not been seen before. Now pious people become famous and become driven by ambition. They do not achieve peace and happiness. The all knowing essence speaks through Him so those who speak piously and yet do not seek fame do find Peace and Happiness. He sees, hears, smells, tastes, embodies, and his heart is in the law; the reality behind, and undistracted: principles leading to the hghest awakening and from it everyone can be saved. The teaching has been in heaven from the beginning. It brings incomparable forture. All good people should gather, pray and sing for the light will come and enlighten, giving Peace and Happiness and transcending all rebirths, for eveyone.
It cannot be proved and is beyond definition. So he says, no wanting, no doing, no piousness, no truth: these are the four essential laws. One should follow them to be free and feel compassion again and again without showing off.
So praise is given to the Limitless, Highest One, teaching this triumphant law beyond imaginging. The Messiah does not pretend to understand but goes on studying them until the end.
So Simon asks about these Four Laws. If there is no existence how can there be happiness? It is a wonderful question, replies the Honoured One. He "repeats" that Peace and Happiness like this exist only when nothing else exists. One would naturally gravitate to these teachings. He tells the crowd all gods and gurus agree that this Sutra is profound and unimaginable and is the Way. One can know the Way of Peace and Happiness in the heart. Share by singing and praying together: every generation is united in this communion, and people come to this religion because of the goodness in their past lives finding Happiness. Simon's ancestors bear fruit from their karma deposited into him.
Everyone then praises God again to be watched over and protected as down the generations. Some people are lost and need to come back. The Messiah agreed to this because some do thirst for healing. He tells a story of a sick man helped by a close relative to cut steps and use ladders to climb a mountain and reach the top to be healed. Simon is told people came to the mountain weary of desires, and could not scale the mountain, but the Compassionate Knowing One is like the close relative and teaches them.
There are Ten Laws for knowing the world.
People grow old and sick and no one gets out alive.
We also have to leave the family.
Whether powerful or otherwise, nothing lasts forever.
Some provoke everyone and some exploit and yet both can be killed in an instant.
Misers accumulate wealth but they can't take it with them.
The sex obsessed fantasise about having it all the time despite being left frustrated and depressed, like a tree invaded by termites until rotten.
Another view is of those who drink and party, sleeping around in a mixed up state so they do not know what is real or a dream: all churned up and unclear.
People can see life as an entertaining drama but this wastes the body and depletes the spirit.
Another view is to wander from religion to religion seeking enlightenment but ending up confused.
Some believe and appear to know but they share nothing and the truth dies with them, like a hidden and useless oyster.
The Four Essential Laws of the Dharma are:
No wanting: the Law of No Desire.
Do not put on a mask of appearance: Walk the way of No Action.
No piousness so do not broadcast good deeds: the Way of No Virtue.
Do not try to control truth, take sides and treat everyone equally: reflect without judgment.
The Luminous Religion and its laws are the best armour and can protect all life which can carry across the ocean of life and death reaching the shores of the Land of Peace and Happiness.
The dying ones in a plague can be revived: the Laws of this Light and the best balm, through the pain and hardships of this life to return to true knowing. Everyone should chant this day and night as the inexhaustible teachings bring back clear seeing and return people to original nature, true beingness, freed from all falsehood and illusion. Someone with just a little love can walk the Bright Path in the Sutras and not suffer harm going towards true Peace and Happiness. One should make friends of this teaching and by following it one becomes a light to the world.
The crowd sang praises wanting more but the Messiah said this is enough now, although the Word cannot be stopped. When one is cured more drinking is not necessary. His teaching is only the beginning of touching one's true original nature and too much would not be right. The crowd agreed, thanked the Messiah warmly and began to disperse. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 289-201)
The fourth liturgical sutra, also by Jingjing, is called The Christian Liturgy in Praise of the Three Sacred Powers, which Martin Palmer calls The Supreme. It was found in the cave at Dunhuang. (See Palmer, 2001, 202)
It begins with love from the highest skies, Earth's palms open in peace, our truest being anchors in God's purity...
You are Allaha: Compassionate Father of the Three. (202)
Everything praises and every being takes refuge. Beyond knowing, beyond words, the truth and steadfast:
Compassionate Father, Radiant Son, Pure Wind King - three in one. (203)
Who is supreme, lives in light, and has never been seen, the only unchanging of spirits, making all that is good: the worshipper reflects this in Compassion and grace. The Messiah is called the Great Holy Son of the Honoured One, and countless of the suffering are saved:
Supreme King, Will of Ages, Compassionate joyous lamb Loving all who suffer Fearless as you strive for us Free us of the karma of our lives Bring us back to our original nature Delivered from all danger. (203)
The Divine son invited to sit at the right hand of the Father, the Great Messiah, is asked to receive the prayers, to send the raft of salvation from the burning streams.
Great Teacher: I stand in awe of the Father Great Teacher: I am awed by the Holy Lord Great Teacher: I am speechless before the King of Dharma Great Teacher: I am dazzled by the Enlightened Mind Great Teacher: You who do everything to save us. (204)
So everything looks to Him without thinking. People want his healing rain to overcome what has withered and so water the roots of kindness. He is the Great Holy Honoured One, the Messiah; and worshippers love their Father, Boundless Sea of Compassion, and the Clear Pure Wind. His clarity cleanses through the Law reaching beyond all grace. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 202-204)

The Stone Sutra

The final main sutra considered is the Stone Sutra written by Jingjing. It was erected in 781 CE, at the same time as the Pagoda was built at Da Qin. (For the full introduction See Palmer, 2001, 206-224, infomation of which is used elsewhere in this webpage)
After introducing the purpose, administration and author of the monument containing the Stone Sutra it begins at the cosmos. There was a true stillness, a natural constant, and primordial void of the Most High from which the Spirit of the void emerged, the Most High Lord. He enlightened the Holy Ones. He is Joshua who embodies the three subtle and wondrous bodies and was condemned to the cross to save the people of the four directions. From the beaten up primordial winds he created two vapours and from the grey emptiness came the sky and the earth. The sun and the moon were set and night and day arrived. He created myriad things and then people. They had the original nature of goodness and were appointed as guardians of creation. Their minds were empty, their hearts were simple and innocent and they were content. They had no desire but Satan influenced them towards glitter and gold. They fell into death and lies and the 365 forms of sin. They put themselves inside their own web of retribution. There is material gain, some think they gain blssings from prayers, and some are treacherous. They get nowhere and within the wheel of fire they find themselves burnt and obliterated, unable to return [to goodness].
Ye Su, from the three subtle bodies, became human and came on behalf of the Lord of Heaven giving the good teachings. A virgin gave birth in the Da Qin Empire [the West]. The message was given to the Persians who followed the bright light with gifts. The 24 holy Ones have given the teachings, and heaven decreed that the "Three in One Purity that cannot be spoken of" (226) should be proclaimed. The teachings can restore goodness to believers, restore dust to truth, reveal the gate of the three constants, lead to life, destroy death and destroy evil forever. He set afloat the raft of salvation and compassion so we can ascend to the palace of light and unite with the spirit. He carried out deliverence and when done ascended to immortality in daylight. He left 27 books of scriptures, revealed the workings of the Origin and gave the method of purification by water. He gathered the four radiances to be united with the void.
"The Eastern facing rites can give you the path of life. Those who choose to grow beards, shave their heads, travel on the open roads, renounce desire, have neither male nor female slaves, see all people as equal, and do not hoard material goods, are followers of My rites of purification." (226)
The Church people practice abstinence to subdue desire, stillness builds their foundation, at seven there is a service to pray for everyone's salvation, and once a week an audience with heaven. The truth cannot be named but when forced it is the Religion of Light: highly sacred and the Great Way.
It came at the time of Emperor Taizong brought by Aluoben. He was welcomed and asked to translate his scriptures. The Emperor recognised the truth and with a decree said the teachings, mysterious and beyond understanding, should be practiced throughout the land. In the capital the Da Qin monastery was erected for 21 monks and the Emperor wrote for a sign:
Reveal the splendour and brightness of heaven; glorify the Religion of Light saints; and let the benevolent teachings illuminate this realm of existence. (227)
This religion in the world stretches far, including where there are no thieves, people are happy and healthy, only virtue is promoted, buildings are large and spacious, and the country is rich in culture and learning. Only the Religion of Light is practised there. The Emperor decreed monasteries elsewhere, Aluoben was entitled 'Lord Protector of the Great Teachings' which spread. Some Buddhists in one eastern district slandered the Church but a meeting averted a disaster. Emperor Xuanzong ordered a church to be built to teach people more simply and many were converted. There was other political support from many emperors and some believed and practiced and saw others did with rewards and benefits... A monk was awarded. Emperor Suzong invited monks of the four monasteries to plan charitable activities with him and a priest was invited to write a plaque, written to say the True Lord of the Primordial Void took on human form whose compassion was limitless banishing the dark and we are witnesses. The Way can accomplish anything anywhere. The benefits are penetrating the mysteries, being blessed with a good conscience, having greatness with emptiness, returning to stillness and forgiving, being compassionate and delivering all people, doing good deeds and helping people reach the other shore. People are calmed in stormy seas, they are helped to understand the nature of things, keep purity, nourish, respect all life and answer the needs of those believing from the heart.
If forced to describe it this faith is the work of the Three-in-one Lord.
The Stone Sutra ends with details of its erection and attendance at the opening. (Detailed summary from Palmer, 2001, 224-232)

Reflection

What this story shows is that a Church can and did present a believed core revelation to another culture in its language. Unlike the Roman Church, and Byzantium, this Church did not pretend to have the field to itself and thus had to adapt into other languages and cultures. Arguably this did alter the core, and questions whether there is a core or where the boundary is between that and the packaging (in any religion, in any place, including how Christianity emerged into and came out of the Pauline and Greek world view). The Church of the East, formed out of the Nestorian experience, emerged after the formation of the belief in the Trinity but it can be seen how that belief loosened with a non-state or a more creative dynamic of authority and writing. There is also a question of clashes of thought forms: did the Messiah overrule or assist through good karma? It seems that both is the case, but is not Messianic salvation a replacement for karma (all karma, not just bad karma)? Linked to this is the clash between the Pauline radical salvation for all message (which is contained awkwardly in the Church of the East, even if it is not clear about the origins of this salvation scheme and social radicalism), and the setting up of monasteries. Monasteries are about spiritual inequality, where the mass of the people are nowhere near the spiritual abilities of the monks (and nuns, although female achievement was problematic in eastern faith) and indeed where monks require and receive spiritual training. Whatever has been the attachment of priestcraft to historical Western Christianity, and the establishment of monasteries and convents for spiritual discipline, Pauline Christianity is about the offering of rapid salvation by faith for all. So there are structural and belief tensions here. Certainly monasteries are a fast way to establish a faith presence - churches can follow on - but they are also subject to quick closure and closing the monasteries crippled the Church of the East. Finally, Churches have in many places expanded through attachment to authority: this incoming Church could hardly have criticised the emperors, and yet Christianity historically started in some oppositional stance related to authority. This "kow towing" to the system was its strength and ultimately its weakness. Despite its best efforts the Chinese Church was always a foreign import and had never established itself as the legitimising power over Chinese emperors. In the west Churches and denominations changed but traditional authority always needed a traditional Church.
It would be interesting to see if any free development of Christianity could produce as a variety a rebirth of the forms of the Church of the East, or if Chinese Christianity has to follow the ideological forms of the West. Time will tell and time is very long. In the Postscript Martin Palmer sees this Eastern Church experience as a model for faith in our differently thinking age to that in the history of the Western Church (251-254). No doubt this is a rich possibility, and rave Churches have shown some mixing, as have radical theologians, but many a parish and committed church today preaches in the most narrow, intellectually-removed, inherited and yet culturally popularised form. The insight of the Church of the East in China exposes just how much these Western supernaturalists are trapped in their own cultural form treated in their such an absolutist manner. An Eastern Taoist or Buddhist Christianity would seem to be institutionally marginal (within an increasingly socially marginal Christian religion). How it might emerge might have to be institutionally light, developing in a few parishes and congregations here and there, and in some outside gatherings elsewhere.
People who move to Taoism and Buddhism usually reject Christianity. They reject what they think they know is Christianity, or the version they have encountered. This may be an over reaction; however, the cosmic and supernatural elements of the emergence of the Messiah will probably be superfluous for anyone who uses Christian ideas in a Buddhist scheme of improvement. There is little sense in adopting notions such as the arrival of the baby in an actual nativity with a wagon wheel sized star: Westerners know this to be a story (and biblical criticism leads to the basic conclusion that the baby Jesus was historically unknown, of two biological parents, born in Galilee - Nazareth or maybe Capernaum - with no census likely to have taken place or of geographical relevance). Also it is to be noted that the faith of the Church of the East moved away from resurrection, communion and, if less so, sacrifical crucifixion. The teachings became the most important, not the life and death and some rising again, although that rising again remained a kind of proof of the teachings given by the cosmic Messiah.
A revised, multi-faith Christianity, if it happened, would rather be stripped of both the cosmic origins and the resurrection as central, and probably will move towards meditation and worship and perform fewer communion rites. It would not be about messianic faith, or salvation by faith, but salvation through spiritual practice and teachings compatible with the Jesus who turned social and religious logic upside down. The Church of the East was not moving towards a removal of the supernatural, although it has the seeds of this within for a culture such as the West today and possibly a materialist (and hopefully democraticised) East. Still, the point is fairly well proven that religion is a cultural entity and no one faces religion and spirituality without first encountering culture, and both are pretty much inseparable. The overall conclusion must be that making a distinction between a religious core and its packaging is highly problematic.

Adrian Worsfold
Pluralist Website - Liberal and Thoughtful

Bibliography
BBC News (2002), Silk Road Treasures United on the Web [Online], Available World Wide Web, URL: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/2420983.stm [Accessed August 7, 2003, 14:38].
Carter, R. (1978), The Coming of Civilization, London: MacDonald Educational, St, Michael (Marks and Spencer), 90-93.
Hampson, K., Swift V., Whitfield, S., et al. (June 2003), International Dunhuang Project [Online], Available World Wide Web, URL: http://idp.bl.uk , originally October 1998, last updated June 2003 [Accessed August 7, 2003, 14:50].
Pagan, A. (1988), God's Scotland? The Story of Scottish Christian Religion, Edinburgh: Mainstream Publishing Company, 28-29
Palmer, M. (2001), The Jesus Sutras: Rediscovering the Lost Religion of Taoist Christianity, London: Judy Piatkus.  http://www.piatkus.co.uk  info@piatkus.co.uk  Ballantine Publishing Group in the USA  ISBN 0 7499 2250 8 (hardback) ISBN 0 7499 2265 6 (paperback)  Tranlsations of the Sutras by Eva Wong, Li Rong Rong and Martin Palmer.
Van de Weyer, R. (1997), Bede: Celtic and Roman Christianity in Britain, Berkhamsted: Arthur James.

I have a personal interest in that a friend David Strachan has had a Buddhist Sutra from Dunhuang sponsored in his name and Ian Strachan (http://idp.bl.uk/chapters/about_IDP/supporterslist.html) is named as a supporter.

The Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch At A Glance Patriarch Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, 1983

Wed, 18 Aug 2010 09:51:09 -0400

The Syrian Orthodox Church is the Church of Antioch, whose foundation goes back to the very dawn of Christianity, when Antioch was the capital of Syria1 and one of the three capital cities in the Roman Empire.2 The gospel was first preached in Antioch by some of Christ's own disciples who fled Jerusalem after the Jewish persecution. Following the martyrdom St. Stephen the deacon ca. 34 AD., Antioch was visited by Barnabas, one of the seventy preachers, as well as St. Paul the Apostle. Both stayed in Antioch for an entire year preaching the gospel after St. Peter who preached the gospel there and established his apostolic see ca. AD. 33.
According to some historians, the conversion of the city of Antioch itself was carried out by St. Peter the Apostle in two stages: the first was the conversion of the Jews from whose ranks the Christian Church was established;3 the second was the conversion of the pagans who included Aramaeans, Greeks and Arabs. This took place after the settling of the case of Cornelius and his acceptance in the church.4

As we go through the events recorded in the New Testament, we find that during St. Peter's second visit to Antioch, he refrained himself from mingling with the converted gentiles, even after their baptism because of his fear of the Christians in Jerusalem who had contended with him regarding the reception of Cornelius. However, St. Paul opposed him publicly.5 Further, some of the Jewish converts compelled the gentile converts to be circumcised so that they might become Jews before becoming Christians. In order to settle this problem, a council was held in Jerusalem in 51 A.D. and the following message was sent to Antioch through Paul and Barnabas accompanied by Judas, surnamed Barnabas, and Silas: "For it has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us to lay upon you no greater burden that these necessary things: that you abstain from what has been sacrificed to idols and from blood and from what is strangled and for unchastity" (Acts 15: 28-29). This event points out the importance of the Syrian Church of Antioch during the early days of Christianity.

The Book of Acts witnesses the earnest zeal of the members of the Church of Antioch and their care for their fellow Christians. They collected alms and sent them with Barnabas and Saul to the poor in Jerusalem. The book of Acts also testifies that it was in Antioch that the disciples of Jesus Christ were first called Christians.6

When Peter and Paul had to leave Antioch on preaching missions, they appointed two bishops to take care of the faithful, Aphodius who was assigned for the Christians of pagan origin, and Ignatius the Illuminator for those of Jewish origin. 7 In 68 A.D., Ignatius the Illuminator became the sole bishop of Antioch. It was he who called the Church of Antioch 'The Universal Church,' since it comprised both of the gentiles and the circumcised. Hence, Ignatius of Antioch was the first to apply the adjective 'universal' to the Christian Church.8

The Syriac Language in Antioch

The Syriac language is the Aramaic language itself, and the Arameans are the Syrians themselves. He who has made a distinction between them has erred. Throughout the old times, the name Syriac appeared along with the name Aramaic in describing the speakers of that language; hence it is a linguistic name. Following the spread of Christianity, the name Syriac came to be preferred over the name Aramaic. The disciples, the first preachers of Christianity, were Syriac-speakers. In the early centuries, when it was revealed that the disciples spoke Syriac, every Aramaean who accepted their teachings and became a Christian changed his original Aramaic identity to a Syriac one. He would be proud to be called a Syriac. As a result, the name Syriac came to imply the Christian faith, while the name Aramaic had a pagan connotation. This is evident from the Syriac translation of the Bible, known as the "Peshitto" or 'simple', which used the name Aramaic to distinguish a pagan from a Christian.9 This is how the use of the term Aramaic to refer to Christians almost vanished in the land of Aram to be replaced by the term Syriac which became synonymous to Christianity.

Hence, the term 'Syrian Church' means the Christian Church. The Syriac language is also known as the Aramaic. Originally it was the language of the Arameans10 who had settled since the l5th century BC in the lands of Aram-Damascus and Aram-Naharin (Mesopotamia).11
The Aramaic language had spread far and wide in the ancient world, to the extent that the alphabets of many other Oriental languages were derived from Aramaic.12 During the reign of King Nabo Blassar, it was the official language of the Babylonian Court, and during the reign of Darius the Great (521 - 486 BC), it was the official language between the various districts of the Persian Empire.13 It had become a lingua franca or 'an international language'14 across the entire East for a long period of time. The Jews had learned it and used it since the Babylonian conquest in the fifth century BC as their common language replacing their own Hebrew language which they had forgotten. Jesus Christ and his disciples spoke Syriac as well.15

Thereafter, Syriac remained dominant over a large section of the Orient, until the end of the 7th century AD when Arabic became popular and Syriac started to decline gradually.16 Some of its dialects, however, are still being used in Tur Abdin, Turkey, the villages around Mosul and other villages in Northern Iraq and in Ma'lula, a village near Damascus, Syria. The trace of its influence is obvious today in the name of several cities and villages in the Middle East and in their common dialects.17

At the dawn of Christianity, Syriac was the mother tongue of the original inhabitants of Antioch, especially of those living in its suburbs, as well as those in the interior parts of Syria.18 Syriac was also the language of the Jewish immigrants in Antioch, whereas Greek was the language of the colonists of the Greek community brought in by the Seleucids.19
The historian Dr. Philip Hitti states that the English name 'Syrian', in its linguistic sense, refers to all the people who speak Syriac (Aramaic), among them those in Iraq and Iran. In its religious sense, it refers to the followers of the Ancient Syrian Church, some of whom are in Southern India. For a Roman, 'a Syrian' (Syrus) meant any person speaking Syriac.

The Church of Antioch used the Syriac language in its religious rites. She celebrated the first Eucharist20 using the Syriac liturgy written by St. James, the brother of our Lord, Archbishop of Jerusalem. This same liturgy is used in the Syrian Orthodox Church all over the world to this day. Today, the liturgy is usually celebrated in Syriac as well as in local languages. Many of the church fathers wrote their religious and scientific books in Syriac.21

Ecclesial Status of the Church of Antioch

The Church of Antioch is considered to be the most ancient and widely known of all churches after the Church of Jerusalem. After the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD by the Roman Emperor Titus, the Christians in Jerusalem were scattered and many made their way to Antioch. It was from Antioch that the disciples went to the then known parts of the world, spreading the Gospel and establishing churches, monasteries and schools. These monasteries and schools produced many illustrious scholars who enlightened the world with their religious and scientific achievements.22 The fathers of the Syrian Church of Antioch made great and memorable contributions in the study of the Holy Bible, both Old and New Testaments. It was their translation of the Holy Bible into the Syriac language that came to be known as (Peshitto) or 'simple'. They also translated the Bible into Arabic,Persian and Malayalam (a South Indian language).23 Their work was not limited to translation; it included commentaries and exegesis of the Holy Scriptures. They have left behind them a rich heritage that should be counted as unique by today's scholars. This church played a great role in spreading the Gospel to many nations of the world such in Arabia, Armenia, India, Ethiopia. In the process, it suffered the loss of thousands who laid down their lives as martyrs for the faith.24

Establishment of the See of Antioch by Peter the Apostle

Reliable historians such as Origens (d. 256 AD) Eusebius of Caeserea (d 340 AD), John the Golden Mouth (d. 407 AD), Hieronymus ( d. 420 AD ) and Mar Severius of Antioch (d. 538 AD ) have all commented on St. Peter's efforts in Antioch, where, as mentioned earlier, he established the Apostolic See. He was the first of its patriarchs to whom the line of succeeding patriarchs is traced. Eusebius of Caeserea25 notes 'In the fourth year after the Ascension of Jesus Christ, St. Peter proclaimed the word of God in Antioch, the great capital, and became its first bishop."26 He also tells us in his Ecclesiastical History, "Ignatius became famous and was chosen to be the Bishop of Antioch and the successor of St. Peter."27 In his Calendar of Feasts, Hieronymus28 fixed the 22nd day of February as the day of the establishment of the See of St. Peter in Antioch. The Catholic Church still celebrates this feast on this same date.29

We can, therefore, surmise that St. Peter was the first Patriarch of the Apostolic See of Antioch. He had many illustrious successors, including St. Ignatius. This succession has remained unbroken until the time of the present patriarch, the author of this treatise. He is the 122nd in line among the legitimate patriarchs.

Headquarters of the See of Antioch

The headquarters of the See of Antioch was in Antioch until 518 AD. On account of many historical upheavals and consequent hardships which the church had to undergo, it was transferred to different monasteries in Mesopotamia for centuries. In the 13th century it was transferred in the Monastery of Deir Al-Zaafaran, near Mardin, Turkey. In 1959 it was transferred again to Damascus, Syria.

The Name of St. Ignatius taken by the Patriarchs of Antioch

In the early centuries, the Patriarchs of Antioch had kept their original names, even after their enthronement. However, when Patriarch Yeshou was enthroned in the year 878 AD, he adopted the name Ignatius out of veneration for the great martyr Ignatius the Illuminator, the second patriarch after St. Peter. Four other patriarchs followed his example. When Patriarch Yousef, son of Weheb, Bishop of Mardin was installed Patriarch in 1293 with the name Ignatius, the custom was confirmed and it has remained a continuous tradition in the Syrian Orthodox Church to this day.

The See of Antioch and its Relation with the Other Apostolic Sees

According to the canon law which took shape in the first centuries of Christianity, the bishop of a main city (Metropolis) was named Metropolitan, which means the bishop of the capital city or the pedestal of the kingdom. Through various regional and ecumenical councils, the bishoprics were eventually attached to the archbishoprics and the great and equal apostolic sees were recognized to be Antioch, Alexandria and Rome. At the Council of Constantinople in 381 AD, the See of Constantinople was added to those three. The four sees attained high status due to the political importance of their respective cities and their strategic locations.30 In the middle of the 5th century, the bishop of each of these cities was named patriarch, which means the head of fathers.31 Every See had its own jurisdiction and all the churches within it were subjected to its religious authority through the local seats (centers of bishoprics and archbishoprics). In 325 AD the Council of Nicea specified the authority of each of these sees, stating: "Preserve the old custom in Egypt, Libya and the five cities, since the bishop of Alexandria had authority over all of these places, as the Bishop of Rome had also the same authority. Also the dignity of the churches in Antioch and the rest of the bishoprics must be kept fully intact".32 The Council of Nicea did not create these privileges, but merely confirmed them.33

Fellowship of Faith and Authority of the Councils

The four Sees of Antioch, Rome, Alexandria and Constantinople were identical in faith and doctrine, as well as being equal in their authority and privileges. It was a custom for the occupants of these sees to exchange, upon their election, copies of their creeds in order to receive the right of fellowship. The receipt of this right of fellowship, however, was not considered as the installation of the patriarch in his position, but was merely a necessary requirement to exercise his authority legally.34 The historical events testify to the fact that these four great sees were not only autonomous,35 but also autocephalous,36 which means that none had authority over the other and none could interfere in the affairs of the other. In the case of bishops, no bishop could interfere in the affairs of another. Whenever a local, internal problem or dispute arose between the bishops of an archdiocese, a regional council of bishops, under the chairmanship of its archbishop would be convened to settle the matter. The council was considered above the bishops and as the highest authority in the whole archdiocese. If any major problem or grave situation relating to the faith emerged, a general or ecumenical council37 was convened, whose authority was above all the bishops and archbishops, including the bishop-patriarchs of the four great sees. Since all the bishops over the world were invited to such a council and had the right to take part therein, and as no one was to be absent, except for genuine reasons, the universal church was represented fully. As a consequence, all the bishops had to accept the decisions of that council and enforce them in the whole church. This council was considered as the supreme authority in the whole church.38

No bishop, even the patriarchs of the four great sees, had authority to take action in any major faith issue individually since that was the responsibility of the ecumenical councils. Contradiction of opinions and diversification of decisions taken by the regional councils relating to matters of faith often confused the universal church. When such cases were discussed in the ecumenical council, the council would pass its judgment which would be accepted by the universal church as if it were a divine decision. Councils of this type were convened to authenticate the genuineness of the true faith and to reject heresies. The declarations of faith in the Nicean creed, for example, were included in the writings of the fathers in detail and were accepted by the church since its dawn. The council, however, formulated it very clearly and asked the faithful to stand by its terms, or else they would be subjected to excommunication.39

Division among the Four Great Sees

In 451 AD the Council of Chalcedon40 was convened. It resulted in the division of the apostolic sees into two groups. The Sees of Rome and Constantinople became one group, while the Sees of Antioch and Alexandria formed the other. The latter two Sees remain united in faith to this day, with each having its own leadership and absolute independence as was the case since the beginning of Christianity. The former two sees of Rome and Constantinople split from each other in the 11th century AD.

Jurisdiction of the See of Antioch

The pontiff of the See of Antioch had always had a prominent position in the church. His religious authority extended from the Greek Sea in the West to the far end of Persia and India in the East, and from Asia Minor in the North to the frontiers of Palestine in the South.
The church of Antioch was one and was headed by only one patriarch. There was no other one besides him in all the Eastern Countries42. His jurisdiction extended over the lands of Damascus, Palestine, Cilicia, Mesopotamia parts of Asia Minor and all of Persia.43 His authority was dominant over all the Christians in these districts, irrespective of their nationality, race or language. The larger dioceses had archbishops, while the smaller ones had bishops who took care of their spiritual administration. They were all obedient to him.44

Maphrianate of the East

The countries which were lying beyond the Eastern boundaries of the Roman Empire were known as the East, from which, at the time of Jesus Christ, under the Persian rule, the Magis came to Bethlehem and presented their gifts to the Lord.45 When they returned to their countries, they proclaimed the news of Jesus' birth. As there were Jewish communities in the East, some of them might have been present in Jerusalem on the Day of Pentecost. The Book of Acts identifies Parthians, Medes, Elamites and the dwellers of Mesopotamia.46 It is beyond doubt that some of them who believed in Christ conveyed the Gospel to their countries.
Church history records that Addai, one of the seventy preachers, was sent by his brother, the apostle Thomas, to Edessa, capital of the Abgarite Kingdom, and cured its king Abgar V from leprosy and converted him together with all the inhabitants of the city. Then Addai preached in Amed (Diarbekir), in the South of Arzen, in the Eastern valley of the Tigris River, and in Bazebdi. After which he came to Hidiab (Arbil),47 where he settled down with his friend Mari, preaching the Gospel. The Syrian historians: Mor Michael the Great, Bar `Ebroyo and Bar Salibi add that the apostle Thomas passed through these places and preached their inhabitants on his way to India. This is how Christianity spread since the first century all over the East, where churches were built and bishoprics established.
During the third century, a number of bishoprics were gradually organized and a general leadership was established, with Madaen as its center, in the ecclesiastical region under the jurisdiction of the Apostolic See of Antioch.48 Its bishop was called Bishop of the East, or Catholicos of the East, and was later known as the Maphryono49 of the East.50

The Catholicos of the East had general authority over the churches in his district, in collaboration with the Patriarch of Antioch. The political situation hindered this relation since the headquarters of the See of Antioch was within the Roman Empire, while the East was subject to the Persian rule and the enmity between the Persians and the Romans was severe.51
In 431 AD the Council of Ephesus excommunicated Nestorious, Patriarch of Constantinople. A number of bishops from Syria together with the majority of the teachers and students of the School of Edessa aligned with him. Hence, Nestorious' teachings were spread in the East with the exception of Tikrit and Armenia. The result was the division of the Syrians, from the religious and doctrinal points of view, into two groups. This division affected even the Syriac language which came to be distinguished in its phonetic and calligraphic styles, known as the Western style and the Eastern style. The Western style was used in the land of Damascus [Syria] and the Eastern style in the lands of Mesopotamia, Iraq and Azerbejan. The Eastern group cut off its relations with the See of Antioch, with the exception of the Orthodox people in Iraq52

who remained loyal to the Apostolic See of Antioch, enduring great hardships as a result. In the year 480 AD, Barsouma, the Nestorian Bishop of Nusaibin, slandered against the faithful orthodox of the East to Fairouz, the Persian king, accusing them of spying in the interest of the Byzantine Kingdom. As a result, Fairouz slaughtered many of them shedding their innocent blood. After the death of Barsauma, the Armenian Catholicos Christophorus visited the East and consecrated a monk by the name Garmai as bishop in the Monastery of St. Matthew and gave him authority to consecrate bishops, as the Catholicos of the East. Christophorus also consecrated Monk Ahodemeh as bishop at Baerbye.53 In 559 AD, Ya`qub Burd`ono visited the church in the East and consecrated Ahodemeh as General Bishop who became the first General Bishop of the East, after the Nestorians had captured its See. 54

In 628, a reconciliation was reached between the Persian and Roman Empires. Patriarch Athanasius I (595-631) sent his secretary Rabban (Monk) Youhanna to the East. He met with Bishop Christophorus, head of the Monastery of St. Matthew and discussed with him the subject of resuming relations between the See of Antioch and the Church in the East. The bishop convened a synod which was attended by Monk Youhanna and four regional bishops. They elected three monks, Marotha, Ithalaha and Aha, and requested the patriarch to consecrate them bishops. The patriarch accepted the request and honored the old custom of the Church of the East which allowed three bishops in the absence of the Catholicos to consecrate a new bishop in dire circumstances.

The Eastern bishops consecrated the chosen monks as bishops in the presence of the patriarch's envoy. The patriarch then installed Marutha, one of the three new bishops, as Bishop of Tikrit, and gave him authority to preside over the East, on his behalf. The above incident indicates that the Church in the East was autonomous and that its Catholicos who was installed by the patriarch had authority over all its bishoprics. Also we can see in the history of the church that the Patriarch was enthroned by the fathers of the church with the cooperation of the Catholicos. Several attempts have taken place for infringing this tradition.

Mar Marotha of Tikrit (d. 649) was the first to be called Maphryono. From him the Maphrianate took its line of succession. It is worth mentioning that the bishoprics of the East increased in number and prestige to the extent that they outnumbered the dioceses of the See of Antioch during the time of Mor Gregorios Bar `Ebroyo who himself was a Maphryono of the East (1264-12861). Bar `Ebroyo is considered to be one of the most famous and scholarly Maphryonos of the East.

The headquarters of the Maphrianate was first in Tikrit and remained there until 1089 AD. Subsequently, it was transferred to Mosul, and then back to Tikrit where it remained until 1152 when it was transferred to St. Matthew Monastery, near Mosul. For sometime the Maphrianate was at Bartelleh near Mosul and then was brought back to Mosul.

In the past, it was the custom to have the Maphryono keep his episcopal name, even after his installation. But since the 16th century, the name Baselios was added to his original personal name. In the year 1860, after the death of Maphryono Mor Baselios Bahnam IV of Mosul, the Maphrianate was abolished by a decision of a synod.

Reinstatement of the Office of the Maphrianate

On May 21, 1964, the office of the Maphrianate was reinstated according to a resolution of the synod held at Kottayam, South India. It was presided by H. H. Mor Ignatius Ya`qub III, the late Patriarch of Antioch and All the East, and attended by all the bishops of the Syrian Church in India and three bishops from the Middle East who had accompanied His Holiness on his apostolic visitation to India. The author of this book was one of those three bishops. It was decided that the headquarters of the Maphryono should be in India and that the jurisdiction of the Maphrianate is limited to India and to the East of India only.55

Since 1964, the Maphyono is elected by the local Holy Synod of the Syrian Church in India and installed by H.H. the Patriarch of Antioch and All the East who is the Supreme Head of the Universal Syrian Orthodox Church. He represents the Syrian Orthodox Church in India in the Universal Synod of the church when it is convened for the election and enthronement of a patriarch. The present Maphryono is H.B. Mor Baselios Paulose II [d. 1996].

Schisms in the Church of Antioch

The Church of Antioch (Syrian Church) endured in its history many painful incidents that divided its flock into several sects at different times. These incidents, a few of which will be briefly discussed, weakened the church in many ways.
In 431 AD the Council of Ephesus rejected the teachings of Nestorius, Patriarch of Constantinople, who claimed that there were two separate persons and natures in Christ. Patriarch Yuhanna of Antioch supported him. He was succeeded by his nephew Domnos who unfortunately accepted that same heresy. He was deposed in the year 449 AD by the second council of Ephesus and was replaced by Maximus. The teachings of Nestorius were accepted by some Syrians in the Persian Empire, some parts of Syria, Palestine and Cyprus. Those formed a church breaking away from the See of Antioch in 498 AD. They chose a leader for themselves who called himself Catholicos. Their first Catholicos was Babai who had his headquarters in Selucia, Near Madaen in Iraq. This was later transferred to Baghdad in the year 762 AD. At the beginning of the 15th century it was shifted to Al-Kosh and in 1561 to Erumia,1 both in Iraq.

As a result of the Council of Chalcedon in 451 AD, the four great sees were split into two groups and confusion dominated over the church weakening its discipline. Illegal interference took place in several bishoprics and fishing in troubled waters was considered a great gain. The Roman See was able to win a Nestorian bishop called Timotheos, Bishop of Cyprus. In 1445 AD he joined the Catholic Church with a group from his church. It should be remembered that this group comprised members of the Syrian Church who had already embraced the Nestorian ideas. Pope Ojanius IV declared: "It is henceforth forbidden to treat those Syrians who had left Nestorianism and joined the Roman Church as heretics, but they have to be distinguished with the particular name of Chaldeans."56 Five years later in 1450 AD, they returned to their Church. But disputes soon arose in that church when Patriarch Shemoun's Synod passed a resolution to the effect that no patriarch should be installed from outside his own tribe. When this decision was taken by Shemoun's Synod, a rebel synod which opposed Shemoun was convened in Mosul. A great number left Shemoun and joined the Roman See in 1553. Accordingly, Pope Julius III consecrated for them Patriarch Yuhanna Sulaqa. This split did not last long since Patriarch Yuhanna Sulaqa was killed in 1555 AD and the relation with the Roman See was severed.

Until 1827, there were two patriarchs for the Chaldeans, one of whom was called Patriarch of Amed, and the other, Patriarch of Babylon. In that same year, the distinction between the two Patriarchates of Amed and Babylon was abolished by Pope Leo XII. As of 1830, that is from the time of Patriarch Yuhanna Hermezd, there was only one patriarch who was called the Patriarch of Babylon. Yuhanna Hermezd was the first patriarch of the united Patriarchate of Bayblon. In the middle of the 19th century, Patriarch Yousef Odo57 who, unlike his predecessors, was known to have liked the Oriental Church and its ancient traditions, was installed as the Patriarch of Babylon.

Turning back to the See of Antioch, we shall see that since the time of Maximos (449 A D. - 512 AD) it was usurped by patriarchs who had followed the formulation of the Council of Chalcedon and by others rocking from one side to the other. During this critical period, the famous Patriarch Peter II the Fuller was installed to the Holy See of Antioch.

In 512 A D. Mor Severius was enthroned as the Patriarch of Antioch succeeding Philibianos who was deposed because of his unsteadiness of faith. Mor Severius ruled the holy see in peace until 518 when he was sent into exile. When the Orthodox Emperor Anastas died, he was succeeded by Justinos I who was a supporter of the Council of Chalcedon.
He sent into exile most of the orthodox bishops including Patriarch Mor Severios who died in the year 538 while in exile in Egypt. Mor Serjis succeeded Mor Severios to the Holy Throne of Antioch. Through all these great storms, the See of Antioch struggled hard to keep the succession of its patriarchs to this day.

The followers of the Council of Chalcedon seized the opportunity of the exile of Mor Severious to install from among themselves patriarchs with the title of "Patriarch of Antioch". From this time (518 AD) the series of Byzantine Patriarchs started. The most famous of these patriarchs was Ephrem of Amed. Most of those Byzantine Patriarchs were Syrians and others from Greek colonies. Those patriarchs and their followers were called "Melkites", i.e., 'followers of the king.' They were called so since they followed the doctrine of the Council of Chalcedon which was upheld by the then king. They used the Syrian rites until the 10th century when they changed to the Greek rites. But, because of their ignorance of Greek, they used the Syriac translation of the Greek rites. In later centuries, after they learned Greek, they started to use the Greek rites both in Greek and Arabic. They collected the Syriac codices, which were preserved in the library of St. Mary's Monastery (a Syrian Monastery which the Greeks later occupied), in the village of Saidnaya, near Damascus and burned them.58

At the beginning of the 7th century, a dispute arose among the followers of the Council of Chalcedon within the jurisdiction of the See of Antioch, because of the emergence of a new dogma of two wills in Jesus Christ. It resulted in a division among the Maronite monks in Lebanon leading to the establishment of a separate Patriarchate. In the 12th century, they joined the Roman See59 and started calling their Patriarchate the "Patriarchate of Antioch".60
There were further new Patriarchates of Antioch splintered from the original Patriarchate of Antioch. At the beginning of the 17th century, through the influence of some Capuchin monks, and with the assistance of the French Consul, a group in Aleppo, Syria, left the Holy See of Antioch. They approached a Maronite bishop in 1657 to consecrate for them an Armenian priest by the name Andraos Akhijian of Mardin as bishop whom they called patriarch. The Syrian Catholic Patriarchate61 started with him. They also called their patriarch "Patriarch of Antioch".
At the beginning of the 18th century, a split took place among the Greek Orthodox, which led some to abandon their Patriarchate and follow the Roman See. They established for themselves a separate Patriarchate which they called 'Patriarchate of Antioch'. They are known as Greek Catholics.

In the last quarter of the 18th century, a group of Syrian Orthodox in Iraq was compelled to join the Roman See, through the connivance of the French Consul, who advised the Ottoman ruler to impose heavy taxes on the Syrian Orthodox people. The Consul encouraged the Dominican missionaries who had already spread roots in Iraq to persuade the simple-minded Syrian Orthodox people to ask for French protection in order to reduce the burden of taxes. But when they approached the French officials for help, they were told that unless they followed the Pope of Rome, no help would be provided. This is how Catholicism spread in Iraq. The first group to embrace it were the inhabitants of Karakoush in 1761 AD. Later, in the middle of the 19th century, other groups from Bartelleh and Mosul62 followed suit.

Mor Ya`qub Burd`ono

As a result of the oppression of the leaders of the Syrian Orthodox Church by the Byzantine Emperors, many holy fathers were martyred, some were exiled, others severely persecuted and the rest scattered. At one stage in 544 AD, there were just three living bishops left in the Syrian Orthodox Church as a result of all the hardships and chaos.

At this critical stage, God raised up an indefatigable man called Ya`qub Burd`ono to defend the church. He went to Constantinople and was respectfully received by Queen Theodora, the daughter of a Syrian priest in Manbej, Syria, and the wife of Emperor Justinian. She served the exiled bishops and supported them in their sufferings. She used her influence to get Mor Ya`qub consecrated general bishop in 544 A D. by Mor Theodosius, Patriarch of Alexandria, who was then in exile in Constantinople. Mor Theodosius was assisted by three bishops who were also under imprisonment. After his consecration, Mor Ya`qub traveled far and wide vigorously organizing the affairs of the church. He consecrated twenty-seven bishops and hundreds of priests and deacons. By the time of his death on July 30, 578 AD, Mor Ya`qub had strengthened the church to survive upcoming disasters. Every year on July 30, the church respectfully and gratefully celebrates his memorial feast.63

Thus, the Syrian Orthodox Church withstood the heavy blows of Byzantine persecution and maintained the apostolic faith, affirmed by the three ecumenical councils. The Holy See of Antioch remained united with the See of Alexandria, and they continue in communion with the Armenian Orthodox Church and the Ethiopian Church sharing the same faith and doctrine.
In the 8th century, the Byzantines, in their seventh council described the Syrian Orthodox Church as the 'Jacobite Church', after Mor Ya`qub Burd`ono. Their intention was to disgrace and degrade the noble Syrian Orthodox Church. Though Mor Ya`qub is indeed one of its famous and great fathers, he is not its founder. Since the Syrian Orthodox Church was not established by him, and since he did not introduce any fresh doctrine into its apostolic faith, we repudiate the title 'Jacobite.'64 The Syrian Orthodox Church also denies the designation 'Monophysite' which is Euthychean and which means that the human nature in Jesus Christ was mingled with the divine nature and thus became a mixture and its attributes confused. Eutyches and his teachings were rejected by the Syrian Orthodox Church which follows the footsteps of St. Cyril of Alexandria who believed that Jesus Christ was perfectly human and at the same time perfectly divine, and has only one nature from two united natures without any mixture, confusion or transformation.65

The Syrian Orthodox Church Today

The number of followers of the Syrian Orthodox Church today is around three million. The majority of them reside in India and the rest are spread mainly in Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan, Turkey, Egypt, Europe, North and South America and Australia. Its supreme head at present is Mor Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, Patriarch of Antioch and all the East, the 122nd successor of St. Peter in the legitimate line of Patriarchs of Antioch. The supreme head is looked upon as the common father of all Syrian Orthodox people wherever they are. He is obeyed by the Catholicos, prelates, clergy and laity of all ranks in the Syrian Orthodox Church.

The name of the patriarch is to be mentioned before that of the Catholicos in India and of the bishops in their respective dioceses during the eucharistic services, at the end of the daily prayers, on religious festivals, and during other spiritual ceremonies such as ordinations, consecrations, etc. His title is 'His Holiness Moran Mor Ignatius, Patriarch of Antioch and All the East and the Supreme Head of the Universal Syrian Orthodox Church'. His religious duties include the installation of the Catholicos, the consecration of the legally elected bishops and the consecration of chrism with the assistance of at least two bishops. He also has the authority to convene universal synods and other synods over which he presides. He cannot be deposed unless he introduces heresy in the orthodox faith of the church as established in the three Ecumenical Councils of Nicea, Constantinople and Ephesus and the teachings of the holy fathers, deviates from the canonical laws, suffers from mental disorder or is found guilty of a serious misconduct.

The patriarch is accountable to the holy synod, consisting of all the bishops of the Apostolic See of Antioch, which is considered to be the supreme authority in the church. The synod is vested with the authority for the election and installation of patriarchs, the approval of the election of bishops, the examination and trial of bishops in case of their deviation from the doctrine and canonical laws, their transfer from one bishopric to another, the acceptance or rejection of their resignation and their deposition, if at all necessary. The synod also has the authority for the creation of a new diocese or the abolition of an existing one. The meeting of the synod is considered legal if it is attended by at least two-thirds of its members. Synodal decisions, taken by majority, become effective upon their approval by the patriarch.66

[As of the time this document was authored (1983), the] Syrian Orthodox Church today consists of twenty-seven dioceses, ten of which are in India, and the rest are spread in different parts Of the world. Each diocese has a bishop who administers its spiritual affairs, ordains its priests, monks and deacons, consecrates altars, churches and the holy oil for baptism and codifies bylaws for its welfare. Each diocese has an ecclesiastical board and a laymen's board to help its bishop in its administration.

All the dioceses maintain the orthodox faith of the church and keep its ancient apostolic traditions. The church rites are performed in Syriac along with the local language. In the past, the church had hundreds of monasteries, a few of which still flourish. The most famous ones are in the Middle East:

- St. Matthew's Monastery near Mosul, Iraq
- St. Gabriel Monastery in Tur Abdin, Turkey; both of these monasteries date back to 4th century.
- St. Hananya Monastery, known as Deir Al-Zaafaran, near Mardin, Turkey, established in the 8th century.
In each of the last two monasteries, there is an elementary theological school.
- St. Mark's Monastery in Jerusalem, which deserves the pride of Christianity, because it includes the upper room, where Jesus Christ took the Last Supper with his disciples. This historic fact has been confirmed by the inscription discovered in 1940 under the plastering of the church in the monastery. The inscription is in Syriac and it dates back to the 6th century. It reads as follows: "This is the house of Mary, Mother of John, Called Mark." The church has two theological seminaries, one in the mountains of Lebanon [in Damascus since 1996] and the other in India, where the clergy are trained.
-
The Syrian Orthodox Church is progressing and growing actively. In the opinion of a Greek Orthodox historian: The Syrians are active, hard workers and economical, that is why you can hardly find a beggar among them. In spite of all the great crises that they endured, they are still maintaining their economical standard, because of their love to work steadily, and their remoteness from imitating the foreigners in spending extravagantly.67 Another researcher from the Episcopalian Church said in the last century the following about the Syrian Orthodox Church: "It is within the possibilities of Gods providence that they might yet take new root downwards and bear fruit upwards, if the people who still cling passionately to their ancient faith, were once freed from the domination of foreign religion and power, under which they have so long and so cruelly been oppressed. As it is, in all their present feebleness, they are the representatives of the ancient church, which once flourished in these eastern and southern lands."68

The Syrian Church is a member of the World Council of Churches which she joined in the year 1960, through the efforts of the late Patriarch Mor Ignatius Jacob III of blessed memory. It is represented today [as of date of publication in 1983] by Archbishop Mor Gregorios Youhanna Ibrahim of Aleppo in its Central Committee. It is also a member in the Council of Local Churches and collaborates with the other Christian Churches, and takes part in the ecumenical and theological dialogues at official and non-official levels.

Conclusion

This book provides a panoramic view of the Church of Antioch, the true Church of the Orient, commonly known as the Syrian Orthodox Church, whose faith, liturgy and tradition are distinctively Oriental and are at the same time a witness to the undivided early church.
This church battered by the events of history and torn by schisms, is still the custodian of a great heritage. I am hopeful that through prayer and dialogue, its scattered parts can be brought together again and its wounds healed. The communion of faith could be restored among its different sections, and excommunications and curses could be wiped out. Grace will then abound, leading to the unity that was at the dawn of Christianity and the Gospel imperative "that all may be one" will be fulfilled.

References

The Holy Bible: New Testament.
Dr. George Post: Dictionary of the Holy Bible, 2nd ed., Beirut 1971.
Constitution of the Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch Manuscript-Amended by the Synod of Damascus 1979.
Hidayat wa Quanin Al-Majame': A Syriac Manuscript
Eusebius of Caesarea: History of the Church.
Gregorios Yohanna Bar Habraeus: Summary of Nations, Beirut 1958.
Breasted: Earlier Ages.
Adai Ashir: History of Kaldo & Athur, Beirut 1913.
Lemon the French: Moukhtassar Twarikh Al-Kanisa:translated by Bishop Youssef Daoud, Mosul 1873.
Cardinal Eugene Tisserand: Khoulassa Tarikhyia LilkanisaAl-Kaldania; Translated by Bishop Suleiman Sayegh, Mosul 1939.
Mari bn Suleiman: Akhbar Fatarikat Kursi Al-Mashreq, from the book Al-Maidal, Rome 18S9.
Rev. Butros Nassri: Dhakhirat Al-A&an fi Twarikh Al Mashariqa wal Maghariba Al-Suryian, Mosul 1905.
Bishop Gregorios Georges Shahin: Nahlon Wassim fi ar h Al-Umma Al-Suryiania Al-Qawim, Homs 1911.
Letus Al-Douairi: Mujaz Tarith Al-Massihia, Egypt 1949.
Chabot: Aramaic Languages & its Literature. Translated by Antoun Laurence, Jerusalem 1930.
Ali Wafi: Feqh Al-Lougha, 2nd ea., Cairo 1944.
Rev. Ishaq Armaleh: Al-Salasel Al-TariLhia, Beirut 1910.
Al Massih ssH d. Al'-gTurfa Al-Naqia mn Tarikh Al-Kanisa
Dr. Philip Hitti: History of Syria, Lebanon & Palestine.
Assad Restom: History of the City of Antioch, Beirut 1958.
crtieAsr&svrlelha, Dictionary of the Names of Lebanese
Je i Fa h De Fr: Al Al-Shargi Al C h Ke i Al-Rasouli Wal P bd h eLda filiman, tebanon 1971. he magmme Al
Patriarch Ephrem Barsoum: A - Al-Loulou' Al-Manthour fi Tarikh Al-Eloum wal AdabAl-Surylania, 3rd ea., Baghdad 1976. A HI Durlar Al-Nafisa fi Mukhtassar Tarikh Al K
Patriarch Yacoub III:  A IT9a5r3kh AI-Kanisa Al-Suryiania A1 ~ t k B Dahkat Al-Tib fi Tarikh Deir Mar Matta Al-Ajib, Zahle 1961. C Kanisat Antakyin Souryia, Damascus 1971. D Al-Kanisa Al-Suryiania Al-Antakyia Al- kthodoxia ta lecture), Damascus 1974. E Man Hua Batriark Antakyia Al-Shari, published inthe Magazine, Al-Mashreq of Mosul, Ist year. F Al-Mujahed Al-Rassouli Al-kbar- Mor Yacoub Bardaeus, Damascus 1978.
Patriarch Ephrem Rehmani: Al-Mabaheth Al-Jalia fi AlLiturjIat Al-SharqIa, Al-Sharfeh 1924.
Patriarch Zakka I Iwas: A Al-Merqat fi Hayat Ra i Al-Rouat, Homs 1958. B Al-Kanisa wa Mouqaoumat Al-Majma' I-Maskounifiha - Damascus Patriarchal Magazine, 10th year, No. 96, 1972. C Qeboul ~I-Majame'-Damascus Patriarchal Magazine,11 th year, No. 108. D Akidat Al-Tajsed Al-Dahi fi Al-Kanisa Al-Suryiania Al-Orthodoxia, 2nd ed., Aleppo 1980.
Bishop Youhanna Dolabani: Al-Mithal Al-Rabani. Buenos Aires 1942.
Archdeacon Ne'matallah Denno: Iqamat Al-Dalil ala Istemrar rl-Esm Al-Assil, Mosul 1949.
Introduction by the Translator
The Syrian Orthodox Church is the oldest known church, after the Church of Jerusalem. Syriac is its official language, which had been the dominant language in all the East for a long period of time. Jesus spoke it, since it was the main prevailing language at that time. The domain of the church extended over all of Syria, Palestine, Celicia, Mesopotamia and Persia. Because of its influence in this whole area, its trace is still obvious in the Syriac names of several places and villages to this day.
In the face of the difficulties, intrigues, persecution and divisions it encountered during its long history, the Syrian Orthodox Church still persists in all the world. There are about three million Syrian Orthodox people, about half of them in India, and the rest spread all over the world.
Today this church is fortunate to be headed by a spiritual leader, His Holiness Mar Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, the Syrian Orthodox Patriarch of Antioch and All the East and the Supreme Head of the Universal Syrian Orthodox Church. An authority on church history and other religious matters. His Holiness was born in Mosul, Iraq on April 21, 1933. He completed his elementary education in the community schools and continued at St. Ephrem Theological Seminary of Mosul. He graduated in 1954, with honors, and obtained the diploma from the seminary in theology, philosophy, history, canon law, and in Arabic. Syriac and English. In June 1951, he was ordained a monk. In 1955 he became the secretary to the late Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum, and then to his successor, the late Patriarch Yacoub III, who consecrated him as a priest on November 17, 1957, and awarded him the Holy Cross, in appreciation of his invaluable services. He accompanied the late Patriarch Yacoub in his pastoral visits to Damascus, Lebanon, Egypt, North an
Many books have been written on the Syrian Orthodox Church, but none is as complete and precise as this book. Needless to say, nobody is more competent and well versed to write on this subject than His Holiness, Mar Ignatius Zakka I.
In one of my frequent visits to His Holiness, after he assumed the apostolic see of St. Peter, he asked me if I would be willing to translate this book from Arabic into English. I accepted this difficult task gratefully, as it displayed His Holiness' confidence in me.
Several factors motivated me to accept this job:
The faith in God implanted in me by my parents since my childhood. In gratitude, I dedicate this translation to their memory.
My duty towards the church which I like to serve. And, this field is where I can serve best.
To answer the versatile questions that my American colleagues in the Foreign Service, and other foreign friends ask me about the Syrian Orthodox Church.
For the above reasons and many others, I chose to translate this book. I believe that this translation is one of the very few to be done in this part of the world. Most of the translation of books from Arabic is usually done in Europe and in the United States of America where due to language structure difficulties, the original idea of the book is often lost in the course of translation. Either because of misunderstanding the true intent of the author, or/and because of word by word translation, rather than a literal translation of ideas, the result is a dull piece of literature. One advantage that worked in my favor, was that I was close to the author who was always more than willing to receive me and discuss certain technical and ecclesiastical expressions, in order to maintain the original idea of the book; and, his door and heart were open at all times to assist me with my job.
Emmanuel
Note. This version is a slightly edited version from Bismarji's original translation. Typographical errors were corrected and slight editorial revisions were made referring to the Arabic original.

Footnotes:

1 Dr. Assad Restom, History of the City of Antioch (Beirut 1958). Volume 1, p. 14, from the British Encyclopedia, 9th ea., Vol. 2, p. 130.
2 Selucas I Nicatur built the city of Antioch on the Orontes River in Syria in 311 BC, after the division of the Kingdom of Alexander the Great. He called it Antioch after his father, Antiochus. It was the capital of Seleucids until the Roman conquer in 64 BC The Syrians liked it and adopted the first month and the first year of its foundation October 311 BC), as a general date in their religious and civil records. They shifted to the AD. date only at the beginning of this century.
3 It is believed that Peter the Apostle was in Antioch in 34 AD-the year he established the Apostolic See of Antioch. The Ascension of Jesus was in the year 30 AD, Paul converted a year later. He came to Jerusalem three years after his conversion, that is in the year 34 AD., but he did not find any disciples, except James, our Lord's brother. According to the church's liturgy, Peter was then in Antioch, where he stayed for seven consecutive years, until 41 AD. Some scholars believe that the birth of Christ took place four years earlier than the date assumed today. See Patriarch Ignatius Yacoub III, Kanisat Antakyia Souryia, Damascus 1971, pp. 3-6.
4 Dr. Assad Restom, History of the City of Antioch (Beirut 1958). The incident of Cornelius is detailed in Chapters 10&11 in the Book of Acts, in the New Testament.
5 The Apostle Paul said to Peter "If thou, being a Jew, livest after the manner of Gentiles, and not as do the Jews, why compellest thou the Gentiles to live as do the Jews ?" Galatians 2: 14. See also Lestus Doueiri, Mujaz Tarikh al -Massihieh ( Egypt 1949 ), p. 55
6 Book of Acts 11: 26.
7 Eusebius of Caesarea, Church History, 3: 22.
8 Patriarch Yacoub III, Kanisat Antakyia Souryia (Damascus 1971).
9 Letter to the Galatians 2: 14 and 3: 28
10 Dr. George Post, Dictionary of the Holy Bible. Beirut 1913), Look under Aram; Adai Ashir, History of Kaldo & Athur ( Beirut 1973 ),Vol. 1, p. 16; Breasted. Earlier Ages, Chapter 211, p. 109; Gregorios Youhanna Bar Hebraeus, Summary of Nations (Beirut 1962).
11 The Greeks called these lands Mesopotamia, that is between two rivers. It was comprised of the upper part of Tigris and the convergence of Tigris and the Euphrates, near the mouth of the river. Aram of Damascus included inner Syria, Palestine and Lebanon. The word Aram means the elevated land.
12 Al-Arabi - Arabic Literary Magazine published in Kuwait, No. 81 (1965).
13 Dr. Philip Hitti, History of Syria, Lebanon and Palestine; The First Book of Ezra 4: 6 & 7.
14 Dr. Ali Wafi Feqh Al-Lougha ( Cairo 1944 ), p. 120; Chabot.,Aramaic Languages. p. 9; Kaldo & Athur, 1 :16.
15 It is the language known as Palestinian Syriac and sometimes called Hebrew. Eusebius of Caesarea (263 - 339 AD) in his book 'Al-Dhhour Al-llahi, describes the disciples before being inspired by the Holy Ghost as ".. people from Galilee, knowing nothing except the Syriac language." ( The Syriac manuscript No. 12150 is at the British Museum; it was written in 411 AD and published by Rev. Paul Bedjan in Paris in 1905. ) Although the Holy Bible was translated to several languages, it kept several expressions in their Syriac forms, e.g. (Abba meaning father ( Gal. 4: 6 ); (Talitha Cumi) meaning Damsel, I say unto thee, arise (Matthew 9: 23 & Mark 5: 41 ) and (Tabitha Cumi) meaning you dear arise ( Acts 9:40 ; See also Matthew 27: 46; John 20: 16 and Acts 1: 19. Parts of the Book of Daniel, Ezra and Nehemiah and all of the gospel of Matthew and the Epistle to the Hebrews were written in Syriac. The Holy Bible was entirely translated into Syriac towards the end of the first century after Christ.
16 Dr. George Post, Dictionary of the Holy Bible, I 58.
17 Dr. Anis Freha, Dictionary of the Names of Lebanese Cities and Villages (Beirut 1972).
18 Patriarch Ephrem Rehmani, Al-Mabaheth Al-Jalia fi Al-Liturjia Al-Sharqia ( Deir Al-Sharfeh 1924 ), p. 23; Dr. Assad Restom, History of the City of Antioch.
19 Al-Mabaheth Al-Jalia, p. 151.
20 Kanisat Antakyia Souryia, pp. 3 & 8.
Al-Durar Al-Nafisa fi Makhtassar Tarikh Al-Kanisa, Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum (Homs 1940), p. 143.
21 Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum, Al-Lou lou Al-Manthour (Baghdad 1976).
22 Patriarch Yacoub 111, Al-Kanisa Al-Suryiania Al-Antakyia Al-Arthodoxia (Damascus 1974) pp. 10-15.
23 Patriarch Yacoub 111, Tarikh Al-Kanisa Al-Suryiania Al-Antakyia (Beirut 1953), Vol. 1, pp. 117-119.
24 A lecture by Patriarch Zakka I Iwas at Vienna, Austria on 4/5/1972. Its Arabic translation was published in the Damascus Patriarchal Magazine No. 97, 10th year, Sept. 1972.
25 Eusebius of Caesarea, Church History.
26 Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum, Al-Durar Al-Nafisa (Homs
27 Eusebius of Caesarea, Church History.
28 Jerome, Latin Church Father of the 4th century.
29 Patriarch Yacoub III, Man Hua Al-Batriark Al-Shar'i i,published in the magazine Al-Mashreq of Mosul, 1st year, p. 836,quoted from the Roman Calendar (Rome 1852).
30 A lecture given by Patriarch Zakka I in Vienna, Austria on May 5, 1972. Its Arabic translation was published in the Damascus Patriarchal Magazine No. 97, 10th year, Sept. 1972.
31 Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum, Al-Durar Al-Nafisa, Vol. 1, p. 398.
32 The Lebanese Synod, p. 311; Patriarch Douehi, Maronite Patriarch, Manaret Al-Aqdas, 1:22.
33 Jesuit Father De Friz, Al-Kersi Al-Rasouli Wal Batriarkia Al-Sharqia Al-Catholikyia, published in the magazine Al-Wehda Biliman in Lebanon, 1971.
34 Same pp. 7, 9 & 10.
35 Autonomous: self directing freedom, esp. moral independence.
36 Autocephalous: being independent of external and especially patriarchal authority - used esp. of Eastern Orthodox national churches.
37 Ecumenical: worldwide or general in extent, influence or application. Representing the whole of a body of churches.
38 Lecture by the author in Vienna, Austria on May 5, 1972.
39 Lecture by the author in Vienna on 6-9-1973.
40 Chalcedon, a district within Constantinople (Istanbul).
41 Bishop Gregorios Georges Shahin," Nahjon Wassim (Homs 1911), Vol. 1, p. 14; Patriarch Rehmani, A-Mabaheth Al-Jalia, pp. 23, 24 & 28.
42 Lemon the French, Moukhtassar Twarikh Al-Kanasi;translated by Rev. Youssef Daoud (Mosul 1873), p. 178.
43 Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum Al-Durar Al-Nafisa. p. 143.
44 Rev. Butros Nassri, Dhakhirat Al-Adhan fi Twarikh Al-Mashriqa wal Maghriba Al-Suryian Mosul 1905), p. 73
45 The Gospel of Matthew 2:2.
46 The Book of Acts 2:9.
47 Mari bn Suleiman, Akhbar Fatarikat Kursi Al-Mashreq, fromthe book Al-Ma dal (Rome 1899), 1. 1; - Patriarch Ephrem I Barsoum, Al-Durar Al-Nafisa, Vol. 1, pp.76&77; Eugene Tisserand, Khoulassa Tarikyia Lilkanisah Al-Kaldania; translated by Bishop Suleiman Sayegh (Mosul 1939), p. 76.
48 Al-Durar Al-Nafisa, p. 586; Nahjon Aassim, p. 12.
49 Catholicos: general father; Maphrian: a Syriac word meaning fruitful.
50 Patriarch Ignatius Yacoub III, Dafacat Al-Tib fi Tarikh Deir Mar Matta Al-Ajib (Zahle 1961), p. 51.
51 Same pp. 42 & 43.
52 Al-Lou Lou Al-Manthour, p. 16.
53 Dafakat Al-Tib. p. 34, quote from Al-Tarikh Al-Kanassi, by Bar Hebraeus, Vol. 2, pp. 87 & 99; Tarikh Mar Mikhail Al-Kabir, p. 35
54 Dafakat Al-Tib. p. 35; Al-Lou lou Al-Manthour, p. 26.
55 Damascus Patriarchal Magazine, 3rd year, 1964, No. 21; pp. 6&7; Patriarch Zakka I Iwas, Merkat fi Hayat Ra'i i Al-Rouat (Homs 1958), p. 344.
56 Rev. Ishaq Armaleh, Al-Salasel Al-Tarikhia (Beirut1910), p. 135.
57 Cardinal Tisserand, Khoulassa Tarikhyia Lilkanissa Al-Kaldania, p. 107. From a bull issued by Pope Ojanius IV; Nahjon Wassim, p. 57.
58 Nahjon Wassim, Vol. 1, pp. 72 & 73.
59 Same, Vol. 1, p. 8.
60 Rev. Issa Assa'd, Al-Turfa Al-Naqia mn Tarikh AlKanisa Al-Massthia (Homs 1924), appendix p. 453.
61 Nahjon Wassim, Vol. 1, pp. 41 & 42; Al-Mashreq, magazine published in Mosul, 1st year, p.847.
62 The author, Al-Merqat, pp. 24 & 25.
63 Bishop Youhanna Dolabani, Al-Mithal Al-Rabani Buenos Aires 1942; Patriarch Yacoub III Al-Mujahed Al-Rassouli Damascus1978.
64 Archdeacon Ne'matallah Denno, Iqamat Al-Dalil alaIstemrar Al-Esm Al-Assil (Mosul 1949).
65 Patriarch Zakka I Iwas, Akidat Al-Tajsed Al-Ilahi (Aleppo 1981).
66 The Constitution of the Syrian Orthodox Church issued by the Synod of Homs in 1959 and amended by the Synod of Damascus 1979.
67 Rev. Issa Ass ad, Al-Terfa Al-Naqia (Homs 1922), Appendix p. 424.
68 Rev. Edward L. Cults, Turning Points of General Church History (N.Y. 1890), p. 446.

Sacred Words, Anglo-Saxon Piety, and the Origins of the Epistola salvatoris in London, British Library, Royal 2.A.xx Christopher M. Cain

Thu, 17 Jun 2010 06:34:58 -0400

Towson University
London, British Library (BL), Royal 2.A.xx (Mercia) is a late eighth- or early ninth-century florilegium of Biblical passages, liturgical extracts, apocrypha, and prayers from Anglo-Saxon England. Among the contents of this eclectic book are texts as fundamental as the Pater Noster, the Nicene Creed, and the Magnificat, along with more obscure materials such as an "Oratio Sancti Hygbaldi" and various hymns.1 The manuscript also preserves a version of a text of immense popularity in the Middle Ages, the apocryphal letter of Jesus to Abgar, King of Edessa. The letter purports to be the authentic written words of Jesus, as the incipit of the Royal manuscript version states (fol. 12a): "Incipit epistola salvatoris domini nostri iesu xpisti ad abgarum regem quam dominus manu scripsit et dixit." BL Royal 2.A.xx belongs to a well-studied complex of manuscripts scholarship generally refers to as the "Tiberius" group-all late eighth- or early ninth-century manuscripts of Mercian provenance or manuscripts that exhibit Mercian influence,2 but only the Royal manuscript contains [End Page 168] the apocryphal letter of Jesus to Abgar. Including the Royal manuscript, three other closely related manuscripts of the group-BL Harley 7653, BL Harley 2965 (Book of Nunnaminster), and Cambridge, University Library, Ll.1. 10 (Book of Cerne)-are believed to have been private prayerbooks.3 This study examines the positioning of this well-known apocryphal text within the context of private devotional practices in early medieval Europe (by virtue of its inclusion in a book designed for private rather than public [i.e., liturgical] use) and theorizes the possible origins of the Royal version in Anglo-Saxon England. The first part of this paper briefly sketches the early Christian backgrounds of the Abgar legend, its perpetuation in late antiquity, and its transmission to early medieval Europe. The second, accordingly, turns to knowledge of the legend in Anglo-Saxon England and the earliest extant version of the letter in England, that which is preserved in the Royal manuscript.
I. Backgrounds and Early History
The story of Abgar comes from the Middle East. It is the source of what might be considered something of a quasi-relic cult in the Middle Ages, inasmuch as the collection and veneration of a material object are associated with the legend. But unlike the veneration of corporeal relics of the saints, for example, objects associated with Jesus' ministry on Earth were mostly non-corporeal, of course, since belief in his physical resurrection precluded the existence of such objects.4 Thus, Jesus' letter to Abgar properly belongs to the cultic veneration of fragments of the True Cross, of the vera icon, of the Mandylion, and later, of the Shroud of Turin.5 The core of the legend's [End Page 169] tradition concerns the epistolary exchange between Jesus and King Abgar V (reigned 4 BCE-7 CE and 13-50 CE) of the ancient city of Edessa, some 450 kilometers north of Damascus.6 The narrative also includes the material texts of two letters: the letter of Abgar to Jesus, in which the king urges Jesus to visit him in Edessa so that he may be healed of a debilitating illness, and Jesus' response to Abgar, in which he declines the king's entreaty-citing the constraints imposed by his mission-but assures him that one of his disciples will make the journey in his place. The origin of the legend is obscure, although Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea and the "father of Church history" (ca. 260-340), describes in his Historia ecclesiastica that "written evidence" ( μαρτυρίαν, 1.13) from the archives in Edessa preserves the correspondence in Syriac, which he then translates in full into Greek.7 The letters were first copied throughout the Afro-Asiatic region, with reproductions surviving not just on parchment but also inscribed on stone and on metal, and the text seems to have had amuletic uses, a fact that is critical to the Royal version of the letter under discussion here.8 The legend [End Page 170] found the widest audience in the west through Rufinus' Latin translation of Eusebius' Historia (ca. 420). Although Rufinus' work is a relatively free translation of Eusebius, rendering ten books in nine, the Latin versions of both letters are entirely faithful to Eusebius' record of them. As found in Rufinus, Abgar's letter to Jesus follows:
EXEMPLAR EPISTULAE SCRIPTAE A REGE ABGARO VEL TOPARCHA AD IESUM ET MISSAE HIERUSOLYMA PER ANANIAM CURSOREM. Abgarus Uchamae filius toparcha iesu salvatori bono, qui apparuit in locis Hierusolymorum salutem. Auditum mihi est de te et de sanitatibus, quas facis, quod sine medicamentis aut herbis fiant ista per te, et quod verbo tantum facis caecos videre, claudos ambulare et leprosos mundas et inmundos spiritus ac daemonas eicis et eos qui longis aegritudinibus afflicantur, curas et sanas, mortuos quoque suscitas. Quibus omnibus auditis de te statui in animo meo unum esse e duobus, aut quia tu sis deus et descenderis de caelo, ut haec facias, aut quod filius dei sis, qui haec facis. Propterea ergo scribens rogaverim te, ut digneris usque ad me fatigari et aegritudinem meam, qua iam diu laboro, curare. Nam et illud conperi, quod Iudaei murmurant adversum te et volunt tibi insidiari. Est autem civitas mihi parva quidem, sed honesta, quae sufficiat utrisque.
(A COPY OF A WRITTEN LETTER BY ABGAR, THE TOPARCH, TO JESUS AND SENT TO JERUSALEM BY ANANIAS THE COURIER. Abgar, son of Uchama, the Toparch, sends greetings to Jesus the good savior who has appeared in the area of Jerusalem. I have been told about you and about the cures which you perform, that they are done by you without medicines or herbs, and that by word alone you make the blind see, the crippled walk, lepers clean, and you cast out impure spirits and demons, and that you attend to and heal those afflicted with protracted illnesses, and that you also raise the dead. Having heard all of that about you, I have decided one of two things to be true: either you do these things because you are God descended from heaven, or you are the Son of God who does these things. Therefore, I have written to ask that you take the trouble to come to me to heal my sickness, from which I've suffered for a long time now. For I have also learned that the Jews whisper against you and wish to plot against you. However, my city is indeed small, but virtuous, and sufficient for us both.)
And Jesus' reply accompanies Abgar's letter:
EXEMPLUM RESCRIPTI AB IESU PER ANANIAM CURSOREM AD ABGARUM TOPARCHAM. Beatus es, qui credidisti in me, cum me ipse non videris. Scriptum est enim de me, quia ii qui me vident, non credent in me, et qui non vident ipsi, credent et vivent. De eo autem, quod scripsisti mihi, ut veniam ad te, oportet me omnia, propter quae missus sum, hic explere et posteaquam complevero, recipi me ad eum, a quo missus sum. Cum ergo fuero adsumptus, mittam tibi aliquem ex discipulis meis, ut curet aegritudinem tuam et vitam tibi atque his qui tecum sunt praestet. [End Page 171]
(A COPY OF THE REPLY FROM JESUS TO ABGAR THE TOPARCH SENT BY THE COURIER ANANIAS. Blessed are you who have believed in me when you have not seen me. For it is written about me that they who see me will not believe in me, and they who do not themselves see me will believe and live. However, concerning that which you have written to me-that I come to you-it is necessary for me to fulfill here all those things for which I was sent, and after I am finished I will return to him who sent me. Therefore, when I have been taken up, I will send one of my disciples to you, so that he may heal your illness and give life to you and also to those who are with you.)9
Later, the so-called Decretum Pseudo-Gelasianum de libris recipiendis et non recipiendis identifies the Abgar and Jesus letters as inauthentic: "Epistula Iesu ad Abgarum apocrypha."10 The actual authorship of this long catalogue of prescribed and proscribed texts is unknown, but it seems to be no earlier than the sixth century. Nevertheless, the Decretum Pseudo-Gelasianum was regarded as genuine in the Middle Ages, and it survives in abundant copies.11
However, the occurrence of the legend in the west may actually be older than Rufinus' translation from Eusebius. As is well known, an Iberian nun, probably named Egeria, traveled throughout the Holy Land, and the Itinerarium (ca. 380) is the journal of her visits to various sacred sites.12 One of those sites is the city of Edessa, where she tours its religious monuments and where the bishop tells Egeria and her party about the city's most famous Christian artifacts, the correspondence of Jesus and Abgar, and leads them to the city's gate through which the courier Ananias was believed to have delivered Jesus' letter. The bishop offers copies of the letters as gifts to Egeria and her party, and she accepts these even though she states that she already possessed copies at home ("in patria exemplaria ipsarum haberem").13 She also reports that the copies provided by the bishop were more detailed than those she had come by earlier ("nam uere amplius est, quod hic accepi").14 Egeria's statements confirm that copies of the letter had already been widely disseminated by the second half of the fourth century, and her description of the copy provided by the bishop as amplius indicates that variant versions were available. This is a critical point to bear [End Page 172] in mind since it means that Rufinus' translation of Eusebius was not the only model for the correspondence as it existed in the Latin west.
Most scholars fix the date of the origin of the legend to the middle of the third century, and Egeria's narrative suggests that the letters were circulating throughout the Christian east and west from a very early date.15 We should also note that the legend was expanded in the local tradition through the so-called Doctrine of Addai (Thaddeus), an early fifth-century Syraic document that purports to be a history of the conversion of Edessa.16 In it, Jesus' reply to Abgar is not a letter but a verbal reply relayed by the king's messenger Annanias (or Annan), who also bears to the king a portrait of Jesus, which the Doctrine of Addai tells us that Annanias painted but which in later tradition becomes the famous Mandylion, the "Holy Face of Edessa," a miraculous image that was αχείροπόιητος, "not made by hands."17
II. Knowledge of the Legend in Early Anglo-Saxon England
The correspondence of Jesus and Abgar is one of the most ubiquitous texts of the apocryphal cycle in the Middle Ages. As Dobschütz notes, "[d]ie Verbreitung weist auf den regen Austausch zwischen den verschiedenen [End Page 173] Teilen der christlichen Kirche, Orient, Griechenland, und Abendland, hin."18 The text was copied throughout medieval Europe and persisted in Christian lore for centuries through its inclusion in important collections of exempla and hagiography like Jacobus de Voragine's Legenda Aurea. The life of the legend found purchase in the fertile ground of Anglo-Saxon England's rich culture of ecclesiastical reading, writing, and book-making. The earliest surviving reference to Abgar comes from Bede, who recalls the historical figure of the king of Edessa on four occasions in his Latin works, although he does not reproduce, nor does he even mention, the legendary correspondence of Jesus and Abgar.19 Bede, of course, knew very well Rufinus' translation of Eusebius' history,20 but we need not interpret Bede's omission of any mention of the letters as evidence of his rejection of their authenticity or even of his scrupulous adherence to presumed doctrinal canonicity, as per the Decretum Pseudo-Gelasianum.21 We need only [End Page 174] recognize that the legend was known in early Anglo-Saxon England and, perhaps, well enough that Bede's readership required no explanation of his description of Abgar as "vir sanctus." Whatever reservations about the legend that Bede may have had, Ælfric, whose eminence rests, in part, on his fastidious concern with sanctioned ways of thinking, appended the legend to the end of the story of the martyrdom of the Christian kings Abdon and Sennes in his collection of the lives of saints.22 He records Abgar's letter to Jesus in Old English, includes Jesus' reply in Latin with an accompanying Old English translation, and then proceeds to narrate the healing of Abgar and the conversion of Edessa by Thaddeus. We also find a copy of Jesus' letter to Abgar in BL Cotton Galba A.xiv, an eleventh-century book of private prayers and devotions from Winchester.23
But it is difficult to dismiss the possibility that Bede's silence suggests something of the tensions that might have surrounded the legend and the veneration of Jesus' letter to Abgar. Bede's lack of engagement with the substance of the legend could suggest that wide knowledge of the legend and the copying of Jesus' letter occasioned some friction. So while the surviving evidence of the legend in Anglo-Saxon England indicates that it was widely known, Bede gives us some indication that, perhaps, uneasiness about the legend obtained as well. It is possible that tensions surrounding the legend stem from periodic Church efforts to restrict the use and proliferation of textual amulets, a purpose for which copies of Jesus' reply to Abgar served throughout the Middle Ages. In Binding Words: Textual Amulets in the Middle Ages, Don C. Skemer states that the "Latin fathers viewed some types of textual amulets as survivals of pagan superstition, and church councils and law conflated amulet use with other deadly sins of idolatry. Ecclesiastical disapproval of textual amulets also found expression in cautionary sermons and moralistic tales aimed at discouraging forbidden textual elements and commerce in sacred power."24 [End Page 175] To many, belief in the efficacy of the sacred words of textual amulets must have seemed to be of a piece with belief in the efficacy of sacred words in the public sphere, such as the formulaic repetition of the words of the Mass and of specific prayers-to say nothing of the paradigmatic status accorded to the Bible as the verbum Domini-and so the collection of amuletic texts and the use of them in forms of private devotion is unsurprising. Ecclesiastical proscriptions against amuletic texts generally identified the use of amulets as a form of divination representative of pagan practices and, therefore, heterodox.25 If Bede's silence on the legend and on Jesus' letter is a deliberate omission, then it may be due more to the Church's position on written texts used by individuals to effect temporal results, long a use of the letter, than to misgivings about the letter's authenticity, for the manuscript version of the letter to which we turn our attention now makes clear that the text was used as a form of protection.
III. The Letter in BL Royal 2.A.XX
The oldest direct textual witness to knowledge of the legend in Anglo-Saxon England occurs in BL Royal 2.A.xx, fols. 12a-13a. The compiler or copyists of the manuscript have omitted Abgar's letter to Jesus but included a longer version of Jesus' reply, which includes a significant addition that describes the apotropaic powers conferred on bearers of the letter:
Beatus es qui me non uidisti et credisti in me. Scriptum est enim de me quia hi qui uident me non credent in me, et qui me non vident ipsi in me credent et uiuent. De eo autem quod scripsisti mihi ut uenirem ad te oportet me omnia propter quae missus sum hic explere; et postea quam conpleuero recipe me ad eum a quo missus sum. Cum ergo fuero adsumtus mittam tibi aliquem ex discipulis meis ut curet egritudinem tuam et uitam tibi at his qui tecum sunt praestet et saluus eris sicut scriptum qui credit in me saluus erit. Siue in domu tua siue in ciuitate tua siue in omni loco nemo inimicorum tuorum dominabitur et insidias diabuli ne timeas et carmina inimicorum [End Page 176] tuorum distruuntur. Et omnes inimici tui expellentur a te siue a grandine siue tonitrua non noceberis et ab omni periculo liberaueris, siue in mare siue in terra siue in die siue in nocte siue in locis obscures. Si quis hanc epistolam secum habuerit secures ambulet in pace. Amen.
Despite some minor syntactic differences, the text in BL Royal 2.A.xx closely follows the text of the letter from Rufinus.26 However, the source of the addition (from "et saluus eris sicut") in the manuscript is obscure:
. . . and you will be saved; as it is written, whoever believes in me will be saved, whether in your home or in your city or in any place, none of your enemies will have dominion, and you need not fear the treacheries of the devil and the curses of your enemies will be broken, and all your enemies will be driven away from you. Whether in hail or thunder, you will not be injured, and you will be free from all dangers, whether on sea or on land, whether in day or in night, or in strange places, whoever has this letter with him will go about safely in peace. Amen.
The addition adjoins the traditional transcription from Rufinus with a conjunction, and a full stop is not indicated, whereas elsewhere in the text, points clearly coincide with syntactic full stops, which possibly indicates that the intent is an interpolation of the content of Jesus' letter.27 The source of this addition is unknown, although it bears repeating here that belief in the protective efficacy (especially for travelers) of Christ's written words in the letter dates from quite early in the legend's history.28
Royal 2.A.xx makes immediately clear two points about the Abgar legend in early medieval Europe. First, Christ's letter, as a text unto itself, had become textually divorced from Rufinus by the time of the exemplar of the Royal manuscript but probably much earlier, as Egeria's narrative indicates. This self-evident fact is important to bear in mind in regard to sources: in other words, there is no reason to assume that the compiler of the Royal manuscript knew the version in Rufinus, since individual copies of the letter were in circulation, certainly in the east but probably, too, in [End Page 177] the west, before Rufinus' Latin translation.29 There is also the probability that knowledge of the legend and of the letter circulated orally, through preaching, teaching, and other means. Second, the addition in the Royal version of the letter represents a redaction in which the tradition of the protective powers of Christ's written words is confirmed in the letter itself. Declaring that Rufinus is the source of knowledge of the letter throughout the Latin West30 ignores not only the manuscript context of the Royal version but also the long tradition of the text's amuletic use throughout the early medieval period in which it was copied separately as a text independent of Rufinus. Although Rufinus' translation was undoubtedly one source of knowledge of the Abgar legend and of the letters in Anglo-Saxon England,31 it is probable that it was not the only source available to the Anglo-Saxons.
Since the Royal manuscript belongs to a group of manuscripts closely related to one another in similarities of codicology, paleography, and content, a logical starting place to theorize the origins of the Royal version is with the history of the "Tiberius" group. The Irish influence on the manuscripts of the Tiberius group is pronounced, and Brown ("Mercian Manuscripts?," p. 118) states that "the texts of the Tiberius-group prayerbooks . . . may . . . represent more contemporary links rather than merely fossilized remains of earlier contact experienced in Northumbria, as has often been suggested." The apocryphal tradition of the Abgar correspondence was well known in [End Page 178] Ireland. The early fifteenth-century Leabhar Breac (Dublin, Royal Irish Academy 23.P.16), for example, translates the narrative from Rufinus into Middle Irish, but, at an earlier date, elements of the legend may have formed part of an Irish liturgy.32 The Irish Liber Hymnorum (Trinity College, Dublin E.4.2) is a collection of canticles, hymns, and collects used in the Irish church. The manuscript dates to the eleventh century, although it preserves texts of varying date, and it contains a copy of Jesus' letter to Abgar (with a brief preface in Irish explaining its origins and Eusebius' record of it) followed by two collects:
Domine domine defende nos a malis et custodi nos in bonis ut simus filii tui hic et in futuro. amen.
Saluator omnium Christe respice in nos Ieus, et miserere nobis.
Euangelium domini nostri Iesu Christi liberet nos protegat nos custodiat nos defendat nos ab omni malo ab omni periculo ab omni langore ab omni dolore ab omni plaga ab omni inuidia ab omnibus insidiis diabuli et malorum hominum hic et in futuro. amen.33
(Lord, Lord, defend us from evils, and hold us in goodness, that we may be your sons, here and in the future. Amen.
Savior of all, Christ, look down upon us, Jesus, and have pity on us.
Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, deliver us, protect us, guard us, defend us, against every evil, against every danger, against every weakness, against every pain, against every wound, and against all ill-will, from all the treacheries of the devil and the evils of men here and in the future. Amen.)
Collects are always petitionary in nature, and the similarities between the Royal addition and the collects following Jesus' letter to Abgar in the Liber Hymnorum are striking, and as far as I have been able to discover no one has pointed them out. Both texts are concerned with protection from the treacheries of the devil (Royal: "insidias diabuli," LH: "ab omnibus insidiis diabuli"), from the danger of enemies (Royal: "inimicorum tuorum," LH: "ab omnibus . . . malorum hominum"), and from bodily harm (no doubt in connection to the miraculous healing of Abgar's affliction), whether it is fatigue and wounds (LH: "langore" and "plaga") or injuries inflicted by hail and thunder (Royal: "siue a grandine siue tonitrua non noceberis"). Combined with the Irish influence on the Tiberius manuscripts, there is the suggestion of a plausible conduit for transmission of the Royal version of the letter-namely, an Insular tradition of Jesus' letter as an invocation of the form of loricae, themselves familiar prayers of private devotion. [End Page 179] Another Tiberius manuscript, BL Harley 7653, may represent a slightly earlier development of the Tiberius group and, therefore, points to the kind of source from which the manuscripts of the group drew their contents. Brown ("Merican Manuscripts?," p. 153) states that "Harley 7653 contains an act of invocation of the lorican form and displays a 'medical' emphasis," and she further points out that the manuscript "implies that the written prayer, or prayerbook, form could itself act as an aid, stating that Si quis hanc scripturam secum habuerit non timebit a timore nocturno siue meridiano (fol. 2v)," although she does not connect this statement in the Harley manuscript to the very similar statement in the text of the addition to Jesus' letter to Abgar in the Royal manuscript, "Si quis hanc epistolam secum habuerit secures ambulet in pace" and the addition's promise of safe-keeping "siue in die siue in nocte siue in locis obscuris." Even though this unambiguous parallel does not provide us with a direct source, the Royal manuscript's relationship to the other manuscripts of the Tiberius group clarifies the addition to Jesus' letter in Royal, placing it within a context of a particular form of prayer within the larger designs of a devotional handbook.
However, there are two obstacles to persuasion-at least in my mind-that the Royal version of the letter derives from some now-lost Irish tradition of devotional use of Jesus' letter to Abgar. First, while it is true that the Irish Liber Hymnorum preserves texts of varying dates, some no doubt early, there is no particular reason to believe that the Irish Abgar materials are older than the late-eighth, early-ninth century date of the Royal manuscript. A reflexive assumption of Irish influence on the Anglo-Latin book in question is-at least in terms of the relative dates of the Abgar texts-anachronistic. Second, the Irish Abgar materials point to their public use, not the private devotion that is the clear purpose of Royal and the other manuscripts of the Tiberius group. The context of Jesus' letter to Abgar and the following collects in the Liber Hymnorum is self-evidently liturgical. Furthermore, the ninth-century Basel Psalter prescribes the letter as a lection in the monastic office found there, although the letter is not reproduced in the manuscript.34 In short, the chronology and uses of the Abgar legend in surviving Irish versions leave room for further speculation about how (and in what forms) the Abgar legend reached Anglo-Saxon England.
Looking to the east rather than to the west, we can discern another plausible route of transmission of the legend to Anglo-Saxon England: [End Page 180] the person of Archbishop Theodore. Almost all of what we know about Theodore (602-90) is derived from Bede's account of his consecration as Archbishop of Canterbury (668) and his teaching there and from his students' collection of his commentaries on the Bible and the patrology.35 Theodore's early career certainly placed him within the immediate sphere of the origin of the Abgar legend. As a native of Tarsus in Greek-speaking Cilicia (in southeast Turkey) and later a student in Antioch, Theodore certainly would have known the account of Abgar in its earliest form in Eusebius and in local oral traditions. In Antioch, Theodore would have been exposed to Syriac Christian traditions since the city was bilingual. And it seems likely that Theodore visited Edessa, perhaps even to study there, since one of his Biblical commentaries mentions the size of melons in Edessa.36 Theodore's presence in Edessa would have been quite fitting, for the city would have drawn anyone who wished to learn about Syriac Christianity. Theodore's extensive knowledge of St. Ephraim, who lived and wrote in Edessa, revealed by the commentaries, indicates his interest and learning in Syrian Christianity, although it is true that St. Ephraim was the only Syriac-speaking exegete whose works were translated into Greek and later into Latin. Jane Stevenson claims that "[i]t is probable, though not certain, that Theodore knew Syriac," and there is even some evidence that Theodore brought a knowledge of Syriac to England.37 Although none of the redactions of Theodoran works mentions the Abgar story, it is inconceivable that Theodore was not familiar with the legend either as it existed in Eusebius and Rufinus or in the form of the local traditions [End Page 181] to which he must have been exposed.38 If, as Eusebius and Egeria state, Syriac documents that purported to preserve the original letters were indeed kept in Edessa, it is possible that Theodore saw them there. It is also possible that Theodore's teaching and archiepiscopacy provided an oral context to the legend in England.39
These are intriguing connections, but what about more direct kinds of links between Theodore and the Royal version of the letter? As it happens, a clear link between Theodore and the Royal manuscript does exist, but it ties Theodore to a litany contained in the Royal manuscript. Folio 26a-b of the Royal manuscript is a Latin translation of a Greek litany found in BL Cotton Galba A.xviii. In his edition of Anglo-Saxon Litanies of the Saints, Michael Lapidge points out that the Greek litany in the Cotton manuscript derives not from Roman sacramentaries but from Antiochene usages in the Apostolic Constitutions and the Liturgy of St. James.40 Lapidge (p. 20) states that the litany in the Cotton manuscript "is in Greek and was ipso facto composed in the Greek East; . . . its closest analogues are Greek litanies of the [End Page 182] saints dating from the seventh century and originating in . . . Antioch; . . . various formulas in the litany (and in its companion, the Greek Sanctus) have their sources in Antiochene liturgy; and . . . it had reached England no later than the eighth century, when it was translated into Latin" in the Royal manuscript that also contains Jesus' letter to Abgar. He states further that the question of how this Antiochene Greek text came to be known in England before the eighth century "admits of only one plausible answer, namely Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury (668-90)." Lapidge's hypothesis is that Theodore brought to England a booklet of Greek prayers which contained the distinctively Antiochene litany preserved in the Cotton manuscript. We know that some Greek writings were translated into Latin at Theodore and Hadrian's Canterbury school, such as the Greek acrostic poem translated by Aldhelm,41 and it is possible that Oftfor, whom Bede names as one of Theodore and Hadrian's students and who later became bishop of Worcester, may be responsible for transmitting a Canterbury Latin translation of the Greek litany to Worcester where it was copied into Royal 2.A.xx in the eighth century.
If Theodore is responsible for bringing a Greek litany originating in the patriarchate of Antioch to England, as seems the only plausible explanation for it, then it is possible that the Royal manuscript that contains the Latin translation of it also contains other Theodoran texts, since the compiler of the manuscript would have had at his disposal a library in Worcester that must have been augmented by the learning of a bishop, Oftfor, who was schooled by Theodore in Canterbury. A convergence of facts, as follows, suggests that the source of the version of Jesus' letter to Abgar found in the Royal manuscript could be a version of the letter brought to England by Archbishop Theodore: (1) the Royal version substantially differs from the version found in Rufinus; (2) copies of the letter circulated independently; (3) the addition to the Royal version enumerates the letter's magical efficacy to protect its bearer, which (4) is a tradition that, according to the testimony of Egeria's narrative and of local traditions like those in the Doctrine of Addai, apparently began in the east (whether in Syriac- or Greek-speaking churches) where (5) England's Greek-speaking late-seventh century Archbishop Theodore studied, who (6) brought to England a wealth of eastern learning, such as (7) the Greek litany in Cotton Galba A.xviii, which (8) finds a literal Latin translation in a manuscript from Worcester (where, mind you, one of Theodore's students served as bishop) that preserves the very text under discussion here. The plausibility of Theodore's transmission of an exemplar for the Royal version of the letter also self-evidently solves the chronological problem that bedevils the assumption of an Irish origin, as I [End Page 183] mentioned earlier. Theodore's possible role in bringing the Abgar legend to England also solves the problem of the differences in use between the Irish Abgar materials, which are clearly liturgical in nature, and the Royal version of the letter, which belongs to the sphere of private devotion. The type of book that Royal 2.A.xx is, by itself, tells us that Jesus' letter to Abgar was apparently used by the Anglo-Saxons in private devotional contexts.
And this fact may provide us with yet another link between Theodore and the Royal version of the letter. The Greek litany in the Cotton manuscript and its Latin translation in the Royal manuscript form an important textual connection between Theodore and the sources which the compiler of Royal drew upon, which, in turn, gives us further reason to believe that Theodore is also responsible for the Royal version of Jesus' letter to Abgar. But the sphere of private devotional practices also provides us with a thematic link between the Royal version of the letter and some of Theodore's known contributions to the western church. Since, as Lapidge states, "[a]ll liturgists agree that the earliest surviving litany of the saints in the Latin west is that found in London, British Library, Cotton Galba A.xviii," there is reason to believe that Theodore introduced the litany of the saints as a prayer of private devotion.42 The litany of the saints is simply a form of supplicatory prayer that has public liturgical uses as well as private devotional uses. Litanic prayers of various forms eventually converged to become uniform, and their earliest attested forms are from the eastern, Greek-speaking churches, where prayers of supplication formed part of the early Mass. Although the litany of the saints has its origins in eastern liturgical practices, and eventually forms a part of the Divine Office, supplicatory prayers of their kind translate easily to private devotional contexts in which the pious seek supernatural protections against spiritual and corporeal afflictions through the intercession of the saints. Evidence for private worship demands a more nuanced interpretation of medieval piety than the system of medieval liturgies, as the epitome of public worship, since the texts used to construct worship in the public sphere were strictly prescribed and amplified by a huge supporting apparatus of, among others, commentaries, computistical and calendrical texts, and antiphonaries, all of which place an emphasis on the relative uniformity of public practice. By contrast, private devotional works, of all the varieties of medieval Latinity, display the greatest diversity of forms, so only the centrality of Christian didacticism unites types of devotional literature, not generic conventions, and the Anglo-Saxons, in particular, produced an extensive body of writings of a devotional nature, texts that, in one way or another, provide for the moral instruction and spiritual edification of the pious. In monasteries and abbeys, private prayer and devotional exercises were encouraged beyond [End Page 184] the formal requirements of the liturgy, and the manuscript evidence suggests that books played some role in such private activities. Although it is true that the practice of reading in medieval culture was most often a public exercise, limited to the ecclesiastical community, in which a single lector guided a communal effort, private reading was by no means exceptional. Especially in the monastic orders, private reading was not only common but also required.43
A typical litany includes a series of petitions for protection against spiritual and temporal afflictions, punctuated in each case with "libera nos Domine." Some examples of the petitions from litanies from Anglo-Saxon England follow:
(Cambridge, University Library, Ff.1. 23 , fol. 275r): Propitius esto parce nobis Domine. Ab omni malo libera nos Domine. Ab insidiis diaboli libera nos Domine. A peste superbie libera nos Domine. A carnalibus desideriis libera nos Domine Ab omnibus inmunditiis mentis et corporis libera nos. A persecutione paganorum et omnium inimicorum nostrum libera nos. A uentura ira libera nos Domine. A subita et eterna morte libera nos Domine.44
(Cambridge, CCC 44, p. 14): Propitius esto libera nos. Ab omni malo libera nos. A uentura ira libera nos. A peccatis nostris libera nos. Ab insidiis diaboli libera nos.45
(Cambridge, CCC 44, p. 23): Christe audi nos. Christe audi nos. Ab inimicis nostris defende nos Criste. Afflictionem nostram benignus uide. Dolorem cordis nostri respice clemens.46
(Cambridge, CCC 163, p. 203): Propitius esto parce nobis Domine. Ab omni malo libera nos Domine. Ab insidiis diaboli libera nos Domine. Ab omni temptatione diabolica libera. [End Page 185]  Ab ira tua libera nos Domine. A subitanea et inprouisa morte. A peste et fame libera nos Domine.47
The similarities of the addition to Jesus' letter to Abgar in the Royal manuscript to the petitions in litanies are suggestive. In essence, the addition to the Royal version of the letter forms a kind of responsory that complements the usual petitions in litanies of the saints, insomuch as a text that many medieval Christians "regarded as the ipsissima verba"48 of Jesus promises protection from many of the same kinds of spiritual and temporal evils that litanic prayers enumerate. And there is a kind of chiasmic relationship between the order of petitions in a typical litany and the protections granted in the addition to the Royal version of the letter. Where litanies usually begin with the invocation of protection from every evil ("ab omni malo")49 and then ask for protection from specific hazards, such as, for example, the treacheries of the devil ("ab insidias diaboli"), the hazards of worldly enemies ("a persecutione paganorum et . . . inimicorum"), or the bane of sickness and hunger ("a peste et fame"), the Royal addition guarantees, first, specific protections from worldly enemies ("nemo inimicorum tuorum dominabitur"), the treacheries of the devil ("insidias diabuli"), curses ("camina inimicorum tuorum distruuntur"), and finally, protection from every danger ("ab omni periculo liberaueris"). In other words, there are thematic as well as some striking textual agreements between the Royal version of the letter and litanic prayer of the sort introduced by Theodore. Both the petitions in litanies and the addition to the Royal version of the letter belong to forms of devotion that derive from the arma Dei metaphor crafted by St. Paul in Ephesians 6.11 ("induite vos arma Dei ut possitis stare adversus insidias diaboli"), but possession of the letter itself, as the addition states, substitutes a material object as a literal shield against harm for the ephemeral words of prayers like the litany of the saints.
Thus, there is a practical agreement as well. The amuletic uses of Jesus' letter to Abgar throughout the Middle Ages are highly compatible, in terms of modes of medieval piety, with belief in the intercession of saints and in the efficacy of saints' relics, and the litany of the saints easily accommodated itself to private prayer,50 a fact which must have reinforced a belief in the magical efficacy of the repetition of sacred words. The writing and copying [End Page 186] of sacred words, unlike the impermanence of spoken words, made it possible to retain their protections and benefits by possessing their material forms. As Skemer notes, "[t]extual amulets provided a tangible physical bond between words, symbols, and images that were sources of supernatural power and the persons or objects that were the intended beneficiaries of that power . . . [W]riting gave physical permanence to words."51 The importance of the materiality of Jesus' words in the Royal version of the letter is certified in the addition itself ("Si quis hanc scripturam habuerit . . ."), and the Royal manuscript records many prayers, hymns, and other paradigmatically spoken religious texts, including the translation of the litany from Cotton Galba A.xviii. The apparent reason for a book of this kind was to facilitate a private devotional experience and to recreate, time and again, certain aspects of the public ceremony of worship. That is, the codex itself takes on the function of a kind of amulet, since the material possession of sacred words intended for the individual rather than for the communal experience of worship (words that were normally strictly controlled and severely limited through their momentary oral performance in public usage) conferred not only practical benefits but probably, too, in the minds of many in the Middle Ages, supernatural benefits. If Theodore is responsible for both the Greek litany translated in Royal and the Royal version of Jesus' letter, then it is possible that he regarded them as entirely complementary texts of personal devotion with little to separate the practical uses of one text from the other for the pious individual.
The text of the addition also admits another connection to Worcester that may ultimately derive from Theodore's teaching at Canterbury. The assurance in the addition that "nemo inimicorum tuorum dominabitur" is nearly identical to that of Psalm 9:26, "omnium inimicorum suorum dominabitur," which is found in probationes pennae in a number of manuscripts.52 One of these manuscripts, Würzburg, Universitätsbibliothek, M.p.th.q.2, preserving a fifth-century Italian copy of Jerome's Commentary on Ecclesiastes, was most likely in the Worcester diocese until ca. 730, since an ex libris inscription on fol. 1b declares the book's owner to be one Abbess Cuthswith, who is identified with the person of the same name in two charters preserved at Worcester.53 Sims-Williams ("Cuthswith," p. 15 and [End Page 187] Religion and Literature, p. 193) suggests that Oftfor, who had travelled to Rome, could be the person who brought the book to England and that he very possibly donated the book to Cuthswith's religious community at Inkberrow, near Worcester.54
The pen-trial with the line in question in the Würzburg manuscript is in eighth-century Anglo-Saxon half-uncials above the Cuthswith inscription (which dates to ca. 700) and may be a common pen-trial of Hiberno-Saxon scribes since it appears in a number of manuscripts.55 The adoption of this Biblical passage as a common pen-trial may relate to an apparent belief in its theurgic use, which, in turn, might explain its nearly identical reproduction in the addition to the Royal version of Christ's letter. BL Cotton Vitellius E.xviii, fol. 16a (the Vitellius Psalter) records the line in a form of secret writing as "pmnkxm knkmkcprxam sxprxm dpmknbktxr" in which consonants substitute for vowels in a simple cipher.56 The logic of concealment presupposes the value of the words that have been encrypted, so this cipher suggests to us that the Anglo-Saxons believed that the expression bore special significance. The sum of the cipher in the Cotton manuscript, the echo of the line in the Royal addition, and the pen-trial in the Würzburg manuscript (among others) is the strong suggestion that the scriptural quotation was associated with a belief in its apotropaic properties.
The pen-trial in the Würzburg manuscript may reflect some of the learning promulgated at Worcester under Bishop Oftfor that, as I have suggested above, produced the Royal version of the letter under discussion here and may therefore represent the teaching of Theodore. But there is an interesting contradiction in the interpretation of the "omnium inimicorum" of the Psalm-verse in its scriptural context: the subject of the verb "dominabitur" is not God but the "peccator" of 9:25 ("exacerbavit Dominum peccator") in an extended passage on the theme of the prosperity of the wicked and the suffering of the righteous. If part of the appeal of this popular pen-trial was a belief in the efficacy of its words, as seems to be the case from the evidence of the Cotton cipher, then we are invited to believe that the scribes [End Page 188] who adopted it for use as a pen-trial formed a reading in which the subject of the verb "dominabitur" was understood to be God or Christ-otherwise, the passage would make little sense as a frequently invoked apotropaic text. It is possible that the similar passage recorded in the text of the addition in the Royal version of Jesus' letter-where the context flips the meaning of the expression through the use of the indefinite pronoun "nemo" ("none of your enemies will have dominion")-exerted some influence on the popularization of the Psalm-verse as a pen-trial that invoked God's protection against all enemies instead of recreating the precise meaning of the expression in the Psalms, since both the version of the letter in the Royal manuscript and the pen-trial may well have derived from Worcester at the time of Oftfor's episcopacy and, therefore, represent something of the teachings that he brought there. Theodore's teaching may have included a tradition in which the Psalm-verse had come to be used as an apotropaic text by analogy with the very similar line in the addition to the Royal version of the letter. Even excluding this possibility, it seems beyond question that the Würzburg pen-trial leads back to Worcester and to Oftfor, where the Royal version of the letter was copied.
We have seen that there is a chain of textual, thematic, and practical evidence that links Theodore to the Royal version of the letter. The reductionist tendency of modern scholarship that values the clear and unambiguous division and classification of strains of medieval literary culture is rather more a reflection of itself than it is a representation of the dense and complicated layering of medieval textual transmission. It is not difficult to imagine that Theodore's Canterbury school provided an oral context for conveying the legend of Abgar and a scribal context for copying the letter for its amuletic uses, free of the letter's transmission in Rufinus. If Oftfor was responsible for bringing the Greek litany in the Cotton manuscript from Canterbury to Worcester, which then finds its way into the Royal manuscript in the late eighth or early ninth century, it is not difficult to imagine that the Royal compiler drew on other Worcester materials that preserved a redaction of Jesus' letter to Abgar brought to Worcester by Oftfor, who acquired it, too, in Theodore's Canterbury school. Given the chain of evidence established here, I think that a very plausible inductive conclusion is that Theodore's archepiscopacy and Canterbury school are the most likely conduits for transmission of the "Epistola salvatoris" in the form found in the Royal manuscript-that is, with the unique addition that describes the originally eastern tradition of the letter's protective powers.57 [End Page 189]
Footnotes
1. See E. A. Lowe, Codices Latini Antiquiores, 11 vols. and Supplement, with 2d ed. of vol. 2 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1935-1972), II, no. 215. N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon, 1957), pp. 317-18, describes the Old English contents of the manuscript. The manuscript is edited in The Prayer Book of Aedeluald the Bishop, Commonly Called the Book of Cerne, ed. A. B. Kuypers (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1902), pp. 201-25.
2. The best short overview of this group of manuscripts is Michelle P. Brown, "Mercian Manuscripts? The 'Tiberius' Group and its Historical Context," in Mercia: An Anglo-Saxon Kingdom in Europe, ed. Michelle P. Brown and Carol A. Farr, Studies in the Early History of Europe (London: Leicester Univ. Press, 2001), pp. 279-91. For details on the Book of Cerne (Cambridge, University Library, MS Ll.1. 10 ) and its relationship to the Tiberius group, see Michelle P. Brown, The Book of Cerne: Prayer, Patronage and Power in Ninth-Century England (London: The British Library, 1996). The provenance of these clearly related manuscripts has been a matter of debate; they have been variously identified with Canterbury: see J. O. Westwood, Facsimiles of the Miniatures and Ornaments of Anglo-Saxon and Irish Manuscripts (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1868) pp. 43-46; Kenneth Sisam, "Canterbury, Lichfield and the Vespasian Psalter," Review of English Studies, 7 (1956), 1-10, and "Canterbury, Lichfield and the Vespasian Psalter," Review of English Studies, 7 (1956), 113-31; D. H. Wright, review of Peter Hunter Blair, Anglia, 82 (1964), 110-17; J. J. G. Alexander, Insular Manuscripts, 6th to the 9th Century (London: Harvey Miller, 1978), pp. 55-60; with Lindisfarne: Françoise Henry, L'Art irlandais, 2 vols. (t. Léger-Vauban: Zodiaque, 1964), II, 60-64; and with Lichfield: Sherman Kuhn, "From Canterbury to Lichfield," Speculum, 23 (1948), 591-629. Brown, "Merican Manuscripts?," p. 281, suggests that "Tiberius" is an apt designation for these manuscripts in order "to avoid regional specification, . . . extending [the manuscripts'] regional diffusion across a broader area of Mercian cultural activity (including Kent) to form what [Brown has] termed the 'Mercian Schriftprovinz', capable of encompassing the political components of greater Mercia, Kent and Wessex during the eighth and ninth centuries, rather as the 'Irische Schriftprovinz' has been extended to embrace seventh- to eighth-century Northumbria." Within the larger Tiberius group, then, Brown, The Book of Cerne, p. 172 (and Brown, "Mercian Manuscripts?," p. 282) identifies manuscripts belonging to a Mercian school (of which BL Royal 2.A.xx is one), a Canterbury school (to which the Tiberius Bede [BL Cotton Tiberius C.ii] belongs, lending its Cottonian shelfmark to the name of the entire group of manuscripts), and a possible West Saxon school.
3. See Brown, The Book of Cerne, pp. 15, 157-60.
4. This is excepting, naturally, corporeal relics of Jesus not precluded by his physical resurrection, such as blood, tears, milk teeth, and the Holy Prepuce. See, for example, Wilfrid Bonser, "The Cult of Relics in the Middle Ages," Folklore, 73 (1962), 234-56.
5. Completely unrelated in origin and rather different in character by virtue of its contents, a kind of sermon on the strict observance of Sundays, is the so-called "Sunday Letter," another epistle purported to have been written by Jesus, although in some versions supernaturally delivered directly from Heaven. The "Sunday Letter" seems to have originated in the east in the sixth century and spread throughout Christendom: see Robert Priebsch, Letter from Heaven on the Observance of the Lord's Day (Oxford: Blackwell, 1936); for the letter in England, see W. R. Jones, "The Heavenly Letter in Medieval England," Medievalia et Humanistica, 6 (1975), 163-78; Clare A. Lees, "The 'Sunday Letter' and the 'Sunday Lists'," Anglo-Saxon England, 14 (1985), 129-51; and Sources of Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture: The Apocrypha, ed. Frederick Biggs, (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2007), pp. 58-61.
6. Edessa, now believed to have been on the site of the modern city of Urfa in southern Turkey, was a prosperous trading center before the time of Christ. Afterwards, it became a regional center for the promulgation of Christian teachings. The remains of its church, destroyed by a flood in 201 CE, could be the oldest surviving Christian construction. In the subsequent centuries, Edessa was the center of Syriac-speaking Christianity, responsible for producing two manuscripts of a Syriac New Testament. The city was also home to a well-known Persian school that advanced Nestorian teachings, and the city was later associated with the opposition to the Christological doctrines of the Council of Chalcedon in 451 CE. On Edessa in Christian history, see the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, ed. F. L. Cross and E. A. Livingstone (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1997).
7. Eusebius is edited by Eduard Schwartz and Rufinus' Latin translation by Theodor Mommsen in Eusebius Werke, vol. 2, ed. Mommsen, II, Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte, 9/1-2 (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1903-08).
8. On the early non Anglo-Latin reflexes of the legend, see R. A. Lipsius, Die edessenische Abgar-Sage kritisch untersucht (Braunschweig: C. A. Schwetschke und Sohn, 1880); Isaac H. Hall, "Syriac Version of the Epistle from King Abgar to Jesus," Hebraica, 1 (1884-85), 232-35; L.-J. Tixeront, Les Origines des l'église d'Edesse et la légende d'Abgar, étude critique: suivie de deux textes orientaux inédits (Paris: Maisonneuve et Ch. Leclerc, 1888); Ernst von Dobschütz, Christusbilder: Untersuchungen zur christlichen Legende, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur, 18 (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1899); Ernst von Dobschütz, "Der Briefwechsel zwischen Abgar und Jesus," Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie, 43 (1900), 422-86; J. G. C. Anderson, "Pontica," Journal of Hellenic Studies, 20 (1900), 151-58; Søren Giverson, "Ad Abgarum: The Sahidic Version of the Letter to Abgar on a Wooden Tablet," Acta Orientalia, 24 (1959), 71-82; Getatchew Haile, "The Legend of Abgar in Ethiopic Tradition," Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 55 (1989), 375-410; and Martin Illert, Die Abgarlegende: Das Christusbild von Edessa, Fontes Christiani, 45 (Brepols: Turnhout, 2007).
9. The letters are printed in Eusebius Werke, II, 86-89. The translations are my own.
10. The text is edited in Das Decretum Gelasianum de libris recipiendis et non recipiendis in kritischem Text, ed. Ernst von Dobschütz (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1912), p. 13. The Decretum likewise states that "Epistula Abgari ad Iesum apocrypha."
11. For backgrounds and references on the Decretum Pseudo-Gelasianum, see Wilhelm Schneemelcher, "General Introduction," in New Testament Apocrypha, rev. ed., ed. Schneemelcher, trans. R. McL. Wilson, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1991-92), I 38-40.
12. Earlier scholarship (see, e.g., Éthéria: Journal de Voyage, ed. and trans. Hélène Pétré, [Paris: Éditions du Cerf., 1948]) refers to Egeria as "Etheria." The text is edited in Itinerarium, ed. A. Franceschini and R. Weber, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina [CCSL], 175 (Brepols: Turnhout, 1965), pp. 29-90.
13. Itinerarium, p. 62.
14. Itinerarium, p. 62.
15. The letters cannot be dated nearer to the time of Jesus than the date of the Gospels, since the text is borrowed in several places from the Gospel texts (cf. John 20:24, "dicit ei Iesus quia vidisti me credidisti beati qui non viderunt et crediderunt," Matthew 13:14, "et adimpletur eis prophetia Esaiae dicens auditu audietis et non intellegetis et videntes videbitis et non videbitis" with the first few lines of Jesus' letter of Rufinus' Latin version of the text, and also cf. Isaiah 6:9, "et dixit vade et dices audietis et non intellegetis et nolite intellegere et videte visionem et nolite cognoscere"). Pressing the date of the letters even later is the hypothesis that the borrowed texts of the letters do not reflect Gospel borrowing but rather borrowing from Tatian's concordance, which would place the letters firmly in the third century, since the Diatessaron was the only Gospel text available in Syria in the third and fourth centuries (see Dobschütz, Christusbilder, p. 134).
16. For a translation of this text, see The Twelve Patriarchs, Excerpts and Epistles, the Clementia, Apocrypha, Decretals, Memoirs of Edessa, and Syriac Documents, Remains of the First Ages, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, rev. ed. by A. Cleveland Coxe, Ante-Nicene Fathers, 8 (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994), pp. 657-65. Also see Illert, Die Abgarlegende, pp. 29-44 and 132-176.
17. Mary Swan's article on "Remembering Veronica in Anglo-Saxon England," in Writing Gender and Genre in Medieval Literature: Approaches to Old and Middle English Texts, ed. Elaine Treharne (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002), pp. 19-39, demonstrates how this later version of the Abgar story becomes the Veronica legend. However, Swan confuses these two early versions of the Abgar legend. Speaking about the later version that originates with the Doctrine of Addai, she states "This version of the story is recorded by Eusebius of Caesarea" (p. 23, n. 8), although Eusebius says nothing at all about a portrait. This is an unfortunate confusion, since it obscures the fact that both versions survived in Anglo-Saxon England: the later story as the legend of Veronica, and the earlier one in which Christ's letter to Abgar is a material object cognate with Veronica's miraculous cloth.
18. "Der Briefwechsel," p. 486.
19. In his De temporibus liber: "Abgarus uir sanctus regnauit" (The holy man Abgar ruled) ed. C. W. Jones, CCSL, 123C (Brepols: Turnhout, 1980), p. 608; in his De temporum ratione: "Abgarus uir sanctus regnauit Edessae" (The holy man Abgar of Edessa ruled) ed. C. W. Jones, CCSL, 123B (Brepols: Turnhout, 1977), p. 503; and in his Expositio actuum apostolorum: "Iudas uero Iacobi, id est frater Iacobi, idem est qui in euangeliis uocatur Taddeus, missus que est Aedissam ad Abgarum regem Osroenae, ut ecclesiastica tradit historia" (Indeed, Jude, who is the brother of James, who is likewise called Thaddeus in the Gospels, was sent to Edessa to King Abgar of Osroene, as the church history relates) ed. M. L. W. Laistner and D. Hurst, CCSL, 121 (Brepols: Turnhout, 1983), p. 11. And in his Retractatio in acta apostolorum, Bede very similarly mentions the mission of Thaddeus to Abgar's kingdom.
20. With the title of his own Historia ecclesiastica gentis anglorum, Bede "no doubt chose to evoke . . . the Historia ecclesiastica of Eusebius of Caesarea, which Bede had read closely in the Latin translation of Rufinus," as pointed out by Roger Ray in The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Michael Lapidge et al. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), p. 58. Furthermore, Bede relied on a variety of sources for his chronological works, Rufinus being only one of many (see W. F. Bolton, A History of Anglo-Latin Literature 597-1066, vol. 1: 597-740 [Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1967], pp. 101-85). Also see Danuta Shanzer's "Bede's Style: A Neglected Historiographical Model for the Style of the Historia Ecclesiastica?," in Source of Wisdom: Old English and Early Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Thomas D. Hill, ed. Charles D. Wright, Frederick M. Biggs, and Thomas N. Hall (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 2007), pp. 329-52, for the suggestion that Bede used Rufinus as a stylistic model.
21. As late as the eighteenth century, Jeremiah Jones (quoted in "The Teaching of Addæus the Apostle," in The Twelve Patriarchs, ed. Coxe, p. 659, n. 7) could write, "The common people in England had it [Jesus' letter to Abgar] in their houses in many places in a frame with a picture before it: and they generally, with much honesty and devotion, regard it as the word of God and the genuine epistle of Christ." Certainly, however, the Anglo-Saxons knew the Decretum (and probably regarded it as genuine): Helmut Gneuss, Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A List of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 241 (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2001) lists six Anglo-Saxon manuscripts containing the text, nos. 763, 573, 713, 749.5, 800, 808.2. But as Joyce Hill, "The Apocrypha in Anglo-Saxon England: The Challenge of Changing Distinctions," in Apocryphal Texts and Traditions in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Kathryn Powell and Donald Scragg (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2003), p. 165, states, catalogues of accepted and rejected texts "often functioned more as reference points for those who wished to support a particular position at a given moment than as definitive lists which determined universal practice."
22. Ælfric's Lives of Saints, ed. Walter W. Skeat, EETS o.s., 76, 82, 94, and 114 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1881-1900, reprinted in two vols., 1966).
23. On the manuscript, see Ker, Catalogue, pp. 198-201. For a critical edition of the manuscript with information on scribes, sources, structure, date, etc., see Bernard J. Muir, A Pre-Conquest English Prayer-Book (BL MSS Cotton Galba A.xiv and Nero A.ii (ff. 3-13)), Henry Bradshaw Society, 103 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell and Brewer, 1988). Also see the entry in Sources of Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture: The Apocrypha, p. 57, which nonetheless omits listing the copy of the letter in the Galba manuscript (Gneuss, Handlist, no. 333).
24. Don C. Skemer, Binding Words: Textual Amulets in the Middle Ages (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State Univ. Press, 2006), p. 72. Skemer also notes that "[e]cclesiastical authorities from Charlemagne's Admonitio generalis (789) to Hugh of St. Victor (1096?-1141) condemned the [letter of Jesus to Abgar]," p. 101.
25. Skemer, Binding Words, pp. 45-47. And there is evidence of a strong Insular tradition of collecting apotropaic texts. In addition to the survival of charms, loricae, curses, and exorcisms, Karen Louise Jolly, "Prayers from the Field: Practical Protection and Demonic Defense in Anglo-Saxon England," Traditio, 61 (2006), 95-147, identifies a set of prayers "to protect fields and crops from birds, vermin, and other demonically inspired threats to the agricultural community" (p. 95), and Raymond S. J. Grant, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 41: The Loricas and the Missal, Costerus n.s. 17 (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1979), p. 26 suggests that the marginalia in CCCC 41 are not random but focus on charms of protection, including the ancient "sator arepo tenet opera rotas" formula (pp. 19-22), a four-way palindrome that can be rearranged to spell out a cruciform "Paternoster" and may therefore explain the formula's appeal to Christians, though its translation is disputed (see Skemer, Binding Words, pp. 116-17, 134).
26. And so I have not provided a translation for the Royal text (see the Rufinus translation above), but compare the first sentence in the version of Rufinus, "Beatus es, qui credidisti in me, cum me ipse non videris," with that of Royal 2.A.xx, "Beatus es qui me non uidisti et credisti in me," in which the cum clause is omitted and the relative is reworked using two verbs in the preterite.
27. Note also the grammatical bonding of the text from Rufinus to the addition through the continuation of the second person singular pronouns and verb forms.
28. On the early history of the text's apotropaic uses, see Skemer, Binding Words, pp. 97-99. As Skemer states, the bishop of Edessa apparently offered copies of the letter to Egeria's party for protection "on the long and perilous journey home," p. 97. The Doctrine of Addai states that the original letter was placed above the gate to the city of Edessa to repel a Persian attack, and Egeria relates the bishop's story of how Abgar, holding open the letter in his uplifted hands, staved off Persian attackers by invoking God's power to darken the skies, befuddling the enemy, and she states that the letter was used thusly on many occasions.
29. In fact, the minor syntactic differences between the letter in Rufinus and that found in the first part of the letter in the Royal manuscript may represent two distinct Latin textual traditions of the letter in the medieval West. The real question is "Did knowledge of Jesus' letter to Abgar entail knowledge of Rufinus?" The answer is likely a qualified "no." For learned ecclesiasts, Rufinus' Latin translation of Eusebius was the most important historical account of the early church, so it was widely read, certainly, in Anglo-Saxon monasteries and abbeys, as we have seen with Bede. Among the secular clergy, knowledge of Rufinus must have been limited, since it was not a text that pertained to any of the duties particular to the major or minor orders, which were largely liturgical. And knowledge of Rufinus among the tiny fraction of literate laypersons is highly improbable, with only the conditions provided by a court of learned retainers-such as that which Alfred enjoyed with Asser and his associates-to explain, reasonably, how a layperson might be exposed to Rufinus.
30. As most scholars do, including Dobschütz, "Der Briefwechsel," p. 487, and Cora Lutz, "The Apocryphal Abgarus-Jesus Epistles in England in the Middle Ages," in Essays on Manuscripts and Rare Books (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1975), p. 58.
31. For example, Ælfric, as stated above, copied the letters in full and related the narrative context of the letters in his version of the story of the martyrdom of the Christian kings Abdon and Sennes in his collection of the lives of saints. Gneuss, Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, identifies five manuscripts produced or owned in Anglo-Saxon England containing Rufinus' translation (complete or excerpted) of the Historia (nos. 57, 61, 137, 768, 773.5). Ælfric seems to have known Rufinus' version of Eusebius very well: the Fontes Anglo-Saxonici database returns more than seventy sources from Rufinus' Historia in Ælfric's work, much more than any other Anglo-Saxon author, including Bede (see the author reference summary for Rufinus in Fontes Anglo-Saxonici, Fontes Anglo-Saxonici Project, http://fontes.english.ox.ac.uk/, accessed December 2007).
32. For the Leabhar Breac text and for a list of the Irish versions of the Abgar legend, see P. Considine, "Irish Versions of the Abgar Legend," Celtica, 10 (1973), 237-57. Also see Martin McNamara, The Apocrypha in the Irish Church (Dublin: Institute for Advanced Studies, 1975), pp. 58-59.
33. The manuscript is edited in The Irish Liber Hymnorum, ed. J. H. Bernard and R. Atkinson, 2 vols., Henry Bradshaw Society, 13, 14 (London: Henry Bradshaw Society, 1898), I, 94-95.
34. Liber Hymnorum, II, 174. On the Basel Psalter, see Martin McNamara, The Psalms in the Early Irish Church, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series, 165 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), pp. 58-61, who says "[t]he Basel Psalter is generally considered to have come from the circle of Sedulius of Liège."
35. On Theodore's commentaries, see Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School of Theodore and Hadrian, ed. Bernard Bischoff and Michael Lapidge, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England, 10 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1994); on Theodore's life and works, see Michael Lapidge, "The Career of Archbishop Theodore," in Archbishop Theodore: Commemorative Studies on His Life and Influence, ed. Michael Lapidge, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England, 11 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1995), pp. 1-29, to which much of the account of Theodore here is indebted.
36. An explanatory gloss on Numbers 11:5 in the Canterbury Biblical commentaries ascribed to Theodore states: "cucumeres et pepones unum sunt, sed tamen cucumeres dicuntur pepones cum magni fiunt; ac saepe in uno pepone fiunt .xxx. librae. In Edissia ciuitate fiunt ut uix potest duo portare unus camelus" (Cucumbers and melons are the same, but cucumbers are called melons when they become large; sometimes a melon will weigh thirty pounds. In the city of Edessa they grow [so large] that one camel can hardly carry two [melons]).
37. An entry for Saint Milus of Susa appears in the Old English Martyrology with corrupt Syriac place names. The life of the Persian saint was not translated into Greek, which indicates the possibility that the text came to England in its original language. See Das altenglische Martyrologium, 2 vols. ed. Günther Kotzor, Abhandlungen der Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Klasse, n.s. 88 (Munich: C. Beck, 1981), I, 370; Christopher Hohler, "Theodore and the Liturgy," in Archbishop Theodore, ed. Lapidge, p. 225; and Jane Stevenson, "Ephraim the Syrian in Anglo-Saxon England," Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies, 1.2. (July 1998) <http://syrcom.cua.edu/Hugoye/Vol1No2/HV1N2Stevenson.html> (7 December 2007), para. 5-6 (quotation from para. 5).
38. It should also be noted that the writings of St. Ephraim do not mention the Abgar legend.
39. And it is possible that Theodore borrowed themes from Ephraim. For example, although the Chistus medicus motif is common, Stevenson, again ("Ephraim the Syrian," para. 22) points out that "Ephraim's favourite metaphor for Christ, 'The Physician'," is found in the Laterculus Malalianus-a translation with exegesis of the portions relating to the life of Christ found in John Malalas' sixth-century Greek chronicle of the world (for convincing arguments that Theodore himself wrote the Laterculus, see Jane Stevenson, The "Laterculus Malalianus" and the School of Archbishop Theodore, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England, 14 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1995), and Jane Stevenson, "Theodore and the Laterculus Malalianus," in Archbishop Theodore, ed. Lapidge, pp. 204-21). The metaphorical representation of Jesus as the physician of humankind also finds expression in other works attributed to Theodore-in Theodore's letter to Æthelred in 686 and in the preface to the Penitential of Theodore, where the metaphor is shaped to include the concept of penance as the cure for the affliction of sin. See Die Canones Theodori Cantuariensis und ihre Überlieferungsformen, ed. Paul Willem Finsterwalder (Weimar: H. Böhlaus, 1929), p. 287. Patrick Sims-Williams, "Ephrem the Syrian in Anglo-Saxon England," in Britain and Early Christian Europe: Studies in Early Medieval History and Culture (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995), pp. 213-15, suggests that knowledge of Ephraim could be one source of the Christus medicus metaphor in non-liturgical Anglo-Latin prayers. The metaphor also finds expression in the Abgar tradition through Jesus' letter's use as an amulet against affliction, and the thematic arrangement of Royal 2.A.xx suggests an interest in literal and figurative healing.
40. See Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Litanies of the Saints, Henry Bradshaw Society, 106 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell & Brewer, 1991), pp. 13-18. Cotton Galba A.xviii, the so-called "Athelstan Psalter," was written in northeast France (Gneuss, Handlist, p. 64 [no. 334 ]suggests Liège or Rheims) in the second half of the ninth century but was in England by the beginning of the tenth century, as indicated by the addition of two quires, at the beginning and at the end, written in Anglo-Saxon minuscule. The Greek litany is preserved in the second (later) Anglo-Saxon addition, which is dated to the reign of King Athelstan (924-39). Lapidge suggests that Israel the Grammarian, an accomplished Greek scholar who sought the shelter of Athelstan's court while political tumult roiled his native Brittany, collected a dossier of Greek materials while in England, the Greek litany in the Cotton manuscript having been one of them. That Israel's hypothetical Anglo-Saxon exemplar must have predated the eighth century is confirmed by the fact that the Royal manuscript preserves a literal Latin translation of the Greek litany in the Cotton manuscript.
41. See Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Litanies of the Saints, pp. 23-24, and also Michael Lapidge, "The Study of Greek at the School of Canterbury in the Seventh Century," in Anglo-Latin Literature 600-899 (London: Hambledon, 1996), pp. 123-39.
42. Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Litanies, pp. 13, 45.
43. On private reading in monasteries, see C. H. Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages, 2d ed. (London: Longman, 1989), pp. 115-16. On reading, M. B. Parkes, "Rædan, Areccan, and Smeagan: How the Anglo-Saxons Read," Anglo-Saxon England, 26 (1997), 1-22; Paul Saenger, "Silent Reading: Its Impact on Late Medieval Script and Society," Viator, 13 (1982), 367-414; and Paul Saenger, Space Between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading (Stanford: Stanford Univ. Press, 1997).
44. Anglo-Saxon Litanies, ed. Lapidge, p. 96.
45. Anglo-Saxon Litanies, p. 99.
46. Anglo-Saxon Litanies, p. 101.
47. Anglo-Saxon Litanies, p. 108.
48. Considine, "Irish Versions of the Abgar Legend," p. 243.
49. Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Litanies, pp. 18-19, says that the singular form "omni malo" is an indication of Greek origins, since "the invariable wording of the petition which accompanies the Lord's Prayer in Roman sacramentaries (both Gelasian and Gregorian) was 'Libera nos, quaesumus, Domine, ab omnibus malis'. . . . This indicates that the Greek litany in Galba A.xviii cannot be of Roman origin."
50. Lapidge, p. 45, says that "a litany could be adapted to personal use simply through the substitution of singular pronouns for plural: ora pro me in lieu of ora pro nobis."
51. Skemer, Binding Words, p. 133.
52. Again, I thank Professor Charles Wright for alerting me to the similarity of the pentrial to the Royal letter's addition.
53. See Patrick Sims-Williams "Cuthswith, Seventh-Century Abbess of Inkberrow, near Worcester, and the Würzburg Manuscript of Jerome on Ecclesiastes," Anglo-Saxon England, 5 (1976), 1-21; reprinted with original pagination and Addenda in Patrick Sims-Williams, Britain and Early Christian Europe: Studies in Early Medieval History and Culture (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995), no. VII; and Patrick Sims-Williams, Religion and Literature in Western England 600-800, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England, 3 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1990), pp. 190-97.
54. On the identification of Cuthswith's foundation of Inkberrow, see Sims-Williams, "Cuthswith," pp. 10-13.
55. On the date of the inscription, see Ker, Catalogue, p. 467. On the pen-trial, see Bernhard Bischoff, "Elementarunterricht und Probationes Pennae in der ersten Hälfte des Mittelalters," in Mittelalterliche Studien Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur Schriftkunde und Literaturgeschichte, vol. I (Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann, 1966), pp. 77-78.
56. Humphrey Wanely prints this cipher and the manuscript's extended passage on secret writing under the heading "Varia occulte scribendi genera, Anglo-Saxonibus usurpata" (see Wanely's Catalogus in the second volume of George Hickes, Linguarum vett. [1703-05], p. 223, reprinted and ed. by R. C. Alston, English Linguistics 1500-1800, 248 [Menston: The Scolar Press, 1970]). For an edition of the manuscript's psalter, see James L. Rosier, The Vitellius Psalter (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1962).
57. I wish to thank Professor Florence Newman, Professor Charles D. Wright, and an anonymous reviewer for their comments, suggestions, and corrections on earlier drafts of this paper.

Ephraem the Syrian on the Utility of Language and the Place of Silence Paul S. Russell

Thu, 17 Jun 2010 06:34:00 -0400

Abstract: This paper attempts to trace the outlines of Ephraem the Syrian's ideas about the extent to which theological language can be usefully applied to the description of God. Centering on the Hymns on Faith and Sermons on Faith, the paper describes Ephraem's ideas about the usefulness of all languages used by created beings and how each of them is limited to dealing with realities close to it on the ontological scale. Ephraem is shown to believe that each language has its own range of usefulness but that no language is universally useful and that no verbal language suffices for the expression of the highest truths. Since all verbal languages function by defining what they describe, the highest realities, which cannot be subjected to definition because of their infinite natures, can be expressed only through the medium of silence. Silence is shown to be, in Ephraem's mind, the highest form of communication and to be used among the persons of the Trinity for their own communication.
Christians were still a persecuted group when Ephraem was born around the year 307 in or near the border city of Nisibis in the Syriac-speaking Eastern reaches of the Roman Empire. By the time he died in Edessa in June of 373, emperors involved themselves in matters of church discipline and doctrine, and Nisibis had been lost to Roman rule forever. Though we know very little of Ephraem's life, 1 his writings reflect this age of rapid [End Page 21] change and religious vibrancy and provide a window into the life and mind of a prolific, thoughtful Christian writer whose years were spent in Mesopotamia, a region with a very different cultural mix and set of religious and social forces at work than most early Christian writers knew.
It is representative of Ephraem's cultural milieu that his most characteristic writings should be the more than 400 hymns and verse homilies that have survived to our day. Though he seems to have been known during his lifetime as an interpreter of Scripture, 2 virtually all of his work seems to be pastoral in nature, intended to be heard and read by the wider membership of the Church, rather than for the delectation of a small group of intellectuals. 3 Ephraem seems, in fact, to have functioned as a choir director and hymn writer for most of his active life, designing the vast majority of his works for inclusion in the community's liturgy. This use of Ephraem's work has never ceased in the East, where Ephraem's hymns are still sung from southern India to the Arctic Circle. 4
The cultural gulf between Ephraem's environment and that of modern Western scholars has made proper understanding of his work difficult. Westerners, raised with ideas of serious theology being framed in dry academic prose, have been unwilling to recognize the theological content of Ephraem's metrical writings. 5 As Griffith puts it: 6
His style of religious discourse was not academic; it was deeply contemplative, based on a close reading of the scriptures.
This contemplative tone has led modern scholars to think of Ephraem as a man apart from the pull and push of the fourth-century theological [End Page 22] debates that consumed the Christians of his day and take center stage in modern accounts of the era. There has been no place for him in their minds or in their reconstructions of his age. 7
Regular readers of Ephraem's works will find, however, that his mind is clearly fixed on what he is trying to say more than on how to say it beautifully (his intent is to engage the theological questions of the day fully in an entirely theological manner) and that he has a completely coherent theological understanding that rests on a foundation that has been carefully considered and constructed.
The theological debates sparked by the confrontation between Arius and his bishop Alexander in Alexandria consumed much of the attention of the theologically active portion of the Christian Church for the whole of Ephraem's adolescent and adult life. His works contain quotations from Arius and Arian writings 8 and show a deep interest, not only in the push and pull of the argument, but in the theological issues that the argument brought to the fore.
However one might choose to characterize the distinction between Arius and the later figures who were stigmatized as his followers, 9 it is [End Page 23] clear that the central points at issue during the decades from the 320s to the 380s did not remain frozen, but rather developed and moved as the interests of the participants changed or the cast of characters turned over, whether from natural mortality or exile ordered by the civil authority. The extreme concern shown by Ephraem in the works now found in the two collections called the Hymns on Faith and the Sermons on Faith is directed so clearly against opponents who seem to him to claim too much knowledge of God and is so frequently repeated in these writings that we can be certain that many of them spring from the phase of the controversy involving the "Neo-Arian" writers. 10
A difficulty attaching to the study of Ephraem's writings is found in the fact that, though much of the material in these two collections deals with the question of the proper approach to theology and the incomprehensibility of God, that does not mean that all the works in those collections address these topics or even date from the same period of Ephraem's life. It is generally held, following the work of A. de Halleux, 11 that, though the collections of Ephraem's works are very stable in the manuscript tradition and have very early roots, they do not represent the intent of the author but rather the convenience and interests of later readers. The modern reader of Ephraem, with few exceptions, should regard the works before him as individual entities that cannot be securely dated or linked with each other. The Hymns on Faith and the Sermons on Faith are not polished cycles of work in the manner of Vergil's Eclogues or Georgics, but are large collections of pieces that seemed to later readers to be similar to each other in content, tone, or meter. These two collections, despite the tendency of the hymns to be gathered in subcollections by meter, seem, to me, to be chosen because of the topics the individual works address. [End Page 24]
II
Acquiring a grasp of the basic elements in an author's theological framework is not often an easy matter. Unless he should happen to write a treatise directly addressing fundamental questions of philosophy and theology, the reader will be forced to try to construct an organized picture by collecting stray comments or by reading between the lines in an effort to catch a glimpse of the underlying pattern of assumptions. Ephraem the Syrian, for all his prolific output, seems never to have set down a clear statement of his guiding principles, this sort of writing being foreign to his environment and not obviously useful or interesting to his audience. As an author who is renowned for arguing on behalf of the mystery of God and the need for reverent reticence in theological matters, he is often thought of as a thinker who is happier on a cloudy day than on a clear one. I think, however, that this is a misunderstanding, both of his position and of the convictions that impel him to hold it. By examining two of his most theologically rich collections of works, the Hymns on Faith and the Sermons on Faith, I hope to be able to show that Ephraem had a carefully considered idea of the extent of the usefulness of theological reflection as well as a careful sense of the place of silence in the enterprise. 12 Although he was caught up in a very tumultuous period in the development of the Christian theological voice, Ephraem shows clear signs of holding to a position that springs from personal conviction rather than from running to extremes either in reaction to, or in support of, other theologians engaged in controversy during his lifetime. [End Page 25]
As a brief glance toward the milieu in which Ephraem was working, and as an important reminder of how fundamental the issues discussed in the brouhaha we commonly call the Arian Controversy had become toward the end of his life, I would like to set before you the following quotation, which is taken from that bogie man of the fourth century, Eunomius of Cyzicus: 13
God does not know more about his own essence than we do, nor is that essence better known to him and less to us; rather, whatever we ourselves know about it is exactly what he knows, and, conversely, that which he knows is what you will find without change in us.
Ephraem's great concern with basic theological and philosophical issues is only comprehensible when the strength and clarity of the voices of those holding other views is appreciated.
It is important to remind ourselves of how active these questions of the nature and use of theological language and the possible extent of its competence were in the last twenty years of his life (353-73). The tone of Ephraem's considerable involvement with these matters makes them appear to be topics that were discussed among his audience, as he refers to them without introduction, in the manner of one commenting on common concerns. The focus of the pieces in both the collections we will consider supports the conclusion that Ephraem's concern and his manner of expressing his views spring from the soil of the Aëtian and Eunomian stages of the Arian Controversy. 14 Ephraem is not, however, a captive of his surroundings. As we proceed with this study, he will be revealed as having a very positive view of language, though one more limited and nuanced than Eunomius seems to have had.
The first aspect of his ideas on language to notice is how active he envisions human engagement with it to be. Ephraem has great reverence for Scripture and the trustworthiness of the information it contains, but he never idolizes it in a way that would put it outside the normal realm of language as he sees it. Just like any communication expressed in human language, Scripture provides the hearer with an object with which he can grapple.
Once the revelation is cloaked in human language, it has entered the realm of human activity and is accessible to our minds. It can be investigated [End Page 26] and ruminated on by human beings in their attempt to glean from it all the good they can extract. In Hymn 38 Ephraem says: 15
Let us be husbandmen of the Word of Truth.  Come, let us work it like the earth.
Our language as found in Scripture, then, is not only available to us, it also has productive capabilities inherent in it, as the earth has in it the power to support the growth of plants, and working it well can bring forth more and better fruits than would be available if it were left to produce on its own. Not only do humans have the power to recognize this productivity, in Ephraem's eyes, but they also have the ability to increase it by their effective actions. Ephraem thus, in the face of the apparently complete confidence of Eunomius, does not respond by denying any power and value to human reflection and language and does not try to lift language (even scriptural language) beyond the reach of human beings to keep it inviolable. Instead, he argues for our involvement with it and even describes humans as increasing the usefulness of scriptural language through intelligent action, but he does not see in this process an endless vista of possible progress in knowledge, nor does he think that its reach can extend as far as Eunomius envisions. For Ephraem, language is a tool that is fit for some tasks, but not for others. 16 So, in the same hymn cited above, he says to God:

8
Your scale weighed [and] gave out silence and speaking

and granted that we might do the same to You.

My brothers, doesn't nature teach that with one pan [of a scale]

without its counterpart we cannot weigh anything?

9
We will use silence and speaking.

Our speaking will be like the daytime

and our silence will be like the night

so that both the hearing and the tongue may seek rest.

10
They resemble their similitudes

in that our teaching of Truth is like an open light,

and silence and stillness are like the night,

and a restful sleep is very sweet.

13
Blessed is the Good One Who has given us speech

and blessed is the Righteous One Who has increased silence.

He gave us directions in which we could dispute [End Page 27]

and held [us] back [from] others so that we could keep silence about      them, just like the Teacher of All.

There is a natural balance in the way that God provides his creatures with tools for this sort of project. The speaking, from our point of view, is the active part of the operation, as the day is the time in which we accomplish whatever we will of our work. In the night we find our strength to use our powers during the day, and in the night we find the silence that is appropriate when certain matters are addressed. 18 As Ephraem says in Hymn 39.5,
The mouth is akin to, and describes as members of its own family,  whatever is spoken and can be translated  and be easily investigated  and can be discovered and explained.  But silence is the limit of whatever cannot possibly be discovered and explained.  For our mind is not akin to its hiddenness.
The boundary between silence and speaking is as natural as that between light and darkness.
The second of the Sermons on Faith 19 has a passage in which Peter's reticence in addressing Christ at the Last Supper, portrayed in John 13, is praised. Instead of presuming to speak directly to Christ, Peter makes use of the Beloved Disciple as an intermediary. 20 This humility and unwillingness to use his speech beyond the appropriate bounds is praised by Ephraem as evidence of Peter's grasp of the proper place of speech and silence. Lines 55 and 56 say:
He was talkative in every place;      in this place, alone, was he still.
which shows clearly Ephraem's conviction that an important requirement for the proper use of human speech is knowing when not to use it. This success is contrasted a few lines later in the same sermon with the inappropriate behavior of his opponents who refrain from what would be acceptable speech only to engage in the unacceptable: 21 [End Page 28]

Every creature is lovely to you
without searching and without      investigation.
You have disregarded the finite,
but you meditate on grasping the      extent [of the infinite].
You are in the presence of the      Creation, peacefully,
but in the presence of the Creator,     with disputation.
You are completely simple and      still in the presence of everything

but you are disorderly in the     presence of the Lord of      Everything.

Ephraem, however, does not value human silence more than human speech, but rather sees it as necessary and appropriate with regard to certain subjects in certain circumstances. Hymn 57.10 is indicative of this, in that it shows that each of these has its place and each must be used when appropriate for the best result to be obtained: 22
You may learn admirably from your own lowly word  a glorious word: the Word of God.  If your own word ever does not know what to say,  honor with your silence the Word of your Creator,  Whose silence cannot be inquired into.
We must not allow ourselves to see Ephraem as an Eastern obscurantist. He never argues against the use of speech in theology, only against the inappropriate use of speech. 23
There are, then, real virtues in human language that Ephraem not only recognizes but encourages his listeners to take full advantage of. The working of the word of truth like the earth of a field is an image of intense effort and activity. It presumes intelligent involvement on the part of those who undertake it and credits them with sufficient mastery of the medium to draw from it more than lies exposed on the surface. It does not, however, envision language as a tool with unlimited applicability or see human beings as able reasonably to apply language to all objects in all situations. The final religious approach to God, like the yearly entrance of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies, 24 is a time for silence. Therein lies [End Page 29] the great difference between Eunomius and Ephraem and therein lies Ephraem's idea of the utility of silence in reflection.
Speech, for Ephraem, is seen as a part of the equipment needed for successful theological reflection and communication of the knowledge gained by reflection. While useful in and of itself, the range and power of language is increased when it is accompanied by its counterpart: silence. Proper use of these two tools in balance with each other allows humans to respond to any topic that confronts them in an appropriate and reverent manner, while still engaging with it actively as far as their ability allows. Such is the outline of Ephraem's ideas on the applicability of human language to theological matters, when used by human beings. However, in Ephraem's mind, human beings are not the only ones who can make use of human speech, and exploration of his discussions of language per se, shows that he views it as not limited to the words of created human speech used by humans, but as extending far beyond the level on which we, ourselves, function. We will now turn to examine how human language can succeed when used by other beings and how other forms of speech might fare when applied to theological matters.
III
Besides the balance Ephraem sees in the use of human silence as a counterpoint to human speech, he also holds that a language exists on a higher plane than the one involving speech and words that we know. One result of this is that the limits circumscribing human language can be pushed back if they are approached by words wielded with wisdom and skill from beyond the human realm. The success of those who hold to the words of Scripture as opposed to the error of those who think they can do better is an illustration of this: 25

165
O learner, you must not fall sick
if the disputer goes astray.

If he has departed from your      Lord,
come, consider the Scriptures.

169
Because, where the disputers have      turned aside,
the discerning have not been ensnared,

and where the teachers26 have erred,
the hearers have not been disturbed. [End Page 30]

173
It was not human speech
carrying the proclamation;

human speech is divisible
and falls every time something depends on it.

177
The Proclamation of the Truth
depends on the Word of God.

Everything is borne by this Word;
your learning depends on it, learner.

Does this mean that all we need do is cling to words that come from God in order to have dependable knowledge? If this were true, it would seem that language would be an instrument with universal competence that would succeed or fail depending on the hand that wields it. Further investigation, however, shows us that this is not Ephraem's idea at all. Ephraem's point here is that human language, when used as a tool by God, as it is in the Scriptures, is a more dependable and fertile medium than it can ever be on the tongue of a human being. Still, while the limits may be expanded by this divine intervention, they are not entirely erased. Each kind of language seems to be envisioned by Ephraem as having inherent in it a certain range of applicability beyond which no one can push it. If we look beyond his comments on human language to find remarks that address the question of language per se, we can see this principle at work, though it is never stated in the abstract. 27
Ephraem's view of language and its usefulness for the expression of truth and the enabling of communication makes clear that, the farther down the ontological scale of existence any language is directed, the more fully that language will inherently be able to address the task for which it is intended. As one climbs this scale, however, one finds that language diminishes in usefulness as one approaches the presence of God and fails entirely once one arrives in the presence. This pattern can only be brought out by collecting its constituent parts and viewing them side by side. Let us begin at the top of the scale.
For example, when Ephraem describes the angelic hosts as they are in Heaven, they are seen as standing in the presence of God in a state of awe: 28
The angels witness with silence;      the Seraphim bless with applause.
The silent attendance of the angels is cast into sharper focus by the fact that, when the seraphim wish to express their approval and loyalty to the [End Page 31] Son, they dare not try to cloak that message in words but resort to a wordless gesture that serves their purpose more fully. Ephraem elsewhere expresses at greater length this conviction that silence can, at times, achieve more than speech, when a creature approaches the creator. 29
This is suitable for the mouth:  that it might praise and be still and,  if it should be asked to run on,  it would entirely resist, in silence.  Then it will be able to comprehend,  unless it runs on 30 in order to comprehend.  Stillness is able to comprehend  more than the insolent [person] who runs on.
It may be that Ephraem's idea of the nature of the gulf between the created and the creator is of a kind that makes him think reverent, silent contemplation a more effective approach than any kind of outright address. Perhaps the principle of "like being attracted to like" is present here in Ephraem's mind, since earlier in the same hymn 31 he had declared to God:
Although You are more frightening than thunder,  You are stillness which cannot be sensed  and silence which cannot be heard.
If God is truly beyond the reach of the senses, then those who try to reach out to him with the tools they depend on in their daily lives will surely be at a loss. Approach to the divine can best be pursued by making oneself as much like it as possible, in the hopes of finding in that likeness some [End Page 32] common ground on which to proceed, or at least of gaining a closeness based on the resulting spiritual sympathy. The first step that Ephraem envisions in that likening process seems to be to keep quiet.
After all, in Ephraem's eyes, silence is not only a metaphor for God, it also wraps itself around the few true things we are able to know about God. Silence serves as the boundary separating our area of active engagement from the area in which we should not act. There is a sphere in which human beings can operate vis à vis God and not overstep the boundaries of reverence and propriety, but there are also firmly fixed boundaries beyond which we are not meant to go. In one hymn, while discussing the fact that there is a certain natural order among the persons of the Trinity, Ephraem says: 32
But, "How" and "Why," this is [wrapped] in the midst of silence.  Apart from the silence, and outside of it, speak praise.
Not only are the "How" and "Why" wrapped in silence, but even when we stand beyond the silence looking into it, Ephraem does not permit us to address these forbidden topics. We are to "speak praise"; that is, we are to give our assent to and declare our adherence to whatever the truth is that lies within the silence, but we are not to address our comments or thoughts to it. What is beyond the reach of our language to express is also beyond the bounds of what we are permitted to address. Most aspects of God, then, are shrouded strictly from our view, but outside that veil there are ways that we can actively engage with the divine. The contrast of speaking, and refraining from speech, about and to the divine that Ephraem has in mind is well described in Hymn 11, stanzas 5-9:
Behold, his ear is not able to hear great noise  and it also cannot hear still silence.  How can it hear the voice of the Son and the silence of the Father, for His silence is eloquent, too?
"The heavens declare the glory of God." 33  Behold, the silence which whispers it all through every tongue.  Behold, this firmament which whispers proclaims to every tongue the glory of its Maker. [End Page 33]
A person is too little to hear all the tongues.  If he were capable of hearing the tongue of angels and the Spirit  then would he be lifted up to hear the silence which the Father utters to the Son.
The speech of animals is foreign to our tongue.  The speech of angels is foreign to every tongue. 34  The silence by which the Father speaks to His Beloved is foreign to the angels.
It is good that, in the same way that He put on every likeness for us [to be able] to see,  so He put on every voice in order to persuade us.  [Only] One is able to see His nature and [only] One is able to hear His silence.
All the elements of the distinctions we have been sketching are found here: silence is found to speak (stanza 5), animals as well as angels are said to speak (stanza 8), the speech of God is clearly said to be foreign to the angels (stanza 8), and this speech of God is silence. The highest level of communication, that of God the Father to God the Son, is found not to take place in any special exalted language, but rather to be too special and exalted to involve any language at all: when a person of the Godhead really wishes to commune and to communicate with another, he keeps still. A variety of languages is depicted here with each one operating in its own sphere and according to its own abilities and pattern, and the divine silence has its place in that collection.
Now that we have reviewed Ephraem's statements on language and silence, we must take a moment to organize what we have seen in order to assess its character. Drawing out the implications of Ephraem's words should take two steps:
1) we must consider Ephraem's view of human language as a tool, and;
2) we must consider his view of silence as communication and how it relates to language.  
1) Human words, when used as tools of communication, are finite things that serve to delineate and describe our thoughts by placing limits upon them. That is, they define, they draw the outlines of our meaning as the pen does in a pen and ink drawing.
Their usefulness can be enhanced in two ways: by increasingly skillful [End Page 34] and knowledgeable wielding (the scale of possibilities begins with an uninstructed human speaker and extends all the way to the use of words by God in Scripture), and by the combination of speech with silence.
The former allows for ever better sketching of the outlines involved in the picture.
The latter avoids the introduction of incorrect elements in the picture and provides proper contrast (white against black) to cast into high relief the lines that are drawn so their significance can be ascertained and synthesized. Realizing one's limits and avoiding misleading false steps is a critical part of the successful use of the mix of speech and silence for humans. As Ephraem says of those who stray beyond these bounds: 35
His Son Who is from Him  is also the [only] one Who is capable of Him,  for whoever is foreign to His nature  is also foreign to investigation of Him.  He has gone badly wrong  because there is no path that will lead [one] to the Hidden One.
It is important to see that Ephraem presents these erring steps as not only unhelpful to those who make them, but as actually carrying those people farther and farther away from the goal they seek. Trying to step beyond the limitations imposed by one's nature leads not only to failure, it also causes one to fail to make full use of the powers one actually, and rightfully, possesses.
The "speech" of animals and angels mentioned in the quotation from Hymn 11 above should be thought of as foreign languages we humans cannot understand that have varied suitability for discussing elevated topics but are still inherently limited by their nature as languages. The limits they labor under are shown by the line we read from Sermons on Faith 1.101-10 where the angelic hosts stand in the presence of God in awed silence. The principle is declared in Hymn 4.13 where "the mouth," any mouth, that is, is told to praise and then be still, rather than to try to advance beyond the proper sphere of its speech.
So, the outline of the complementary use of speech and silence in Ephraem's picture seems to be that, because speech is a positive action, its utility is limited to the realm in which its subject lies within its reach. In order for speech to succeed in addressing a topic, it must be properly directed, contain the necessary words in the proper combination, and not attempt to address what is beyond its power. Sufficient knowledge and [End Page 35] intelligence can safeguard the first two of these criteria, but the third is controlled by the match between the nature of the speech and the nature of its target. If these two do not fit, the speaker must make use of silence to avoid misleading error. This is, however, not the only possible use of silence in communication, in Ephraem's opinion.
2) Silence is described by Ephraem not only as an absence, but also as a positive means of communicating: Hymn 11.6 states clearly that the way in which "the heavens declare the glory of God" is by a silence that "whispers through every tongue," that is, a silence that causes the whole of creation to speak of the glory of God. Ephraem envisions the heavens "declar[ing] the glory of God" without language, but this declaration is universal in its reception and not less effective for being wordless. Creatures, even subangelic creatures, can make use of silence as a means of communication, both on the giving and the receiving ends. Stanzas 6-10 in Hymn 11, though, make it even clearer that Ephraem thinks of silence as a multilevel means of communication in the same way he thinks of its counterpart, language.
It is interesting to note, however, that the silence of God, especially that which exists between Father and Son, is of an entirely different nature. Though the silence of creatures can be genuinely communicative, as we have seen with the heavens just above, and though silence (at least as far as I can imagine) is not obviously differentiated in one instance from another, Ephraem does, at times, seem to think of it as a positive rather than a negative thing: that is, as a presence rather than as an absence. This presence, like language, seems to be keyed to the user's ontological level. Hymn 11.8.3 says specifically:
The silence by which the Father speaks to His beloved is foreign to the angels.
Thus, at least in the mouth of God, silence is a language. This is clear,
1) because it is "foreign," as a language is "foreign," to the angels;
2) it is something that is spoken;
3) it is clearly a means of communication.
In this line we find, I think, the key for which we have searched and are ready to fill in the rest of the pattern of Ephraem's thought.
I understand Ephraem's position on language and silence to be as follows:
Language is the means by which truth, that is, correct ideas and facts, are communicated. However, a language that consists of words is one that is inherently self-limiting. Since it depends on drawing outlines and [End Page 36] establishing limits, it is capable of expressing only those things which have limits and is capable of operating only on the ontological level for which it has been designed. It is, by nature, incapable of expressing the truth about something that exists without limits. Thus, if the infinite divine is to express itself fully and accurately, without limits and without distortion due to selectivity, it cannot do so by means of verbal speech. The only speech that could carry the fullness of divine communication would be the unlimited speech of silence. This is precisely the speech with which Ephraem credits the Father and the Son. The result of this is that the silence that had been a negative entity on the lower rungs of the ladder of theological reflection becomes a positive, indeed the only positive, participant at the top of the scale. As the nature of the subject has changed, so has the appropriate means of approaching it.
The final line of Sermon 4 is a fitting summation of Ephraem's advice to the person who wishes to draw close to God: 36
Stretch out toward silence, weak one.
The practical goal of human reflection on the divine is to reach the point at which silence is the appropriate posture: at that point human language fails and we cast ourselves forward into the silence that ends our rational struggles and begins to liken us to, and draw us toward, God our goal. Beyond that point, however, inside the silence into which we cannot move, real communication does not cease, but, rather, flourishes in perfection. It is communication, however, on a level we can never hope to reach because it requires an infinite nature to engage in it. According to Ephraem's model, the speech and silence of every rung of the ontological ladder is appropriate to the level of its inhabitants and the subjects they should concern themselves with. When the rungs of the ladder give out and there is nowhere higher for the climber to set his foot, the climb is still not over, but only those who can move on without a ladder can move forward into the silence of perfect communion.
Paul S. Russell is Lecturer in Theology at Mount St. Mary's College in Emmitsburg, Maryland
Notes
1. Paul S. Russell, "St. Ephraem, the Syrian Theologian," Pro Ecclesia 7 (1998): 79-90, provides a brief introductory overview of his life and thought. The introductions to some recent collections of his works in English are convenient helps for those beginning to read Ephraem: Edward G. Mathews, Jr., and Joseph P. Amar, St. Ephrem the Syrian Selected Prose Works (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1994) has a general introduction that is particularly full and useful. Sebastian Brock's introduction to St. Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns on Paradise (Crestwood, NY: Saint Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1990) and Kathleen McVey's to Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1989) are good, clear, and accessible. Koonammakkal Thoma Kathanar, "Changing Views on Ephrem," Christian Orient 14.3 (1993): 113-20, contains discussions of many basic points about Ephraem's life, works, and their proper understanding. Brock's The Luminous Eye (rev. ed.) (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1992) is the only book-length treatment of Ephraem that deals with his work for nonspecialists.
2. Sidney H. Griffith, "Faith Adoring the Mystery": Reading the Bible with St. Ephraem the Syrian (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1997) addresses this aspect of Ephraem's work, pp. 6-17 discuss his life and what survives of his exegetical writings.
3. Cf. Griffith, "Faith Adoring the Mystery," 8ff., and Kathanar, "Changing Views," esp. 121-22.
4. Cf. Sidney H. Griffith, "A Spiritual Father for the Whole Church: St Ephraem the Syrian," Sobornost 20.2 (1998): 21-40.
5. Kathanar, "Changing Views," provides quotations of some notorious examples of this.
6. "Faith Adoring the Mystery," 8.
7. A very striking example of this neglect is found in R. P. C. Hanson's 875-page treatment of the Arian debates: The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1988), which manages to avoid mentioning Ephraem in either text or footnote, despite the fact that he produced hundreds of pages of works directly addressing these debates and the concerns they raise. Peter Bruns, "Arius Hellenizans? Ephraem der Syrer und die neoarianischen Kontroversen seiner Zeit," ZKG 101 (1990/91): 21-57, addresses this involvement directly. Cf. Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem the Syrian and St. Gregory the Theologian Confront the Arians (Kottayam: Saint Ephrem Ecumenical Research Center, 1994) for an attempt to demonstrate some aspects of this involvement.
8. E.g., Hymns on Faith 21.7 (cf. Eunomius, Apology 28.19-24, in Richard Paul Vaggione, Eunomius: The Extant Works [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987], 74), Hymns on Faith 52.13 (cf. Eunomius, Apology 8 and 9: Vaggione, Eunomius, 40-44) and Hymns on Faith 61.9 (cf. Arius' Letter to Alexander of Alexandria, sec. 2, in Athanasius, De synodis 19 [PG 26:709]). (All translations of Ephraem's words in this paper are my own. "H" signals a quotation from the Hymns on Faith and "S" one from the Sermons on Faith.)
9. Maurice Wiles, Archetypal Heresy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 1-51, provides the best theological account of the "Arian" strain of thought in the ancient period. Hanson, Search, is good for the history of the period. Rowan Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1987) is important for a clear picture of Arius and his background, and Thomas A. Kopecek, A History of Neo-Arianism, 2 vols. (Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1979) and Michel R. Barnes and Daniel H. Williams, eds., Arianism after Arius (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, Ltd., 1993) are important for the later stages of the quarrel. The collection of articles published by Robert C. Gregg, ed., Arianism: Historical and Theological Reassessments (Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1985) is also important.
10. Knowledge of God does not appear to have been a topic of discussion in the early stages of the Arian Controversy. Michael E. Butler, "Neo-Arianism: Its Ante-cedents and Tenets," Saint Vladimir's Seminary Theological Quarterly 36 (1994): 355-71, makes this distinction on 365ff., offering the following quotation from Arius' Thalia, found at Athanasius, De synodis 15 (PG 26:708c) in support: "It is clear that it is impossible for that which has a beginning to conceive of how the Unoriginate is, or to grasp the idea." Since both sides of the argument at that early stage agreed on the incomprehensibility of God, there was no need for the topic to be discussed. Ephraem's defense of the incomprehensibility of God against the Neo-Arians is discussed in Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem and St. Gregory, 121-45.
11. "Une clé pour les Hymnes d'Éphrem dans les MS. Sinai Syr. 10," Mus 85 (1972): 171-99 and "La transmission des Hymnes d'Éphrem d'après le MS Sinai Syr. 10. F. 165v-178r," OCA 197 (1974): 21-63.
12. A number of scholars have addressed the topic of Ephraem's theological language and his ideas about the theological enterprise: Sebastian Brock, "The Poet as Theologian," Sobornost 7.4 (1977): 243-50, David D. Bundy, "Language and the Knowledge of God in Ephrem Syrus," Patristic and Byzantine Review 5 (1986): 91-103; Sidney H. Griffith, "Faith Seeking Understanding in the Thought of St. Ephraem the Syrian," in George Berthold, ed., Faith Seeking Understanding: Learning and the Catholic Tradition (Manchester, NH: Saint Anselm College Press, 1991), 35-55, Andre de Halleux, O.F.M., "Mar Éphrem Théologien," Parole de l'Orient 4 (1973): 35-54; N. El-Khoury, "The Use of Language by Ephraim the Syrian," SP 16 (1985): 93-99, Thomas Koonammakkal, "Divine Names and Theological Language in Eph-rem," SP 25 (1993): 318-23 (as well as his "Changing Views on Ephrem" cited in n. 1 above); Robert Murray, S.J., "The Theory of Symbolism in St. Ephrem's Theology," Parole de l'Orient 6-7 (1975-76): 1-20 are all useful studies but, with the exception of brief mentions by Griffith and de Halleux, neglect treating the topic of silence and its relationship to the use of theological speech. Because of this, it is difficult to see in them Ephraem's complete understanding of the limits of the theological project. This paper attempts, through the examination of Ephraem's ideas of the limits of both speech and silence in theology, to present his position on this question in a more rounded form than has been attempted before.
13. Fragment ii in Vaggione, Eunomius, 178.
14. This is discussed in Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem the Syrian and St. Gregory, esp. 121-45.
15. H 38.11.1-2.
16. H 38.8-10 and 13.
17. Cf. H 56.1-6, where the simple beliefs (and silence) of Noah and Abraham are praised as examples to be followed. They were "those fathers who believed simply" (56.1.1).
18. Cf. H 67.5 on silence as limiting inquiry.
19. ll. 41-64.
20. Abraham is given as a similar example in S 3.69-88 of one who avoids speech and responds to God's presence with action.
21. 2.119-26.
22. Cf. 1.19.
23. Thus, H 2.4 and 6 are clearly comments on silence as protection from presumptuous speech, and H 5.13 a warning to avoid self-destructive presumption in talking about God beyond the limits of what we can sensibly undertake. In this way, H 7.4-6 provides two Gospel examples of appropriate reticence: the disciples witnessing Christ walking on the water and the Magi in the stable at Bethlehem.
24. Cf. H 8.7.
25. S 6.165-80.
26. The word used here is cognate with "Rabbi."
27. See H 11.5-9 quoted below.
28. S 1.109-10. Cf. H 3.9-11 and 4.1 and 17 where silence greets any hint of inquiry and praise is the heavenly norm.
29. H 4.13, cf. H 15.2 and 5. The reader should notice that neither of these two quotations advances the very un-biblical idea that Heaven is a silent place. The "prais[ing] and be[ing] still" of H 4 allows for all the "Holy, Holy, Holy"s that the Bible describes (e.g., Rev 4.8) but wishes to make a distinction between that kind of speech and speech that attempts description and definition. Description and definition require real knowledge of their object, which is exactly what Ephraem denies is possible for humans where God is concerned. Praise assumes no knowledge, only reverence. Thus, descriptions elsewhere in Ephraem's writings of the heavenly hosts in full tongue (e.g. Letter to Publius 21--text and Eng. trans. in Sebastian P. Brock, "Ephrem's Letter to Publius," Mus 89.3-4 (1976): 261-305, at 291) should not be thought of as inconsistent with his position in these pieces, but rather as examples of appropriate, reverent praise.
30. "Running on," either in speaking too much or trying to proceed too far, is a way to lose what progress can be legitimately expected.
31. Stanza 5, lines 5-7.
32. H 23.15.1-2; cf. H 22.10-12, where silence is the seal on the door that protects knowledge of the Son and Father and H 40.4, where the unity of Three in One and the distinctions of each person are met with a similar silence.
33. Ps 19.1.
34. Presumably because angels, being spiritual, speak their language without the use of tongues.
35. H 11.10.
36. S 4.208.

Journal of World History Volume 21, Number 1, March 2010

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 19:04:24 -0400

E-ISSN: 1527-8050 Print ISSN: 1045-6007
DOI: 10.1353/jwh.0.0109
Reviewed by
Lis Brack-Bernsen
University of Regensburg
Mathematics in Ancient Iraq: A Social History. By Eleanor Robson. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2008. 472 pp. $49.50 (cloth).
In this monumental book, the author includes all 957 cuneiform tablets (published before 2007) that in some way or other are concerned with mathematics in a broad sense: accounts, metrological lists, arithmetical lists or tablets, calculations and diagrams, and all kinds of mathematical exercises (word problems or model documents) as well as mathematical astronomy. By so doing, Eleanor Robson for the first time traces the origins and the development of mathematics in the ancient Middle East from its earliest beginnings in the fourth millennium b.c., continuing through six epochs to the mathematical and astronomical texts written during the late first millennium b.c., when cuneiform writing was gradually abandoned. The book witnesses a new and inspiring approach to the vast field of cuneiform mathematics. It does not replace former works but it presents their results from a new point of view, introducing mathematics as developed parallel to the development of writing and societies—as an integral and powerful component of cuneiform culture. The investigation includes linguistic considerations combined with analysis of the contents, methods, and concepts behind the mathematical tablets. Curriculum and teaching in the scribal schools during the different periods are analyzed, and new insight is gained from analysis of scribe families, mentioned in colophons. In addition, Robson treats the clay tablets as archaeological objects, where material and form give important information, not to speak of the whereabouts they were found and which other tablets were found near them (for the lucky cases where location and circumstances of the excavated tablets are known). [End Page 131]
When cuneiform mathematics was deciphered for the first time around 1930—a pioneering work that deserves our respect and admiration—only the internal, mathematical content was (and could be) considered. In this first approach the mathematical content of (mostly Old Babylonian, OB from now on) mathematical texts were reproduced in modern algebraic notation. Algebraic translations of the texts were treated further, and it became evident that OB mathematics was versatile and, for example, able to solve second-degree equations. In the 1980s, Jens Høyrup started analyzing the language used in “algebraic” texts from Old Babylonian time. He pointed at the fact that two different words were used for addition, and he succeeded in demonstrating that some geometrical figures had guided the “algebraic” calculations. It was not some known algebraic formulas or identities that determined the operations, but rather a geometric cut-and-paste technique that was utilized for many different mathematical exercises.1
Instead of concentrating on mathematics from the important OB period, from which 712 mathematical cuneiform tablets have come down to us, the author has taken a wider view of mathematics and numeracy and asked new questions. Seeking to trace mathematical thinking in the Mesopotamian culture, she has analyzed tablets from all periods of Mesopotamian history, searching for mathematical thoughts and practices within its social, religious, cultural, and historical context.
Chapter 1 gives an excellent and general introduction to the topic—a great help to all newcomers not familiar with Assyriology. Chapters 2–4 and 6–8 examine the six epochs into which the author has structured the cuneiform mathematics. Each chapter begins with background information and then presents texts and figures, representative for the period, followed by its arrangement into sociohistorical context. Three concentric circles or domains are analyzed: the inner zone is the scribal school with its teaching and methods, the middle zone is the sphere of practical work (utilizing techniques learned in the schools), and the outer zone goes beyond mathematical practices and includes for example ethno-mathematics or reliefs and Sumerian hymns. For each time period, the conclusions drawn from the material presented in the chapter are repeated in condensed form at the end of the chapter. [End Page 132]
History is not “what happened” but an interpretation of the past, arisen in the brain of the historian. The questions asked and the point of view taken by the historian determine the answers one gets. Jens Høyrup explained the fact that UR III mathematics (as compared to OB) was quite dull and mostly concerned with numeration and book-keeping from a political perspective: the despotic emperor Šulgi suppressed mathematical invention and freedom.2 Robson characterizes the UR III period as the epoch of standardization and approximation in which the sexagesimal place value system became the means of all calculations—while the new overwhelming mathematics of the following OB period is explained by the ideology of kingship: piety and justice exemplified through righteous and fair measurements. These virtues were transferred to the scribes and are seen by Robson as the prime motor for the blossoming of precise mathematics in OB times. She underpins this interpretation by all the Sumerian hymns praising these virtues of goddesses frequently copied in OB school exercises—and by the mathematical equipment “rod and ring” as symbols of kingship. The hymns and symbols are also found in the UR III period, but Robson uses them to explain OB mathematics by a political cultural ethic. I could imagine that mathematical interest, curiosity, and the joy of inventing and of solving problems may have led to the blossoming of OB mathematics, after the cut-and-paste method had been invented. Could it be that it was the other way around: that the OB kings adorned and described their ruling power by referring to the successful mathematics?
Apart from many numerical tables and texts with calculations or mathematical exercises, which are well explained in the text, the book contains a lot of figures and photos of tablets, many very informative and useful tables, an index of all tables mentioned, and an extensive bibliography and subject index. With such a comprehensive study, it is no wonder that printing errors occur—sometimes at places where it, quite disturbingly, may make it hard to follow the calculations or the interpretation of a text. But the book is a very significant contribution to the history of mathematics. It is well written, solidly founded and argued, and easy to understand. It is a fine and important addition to the literature on Babylonian mathematics, and it will be very useful [End Page 133] to readers from both inside and outside the field. The book is warmly recommended to everyone who is interested in mathematics and its history, in ancient cultures, or in science seen as an integrated part of culture, and to the broader public of historians of early science or Mesopotamian culture.
Footnotes
1. See Jens Høyrup, “Algebra and Native Geometry: An Investigation of Some Basic Aspects of Old Babylonian Mathematical Thought,” Altorientalische Forschungen 17 (1990).
2. Jens Høyrup, “How to Educate a Kapo, or Reflections on the Absence of a Culture of Mathematical Problems in UR III,” in Under One Sky: Astronomy and Mathematics in the Ancient Near East, ed. J. M. Steele and A. Imhausen, pp. 121–145, Alte Orient und Altes Testament 297 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2002).
Copyright © 2010 University of Hawai‘i Press

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THE BABYLONIAN ZODIAC Robert Powell, Ph.D.

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 19:03:27 -0400

Abstract: This paper outlines the historical background of the ancient sidereal zodiac of the Babylonians. Sidereal means "of the stars". Both the ancient Babylonian zodiac and the modern astronomical zodiac are sidereal, i.e., defined in relation to the stars belonging to the zodiacal belt. Whereas the Babylonian zodiac comprised twelve equal constellations, each 30 degrees in length, the astronomical zodiac is made up of twelve unequal-length constellations. Following the definition of the Greek astronomer Hipparchus (second century B.C.), where 30-degree constellational divisions are called signs, the constellations of the Babylonian zodiac were also zodiacal signs. In the ancient Babylonian zodiac each of the zodiacal signs/constellations were 30 degrees long. This paper considers the historical background to the sidereal zodiac of the Babylonians and how the signs/constellations of the Babylonian zodiac were defined in relation to 1st magnitude stars belonging to the zodiacal belt. A subsequent paper "Greek Star Catalogs and the Modern Astronomical Zodiac" explores the origin of the modern astronomical zodiac.

Key words: Aldebaran-Antares axis; ancient astrology; ancient astronomical observations; ancient mathematical astronomy; Babylonian star catalog; constellations; cuneiform texts; ecliptic; fiducial axis; fixed stars; history of the zodiac; mul-APIN; normal stars; zodiac; zodiacal belt; zodiacal signs.

The belt of stars marking the background of the orbits of the Sun, Moon and planets has been of interest for thousands of years. Ever since human beings began to take an interest in observing the world around them, they could not fail to notice that the Moon and the planets move against the background of fixed stars not in a random way, but in such a way as always to pass before the same fixed stars. Hence, the particular fixed stars or rather belt of fixed stars against which the Moon and planets are seen to progress, acquired a special significance. This belt of stars, known as the ?zodiacal belt,? became distinguished from the rest of the sphere of fixed stars because the paths of the Moon and the planets ? and also the Sun, although of course the apparent passage of the Sun against the background of the fixed stars generally cannot be seen with the naked eye ? all lie within the zodiacal belt. In modern astronomy the zodiacal belt is defined in relation to the apparent path of the Sun through the fixed stars, which path is taken as the middle of the belt, so that the zodiacal belt, usually taken to be 16 degrees wide, by this definition extends 8 degrees north and 8 degrees south of the apparent path of the Sun. The zodiacal belt is thus a belt of fixed stars along the middle of which runs the apparent path of the Sun and contains also the paths of the Moon and the five planets known to the ancients through naked eye observation ? Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The orbits of the more recently discovered planets, Uranus and Neptune, also lie within the zodiacal belt, as defined here; but Pluto, which was discovered more recently (in 1930), since its orbital inclination is 17 degrees, periodically strays beyond the limits of 8 degrees north and 8 degrees south latitude.

The path of the Sun ? actually the apparent path of the Sun ? against the background of fixed stars is called the ?ecliptic.? This word is derived from the same root as the term ?eclipse?. Thus, when there is a total eclipse of the Sun, sometimes its position can be observed in relation to the background of fixed stars, provided that the astronomical conditions are right and a suitable location for observation is possible. Similarly, eclipses of the Moon take place only when the Moon is on, or very near, the ecliptic. Theoretically, therefore, the Sun?s apparent path, which specifies the ecliptic, could be determined in relation to the fixed stars through observation of solar and lunar eclipses.

It is important to clearly distinguish between the ecliptic and the zodiacal belt. The ecliptic is specifically the Sun?s apparent path against the background of the fixed stars, while the zodiacal belt embraces the paths of all the planets (with the exception, periodically, of Pluto) including the Sun?s path. The ecliptic is a line, a circle, through the celestial sphere, and the zodiacal belt is a region, a belt, around the celestial sphere. The relationship between them is given by the fact that the circle of the ecliptic passes through the middle of the zodiacal belt.

Ancient astronomy was concerned with observing the movements of the heavenly bodies, for which purposes the zodiacal belt ? although not necessarily defined as above ? was used as the natural frame of reference. Indeed, the zodiacal belt was the frame of reference originally used by Babylonian astronomers, who were the first to make systematic astronomical observations of the movements of the planets against the background of the fixed stars. According to the Greek astronomer Claudius Ptolemy (second century A.D.), systematic observations by Babylonian astronomers began in the first year of the reign of King Nabonassar of Babylon (747 B.C.).1 Ptolemy?s statement has been confirmed by the excavation of cuneiform texts from Babylon and Uruk, some of which contain recorded astronomical observations of eclipses going back to the eighth century B.C., or the early years of the era Nabonassar. ?Diaries? of astronomical observations by Babylonian astronomers, dating back to the seventh century B.C., give the positions of the Moon and planets within a zodiacal belt extending between 10 degrees north and 7½ degrees south of the ecliptic.2 In these early astronomical texts, the positions of the Moon and planets are given with respect to a set of 31 reference stars, called Normal Stars,3 the more prominent stars belonging to the zodiacal belt. All 31 Normal Stars used by Babylonian astronomers have been securely identified, and have been found in a zone between 10 degrees north and 7½ degrees south latitude.4 In the texts the position of the Moon or of a planet is given by stating that it is ?in front of? a Normal Star (which means to the west of the star), or that it is above or below the star, often in terms of the Babylonian units ?cubit? and ?finger?.

The primitive system of Normal Stars, although used throughout the period of Babylonian astronomy, until roughly the beginning of the Christian era, became superseded for most practical purposes by a new system in which the positions of the Sun, Moon, and planets came to be given in terms of zodiacal signs. The first recorded use in Babylonian astronomy of the new system, a list of solar eclipses given in signs of the zodiac, belongs to the first half of the fifth century B.C., the eclipses extending from 475 to 457 B.C.5 In this system the zodiacal belt is divided into twelve equal sectors or signs, each 30 degrees long, where the signs are defined with respect to fixed stars in the zodiacal belt. The relationship between the Normal Star system and the system of zodiacal signs can be determined from a fragment of a catalog of Normal Stars, belonging probably to the fourth century B.C., and also in conjunction with readings from cuneiform texts giving planetary or lunar positions in both systems simultaneously. For example, the catalog gives the Normal Star α Librae in terms of the system of zodiacal signs as 20˚ Libra, i.e. the star α Librae is located at 20 degrees in the Babylonian (sidereal) sign of Libra. Similarly, the longitude of β Librae is 25˚ Libra, or 25 degrees in the Babylonian (sidereal) sign of Libra.6 Peter Huber, using all available data at his disposal, determined the zero point (0˚ Aries) of the Babylonian zodiac,7 and the Babylonian sidereal zodiac has been reconstructed in its entirety by cataloging Ptolemy?s 1022 stars, listed in his star catalog from the Almagest, in terms of the Babylonian signs of the zodiac.8

This is not the place to enter into the complex early history of the zodiac in Mesopotamia, which is discussed by B.L. van der Waerden in his paper ?History of the Zodiac.?9 However, it is necessary to add a few brief remarks concerning the relationship of Normal Stars to the Babylonian signs of the zodiac, since this is crucial to our consideration of the origin of the Babylonian zodiac. How did the Normal Stars come to be assigned given degree positions in the various Babylonian zodiacal signs? Was it a purely arbitrary process, or is it possible to find some underlying structure in the relationship between Normal Stars and zodiacal signs?

Among the list of 31 Normal Stars there are five stars of 1st magnitude: Aldebaran, Pollux, Regulus, Spica, and Antares. It is reasonable to assume that for Babylonian astronomers, making their observations of the Moon and planets in relation to Normal Stars, the brightest of these stars would assume greater significance ? just as is the case in modern popular astronomy. A conjunction of the Moon with Spica is more noteworthy than a conjunction with its relatively faint neighbor, Porrima. Hence, the first magnitude Normal Stars ? Aldebaran, Pollux, Regulus, Spica, and Antares ? are of primary importance in considering the inherent structure of the Babylonian signs of the zodiac. From Peter Huber?s analysis of the location of the zero point (0˚ Aries) of the Babylonian zodiac, the longitudes of these first magnitude stars may be reconstructed. To the nearest degree, their positions in the Babylonian zodiac are: Aldebaran (α Tauri) = 15˚ Taurus, Pollux (β Geminorum) = 29˚ Gemini, Regulus (α Leonis) = 5˚ Leo, Spica (α Virginis) = 29˚ Virgo, Antares (α Scorpii) = 15˚ Scorpio.10 This reconstruction reveals the remarkable fact that the two 1st magnitude stars, Aldebaran and Antares, lie diametrically opposite one another in the zodiac, each in the center of their respective signs.

These two 1st magnitude Normal Stars thereby stand out from the other three 1st magnitude Normal Stars, and indeed from all the Normal Stars, since the rising of one coincides with the setting of the other. Thereby they divide the zodiacal belt exactly in two. This striking property, relating to two of the brightest stars in the zodiacal belt, evidently led to these two stars being chosen as the ?fiducial axis? for the Babylonian zodiac, i.e., an axis dividing the zodiac in half ? in relation to which the stellar longitudes of the other Normal Stars could be measured. With the increasing astronomical and mathematical prowess of the Babylonians, and the need for better, more accurate ephemerides for the prediction of eclipses and other planetary phenomena, the adoption of such a reference axis for measurement and computation was necessitated, and undoubtedly it evolved naturally from the more primitive system of Normal Stars. The two stars ? Aldebaran and Antares ? specifying this reference axis of the Babylonian zodiac were defined to be in the center of the zodiacal signs of Taurus and Scorpio rather than elsewhere (for example, at the beginning of their respective signs), as they both lie centrally in groups of stars which had long been recognized as distinct stellar configurations marking the constellations of Taurus and Scorpio. Confirmation of this line of reasoning is to be found in excerpts relating to two Greek astrological texts:

Cleomedes states (De motu I, 11, p. 106,25 to 108,5 Ziegler) that there exist two bright stars such that the rising of one coincides with the setting of the other: Aldebaran (α Tauri) and Antares (α Scorpii), both being located at the 15th degree of their respective sign.11
?the diametrically opposite positions of Aldebaran and Antares in Taurus 15 degrees and Scorpio 15 degrees, respectively?is also given in a Greek treatise which goes under the name of the ?Anonymous of the Year 379?.12

The Greek astrologer Hephaestion of Thebes (fourth century A.D.) also lists the longitude of Aldebaran as 15˚ Taurus.13

Why, however, should these statements drawn from Greek astrology have any bearing on the Babylonian zodiac? Greek astrology is relevant here, since it is know that Greek astrologers were the direct recipients of Babylonian star lore, as is evident in the case of the astrological school founded by Berossos on the Greek island of Cos early in the third century B.C.14 From sources such as Berossos, Babylonian star lore was transmitted to Greece and became incorporated into the corpus of Greek astrology. The statements of Greek astrologers may thus offer direct insight into the nature of Babylonian astronomy, and in this instance the singling out of Aldebaran and Antares from all other stars, by virtue of their special relationship to one another, could reflect the reasoning underlying the original definition of the signs of the Babylonian zodiac as the system to replace the system of Normal Stars. Hence, we may suppose that at some time in the sixth (or early fifth) century B.C. some Babylonian astronomer (or group of astronomers), while making observations of the Moon and planets in relation to Normal Stars, realized that two of the most prominent Normal Stars, Aldebaran and Antares, divide the zodiac in half, and that the axis between them could therefore serve as a reference axis for all the stars of the zodiacal belt. In this way, therefore, the Normal Stars came to be related to a new system, namely the system of zodiacal signs in which the zodiacal belt was divided into twelve 30-degree sectors or signs, with the two signs Taurus and Scorpio defined so that Aldebaran and Antares were located at the center of these signs, respectively ? Aldebaran at 15˚ Taurus and Antares at 15˚ Scorpio. With this as the basic, initial definition of the structure of the Babylonian zodiac, it was then simply a matter of measuring the distance in degrees of other Normal Stars from the Aldebaran-Antares axis in order to deduce the longitudes of Normal Stars in the various signs, with Regulus at 5˚ Leo, Spica at 29˚ Virgo, etc.15

With respect to the question as to why the zodiacal belt of Normal Stars was divided into twelve signs, each 30 degrees long, B.L. van der Waerden, in ?History of the Zodiac,? writes:
There are twelve signs, because there are twelve months in the schematic year of mul-APIN. The signs were made of equal length in order to get months of equal duration; they were divided in 30 degrees each because the schematical months were supposed to contain 30 days each.16

In other words, in the sixth (or early fifth) century B.C., when the division of the zodiacal belt of Normal Stars into twelve signs was originally formulated, there already existed a schematic calendar devised earlier by Babylonian astronomers, which we know of from the text mul-APIN. Mul-APIN consists of two tablets, dated around 700 B.C., in which are listed the rising of 18 bright stars and constellations in the zodiacal belt, in terms of a schematic year of twelve months each 30 days long.17 This is a ?schematic? year, because the actual civil calendar in Babylon operated with lunar months, which fluctuate in length, being either 29 or 30 days long, and in an intercalation year (roughly every third year) there were thirteen instead of twelve lunar months. The mul-APIN calendar scheme thus represented an idealized year: the ideal of the actual year of twelve (or thirteen) variable-length lunar months. With this scheme already in existence, the originator of the system of zodiacal signs was influenced by it in such a way as to specify a twelvefold division of the zodiacal belt into signs, each sign consisting of 30 degrees, analogous to the twelvefold division of the year into schematic months, with each month consisting of 30 days. Once the idea of this division of the zodiacal belt, analogous to the schematic division of the year, had been formulated, it was simply a matter of defining where the signs should lie in relation to the Normal Stars comprising the zodiacal belt.

In conclusion, then, the Babylonian zodiac originated in the sixth (or early fifth) century B.C. It was devised as an alternative system to that of the Normal Stars belonging to the zodiacal belt. The division of the zodiacal belt into twelve signs each 30 degrees long was analogous to the schematic division of the year into twelve months, each 30 days long, formulated in the text mul-APIN around 700 B.C. The relationship between the Normal Stars belonging to the zodiacal belt and the division into zodiacal signs was specified by the adoption of the Aldebaran-Antares axis as the fiducial axis for the Babylonian zodiac, with Aldebaran at the middle of the sign of Taurus and Antares at the middle of the sign of Scorpio. Once adopted, the longitudes of the remaining Normal Stars were defined in terms of sign and degree in the Babylonian zodiac, by determining their distances from the Aldebaran-Antares axis. The relationship between Normal Stars and the Babylonian zodiac was recorded in a star catalog, probably the world?s first star catalog, thus constituting the definition of the Babylonian zodiac. In this way the transition from the system of Normal Stars to the system of zodiacal signs was accomplished, and herein lies the origin of the Babylonian zodiac.

1 Ptolemy, Almagest III (ed. J.L. Heiberg, Leipzig, 1898, p. 254).
2 Cf. O. Neugebauer, A History of Ancient Mathematical Astronomy (3 vols; Berlin-Heidelberg-New York, 1975), vol. i, pp. 545-547; hereafter cited as HAMA.
3 The terminology ?Normal Stars? was introduced by J. Epping, Astronomisches aus Babylon (Freiburg i. Br., 1889), p. 115.
4 Cf. A. Sachs, ?Babylonian Observational Astronomy,? Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, Series A, 276 (1974), pp. 43-50, esp. p. 46.
5 Cf. A. Aaboe-A. Sachs, ?Two Lunar Texts of the Achaemenid Period from Babylon,? Centaurus 14 (1969), pp. 1-22, esp. p. 17.
6 Cf. A. Sachs, ?A Late Babylonian Star Catalogue,? Journal of Cuneiform Studies 6 (1952), pp. 146-150, esp. p. 146.
7 P. Huber, ?Über den Nullpunkt der babylonischen Eklipik,? Centaurus 5 (1958), pp. 192-208.
8 R.A. Powell, History of the Zodiac (unsubmitted doctoral thesis).
9 B.L. van der Waerden, ?History of the Zodiac,? Archiv für Orientforschung 16 (1953), pp. 216-230.
10 Cf. R.A. Powell, op. cit., apppendix 1.
11 O. Neugebauer, HAMA ii, p. 960.
12 Ibid.
13 Cf. O. Neugebauer-H.P. van Hoesen, Greek Horoscopes (Philadelphia, 1959), p. 187.
14 Cf. P. Schnabel, Berossos und die babylonisch-hellenistische Literatur (Leipzig, 1923),pp. 250-275 for Greek fragments of Berosos? writings.
15 Abraham Sachs? reading (see note 6) for Spica from the late Babylonian star catalog is 28˚ Virgo, which does not really affect the line of reasoning presented here, since it may simply reflect a degree of inaccuracy inherent in the measurement of stellar longitudes by Babylonian astronomers.
16 B.L. van der Waerden, op. cit., p. 218.
17 Cf. E. Weidner, ?Ein babylonisches Kompedium der Himmelskunde,? American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 40 (1924), pp. 186-208; cf. also, E. Weidner, ?Der Tierkrreis und die Wege am Himmel,? Archiv für Orientforschung 7 (1931-32), pp. 170-178, and W.K. Pritchett ? B.L. van der Warden, ?Thucydidean Time-Reckoning and Euctemon?s Seasonal Calendar,? Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 85 (1961), pp. 17-51, esp. pp. 43ff.

Sennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw The Context of Invention in the Ancient World S T E P H A N I E D A L L E Y a n d J O H N P E T E R O L E S O N

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 19:02:39 -0400

T E C H N O L O G Y A N D C U L T U R E

1
This article will present the cases for and against Archimedes as the original
inventor of the most striking and famous device attributed to him, the
water screw. It takes the form of a case study that focuses as much on the
context and motives for the invention as on the possible inventor himself.
In brief, an Archimedean water screw consists of a cylinder containing several
continuous helical walls that, when the entire cylinder is rotated on its
longitudinal axis, scoop up water at the open lower end and dump it out
the upper end. Both Aage Drachmann and John Oleson have summarized
the literary and archaeological evidence from the classical world suggesting
that Archimedes (287–212 B.C.) was the first person to design and construct
a mechanical water-raising screw, and they accept him as the inventor.1
Stephanie Dalley, on the other hand, reinterpreting a passage of cuneiform
Akkadian and a statement by Strabo, has proposed that the water screw was

Dr. Dalley is Shillito Research Fellow in Assyriology at the Oriental Institute and
Somerville College, University of Oxford. She has published primary editions of cuneiform
texts from excavations in Iraq and Syria and from museums in Britain, as well as
specialized studies and more general books. She has translated all the Assyrian texts used
in this article. Dr. Oleson is professor of Greek and Roman Studies at the University of
Victoria, British Columbia.His areas of fieldwork and research include ancient hydraulic
technology, Roman harbors and their construction, and the Roman Near East. He has
published widely in all these areas. Except where otherwise noted, he has translated all
the Greek and Latin texts cited in the article. The authors are grateful to a number of
scholars for their assistance with this article, including Richard Dight, Peter Kingsley,
David Oates, Simon Raikes, and the Technology and Culture referees.
©2003 by the Society for the History of Technology. All rights reserved.
0040-165X/03/4401-0001$8.00

1. Aage G. Drachmann, “The Screw of Archimedes,” Actes du VIIIe Congres International
d’Histoire des Sciences, Florence-Milan (Florence, 1958), 3:940–43; John Peter
Oleson, Greek and Roman Mechanical Water-Lifting Devices: The History of a Technology
(Toronto, 1984), 291–94, and “Water-Lifting,” in Handbook of Ancient Water Technology,
ed.O¨ rjan Wikander (Leiden, 2000), 217–302, esp. 242–47 on the water screw.
JANUARY
2003
VOL. 44
2
already known during the reign of the Assyrian king Sennacherib (704–681
B.C.) and that the design was put to use in spectacular fashion to water his
palace garden at Nineveh.2
The precise identification of the inventor of a device or procedure is
problematic, since nearly every technological advance is the result of long
accumulation of human experience. As any modern patent lawyer can
attest, it is difficult to document the originality of even a complicated or
specialized technique or device. This problem is compounded for ancient
technological innovations because firsthand documentary records are rare,
and historical texts, where they exist, can be unclear, mistaken, or tendentious.
3 The frequent lists of “inventors” in Pliny’s Natural History (especially
7.191–215) are an example of the doubtful attribution in the mid-first century
of particular devices and techniques to individuals. Ancient authors
occasionally preserve a story of invention that sounds convincing and fits
into the known contemporary cultural and technological context—for
example, Vitruvius’s charming depiction (On Architecture 9.8.2–4) of the
youthful inventions of the Alexandrian Ctesibius (third century B.C.), who
provided helpful gadgets for his father’s barber shop.4
Memorable and entertaining as such stories are, there is no method by
which modern scholars can distinguish genuine biographical detail from an
etiological fiction containing plausible details added to increase the immediacy.
Fortunately, identification of a specific individual inventor is far less
important or interesting than an understanding of the historical and cultural
context that spawned the invention and fostered its reception. The precocious
Ctesibius sounds like the young Thomas Edison, enlivening his
modest surroundings with innovative gadgets, setting the stage for his later
accomplishments through induction, invention from the bottom up. Occasionally
we hear of the motives and procedures of a royal patron in the classical
world, of top-down innovation. The historian Diodorus Siculus (Diodorus
of Sicily), for example, writing in the mid-first century B.C., describes
a sort of think tank set up by the ambitious King Dionysius I of Syracuse
2. Stephanie Dalley, “Ancient Mesopotamian Gardens and the Identification of the
Hanging Gardens of Babylon Resolved,” Garden History 21 (1993): 8–10; “Nineveh,
Babylon and the Hanging Gardens: Cuneiform and Classical Sources Reconciled,” Iraq
56 (1994): 51–54;“More about the Hanging Gardens,” in Of Pots and Plans: Papers on the
Archaeology and History of Mesopotamia and Syria Presented to David Oates in Honour of
his 75th Birthday, ed. Lamia Al-Gailani Werr et al. (Cambridge, 2002). The main focus of
Dalley’s research is her proposal that the famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon, praised
by Greek and Latin authors, were actually the gardens of Sennacherib’s palace at
Nineveh.
3. P. Edfou 8, a third-century B.C. papyrus document from Egypt, may be an exception;
see Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting, 146–47, and “Water-Lifting,” 289.
4. See the discussions of this passage in Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting, 109–10,
and “Water-Lifting,” 290. Many of the passages in Greek and Latin authors on inventors
are gathered in John Humphrey, John Oleson, and Andrew Sherwood, Greek and Roman
Technology: A Sourcebook (London, 1998), 588–97.
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
3
(430–367 B.C.) to solve a particular problem of military technology (History
14.41.3–4, 42.1). The high wages, performance bonuses, and focused work
groups would not be out of place in a modern computer company:
Dionysius, therefore, immediately assembled technicians, commanding
them to come from the cities he ruled, and luring them from Italy
and Greece—and even from Carthaginian territory—with high wages.
For he intended to manufacture weapons in great numbers and projectiles
of every sort. . . .After assembling a great number of technicians,
he divided them into work-groups according to each one’s own
talents. . . .
In fact, the catapult was invented [euJrevqh] in Syracuse on this
occasion, since the most able technicians were gathered together from
all over into one place. The high wages stimulated their enthusiasm,
along with the numerous prizes offered to those judged the best.
A similar situation later on in Alexandria is reported by Philo of Byzantium
(fl. ca. 200 B.C.), who in his book on catapults (Belopoeika 50), reports
that Alexandrian craftsmen derived systematic rules for catapult construction
“because they were heavily subsidized by kings who loved prestige and
fostered technology.”5 By the third century, at least, the prestige of the
patron seems to have become as important as the practical benefit of these
innovations.
The public inscriptions of the Near Eastern,Greek, and Roman cultures
naturally celebrate the accomplishments of the great persons who set them
up, and all ancient historians relied heavily on the biographical approach.
In such a climate, the innovations of an anonymous technician were routinely
attributed to his patron, and credit for an invention was more readily
assigned to a famous personality—divine, human, or eponymous—than
to a research group, a slave, or no one at all. In particular, the name of a
known inventor or scientist could easily attract the credit for anonymous
inventions appropriate to his métier. Stories about the young Ctesibius, of
course, were repeated, or even created, because of his later accomplishments.
It has also been suggested that some of the inventions attributed in
antiquity to Archimedes, the most famous ancient technician and polymath,
may have been developed by other individuals, possibly long before
he lived. The genius of Archimedes, like that of Leonardo da Vinci, became
the stuff of legend even during his lifetime.6
During April 1999 the authors served as joint technical advisors and participants
in the production of a British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC)
television film titled “The Hanging Gardens of Babylon,”which examined the
theory that the water screw was known in Assyria in the seventh century B.C.
5. Translation,Michael J. T. Lewis, “The Hellenistic Period,” in Wikander, 634.
6. Eduard J. Dijksterhuis, Archimedes (Copenhagen, 1956), 14–32; Dennis L. Simms,
“Archimedes the Engineer,” History of Technology 17 (1995): 46, 65–67.
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In the course of the film Oleson supervised the construction of two full-scale
wooden water screws and shadufs (counterbalanced sweeps with buckets,
used for raising water) to experiment with techniques of irrigation, and
Dalley advised on the casting of a small bronze water screw. The wooden
water screws were built largely according to the detailed instructions given by
Vitruvius (On Architecture 10.6.1–4), while the bronze water-screw design
was based on a description in an Assyrian text called The Palace without a
Rival. Neither of us having succeeded in convincing the other about the
chronology of the water screw during the filming, we subsequently decided
to collaborate on this article, presenting the evidence in a more scholarly
fashion and with a focus on the cultural context of invention and innovation
in both periods.
In the course of our discussions, we became acutely aware of the extent
of the gulf between scholars who study the classical cultures and those who
study the cultures of the ancient Near East, especially Mesopotamia. Historians
of “ancient” technology have traditionally given preferential treatment
to the accomplishments of the Bronze Age Egyptian and the Greek
and Roman cultures, while ancient Mesopotamian achievements tend to be
relegated to the specialist publications of Sumerian scholars or Assyriologists,
such as the recent synthesis by Ariel Bagg.7 Given the deep roots of
Greco-Roman culture in the Near East, this lack of exchange is a serious
impediment to research.
One cause for this gap in communication arises from the separation of
the study of Indo-European languages from that of the Semitic languages.
In addition, judgments about racial and linguistic superiority or polemical
views of “orientalism” were for a long period innate in various branches of
learning in western scholarship. The Black Athena controversy has recently
made these issues very clear, at least in North America.8 Another factor is
the esoteric difficulty of cuneiform, progress in the understanding of
which, though rapid in recent years, has yet to make its way into general
works such as encyclopedias and general overviews. There are far greater
gaps in the information than is the case for the Greek and Roman cultures.
A seemingly obvious question to a classicist, “Why is there no evidence of
the water screw for several centuries?” is astounding to an Assyriologist,
7. Ariel Bagg, Assyrische Wasserbauten (Mainz, 2000); see the detailed review by
Stephanie Dalley forthcoming in Archiv fur Orientforschung 48. Bagg (201–3, 206–7,
277–79) objects to Dalley’s proposal that Sennacherib made use of the water screw
largely on the basis that no other early evidence for the device exists.
8. In essence, many African-Americans accept Martin Bernal’s proposal that the
Egyptians were blacks, that the culture and accomplishments of the Greeks were based
on black Egyptian accomplishments, and that this cultural heritage has been repressed as
a result of Eurocentrism and racial prejudice. Martin Bernal, Black Athena: The Afroasiatic
Roots of Classical Civilization, 2 vols. (London, 1987). For a critique of Bernal’s
argument, see Mary R. Lefkowitz and Guy MacLean Rogers, eds., Black Athena Revisited
(Chapel Hill, N.C., 1996).
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
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9. Note, for example, Pliny’s account of the inventors of navigation, Natural History
7.206–9. The phenomenon in general is discussed in detail by Adolph Kleingünther,
Prw`to~ euJrethv~ (Leipzig, 1933), and John F.Healey, Pliny the Elder on Science and Technology
(Oxford, 1999), 347–52.
10. See, for example, Albert K. Grayson, “Assyria: Sennacherib and Esarhaddon
(704–669 B.C.),” Cambridge Ancient History, rev. ed., vol. 3, pt. 2 (Cambridge 1991),
103–119.
11. Thorkild Jacobsen and Seton Lloyd, Sennacherib’s Aqueduct at Jerwan (Chicago,
1935); Fuad Safar and Faraj Basmachi, “Sennacherib’s Project for Supplying Erbil with
Water” (in Arabic), parts 1 and 2, Sumer 2 (1946): 50–52; 3 (1947): 23–25. Dalley is grateful
to Lamia Al-Gailani Werr for translating the Arabic text.
who has to take into account, on a regular basis, long distances between
oases of information. Greek culture follows an unbroken thread of tradition
through the Renaissance, whereas the civilization of Mesopotamia has
had to be reconstructed after complete loss. Its attractions are less obvious:
even in modern times, with an increase in multicultural perspectives and
easy travel, the decayed mud-brick palaces of Assyria cannot compete with
the stone monuments of the classical world, and this is a severe disadvantage
nowadays when visual media are dominant. Finally, the phenomenon
of the named, national culture-hero has affected our appreciation of
ancient Mesopotamian culture. In ancient Mesopotamia, creative efforts,
whether in literature or technology, were either anonymous or attributed to
the royal patron. Among Greeks and Romans, inventions or principles
could be attributed, rightly or wrongly, to famous men such as Archimedes
and Pythagoras, and appealing human-interest stories recorded or constructed.
9 But despite the anonymity of their engineers, the Mesopotamian
cultures made major advances in hydraulic technology.
Assyrian Kings and Technology
Sennacherib ruled a vast area that stretched from Tarsus, in what is now
southern Turkey, to the eastern border of Egypt, and from Armenia to Bahrain
(fig. 1). It was the duty of a successful Assyrian king not only to enrich
the nation through conquest but also to display power through fine buildings,
the patronage of great art, and engineering works to manage the supply
of water to his great cities. Provided that the technology was available,
he had the manpower and the raw materials to achieve whatever he wanted,
regardless of time, expense, or detriment to the health of his workmen.10
Numerous long inscriptions survive that suggest Sennacherib had a
direct personal interest in engineering, beyond what his position required,
and the material remains of spectacular canals, tunnels and an aqueduct
prove the veracity of the texts.11 He channeled water from several mountain
streams east of Nineveh across varied terrain, making eighteen different
channels, beginning at Bavian, 50 kilometers away to the northeast. The
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flow crossed a wide valley on an aqueduct more than 280 meters long and
22 meters wide, built up on freestanding stone arches, and entered Nineveh
at just the right height to irrigate the lower portions of the garden built outside
Sennacherib’s palace. Some of the water was diverted to irrigate orchards
and fields to the north of Nineveh.12 To accommodate surges in the
water flow, Sennacherib constructed an artificial marshland, an excellent
solution that municipal engineers have recently reinvented; such marshes
absorb and delay flow, filter the water, and attract wildlife. He was particularly
pleased to have designed an automatic sluice that “opens by itself,
without using a spade or a shovel, and allows the waters of prosperity to
flow. Its gate is not opened by any action of men’s hands.”13 At Arbela,
Sennacherib built an underground tunnel to bring high-quality water into
the city, constructing it like a qanat (an underground aqueduct with shafts
to the surface at intervals), and recorded his deed on an inscription (badly
eroded) at the entrance.14 Works such as these show how completely the
Assyrians had mastered the principles of hydraulic engineering.
12. Julian E. Reade, “Studies in Assyrian Geography: Sennacherib and the Waters of
Nineveh,” Revue d’Assyriologie 72 (1978): 47–72, 157–80, and Reallexicon der Assyriologie,
s.v. “Nineveh,” 406.
13. Chicago Assyrian Dictionary (Glückstadt, Ger., 1980), s.v. “narpasu.” The numerous
volumes of this dictionary that have appeared over fifty years are organized by letters
of the alphabet.
14. Safar and Basmachi; see also Jørgen Laessøe,“Reflexions on Modern and Ancient
FIG. 1 Map of Mesopotamia and the Levant. (Drawing by Stephanie Dalley.)
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
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Water Screws in Sennacherib’s Palace Gardens at Nineveh?
In an Akkadian inscription written on a clay prism, Sennacherib describes
at great length his main achievements in improving Nineveh with a
palace, a palace garden, and various measures for water control. His southwest
palace, known as “the Palace without a Rival,” and the gardens that were
raised up beside it are described together and termed “a Wonder for All
Peoples.”The text touches on both of the topics important to a discussion of
the water screw before Archimedes: bronze casting and water control.15
One passage mentions large bronzes of various shapes for a variety of
purposes, cast using a new method, and the installation of some of them for
the purpose of raising water:
Whereas in former times the kings my forefathers had created copper
statues imitating real forms, to put on display inside temples, and in
their method of work they had exhausted all the craftsmen for lack of
skill and failure to understand principles [?]; they needed so much oil,
wax and tallow [or lanolin] for the work that they caused a shortage
in their own lands—I, Sennacherib, . . . knowledgeable in all kinds of
work, took much advice and deep thought over making that work:
great pillars of copper, colossal striding lions, such as no previous king
had ever constructed before me, with the technical skill that [the god]
Ninshiku brought to perfection in me, and . . . I invented a technique
for copper and did it skillfully. I created clay molds as if by divine
intelligence for great cylinders and alamittu palms, tree of riches;
twelve fierce lion-colossi together with twelve mighty bull-colossi
which were perfect castings; twenty-two cow-colossi invested with
joyous allure, plentifully endowed with sexual attraction; and I poured
copper into them over and over again; I made the castings of them
as perfectly as if they had only weighed half a shekel each. . . .
In order to draw water up all day long I had ropes, bronze wires
and bronze chains made, and instead of shadufs [makate] I set up the
great cylinders [gisˇmahhu] and alamittu palms over cisterns. I made
those royal lodges look just right. I raised the height of the surroundings
of the palace to be a Wonder for all Peoples. I gave it the name:
“Incomparable Palace.” A park imitating the Amanus mountains I laid
out next to it, with all kinds of aromatic plants, orchard fruit trees. . .16
Oriental Waterworks,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 7 (1953): 29. The question of the
qanat at this date is discussed in more detail by Dalley, “Water Management in Assyria
from the Ninth to Seventh Centuries B.C.,” ARAM 13/14 (2002): 443–60.
15. D. D. Luckenbill, The Annals of Sennacherib (Chicago, 1924), 94–127.
16. Translation by Dalley. For makate, see Chicago Assyrian Dictionary (Glückstadt,
Ger., 1977), s.v. “makutu.” The sequence of sentences is particularly disjointed here, and
results from the way in which royal inscriptions reused and recombined passages from
other, more extensive inscriptions.
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Some of the bronze castings were architectural items in the form of animals,
probably used as column bases. It has been calculated that they
weighed up to 43 tons, an enormous mass made possible by new casting
methods.17 The items used to raise water are described as a “great tree
trunk” (gisˇmahhu), which is the word used for a cylinder (for example, in
mathematical problem texts), and as an alamittu palm tree. In fact, it is the
molds that are described as being these two, separate items, not the casting
itself, which Dalley interprets as a bronze water screw. The weight of such a
bronze screw cannot be calculated with any accuracy, since length, diameter
and thickness of metal are all unknown, but if we assume dimensions
similar to those of wooden Roman water screws or the BBC reproductions
(3 meters long, with a diameter of 0.45 meters), they would have weighed
2 or 3 tons.18
Dalley has proposed the hypothesis that the term alamittu was used
metaphorically to indicate the spiraling helix of such a water screw.19 The
spiral form itself had been familiar to engineers in both northern and
southern Mesopotamia since the Middle Bronze Age, and was used in mudbrick
columns constructed of trapezoidal bricks laid in a decorative spiral
pattern (fig. 2), some of them still visible in Sennacherib’s day.20 In addition,
some stone and terra-cotta sculptures show palms with a spiral-patterned
trunk.21 The difficulty of finding an appropriate technical term in
the languages of preindustrial cultures is well illustrated by the Assyrian
usage of gisˇmahhu, “great tree-trunk,” for a hollow cylinder, and by the
Greek use of kocliva~, “snail,” for a spiral or helix. Nevertheless, the recognition
that a helical form hidden inside a cylinder could be used to raise
water is a significant conceptual leap.
17. Stephanie Dalley,“Neo-Assyrian Textual Evidence for Bronze-Working Centres,”
in Bronze-Working Centres ofWestern Asia, c. 1000–539 B.C., ed. J. Curtis (London, 1988),
97–110.
18. Personal communication with Dalley by Andrew Lacey of Bronze Age Castings
in London, who carried out the casting of a small bronze screw for the BBC program.
19. Dalley, “Ancient Mesopotamian Gardens” and “Nineveh, Babylon and the
Hanging Gardens” (both n. 2 above). For a duplicate text, see Alexander Heidel, “The
Octagonal Sennacherib Prism in the Iraq Museum,” Sumer 9 (1953): 117–88.
20. See David Oates, “Innovations in Mud-Brick: Decorative and Structural Techniques
in Ancient Mesopotamia,” World Archaeology 21 (1990): 388–406, and Eleanor
Robson, Mesopotamian Mathematics (Oxford, 1999), 142–45. The ziggurat built by
Sargon II at Khorsabad was reconstructed as a spiral staircase rising up a circular tower,
and it is often shown thus in books on the history of architecture. However, a recent
study has indicated that the tower consisted of superimposed rectangles, on which a spiral
staircase could not have been fitted; see Jean-Claude Margueron, “E´ tude architecturale,”
in Khorsabad (Paris, 1995), 190–93.
21. For example, at Larsa, Ur, Tell al Rimah, Tell Haddad, Tell Basmusian. The identification
of the alamittu palm as Chamaerops humilis in the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary
(Glückstadt, 1963), s.v. “alamittu,” can now be seen to be incorrect; Dalley,“More about
the Hanging Gardens” (n. 2 above).
22. Andreas Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II aus Khorsabad, rev. ed. (Göttingen,
1994), 128–30; see also Dalley, “Neo-Assyrian Textual Evidence.”
23. On the issues surrounding early ironworking, see John E. Curtis et al., “Neo-Assyrian
Ironworking Technology,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 123
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
9
Sennacherib’s new water-lifting device for his palace garden was cast in
bronze, and thus combined his metallurgical and hydraulic interests. His
father, Sargon II, was also personally interested in the techniques of mining,
smelting, and alloying.22 To show such a detailed interest in technical matters,
to be enthusiastic about innovative technology, is unusual in the writings
of Mesopotamian kings. At the time when Sennacherib recorded his
achievements, the craft of the bronzeworker was steadily being displaced by
the new craft of the ironworker. The process of change was a slow one,
partly for reasons of social status. The bronzeworker had a high standing in
society and was attached to the palaces and temples from which his patronage
came. The ironworker, on the other hand, came as a tinker, a refugee, a
displaced foreigner, and his material, iron ore, was common. Worked iron
could not be reused as easily as bronze and decayed more readily, which
made it unsuitable for storing as treasure or using as currency.23 In these circumstances,
bronze production grew specialized, drawing upon its royal
FIG. 2 Spiral column façade at Tell al Rimah, northern Iraq, Middle Bronze Age.
(David Oates, “The Excavations at Tell Al Rimah, 1966,” Iraq 29 (1967), pl.
XXXII.b.)
(1979): 369–90; Radomir Pleiner and J. K. Bjorkman, “The Assyrian Iron Age: The
History of Iron in Assyrian Civilizations,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical
Society 118 (1974): 283–313; Theodore A.Wertime and James D. Muhly, The Coming of
the Age of Iron (New Haven, Conn., 1980).
24. Herbert Maryon and Harold J. Plenderleith, “Fine Metalwork,” in A History of
Technology, ed. Charles Singer et al. (Oxford, 1954), 1:623–27. On the history of bronze
hollow casting and the use of piece molds in the Near East and later in Greece, see Denys
E. L. Haynes, The Technique of Greek Bronze Statuary (Mainz, 1992).Many of the bronze
casting techniques used by the Greeks were developed in the Near East.
25. Andrew Lacey estimates that the difference was about 100 degrees Centigrade.
26. Prudence Harper, Joan Aruz, and Françoise Talon, The Royal City of Susa (New
York, 1992), 132–35.
27. In the Louvre, dated by the Elamite inscription they carry; Friedrich W. König,
Die elamischen Konigsinschriften (Graz, Aus., 1965), 17 n. 45.
28. Dalley thanks Peter Northover for this calculation.
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patronage to create works of art and interesting devices. Sennacherib, like
his father, was an ideal patron because he took a personal interest in the processes
involved and described them in his royal inscriptions.
Hollow casting is attested in Mesopotamia as early as the dynasty of
Agade (circa 2334–2279 B.C.) by the bronze head of Sargon found at
Nineveh.24 The outer layer of an object was hollow cast by a typical lost-wax
technique, but using a copper alloy containing only 1 percent tin along with
some lead, iron, silver, nickel, bismuth, and cobalt. The object was then
filled with a different copper alloy, composed of 11 percent tin and significantly
less of the other added metals, the core thus having a much lower
melting point and so not melting the outer layer.25 Concentric casting with
different alloys was practiced in Elam on the border of Babylonia in the
fourteenth century B.C., as attested by the statue of Napirasu, which even in
its present truncated state is 1.29 meters tall and weighs 1,750 kilograms.26
The solid bulls and lions cast by Sennacherib were presumably made by a
similar method, except that Sennacherib claims to have dispensed with the
wax and tallow used in the first stage of the casting in order to produce even
larger objects than were previously possible.
Two hollow bronze cylinders from Susa that date to the twelfth century
indicate clearly the technological heritage Sennacherib could draw upon in
casting his cylindrical water-lifting devices.27 The one on display in the
Louvre is 4.36 meters long, 0.18 meters in diameter, its irregular walls
around 1.5 centimeters thick—more or less the same length as the water
screws proposed for Nineveh, but smaller in diameter. The estimated
weight is 125–30 kilograms.28 Although the casting of a helix inside a cylinder
is a more complex task, it is clear Sennacherib had at his disposal the
metallurgical skills needed to produce large bronze water screws.
As part of the BBC program, and in an attempt to reconstruct Assyrian
casting procedures, Andrew Lacey cast a small-scale water screw, using 60
kilograms of bronze. The furnace was constructed simply and in the open
29. That is, the Byzantine writer of paradoxes (i.e., marvels), not the Hellenistic
engineer. Philo of Byzantium, the engineering author of circa 200 B.C., keeps popping up
in the discussion of the water screw, usually because of a confusion with an author better
referred to as Philo Byzantinus or Philo the Paradoxographer, a paradoxographer and
rhetorician of the fourth century A.D. The later Philo wrote a handbook on the seven
wonders of the ancient world and describes the use of water screws at the Hanging
Gardens of Babylon.Wilhelm Kroll, “Philon (49),” Realencyclopadie, vol. 20, bk. 1 (1960),
54–55; Kai Brodersen, Reisefuhrer zu den Sieben Weltwundern, Philon von Byzanz und
andere antike Texte (Frankfurt, 1992), 15. Peter A. Clayton and Martin Price, eds., The
Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (London, 1988), 170, are aware of the late date of the
Philo who wrote on the seven wonders, but one of the contributors to their book, Irving
L. Finkel, “The Hanging Gardens of Babylon” (38–58), unaccountably refers to him in
the text as “Philo of Byzantium who probably flourished around 250 B.C.” (45). This
inconsistency, combined with the popularity of Clayton and Price’s book, has misled
many later authors, including Dalley; see “Nineveh, Babylon and the Hanging Gardens”
(n. 2 above), 53.
But it is nonetheless useful to consider why Philo of Byzantium (the Hellenistic
technical writer, fl. ca. 200 B.C.) does not mention the water screw anywhere in the fragments
of his work that have survived in Greek, or in Latin and Arabic translations. Of
the possible nine books of his compendium, only two are wholly extant, and a few other
fragments deal only with war machines. The two books that remain would not necessarily
have included the screw, since the Parasceuastica (preserved in Greek) deals with catapults
and his Pneumatica (preserved in Arabic) deals with siphons and related devices.
So it is possible that Philo the engineer, and his teacher Ctesibius of Alexandria (floruit
270 B.C.), knew of the screw in Egypt before the time of Archimedes, and we have been
unlucky in the chance survival of texts that happen not to mention screws. This silence
of the sources, of course, allows one to argue exactly the opposite as well. Hellenistic
technical writing, like Assyrian landscape relief, survives only erratically.
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
11
air, and the casting accomplished largely with tools and materials appropriate
to an early Iron Age culture. Lacey fashioned a wood-and-rope model
for the helix, coated with clay and suspended inside a separate cylinder of
baked clay that encased the whole. The molds for the helix and the cylinder
were separate, and the casting they produced was a unitary bronze screw
with a hollow center, the helix and the surrounding cylinder cast as a single
piece. A separate bronze rod was then inserted as the axle.No wax was used,
since Sennacherib implies that wax was not needed for his new method of
casting, or at least not in such huge quantities as previously. The shape is
ideal for casting, since there are no awkward angles where air might be
trapped and the metal flows smoothly through the mold. There do not
appear to be any technical obstacles to the casting of a large water screw as
a single unit, other than the difficulties inherent in any large casting project.
Dalley has argued that two passages in classical literature also imply the
existence of water screws in Sennacherib’s garden at Nineveh: Strabo Geography
16.1.5 and the later Philo of Byzantium, better known as Philo the
Paradoxographer, On the Seven Wonders of the World 1.4.29 Both passages
describe the method of raising water for the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Dalley has made a good case that these gardens never existed in Babylon
30. See Dalley,“Nineveh, Babylon and the Hanging Gardens,” also “Why Did Herodotus
not Mention the Hanging Gardens?” forthcoming in Herodotus and His World:
Essays in Memory of George Forrest, ed. Peter Derow and Robert Parker (Oxford).
31. Strabo traveled widely (cf. Geography 2.5.11), particularly in the Near East and
Egypt (2.5.12), but the precise extent of his journeys is unclear. Curtius Rufus History of
Alexander 5.1.32–35.
32. Ctesias of Cnidus, Persica, in Felix Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker,
vol. 3, pt. C (Leiden, 1958), 484–85, no. 688, frag. 34a-b. See Oleson, Mechanical
Water-Lifting (n. 1 above), 39–41. The reconstruction by Stevenson of an irrigation system
for the gardens based on wheels with compartmented rims, turned by treading,
is essentially feasible, but not supported by any archaeological or literary evidence:
D. W. W. Stevenson, “A Proposal for the Irrigation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,”
Iraq 54 (1992): 35–55.
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proper, but that later authors knew Nineveh under the name Babylon and
were describing Sennacherib’s garden in Nineveh.30 If she is correct, Strabo’s
description of Babylon in the later first century B.C. may be derived
from some earlier source, even though his description of the Near East
seems to be based in part on personal travel. Quintus Curtius Rufus also
records that the gardens (like the other world wonders) were still flourishing
in his own day (first century A.D.?).31 The apparent transfer of the
Hanging Gardens from Nineveh, later known as “Old Babylon,” on the
Tigris, to Babylon on the Euphrates was permanent. Many travelers confused
the two rivers because of numerous branching streams and canals
connecting them.
Strabo wrote (Geography 16.1.5): “The topmost story is approached by
a stairway that has water screws [kocliva~] installed alongside, by means of
which those assigned to the task used to raise water up continuously into
the gardens from the Euphrates.” The arrangement makes technological
sense. A series of water screw installations was constructed from the river
to the top of the garden structure, parallel to stairs providing access presumably
both to the individuals rotating the water screws and to other service
personnel, as well as to those seeking pleasure. Strabo says the screws
were set alongside steps that led to the top of the terraced garden, possibly
a stepped corridor protected from the sun by a mud-brick barrel vault or
leafy arbors. There is a similar passage in a description of the same “Gardens
of Babylon” by his contemporary Diodorus Siculus (History 2.10.6):
“There was one [gallery] with shafts from the highest level and water-lifting
machines [o[rgana] by means of which a quantity of water was drawn
up from the river, although no one outside could see the activity.”
There is no way to determine what sort of water-lifting device Diodorus
thought was in use here, although the mention of “shafts” [diatomav~]
might imply a vertical lift by means of ropes, rather than a hidden, sloping
corridor for water screws. In this case, the animal-operated bucket and pulley
(the cˇerd) may be considered an option, and it was known in Mesopotamia
by at least the fourth century B.C.32 Neither Strabo nor Diodorus,
33. Translation based in part on that of David Oates in Finkel, 46; see also Brodersen,
24–25. Although late and a rhetorician, the reputation of Philo the Paradoxographer for
conveying accurate information about the ancient “wonders” has been upheld by Denys
E. L. Haynes, “Philo of Byzantium and the Colossus of Rhodes,” Journal of Hellenic
Studies 77 (1957): 311–12.
34. British Museum no. 124939. See Dalley, “Nineveh, Babylon and the Hanging
Gardens,” 51–52; Pauline Albenda, “Landscape Bas-Reliefs in the Bit Hilani of Ashurbanipal,”
Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 224 (1976): 49–72, fig. 4.
35. Reade, “Studies in Assyrian Geography” (n. 12 above). Dalley deals with some of
these issues at length in “More about the Hanging Gardens” (n. 2 above).
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
13
however, refer to animals, and the long walkway needed for a cˇerd is likely
to have been visible to onlookers.
The account of the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon” in the handbook to
the Seven Wonders of the World written by Philo the Paradoxographer in the
fourth century A.D. is derived from unknown sources, and rendered in typically
florid Byzantine Greek. Philo describes the associated irrigation system
as follows (1.4): “Streams of water issuing from springs higher up flow partly
downward in a direct course, partly are forced upwards through bends and
spirals to gush out higher up, being pushed through the twists of these
devices by mechanical forces. So, brought together in frequent and commodious
sources at a high level, these waters irrigate the whole garden. . . .”33
The mention of bends, spirals, and twists make it clear that the water-lifting
device intended could only be a water screw. The supply system is mixed,
however, since the author also mentions the provision of some of the water
by gravity flow, presumably to the lower portion of the gardens.
There is no other evidence in Assyrian inscriptions for knowledge of
the water screw, and no illustrations of water screws in surviving Assyrian
relief sculptures. The absence of representations, however, is hardly surprising,
given the low survival rate for these reliefs. The one relief sculpture
that may illustrate the garden itself is a badly damaged panel only 35 percent
complete (fig. 3). It was set up at Nineveh during the reign of Ashurbanipal,
Sennacherib’s grandson,who was unfortunately the last king to use
such bas-reliefs.34 Ever since its discovery, attempts have been made to compare
details of the garden relief with the descriptions of the Hanging Gardens
by Strabo and Diodorus Siculus: an aqueduct brings water into the
garden halfway up the slope, and artificial terraces thick with plants are
built up on stone vaults. One of the drawings made of a now missing fragment
has recently been recognized as providing further details of the gardens:
at the top of a steep slope is a pillared walkway supporting trees growing
on the thick roof. This detail is found in the depiction of the gardens by
Philo the Paradoxographer, who describes stout columns with beams set on
top supporting soil and trees.35 No water-lifting devices, however, are visible
in the surviving portion of the relief.
Of the known ancient water-lifting devices, the water screw best fits the
words of Sennacherib’s inscription as interpreted by Dalley, but neither the
36. Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting, 293
37. Dalley, “Nineveh, Babylon and the Hanging Gardens” (n. 2 above), 53.
38. Aage G. Drachmann,“The Crank in Graeco-Roman Antiquity,” in Changing Perspectives
in the History of Science, ed. Teich Mikulás (London, 1973), 33–51, marshals the
evidence that the crank did not exist in antiquity, with the possible exception of one
application by Archimedes to turn a pulley system. Simms (n. 6 above), 100 n. 5, rejects
even this limited use, probably correctly. Michael J. T. Lewis, Millstone and Hammer
(Hull, 1997), 15, presents a typically iconoclastic, but halfhearted, argument that the
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inscription nor the visual evidence prove the existence of the water screw in
the seventh century B.C. Only the passage in Strabo is early enough and
clear enough to carry some authority, and yet there is no guarantee that the
water screws he mentions appeared in his source or that the source itself
predates Archimedes. The water screws might even have been retrofitted at
the gardens after their invention by Archimedes, to replace some other, less
efficient method of irrigation.36
None of these passages mentions the method of turning the devices. In
her 1992 article, Dalley suggested that the screws she reconstructs were
turned with a crank mounted on the upper end of the axle.37 This approach,
however, is almost certainly wrong, since it seems that the principle
of the true crank was not discovered until the second century B.C., when
it appears in rudimentary form on rotary querns, and it was apparently not
put to use in ancient machinery.38 The inertia of such heavy bronze water
FIG. 3 The British Museum Nineveh garden relief. (Drawing by Stephanie
Dalley.)
small rotary hand quern might have been known as early as the seventh century B.C. The
evidence he cites is secondhand and extremely doubtful.
39. Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting (n. 1 above), 370–80; cf. Donald R. Hill and
M. T.Wright,“Byzantine and Arabic Mathematical Gearing,”Annals of Science 42 (1985):
87–138, and Derek J. de Solla Price, “Gears from the Greeks: The Antikythera Mechanism,
a Calendar Computer from ca. 80 B.C.,” Transactions of the American Philosophical
Society, n.s., 64 (1974): 7.
40. Described by Andrea Büsing-Kolbe, “Frühe griechische Türen,” Jahrbuch des
Deutsches-Archaologisches Institut 93 (1978): 66–174.
41. Armas Salonen, Die Turen des alten Mesopotamien (Helsinki, 1961), 120–21.
42. Dalley is grateful to Chris Addison for his help with calculations. They are based
on the weight of dried conifer timbers, and do not include the quite substantial weight
of the bronze bands, doorknobs, and locks. A total weight of 2 tons is realistic.
43. Peter R. S. Moorey, Ancient Mesopotamian Materials and Industries (Winona
Lake, Ind., 1999), 337.
44. Diodorus Siculus History 2.10.2.
45. This figure is strikingly close to White’s estimate of the discharge of the Vitruvian
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
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screws and the friction of their bearings would have made it impossible to
drive them by means of humans treading the top of the barrel, as shown in
Roman illustrations of wooden screws. Any method that requires cogs may
be discounted, since the cog also seems to have been unknown before the
Hellenistic period.39 The mention of ropes, wires, and chains in connection
with the water-lifting device of Sennacherib’s inscription suggests to Dalley
that the screws she restored at Nineveh were driven by a system of chains
wound around the barrels and hauled from below.
The hinge sockets that took the weight of the enormous doors at some
Near Eastern palaces provide a possible parallel for the bearings. These
doors were strapped to a vertical, cylindrical beam, which was set into a
copper-lined stone socket and rotated to open the door leaf.40 Lard and
other oils were supplied to doorkeepers, some presumably for lubrication.41
The wooden double doors with bands of bronze found at Balawat near
Nineveh weighed at least 1,120 kilograms.42 They date to about two hundred
years earlier than Sennacherib and were provided with sockets made
of a very hard, dense, black stone.43 The bearings for the screws might have
been similar, the shaft bedded in journal or thrust bearings lined with copper
or bronze and kept well oiled. The splashing water lifted by the screws
would also have served to lubricate the bearings.
Lack of evidence prohibits precise calculation of how much water had
to be raised from one terrace to another in the gardens at Nineveh. The
height of the terraces above the aqueduct is not known, nor do we know
how many trees or which species were grown there. Diodorus Siculus
describes the size of the garden as “like a Greek theater, 4 plethra on each
side” (roughly 120 meters).44 The BBC water screws lifted approximately
150 liters per minute (9,000 liters per hour) for short periods of time over
a height of about 1.5 meters.45 This discharge is equivalent to 162 cubic
water screw: 2,000 gallons/hour (9,092 liters/hour) by a one-man water screw over a
head of 4 feet (1.22 meters). See Kenneth D.White, Greek and Roman Technology (London,
1984), 194. See also Landels’s estimates of 9,600 to 14,100 liters/hour, in John G.
Landels, Engineering in the Ancient World (London, 1978), 63.
46. M. Arnoldi and Karlheinz Schaldach, “A Roman Cylinder Dial:Witness to a Forgotten
Tradition,” Journal of the History of Astronomy 28 (1997): 107–17.
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meters of water in an eighteen-hour day. Such a high rate of discharge suggests
that just one or two series of water screws would have been sufficient
to irrigate the gardens, perhaps working only a few hours each day. In addition,
not all the water would have had to be lifted to the highest terrace. Two
series of screws might have been used to lift water as high as the midpoint
of the total lift, with irrigation water being drawn off from the sumps on
each terrace, while only one series continued on to the higher terraces. It is
also possible that the aqueduct illustrated in the British Museum’s Nineveh
relief and alluded to by Philo the Paradoxographer brought water in high
enough that only the top few terraces had to be irrigated by lifted water.
Given the absence of specific details about the gardens, however, it is
impossible to provide detailed statistics of need or potential discharge.
It should be emphasized that if the object cast by Sennacherib was a
water screw, it could not have represented the first use of that mechanism
for raising water. There must have been working examples in wood that
inspired or were copied for the bronze casting, since nobody would cast
such a device full-scale in bronze unless he already knew it would work. Just
as the sophistication of the Antikythera cog mechanism (by far the earliest
material evidence for gearing) was part of a long period of technical evolution
largely hidden from us, so the manufacture of Sennacherib’s screw in
expensive and intractable bronze was presumably the result of considerable
previous experience and practical use.46 Since wood rarely survives in
Mesopotamia, we are unlikely ever to find wooden water screws there.
In summary, the details of the Palace without a Rival inscription as
reinterpreted by Dalley remain the principal pre-Hellenistic evidence for
the existence of the water screw. This interpretation is supported by
Strabo’s description of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon only if one attributes
the gardens to Sennacherib at Nineveh rather than to another king in
Babylon and accepts the antiquity of Strabo’s sources. The same provisos
affect interpretation of the passage in Philo the Paradoxographer.
If the screw was invented or adopted by the Assyrians in the seventh
century B.C., they would likely have introduced it into Egypt when they
took control of the Nile Valley in the mid-seventh century, where Archimedes
might have seen it at work four centuries later. A passage in Deuteronomy
(11:10), probably dating to the seventh century B.C., mentions
that in Egypt, unlike Palestine, men watered their gardens “with their feet.”
The phrase may refer to the shovel work necessary for impounding and
47. Although few scholars would allow a date as late as the third century B.C. for this
text, a late date cannot be ruled out, so the evidence it provides is not conclusive.Oleson,
Mechanical Water-Lifting (n. 1 above), 98–99, dates it to the seventh century B.C. and suggests
that the text might in fact refer to the shaduf or the compartmented wheel.
48. Jaromír Málek, Egyptian Art (London, 1999), 368.
49. For discussions of the Greco-Roman water screw, see Oleson, Mechanical Water-
Lifting, 291–301, and “Water-Lifting” (n. 1 above), 242–51. Archimedes’ treatise on spirals
is discussed by Wilbur R. Knorr, “Archimedes and the Spirals: The Heuristic Background,”
History of Mathematics 5 (1978): 43–75. The design of the hypothetical wooden
water screws that might have preceded Sennacherib’s palace design, of course, is completely
unknown. The related principle of threaded bolt and nut was known by the third
century B.C., but practical application seems to have come only in the first century B.C.
Because of the difficulty of cutting accurate threads, small metal bolts were rare even in
the Roman period, seen most often in jewelry and luxury metal objects. The threaded
bolt and nut were most commonly manufactured on a very large scale in wood, for use
in grape, olive, or clothes presses. The metal carpenter’s screw for wood was unknown in
antiquity. See Franz Kiechle, “Zur Verwendung der Schraube in der Antike,” Technikgeschichte
34 (1967): 14–22; Aage G. Drachmann, “Heron’s Screwcutter,” Journal of
Hellenic Studies 56 (1936): 72–77; Rudolf Kellermann and Wilhelm Treue, Die Kulturgeschichte
der Schraube, 2nd ed. (Munich, 1962); Barbara Deppert-Lippitz et al., Die
Schraube zwischen Macht und Pracht: Das Gewinde in der Antike (Sigmaringen, Ger.,
1995).
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
17
channeling irrigation water in the Nile Valley, or it may simply be a metaphor
for hard labor. But if the phrase is to be interpreted literally, the only
appropriate irrigation devices would be the water screw or the wheel with
compartmented rim, and for the latter there is no evidence earlier than the
third century B.C.47 One might expect Egyptian paintings to show screws in
action in the Nile Delta during the Persian or early Ptolemaic periods if
they existed then, but by that time the vogue for landscape art, so popular
in the Late Bronze Age period of the New Kingdom, had passed.48 One can
only hope that more evidence will come to light in the future.
Did Archimedes Invent the Water Screw?
Is the case for Archimedes as the inventor—or even the reinventor—of
the water screw any stronger than that for Sennacherib? Without doubt
Archimedes wrote a mathematical treatise on spirals, for which the main
application known at that time was the water-lifting screw. The question is,
was he responsible also for the mechanical invention?49 And even if we cannot
verify that he invented (or reinvented) the device, what was the context
that spawned the innovation? The design of the everyday Greek and Roman
water screw, in contrast to the heavy bronze device of Sennacherib, with its
problematic drive chains, has a powerful simplicity. A double or triple helix
was built of wood strips (or occasionally bronze sheeting) around a heavy
wooden pole. A cylinder was built around the helices using long, narrow
boards fastened to their periphery and waterproofed with pitch, and treadT
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ing cleats were fastened around the outside of the barrel, toward the center
(figs. 4 and 5). Screws of this type, which might be 2 meters to 3 meters
long, turned on simple metal pivots at each end of the axle. All surviving
representations of the water screw in action show a single individual standing
on the treads to work the screw, which is set at a low angle, and the literary
texts describe only treading. The treader balanced and partly supported
himself on a pole stuck in the earth nearby or on a horizontal beam
supported by a thatched sun shelter, and moved the treads with his feet.
There is a fresco representation of an agricultural water screw in the House
of Menander at Pompeii (fig. 4), and Philo Judaeus provides a clear description
of such a water screw action in the first century A.D. (De confusione linguarum
38):
Compare the screw, the water-lifting device. There are some treads
around the middle on which the husbandman steps whenever he
wants to irrigate his fields, but naturally he keeps slipping off. To keep
from continually falling, he grasps something sturdy nearby with his
hands and clings to it, suspending his whole body from it. In this way
he uses his hands as feet and his feet as hands, for he supports himself
FIG. 4 Pompeii, House of Menander, fresco of Egyptian water screw in operation.
(Photo by John Peter Oleson.)
50. Felix Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, vol. 2, pt. A (Leiden,
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
19
with his hands, which are generally used for working, and he works
with his feet, which customarily serve as supports.
For a high angle of installation, such as might be needed for draining deep
mines or lifting water up a steep slope, a different method of rotation may
have been used, but no descriptions or representations of a screw at such an
angle exist to show how this might have been done.
All the surviving archaeological evidence for the water screw dates to
the first century A.D. or later, and the few possible papyrological references
belong to the first and second centuries A.D. Greek literary sources, however,
begin in the second half of the third century B.C. Vitruvius (On Architecture
10.6.1–4) provides the best ancient description of the water screw,
and complete instructions on how to construct it.After adapting the design
to reduce the number of helices to two, the procedures outlined by Vitruvius
were followed without difficulty during design and construction of
two full-size water screws for the BBC television production (fig. 5).
Diodorus of Sicily associates the water screw with Archimedes in a passage
concerned with irrigation in the Nile Delta (History 1.34.2): “[T]he Nile
. . . in its annual inundation always deposits new mud, and the inhabitants
easily irrigate the whole region by means of a certain device which
Archimedes the Syracusan invented [ejpenovhse], called the screw [kocliva~]
on account of its design.”50 Here we meet a crux of interpretation which is
FIG. 5 The BBC water screw, complete and mounted. (Photo by John Peter
Oleson.)
1961), 213, no. 86, frag. 19, attributes this passage to an unknown work by Agatharchides
of Cnidus, who wrote in the third quarter of the second century B.C.
51. Ibid., 309, no. 87, frag. 117. The passage probably originated in an unknown
work by Posidonius of Apamaea written in the first half of the first century B.C.
52. Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting, 92–93.
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applicable also to other passages discussed below. Common meanings of the
verb ejpinoei`n include to think about, to think of, contrive, purpose, observe,
invent. It can be seen that one might substitute “observed” or “found” for
“invented” without disturbing the narrative or the syntax significantly.
A second passage in Diodorus (History 5.37.3–4), probably quoted
from the first-century B.C. author Posidonius, contains two cruxes.51 Not
only can the verb euJrivskw be ambiguous, allowing the meanings to find,
find out, discover, invent, get, gain, and earn, but tecnivth~, “craftsman,”
might be either a direct reference to Archimedes or a generic term for the
inventive human being. The passage describes the working of mines in
Spain:
At a depth they sometimes break in on rivers flowing beneath the surface
whose strength they overcome by diverting their welling tributaries
off to the side in channels. Since they are driven by the wellfounded
anticipation of gain, they carry out their enterprises to the
end, and—most incredible of all—they draw off the streams of water
with the so-called Egyptian screw [Aijguptiakoi; koclivai], which
Archimedes the Syracusan invented [eu|ren] when he visited Egypt.
By means of these devices, set up in an unbroken series up to the
mouth of the mine, they dry up the mining area and provide a suitable
environment for carrying out their work. Since this device is
quite ingenious, a prodigious amount of water is discharged with
only a small amount of labor, and the whole torrent is easily discharged
from the depths into the light of day. One might reasonably
marvel at the inventiveness of the craftsman [Archimedes?] not only
in this, but also in many other even greater inventions celebrated
throughout the whole world, each of which we shall discuss carefully
in turn when we come to the age of Archimedes.
The translation of eu|ren as “invented” in this passage finds support in
the use by Diodorus of the same verb to record the invention of siege
engines by Dionysius of Syracuse’s think tank, in a passage quoted above. It
is also possible to find support in the famous story of Archimedes’ discovery
of the principle of specific gravity while floating in a basin at a public
bath in Syracuse (Plutarch Moralia 1094C): He leaped out of the tub in his
excitement, crying eu|rhka (also from euJrivskw), “I’ve found it!” (the solution
to the problem confronting him, that is), and ran home naked through
the streets.52 But should account be taken of the essential difference
53. For example, Dijksterhuis (n. 6 above), 21–22; Brian Cotterell and Johan
Kamminga, Mechanics of Pre-Industrial Technology (Cambridge, 1990), 94; and doubts
expressed by Morris R. Cohen and Israel E. Drabkin, A Sourcebook in Greek Science
(Cambridge, Mass., 1948), 350–51. Contrary arguments are collected in Oleson,
Mechanical Water-Lifting (n. 1 above), 291–94. Danielle Bonneau, Le Regime administratif
de l’eau du Nil dans l’Egypt grecque, romaine, et Byzantine (Leiden, 1993), 97–98,
accepts Archimedes as the inventor.
54. See Lewis, “The Hellenistic Period” (n. 5 above), 635.
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
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between discovering a preexisting law and inventing a new mechanical
device? Archimedes cannot be said literally to have invented the principle
of displacement. Thus the verb in Plutarch may mean to come across, discover,
rather than to devise first, to originate (in the sense known to patent
law), and some scholars interpret it in this way.53 According to this interpretation,
preexistence of the water screw would also explain why Posidonius
(in Diodorus Siculus) calls them “Egyptian screws” here and in a similar
fragment quoted in Strabo Geography 3.2.9.
On the other hand, one also can interpret eu|ren in the passage from
Posidonius to indicate that—as with the discovery of specific gravity—
Archimedes observed the principles of spirals and helices in nature and
applied his analysis of natural phenomena to the solution of a human engineering
problem. This seems to have been Vitruvius’s understanding, since
in his version of the story Archimedes “cried out in a loud voice that he had
found what he was seeking” (On Architecture 9, preface 9–10, “significabat
clara voce invenisse, quod quaereret”).Vitruvius lists Archimedes among the
superior innovators who based their practical inventions on mathematics
and natural laws (On Architecture 1.1.17): “Archimedes and Scopinas of
Syracuse. They have left to posterity many treatises on machinery and timekeeping
devices in which mathematics and natural law are used to make
discoveries and explain them.” Unfortunately, the verb is too common and
the contexts in which it is used are too fluid to allow the modern reader precise
semantic distinctions.
Finally, mention must be made of Plutarch’s description (Marcellus
14.4–9) of how mechanics was a subject entirely distinct from geometry,
and how King Hiero of Syracuse had trouble persuading Archimedes “to
turn his art somewhat from abstract notions to material things.” This comment
is unique and probably represents rhetorical posturing, but it is interesting
to note that Plutarch reports Hiero’s motivation to have been “prestige,”
like that of the contemporary Ptolemies, who subsidized applied
research in Alexandria.54 In this context he calls Archimedes dhmiourgov~
(14.9), a term for “craftsman”with more mythical overtones than that used
by Posidonius.
Another passage which can be interpreted to show that Archimedes
invented the water screw is quoted by Athenaeus (Philosophers at Dinner
5.207–208) from Moschion’s Treatise on the Great Ship of Hiero of Syracuse,
55. Felix Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, vol. 3, pt. B (Leiden,
1964), 677, no. 575, frag 5.3.
56. Compare, in particular, Aeschylus Prometheus Bound 460, 469 (to invent mathematics,
writing, and inventions); Herodotus History 1.8 (to invent rules); Plato Republic
566b (to devise a petition).
57. Landels (n. 45 above), 66, is probably correct that a single water screw could not
have provided enough lift to pump out Hiero’s large (and thus deep-hulled) ship. For a
full discussion of the ship, see Jean M. Turfa and Alwin G. Steinmayer, “The Syracusia as
a Giant Cargo Vessel,” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 28 (1999): 105–25.
On bilge pumps, see Oleson, “Water-Lifting” (n. 1 above), 263–67, 298–99.
58. See Peter Kingsley, “Artillery and Prophecy: Sicily in the Reign of Dionysius I,”
Prometheus 21 (1995): 15–23.
59. On the special character of the technological climate in Hellenistic Alexandria,
see Lewis, “The Hellenistic Period.”
60. In the twelfth century, Eustathius (ad Iliadem M 293) also attributes the invention
of the water screw to Archimedes, but—despite his deep classical learning—his testimony
is too late to carry any particular weight.
61. Dijksterhuis (n. 6 above), 21–22.
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written sometime soon after 241 B.C.55 “And the bilge, although of a
remarkable depth, was pumped out by a single man operating a water
screw [dia; koclivou], which Archimedes invented [ejxeurovnto~].” The verb
used here, ejxeurivskein, has a range of meaning: invent, discover, find out.56
Although the water screw is not well adapted to bilge pumping and was
soon replaced for this purpose by chain pumps and force pumps,Moschion
may have had information either that Archimedes invented the water screw
and then put it to use in this highly experimental ship, or that Archimedes
found the screw in Egypt and introduced it to the people of Syracuse,
inventing a new use for it.57 According to the long, detailed text quoted in
Athenaeus, Archimedes was the technical overseer (gewmevtrh~ ejpovpth~)
of the whole project (Philosophers at Dinner 5.206d).58
Oleson believes that the fragments of Moschion, Agatharchides, and
Posidonius (as quoted in Athenaeus and Diodorus Siculus) can be interpreted
to indicate either that Archimedes invented the water screw or that
during or soon after his lifetime and in the course of the second century B.C.
individuals familiar with his life and work believed that he had invented a
new device called the water screw. In either case, the chronology suggests
that the device was invented around the time of Archimedes, in the particularly
fertile climate of practical innovation associated with the Museion,
the Museum at Alexandria.59 Dalley interprets the evidence to show that he
was associated with the screw only because of his treatise on spirals, his
observation of preexisting screws in use in Egypt, and his adaptation of the
device for Hiero’s ships.60 Dijksterhuis is another scholar who believes that
Archimedes found the water screw already in use when he visited Egypt,
arguing that “neither Strabo, nor Philo of Byzantium [sic], nor Vitruvius,
who all three mention or describe [the water screw], associate it with the
name of Archimedes.”61 These objections are groundless, since it is clear
62. See n. 29 above.
63. Herbert Addison carried out experiments with a reconstructed water screw
showing, among other results, that the capacity of the water screw is greatest at lower lifts
and falls off very rapidly as the angle of inclination approaches the complement of the
angle of the vanes; “Experiments on an Archimedean Screw,” Institution of Civil
Engineers 75 (1929): 3–15. There is a more sophisticated mathematical model in Chris
Rorres, “The Turn of the Screw: Optimal Design of an Archimedes Screw,” Journal of
Hydraulic Engineering 126, no. 1 (2000): 72–80.
64. For example, the fresco of an Egyptian water-screw installation at Pompeii; see
Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting, 241–42, and “Water-Lifting,” 247–49 (both n. 1 above).
65. Oleson, Mechanical Water-Lifting, 207–9, 227, 241–42.
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
23
from the context that by “Philo of Byzantium” Dijksterhuis intended Philo
Judaeus of Alexandria, whose description of a screw in action (quoted
above) in fact does not mention Archimedes.62
The absence of Archimedes’ name from some of the texts that mention
the water screw is certainly not conclusive. For comparison, Ctesibius’s
works have been lost, but descriptions of gadgets and hydraulic devices
specifically attributed to him have been preserved in the works of Philo of
Byzantium, Vitruvius, and Hero of Alexandria. Ctesibius’s name is associated
in particular with the piston-operated force pump, called Ctesibica
machina by Vitruvius (On Architecture 10.7.1). In the mid-first century A.D.,
however, Hero describes the same force pump in detail but calls it only a
sivfwn, omitting any reference to the inventor. A parallel could be drawn
with instances where Archimedes’ water screw is termed only “Egyptian
screw” or simply “screw.” In the passages of his Geography which mention
the water screw, Strabo is concerned with the design of the Hanging Gardens
of Babylon (16.1.5), the location of the Roman fort at Old Cairo (17.1.3),
and the means of watering the many islands in the Nile river (17.1.52).
There is no reason to mention Archimedes in any of these contexts.
Whether the screw was introduced into the Nile Delta by Archimedes
on behalf of Ptolemy II or arrived four centuries earlier under Assyrian
occupation, the device was ideally suited to that environment. The water
screw is particularly effective for low lifts, such as irrigation along the lowlying
banks of the Nile Delta. In addition, the device is essentially self-purging
and can lift water that is thick with silt and vegetable matter. There are
no small intake holes or compartments to clog, the water simply flows
unrestricted over smooth-walled surfaces.63 A passage in Strabo (Geography
17.1.52) describes this situation: “There are a great many islands scattered
along the course of the Nile. Some are completely covered during the flood,
others only in part, and the particularly high spots are irrigated with water
screws [koclivai~].”
The water screw remained a typical image of the Egyptian landscape in
literature and art through the Roman period.64 Numerous terra-cotta
reliefs and one fresco representing water-screw installations at work have
survived from the Roman imperial period, along with one model.65 None
66.O¨ rjan Wikander, Exploitation ofWater-Power or Technological Stagnation? (Lund,
1984), discusses the lack of chronological overlap between archaeological and literary
evidence for the existence of mechanical devices in classical antiquity.
67. Girolamo Cardano, De subtilitate (Basel, 1554), quoted in E. M. P. Evans,
“Ancient Mining,” Antiquity 17 (1943): 52. The craftsman is described as a faber ferrarius.
Thomas Ewbank, A Descriptive and Historical Account of Hydraulic and Other
Machines for Raising Water (London, 1842), 139.
68. For example, Agostino Ramelli, Le diverse e artificiose machine del capitano
Agostino Ramelli (Paris, 1588), which contains several devices utilizing the water screw.
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of this evidence coincides with the period of Archimedes and his immediate
successors, showing the incompleteness of the pictorial record.66 There
are, of course, no representations of water screws that predate Archimedes.
One possible explanation for the absence of any evidence of the existence
of the water screw between the examples Dalley reconstructs for Sennacherib’s
garden and those embedded in the literary sources for Archimedes’
career is that the device fell out of use, was forgotten, and was reinvented by
Archimedes or a near contemporary. Although the water screw has in fact
never fallen out of use since Archimedes, it has allegedly been reinvented
several times. The sixteenth-century Italian polymath Girolamo Cardano
says he had heard of a blacksmith in Milan who thought he was the first to
invent this device and went insane from joy. The nineteenth-century engineer
Thomas Ewbank reports that he, too, as a boy heard of a shoemaker
who had suffered the same delusion.67 If these stories are true, it may be significant
that both these individuals were workmen who—in addition to
never having been exposed to a water screw in operation—presumably did
not have access to the classical authors or the numerous books on applied
technology already available in the sixteenth century.68 Whether true or
not, the stories arose in environments not dissimilar to that of Hellenistic
Alexandria.
Conclusions
What can we conclude from all this? The chronology of the first discovery
of the water screw is still clouded in uncertainty. Sennacherib was interested
in the problems of water supply, and he constructed some sort of
clever or spectacular device to assist the irrigation of his gardens at Nineveh.
The Palace without a Rival inscription applies metaphorical terminology
that an Assyriologist with a knowledge of the water screw can argue refers to
that device.We know that the water screw existed by at least the mid-third
century B.C., since literary sources describe it in explicit terms. It seems likely
that Archimedes invented (or reinvented) the device in Egypt at the request
of one of the Ptolemies to solve irrigation problems in the Nile Delta, but
this conclusion is not certain. The design of the water screw can be interpreted
as either an offshoot of Archimedes’ research into the mathematics of
69. Knorr (n. 49 above).
70. See, for example, Athenaeus Philosophers at Dinner 5.198e–f, and, in Athens, a
mechanical snail that left a trail of slime: Polybius History 12.13.11. There is a popular
discussion of this phenomenon in Robert S. Brumbaugh, Ancient Greek Gadgets and
Machines (New York, 1966).
DALLEY and OLESONK|KSennacherib, Archimedes, and the Water Screw
25
spirals or the very inspiration for that research.69 If the water screw did, in
fact, exist in Mesopotamia early in the seventh century B.C., what is particularly
interesting is the observation that it seems either to have fallen out of
use completely or to have been so completely divorced from the realities of
urban society in Mesopotamia and Egypt that Archimedes could be awarded
credit for its invention or rediscovery almost five hundred years later.
If the water screw had such a negligible impact on the cultures of the
eastern Mediterranean before the time of Archimedes, the actual date of its
original invention is of little importance. But the similarity of the conditions
in seventh-century Nineveh and third-century Alexandria that might
have led to its discovery is striking. Both cultures depended completely on
exogenous river systems to supply water for irrigating their rich, alluvial
soils, and on technologies and regulations that facilitated irrigation agriculture.
Both were ruled by royal houses interested as much in broadcasting
the prestige and imagery of technological success, the tangible evidence
of human triumph over the forces of nature, as in the practical results. Sennacherib
conquered the river, forcing it to serve humankind, and commemorated
the results in public reliefs and inscriptions. He also constructed
his show garden for his queen, to heal her homesick memories for
the verdant mountain slopes of her native land, and he irrigated the artificial
mountainside conspicuously with conduits and some water-lifting
device, commemorating it in the same manner as what seem to us his more
practical accomplishments. The pharaohs boasted of their control of the
Nile in a similar manner. Their technological heirs, the Ptolemies, made
astute practical use of the water screws, catapults, and giant ships designed
by their court scientists, but they delighted as well in the banquet table gadgetry
designed by Ctesibius and in automated parade floats that paraded
such cleverness to the public.70
One significant difference, however, sets the Ptolemaic response apart.
In the premodern period, specific, individual, nonmythical inventors are
only rarely given credit for their efforts and insight, but at Alexandria and
(to a lesser extent) Syracuse in the mid-third century there was a brief historical
moment in which individual genius was recorded. If one of Sennacherib’s
engineers found the water screw in use along an irrigation canal, or
dreamed up the device on the basis of an understanding of natural and
man-made spiraling forms, the credit belonged to his absolute ruler. Archimedes,
in contrast, was given personal credit for the water screw, which
grew out of his personal intellectual interests, and for many other devices
constructed for his patrons there and in Syracuse. Before him in Alexandria,
71. Innovation, in fact, could be perilous, as an “urban myth” circulated in Rome in
the first century A.D. emphasizes. An anonymous craftsman supposedly invented “flexible”
or “unbreakable” glass, and he showed a specimen to the emperor Tiberius (14–37
A.D.) in the hope of a great reward. After determining that no one else knew the secret,
Tiberius had him killed in the fear that the invention would ruin the bullion-based economy.
The story is preserved in a number of first-century texts: Petronius Satyricon 50–51;
Pliny Natural History 36.195; Dio Cassius History 57.21.6.
72. On the Museion and its scientists, see Eduard Müller-Graupa, “Museion,”
Realencyclopadie vol. 16, no. 1 (1933), 797–821; Lewis, “The Hellenistic Period” (n. 5
above), 632–35; Michael J. T. Lewis, “Theoretical Hydraulics, Automata, and Water
Clocks,” in Wikander, Handbook of Ancient Water Technology (n. 1 above), 343–69.
T E C H N O L O G Y A N D C U L T U R E
JANUARY
2003
VOL. 44
26
Ctesibius and Philo of Byzantium benefited from the same sort of celebrity.
In contrast, the members of the think tank that worked for Dionysius of
Syracuse 150 years previously remain anonymous, as do nearly all the innovative
engineers and architects who transformed the Mediterranean world
during the Roman empire.71 The question of why individual technicians
remained associated with their innovations in mid-third century B.C. Alexandria
and Syracuse cannot be answered here, but the presence of the
Museion, a well-funded, more or less independent research institute in
Alexandria, undoubtedly played an important part, along with the welldocumented
rivalry of King Hiero II of Syracuse with Ptolemy II, Ptolemy
III, and Ptolemy IV.72 The very fact of the potential recognition of individual
effort and accomplishment may also have been a trigger for innovation.
But this florescence was brief, and the attitudes and structures typical of the
ancient world had to fall away before an individual such as Leonardo da
Vinci could once again derive personal fame from his inventions.

The First Children's Literature? The Case for Sumer Gillian Adams

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 19:01:28 -0400

Children's literature, as the term is generally understood today, cannot be said to exist before the eighteenth century and the advent of printed books marketed to children for their enjoyment. Some scholars, however, believe that works from earlier periods routinely associated with children, even if their purpose is didactic or they were not written specifically for children, can also be classified as children's literature. Standard bibliographies of children's literature begin with texts from the medieval period; in addition, recent scholarship has focused on medieval and renaissance literature associated with children.1 In fact, works just as closely associated with children are to be found at a much earlier period, in the oldest written literature so far recovered in any significant quantity, the Sumerian. This investigation of the Sumerian child's literary world will describe these works and attempt to demonstrate how they reflect certain values found in Sumerian culture as a whole and how they are an important means for transmitting those values to the more influential members of Sumerian society.
Extant Sumerian literature consists of more than thirty thousand lines of text found in over five thousand tablets and fragments. It was composed by a people who lived in Mesopotamia (now the southern half of Iraq), between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. By the fourth century B.C., the Sumerians had developed an urban society organized into nine city-states headed by kings, who in turn were supported by a powerful priesthood and the scribal bureaucracy needed to administer an agricultural economy based on an elaborate, state-centered irrigation system. Although the earliest literary documents date from around 2400 B.C., before the conquest of Sumer and neighboring areas in 2334 B.C. by Sargon of Akkad, most of the texts discussed here come from the time of the Sumerian renaissance, which was ushered in by the founding of the Third Dynasty of Ur in 2112 B.C. The end of the Sumerian period and the [End Page 1] beginning of the Babylonian are marked by the accession of Hammurabi, King of Babylon, to the throne in 1792 B.C. Nevertheless, the culture of Mesopotamia, if not the language, remained predominantly Sumerian, and Sumerian language and literature continued to dominate the school curriculum until about 1000 B.C.2
I
Songs and lullabies provide the first literary experiences for many children. A "chant," purported to be created by the wife of Shulgi, a ruler of the Third Dynasty of Ur, is the first lullaby known, according to Samuel Noah Kramer (History 327).3 Apparently troubled by the ill health of one of her sons, the Queen begins (trans. Kramer, History 329-31):
U-a a-u-a In my ururu-chant may he grow big, In my ururu-chant may he grow large, Like the irina-tree may he grow stout of root, Like the shakir-plant may he grow broad of crown.
After several lines she continues:
Come Sleep, come Sleep, Come to where my son is, Put to sleep his restless eyes, Put your hand on his painted eyes, And as for his babbling tongue, Let not the babbling tongue shut out his sleep.
She goes on to promise her son lettuce and cheeses to make him feel better and toward the end of the chant wishes he may have a family, food, happiness, and the good will of the gods:
May the wife be your support, May the son be your lot, May the winnowed barley be your bride, May Ashnan, the kusu-goddess be your ally, May you have an eloquent guardian angel, May you achieve a reign of happy days, May the feasts make bright your forehead. [End Page 2]
This lullaby fulfills the definition of the genre in the Oxford Companion to Children's Literature, "a song or chant designed to soothe babies or young children to sleep," and predates by at least a thousand years the Roman lullaby "Lalla, lalla, lalla" there referred to (326). The Oxford Companion adds that the beginning of the term is said to derive from "lu" and "la"; the Sumerian lullaby begins with the same vowel sounds, although the initial l is missing. The Sumerian lullaby in addition invokes sleep and wishes for a bright future for the child, two salient characteristics of the lullaby as it is known today. Similar conclusions wishing for future benefits are also to be found in Sumerian works associated with older children, as is the shift from third person to direct address. There is a difference between the Sumerian lullaby and current lullabies, however; the former is directed at a particular child, addressed as "son of the lord Shulgi," and not, as is usual, to an unspecified child. Still, it is not unreasonable to suppose the lullaby is a representative example of the lullabies Sumerian children heard from their elders.
The lullaby appears to be the only Mesopotamian text so far discovered that can be associated with preschool children. Although even very young children, to different degrees depending on their social status and location, would have come into contact with various types of oral literature, particularly of a religious nature, not enough is known about Mesopotamian oral culture to make valid generalizations about its content or audience.
There is much more substantive information about the literary world of those Mesopotamian children who went to school at the edubba or "tablet house." The edubba was a private, secular institution, a center of learning and literary creation, established to train scribes for the palace and temple; not only were the classics copied there, but new works were also composed. Most, if not all, of the students were male and came from wealthy families and, since it was traditional for at least one son to follow his father's profession, many were the children of scribes.4 School exercises, like other Mesopotamian texts, were written on clay tablets, which, particularly when baked, form the most durable writing surface yet devised. This fact provides two special advantages to the investigator of the origins of children's literature. Not only have numerous baked tablets survived at sites of libraries, but unbaked clay tablets, discarded because clay was too cheap and readily available to bother erasing [End Page 3] and reusing, have been found at school sites, providing a gold mine of ephemera for modern cultural historians.5 Mesopotamians apparently learned to write by copying literary texts of progressive difficulty; on the premise that the skill of the calligraphy on a tablet provides an indicator of the educational level of the person who wrote it, the researcher is able to specify what texts formed a part of the student's literary universe at each level (Gordon, Proverbs 20).
 Click for larger view
"Schooldays: The Teacher's Blessing." Note the signature of the writer below the double line on the lefthand column of the tablet.
The conquest of Sumer and neighboring areas by Sargon of [End Page 4]
 Click for larger view
Obverse of the "Schooldays" tablet.
Akkad complicated the task of training the scribal bureaucracy, since the result was the gradual replacement of spoken Sumerian by Akkadian, a Semitic tongue. Because Sumerian continued to be the official state language, in spite of the fact it was fast becoming a dead literary language like Latin in the European Middle Ages, a scribal education centered on the difficult task of learning to read and write it, and this circumstance may be partly responsible for the large number of surviving practice exercises. Exactly how children learned the Sumerian language is not certain, but on the evidence of [End Page 5] the lexical lists and grammatical texts that have survived, scholars once hypothesized that children first memorized vocabulary and the rules of grammar and then applied themselves to the texts (Kramer, Sumerians 235). Recently, however, H. L. J. Vanstiphout has demonstrated how the sixty-three line Lipit-eštar Hymn B, "Lipit-eštar, King of Justice, Wisdom and Learning," could have been used for the teaching of Sumerian at the elementary level and how, as a beginner's text, it covers the meaning of the signs used in Sumerian cuneiform, the basic features of the Sumerian verbal system, different sentence patterns, stylistic features, and phraseology. He bases his conclusion that the hymn served as an elementary text primarily on an analysis of its grammar and of the twenty tablets on which the text appears. Two tablets are obviously not first stage exercises; the remaining eighteen are large and clumsily written, and some contain vocabulary lists or short extracts of other works.
The simplicity of the hymn's lexical and grammatical construction is not the only feature that makes it peculiarly suitable for teaching Sumerian on the elementary level; the content is also important. Learning to read and write Sumerian is difficult and tedious because the system of writing is syllabic, not alphabetic; children need to be encouraged by a sense of the importance of the task they are undertaking. In his analysis of the contents of the hymn, Vanstiphout points out that about a third of the text glorifies scribal activity and equates that activity with the functions of royalty. This is not simply a matter of inculcating loyalty to the king as a patron of the arts in those destined to serve in his bureaucracy. Rather the young student working with the text is encouraged to believe that as a scribe he will be doing what the king does, and thus what the goddess of scribes Nisaba wishes done, since the king's hand is guided by hers ("How Did" 123-24). For example, the hymn addresses the king:
Nisaba, the woman radiant with joy, The true woman scribe, the lady of all knowledge, Guided your fingers on the clay, Embellished the writing on the tablets, Made the hand resplendent with a golden stylus. The measuring rod, the gleaming surveyor's line, The cubit ruler which gives wisdom, Nisaba lavishly bestowed upon you.
(18-24a) [End Page 6]
Later the hymn makes the identification of scribal and royal activity even more concrete:
Lipit-eštar, king of Isin, king of Sumer and Akkad, To Nippur you are the Scribe;
(40-41).
The Lipit-eštar hymn posits an integral relationship between the goddess, the king as chief-scribe, and the scribes who serve as his instruments and act as his surrogates, literally as well as figuratively ruling his royal city of Nippur and the other city-states subject to it. The child is implicitly promised that if he learns to be a scribe, he will be second only to the king in power, in prestige, and in carrying out the will of the gods. The hymn to the king as the son of Enlil, the air-god, concludes:
Your praise shall ne ver disappear from the clay in the Edubba; May every scribe therefore sing of this bliss And glorify you greatly, So that your laudation in the Edubba shall not cease. O leading shepherd, youthful son of Enlil, Lipit-eštar, be praised!
(59-63) (trans. Vanstiphout, "Lipit-eštar" 36-37)
In this passage the king's fame and the scribal art are inextricably entwined; the immortality of one depends on the immortality of the other, and the final wish is for the immortality of both by means of the clay tablets of the school. Both the king and the young student, then, participate in a shared immortality guaranteed by the survival of the king's persona in the literary work that embodies it and by the continuous copying of that work by beginning scholars.6
II
A type of literature which had much the same function as the Lipit-eštar hymn and which the Mesopotamians considered suitable for students at all stages of their education, but particularly at the first stage, was the proverb (Vanstiphout, "How Did" 126). Sumerian proverb collections contain not only the precepts, maxims, truisms, adages, and bywords generally classified as proverbs, but taunts, compliments, wishes, short fables, and anecdotes; it is often difficult to draw the line between one category and another (Gordon, [End Page 7] Proverbs 17). The proverbs are found on seven hundred tablets and fragments; some of these contain whole collections, while the most primitive are large, often clumsily written, school practice exercises containing one proverb or a line or two from one of the longer proverbs.7 Although there is evidence that scribes collected some of the proverbs, particularly those relating to household and family and those in dialect, from the oral tradition, they composed many of them themselves, presumably for the edubba (Gordon 19). Indeed the simplicity, brevity, and moral point of proverbs make them particularly attractive to educators working with beginners, especially if some of the proverbs are already well known to them. In addition, the proverbs and fables cover a wide range of subjects, enabling the student to master a large vocabulary in a number of fields.8 Whatever the source of the proverbs may have been, it was the scribal teachers who selected them and arranged them in the order in which they are to be found in the collections.
Not all of the twenty-seven or so proverbs found on the most primitive tablets, those used at the elementary teaching level, correspond to present-day American conceptions of what is suitable for young children. In fact, due to lack of concrete information, at present there appears to be no scholarly consensus on the age at which Mesopotamians began their studies at the edubba or how long they remained there. Kramer and Gadd routinely use the terms "boys," "lads," and "schoolboys"; Kramer, in his translation of the text "School-Days" discussed in detail below, calls the protagonist "young fellow" and "little fellow." The student portrayed in this text is clearly quite young, as the opening question, "Where did you go from earliest days?" as well as the nature of his activities at school and of his infractions of the rules indicates (Kramer, Sumerians 237). On the other hand, one Sumerologist who read an earlier version of this essay suggests that students began about age nine to thirteen; yet another feels that the nature of the edubba curriculum makes an age before the early teens unlikely. But studies in child development and language acquisition indicate that it is far easier to teach computation, reading, writing, and foreign languages, even difficult languages such as Greek, to children than to adolescents, and that the mechanisms in the brain that facilitate learning of this type actually become moribund at puberty.9 Given the much shorter lifespan of [End Page 8] the average person prior to the twentieth century (and thus the brevity of childhood), any culture that delayed educating its members until almost half their lives were over would be highly inefficient.
If Sumerologists are correct in believing that texts were chosen primarily for their grammatical and lexical features and that their primary purpose was pragmatice—tarto teach writing—with content a secondary concern, the appropriateness or inappropriateness of certain texts to certain ages according to present standards is not a reliable indicator of the approximate age of the Sumerian student. Thus two proverbs that occur on more than one tablet, for example, have to do with the necessity for making a will; their purpose must have been to introduce pupils to the legal vocabulary (Gordon 1.67, 2.10).10 Other proverbs do seem to be more appropriate in content for young people: 1.79 (trans. Gordon 79), "Like a clod thrown into the water, he will be destroyed in his own splash," is a warning against ostentation and presumption reiterated by 2.65 (trans. Kramer, Sumerians 226), "The fox trod upon the hoof of a wild ox, saying, 'Didn't it hurt?'" and 2.67 (trans. Gordon 222-223), "The fox, having urinated into the sea, [said,] 'The whole[?] of the sea is my urine.'" But three more tablets of the same type contain proverbs from Collection Two about the evils of poverty, reflecting the Sumerian preoccupation with money and status: a variation on this theme is 2.137 (trans. Gordon 270):
Build like a [lord], go about like a slave! Build like a [slave], go about like a lord!
Eight proverbs concern the scribal art as did the Hymn to Lipit-eštar: for example 2.49 (trans. Gordon 208), "A scribe who does not know Sumerian, where will he obtain[?], a translation[?]?"
When the proverbs that occur on tablets of the next higher level of skill are added to the twenty-seven on the most elementary tablets, practically every proverb in the two main collections is represented, since a number of proverbs occur on different tablets. Taken as a whole, the proverbs translated by Gordon in Collections One and Two, as well as those from the other five collections translated into English by Gordon, Kramer, and others, advocate good conduct, hard work, common sense, right-speaking, humility, and prudence, [End Page 9] and condemn haste, greed, and selfishness (Kramer, History 123).
Proverbs are considered to be a valuable index to the cultural preoccupations of a society; although Sumerian proverbs are diverse and cover a wide range of experience, it seems significant that a relatively high proportion of proverbs concern the scribal profession and promote effective communication between men and animals in direct or fable form.11 A number of the animal proverbs and fables found in the Proverb Collections make fun of ineffective communication like boasting, thus promoting effective communication by reverse example. Animals loom large in Sumerian culture; they are, for example, a major source of imagery for Sumerian poets (Kramer, History 294). Sumerian literary animals are, for the most part, characterized in ways familiar to us from Aesop's fables: we meet the enormous elephant, the insignificant insect or bird, the sly fox, the greedy wolf, the foolishly stubborn donkey, the helpless sheep or goat, and the predatory lion, the strongest of the beasts, who can also be friendly. Only the dog is portrayed unconventionally: it is often faithless and greedy instead of faithful and true.12
Most Sumerian fables are of the Aesopic type: they begin with a short narrative passage and conclude with a speech by one of the characters demonstrating how his opponent is a boaster or a fool lacking contact with reality (Alster 211). This is true of the two proverbs about the fox quoted above; in the story about the elephant and the wren below, the theme is reversed and it is the larger animal who has an exaggerated idea of himself and receives his comeuppance (trans. Kramer, History 128).
The elephant boasted[?] about himself, saying: "There is nothing like me in existence! Do not [compare yourself to me?]." The wren answered him saying: "But I, too, in my own small way, was created just as you were!"
This fable has a second theme which is reiterated not only in proverbs and other fables, but in the debate literature discussed below: an insistence that the small and the humble are in some way equal in worth to the mighty and powerful. One way in which the weak and the hunted could defend themselves and prove their equality was by effective communication. Thus a number of fables, like the one which follows, instead of making fun of poor speaking, [End Page 10] celebrate the witty speech, prudence, and quick thinking of the weaker animal (trans. Alster 214).
The lion had caught a helpless she-goat:
"Let me go! I will give you an ewe, a companion of mine, in the bargain!"
"If I am to let you go, tell me your name!"
The she-goat gave the lion the following answer: "You do not know my name?
'I cheated you' is my name."
When the lion came to the fold,
"I have released you!" he shouted.
She answered from the other side:
"You have released me, 'You were clever': as far as sheep are concerned, there are none of them here!"
Not only has the goat gotten away from the lion by playing on his greed (that is, by promising him better eating and then not keeping her promise), but she has also twisted the knife in the wound by the play on her name: "I cheated you" sounds almost identical to "you were clever" in Sumerian (Alster 214).
The most complex and fully characterized of the animals of proverb and fable is the fox, perhaps because, as both hunted and hunter, he is the most like man. On the one hand, he is a coward: "The fox gnashes its teeth, but its head is trembling" (trans. Kramer, History 125). On the other hand, he is always on the make, reflecting the self-aggrandizing spirit also to be found in the literature about scribes discussed below and raising the possibility that the juxtaposition of proverbs about scribes and foxes in Collection Two may be design and not accident:
The fox could not build his [own] house, [and so] he came to the house of his friend as a conqueror[?]
(trans. Gordon 218).
The fox had a stick with him [and said]: "Whom shall I hit?" He carried a legal document with him [and said]: "What can I challenge?"
(trans. Kramer, History 125)
As a result of his aggressiveness, the fox is always on the run: [End Page 11]
The fox with . . . heart was seeking the "way of the lion," For the "way of the wolf" he was exploring the meadow land. As he approached the city gates, the dogs drove him away: To save his life he departed like an arrow
(trans. Lambert 217).
But the fox runs effectively; like his heir Reynard, he epitomizes the quick-wittedness and self-reliance of the born survivor. "The man who seized the tail of the Lion sank in the river. He who seized the tail of the fox escaped" (trans. Lambert 281).13 Perhaps of all the animals the fox most clearly mirrors what Kramer calls "the contentious and aggressive behavioral pattern which characterized [Sumerian] culture" (Sumerians 267).
Thus as elementary students copied and recopied proverbs and fables like these, learning from them the rudiments of the literary language, they also learned the importance of understanding the nature of their place in a hierarchical society mirrored by the structure of animal society. As the weakest and smallest of humans, they would be led to identify with the weaker and smaller animals and reassured by their survival skills. Although Sumerian religion portrayed the world as a difficult and fearful place, yet these fables and proverbs confirm that it is not strength that wins in the end but intelligence, and that the tongue (and by extension the stylus) can be mightier than the sword.14
III
The nature of the tablets on which the Hymn to Lipit-eštar and the material used from the Proverb Collections appear make it clear that they pertain to the most elementary level of education. This literature is not, moreover, mentioned in the "Ur Curriculum," the designation given the list of works found in three literary catalogues from Ur.15 Vanstiphout believes that this is because as first-year exercise texts, they may not have been considered worthy of inclusion in the official literary curriculum ("How Did" 123). The Ur curriculum does list, however, the works that Vanstiphout surmises were used at the second educational stage; most of the literary debates and all of the "school compositions" ("How Did" 126). The greater length, the more sophisticated language, and the higher quality of the tablets support Vanstiphout's hypothesis; it is further supported by the [End Page 12] nature of the works themselves, which seem singularly appropriate for pupils at the middle level, given the aims of a Sumerian scribal education.
Literary debates of the mythological type, in a sense longer and more complex fables, form one category of the literature studied at the next educational level.16 Unlike some of the proverbs and short fables, the mythological debates were apparently not originally intended for use in the schools; in several cases the evidence indicates that they were composed as court entertainment for the kings of the Third Dynasty of Ur (Lambert 150). They were no doubt chosen by the scribes as educational material because, like many of the proverbs and fables, they emphasize the value of hard work, intelligence, and verbal ability. The debates consist of a confrontation between two entities in which one has the final say. The winner, however, is not revealed until the very end of the composition, the verdict being delivered by a third party, usually the air-god Enlil. Most of the debates begin with a mythological introduction which sets the scene, explains the creation of the participants and their place in the scheme of things, and sets up the terms of the argument. This always centers on the question of which contestant is most useful to man.
Seven Sumerian literary debates have survived, and five of them appear in the Ur curriculum: the best preserved are the disputes between Summer and Winter, Cattle and Grain, and the Pickax and the Plow. The debate between the Pickax and the Plow is a representative example, although it lacks the mythological introduction. It begins with a description of the Pickax as a "poor fellow, always losing his loincloth."17 Nevertheless, the Pickax challenges the more aristocratic Plow on the basis of the greater number and range of tasks that the Pickax accomplishes. The Plow responds to the challenge by trying to pull rank, calling himself "the noble field-registrar of Father Enlil," and claiming that the king pours out beer and sacrifices sheep and oxen to him at his feasts, even taking hold of his handles while the great nobles walk beside; the Pickax, on the other hand, is used by slaves. The Pickax responds by calling the Plow an incompetent bungler who is always breaking and only works part of the year at that; then he emphasizes how helpful he is to the working classes: "I make it possible for the worker to support his wife and children." His final argument is: [End Page 13]
I in the waterless steppe, Have dug up its sweet water, He who is thirsty is revived by the side of my trenches
(trans. Kramer, History 346).
Enlil then gives the verdict in the Pickax's favor.
This debate is interesting not only because it considers water and its management the crucial element in the maintenance of Sumerian civilization, but because it affirms that the lowly Pickax, on the basis of his greater productivity and range of achievement, is of greater worth in the god Enlil's eyes than the aristocratic Plow, in spite of his royal connections.18 All of the debates, in fact, stress the value of hard work for gods and men, no matter in what area it may be carried out or by whom, and emphasize the rewards to be gained by such work. Since the loser of the debate has also worked hard, he is not punished; but he does have to accept that he is in some sense inferior to the winner, at least in the eyes of the gods. This idea is also found in a number of the proverbs. It is not only the actions of the contestants, however, that enable them to win their disputes, but their eloquence in describing those actions: an eloquence which is above all aggressive and self-aggrandizing. The literary debates, then, on the one hand, place an emphasis on the rewards to be gained by hard work and, on the other hand, serve to reinforce a major implied lesson of the literature already copied by children on the elementary level: that verbal skills are of prime importance in achieving success.
Unlike the mythological debates, the "school compositions," the other category of texts used at the second educational stage, may well have been created expressly for teaching purposes. Six of these compositions, all of which appear on the Ur curriculum list, have survived: two works, usually referred to as "essays," which involve a student and his father, and four debates between two students or recent graduates of the school. In these texts, the term ummia ("expert" or "school-father") is used for the head of the school, while the pupil is known as the "school-son." There is also a "big-brother" or assistant, perhaps an older student, something like a graduate student, and there are monitors and proctors who take care of attendance and discipline (Kramer, Sumerians ch. 6). [End Page 14]
Of the four surviving school debates, the one most often excerpted is "School Rowdies." This recounts a quarrel between a student, Enkimansi, and his "big-brother" Girnishag. The "big-brother" begins the dialogue (trans. Gadd 32-33):
"Son of the tablet-house, what shall we write today after the tablet?"
Enkimansi replies:
"Today in grammar[?] we will not write out individual dialects.
We will say anything that the master knows,
We will answer just so-and-so.
I'm resolved to write something of my own; I'll give the orders."
This burst of independence appears to irritate Girnishag, who responds:
"If you're giving the orders, I'm not your 'big-brother.'
How, pray, does my 'big-brotherhood' come in?
In being a scribe, a name too great [i.e., conceit] destroys 'big-brotherhood.'"
Girnishag then begins the series of insults which comprise much of the text. Not only is the student Enkimansi quite able to defend himself, but he is also able to respond with insults of his own, charging that his "big-brother" is stupid, uncreative, unlearned in both sacred and secular matters, and mathematically and linguistically incompetent, with a "broad tongue, an evil tongue." Girnishag defends himself in turn, concluding (trans. Kramer, Sumerians 241-42):
"Me, I was raised on Sumerian, I am the son of a scribe. But you are a bungler, a windbag. When you try to shape a tablet, you can't even smooth[?] the clay[?] tablet. . . . You 'wise-fool,' cover your ears! Cover your ears! [Yet] you [claim to know] Sumerian like me!"19
The debate continues, but the text at this point is fragmentary. Finally someone appears, perhaps a monitor, and upbraids the student Enkimansi, threatening to beat him and to put him in chains. [End Page 15]
"Why do you raise a commotion in the school!—Why were you insolent[?], inattentive[?], [why do you] curse and hurl insults against him who is your 'big-brother' and has taught you the scribal art to your own advantage[?]! Even the headmaster who knows everything shook his head violently[?] [saying]: 'Do to him what you please.' If I did to you what I pleased—to a fellow who behaved like you [and] was inattentive[?] to his 'big-brother'—I would [first] beat you with a mace—what's a wooden board?—[and] having put copper chains on your feet, would lock you up in the house [and] for two months would not let you out of the school."
After four unintelligible lines, the piece ends, "In the dispute between Girnishag and Enkimansi, the headmaster gave the verdict."
It is a verdict delivered by man, not a god as in the mythological debates, and what that verdict was has not survived. Nevertheless, it is possible to guess what it might be. In his initial response to his "big-brother's" polite request for a suggestion about the next writing assignment, Enkimansi gets more and more outrageous, ending up with the statement, "I'll give the orders." Girnishag recognizes right away that this is a violation of the chain of command at the school and that Enkimansi, like the proverbial fox in relation to the ox and the sea, does not understand or choose to recognize his proper place. Girnishag is not only superior to Enkimansi because he is his "big-brother," but because, according to him, he is the son of a scribe and raised on Sumerian. The monitor's speech toward the end of the debate affirms that Enkimansi is out of place, commenting as it does on his insolence and his rudeness to a "big-brother" to whom he should be grateful. Perhaps the monitor's threat of beating and chains is an exaggerated one, meant to be humorous, but that he believes that some punishment is due such upstart behavior is clear; the monitor's status is being threatened, too.20
Although it is not always clear in the body of the debate who is speaking, the insults traded demonstrate what the attainments of a scribe should be: good handwriting, a knowledge of Sumerian and the ability to speak it as well as write it elegantly, creative literary skill, and mathematical ability, particularly as it applies to surveying. Moreover, like the mythological debates, the school debates serve as [End Page 16] a further illustration of the aggressive, competitive nature of Sumerian culture. The same emphasis on what the competent scribe should be able to do, the same self-praise, and the same disparagement of the opponent are evident in the other three school debates.
Gadd speculates about the purpose of the debates, noting that they "have decidedly an air of burlesque, though of no very agreeable kind." He concludes that "it was pure interest in contemporary life (naturally, with a bias to their own profession) which inspired the writers of these scenes" (36-38). It does not appear to have occurred to Gadd, nor to other commentators on this material, that it was composed expressly for an audience of would-be scribes and was designed to teach them what young scholars should be striving for in school and out. There is an age at which schoolchildren particularly enjoy exchanging insults; it is possible that the scribes who created these dialogues were deliberately trading on this propensity in order to promote good behavior and scholarship in school.
The promotion of good behavior and scholarship also appears to be at least part of the purpose behind the two other school compositions, usually referred to as "essays," although the one called "School Days," the narrative of a boy's two days at school and their after-math, is arguably a story. "School Days" begins with a dialogue between a student and his father (trans. Kramer, Sumerians 237-39):21
"Schoolboy, where did you go from earliest days?"
"I went to school."
"What did you do in school?"
The student's account of one day's activities takes up the first part of the narrative. They do not sound unfamiliar: he recites his tablet, eats lunch, prepares a new tablet, writes it, finishes it, gets his oral and written assignments, and finally goes home to tell his father about his work and recite his lessons. His father is delighted with his son's progress. The student's next day does not go as well. He asks the servants to wake him on time and gets two rolls for lunch from his mother on his way out, but somehow he gets to school late and is reprimanded by the monitor. Then he is caned by various members of the school staff for not completing his homework, for loitering in the street, for sloppy clothing, for talking without permission, for [End Page 17] going out of the gate without permission, and for not speaking Sumerian. Finally the headmaster canes him for poor handwriting. It is because of all this punishment, presumably, that the student loses interest in learning and his teacher loses interest in teaching him.
I [began to] hate the scribal art, [began to] neglect the scribal art. My teacher took no delight in me; [even stopped teaching?] me his skill in the scribal art; in no way prepared me in the matters [essential] to the art [of being] a "young scribe," [or] the art [of being] a "big-brother."
The student then suggests to his father that he soften up the headmaster.
Give him a bit [sic] extra salary, [and] let him become more kindly[?]; let him be free [for a time] from arithmetic; [when] he counts up all the school affairs of the students, let him count me [i.e., not neglect me any longer].
The father agrees to invite the headmaster to dinner.
At this point the narrator takes over and describes the ensuing events as if he were an eyewitness. The father seats the headmaster in the seat of honor and flatters him:
My little fellow has opened [wide] his hand, [and] you made wisdom enter there; you showed him all the fine points of the scribal art; you made him see the solutions of the mathematical and arithmetical [problems], you [taught him how] to make deep[?] the cuneiform script[?].
After this, the father orders the servants to pour out fragrant oil and announces his intentions of bestowing clothes, a ring, and an extra salary on the fortunate headmaster. As a result of these attentions, the headmaster's attitude toward his pupil changes radically. His final speech reads:
Young fellow, [because] you hated not my words, neglected them not, [may you] complete the scribal art from beginning to end. Because you gave me everything without stint, paid me a salary larger than my efforts [deserve], [and] have honored me, [End Page 18] may Nidaba, the queen of guardian angels, be your guardian angel; may your pointed stylus write well for you; may your exercises contain no faults. Of your brothers, may you be their leader; of your friends, may you be their chief; may you rank the highest among the schoolboys, satisfy[?] all who walk[?] to and fro in[?] the palaces. Little fellow, you "know" [your] father, I am second to him; that homage be paid to you, that you be blessed—may the god of your father bring this about with firm hand; he will bring prayer and supplication to Nidaba, your queen, as if it were a matter for your god. Thus, when you put a kindly hand on the . . . of the teacher, [and] on the forehead of the "big-brother," then[?] your young comrades will show you favor. You have carried out well the school's activities, you are a man of learning. You have exalted Nidaba, the queen of learning; O Nidaba, praise!"
If this schoolboy is as young as his activities and the epithets used in Kramer's translation indicate, and if it can be assumed that the Sumerians believed a story about a young schoolboy was appropriate for use by students of the same age, much as primers today have first- and second-graders as major characters, then it seems likely that this story was written for the use of elementary students and that those students were young. The student's misadventures would be amusing to young children; even more so, perhaps, to children who viewed corporal punishment as a matter of course. Finally, the immediate goal emphasized by the headmaster's final speech, scholastic success, would be easy for children to understand.
The headmaster not only wishes for perfect work from his student, but he also wishes that perfect work will lead to tangible social rewards for him: top-rank among his fellow-students and their recognition of him as a leader. In addition, the headmaster wishes that the student, as a result of his achievement in school, will eventually receive the same kind of homage now paid to his father who is clearly, on the internal evidence in the story, a man of wealth and status; the headmaster places himself second to him even though the scribal class was a privileged one. As a final guarantee of success, the headmaster hopes that the father's personal god will intervene on the student's behalf with Nidaba, the goddess in charge of writing [End Page 19] and literature, much as the father had intervened with her representative, the headmaster.22 There is no mention in the headmaster's words of learning for learning's sake; rather it is assumed that the rewards of learning are material, not spiritual.
There is a further materialistic slant to "School Days" that, viewed from a modern perspective, makes the story appear to be ironic. The radical change of attitude on the part of the headmaster toward his pupil takes place only after the receipt of flattery and tokens of respect, as well as considerable material benefits. Indeed, the headmaster admits as much: "Because you gave me everything without stint, . . . may Nidaba . . . be your guardian angel." While the headmaster is not exactly bribed, since he only wishes for the future success of his pupil but does not guarantee it, the implication is that the student will be viewed more favorably from this point on. Is the story advocating that a student encourage his father to treat his teacher handsomely in order to promote his son's success? That the Sumerian culture may have been one that viewed such pay-offs positively is not only probable on the evidence of current practices in many places, but on the evidence of the text as well. The headmaster has already made an equation between the relationship of the father to himself and the relationship of the father's personal god to the scribal goddess Nidaba. The Sumerians believed that you must do something for your god in order for him to do something for you: that there was a reciprocal relationship between man and deity (Jacobsen 154, 160). "School Days" implies that the same kind of reciprocal relationship applies between the student and those in authority in the school, indeed, perhaps applies in all social relationships.
Since it was the scribal teachers who decided which compositions were to be copied by their students, the message that it pays to be good to your teacher may partially account for the popularity of "School Days": twenty-one copies exist, some with translations into Akkadian, the demotic language, to help the student (Kramer, History 12). Moreover, the piece may contain a warning directed at its adult audience: excessive punishment results in poor performance, since the schoolboy's inability to apply himself in school appears to stem from his continuous chastisement by school personnel. On the other hand, it is possible that "School Days" is to be read by its adult [End Page 20] audience as a satire on the materialism and limited goals of certain headmasters and parents. That the Sumerians were quite capable of such satire has been the conclusion of several recent studies; Alster, for example, speaks of the "constant play on ambivalent possibilities" to be found in Sumerian literature. If this is indeed the case, teachers must have enjoyed the irony of the work while correcting their students' exercises.
A text even more popular than "School Days," judging by the fifty-seven extant copies and fragments, is "A Scribe and His Perverse Son."23 This is an amusing diatribe by an angry father who complains that his son is not living up to parental expectations. The piece opens with a typical father-and-son dialogue.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"If you aren't going anywhere, why are you wasting your time?
Go to your school, be ready for school!
Read your lesson, open [your] . . .
Write your tablet,
let your big [brother] write [your] new tablet for you.
When you have finished [your] lesson
and have recited it [before] your monitor, then come here to me.
Say . . .
Don't wander around [on the street].
Give me [quickly your answer?]
. . . Do you know what I have said to you?"
"I know it and I'll say it to you!"
"Now then, repeat it to me!"
"I know it and I'll say it to you!"
"Now then, repeat it to me!"
"I'll repeat it to you."
(1-16)
After similar exchanges, the son does repeat what the father has said to him. Then the father embarks on a long and not unfamiliar monologue containing advice mixed with complaints about his son's grumbling, his imperiousness, his laziness, and his love for pleasure. The father remarks that he never asks his son to work in the fields as other fathers do, that he has worked harder than anyone for his [End Page 21] son, and yet all he gets is ingratitude. He urges his son to imitate his older and younger brothers. He follows this with some remarks about the scribal profession.
 Click for larger view
Copy of the popular text "A Scribe and His Perverse Son," sometimes called "Juvenile Delinquency."
"Under the expert masters who dwell in the land, who are named with names, has Enki [the god of wisdom and the arts] [End Page 22]
no profession which is as difficult as scribal work—now then he has named it!
He names with names, with the exception of the art of song:
like the sea-shores which are far away from each other,
so far away is the 'heart' of the art of song.
You do not direct your understanding to my . . .
You do not say: 'I will attend to . . . of my father!'
That which Enlil has established for men is
that the son follow his father's profession."
(107-16)
There are fifty-eight more lines, many of them fragmentary, of complaints and advice. Then the father concludes, as did the headmaster in "School Days," with good wishes for his son's future.
"May you find favor before your god!
May your humanity 'exalt your neck and your breast!'
May you become the best among your city's scholars,
so that your city, that beautiful place, calls your name glorious!
May your god name you with a good name, an enduring word;
May you find favor before [the moon-god] Nanna, your god;
May you be well-regarded by Ningal [his consort]!
Nidaba be praised!"
(176-83)
The son in this work appears to be somewhat older than the schoolboy of "School Days," but he is still young enough to be under the supervision of a "big-brother." The father's complaint that he has never asked his son to work for him and support him is no indication of maturity, given the age at which young children are still sent out to work in certain cultures.24 Thus there is no conclusive evidence on the age of the son addressed here; perhaps he is approaching adolescence, the age when, in our culture, boys are prone to "stand around in the market place and wander about in the street" (29-30).
A son older than the one in "School Days," however, as well as an older audience for the work, is indicated by the father's sophisticated perception of the nature of the scribal arts and of the future benefits to his son he wishes to result from the mastery of those arts. Sjöberg's translation makes clear the distance of the art of song from the scribal art, which is only the most difficult of the professions which Enki has named.25 The art of song is the exception (Ausnahme) [End Page 23] to the naming process, and song's "heart," presumably its essence, is as far away from what can be named as the sea-shores are from each other. To name, for the Sumerians, is to make what is at the heart of a thing manifest, to make it known to the consciousness (Kramer, Inanna 138-39). Thus these lines emphasize the ultimate ineffability at the heart of song, while seeing the scribal art which transmits it as the most difficult of those things which can be named. The father's recognition that there is something in the creative act that cannot be "named" is evidence of a philosophical stance that moves beyond the materialism of "School Days."26
The type of ultimate success that the father wishes for his son also transcends the material. In line 177 the father uses the term nam-lúulù, usually translated as "humanity." According to J. J. A. Van Dijk (23), nam-lú-ulù corresponds to the Latin humanitas and has the same two senses: it refers both to men collectively and to that through which man is what he is, the complete blossoming of human values, or, as Kramer puts it, "all conduct and behavior characteristic of humanity and worthy of it" (Sumerians 264).27 The student must not rely solely on his technical ability as a scribe to gain glory and status, but on the humanity, the inner worth as evidenced by outer conduct, which is the fruit of a scribal education. Humanity will lead to an even greater benefit, the favor of the personal god, who was not only a kind of sublime parent but the "personification of the power that causes luck and success in an individual" and the source of all pride in accomplishment (Jacobsen 161). The father wishes, then, not simply that his personal god intervene with the goddess of scribes, Nidaba, on behalf of his son as did the father in "School Days," but that the student will win his own favor before his personal god Nanna, such favor that his god will give him an "enduring" name and perhaps the kind of immortality an enduring name guarantees.28 In the hymn to Lipit-eštar, the scribe's immortality was only to be gained through his association with the king and was dependent on the survival of the king's name; here the scribe may win immortality through his own deeds and in his own right.
This work, given its more sophisticated content and its concern with goals that are not only material, may serve as a transition to the literature which was included in the third stage of a scribe's education, [End Page 24] that "song" whose essence is so unapproachable. The last years at school were spent in the copying and perhaps memorization of the longer wisdom tests and the hymns, myths, and epics of the Sumerians. At this stage, however, the student should probably no longer be considered a child, but a young adult who is well-embarked on his scribal career.
IV
Such a survey of the literature to which Mesopotamian children were exposed from about 2500 B.C. to the end of the Sumerian period, about 1800 B.C., is necessarily limited by the fragmentary nature of the surviving evidence. The oral component of the child's literary universe can never be reconstructed; in addition, the children that are known to have come into contact with written literature formed only a small segment of the population and for the most part belonged to the wealthier and more powerful stratum of society. In spite of these limitations, however, the presence of certain texts on the Ur curriculum lists, the nature of the tablets on which those texts are found, and the location of the tablets at school excavation sites render certain the association of a small number of school-age children with a significant group of literary works.
Can this literature be called "children's literature"? Certainly not using definitions such as the Opies' "books intended to be read by children in their leisure hours for enjoyment."29 This is because, with the exception of the "lullaby," which is arguably not a real lullaby since it is directed at a particular child, the proverbs, fables, debates, and school compositions either were not written specifically for children, or, when they were, seem to have been composed primarily in order to educate them and only secondarily to amuse them.
What can be said with certainty is that the Mesopotamians had a literature which they considered peculiarly suited for children at the elementary and intermediate levels of their education. Even if the primary consideration for choosing a given text was based on lexical and grammatical grounds, its content was also significant. Thus while some of the literature used at the earliest educational stages was not composed for children but came out of oral tradition, with [End Page 25] the exception of the mythological debates, the material used at the second educational stage, centered as it was on the school and its graduates, was probably written specifically for students by teachers. Moreover, these are imaginative literary works, not designed to impart specific information, and are not as overtly didactic as Aelfric's Colloquy, St. Anselm's Elucidarium, or Comenius' Orbis Sensualium Pictus, which are sometimes cited as early children's books. In addition, the Sumerian animal fables and "school compositions" belong to two of the most common categories of children's literature, the school story and the animal story.
A definition of children's literature, then, that would prove serviceable for the eras before the invention of printing and that would include the works with which Mesopotamian children came into contact could be: "an imaginative literature which may or may not have been originally composed for younger children or directed at them, but which was considered particularly suitable for them and to which they were regularly exposed." Given a definition as inclusive as this, children's literature is as ancient as the adult literature to which it is so intimately related.
The literature which the Sumerians thought "particularly suitable" for children, the proverbs, fables, debates, and school compositions, is considered by most scholars to belong to the category of wisdom literature, and it does transmit an identifiable ethical stance. The fact that a given ethic is pervasive in the literature to which children are deliberately and regularly exposed is a good indicator that such an ethic is considered of major importance. Indeed the ethical stance (perhaps a better term would be agenda) to be found in Sumerian children's literature reflects the characteristics of a philosophy of life that Kramer and Jacobsen see in Sumerian culture as a whole. The highest good appears to be the favor of the personal god and then of the king, in those texts which mention them, but chiefly because their favor, implicitly or explicitly, is a guarantee of fame, status, and material prosperity in this life.30 Even the literature to which younger children were exposed, the lullaby and the hymn to the king Lipit-eštar, reflect this point of view. The proverbs, fables, and the literary debates portray in addition a competitive society in which hard work, perseverance, prudence, initiative, a certain aggressive, self-aggrandizing foxiness, and, above all, verbal [End Page 26] skills were prerequisites for gaining the rewards of this life. In the school debates and compositions, as in the hymn to Lipit-eštar, it is clear that a total mastery of the scribal arts is the key to ultimate success. On the other hand, "A Scribe and His Perverse Son," directed at older children, posits the limits to self-aggrandizement: know one's place and act for the benefit of other men and of the gods in order to receive the divine favor essential for continued success. Thus for enduring fame in one's own right, it was necessary to cultivate nam-lú-ulù, humanity, a concept which included the practice of truth, goodness, justice, mercy, courage, loyalty, and other virtues.
The Sumerians achieved at a remarkably early date, and with unusual rapidity, a high civilization in every sense: artistic, intellectual, legal, political, and even scientific and technological. They are responsible, as far as is known, for a great number of "firsts" in the cultural history of man. The impetus behind the Sumerians' rapid cultural development was provided by the scribal bureaucrats who were exposed from early childhood to a literature, created largely by themselves, which not only promoted the primacy of their profession, but which emphasized hard work, intellectual achievement, and humanity as the prerequisites for every kind of success including an enduring name.31 Even at the beginning of history, then, children's literature played an important and well-recognized role in shaping the minds of the future leaders of a society and thus the direction in which that society would move.
Gillian Adams
Gillian Adams, who teaches children's literature, fairy tales, and fantasy at the University of Texas, is currently completing a translation of Ysengrimus, a twelfth-century Latin beast-epic.
Notes
1. For example, see Brockman, the McMunns, and Smith; volume 1 of the recent series Masterworks of Children's Literature begins at 1550.
2. Kramer, Inanna 115-119; Brinkman 335-37; Hallo and Simpson 27-29.
3. Kramer (329) remarks of the lullaby that its "translation and interpretation are difficult and to a considerable degree uncertain."
4. There was at least one female scribe, and it is worthy of note that the deity of scribes, Nidaba, is female. Kramer surmises that women who were literate were privately educated (History 351).
5. Olivier (49) notes that a private house excavated at Ur contained a bench for pupils, a podium for the teacher, and nearly two thousand tablets.
6. This is only one of a number of texts that promote the scribal arts; see Sjöberg ("In Praise") and the works discussed below. Vanstiphout ("How Did" 124) notes that "the closing passage may well be intended as a self-fulfilling prophecy: of course his [End Page 27] fame will endure when this text will remain in use for many centuries (with some interruption, just about forty by now) as a school text."
7. For a detailed description of the types of tablets on which the proverbs occur and the arrangement of their contents, see Gordon, Proverbs 6-10. All further citations in the text and notes, except n. 8 below, refer to this work. It is possible, thanks to Gordon's careful scholarship, to pinpoint which proverbs from Collections One and Two are found on the tablets of the four general types that he describes. Type A and B tablets are composed by professional scribes, perhaps as library copies; type C are rough, badly written, often consisting of only one line accompanied by vocabulary lists and mathematical exercises; type D contain short excerpts and represent a higher level of writing skills; and type E are fairly well-written and contain longer excerpts.
8. Gordon in "Sumerian Animal Proverbs and Fables" lists allusions to the following: geography, weather, wild fauna and flora, minerals, agriculture, domestic animals, animal anatomy, crafts and industry, commerce and transport, hunting, property rights and inheritance, social status, political and legal institutions, family, household, religion, education, art, recreations, human physiological and pyschological traits, interpersonal relationships, and abstract ideas about time, quantity, truth, and pleasure.
9. See, for example, Lenneberg, particularly ch. 8, sec. 5, "Growth Characteristics of the Human Brain and Their Possible Relationship to Language Acquisition."
10. A more extreme example is provided by the fragmentary proverbs 1.41-43 also found on elementary tablets; Gordon (61) thinks they may refer to "sexual acts frowned upon by the Sumerians," although he admits that the text is problematical and the translation uncertain.
11. Gordon gives valuable cultural analyses of the proverbs; he discusses proverbs about children on 304 and proverbs about education on 311-12.
12. Gordon (287) does not think that the fox of Sumerian proverbs is the clever, sly beast he later becomes.
13. Both these texts are Neo-Assyrian, but the first is similar in theme to the longer Sumerian fable, 2.69, in Gordon. Of the second, Lambert says, "If this is really a proverb, its point eludes us." The point is that when one is in trouble, it is more effective to act like a fox than like a lion.
14. The Sumerians saw the world as a place in which man was put only to serve gods who were unpredictable and whose favor was difficult to win. Life after death was merely a dusty, grim reflection of life on earth; see Kramer, Sumerians, vii.
15. A collation of the three catalogues is provided by a table in Hallo (90-91).
16. Lambert (150) classifies the later Babylonian and Assyrian debates as "fables, not of the Aesopic type." The key to the difficulty in classifying this material may lie in Alster's observation (210) that a proverb, a fable, and a debate contain the same "traditionally coined statement" but in a more or less expanded form.
17. Kramer (History 133-36) translates part of the debate and summarizes the rest.
18. Sumerian civilization was not only based on a complex irrigation system, but flooding was a constant threat. The Sumerians had a flood story remarkably similar to that found in Genesis.
19. "Wise-fool" (galam-hu-ru), according to Gadd (34), is the literal equivalent of the Greek sophos-moros, from which we get the term "sophomore."
20. For Mesopotamian brutality to children, see DeMause (33-34).
21. The work was first edited and translated by Kramer in 1949, who gave it then the title "School Days." Kramer's translation in Sumerians uses "Old Grad" in the first line. All other translations, including Kramer's excerpt in History 10, use the term "schoolboy." Saggs (346) claims that "the boy is in his second year." [End Page 28]
22. Every Sumerian had his own personal god, among the many deities of the Sumerian pantheon, with whom he had a close personal relationship. A father passed on his personal god and goddess to his sons. For a recent discussion, see Jacobsen ch. 5, "Second Millennium Metaphors. The Gods as Parents: Rise of Personal Religion."
23. Until recently the only relatively complete translation has been that of Kramer in Sumerians 63ff. Kramer adds some more lines in History 15-17. I have translated into English the German translation of Sjöberg, which is based on forty more tablets and fragments than Kramer's and which adds about sixty lines.
24. Kramer translates lines 124ff. as "You have accumulated much wealth, have expanded far and wide, have become fat, big, broad, powerful, and puffed," giving the impression that a young man is being addressed. On the other hand, Sjöberg has "You with your exploits! You are bloated, you make yourself big, you make yourself broad, you are imperious[?]" "Du mit deinen Grosstaten! Du bist aufgedunsen, / Du . . ., du machst dich gross, / Du machst dich breit, du bist gebieterisch[?], du . . .'", and the context supports the meaning "You have become too big for your breeches."
25. A comparison of Sjöberg's translation of lines 107-14 with Kramer's (History 17) underlines the complexity of the father's approach to his profession. Kramer's rendering is, "Among all mankind's craftsmen who dwell in the land, as many as Enki called by name, no work as difficult as the scribal art did he call by name. For if not for song [poetry]—like the banks of the sea, the banks of the distant canals is the heart of the song distant—you wouldn't be listening to my counsel and I wouldn't be repeating to you the wisdom of my father." Kramer's translation implies that there is an equation between song (poetry) and the scribal art and that it is the transmission of the former by the latter which enables the father to carry on the wisdom tradition by transmitting that tradition to his son.
26. Alster (212) sees the text as "a satire on the art of the singers, from the viewpoint of the scribes." His reading is very different from mine.
27. Van Dijk (24) sees the development of the concept in certain edubba compositions, particularly this one, as an illustration of the evolution that the Sumerian intellectual milieu has undergone in the direction of rational humanism, that is, the idea that man's humanity is the result of his formation by men, not by the gods.
28. Van Dijk's (26) translation of line 180, "que ton dieu t'appelle d'un nom doux 'dans une parole inchangeable!" underlines the enduring quality of the name. Sjöberg has "ein festes Wort."
29. As quoted in Bator (4). His discussion of modern authors who claim that they leave it up to their publishers to decide whether a work is juvenilia or adult fiction demonstrates that intention is probably not a reliable component of a definition of children's literature.
30. Buccellati (37) notes that "the gods are considered as procurers, they are intermediaries to something else which is in reality the main reason for the relationship." Buccellati finds "no trace of a unified doctrine, system, or intellectual program" among the Mesopotamians.
31. For the influential status of bureaucrat-scribes and their importance for the development of Mesopotamian civilization, see Oppenheim.
Works Cited
Alster, Bendt. "Paradoxical Proverbs and Satire in Sumerian Literature." Journal of Cuneiform Studies 27 (1975): 201-27.
Bator, Robert. "Definition: Perpetual Exception." In Signposts to Criticism of Children's Literature. Ed. Robert Bator. Chicago: ALA, 1983. [End Page 29]
Brinkman, J. A. "Appendix: Mesopotamian Chronology of the Historical Period." In A. Leo Oppenheim. Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1964. 335-37.
Brockman, Bennett A. "Robin Hood and the Invention of Children's Literature." Children's Literature 10 (1982): 1-17.
Buccellati, Giorgio. "Wisdom and Not: The Case of Mesopotamia." Journal of the American Oriental Society 101 (1981): 35-47.
Butler, Francelia, ed. Masterworks of Children's Literature. Vol. 1 of 8 vols. Gen. ed. Jonathan Cott. Bryn Mawr: Chelsea, 1983.
Carpenter, Humphrey, and Mari Prichard. The Oxford Companion to Children's Literature. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1984.
DeMause, Lloyd. "The Evolution of Childhood." In The History of Childhood. Ed. Lloyd DeMause. New York: Psychohistory Press, 1974. 1-65.
Gadd, C. J. Teachers and Students in the Oldest Schools: An Inaugural Lecture Delivered on 6 March, 1956. London: School of Oriental and African Studies, U of London, 1956.
Gordon, Edmund I. "Sumerian Animal Proverbs and Fables: 'Collection Five.'" Journal of Cuneiform Studies 12 (1958): 1-6.
———. Sumerian Proverbs: Glimpses of Everyday Life in Ancient Mesopotamia. Philadelphia, 1959; rpt. New York: Greenwood, 1968.
Hallo, William W. Rev. of Literary and Religious Texts, First Part by C. J. Gadd and Samuel Noah Kramer. Journal of Cuneiform Studies 20 (1966): 89-93.
———, and William Kelly Simpson. The Ancient Near East: A History. New York: Harcourt, 1971.
Jacobsen, Thorkild. The Treasures of Darkness. New Haven: Yale UP, 1976.
Kramer, Samuel Noah. History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-Nine Firsts in Man's Recorded History. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1981.
———. "Sumerian History, Culture and Literature." In Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Noah Kramer. Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth. New York: Harper, 1983.
———. The Sumerians: Their History, Culture, and Character. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1963.
Lambert, W. G. Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Clarendon, 1960.
Lenneberg, Eric H. Biological Foundations of Language. New York: Wiley, 1967.
McMunn, Meradith Tilbury, and William Robert. "Children's Literature in the Middle Ages." Children's Literature 1 (1972): 21-29.
Olivier, J. P. J. "Schools and Wisdom Literature." Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 4 (1975): 49-60.
Oppenheim, A. Leo. "The Intellectual in Mesopotamian Society." Daedalus 104.2 (Spring 1975): 37-46.
Saggs, H. W. F. The Greatness That Was Babylon. New York: Hawthorn, 1962.
Sjöberg, Äke W. "Der Vater und Sein Missratener Sohn." Journal of Cuneiform Studies 25.3 (July 1973): 105-69.
———. "In Praise of the Scribal Art." Journal of Cuneiform Studies 24 (1972): 126-129.
Smith, Elva S. The History of Children's Literature. Chicago: ALA, 1937; rev. 1980.
Van Dijk, J. J. A. La sagesse suméro-accadienne: recherches sur les genres littéraires des textes sapientiaux. Leiden: Brill, 1953.
Vanstiphout, H. L. J. "How Did They Learn Sumerian?" Journal of Cuneiform Studies 31.2 (April 1979): 118-26.
———. "Lipit-eštar's Praise in the Edubba." Journal of Cuneiform Studies 30.1 (Jan. 1978): 33-39. [End Page 30]
Copyright © 1986 The Children's Literature Foundation, Inc.

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Julia Domna 170 CE Syria

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 18:57:34 -0400

Julia Domna is a philosopher from the Near East. She was born in Syria but became Empress of Rome. She both practiced philosophy in her life and was patron to a number of philosophers of her time.
Julia Domna is known to historians as a Roman Empress and in the Numismatics community as the face on numerous collectible Roman coins. In philosophy she is celebrated as the woman who restored philosophy to a place of honor in the Roman Empire and who brought political acumen to the ruling of the Roman Empire.
LIfe of Jula Domna
Julia Domna was born in Emesa (now Homs), Syria in 170 CE. Emesa was the birthplace of three other Roman Empresses ( her sister, Julia Maesa, Julia Mammea and Julia Soemia) and one emperor, her nephew, Emperor Elagabalus [Heliogabalus in Greek]. Our philosopher was the daughter of Bassianus, a hereditary high priest of the Sun god, Heliogabalus. Heliogabalus is the patron of Emesa (Homs)]. It should be noted that she was proud of her Syrian heritage and never forsook Domna, her Syrian family name even after she went to Rome.
As a young woman she married Septimius Severus, a Roman. Septimus Severus had served in the Roman army while Marcus Aurelius was emeperor and had been stationed in various parts of the empire, including Syria. After the death of his first wife, Marica, Septimus Severus sought out the young women - some say because his astrological inquiries indicated that Julia would marry a king and Septimus wanted to be that person.
Actually, Julia Domna was very respected by her husband. She was not only intelligent but she also had great political sense. During this marriage, she gave birth to two sons, Lucius Septimius Bassianus (Caracalla) in 188 BCE and Publius Septimius Geta in 189 BCE.
Severus became Emperor in 193 BCE and of course that made Julia Domna empress. They immediately faced civil war. Julia Domna, unlike most wives, accompanied her husband on his campaigns. She stayed in camp and not at home. One of the signs of Septimus Serverus' positive view of his wife and Empress was his order to mint coins with her portrait and the words, "mater castrorum" (mother of the camp). These coins are not collector items.
She continued to accompany Severus during his military campaigns. When he was killed at York [England] in 208 BCE, her two sons became co-emperors as Severus had wanted. The two men could not rule together, however, and they were constantly warring with one another. Julia Domna frequently attempted to mediate between them.
Julia Domna died of breast cancer in 217 C.E. - some says that she starved herself to death after the murder of her second son - some say she died on the order of the Emperor Maximus. What we know today about food intake in the last stages of breast cancer, might shed a different light on both these claims.
She was well known among historians of her time. Dio Cassius writing in the 3rd century details her life and its end in his History of Rome. You can read Dio Cassius piece about Julia Domna in his History of Rome
Empress of Rome
As empress Julia Domna was a patron of the learning and surrounded herself with philosophers, writers and artists. It appears that she was interested in the Pythagoreans and it is said that she commissioned Philostratus to write the biography of Apollonius of Tyana, a Pythagorean Philosopher.
Beatrice Zeller points out that Philostratus "speaks of Julia's circle of mathematicians and philosophers....[and that] mathematicians means astrologers here". This claim by Zeller supports the contention of scholars who say that Julia Domna never lost her interest in ancient Syrian ways of wisdom. Source: Beatrice H. Zeller, "Julia Domna". A History of Women Philosophers vol 1. ed. Mary Ellen Waithe. p.123.
The use of astrology was part of the way to wisdom in many ancient cultures and it held a powerful influence on people's lives as Severus's choice of Julia for his wife illustrates. It was his acquaintance of her horoscope predicting future queenship that led Severus to marry this sixteen year old young woman of no wealth whatsoever.
We do not have any extant writing of the philosopher. We only know that scholars of her day said she conversed with and encouraged philosophers.
Beatrice Zeller notes that earlier emperors "such as Nero and Domitian had banished philosophy and persecuted philosophers but Julia Domna used her imperial power to protect philosophy and help philosophers flourish. This was no mean achievement."(Source: Zeller. op. cit. p. 132.)
One could claim that like Christina Wasa, Queen of Sweden, the Empress was a fulfillment of Plato's philosopher ruler from the Republic.
Sources:
1. Homs, current name of Emessa, Julia Domna's birth place can be found on the www. Syriatourism.org site.
The site does not mention her by name. Instead it mentions the daughter of Bassianos who married the Roman Emperor, Septimius Severus. . . You can read about the city and at the end of the article pursue links to some photos of the city at Homs
2. QuintusCinna Cocceius has authored an article about the period and her 'turn to philosophy' entitled, Julia Domna an Empress' Struggle
3. Robertino Solarion. Appolonius of Tyana & the Shroud of Turn covers this philosopher in some detail - including some of the scandalous accusations made in Rome about her relationships with her son and other men. See: Appoloinus of Tyanna
4. WordIQ offers an article about the philosohers and it includes some images. It also includes the oft repeated story as to why Septimius Severus wanted her as his wife. See: Julia Domna
5. WordIQ offers an article about : Septimius Severus

Ephraem the Syrian on the Utility of Language and the Place of Silence Paul S. Russell

Tue, 6 Apr 2010 06:36:32 -0400

Abstract: This paper attempts to trace the outlines of Ephraem the Syrian's ideas about the extent to which theological language can be usefully applied to the description of God. Centering on the Hymns on Faith and Sermons on Faith, the paper describes Ephraem's ideas about the usefulness of all languages used by created beings and how each of them is limited to dealing with realities close to it on the ontological scale. Ephraem is shown to believe that each language has its own range of usefulness but that no language is universally useful and that no verbal language suffices for the expression of the highest truths. Since all verbal languages function by defining what they describe, the highest realities, which cannot be subjected to definition because of their infinite natures, can be expressed only through the medium of silence. Silence is shown to be, in Ephraem's mind, the highest form of communication and to be used among the persons of the Trinity for their own communication.
Christians were still a persecuted group when Ephraem was born around the year 307 in or near the border city of Nisibis in the Syriac-speaking Eastern reaches of the Roman Empire. By the time he died in Edessa in June of 373, emperors involved themselves in matters of church discipline and doctrine, and Nisibis had been lost to Roman rule forever. Though we know very little of Ephraem's life, 1 his writings reflect this age of rapid [End Page 21] change and religious vibrancy and provide a window into the life and mind of a prolific, thoughtful Christian writer whose years were spent in Mesopotamia, a region with a very different cultural mix and set of religious and social forces at work than most early Christian writers knew.
It is representative of Ephraem's cultural milieu that his most characteristic writings should be the more than 400 hymns and verse homilies that have survived to our day. Though he seems to have been known during his lifetime as an interpreter of Scripture, 2 virtually all of his work seems to be pastoral in nature, intended to be heard and read by the wider membership of the Church, rather than for the delectation of a small group of intellectuals. 3 Ephraem seems, in fact, to have functioned as a choir director and hymn writer for most of his active life, designing the vast majority of his works for inclusion in the community's liturgy. This use of Ephraem's work has never ceased in the East, where Ephraem's hymns are still sung from southern India to the Arctic Circle. 4
The cultural gulf between Ephraem's environment and that of modern Western scholars has made proper understanding of his work difficult. Westerners, raised with ideas of serious theology being framed in dry academic prose, have been unwilling to recognize the theological content of Ephraem's metrical writings. 5 As Griffith puts it: 6
His style of religious discourse was not academic; it was deeply contemplative, based on a close reading of the scriptures.
This contemplative tone has led modern scholars to think of Ephraem as a man apart from the pull and push of the fourth-century theological [End Page 22] debates that consumed the Christians of his day and take center stage in modern accounts of the era. There has been no place for him in their minds or in their reconstructions of his age. 7
Regular readers of Ephraem's works will find, however, that his mind is clearly fixed on what he is trying to say more than on how to say it beautifully (his intent is to engage the theological questions of the day fully in an entirely theological manner) and that he has a completely coherent theological understanding that rests on a foundation that has been carefully considered and constructed.
The theological debates sparked by the confrontation between Arius and his bishop Alexander in Alexandria consumed much of the attention of the theologically active portion of the Christian Church for the whole of Ephraem's adolescent and adult life. His works contain quotations from Arius and Arian writings 8 and show a deep interest, not only in the push and pull of the argument, but in the theological issues that the argument brought to the fore.
However one might choose to characterize the distinction between Arius and the later figures who were stigmatized as his followers, 9 it is [End Page 23] clear that the central points at issue during the decades from the 320s to the 380s did not remain frozen, but rather developed and moved as the interests of the participants changed or the cast of characters turned over, whether from natural mortality or exile ordered by the civil authority. The extreme concern shown by Ephraem in the works now found in the two collections called the Hymns on Faith and the Sermons on Faith is directed so clearly against opponents who seem to him to claim too much knowledge of God and is so frequently repeated in these writings that we can be certain that many of them spring from the phase of the controversy involving the "Neo-Arian" writers. 10
A difficulty attaching to the study of Ephraem's writings is found in the fact that, though much of the material in these two collections deals with the question of the proper approach to theology and the incomprehensibility of God, that does not mean that all the works in those collections address these topics or even date from the same period of Ephraem's life. It is generally held, following the work of A. de Halleux, 11 that, though the collections of Ephraem's works are very stable in the manuscript tradition and have very early roots, they do not represent the intent of the author but rather the convenience and interests of later readers. The modern reader of Ephraem, with few exceptions, should regard the works before him as individual entities that cannot be securely dated or linked with each other. The Hymns on Faith and the Sermons on Faith are not polished cycles of work in the manner of Vergil's Eclogues or Georgics, but are large collections of pieces that seemed to later readers to be similar to each other in content, tone, or meter. These two collections, despite the tendency of the hymns to be gathered in subcollections by meter, seem, to me, to be chosen because of the topics the individual works address. [End Page 24]
II
Acquiring a grasp of the basic elements in an author's theological framework is not often an easy matter. Unless he should happen to write a treatise directly addressing fundamental questions of philosophy and theology, the reader will be forced to try to construct an organized picture by collecting stray comments or by reading between the lines in an effort to catch a glimpse of the underlying pattern of assumptions. Ephraem the Syrian, for all his prolific output, seems never to have set down a clear statement of his guiding principles, this sort of writing being foreign to his environment and not obviously useful or interesting to his audience. As an author who is renowned for arguing on behalf of the mystery of God and the need for reverent reticence in theological matters, he is often thought of as a thinker who is happier on a cloudy day than on a clear one. I think, however, that this is a misunderstanding, both of his position and of the convictions that impel him to hold it. By examining two of his most theologically rich collections of works, the Hymns on Faith and the Sermons on Faith, I hope to be able to show that Ephraem had a carefully considered idea of the extent of the usefulness of theological reflection as well as a careful sense of the place of silence in the enterprise. 12 Although he was caught up in a very tumultuous period in the development of the Christian theological voice, Ephraem shows clear signs of holding to a position that springs from personal conviction rather than from running to extremes either in reaction to, or in support of, other theologians engaged in controversy during his lifetime. [End Page 25]
As a brief glance toward the milieu in which Ephraem was working, and as an important reminder of how fundamental the issues discussed in the brouhaha we commonly call the Arian Controversy had become toward the end of his life, I would like to set before you the following quotation, which is taken from that bogie man of the fourth century, Eunomius of Cyzicus: 13
God does not know more about his own essence than we do, nor is that essence better known to him and less to us; rather, whatever we ourselves know about it is exactly what he knows, and, conversely, that which he knows is what you will find without change in us.
Ephraem's great concern with basic theological and philosophical issues is only comprehensible when the strength and clarity of the voices of those holding other views is appreciated.
It is important to remind ourselves of how active these questions of the nature and use of theological language and the possible extent of its competence were in the last twenty years of his life (353-73). The tone of Ephraem's considerable involvement with these matters makes them appear to be topics that were discussed among his audience, as he refers to them without introduction, in the manner of one commenting on common concerns. The focus of the pieces in both the collections we will consider supports the conclusion that Ephraem's concern and his manner of expressing his views spring from the soil of the Aëtian and Eunomian stages of the Arian Controversy. 14 Ephraem is not, however, a captive of his surroundings. As we proceed with this study, he will be revealed as having a very positive view of language, though one more limited and nuanced than Eunomius seems to have had.
The first aspect of his ideas on language to notice is how active he envisions human engagement with it to be. Ephraem has great reverence for Scripture and the trustworthiness of the information it contains, but he never idolizes it in a way that would put it outside the normal realm of language as he sees it. Just like any communication expressed in human language, Scripture provides the hearer with an object with which he can grapple.
Once the revelation is cloaked in human language, it has entered the realm of human activity and is accessible to our minds. It can be investigated [End Page 26] and ruminated on by human beings in their attempt to glean from it all the good they can extract. In Hymn 38 Ephraem says: 15
Let us be husbandmen of the Word of Truth.  Come, let us work it like the earth.
Our language as found in Scripture, then, is not only available to us, it also has productive capabilities inherent in it, as the earth has in it the power to support the growth of plants, and working it well can bring forth more and better fruits than would be available if it were left to produce on its own. Not only do humans have the power to recognize this productivity, in Ephraem's eyes, but they also have the ability to increase it by their effective actions. Ephraem thus, in the face of the apparently complete confidence of Eunomius, does not respond by denying any power and value to human reflection and language and does not try to lift language (even scriptural language) beyond the reach of human beings to keep it inviolable. Instead, he argues for our involvement with it and even describes humans as increasing the usefulness of scriptural language through intelligent action, but he does not see in this process an endless vista of possible progress in knowledge, nor does he think that its reach can extend as far as Eunomius envisions. For Ephraem, language is a tool that is fit for some tasks, but not for others. 16 So, in the same hymn cited above, he says to God:
8 Your scale weighed [and] gave out silence and speaking
and granted that we might do the same to You.
My brothers, doesn't nature teach that with one pan [of a scale]
without its counterpart we cannot weigh anything?

9 We will use silence and speaking.
Our speaking will be like the daytime
and our silence will be like the night
so that both the hearing and the tongue may seek rest.

10 They resemble their similitudes
in that our teaching of Truth is like an open light,
and silence and stillness are like the night,
and a restful sleep is very sweet.

13 Blessed is the Good One Who has given us speech
and blessed is the Righteous One Who has increased silence.
He gave us directions in which we could dispute [End Page 27]
and held [us] back [from] others so that we could keep silence about      them, just like the Teacher of All.
There is a natural balance in the way that God provides his creatures with tools for this sort of project. The speaking, from our point of view, is the active part of the operation, as the day is the time in which we accomplish whatever we will of our work. In the night we find our strength to use our powers during the day, and in the night we find the silence that is appropriate when certain matters are addressed. 18 As Ephraem says in Hymn 39.5,
The mouth is akin to, and describes as members of its own family,  whatever is spoken and can be translated  and be easily investigated  and can be discovered and explained.  But silence is the limit of whatever cannot possibly be discovered and explained.  For our mind is not akin to its hiddenness.
The boundary between silence and speaking is as natural as that between light and darkness.
The second of the Sermons on Faith 19 has a passage in which Peter's reticence in addressing Christ at the Last Supper, portrayed in John 13, is praised. Instead of presuming to speak directly to Christ, Peter makes use of the Beloved Disciple as an intermediary. 20 This humility and unwillingness to use his speech beyond the appropriate bounds is praised by Ephraem as evidence of Peter's grasp of the proper place of speech and silence. Lines 55 and 56 say:
He was talkative in every place;      in this place, alone, was he still.
which shows clearly Ephraem's conviction that an important requirement for the proper use of human speech is knowing when not to use it. This success is contrasted a few lines later in the same sermon with the inappropriate behavior of his opponents who refrain from what would be acceptable speech only to engage in the unacceptable: 21 [End Page 28]
Every creature is lovely to you without searching and without      investigation.
You have disregarded the finite, but you meditate on grasping the      extent [of the infinite].
You are in the presence of the      Creation, peacefully, but in the presence of the Creator,     with disputation.
You are completely simple and      still in the presence of everything
but you are disorderly in the     presence of the Lord of      Everything.
Ephraem, however, does not value human silence more than human speech, but rather sees it as necessary and appropriate with regard to certain subjects in certain circumstances. Hymn 57.10 is indicative of this, in that it shows that each of these has its place and each must be used when appropriate for the best result to be obtained: 22
You may learn admirably from your own lowly word  a glorious word: the Word of God.  If your own word ever does not know what to say,  honor with your silence the Word of your Creator,  Whose silence cannot be inquired into.
We must not allow ourselves to see Ephraem as an Eastern obscurantist. He never argues against the use of speech in theology, only against the inappropriate use of speech. 23
There are, then, real virtues in human language that Ephraem not only recognizes but encourages his listeners to take full advantage of. The working of the word of truth like the earth of a field is an image of intense effort and activity. It presumes intelligent involvement on the part of those who undertake it and credits them with sufficient mastery of the medium to draw from it more than lies exposed on the surface. It does not, however, envision language as a tool with unlimited applicability or see human beings as able reasonably to apply language to all objects in all situations. The final religious approach to God, like the yearly entrance of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies, 24 is a time for silence. Therein lies [End Page 29] the great difference between Eunomius and Ephraem and therein lies Ephraem's idea of the utility of silence in reflection.
Speech, for Ephraem, is seen as a part of the equipment needed for successful theological reflection and communication of the knowledge gained by reflection. While useful in and of itself, the range and power of language is increased when it is accompanied by its counterpart: silence. Proper use of these two tools in balance with each other allows humans to respond to any topic that confronts them in an appropriate and reverent manner, while still engaging with it actively as far as their ability allows. Such is the outline of Ephraem's ideas on the applicability of human language to theological matters, when used by human beings. However, in Ephraem's mind, human beings are not the only ones who can make use of human speech, and exploration of his discussions of language per se, shows that he views it as not limited to the words of created human speech used by humans, but as extending far beyond the level on which we, ourselves, function. We will now turn to examine how human language can succeed when used by other beings and how other forms of speech might fare when applied to theological matters.
III
Besides the balance Ephraem sees in the use of human silence as a counterpoint to human speech, he also holds that a language exists on a higher plane than the one involving speech and words that we know. One result of this is that the limits circumscribing human language can be pushed back if they are approached by words wielded with wisdom and skill from beyond the human realm. The success of those who hold to the words of Scripture as opposed to the error of those who think they can do better is an illustration of this: 25
165 O learner, you must not fall sick if the disputer goes astray.
If he has departed from your      Lord, come, consider the Scriptures.

169 Because, where the disputers have      turned aside, the discerning have not been ensnared,
and where the teachers26 have erred, the hearers have not been disturbed. [End Page 30]

173 It was not human speech carrying the proclamation;
human speech is divisible and falls every time something depends on it.

177 The Proclamation of the Truth depends on the Word of God.
Everything is borne by this Word; your learning depends on it, learner.
Does this mean that all we need do is cling to words that come from God in order to have dependable knowledge? If this were true, it would seem that language would be an instrument with universal competence that would succeed or fail depending on the hand that wields it. Further investigation, however, shows us that this is not Ephraem's idea at all. Ephraem's point here is that human language, when used as a tool by God, as it is in the Scriptures, is a more dependable and fertile medium than it can ever be on the tongue of a human being. Still, while the limits may be expanded by this divine intervention, they are not entirely erased. Each kind of language seems to be envisioned by Ephraem as having inherent in it a certain range of applicability beyond which no one can push it. If we look beyond his comments on human language to find remarks that address the question of language per se, we can see this principle at work, though it is never stated in the abstract. 27
Ephraem's view of language and its usefulness for the expression of truth and the enabling of communication makes clear that, the farther down the ontological scale of existence any language is directed, the more fully that language will inherently be able to address the task for which it is intended. As one climbs this scale, however, one finds that language diminishes in usefulness as one approaches the presence of God and fails entirely once one arrives in the presence. This pattern can only be brought out by collecting its constituent parts and viewing them side by side. Let us begin at the top of the scale.
For example, when Ephraem describes the angelic hosts as they are in Heaven, they are seen as standing in the presence of God in a state of awe: 28
The angels witness with silence;      the Seraphim bless with applause.
The silent attendance of the angels is cast into sharper focus by the fact that, when the seraphim wish to express their approval and loyalty to the [End Page 31] Son, they dare not try to cloak that message in words but resort to a wordless gesture that serves their purpose more fully. Ephraem elsewhere expresses at greater length this conviction that silence can, at times, achieve more than speech, when a creature approaches the creator. 29
This is suitable for the mouth:  that it might praise and be still and,  if it should be asked to run on,  it would entirely resist, in silence.  Then it will be able to comprehend,  unless it runs on 30 in order to comprehend.  Stillness is able to comprehend  more than the insolent [person] who runs on.
It may be that Ephraem's idea of the nature of the gulf between the created and the creator is of a kind that makes him think reverent, silent contemplation a more effective approach than any kind of outright address. Perhaps the principle of "like being attracted to like" is present here in Ephraem's mind, since earlier in the same hymn 31 he had declared to God:
Although You are more frightening than thunder,  You are stillness which cannot be sensed  and silence which cannot be heard.
If God is truly beyond the reach of the senses, then those who try to reach out to him with the tools they depend on in their daily lives will surely be at a loss. Approach to the divine can best be pursued by making oneself as much like it as possible, in the hopes of finding in that likeness some [End Page 32] common ground on which to proceed, or at least of gaining a closeness based on the resulting spiritual sympathy. The first step that Ephraem envisions in that likening process seems to be to keep quiet.
After all, in Ephraem's eyes, silence is not only a metaphor for God, it also wraps itself around the few true things we are able to know about God. Silence serves as the boundary separating our area of active engagement from the area in which we should not act. There is a sphere in which human beings can operate vis à vis God and not overstep the boundaries of reverence and propriety, but there are also firmly fixed boundaries beyond which we are not meant to go. In one hymn, while discussing the fact that there is a certain natural order among the persons of the Trinity, Ephraem says: 32
But, "How" and "Why," this is [wrapped] in the midst of silence.  Apart from the silence, and outside of it, speak praise.
Not only are the "How" and "Why" wrapped in silence, but even when we stand beyond the silence looking into it, Ephraem does not permit us to address these forbidden topics. We are to "speak praise"; that is, we are to give our assent to and declare our adherence to whatever the truth is that lies within the silence, but we are not to address our comments or thoughts to it. What is beyond the reach of our language to express is also beyond the bounds of what we are permitted to address. Most aspects of God, then, are shrouded strictly from our view, but outside that veil there are ways that we can actively engage with the divine. The contrast of speaking, and refraining from speech, about and to the divine that Ephraem has in mind is well described in Hymn 11, stanzas 5-9:
Behold, his ear is not able to hear great noise  and it also cannot hear still silence.  How can it hear the voice of the Son and the silence of the Father, for His silence is eloquent, too?
"The heavens declare the glory of God." 33  Behold, the silence which whispers it all through every tongue.  Behold, this firmament which whispers proclaims to every tongue the glory of its Maker. [End Page 33]
A person is too little to hear all the tongues.  If he were capable of hearing the tongue of angels and the Spirit  then would he be lifted up to hear the silence which the Father utters to the Son.
The speech of animals is foreign to our tongue.  The speech of angels is foreign to every tongue. 34  The silence by which the Father speaks to His Beloved is foreign to the angels.
It is good that, in the same way that He put on every likeness for us [to be able] to see,  so He put on every voice in order to persuade us.  [Only] One is able to see His nature and [only] One is able to hear His silence.
All the elements of the distinctions we have been sketching are found here: silence is found to speak (stanza 5), animals as well as angels are said to speak (stanza 8), the speech of God is clearly said to be foreign to the angels (stanza 8), and this speech of God is silence. The highest level of communication, that of God the Father to God the Son, is found not to take place in any special exalted language, but rather to be too special and exalted to involve any language at all: when a person of the Godhead really wishes to commune and to communicate with another, he keeps still. A variety of languages is depicted here with each one operating in its own sphere and according to its own abilities and pattern, and the divine silence has its place in that collection.
Now that we have reviewed Ephraem's statements on language and silence, we must take a moment to organize what we have seen in order to assess its character. Drawing out the implications of Ephraem's words should take two steps:
1) we must consider Ephraem's view of human language as a tool, and;
2) we must consider his view of silence as communication and how it relates to language.  
1) Human words, when used as tools of communication, are finite things that serve to delineate and describe our thoughts by placing limits upon them. That is, they define, they draw the outlines of our meaning as the pen does in a pen and ink drawing.
Their usefulness can be enhanced in two ways: by increasingly skillful [End Page 34] and knowledgeable wielding (the scale of possibilities begins with an uninstructed human speaker and extends all the way to the use of words by God in Scripture), and by the combination of speech with silence.
The former allows for ever better sketching of the outlines involved in the picture.
The latter avoids the introduction of incorrect elements in the picture and provides proper contrast (white against black) to cast into high relief the lines that are drawn so their significance can be ascertained and synthesized. Realizing one's limits and avoiding misleading false steps is a critical part of the successful use of the mix of speech and silence for humans. As Ephraem says of those who stray beyond these bounds: 35
His Son Who is from Him  is also the [only] one Who is capable of Him,  for whoever is foreign to His nature  is also foreign to investigation of Him.  He has gone badly wrong  because there is no path that will lead [one] to the Hidden One.
It is important to see that Ephraem presents these erring steps as not only unhelpful to those who make them, but as actually carrying those people farther and farther away from the goal they seek. Trying to step beyond the limitations imposed by one's nature leads not only to failure, it also causes one to fail to make full use of the powers one actually, and rightfully, possesses.
The "speech" of animals and angels mentioned in the quotation from Hymn 11 above should be thought of as foreign languages we humans cannot understand that have varied suitability for discussing elevated topics but are still inherently limited by their nature as languages. The limits they labor under are shown by the line we read from Sermons on Faith 1.101-10 where the angelic hosts stand in the presence of God in awed silence. The principle is declared in Hymn 4.13 where "the mouth," any mouth, that is, is told to praise and then be still, rather than to try to advance beyond the proper sphere of its speech.
So, the outline of the complementary use of speech and silence in Ephraem's picture seems to be that, because speech is a positive action, its utility is limited to the realm in which its subject lies within its reach. In order for speech to succeed in addressing a topic, it must be properly directed, contain the necessary words in the proper combination, and not attempt to address what is beyond its power. Sufficient knowledge and [End Page 35] intelligence can safeguard the first two of these criteria, but the third is controlled by the match between the nature of the speech and the nature of its target. If these two do not fit, the speaker must make use of silence to avoid misleading error. This is, however, not the only possible use of silence in communication, in Ephraem's opinion.
2) Silence is described by Ephraem not only as an absence, but also as a positive means of communicating: Hymn 11.6 states clearly that the way in which "the heavens declare the glory of God" is by a silence that "whispers through every tongue," that is, a silence that causes the whole of creation to speak of the glory of God. Ephraem envisions the heavens "declar[ing] the glory of God" without language, but this declaration is universal in its reception and not less effective for being wordless. Creatures, even subangelic creatures, can make use of silence as a means of communication, both on the giving and the receiving ends. Stanzas 6-10 in Hymn 11, though, make it even clearer that Ephraem thinks of silence as a multilevel means of communication in the same way he thinks of its counterpart, language.
It is interesting to note, however, that the silence of God, especially that which exists between Father and Son, is of an entirely different nature. Though the silence of creatures can be genuinely communicative, as we have seen with the heavens just above, and though silence (at least as far as I can imagine) is not obviously differentiated in one instance from another, Ephraem does, at times, seem to think of it as a positive rather than a negative thing: that is, as a presence rather than as an absence. This presence, like language, seems to be keyed to the user's ontological level. Hymn 11.8.3 says specifically:
The silence by which the Father speaks to His beloved is foreign to the angels.
Thus, at least in the mouth of God, silence is a language. This is clear,
1) because it is "foreign," as a language is "foreign," to the angels;
2) it is something that is spoken;
3) it is clearly a means of communication.
In this line we find, I think, the key for which we have searched and are ready to fill in the rest of the pattern of Ephraem's thought.
I understand Ephraem's position on language and silence to be as follows:
Language is the means by which truth, that is, correct ideas and facts, are communicated. However, a language that consists of words is one that is inherently self-limiting. Since it depends on drawing outlines and [End Page 36] establishing limits, it is capable of expressing only those things which have limits and is capable of operating only on the ontological level for which it has been designed. It is, by nature, incapable of expressing the truth about something that exists without limits. Thus, if the infinite divine is to express itself fully and accurately, without limits and without distortion due to selectivity, it cannot do so by means of verbal speech. The only speech that could carry the fullness of divine communication would be the unlimited speech of silence. This is precisely the speech with which Ephraem credits the Father and the Son. The result of this is that the silence that had been a negative entity on the lower rungs of the ladder of theological reflection becomes a positive, indeed the only positive, participant at the top of the scale. As the nature of the subject has changed, so has the appropriate means of approaching it.
The final line of Sermon 4 is a fitting summation of Ephraem's advice to the person who wishes to draw close to God: 36
Stretch out toward silence, weak one.
The practical goal of human reflection on the divine is to reach the point at which silence is the appropriate posture: at that point human language fails and we cast ourselves forward into the silence that ends our rational struggles and begins to liken us to, and draw us toward, God our goal. Beyond that point, however, inside the silence into which we cannot move, real communication does not cease, but, rather, flourishes in perfection. It is communication, however, on a level we can never hope to reach because it requires an infinite nature to engage in it. According to Ephraem's model, the speech and silence of every rung of the ontological ladder is appropriate to the level of its inhabitants and the subjects they should concern themselves with. When the rungs of the ladder give out and there is nowhere higher for the climber to set his foot, the climb is still not over, but only those who can move on without a ladder can move forward into the silence of perfect communion.
Paul S. Russell is Lecturer in Theology at Mount St. Mary's College in Emmitsburg, Maryland
Notes
1. Paul S. Russell, "St. Ephraem, the Syrian Theologian," Pro Ecclesia 7 (1998): 79-90, provides a brief introductory overview of his life and thought. The introductions to some recent collections of his works in English are convenient helps for those beginning to read Ephraem: Edward G. Mathews, Jr., and Joseph P. Amar, St. Ephrem the Syrian Selected Prose Works (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1994) has a general introduction that is particularly full and useful. Sebastian Brock's introduction to St. Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns on Paradise (Crestwood, NY: Saint Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1990) and Kathleen McVey's to Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1989) are good, clear, and accessible. Koonammakkal Thoma Kathanar, "Changing Views on Ephrem," Christian Orient 14.3 (1993): 113-20, contains discussions of many basic points about Ephraem's life, works, and their proper understanding. Brock's The Luminous Eye (rev. ed.) (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1992) is the only book-length treatment of Ephraem that deals with his work for nonspecialists.
2. Sidney H. Griffith, "Faith Adoring the Mystery": Reading the Bible with St. Ephraem the Syrian (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1997) addresses this aspect of Ephraem's work, pp. 6-17 discuss his life and what survives of his exegetical writings.
3. Cf. Griffith, "Faith Adoring the Mystery," 8ff., and Kathanar, "Changing Views," esp. 121-22.
4. Cf. Sidney H. Griffith, "A Spiritual Father for the Whole Church: St Ephraem the Syrian," Sobornost 20.2 (1998): 21-40.
5. Kathanar, "Changing Views," provides quotations of some notorious examples of this.
6. "Faith Adoring the Mystery," 8.
7. A very striking example of this neglect is found in R. P. C. Hanson's 875-page treatment of the Arian debates: The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1988), which manages to avoid mentioning Ephraem in either text or footnote, despite the fact that he produced hundreds of pages of works directly addressing these debates and the concerns they raise. Peter Bruns, "Arius Hellenizans? Ephraem der Syrer und die neoarianischen Kontroversen seiner Zeit," ZKG 101 (1990/91): 21-57, addresses this involvement directly. Cf. Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem the Syrian and St. Gregory the Theologian Confront the Arians (Kottayam: Saint Ephrem Ecumenical Research Center, 1994) for an attempt to demonstrate some aspects of this involvement.
8. E.g., Hymns on Faith 21.7 (cf. Eunomius, Apology 28.19-24, in Richard Paul Vaggione, Eunomius: The Extant Works [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987], 74), Hymns on Faith 52.13 (cf. Eunomius, Apology 8 and 9: Vaggione, Eunomius, 40-44) and Hymns on Faith 61.9 (cf. Arius' Letter to Alexander of Alexandria, sec. 2, in Athanasius, De synodis 19 [PG 26:709]). (All translations of Ephraem's words in this paper are my own. "H" signals a quotation from the Hymns on Faith and "S" one from the Sermons on Faith.)
9. Maurice Wiles, Archetypal Heresy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 1-51, provides the best theological account of the "Arian" strain of thought in the ancient period. Hanson, Search, is good for the history of the period. Rowan Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1987) is important for a clear picture of Arius and his background, and Thomas A. Kopecek, A History of Neo-Arianism, 2 vols. (Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1979) and Michel R. Barnes and Daniel H. Williams, eds., Arianism after Arius (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, Ltd., 1993) are important for the later stages of the quarrel. The collection of articles published by Robert C. Gregg, ed., Arianism: Historical and Theological Reassessments (Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1985) is also important.
10. Knowledge of God does not appear to have been a topic of discussion in the early stages of the Arian Controversy. Michael E. Butler, "Neo-Arianism: Its Ante-cedents and Tenets," Saint Vladimir's Seminary Theological Quarterly 36 (1994): 355-71, makes this distinction on 365ff., offering the following quotation from Arius' Thalia, found at Athanasius, De synodis 15 (PG 26:708c) in support: "It is clear that it is impossible for that which has a beginning to conceive of how the Unoriginate is, or to grasp the idea." Since both sides of the argument at that early stage agreed on the incomprehensibility of God, there was no need for the topic to be discussed. Ephraem's defense of the incomprehensibility of God against the Neo-Arians is discussed in Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem and St. Gregory, 121-45.
11. "Une clé pour les Hymnes d'Éphrem dans les MS. Sinai Syr. 10," Mus 85 (1972): 171-99 and "La transmission des Hymnes d'Éphrem d'après le MS Sinai Syr. 10. F. 165v-178r," OCA 197 (1974): 21-63.
12. A number of scholars have addressed the topic of Ephraem's theological language and his ideas about the theological enterprise: Sebastian Brock, "The Poet as Theologian," Sobornost 7.4 (1977): 243-50, David D. Bundy, "Language and the Knowledge of God in Ephrem Syrus," Patristic and Byzantine Review 5 (1986): 91-103; Sidney H. Griffith, "Faith Seeking Understanding in the Thought of St. Ephraem the Syrian," in George Berthold, ed., Faith Seeking Understanding: Learning and the Catholic Tradition (Manchester, NH: Saint Anselm College Press, 1991), 35-55, Andre de Halleux, O.F.M., "Mar Éphrem Théologien," Parole de l'Orient 4 (1973): 35-54; N. El-Khoury, "The Use of Language by Ephraim the Syrian," SP 16 (1985): 93-99, Thomas Koonammakkal, "Divine Names and Theological Language in Eph-rem," SP 25 (1993): 318-23 (as well as his "Changing Views on Ephrem" cited in n. 1 above); Robert Murray, S.J., "The Theory of Symbolism in St. Ephrem's Theology," Parole de l'Orient 6-7 (1975-76): 1-20 are all useful studies but, with the exception of brief mentions by Griffith and de Halleux, neglect treating the topic of silence and its relationship to the use of theological speech. Because of this, it is difficult to see in them Ephraem's complete understanding of the limits of the theological project. This paper attempts, through the examination of Ephraem's ideas of the limits of both speech and silence in theology, to present his position on this question in a more rounded form than has been attempted before.
13. Fragment ii in Vaggione, Eunomius, 178.
14. This is discussed in Paul S. Russell, St. Ephraem the Syrian and St. Gregory, esp. 121-45.
15. H 38.11.1-2.
16. H 38.8-10 and 13.
17. Cf. H 56.1-6, where the simple beliefs (and silence) of Noah and Abraham are praised as examples to be followed. They were "those fathers who believed simply" (56.1.1).
18. Cf. H 67.5 on silence as limiting inquiry.
19. ll. 41-64.
20. Abraham is given as a similar example in S 3.69-88 of one who avoids speech and responds to God's presence with action.
21. 2.119-26.
22. Cf. 1.19.
23. Thus, H 2.4 and 6 are clearly comments on silence as protection from presumptuous speech, and H 5.13 a warning to avoid self-destructive presumption in talking about God beyond the limits of what we can sensibly undertake. In this way, H 7.4-6 provides two Gospel examples of appropriate reticence: the disciples witnessing Christ walking on the water and the Magi in the stable at Bethlehem.
24. Cf. H 8.7.
25. S 6.165-80.
26. The word used here is cognate with "Rabbi."
27. See H 11.5-9 quoted below.
28. S 1.109-10. Cf. H 3.9-11 and 4.1 and 17 where silence greets any hint of inquiry and praise is the heavenly norm.
29. H 4.13, cf. H 15.2 and 5. The reader should notice that neither of these two quotations advances the very un-biblical idea that Heaven is a silent place. The "prais[ing] and be[ing] still" of H 4 allows for all the "Holy, Holy, Holy"s that the Bible describes (e.g., Rev 4.8) but wishes to make a distinction between that kind of speech and speech that attempts description and definition. Description and definition require real knowledge of their object, which is exactly what Ephraem denies is possible for humans where God is concerned. Praise assumes no knowledge, only reverence. Thus, descriptions elsewhere in Ephraem's writings of the heavenly hosts in full tongue (e.g. Letter to Publius 21--text and Eng. trans. in Sebastian P. Brock, "Ephrem's Letter to Publius," Mus 89.3-4 (1976): 261-305, at 291) should not be thought of as inconsistent with his position in these pieces, but rather as examples of appropriate, reverent praise.
30. "Running on," either in speaking too much or trying to proceed too far, is a way to lose what progress can be legitimately expected.
31. Stanza 5, lines 5-7.
32. H 23.15.1-2; cf. H 22.10-12, where silence is the seal on the door that protects knowledge of the Son and Father and H 40.4, where the unity of Three in One and the distinctions of each person are met with a similar silence.
33. Ps 19.1.
34. Presumably because angels, being spiritual, speak their language without the use of tongues.
35. H 11.10.
36. S 4.208.