East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in The Formative Period

•
I
EAST OF BYZANTIUM:
SYRIA AND ARMENIA IN THE
FORMATIVE PERIOD
NINA G. GARSOYAN, THOMAS F. MATHEWS
and ROBERT W THOMSON

Editors
Published with the Assistance of

a Grant from
The Suren D. Fesjian Academic Publications Fund
Columbia University
Dumbarton Oaks
Center for Byzantine Studies
Trustees for Harvard University
Washington District of Columbia
1982
© 1982 DUMBARTON OAKS
TRUSTEES FOR HARVARD UNIVERSITY
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Composition by Cambridge Typesetters, Ltd.
Printed by Braun-Brumfield, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Main entry under title:
East of Byzantium.
“Dumbarton Oaks symposium, 1980”—Half-
title p.
1. Near East—Civilization—Congresses.
2. Syria—Civilization—Congresses. 3. Armenia—
Civilization—Congresses. 4. Syrian Church—
Congresses. 5. Nestorian Church—Congresses.
6. Armenian Church—Congresses. I. Garsolan,
Nina G., 1923- . II. Mathews, Thomas F.
HI. Thomson, Robert W., 1934-
DS57.E18 1982 956 82-9665
ISBN 0-88402-104-1
CONTENTS
List of Illustrations . . . . . . . . vu
List of Abbreviations . . . . Xl
East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the

Formative Period. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . 1
SYRIA
ROBERT MURRAY, S. J. . . . . . . . . . . .
. 3
The Characteristics of the Earliest Syriac Christianity
SEBASTIAN BROCK . . . . . . 17
From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac Attitudes to
Greek Learning
HANS DRIJVERS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
The Persistence of Pagan Cults and Practices in
Christian Syria
STEPHEN GERO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
The See of Peter in Babylon: Western Influences on the
Ecclesiology of Early Persian Christianity
SIDNEY GRIFFITH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion: A Nestorian Summa contra
Gentiles from the first Abbasid Century
WILLIAM MACOMBER . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
The Ancient Form of the Anaphora of the Apostles
AELRED CODY, O.S.B. . . . . . . 89

The Early History of the Octoechos in Syria
MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO 115

The Continuity of the Classical Tradition in the Art
and Architecture of Northern Mesopotamia
vi CONTENTS
ARMENIA
ROBERT W. THOMSON
135
The Formation of the Armenian Literary Tradition
151
NINA G. GARSOAN
The Iranian Substratum of the Agatcangelos*’ Cycle
ABRAHAM TERIAN . .
175
The Hellenizing School: Its Time, Place, and Scope of
Activities Reconsidered
BOGHOS LEVON ZEKIYAN 187

Elie as Witness of the Ecciesiology of the Early
Armenian Church
THOMAS F. MATHEWS . .
199
The Early Armenian Iconographic Program of the Ejmiacin Gospel
(Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374, ohm 229)
HELEN EVANS . . . . . .
217
Nonclassical Sources for The Armenian Mosaic Near the
Damascus Gate in Jerusalem
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Mania Mundell Mango: THE CONTINUITY OF THE CLASSICAL TRADITION IN THE ART AND
ARCHITECTURE OF NORTHERN MESOPOTAMIA
1. Northern Mesopotamia and Surround 15, 16. Amida, Great Mosque, Courtyard:
ing Area 15. West Façade. A.D. Fifth-Seventh
2. Zeugma, Mosaic Pavement, Hunting Century. ReusedA.D. 1116/17—
Putto (photo: The Louvre) 1 124/25(photo: G. Zarnecki)
3. Fafi, Tower, Lintel. A.D. Third Cen 16. East Façade. A.D. 1163/64
tury (photo: M. Mango) (photo: C. Mango)
4. 1{arran, Great Mosque, Capital 17. Northern Mesopotamia, Palmyra.
(photo: C. Mango) Carved Vine Scrolls. A.D. Third to
5. Cyzicus, Temple of Hadrian, Column Twelfth Century (Drawings not to
Fragment. A.D. 123-139 (photo: M. Same Scale)
Mango) 18. Edessa, Citadel, Capital. A.D. Second
6. Harran, Great Mosque, Column, Century (photo: I. evenko)
Possibly from Cathedral of Edessa.
19. Nisibis, Cathedral Baptistery. Capi
A.D. 313-323. Detail of Cross (photo:
tal. A.D. 359 (photo: C. Ogilvie)
School of Oriental and African Stud
ies, London Univ.) 20. Martyropolis, Cathedral (?), Apse,
7. Heliaramia (Qasr el Ueir el Gharbi), South Side. A.D. 410—420 (photo:
Door Jamb. C. A.D. 297 (?) (photo: C. Gertrude Bell Archive, The Univer
Mango) sity of Newcastle-upon-Tyne)
8, 9. Nisibis, Cathedral, Baptistery: 21, 22. Dara, Loose Capitals:
8. South Façade, A.D. 359 (photo. 21. From Cathedral (?), A.D. 505—
G. Zarnecki) 518 (?) (photo: M. Mango)
9. Former Northern Façade. A.D. 359 22. A.D. 505—507 (?) (photo: M.
(photo: C. Ogilvie) Mango)

10. alah, Mar Yacqub Church, Pilaster, 23. Monastery of Abraham of Kashkar,
A.D. Sixth Century (?) (photo: M. Church, Capital. A.D. 571 (photo: M.
Mango) Mango)
11. Deir Zacfaran, Church, Southwest 24. Uah, Church of the Virgin, Capitals.
Corner. A.D. 520-530 (?) (photo: C. A.D. Mid to Late Seventh Century (?)
Mango) (photo: G. House)
12, 13. Uah: 25. cAnjar, Capital. A.D. 714 (photo: C.
12. Theotokos Church, Door. A.D. Mango)
740 (photo: C. Mango) 26. Hah, Church of the Virgin. Section
13. Mary Magdalen Church, Re from West to East (after G. Bell,
used Door Lintel. C. A.D. 740 Churches and Monasteries of the T12r
(photo: M. Mango) cAbdmn and Neighbouring Districts
14. Harran, Great Mosque, Voussoir. C. [Heidelberg, 1913], fig. 24)
A.D. 1174—1183 (photo: C. Mango) 27. Salab, Mar Yacqub Church, Door to
viii ILLUSTRATIONS
I
Sanctuary. A.D. Sixth Century (?)
(photo: C. Mango)
28. Uah, Mary Magdalen Church, Ar
30. Near Qartamin, Monastery, Church.
Mosaic. A.D. 512 (photo: E. J. W.
Hawkins)
I
cade. C. A.D. 740 (photo: M. Mango) 31. Salab, Mar Yaqub Church, South
29. Edessa, Pavement Fragment (photo: Façade. A.D. Sixth Century (?) (photo:
C. Mango) C. Mango)
Nina G. GarsoIan: THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF ‘AGATCANGELOS”
Xarabe yank’ Stele (Seventh Century)

1. 9. Leningrad, The Hermitage Museum. I
Ojun Stele (Seventh Century)
2. Sasanian Silver-gilt Plate With Hunt
Tcalin Stele (Seventh Century)
3. ing Scene
Kasax Capital (Seventh Century)
4. 10. New York, The Metropolitan Mu
seum of Art. Sasanian Stucco Frag
I.
New York, The Metropolitan Mu
5.
seum of Art. Sasanian Silver-gilt Dish ment from Mesopotamia (Sixth Cen I
with Hunting Scene (Fifth Century). tury) Purchase, Rogers Fund, 1932
Purchase, Fletcher Fund, 1934. (pho (photo: The Metropolitan Museum
to: The Metropolitan Museum of of Art)
Art) 11. Philadelphia Museum of Art. Stucco
6, 7. Leningrad, The Hermitage Museum: Fragments from Sasanian Palace. Pur
6. “Klimova Plate” chased: Museum Funds. (photo: Phila
7. Silver Coin of Bahrãm H delphia Museum of Art)
8. Washington, D.C., The Textile Mu 12. Chal Tarkhan Eshqabad. Horseman
seum. Textile Fragment with Boar’s Spearing a Boar. Courtesy Museum
Head in Pearl Roundel (No. 3.304) of Fine Arts, Boston. MFA/Persian
(photo: The Textile Museum of the Expedition, 12 January 1939. (photo:
District of Columbia) Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Thomas F. Mathews: THE EARLY ARMENIAN ICONOGRAPHIC PROGRAM OF THE £JMIACIN GOSPEL
(Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374, ohm 229)
1—4. Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374: (photo: Richard Anderson, Dumbar

1. Fol. 228r, The Annunciation ton Oaks, no. D73.438[RAj)
to Zachariah (photo: Josephine 7. Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana MS
Powell, no. 3 16-7) Plut. I, 56, fol. 4a (detail from C.
2. Fol. 228”, The Annunciation Cecchelli, The Rabbula Gospels)
to the Virgin (photo: Josephine 8. Pompeii, Macellum. Wailpainting,
Powell, no. 316-Il) Ulysses and Penelope (photo: An
3. Fol. 229r, The Adoration of derson no. 26495)
the Magi (photo: Josephine 9. Magus, Drawing detail from Figure
Powell, no. 316-11) 3
4. Fol. 229”, The Baptism (photo: 10. Magi on Sasanian Seals (Drawings
Josephine Powell, no. 3 16-10) after R. Frye, Sasanian Remains from
5. Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana MS Qasri Abu Nasr, figs. D. 93, D 103)
Plut. I, 56, fol. 3b. The Annuncia 11. British Museum. Coin of King Kanis
tion to Zachariah, with Aaron (detail ka I, Buddha in Aureole (Drawing
from C. Cecchelli, The Rabbula after M. Hallade, Gandharan Art of
Gospels) North India, p1. 24)
6. Cyprus, Kiti, Apse Mosaic, Gabriel 12. Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana MS
ILLUSTRATIONS ix
Plut. I, 56, fol. 4b (detail from C. 14. Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana MS

Cecchelli, The Rabbula Gospels) Plut. I, 56, fol. 5a (detail from C.
13. Pelican in Chalice. Drawing detail Cecchelli, The Rabbula Gospels)
from Figure 4
Helen Evans: NONCLASSICAL SOURCES FOR THE ARMENIAN MOSAIC NEAR THE DAMASCUS GATE IN
JERUSALEM
1—3. Jerusalem, Armenian Chapel near 1. View from Entrance

the Damascus Gate. Mosaic Pave 2. Detail, Upper Portion and
ment (photos: Courtesy K. Hintlian, Armenian Inscription
Armenian Convent of St. James): 3. Detail, Bird in Cage and Eagle
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
AA Arch/iologischer Anzeiger, Supplement GBA Gazette des Beaux-Arts

to Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archiiologi GCS Die griechischen christlichen Scrift
schen Inst ituts steller der ersten Jahrhunderte (1897—
AArchArSyr Annales Archéologiques GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies
Arabes Syriennes. Revue d’Archéologie
HA W Hand buch derAltertumswissenschaft,
et d’Histoire
ed. I. Muller; new ed. by W. Otto et al
AbhPreussAkad Abhandlungen der Preuss
HO Handbuch der Orientalistik
ischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,
Philos.-hist. K!. IG Inscriptiones Graecae (Berlin, 1873—
AJA American Journal of Archaeology ILS Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, ed. H.
AnalBoll Analecta Bollandiana Dessau, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1892—1916)
AnatSt Anatolian Studies. Journal of the
British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara JA Journal Asiatique
ArtB Art Bulletin JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
AttiVen Atti dell’Istituto Veneto di Scienze JBLW Jahrbuch fur Liturgiewissenschaft
Lettere ed Arti. Classe di Scienze morali JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History
e Lettere JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JOB Jahrbuch der Osterreichischen Byzan
BEFAR Bibliothèque des Ecoles Françaises tinistik
d’Athènes et de Rome JRAS Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society
BJb Bonner Jarhbiicher IRS Journal of Roman Studies
BO Bibliotheca Orientalis JThS Journal of Theological Studies
BSOAS Bulletin of the School of Oriental JWarb Journal of the Warburg and Cour
and African Studies tauld Institutes
BSR Papers of the British School at Rome
ByzArch Byzantinisches Archiv LThK Lexicon ftir Theologie und Kirche,
BZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift ed. J. Jofer and K. Rahner, 2nd ed.
(Freiburg i/B, 1957-65)
CahArch Cahiers Archéologiques
CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum MéIUSJ Mélanges de l’Université Saint
ClMed Classica et Mediaevalia Joseph, Beyrouth
CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum MemLinc Atti dell’Accademia Nazionale dei
Orientalium Lincei, Classe di Scienze morali, sto
riche e filologiche, Memorie
DACL F. Cabrol and H. Leclerq, Diction
naire d’Archéologie Chrétienne et de NachrGött Nachrichten von der Akademie
Liturgie der Wissenschaften zu Gottingen, Philol.
DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers hist. K!.
DOS Dumbarton Oaks Studies NTS New Testament Studies
DTC Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique
OCA Orientalia Christiana Analecta
FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und O CP Orientalia Christiana Periodica
Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testa OKS Ostkirchliche Studien
ments OrChr Oriens Christianus
xii ABBREVIATIONS
OrSyr L’Orient Syrien SC Sources Chrétiennes. Collection dirigée

par H. de Lubac et J. Daniélou
PG Patrologia Graeca, ed. J.-P. Migne SemKond Seminarium Kondakovianum
P0 Patrologia Orientalis (Paris, 1903— ST Studi e Testi
ProcBrAc Proceedings of the British StPB Studia Patristica et Byzantina
Academy
PS Patrologia Syriaca, ed. R. Graffin, 3
TU Texte und Untersuchungen zur Ge
vols. (Paris, 1894—1926)
schichte der altchristlichen Literatur
RAC Reallexikon für Antike und Christen- (Leipzig-Berlin, 1882—
turn
RBibl Revue Biblique VChr Vigilae Christianae
REArm Revue des Etudes Arméniennes Viz Vrem Vizantijskij Vremennik
REG Revue des Etudes Grecques
RendLinc Atti dell’Accademia Nazionale dei
ZA W Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche
Lincei, Classe di Scienze morali, sto
Wissenschaft
riche e filologiche, Rendiconti
ZDMG Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgen
RHE Revue d’Histo ire Ecclésiastique
lEindischen Gesellschaft
RhM Rheinisches Museum für Philologie
ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Paldstina
RHR Revue de l’Histoire des Religions.
Vereins
Annales du Musée Guimet
ZKircheng Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte
ROChr Revue de l’Orient Chrétien
ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche
RSR Revue des Sciences Religieuses
Wissenschaft rind die Kunde der àlteren
RStO Rivista degli Studi Orientali
Kirche
SBE The Sacred Books of the East, ed. T. ZWTh Zeitschrift für w issenschaftliche
M. Muller (Oxford, 1879—1910) Theologie
EAST OF BYZANTIUM:
SYRIA AND ARMENIA IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD
INTRODUCTION
N designing the conference represented by these papers the organizing committee at

I first entertained the possibility of bringing together a group of scholars involved
with the Christian East in general. The subject, however, is so vast geographically,
reaching from Georgia in the north to Ethiopia in the south, and embraces so many
linguistically and culturally diverse elements, that we quickly dismissed the idea as
impractical. The tradition of the Dumbarton Oaks Symposium—not simply an expo
sition of papers but an interchange of ideas—seemed to require a much more focused
subject on which scholars in overlapping fields might explore their common interests.
It was understood that the formative period in the Christian traditions of Syria and
Armenia would be a subject of special interest to Byzantinists; Syria and Armenia were
ever a stimulus and a thorn in the side of the Byzantine Empire. Nevertheless, our focus
has not been on their impact on Byzantine culture, but on the distinctive traditions of
their geographical area in and for themselves. Taking the ninth century as a later
limit, we proposed to explore some of the forces that formed these early Christian
cultures, the special symbiotic relationships among them, and their extraordinary
accomplishment and maturity. On the other hand we have not tried to survey the
whole subject or summarize the state of research in the field, as useful as that might be.
Rather we have tried to single out certain prominent themes to which the speakers
might address themselves, each from the expertise of his or her own discipline.
It is impossible to design an exchange of ideas, just as it is impossible to design a
conversation. We tried, however, in our initial invitation to participants, to map out
certain points of intersection in the material where we hoped fruitful intellectual
collisions might take place. We defined four such intersections toward which the
speakers planned their contributions: (1) the transmission of Greek learning to the
Christian East; (2) the persistence of nonhellenic traditions; (3) the self-image of Syria
and Armenia in their own literary sources; and (4) the individuality of their cultural
traditions. The resulting papers, we feel, are held together not only by subject matter
but by common intellectual concerns.
In the symposium itself a distinction was made between longer papers, usually on
more general themes, and shorter communications, and papers were grouped into
morning and afternoon sessions around the themes just mentioned. For purposes of
publication this arrangement did not seem useful. The authors were left free to expand
or contract the scope and documentation of their contributions, and the editors have
2 INTRODUCTION
grouped the papers separately under Syria and Armenia and arranged them in what
seems a logical fashion by placing articles of widest scope first. It is hoped that this
volume offers not just a record of an exciting symposium but a positive and useful
contribution to the development of the field.
Nina G. Garsolan
Thomas F. Mathews
Robert W. Thomson
THE CHARACTERISTICS
OF THE EARLIEST SYRIAC CHRISTIANITY
ROBERT MURRAY, S. J.
HIS paper attempts to sketch general characteristics of Syriac Christianity down

T to about the end of the fourth century A.D. It does not go into details available in
standard reference works’ or break new ground in publication of texts or interpretation
of texts already published.
THE SOURCES AND THEIR PROBLEMS
Unless it be the earlier parts of the Peshitta Old Testament, especially the Penta
teuch, we probably possess no literary work in Syriac dated before Tatian, who is said
to have left Rome in the middle of the second century, returned to Mesopotamia, and
published his Diatessaron.2 Insofar as the identifiable fragments of the Diatessaron by
choice of order and tendency represent a partially original composition, this may be
our earliest Christian Syriac work. The Odes of Solomon, a collection of Christian
hymns or devotional poems extant mostly in Syriac, with one in Greek and a few in
Coptic,3 have been dated variously between the first and the third centuries, and both
Syriac and Greek have been proposed as their original language. We shall return to
this problem shortly. Bardaisan is the first clear personality in Syriac literature, an
original syncretizing thinker who flOurished in Edessa in the third century.4 Of his
own works we have only fragmentary quotations, but from his disciple Philip we have
a dialogue (in which Bardaisan is a speaker), The Book of Laws of Countries, a work
against astrological determinism and stressing free will. This work is used by Eusebius
and the redactor of the Pseudo-Clementines. Equally early may be the short philosoph
ical letter by Mara bar Sarapion to his son.5 The Acts of Judas Thomas,6 also from the
third century, are extant in an edited form of the original Syriac and in a Greek version
that preserves probably original features. These Acts represent an extreme encratism
(that is, an ascetic attitude hostile to marriage) which is well on the way to Mani
chaeism. As for Mani and his movement,7 while it is a matter of linguistic definition
how far his writings (extant mainly in various versions and fragments) are to be
included under Syriac literature, the earliest Manichaean texts, especially the Psalm
Book preserved in a fourth-century Coptic translation,8 illustrate the terminology and
many themes of early Syriac Christianity so clearly that they ask to be taken into
account. The same is true of the collections of aphorisms entitled the Gospel of
4 ROBERT MURRAY, S. J.
Thomas and especially the Gospel of Philip, extant in Coptic but strongly suggesting
a Syriac origin.9 It is justifiable also to include the Pseudo-Clementines, composed in
Greek in Syria and early translated into Syriac, because they reflect many characteris
10 similarly, the Didasca
tics of Jewish Christianity shared with early Syriac
ha, also composed in Greek in Syria, illustrates a culture shared with the Syriac
speaking church further east.”
Returning to Syriac writers, in the fourth century we have distinct personalities,
Aphraha and Ephrem, known through extant original works. The former, with his
Persian name (modern Farhãd), an uneasy subject of Shãpuhr II, dated his twenty-
three treatises of instruction and controversy 336, 344, and 34512 Ephrem, who was
born in Nisibis about 306 and died in Edessa in 373, served the Church as deacon,
exegete, controversialist, and above all poet, excelling in the media of didactic songs
and metrical homilies.’3 In this field he was soon followed by Cyrillona, known
through only six hymns as a poet of merit.’4
An anonymous collection of prose homilies called the Book of Steps or Degrees
(Ktaba d-Massqata), usually referred to as the Liber Graduum, also probably dates
from the fourth century.’5 These homilies represent a somewhat isolated spirituality
and cultural milieu and speak with tones unlike those of Aphraha and Ephrem. The
author’s milieu seems related to the background of the homilies transmitted under the
name of Macanus; both these and the Liber Graduum represent aspects of the ten
dency condemned by the Orthodox under the name of “Messalian” or “Euchite.”6
Two works dating in their extant form from after 400, which to some extent and in
various ways reflect early traditions, are the Doctrine of Addai, the Syriac form of the
legend of the conversion of Abgar and the founding of the church in Edessa,’7 and the
Book of the Cave of Treasures, a sort of Christian aggada about treasure hidden by
Adam and eventually brought to Christ by the Magi,18 which incorporates many
midrashic traditions about the Old Testament and illustrates how much Jewish tradi
tion remained in Syriac Christianity long after the breach with the Synagogue.
Finally, some chronicle material should be mentioned. The Chronicle of Edessa is
authentic (though edited later than this period) but very sketchy on the early centur
ies.’9 The Acts of the Martyrs of the Church of the East, while containing much
stereotyped material, give vivid and authentic glimpses into church life in fourth-
century Persia.2° The Chronicle of Arbela, published by A. Mingana in 1907, now is
notorious for the material fabrication of the manuscript at Mingana’s request.2’ Unfor
tunately we can never verify whether Mingana had a genuine source for any of the
details about the beginnings of Christianity in Adiabene that go beyond information
known from other sources.
This survey has already illustrated the difficulty of handling the sources for the
origins of Syriac Christianity. The documents that most explicitly claim to tell us the
story are either of very doubtful authenticity (like the Chronicle of Arbela) or legendary
and clearly expressing a claim, like the Doctrine of Addai, which purports to be the
Edessene church’s title deeds but was produced only after a century or two of obscurity
and perhaps enshrines earlier half-remembered stories such as that of the conversion of
the royal house of Adiabene to Judaism in the first century.22 The rise of Syriac
EARLIEST SYRIAC CHRISTIANITY 5
speaking Christianity is bafffingly obscure, and the earliest literary works help us little.
They are too difficult to date, to place, or to interpret historically.
Probably the earliest literary production in the Syriac dialect of Aramaic is the bible
translation known as the Peshitta (which probably means “Vulgate” rather than
“simple”) of at least the Pentateuch, almost certainly produced by Jews, possibly in
Adiabene.23 We cannot locate it more precisely, however, or be certain how much of the
Old Testament was translated by Jews or whether some books (for example, the
Psalms) are Chrisian versions; nor can we explain why Aphrahat so frequently cites
the Old Testament in a form different from the eventually standard text, often showing
more agreements with the targums or the Septuagint.24 The Syriac New Testament is
no less obscure in its origins and development, especially as regards the gospel tradi
tion. The origins and original language of the Diatessaron are full of unresolved
problems: we do not know exactly how the Old Syriac separated Gospels relate to the
Diatessaron, how widely or where they were used, or how early the Peshitta type of
gospel text developed; we do not know what translations might be connected with the
Marcionites, or exactly how limited the early New Testament canon was, or when and
by what stages it grew into the eventually complete Peshitta.2’
These gaps in our knowledge all affect the problem of the Odes of Solomon, which
might be our oldest nonbiblical work in Syriac. The range of speculative hypotheses
about their date, milieu, and original language is extraordinary; there seemed to be
emerging a consensus for Syriac and a date about the middle of the second century,
though not for a place of origin, but Drijvers is now arguing cogently for a third-
century date and a polemic intention against both Marcion and Mani.26 The points
scholars have found to support translation now from Syriac into Greek, now in the
other direction, incline me tentatively to suggest that the Odes bear the marks of
translation both ways, possibly having been originally written in Aramaic in the late
second century.
Another area of tantalizing problems concerns the relationship of early Syriac Chris
tianity to some form of Judaism or related monotheism. This difficulty is already
anticipated by the difficulty of reconstructing the diversity and the hostilities increas
ingly being seen to have characterized Palestinian monotheism in the Persian, Seleu
cid, and Hasmonean periods. Not only the Samaritans but other groups hostile to the
Jerusalem establishment, from the voices heard in the last chapters of Isaiah to the
Dead Sea sect, make it inappropriate simply to speak of Judaism and call for a radical
reexamination of what we mean by “Jewish Christianity,” since its adherents are likely
to have numbered at least as many from the critical and dissident traditions as from
those who continued to look to the Jerusalem temple and priesthood as their religious
focus. No less problematic than the origins and composition of Jewish Christianity is
the question of what happened to it after it was cut off from its parent streams; we have
only to think of the related enigma of the origins of Mandaeism, and of how little we
know about the ElkesaItes from among whom Mani sprang.27 Nevertheless, the
number of significant elements of Judaic character remaining in Syriac Christianity
make it clear beyond doubt that here must be found the principal surviving heirs of
Jewish Christianity. The origin of Syrian asceticism and of the “Covenant” remains a
matter of hypothesis rather than certainty, but the evidence points toward groups with
an organization and a spirituality of the kind exemplified in the Dead Sea sect.
The isolation early Syriac Christianity feels from the Greek-speaking world, consid
ering how largely the two worlds overlapped and how the local cultures in almost the
whole Near and Middle East reveal hellenistic features, is amazing. Edessa, with its
legendary royal conversion in the time of Christ, might almost be the land of Prester
John instead of a city of bilingual culture, the capital of a province bordering on Coele
Syria and Cappadocia, with busy trade routes running through it. Christian Syriac
literature might almost come from beings of a different species from Ignatius and
Justin. We have as yet no satisfactory social history of the people in Mesopotamia and
Adiabene who produced this literature. Nevertheless, it is my task to try to sketch some
of their salient features.
ASCETICISM
Since it is the extant literature on which we must base our picture, no other charac
teristic is likely to strike a modern reader more immediately than asceticism, extreme or
moderate, dominating or at least coloring almost all the literature. The writers are
convinced celibate ascetics writing primarily for those who share their conviction and
commitment. The exceptions are Bardaian (on the testimony not of extant works but
of Agapius)28 and the Pseudo-Clementines, which in several passages commend mar
riage and speak of the sexual urge and its accompanying pleasure as parts of God’s
endowment of human nature, good in themselves and sinful only if abused.29 Though
some of these passages are included in the incomplete Syriac version contained in the
oldest dated Syriac manuscript (Edessa, 411), these relaxed references to marriage and
sexuality are strongly at variance with most early Syriac literature. The fact is that we
have no works expressing interest in the lay life as such—certainly not in normal
marriage as a way of Christian life. Aphrahat and Ephrem both defend marriage as
lawful, against Marcionite or Manichaean encratism, but they hardly go beyond a bare
defense in principle. There are in fact only two ways of life they positively commend:
virginity (btuluta) and “holiness,” or “consecration” (qaddiuta), the state of married
persons who renounce intercourse and live in abstinence as members of the “Coven
ant” (Qyama) of committed celibates.
Before we consider this central institution further, it is important to bear in mind the
extreme position against which Aphrahat and Ephrem react, as did also a local council
at Gangra in Cappadocia in the 340s.3° While “encratism” is a term allowing of
variations in severity, it is best to keep it for ascetic doctrines to the effect that all bodily
pleasures, especially those of sex and alcohol, are evil and must be renounced. Clearly
religious dualism, whether of Marcion’s kind or the more thoroughgoing system of
Mani, is likely to entail ascetic encratism. Traditional statements about Tatian call
him an Encratite, as if it were the name of a sect. The Diatessaron, insofar as we can
reconstruct its text from Syriac quotations and dependent versions, reveals adaptations
to exclude references to wine and to emphasize virginity.3’ Evidently Marcionism
appealed to some capacity for ascetical extremism in Mesopotamia, as did the circles
which produced the Acts of Judas Thomas, an apostle who traverses India persuading
people to abandon marriage as a “filthy work” and who meets his end, not surpris
ingly, at the instance of enraged husbands.
All these streams flowed into Manichaeism, with its fully dualist cosmogony and its
social structure designed to enable the “Elect,” borne on the backs of the rest of the
community, to cultivate ascetic perfection. As in the case of the Christians for whom
and to whom Aphraha and Ephrem speak, we do not know what the Manichaean
laity thought, especially those who were married and did not abstain from sexual
relations (for it was not by conversions alone that the Manichaean church expanded
rapidly for centuries, especially to the east). One of the Man ichaean Psalms, con
structed in trios, contrasts the two ways of salvation, virginity and enkrateia (corres
ponding to Syriac qaddiuta) with marriage, always to the discredit of the latter.32 Was
there already, in pagan Mesopotamia, a strong value placed on the renunciation of
sexual relationships? Is the enthusiasm for encratism to be related to the practice of
self-castration in the service of Atargatis?33 What sense of being in a way of salvation
was available to ordinary married people in any religion other than Judaism? (I leave
aside, of course, the thoroughly nonascetic world-view of Zoroastrianism.)
As regards “orthodox” Christianity, surely a favorable evaluation of ordinary mar
riage, as in the Psuedo-Clementines, would have been expressed by the married pas
toral clergy for the married laity. We simply have no extant expressions of such
attitudes in early Syriac literature. Aphrahat and Ephrem both belonged to the premo
nastic ascetic order in the Church known as the “Covenant” (Qyama), its members
being called bnay Qyama and bnat Qyama, conventionally if unidiomatically rendered
“sons and daughters of the Covenant.” Many of Ephrem’s hymns were written for the
whole church community, to strengthen its faith and unity against heretical teachings;
but they contain no celebration of marriage or lay life to set beside the enthusiastic
hymn, preserved in Armenian, for the consecration of a ba(r)t Qyama.34 In one of
Aphraha’s controversial treatises, intended to help Christians defend themselves
against pressure by their stronger Jewish neighbors in Adiabene, he answers the charge
that Christians disobey God’s commandment of marriage and despise his gifts.35
Aphrahat replies that marriage is good but the renunciation of it as an act of worship
is better,36 and he alleges that many Old Testament personages practiced virginity, or
“consecration,”37 a clearly traditional claim developed in more detail by Ephrem in
some of his contest-poems (a genre to be mentioned below).38 At least the first ten of
Aphrahat’s Demonstrations are for the members of the Covenant, to strengthen their
morale and sense of commitment. We learn that they took their vows on the occasion
of (clearly adult) baptism, when, in terms drawn from the call to Holy War in Deuter
onomy 20, they were solemnly adjured to choose between marriage and celibate vows.39
Some scholars have viewed this passage as a survival from a period when the only
organized church structure in this area was celibate and there was no married laity;4°
more likely it simply expresses the practice and ideology of the Bnay Qyama, with no
implication to be legitimately drawn for the laity.4’ Elsewhere Aphrahat, opposing
close relationships of male and female members of the Covenant, says it would be
he saw no possibility of a
better for them to marry openly, which he could not say if
true Christian life outside of the Covenant.42
ers of the Covenant, just
In a detailed examination of the exhortation to the memb
that seem to have belonged
referred to,43 I have tried to reconstruct a complex of themes
the antitype of Joshua’s
to the occasion, including the idea of a new circumcision,
they had crossed the
“second circumcision” of the people with stone knives after
the symbolic “Stone,”
Jordan (Josh. 5:2ff.); this new circumcision is effected by Christ
s 4:12 (itself the climax of a
who as Word of God is the “two-edged sword” of Hebrew
of celibacy descends to the
passage of Joshua/Jesus typology). The candidate for vows
(Judges 7:4-7), and there
“waters of testing,” like Gideon’s chosen three hundred
a “single one,” in
submits to the action of Christ’s dividing sword, to become thereby
Thomas rendered in Coptic
Syriac iliidaya. This term, already in the Gospel of
required three Greek
(through Greek) as I.Iovctxóc,44 embraces three elements, which
or potential), ren
words to render them: (1) “single” in relation to a spouse (actual
(James 1:8, 4:8), and
dered by j.iovaóç; (2) “single-minded,” the opposite of &4Iuxoc
onoç in his comment on
the state to which Eusebius applies the term iovórp
nship to the only Son of
Psalm 68:7; and (3) “unique” in virtue of a special relatio
1:18.46 Those who took this step and
God, the LovoyEv1ç (Syriac iliidaya) of John
consecration thereby joined the
understood their baptism as committing them to this
ly “Bridgegroom” in the
Qyama, to live in expectation of union with their heaven
eschatological “marriage-chamber.’
t an equivalent of
There are occurrences of the word “qyama” which almost sugges
too far. Neverthe
“Covenant” and “Church,” but probably this should not be pressed
Syriac Church, and
less, the Covenant can be seen as the core or heart of the early
ticism, however, as it
doubtless all Christians regarded it as such. Cenobitical monas
the late fourth century;
was to take its fixed form in the Church, did not develop before
Covenant were more
previous to that it seems that the men and women members of the
or in small groups,
closely relates to the church community, often living at home
Ephrem’s praises of the
though perhaps already there were occasional anchorites.48
n was exercised
bishops of Nisibis make it clear that much of their pastoral concer
through the Covenant.
presumably
This picture of the Covenant as the core of the Church (a pattern
led many scholars to
preserved and sharpened in the Manichaean church structure) has
of the Dead Sea sect,
trace the social structure of Syriac Christianity back to that
Essenes and perhaps
generally regarded (despite some difficulties) as identical with the
it defined and organ
related to Philo’s Therapeutae.5° Whereas rabbinical Judaism, as
A.D. and the final
ized itself after the disastrous revolts of the first and second centuries
at’s Jewish critic,
breach with Christianity, was as hostile to ascetic celibacy as Aphrah
Philo, but also our
not only the evidence from the Qumran texts, Josephus and
d to above, make it
growing knowledge of the pluralism in the postexilic period referre
in sectarian Palesti
plausible that some aspects of early Syriac Christianity have roots
). Much here is
nian monotheism (as it seems more correctly called than Judaism
tion as warriors
hypothetical, but it is very possible that the nazirite vows, self-consecra
we find in the
of the Lord, and a claim to a special partnership with the angels, as
Qumran War Scroll, were all preparing the way toward the early Syriac Covenant.5’
The Dead Sea sect, of course, defined themselves as the Community of the Covenant
(bent) and “took their vows” at Pentecost, celebrated (as already in the Book of Jubi
lees) as the feast of the Covenant,52 but I would hesitate to make them the sole ancestors
of the Syriac Covenant, as some have done. In any case, not all expressions of early
Syriac asceticism reveal this ideology. Some of the pattern traced above is revealed in
the Odes of Solomon, but practically none of it appears in the Acts of Judas Thomas;
much remains in the Manichaean Psalms, but little in the Liber Graduum. The Acts of
Thomas and the Liber Graduum, very different though they are, both reflect a different
concept of the consecrated life, equally devoted to the following of Christ but laying
much more stress on poverty, homelessness, and the renunciation of stability.53 This
spirit seems to have characterized the groups eventually called Messalian, though the
related Macarian literature comes from an organized (if still charismatic) cenobitical
milieu inspired by ideals close to those of Cappadocian monasticism.54 Neither the
Liber Graduum nor the Macarian homilies use “covenant” in the institutional sense;
the former uses it of personal commitment to Christ, while Macarius/Symeon charac
teristically stresses the New Covenant in the heart, the gift of the Holy Spirit.55 On the
other hand, it has recently been suggested that the letters of St. Antony of Egypt (who,
during the centuries of western ignorance of the Syriac sources, was pictured as the
father of monasticism) reveal a sense of “covenant” that could indicate a certain
influence of the covenant spirituality already developing in the Syriac-speaking
churches. 56
EARLY SYRIAC RHETORIC
This heading denotes not so much a way of life as the modes of expression. Since
almost all our materials for a picture of early Syriac Christianity are in written sources,
the analysis of their literary characteristics may tell us a lot. Here I shall concentrate on
Aphraha and Ephrem, as the writers in this period who provide most material for
analysis. It has often been said of both that they represent a Semitic understanding of
Christianity under minimal, if any, hellenistic influence. Whereas Syriac was destined
to come under increasing lexical and syntactical domination by Greek, Aphraha and,
on the whole, Ephrem strike us by the idiomatic purity of their Syriac; Aphraha has
only seventy-odd Greek loanwords, many of them probably long at home in Aramaic.
In this context Ephrem’s references to “the poison of the Greeks” are often quoted,57
though with too little awareness, till Dom E. Beck’s recent studies in Ephrem’s Prose
Refutations of Marcion, Bardaisan and Man j,58 that in his last years Ephrem must have
overcome his aversion to philosophy and done some serious homework. In the Com
mentary on the Diatessaron he occasionally refers to the Greek but it remains uncertain
whether he knew the language. As regards the cultural milieu of Aphraha and Eph
rem, it was probably F. C. Burkitt (with a touch, perhaps, of protestant romanticism)
who exaggerated its nonhellenistic character;59 others including the present writer
have followed, but a certain retractatio is called for. It must be recognized to what
extent the whole Near and Middle East was a culturally hybrid world. Even the purest
and Hatra
Syriac rhetoric is perhaps more comparable to the sculptures of Palmyra
that the
than to totally nonhellenistic art—though we must remember, of course,
has only to
extant monuments show a considerable range in degrees of hellenism: one
think of the different styles in the Dura synagogue frescoes.
that
Unfortunately we have no Syriac or Aramaic of a literary character to fill the gap
of
precedes the material we are considering. The recent revolution in our knowledge
Syriac
Aramaic texts from the period between the biblical specimens and the earliest
hoping. When
texts6° may encourage us to hope for discoveries, but as yet we are only
witness
Syriac prose begins, its language is pure but its genres are largely hellenistic:
Dialogue,
Mara bar Sarapion’s letter of philosophical exhortation, the Bardeanian
of Aphraha;
and the dramatic speeches in the Acts of Judas Thomas. With the prose
sure that the
and Ephrem we can really speak of Syriac Kunstprosa, and we may be
fall ready-
maturity of rhythmic style there, or already in the Acts, did not suddenly
look in Greek.
made from heaven; but if we want to look for antecedents, we have to
full of
Melito’s Paschal homily may well be the most fruitful object for our study. It is
sequences of parallel rhythmic cola of a type which Eduard Norden had characterized
been in
as Semitic.6’ If Wellesz and Kahle, asking whether the original could not have
comparison of
Syriac,62 were decisively answered no by Wifstrand’s authoritative
remains
Melito with exponents of the “Asianic” style, especially Maximus of Tyre,63 it
difficult to deny that there is a clear stylistic line of development from the Melitonian
into
homily through our fourth-century Syriac writers and Jacob of Serug and back
entirely mis
Greek with Romanos Melodes.64 I believe that Wellesz’s insight was not
approx
taken. Much remains to be done on early Syriac Kunstprosa, before its free and
imate isocolon gave way to the monotony of the later metrical homily.
follows a
Here are two short examples of Aphrahat’s artistic prose. The first
(that is, ascetics) who
passage in ordinary speech rhythms about soldiers of Christ
incur “wounds” in the spiritual battle. Aphrahat turns to address their spiritual
guides and superiors:
You too, then, 0 Physician,

disciples of our glorious Physician,
ought not to withhold your medicine
from those who have need of healing.
Waf 1-kon wale, asawata, (8)

talmidaw d-Asyan naiba, (8)
d-la teklun asyuta (6)
(7)65
men man da-sniq d-netasse.
to the
The next example is typical of a much longer rhythmical passage of exhortation
Bnay Qyama:
Let us watch for the hour of the glorious Bridegroom

that we may enter with him into his marriage-chamber.

Let us prepare the oil for our lamps
that we may go out to meet him with joy.
Nettar wadeh d-Hatna biha (8)

dnecol cammeh la-gnoneh; (7)
Nayyeb meha 1 -lampadayn (7)
d-neppoq l)urceh b-hadduta. (7)66
If I neglect the even more subtle examples that abound in Ephrem, especially in the
homily On Our Lord, in the Diatessaron Commentary, and in the Letter to Publius,
there is a good introduction to his prose art in a few pages of S. P. Brock’s edition of
the latter. 67
Aphrahat’s rhetoric may answer to hellenistic categories, but sometimes it can seem
to continue a style imitated from late biblical poetry. In Demonstratio XIV, a long
pastoral exhortation to concord written by Aphraha on behalf of a church synod, a
long passage puzzles the reader who is trying to follow the thread of the rambling
argument; it seems to interrupt the warnings with a kind of hymn on creation, wis
dom, and the wise man.68 Yet a closer examination of this passage and its context has
led me back to 1 Clement, not as a source possibly known to Aphraha but as an earlier
example of a similar genre, serving the same paraenetic purpose and employing the
same rhetorical topos, the harmony (óiióvcna) displayed in all creation, compared
favorably with the dissensions among humans. In 1950 W. C. van Unnik judged that
Jewish examples of this theme, especially in Enoch, made it unnecessary to seek a Stoic
background for 1 Clement 20;69 but in his longer study of 1970 van Unnik returned
decisively to hellenis tic and Roman rhetorical categories, to describe the whole letter as
an example of the au43ooXeotucôv yvoç.7° There is, of course, no need to contrast
Jewish with hellenistic rhetoric, as was shown long ago by Norden and more recently
by Thyen.7’ If the passage in Aphraha shows some formal similarity with the Jewish
sequence Gadol ha-a1om, “Great is peace,” which grows longer and longer from the
midrash Sifre on Numbers to the Pereq ha-.alom in the minor tractates of the Babylo
nian Talmud,72 doubtless both inherit the same tradition of synagogue preaching, and
behind that lie the popular harangues of hellenistic philosophers.
In my Symbols of Church and Kingdom and further in the Vööbus Festschrift73 I
have investigated some other patterns typical of early Syriac literature which reveal
some of their prehistory: litanylike sequences of divine titles which are paralleled in
prayer-formulas and aretalogies, both in the hellenistic world and in earlier Mesopo
tamian religion; sequences of syncrisis, or formal comparison, especially of Old Tes
tament and New Testament figures; sequences of examples of prayer, of virtues and
vices, or of catastrophe, some of them of the Jewish and Christian Paradigmengebet
type, some traceable to formulas used in exorcism, when the devil would have been
conjured by a recital of his past misdeeds, a sort of reversal of an aretalogy.
Mesopotamian antecedents have just been referred to. With all caution against
“parallelomania,” it seems reasonable to suppose that some similarities can point to
of the divine titles
the continuance of local traditions, especially in a case such as that
which go back
which flourished in Syriac religious literature, many favorites among
in
through Akkadian even to Sumerian words. Another example is the contest-poem
or virtues, dis
which two representative personages or other beings, or two qualities
example by
pute in turn about which is superior. In 1958 Grelot observed that an
of Sumero
Ephrem corresponds formally, with remarkable closeness, to the structure
that can be
Akkadian examples analyzed by van Dijk.74 This is perhaps the one genre
and even modern
traced almost consecutively from ancient examples through classical
called in
Syriac, as well as in Arabic and other literatures.75 In the case of this genre,
antecedents in an
Sumerian Adaman-dug4ga and in Syriac Draa, we have some nearer
ly close
at least similar style in the Aramaic fragments of Ahiqar,76 and a geographical
contest-poem of trees
example in the Pahievi “Draxt i Asurik,” “The Assyrian Tree,” a
Palestinian
which is close to an Akkadian model.77 Some short dispute passages in the
than fourth-centur y
Targum reflect the style, but it would be unsafe to date this earlier
some of his
Syriac literature. Aphrahat has no example of the contest-poem, though
which Ephrem
comparison-series are not far from some confrontations of examples
Hymns in
puts into the contest form. Ephrem has two series, one in the Nisibene
have done the most
which Satan and Death, or Sheol, press their respective claims to
them.78 The
harm to mankind, only to join in lamenting Christ’s conquest of both of
and “Consecra
other series is in the hymns preserved in Armenian, where Virginity
their respec
tion” contest the palm, mainly by claiming Old Testament exemplars for
tive ways of life.79 While it seems reasonable to regard this phenomenon as the con
very
tinuation of a local Mesopotamian sport, it must be remembered that something
while the genre
similar flourished in the Greek world in the agon of the Old Comedy,8°
and, in the
is represented exactly by Callimachus’ poem on the Laurel and the Olive8’
Blow, a contest of the
same century as Ephrem, by Gregory Nazianzen’s óyicptotç
and Near
worldly and spiritual lives.82 Here again we see the interrelation of Greek
human game, as
Eastern culture, but this time we are looking at an all but universal
Johan Huizinga showed in his Homo Ludens.83
THE GENIUS FOR SYMBOLIC EXPRESSION
literature
It is impossible in a short paper to do justice to that feature of early Syriac
for the
that often proves the most attractive, even in limping translation. To account
prose, and liturgy,
richness and power of the symbolism in early Syriac poetry, poetic
Judaism, but
one must clearly ascribe much to the biblical inheritance shared with
perhaps most of all to what must have been a native gift nurtured in the soil of
part of
northern Mesopotamia. Of the themes selected for brief investigation in the last
as biblical
Symbols of Church and Kingdom, several have local antecedents as well
story but
sources. The vision of Paradise as a mountain, compatible with the Genesis
mythology (reflected in
not made explicit there, is developed in other Near Eastern
the litur
Ezekiel 28) and in the Enoch tradition; Ephrem’s three-tier mountain, with
of the ancient
gical interpretation he suggests,84 makes one wonder if the symbolism
theme
ziggurat was not still obscurely working. The Tree of Life, a rich and important
in fourth-century authors, again has both biblical and, apparently, older Mesopo
tamian roots. Retaining an unresolved ambiguity of reference to both vine and olive,
this image is used in a complex and powerful way to speak of the lifegiving power of
the Cross and of the healing and nourishment flowing from it. Another characteristic
insight of the Syrian area, at least till about the end of the fourth century, is the view of
the Holy Spirit as feminine and motherly, explicit in early Judeo-Christian sources, in
the Odes of Solomon and Aphrahat and surviving even in Greek in the Macarian
homilies and in Gregory of Nyssa. The image may have developed by a fusion of the
Spirit hovering over the primeval waters, pictured as a mother dove, with the feminine
personification of Wisdom; but Bardaisan’s form of the feminine model seems to be
affected also by an attempt to adapt Atargatis to Christianity.85 The idea of a feminine
element in God may have become totally strange to western theology, as also
to Judaism, yet it is remarkable how often it has occurred again, in Kabbalism or in
the insights of mystics—a phenomenon that suggests a Jungian interpretation, to
me at least.
One of the richest symbolic themes of early Syriac Christianity, which was passed on
to the whole Christian world, is the drama of Christ’s descent to Sheol, or Hades,
breaking open its doors, conquering death, and leading out the dead, from Adam on,
who were awaiting redemption. It remains debatable how far this complex mythos has
a praeparatio evangelii in the myth of the descent of Inanna to the Underworld, or
how far the theme is already developed in the New Testament, but it certainly seems to
be forming in the first and second centuries.86 By the time of the Odes of Solomon its
main features are fixed, together with its link with Christ’s baptism, and the grotesque
idea that death devoured Christ greedily as one more tasty morsel, to find that he had
taken deadly poison—the “medicine of life,” a favorite Syriac name for the Eucharist,
and therefore applicable to Christ himself—which he must vomit up. This will
become a dramatic, perhaps consciously comic, feature of the developed Descensus
tradition. By the time of the Acts of Judas Thomas certain phrases have become fixed
and hallowed:
You descended into Sheol with mighty power,

the dead beheld you and received life,
and the Prince of death could not bear it.
You ascended with great glory,
taking with you all who had sought refuge in you,
and trod before them the path leading on high,
and all the redeemed followed in your footsteps.
You brought them into your fold
and joined them to your sheep.87
The last phrases are about the admission of the dead into eternal life, yet the language is
also liturgical, referring to entry into the Church as the community of the reborn in
Christ. This fusion of myth with present life via liturgy is already suggested in the
corresponding passages in the Odes of Solomon, especially at the end of the last Ode. It
traditions, that the
is in the Easter liturgy, of course, especially that of the Eastern
satisfied a not yet
Descensus myth reveals its unique function and power. But it also
serve also for enter
rationalistic age as a form of theological expression, and could
tradition, Aph
tainment. Contemporary with the older stage of the apocryphal gospel
88 while Ephrem,
rahat has a richly dramatic picture of Christ’s conquest of Sheol,
lity by means of the
transmuting his traditional material with characteristic origina
surely, they were
contest genre, offers his audience a sort of mystery play in which,
to be mocked. The
invited to laugh at the devil, that proud spirit who cannot bear
even further in Greek
dramatic tradition continues in Jacob of Serug and is developed
by Romanos Melodes.
h themes drawn
Reflecting on the power and the working of symbolism, both throug
of Such a genius as
from nature and from biblical tradition, above all in the hands
structure implicit in
Ephrem, challenges the modern reader to seek the philosophical
or reading-in of
this mode of expression. With all determination to avoid anachronism
g, it seems that we
modern presuppositions and to maintain a stance of careful listenin
philosophy of symbol. I
find remarkable anticipations of contemporary insights in the
an exposition of
have attempted a preliminary sketch of the possible lines for
a young Maronite
Ephrem’s implicit “system,”89 and the enterprise is taken further by
in which he analyzes
scholar, Father Guy Fouad Noujaim, in a recent dissertation,
structures essentially
important areas of Ephrem’s thought through categories and
thanks to the work
Ephrem’s own.9° Now that we have a full corpus of critical texts,
will be recognized
especially of Dom Edmund Beck, it is to be hoped that Ephrem
and a source of new
increasingly as one of the greatest theological poets in the world
inspiration for creative liturgy and literature.
made to list some
At the end of Symbols of Church and Kingdom a brief attempt was
early Syriac Christian
items toward a balance sheet of the strengths and weaknesses of
essential the ascetical
ity.9’ One does sense a certain lack of cohesiveness and, however
the laity must have
inspiration was, it does seem that the apparent devaluation of
formative centuries of
weakened the Christian body. Yet all in all, I believe that in the
more dynamic and
historic Christianity no other group of Churches can prove a
The tragedy of Syriac
creative record of service to the Gospel and to human culture.
tive wounds it
Christianity is that to a great extent the cruelest and most destruc
d little aware
suffered were inflicted, again and again, by fellow Christians who showe
ing and fouling the
ness of what they were destroying or of how they were trampl
waters nearest to the springs of their faith and ours.
Heythrop College
University of London
of
1. Ortiz de Urbina, Patrologia Syriaca, 2nd ed. (Rome, aque,” ParOr, 8 (1977-78), 397-405; R. Murray, Symbols
Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition
1963); S. Brock, “Syriac Studies 1960-1970. A Classified Bibli
, 4 (Cambridge, 1975; cited hereafter as SCK), though not a gen
ography,” Parole de l’Orient (cited hereafter as ParOr)
F. Graffin, “Chron ique de littérat ure syri eral introduction as such, in many ways can serve as one. The
(1973), 393-460;
following notes aim to give bibliographical assistance only. S. Jellicoe, The Septuagint and Modern Study (Oxford, 1968),
2. See B. M. Metzger, The Early Versions of the New 246-49 and Murray, SCK, 10-11.
Testament (Oxford, 1977), 3-36. 24. Cf. A. Vööbus, Peschitta und Targumim des Pen
3. See most recently The Odes of Solomon, ed. and trans. tateuchs (Stockholm, 1958).
J. H. Charlesworth (Oxford, 1973; 2nd ed., Missoula, Mont., 25. Cf. Metzger, Early Versions 36-63.
1978). 26. H. J. W. Drijvers, “Die Oden Salomos und die Polemik
4. See H. J. W. Drijvers, Bardaisan of Edessa (Assen, mit den Markioniten im syrischen Christentum,” in Sym
1966); idem, “Bardesanes,” Theologische Realenzyklop/jdie posium Syriacum 1976, OCA, 205 (1976), 39-55.
(Berlin, 1977-) V. 206-12. 27. This is certain since the discovery of the Cologne
5. In W. Cureton, Spzczlegzum Syriacum (London, 1855); Mani codex, provisionally published in part by A. Henrichs
Urbina, 45. and L. Coenen in Zeitschrift fiir Papyrologie und Epigraphik,
6. Urbina, 37-41; see A. F. J. Klijn, The Acts of Thomas, 5 (1970), 19 (1975), and 32 (1978), and most conveniently
Supplements to Novum Testamentum, V (Leiden, 1962). available in R. Cameron and A. J. Dewey, ed. and trans., The
7. See J. P. Asmussen, Manichaean Literature (Delmar, Cologne Mani Codex “Concerning the Origin of his Body”
N.Y., 1975). Missoula, Mont., 1979). See also A. F. J. Klijn and G. J.
8. A Manichaean Psalm Book, II, ed. C.R.C. Allberry Reinink, “Elchasai and Mani,” VChr, 28 (1974), 277-89.
(Stuttgart, 1934). 28. Drijvers, Bardaisan of Edessa, 190, 226.
9. See J.-E. Ménard,_ “Le Milieu syriaque de l’Evangile 29. Cf. Murray, SCK, 12 note 3.
selon Thomas et de l’Evangile selon Philippe,” RSR, 42 30, Ibid., note 2.
(1968), 261-66. 31. Forsomeexamples see Metzger, Early Versions, 33-35.
10. See G. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseu 32. Allberry, Manichaean Psalm Book, II, 177-81.
doklementinen, TU, LXX (Berlin, 1958); idem, in W. Bauer, 33. Such a relationship would be compatible with that
Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity Philadelphia, suggested between the phallobatai mentioned in Lucian’s De
1971), 257-71. Dea Syria and the practice of the later Christian Stylites.
11. Cf. R. H. Connolly, Didascalia Apostolorum (Ox Cf. H. J. W. Drijvers, “Spatantike Parallelen zur altchrist
ford, 1929), lxxxvii = lxxxviii. lichen Heiligenverehrung un rer besonderer Berucksich ti -
12. PS, I, 1-2; Urbina, pp. 46-49; T. Baarda, The Gospel gung des syrischen Stylitenkultus,” in Erkenntnisse und
Quotations of Aphrahat The Persian Sage, I (Amsterdam, Meinungen, II, ed. G. Wiessner (Wiesbaden, 1973). On the
1975), 1-10; Murray, SCK, passim. galli of Atargatis see De Dea Syria, ed. H. W. Aitridge and
13. Urbina, 56-77 (but Ephrem studies have advanced so R. R. Oden (Missoula, Mont., 1976), 54-55, and R. R. Oden,
much even since 1963 that much needs to be added). The best Studies in Lucian’s De Syria Dea (Missoula, Mont., 1977),
introduction is the commemorative volume ParOr, IV (1973), esp. 39-40.
XVleCentênazre de Saint Ephrem (373-1973); see also Mur 34. Hymnes de S. Ephrem conserves en version armk
ray, SCK, passim. A good short introduction to Ephrem’s men, ed. L. Manes and C. Mercier, P0, XXX, (1961),
hymns is S. P. Brock, The Harp of the Spirit, Studies Sup Hymn 46.
plementrary to Sobornost, 4 (London, 1975). 35. Dem. XVIII. I (PS, I, col. 820); trans. J. Neusner, Aph
14. Urbina, 86-87; C. Vona, I carmi di Cirillona (Rome, rahat and Judaism, STPB, XIX (Leiden, 1971), 76-77.
1963). 36. Dem. XVIII.8 (PS, I, cols. 836-37), Neusner, 81.
15. PS, III; see A. Guillaumont, “Liber Graduum,” in 37. Dem. XVIII.4-7 (PS, I, Cols. 824-27); Neusner, 78-81.
Dictionnaire de Spiritualite (Paris, 1932-) (cited hereafter as 38. Armenian Hymns (see note 34), 2-9; trans. F. Graftin,
DSpir) 9, 749-54. OrSyr, 6(1961), 213-42.
16. See A. Guillaumont, “Messaliens,” in DSpir, 10, 39. Dem. VII.18-21 (PS, I, cols. 341-48).
1074-83. 40. F. C. Burkitt, Early Christianity Outside the Roman
17. Ed C. Phillips (London, 1876); Urbina, 44; Murray, Empire (Cambridge, 1899); A. Vööbus, Celibacy, A Require
SCK, 4-7. ment for Admission to Baptism in the Early Syrian Church
18. See E. A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Cave of (Stockholm, 1954).
Treasures (London, 1927); Urbina, 95-96. 41. Cf. Murray, SCK, 15, and see note 43 below.
19. Urbina, 206. 42. Dem, VI 4 (PS, I cols. 260-61).
20. Urbina, 194-98; A. Vödbjs, History of Asceticism in 43. R. Murray, “The Exhortation to Candidates for Ascet
the Syrian Orient, 1, CSCO, CLXXXIV, Subsidia 14, (Lou- ical Vows at Baptism in the Ancient Syriac Church,” NTS, 21
vain, 1958), 203-8; G. Wiessner, Untersuchungen sur syri (1974-75), 59-80. See also T. Jansma, “Aphraates’ Demonstra
schen Lzteraturgeschichte, I: Zur Mbrtyrerüberlieferung aus tion VII, §18 and 20: Some Observations on the Discourse
der Christenverfolgung Schapurs II (Gottingen, 1967). on Penance,” ParOr, 5 (1974), 21-48.
21. Urbina, 210-11; Murray, SCK, 9. 44. Cf. A. F. J. Klijn, “The ‘Single One’ in the Gospel of
22. Proposed independently by Murray, SCK, 8-9, and J. Thomas,” JBL, 81(1962), 27 1-78; Murray, “Exhortation,” 70.
B. Segal, Edessa, The Blessed City (Oxford, 1970); Segal has 45. Eusebius on Ps. 67 (68), PG, XXIII, 689B; A Guil
now restated his view in a more sophisticated form, “When laumont, “Monachisme et hthique judéo-chrétienne,” in
Did Christianity Come to Edessa?,” in Middle East Studies Judèo-Christianisme: Recherches historiques et théologiques
and Libraries. A Felicitation Volume for Professor]. D. Pear offertes en hommage au cardinal Jean Daniklou, (Paris,
son, ed. B. C. Bloomfield (London, 1980), 179-91. An entirely 1972), 199-218; Murray, “Exhortation,” 67.
different origin for the Abgar legend is being urged by H. J. 46. Murray, “Exhortation,” 65.
W. Drijvers (who spoke in this sense during the discussion of 47. Dem. VI.6 (PS, I, cols. 265-69).
the present paper): the “model” would have been the partial 48. Cf. Vööbus, History of Asceticism, 1,203-8; G. Nedun
success enjoyed initially by Mani at the Persian court, a suc gatt, “The Covenanters of the Early Syriac-Speaking Church,”
cess which Christian apologists would have felt the need to OCP, 39(1973), 191-215, 419-44, esp. 200-204, 420-25.
better. See below, Drijvers, “The Persistence of Pagan Cults 49. Cf. Carmina Nisibena (Hereafter CNis), XIX.3 and
and Practices in Christian Syria,” note 15. XXI.5 (ed. E. Beck, CSCO, CCXIIX-IX. Series Syr. 92-3
23. For a start on this still insufficiently studied subject see [Louvain, 1963]).
50. Cf. Murray, SCK, 17. akademie van wetenschappen, Niewe Reeks 33.4 (1970).
51. Cf. M. Black, The Scrolls and Christian Origins 71. E. Norden, Agnostos Theos; H. Thyen, Der Stil der
jOdischhellenistischen Horn ilie, FRLANT, LXV (Gottingen,
(London, 1961), 27-31; idern, “The Tradition of Hasidean
Essene Asceticism,’ in Aspects do Judêo-Christianisme (Paris, 1955).
1964), 19-32; A. Guillaumont, “A propos de cblibat des 72. In translation see iWidrash Sifre on Numbers, trans.
Paul P. Levertoff (London, 1926), 35-39; Midrash Rabba,
Essbniens,” in Hommages iI Andre Dupont-Sommer (Paris,
1971), 395-404. Leviticus IX, 9, trans. J. Israelstam and J. J. Slotki (London,
52. Cf. G. Vermes, The Dead Sea Scrolls: Qumran in Per 1939), 115-20; Perek hashalom, in The Minor Tractates of the
Talmud, trans. A. Cohen (London, 1965), 597-602.
spective (London, 1977), 163-97.
53. Cf. Murray, SCK, 34-36 and references there. 73. R. Murray, “Some Rhetorical Patterns in Early Syriac
Literature,” in A Tribute to Arthur Vdobus, ed. Robert H.
54. Cf. V. Desprez and M. Canévet, “Macaire,” DSpir, 10
Fischer (Chicago, 1977), 109-31.
(1977), 20-42.
55. Cf. H. Dörries, Die Theologie des Makarios/Syrneon 74. P. Grelot, “Un Poème de Saint Ephrem: Satan at Ia
Mort,” OrSyr, 3 (1958), 443-52; J. J. A. van Dijk, La Sagesse
(Gottingen, 1978), 275-80.
Suméro-Accadienne (Leiden, 1953).
56. G. Couilleau, “L’ “Alliance” aux origines du mona
75. Cf. J. P. Asmussen, Studies in Judeo-Persian Litera
chisme bgyptien,” Collectanea Cisterciensia, 3 (1977), 170-93.
ture, StPB, XXIV (Leiden, 1973), 41-59; R. Murray, “The
57. E.g., Hymns on Faith 2,24: see S. P. Brock’s paper in
Syriac Contest-Poem and Its Connexions,” forthcoming in
the present volume.
Annual of the Leeds University Oriental Society.
58. E. Beck, “Ephraems Brief an Hypatios,” OrChr, 38
76. Asmussen, Judeo-Persian Literature, 57.
(1974), 76-120; idem, “Ephräms Rede gegen eine philoso
phische Schrift des Bardaisan,” OrChr, 60(1976), 24-68; idem, 77. Ibid., 52-54.
“Bardaisan und seine Schule bei Ephräm,” Le Musêon, 91 78. CNis, LII-LIX, LXV, LXVIII; see Grelot, “Un Poème,”
and Murray, “The Syriac Contest-Poem.”
(1978), 271-333; idem, “Die Hyle bei Markion nach Ephram,”
OCP, 44 (1978), 5-30; idem, Ephrbms Polemik gegen Mani 79. Armenian Hymns 2-9: see note 38 above and Murray,
“The Syriac Contest-Poem.”
und die Manichder, CSCO, CCCXCI, Subsidia 55 (Louvain,
1978). 80. Cf. W. Froleyks, Der ‘Aythv Adywv in der antiken Lite
ratur (Inaugural Dissertation, Bonn, 1973), asp. 398-421.
39. Early Christianity.
81. Ed. C. A. Trypanis, Aetia, Iambi, Lyric Poems, Loeb
60. Cf. J. A. Fitzmyer, “The Aramaic Language and the
(London-Cambridge, Mass., 1958), 118-27.
Study of the New Testament,” JBL, 99 (1980), 5-21.
61. Agnostos Theos (Berlin, 1913; 2nded. 1923; rpt. Darm 82. Gregorii Nazianzeni EYTKPLEI BI2N, ed. H. M.
Werhahn, Klassisch-Philologische Studien, XV (Wiesbaden,
stadt, 1956), 254-63, 355-64.
1953).
62. E. Wellesz, “Melito’s Homily on the Passion: An
Investigation into the Sources of Byzantine Hymnography,” 83. J. Huizinga, Homo Ludens (Haarlem, 1938; Eng.
JThS, 44 (1943), 41-52; P. Kahle, “Was Melito’s Homily on trans. London, 1949).
84. Murray, SCK, 306-10.
the Passion Originally Written in Syriac,” ibid., 52-56.
63. A. Wifstrand, “The Homily of Melito on the Pas 85. This is suggested by Drijvers, Bardaisan of Edessa,
sion,” VChr, 2 (1948), 201-23. 150-51; contra, W. Cramer, Der Geist Gottes und des Men
64. Wellesz, “Melito’s Homily,” 50-51; J. Grosdidier de schen infruhsyrischer Theologie (MOnster, 1979), 40-41.
Mktons, Romanos le Mélode et les origines de Ia poésie reli 86. Cf. A. Grillmeier, “Hollenabstieg Christi, Hbllen
gieuse a Byzance (Paris, 1977), tends to deny a significant fahrt Christi,” LThK, 5 (1957-67), 450-55; on wider relation
influence of this kind, but see A. de Halleux, “Hellénisme at ships of the doctrine, see J. Ménard, “Le “descensus ad
syriànité de Romanos le Mélode,” RHE, 73 (1978), 632-41, Inferos”,” in Ex Orbe Religionum, Studis G. Widen gren
esp. 639-41. (Supplements to Numen, XXII, Leiden, 1972), 296-306.
65. Dem. VII.4 (PS, I, col. 317.22-24). 87. Acts of Thomas 156: in Klign’s commentary (note 6
66. Dem. VI.l (PS, col. 240.6-9). above) the relevant notes are on the similar c. 10 (pp. 189-90).
67. “Ephrem’s Letter to Publius,” Le Muséon, 89 (1976), 88. Dem, XXII.4-5 (PS, I, cols. 996-1000).
26 1-305, in Introduction, pp. 262-66. 89. “The Theory of Symbolism in St Ephrem’s Theol
68. Dem. XIV.34-35 (PS, I, cols. 657-65). ogy,” ParOr, 6-7 (1975-76), 1-20. -
69. “Is I Clement 20 Purely Stoic?,” VChr, 4 (1950), 90. Anthropologie et Economie de Salut chez Saint Eph
181-89. rem, autour des notions de “Ghalyata”, “Kasyata” et “Kasya”
70. “Studies over de zogenaamde Eerste Brief van Clemens. (Diss. Rome, 1980).
1. Het Litteraire Genre,” Mededelingen der k. nederlande 91. Murray, SCK, 343-47.
FROM ANTAGONISM TO ASSIMILATION:
SYRIAC ATTITUDES TO GREEK LEARNING
SEBASTIAN BROCK
WO apparent paradoxes provide an appropriate setting for this paper. In the

T fourth-century Ephrem can exclaim “Happy is the man who has not tasted of the
venom of the Greeks,” at the same time speaking well of the pro-Arian Constantius2
—while his older contemporary Aphraha, living outside the Roman Empire and a
subject of Shapuhr II, assures his readers that the Roman Empire will not be con
quered; rather “disaster threatens the army which has gathered together by the efforts
of a wicked and proud man” (that is, Shapuhr).3
In the seventh century, on the other hand, this cultural rejection coupled with
political acceptance is reversed. In a famous passage in some late Syriac chronicles4 the
Syrian Orthodox verdict on the Arab invasions was that they were a punishment for
“the overflowing measure of the wickedness of the Byzantines,” and that the Syrian
Orthodox thereby “gained no small advantage, in that we were saved from the tyran
nical rule of the Byzantines.” At the same time the best known of the East Syrian
mystics, Isaac of Nineveh,5 writing in remote Khuzistan, says that monks will find
instruction by considering the patience of the “godless” philosophers.
That in the course of three centuries the enthusiasm engendered by the novelty of a
Christian emperor should have given way to disillusionment, brought on by the Chris
tian emperor’s religious persecution of his own dissenting subjects, is neither surpris
ing nor of direct concern to us here. It is, rather, the other half of the paradox with
which we are primarily concerned, the transition from antagonism to Greek “wisdom”
(understood as essentially pagan) to the thoroughgoing assimilation of this very same
“wisdom,” a process not without interest for the prehistory of the European intellec
tual tradition, since it was the Syriac scholars of the seventh to tenth centuries who
transmitted the late antique heritage of Greek philosophy to the Arab world, on the
first stage of its roundabout journey to Toledo.
The process of the hellenization of Syriac culture falls fairly conveniently into three
periods. The two great Syriac writers of the fourth century, Aphrahat and Ephrem, are
both representatives of a Syriac culture that is still essentially Semitic in its outlook and
thought patterns. This unhellenized stage of Syriac culture survived chiefly in the
poetic tradition, above all in the works of Jacob of Serugh. The second period covers
approximately the fifth and sixth centuries and is one of fairly rapid transition. In
several respects Philoxenus of Mabbug, spanning the end of the fifth century and the
early years of the sixth, is a useful focal point for this stage of transition. With the
18 SEBASTIAN BROCK
al up
seventh century assimilation reaches its peak. Despite the momentous politic
ed:
heavals of the first half of the century, Syriac scholars pursued their labors unabat
in the sevent h
not only were large numbers of Greek works translated or retranslated
of
century, but by now many Syriac authors had adopted such a hellenized style
r particu lar work
writing in their own language that it is often difficult to tell whethe a
appears
is a translation. The momentum continues into the early eighth century, but it
clers paint a particu
to ebb toward the middle—a period for which the Syriac chroni
MaDmun
larly bleak picture. It was only at the end of the century, and above all under
from
in the early ninth century, that activity picks up again, with its focus shifted
secular
north Syria to south Mesopotamia. The ensuing spate of translations of Greek
ninth century at the
works into Syriac on their way into Arabic, undertaken during the
paper.
bayt al-hikma under official Abbasid patronage, lies outside the scope of this
can be gauged readily
Two helpful indicators by which this process of hellenization
texts into
are provided by the history of translation practice in the rendering of Greek
stock of Syriac . The
Syriac and by the rate of absorption of Greek words into the lexical
ex
history of Syriac translation technique, of both biblical and nonbiblical works,
the recepto r langua ge
hibits a very clear pattern, shifting away from a concern for
ever greater
(Syriac) and the cultural background of the reader, and instead showing
interest in the attempt to represent as accurately as possible every detail of the source
ions,
language (Greek).6 Thus, whereas in the earliest translations biblical quotat
familia r to their
rather than being translated, were given in the Syriac form already
even
readers, later practice invariably translates the Greek form of the quotations,
The accom panyin g
when this is at variance with the standard Syriac biblical text.7
transition from free to an exceedingly literal technique of translation can be seen
be
readily by comparing the Old Syriac, Peshitta, Philoxenian (as far as this can
of the
reconstructed)8 and Harclean gospels; it can equally be seen in the translations
for examp le, is
Greek Fathers: whereas the fifth-century translation of Basil’s works,
exceedingly free and expands the material by up to fifty percent, the subsequent
retranslation of the sixth or seventh century follows the Greek text very closely.9 The
same pattern can be observed clearly with the two translations of Gregory Nazian
of
zenus’ and Severus’ homilies; in both cases the seventh-century translators, Paul
Edessa and Jacob of Edessa, simply revise their predecesors’ work in exactly the same
way as did Thomas of Harkel for the Syriac New Testament.’°
of
The assimilation of Greek words tells the same story: if we take the Old Syriac
version ) we find a total of
Matthew (the Gospel most nearly preserved complete in this
late
forty different Greek words used; the Peshitta, representing a revision of the
comple ted in 616, con
fourth/early fifth century, has forty-four, while the Harclean,
random
tains as many as seventy-nine. A very similar pattern emerges if one takes a
fourth to seventh
sample of ten pages in the CSCO of writers spanning the period
each, for
century: this produces for Ephrem six different Greek words used once
(died 628) fifteen dif
Philoxenus thirteen used a total of twenty-one times, for Babei
ahb III, in the middle of the
ferent words used twenty-seven times, and for Ishocy
seventh century, twenty-eight Greek words employed forty-four times in all.11
SYRIAC ATTITUDES TO GREEK LEARNING 19
THE EARLY PERIOD
In his notice on Ephrem, Theodoret observed that “he had not tasted Greek cul
ture.”2 Ephrem’s disparagement of “the wisdom of the Greeks” should not, however,
be taken as active opposition to Greek culture and learning as a whole, seeing that
hekmta d-yawnaye is the exact equivalent of Athanasius’ i aopta tv ‘E?ijvov,’3 and
so should properly be translated “pagan wisdom.” Ephrem no doubt had in mind
what Gregory of Nyssa (or an interpolator) in his contra Eunomium 1.55 called i
‘Aptatotéooç iccticotExvia, in other words, the application of logic to areas of theology
which Ephrem—in common with the contemporary Greek Fathers’4—considered to be
beyond the reach of the human intellect. It is interesting to find that in the seventh
century, when Aristototelian studies had gained a firm footing in the theological
schools of Nisibis and elsewhere (as we shall see), Dadishoc continues to warn the
solitary off a scholastic approach to spiritual matters.’5
The fact that in his Prose Refutations Ephrem specifically mentions Albinus and
Hermes (Trismegistus)16 indicates that he has at least some awareness of the Greek
intellectual world, albeit no doubt only at second hand. This is, nevertheless, a salu
tary reminder of the existence of a flourishing bilingual culture at Edessa of which we
know very little apart from the fact that it produced Bardaisan and the author of the
Liber Legum Regionum17 (a work which, while composed in Syriac, significantly
employs the Greek dialogue form).’8 This bilingual culture has, however, left only a
minimal mark on Ephrem himself, and in all probability it was the preserve of only
the upper echelons of Edessene society. What appears to be one of Ephrem’s very rare
allusions to classical mythology is significantly enough to Orpheus, with whose por
trait in mosaic at Edessa it is tempting to suppose that he was familiar.’9
We should look rather to some of the early translations of Greek patristic literature
to get a glimpse of these early Greco-Syriac cultural circles, so often overlooked.
Probably among the earliest translations from Greek into Syriac there are to be found
two apologies, Pseudo-Justin’s Cohortatio ad Graecos (in Syriac attributed to an
Ambrose)2° and that of Aristides.2’ Both translations would appear to have expanded
considerably on their originals, adding extra material from Greek mythology which,
one must presume, would have been meaningful to their readers. The author of the
single native Syriac “apology,” falsely attributed to Melito and belonging perhaps to
the early third century, also shows some familiarity with Euhemeran arguments
against paganism.22 Since the pagan “Nations,” to which (as well as to the Jewish
“Nation”) the Syriac church saw itself as heir, were aramaye rather than yawnaye/
‘EXXilv6c,”23 Greek mythology was never part of the cultural baggage of the past for
the Syriac church as it was for the Greek, and accordingly it is no surprise to find in
these apologies various syncretizing renderings of Greek deities, such as “mare allahe”
(Lord of the gods) for Zeus (as in the Peshitta Acts 14:12), and Belti for Aphrodite.24
TRANSITION
For what I have termed the period of transition, the fifth and sixth centuries,
20 SEBASTIAN BROCK
Philoxenus of Mabbug is a particularly useful yardstick, for here is a man who is an

outstanding representative of the native Syriac cultural tradition, yet who, in later
life, openly proclaimed the superiority of the Greek Bible over the Syriac, and felt it
necessary to apologize for the imprecision of Ephrem’s language. “Philoxenus of
Mabbug,” writes Moshe bar Kepha in his introduction to the Psalter,25 “says that of all
these translations [Syriac and Greek], that of the LXXII is exact and true; this is
evident from the fact that our Lord and his disciples introduced quotations from it into
the Gospel, Acts and Epistles.” Since Philoxenus’ work, from which Moshe quotes,
does not survive, it is unclear whether the reason given is Philoxenus’ own or Moshe’s,
but in any case it was a similar concern for the authority of Greek texts in matters of
theology that led Philoxenus to sponsor two important revisions of early Syriac trans
lations from the Greek in the early years of the sixth century, first of the Nicene
Constantinopolitan Symbol,26 about 500, and then of the New Testament, completed
by his chorepiskopos Polycarp in 507/8. In his Commentary on the Prologue of John27
Philoxenus gives us some insight into his motives:
When those of old undertook to translate these passages of scripture they made
mistakes in many things, whether intentionally or through ignorance; these mis
takes concerned not only what is taught about the Economy in the flesh, but
various other things concerning different matters. It was for this reason that we
have now taken the trouble to have the Holy Scriptures translated anew from
Greek into Syriac.
The problems he is specifically concerned with are well illustrated by his comment on
Hebrews 5:7; after giving what he considers to be the correct translation (“He, who in
the days of his flesh. . .“), he goes on:
In place of this the authors of the Peshitta (lit, they) translated “when he was
clothed in the flesh,” and instead of translating Paul, they inclined to the position
of Nestorius who cast the body on to the Word as one does a garment on to an
ordinary body, or as purple is put on emperors.28
The exigencies of the christological controversies of the time force Syriac writers like
Philoxenus to abandon (or at least radically adapt) the native Syriac tradition of
symbolic theology in the face of philosophically oriented Greek theology. In another
work29 Philoxenus finds himself apologizing for Ephrem’s dangerously imprecise term
“mzag” (mix), used of the union in Christ, and he explains “our Syriac tongue is not
accustomed to use the precise terms that are in currency with the Greeks.”
One further indication of Philoxenus’ concern for Greek learning should not go
unobserved: to accompany his revised translation of the New Testament Polycarp also
put into Syriac the so-called Euthalian material, a compilation very much in the
tradition of Alexandrine classical scholarship, providing, among other things, identifi
cations of quotations from pagan authors in the New Testament writings.30
From about the time when Philoxenus was sponsoring the revised translations of
the Creed and New Testament we have some interesting light shed on the equally high
regard in which Greek-style education was held at Kallinikos on the Euphrates by a
rich Christian family evidently belonging to a bilingual milieu. John, future bishop of
Constantina/Tella, was born in 483; at the age of two and a half he lost his father,
whereupon his pious mother took it upon herself to see to his education, entrusting
him to the care of a Christian tutor and sending him, at the age of twenty, to the
praitorion of the local dux, her earnest desire being to bring him up “in the wisdom of
the Greeks.”3’ The scholarly pallor, however, which his mother happily supposed to
have been induced by his devotion to the study of the pagan authors, turned out, to her
chagrin, to have been the result of vigils, during which he was learning the Psalms—in
Syriac. As a matter of fact something of a bicultural compromise was reached when, at
the age of twenty-five, he entered the local monastery of Mar Zakkai, which we know
from other sources to have been renowned for its study of the most classicizing of the
Cappadocians, Gregory Nazianzenus.32
That the attainment of “the wisdom of the Greeks” should have become the highest
ambition of a good Christian mother for her son shows how completely this pagan
wisdom had succeeded in shedding its “venom” over the course of a little more than a
century since Ephrem’s death. Indeed we can even observe how Aristotle’s KczKOtEXvta
is now put to advantageous—if crude—partisan use by Simeon of Beth Arsham, whose
successful theological disputes with Nestorian clergy in Persia earned him the title of
“dialectician” (darosha).33
Whereas John of Tella opted for “the philosophy of Christ” (as Philoxenus, follow
ing John Chrysostom and others, termed the monastic life),34 an elder contemporary of
his, the priest and doctor Sergius of Reshcaina, devoted his lifetime’s energy to the
study of pagan philosophy and medicine.35 Apparently educated at Alexandria, he is
best known for his translations of various works of Galen, of the pseudo-Aristotelian
On the Universe,36 of Aristotle’s Categories,37 and, appropriately enough for the only
Christian text he undertook, the pseudo-Dionysian corpus.38 But Sergius is also the
author of a number of substantial writings in Syriac which still await a proper evalua
tion, and many of which have not even been edited, let alone translated. The most
extensive of these is a discourse in seven books on Aristotle’s Categories, addressed to
Theodore, bishop of Merv;39 according to Furlani this work is largely inspired by John
Philoponos’ commentary on the Categories,40 and it may well turn out that Sergius’
other Syriac writings are equally derivative. His significance, however, lies in the fact
that he is probably the earliest author to write on such topics in this language.
That Sergius should have dedicated not only several of his philosophical works, but
also his translation of Galen’s HEpi Kpdcoç tthv 17tX&v papJláicav to Theodore, East
Syrian bishop of Merv,41 is a clear indication that the ever-growing prestige of Greek
learning was by no means confined to the Syriac-speaking church within the Roman
empire. The transfer of the Persian School from Edessa to Nisibis in 489 had certainly
been an important landmark in this context, although it is unclear whether at that date
the curriculum already included nontheological subjects, in particular Aristotelian
logic. 42 As we shall see later, there are good reasons for doubting the usual fifth-century
dating of Probus, whose translations and commentaries on various parts of the
22 SEBASTIAN BROCK
Organon have traditionally come to be associated with the Persian School. Certainly
there are no traces of any influence from these quarters in the writings of Narsai,
director of the School during the last decades of the fifth century. I would suggest
instead that it was Cosmas Indicopleustes’ learned friend Patrikios, the future East
Syrian Catholicos Mar Aba, who introduced new strands of Greek learning into the
Persian church in the first half of the sixth century.43
Mar Aba was a highly educated adult convert from Zoroastrianism who sub
sequently learned Greek at Edessa. His travels in the west included Egypt, where he
spent some time in Alexandria, perhaps coming into contact with John Philoponos;
Greece, where at Corinth he converts some pagan sophists; Constantinople, where he
taught for a year; and Antioch, whence he returned to Nisibis, some years after which
he was elected Catholicos (540). The directions taken by Aba’s evidently extensive
Greek learning are known to us primarily from Cosmas; his appointment of
Theodore, Sergius’ correspondent, to the see of Merv is entirely consonant with these
interests, and we can see something of the new directions theological writing in the
Church of the East was now to take in the works of two pupils of his, Thomas and
Cyrus of Edessa, whose “Causes of the Festivals” already seem to bear the marks of the
influence of the Greek eisagogic literature produced for the study of the Organon.45
This influence becomes manifest in Junilius’ lnstituta,46 a work inspired by a certain
Paul the Persian, and here it was worth momentarily recalling that it was probably the
Inst ituta that drew the attention of Cassiodorus to the existence of the School of
Nisibis, thus strengthening his desire to found a similar center for sound biblical
studies in Italy.47
Slightly later in the sixth century another Paul the Persian wrote his own introduc
tion to the study of Greek logic,48 addressed to no less a person than the Shah himself,
XusrO Anöarwãn (531-79), whose interest in Greek philosophy is well attested in
Greek sources.49 Direct evidence that Aristotelian studies, at least of the Organon and
the eisagogic literature, played an important part in East Syrian theological education
by the end of the sixth century is further provided by the writings of the theologian
Babai; most significant for our purpose is the introduction to his extensive commen
tary on Evagrius’ Centuries.50 Here he opens with a discourse on Evagrius’ obscurity, a
topos regularly raised in the Aristotelian prolegomena with regard to the Stagirite,5’
and then continues with a series of chapters asking precisely the same questions as do
the sixth-century Aristotelian scholars of Alexandria, concerning to prjaqsov, to
yvTatov, tátç, tô ti jipoç áváyeral, Eiç tà ipr 6taipErnç.52
With Babai’s death in 628 we are already well into the seventh century, and it is to
the third period that we now turn.
SEVENTH AND EIGHTH CENTURIES
It is ironic that just at the time when Syriac culture had become heavily hellenized,
contact with most of the Greek-speaking world was abruptly cut off by the Arab
invasions. It should be recalled, however, that Greek continued to be the official lan
guage of the civil service until 708 when, at the orders of Walid I, it was replaced by
Arabic;53 in Chalcedonian circles in particular Greek nonetheless continued to act as a

literary vehicle for some time further.
One might have supposed that the Persian and Arab invasions of the first decades of
the seventh century would have put a temporary stop to the labors of Syriac scholars,
yet the continuity of scholarship in these difficult years is truly astonishing: major
translation projects were carried out by refugee scholars in Alexandria (6l5-17) and in
Cyprus (623-24); a work of Severus Sebokht on syllogisms is dated to June 638,56
Athanasius of Balad’s revised translation of Porphyry’s Eisagoge belongs to January
645, and twenty years later Candidatos of Amid translated Gregory of Nazianzus’
classicizing Iamboi.58
Whereas it was chiefly East Syrian scholars who were closely associated with the
translation of Greek secular texts, usually by way of Syriac, into Arabic at the bayt
al-bikma in the ninth century, it so happens that most of our evidence for Greek
studies in the seventh and eighth centuries comes from West Syrian circles, and of
writers versed in Greek philosophy and learning belonging to the Church of the East
we know of only a few names for this period, such as Silvanus of Qardu, writing in the
mid-seventh century, and Ishocbokht, probably at the end of the eighth.59 It was no
doubt a sign of the decline of interest among his fellow churchmen in Aristotelian
studies in the late eighth century that Timothy I had to suggest that inquiries about
commentaries on the Topics and later books of the Organon should covertly be
directed to the Syrian Orthodox monastery of Mar Mattai (near Mosul).6°
It is, then, scholars of the Syrian Orthodox church who acted as the luminaries of
Greek learning during the “dark ages”6’ of the seventh and eighth centuries: at the
beginning of the seventh century Paul of Tella and Thomas of Harkel at the monas
tery of the Ennaton outside Alexandria, and Paul of Edessa in Cyprus, were all
primarily concerned with translations of biblical and patristic texts, employing highly
sophisticated techniques to reproduce the grammatical niceties of the Greek originals;
later in the century, however, and continuing into the eighth, Severus Sebokht,
Athanasius of Balad, Jacob of Edessa, and George bishop of the Arabs were all deeply
involved with secular Greek learning as well.
Severus of Nisibis, subsequently bishop of Qenneshrin (died 666/7), was clearly
among the most learned men of his day as far as logic and astronomy were concerned.
His treatise on the astrolabe, evidently closely based on Theon’s, serves as an important
source of knowledge for the latter’s lost work.62 In another astronomical work it is
interesting to find him quoting Aratus at some length to illustrate legends concerning
personifications of the constellations.63 That he was equally versed in Persian, as well
as Greek, is indicated by his translation from Persian into Syriac of a commentary by
Paul the Persian on the delnterpretatione.64 He is also the author of three short works
on syllogisms.65 For all his obvious Greek learning Severus on several occasions
expresses his pride in being a Syrian and polemicizes against those who think that
science is the prerogative of the Greeks, and that there cannot be any scientific knowl
edge among the Syrians; to counter this he points to Solon’s famous words in the
Timaeus, and to the manifest dependence of Ptolemy on Babylonian science in his
Syntaxis—”and,” adds Severus, “nobody I think will dispute that the Babylonians are
24 SEBASTIAN BROCK
Syrians.”66 He ends one particular work with words of heavy irony: “Being an
unlearned Syrian I am putting these small queries to you to convey to those who assert
that the whole of knowledge exists only in the Greek tongue.”67 Here, almost exactly
half a millennium after Tatian, we have the same bitter reaction, on the part of the
Syrian provincial equipped with Greek education, to the cultural chauvinism of the
Greek-speaking world. That Tatian wrote in Greek, but Severus in Syriac, is simply an
indication of the transformation that Syriac culture had in the meantime undergone.
Among Severus’ pupils was Athanasius of Balad, to become Syrian Orthodox patri
arch (680-86); of his work on the Organon there comes down to us an introduction to
Aristotelian logic68 as well as a revision of an earlier Syriac translation of Porphyry’s
Eisagoge.69 But a scholar of even wider attainments was another product of Severus’
monastery, Jacob of Edessa. According to Barhebraeus he also spent some time at
Alexandria.70 Although most of his activity was directed toward biblical and theologi
cal studies and translation, his Hexaemeron,7’ like John Philoponos’ before him,
served as a compendium of contemporary scientific knowledge, with sections on cos
mology, geography, and most aspects of natural history. The section on geography has
been shown to be based very closely on Ptolemy,72 and so it may well turn out that
Jacob is heavily plagiarizing in other sections as well; nevertheless, it is interesting to
note that he also makes use, on occasion, of his own personal observations.73 The
manuscript tradition credits him with a translation (in fact a revision) of Aristotle’s
Categories,74 and his interest in Greek philosophy is further shown by his Enchei
ridion,75 a short, but not unoriginal, work on certain philosophical terms.
Jacob died before he completed his work on the Hexaemeron, and an ending was
provided by his pupil and friend, George, bishop of the Arab tribes. George, another
versatile scholar, has left a commentary and revised translation of the first three books
of the Organon, surviving in a single manuscript.76 According to Furlani, the com
mentary on the Categories is based largely on that by John Philoponos, whereas those
on the de Interpretatione and Analytica Priora must draw from other, no longer
extant, Greek sources.77
It is significant that these and most other Greek scholars of the seventh and eighth
centuries among the Syrian Orthodox had connections at one time or another with the
monastery of Qenneshre. Clearly this must have been one of the main centers for Greek
studies in north Syria, and we are even told that the patriarch Julian (687-707/8)
received training there “in the Attic tongue.”78 No doubt it possessed an exceptionally
interesting library.
It is possible that it was from this monastery of Qenneshre on the west bank of the
Euphrates that David bar Paulos brought back to his own monastery in the Sinjar
region copies of Severus of Antioch’s hymns, whose Syriac translation had been care
fully revised by Jacob of Edessa.79 David, who was born near Mosul in the mid-eighth
century, may thus provide an important link between his fellow Syrian Orthodox
predecessors, working mainly in north Syria, and the East Syrian scholars under the
Abbasids, for we have already seen how the katholikos Timothy looked to a Syrian
Orthodox monastery in north Iraq for suitable source materials. David’s letters show
him to be a scholar versed in several fields of secular learning, and, although it is
difficult to ascertain the extent of his knowledge of the Greek language, there can be no
doubt about his enthusiasm for Greek learning:
Above all the Greeks is the wise Porphyry held in honor,

the master of all sciences, after the likeness of the godhead.
In all fields of knowledge did the great Plato too shine out,
and likewise subtle Democritus and the glorious Socrates,
the astute Epicurus and Pythagoras the wise;
so too Hippocrates the great, and the wise Galen,
but exalted above these all is Aristotle,
surpassing all in his knowledge, both predecessors and successors:
entire wisdom did he contain in his books and writings,
making philosophy a single body, perfect and complete.
What was written concerning the wise Solomon found its fulfilment in him:
“none in any age was wise like he.”8°
How surprised Eusebius would have been to see the archenemy of Christianity thus
glorified as being “after the likeness of the godhead.” But, whereas by the eighth
century the contra Christianos had faded into oblivion,8’ the Eisagoge had long since
become a standard textbook for higher theological education in Syriac, as in Greek and
Latin, and it had already been translated twice into Syriac.
ARISTOTLE TRANSLATIONS
It is to certain translations of Greek secular texts, such as Aristotle’s Organon, that

we now turn. Although less Greek secular literature was translated into Syriac than,
say, into Armenian, a reasonably extensive list of such translations could be drawn up.
Many of these, however, are products of the ninth century, and so lie beyond the scope
of the present paper; others, again, are known only from references in Arab sources
such. as Ibn Nadim’s Fihrist. The following discussion concentrates on two particular
areas, Aristotle’s Organon and works of popular philosophy.82 At the outset it is
important to recall that translations were not always made direct from Greek: in some
cases Middle Persian served as an intermediary. This applies not only to the well-
known case of the Syriac recension of pseudo-Callisthenes, but also, as we have already
seen, to Paul the Persian’s works on Aristotelian logic.
“Stick to Aristotle” is how a turgid poem on logic, possibly by Barhebraeus, opens,83
and this advice was heeded, from the sixth century, by all Syriac writers who laid any
claim to learning—even though on the surface some might occasionally vilify him as
“the stupid Aristotle” and condemn him to “having his mouth stuffed with ashes.”84
The Aristotle, however, of the Greek school tradition of late antiquity, to which both
Syriac East and Latin West were co-heirs, was essentially the Aristotle of the
Organon alone—”without which book of logic,” wrote one medieval Syriac chronicler,
“it is not possible to attain to an understanding of the scriptures.”85 As a matter of fact,
26 SEBASTIAN BROCK
most people confined themselves to the first two and a half books of the Organon,
prefaced of course by “the wise Porphyry’s” Eisagoge.
For each of these books we possess a number of different translations or revisions,
often specifically attributed to particular scholars who, in several cases, have added
their own commentary or scholia. The usual pattern is for the original translation of
the sixth century to be revised once or more in the late seventh or early eighth, and then
again in the ninth. For Porphry’s Eisagoge we have two86 extant translations, one
anonymous but perhaps by Sergius,8’ the other by Athanasius of Balad;88 for the
Categoriae there are as many as three translations before the ninth century, the earliest
probably by Sergius,89 followed by two revisions, one by Jacob of Edessa,9° the other by
George bishop of the Arabs;9’ for the de Interpretatione and Analytica Priora there are
two extant texts, the first, covering only chapters ito 7 of theAnalyticaPriora, perhaps
by Probus,92 and the second, complete, by George.93 For the subsequent books of the
Organon we have only the text incorporated by Barhebraeus into his Cream of
Wisdom;94 whether this translation represents a pre-ninth-century work still needs to
be ascertained. For arabic sources we know that Athanasius of Balad worked on the
Topica and de Sophisticis Elenchis,95 and the Maronite Theophilus (died 785; reputed
translator of Homer) on the de Sophisticis Elenchis.96
When I suggested earlier that the study of Aristotolian logic reached the Church of
the East not through the Persian School of Edessa in the fifth century (as is normally
assumed) but by way of Patrikios in the sixth, I was casting doubts on the traditional
fifth-century dating of Probus.97 The sole basis for this dating appears to be a passage
in the thirteenth-century catalogue of Syriac writers by cAbdishoc: “Hiba [Ibas], Kumi
and Proba translated into Syriac the books of the Interpreter and the writing of Aris
totle.”98 Since Ibas is well known from other sources as a translator of Theodore,99 but
is otherwise unconnected with Aristotle, it seems likely that Abdisho has simply
fused together two disparate pieces of information. Once disentangled from Ibas there
is no longer any reason to associate Probus either with the Persian School of Edessa or
with the fifth century; indeed, in several manuscripts he is specifically described as
“priest, archdeacon and archiatros of Antioch.”°°
More important is the internal evidence that points firmly to a sixth-century date: at
the beginning of his commentaries to de Interpretatione and Analytica Priora Probus
speaks of “seven kephalaia which should be prefaced to every book,” which he then
lists. 101 Now a program of six standard preliminaries goes back only to Proclus (died
485), while the addition of a seventh (and sometimes an eighth) is found only in the
sixth century with Ammonius and subsequent writers in the Greek Aristotelian com
mentary tradition. The presence of seven preliminaries in Probus’ two commentaries
thus makes it absolutely clear that Probus must belong to the sixth century, not the
fiftho2 How he then stands in chronological relationship to Sergius is a matter for
further investigation.
POPULAR PHILOSOPHY
Popular ethics, often with a Cynic tinge, was another area of Greek secular literature
that attracted the labors of Syriac translators: a small group of seventh- to ninth-
century manuscripts’0’ has preserved for us a dialogue between Socrates and Eros
tropus on the soul,’°4 Isocrates’ Ilpôç AIóvtiov,’°’ Plutarch’s FlEpi áopylloiac’°6 and
flç äv nç rn’ Opthv th(poito,’° pseudo-Plutarch’s HEpi àcTKTlcYEwc,’°8 Lucian’s
flEpi tot) j.n 1cftoç inatc6tv cj3o?fl,’°9 Themistius’ HEpi ptdccg”° and flEpt
àpEtflç,” and the Life of Secundus the silent philosopher.”2 All these works (some of
which are no longer extant in Greek) seem to have been translated in the fifth or sixth
century, and the translators have often handled their originals with the freedom char
acteristic of earlier translations of patristic texts.
That gnomological literature should also have exerted a strong appeal is not sur
prising, considering the earlier links of Aramaic culture with ancient Mesopotamian
wisdom literature.”3 In this area, besides collections of Jewish or Christian origin such
as the Menander and Sextus sentences,”4 we possess a number of smaller collections of
sayings attributed to Greek philosophers. Some of these, like the Pythagorean
gnomai,” are closely related to known Greek collections, but others would appear to
have been translated from recensions somewhat different from those extant in Greek;”6
others such as a small collection of “Instructions of Anton, the doctor of Plato”7
appear to have no Greek model. A particularly intriguing collection, “Prophecies of
pagan philosophers,” has been put to polemic use in a work addressed to the pagans of
Harran, perhaps dating from the late sixth or early seventh century; the selection of
excerpts, taken from Orpheus, Hermes Trismegistus, Plato, Sophocles, Pythagoras,
Porphyry, the Sibylline oracles, and others, would indicate that the anonymous author
is drawing on materials to be found in the various recensions of the so-called Tübin
gen Theosophy.”8
The early manuscripts that transmit such works of popular philosophy unfor
tunately have no colophons left to inform us of the circles in which they were copied. It
is interesting to note, however, that these texts frequently are found side by side with
those of the Greek and Syriac fathers, including essentially monastic literature of an
ascetic nature.”9 This juxtaposition explains how several of the seventh- and eighth-
century East Syrian mystics came to quote sayings from pagan Greek writers.
I should like to conclude this all too summary paper by considering briefly the
impact of secular Greek culture and learning on ordinary Syriac writers outside the
ranks of the learned scholar-translators. Since so many people during our period
(above all in the sixth and seventh centuries) were bilingual in Greek and Syriac, one
might suppose that such bilingual Syriac writers might quote directly from Greek
texts as well as from translations. This is probably the case with Isaac of Antioch, who
takes as the starting point of one of his poems a line from “a poet of the world”:
I heard a poet of the world magnifying virginity,

and I rejoiced that even with pagans (“those outside”) the choice of virginity is
something weighty
I heard a young man singing one day
28 SEBASTIAN BROCK
“Would that someone would pull me down and rebuild me, and make me a virgin
once again,”
and I told him that “this request of yours is possible with Jesus.”2°
Such direct borrowing, however, would appear to be exceptional outside the circles of
the translators themselves, who alone were genuinely bicultural as well as bilingual
(Severus Sebokht quotes directly from Aratus, and Athanasius of Balad from Homer as
well as from strictly philosophical writers). Normally a Syriac intermediary should be
posited for references to classical literature. Thus, when Jacob of Serugh cites examples
of various metamorphoses undergone by Greek gods,’2’ it is likely that he is drawing
on one of the apologists in Syriac. In many cases precise sources can be identified:
Philoxenus’ single reference to Plato’22 is based on the Syriac version of Basil’s ad
adolescentes,’23 while a quotation from Plato’s Timaeus in the Zuqnin is
taken over directly from the Syriac translation of Eusebius’ Chronicle. Similarly,
Theodore bar KônI’s passages on the allegorical interpretation of Greek mythology, as
well as his section on Homer, Hesiod, and Orpheus, are derived from an otherwise lost
translation of the Clementine Homilies, Book VI,’25 interspersed with some material
from pseudo-Melito’s Apolog.’26 Such examples could be easily multiplied.
Isaac of Antioch is exceptional in another respect, too: he gives a positive twist to the
line of Greek poetry he quotes. Among Syriac writers p&içutha frequently is synony
mous with Greek mythology, and so equated with falsehood;’27 in this spirit Abraham
bar Dashandad (eighth century) urges Christians “to read the fishermen and not the
poets.”28 It is only among highly educated and enlightened men like Jacob of Edessa
that one can expect to find the Orphic verse “When Okeanos was married to Tethys,
she immediately started giving birth, providing of her own accord many children”
quoted with approval as having “imitated the words of truth (in this case Gen. 1:11)
and spoken in poetic fashion.”29 But when, elsewhere, Jacob quotes Hermes Tris
megistus as “demonstrating the truth”3° he is more in line with nonacademic writers
in their attitude toward Greek popular philosophy. It is true that some evidently took a
hostile view to this as well, and claimed that the Greek philosophers burned Solom
on’s writings out of pique;13’ much more frequently, however, the philosophers were
either Christianized’32 or treated as models of pre-Christian asceticism. Thus the fam
ous mystic Isaac of Nineveh writes, “If you do not believe the church, then turn to the
philosophers,”33 whereupon he provides an extended extract from the Life of Secun
dus (without, however, naming his hero).134 Similarly, Sahdona, earlier in the seventh
century, rebuked monastic laxity by adducing pagan philosophers who, wanting to
acquire worldly wisdom and illumination, were abstinent in matters of In the
following century we find much the same thing in another East Syrian writer on the
spiritual life, cAbdishoc.136
The Greek material available to Syriac writers in translation could sometimes be put
to surprising use. A most remarkable example is provided by the transformation, in the
Syriac chronicle tradition,’37 of a riddle posed to Homer by some Arcadian fisher
men: the episode, known from the Syriac translation of some scholia to Gregory Nazi-
anzenus’ homilies,’38 has been transposed to the scene of the Arab invasions, the
Arcadian fisherman having become a Macadd tribesman and Homer a Christian Arab
spy from Ilirta.
How garbled snippets of knowledge could become is illustrated by a passage in the
monastic history of Thomas of Marga’39 where Homer, having lived in solitude in the
desert for many years, succeeded in becoming a master of the arts of alchemy, while
Plato, after meditating in a cell for three years on the shemac, was divinely inspired to
write that “the God of the Jews is one in nature and three in persons.” Even more
curious is the transformation, in Isaac of Nineveh,’4° of the Sirens into desert birds
whose sweet song is compared to the melodies of the words of God alluring the souls of
the solitary; evidently to blame in this particular case is contamination (by way of the
commentary tradition, from 70 Is. 13:21 and 34:13).’’
At a much more profound level it is also possible to see how Syriac writers freely
adopt purely Greek literary forms; this is not just the case with learned writing, for the
influence extends to popular and spiritual literature as well. An early example is
provided by a homily of the late fourth or early fifth century on Abraham and Isaac,
written in artistic prose;’42 this adopts exactly the same rhetorical skills of ethopoiia as
do contemporary Greek sermons on the same subject. Other random examples are
provided by one of the necrosima printed in the Roman edition of Ephrem,’43 evi
dently inspired by Greek verse epitaphs, or by the use of the essentially Greek dialogue
form by John the Solitary for several of his writings on the spiritual life (although it
must be confessed that only a perfunctory nod is given to the provision of a dramatic
setting).’44 From the seventh century on even prayers can read like examples taken
from the propaedeutic literature,’45 and in his synod of 775 the East Syrian katho
likos IInanisho refers to an ecclesiastical dispute in terms borrowed from the
de Interpretatione.’46
By the seventh century the influence of Greek thought patterns and style has become
all pervasive: Sahdona addresses his reader as “aw tmiha” (th OaoiáatE),’47 and George
bishop of the Arabs no longer greets the recipients of his letters with the Semitic
“lam” but prefers “l-melida” (to rejoice), a literalist translation of aiptv,’48 charac
teristic of seventh-century translation technique.
We can thus begin to see that, when Syriac scribes eventually came to reuse old
Greek manuscripts of Homer, Galen, and Euclid in the ninth century and later,149 this
was not so much because they had turned their backs on Greek culture and learning
but because they no longer had the need (or indeed the ability) to read these works in
their originals: since by that time these writers were already available, in part at least,
in Syriac translation. And that even Homer was actually read in Syriac is clearly shown
by the various quotations from both the Odyssey and the Iliad in the ninth-century
treatise on Rhetoric by Antony of Tagrit.’5°
By the time of the Arab invasion, Greek learning, or rather certain aspects of Greek
learning, clearly had already had a profound effect on most facets of Syriac culture. For
Syriac learned literature Greek learning indeed provided the sole model to imitate; in
other spheres its influence was less obvious and more attenuated, but it is difficult to
find a writer of the fifth century or later who is not touched by it in some way. It must
30 SEBASTIAN BROCK
be confessed, however, that although Greek influence on Syriac culture was far greater
than it ever was to be on Arabic, the conjunction of Greek and Semitic failed to spark
any creative genius among Syriac writers as it undoubtedly did among later Arab
thinkers; indeed, it could be said that it effectively destroyed the creativity of Syriac
writers in the one field in which they excelled, religious poetry. Nevertheless at a time
when learning was at its lowest ebb in both Greek East and Latin West it was Syriac
scholars who successfully fostered the Greek intellectual heritage in readiness to
transmit it in due course to their new overlords.
Syriac scribes, true to the ancient Mesopotamian cultural tradition15’ to which they
were heirs, regularly appended colophons to the texts they copied. But the long arm of
Greek culture was to reach even here: in 899 at Harran the scribe of the only known
manuscript of the East Syrian massorah wrote the following:
Truly, o reader, as a pilot rejoices when his boat arrives after the storms and waves
of the sea, so too does the scribe at the last line,’52
manifestly a translation of a Greek epigram of the type beloved by both Greek and
Latin scribes in the Middle Ages.’53 It is indicative of the common Greek heritage
which medieval Syriac culture shared with the Latin West that the first known exam
ple of this type of colophon is to be found in a manuscript of Augustine, copied at
Luxeuil in 625. As it happens, the earliest Greek manuscript to contain it was copied
only a year before the Syriac one discussed here. This colophon also provides a
pleasing link with the present, for a Syriac verse adaptation of it is a favorite colophon
of one of the finest living Syriac calligraphers, Metropolitan Yulios Yeshu çicek.’54
The Oriental Institute
Oxford University
1. Ephrem, Hymni de Fide, III, ed. E, Beck, CSCO, Mart Maryam (preface to his translation of Athanasius’ Letter
CLI V-CL V. to Marcellinus), and by the anonymous translator of Gregory
2. Ephrem, Carmina Nisibena, XXI, CSCO, CCXVIII- of Nyssa’s Commentary on the Song of Songs; all these prob
CCXIX; compare also Hymni contra Julianum, 1.12, CSCO, ably belong to the early sixth century.
CLXXI V-CLXXVII. 8. On this point see my “The Resolution of the Philo
3. Aphrahat, Demonstratio V.1, 23-25, PS, I, cols. 183-84, xenian/Harklean Problem,” to appear in the festschrift for
231-38. On attitudes of Christians in Sasanid Persia see my B. M. Metzger.
“Christians in the Sasanid Empire,” Studies in Church 9. Further details are given in my “Basil’s Homily on
History, 18 (1981) (forthcoming). Deut. xv.9: Some Remarks on the Syriac Manuscript Tradi
4. Michael the Syrian, Chronicle, XI.3, ed. J. B. Chabot, tion,” to appear in the memorial volume for M. Richard.
II, 412-13 IV, 410; Chronicon anonymum ad annum 1234,1, 10. For Paul of Edessa’s revision of Gregory’s Homilies
CSCO, LXXXI, 236-37. For the background to this reaction see my The Syriac Version of the Pseudo-Nonnos Mytho
see my “Syriac Views of Emergent Islam,” in Studies in the logical Scholia (Cambridge, 1971), 28-44; and for Jacob of
First Century of islamic Society (forthcoming). Edessa’s revision of Severus’ Homilies see F. Graffin, “Jacques
5. Mar Isaacus Ninevita, de Perfect ione Religiosa, ed. d’Edesse, reviseur des Homélies de Sévère d’Antioche, d’après
P. Bedjan (Paris-Leipzig, 1909), 401. le ms syriaque Br.Lib. Add.12l59,” OCA, 205 (1978), 243-55.
6. See in general my “Aspects of Translation Technique 11, The random samples are taken from Ephrem, Sermo
in Antiquity,” GRBS, 20 (1979), 69-87, esp. 75, 80-87. de Domino Nostro, CSCO, CCLXX; Philoxenus, Commen
7. See B. M. Metzger, The Early Versions of the New Tes taire du prologue johannique, CSCO, CCCLXXX; Babai,
tament, (Oxford, 1977), 96-98. Specific reference to this point Liber de Unione, CSCO, LXXIX; and Ishocyahb, Epistulae,
is made by Moses of Inghilene (preface to his translation of CSCO, XI.
Cyril of Alexandria’s Glaphyra), by Simeon abbot of Beth 12. Theodoret, Historia Ecclesiastica IV.29.l.
13. Athanasius, De incarnatione Verbi, XLVI, jczj b?wç 29. CSCO, CCXXXI, 51.
nbtz i t6iv’Eivuv s oocpma pepthpatat. Compare Evagrius, 30. See my “The Syriac Euthalian Material and the Philo
apud Dadishoc, Commentaire du Livre d’Abba isaie, ed. xenian Version of the New Testament,” ZNW, 70 (1979),
R. Draguet, CSCO, CCCXXVI, 181: “In the days of the 120-30.
Egyptian fathers. . .the demons urged the monks who were 31. Vitae Virorum apud Monophysitas Celeberrimorum,
better educated and more sharp-witted to study the teaching ed. E. W. Brooks, CSCO, VII, 39-40, 43.
of the philosophers of the wisdom of the Greeks, reading and 32. History of Maroutha, ed. F. Nau, P0, III, 70.
reflecting on the writings of Aristotle on the subject of logic 33. John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints, x, P0,
(mliluta), that is to say, the Kategoriai, the Pen Hermeneias, XVII, 137.
the Apodeiktike and so on. The blessed Evagrius admonished 34. The Discourses of Philoxenus, ed. E. A. W. Budge
such people with demonstrations from the scriptures which (London, 1894), I, 298 = II, 285. (For the early history of this
he assembled in his book against the eight passions of sin and usage see G. Bardy in Revue d’ascêtique et de mystique, 25
against the incitements of the demons; in the section against [1949], 97-108, and G. Penco in Studia Monastica, 2 [1960],
the demon of vain glory he says as follows against-the soul 79-93.) Such was the proficiency of Isaiah of Gaza in the “phi
which, out of the vain glory which possesses it, yearns to losophy of Christ” that “Aeneas, the Christian sophist of
learn the wisdom of the Greeks: ‘the wisdom of this world is Gaza, when in doubt about passages of Plato, Aristotle or
folly as far as God is concerned ...‘“ (see Evagrius, Antir Plotinus, and unable to get help from experts on the subject,
rheticus, VII.37, ed. W. Frankenberg, AbhGdtt, Phil.-hist.Kl. used to go to Isaiah, who, even though he had no pagan
NF XIII.2 [1912], 536-37). (‘outside’) education, nevertheless managed to solve his prob
14. See J. de Ghellinck, “Un aspect de l’opposition entre lems,” Vitae Virorum, 12; the reference to Aristotle is inap
hellénisme et christianisme. L’attitude vis-à-vis de Ia dialec propriate, for while Aeneas had direct knowledge of Plato
tique dans les débats trinitaires,” Patnistique et Moyen Age, and Plotinus, he did not have any of Aristotle according to
III (Gembloux, 1948), 245-310. For Christian attitudes to G. Downey, in Harvard Library Bulletin, 12 (1958), 309.
Aristotle in general, see A. J. Festugiere, L’idèal religieux des 35. In the absence of any satisfactory study of Sergius
grecs et de l’Evangile (Paris, 1932), 221-63. (which remains a desideratum), see A. Baumstark, “Lucubra
15. Dadisho, Commentajre, 132, 140, 156, 180. tiones Svro-Graecae,” Jahrbücher für classische Philologie,
16. Prose Refutations, ed. C. W. Mitchell, II (London, Supplement 21, 5 (1894), 358-84.
1921), iii = 7, xcic = 210. 36. Ed. P. de Lagarde, Analecta Syriaca (1858; rr. Osna
17. See especially H. J. W. Drijvers, “Bardaisan of Edessa bruck, 1967), 134-58; Italian trans. G. Furlani, Rivista di
and the Hermetica: The Aramaic Philosopher and the Philos Studi Filosofici et Religiosi, 4 (1923), 1-22; part collation,
ophy of His Time,” Jaarbericht van het vooraziatisch-eg-yp part German trans. V. Ryssel, Uber den textkritischen Werth
tisch genootschap “Ex Oriente Lux”, 21(1969/70), 190-210. der syrischen Ubersetzungen gnieschischer Klassiker, I (Leip
18. B. R. Voss, Den Dialog in derfrühchristlichen Litera zig, 1880) 4-48, 11(1881), 1-29.
tur (Munich, 1970), 51-59. 37. See note 89 below.
19. Ephrem, Carmina Nisibena, XXXVI.5, CSCO, CCXL.
38. See J. M. Hors, “Le corpus dionysien en syriaque,”
(Death speaks): “Sages may be able to win over wild animals,
Parole de l’Onient, 1 (1970), 69-93, and G. Wiessner. “Zur
but their winning words do not enter my ears.” The mosaic is
Handschriftenflberlieferung der syrischen Fassung des Cor
illustrated in J. B. Segal, Edessa, “The Blessed City” (Oxford,
pus Dionysianum,” NachrGött, III (1972), 165-216. An edi
1970), p1. 44. A clear allusion to Tantalus is to be found in tion is being prepared by Wiessner.
Hymni de Paradiso, 111.8, CSCO, CLXXIV: “. like that
. .
39. It is preserved incomplete in Br. Lib. Add 14658 of
hero of old whose torment was doubled because in his hunger
the 7th century, and complete in several later manuscripts.
he could not taste the delights he saw.”
There is also an abbreviated form of the work, addressed
20. Ed. and trans. W. Cureton, Spicilegium Syriacum
to Philotheos.
(London, 1855), 38-42 (text) = 61-69 (trans.).
40. G. Furlani, “Sul trattato di Sergio di Reshayna circa
21. Ed. and trans. J. R. Harris, The Apology of Aristides,
Texts and Studies I/I, 1891. Ic Categorie,” Rivista di Studi Filosofici e Religiosi, 3 (1922),
135-72 (with Italian summary of the work, which he knows
22. Cureton, Spicilegium Syniacum, 22-31 (text) = 41-51
only from the incomplete text in Add. 14658).
(trans.).
23. “EA)uiv in the sense of “pagan” is rendered by 41. Br. Lib. Add. 14661; ed. A. Merx, ZDMG, (1885),
“aramaya” in the Peshitta New Testament at Rom. 10:12, 237-305.
Gal. 4:28, etc. 42. A. Vööbus, History of the School of Nisibis, CSCO,
24 E.g., Mare allahe/Zeus: Ambrose, apud Cureton, Spici CCLXVI, 104-5, thinks that philosophy was taught, whereas
legium Syriacum, 40 = 66 (mare allahe is known from early W. Wolska, La topographie chrêtienne de Cosmas Indico
pagan Syriac inscriptions: H. J. W. Drijvers, Cults and Beliefs pleustes: Thèologie et science au Vie siècle (Paris, 1962), 69,
at Edessa [Leiden, 1980], 124); Belti/Aphrodite: Ambrose, holds that the school was primarily theological in character.
apud Cureton, 41 = 66. In Aristides the Semitic equivalents The question is tied up with the problem of Probus, on
are sometimes given, as Harris, Apology, 11 (text) = 41 which see below.
(trans.), “K.ronos, who is interpreted Kewan”; 12 = 41, Aphro 43. Wolska, La topographie, 63-73.
dite, who is called Astera”; 16 = 44, “Adonis, who is Tam 44. Life, ed. P. Bedjan, in Histoire de Mar-Jabalaha, de
mouza,” “Persephone, who is the daughter of Sheol.” trots autres patniarches, d’un prêtre et de deux laiques,
25. Ed. G. Diettrich, Eine jakobitische Einleitung in den nestoniens (Paris/Leipzig, 1895), 218-23. There is a French
Psalter, chap. 28 ZAW, 5 (1901), 114-15; that the introduc summary of the life of P. Peeters, “Observations sur Ia vie de
tion is by Moshe bar Kepha was shown by J. M. Vosté in Mar Aba,” ST, CXXV (1946), 69-112, and in N. Pigulevskaya,
RBibl, 38 (1929), 214-28. “Mar Aba: une page de l’histoire de Ia civilisation au VIe
26. See A. de Halleux, “La philoxbnienne du Symbole,” siècle de l’ère nouvelle,” Mêlanges d’onientalisme offerts a
OCA, 205 (1978), 295-315. Henri Masse (Teheran, 1963) 327-36.
27. CSCO, CCCLXXX, 53. 45. S. J. Carr, Thomae Edesseni Tractatus de Nativit ate
28. Ibid. Domini Nostni Jesu Chnisti (Rome, 1898); W. F. Macomber,
32 SEBASTIAN BROCK
Six Explanations of the Liturgical Feasts by Cyrus of Edessa, Ancient Mathematical Astronomy, II (Berlin-Heidelberg-
CSCO, CCCL V. New York, 1975), 878.
46. See H. Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia und Junilius 63. Ed. F. Nau, “Le traité sur les constellations bent en
Africanus als Exegeten (Freiburg in Breisgau, 1880), 337-43. 661 par Sévère Sebokt,” ROChr, 27(1929/30), 327-410 (esp.
47. See P. Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their Greek 355-67); 28 (1931/32), 85-100.
Sources, (trans. H. E. Wedeck (Cambridge, Mass., 1969), 64. See A. van Hoonacker, IA, 9, 16(1900), 73. This makes
355, 413. it likely that Paul’s work on logic, edited by Land (see note 48
48. Ed. and trans. J. P. N. Land, Anecdota Syriaca, IV above), may also be a translation from Persian (VöObus, His
(Leiden, 1895), 1-32 (text) = 1-30 (trans). For the various Pauls tory of the School of Nisibis, 171 note 119).
see Woiska, La topographie, 67 note 3, and L. van Rompay, 65. Letter to Aitillaha. in Br. Lib., Add. 17156, 14660, and
Graeco-Syriaca (Leiden, 1978), 28 note 66. For the original other manuscripts; Letter to Jonas, periodeutes, in Add.
language of the work, see note 64 below. In this connection it 17156 and other manuscripts; On the syllogisms in the
is worth mentioning the similarities (noted by P. Kraus, Analytica Priora, in Add. 17156, 14660, and other manuscripts.
RSO, 14 (1934), 14-20) between this work and Burzoe’s in 66. Ed. F. Nau, “La cosmographie au VIV siècle chez les
troduction to Kalilag and Dimnag, also produced under syriens,” ROChr, 15 (1910), 249.
Chosroes. 67. Ibid., 251. A similar anti-Greek polemic is found in a
49. In a famous passage in Agathias, Historiae, 11.28-30, Syriac text attributed to Berossus, ed. G. Levi della Vida,
where Agathias’ Greek chauvinism seems to play down Chos RStO, 3 (1910), 16-17; contrast the cultural sellout by David
roes’ reputation for knowledge of Greek philosophy (see bar Paulos, writing about a century and a half later: ‘You
Averil Cameron’s commentary, DOP, 23/24 [1969/70], 172- should realize that every kind of wisdom derives from the
74; cf. also J.-F. Duneau, “Quelques aspects de Ia pénétration Greeks,” Egratheh d-Dawid bar Paulos, ed. P. Y. Dolaponu
de l’hellhnisme dans l’empire perse sassanide, “ Mélanges (Mardin, 1953), 77.
offerts a R. Crozet, I (Poitiers, 1966) 13-22, esp. 16-20. 68. Ed. and trans. G. Furlani, RendLinc, 5/25 (1917), 717-
50. Ed. and trans. W. Frankenberg, Euagrius Ponticus, 78; cf. his study “Sull’introduzione di Atanasio di Baladh alla
AbhGött, Phil.-hist.Kl. NF XIII.2 (1912), 8-471. logica e sillogistica aristotelica,” AttiVen, 9/6 (1921/22),
51. ibid. 16. On the topos see G. L. Kustas, Studies in 635-44.
Byzantine Rhetoric, Analekta Vlaradon, XVII (Thessaloniki, 69. In Vat. syr. 158 of the 9th century and some later
1973), 63-100; Babas’s words bear a certain resemblance to the manuscripts.
comments of Ammonius and Themistius, quoted by Kustas, 70. Gregorii Barhebraei Chron icon Ecclesiasticum, ed.
103 note 1, and 115, respectively. Aristotle’s obscurity is also J. B. Abbeloos and T. J. Lamy (Louvain, 1872), I, col. 289.
discussed by Sergius, Add. 14,658, fols. 3a-4a. 71. CSCO, XCII.
52. Frankenberg, Euagrius, 18, 24, 26, 32. Eight prelimi 72. See J. Darmesteter, “Jacques d’desse et Claude
naries are already prefaced to Nestorius’ Liber Heraclidis by Ptolembe,” REG, 3 (1890), 180-88, and A. Hjelt, Etudes sur
the Syriac translator; it is possible, but not certain, that the l’Hexaméron de Jacques d’Edesse (Helsingfors, 1892), 27.
translation was actually commissioned by Aba himself: see 73. CSCO, XCII, 78.
F. Nau, Le Liure d’Héraclide (Paris, 1910), 1 note 8. The 74. See note 90 below.
contents of the various introductory treatises are discussed by 75. Ed. and trans. G. Furlani, “L’Encheiridion di Gia
M. Plezia, De Commentariisisagogicis (Krakow, 1949), 16ff. como d’Edessa nel testo siriaco,” RendLinc, ‘I/4 (1928),
53. Chronicon anonymum ad annum 1234, I, CSCO, 222-49.
LXXXI, 298. 76. Br. Lib. Add. 14659 of the 8th/9th century; for edi
54. Paul of Tella’s Syrohexapla and Thomas of Harkel’s tions see notes 91, 93 below.
revised New Testament. 77. G. Furlani, “La versione e il commento di Giorgio
55. Paul of Edessa’s work on Gregory Nazianzenus’ delle Nazioni all’Organo aristotelico,” Studi Italiani de Fib
Homilies. logia Ciassica, 3 (1923), 305-33.
56. Cambridge Add. 3284, fol.4la; the date is not, how 78. Barhebraeus, Chronicon Ecclesio.sticum I, col. 295
ever, provided in the two oldest manuscripts, Br. Lib. Add. (compare cols, 321, 324, etc.). For the location of Qenneshre,
14660 and 17156. see my The Syriac Version (note 10 above), 10 note 10.
57. Vat. syr.l58, fol.l6a: “Ended is the Eisagoge of Por 79. See Baumstark, Geshichte der syrischen Literatur,
phyry the Philosopher, translated from Greek into Syriac as 273. Jacob’s revision was published by E. W. Brooks in P0,
accurately as possible by the chaste brother Mar Athanasius VI and VII.
from the holy monastery of Beth Malka, in the [Seleucid] year 80. Dolapönu (note 67 above), 2 1-23.
956, in the month Kanun II.” 81. The heading to Athanasius’ translation of Porphyry’s
58. Vat. syr. 96, fols. 96b-97a, published by I. Guidi, “Di Eisagoge, however, still recalls that “he had the audacity to
un’iscrizione sepoicrale siriaca e della versione dei Carmi di confect a refutation of the holy Gospel but this was torn to
S. Gregorio Nazianzeno fatta da Candidato di Amed,” Actes shreds by Gregory the Wonderworker,” Vat. syr. 158, fol. lb.
du Xe congrès international des orientalistes, III (Leiden, 82. 1 thus pass over important areas such as medicine and
1896), 78. science; for the former there is now an excellent survey of the
59. A. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur material by R. Degen, “Em Corpus Medicorum Syniacorum,”
(Bonn, 1922), 197, 216. Medizin historisches Journal, 7 (1972), 114-22.
60. Timothy, Ep. 43, ed. 0. Braun, OrChr, 2 (1902), 6-7: 83. Ed. and trans. S. Samuel, Das Gedicht tqp l3rs(w(’lys
“Enquiries on this should be directed to the monastery of Mar Halle, 1893).
Mattai—but they should not be made too eagerly, lest the 84. Theodore bar Kôni, Liber Scholiorum, II, ed. A. Scher,
information.. be kept hidden.”
.
CSCO, LXIX, 293-94.
61. Thus P. Moraux speaks of the 7th and 8th centuries as 85. Chronicon anonymum ad annum 1234, I, CSCO,
a period of “eclipse passagère”for Greek Aristotelian studies, LXXXI, 105.
D’Aristote a Bessarion (Quebec, 1970), 17. 86. Sic; from A. Baumstark, Aristoteles bei den Syrern
62. See 0. Neugebauer, “The Early History of the Astro vom 5. bis 8. Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1900), 139-40, 172, the
labe,” Isis, 40(1949), 240-56, esp. 242-46, and his A History of existence of three might be deduced, for he asserts (139-40)
that Berlin syr. 88 (Petermann 9), fols. 8b-36a, contains an 103. See E. Sachau, “Uber die Reste der syrischen Uber
early 5th-century translation. In fact this is the 7th-century setzungen classichgniechischer, nichtaristotelischer Literatur,”
version by Athanasius and is identical with the text of the Hermes, 4 (1870), 69-80, listing their contents.
latter in Vat. syr. 158 (which Baumstark mentions on p. 172). 104. Ed. P. de Lagarde, Analecta Syriaca (Leipzig, 1858),
There are also some commentaries: one, attributed to Rubil, 158-67; German translation by V. Ryssel, “Der pseudosokra
is unpublished, while two others are edited and translated by tische Dialog flber die Seele,” RhM, 48(1893), 175-96.
Baumstark, op.cit. (It should be noted that the former, attrib 105. De Lagarde, Analecta Syriaca, 167-77; see also Ryssel,
uted to Probus, is now available in a much longer form in Textkritische Werth (note 36 above), II, 29-44.
Mingana syr. 606. 106. De Lagarde, Analecta Syriaca, 186-95; see also Ryssel,
87. In Br. Lib., Add, 14658, of the 7th century. Textkritische Werth, II, 55-6.
88. In Vat. syr. 158 (incomplete) and some later manu 107. Ed. and trans. E. Nestle, Studia Sinaitica, IV (Lon
scripts. The opening only (as far as 2a12) was published don, 1894); German trans. V. Ryssel, RhM, 51(1896), 9-20.
(from Berlin syr. 88) by A. Freimann, Die Isagoge des Porphy
108. De Lagarde, Analecta Syriaca, 177-86; German trans.
rius in den syrischen llbersetzungen (Berlin, 1897), 27-32.
89. In Add. 14,658; the attribution to Sergius is again J. Gildmeister and F. Bücheler in RhM, 27 (1872), 520-38.
The lost beginning has subsequently been recovered and pub
modern. lished by W. Rohlfs, “Pseudo-Plutarch, Pen askèseJs,” in
90. In Vat. syr. 158 and several later manuscripts; ed. Paul de Lagarde und die syrische Kirchengeschichte (Göttin
K. Georr, Les Categories d’Aristote dans leurs versions syro gen, 1968), 176-84.
arabes (Beirut, 1948), using Paris syr. 248 and 354.
109. Ed. E. Sachau, IneditaSyriaca (Halle, 1870), 1-16; see
91. Edited by R. J. H. Gottheil in Hebraica, 9 (1893),
also Ryssel, Text kritische Werth, II, 45-54.
166-215, and by G. Furlani, MemLinc, VI/5 (1933), 3-45.
92. De Interpretatione: ed. G. Hoffmann, De Herrneneu 110. Sachau, inedita Syniaca, 48-65; see also Baumstark,
ticis apud Syros Aristotelis (Leipzig, 1869), 23, 25, 27, 29-55 “Lucubrationes Syro-Graecae” (note 35 above), 464-68.
(his X), using Berlin syr. 88, where the end is lost; this was 111. Sachau, Inedita Syriaca, 17-47; German trans. J. Gild
subsequently published by A. Baumstark from Vat. syr. 158, meister and F. Bücheler, RhM, 27 (1872), 438-62. The text is
in ZeitschTift für Assyriologie, 13 (1898/99), 117-18. The attri reprinted with a facing Latin translation (by R. Mach) in ed.
bution of this translation to Probus is found chiefly in later G. Downey and A. F. Norman, Themistii Orationes, III
manuscripts (e.g., Mingana syr. 606). Probus’ commentary on (Leipzig, 1974), 8-71.
de Interpretatione was published by Hoffmann, op. cit., 62- 112. Ed. and trans. B. E. Perry, Secundus the Silent Philos
90, from Berlin syr. 88, which is incomplete; a much fuller opher, American Philological Association Monographs, XXII
text is to be found in Br. Lib., Add. 14660. New York, 1964), 53-55, 104-7, and Appendix I (a reprint of
Analytica Prtora: ed. A. Nagy, RendLinc, V/7 (1898), 321- Sachau’s edition, inedita Syriaca, 84-88). I have given a
47 (from Vat. syr. 158). Probus’ commentary on Analytica revised translation in RhM, 121 (1978), 97-100.
Priora was published by A. van Hoonacker, JA, 9, 16(1900), 113. The story of Ahiqan provides the most obvious link;
83-112. cf. also the related wisdom text published in Journal of
93. Delnterpretatione: ed. Furlani, MemLinc, VI/5 (1933), Semitic Studies, 13 (1968), 212-17.
46-68 (Hoffmann, 22, 24, 26, 28, had previously edited only a 114. Menander: ed. J. N. P. Land, Anecdota Syriaca, I
part; his W). A section of George’s commentary (covering (Leiden, 1862), 156-64; Sachau, Inedita Syriaca, 80-82. Ger
16a6-7) was edited and translated by Furlani in Zeitschrift für man trans. F. Schultess, ZAW, 32 (1912), 199-224, and French
Sernttistzk, 1 (1922), 34-37. Analytica Priora: ed. Furlani, trans. J.-P. Audet, RBibb, 59(1952), 55-81. Sextus (in two dis
MemLinc VI/5 (1935), 143-230 (Book I), and VI, Sen. 6(1937), tinct versions): de Lagarde, Analecta Syniaca, 1-31; German
233-87 (Book II). George’s preface and commentary are par trans. V. Ryssel, ZWTh, 38(1895), 617-30, 39(1896), 568-624,
tially edited and translated by Furlani in RSTO, 18 (1940), and 40(1897), 131-48.
116-30 (preface), 20(1942), 47-64 (Book I), and 229-38 (Book II). 115. De Lagande, Analecta Syriaca, 195-201; German trans.
94. The only published part of this is the Poetica, ed. J. Gildmeister, Hermes, 4 (1870), 81-98. The text of another
D. Margoliouth, Analecta Orientalia ad Poeticam Aristote manuscript is given by G. Levi della Vida, “Sentenze Pita
learn (London, 1887), 114-39. goriche in versione siriaca,” RSTO, 3 (1910), 597-98. See also
95. See F. E. Peters, Aristoteles Arabus (Leiden, 1968). D. Wunsch, “Zur syrischen t)bersetzung den Pythagoras
20,21,23. spruche,” P. de Lagarde und die Syrische Kirchengeschichte.
96. Ibid., 25. 252-64. For the Golden Verses there are excerpts (perhaps
97. E.g., Baumstark, Aristoteles, 144, who gives him a derived from Cyril of Alexandria’s Contra Julianum) pub
fboruji of c. 430-60. See also the discussion in J. Tkatsch, Die lished by Levi della Vida (ibid.), 595-96 (most of these are also
arabische Ubersetzung der Poetik des Aristoteles, I (Vienna/ found in Theodore bar KônI, LiberScholiorurn, II, 291-92; cf.
Leipzig, 1928), 58-62. Baumstark, OrChr, 5 [1905], 1-25); and a later translation and
98. Chap. 61; ed. J. S. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis commentary by the 9th-century patriarch Theodosius, ed.
Clernentino-Vaticana, III I (Rome, 1725), 85. and trans. H. Zotenberg, JA, 7,8(1876), 425-76 (variants from
99. E.g., W. Wright, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts another manuscript are given by Levi della Vida, 603-9).
in the British Museum (London, 1870), 107. 116. This applies to (1) Plato, Definitions, Sachau, Ined
100. Cf. Baumstark, Aristoteles, 140-44. ita Syriaca, 66-67; (2) Plato’s Injunction to a disciple, ibid.,
101. Hoffman, De Hermeneuticis, 63; van Hoonacker, JA, 67-69; (3) Sayings of Theano, ibid., 70-75 (in another collec
9, 16(1900), 83. tion, ed. Levi della X’ida, 600-601, they are simply attributed
102. lowe this important point to my colleague Dr. F. W. to “the Pythagoreans” [d-bet Pitagonos]); (4) Sayings of the
Zimmermann. The translation technique exhibited in Pro- Philosophers, Sachau, Inedita Syriaca, vii-ix, 76-79, and A. S.
bus’ published works also points to a sixth-, rather than a Lewis, Studia Sinaitica, I (London, 1894), 26-38; on these see
fifth-century date, It should be recalled, too, that according to the recent survey by N. Zeegers-van der Voorst, “Une gnomo
Freimann, Die Eisagoge des Porphyrios, 12-13, Probus’ loge d’auteurs grecs en traduction syniaque,” OCA, 205 (1978),
commentary on the Eisagoge makes use of the translation in 163-77; (5) anecdotal sayings concerning “perseverance of
Add. 14658 (Sergius?). soul,” ed. I Guidi, RendLinc, IV.2 (1886), 554-56 (these may
34 SEBASTIAN BROCK
be alluded to by Isaac of Nineveh, ed. Bedjan [note 5 above], 135. Oeuvres spirituelles, ed. A. de Halleux, I CSCO, CC,
404-5). 15-16.
117. In Harvard syr. 47, fols. 205b-7a. 136. Mingana, Woodbrooke Studies, VII, 111 (trans.),
118. Only the part concerning Baba of Harran has been 226-27 (text).
published: F. Rosenthal, “The Prophecies of Baba the Har 137. Michael the Syrian, Chronicle, XI.6; Chronicon
ranian,” in A Locust’s Leg: Studies in Honour of S. H. Taqi anonyrnum ad annum 1234, I, 246-47; Barhebraeus, Chro
zadeh (London, 1962), 220-32; I hope to edit the complete text nicon Syriacurn, ed. P. Bedjan (Paris, 1890), 101.
shortly. Textually the Syriac prophecies are close to the 138. Scholion 33 on the First Invective against Julian,
excerpts in Malalas. ed. Brock, The Syriac Version (note 10), 97-98 (trans.) 228-
119. The situation was very different with the Organon 29 (text).
translations and commentaries: these are transmitted in manu 139. Book of Governors, ed. E. A. W. Budge, XIII (Lon
scripts solely concerned with logic, although even here there don, 1893).
are a few exceptions, such as a 9th-century manuscript 140. Bedjan, Mar Isaacus, 219.
(Br. Lib., Add. 18821) containing poems and letters of Gregory 141. Cf. Cyril of Alexandria, PG, LXX, cols. 364,748;
of Nazianzus, at the end of which are attached some scholia Severus, Homily 69, P0, VIII, 393; Theodore, Liber Scholio
attributed to “Olympiodorus of Alexandria” (ed. G. Furlani, rum, I, 274, etc.
RStO 7 [1916], 131-63). 142. In Br. Lib., Add. 14616; see my edition in Orientalia
120. Ed. P. Bedjan, Horn iliae S. Isaacz Syri Antiocheni Lovaniensia Periodica, 12, forthcoming.
(Paris-Leipzig, 1903), 675 G. Bickell, S. Isaacz Antiocheni 143. Ed. P. Benedictus, Sancti Patris Nostri Ephraem Syri
Opera Omnia, II (Giessen, 1877), 110-11. The source has not Opera Omnia, VI (Rome, 1743), 277.
been identified. 144. E.g., Dialogue on the Soul, ed. S. Dedering (Uppsala,
121. Ed. C. Moss, “Jacob of Serugh’s Homilies on the 1936); Dialogue with Thaumasios, ed. W. Strothmann, Pat
Spectacles of the Theatre,” Le Musêon, 48 (1935), 101. ristische Texte und Studien XI (Berlin, 1972).
122. Letter to Patricius, XXXIII, ed. R. Lavenant, P0, 145. E.G., Breviarium iuxta riturn syrorum orientaliurn
XXX, 778-80. id est chaldaeorum, I (Rome, 1938), 403: “Come, my beloved,
123. Ed. N. Wilson (London, 1975), IX.81-85; Syriac text let us together offer up three-fold praise to him who eternally
in Br. Lib., Add. 14543, fol.47b; the passage is also referred to possesses kyanayata, dilayata and maranayata [i.e., qrnaucb,
by David bar Paulos, Letters, Dolapönu (note 67), 98. ‘i&a, cópta]. kyanayata: being eternal and creator, belonging
124. Pseudo-Dionysius, Chronicon, I, ed. J. B. Chabot, without change to the being who is the cause of everything;
CSCO, XCI, 19. As yet unidentified is the Greek source of a and the dilayata, which are in truth his are fatherhood, son-
long account of the Trojan war, to be found in Chronicon hood and procession; and the maranayata are these without
anonymum ad annum 1234, I, ed. J. B. Chabot, CSCO, dispute, namely unchangeableness. having no place, and not
LXXXI, 66-78 (cf. R. Browning, “Homer in Byzantium,” being contained
Viator, 6 [1975], 22 note 32). 146. Synodicon Orientale, ed. J. B. Chabot (Paris, 1902),
125. Liber Scholiorum, I, CSCO, XIX, 359 = Ps. Clement, 246, 249-50 (text) = 517, 521 (trans.).
Homilies, VI.21.2-3. Liber Scholiorum, II, CSCO, LXIX, 147. CSCO, CC, 15.
286-91 Ps. Clement, Horn. VI.2.2-7, 3.1, 12.2-15.2; VI.3.2-6.2. 148. Lagarde, Analecta Syriaca, 109; likewise David bar
(Horn. VI.3-6 as the source of Theodore’s passage on Homer, Paulos, ed. Doloponu, 72 (but not 74). This follows the usage
Hesiod, and Orpheus was recognized by T. Ndldeke, ZDMG, of the Harclean New Testament.
53 [1899], 501-7). 149. Br. Lib., Add.17210-ll, 14490, 17127.
126. Liber Scholiorurn, II, 287 = Cureton, Spicilegiurn 150. See H. Raguse, “Syrische Homerzitate in der Rhe
Syriacum, 24-25 (text), 43-44 (trans.); cf. H. J. W. Drijvers, torik des Anton von Tagrit,” Paul de Lagarde und die
Cults and Beliefs at Edessa (Leiden, 1980), 153-54. Syrische Kirchengeschichte, 162-75.
127. E.g., Theodore bar Kôni, Liber Scholiorurn, 1, 337. 151. Cf. H. Hunger, Baby lonische und assyrische Kolo
128. Ed. and trans. A. Mingana, Woodbrooke Studies, VII phone, Alter Orient und Altes Testament II (Kevelaer, 1968).
(Cambridge, (1934), 197 (trans.), 255 (text). This is ultimately 152. Br. Lib., Add. 12138; the colophon is printed in
modeled on Gregory Nazianzenus, Oratio XXIII.l2, PG, Wright, Catalogue, 107.
XXXV, col. 1164C, à?tcutucibc, h?’oii,c ‘AptatotzXtKibç. For 153. See K. Treu, “Der Schreiber am Ziel,” Studia Codi
the topos “piscatores-philosophi,” see G. Madec, S. Arnbroise cologica, TU, CXXIV, (1977), 473-92.
et la philosophie (Paris, 1974), 214-24. 154. E.g., in his calligraphed edition of the Syriac trans
129. Hexaerneron, CSCO, XCII, 124. lation (by P. Y. Dolapönu, 1969) of Faulos Behnam’s play
130. Hexaemeron, 149 (compare 185). (written in Arabic, 1956) on the empress Theodora, Theodora
131. See Theodore bar Kôni, Liber Scholiorurn, I, 324. suryoyto (Southfield, Mich., 1977), 105: “As the sailor re
132. As Apollonius tended to be; cf. Journal of Semitic joices/when his ship has arrived in harbour,/ so rejoices the
Studies, 14(1969), 216-19. scribe/on writing the last line.” For two other examples (both
133. Bedjan (note 5 above), 403-4. from the Tur cAbdin area), see my “The Fenqitho of the
134. See my “Secundus the Silent Philosopher: Some Monastery of Mar Gabriel in Tur Abdin,” OKS, 28 (1979),
Notes on the Syriac Tradition,” RhM, 121 (1978), 94-100. 169, 180 note 12.
THE PERSISTENCE OF PAGAN CULTS
AND PRACTICES IN CHRISTIAN SYRIA
HANS DRIJVERS
YSTEMATIC research on the persistence of pagan cults and practices in Christian

S Syria is beset with so many difficulties that some preliminary observations must be
made on the Various aspects of the theme.’
Although there are quite a number of pagan temples and shrines known in Syria, of
which the ruins often are well preserved, the cults celebrated in these temples and other
religious practices are practically unknown.2 Except for Lucian’s famous and often
austere treatise on the temple and cult of the Dea Syria at Hierapolis no written sources
on pagan cults and practices in Syria are available.3 Attacks by Christian authors on
their pagan opponents are mostly of a very general character mentioning pagan deities
and sacrifices, but they are not informative on what really took place in a pagan
temple. We know that sacrifices were made, but the whole liturgy celebrated in the
temple—the prayers that accompanied the sacrificial service, the theological setting,
and the ideological framework of paganism per se—is unknown.4 Pagan myths and
their cosmological and social connotations can be partly reconstructed from the
known iconography of the deities as preserved in reliefs and sculptures and from the
many rather stereotyped inscriptions, but no single myth or mythical tale on the faits
et gestes of Syrian deities has been preserved.5 Even the often long records in later
Arabic literature on the so-called Sabians in Uarran and their pagan cults and prac
tices are so hard to interpret that we still await a satisfying reconstruction of their
religious and philosophical system and all practices connected with it, although it
seems likely that their theology may be considered a paradigm of later Syrian intellec
tual paganism rather than an isolated phenomenon.6 Our sources thus are meager,
often silent or contradictory, and at best make known only the surface of a whole
religious world-view, but do not give any clear insight into the structural pattern on
which the cult of the pagan gods and human behavior in general is based. The conflict
between paganism and Christianity is a conflict between two different world-views and
therefore, at least in principle, between two different ways of human personal and
social behavior.7 It is against this background that the problem of the persistence of
pagan cults and practices ought to be looked at.
The Syrian area, moreover, has never been a cultural unity, and therefore it has
displayed a variety of religious traditions even in late antique times after so many
centuries during which the unifying tendencies of Greco-Roman culture had made
themselves felt. The coastal region inherited the Phoenician cults of the various harbor
cities like Sidon and Tyre.8 The Syrian inland had famous religious centers like
36 HANS DRIJVERS
Baalbek-Heliopolis, which remained pagan for a very long time, whereas the former
capital of the Seleucid empire, Antioch, was strongly Christian at an early date.9 The
cities in and on the edge of the Syrian desert showed a composite religious pattern of
traditional Syrian religion mostly under a strong influence from Babylon as well as the
various cults of the desert population of Arab stock. Palmyra and Dura-Europos are
good examples of such a mingling of cults that often belonged to different parts of the
body social.’° Although the religious pattern of Palmyra, for example, is well known,
some cults and practices remain hidden from our knowledge. Offerings were made,
lamps were lit to honor the gods, meals—often called sacred meals—were organized by
the various thiasoi in special rooms within the temple area, altars were given to the
temples as ex-voto’s or officially erected, processions were held and priests ordained,
but exact details of all these religious ceremonies and practices are not known.” The
most important function of religion in a Syrian town or village in late antiquity, as in
earlier times, was structuring and organizing the social network of the urban or rural
society and its rhythm of life in a festal calendar. In a city like Palmyra in Syria the
various tribes and clans had special relations with certain sanctuaries; the whole popu
lation was divided into four tribes—perhaps also for administrative reasons—and each
tribe had a sanctuary of its own.’2 The traditional religious and social center of the city
as a whole was the temple of Bél on the ancient tell, where the cult of the theoi patroioi
was celebrated.’3 There are strong indications that the relations between the different
tribes among themselves and between them and the central sanctuary of Bl were
marked by processions. In this and other ways the urban area was structured along
social and religious lines, and knew certain points of concentration that functioned as
the highlights of all urban activities.’4
It should be emphasized that especially during the fourth century, when Christianity
became the official religion, the empire tried and at last succeeded in replacing the
pagan structure of society with a Christian one: building churches instead of temples
or on the very place of temples, introducing a Christian calendar with Christian feasts,
and getting a grip on every aspect of life as in former times pagan culture had had. All
these things had been known, but they determined a process of gradual change that
involved the whole culture and society. It is therefore not surprising that pagan cults
and practices as part of a whole cultural pattern persisted for a long time; it is, rather,
amazing that Christianity won the victory for such a thorough change within a rela
tively short period.
Just as Syria was not a cultural unity in pagan times, it was not a uniform Christian
country with a Christian culture in later times. Christianization proceeded through
different lines at different speeds. Some cities, like Apamea and Uarrãn, remained
pagan for a long time and others, like Edessa in Northern Mesopotamia,’5 were known
as totally Christian at a very early date. The countryside was won for the new faith only
during the fourth and fifth centuries through the efforts of Syrian monks and ascetics.’6
There were also class differences, as the intellectual upper class remained attached to
paganism for a long time because it was linked with its culture and education. Intellec
tual paganism had a tenacious life, especially in academic and sophisticated circles in
Antioch, Apamea, and
PAGAN CULTS IN CHRISTIAN SYRIA 37
It is therefore impossible to speak of pagan cults and practices in Syria as a well-

defined entity, just as it is impossible to refer to Christian Syria as a clear-cut religious
denomination. The persistence of certain cults and practices that were labeled pagan
in a society with a Christian majority is the outcome of a long process of change and
religious polarization. It seems a scientific platitude to declare that pagan cults and
practices have persisted in Christian Syria; this is quite natural and not amazing. The
real question is what persisted and why it was called pagan in contradistinction to
what was supposed to be Christian. Taking into consideration that Syria displays such
a variety of cults and that the Christianization went off in various ways, it seems
methodologically the best way of approaching the problem to concentrate on one
special area that is relatively well known. I have chosen Northern Mesopotamia, with
Edessa as center, as the cradle of early Syriac-speaking Christianity. According to
tradition it was converted to the new faith at an early stage, so that the pagan emperor
Julian for example, refused to honor it with a visit but went to a sanctuary in neigh
boring pagan Uarrãn. In such a city the persistence of paganism can best be studied as
a paradigm of what happened, why, and how.’8
Pagan culture at Edessa should be sketched in outline to clarify the milieu in which
Christianity manifested itself and at last became the dominant religion. The religious
scene was dominated by the cult of Nebo and Bél, the first the Babylonian god of
wisdom and human fate, the latter the kosmokrator, lord of planets and stars, who
guided the world and gave it fertility. He symbolized order in the cosmos and society,
because he gave and guaranteed the laws. In his cult astrological practice kept an
organic place, because astrology made known the plans and guidance of the divine
creator of order, whose main feast was the New Year’s festival celebrated at the begin-
fling of April. Nebo his son stood for wisdom and the scribal art and most likely
functioned as a kind of mediator between the highest god Bêl and the world.’9 Both
gods were venerated at Uarran, too, and it seems that the cult of Nebo had some
elements in common with the doctrines associated with the name of Hermes Trisme
gistos.2° It is not surprising that Nebo retained first place n the Edessene pantheon,
because the city was a true academic center—called the Athens of the East—in which
Greek philosophy was widely known and taught. It is most probable that the later
School of the Persians at Edessa had pagan forerunners.2’ In this context I should like
to stress that the language frontier between Northern Mesopotamia, where Syriac was
in common use by the intellectual upper class, and Coele Syria and Antioch, where
Greek was the dominant literary vehicle, did not imply a cultural barrier between a
mainly hellenistic Syrian Western region and Osrhoene with its supposedly Semitic
culture with only faint traces of Greco-Roman civilization.22
Besides Nebo and Bél, Edessa venerated the Dea Syria Atargatis whose main sanctu
ary was in Hierapolis-Mabbu. The sacred carp in the fish ponds near the citadel are
the modern remnants of her cult in which water and fish played an important role, as is
understandable in the cult of a fertility goddess.23 It can be assumed that the sanctuary
of the goddess was situated north of the citadel and still existed in 384 when the nun
Egeria visited the city.24 In her cult emasculation was frequently paracticed and had a
tenacious life. According to the Book of the Laws of Countries, a dialogue on fate from
38 HANS DRIJVERS
the School of Bardaisan, Abgar, the alleged first Christian king of Edessa, forbade this
barbarous habit; nevertheless, bishop Rabbula at the beginning of the fifth century still
was compelled to prohibit his clerics from emasculating themselves.25
Nebo and Bêl represent the Babylonian component of Edessene religion, whereas
Atargatis belongs to the Aramaean layer in this region. The seminomads from
cults of
the desert, who settled themselves in and around Edessa, brought their own
Azizos and Monimos,
protecting spirits, the gaddé or ginns, and of armed deities like
am
who functioned as an armed escort in the desert. The veneration of the sun god
Arab influence on
and of the eagle, the symbol of the heavenly vault, also reflects
Edessene religion.26
Very little is known of cultic practice, but public and private offerings and proces
sions through the streets of the city surely were a regular spectacle accompanied with
music and public acclamations. It may be assumed that the cult of all these lifegiving,
foretelling, healing, and protecting deities represented the promise of a better life in
the often hard and cruel circumstances of human existence in a late antique city in
Northern Mesopotamia.27
Christianity became known in Edessa in the second century and manifested itself in
the sects of Marcionites and Bardaianites.28 The latter are a local phenomenon, fol
lowers of Bardaisan the philosopher of the Aramaeans (154-222), who lived at the court
of King Abgar the Great. Bardaisan tried to synthesize local paganism and astrology in
philosophical disguise and the Christian faith, which resulted in a special cosmology
and anthropology, in which astrological fatalism played a restricted role. Not being
gnostic in the strict sense, the Bardaisanite doctrine flavors a kindred atmosphere.29
Ephrem Syrus, a fervent opponent of Bardaisan, has preserved some fragments of
authentic Bardaianite hymns in his polemical poetic oeuvre, from which it becomes
clear that this teacher of philosophy also intepreted traditional local cults of Atargatis
and Bèl, among others, in a philosophical, sophisticated way.3° In that aspect Bardai
san should be compared with the Sabians in nearby Uarrãn who did the same. Bardai
san is the first example of a Christianized pagan intellectualism with strong emphasis
on astrology, the fate of the human soul, symbolical interpretation of traditional
myths, and an eclectic philosophy. He surely considered himself a Christian, but later
generations openly accused him of adhering to pagan doctrines and practices. It seems
that Bardaisanites, Marcionites, and Manichaeans dominated the religious scene in
third-century Edessa, although what later came to be called orthodoxy was not
absent.31 Along this line of intellectual gnostic-colored, partly Christianized paganism
much of pagan culture and religion persisted, especially in an academic city like
Edessa. We may asume that at the end of the fourth century and the beginning of
the fifth this semipagan trend was still very strong. It is even possible that in 579/80
such groups still existed in Edessa according to the record of John of Ephesos
(H.E. 111,5,15) on pagan practices at Baalbek, Antioch, and Edessa.32 But even the
Christian tradition assumed that much of this learned tradition concentrated on astro
logical doctrines, as becomes clear from the work of Jacob of Edessa at the beginning
of the eighth century.33
Although the official legend of the conversion of Edessa, the Doctrina Addai, presents
a different view for obvious reasons, the conversion did not take place as quickly as this
enthusiastic propaganda would have us believe. Even the most recent version from the
end of the fourth or the beginning of the fifth century contains some clues to the
historical reality.34 In a fervent sermon the apostle Addai addresses himself to the
crown of Edessa and vehemently attacks the pagan deities Nebo, Bêl, Atargatis, and
others. The priests of these gods are so impressed by his preaching that they destroy
their altars except for the great altar in the center of the city. That may be an allusion
to the fact that at the end of the fourth century the pagan temples were still standing at
Edessa and still maintained their central position. In other words, the great altar
symbolizes the Tyche of Edessa that is still pagan. This assumptiOn is corroborated by
an Imperial rescript of 382 of Theodosius that permitted the citizens of Edessa to
assemble in the pagan pantheon, although sacrifices were not allowed (Theodosian
Code XVI,lO,3). Such a rescript of the pious Emperor can be explained only against
the background of a strong and powerful pagan group to the supposedly totally
Christian Edessa.35 It is not too far-fetched to suppose that these pagans belonged to
the upper class of society with its philosophically colored education. Bishop Rabbula
(d. 436) destroyed the pagan shrines at Edessa or transformed them into churches.
The same bishop is known as a busy builder of churches, the first since the time that
Bishop Qune in the beginning of the fourth century had built the first church at
Edessa.36 Only when the churches had supplanted the former temples did Christianity
get a real grip on the city population and their social behavior by offering them new
places of assembly.
Even though cult ceremonies were forbidden, the population of Edessa celebrated
the pagan spring festival with all pomp and enthusiasm at the end of the fifth century,
according to the Chronicle of Joshua the Stylite: The year 809 497/8: “While these
things were taking place, there came round again the time of that festival at which the
heathen myths were recited, and the citizens took even more pains about it than usual.
For seven days previously they were going up to the theater at eventide, clad in linen
garments, and wearing turbans, with their loins ungirt. Lamps were lighted before
them, and they were burning incense, and holding vigils the whole night.”37 The same
stylite mentions the celebration of another pagan festival in the month of May
(XXXIII). These festivals were accompanied by dancing and music, and obscene
behavior—according to their opponents.
There are indications that the Christians tried to replace the pagan calendar of
festivals by a Christian one; at Edessa (and Suru) the feast of the apostle Thomas
might have taken the place of the pagan spring festival.38 It is at least certain that the
Christian festivals took over most of the customs of the pagan festivals such as fairs. It
seems inevitable that the whole process during which Christianity at last supplanted
paganism implied the taking over of a good deal of pagan practice; the practice of
processions and festivals remained more or less the same, although the ideology
changed. If you want to call that persistence of pagan cults and practices, there is no
strong objection to that. It is, however, more a matter of continuity of culture in which
no sudden changes or breaks occur, only gradual shifts.
Christianity tried, however, very hard to suppress practices that were so closely
40 HANS DRIJVERS
linked with pagan ideology and doctrine that they could not be allowed or taken over.
Such is the case with certain forms of astrology, of sexual intercourse in honor of
goddesses of love and fertility, and with magic. The words of the Apostle Addai in the
Doctrina Addai are revealing: “Let your bodies be pure, and let your persons be holy,
as is right for men who stand before the altar of God; and be ye indeed far removed
from false swearing, and from wicked murder, and from false testimony, which is
mixed with adultery, and for sorcerers with respect to whom there is no mercy, and
from divinations, and soothsaying, and necromancers, and from fates, and horoscopes,
in which the erring Chaldees boast themselves; and from stars and the signs of the
Zodiac, in which the foolish are confident!”39 It is interesting to see how stricly moral
commandments are mixed with warnings against all kinds of sorcery and magic and
astrology. These practices are exponents of a totally different world-view from that
which Christianity cherished and held true. Astrology was not an innocent pastime as
it is nowadays, but a means by which to learn the plans and decisions of Bê1 and the
kosmokrator, who ruled planets and stars and through them human life and fate.4°
That is the only reason why Ephrem Syrus, for example, always combines in his
polemical works accusations of false doctrine with accusations of astrological and
magic practice or of a shameful sexual behavior. It is also the only correct explanation
for the fact that all forms of theology that developed in the Syrian area cherished the
doctrine of free will against every pagan or heretical opponent.
When Ephrem in his Hymns contra Haereses warns against the Books of the Chal
daeans, because they make people err (V,14), or against sorcery that turns us into
pagans (V,19), or against the cult of the Venus star in whose honor lewdness is com
mitted (VIII; IX, 8), these are exactly the same objections that the church father formu
lates against the Bardaisanites and the Manichees.41
In the fifth century Isaac of Antioch blames the inhabitants of Beth Uur in Northern
Mesopotamia for the same things. Even priests are not free from these practices accord
ing to the same Isaac in his homily against the soothsayers.42 Therefore, magic and
astrology mean heresy, and heresy means astrology and magical practice. A striking
example is the case of Sophronios, bishop of Tella, who was condemned in 449 at the
synod of Ephesos. Peterson believed that the combination of an accusation of heresy
with the reproach of magical practices was a literary topos.43 It seems, ho.vever, that at
least in the Syrian area both accusations are organically connected and find their unity
in the persistence of pagan religion in certain forms of religious doctrine and practice.
Accusations of and warnings against magical and related uses are always a sign of
ill-defined power and competiton.44 The same holds true for an all-pervading belief in
demons such as the fourth and fifth century knew. The accusations of magic and belief
in demons repeated so emphatically thus are the most convincing proof that paganism
was still alive and was even believed to be a real threat for the Christian church. It is,
therefore, more than a coincidence that the Christian ascetics and saints, who won the
victory over their carnal body, at the same time attacked the pagan deities and demons
and severely warned against magic and sorcery.45
Paganism persisted for centuries in the most Christian city, the blessed city of Syria.
It persisted as an intellectual culture inside and outside the Christian church; it per-
sisted in cultic practices and religious festivals that continued former traditions; it
persisted in astrology and magic that were as tenacious as the despair of human freedom.
The Institute of Semitic Studies and

Archaeology of the Near East
University of Groningen
The Netherlands
1. There exists a vast literature on paganism and Chris 7. Cf. P. Brown, The World of Late Antiquity (London,
tianity in Syria, but it deals mainly with various aspects of 1971), 49 if.; idem, The Making of Late Antiquity (Cam
paganism per Se, or of Christinaity per Se, or with special bridge-London, 1978), 11 if.
problems in their interrelation, but a history of religions in 8. H. Seyrig, ‘Divinitbs de Sidon,” Syria, 36(1959), 48-56;
Syria does not exist. W. E. Kaegi, “The Fifth-Century Twi idem, “Les grands dieux de Tyr a l’époque romaine,” Syria,
light of Byzantine Paganism,” CiMed, 27 (1966), 243-75, is a 40 (1963), 19-27; H. Gese, M. HOfner, and K. Rudolph, Die
good introduction; cf. in general A. J. Festugiere, Antioche Religionen Altsyrzens, Altarabiens und der Mandäer, Die
palenne et chrétienne: Libanius, Chrysostorne et les moines Religionen der Menschheit, X,2 (Stuttgart, 1970), 182 if.
de Syrie, BEFAR, CXCIV (Paris, 1959); The Conflict between 9. On paganism at Baalbek in late antiquity see Kaegi,
Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century, ed. “The Fifth-Century Twilight of Byzantine Paganism,” 258f.;
A. Momigliano (Oxford, 1963). The political and cultural P. J. Alexander, The Oracle of Baalbek: The Tiburtine Sibyl
complexity of the Syrian area is well demonstrated by J.-P. in Greek Dress, DOS, X (Washington, 1967), 43 if.; Damas
Rey-Coquais, “Sync romaine, de Pompée a Dioclétien,” JRS. cius in Photius, Bibliotheca, cod. 242, PG CIII, col. 1273;
68 (1978) 44-73. John of Ephesos, Hist. eccl., 3, 27, ed. E. W. Brooks, CSCO,
2. D. Krencker and W. Zschietzschmann, Römische Tern- CVI (Louvain, 1936), 114; on early Christianity in Antioch
pet in Syrien (Berlin, 1938); G. Taylor, The Roman Temples see G. Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria from Seleucus
of Lebanon: A Pictorial Guide (Beirut, 1967). to the Arab Conquest (Princeton, 1961) 272 if.; W. Liebe
3. The Syrian Goddess (De Dea Syria) Attributed to schuetz, “Epigraphic Evidence on the Christianisation of
Lucian, ed. and trans. H. W. Attridge and R. A. Oden, Society Syria,” Akten des XI. Internationalen Limes kongresses (Buda
of Biblical Literature Texts and Translation, IX (Missoula. pest, nd.), 492 if.; idem, Antioch: City and ImperialAdminis
Mont., 1976); R. A. Oden, Studies in Lucian’s De Syria Dea, tratiori in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford, 1972), 224 if.
Harvard Semitic Monographs, XV (Missoula, Mont., 1977); 10. On Palmyra see M. Gawlikowski, Le temple paliny
M. Hong, Dea Syria: Studien zur retigihsen Tradition der rénien: Étude d’épigraphie et de topographie historique
Fruchtbarkeitsgottin im Vorderasien, Alter Orient und Altes (Warsaw, 1973); Drijvers, The Religion of Palmyra, Icono
Testament, CCVIII (Neukirchen, 1979); H. J. W. Drijvers, graphy of Religions XV,15 (Leyden, 1976); J. Teixidor, The
Cults and Beliefs at Edessa, tudes préliminaires aux reli Pantheon of Palm yra, Etudes prbliminaires aux religions
gions orientales dans l’empire romain, LXXXII (Leyden, orientales dans l’empire romain, LXXIX (Levden, 1979); on
1980), 76-121. the cults of Dura-Europos see C. B. Welles, “The Gods of
4. F. Cumont in many books and articles offered a recon Doura-Europos,” Festschrift F. Alt heim, II (Berlin, 1969), 50-
struction of the supposedly learned theology of 5yrian priests 65, and many interesting suggestions by C. Hopkins, The
mainly based on philosophical literature; see, e.g., Les reli Discovery of Dura-Europos, ed. B. Goldman (New Haven-
gions orientales dans le paganisme romain, 4th ed. (Paris, London, 1979).
1929), 111 if.; Lux Perpetua (Paris, 1949). The solar theology 11. J. T. Milik, Dédicaces faites par des dieux (Palmyre,
as reconstructed by him does not find support in the archeo Hatra, Tyr) et des thiases sémitiques a l’époque romaine
logical and epigraphical evidence; see H. Seyrig, “Le culte du (Paris, 1972), contains interesting, but often 100 fantastic,
soleil en Syrie a l’époque romaine,” Syria, 48 (1971), 337-73. ideas on these aspects of Palmyra’s religion; it is striking that
5. To give one example, it seems clear that one of the J. Teixidor, The Pantheon of Palmyra, does not give any
reliefs on the crossbeams of Bêl’s temple at Palmyra rep attention to cult matters; see also the prudent remarks by
resents a primordial (?) fight against a chaos-monster, which H. Seyrig, “Les tessères palmyrbniennes et le banquet rituel,”
also occurs in the Babylonian creation myth, but an exact Memorial Lagrange (Paris, 1940), 5 1-58.
interpretation cannot be given; see H. 5eyrig, R. Amy, and 12. D. Schlumberger, “Les quatre tribus de Palmyre,”
E. Will, Le temple de Bél a Palmyre, I (Paris, 1975), 87; R. du Syria, 48 (1971), 121-33; Gawlikowski, Le temple palmy
Mesnil du Buisson, “Le bas-relief du combat de Bbl contre rénien, 26-52; Teixidor, The Pantheon of Palm yra, 36.
Tiamat dans le temple de Bbl a Palmyre,” Anna les archéolo 13. H. Seyrig, “Bhl de Palmyre,” Syria, 48(1971), 85-114;
giques arabes de Syrie, 26 (1976), 83-111; Drijvers, Cults and H. Seyrig, R. Amy, and E. Will, Le temple de Beth Palmyre
Beliefs at Edessa, 64 if. (Paris, 1975).
6. D. Chwolsohn, Die Ssabier und der Ssabismus (St. 14. One of the neliefs on the cross-beams of the peristyle of
Petersburg, 1856); J. Hjarpe, Analyse critique des traditions Bbl’s temple represents such a procession; see H. Seyrig, “Bas
arabes sur les Sabéeens l,iarraniens (Diss. Uppsala, 1972); J. B. reliefs monumentaux du temple de Bbl a Palmyre,” Syria, 15
Segal, Edessa and Harran: An Inaugural Lecture (London, (1934), 159-65 and p1. xix; Seyrig, Amy and Will, Le temple de
1963); G. Fowden, “Asceticism and the Pagan Tradition in Bêi a Palmyre, 88 f.; it is not without interest that a fragment
Byzaniine and Muslim Syria,” JRS (forthcoming). of an identical relief was found in the sanctuary of Allât in
42 HANS DRIJVERS
the western quarter of the city; cf. Drijvers, ‘Das Heiligtum tung,” Aufstieg und Niedergang der rdm. Welt, 2.8 (Berlin,
der arabjschen Göttjn AllSt im westlichen Stadttejl von Pal- 1977), 885 if.; R. Schmitt, “Die Ostgrenze von Armenien dber
myra,” Antike Welt, 7 (1976), 28-38. Mesopotamien, Syrien his Arabien,” Die Sprachen irn römi
15. On paganism at Apamea, Sozomen, Hist. eccl., 7, 15; schen Reich der Kaiserzeit, BJb, 40(1980), 187-214, esp. 201 f.
Liebeschuetz, “Epigraphic Evidence on the Chrisdanisation 23. Lucian, De Syria Dea, 45-47; F. Cumont, Etudes
of Syria,” 494 f.; G. Fowden, “Bishops and Temples in the syriennes (Paris, 1917), 35 if.; G. Goossens, Hiérapolis de
Eastern Roman Empire A.D. 320-435,” JThS, 29(1978), 64 if.; Syrie: Essai de monographie historique (Louvain, 1943), 62;
the opinion that Edessa was Christianized during the reign of Drijvers, Cults and Beliefs at Edessa, 79 if.
King Abgar the Great (177-212) is due to a historical interpre 24. Itinerariurn Aetheriae, 19, 7 ed. H. Pktré, SC, XXI
tation of the Abgar legend as told by Eusebius, Hist. ecci., I, (Paris, 1948); P. Devos, “EgérieS Edesse: S. Thomas l’Apotre,
13; II, 1, 6-8, and the so-called Doctrina Addai dating from le roi Abgar,” AnalBoll, 85 (1967), 381-400; Drijvers, Cults
the end of the 4th or even the beginning of the 5th century; and Beliefs at Edessa, PIs. ii, iii.
see, e.g., J. J. Gunther, “The Meaning and Origin of the 25. According to the Book of the Law of Countries, PS, II,
Name ‘Judas Thomas,’” Le Muséon, 93 (1980), 131 if.; the col. 607; cf. G. Sanders, “Gallos,” RAC, 8, col. 1026 if.; Rab
Abgar legend should, however, be understood as an anti bula of Edessa, Canon LV, ed. A. Vööbus, Syriac and Arabic
Manichaean work from the end of the 3rd century without Documents Regarding Legislation Relative to Syrian Monas
any historical elements from earlier centuries; see my “Be ticism (Stockholm, 1960), 49.
ziehungen zwischen Christentum und Manichàismus im drit 26. On the gad Tyche see Götter und Mythen im Vor
ten Jahrhundert in Syrien” (forthcoming). deren Orient, ed. H. W. Haussig, Wörterbuch der Mytho
16. Liebeschuetz, ‘Epigraphic Evidence on the Chris logie I (Stuttgart, 1965), 438 f.; R. Dussaud, La pénétration
tianisation of Syria,” 485-507; on the role of monks see Liba des Arabes en Syrie avant l’Islam, (Paris, 1955), 110-12;
nius, Or. 30, Pro Ternpus, and Sozomen, Hist. eccl. 6, 34; D. Schiumberger, “Le prétendu dieu Gennéas,” Mélanges de
P. Canivet, Le rnonachisme syrien selon Théodoret de Cyr, l’Université Saint Joseph, 46(1970-71), 209-22; Teixidor, The
Thbologie historique, XLII (Paris, 1977), 205; W. H. C. Frend, Pantheon of Palmyra, 77 if.; on armed escorts see H. Seyrig,
“The Winning of the Countryside,” JEH, 18(1967), 1-14. “Les dieux armés et les Arabes en Syrie,” Syria, 47(1970),
17. A. H. M. Jones, “The Social Background of the 77-112; on the cult of the sun god: idem, “Le culte du Soleil
Struggle between Paganism and Christianity,” in The Con en Sync,” Syria, 48 (1971), 337-73; cf. Drijvers, Cults and
flict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Cen Beliefs at Edessa, 146 if.
tury, ed. A. Momigliano (Oxford, 1963), 30; Liebeschuetz, 27. J. B. Segal, “Mesopotamian Communities from Julian
Antioch, 225 if.; Festugiere, Antioche palenrie et chrétienne, to the Rise of Islam,” ProcBrAc, 41(1955), 116 if.; ci. The
141 if.; J.-Ch. Balty, “Julien et Apamée: Aspects de la restau Chronicle of Joshua the Sty lite, ed. IV. Wright (Cambridge,
ration de l’hellbnisme et de la politique antichrbtienne de 1882), chaps. xxxviii-xlvi on famine and plague at Edessa; see
l’empereur,” Dialogues d’histoire ancienne (1974), 267-304; in general Brown, The World of Late Antiqutiy, 12 if.
Libamus, Ep. 1351 on the cult of Zeus (Bbl) at Apamea. 28. W. Bauer, Rechtglbubigkeit und Ketzerei irn bltesten
18. Sozomen, Hist. ecci., VI, 1, 1; Theodoret, Hist. eccl., Christentum, Beitrage zur historischen Theologie X (Tflbin
III, 26, 2; ci. J. B. Segal, Edessa the “Blessed Cit” (Oxford, gen, 1934), 6-48; Drijvers, “Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im
1970), 111; G. W. Bowersock, Julian the Apostate (Cam ältesten syrischen Christentum,” OCA, 197 (1974), 291-310;
bridge, Mass., 1978), 92 on Julian’s Letter 115 to Edessa. idem, “Die Oden Salomos und die Polemik mit den Mar
19. Cf. Drijvers, Cults and Beliefs at Edessa, 40-75; The kioniten im syrischen Christentum,” OCA, 205 (1978), 39-55.
Cult of Nebo and Bel; The Doctrine of Addai, ed. G. Phillips 29. See Drijvers, Bardaisan of Edessa, passim; idem,
(London, 1876), 23 (trans.) = 24, LL, 15 f. (Syriac text); Zeus “Bardesanes,” Theologische Rca lenzyklopadie, V, 206-212
Bkl of Apamea is called Fortunae rector rnentisque rnagister, (with bibliography).
CIL, xii, 1277 IG, xiv, 2482 ILS, 4333. 30. Ephrem Syrus, Hymns contra Haereses, ed. E. Beck,
20. Ci. Drijvers, “Bardaisan of Edessa and the Hermetica: CSCO, CLXIX-CLXX (Louvain, 1957), Hymn 55, 1-10, esp.
The Aramaic Philosopher and the Philosophy of His Time,” strophe 1: “Something streamed down from the Father of Life
JaarberichtEx OrienteLux, 21(1969-70), 190-210; Thesaurus and the Mother became pregnant with the mystery of the Fish
Syriacus sr. nbw, col. 2268; Drijvers, Cults and Beliefs at and bore him, and he was called Son of Life”; ci. Drijvers,
Edessa, 74 1. - Bardaisan of Edessa, 144 if.; idem, Cults and Beliefs, 79 1.;
21. E. R. Hayes, L’école d’Edesse (Paris, 1930), passirn; ci. E. Beck, “Symbolum-Mysterium bei Aphraat und Eph
there was a strong unbroken philosophical tradition at ram,” OrChr, 42 (1958), 31, 39.
Edessa, of which the Letter of Mara bar Serapion to His Son, 31. These “orthodox” are to be linked with Palut, who
ed. W. Cureton, Spicilegiurn Syriacurn (London, 1855), 43- came from Antioch around the beginning of the 3rd century,
48, is an early exponent. Bardaisan (154-222) represents Greek and were called after him; Doctrina Addai, ed. Phillips, 50;
philosophy in Syriac disguise; cf. Drijvers, Bardaisan of Ephrem Syrus, Hymns Contra Haereses, 22, 5-6; ci. Bauer,
Edessa, Studia Semitica Neerlandica, VI (Assen, 1966), passirn, Rechtglkubigkeit, 25-27. The 42 Odes of Solomon and the
and A. Dihle, “Zur Schicksalslehre des Bardesanes,” Kerygrna Apocryphal Acts of Thomas originate in these circles which
und Logos, Festschrzft C. Andresen, ed. A. M. Ritter (Göttin share part of their religious imagery with their opponents;
gen, 1979), 123-35; Lucian the Martyr got his philosophical ci. Drijvers, “Odes of Solomon and Psalms of Mani: Chris
training at Edessa in the 3rd century with Macrinus. tians and Manichaeans in Third-Century Syria,” Festschrift
22. Cf. P. Brown, “Approaches to the Religious Crisis of G. Quispel (Leyden, 1981), forthcoming.
the Third Century A. D.,” Religion and Society in the Age of 32. Cf. Segal, “Mesopotamian Communities from Julian
Saint Augustine (London, 1972), 85 f.; F. Millar, “Paul of to the Rise of Islam,” 126; ci. Downey, Antioch, 558 f.; 563 f.;
Samosata, Zenobia and Aurelian: The Church, Local Culture Euagrius, Hist. eccl., 5, 18; John of Ephesos, 3, 26-34.
and Political Allegiance in Third-Century Syria,” JRS, 61 33. Jacob of Edessa, Hexaemeron, ed. J. B. Chabot, CSCO,
(1971), 2-5; Syriac and Greek in the East Syrian Regions and XCII and XCVII contains many examples of this learned
Mesopotamia: Drijvers, “Hatra, Palmyra und Edessa: Die tradition, which deserves further study.
Stádte der syrisch-mesopotamischen Wüste in politischer, 34. The Doctrine of Addai the Apostle, ed. and trans.
kulturgeschichtlicher und religionsgeschichtlicher Beleuch G. Phillips (London, 1876); R. Peppermdller, “Griechische
Papyrusfragmente der Doctrina Addai,” VChr, 25 (1971), vii (against astrology, the veneration of the Venus star, and
289-301; the central motives of the Abgar Legend were Mani); viii (against astrology); ix (against astrology and
borrowed from Manichaean tradition and hint at the strong lewdness in honor of Venus); xiii, 9; xviii, 9, 10, 11 (against
position that Manichaeism held at the end of the 3rd cen sorcery); xli (against polytheism and Marcion, Bardaisan, and
tury at Edessa; cf. Drijvers, “Beziehungen zwischen Christen Mani); 1, 5 (against pagan deities and Mani); it is noteworthy
tum und Manichäismus im dritten Jahrhundert in Syrien,” that the Doctrina Addai attacks paganism and has a strong
OCA (forthcoming). anti-Manichaean tendency.
35. Codex Theodosianus, ed. and trans. C. Pharr (New 42. A. Klugkist, “Pagane Bräuche in den Homilien des
York, 1952), 16, 10, 17 allows festa convivia; ci. G. Fowden, Isaak von Antiocheia gegen die Wahrsager,” OCA, 197 (1974),
“Bishops and Temples in the Eastern Roman Empire,” 53 if. 353-69; G. Bickell, S. Isaaci Antiocheni doctoris syrorun
36. The mention of the “sanctuary of the church of the opera ornnia, I (Gissae, 1873), Hom. XI and XII; on the
christians” in the Chronicon Edessenum, which was des literary and historical problems connected with the various
troyed by the flood of A.O. 201, clearly is a later interpolation; Isaacs see Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur,
ci. Bauer, Rechtglaubigkeit und Ketzerei, 18; Chronicon 63-66.
Edessenurn, ed. I. Guidi, CSCO, I-Il; Chronica Minora I 43. E. Peterson, “Die geheimen Praktiken eines synischen
(Louvain, 1903), 1-11; L. Hallier, 1.’ntersuchungen dber die Bischofs,” Frhhkirche, Judenturn und Gnosis (Freiburg,
Edessenische Chronik, Ti], IX, 1 (Leipzig, 1892); on Rabbula 1959), 333-45.
see G. G. Blum, Rabbula von Edessa: Der Christ, der Bischof, 44. P. Brown, “Sorcery, Demons, and the Rise of Chris
der Theologe, CSCO, Subsidia 34 (Louvain, 1969), 61-105; tianity from Late Antiquity into the Middle Ages,” Witch
ci. A. Baumstark, “Vorjustinianische kirchliche Bauten in craft, Confessions and Accusations, ed. M. Douglas (London,
Edessa,” OrChr, 4 (1904), 164-83. 1970), 17-45; from this viewpoint a study of the magic bowls
37. The Chronicle of Joshua the Stylite, ed. IV. Wright from the Mesopotamian area would be interesting; see C. D.
(Cambridge, 1882), xxx; ci. xxvii, xxxiii, xlvi; ci. Drijvers, Isbell, Corpus of the Aramaic Incantation Bowls (Missoula,
Cults and Beliefs, 43. Mont., 1975) for a survey of the extant material; also interest
38. Cf.U. Monneret de Villard, “La Fierà di Batnae e Ia ing is H. Gollancz, The Book of Protection: Syriac Charms
traslazione di S. Tomaso a Edessa,” RendLinc, 8, sen. 6 (1951), (London, 1912); see the bibliography in E. M. Yamauchi,
77 if. Mandaic Incantation Texts, American Oriental Series, ixl
39. Doctrina Addai, ed. Phillips, 33 1. (New Haven, 1967).
40. Bkl is the Fortunae rector (CIL, xiii, 1277), as is clear
45. For the spiritual power of the holy man see P. Brown,
from the ceilmg of the northern thalamos of Bkl’s temple at
“The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,”
Palmyra, which represents the god in the midst oi the planets
JRS, 51(1971), 80-101; Canivet, Le monachisme syrien scIon
and signs of the Zodiac; ci. Drijvers, The Religion of Pal-
Théodoret de Cyr, Théologie historique, XLII (Paris, 1977),
myra, p1. ii; P. Brykczyriski,” Astrologie w Palmyrze,” Studia
255 if. A striking example is Rabbula of Edessa, who in his
Palrnyreriskie, 6(1975), 52 if.
youth tried to destroy the temples at Baalbek; Blum, Rabbula
41. Ephrem Syrus, Hymns contra Haereses, ed. Beck, v,
von Edessa, 30-32.
14, 19; vi (against astrology and the doctrines of Bandaisan);
THE SEE OF PETER IN BABYLON:
WESTERN INFLUENCES ON THE ECCLESIOLOGY OF
EARLY PERSIAN CHRISTIANITY
STEPHEN GERO
HE fourth and fifth centuries are marked by the emergence of a patriarchal type of
T church structure in the Byzantine West. A detailed description of this organization
would be out of place here;’ rather, this paper is devoted to tracing its impact on the
development of the Persian church, on Christianity in the Sasanian empire—a reli
gious minority, Syriac in language and culture, drawing its adherents not only from
the native Aramaic-speaking population of Mesopotamia but also from Greek immi
grants as well as ethnic Iranians.2 The well-known involvement of the Persian church
in the theological controversies of the fifth century and its adherence to what was
eventually branded as a heretical “Nestorian” dyophysite Christology are not discussed
in any detail here. Rather, attention is directed to the influence exerted by Byzantine
envoys in defining the objectives of ecclesiastical reorganization and to the role played
by the leaders of the immigrant Greek element in the Persian church.
In the early fourth-century Papa, the first bishop of the Persian capital, Seleucia
Ctesiphon, with any historical profile, so to speak, attempted to impose his autocratic
rule on his episcopal colleagues.3 The concerted and successful opposition to Papa was
led by Miles, bishop of Susa, and Papa was deposed from office. It is claimed, to be sure,
that his position was later restored through letters of support from (unspecified) west
ern colleagues. The sources for the whole affair are late and in part suspect;4 the true
sequence of events is probably beyond recovery. Whatever the role of the so-called
western fathers was, Papa’s attempt failed and his episcopal successors in the fourth
century juridically cannot be regarded as the leaders of the entire Christian community
in the Sasanian empire. But was Papa in fact trying to emulate the growing authori
tarianism of his western counterparts? This explanation, though espoused by some
modern scholars,5 is found explicitly only in one source of very dubious value, the
so-called Chronicle of Arbela,6 which may in fact be a modern forgery.7 Rather one
could argue that Miles, who bore a prima facie Greco-Latin name,8 represented the
resistance of what one man can call the Greek party of the provinces. We do know that
(according to his Vita, in part admittedly legendary) Miles was consecrated by
Gadyahb, a bishop of Beth Lapat,9 a regular residence of the Sasanian emperors, which
thus had a claim to the dignity of the capital city. Beth Lapat also had a sizable Greek
Christian community, which could trace its origins back to third-century deportees
from Antioch.10 Miles, according to the same Vita, traveled extensively in the West
and established contacts in Egypt and Palestine.” At the very least Papa was not
solidly supported by the Greek diaspora, and one is tempted to dismiss as anach
ronistic and unusable the confused accounts of western intervention on Papa’s behalf
after his deposition.
46 STEPHEN GERO
When we come to the fifth century, the relevant documentation, in contrast to the
fourth, is relatively plentiful, ostensibly contemporary, and to a great extent (though,
as we shall see, not entirely) reliable. The bulk of the material is contained in a
collection of the acts and canons of the synods of the Persian church, christened by its
editor the Synodicon Orien tale;’2 the history of Christianity in Sasanian Iran, and in
particular any study of its institutional development, must be based on it. But a caveat
is in order: the conciliar documents were collected into a corpus in the late eighth
century, by the katholikos Timothy, and the possibility of revision and interpolation
must be kept in mind, especially when utilizing the earliest, supposedly fifth-century
material, which could later function as legal precedent. One instance of interpolation
has, in fact, been established recently: the Syriac version of the Nicene creed attributed
to the fathers of the council of 410 in the Synodicon is actually a replacement for an
older Syrian creed, still “Nicene” in intent to be sure, which has been preserved in
other canonical collections.’3
The Byzantine influence on this first general synod of the Persian church, held in
410, is very obvious indeed. The Byzantine imperial envoy, Marutha, later bishop of
Martyropolis,’4 brought a letter (in Greek) from Porphyry of Antioch and several other
bishops of the eastern part of the Byzantine empire.’5 (The list of Marutha’s patrons,
significantly, does not include the bishop of Constantinople.’6) Marutha collaborated
with the new katholikos Isaac, bishop of the capital, in the enterprise. The support of
the Persian ruler, Yazdegard I, was solicited and obtained; the bishops of the realm
were summoned to the capital at his express command, and the decisions of the synod,
just as in the West, obtained imperial sanction. A number of canons were promul
gated, expressly intended to align the Persian church with the doctrinal, liturgical, and
administrative norms of the West. In particular a variation of the Nicene crede,
previously alluded to,’7 was adopted. The policy-setting letter of the western bishops,
in addition to calling for uniformity of liturgical observance and general approval of
the canons of Nicaea, insisted first and foremost on the regularity of episcopal ordina
tions. Significantly (clearly with Persian conditions in view), it emphasized that in a
city there could be only one bishop, not two or three.’8 In a more general fashion the
council sanctioned and defined a hierarchical structure of bishops and metropolitans,
subject to the katholikos. The obedience due the katholikos was spelled out in fairly
precise terms, but really not going beyond what was already common practice in parts
of the West.’9 The familiar principle, to which the see of Constantinople owed its new
eminence, was explicitly affirmed: “The see should be honored according to the great
ness of the city.”2°
The rule of “one bishop per city” clashed directly with the vital interests of many
Persian churchmen; thus there is good evidence for the long existence in Beth Lapa of
at least two episcopal lines,2’ a situation that was now declared illegal. Furthermore,
there was apparently a competition for the metropolitan primacy in the province of
Unfor
Uuzistan (Beth uzaye) between Beth Lapa and neighboring Karka d-Ledan.
tunately the text of the canon, which explicitly deals with the situation in Beth Lapa,
is defective;22 it is clear, however, that one of the competitors was Agapita, judging by
his name of Greek origin and presumably the leader of the Greek faction. The “native”
ECCLESIOLOGY OF THE EARLY PERSIAN CHURCH 47
bishop of Beth Lapat (if one accept a very plausible emendation of the text) bore the
Iranian name of Yazdaidad.23 Whether there were at this time still other episcopal
claimants in Beth Lapat, and what the relationship of the two known rivals was to
competing factions in Karka and elsewhere, cannot be securely established.24 At any
rate the schismatic situation was not confined to this one geographical area.25
The elimination of multiple episcopal sees did not necessarily work to the advantage
of the “Greek” party; Agapita in particular is still subsumed in a group of competitors
whom the council of 410 would not recognize.26 Yet his name does appear in the final
subscription list, though without an indication of his see.27 The situation has signifi
cantly changed by the time of the next synod, in 420, held under the presidency of a
new katholikos, Yahbalaha, and another Byzantine ambassador, Acacius of Amida;28
the synod reaffirmed the decisions of 410 and further specified that the canons of a
number of lesser western councils, not only those of Nicaea, were also binding in the
East.29 At this synod Agapita already appears as the bishop of Beth Lapat,3° and no
allusion is made to his “Iranian” rival. The jurisdictional conflict with Karka has
apparently also been solved, with the new occupant3’ admitting the precedence of Beth
Lapat. The conclusion to be drawn is fairly clear: Agapita in exchange for his support
of the new order imported from Byzantium, and in particular for acknowledging the
primacy of the katholikos, has been recognized as the rightful occupant of his see. His
stance may well have guaranteed at least the acquiescence of the Greek party in the new
western-style hierarchical arrangement. The support of the Syriac-speaking Christians
of formerly Byzantine portions of Mesopotamia was also secured, as indicated in
particular by the presence of Hoec of Nisibis at the councils of both 410 and 420.32 But
to speak of a Syriac-Greek alliance against native Iranian Christianity would unduly
strain the evidence.
Neither of these councils has yet clarified the relationship of the katholikos, now the
acknowledged head of the church in the Iranian empire, to the leaders of the western
churches, specifically those with whose approbation Marutha was acting in 410. Mate
rial pertinent to this question can be found in the acts of the next Persian synod, that of
424.33One should first note that it took place under circumstances which differed from
those of the two preceding councils: it was not held in the capital but in a smaller
locality nearby; the Persian ruler was no longer Yazdegard but Bahrãm V. and, cru
cially, this time there was no Byzantine ecclesiastical envoy present as copresident of
the assembly along with the katholikos. The basic scenario of this council is the
spontaneous and total submission of the bishops of the Persian empire to the saintly
katholikos Dadio, who, through the machinations of rebels who refused to accept the
new dispensation, had been unjustly accused, persecuted, and imprisoned. Agapita at
this council, plays a dominant and decisive role, as the spokesman for the “ultramon
tane” party. Agapita argues that the bishops of the West, the “western fathers,” have
consistently supported, by their canonical letters, the cause of centralization and the
primacy of the katholikos from the very beginning; he cites in extenso an epistle
supposedly written by them, long before, on behalf of the autocratic Papa. Agapita’s
plea is seconded by Hoe of Nisibis, who exhorts all present to submit to Dadioc_as
they predictably do! Dadioc, however, is not overbearing in his moment of triumph,
48 STEPHEN GERO
but rather embraces and forgives, in a spirit of most admirable Christian charity, all
those who have submitted to him.
The juridical implications of this material must be extracted from the partly stylized
speeches and narratives; there are no canons proper. The “western” letter to Papa,
cited by Agapita, may well be a fifth-century pseudograph;34 at any rate, its legal
import does not go beyond the establishment of the monarchical position of the
katholikos as defined by the previous councils. Of much greater consequence is the
introduction of the argument of a specifically Petrine primacy. In one place its advo
cacy is attributed to Agapita: “The katholikos Mar Dadioc is for us Peter, the chief of
our ecclesiastical assembly.”35 It is also registered in the preamble to the acts of the
council: Dadio received from Christ “the same priestly dignity as Peter, the chief of
the apostles.”36 This represents more than oriental rhetoric; the Petrine language is
clearly tied to the proclamation of the independence of the katholikos and the rejection
of the notion of collegial patriarchal responsibility. After citing an earlier, supposedly
“western” ruling which still makes his peers a possible court of appeal against the
katholikos, the bishops of the council, ostensibly on their own initiative, proclaim the
katholikos exempt from all earthly tribunals, including that of his patriarchal col
leagues.37 In brief, the council of 424 is presented in the Synodicon as simultaneously
declaring the full autonomy of the Persian church and espousing an absolutist inter
pretation of the authority to be exercised by its head, couched in the language of
Petrine primacy.
It is very surprising to encounter such statements in the context of that which is
otherwise known about the theory and practice of church organization in the early fifth
century. But does this material in fact come from the fifth century or does it reflect in
part at least a later state of affairs? The possibility tha the records of the council of
Dadioc have been tampered with has already been recognized;38 in particular it has
been shown that the specific designation of the katholikos of the East as “patriarch” in
the acts of 424 is anachronistic and must be attributed to an interpolator of the sixth
century, or even later.39 What about the sudden emergence of the language of Petrine
supremacy in this eastern setting? It shows no obvious contact with Roman, papal
ideology, specifically with the early, anti-Byzantine papal concept of the triarchy, the
three ruling Petrine sees (Rome, Alexandria, Antioch);4° there is no evidence that it
reflects the appropriation of early ecclesiological thinking of Antioch, which, after all,
was traditionally an eastern Petrine see.4’ Significantly, the Petrine language disap
pears in the late fifth-century material in the Synodicon, leaving no trace where one
would have expected, in conciliar texts pertaining to the struggle of Barsauma of
Nisibis and his allies against the authority of the katholikos. In particular it is not
employed by the council of 497, which proclaimed “the honor and the primacy of this
apostolic see of the great church of Koke,”42 and affirmed the personal authority of the
katholikos Babai. As late as the council of 585 only the claim that the katholikos is a
fifth patriarch is made, a claim supported by a vague allusion to his possession of the
primacy of both Peter and Paul.43 The unambiguous assertion that the katholikos is
the successor of Peter does not emerge until the late eighth century, in the acts of the
council of Hnanio (775): “He who sits upon the throne of the catholicos [literally
‘catholic throne’] is Peter, because he obtained [i.e., inherited the dignity of] Peter.”44
Simply for lack of evidence, the exact stages of the growth of a Petririe ideology in
the East cannot be reconstructed in the period prior to the eighth century. But it is
highly probable that what we have isolated as aberrant ecclesiological features in the
acts of the council of Dadio can in fact be attributed to the collector and redactor of
the Synodicon, the katholikos Timothy I, a prolific writer and controversialist, an
energetic administrator and ecclesiastical politician.45 Timothy at one time identified
the katholikos as Peter tout court—in very medieval-sounding papal language he
describes the bishop who comes to pay his respects to the katholikos in order to be
confirmed in his office as kissing the foot of Peter!46 Elsewh’.re Timothy shows aware
ness of specifically Roman claims to precedence, in the context of the theory Of the
pentarchy. The Roman see, says Timothy, to be sure was founded by Peter, but the
position of Seleucia-Ctesiphon is even more exalted because of its intimate ties with
Peter’s Lord himself;47 this argument of course still makes the katholikos in a sense a
surrogate for Peter, the favored disciple. The details of Timothy’s exegetical and his
torical arguments and the precise circumstances that forced him to insist on a high
estimate of his office do not concern us now.48 It suffices to note that the Petrine
primacy was clearly an issue and a polemical weapon in the late eighth and early ninth
centuries in the East, in a way in which it was not in the fifth century. This makes
plausible the hypothesis that the ostensibly fifth-century Petrine references to the
katholikos are anachronistic, and in particular do not reflect the ecclesiology of Agap
ita and the Greek party in Persia. If one then accepts the hypothesis of extensive
redaction of the acts of 424 at the hands of Timothy, one can go even further. The very
declaration of total independence from the western patriarchs makes little sense in the
420s, whereas it very much does at a later date, in the sixth or the seventh century when
the doctrinal split over the Christological issue made such a step unavoidable. A
“splendid isolation” is even more congruent with circumstances of the eighth century,
with the entire East under Muslim domination and Byzantine rule in Mesopotamia
just a fading historical memory. Byzantine western influence was very important
indeed in the formative early decades of the fifth century for the church of the East, and
it did contribute to the permanent subordination of the episcopal body to the katholi
kos. But the image of the church of the East as the only navis ecclesiae with Peter
redivivus at the helm is emphatically not an early western import, but is rather a
reflection of the indigenous needs and concerns of a much later age.
Department of Religious Studies

Brown University
1. See, e.g., Andresen, Die Kirchen der alten Christenheit important than is commonly realized, and surely deserves
(Stuttgart, 1971), 372-78; K. Baus and E. Ewig, Handbuch der further investigation; see G. Wiessner, “Christlicher Heili
Kirchengeschichte, 11/1, Die Reichskirche nach Konstantin genkult im Umkreis eines sassanidischen Grosskonigs,” in
dem Grossen (Freiburg im Breisgau. 1973), 239-49. W. Eilers, ed., Festgabe deutscher Iran isten zur 2500. Jahr
2. The Iranian ethnic element may well have been more Jeier Irans (Stuttgart, 1971), 141-55, and the same author’s
50 STEPHEN GERO
‘Zur Auseinandersetzung zwischen Christentum und Zoro tha’s Persian mission (PG, LII, col. 618). Cf. E. Tisserant,
astrismus in Iran,” in XVII. Deutscher Orientalistentag, “Marouta de Maypherqat (saint),” DTC, X (1928), col. 144,
II (Wiesbaden, 1969), 411-17. But A. Mingana’s statement on Marutha’s relations with John.
that “the immense majority of the members of the Nestorian 17. See note 13 above.
church living East of the Tigris were of Persian, and not of 18. SO, 20, lines 8ff, (trans. 258).
Semitic or Aramaean birth and extraction” (The Early Spread 19. W. F. Macomber in an otherwise very valuable study
of Christianity in Central Asia and the Far East: A New (“The Authority of the Catholicos Patriarch of Seleucia
Document [Manchester, 1925], 6) is surely an exaggeration. Ctesiphon,” OCA, 181 [1968], 179 if.) gives an exaggerated
3. See J. Labourt, Le christianisme dans l’empire perse notion of the powers of the katholikos in the area of episcopal
sous la dynastie sassanide (224-632) (Paris, 1904), 18-28; J. M. ordination by taking as comparison only Roman practice
Fiey, Jalons pour une histoire de l’Eglise en Iraq, CSCO, (ibid., 189); the direct authority exercised by the bishop of
CCCX (Louvain, 1970), 72-75. Alexandria over the rest of Egypt, already at an early date,
4. The fourteenth homily of Aphrahat cannot, in particu would be analogous to that of the Persian katholikos. Cf.
lar, be with any assurance connected with these events, and its R. Vancourt, “Patriarcats,” DTC, XI, 2 (1932), cols. 2255,
authenticity is still sub judice; see J. M. Fiey, “Notule de 2265. The situation in Antioch was much less clearly defined
littérature syriaque. La Demonstration XIV d’Aprhaate,” Le (ibid., cols. 2258-2259).
Muséon, 81(1968), 449-54. 20. SO,32, line 22 (trans. 271),
5. Labourt, Le christianisme, 21; E. Sachau, “Zur Aus 21. Cf. P. Devos, “Notes d’hagiographie perse,” Anal-
breitung des Christentums in Asien,” AbhpreussAkad., Boll, 84 (1966), 232-35.
Philos.-hist.Kl., 1 (Berlin, 1919), 75. 22. Canon 21(SO, 32, lines 17ff. [trans. 271]).
6. A. Mingana, ed., Sources syriaques, I (Leipzig, 1908), 23. Yazdaidad’s signature appears just before Agapita’s in
45-46 (trans. 122-23). the final subscription list (50, 35, line 23).
7. J. M, Fiey, ‘Auteur et date de la Chronique d’Arb’eles,” 24. G. Wiessner identifies as members of Agapita’s “Greek”
OrSyr, 12 (1967), 265-302. Fiey in fact hints, with much party the bishops Miles and Bar Sabta, later known as
caution, that the forger (Mingana?) at this point actually may claimants of the sees of Suitere and Susa (“Zu den Sub
have depended on the work of Labourt (Jalons, 72 note 31). skriptionslisten der ältesten christlichen Synoden in Iran,” in
8. So G. Wiessner, ‘Zu den Subskriptionslisten (see Festschrift für Wilhelm Eilers [Wiesbaden, 1967], 292). Yaz
note 24 below), 293. But F. Justi, without giving an ety daidad’s adherents cAbdiloc and Zuqa, rival claimants to the
mology, regards the name as Persian (Iranische Namenbuch same two sees, judging by their names are members of the
[Marburg, 1895], 206). At any rate, against western origin non-Greek, Aramaic party (idem., 293). Wiessner deduces,
argues the fact that, apart from material of oriental Christian from this very slender evidence, an ethnic origin for the
provenance, the name Miles is not found in Greek sources. organizational conflicts of the early 5th century; he admits,
See W. Pape, Wörterbuch der griechischen Eigennamen, II however, that in the struggles of the period that follows
(Braunschweig, 1884), 925; s.v. MiAic. ethnic factors play no discernible role (idem., 294). But even
9. Martyrium s. Milis, ed. S. E. Assemani, Acta sanctorum the evidence from 410 is not secure; that Miles is a Greco
martyrium orientalium et occidentalium, I (Rome, 1748), 69, Latin name is not beyond dispute (see note 8 above) and Bar
line 4 from bottom. Against Miles’ “Greek” connection Sabata is just as Aramaic a name as (Abdiloc and Zuqa. The
argues the fact that it was this Syriac bishop, rather than schismatic bishops Mara and Sila, whose sees cannot be spe
Sabinus, his “Greek” colleague, who is mentioned here. See cified (SO, 32, line 26; 35, lines 27-28) are perhaps the
note 21 below. claimants to the see of Karka; both names are again Syriac.
10. P. Peeters, “S. Démbtrianus évéque d’Antioche?,” 25. The synod singled out the insubordination of Batai of
AnalBoll, 42 (1924), 288-314; M.-L. Chaumont, “Les Sassa Malmahig, an island in the Persian Gulf (50, 34, line 26). On
nides et Ia christianisation de l’Empire iranien au 111e siècle the locality, see E. Sachau, “Die Chronik von Arbela,” Abh
de notre ère,” RHR, 165 (1964), 174-76; Fiey, Jalons, 57, and preussAkad. Philos.-hist. Kl., 6 (Berlin, 1915), 25-27.
“L’EIam, Ia premiere des métropoles ecclésiastiques syriennes 26. SO, 34, lines 1ff. (trans. 272).
orientales,” Melto, 5 (1969), 229 if. (rpr., Communautés syri 27. SO, 35, line 24 (trans. 274).
aques en Iran et Irak des origines a 1552 [London, 1979]). 28. 50, 37, line 14 (trans. 276).
11. Assemani, Martyrium, 70, lines 22ff. 29. Acacius, one should note, was one of the episcopal
12. J. B. Chabot, Synodicon Orientale ou Receuil de patrons of Marutha in 410 (SO, 18, line 25 [trans. 255]); the
synodes nestorzens (Paris, 1902). Cited hereafter as SO. continuity in policy is thus not at all surprising, On the
13. A. de Halleux, “Le symbole des évéques perses au synod in general, see Labourt, Le christianisme, 100-103.
synode de Séleucie-Ctésiphon,” in G. Wiessner, ed., Er 30. SO, 42, line 13 (trans. 283).
kenntnisse und Meinungen, II (Wiesbaden, 1978), 161-90; 31. Saumai (SO, 42, line 15 [trans. 283]).
J. Gribomont, “Le symbole de foi de Sbleucie-Ctésiphon 32. 50, 35, line 19; 42, line 14 (trans. 274, 283).
(410),” tn R. H. Fischer, A Tribute to Arthur Vböbus (Chi 33. See Labourt, Le christianisme, 120-25.
cago, 1977), 283-94. For a reedition of the text of the creed, see 34. Ibid., 125 note 1; Macomber, “The Authority of the
A. Vööbus “New Sources for the Symbol in Early Syrian Catholicos,” 179 note 4.
Christianity,” VChr, 26 (1972), 291-96. 35. SO, 50, lines 1-2 (trans. 294).
14. See J.-M. Sauget, “MarUtã,” Bibliotheca sanctorum, 36. SO, 44, line 5 (trans. 286).
VIII (Rome, 1967), cols. 1305-1310, and J. Noret, “La vie 37. 50, 51, lines 24ff. (trans. 296).
grecque ancienne de S. MarOtS de Mayferqat,” AnalBoll, 91 38. See Macomber, “The Authority of the Catholicos,”
(1973), 77-103. J. M. Fiey pertinently notes that in the text of 183; G. Westphal, Untersuchungen über die Quellen und die
the Synodicon Orientale the name of his see is not yet men Glaubwürdigkeit der Patriarchenchroniken des Man ibn
tioned (“Martyropolis syriaque,” Le Muséon 89 [1976], 5). Sulazmdn, cAmr ibn Matai und SalTba ibn Johannan (Kirch
15. SO, 18, lines 23 if. (trans. 255). See Labourt, Le chris ham N.-L., 1901), 162.
tianisme, 92ff. 39. J. M. Fiey, “Les étapes de Ia prise de conscience de son
16. But from one of his letters written in exile, it is clear identité patriarcale par l’église syrienne orientale,” OrSyT, 12
that John Chrysostom knew about and encouraged Maru (1967), 14-18; Jalons, 76-80.
40. Vancourt, “Patriarcats,” col. 2269. ized as “companion of the blessed Mar Peter andcolleague of
41. See W. de Vries, “Der Kirchenbegriif der von Rom the celestial Paul” (ed. A. Scher, in P0, VII [1911], 85, line
getrennten Syrer,” OCA, 145 (1955), 9 if. The notion that the 14-86, line 1). De Vries once more, curiously, registers only
katholikos of the East inherited the prerogatives of the patri the Peter reference (“Kirchenbegriif,” 44).
arch of Antioch after this latter had fallen into (monophysite) 44. 50, 247, lines 5-7 (trans. 517).
heresy is a late and relatively sparsely attested view (see Fiey, 45. This is already intimated by Macomber (“The Author
Jalons, 81). It is now generally recognized that the Persian ity of the Catholicos,” 183), but not worked out in any detail.
church should not be regarded as being jurisdictionally sub 46. In a polemical work directed against Barsauma of
ordinated to Antioch (W. de Vries, “Antiochien und Seleucia Nisibis, cited in the 11th-century canonical compilation of
Ctesiphon. Patriarch und Katholikos?,” in Mélanges Eugane Ibn al-Tayyib (ed. W. Hoenerbach and 0. Spies, Fiqh an
Tisse rant, III, pt. 2 [Vatican City, 1964] 429-50). nasraniya, “Das Recht der Chnistenheit,” pt. 2 [CSCO,
42. SO, 64, lines 2-3 (trans. 313). CLXVII (Louvain, 1957]), 125, lines 8-9; trans. CSCO,
43. 50, 160, lines 15-16 (trans. 420). De Vries, somewhat CLXVIII [Louvain, 1957], 127).
misleadingly, cites only the first part of the characterization of 47. Letter 26, ed. 0. Braun, Timothei Patniarchae 1, Epis
the katholikos, which likens him to “Peter, the chief of the tulac, I (CSCO, LXXIV [Louvain, 1953]), 148 if.; trans.
twelve” (“Kirchenbegriif,” 43). In another text, a profession CSCO, LXXV (Louvain, 1953), 101. For a summary, seeR. J.
of faith required from the bishops of the East (which should Bidawid, Les lettres du patriarche nestorien Timothée I
not be dated, on account of its espousal of the Christological (Vatican, 1956), 27-28.
formula of two hypostases any earlier than the latter half of 48. Cf. Bidawid, Les lettres, 2-5.
the 6th century) the katholikos-patriarch is again character-
THEODORE BAR KONT’S SCHOLION: A NESTORIAN
SUMMA CONTRA GENTILES FROM THE
FIRST ABBASID CENTURY
SIDNEY GRIFFITH
THEODORE AND HIS SCHOLION
ESTERN SCHOLARS first became aware of Theodore bar KônI in the early
W eighteenth century when Joseph Simon Assemani published the Nestorian bio
bibliography of CAbd IÔc bar BerIkâ (d. 1318), the metropolitan of $ôbâ and Armenia.
CAbd however, had little to report about Theodore. His entire entry under Theo
dore’s name says: “Besides the book Scho lion, he also had an ecclesiastical history,
some doctrinal treatises, and some exhortatory homilies.” Nevertheless, the wording
of CAbd Iô’s report at least suggests that the Scholion was well known to the Nesto
nan scholars of the early fourteenth century. The first small portions of the book to be
published for western readers did not begin to appear until the late nineteenth century,
in the works of H. Pognon (1898), T. Nöldeke (1899), and, a bit later, M. A. Kegener
(1908) 2 It was not until 1912 that an edition of the entire Scholion was published in
the west by Addai Scher Ever since its publication, the book has attracted an en
thusiastic, if somewhat intermittent, share of attention from Syriac scholars
The purpose of this paper is to examine the general literary form of the Scho lion
and to highlight its role in the intellectual life of the Nestorian school community in
Iraq, at a time when this academic institution was coming face to face with the
challenges of the growing Muslim intellectual establishment. Accordingly, after a brief
discussion of Theodore’s biography and a general sketch of the Scho lion in light of the
studies of previous Bar KônI researchers, we shall turn our attention more closely to
the structure of the book’s contents, its stated purposes as a textbook, and the apolo
getic leitmotif that was its inspiration This very general discussion is warranted by the
fact that few previous studies have considered the book an integral piece of writing,
with a specific function to fulfill as a school manual Rather as we shall see,
Theodore’s Scho lion has been mined for its philosophical teachings, searched for
reports of the doctrines of various sects or heresies, and dismembered for the sake of
extracting its biblical commentaries, with a view to sketching a general profile of
Nestorian exegetical technique.
But no one has yet written a simple review of Theodore bar KônI’s famous book that
would allow us to understand its unity of purpose and its intended role as a manual of
54 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
instruction or even to discern the fairly simple scheme of its general composition. Here
I propose to provide the missing overall review of the Scho lion.
Theodore
We do not have enough information at our disposal for a proper biography of

Theodore bar KônI. We are not even sure how we should pronounce his name. Is he
Bar KônI or Bar Kônay? Each possibility has supporters.3 We know that he was a
teacher in the Nestorian school at Kakar in Iraq. This city was an episcopal see among
the so-called Persian Dioceses of Nestorian Bet Aramayê. Its location is virtually iden
tical with the Arab garrison city al-Wãsit, founded c. 702 by the Umayyad governor of
Iraq, midway between Kufah and Basrah.4 Anyone familiar with the history of the
growth of Muslim Arabic intellectual life during the first Abbasid century will
immediately appreciate the possibilities of Kakar’s geographical position. It was
ideally situated for the sort of exchange between Christians and Muslims that once led
the Muslim writer al-Cãhi (d. 869) to make the following remark about the many
questions with which the Christians of the time plagued the Muslim community:
“This community has not been so tried at the hands of the Jews, the Mafls, or the
Sabaeans, as it has been tried at the hands of the Christians. . . And due to the trial
.
every Muslim thinks that he is a dialectician [mutakallim] , and that there is no one
more entitled to argue with these deviants.”5
Kakar’s exegetical school had been founded toward the end of the sixth century,
when Grfgor of Kakar returned from his sojourn at the Nestorian school in Nisibis.6
Later, the influential biblical exegete Mar Abas II of Kakar (d. 741), who was trained
in the school at Seleucia-Ctesiphon, probably exerted a considerable influence over the
work done at the school in Kakar while he was bishop of the city, prior to his election
as Patriarch.7 The school at Kakar, therefore, can be considered to have been in the
mainstream of the transmission of the Nestorian exegetical tradition. Presumably,
Theodore taught at this school and there gained the experience that enabled him
eventually to compose his manual of instruction. As he was to put it, he intended his
manual for those “who are coming for the first time to a consideration of the reading of
the commentaries of the blessed interpreter.”8 Theodore of Mopsuestia was the
“blessed interpreter” for the Nestorians and his works were the statutory texts of
instruction in the Nestorian school system.9
There is some controversy about when Theodore bar KônI lived and taught at the
school in Kakar. For reasons that I have discussed in some detail elsewhere,’° we
should accept as true the testimony of the only documentary evidence we have for his
lifetime. A scribe’s note at the end of the first edition of the Scho lion says: “With the
help of our Lord, this book called Scholiori, which is full of many ideas, and which
was composed by Mar Theodore, the teacher from Kakar, was completed in the year
1103 of Alexander.”1 The year 1103 of Alexander corresponds to the year 792 in the
Gregorian calendar. As we shall see, this date, which is almost in the middle of the first
Abbasid century of the Muslims, is ideal for the book’s appearance, in view of the
concerns I shall argue were the occasion of its composition.
THEODORE BAR KONtS SCHOLION 55
No known copies of Theodore bar KônI’s ecclesiastical history, selected doctrinal
treatises, or exhortatory homilies have come down to us. We have only the report of
CAbd Iô bar BerIkâ as evidence of their existence. Because Theodore’s biographical
data are so meager and our knowledge of his bibliography is virtually restricted to the
Scho lion, we must turn our attention to this monumental compilation to learn some
thing more about him.
The Scholion
The Scho lion has come down to us in some dozen manuscripts. There are two
discernible text families among them. For the sake of convenience, these families are
named after the places with which the most characteristic manuscripts of each group
are associated: Séert, for the family represented by Scher’s edition of the Scho lion, and
Urmia, for the other family. The most accessible of the latter group is a manuscript of
the complete book from Urmia, which was recopied in 1911. The modern copy is kept
in Berlin’s Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz (Berlin or. Quart. 1 143).12 The
differences between the two manuscript families are considerable from a textual point
of view. By comparison with Séert family manuscripts, which are the earliest dated
texts, the Urmia manuscripts have many expansions of material and some differences
in textual arrangement, as well as a large number of stylistic and other grammatical
improvements. Scher’s failure to take the Urmia manuscripts into account for his
edition of the Scho lion significantly hampers the modern researcher’s attempts to use
Theodore bar KônI’s text in his efforts to trace the history of the exegetical traditions of
the Nestorian school system.’3 However, the substantial agreement of the two manu
script families in terms of the book’s overall subject matter, major divisions, and
general expository style justifies our use of Scher’s convenient and accessible edition of
the Scho lion here, for our general review of its contents. We shall refer to the Berlin
manuscript, as representative of the Urmia family, only if a reading to be found there is
necessary for the clarification of the issue at hand.
In its present form, the Scho lion consists of eleven chapters or treatises (mêmré). On
the face of it, the first nine contain questions and answers about passages in the Old
and New Testaments. In the first five chapters, comprising the first volume of Scher’s
two-volume edition, Theodore divides his material according to the basic division of
the books of the Old Tesament as they appear in the Hebrew Bible: i.e., the Torah,
former Prophets (but including Chronicles), the latter Prophets, and the Writings.
Thus, the first chapter ostensibly answers questions prompted by the initial passages
in the first book of the Torah. The second chapter covers the period from the sixth day
of creation to the time of Abraham. The third stretches from the story of Abraham’s
trial to Moses and beyond, including questions about persons and events recounted in
the books of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles. The fourth chapter
discusses the latter Prophets, but in the order Isaiah, the Twelve, Ezekiel, Jeremiah.
The fifth chapter covers the Vritings in the following order: Proverbs, Ben Sirach,
Qoheleth, Job, Daniel, Psalms, Ruth, Judith, Esther.’4 For the most part, the Urmia
family of manuscripts follows this same arrangement, with the exception that in these
56 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
manuscripts a fuller discussion of the book of Job appears in chapter three and not in
chapter five as in the Séert manuscripts used by
Similarly, on the face of it, questions prompted by passages in the New Testament
are the subject matter of chapters six through nine of the Scho lion. In Scher’s edition,
chapter six is devoted to the clarification of a number of philosophical and theological
terms. Chapters seven and eight discuss passages from the Gospels and the Acts of the
Apostles. In chapter nine, there is a discussion of a number of Christological and
historical issues, as well as questions about some obscure passages in the Epistles. At
one point in the history of its growth the Scho lion ended at chapter nine, with a
question about how the Antichrist would perish.’6 Subsequently, a brief attack against
heretics was appended to the chapter.’7 And eventually Theodore included chapter
ten, which is an apology for Christiantiy against the Muslims,18 and chapter eleven,
which is a description, as Bar KônI says, “of all the heresies from before Christ and
after Christ.”9
The arrangement of the discussion of questions relating to passages from the New
Testament is somewhat different in the Urmia family of manuscripts. Questions relat
ing to the synoptic Gospels, the Gospel of John, and the Acts of the Apostles appear in
chapters six and seven. The Pauline Epistles are the subject matter of chapter eight.
And the discussion of philosophical and theological terms that is the content of chap
ter six, as well as a portion of the contents of chapter nine in the Séert family of
manuscripts, is restricted to chapter nine in the Urmia family.20 So far, then, from a
simple review of its table of contents and the observation that its chapters follow the
order of the books of the Bible, one might conclude that the Scho lion is simply a
scripture commentary with two appendices dealing, respectively, with the Muslims
and other heretics and sectarians. As we shall see, however, this first impression is
considerably misleading. The Scho lion includes a substantial amount of biblical
commentary, to be sure. But it also provides much more in the way of a coherent
introduction to the whole Nestorian intellectual tradition.
Since its appearance in Scher’s edition, and even earlier, the Scho lion has attracted a
good deal of modern scholarly attention. However, we often still find it described
merely as a book of scholia that contains a commentary on the Old and New Testa
ments in the form of questions and answers.2’ Such a description is true as far as it
goes. The organizing principle of the book’s composition, as summarily presented
here, certainly supports such a description. And most of the recent scholars who have
devoted their attention to the book have in fact been using its text in an effort to trace
the growth and development of the Nestorian exegetical tradition which is generally
transmitted in the question and answer format. But they have considered only those
portions of the book that concern their immediate purposes. So, for example,
T. Jansma considers only material dealing with the book of Genesis.22 Ernest Clarke
compares Bar Kôni’s commentaries on selected questions on the Pentateuch with those
of Ishö bar Nun, whose manuscript he is editing.23 Lutz Brade, whose introduction
contains the most comprehensive discussion of the manuscripts of the Scho lion avail
able to date, is, nevertheless, concerned primarily with Theodore’s commentaries on
passages from the Pauline epistles.24 G. J. Reinink is interested in the relationship
THEODORE BAR KON’S SCHOLION 57
between the Gospel commentaries in the Gannat Bussãmê and passages found in
Theodore’s Scholion.25 Finally, for the sake of completeness, we should mention that
David Bundy is at work comparing the Isaiah commentaries of Theodore bar KônI
with those of Jacob of Edessa, Ishöcdad of Merv, Barhebraeus, and Dionysius bar
$alfbL26 It is no wonder then that the Scho lion is often considered to be simply a
biblical commentary to which a jumble of extraneous material has been joined.27
But the case could just as strongly be made that the Scholion is as much a philo
sophical or cosmological treatise as it is a biblical commentary. Approximately one-
third of its contents, excluding chapters ten and eleven, is devoted not to explaining
biblical passages but to elucidating important technical terms in the parlance of the
ecclesiastical philosophy that supported the Nestorian theological enterprise. To the
best of my knowledge only Giuseppe Furlani has pointed out this important feature of
the Scho lion.28 He promised a comprehensive study of the philosophical principles to
be found there but, like the biblical scholars before him, he opted for the piecemeal
approach. Furlani went through the book to choose only the evidently philosophical
passages for translation into Italian, with a view to providing the texts for the missing
half of his overview. He said: “In the second part of the article, I shall speak of
the position in the economy of the whole Book of Scholia that the questions concern
ing philosophy occupy.”29 Unfortunately, Furlani never published the promised
second article.
When chapters ten and eleven are considered with the philosophical passages, it is
clear that questions and answers about scriptural texts comprise only about half the
total contents of the Scholion. Thus, we must revise our overall view of Theodore bar
KônI’s important book. It is to this task that we now turn. But first we should quickly
note that neither the biblical commentaries nor the philosophical passages were of
primary interest to the first generation of western scholars reading Bar KônI’s
Scholion. They were principally concerned with chapter eleven and its list of heresies.
That chapter includes accounts of the usual Christian sects, as well as paragraphs
concerning the ancient Greek philosophers and religious thinkers and discussions of
non-Christian religions such as Zoroastrianism.3° All the more reason then that we
should attempt to see how all of these concerns would fit into the author’s own
comprehensive view of his book.
LITERARY CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF THE SCHOLION
The Literary Genre
Western scholars have been unanimous in calling Theodore bar KônI’s school man
ual his Book of Scholia. Perhaps in part they have taken their cue from Bar BerIkâ,
who identified it as Theodore’s ketãbâ de’skôlryon, an expression that we also find in
the scribe’s title paragraph in all but one of the manuscripts of the complete
Scholivn.3’ One suspects that this designation of Theodore’s book puts most readers in
mind of a book of biblical interpretations in the literary form of scholia. As we have
58 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
learned from St. Jerome, biblical scholia are summary discussions of difficult or ob
scure passages in the scriptures. In this sense, Jerome says, scholia are to be distin
guished from biblical homilies or commentaries.32 And, so conceived, the name that
scholars use for Theodore’s work is not false but it is misleading. Theodore himself
called his book by the simple title Scho lion, for reasons that he explained in his
introduction. It is perhaps small-minded to insist that we follow Bar KônI’s preferen
ces in this matter of the book’s name. But to do so will enable us to recall the fact that
the term “scholion” is a Greek loan word in Syriac. It carried with it many of the
nuances of its meaning in Greek ecclesiastical idiom, along with connotations that
derive from Greek literary and academic circles. But the fact remains that Theodore
uses the word in Syriac as the name for his book in a way that it would never occur to a
Greek writer of the time to employ it. I suggest that by following Theodore’s own
explanations for the term “scholion,” we shall gain a more exact idea of his book’s
purposes than if we persist in thinking that we know what he intended because we
know what the word generally means in Greek.
In his introduction, Theodore bar Kôni says this about his book’s name: “We have
not named the book Scho lion for no reason. But first, that by means of its title we may
distinguish it from other books of ‘Questions.’ And second, because it carries the
understanding and the meaning of all the other books, and is useful for everyone.”33
Reflections on each of the reasons Bar KônI gives for the book’s name should afford us
the opportunity to perceive his general purposes in composing it.
He says that he calls his book Scho lion so that it may be distinguished from other
books of “Questions.” His point becomes clear when we recall the fact that books of
“Questions” (u’ãlê), so named, were the standard works which the commentators of
the Nestorian tradition composed to transmit their views on selected biblical passages.34
Theodore therefore is purposefully calling his book by another name, even though as
we shall see and as he himself admits, he presents its contents in the standard question
and answer format. The name alone is intended to distinguish Theodore’s book, for
the use of the transliterated Greek word “eskôliyôn” is rare in Syriac. Far more
common is the term “piaqê” (i.e., explanations, interpretations ) to designate what
would be described as scholia in Greek usage. And so, by reason of its infrequency,
Theodore’s very choice of the word scholion as the title of his book readily distin
guishes it from other Syriac books of questions. And the connotations of the word
suggest something distinctive in the content of the book as well, in comparison with
other exegetical works.
We know, of course, that in Greek ecclesiastical usage biblical scholia are summary
discussions of difficult or obscure passages in the scriptures.35 Theodore bar KônI
clearly intends to provide many such scholia in his Scholion. He declares at one point
in his introduction that his book is a “collection, all in one book, of the obscure
sayings that are inscribed broadcast in the whole cycle of the holy scriptures, and the
opinions of the fathers.”36 The last phrase reminds us that more than biblical passages
are to be involved. Scholia are not only notes on Bible verses. In Greek ecclesiastical
usage, they may also be notes on a particular teacher’s views on the interpretation of
texts of other subjects which his followers have gathered together. Such scholia may
even be presented as “according to the saying” (àitO (po.vf’jç) of such and such a
teacher.37 In fact, Theodore bar KônI says at one point that a purpose of his book is to
serve the needs of those who are “coming for the first time to a consideration of the
reading of the commentaries of the blessed interpreter.”38 Accordingly, we are not
surprised to find often in the Scho lion the author’s statement that he is reporting the
view of Theodore of Mopsuestia. He often remarks that his answer to a particular
question is “according to the statement of the blessed interpreter.”39 Indeed, Lutz
Brade has shown that in his comments on passages from the Pauline epistles, Bar
KônI often quotes Theodore of Mopsuestia almost verbatim.40 He also names other
Christian scholars whose thoughts found a place in the developing Nestorian exegeti
cal tradition in his day. In addition to those one would expect in this tradition, such as
Ephraem, Diodore, and Theodoretus, he mentions Origen and the Cappadocians
Gregory Nazianzenus and Basil, along with John Chrysostom and even Pseudo
Dionysius the Areopagite. Bar KônI’s reliance on the works of these earlier thinkers
will be discussed later; here our sole purpose is to underscore the fact that Theodore
intends his Scho lion to be a sort of compilation (künãâ) of all that is best and most
useful in the works of the major teachers in his tradition. He emphasizes this point in
his introduction: “The statements that are in this book are not our own. . It is rather
. .
the exposition of the questions and inquiries that are commented on by the fathers..
And even these predecessors have learned from the ones who preceded them. However,
it is not our intention to gather into this book all the ‘Questions’ in the world, but only
what is available in writing.”4’
So far Bar KônI’s stated intentions in regard to his Scholion contain no surprises
when we consider what the book’s Greek name suggests in regard to the subject matter
we should expect to find in it. The same is true of its intended Sitz im Leben. Greek
etymology and Syriac usage suggest the schoolroom. Bar Bahlãl, the tenth-century
Nestorian lexicographer, reports that “eskôlryôn” means the elucidation (nñhãrâ),
i.e., the explanatory commentary that constitutes the exercise of instruction in school
(bet dürãâ).42 We may say, then, that Theodore bar KônI’s use of the singular title
Scho lion also connotes the academic setting in which it is to be employed as a com
pendium or manual of what may be found scattered in many books. It is a single,
comprehensive scholion to the whole Bible. In his introduction, Theodore speaks of
this comprehensive aspect of his work’s purpose:
We offer it not only as a fittingly handy convenience for one who is a seeker after
the truth. But also that we might save the weak and the needy, such as ourselves,
from labor and from running about in many books. For all the books are not
everywhere available to us. And even when they are available, it is not easy for us
to investigate and to search out where there is set down in the books the desidera
tum which one has in mind. But this book clearly puts before both auditors and
students the standard of good thoughts.”43
The literary genre of the Scholion is, to be sure, the “Question and Answer” format
that had become traditional in Nestorian exegetical circles. The only difference is that
60 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
this conventional genre of writing is here put to the comprehensive purpose en
visioned by the compiler of an introductory textbook in Nestorian theology.
Structure and Content
Anyone who thinks of the Scho lion as merely a book of biblical scholia runs the risk
of obscuring the conceptual unity of the book’s structure and content. The conse
quence of this narrow view is that chapters ten and eleven, for example, are considered
to be extraneous to the book’s main purpose. And so too, on this hypothesis, the many
“philosophical” passages seem extraneous, even though they take up so much space in
the first nine chapters. A closer look at the intellectual synthesis Theodore intends to
provide should clarify the basic unity of the Scho lion.
The earlier account of the Scholion’s eleven chapters indicates that its major struc
turing principle is the sequence of the books of the Old and New Testaments.
Theodore himself refers to this scheme when he makes the following remark at the end
of his introduction: “We shall move along with the scriptures chronologically, begin
ning with the first book of the Torah, to see the grace and mercy of God in behalf of his
creatures. Accompanying us will be the power that spoke by means of the holy ones at
the beginning, and who has interpreted their books at the end.”44
The last sentence of this quotation emphasizes the fact that the basis of the
Scholion’s textual arrangement is more than a simple chronological principle for the
exposition of the traditional Nestorian biblical commentary. An important theologi
cal premise is involved, according to which the whole cycle of the scriptures is to be
interpreted. It is the principle that Theodore states more clearly in the tenth chap
ter: “The purpose of God’s economy in the Old Testament is completely directed to
the economy of the New Testament.”45 And, more specifically, he spells out what this
means when he speaks of the reason for which God gave the Law to the Jews: “The
election of Abraham, the giving of the Law, the revelations to the prophets, the care for
the nation, and other things which it is not necessary for us to repeat, were for no other
sake than the manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ who was from among them.”46
In these passages, Theodore bar KônI states explicitly the Christian hermeneutical
principle that informs his reading of every biblical passage. It is the principle of
typological exegesis according to which a word or event presented in the Old Testa
ment is to be considered a type (tupesâ, t(itoç) or an image (salmâ, F.’ticov) or a figure
(r1emâ) or even an allegory (pele’tâ), drawn from the model of Christ’s role in the
economy of salvation as reported in the New Testament. Consequently, on the basis
of this principle, the true meaning of any Old Testament passage containing such a
type may be discerned only by reference to the appropriate model or antitype in the
New Testament.
The operation of this hermeneutical principle has important consequences for our
discernment of the structure and contents of the Scho lion. While Theodore does not
discuss the principle very explicitly in his first nine chapters, it is clear that its
influence determines both the gist of the traditional Nestorian interpretations he
transmits and the passages from the scriptures he chooses for commentary. Moreover,
as we have seen, the operation of this typological principle of interpretation requires
an intellectual background or horizon within which it may function with credibility.
Hence the Scholion is not limited to “Questions” dealing with biblical passages. At
least a third of the contents of the first nine chapters is concerned solely with present
ing a sort of popularized cosmology, psychology, anthropology, and metaphysics that
the scholars of earlier Greek Christianity, including Theodore of Mopsuestia, had
constructed in dialogue with their Neoplatonic masters and predecessors.
The use of the principle of typological interpretation required a carefully knit
philosophical and theological foundation because the Christian thinkers of Theodore
bar KônI’s time argue that doctrines such as the Trinity and the Incarnation are New
Testament teachings. They taught that these doctrines were the models from which
many of the types and images in the Old Testament were drawn. But the doctrines
themselves, in the philosophical terms in which they were expressed, could be
explained only in view of the essentially Neoplatonic world-view which earlier
thinkers had elaborated in defending Christian beliefs against attack by pagan intellec
tuals, as well as against those whom the teachers in the official church organizations
viewed as heretics or apostates. Apologetics, therefore, was a double-sided enterprise in
this context. On the one hand, the unity of the two testaments had to be defended. On
the other hand, this unity could be explained only on the basis of the comprehensive
philosophical scheme that earlier apologists had elaborated.
It is only with chapter ten of the Scho lion, an apology for Christianity in the face of
Muslim challenges, that Theodore turns his attention explicitly to the hermeneutical
principle that had dictated his choice of questions and answers throughout the work
and that required him to make explicit his intellectual horizons. In the new introduc
tion, he explains that this chapter is an integral part of his book, according to the
aims and purposes he had enunciated earlier. Furthermore, he says that here he will
retain his customary “Question and Answer” format, even though, by way of innova
tion, he is introducing a student and his master as the formal dramatis personae of the
new catechesis. The student takes the part of the “pagans” (i.e., the hanpè, or Muslims)
and the master, the Christians. The subject matter of the new chapter, Theodore
explains, is an “obscure idea”47 that he had not yet explicitly discussed in the book but
one he says is adequately stated in the new chapter’s title: “A refutation and
confutation, composed in simple language, a disputation in question and answer,
against those who, while professing to accept the Old Testament and acknowledging
the coming of Christ our Lord, are far removed from both of them; and who demand
from us an apology for our faith, not from all of the scriptures, but from those which
they acknowledge.”48
The new topic is in fact the fundamental hermeneutical principle of typological
exegesis. Theodore explains that it is the Muslims’ failure to grasp this principle that
prevents them from understanding the credibility of Christian teachings. He then
proceeds to discuss the standard topics of Muslim—Christian controversy, as I have
shown elsewhere, arguing that the proper method of exegesis of the Old Testament
justifies the Christian interpretation of its prophetic meaning.49 He explicitly discusses
what has been the hidden or, rather, the presumed agenda of the first nine chapters of
62 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
the Scholion. The tenth chapter, then, is not an appendix to his book. It is a
recapitulation and a clearer presentation of the main focus of his thought. Controversy
with Muslims evokes this chapter’s explicit discussion of such a basic principle: the
Muslim presence calls for a clear intellectual statement of Christianity’s most basic
claims and so may be considered one of the original impulses that inspired the
compilation of the Scho lion.
Chapter eleven, on the other hand, is clearly an appendix to the Scho lion, as
Theodore bar KônI explains in his special introduction to this new addition to his
book. He states that he will include a summary of each heresy here. But since many
teachers (malpãnè) have already compiled books of heresies in which each is refuted,
he does not propose to repeat the task in the Scho lion. Instead, he merely intends to
make it easier for anyone who wants to learn when a given heresy appeared or who
instigated it. The closing chapter of the Scho lion is a practical convenience, written to
save the inquirer the work of groping about in the books of the fathers, to borrow
Theodore’s language. As for the orthodox ideas that would correct the errors of the
heresies, Theodore informs the reader that they are scattered throughout the main body
of his book.5°
A closer look at the contents of the Scho lion reveals Theodore’s orderly method of
exposition. His very organization of subject matter serves to accent his synthetic and
comprehensive purposes.
The Scholion’s five chapters on the Old Testament begin with more than one
hundred questions concerning cosmology and theodicy. Theodore put them into
chapter one of his book, ostensibly as a commentary on the biblical description of the
first five days of creation. Actually, these questions and answers propose a unified,
popular cosmology that underpins a systematic intellectual defense of Christian
beliefs. The idea of proposing such a schematic world-view in connection with the
scriptural accounts of creation was not new with Theodore bar KônI. Basil of Caesarea,
to mention only the first of the Cappadocians who addressed these issues, did the same
thing in his Hexaerneron.5’ Bar KônI makes explicit references to Basil’s views a
number of times, usually to disagree wth them in favor of the views of Theodore of
Mopsuestia. Bar KônI also cites the authorities to those works he often refers through
out the Scho lion: Aristotle, the Platonists, the physicians, Origen, Dionysius, Gregory
Nazianzenus, and Mar Ephraem. Sometimes he accepts their positions; sometimes he
rejects them, especially when they conflict with the doctrines of the “blessed interpre
ter.” In either case, it is clear that he constructs his synthesis in dialogue with the
currently respected Christian, and even pagan, scholars whose ideas colored the out
look of his contemporaries.
The biblical account of the sixth day of creation offers Theodore the opportunity to
develop his anthropology in the first eighty some questions of the second chapter of the
Scho lion. It is, to be sure, a theological anthropology, much concerned with human
sin and the need for redemption; and it is clearly written in view of the Christian
notion of the divine economy of salvation. But, here too, Bar KônI is eager to present a
coherent, theoretical anthropology that takes into account the insights of the fathers
and the philosophers and rejects the opinions of those whom he considers to be
THEODORE BAR KONrS SCHOLION 63
heretics. It is only when he has set out these basic ideas that he turns his attention to
questions about the biblical narratives as such.
From midway through the second chapter to midway through the third chapter,
Theodore offers a selection of questions about events described in the Torah. Not
surprisingly for a follower of Theodore of Mopsuestia, Bar KônI’s interests are histori
cal rather than completely theoretical. He is concerned with explicating those things
that play a prominent role in salvation history or that, on the face of the matter, may
seem to be puzzling, or even contradictory, as they are described in scripture. And at the
end of his relatively short list of just over one hundred questions about such subjects in
the Torah, he closes his discussion with an omnibus section to which he gives a
heading reminding us that we are dealing with a master’s manual for the instruction of
his disciples: “Explain to me,” the heading commands, “the difficult words that are in
this book of the Torah.”52 Several pages of brief interpretations of difficult words and
phrases from Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers follow. Such a section comes at
the end of Theodore’s discussion of each book or group of books in the Old Testament.
Sometimes the command is to explain (paeq) these words and sometimes it is to
elucidate (nahhar) them. The words (emãhè) themselves are described as either diffi
cult (casqe) or obscure (ammôtê). These vocabulary choices, of course, all belong to the
Wortfeld of the genre of literary scholia. Therefore, we are not surprised to find them
so regularly chosen in Theodore bar KônI’s all-inclusive scholion to the whole Bible.
Theodore proceeds in this same basic fashion from the middle of the third chapter to
almost the end of the fifth. He proposes a few selected questions about passages
appearing in the biblical books and very summarily discusses the difficult or obscure
words and phrases that occur in each book. It is clear that Theodore’s choice of
questions for discussion is conditioned by the relevance of each issue to what he views
as the all-governing divine economy of salvation. Occasionally, his choices are
obviously dictated by a desire to correct what he considers to be the erroneous
interpretations of the allegorizers.
At the end of the fifth chapter, Theodore brings his discussion of the Old Testament
to a close. His final remarks have to do with what he calls Jewish heresies: questions
about how many groups of Jews there are. At this point, he firmly rejects the allegori
cal method of scriptural interpretation in favor of the historical method, claiming that
Origen was the inventor of the allegorical ruse. The allegorical method, he says,
ultimately derives from the usage of the Greek wise men who had become embarrassed
by the stories of their gods and proceeded to turn them around and interpret
them allegorically.
The New Testament is the subject matter of the Scholion’s chapters six to nine. Here
too, in the Seen manuscripts, the discussion begins in chapter six with a long list of
questions that have nothing directly to do with biblical exegesis.53 Rather, Greek logic
and the proper definition and deployment of technical terms are the focal topics,
geared to the requirements of Trinitarian theory and to the usages of the Nestorian
doctrine of the Incarnation. In his special introduction to this New Testament section
of his book, Theodore explains that first of all “we shall set down these few ideas that
are suitable to the scripture’s meaning, and to the discipline of logic. . .If we have
.
64 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
intertwined what pertains to nature with what pertains to the scriptures. . we should
.
not be blamed. We have only dared to do it so that the profit might be doubled.”54
Chapters seven and eight are devoted to questions about passages in the four Gospels
and the Acts of the Apostles. These chapters are mostly of a factual nature, concentrat
ing on apparent contradictions in the narrative and highlighting the proof texts for
the several Christian doctrines that Theodore is concerned to defend. A striking feature
in these chapters is Theodore’s concern to explicate the parables of Jesus. For the rest,
he is content to plot the position of each person and event on the general map of the
divine economy of salvation. Hence there are many questions of this sort: “What is the
reason for the coming of the Magi?” and “Why did our Lord put forty days between his
resurrection and his ascension?” Once again he includes the explanation and elucida
tion of difficult or obscure words and phrases that were a prominent feature of his
treatment of the Old Testament.
Finally, in his ninth chapter, Theodore turns to the epistles of St. Paul, including
the epistle to the Hebrews. He ignores, of course, the catholic epistles and the book of
Revelations, which did not appear in the Peshitta, the text which he follows faithfully
throughout his Scho lion. His elucidations of passages from the Pauline epistles follow
closely the teachings of Theodore of Mopsuestia, as Lutz Brade has shown in some
detail.55 The novel feature of the ninth chapter is its introduction. Theodore opens the
chapter with several pages of discussion about Christian liturgical practices and sym
bols and various grades of ecclesiastical functionaries. Then he quickly turns his
attention to several difficulties involving the Nestorian Christological formulas,
including this one: “Why, since the blessed interpreter and the fathers before him used
the expression ‘one qenoma in Christ,’ do we now reject jt?”56 The answer, of course,
is that Cyril and the Chalcedonians misconstrued the meaning of the formula and
turned it to their own purposes. Accordingly, the Nestorians abandoned any talk of
“hypostatic” unity, Theodore explains, and adopted the notion of one person
(parôpâ) in Christ.
This general overview of the Scholion’s contents and their arrangement in the book
reveals several striking aspects. The first is that the division of the book into mêmrê is
virtually without significance. In the exegetical parts of the Scho lion particularly
there seems to be nothing more significant about the divisions than the amount of
material to be included in each chapter. Second, one is struck by the summary manner
in which Theodore deals with most of the biblical books—except those books and
passages of books that figure prominently in the doctrinal synthesis he is proposing
and which offer him the opportunity to present the long discussions of popular eccle
siastical philosophy that comprise almost a third of his book’s text. Moreover, the
cosmology, anthropology, logic, and ecclesiastical legitimation that Theodore has to
offer here is of a system; itis recognizably the apologetic system, first elaborated by the
Cappadocians in dialogue with other so-called Neoplatonic intellectuals, that is the
real backbone and outline of the Scholion. This apologetic schema is the closed intel
lectual phalanx with which Theodore and the other Christian intellectuals in his time
and place intended to face the challenges of Islam.
Chapters ten and eleven of the Scho lion are not the only portions of the work that
THEODORE BAR KONI’S SCHOLION 65
are additions to an earlier text. At some point in the growth of the book, an additional
section was added to chapter nine, in the form of a summary refutation (‘ãriYitâ) of
heretics, followed in some manuscripts by an elucidation of the Arian Christological
formula.57 It is just prior to these additions to the chapter that a colophon appears in
some manuscripts, proclaiming the Scho lion to be at an end.58 An interesting aspect of
the added, summary refutation of heretics is that it concerns Christ’s incarnation,
passion, and death. Theodore says that he is including this refutation in his book
because some heretics are craftily stirring up controversy among the simple people on
these subjects.59 We may think of the Jacobites as the primary adversaries that
Theodore has in mind here, but we should recall that, in his day, the Muslims were
also pressing the Christians on precisely these same points, which eventually became
the focal points of the anti-Muslim apology for Christianity that is the Scho lion’s
chapter ten. Furthermore, for reasons that will be explained later, it is important to
notice that in these added sections of chapter nine the formal question and answer
scheme of the Scho lion gives way to a flowing dialectical style that is knit together by a
web of unifying phrases as “if they ask. . .then we answer.
, . . .“
The unity of the structure and contents of the Scho lion, therefore, consists not only
in the sequence of the biblical books in which Theodore finds the obscure scriptural
passages he interprets in the light of the Nestorian exegetical tradition but also in the
principle of typological hermeneutics, with its supporting popular ecclesiastical
philosophy, that serves as an equally determining factor in the book’s composition.
The impetus for the production of a school manual of this sort ultimately lies in the
apologetic imperative brought about by Muslim polemical pressure on the Nestorian
community in Iraq. More proximately, however, the recognition of this larger compo
sitional component in the Scho lion enables the reviewer to see that the philosophical
portions of the text are more than simple excrescences in a book of biblical scholia;
they are an integral feature of its theoretical structure.
The Authenticity of the Scholion
Before turning our attention more closely to the intellectual and cultural contexts in
which Theodore produced his book, we should consider very briefly the question of its
authenticity. In terms of the book’s basic outline, the addition of several major sections
to the Scholion over the course of time, all with new introductions in Theodore’s
name, is the best testimony that Theodore himself produced the revised and enlarged
editions of his work. Even though such a practice is not unknown, it would be
gratuitous, in the absence of any unambiguous evidence, to allege that someone
else would have penned these new pages for the Scho lion, speaking in the first person
in the new introductions to claim Theodore’s authority for his own work. It is
significant, in this connection, to observe that the few differences in the texts of these
introductions in Scher’s edition and in the Berlin manuscript are almost all minor
syntactical adjustments.
However, many expansions and dislocations of material characterize the main differ
ences between the Séert and Urmia families of Scho lion manuscripts. These consider-
66 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
able textual variations seem most logically to suggest that the book was widely used in
the Nestorian school system, where it was improved and amplified in the course of its
circulation. Doubtless, we no longer possess the autograph copy of Theodore bar
KônI’s Scho lion. The textual variations found in the half dozen extant copies of the
whole book are such that the Berlin manuscript or, more exactly, the Urmia manu
script from which the Berlin copy was made is seen to be the fullest and therefore
probably the latest rendition of the whole work.6°
THE INTELLECTUAL AND RELIGIOUS MILIEU OF THE SCHOLION
It is obvious that Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion should be discussed in relationship

to the intellectual concerns of the Nestorian school community, and particularly in
regard to the exegetical tradition cultivated there. Not so often mentioned in this
context is the wider intellectual horizon within which the Nestorian biblical exegesis
found its niche. This is the basically apologetical, Greek ecclesiastical philosophy that
scholars in Bar KônI’s day and earlier were busily studying in the works of their
predecessors, such as those of the Cappadocians Basil and the Gregories. The factor
that was an important catalyst for the systematic presentation of the results of this
research in Theodore bar KônI’s time was the presence of the Muslims, who were
themselves, at the same time and in the same place, producing the first great Muslim
Arabic works of scholarship—in grammar, literature, history, law, philosophy, and
religious apology. Clearly, therefore, we must consider the Scho lion from the point of
view of both its Christian and its Muslim milieus.
The Nestorian School Community
Since early in this century, scholars have been pointing to the gap in our knowledge
of the history of the development of Nestorian biblical exegesis from the time of Narsai
(d. 502) until the time of the patriarch Timothy I (d. 823). They have often conveyed
the impression that during these three centuries the Nestorian schoolmen were exclu
sively engaged in the transmission of the biblical interpretations of Theodore of Mop
suestia, pausing only to condemn the errors of innovators, such as Uenana of Adiabene
(d. 610), who sought to widen the philosophical range of the exegetical enterprise and
to include the allegorical interpretations of some scriptural passages.6’ Accordingly, it
has frequently been said that in Timothy’s day a major reform in exegetical policy
occurred. The evidence offered for this allegation is usually that in Theodore bar Kôni’s
Scho lion and in the works of the later compilers of Nestorian biblical commentary,
such as Iôcdad of Merv and Iôcbar Nan, one first finds references to the works of the
Cappadocian fathers and John Chrysostom, coupled with a philosophical preoccupa
tion that was hitherto uncharacteristic of what we have known of the Nestorian tradi
tion.62 But now, G. J. Reinink, as a result of his careful analyses of passages in the
Gannat Bussamê, has been able to show that this idea of a major shift in Nestorian
exegetical thinking, allegedly occurring in the works of the compilers of the first
THEODORE BAR KONT’S SCHOLION 67
Abbasid century, is untenable. Rather, these schoolmen, Theodore bar KônI being the
earliest of them, in accordance with their own claim to be compilers, were synthesizing
and presenting what had become elements in the Nestorian school tradition as a result
of the work of earlier individuals such as Mar Aba of Kakar (d. 741) and the anony
mous author of a Torah commentary, probably also written in the eighth century.63
The authors of both of these works made many references to the doctrines of the
Cappadocians and associated thinkers. Clearly, then, the fairly constant condemnation
of Henana’s Christological ideas in earlier Nestorian circles did not mean that the
wider concerns of his theology were not shared by others in that church’s school
system. We know, as a matter of lact, that many of the works of the Cappadocians and
of John Chrysostom were already available in Syriac in the seventh century, even
though we do not know how readily they were utilized by the Nestorians.64
Nevertheless, Reinink’s findings make it clear that Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion
does not stand at the beginning of a bold new phase in Nestorian biblical exegesis.
Rather, in regard to the exegetical tradition, and particularly with respect to the
incorporation of insights from the Cappadocians and other fathers, his work is a
compilation or a summa of what was the common Nestorian teaching in his day. This
much we may learn from Theodore’s own repeated insistence that his book is a compi
lation (kiinãâ) and does not represent merely the fruit of his own thought. At one
point he says: “Although it is a laborious business, we have forced ourselves to some
thing burdensome, seeking the profit of others rather than our own composure. We are
not boasting about this because the ideas (lit. OopIa) are not ours. What is ours is that
we have labored at a compilation.”65
Accordingly, Theodore bar KônI’s intentions were to present the blessed interpreter’s
commentaries in a handy fashion, as they were currently being taught in the school
system, along with insights and improvements from other sources that were also the
standard coin of that system. What is original in Theodore’s work is his summary
presentation of a complete Nestorian Gedankenwelt. His Scholion is not merely a
book of “questions” in which he sets forth the traditional exegesis. Nor is it merely a
philosophical or a theological treatise in which he provides a compendium of prin
ciples the student may need to understand the blessed interpreter’s teaching. Handy
texts for the use of students in these disciplines were reportedly available in the days
when Abraham deBêt Rabbãn (d. c. 567) was mepaeqana at the school of Nisibis.66
Rather, according to the wishes of the Scho lion’s sponsor, an otherwise unknown Mar
Yühanãn, Theodore bar KônI’s book is a compilation of both the obscure sayings of
the scriptures and the doctrines of the fathers, whom we may take to have been the
major thinkers whose works were utilized in the Nestorian tradition.67 It is a manual of
Nestorian theology, presented in response to the intellectual challenges of its day. It
presents a selection of scholia on particularly significant passages from the Old and
New Testaments, accompanied by explanations of a general sort about the major
divisions of the Bible. But the compiler has set forth all of this biblical information
within a carefully constructed intellectual setting.
The Scho lion’s intellectual setting is readily identifiable in its major outlines. It is
the philosophical world-view of those thinkers whose ideas are mentioned by
68 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
Theodore bar KônI and the other scholars of his Nestorian tradition, such as Mar Aba
of Kakar and Iôcdad of Merv. They are the Cappadocians, Gregory Nazianzenus,
Gregory of Nyssa, and Basil, all of whom are taken into account in the Scholion. Also
we must mention Pseudo-Dionysius and Nemesius of Emesa. The works of Pseudo
Dionysius were easily available to the Syriac writers of his period and Theodore him
self mentions him,68 and in one of his letters the patriarch Timothy I asks a friend to
search out for him a copy of Nemesius’ On the Nature of Man in the library of the
Jacobite convent of Mar Matti near Mosul.69 Finally, we should recall that Theodore of
Mopsuestia himself was not only concerned with biblical exegesis. No small part of his
achievement was his own integration of basically Neoplatonic philosophical ideas
into the doctrinal requirements of Christian faith.7°
The Syriac writers of the eighth century reached back to the earlier intellectual
achievements of these scholars for the materials to construct their own largely apolo
getic intellectual synthesis. It is what Sheldon Williams called “Christianism,” for
want of a better label. Its basic outline is always the same whether one finds it in
Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion, in Timothy I’s long letter describing his dialogue with
the Aristotelian philosopher at the caliph’s court,71 in the Jacobite Nonnus of Nisibis’
apologetic treatise,72 or in the works of the major Christian apologists who wrote in
Arabic during the first Abbasid century, Theodore Aba Qurrah, Uabrb ibn Ijidmah
Aba Rã’itah, or Ammãr al-BasrT.73 The conventional topics are the existence and
nature of God; the physical composition of creation; the nature of man as a being
composed of two principles, the one material, the other spiritual; the intellectual
probability that God should be described in terms of his human creature’s highest
perfections, that is, his word and his spirit, without threat to the divine oneness; and
the likelihood that God has communicated with man.74 The ideas proposed under
these headings are then brought into the sphere of what the Christian authors claim
are the teachings of the Old and New Testaments. And this step requires a discussion
of the typological principle of biblical hermeneutics, a topic which had a particular
relevance in the Islamic milieu because Muslim polemicists claimed that with their
doctrines of Trinity and Incarnation the Christians distorted the scriptural message.75
Here we have the intellectual program of the Scho lion. The topics of this outline are
the agenda for the book’s many philosophical and theological, as opposed to its
biblical, scholia. This essentially apologetic outline, with all of its philosophical and
logical accoutrements, is as much the structural basis of the Scho lion as is the order of
the books of the Old and New Testaments. The book’s unity of intent and composition
as a school manual cannot be glimpsed unless this apologetic agenda is taken into
account. It is the contention of this paper that Theodore bar KônI’s originality in
composing his Scho lion is precisely his combination of these traditional ideas in
Greek ecclesiastical philosophy with the equally traditional Nestorian exegesis of
selected scriptural passages. It was all there before him. But there emerged in his time
the need to express this traditional intellectual synthesis in summary form; this is what
Theodore accomplished with his Scho lion.
THEODORE BAR KONT’S SCHOLION 69
The Muslim Intellectual Milieu
Theodore bar KônI was at work on his Scho lion during the middle years of the first
Abbasid century. This was a period of intense intellectual development among the
Muslims. The study of Arabic grammar had come to its own flowering in the work of
Sibawayhi (d. 793). And the early mutakallimfln, such as Dirãr b. Amr (fl. 786-809),
C
b. $ubayh al-Murdãr (d. 840), and Abü l-Hujayl alcAllãf (d. 841), to mention
only the Muctazilites, were at this time writing the treatises that would figure so
prominently in the growth of Muslim dialectical theology. These three, too, as we
learn from an-Nadim, the Arabic biobibliographer of the tenth century, also wrote
refutations of Christianity.76 It was also at this time that both the conservative scholar
Ahmad ibn Uanbal (d. 855) and his opponents, the Muctazilites, were refuting the
basically Neoplatonic ideas of other Muslim scholars (i.e., the Cahimiyyah) who had
attempted to defend Islam using the same basic philosophical principles that the
Christian apologists employed.77 The center of all of this activity was Iraq—Kufah,
Baghdad, Basrah—where Kakar enjoyed a central location. It is not surprising then,
given this intellectual milieu, that the Christians in the Nestorian school system
should have found the time ripe for a synthetic presentation of their basic teachings,
such as we find in the Scho lion.
We know that in Iraq the Christian and the Muslim scholars were in conversation
with one another, and that they made every effort to express their views in such a
fashion so as not to fall victim to one another’s logical traps. Evidence of this sort of
interchange appears in the story told by an-Nadim about the Muslim mutakallim
Ibn Kullãb (d. c. 855). Fellow Muslims accused Ibn Kullãb of espousing an essen
tially Christian doctrine with his peculiar theories about the ontological status of the
divine attributes.78
It is in the context of the discussions and the development of the Muslim ilm
al-kalãm that some modern western scholars have searched for “parallelisms which
betray dependence” between the dialectical methodologies of the Muslim mutakal
limün and those of the Christian patristic tradition.79 But it is the Greek patristic
tradition that the searchers have in mind. In reaction to these tendencies to explain
Muslim intellectual history as a product of Greek philosophical and logical influences,
recent scholars of the kalãm have emphasized its independence from any such overt
borrowing from foreign sources. Richard M. Frank, for example, maintains:
In order to understand the kalãm . one needs only the native language and
. .
tradition of Arab Islam.. . This is not to say that the kalãm contains no parallels
.
with and no clear dependence upon the pagan and Christian traditions that pre
ceded it, but rather that these dependences are chiefly to be sought on a deeper
level. Most of the basic issues, though in a real sense (and for us unavoidably),
“Greek”, are nevertheless framed and conceived in an Islamic mode and must be
so read.8°
Josef Van Ess has done as much as anyone to investigate the manner in which the
70 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
Muslim mutakallimfln conducted their formal inquiries into the basic religious ques
tions that faced them and their relationship to the logical procedures elaborated by the
Greeks.8’ He concludes that the conventions of Arabic speech, employed in the kalãm,
are an early development within the religious and political growth of Islam. However,
Van Ess argues that the literary expression that was given to these discussions already
in the time of the Umayyad caliph CAbd al-Malik (d. 705) follows “the tradition of the
Byzantine emperors whose impact had molded the Syrian milieu for centuries.”82
On the face of it, one would think that the fairly elaborate Syriac school systems of
Iraq would have had more influence on the methods of argumentation that were
formulated in Kufah, Baghdad, and Basrah than on the conventions of the Greek-
writing Christian scholars in the Syro-Palestinian area. Even a brief acquaintance with
Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion or Nonnus of Nisibis’ apologetic treatise, to mention
only two published works, increases one’s suspicion that the Muslim mutakallimãn
shared their basic conversational procedures, if not the topics of their discussions or
the peculiarities of their Arab grammatical hermeneutics, with the ongoing practices
of the Syriac (and especially the Nestorian) academic tradition. It was not simply a
matter of influence since there was already an established academic style in existence in
Iraq when the scholars of Basrah and Kufah were inspired to elaborate their own
distinctive Arabic ilm al-kalãm. This was the academic style of the very people with
whom the Muslim mutakallimun were in controversy and from whom the Arabic-
speaking scholars, in general, were inheriting the insights of Greek science, philos
ophy, and logic.
The Syriac word “derãâ” designates this academic style. The lexicographer Bar
BahlüI defines the term as meaning “a search and an investigation into something
about which there is some controversy (heryãnâ).”83 He goes on to say that it is
conducted in what he calls the academic question and answer style, either question
after question, or in a sophistical and argumentative fashion. The style is certainly
exemplified in Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion. And one suspects that the Scho lion is
much closer in spirit to the exercises of the Muslim mutakallimün, both in vocal
debate and in written controversy, than it is the product of the immediate influence of
the Greek ötáX6tç with which Van Ess links the Muslim kalm.84
Attention to the Islamic context of Theodore bar KônI’s Scho lion enables us to
discern one of the most important motivations for his compilation and summary
presentation of the Nestorian intellectual tradition. Controversy and the necessity for a
ready religious apology on the part of Christian spokesmen in his time and place go a
long way in explaining the motivation for his accomplishment. Conversely, attention
to such works as the Scho lion from the perspective of the contemporary Muslim intel
lectual life help to counter the isolation in which modern scholars have been accus
tomed to consider the development of the cilm al-kalãm.
Institute of Christian Oriental Research

The Catholic University of America
Washington, D.C.
THEODORE BAR KONI’S SCHOLION 71
1. J. S. Assemani, 80, Il/I (Rome, 1725), 198. proposed change in phrasing merely obscures Theodore’s
2. Cf. the bibliographical history sketched in L. Brade, intentions and has no manuscript support.
Untersuchungen zum Scholienbuch des Theodoros Bar Konai; 34. Cf. the discussion in Clarke, Selected Questions, 7-13.
die Ubernahme des Erbes von Theodoros von Mopsuestia in 35. Cf. Bardy, “La littérature patristique,” and the title of
der nestorianischen Kirche (Wiesbaden, 1975), 4-7. an anonymous Nestorian commentary on Genesis, dating in
3. Ibid., 44 note 110. all likelihood from the first Abbasid century: “The elucida
4. CI. J. M. Fiey, Assyrie Chrétienne, III (Beirut, 1968), tion (niihSrâ) of words which are obscure in meaning, that
151. are in the book of the Torah” as quoted in Reinink, Studien,
5, J. Finkel, Three Essays of Abu cothman cAmribnBahr 13 note 2. Cf. also Theodore bar Kôni’s title for the Scholion’s
al-Jahiz (Cairo, 1926), 19-20. section on Luke in Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 152.
6. Cf. A. Vööbus, History of the School of Nisibis, CSCO, 36. Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 5.
CCLXVI (Louvain, 1965), 204; A. Baumstark, Geschichte der 37. Cf. H. Jordon, Geschichte der altchristlichen Lite
syrischen Literatur (Bonn, 1922), 128. ratur (Leipzig, 1911), 407-9; G. Zuntz, “Die Aristophanes
7. G. J. Reinink, Studien zur Quellen-und Traditions Scholien der Papyri, Teil III. Schlussfolgerungen,” Byzan
geschzchte des Evangelienkommentars der Gannat Bussame, tion, 14 (1939), 548-51; M. Richard, “AlTO DfNHZ” Byzan
CSCO, CDXIV (Louvain, 1979). 70-76. tion, 20(1950), 191-222.
8. A. Scher, Theodorus Bar KtSnI Liber Scholiorum, 38. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 231.
CSCO, LXIX (Paris, 1912), 331. Cited hereafter as LS. 39. Cf., e.g., Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 27 and passim.
9. Cf. Vdobus, History of the School, 105-6. 40. Cf. Brade, Untersuchungen, 81-112.
10. S. H. Griffith, “Chapter Ten of the Scholion: Theo 41. Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 6 and 7.
dore bar Kôni’s Anti-Muslim Apology for Christianity,” 42. Cf. R. Duval, ed., Lexicon Syriacum auctore Hassano
OCP, forthcoming. bar Bahlule, I (Paris, 1901), col. 231.
11. Scher, LS, 69, 218 noteS. 43. Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 5 and 6.
12. Cf. the discussion in Brade, Untersuchungen, 4-44. 44. Ibid., 7.
13. Cf. Brade and G. Clarke, The Selected Questions of 45. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 235.
IshO bar Nan on the Pentateuch (Leiden, 1962), 184-87. 46. Ibid.
14. Cf. the table of contents in Scher, LS, CSCO, LV 47. Ibid., 23 1-32.
(Paris, 1912), 371. 48. Ibid., 231.
15. Cf. Brade, Uritersuchungen 31-34. 49. Cf. Griffith, “Chapter Ten.”
16. Cf. the colophon which followed the answer to this 50. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 284-85.
question in some manuscripts. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 219 51. Cf. J. F. Callahan, “Greek Philosophy and the Cap
note 5. padocian Cosmology,” DOP, 12 (1958), 29-57.
17. Ibid., 219-30. 52. Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 184.
18. Cf. Griffith, “Chapter Ten.” 53. In the Urmia manuscripts these nonbiblical questions
19. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 284. are the subject of chapter nine.
20. Cf. the chart and discussion in Brade, Untersuchungen, 54. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 4.
35 note 89. 55. Ibid.
21. Cf., e.g., Clarke, Selected Questions, 12. 56. Ibid., 191.
22. T. Jansma, “Investigations into the Early Syrian 57. Ibid., 219-30.
Fathers on Genesis,” Oudtestamentische Studien, 12 (1958), 58. lbid., 219 noteS. Also cf. A. Scher, “Étude supplbmen
69-181. taire sur les écrivains syriens orientaux,” ROChr, 11 (1906),
23. Clarke, Selected Questions. Cf. also L. Van Rornpay, 26.
“Le commentaire sur Gen.-Ex. 9, 32 du manuscrit (ohm) 59. Scher, L5, CSCO, LXIX, 2 19-20.
Diyarbakir 22 et l’exégèse syrienne orientale du huitième ou 60. Cf. Brade, Untersuchungen, 38 and 43.
dixi’eme siècle,” OCA, 205 (1978) 113-23. 61. Regarding Henana, cf. Vdöbus, History of the School,
24. Brade, Untersuchungen. 242-64.
25. Reinink, Studien. 62. Cf., e.g., Brade, Untersuchungen, 76-77, 117-18.
26. Cf. his report in Bulletin d’Arabe Chrétien, 1(1977), 82. 63. Reinink, Studien, 162-64; 180 note 1; 282-84; 289-91.
27. Cf., again, Clarke, Selected Questions, 12 note 6. Cf. also L. Van Rompay, “A Hitherto Unknown Nestorian
28. Cf. G. Furlani, “La Filosofia nel Libro degli ScolI di Commentary on Genesis and Exodus 1-9, 32 in the Syriac
Teodoro bar KêwSnây,” Giornale della Societa Asiatica Itali Manuscript (ohm) Dijarbekr 22,” Orientalia Lovaniensia
ana, n.s. 1 (1925-28), 250-96. Periodica, 5 (1974), 53-78.
29. Ibid., 251. 64. Cf. A. Van Roey and H. Moors, “Les discours de saint
30. Cf. the list of earlier publications in C. Moss, Cata Grbgoire de Nazianze dans la littérature syriaque,” Orientalia
logue of Syriac Printed Books and Related Literature in the Lovaniensia Periodica, 4 (1973), 121-33; 5 (1974), 79-125.
British Museum (London, 1962), cols. 1067-69; suppl. 198-99. 65. Scher, LS, CSCO, LXIX, 231.
31. Cf. Assemani, 80, 111/1, 198 and Scher, LS, CSCO, 66. Cf. Vödbus, History of the School, 177-87.
LV, 3 and note 1. 67. Cf. Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 5.
32. Cf. Jerome’s discussion of Origen’s three kinds of 68. Cf. P. Sherwood, “Sergius of Reshaina and the Syriac
scriptural work in his preface to Origen’s homilies on Ezekiel versions of the Pseudo-Denis,” Sacris Erudiri, 4 (1952), 174-
as quoted in G. Bardy, “La littérature patristique des ‘Quaes 84; J.-M. Hornus, “Le corpus dionysien en syriaque,” Parole
tiones et Responsiones,’ sur l’écriture sainte,” RBibl, 41 de (‘Orient, 1 (1970), 69-94.
(1932), 210 note 1. 69. Cf. R. J. Biwawid, Les lettres du patriarche nestorien
33. Scher, LS, CSCO, LV, 7. The actual phrasing in all Timothée I, ST, CLXXXVII (Vatican City, 1956), 35.
the manuscripts for the first sentence of our translated quota 70. Cf., e.g., R. A. Norris, Manhood and Christ, A Study
tion is “Ia deyn Iaktbâ iammahnayhy ‘eskolryon law seri in the Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Oxford, 1963).
qa’it.” Scher proposes that we change the phrase to read “lak 71. Ibid., 32 and 33. This letter, as yet unpublished, is in
tabS hanS iammahnayhy ketabS de’skôlryon” (note 10). The Vat. Syr. 605. An English version will appear as the master’s
72 SIDNEY GRIFFITH
thesis of Thomas Hurst in the Department of Semitic Lan ceedings of the 4th Annual Patristic, Medieval, Renaissance
guages, The Catholic University of America. Conference (Villanova, Pa.), forthcoming.
72. A. Van Roey, Nonnus de Nisibe, traité apologétique 78. Dodge, The Fihrist, I, 448.
(Louvain, 1948). 79. The phrase comes from M. S. Seale, Muslim Theology;
73. Cf., e.g., L. Cheikho, “Mimar Ii TAdurus Abi Qurrah A Study of Orignss with Reference to the Church Fathers
f wuUd al-baliq wad-din al-qawim,” al-Machriq, 15(1912), (London, 1964), 74.
757-74, 825-42; G. Graf, Die Schriften des Jacobiten Habib 80. R. M. Frank,Bezngs and Their Attributes; The Teach
ibn ljzdma Aba Ra’ita, CSCO, CXXX, CXXXI (Louvain, ing of the Basrian School of the Mutazila in the Classical
1951); M. Hayek, cAmmãr al-Basri, apologie et controverses Period (Albany, N.Y., 1978), 5.
(Beyrouth, 1977). 81. Cf. J. Van Ess, “The Logical 5tructure of Islamic
74. Cf. G. Klinge, ‘Die Bedeutung der syrischen Theo Theology,” in G. E. von Grunebaum, ed., Logic in Classical
logen als Vermittler der griechischen Philosophie an den Islamic Culture (Wiesbaden, 1970), 21-50.
Islam,” ZKircheng, 58 (1939), 375-83.
82. J. Van Ess, “The Beginnings of Islamic Theology,” in
75. Cf., e.g., A. Khalifé and W. Kutsch, “Ar-Radd A1a-n-
Nasarã de cAll at-Tabarl,” Mélanges de l’Université Saint J. E. Murdoch and E. D. Sylla, eds., The Cultural Context of
Medieval Learning, Boston Studies in the Philosophy of
Joseph, 36(1959), 115-48; I. Di Matteo, “Confutazione contro
Science, LXXVI (Boston, 1975), 87.111.
i Christiani dello Zaydita al-Qasim b. Ibrãhim,” RStO, 9
(1921-23), 301-64. 83. Duval, Lexicon Syriacum, 1, cols. 595-96.
76. Cf. B. Dodge, The Fihrist of al-Nadim, I (New York, 84. Cf. Van Ess, “The Logical Structure of Islamic Theol
1970), 386-89, 393-95, 415-17. ogy,” 24. On the relationship between the kalãm style and
77. Cf. 5. H. Griffith, “Comparative Religion in the Syriac usage, see also the recent suggestions of M. A. Cook,
Apologetics of the First Christian Arabic Theologians,” Pro- “The Origins of Kalam,’ BSOAS, 43 (1980), 32-43.
THE ANCIENT FORM OF THE
ANAPHORA OF THE APOSTLES
WILLIAM MACOMBER
HE original form of the Anaphora of the Apostles has been the object of great
T speculation, and justly so. It is clearly one of the most ancient eucharistic prayers
still in use today; it was, or at least became, the principal anaphora of those Syriac
using churches that were least influenced by the Hellenistic culture of the Roman
Empire; and it can be considered a representative expression of the Judeo-Christianity
of the early centuries of the Christian era.
The time and place of its first composition are shrouded in the mists of time.
However, since it was to become the principal anaphora of both the Maronite and
Chaldean churches, which separated after the Council of Ephesus in A.D. 431, it can
scarcely have been composed after that date, and the probabilities are much greater that
its composition took place during the third or early fourth century, before the great
Christological controversies broke out. As for the place of origin, the city of Edessa,
which was the most important center of early Syriac Christianity, seems probable, and
this might explain why it was adopted by both the Maronite Church, which began as
the communion of those Syriac churches within the Roman Empire that accepted,
under the influence of the monks of St. Maron, the Councils of Ephesus and Chal
cedon, and the Chaldean Church, for which Edessa was long the principal center of
clerical education.
I call this venerable eucharistic prayer the Anaphora of the Apostles, but it should be
recognized that the apostles envisaged by the Maronite and Chaldean churches, at least
today, are not the same. The Maronites have usually attributed it to the Apostle
St. Peter, but also, especially in earlier manuscripts, to the Twelve Apostles, whereas
the Chaldean Church attributes it rather to the Apostles Addai and Man, the first being
the traditional apostle of Edessa and the second his disciple who evangelized many
important centers of the Chaldean Church. The Chaldean tradition seems to be the
more ancient.
The Syrian Catholic Patriarch Ignatius Ephrem II Rahmani was apparently the first
liturgist to devote his attention to the Anaphora of the Apostles.’ He noted the
similarity of the Maronite and Chaldean versions of the anaphora and proposed
a common origin.
Edward C. Ratcliff, who took into consideration only the Chaldean version, at
tempted to strip away from it all the accretions of the centuries.2 In this endeavor he
not only discarded the devotional prayers, called kuape, that clearly disrupt the
74 WILLIAM MACOMBER
main flow of the anaphora, but he also proposed the radical elimination of elements
that are now common to all oriental anaphoras in use today, the Sanctus and the
Epiclesis. He also retained as original the absence of a Narration of the Institution and
any clear reference to the Last Supper. In origin, according to Ratcliff, the Anaphora
of the Apostles would have been a eucharist pure and simple, without any element of
oblation or sacrifice, somewhat similar to the eucharistic prayers found in the Didache.
This radical thesis was countered by Bernard Botte.3 While accepting Ratcliff’s
elimination of the devotional kuape and the Sanctus, he not only opposed the exci
sion of the Epiclesis but also pointed to elements in today’s text of the Chaldean
version of the anaphora that seemed to him to indicate the former presence of an
institution narrative. Unfortunately, Botte’s treatment of the subject suffered from two
notable flaws: he paid almost no attention to the evidence of the Maronite version and
based his arguments on a relatively late and rather inferior text of the Chaldean
version. Many of the signs that indicated to him the former presence of the Narration
of the Institution either disappeared altogether or were shown to be at least dubious in
the critical text of the Chaldean version that I edited in l966.
It was a confrere of Botte, Hieronymus Engberding,5 who pointed out how impor
tant the evidence of the Maronite version is for any effort at discovering the original
form of the anaphora. He attempted to show (and was successful in my opinion) that
where the Maronite and Chaldean versions diverge in the wording of particular
prayers, the Maronite version is generally the more archaic.
My own contribution to the debate, apart from my edition of the Chaldean version,
has been to emphasize, following Engberding, the importance of a careful examina
tion of the Maronite version.6 In my view, it is a serious departure from proper method
to leap over all the intermediate stages and to speculate, basing oneself on the most
recent evidence, on what the most ancient form of the anaphora may have been. This
to me is to build one’s house on sand; such theories do not deserve to stand under the
assaults of scholarly criticism. Now that Sauget and I have edited the medieval texts of
the Maronite and Chaldean versions of the anaphora,7 we must determine, as far as
possible, the common form of the anaphora before the Maronite and Chaldean
churches began to modify it independently of one another. Only then, it seems to me,
will we have a solid foundation for constructing theories about more ancient forms
of the anaphora.
Besides this general consideration, I have examined particular questions about the
common form of the anaphora. I have suggested, following Rahmani and Ratcliff,
that the address of the anaphora was fairly consistently to the Son, that the prefatory
dialogue can be reconstructed from the Maronite version, and that the Sanctus was
present in the common form of the anaphora. As for the Narration of the Institution,
my position has been that the reasons proposed for excluding it from the common
form of the anaphora are not demonstrative and that there are other reasons, admit
tedly not decisive, for supposing that the Narration of the Institution preserved in the
Maronite version may represent the substance of what was found in the common form
of the anaphora.
In the present state of investigation, the most important task, as I see it, is a serious
THE ANAPHORA OF THE APOSTLES 75
study of the Maronite version of the anaphora with a view to distinguishing what was
found in the common text and what is the result of later accretions, modifications, or
excisions. The critical edition of the Maronite version has been available since 1973. It
is time that someone took up the challenge. That is what I propose to do in an initial
way in this paper.
Before beginning, I should note that I am making a basic assumption whose ulti
mate validity I am unable to demonstrate: those parts of the anaphora that are now
common to both versions were already present in the common form before each church
began to develop the anaphora independently. In the abstract, no doubt, such an
assumption would seem to be justified.The existence of two variant forms of a text
pre-supposes a common form from which both derive. This ignores, however, ques
tions concerning the concrete historical circumstances of the development of the paral
lel versions, that is, which church had the anaphora originally, whether one or even
both churches borrowed it, whether the borrowing was only at one period, or whether
one version continued to exercise influence over the other. It is conceivable, for exam
ple, that a particular prayer that is now common to both versions may not have been
found in the common form, but may represent a subsequent borrowing after the
separation of the two versions. In fact, this is not altogether a theoretical scruple, but
actually occurred historically when the Chaldean Church borrowed the Maronite ana
phoral prayer to the Virgin Mary, which can scarcely have been part of the original
text of the anaphora.8 Nonetheless, though recognizing the possibility that the devel
opment of the two versions may have been complex, I feel compelled to assume that it
was simple and that common elements therefore can be traced to the common form.
My primary problem, consequently, is to decide which elements that are found in the
Maronite version, but are absent from the Chaldean version, are adventitious and
which derive from the common form. Secondarily, I must also make a similar decision
about elements in the Chaldean version that are lacking in the Maronite version.
Previous investigation has concentrated on this second problem, but, in view of Eng
berding’s studies that have shown that the Maronite version is generally more archaic,
this one-sided concentration should be regarded as a mistake.
Accordingly, the following principles have guided my efforts at reconstructing the
common form of the Anaphora of the Apostles. First, those passages that agree word
for word in the two versions must be presumed to derive from the common form.
Second, when one version has words and phrases that are altogether lacking in the
other, they should be presumed to be additions to the common form. Third, when the
two versions have differing but parallel wording or expressions, the Maronite version
should be presumed to be closer to the common form than the Chaldean, especially
when the latter offers more colorful expressions or stylistic differences. Fourth, any
passage that is addressed to the Father or to the Trinity presumably represents a
modification of the common form. Fifth, in the case of entire prayers that are found in
one version but are absent from the other, especially those that contain principal
elements of the anaphoral structure, each one should be considered on its own merits,
whether it fits in with what immediately precedes and follows and with the basic theme
of the anaphora.
76 WILLIAM MACOMBER
Sauget has analyzed his edited text into sixty-five distinct elements.9 I, however, am
concerned only with those elements, numbers eighteen to forty-one, which comprise
the anaphora in the strict sense of the term, from the prefatory dialogue to the doxol
ogy that follows the Epiclesis.
I have presented elsewhere a proposed reconstruction of the prefatory dialogue.’0
This I would now modify slightly to preserve the Maronite version’s use of the first
person plural in the first two acclamations of the celebrant: “We are offering the
oblation to God, the Lord of all,” and “Let our minds be on high,” rather than the
Chaldean, “The oblation is being offered. . . and “Let your minds be on high.”
.“
These modifications accord better with my second principle enunciated above and
with the third acclamation, “Let us give thanks, worship and praise.”
Between the dialogue and the anaphora proper, both versions make insertions. The
Chaldean insertion belongs to the category of prayers called kuape, which are gener
ally conceded to be devotional supplications of the celebrant. The Maronite version
inserts a blessing and a series of incense prayers. The first contains two references to the
Cross, which suggests that it may have been added after the recovery of the relics of the
true Cross from the Persian by Emperor Heraclius. The incense prayers, on the other
hand, are addressed either to the Father or to the Trinity, but not to the Son.
The first anaphoral prayer is common to both versions, which present only minor
discrepancies. My solutions of particular problems are discussed in my notes to my
proposed reconstruction of the common text. Here I confine myself to the principal
problem, whether the Sanctus, which occurs in the middle of the prayer, was present in
the original form of the anaphora. That it was present in the common form of the
anaphora is indicated by the fact that the transition to the Sanctus is substantially
identical in both versions. Furthermore, even though the Maronite version of the
post-Sanctus part of the prayer does lack a phrase of the Chaldean version that refers to
the Sanctus, “With these heavenly hosts,” it does have another phrase of the Chaldean
version that marks the contrast between the worship of the angels, expressed in the
Sanctus, and that of those present, “We too, Lord, thy sinful servants, give thee
thanks. . . The real question, therefore, concerns only the original form of the
.“
anaphora. Does the Sanctus, together with the preceding transition, interrupt the
thought of the first anaphoral prayer, as Ratcliff and Botte maintain, and is it therefore
an insertion added to the original text?
What is the thought sequence of this anaphoral prayer? I would analyze it thus:
Glory to thee, adorable Name, that has created the world and its inhabitants (both
angels and men) and has redeemed mortals. The angels worship thy majesty,
saying: Holy, holy, holy. We too, thy sinful servants, give thee thanks because thou
hast wrought in us thy favor, hast put on our humanity so as to give us life by thy
divinity. In view of all these favors towards us, may we send up to thee glory and
honor, now and forever.
If I am correct in interpreting the world’s inhabitants as referring to both angels and
men, then the angelic praise contained in the Sanctus is not an interruption of the
thought sequence. First, God’s deeds are praised; second, the reaction of the angels is
expressed in the Sanctus; third, the thanksgiving of mortals is expressed in the rest of
the prayer. Furthermore, I would detect an intentional contrast drawn between what
God has done for angels and what for mortals, so that a distinct treatment of the
worship of angels and of the thanksgiving of mortals is only natural.
The second anaphoral prayer is much less homogeneous and its logical relationship
to the first is far from clear. The two prayers follow each other immediately in the
Maronite version, whereas the Chaldean version inserts between them kuape. It
should be noted that one of the kuape here is quite different from those that occur
elsewhere in the Chaldean version, that is, it is not a purely personal devotional prayer
of the celebrant offered in his own name, but is primarily an intercession in behalf of
the community.” Even the other kuapa, or kuape, though expressed as the per
sonal prayer of the priest, includes intercessory intentions for the community.’2 There
seems little doubt, however, that the Maronite arrangement, with the second ana
phoral prayer immediately following the first, reflects the common form of the
anaphora.
The second anaphoral prayer begins thus: “Do thou, Lord, in thy abundant mercies
make a good commemoration of all the righteous and just fathers in the memorial of
thy body and blood, that we offer to thee on thy holy altar as thou has taught us in thy
holy Gospel.” What is the logical relationship to the first prayer? I would express it
thus: Thy name is adorable, and the angels and we mortals praise thee for all thou hast
done. Do thou commemorate the righteous fathers in the memorial of thy body and
blood. What is implied here would seem to be a prayer to God to associate those who
have died with the thanksgiving of angels and mortal men. Behind the words of the
prayer there seems to be a vision of a cosmic act of praise and thanksgiving in which all
creation shares—angels, mortal men, and even those men who have died.
This beginning of the second anaphoral prayer thus may be viewed as a transition
from the cosmic celebration of God in the first prayer to the strictly eucharistic and
sacrificial elements of the second prayer. The Maronite version paves the way for this
transition already in the doxology that terminates the first prayer: “In view of all these
thy favors towards us, may we send up to thee glory and honor in thy holy Church
before thy propitiatory altar, now, at all times and forever and ever.” However, since
the reference to the “propitiatory altar” is lacking in the Chaldean version, its presence
in the common form of the anaphora must remain questionable. Nonetheless, it still
suggests the fundamental logic that binds the two anaphoral prayers together: Glory
to the Name that has created all and has redeemed mortals. The angels worship thy
majesty, and we too give thee thanks because thou hast given life to our mortality. And
in view of all thy favors towards us may we send up to thee glorification now that we
are gathered here before thy altar and forever. Do thou, Lord, make this glorification,
that we are offering thee on thy altar as thou hast taught us in thy Gospel, to be a good
commemoration of those righteous fathers that are humanly prevented by death from
sharing in the glorification of angels and of those mortals that are alive on earth.
This is a major point of separation between the Maronite and Chaldean versions of
the anaphora. The Chaldean version takes occasion from the reference to the righteous
fathers to introduce intercessions for the living and the dead:
78 WILLIAM MACOMBER
• in the memorial of the body and blood of thy Christ [the Chaldean version has
.
changed the address of the prayer from the Son to the Father] that we are offering
on thy pure and holy altar as thou hast taught us. And make with us thy peace and
tranquility all the days of the world, so that all the inhabitants of the earth may
know that thou alone art the true God, and that thou has sent our Lord, Jesus
Christ, thy beloved Son. And he, our Lord and God, has come and taught us by his
saving Gospel all the purity and holiness of the prophets, apostles, martyrs, con
fessors, bishops, priests, ministers and all the children of the holy Catholic
Church that have been signed with the living sign of holy baptism.
Apart from the kuape referred to earlier, this is the only hint of an intercession in the
Chaldean version of the anaphora.
Although the allusion to the fathers might suggest intercessions, the idea is not
followed up at this point in the Maronite version. Instead, it seems to aim at continu
ing the united praise of angels and men of the first anaphoral prayer and is solicitous
here to join by means of the commemorative eucharistic sacrifice the worship of those
mortals that have been prevented by death. This concern also continues another
thought expressed in the first prayer, that Christ has conquered death and has raised up
our mortality, and the commemoration by the Church is presented as the vehicle by
which Christ’s victory over death is realized here and now: “Do thou, Lord, in thy
abundant mercies make a good commemoration of all the righteous and just fathers in
the memorial of thy body and blood, that we offer to thee on thy holy altar, as thou
hast taught us in thy holy Gospel and hast said: ‘I am the bread of life that have come
down from heaven so that mortals might live by me.’ “The hint seems to be something
like this: Just as the body and blood of Christ are made present in the memorial
oblation of the Church, so the departed, by being commemorated in the same oblation,
live to unite their praise to ours.
We come at this point to the most difficult part of our attempt to restore the anaphora
to its common form, before the separation of the Maronite and Chaldean versions. The
reason is that from here on points of contact between the two versions are lacking.
Furthermore, the Chaldean version has clearly been reworked in a way that has dis
turbed the original sequence of thought. The question is whether we can trust the
basic sequence of thought that the Maronite version presents in turning at this point to
the Narration of the Institution. Most commentators on the anaphora have decided
against the Maronite version, although none of their arguments has seemed to me
decisive or thoroughly convincing. It must be admitted, of course, that, if the original
text of the anaphora did lack an institution narrative, then this would have been the
most logical place to insert it—more logical, I would suggest, than any of the places
that have been chosen historically for the insertion into the Chaldean version’3 —and
that this could easily have happened under the influence of other anaphoras that have
been adopted by the Maronite Church in the course of time. On the other hand, this
would seem to beg the question. We can conclude that the narration was inserted here
because the sequence of thought invited it here, but we might just as reasonably argue
that the narration of the Maronite version fits in well with the anaphora’s fundamental
sequence of thought at this point because the original composer designed it that way.
One may legitimately question whether a third-century Syrian bishop could have
composed or accepted a eucharistic prayer that lacked a clearer reference to what Christ
did at the Last Supper than what is now found in the Chaldean version. These are
questions, it seems to me, that our present state of knowledge does not permit us to
resolve definitively.
At any rate, the Maronite version takes occasion from the reference to Christ’s prom
ise of the Eucharist to proceed with a recounting of what he did and said at the Last
Supper. It does so in the second person singular, in conformity with the general
address of the anaphora to the Son. This form of a narration is singular in Syriac
anaphoras and seems somewhat less likely for an insertion.
Between the Narration of the Institution and the point where it rejoins the Chaldean
version the Maronite version adds two prayers of oblation, a third prayer of oblation
with reference to incense, and a prayer to the Virgin Mary to intercede for the celebrant
and for the acceptance of the sacrifice being offered.’4 The oblation prayer that men
tions incense is addressed to the Trinity, which marks it as an insertion. The same is
obviously true of the prayer to the Virgin Mary, but it is interesting to note that it was
borrowed for about two centuries by the Chaldean Catholics into their version of the
anaphora, even though it was put in a different place.
The other two prayers, on the contrary, are addressed to the Son and could be
ancient. The first, in the text as edited by Sauget, does have a trinitarian ending,’5 but
this is not found in all manuscripts,’6 contradicts the address of the prayer to the Son,
and should be eliminated as a foreign interruption. Basically, the two prayers are
paragraphs of a single prayer:
We worship thee, Only-Begotten of the Father spiritual lamb that came

. . .
down from heaven to earth so as to become a propitiatory sacrifice on behalf of all

men.. Give us life, Lord, by thy true life..
. . and grant us that we may gain life
. .
by thy life-giving death, stand before thee. and minister to thee in holiness; and
. .
may we offer this oblation to thy divinity, may the good pleasure of thy majesty be
content with it and may thy mercies be poured out upon us all.’7 Yes, we pray
thee, Only-Begotten of the Father. . may our prayers be lifted up to thee and may
.
thy mercies descend on our petitions; and may this oblation be acceptable before
thee, which, for the commemoration of thy passion, we offer on thy propitiatory
altar. May thy divinity be content with it and may thy good pleasure be fulfilled by
it, may our debts be pardoned by it and our sins be forgiven by it, may our
departed be commemorated in it, and may we give thanks, worship and praise to
thee, and to thy Father who sent thee. .and to thy life-giving and Holy Spirit,
.
now. . and forever.

.
We have in this prayer or prayers at least three elements charcteristic of an anamne

sis, a recalling of Christ’s saving passion, an offering of the Church’s oblation to
commemorate that sacrifice, and a reference to our standing and ministering to God at
his altar. Logically, or at least theologically, this calls for a previous recalling of the
80 WILLIAM MACOMBER
Last Supper, for it is only Christ’s institution that makes the bread and wine of the
Eucharist a commemorative oblation of Christ’s sacrificial death. Furthermore, we
have a prayer for the acceptance by God of the oblation and an enumeration of the
salutary effects of that acceptance, elements that are contained in the Roman Canon in
the prayer Supplices te rogamus, which occurs in the position relative to the Anamne
sis that corresponds to the oriental Epiclesis.
We should also note three phrases in the prayer that refer back to preceding parts of
the anaphora. First, there is a reference to Christ, who has “come down from heaven to
earth,” a clear allusion to the Gospel citation that immediately precedes the Narration
of the Institution, “I am the bread of life who have come down from heaven.” This
might be interpreted, although the inference is by no means necessary, as evidence that
there was originally no Narration of the Institution between the two passages, but it
does at least give some confirmation, it seems to me, that what precedes and what
follows the Narration are parts of a single composition. Second, I would note the
commemoration of the departed in the context of our praise, which recalls themes of
the first anaphoral prayer and the beginning of the second: “. .may our departed be
.
commemorated in it, and may we give thanks, worship and praise. . Third, the
. .“
final three words of the passage just quoted reflect the third acclamation of the cele
brant in the prefatory dialogue. This anamnesis prayer may not strictly demonstrate
the presence in the common form of the anaphora of the Narration of the Institution
that immediately precedes it, but it is abundantly clear, to me at least, that the prayer
itself is no insertion, but that it was composed as an integral part of the anaphora.
After the following incense prayer and the prayer to the Virgin Mary that I have
discussed and discarded above, the Maronite version rejoins the Chaldean version in
commemorating the different ranks of the hierarchical Church: “We offer, Lord, this
oblation before thee for the commemoration of all the righteous and just fathers, the
prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors. . bishops.
. . priests, ministers.
. and of all
. .
the children of holy Church that are signed with the signing of holy baptism.”
At once, however, the two versions again diverge. The Maronite version goes on to
commemorate the Virgin Mary in words that closely recall those used in the Byzantine
anaphora of John Chrysostom.’8 This, at least, is not likely to have been part of the
common form of the anaphora. There follows a series of commemorations of different
classes of persons, with several references to the departed along with the living.’9 In
general, they are addressed vaguely to the “Lord God.” This, taken with the duplicat
ing references to the departed, makes one think of an insertion, especially since they are
followed immediately by the Epiclesis without any transition. One commemoration,
however, that I have not included in my proposed reconstruction of the common form
of the anaphora does refer to “thy mother” and has other points of interest:
“Remember, Lord God, at this time those who share in the commemoration of thy
mother and thy saints; give them a fair reward. And for all who have had a share in this
Eucharist that has been placed on this holy altar; give them, Lord God, a good reward
in the kingdom.”2°
However, instead of including this or any other of the series of commemorations of
the Maronite version in my reconstruction, I have preferred to turn to the Chaldean
version, which here seems to have a more plausible relationship with what precedes
and also with what probably followed in the original form of the anaphora. What
precedes in both versions is the enumeration of the ranks of the hierarchical Church
that are being commemorated in the oblation: “We offer. . this oblation before thee
.
for the commemoration of all the righteous . fathers,

. . the prophets . .priests,
.
ministers and of all the children of holy Church that are signed with the signing of
holy baptism.” The Chaldean version continues, “And us too, Lord, thy humble
servants that are gathered together and are standing before thee, and have received by
tradition the example that has come from thee, as, rejoicing, praising, exalting and
commemorating, we celebrate this great and awful sacrament of thy passion, death and
resurrection.” After mentioning all the ranks that are being commemorated, the ana
phora quite naturally turns to those present before the altar and explains the reason for
their presence, that they are following the example received from Christ and are com
memorating his passion, death, and resurrection.
What follows in both versions and was, therefore, present in the common form of
the anaphora, is the Epiclesis: “And may thy Holy Spirit come, Lord, and rest on
this oblation of thy servants, and may it be to us for the pardon of debts and the
forgiveness of sins, for a blessed resurrection from the dead and new life in the
kingdom of heaven.”
Although this epiclesis is common to both versions, most commentators have
rejected it as an insertion into the original text of the anaphora. In this case I am
inclined to agree with them. The shift from the commemorations to the Epiclesis is
unusually abrupt. Furthermore, if I am correct in seeing in the second part of the
Anamnesis a parallel with the Supplices te rogamus of the Roman Canon, then the
original function of the Epiclesis, at least as I understand it, has already been fulfilled.
Consequently, when I indicated that the Chaldean prayer fitted in better with what
followed it, I was speaking not about the Epiclesis but about the doxology that follows
the Epiclesis in both versions: “And in view of thy glorious economy toward us, we thy
sinful servants, saved by thy innocent blood, give thee thanks with open mouth that
gives thanks in thy holy Church before thy propitiatory altar, now, at all times and
forever.” In other words, praising and commemorating we celebrate this sacrament of
thy passion, death, and resurrection, and we give thee thanks for all thy economy of
salvation, now and forever. There is a fairly consistent thought sequence here that the
Epiclesis interrupts. It seems reasonably clear that the Epiclesis must have been
inserted during the fourth century, perhaps in imitation of what was being done in
other anaphoras as a reaction to the theological attacks of the Arians against the
divinity of the Holy Spirit.
Before concluding, since I have accepted as “original” some prayers of the Maronite
version that lack a counterpart in the Chaldean and also one prayer of the Chaldean
version that is lacking in the Maronite, it seems appropriate for me to say something
about the reasons for the loss of these prayers from the versions that now lack them.
Basically, as it appears to me, the reason is the nearly complete lack of intercessions in
the common form of the anaphora. As a result, the Chaldean revisor of the anaphora
took occasion from the initial reference to the righteous and just fathers to introduce
82 WILLIAM MACOMBER
what little the Chaldean version now has in the way of intercessions, apart from the
kuape. He also united the first reference to the fathers with the second and, in so
doing, passed over completely the intervening Narration of the Institution and Anam
nesis. It is obvious that he was acting in the conviction that the Epiclesis contains the
operative words that effect the transformation of the gifts. If the revisor, moreover, was
the Patriarch Iocyahb III (c. A.D. 650), he may also have been moved by a desire to
abridge the text of this somewhat lengthy anaphora with a view to making it the
principal anaphora of the Chaldean Church.
The same desire to remedy the nearly complete lack of formal intercessions may also
have motivated the Maronite revisor in discarding the relatively short prayer that now
immediately precedes the Epiclesis in the Chaldean version. Accordingly, after the
enumeration of the ranks of the Church that are commemorated in the oblation he
inserted other commemorations of the Virgin Mary, the absent, the sick, the afflicted,
and so on. In doing so, however, he eliminated the link binding those present before
the altar with the different ranks of the Church being commemorated and decided to
discard altogether that part of the prayer that referred to those present as not fitting in
any longer either with the inserted intercessions or with the following Epiclesis.
To sum up, it appears to me that we can recover the essential outlines of the
common form of the Anaphora of the Apostles by a careful analysis of the Maronite
version in comparison with the Chaldean version and that this common form will
provide a solid basis for ulterior speculations on the original form of the anaphora. My
own view is that the common Sanctus and its preceding transition fit in well with the
fundamental theme of the anaphora and were, therefore, present in it in its original
form, and that the same can be said for the Maronite Anamnesis. The case for the
Maronite version of the Narration of the Institution is not so clear, yet what prepares
the Narration does belong to the ancient text of the anaphora, and the Anamnesis that
follows seems to presuppose it. The nearly complete lack of formal intercessions in the
anaphora seems to go back to ancient times and probably motivated many of the
changes that were later introduced into both versions. Finally, although the Epiclesis,
which must at one time have been common to the two versions, is probably a fourth-
century insertion, the prayer that immediately precedes it in the Chaldean version
should probably be restored as well to the Maronite version.
Hill Monastic Manuscript Library

St. John’s University
Collegeville, Minnesota
1. I.E. Rahmani, Testamenturn Domini nostrilesu Christi 15 (1949), 259-76, and “Problèmes de l’anaphore syrienne des
(Mainz, 1899), 192 f., and, in greater detail, Les liturgies Apôtres Addai et Man,” OrSyr, 10 (1965), 89-106.
Orientales et Occidentales tudiées séparément et cornparées 4. W. F. Macomber, “The Oldest Known Text of the
entre elles (Beirut, 1929), 317-24. Anaphora of the Apostles Addai and Man,” OCP, 32 (1966),
2. E. C. Ratcliif, “The Original Form of the Anaphora of 335-71, esp. 367 note 7, and 371 notes 1 and 2.
Addai and Man: A Suggestion,” JThS, 30(1929), 23-32. 5. H. Engberding, “Urgestalt, Eigenart und Entwicke
3. B. Botte, “L’anaphore chaldéenne des Apôtres,” OCP, lung eines altantiochenischen eucharistischen Hochgebetes,”
OrChr, Ser. 3, vol. 7 (1932), 32-48, and “Zum anaphorischen Chaldean Catholic missals. The Anglican missionaries to the
Furbittgebet der ostsyrischen Liturgie der Apostel Addaj und Nestorians put it at the end of the post-Sanctus part of the
Mar(j),” OrChr, 41(1957), 102-24. first anaphoral prayer, just before the ecphonesis (Brightman,
6. W. F. Macomber, “The Maronite and Chaldean Ver 285:12), and were imitated in this by the restored Malabar
sions of the Anaphora of the Apostles,” OCP, 37 (1971), missal of 1960. Finally, the 1901 missal of the Chaldean
55-84. Catholics put it, together with an introductory passage taken
7. J.-M. Sauget, Anaphora syriaca Sancti Petrz Apotoli from the Anaphora of Theodore of Mopsuestia, just after the
teria, Anaphorae syriacae quotquot in codicibus adhuc reper initial phrase of the post-Sanctus part of the first anaphoral
tae sunt, II (Rome, 1973), 273-329. prayer (Brightman, 285:2).
8. Ibid., 305: 3-8. Cf. Macomber, “The Oldest,” 361 note 2. 14. Sauget, Anaphora syriaca, 303:5-305:8.
9. Sauget, Anaphora Syriaca, 278 if. 15. Ibid., 303:13.
10. Macomber, “The Maronite,” 64 f. (last col.). 16. Ibid., 302, in the apparatus for line 11. Six manu
11. F. E. Brightman, Liturgies Eastern and Western, I scripts have a different christological ending, which should
(Oxford, 1896), 285:29-286:5. also be eliminated. Cf. the following note.
12. Ibid., 286:14-48. It can be divided into two prayers at 17. Five of the six manuscripts referred to in the preced
the asterisk on line 26. ing note add: “. . upon us all, our Lord and God, glory to
.
13. At least four different points of insertion have been thee.” The sixth manuscript adds only: “. .upon us all, our
.
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blessing that follows the fraction and other manual acts ending that the other five manuscripts indicate.
(Brightman, 293:15). I say “seems” because it is written on a 18. Sauget, Anaphora syriaca, 305:16-18, compared to
blank leaf and not in the text of the liturgy, but it is followed Brightman, Liturgies, 388:4-5.
by the incipit of the blessing. Bishop Roz put it just before
19. Sauget, Anaphora syriaca, 307:2-309:3.
the elevation that precedes the fraction (Brightman, 290:1,
col. 2), and he was followed in this by both the Malabar and 20. Ibid., 307:10-13.
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86 WILLIAM MACOMBER
ANAPHORA OF THE APOSTLES
(Celebrant:) We are offering the oblation to God, the Lord of all.’

(People:) It is right and just.
(Celebrant:) Let our minds2 be on high.
(People:) To thee, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, glorious King.
(Celebrant:) Let us give thanks, worship, and praise.
(People:) [To the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit] from now and forever.3
(Celebrant:) Praise to thee,4 adorable and glorious Name [of the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Spirit,]5 who created the world6 in his goodness and its inhabitants in his
mercy, redeemed men in his clemency and wrought his favor toward mortals. A thou
sand thousand of those on high, Lord, worship thy majesty and ten thousand thou
sands of the armies of ministers of fire and spirit praise (it) in fear, together with the
cherubim and seraphim that cry one to another and say:7
(People:) Holy, holy, holy.
(Celebrant:) We too, Lord,8 thy sinful servants, give thee thanks because thou hast
wrought in us thy favor that cannot be repaid; thou hast put on our humanity so as to
give us life by thy divinity, thou hast exalted our low estate,9 raised up our prostration
and given life’0 to our mortality, thou hast justified our sinfulness, forgiven our debts,
illumined our knowledge, condemned our enemies, and glorified our humility. In
view of all these thy favors towards us, may we send up to thee glory and honor in thy
holy Church before thy propitiatory altar,’1 now, at all times and forever and ever.
(People: Amen.)
(Celebrant:) Do thou, Lord, in thy abundant mercies make a good commemoration
of all the righteous and just fathers in the memorial of thy body and blood, that we
offer to thee on thy holy altar as thou has taught us in thy holy Gospel’2 and hast
said: “I am the bread of life that have come down from heaven so that mortals might
live by me.”
We make, Lord, the commemoration of thy passion as thou thyself hast taught us.
For in the night in which thou wert handed over to the crucifiers, thou didst take bread,
Lord, in thy pure and holy hands, didst look up to heaven, to thy glorious Father, didst
bless,’3 Lord, break and give to thy disciples’4 and say to them: “This bread is my body,
which for the life of the world is broken.’5 Take, eat of it, and it will be for you unto
eternal life.”
Likewise over the chalice in the same manner, thou didst give thanks and praise and
didst say, Lord: “This chalice is my blood of the new covenant, which is being shed on
behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins. All of you, take and drink of it, and it will be
for you’6 unto eternal life forever. Each time, indeed, that you eat of this holy body and
drink of this chalice of life, commemorate the death and resurrection of your Lord
until the great day of his coming.”
We worship thee, Only-Begotten of the Father, first born of the (divine) essence,
spiritual lamb that came down from heaven to earth’7 so as to become a propitiatory
sacrifice on behalf of all men, to take away their wickedness by his good pleasure, make
propitiation for sinners by his blood, and sanctify the polluted by the sacrifice of
himself. Give us life, Lord, by thy true life, cleanse us by thy spiritial cleansing, and
grant us that we may gain life by thy life-giving death, stand before thee in propriety,
and minister to thee in holiness; and may we offer this oblation to thy divinity, may the
good pleasure of thy majesty be content with it and may thy mercies be poured out
upon us all.
Yes, we pray thee, Only-Begotten of the Father, through whom peace with us has
been accomplished, offspring of the Most High, by whom those on high have been
reconciled with those below, good shepherd that laid down his life on behalf of his
flock and saved them from ravening wolves, merciful Lord that uttered a cry on the
cross and gathered us in from the dissipation of vanity,’8 El, the God’9 of spirits and of
all flesh, may our prayers be lifted up to thee and may thy mercies descend on our
petitions; and may this oblation be acceptable before thee, which, for the commemora
tion of thy passion, we offer on thy propitiatory altar. May thy divinity be content with
it and may thy good pleasure be fulfilled by it, may our debts be pardoned by it and our
sins be forgiven by it, may our departed be commemorated in it, and may we give
thanks, worship, and praise to thee, and to thy Father who sent thee for our salvation,
and to thy life-giving and Holy Spirit, now, at all times and forever and ever.20
(People: Amen.)
(Celebrant:) We offer, Lord, this oblation before thee for the commemoration of all
the righteous and just fathers, the prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors, bishops,
priests, ministers, and of all the children of holy Church that are signed with the
signing of holy baptism;2’ and us22 too, Lord, thy humble23 servants that are gathered
together24 and are standing before thee25 and have received by tradition the example
that has come from thee, as, rejoicing, praising, exalting, and commemorating, we
celebrate26 this great and awful sacrament of thy passion, death, and resurrection.27
[And may thy Holy Spirit come, Lord, and rest on this oblation of thy servants, and
may it be to us for the pardon of debts and the forgiveness of sins, for a blessed
resurrection from the dead and new life in the kingdom of heaven.]
And in view of thy glorious economy toward us, we thy sinful servants, saved by thy
innocent blood, give thee thanks with open mouth that gives thanks in thy holy
Church before thy propitiatory altar,28 now, at all times, and forever and ever.
(People: Amen.)
1. The different acciamations and responses of the dia 2. The Maronite version has “. our intelligences, minds
. .
logue have been much expanded in the Maronite version, and the hearts of us all”; the Chaldean version has simply
whereas in the Chaldean version their order has been changed ‘your minds.” Apart from the change to the second person
and many modifications and substitutions have been intro plural, which was presumably made in imitation of the Anti
duced to bring the dialogue into greater conformity with the ochene form, the Chaldean version represents the common
Antiochene form. Cf. my article, The Maronite and Chal form. This is confirmed to a certain extent by the fact that the
dean Versions of the Anaphora of the Apostles,” OCP, 37 Maronite version has a synonym for “minds” but not for
(1971), 58-66. For this first acclamation the Chaldean version “hearts.”
has The oblation is being offered to God, the Lord of all.” 3 The bracketed passages in the translation are common
However, the first person plural of the Maronite version for to both versions and therefore presumably were found in the
this and the second acclamation is more consistent with the common form of the anaphora, but they were probably not
third acclamation. found in its original form. In the present case I am assuming
88 WILLIAM MACOMBER
that the names of the persons of the Trinity were inserted here phrases, and I am assuming that this anaphora has been
under the influence of the anti-Arian reaction of the 4th adapted to bring it into greater conformity with the others.
century. For my reasons for including this Maronite response 17. Sauget’s edited text has “from the height to the
of the people in the common form of the anaphora, cf. depth,” but most manuscripts have what I indicate.
Macomber, ‘The Maronite and Chaldean Versions,” 66. 18. This phrase is redolent of monastic spirituality and
4. The Chaldean version has been expanded and its style presumably represents a modification of the original text.
has been improved: ‘Worthy of praise from all mouths and However, we lack a solid basis for reconstructing the original
thanksgiving from all tongues.” text here.
5. Another presumed anti-Arian insertion that is com 19. This phrase occurs in the Chaldean funeral liturgy.
mon to both versions. 20. This is the end of the section that is supported only by
6. Many Maronite and Chaldean manuscripts have the the Maronite version.
plural, “worlds,” in conflict with the following phrase, 21. The support of the Maronite version fails from here to
“its inhabitants.” the end of the sentence.
7. Both versions expand this introduction to the Sanctus
22. I am speculating that this section, which is lacking in
in varying degrees and ways. My reconstruction reflects the
the Maronite version, is a continuation of what precedes. If
elements that are common to both. I have, however, accepted
the Chaldean version had here “And of us too ...,“the rela
the Maronite version’s phrase “in fear,” where the Chaldean
tionship would have been clear, but this in the actual form of
version has “thy name.”
the Chaldean version would have been to attribute “purity
8. The Chaldean version has “With these heavenly hosts,
and holiness” to “us too,’, which would be quite inadmissi
we give thee thanks, Lord, we too....” Some commentators
ble in Christian prayer.
have taken the absence from the Maronite version of the tran
23. The Chaldean version adds “weak and wretched.”
sitional reference to the heavenly hosts as evidence that the
anaphora originally lacked a Sanctus, but the Maronite still 24. Most manuscripts add “in thy name,” but the phrase
implies a contrast between “thy sinful servants” and the is lacking in the two oldest witnesses.
heavenly hosts by beginning “We too 25. Most manuscripts, including the oldest, the Mar
9. The two versions have synonyms. I have preferred the EIaya Ijudra, add “at this time,” but the phrase is lacking in
Chaldean version’s shorter synonym, feplan, on the theory many of the old witnesses and therefore does not seem to be
that laplutan of the Maronite version represents an adapta primitive.
tion to make a better parallel with mitutan. 26. Most manuscripts put an “and” before “we celebrate.”
10. The Chaldean version has “mappultan w-nahhemt.” 27. All Chaldean manuscripts have “. . of the passion,
.
Here, too, I have had to choose between synonyms and have death, and resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ.” However,
preferred the Maronite ramyutan w-ahhit, on the general the Chaldean version shows evidence that this prayer of the
principle that the Maronite version is usually more archaic. anaphora has been modified so as to address it to the Father,
11. The Chaldean version is partially simpler here, but I rather than to the Son; cf. Macomber, “The Maronite and
suspect it to be an adaptation of the common form under the Chaldean Versions.” 68-71. Consequently, I have been ob
influence of other similar ecphoneses that are characteristic of liged to restore the address of this part of the prayer to the Son
the Chaldean liturgy. The Maronite references to “holy without support from the manuscripts. The Epiclesis fol
Church” and “propitiatory altar” recur elsewhere in the ana lows. I have bracketed it as an insertion into the original text
phora and seem to fit in with the basic theme of the anaphora. of the anaphora that was found already in the common form
12. Since the two versions diverge from this point, my before the Maronite and Chaldean versions began to develop
reconstruction becomes quite speculative. What I have done independently of one another.
is follow the Maronite version fairly closely, with the elimi 28. This represents the Maronite version. The Chaldean
nation of what seem to me to be the more obvious expansions version has “. .may we give thee thanks and praise without
.
and insertions. There have doubtlessly been many others that ceasing in thy Church, saved by the precious blood of thy
I have not been able to identify and eliminate. Christ, with open mouths and unveiled faces, as we send up
13. I have eliminated some synonymous expressions, glory, honor, thanksgiving and worship to thy living, holy
didst bless, seal and sanctify, Lord and life-giving Name, now This is clearly an expanded
14. I have eliminated the addition, “the blessed Apostles.” version, addressed to the Father, that introduces some stylistic
15. The Maronite version here adds “. .is broken and is
. improvements. However, the mention of “thy Name” might
given, and becomes unto its recipients for the pardon of debts represent a Semitic inclusion referring back to the beginning
and forgiveness of sins.” of the anaphora. On the other hand, the Maronite version’s
16. The Maronite version inserts “for the pardon of debts reference to the Church and the altar is rather characteristic of
and the forgiveness of sins.” Most anaphoras contain similar the anaphora.
THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE OCTOECHOS IN SYRIA
AELRED CoDY, O.S.B.
HE purpose of this essay is to clarify the early history of the use of an octoechos by
T tracing its evolution in the West Syrian, non-Chalcedonian, Church (hereafter
called “Jacobite,” for clarity and convenience, but with respect for the preference of its
members today for “Syrian Orthodox”) and by coordinating the results with what is
known of the hymnographic and musical history of the Melkite, Chalcedonian,
Orthodox Church in the Near East and of the Orthodox Church at large. Reasons will
be given for abandoning definitively the widespread idea that a Syrian octoechos was
used as early as the sixth century, as well as that of an early Syrian disposition of
Sundays in groups of eight as the basis of an octoechos. It will be seen that an
octoechos was first used with hymnographic genres that were originally Melkite, not
Jacobite. The chronology of its spread to other genres and of its propagation will be
followed to the extent that the evidence allows, mainly on the basis of Syriac manu
scripts, then ultimately in a more synthetic manner. Evidence of the passing use of a
heptaechos in Syria, with a trace of it turning up in Constantinople, will be presented,
and finally the question of musical similarity and difference in the melodies to which
texts of different genres were sung will be raised. I am gratefully aware that I am
building on the work of many others who have explored the fields of hymnody in the
Christian East and have published their findings, especially Professor Heinrich Hus
mann of Gottingen.’
Some confusion has arisen at times because the word óKtthrlxoc is equivocal, and I
shall try in what follows to distinguish carefully:
1. The musical or modal octoechos, that is, a theoretical or practical musical system
of eight modes, distinguished from one another by their characteristic melodic for
mulas, intonations, and cadences, if not by their scales and ranges.
2. The liturgical or hymnographic octoechos, that is, an arrangement of hymno
graphic texts in identically structured sets of eight, with all texts in a given set meant to
be sung to melodies in a given mode of an octonary modal system, and with the sets
meant to succeed one another cyclically in a regular order, in at least part of the
ecclesiastical year.
3. A book containing texts so arranged, the Oktoechos.2
Although a musical system of eight modes, used cyclically, and a certain amount of
textual organization by mode, exists in the Church of Armenia, there are no known
90 AELRED CODY, O.S.B.
Armenian liturgical manuscripts old enough to be of much help in tracing the history
of the octoechos; the oldest manuscripts of the arakan with its choral pieces are of the
thirteenth century, or in one case perhaps the eleventh.3 Maronite Syrians and East
Syrians (Nestorians) in modern times have nothing that can be called an octoechos.
History may be another matter, in the case of the Maronites at least, but their extant
liturgical manuscripts are too recent to show clear signs of an octoechos. The Copts
have never had a hymnographic octoechos, and medieval and modern theoretical
expositions of an octonary modal system are isolated adventures that conform neither
to musical reality nor to liturgical practice in the Coptic Church.4
In Jacobite manuscripts, written indications of the number of the mode in which a
text, or a group of texts, was to be sung are frequent. Evidence of a hymnographic
octoechos can be found in series of modal numbers marking texts in regular numerical
order, and in certain cases it can be induced from the presence of eight alternative sets
of texts on the same topic in a given manuscript. The few Syriac manuscripts contain
ing early or middle Byzantine musical notation are all Melkite,5 with one qualified
exception, to be examined below, which is found in a Melkite context. Jacobite and
Nestorian liturgical texts have always, in fact, been devoid of musical notation,
although the diacritical signs or accents marking lectionary texts may have had
ecphonetic value when the texts were not read but cantillated.6 For our present pur
poses, we shall do well to consider the literary genres of sung liturgical pieces separ
ately, according to their origins. Some are originally Greek and Melkite (the func
tionally related genres of the canon and of stichera and kathismata in series), some are
originally Syriac (those of the madrãâ, and sôgitâ, and the mëmrâ, predecessors some
how of the Greek kontakion), and one the macnItâ, though rather more Greek in
origin than Syriac, is not specifically Melkite but rather non-Chalcedonian.
MANEYATA AND TAKPATA, AND THE “OCTOECHOS OF SEvERUS”
The word “octoechos” was first associated with the name of Severus of Antioch
(c. 465-538), patriarch of that see from 512 until he was deposed for his monophysite
tenets in 518, when Assemani used it to characterize an early eleventh-century Jacobite
codex, now Vatican Syriac 94, containing Syriac macneyata (the plural of macnItâ),
which are independent strophes like Byzantine troparia in form and content, prefaced
by one or two psalm-verses and hence perhaps the rough equivalent of Greek anti
phona,7 followed by a concluding selection of takpãtâ (the plural of takeptâ), which
are strophes similar to the macneyata but without the preceding psalm-verses; with
very few exceptions, the codex gives indications of the mode in which each piece is to
be sung.8 Most of the macneyata, and almost all of the takpatâ, are grouped by mode
rather than by topic or feast in this codex, and that is what led Assemani to think of the
Greek books called Octoechoi. Since Mar Severus’ name is mentioned in the title of the
of the collection and, with other names, in its conclusion (fol. 142b), the concept of the
hymnographic “octoechos of Severus” was only one step away. Assemani himself did
not take that step, but others took it afterward, and as the study of Byzantine hymno
graphy progressed in times closer to our own the role traditionally assigned to hymno
THE OCTOECHOS IN EARLY SYRIA 91
graphers of the late seventh and early eighth centuries, like John Damascene, in the
formation of a hymnographic octoechos was questioned, on grounds that a hymno
graphic octoechos already existed in the early sixth century.9
The use of the expression “octoechos of Severus” was given wider circulation in
liturgical scholarship by Anton Baumstark,’° although Baumstark knew his manu
scripts and his liturgical terminology well enough to see that the word “octoechos”
does not really fit earlier specimens of collections of macneyata. Just before World
War I Jules Jeannin and Julien Puyade collaborated in writing an article which
unfortunately became the standard work on the “octoechos of Severus” and its impor
tance.’2 The sense of the word “octoechos” is not always clear in their article, but it is
really Severus’ role in the elaboration of a musical system of eight modes that they
defended,’3 and they admitted that the original collection of Severus’ texts could only
improperly be called a hymnographic octoechos.’4 Largely as a result of their article,
Severus was launched as a figure in the history of the octonary modal system, while the
earlier idea of him as compiler of a hymnographic octoechos continued to enjoy
smooth sailing.’5 So it has come to be widely accepted in our own day that the musical
system of eight modes or the Byzantine liturgical arrangement of texts by mode or both
were already in use in Antioch in the early sixth century.16 Neither assumption is at all
justified. Assemani’s eleventh-century codex itself needs to be looked at a little more
closely, and the phenomena it reveals have both a previous and a subsequent history.
The oldest surviving collection of macneyatâ by Severus and others is now in the
British Library (Br. Lib. Add. 17134; A.D. 674/5, or not long after).’7 We learn from a
long note on fol. 75r that the Syriac translation of the pieces in the collection was made
by Paul, (Jacobite) bishop of Edessa, when he had fled to Cyprus to escape the Persian
invaders (sometime between 619 and 629), and that the author of the note, James, had
distinguished between the words of the author (in black ink) and those added by the
translator in order to keep the length of phrases of the Greek original (in red), and had
added between the lines a more literal translation of passages in which Paul’s transla
tion deviated from the sense of the original.’8 The early seventh-century translator’s
own care in retaining the meter, or more accurately the syllable count, of the Greek
originals was certainly taken in order to facilitate the singing of the Syriac texts to the
same melodies used with their Greek models, and yet our late seventh-century manu
script contains no numerical indications of musical mode.’9 Not even the modal
numbers given by Brooks on the basis of more recent manuscripts show any consecu
tive sequence when applied to James of Edessa’s early Syriac recension of the
macneyata which are arranged entirely by feasts of the Lord, memorials of holy per
sons, and topical occasions. In no sense can this seventh-century manuscript be called
an octoechos.
A manuscript of the eighth or ninth century,2° Br. Lib. Add. 14520, contains some
macneyãtâ and some pieces of other genres. The macneyatâ are not those translated
from the Greek of Severus and others in James of Edessa’s recension; they are original
Syriac compositions in classical Syriac meters.2’ In this manuscript there are still no
numerical indications of musical mode and no groupings that could be interpreted as
having a modal basis. This can also be said of the ma(neyata in the native Syriac
“Potter’s” meter attributed to a Mar James in Br. Lib. Add. 17172 (written between A.D.
819 and 830).22 The isolated macnItâ “of Mar Severus” in Vat. Syr. 93 (c. A.D. 825)23 is
one of those already found in James of Edessa’s collection;24 here it is still free of modal
marking, as are all pieces of every genre in this codex.
In ninth-century mansucripts of the old “Severan” collection, however, indications
of the mode in which individual pieces were to be sung appear. In Br. Lib. Add.
18816,25 which still retains the order of the macneyata as they stood in James of Edessa’s
collection, those of certain categories only are so marked: most, but not quite all, of
those on the Theotokos, the saints, and the martyrs (fols. 48r68v), and the two on
Simeon the Old which are said, both in this manuscript (fol. l02’”) and in the older Br.
Lib. Add. 17134 (fol. 74r), not to have been found in any manuscript consulted by
James of Edessa. Those pieces whose mode is indicated are marked with one of eight
letters with numerical value in the margin, by a hand which seems to be different from
the one that copied the texts themselves. The macneyata of the Resurrection and other
feasts of the Lord in Add. 18816 are not marked modally. In a slightly later codex, Br.
Lib. Add. 14514, also in a hand roughly of the ninth century but perhaps of the tenth,26
a marginal letter indicating one of the eight modes is applied regularly to the pieces in
the section containing the macneyata (i.e., as far as fol. lOir), which are given in a
sequence different from that in James of Edessa’s recension, but with the old grouping
by feasts, memorials, and topical occasions retained. The twenty-nine macneyata on
the Resurrection have not yet been arranged in consecutive order by mode, although
the mode of each is now indicated. The arrival of the musical octoechos is evident, but
the hymnograpic octoechos, though perhaps implicit, has not yet made itself felt in the
ordering of texts of this particular genre. The provenance of both of these manuscripts
is unknown, but the name of a deacon who was a Tagritan appears on fol. 93” of
Add. 14514.27
By the early eleventh century, systematic grouping had appeared with certain cate
gories of macneyata and with the takpãtâ which then began to supplement them.
The very codex Assemani first called an “Octoechos,” Vat. Syr. 94, written sometime
between A.D. 1010 and 1033 in a place not named,28 has the mode of almost all its
maneyatâ indicated. First (fols. 1-58”) come macneyata grouped according to the feasts
of the Lord on which they were to be used, just as in earlier collections, but the pieces
for a given feast are now listed in consecutive modal order (in the order 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8),
although occasionally the order is broken, and no feast has pieces in all eight modes.
All maneyata of those categories not meant for use on feasts of the Lord come next, in
eight groups, one for each mode, but with them the order is one in which each plagal
mode follows its authentic correspondent It is in each of these
groups classified according to all eight modes that we find the macneyata on the
Theotokos, the martyrs, repentance, and the dead—those categories called “general” or
“common” (gawãnayê), which were the earliest to be marked modally (Br. Lib. Add.
18816 above) and which are the ones to which the qalâ-strophes now constituting the
main choral pieces of the West Syrian office on ferial weekdays belong. The series of
macneyata is concluded with fourteen (fols. l39l42’) whose mode, wrote the scribe,
was not known. If we were sure that the scribe depended on his own musical knowl
edge, and that he knew his modal patterns, we could conclude comfortably that those
fourteen pieces had melodies that did not fit any of the eight modes familiar to him.
That may indeed have been the case, but even if he was not himself able to distinguish
such musical subtleties and was simply dependent on the modal indications of his
sources, we should have to conclude that his sources for the fourteen did not include
modal indications.30
After the macneyata in this same codex, come the takpatâ, which were not encoun
tered in older collections but which from this time on are found in various manu
scripts, at first together with macneyata, then also independently.3’ Here, the only
categories represented in the takeptâ section are the “general” ones useful for putting
together series of strophes for weekdays (in the modal order 1-5-2-6-3-7-4-8), the Resur
rection (in the order 1-2-3-4-5-6-7), and the Cross (a few, in modes 5, 7, and 8).
This codex has been made with practical liturgical use in mind. The “general”
strophes of both macneyata and takpãtâ are available in all eight modes, and they are
so arranged that some of each general category in both genres can be drawn from a
given mode, with the succession of modes that traditional for weekdays in the Jacobite
Church.32 Unlike the general strophes, the Resurrection maneyata and takpatâ,
provided in ample quantity, are given in consecutive numerical order of the modes,
from 1 to 7•33 If we look at the Resurrection strophes, we notice that the eighth mode is
totally absent in both genres. This is not a matter of mere chance. The compiler had
not received macneyãtâ on the Resurrection in mode 3 to include among his seventeen
macneyata on the Resurrection, but in order to have mode 3 represented in that section
he included didactic hymns of a short-lived genre of skôlyatâ in that mode. He did
nothing of the sort in order to have pieces in mode 8, and the liturgical practice for
which he was providing obviously required none. The absence of real macneyata in
mode 3 in the repertory available to him suggests that the need to have Resurrection
macneyãtâ even in all of the first seven modes had risen relatively late.34
The same situation is even more clearly evident in Br. Lib. Add. 17140 (also of the
eleventh century, roughly, and of unknown provenance).35 In this codex, the macneyata
and takpãtâ are juxtaposed. The general strophes useful for the weekday offices are
again arranged in the modal order 1-5-2-6-3-7-4-8, and are available in all eight modes.
The maneyata and takpãtâ of the Resurrection are in this codex arranged in that
same modal order; again, mode 8 is totally absent from both series.
One infers from the contents of these two codices that in Jacobite churches around
the beginning of the eleventh century a cyclic arrangement of texts in all eight modes
was operative for ferial days, while a series in the first seven modes alone was operative
for Easter week and the Sundays of Eastertide, and for any other Sundays on which the
Resurrection was primarily commemorated.
Only in the late eleventh century and later do we find macneyata and takpatâ of
the Resurrection in all eight modes.36 For our present purposes there is no need to
descend further in time, for by the early thirteenth century the octonary modal princi
pal in the Syrian Church had become so pervasive that it was affecting texts not
affected by it earlier, with provision for the use of all eight modes in singing texts
which earlier would have been sung in only one.37 The limitation of Resurrection
macneyatâ and takpãtâ to the first seven modes earlier, however, leads us to a matter
of some consequence for the question of the origin of the octoechos.
SEPTENARY AND OCTONARY SERIES OF SUNDAYS IN THE SYRIAN CHURCH
In late medieval Jacobite manuscripts providing texts of various genres for liturgical
use through the year there are eight different sets, or orders (teksê), of Resurrection
offices, one for each of the eight modes, although modality is not always mentioned
expressly. Some manuscripts even provide more than one set of eight. In most cases it
is safe to assume that these offices were to be used not only on the Sundays of Eastertide
but also on Sundays in the period between Pentecost and the Sunday of the Hallowing
of the Church near the beginning of November.38 The analogy with the Byzantine
octoechos for Sundays is unmistakable, and this recurring cycle of eight modally and
textually different Resurrection offices in the Jacobite Church has been taken somehow
as the key to the whole question of the origins of the octoechos.39 In reality, the
octonary Sunday cycle of the medieval Jacobite Syrians is not old enough to provide
such a key. The octonary Resurrection orders in Jacobite manuscripts include Greek
and Syrian canons, qalê, bacwãtâpieces of genres belonging to a new style—while
the old macneyätâ were gradually dropped. The use of macneyata came from an earlier
period, and the presence of Resurrection macneyatâ (and takepatâ, their later siblings)
in the first seven modes alone in collections already providing texts useful for weekdays
in all eight modes in those genres raises the question whether a septenary cycle of
Sundays, still reflected in the septenary modal series of Resurrection strophes of those
genres associated with an older style, did not exist in the Syrian Church before the
octonary cycle did.
Some light may be shed on the question if we turn to the old Jacobite Syrian
lectionary system. The oldest witness to that system, Br. Lib. Add. 14528, fols. 152-228
(early sixth century), is of no help to us; it indicates readings for every day from Easter
Sunday through Low Sunday, but, apart from Pentecost, it mentions no Sunday at all
from Low Sunday to the end of the liturgical year, for on those Sundays a system of
lectio continua must have been used.4°
From the early ninth century we are fortunate to have Br. Lib. Add. 14485, Add.
14486, and Add. 14487 (all of A.D. 823/4), written in Harrãn for a community of
Tagritans living there, which constitute a set containing two series of different lessons
for nonfestive Sundays (both series in Add. 14485) and two series of different festive
lessons (in Add. 14486 and 14487).’ In them we find the following:
Seven Sundays after Epiphany

Seven Sundays of Lent42
Palm Sunday
Seven Sundays of Eastertide43
Pentecost
Seven Sundays after Pentecost
Six Sundays after the Feast of the Apostles
Seven Sundays of the Fast of the “House of Ananias”44

Seven Sundays after the Fast of the “House of Ananias”
The ordering of Sundays in groups of seven is evident, and there is no group of eight at
all.
Evidence of the septenary arrangement of Sundays in Antioch itself is furnished by
Br. Lib. Add. 12139 (A.D. 999/1000), a codex, used in the church of Mar Barsawmâ
there, whose contents were compiled by the Jacobite Patriarch Athanasius.45 One part
of a set, doubtlessly of two volumes, its ordering of Sundays in groups of seven from
Epiphany on is entirely consistent except for those of Lent. It gives readings for seven
Sundays after Epiphany, six of Lent followed by Palm Sunday,46 seven of Eastertide,47
Pentecost, then seven after Pentecost followed by readings for various occasions. Read
ings for other Sundays before the end of the church year were presumably given in the
second volume, now unfortunately lost. This dated lectionary is only a few years older
than Vat. Syr. 94, and probably not much older or younger than the less accurately
datable Br. Lib. Add. 17140-codices in which, as we have seen, there are Resurrection
pieces to be sung in the first seven modes only. Since one can see a general correlation
of the practical uses for which macneyata and takpãtâ in those codices were intended
and the occasions for which readings are provided in this contemporary Antiochene
lectionary of Athanasius V,48 we may surely suspect that in the period around the year
1000, when macneyata had come to be ordered for practical use in a system calling for a
succession of modes, the provision of Resurrection macneyatâ and takepatâ in the first
seven modes—no more and no less—was determined by the use of those sung pieces in
conjunction with biblical readings on Resurrection days still ordered in the calendar
in groups of seven, not yet in groups of eight.
In the late eleventh century and now through the twelfth, the modes of the Resurrec
tion macneyata and takepatâ were extended beyond the seventh to include the eighth,
and at the same time the lectionaries began to provide readings for Sundays between
Pentecost and the end of the church year grouped in highly fluctuating ways, but
usually with a final group of eight.49 There is no way of knowing how the fluctuation
in the grouping of Sundays after Pentecost which appears in the lectionaries of this
period may have been coordinated with the use of an octoechos with pieces sung on
those Sundays. In Br. Lib. Add. 14490 (A.D. 1088/9, written in the Monastery of the
Syrians in the Egyptian Wadr n-Natrün by an Easterner from the district of Macden),5o
the church year is closed with a group of eight Sundays after the Fast of the “House of
Ananias,” but the Sundays between Pentecost and that final group are in numerically
traditional groups of 6 + 7 + 7. As late as A.D. 1213/4, in Br. Lib. Add. 18714 (written in
and for the Monastery of Mar Malküs in the Tar Abdfn),5’ the group of eight Sundays
closing the church year is preceded by twelve after Pentecost and seven after the Trans
figuration. Obviously, neither a septenary nor an octonary principle is systematically
applied in the grouping of Sundays after Pentecost in these lectionaries.
In certain lectionaries of the thirteenth century, though, the fullest impact of an
octonary theory applied to Resurrection days in the Jacobite calendar manifests itself,
and in the same lectionaries there appears a symmetry between the days of Easter week
and the Sundays of Eastertide which reminds us that in the speculative mind of the
ancients the seven days of Easter week and the seven weeks of Eastertide were related,
and that the concept of Sunday as eighth day often had a part in their speculation. In
Br. Lib. Add. 14689 (A.D. 1220/1, of uncertain provenance),52 even the biblical readings
for all the Sundays after Pentecost have been reduced to a single series of eight sets, a
remarkable extension of the principle of cyclic octonary series from sung texts to
biblical readings. On the other hand, the Resurrection readings of Easter week cease in
this codex with the fifth day (the sixth, Friday, having its own character as a com
memoration of apostles and martyrs), and the readings for the Sundays of Eastertide
too are limited to those for five Sundays after the Resurrection beginning with Easter as
the first. There is numerical symmetry between the days of Easter week and the Sun
days of Eastertide.
A desire to express that symmetry, coupled with the desire to apply the principle of
using a single series of eight sets of texts not only to sung pieces (as in the Melkite
Byzantine octoechos) but to biblical readings as well led to the extreme dispositions of
Br. Lib. Add. 14686 (A.D. 1254/5, written in the Monastery of the Syrians in the WadT
n-Narün).53 In this lectionary, curious—but worth contemplating precisely because it
is so obviously programmatic that it allows us to glimpse the theories governing the
program—there is no separate provision made at all for Sundays after Pentecost. On
each of them the readings for one or another of the eight Sundays “of after the Resur
rection” had to be used. Those eight sets of readings were also to be used during the
week “of white [garments],” Easter week. After a first set for Easter Sunday, there is a
second set for “the second Sunday of after the Resurrection and the second day of white
[Easter Monday],” a third for the third Sunday and Easter Tuesday, and so on.
After the seventh Sunday/Easter Saturday we might expect the symmetric minds
behind all this to stop, giving readings for an eighth Sunday useful later in the year but
letting the eighth day after Easter be the second Sunday after the Resurrection, for
which the second sets of readings would be used. Symmetry and the number eight
meant too much to them, however, and we find the series closed with readings “of the
eighth Sunday of after the Resurrection or (awkIt) New Sunday.” (“AwkIt” does not
simply coordinate alternatives; it is used before synonyms and explanatory equiva
lents, with the value of id est). The eighth Sunday of a series in which Easter is the first
is Pentecost, which has its own proper readings prescribed in this codex. The arran
gement for coordinating eight days of Easter week symmetrically with eight Sundays
“of after the Resurrection,” which also had to be used after Pentecost, is somewhat
preposterous, and it was short-lived, although an echo of it is still found in the
musical, modal handling of Easter week and New Sunday in the West Syrian Church
today.54 It reveals a view of the seven weeks of Eastertide, closed by a Sunday following,
as a replica of the seven days of Easter week, closed by a Sunday following, with both of
the concluding Sundays treated as an eighth day in the series.
In that may lie a key to the theory behind an octoechos. The extension of septenary
calendar series to octonary series in any Christian liturgical calendar may actually flow
from speculation on the extension of the seven-day week, seen as a figure of the cyclic
time of this age, by taking the following Sunday as an eighth day, seen as a figure of
eternity. Such speculation did not come from Syria. It is found in early Christian
Alexandria, and, without Alexandrian allegory, in the influential writings of the
fourth-century Cappadocians, with Gregory Nazianzen applying it in particular to the
Sunday after Easter, but also to Pentecost, a Sunday concluding seven weeks of seven
days with Easter as the first and forming a pentecontade, with the eighth Sunday
representing the future age sacramentally breaking into this world already in the life of
the Church, as a new age begun on the first Christian Pentecost.55 If these concepts do
indeed lie at the origin of the octonary calendar order of Resurrection days and of the
liturgical octoechos designed for use with that order, then the octonary calendar order
and the octoechos were probably applied first to Easter week and to the Easter pente
contade. The peculiar order of Br. Lib. Add. 14686 described above, with only Easter
week and the Easter pentecontade explicitly extended by a Sunday that is the eighth
day of both (although the eight sets of texts must have been intended tacitly for use on
Sundays after Pentecost too), can best be explained as a rather late Syrian example of
that stage of the theory’s application. Its extension further to the Sundays between
Pentecost and the end of the church year, the period symbolically marking the time
between the past mysteries of salvation and the parousia at the end of this age, may
well be an expression of the idea of Sunday as both memorial or the Resurrection and
eikön of the future age.
The early eleventh-century collections of sung macneyata and takpãtâ seem to
belong to a transitional stage in which Jacobite Resurrection offices requiring pieces of
those genres still had a septenary order of some kind, despite the adoption of a hymno
graphic octoechos for pieces of the same genres for weekdays and of a musical octo
echos generally. The Jacobite lectionaries of the same period still show a calendar
whose Sundays are ordered in groups of seven. The Syrian calendar does not explain
the origin of the octoechos after all, for in the period when both the musical and the
hymnographic octoechos were being consolidated the Jacobite Syrian calendar still
had a structure which was septenary rather than octonary.56
CANONS AND CENYANE
The canon, with its groups of hymnic strophes or troparia to be sung with each of
the Biblical odes or canticles in the morning office, is a genre developed by poets
writing in Greek. The original masters of the genre, men like Andrew of Crete, John
Damascene, and Cosmas of Maiuma in the late seventh and early eighth centuries,
were Orthodox Melkites from Syria, and it was the adoption of the liturgical usages of
Syro-Palestinian monasteries like Mar Saba in the monasteries of Constantinople that
led to a new period of composition in the genre in the monasteries of the imperial
capital, beginning in the ninth century.57 Greek canons were translated into Syriac for
use in Melkite churches where Syriac was the liturgical language, and a number of
these Melkite translations passed over into liturgical books of the Jacobite Syrian
Church.58 The Syriac translators made an effort to imitate the meter, or at least the
syllable count, of the original Greek texts,59 as had Paul of Edessa when he produced
Syriac macneyata from Greek models by Severus and others. From this we infer, again,
that the music of the Greek texts was carried over to the Syriac translations. Original
canons were also composed directly in Syriac, for some have Syriac acrostics; Melkite
authors, at least, composed them to metrically model strophes or heirmoi which were
originally Greek.6°
Related to canons, for, like canons, they are series of strophes originally intended for
intercalation between verses of biblical texts, and Syriac cenyãnê. In principle, canons
were written to accompany biblical odes, while cenyãnê were written to accompany
psalms. CEflyaflê thus correspond more accurately to series of Byzantine stichera in
their use, though not in their typical form.6’ Nevertheless, in both ancient and modern
times series of strophes considered rightly or wrongly to be original Syriac composi
tions have been called cenyãnê even when they are really canons in form or function.
This is true not only in Jacobite contexts but in Melkite contexts as well.62
Wherever we find Greek canons for Sundays in Syriac we find them grouped
modally. Our earliest examples are of the ninth or tenth century: Br. Lib. Add. 14513
with various canons, including those on the Resurrection, arranged according to the
eight modes, and the imperfect Br. Lib. Add. 14253, fols. 14-35, with canons on the
Resurrection so grouped.63 Br. Lib. Add 17135, of the tenth century, it seems,64 has two
sections containing canons: one, more Greek in character, with sets of eight canons of
the Resurrection and of Sundays of Lent, corresponding to the eight musical modes,
followed by a kathisma of the Theotokos in mode 4, and another with canons “accord
ing to the use of Mesopotamia (gezIrta)” not so arranged. Among the latter are festive
canons and canons on the Theotokos, martyrs, and the dead, but none on the Resurrec
tion, and none for Sundays of Lent. It will be noticed that the only canons found in all
eight modes in this codex are those that could be used on Sundays of the Resurrection
and of Lent. By and large, this continued to be the case in later Jacobite manuscripts,
for the only Sundays that acquired and kept some kind of octonary modal series were
those of Lent (which do not even require pieces in the seventh and eighth modes, once
a modal sequence has been strictly established for them) and those of Eastertide and the
time after Pentecost, on which the Resurrection is celebrated.65 The use of Greek
canons with all nine odes represented in the morning office of Sundays and feasts
became, and remains, optional in the West Syrian Church. The only biblical ode
permanently adopted for obligatory daily use on both Sundays and weekdays, and
which thus requires canon-strophes in all eight modes, is the Magnificat (Lk. 1:46-55),
and for it strophes called mawrebê are provided in the eight modes in medieval manu
scripts otherwise without canons,66 as well as in modern ones.
Enyãnê for use with psalms also appear early, with those on the Resurrection and
those of the “general” categories grouped according to all eight modes, while those for
other uses are free of modal grouping. This was the case already in the tenth century,67
and it continued.68
It goes without saying that the use of canons with odes and of cenyãnê with psalms
in cyclic modal order corresponds to the use of canons and of stichera and kathismata
in the Byzantine Octoechos book, or Parakletike. The disposition of canons and enyanê
in early Jacobite manuscripts actually corresponds even more closely to that of canons,
stichera, and kathismata in the earliest extant Melkite Oktoechoi and Tropologia than
it does to their disposition in the modern Byzantine Parakietike. The Parakletike

proceeds mode by mode, and day by day within a given mode, and in a given day it
proceeds by the actual order of the pieces as the day’s offices are to be carried out, while
the earliest Melkite Oktoechoi, which are in Greek, proceed primarily by generic
sections, keeping stichera and kathismata in one section and canons in another, and
letting the procession from mode to mode take place independently in each section,
just as early Jacobite Syrian collections keep modally organized cenyãnê separate from
genuine canons organized modally. Among the canons and the stichera and kathis
mata in these early Melkite Oktoechoi are the strophes for use on various days of the
week, with topical appellatives: anastasima on the Resurrection, theotokia, martyrika,
katanyktika on repentance, nekrosima on the dead, which are the topical equivalents
of those categories of sung pieces in various genres which the Jacobites use in nonfestal
offices: Resurrection strophes on Sundays and “general” strophes (those on the Theo
tokos, martyrs, repentance, and the dead) on weekdays. As in Jacobite practice, the
strophes on the Theotokos, martyrs, repentance, and the dead are still free from the
later Melkite and Byzantine tendency to assign a particular day of the week to a
particular person or class of persons among saints and the dead. This is generally true
of the Melkite Oktoechoi of the ninth and tenth centuries: Sinai Greek 776 + Sin. Gr.
1593 + Br. Lib. Add. 26113 (ninth century),69 Sin. Gr. 779 (tenth century),7° Sin. Gr. 794
(A.D. 992),’ and Sin. Gr. 780 (tenth or eleventh century),72 while the later Melkite
examples evolve toward the arrangement of the Parakletike.73
The Jacobite Syrians, too, grouped Resurrection canons and enyanê according to
the eight modes. They did so also with the mawrebê, canon-strophes on the Theotokos
to be used with the Magnificat on weekdays. If they did not do so with canon-strophes
of the other “general” categories (on martyrs, repentance, and the dead), that was
because, except for the Magnificat, they did not effectively adopt the use of odes,
requiring canons, on weekdays, when “general” strophes of different genres were used
in both churches. The Jacobites did eventually apply the grouping in sets according to
the eight modes, however, to the “general” strophes of macneyãtâ and takpãtâ—
genres having origins independent of canons and stichera—even before they extended
the modes of the more resistent Resurrection macneyata and takpãtâ beyond mode 7.
In that respect, the pattern of the early Melkite Oktoechos was applied in the secondary
modal grouping of those pieces of a style older than that of the Oktoechos.
Questions of genre and of chronology now become clear. Literary traditions are
unanimous in assigning the new fashion of writing canons for use with odes to
Melkite Syrians writing in Greek, and it is reasonable to suppose that the fashion of
using series of strophes with complete psalms also started with Melkite Syrians and
shared in the good fortune of the canon, since modally organized stichera and kathis
mata appear in the same early Melkite Oktoechoi which contain the modally organ
ized canons. Our survey of early collections of Syrian canons and enyanê leaves no
room for doubt at all that it was their use which was derived from that of Greek canons
and of Greek stichera and kathismata, not vice versa.74 Chronologically, the earliest
extant Melkite Oktoechoi are of the ninth and tenth centuries. By the ninth and tenth
centuries Jacobite Syrians too were using both an octonary musical system and the
octoechal principle of hymnographic arrangement with their canons and enyanê, but
in ninth-century collections of the older genre of the manItâ (we have none demon
strably of the tenth) modal indications were being applied only to individual pieces,
and octoechal arrangement was still altogether absent. To pieces in that older genre it
was only around the year 1000, or slightly earlier, that it was applied. The hymno
graphic octoechal principle had entered the Jacobite Church earlier than that. It
entered with the canon, and the analogous strophes for use with psalms, and it came
from the Melkites.
MADRA, SÔGYATA, MMR—ANTECEDENT5 OF THE KONTAKION
If the arrangement of choral pieces by mode spread with the use of the Greek canon
and pieces allied with it, was the musical modality on which that arrangement was
based older still, and did it perhaps have antecedents that were Semitic rather than **
Greek? There are three popular literary genres proper to early Syriac religious litera
ture which were syllabically metrical, were subject to musical setting, and were still
being used when the octonary modal system had penetrated the Jacobite Syrian
Church: the madrãâ (a series of lyrical strophes of didactic content, sung by a soloist
[originally] as the choir repeated a refrain between the strophes), the sôgItâ (plural:
sôgyatâ; a series of lyrical strophes in which a past situation is conjured up and one or
more persons in the scene so evoked then speak), and the mëmrâ (a sort of metrical
sermon, didactic or narrative, with refrain).75 Greek poems in the form of the mëmrâ
attributed to Ephrem are at least imitations of the Syriac genre, even if they are not
often based on Ephrem’s authentic works in Syriac.76 The sôgItâ and the mmrâ, and
to some extent the madrãâ, contain many of the stylistic elements characteristic of the
Byzantine kontakion,77 although there may be more ancient predecessors of all these
genres.78
Syriac compositions in these genres show no signs of being affected by modal classi
fication until the late medieval period, when the notion that all sung pieces should
have a mode affected them too. The early collections of madrãâ and of the less
frequent sôgyatâ bear no musical indications of any sort.79 In the ninth, tenth, and
eleventh centuries, when both a musical and a hymnographic octoechos were found
with canons and enyanê and finally with macneyãtâ as well, the compilers of liturgical
collections of madrãê, with or without sôgyãtâ,8° or with mmrê,8’ showed no interest
in eight modes or in modal grouping. This is true also of collections of the ninth and
tenth centuries in which madraê and sôgyatâ are found with maCneyata_conservative
collections into which the nouvelle vague of canons and cenyanê had not yet pene-
trated.82 In early examples of the Penqita, a book in which all sung pieces of various
genres for a given day are furnished, some madrãê and sôgyãtâ are included with the
canons and cenyane and the macneyata or, later, the qalê;83 the result is a blend of
pieces in the newer Greek fashion (canons and cenyane) with the native Jacobite Syrian
repertory.84 In them the Resurrection pieces are given in eight sets of whose musical
modality nothing is yet said expressly. It was almost certainly applied to canons and
cenyãnê in those eight sets, and it may very well have affected the singing of madrãê
and sôgyatâ included in them, but in these early examples of the Penqita there is a
general lack of concern for questions of musical mode. For that matter, the ease with
which a Penqita could be used made it less important to indicate the modes of sung
pieces. Once the mode of a day was determined by custom, the pieces for that day were
available all together, and the mode could be applied to any sung piece of any genre
which local custom subjected musically to the octoechos. When the principle of
extending octonary modality to sung pieces of all genres had gained an absolute
victory in the Jacobite Church, madrãê were subjected to its systematic application,
from which mmrê and sôgyatâ, by then obsolescent, remained relatively free.85
The application of modality to the melodies of Syriac mëmrá and sôgyatâ in the
Middle Ages is shown by a unique witness discovered and described by Husmann.86 On
four folios bound with a Melkite Syriac Menaion,87 with which they have no intrinsic
relation, are the end of a mëmrâ without modal indications, then two mëmrê that do
bear modal indications, each followed by a sôgItâ interrupted by the loss of other
folios, to whose first stanza musical notation has been added. Neither of the two mëmrê
with modal indications is in a single mode, although the modal stanzas of the second
are mostly in the plagal second, with only two marked simply “second.” In the first,
various stanzas are marked “plagal fourth,” “low” (3apUç?), “plagal fourth low,”
“plagal first,” and “third”—all in Greek terminology written with Syriac characters,
except “low,” which is the Syriac word “tahtayâ.” As the stanzas of both of these
mmré run their course, one often sees “trgm” before a stanza, then an indication of
mode or, in the first of these mmrê, “bqP” (“with voice” or “with melody”) before a
following stanza, and Husmann quite plausibly interprets that as a sign that the
stanzas marked trgm were to be declaimed, and that singing began again at the stanza
prefaced by the modal indication or by bqP.88 In the mëmrê, the modal indications and
the trgm and bqP directives are written in the text itself, before the stanzas affected, by
the same hand that copied the texts. The scribe of the text had no modal indications at
all to furnish with the sôgyatâ, each of whose first stanza is noted with early Byzantine
neums which, according to Husmann, trace a florid melismatic melody. The neums
may have been written by a secondary hand. Clearly secondary is the marginal note
“plagal first” (blgysprwtw, i.e., irAáytoç itprroç) written next to the first stanza of the
first sôgItâ by a hand which closely resembles that of the text, with a pen whose nib has
the breadth of the one used to write the neums, but while the primary hand wrote
“plagal” with a “p” (in the abbreviated form “ply”), the marginal hand wrote it with a
“b.” The fact that modal indications sufficed for the mmrê while musical notation,
apparently absent in the primary text, was soon added to the sôgyãtâ suggests a
contrast between florid sôgitâ melodies and simple mmrâ melodies which were
probably improvised within conventional limits, in alternation with sections of
oratorical declamation.
The melodic formulas of the mmrê did not conform to the patterns of a single
mode, and an expression like “plagal fourth low,” distinct from “plagal fourth,”
suggests that the scribe (a Melkite with hymnographic and musical interests?) had
occasional difficulty in finding any of the eight modes familiar to him quite right for a
melodic passage of an old Syrian mëmrâ. The original lack of modal indication for the
first sôgItâ on these folios, and the fact that the second one did not even receive a modal
label from the secondary hand that labeled the first, may mean that it was more difficult
to assign the more melismatic traditional melodies of sôgyatâ satisfactorily to one of
the modes.
The alternation between declamation and singing in the execution of mëmrê mani
fested by these fragmentary leaves is similar to that which has been reconstructed for
the early execution of kontakia,89 but the modal fluctuation of the melodies of those
mëmrê stands in contrast to the single mode indicated for each kontakion in the
Byzantine manuscript tradition. The melismatic notation of the sôgyatâ suggests, on
the other hand, that the form of their melodies is closer to that of the more melismatic
kontakion melodies that first began to appear in notation in the thirteenth century.9°
CONCLUSION AND COROLLARIES
The Age and Birthplace of the Octoechos
Neither the musical nor the hymnographic octoechos is as old as we have been
inclined to think, and no book quite the equivalent of the Melkite or Byzantine
Oktoechos or Parakietike ever existed in the Jacobite Syrian Church, despite the
obvious influence of early Melkite Oktoechoi on early medieval Jacobite hymno
graphic collections. The idea that Severus of Antioch, in the early sixth century, had
something to do with a musical or a hymnographic octoechos or both is based on
compounded misunderstanding, and there is no evidence at all that he had anything to
do with either. We have not yet mentioned an anecdote in the apophthegmata of the
Fathers in which a monk tells the fourth-century Abba Silvanus that since he became a
solitary he has been singing “the office of the canon and the hours and the elements of
the Oktoechos.”9’ This too has been taken as evidence of the existence of some kind of
octoechos by the fifth or sixth century, on the claim that the anecdote is found in the
Plerophoriai of John Rufus, a contemporary of Severus.92 It is not, in fact, contained
in John Rufus’ Plerophoriai at all: it is an anecdote which Nau, in his publiction of
the Syriac Plerophoriai, drew from an eleventh-century Greek collection of apoph
thegmata (Paris Fonds grec 1596, p. 649) and included among the supplementary
anecdotes in which are mentioned various persons also mentioned in the Plero
phoriai.93 It is highly unlikely that any sort of octoechos—or the office of the canon, for
that matter—was known to anyone in the days of Silvanus, and the anecdote in ques
tion, altogether absent from the early sixth-century Plerophoriai, is found only in a
few late collections like that of Nau’s Parisian Greek manuscript, which includes
apophthegmata belonging to a late stage of tradition.94
There is really no evidence for the existence of an octoechos in any sense before the
eighth century, or perhaps the seventh. The musical system of eight modes may have
existed before the hymnographic grouping of texts according to eight modes. The
principle of using eight musical modes in church was, at least, able to travel by itself,
for it reached Constantinople and western Europe (where it was known as a Greek
phenomenon at first) independently of hymnographic modal grouping.95 The tenth-
century Georgian Typika, based on the usages of Jerusalem in the seventh or eighth
century, often indicate one of eight modes for sung troparia, in no particular order of
mode, but one cannot be sure that the modal numbers in these tenth-century Georgian
manuscripts are as old as the pieces marked with them, and the mode of the same piece
differs occasionally in different manuscripts.96 The texts of the Oktoechos itself were
not translated into Georgian until the late ninth or early tenth century, those for
weekdays not until the late tenth, in the days of Euthymius Mtacmideli.97 A single
witness, Sin. Gr. 212, a Melkite lectionary which happens to include a list of the modes
to be used in consecutive order on Sundays of Eastertide (first the authentic modes,
then the plagal ones), may be of the seventh century,98 although Husmann observes
that uncial manuscripts like this one are hard to date accurately and wonders if it is not
really of the eighth century.99 In either case, this earliest witness is Melkite.
On the Jacobite side of the confessional frontier the eight modes, still ignored
around 700, had appeared by the ninth century, and so had the octonary arrangement
of hymnographic texts by mode. The Jacobite arrangement of hymnographic texts in
sets, one for each of the eight modes, was at first, however, limited to certain functional
types of troparia which were contained in the primitive Melkite Oktoechoi: canons on
the Resurrection and the Theotokos, and the equivalent of stichera and kathismata on
the Resurrection, the Theotokos, martyrs, repentance, and the dead. The Greek models
of many of them betray their Melkite origin. For some reason Jacobite imitation of
Melkite fashions in liturgical hymnody seems to have been greatest around the ninth
century. It is in the ninth or tenth century that we find Jacobite Syrians making
Tropologia for saints’ days and commemorations of the dead, using Greek termi
nology not only to designate the type of book (trwplygyn) but also its contents (qnw&
and trwpry, i.e., canons and troparia),’°° and it is in the ninth century—perhaps also
the late eighth—that we find Jacobite Psalters with the Melkite series of nine odes for
which Melkite canons were written.10’ The Syrian series of odes began to replace the
Melkite series in Jacobite Psalters of the tenth century and later, as the actual Jacobite
use of Greek canons waned.’°2 It was also in the ninth century that the Jacobites
gradually began marking with musical mode numbers the older Antiochene macneyata,
which they had long been singing to the tunes of the original Greek texts without
concern for modal identification, but they did not arrange macneyata in any modal
order reflecting the principle of a hymnographic octoechos until a century or so after
they had adopted for their canons and cenyane on the Resurrection and on the Theo
tokos, and their cenyane of the other “general” categories as well, the consecutive
modal order which was that of texts of the corresponding genres and categories in the
early Melkite Oktoechoi. Pieces in the purely Syriac genres—madraê, sôgyãtâ, mëmré
—resis ted the application of both the musical and the hymnographic octoechos
longer yet.
The octoechos was a creative product of the Hellenistic Syrian mind, the practical
expression, probably, of Hellenistic Christian speculation on Sunday as eighth day,
and its passage across linguistic and cultural frontiers in Syria was associated with the
passage of Greek canons and stichera into Syriac, first for use in Melkite churches
using that language, and then on beyond the frontiers of the Chalcedonian Church.
A Hymnographic Heptaechos in Syria and in Constantinople?
We have seen that around the year 1000 the use of Jacobite macneyata and takepatâ
was functionally coordinated with the use of biblical readings in Antioch and northern
Syria, and that the readings for Sundays were organized in a way that reflected the
grouping of Sundays in series of seven in the Syrian calendar. We have also seen that in
Jacobite collections of macneyata and takpatâ of that period containing strophes of
both in all eight modes, with those of the “general” categories provided for regular
weekday use in sets for each of the eight modes, strophes of both on the Resurrection
were provided in each of the first seven modes only. We also noticed that in the manItâ
section of one such collection (Vat. Syr. 94) the lack of traditional Resurrection pieces
in mode 3 had even been filled by the deliberate addition of skôlyatâ in that mode so
that every one of the first seven modes would be represented in that series of Resurrec
tion pieces. Presuming that these Resurrection macneyata and takepãtâ were meant to
be used not only in Eastertide but also on the septenary Sundays after Pentecost, we are
led to suspect the existence of what might be called a liturgical, hymnographic hepta
echos for use on Sundays not having a particular character of their own, a heptaechos
that may have affected primarily those pieces used in connection within the lectionary
readings. Perhaps the phenomenon existed already in the earlier part of the tenth
century among Jacobites of certain areas, but we have no collections of macneyata and
takpãtâ demonstrably of that time.
A trace of something similar can be found in Constantinople around the same time.
In the Typikon for the secular rite of the capital as it was in the middle of the tenth
century, before the canons and the more systematic modal order of the octoechos
already used in the monasteries of Constantinople had passed over into the secular rite,
there is a supplement containing elements relatively new in the liturgical order of that
rite. This supplement contains one series of prokeimena given with the Resurrections
Gospels of Sunday Orthros and another series of Resurrection prokeimena and alleluia
verses for use in conjunction with the biblical readings in the Liturgy.’°3 Both of these
series are organized in the consecutive order of the eight modes, but that order is clearly
a secondary imposition. While for the eight modes of the second series there are eight
alleluia verses, one for each mode, there are only seven prokeimena, in modes 1, 2, 3,
another in 3, barys, and plagal 4. The first series has ten prokeimena distributed among
the eight modes, with two each for barys and for plagal 4, but while the first three are
designed in the Palestinian manner for complete repetition of the prokeimenon after
the stichos, the last seven are not.
Mateos is surely right in saying that the septenary hymnographic sets of prokeimena
in these two series indicate an organization that existed before their distribution
according to the eight modes, and that the arrangement in eight modes is merely “the
artificial framework of usages more ancient and more free”; he sees two traditions here,
of which one, with the first three prokeimena for Orthros would be Palestinian, like
many elements in this supplement, while the other, represented by the two groups of
seven Resurrection prokeimena, would be Constantinopolitan.’°4 Given the analogy
with the Syrian macneyata and takgepatâ of the Resurrection in seven modes, coordi
nated with the septenary grouping of Sundays and of Sunday biblical readings in the
Syrian calendar of the early Middle Ages, one wonders if perhaps the use of a septenary
hymnographic heptaechos, or at least a septenary cycle of Resurrection strophes, to be
sung in conjunction with Biblical readings on Sundays, not only in the Jacobite
Church but also in the secular rite of Constantinople, can be traced to Antioch and
Northern Syria, while the use of a hymnographic octoechos, originally an octonary
cycle of pieces to be sung in conjunction with odes and psalms on Sundays and
weekdays, was specifically Palestinian in origin.
As for musical modality, the melodies of the septenary Resurrection prokeimena in
the supplement to the Constantinopolitan Typikon constitute neither a septenary nor
an octonary modal series. They were probably composed before the exigencies of
composing in such series impinged upon the musical freedom of composers, and
before the exigencies of having a piece in each mode impinged upon the editorial
freedom of compilers. In the artificial framework of the Constantinopolitan supple
ment no effort was made to force them into a system of consistent modal ordering
which had not yet acquired droit de cite in the secular rite of Constantinople, despite
the general use of a system of eight modes. The Resurrection macneyata and takpatâ
of the early eleventh-century Jacobite codices, on the other hand, are in septenary
modal order. The general arrangement of the contents of those codices shows that the
principle of ordering pieces by musical mode had penetrated the communities in
which they were compiled. One might use these observations to argue that the adop
tion of a principle of septenary ordering of hymnographic texts preceded the adoption
of a septenary modal series to go with the texts in Syria, and that it reached Constan
tinople before the adoption of the modal series had taken place. For that matter, were
the earliest Melkite canons and stichera composed and gathered into sets of eight with
eight musical modes in mind, or simply with calendar theory in mind?
The Eight Modes: Syrian or Greek?
The musical formulas, scales, styles familiar to Melkites are not likely to have
differed radically from those familiar to their Jacobite neighbors.’°5 The Antiochene
melodies of the Greek antiphons of Severus and others, and the Syro-Palestinian
melodies of the Greek canons, must have suffered little alteration as they passed over to
the Syriac translations made with such careful effort to retain the syllable count of the
Greek lines. Conversely, the North Syrian music to which early Syriac forerunners of
the kontakion were sung may have had its influence on the music to which the Greek
kontakia were first sung. If it is true that the melodic style used originally in singing
kontakia was also used in singing the earliest canons,’°6 those melodies must have
provided much of the raw material digested in the octonary modal system which made
its fortune with the canon.
Nevertheless, not all the raw material seems to have been perfectly digestible. The
“plagal fourth low” distinct from “plagal fourth” in the mëmrâ marked with shifting
modes on the stray leaves bound at the beginning of Sin. Syr. 233, and the fourteen
macneyata whose mode escaped the compiler of Vat. Syr. 94, may indicate that the
melodic settings of Syriac pieces of precisely those older genres which were not derived
from Melkite canons and stichera did not always fit the procrustean bed of the modal
system.’°7 This impression is reinforced by the judgment of musicologists that the
music of pieces neumed in early Byzantine Kontakaria, or Psaltika, containing kon—
takia, alleluia verses, prokeimena, hypakoia, is in some respects modally and struc
turally different from that of canons and stichera neumed in Byzantine Heirmologia
and Sticheraria, and that the explanation may lie in the Syrian background of the
pieces in the Kontakarion.’°8 The music of canons and stichera seems to have been
composed in full accordance with what came to be the standard Byzantine modal
system, and that may be a sign that the Byzantine system of musical modes is funda
mentally and originally the one used by Melkite composers of music for canons and
stichera.’°9 Was their musical system based on Syro-Palestinian melodies, or on those
of the Hellenistic East more broadly, while the melodies of the Kontakarion retained
some North Syrian or Mesopotamian elements?
In any case, the Hellenistic origin of the musical concept of mode in the system, or
systems, used in Syria is betrayed by the Jacobite Syrians’ regular use of the Greek word
fixoc (‘°ykws” in Syriac orthography) for “mode” until the late medieval period. The
theoretical underpinnings of the system may have been Hellenistic, but the music, to
judge from the little indirect evidence we have, belonged to a musical culture shared
largely by both Hellenistic and Aramaean Christians in Syria and Palestine. Minor
differences peculiar to Hellenes or Aramaeans, or to particular regions, crossed the
Greco-Syriac linguistic frontier in both directions, to be used by all, and to spread far
beyond Syria and Palestine. Of this music, which became a part of the Byzantine
heritage, we can say what has been said of the poetic forms sung to it: it is the progeny
of a happy marriage of the Greek tradition with Syrian elements, and when it was
finally born it was rightly considered a pure product of Byzantine civilization.”0
St. Meinrad Archabbey
1. Particularly important for our present purposes are his extension it came to be used for the musical system of eight
“Hymnus und Troparion: Studien zur Geschichte der musi modes, or xot.
kalischen Gattungen von Horologion und Tropologion, 3. On extant Armenian musical manuscripts, cf. N. Tab
in Jahrbuch des Staatlichen Instituts für Musikforschung misian, “Les anciens manuscrits musicaux arméniens,”
Preuflicher Kulturbesitz, 1971 (Berlin, 1972), 7-86 (cited here REArm, n.s. 7 (1970), 267-80, and Husmann’s inventory in
after as “Hymnus und Troparion”); Die syrischen Auferste K. G. Fellerer, ed., Geschichte der katholischen Kirchen
hungskanones und ihre griechischen Vorlage,” OCP, 38 musik, I (Basel, 1972), 99.
(1972), 209-42; ‘Die melkitische Liturgie als Quelle der syri 4. Cf. I. Borsai, “Y a-t-il un ‘octoéchos’ dans le système du
schen Qanune iaonaie; Melitene und Edessa,’ OCP, 41 chant copte?,” in Recueil d’études dédiées a v. Wessetzky,
(1975), 5-56; Eine alte orientalische christliche Liturgie: Studia Aegyptiaca, I (Budapest, 1974), 39-53.
altsyrisch-melkitisch,” OCP, 42 (1976), 156-96; “Syrischer 5. The only fully noted Syriac manuscript which has
und byzantinischer Oktoëchos: Kanones und Qanune,” OCP, come to light so far is a Melkite Tropologion or Sticherarion
44 (1978), 65-73. with supplements, written in AD. 1233/4, which has now
2. Hereafter the form Oktoechos will designate the type of been published by H. Husmann, Em syro-melkitisches
book, or an individual example thereof. The word ôKtthflxog Tropologion mit altbyzantinischer Notation: Sinai Syr. 261,
originally designated the book containing the modally ar Gottinger Orientforschungen Reihe I, Syriaca, IX/l-2 (Wies
ranged texts (i betthsoç [I3ui3Xoc], with f3Ioç understood). baden, 1975-78). The manuscript’s fully developed early
By extension, it was applied to the principle according to Byzantine notation and its supplementary middle Byzantine
which the contents of the book were arranged, and by further notation for the heothina of Leo VI have been subjected to
comparative study by Husmann, “Fin syrisches Sticherarion has not gone entirely without critical reassessment, however.
mit palaobyzantinischer Notation (Sinai syr. 261),” in Ham H. G. Beck, Kirche und Theologische Literatur im byzantinz
burger Jahrbuch für Musikwissenschaft, 1 (1974), 9-57. On schen Reich, HAW, XII/2/i (Munich, 1959), 390, speaks
the sporadic musical notation in other Melkite Syriac manu rather of “the Syrian Oktoechos” in which a number of songs
scripts, cf. Em syro-melkitisches Tropologion, I, ix-x, and are attributed to Severus. Husmann, “Hymnus und Tro
“Em syrisches Sticherarion,” 9. parion,” 53, notes rightly that the word “Oktoechos” is only
6. This ecphonetic interpretation of the points was first partially appropriate for a collection of ma(neyatâ like that of
made by F. Wellesz, “Probleme der musikalischen Orient Vat, Syr. 94, and that it is even less appropriate for the earlier
forschung, “in Jahrbuch der Musikbibliothek Peters (Leipzig, collections of pieces in that genre.
1917), 12-18, and “Miscellanea zur orientalischen Musik 16. Two recent learned and influential examples: M. Stöhr,
geschichte: die Lektionszeichen in den soghdischen Texten,” “Oktoechos,”in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, IX
Zeitschrift für Musikwissenschaft, 1(1918/19), 505-15, on the (Kassel, 1961), 1918-20 (on the hymnographic octoechos), and
basis of the Manichaean and Nestorian texts in Sogdian E. Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography,
found in Chinese Turkestan, which Wellesz, with good rea 2d ed. (Oxford, 1961), 44 (“The Byzantine system of eight
son, saw as survivals of the earliest stages of the points used in modes, the Oktoëchos, ascribed to John Damascene actu
...
Nestorian Syriac manuscripts. D. Jourdan-Hemmerdinger, ally goes back to the Oktoechos of Severus”) and 140 (“The
“Nouveaux fragments musicaux sur papyrus (une notation Okroëchos, a collection of songs for a cycle of eight consecu
antique par points),’ in E. Wellesz and 51. Velimirovi6, eds., tive Sundays, was already in use in the days of Severus”).
Studies in Eastern Chant, IV (Crestwood, N. Y., 1979), 81-111, 17. Cf. W. Wright, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts
finds real musical value in the Syriac points and sees their in the British Museum Acquired since the Year 1838, 3 parts
origin in a system used in Greek papyri of the second and (London, 1870-72), 330-39 (cited hereafter as Wright, Cata
third centuries AD., and perhaps even as early as the third logue; all references are to Part I, unless the number of
century s.c. The statements made by Syriac writers on the another part is given).
42r
accentual points, however, have to do rather with formal 18. A color reproduction of fol. can be seen in Wright,
declamation than with singing, and J. B. Segal, The Diacriti Catalogue, III, pl. v. The letters beth (= 2) and alaph ( 1)
cal Point and the Accents in Syriac, London Oriental Series, visible in the right margin of the page are indications not of
II (Oxford, 1953), 58-150, can thus rightly claim ancient sup mode but of topical order (a second manltâ on the Macca-
port for interpreting them as declamatory accents rather than bees, a first macnitâ on the Egyptian Martyrs). Br. Lib. Add.
musical ecphonetic signs. They would, nevertheless, have 17134 is the basic manuscript used by E. W. Brooks, The
been useful for cantillation as well as for declamation. Hymns of Severus and Others in the Syrrac Version of Paul of
7. A. Baumstark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr der syri Edessa as Revised by James of Edessa, P0, VI/1. X’II/S (Paris,
schen Jakobiten, Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des 1910-Il). Wright, Catalogue, 338-39, concluded that the
Altertums 111/3-5 (Paderborn, 1910), 47; Husmann, “Hymnus manuscript is an autograph of the noted bishop James of
und Troparion,” 65-66. Edessa himself. Brooks, P0, X’I./l, 6, doubted that because the
8. J. S. Assemanus, Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino later Br. Lib. Add. 18816 “often gives a better text,” but the
vaticana, I (Rome, 1719), 487 and 613. Assemani called the “better text” is usually a matter of standardized orthography
codex an “Octoechos” because all the pieces it contains are of proper names or of better choice of synonyms, the kind of
“ad unum vel alterum cx octo celeberrimis Tonis expressi, improvement which James, in his concern for what was
qui apud Graecos, et Syros circumferuntur” (p. 487). Cf. also received, may not have cared to make.
S. E. and J. S. Assemanus, Bibliothecae Apostolrcae Vati 19. Brooks, in his published text, has marked each manitS
canae codicum manuscriptorum catalogus (cited hereafter as with a mode number when he could. This can be seriously
Assemani, Catalogus), 1/2 (Rome, 1758), 500. misleading, and it is important to note that he did so entirely
9. E. g., K. Krumbacher Geschichte des byzantinischen on the basis of later manuscripts, when he could find a modal
Litteratur (2nd ed., Munich, 1897), 674, or J. Pargoire, number for a given text in them (cf. P0, VI/l, 6 note 1). It
L’Eglise byzantine de 527 a 847 (Paris, 1905), who was even was because Jeannin and Puyade failed to realize the real
led to think that Oktoechos was the actual title of a literary source of those modal numbers in Brooks’s publication that
work written by Severus. they were able to think of Severus as an important figure in
10. Baumstark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr; cf. the index the history of the musical octoechos.
so. “OKttbllxoc des Severus von Antiocheia.” Baumstark 20. Wright, Catalogue, 363-65.
seems to havetaken the work at that time in a sense fluctu 21. This manuscript’s maneyata for Christmas, in the
ating between that of a liturgical book (an Oktoechos) and Syriac meter associated with Simeon the Potter, have been
that of a system of hymnographic ordering. published, with German translation and notes, by S. Eurin
II. Ibid., 46. In his Geschichte der syrischen Literatur ger, “Die neuen ‘Topferlieder’ des Simeon von Gêiir,” OrChr,
(Bonn, 1922), Baumstark used the word “Oktoechos” only of n.s. 3(1913), 221-35. H. Husmann, Die Melodien derJakobr
the Syriac version of the Greek Oktoechos (the liturgical tischen Kirche: die Qãle gaoanãie des Bert Gaza, SBWien,
book) made for the use of Melkite Syrians (p. 374), but this Phil.-hist.Kl., CCLXXIII/4 [= Veroffentlichungen der Kom
silent rectification has gone practically unnoticed. mission für Musikforschung XIII], Vienna, 1971), 220, has
12. J. Jeannin and J. Puyade, “L’Octobchos syrien,” identified the first manith for Palm Sunday in this manu
OrChr, n.s. 3 (1913), 82-104, 277-98. An abbreviated form of script with a qalh for Palm Sunday attributed gratuitously to
the same article is found in DACL, XII/2 (Paris, 1936), Severus in Br. Lib. Add. 17,207 (also of the 8th/9th century).
1888-1900. The latter is also devoid of modal indications.
13. Ibid., 86-87. 22. Wright, Catalogue, 761.
14. Jeannin, in his publication of melodies used by Sy 23. Assemani, Catalogus, 1/2, 499.
rian Catholics, Melodies liturgiques syriennes et chaldéennes 24. Cf. Brooks’ edition in P0, II/5, 659 (no. 196). There
(Paris, 1925-28), continued to claim a role for Severus in the it is attributed not to Severus but to John Psaltes. Assemani,
formation of a musical octoechos but not in the formation of bc. cit., was right in denying Severus’ authorship of this
a liturgical, hymnographic, octoechos: cf. I, 91-92. manith already on chronological grounds.
15. His role in the history of the hymnographic octoechos 25. Wright, Catalogue, 339-40.
26. Ibid., 341-43. 33. In the succession of Sundays of the Resurrection, of
27. Tagrrt, modern Takrit or Tikrit, on the Tigris between Lent, and of the time after Epiphany in the West Syrian
Mosul and Baghdad, was from 628/9 until 1089 the residence Church, the sequence of modes from Sunday to Sunday is
of the maphrain, or ‘metropolitan of the East,” who, in continuous (1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8), as is the sequence of modes for
theory at least, enjoyed a certain amount of independent entire weeks in the Byzantine octoechos. The number of Sun
jurisdiction over the Jacobite Syrians of the territory once in days in the period after Epiphany, of course, may not reach
the Sasanid Empire: cf. J.-M. Fsey, “Tagrrt: esquisse d’his eight in a given year, and the Sundays of Lent will never
toire chrétienne,” OrSyr, 8 (1963), 289-342, and his “les dio reach eight.
cèses du ‘maphrianat’ syrien, 629-1860,” Parole de l’Orient, 5 34. This impression is strengthened when one inspects
(1974), 133-64, 331-93; 8 (1977/78), 347-78. A Tagritan was not the modal numbers, drawn from manuscripts late enough to
necessarily an inhabitant of the town of Tagrft. He could be a have them, set next to the Resurrection macneyata of James of
Jacobite from elsewhere in the Maphrianate, and “Tagritan” Edessa’s earlier collection by Brooks, P0, VI/l, 118-30:
in Jacobite parlance was often synonymous with Easterner.” modes 3 and 8 are indicated for none of them, although one
The Maphrianate had its particular liturgical usages, but manitâ in mode 3 is found in the separate class of those to be
they have not been isolated systematically. We may presume sung at the entrance to the baptistery at dawn on (Easter)
that the region was less open to Melkite influence. On the Sunday (ibid., 130). Is it significant that there is no piece in
other hand, we do not know to what extent Tagritans con mode 8 for any festal or seasonal day at all whose date
formed to Western usages when they were together in groups depends on that of Easter, either in Vat. Syr. 94 or in the
outside their own territory. manuscripts from which Brooks drew his modal numbers,
28. Assemani, Catalogus, 1/2, 500-511. while each of the remaining festal occasions—Christmas,
29. There is no doubt about equivalences between modes Epiphany, Hypapante, Christ’s miracles—has at least one
in the Melkite-Byzantine system of numbering and those in piece in mode 8?
the Syrian system (which is also used by Melkites). The num 35. Wright, Catalogue, 345-46. Wright did not note the
berings of both series are given in the headings of the eight modal succession of the Resurrection pieces, but one can see
sets of Resurrection enyanê in the 11 th/l2th century Jacobite it in the manuscript. In manuscripts of this stage of develop
Br. Lib. Add. 14519 (Wright, Catalogue, 273), fols. l2lt139r, ment the modal ordering is emphasized by full headings only
with Greek terminology in orthographically inconsistent in the case of the “general” macneyatâ.
Syriac script used for the elements of Greek series: 36. From the late 11th century we have Br. Lib. Add.
Greek (Melkite-Byzantine) Syrian
‘Hxoc itpthtoc (ykws prwws) First

‘Hxoc &6tepoç (ykws dwtrws) Second
‘Hxoc [the number follows in Syriac only Third
Hxoc ‘rftctptoç (ykws 4rws) Fourth
Hyoç it?siysoc itpi5toç (‘ykws plygys prwfws) Fifth
‘Hyoç 1thytoc beiStepoç (ykws pylygws dwlrw) Sixth
“Third plagal mode (ykws plygws trytw) which is known as 3ap(ç Seventh
(bwrs), that is: barbarian (brbry’ )“
‘Hyoç it?h’ytoç tCtaptoç (ykws plygyws [y[rw Eighth
One hopes that the scribe’s explanation of barys reflects a 14714 (AD. 1074/5) and Add. 17213 (extant by AD. 1079/80;
sense of humor. macneyãtâ only): Wright, Catalogue, 346-47, 347-49. Baum
30. At least one of the fourteen is found with a modal stark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr, 267, gives the impression
indication in another codex: no. 12, Besettdrâ da-slawdtek(y, that Resurrection macneyata in an ordered series of eight
rnetgawwCsinan, occurs among the macneyata of mode 4 in modes occur already in a 10th- or 11th-century collection
Charfet (Lebanon) MS 5/1, p.98: cI. I. Mansourati, La prière of texts of various genres grouped together by the day or
“Sub Praeszthum” dans Ia liturgie syrienne ([Rome], n.d.), occasion of their use (a Penqita) which is now Br. Lib. Add.
8-10, 18. The manuscript bears no date or place of origin, but 14503, but this is in fact not the case.
a few short Armenian notes suggest a northern origin or use, 37. The stages in which this happened are traced by
and a date sometime in the tenth or eleventh century is pro Husmann, Die Melodien der Jakobitischen Kirche: Die Qale
posed by I. Armalet, Catalogue des manuscrits de Charfet gaodnãie, 222-26.
(Jounieh, 1937), 85-91 (text in Arabic). This manitâ, absent 38. Cf. Baumstark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr, 267-69.
from James of Edessa’s collection, happens, nevertheless, to The earliest known example is Br. Lib. Add. 12147 + 12149
be a translation of the ancient Greek hymn “Hypo ten sen (a pair of volumes, one for each side of choir, made in AD.
eusplanchnian”: cf. Husmann, “Hymnus und Troparion,” 1005/6). With Add. 12146 + 12148 (AD. 1006/7) they con
12-13. In the Byzantine tradition, the Greek hymn is regularly stitute a set of two volumes in four made by Tagritans living
assigned to the first plagal mode, not the fourth. in Egypt (Wright, Catalogue, 258-69). Baumstark, idem., 79-
31. Baumstark, Geschichte dersyrischen Literatur, 72. 80, wonders whether the set’s peculiarities represent Mesopo
32. In the West Syrian Church, an authentic mode and its tamian usage or “Syro-Egyptian” usage.
plagal correspondent traditionally alternate from day to day 39. Influential in this setsse is E. Werner, The Sacred
on the ferial days within a given week, e.g., if Sunday is of the Bridge (London-New York, 1959), 373-406, and his earlier
first mode, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of the same week studies to which he refers there and which E. Wellesz, in
are of the fifth mode, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday of the Kongressberichte der Zweiten Kirchenmusikalischen Kongress
first. In choirs where such a practice is operative, the practical (Vienna, 1954), 76-82, had accepted. Werner realized the
advantage of having ferially useful pieces of a plagal mode importance of the ma<neyata for the history of the octoechos,
near those of its corresponding authentic mode are obvious. and he knew that they were not consistently classified modally
until relatively late. He turned to their relation to the two types of book appears earlier, too: compare the
calendar and approved Baumstark’s emphasis on the strong for the same occasions, arranged topically (though with
links between the hymnographic octoechos and the liturgical modes of individual pieces indicated) in fols. 48-58, 61-70,
calendar in the Jacobite Church (The Sacred Bridge, 389). He 76’-92 of Br. Lib. 14514 (c. 9th century; Wright, Catalogue,
thought, though, that Severus had already put together a 341-42), or fols. 43-93, 100-120, l2940r, l4547r of Br. Lib.
hymnographic octoechos for use on cyclic groups of eight Add. 17136 (lOth/lith century but still unmodal; Wright,
Sundays (p. 382), which is not so. 344), with the lectionary readings of Br. Lib. Add. 14486
40. Wright, Catalogue, 176-77. The manuscript has been (AD. 823/4, fols. 57, 7180t; Wright, 151), although the latter
translated and analyzed by F. C. Burkitt, The Early Syriac does not have readings for times of scarcity of rain or times
Lectionary System (separate publication from ProBrAc, 11 of wrath.
[1923]). For the practice of lectio continua as explanation of 49. Cf. Baumstark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr, 269-72,
the lack of proper readings for the Sundays not having a for a survey of the fluctuating situation in the lectionaries.
proper character in this 6th-century lectionary, cf. A. Baum 50. Wright, Catalogue, 159-61. Macden, southeast of Lake
stark, Nichtevangelische syrische Perikopenordnungen des Van and east of Siirt (cf. E. Honigmann, Le Couvent de Bar
ersten Jahrtausends, Liturgiegeschichtliche Forschungen III caumã et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie, CSCO,
(Münster, 1921), 85. CXLVI, Subsidia 7 [Louvain, 1954], 166-67) was a northern
41. Wright, Catalogue, 146-54. The set has been described outpost in the territory of the Maphrianate.
in detail by 0. Heiming, “Em jakobitisches Doppellexionar 51. Wright, Catalogue, 161-67. That this is the Mar Mal
des Jahres 824 aus Harran in den Hanschriften British kiSs in the Tür Abdin, not the monastery of the same name
Museum Add. 14485 his 14487,” in P. Granfield, and J. A. near Antioch, is shown by the mention of men from neigh
Jungmann, eds., Kyriakon: Festschrift Johannes Quasten, II boring Abdô of fols. 192v, l93r, and 196r. Arbos is the modern
(Münster, 1970), 768-99. It is especially difficult to assign to Turkish Ta1koy southeast of Midyat, according to H. Ritter,
Eastern or Western Jacobite liturgical practice what one finds TurOyo, A/I (Beirut-Wiesbaden, 1967), *14*, and for the loca
in a manuscript from Ilarrãn, a town in an ecclesiastical tion of the monastery, cf. P. Kruger, “Das syrisch-mono
buffer zone whose inhabitants included both Nestorians and physitische Mönchtum im Tar ‘Ab(h)dfn,” OCP, 4 (1938), 28.
Jacobites, the latter being both Westerners and Tagritan 52. Wright, Catalogue, 167-69. The place of origin must
Easterners. When this set of lectionaries was made the town be in the north, perhaps in the region of Melitene, for on
was in patriarchal territory as far as the Jacobites were con fol. 186’ the scribe who wrote that part of the manuscript
cerned. It passed under the more immediate jurisdiction of added a note in Armenian characters.
the Maphrian of the East sometime in the middle of the 11th 53. Ibid., 169-72.
century: cf. J.-M. Fiey, Nisibe, mtropole syriaque orientale 54. In modern times, Easter Sunday, after Vespers and the
et ses suffragants des origines a nos jours, CSCO, CCCL first nocturn of the Night Office in mode 8, continues in mode
XXXVIII, Subsidia, 54 (Louvain, 1977), 95-96. I, Easter Monday is in mode 2, and so on, through Easter
42. The Sunday of Entrance into the Fast in the festive Saturday in mode 7. New Sunday then begins in mode 8 (for
order, and five Sundays of the Fast and one before Hosanne Vespers and the first nocturn of the Night Office), but con
(i.e., Palm Sunday) in the Sunday order. When the Western tinues in mode 1. The following Sunday is in mode 2, and the
nun Etheria visited Jerusalem in the late 4th century, she Sunday modal cycle then continues until the end of the
found there seven Sundays of Lent before Palm Sunday, and a church year, with Pentecost, the seventh Sunday after Easter,
trace of this still remained in the Syro-Palestinian lectionary in mode 7. This does not prevent the Sundays between Easter
system of the second half of the 9th century; cf. Baumstark, and the end of the year from having lessons and a number of
Nichtevangelische syrische Perikopenordnungen, 154-57. sung texts proper to each one.
43. Easter Sunday and New (i.e., Low) Sunday in the fes 55. Cf. J. Daniélou, The Bible and the Liturgy, Liturgical
tive order, and the Sunday after New Sunday followed by Studies, III (Notre Dame, Ind., 1956), 262-75. Werner, The
Sundays [our to six after Easter in the Sunday order—only six Sacred Bridge, 381-82, referring to H. Lewy and J. Lewy,
Sundays in all, on the face of the matter, but Heiming, “Em “The Origin of the Week and the Oldest West Asiatic
jakobitisches Doppellexionar,” 780, is surely right in seeing Calendar,” Hebrew Union College Annual, 17 (1942/43), 1-
pericopes for two Sundays in those of the Sunday after New 155, finds a decisive clue to the origin of the octoechos in a
Sunday, for both of the Sunday series in Add. 14485 double pentecontade of seven weeks + one day. He is no doubt on the
the readings they give for that Sunday. right track as far as the Easter pen tecontade goes. Whether the
44. I.e., the three companions of Daniel in the fiery idea of a pentecontade was involved in the extension of the
furnace (Dan. 1-3). octoechos to the time after Pentecost is another question. The
45. Wright, Catalogue, 154-59. The regnal years of Mar East Syrian calendar with its overlapping Sundays—Pentecost
Athanasius (V) $alayâ or Salilla are problematic (cf. J.-B. (eighth of Eastertide?) first of the iabôS of the (Fast of) the
Chabot, ed., Chronique de Michelle Syrien, patriarche d’An Apostles; last (eighth) of the Apostles = first of the iabôcâ of
tioche (1166-1199), III [Paris, 1899-1900], 139 note l,and 467- summer (cf. the following note)—may lend itself to interpre
68), but AD. 999/1000 definitely falls within them. tation against such a background, but the East Syrians did
46. Here, the Sunday of Entrance into the Fast no longer not adopt an octoechos of any kind, and in what we know of
precedes the First Sunday of the Fast but is identical with it. the West Syrian calendar there is no sign of Sundays after
47. Easter Sunday, Low Sunday, then Sundays three to Pentecost ordered by a pentecontade.
seven “of after the Resurrection.” 56. The septenary ordering of Sundays is manifest in the
48. The festal and commemorative correspondences are lectionary system of the East Syrian, Nesrorian or Chaldean,
only to be expected, but those occasions without fixed or Church as well, where it is carried even further. The earliest
cyclic calendar reference for which this lectionary provides extant East Syrian lectionaries (for those earlier than AD. 1200,
readings—commemorations of martyrs, of the fathers, of the cf. Wright, Catalogue, 178-90; Assemani, Catalogus, 1/2, 188-
dead, reception of a bishop, times of scarcity of rain, times of 95; N. Pigoulewski, RBibl, 47 [1938], 214-18 [a manuscript in
wrath—all have their topical correspondents among the Leningrad]; A. Scher, Revue des Bibliothkques, 17 [1907], 230
ma(neyata arranged according to the eight modes in Vat. Syr. [a manuscript in the Chaldean Catholic Patriarchate in
94 and Br. Lib. Add 17140. This correspondence between the Mosul]) show a maximum of eight Sundays after Epiphany,
six of Lent, Palm Sunday, six of the Resurrection + one after 67. Oxford, Bodleian Library, Dawkins 22 (R. Payne
the Ascension, which in some manuscripts is called the Smith, Catalogi codicum manuscriptorurn bib Iiothecae Bod
seventh of the Resurrection, seven of the Apostles (Pentecost leianae pars sexta, codices syriacos, carshunicos, mendaeos
being the first), and seven of summer (of which the last Sun complectens [Oxford, 1864], cols. 172-75 [no. 47]); Br. Lib.
day of the Apostles is the first) followed with increasing regu Add. 12145 (Wright, Catalogue, 251-54). The strophes in the
larity by seven of Elias. The system remains intact today; latter codex, including the eight sets on the Resurrection, are
cf. A. J. Maclean, East Syrian Daily Offices (London, 1894), regularly called enyané, but the sets of “general” strophes in
264-81; J. Mateos, Lelya-apra, OCA, 166 (Rome, 1959), 5-16; the eight modes (fols. 1 60v.l 80”) are called “Syrian canons”—
W. F. Macomber, “The Chaldean Lectionary System of the another example of shifting terminology. The Greek canon
Cathedral Church of Kokhe,’ OCP, 33 (1967), 483-516. The in mode 4 for the Burial of Theotokos (fols. l85”-l89)
East Syrians call a group of seven Sundays a iabôâ; the word stands apart, on a quire added to the original manuscript
is an abstract form of the number seven (“hebdomad”), and it in AD. 1033/4.
can also be used to designate a week of seven days. 68. Paris Syr. 154 (AD. 1000/I; Zotenberg, Catalogues,
57. Cf. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzan 110-11) and Br. Lib. Add. 14519 (1 lth/I2th century; Wright,
tinischen Reich, 265-66, 485; Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Catalogue, 272-74), which are collections of enyanb for all
Music and Hymnography, 2nd. ed., 198, 245. occasions, still contain octonary sets of both Resurrection and
58. Cf. 0. Heiming, Syrische Eniânê und griechische “general” strophes. Sets for the Resurrection continue to the
Kanones, Liturgiegeschichtliche Quellen und Forschungen, present day to be provided in books used on Sundays.
XXVI (MOnster, 1932) and Husmann’s articles in OCP cited “General” Cflyfl disposed according to the eight modes can
above in note 1. be found in some short collections for saints’ days in the late
59. Heiming, 47-51. medieval period (examples in Wright, Catalogue, 307-11), but
60. Husmann, “Eine alte orientalische christliche Litur after the 12th century and the introduction of iehimé con
gie,” 169-70. It would be interesting to see if Greek heirmoi taining all texts needed for ferial days, day by day, in order of
can be found for such pieces as the “Mesopotamian” Jacobite each office, the “general” strophes were ordinarily placed
canons on fols. 62-181 of Br. Lib. Add 17135 (Wright, Cata where they were needed in each day’s ferial office, with
logue, 293-94). provision made for singing each of them in all eight modes.
61. The typical enyanâ is shorter than a sticheron. It 69. Cf. Husmann, ‘Hymnus und Troparion,” 33. The
often consists of a single short thought followed by a prayer- three manuscripts were originally parts of the same Melkite
clause, which may be repeated at the end of several enyan in codex. A detail important for the light it sheds on Jacobite
terminology and practice lies in the fact that in the main
a series, as a kind of refrain.
62. Cf. Heiming, Syrische “Eniânb und griechische canon section (Br. Lib. Add. 26113 [defective at the beginning]
+ Sin. Gr. 776, fols. 1-46) there are two canons in each mode,
Kanones, 42-43. The scribe who, in AD. 1000/I, wrote Paris
Syr. 54 (H. Zotenberg, Catalogues des manuscrits syriaques et the first of which is called “anastasimos,” and the second
sabéens (mandaites) de Ia Bibliothèque Nationale [Paris, “koinos.” The canons called koinoi contain, after troparia on
1874], 110-11 [cited hereafter as Zotenberg, Catalogues]) the Cross and on the Resurrection, troparia on the Theoto
announced in the title that he was going to write the ancient kos, apostles, martyrs, saints, repentance, and the dead. Koi
canons (qanonb attiqb) for the entire year, but he concluded nos is the lexical equivalent of the Syriac gawanavâ, “com
the manuscript with the statement that he had written mon” or “general,” and the dichotomy anastasimos/koinos
“Syrian cenyanê” for the entire year. The framentary 10th- in this codex corresponds in striking manner to the two
century Br. Lib. Add. 14667, fols. 70-71 (Wright, Catalogue, separate classes of strophes, of various genres, grouped in
254) contains what have the formal characteristics of enyanè, each of the eight modes by the Jacobites: on the one hand
but in the manuscript they are called qSnônê. In a few Mel- those on the Resurrection, and on the other the “general”
kite Syriac collections of biblical odes, the strophes found ones, some on the Theotokos, others on martyrs and saints,
repentance, or the dead.
with the odes are called not qanônb but enyan. H. Schneider,
70. Husmann, ibid., 34-35.
The Old Testament in Syriac According to the Peshi(ia Ver
sion, IV/6 (Leiden, 1972), vi-ix (of the section “Canticle or 71. ibid., 40. This manuscript already shows characteris
Odes”), notes their presence in the Melkite manuscripts: tics of a later time: the canons for each day are topically dis
Leningrad, State Public Library, Syr. n.s. 19 (10th century); tinct from those of other days, and no day has martyrika or
Wadr NatrOn, Dair as-Suryan, Syr. 25 (12th century); Br. Lib. katanyktika. The stichera are anatolika and alphabetika, and
Add. 14674, fols. 79-126 (12th century); Vat. Borgia Syr. 23 they are found with exaposteilaria, anabathrnoi, and prokei
(12th century); Sin. syr. 260 (12th century). mena, all by different hands, in a supplement designed to
63. Wright, Catalogue, 292-93. make the codex suffice by itself for the changeable parts of the
64. Ibid., 293-94. office of Orthros.
65. Canons for Sundays of Lent ceased to be classified 72. Ibid., 35. The topical repertory of stichera and kathis
modally, but their mode, Sunday by Sunday, in consecutive mata is still that observed in the 9th century. The canons for
modal order, was still indicated in early medieval collections: weekdays are topically distinct by day, but there are days with
cf. Heiming, Syrische cEnibnê und grtechische Kanones, a canon of repentance, or of the Theotokos, or of the dead.
19-21. 73. Ibid., 34-36.
74. Some enyanê are demonstrably not real Syrian enyãné
66. E.g., the remains of such a series in Br. Lib. Add.
14501 (11th century; Wright, Catalogue, 270-71), or the full at all but Syriac translations of Greek stichera, or even of
series in Br. Lib. Add. 17248 (12th century; ibid., 369) and troparia of Greek canons: cf. 0. Heiming, “Die Enyanbhir
Add. 17238 (13th century; ibid., 353-54—the hand may, as men der Berliner Handschrift Sach. 349,” OrChr, 3, ser. 5
Wright says, be “Melkite,” but the contents are unmistakably (1930), 19-55.
Jacobite). Some of these mawrebê have Greek correspondents 75. Cf. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur,
among the heirmoi of known Melkite canons (cf. Husmann, 39-51.
“Syrischer und byzantinischer Oktoëchos,” 67), but many of 76. The critical study of the Greek corpus of works at
tributed to Ephrem begun by S. I. (S. G.) Mercati, S. Ephraem
them have the formal characteristics of enyanb rather than
those of canon-strophes. Syri Opera, I/I Monumenta Biblica et Ecclesiastica, I (Rome,
1915) was never continued. Some Greek works attributed to Resurrection pieces supplemented by a later hand): Zoten
Ephrem are demonstrably spurious, some are at least transla berg, Catalogues, 116.
tions of extant Syriac works attributed to Ephrem, many are 83. Br. Lib. Add. 12146 + 12, 148 (AD. 1006/7) + 12147 +
dubious: cf. D. Hemmerdinger-Iliadou, “L’authenticité spo 12149 (AD. 1005/6), Add. 14501 (11th century), Add. 14719
radique de I’Ephrem grec,” in Akien des Xl. Internationalen (AD. 1183/4): Wright, Catalogue, 258-69, 270-71, 275-76.
Byzantinisten-Kongresses 1958 (Munich, 1960), 232-36, and 84. Baumstark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr, 77-81.
the same author’s classifications in the section on Greek 85. In the late 13th century, madrãH and sôgyãtS for the
Ephrem in the Dictionnaire de spiritualité, IV/l (Paris, Resurrection offices continued to be placed with canons and
1960), 800-15. For. C. Emereau, Saint Ephrem le Syrien: son enyanê of the same mode (Br. Lib. Add. 14699 + 14700:
oeuvre littéraire grecque (Paris, 1919), the more immediate Wright, Catalogue, 304-6), but collections of seblãtá d-madrãiê
forerunner of Romanos and other writers of kontakia was not (model strophes for different madraiS-tunes) also began to
Ephrem himself but ‘the Greek Ephrem,” i.e., the 4th- appear, with model strophes for sôgyatâ which would later
century translator or imitator of Ephrem’s Syriac works who become obsolete. An example from this period is Vat. Sr. 95
had his own characteristic alliteration, paronomasia, and (Assemani, Catalogus, 1/2, 511-18). Modal indications therein
other stylistic devices but whose rhetoric, paralleleism, and are sporadic and haphazard. Octonary series are announced
dramaticism were those of Ephrem. for sôgyatS in two places (fols. 19-21, 54), but it is difficult to
77. We need not review here the various opinions that see how this is carried out. In the first, there is a series “from 8
have been expressed on the precise relation of the older Syriac to I” (fols. 19.20r), which consists of only three strophes
genres to that of the kontakion. They have recently been sur followed, after a fresh start, by one sole sirophe; then there is a
veyed well by J. Grosdidier de Matons, Romanos le Mélode et series “from 1 to 8” (fols. 20’.2V), which consists of ten
les origines de Ia poésie religieuse a Byzance (Paris, 1977), 3-4, strophes followed by “another eighth” with two strophes
16-27, who gives his own reasons for admitting much influence instead of one. Elsewhere in this codex sôgyatk-strophes have
of the Syriac genres on the Greek kontakion and on early no modal reference, and only ocasionally are madrai given a
Greek hymnography more broadly, while doubting that the modal number. On the later evolution of seblãtâ in the Jaco
influence of the mëmrh, in particular, on the konrakion bite collection of model strophes of various genres called the
was direct, and refusing to attach too much importance to the Beyt gazzk, and on the four seblatâ with model strophes for all
role of the somewhat nebulous Greek Ephrem. eight modes, cf. H. Husmann, “Madrale und Seblata—
78. One thinks immediately of Jewish music, whose Repertoireuntersuchungen zu den Hymnen Ephraems des
importance for the history of Christian music has been Syrers,” Acta Musicologica, 48(1976), 114-16.
stressed by Werner in The Sacred Bridge, and more recently in 86. Husmann, “Eine alte orientalische christliche Litur
his “Musical Tradition and Its Transmitters between Syn gie,” 195-96. Some of the details in the description that fol
agogue and Church,” in Vuval: Studies of the Jewish Music lows here are based on my own inspection of photographs of
Research Center, 2 (1971), 163-80. The publication of the the manuscript, however.
Greek text of Melito of Sardis’ late 2nd-century Homily on 87. Sin. Syr. 233. The date of the Menaion itself, given in
the Passion opened new horizons in the history of the kon the Checklist of Manuscripts in St. Catherine’s Monastery,
takion’s literary antecedents: cf E. Wellesz, “Mellito’s Homily Mount Sinai, Microfilmed for the Library of Congress, 1950
on the Passion: An Investigation into the Sources of Byzan (Washington, 1952), 19, and in M. Kamil, Catalogue of All
tine Hymnography,” JThS, 44 (1943), 4 1-52, followed by a Manuscripts in the Monastery of St. Catherine on Mount
note by P. Kahle, “Was Melito’s Homily on the Passion Orig Sinai (Wiesbaden, 1970), 156 (no. 145) as A.D. 1251, can be
inally Written in Syriac?,” ibid., 52-56, Kahle thought that it corrected to 1252: cf. the precise details of the colophon in H.
was, but G. Zuntz, “Melito-Syriac,” VChr, 6 (1952), 193-201, Husmann, “Die syrischen Handschrifien des Sinai-Klosters,
has shown convincingly that the two fragmentary Syriac Herkunft und Schreiber,” OKS, 24 (1975), 286.
translations of the homily were translated from the same 88. “Trgm” is perhaps an abbreviation of the noun
Greek text and that the rhetorical devices of the Greek text trgm& (targmanS), “interpreter.” The “-w-” in the noun
pretty well exclude its being a translation from another twrgm (ttrgãmâ), “interpretation,” makes that noun un
language. In any case, the homily’s existence in both Syriac likely, and if the form were verbal, in a rubrical indication
and Greek is worth noting as one seeks both Syriac and Greek like this, we should expect the imperfect ntrgm or the par
antecedents of the kontakion. Other early poetic works written ticiple mtrgm, not the perfect form trgm. Does this mean that
in Syriac—the Odes of Solomon, the hymns in the Acts one person took the declamatory sections, while another took
of Thomas, the Manichaean Psalm-Book known only in the sung parts and all the singers joined in with the refrain?
Coptic but almost certainly written in Syriac—have yet to be 89. P. Maas and C. A. Trypanis, Sancti Romani Melodi
examined with the kontakion in mind. On them, cf. the con Cantica Genuina (Oxford, 1963), xi.
venient suvey by R. Murray, Symbols of Church and King 90. Ibid., note 4.
dom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (Cambridge, 1975), 91. . tv hKo?oD9iav tofi lcavovoç KCzI ràç
. . (Optic, Kat tà
24-32. rflç bxtaspou id?w.
79. E.g., Br. Lib. Add 12176 (5th/6th century); Add. 92. Werner, The Sacred Bridge, 388.
14,571 (AD. 518); Vat. Syr. Ill (An. 522); Br. Lib. Add. 14,572 93. F. Nau, ed., Jean Rufus, Evêque de Malouma: Pléro
(6th century?), Add. 17141 (8th/9th century [madrãib and phones, P0, VIII:l (Paris, 1911), 179-80 (text and transla
sôgyata]); Vat. Syr. 92 + 93 (AD. 823); Vat. Syr. 113 (AD. 931/2). tion), and 10 (the editor’s purpose in adding the textes
80. Br. Lib. Add 14522, loIs. 4-26 (9th century) and Add. comp lémen taires).
14506, fols. 1-96 (11th century?): Wright, Catalogue, 246-47, 94. The compilations containing this anecdote are con
368. Also the fragmentary collection in Add. 17216, fols. 228- veniently listed by D. J Chitty, The Desert a City (Oxford,
31(9th century): ibid. 366. 1966), 79 note 92. On Paris Fonds grec 1596 and the literary
81. Br. Lib. Add. 14515 + 17,190 (AD. 892/3) and Add. tradition of the apophthegmata which it contains, cf. W.
14516 (9th century): Wright, Catalogue, 240-44, 244-46. Bousset, Apophthegmata: Studien zur Geschichte des dltesten
82. Br. Lib. Add. 14520 (8th/9th century), Add. 14511 Mdnchtums (TObingen, 1923), 13-15. Historical conclusions
(10th century), Add. 14512(10th century): Wright, Catalogue, entailing chronological judgment can rarely be based on
363-65, 249-51); Paris Syr. 161 (lOth/lIth century, with the apophthegmata of the Fathers, for, as R. Devreese, introduc
tion a l’étude des manuscrits grecs (Paris, 1954), 202, has ob “Canticle of Mar Athanasius” (the Syrian recension of the
served, their literary tradition is almost impossible to unravel. hymn Gloria in excelsis Deo). It, too, can be found in Jaco
95. On the earliest notice of a system of eight modes, bite Psalters of the ninth century, in an addition made then,
defended by the Greeks, in western Europe around the year in the Monastery of Speculos near RiainS, to an odeless
800, cf. E. Jammers, R. Schlötterer, H. Schmid, and E. Psalter of c. AD. 600 in Br. Lib. Add. 17110 (Wright, Cata
Waeltner, “Byzantinisches in der Karolingischen Musik,”in logue, 116-19), and perhaps in Add. 17125 (9th/lOth century;
Berichte zum XI. Internationalen Byzantinisten-Kongress ibid., 123-25). Among 10th-century Psalters for choral use it is
(Munich, 1958), v/2, 16-22. In the monasteries of Constan found in Add. 17111 (AD. 926/7, from the Monastery of the
tinople both the modal system and the use of canons with the Syrians in the Wbdi n-Natrfln), Add. 14433 (10th century),
Palestinian series of nine odes in Orthros had been adopted Add. 17112 (lOth/lith century): cf. Wright, Catalogue, 125-
by the time of Theodore the Studjte around 800, but in the 27), and it occurs in many later Jacobite Psalters.
secular churches of the 9th and 10th centuries, when the 103. MS Hagios Stavros 40 of the Greek Orthodox Patri
musical system of modes was fully in use in those churches archate in Jerusalem, fols. 240241r, in Mateos, Le Typicon
for the singing of troparia, neither the use of canons in de la Grande Eglise, 11, 170-77.
Orthros, nor the Palestinian nine odes, nor the use of the 104. Ibid., II, 171 note I, and 175 note 1.
modes in any cyclic or regular order had yet been adopted: cf. 105. Under Syrian influence, the scalar intervals of most
A. Baumstark, “Das Typikon der Patmos-Handschrift 266 of the eight ‘finger modes” of A1-Jsfahãni’s KitJb al-agani
und die altkonstantinopolitanische Gottesdienstordnung,” al-kabir in the late 10th century may have corresponded to
JbLw, 6(1926), 98-111, and J. Mateos, Le Typicon de la one or the other of the eight Melkite or Syrian modes of the
Grande Eglise, OCA, 165-66 (Rome, 1962-63), passim. time, as H. G. Farmer in E. Weelesz, ed., The New Oxford
96. The texts have been published with their variant read History of Music, 1: Ancient and Oriental Music (London,
ings by M. Tarchnischvili, ed., Le Grand Lectiorina ire de 1957), 447-48, has observed. Ancient information on the eight
l’Eglise de Jerusalem, CSCO, CLXXXVIII-CLXXXIX, CCIV- early diatonic modes in Islamic music has been interpreted in
CCV ([Scriptores Iberici, IX-X, XIII-XIVJ; Louvain, 1959- various ways, and reality was surely more complex than the
60). One of the manuscripts, Paris Georgien 3, provides pro medieval theorists cared to admit. On the problems in inter
keimena and stichoi, and alleluia verses, classified according preting what the Arabic sources of the Ummayid and early
to the eight modes in the order 1-5-2-6-3-7-4-8 (sections 1679- Abbasid periods have to say about modes, ci. 0. Wright, The
92 of Tarchnischvili’s edition), but they occur in a sort of Modal System of Arab and Persian Music AD. 1250-1300,
appendix at the end of the manuscript, which is the latest of London Oriental Series, XXVIII (Oxford, 1978), 1-19. J. Pan
the manuscripts used by Tarchnischvili (perhaps of the 11th sot, Rapport sur une mission scientifique en Turquie d’Asie
century rather than the 10th) and can thus represent a more ([separate publication from Nouvelles archives des missions
advanced stage of evolution. scientifiques, IX] Paris, 1899), 37-155, assigned the modern
97. M. Tarchniivili, Geschichte der kirchlichen georgi Maronite Syrian melodies he collected to one or the other of
schen Literatur, ST, CLXXXV (Vatican City, 1955), 452-53, twelve Arabic modes (maqamat): cf. the schematic table drawn
and on the liturgical translations of Euthymius Mtacmide1i, up by J. Rage, “Les melodies-types dans le chant maronite:
150-52. Early forms of the Triodion and of the Menaion, recherches musicologiques,” Melto, 3 (1967), 337. Modern
however, existed in Georgia by the 9th century (ibid., 453-55). Jacobite modes, for that matter, can also be given correspon
The oldest known Heirmologia in Georgian, with the heir dents among Arabic maqamãt: cf. H. Husmann, “Eine Kon
moi of canons arranged according to the eight modes, are of kordanztabelle syrischer Kirchentöne und arabischer Maqa
the last half of the 10th century: cf. H. Métrévéli and B. Out- men in einem syrischen Musiknotizbuch,” in Symposium
tier, “Contribution a l’histoire de l’hirmologion: anciens Syriacum 1972, OCA, 197 (Rome, 1974), 371-85.
hirmologia géorgiens,” Le Muséon, 88(1975), 33 1-59. 106. Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymno
98. So the Checklist of Manuscripts in St. Catherine’s graphy, 2nd ed., 128.
Monastery, 3, and Kamil, Catalogue of All Manuscripts in the 107. On the musical octoechos as an attempt of Byzantine
Monastery of St. Catharine on Mount Sinai, 70 (no. 237): theorists to fit Oriental melodic variety into a system derived
‘ca. 7th cent.” from the speculation of classical antiquity, ci. E. Wellesz.
99. Husmann, ‘Eine alte orientalische christliche Litur Aufgaben und Probleme auf dem Gebiete der byzantinischen
gie,” 172-74. From the table he gives on p. 174 it is not entirely und orzentalzschen Kirchenmusik, Liturgiegeschichtliche
clear to me whether or not the last two modes, barys and Forschungen, VI (Münster, 1923), 17. In the music used in the
plagal 4, are actually given by the same hand at the end of the secular rite of Constantinople itself in the 10th century there
series in the manuscript (which I have not myself inspected). were, in addition to the usual four authentic modes and four
100. Br. Lib. Add. 14504 and 14505 (Wright, Catalogue, plagal modes, two additional “middle” or “medial” modes
280-83. (ëchoi mesoi) used with isolated troparia: echos mesos 1,
101. Br. Lib. Add. 14436 (8th/9th century—the oldest occurring once in the course of the year, and echos mesos 4,
known example of the nine-ode series), which has the Syrian occurring three times: ci. Mateos, Le Typicon de Ia Grande
Ode 2 (Isa. 42:10-13 + 45:8) added on the margin next to the Eglise, I, 144; II, 24, 34, 76.
Melkite Ode 2 (Deut. 32:1-43); Add. 17109 (AD. 873/4, written 108. C. Høeg, in his introduction to the publication of
in Edessa), which has Syrian Ode 2 between the Melkite Odes Codex Ashburnhamensis 64 (An. 1288/9) in Con tacarium
I (Ex. 15:1-19) and 2; the fragmentary Add. 14435 (9th cen Ashburnhamense, Monumenta Musicae Byzantinae, Series
tury), with Melkite Ode 1 followed immediately by what is I: Facsimilia IV (Copenhagen, 1956), 36, concluded that the
left of Melkite Ode 2. For all of these, cf. Wright, Catalogue, scribe’s careful attention to musical detail, and the frequent
119-23. In Add. 17135(10th century; ibid., 293-94) the Melkite occurrence of modes 2, plagal 2, and plagal 4 while the other
Odes 3 to 8, which are not a part of the Syrian series, have modes occurred infrequently or, in the cases of modes 3 and
been provided in a supplement (fols. 182”-188”), for use with barys, not at all, might suggest that the melodies of this Kon
that manuscript’s Greek canons, no doubt. takarion belonged to a preoctoechal tradition. C. Thodberg,
102. The old Syrian series, proper to both Jacobites and The Tonal System of the Kontakarium, Historisk-filosofiske
Nestorians, consists of Ex. 15:1-21; Isa. 42:10-13 + 45:8; Meddelelser udgivet af Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes
Deut. 32:1-43; Lk. 1:46-55; Mt. 5:3-13 (the Beatitudes); the Selskab XXXVII/7 (Copenhagen, 1960), found confirmation
of Høeg’s hypothesis in the structure of the melodies of the rated into the Byzantine system with some adaptation to the
Kontakarion, or Psaltikon, in Ashburnhamensis 64, Vat. Gr. scheme and some reinterpretation designed to maintain the
345, Grottaferrata Fy.III, and Grottaferrata E43. Il—manu illusion of the presence of all eight Byzantine modes.
scripts too old to have been influenced by Turkish or Italian 109. By comparing melodies of modern Syrian “Greek
music. According to Thodberg. their fourth-displaced formu canons” collected in Jeannin, Melodies liturgiques syriennes
las and cadences, covered by medial signatures which imply et chaldéennes, with the melodies of Greek correspondents
f-sharp and c-sharp in the two lowest tetrachords, leave no whose heirmoi can be found with middle Byzantine notation,
room for the f-modes (modes 3 and barys) whose total absence Husmann, “Syrischer und byzantinischer Oktoëchos,” 65-73,
from the alleluia verses of Ashburnhamensis 64 had intrigued has found a few formulaic similarities, especially in the
Heeg. Thodberg suggested that the original melodies of the cadences of canons in certain modes.
Kontakarion “were composed in a Syriac (or Syriac-inspired)
110. K. Mitsakis. “The Hymnography of the Greek Church
modal system differing in some ways from the later octoëchic
in the Early Christian Centuries,” JOB, 20 (1971), 49.
scheme in Byzantine music” (p. 34), and were then incorpo
THE CONTINUITY OF THE
CLASSICAL TRADITION IN THE ART AND
ARCHITECTURE OF NORTHERN MESOPOTAMIA*
MARLIA MuNDELL MANGO
HE classical tradition in art and architecture may not, at first glance, appear a
T promising subject of discussion for northern Mesopotamia, whose history and
culture might lead one to expect a dominant oriental legacy. Northern Mesopotamia
became Greek and then Roman relatively late: it was never colonized before Alexander,
and the Romans secured it from the Parthians only in A.D. 165—two hundred years
later than Syria. Furthermore, its semitic kinglets continued to enjoy some autonomy
under Seleucids, Parthians, and Romans in turn, just as its Semitic Monophysite and
Nestorian churches were to assert a degree of independence under the Byzantines and
Sasanians. The vernacular and literary language was Syriac. Yet an examination of its
monuments reveals that a classical tradition is in evidence from early times. Although
the formative periods of this tradition can only be inferred, its continuity from the
fourth through the seventh century, its transmission after A.D. 640 until the ninth
century and beyond, and its revival in the twelfth century can be well demonstrated.
Discussions of classicism in Asia can be complicated, and ours is made more so by the
fact that after the fourth century the art radiating from the west to northern Mesopo
tamia had itself become imbued with oriental qualities which, in turn, are often traced
back to Parthian and Roman Mesopotamia. Yet, side by side with a nonclassical
*1 should like to express my appreciation and thanks to Akta1 and Bay Isa Gülcan of the Mar Gabriel monastery for
the following for their generous help in the preparation of their friendly hospitality and invaluable guidance; Bay Osman
this paper: Dr. G. Fehévári for kindly putting at my disposal Ocmen, director of the Urfa Museum, for information about
unpublished records, slides, and photographs from the Har objects in his museum; Bayan Nuin Asgari for allowing me
ran excavation material in his charge at the School of Orien to see the bronze bucket in the Istanbul Archaeological
tal and African Studies, London University; Prof. J. B. Segal Museum; Mr. W. B. Saunders and Mr. M. Whitby for their
for responding, although abroad at the time, to queries about participation in the work done during our trip there in 1979;
the pavements of Edessa; Dr. F. Barratte for providing infor and, for preparatory and subsequent discussions, Dr. and
mation about objects from Zeugma and Euphratesia in the Mrs. S. P. Brock and Mr. T. Sinclair. Most especially, I have
Louvre; Dr. J. E. Reade and Mr. G. House for access to, and to thank my husband.
discussion of, the Carchemesh excavation material in the For permission to publish their photographs I thank Dr.
British Museum; Mr. P. D. C. Brown for showing me the F. Baratte (The Louvre) (fig. 2); the Gertrude Bell Archive,
bronze bucket (and the paper he is preparing on it), as well as The University of Newcastle-upon.Tyne (fig. 20); C. Mango
the censers in the Ashmolean Museum; and Prof. R. M. Har (fig. 29); Mr. E. J. ‘N. Hawkins (fig. 30); Mr. G. House (fig. 24);
rison and Dr. R. Cormack for the speedy provision of Miss C. Ogilvie (figs. 9, 19); School of Oriental and African
essential illustrations. Studies, London Univerity (fig. 6); Prof. I. evenko (fig. 18);
For assistance in Turkey I wish to thank Bay Abdulhalik and Prof. G. Zarnecki (Courtauld Institute) (figs. 8, 15). The
Ekmen, former director of the Mardin Museum, for affording rest of the illustrations were taken by my husband and
us many facilities and his cheerful company in the area to by myself.
which he is enthusiastically committed; the Abuna Samuel
116 MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO
figural art there was in the cities of Hatra, Palmyra, and Edessa a strong tradition of
classical architectural sculpture, which survived the third century in northern Mesopo
tamia itself, while the nonclassical art disappeared from those parts to be absorbed into
the mainstream art of the empire.
Although bound by two of the rivers of Paradise, the highlands, plains, and steppes
of northern Mesopotamia contrast harshly with the low-lying gardens of Eden of south
Mesopotamia. The wealth and importance of the cities of northern Mesopotamia
derived from the trade routes between east and west, between China and the Mediter
ranean, which crossed it from earliest times. It was a bridge, but in Hellenistic times it
became and remained a buffer and battleground between two superpowers.’ Early
Byzantine Mesopotamia (fig. 1), composed of the provinces of Osrhoëne and Mesopo
tamia,2 was linked with the Mediterranean by the western crossings of the Euphrates.
The centers of trade with the east were confirmed by treaty so that commerce with
Persia was conducted at Nisibis, at Callinicum on the Euphrates, and at Dwin in
Armenia; from the sixth century commerce with the Saracen Arabs was restricted to
Dara.’ The wide range of historical sources in Syriac, Greek, and Latin provides a vivid
picture of a society that was predominantly mercantile, monastic, and military.4 The
level of private prosperity was high. Writing about the cities of Mesopotamia, the
fourth-century author of the Expositio totius mundi et gentium said, “Nisibis and
Edessa possess men who are best in all respects; they are well informed in business and
good hunters. But especially they are rich and provided with every good; they receive in
effect from the Persians that which they sell in all the land of the Romans and that
which they buy there they sell in turn.”5 Ammianus Marcellinus describes his visit in
A.D. 354 to the annual fair at Batnae/Sarung in Osrhoëne, which was “filled with
wealthy traders. . [who] traffic in the wares sent from India to China.”6 The numer
.
ous monks of northern Mesopotamia, like its bishops, could come from well-to-do
families.7 Some were noted for their literacy,8 while the members of the Schools of
Nisibis and Edessa were famous for their learning.9 As a principal arena of warfare
between Rome and Persia, northern Mesopotamia was extremely well fortified and
permanently garrisoned.’0 Perhaps the most dramatic events to affect this society began
to occur in the reign of Anastasius. Sixth-century northern Mesopotamia is well-
known for its calamities: its natural disasters, wars, and religious controversies and
persecutions. All, given the generosity and self-interest of the imperial government,
attracted money into the area and often led, ultimately, to building activity: repairing
cities, strengthening the limes, and founding and relocating monasteries.”
The material remains known to us from this culture are not abundant. While a
number of cities on the Euphrates have been excavated, little archeological work has
been done in Mesopotamia proper. The excessive theorizing by Strzygowski concern
ing the role of northern Mesopotamia in what he saw as the transmission of “East
Aryan” and Semitic cultures to the West was largely unhampered by archeological
Of the cities, only the excavation at and the sondages at
Resh’aina/Theodosiopolis’3 have yielded material relevant here; work has also been
done at some smaller sites.’4 Otherwise, in Osrhoëne we are indebted to the efforts of
Segal for what we know of the monuments of Edessa and of the Tektek Mountains;’5 in
C
C
C
U,
.C
C
z
2. Zeugma, Pavement, Hunting Putto 4. Ilarran, Great Mosque, Capital
3. Fafi, Tower, Lintel. A.D. Third Century

5. Cyzicus, Temple of Hadrian, Column Fragment. A.D. 123—129
7. Heliaramia (Qasr el Ileir el Gharbi),

Door Jamb. C. A.D. 297 (?)
6. Ilarran, Great Mosque, Column, Possibly

from Cathedral of Edessa. A.D. 3 13—323. Detail of Cross
C)
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13. Hah, Mary Magdalen Church, Reused Door Lintel. C. A.D. 740
14. Ilarran, Great Mosque, Voussoir. C. A.D. 1174—1183

15. West Façade. Fifth—Seventh Century. Reused A.D. 1116/17—1124/25
Amida, Great Mosque, Courtyard
16. East Facade. A.D. 1163/64

I. 297, Palmyra, Temple of 2. 359, Nisibis, Baptistery
the Standards
M ar
I
4. 571, Monastery of Abraham of
3. Sixth Century, Sala h ,
YaCqub Church Ka shkar, Church
5. 505518, Dara 6. C a. 520, Rusafa,Tetraconch Church
7. Fifth—Seventh Century, Amid a 8. Seventh Century, Arnas, Mar

Great MosqueWest Court Façade Kyriakos Church
9. Seventh Century Kefr Ze, 10. 700734, Habsenas, Mar Symeon Church
Mar CAzazjel Church
II. lI6/4,Amida,Great Mosque, 2. lI83Harran, Great Mosque

East Court Facade
17. Northern Mesopotamia, Palmyra. Carved Vine Scrolls,

A.D.Third to Twelfth Century (Drawings not to Same Scale)
18. Edessa, Citadel, Capital. A.D. Second Century
•1
.‘
.:
‘-i.
19. Nisibis, Cathedral Baptistery, Capital. AD. 359
20. Martyropolis, Cathedral (?), Apse, South Side. A.D. 410—420
21. Dara, Cathedral (?), Loose Capital. A.D. 505—5 18

22. Dara, Loose Capital. A.D. 505—507
..,.
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23. Monastery of Abraham of Kashkar, Church, Capital. A.D. 571

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24. IIah, Church of the Virgin, Capitals. AD. Mid to Late Seventh Century (?)
25. cAnjar, Capital. AD. 714

5 0 5
MEWES
26. Uah, Church of the Virgin. Section from West to East
27. $alah, Mar YaCqub Church, Door to Sanctuary.

A.D. Sixth Century (?)
t-.
cj
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30. Near Qartamin, Monastery, Church. Mosaic A.D. 512
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CLASSICAL ART AND NORTHERN MESOPOTAMIA 117
the province of Mesopotamia we must still largely rely on the early survey publica
tions of Preusser, Sarre, and Herzfeld, and, especially, Bell,’6 except for more recent
work done on the limes.’7 It is clear that much awaits discovery in northern Mesopo
tamia. For instance, on one map from the beginning of this century, seventy-seven
harabe (ruins) are marked in the area between Viranehir (Constantina/Tella) and
Mardin (Marde) (fig. 1), a distance of about 45 miles.’8 Virtually none of these has
been explored.’9
SELEUCID, PARTHIAN, AND ROMAN PERIODS UP TO A.D. 297
Placing the meager archeological evidence against the historical background, one
can deduce that the classical tradition washed over northern Mesopotamia in several
successive waves, each wave having a certain force and carrying its own flotsam. Up to
about A.D. 300 three such waves would correspond to the Seleucid, Parthian, and
Roman dominations. From the first period, roughly 300 to 150 B.C., nothing appar
ently remains standing. This was the formative period of that mixed culture elaborated
probably at Seleucia on the Tigris.20 At Dura-Europos one can see this fusion in the
Temple of Zeus Megistos (175-150 B.C.) where a Doric propylon is combined with a
triple iwan sanctuary with barrel vaults and a large court, all executed in Hellenistic
masonry.2’ During the period of Parthian domination of northern Mesopotamia
(141 B.C.—A.D. 165) this classicized orientalism (or oriental classicism) was displayed in
the cut-stone tower tombs of the first century. That at Serrin dated A.D. 73 by a Syriac
inscription is ornamented with an Ionic colonnade and projecting Parthian busts.22
The molding on the front of the stylobate of the colonnade is of a type found in Syria,23
where the use of the Ionic order was characteristic of the Hellenistic period.24 The
tower tomb, found also in Cilicia and Syria, is itself an oriental building.25 Although,
no other type of building survives in northern Mesopotamia from the
unfortunately,
Parthian period, one can conjecture on the basis of the tower tombs of Serrin and
Edessa, and the monuments of Sumatra26 as well as those of Baalbek, Palmyra, and
Hatra, that there was then in that area an ashlar architecture adorned in a classical or
pseudo-classical manner with an occasional oriental flourish.27 What may be a Par
thian statue of a warrior has recently been found in a necropolis of Edessa.28 In the
shape and bearing of the figure (the face, unfortunately, is destroyed), the ornate hair
style, and details of costume, it is in the tradition of the statues of Hatra.29 What may
prove a distinctive non-Hatran feature is the type of folds in the clothing.30
A third wave of classicism probably came with the Romans in A.D. 165, carrying with
it the Corinthian order (as happened in Syria)3’ and other elements that persisted into
the Christian period. Examples of fluted pilasters and colonnettes, cut and uncut
acanthus capitals, ornamented moldings, inhabited scrolls, and reliefs of putti and
winged victories, as well as ashlar masonry, can all be seen at Edessa (fig. 18),32
Nisibis,33 in the Tektek Mountains,34 and at Fafi in the Tur cAbdin. A tower tomb at
the latter site has been attributed to the second or third century on the basis of the
lettering of its (metrical?) Greek inscription.35 While the protomai on the façades are
too damaged to consider here, the inhabited scroll of the entablature and the garland
frieze of the lintel (fig. 3) accord well in composition and style with third-century
provincial Roman work.36 In particular, the lintel could be compared to the relief at
Dartcazze in northern Syria dated A.D. 235/6. To this classical repertory can be added
the very ornate vine scrolls and moldings which are a regular feature of northern
Mesopotamian buildings from the fourth century on and which may have been intro
duced in 297, or earlier, as we shall consider presently.
As regards mosaic pavements (no wall paintings or mosaics survive here from the
Roman period), the situation is more complex than for architecture and architectural
sculpture. The greatest concentration of Roman mosaics in the nearby area found to
date are those at Zeugma (Balkis), which was an important crossing of the Euphrates.38
These range in date from the first half of the second century39 (Zeugma was Roman
from 65 B.c.) to either mid-third4° or first half of the fourth century.4’ In Mesopotamia
Roman pavements have been found at Edessa,42 a! Mascudiye,43 and at Nisibis.44 All
these feature personifications of provinces, hunting putti (fig. 2), marine scenes, and
other staples of classical pavement decoration. Running parallel to this classical cur
rent there was at Edessa, as at Palmyra, a nonclassical one, Iranian or Semitic in
character. In some instances the two currents mixed as is apparent when comparing
two Mesopotamian pavements executed in the same year, A.D. 228. The first, that at al
Mas’udiye, has a bilingual inscription but is, like those at Zeugma and Nisibis men
tioned earlier, very Antiochene in iconography and style.45 The second, at Edessa,
displays a standard composition of Orpheus46 that is curious in some details such as
the bracelets on the putti and the screw handles of the tabula ansata. The style is linear
and somewhat flat, particularly when compared with the treatment of the al Masudiye
mosaic or that of another Orpheus pavement, the one, for instance, from Tarsus in
Cilicia.47
The nonclassical element in Edessene art is best seen in the funerary portraits in
stone and mosaic, which have been found in the cemetaries outside the city. The style
of these sculptures and mosaics, mostly dated or attributed to the third century,48 merit
closer study particularly in relation to contemporary paintings and sculpture at Pal-
myra and Dura-Europos.49 The only pavement mosaics found at Palmyra5° are com
pletely Roman in execution, and Stern, in his recent study of these, which he attributes
to craftsmen from Antioch,51 points out that tessellated pavements were a particularly
Roman (or Greek) preserve and that with few exceptions they are not found outside
periods and places of Roman domination. One of these exceptions would be Edessa, if
its political status of semiautonomous monarchy until A.D. 242 were taken into account
in explaining the formation of a non-Roman mosaic school. It is perhaps important to
note also that all these Edessene pavements and the sculpture have been found in
tombs where the work may be at a lower or at least a different standard than that of
other pavements, as can be observed in Antioch.52 The border between provincial
Roman art and that designated as the “Mesopotamian art” of Dura-Europos and
Palmyra is sometimes unclear. The latter has been described as a Semitic blend of both
Greek and Iranian elements, a product of the “cultural third force within the territories
on either side of the political frontiers,” in the words of Ward-Perkins.53 This scholar
has also distinguished between two types of frontality within this art: that common to
funerary art (“a convention of communication between subject and beholder that
might belong to any age”) and that introduced into narrative compositions where, in
the classical tradition, figures would normally face each other.54 Whether the latter
type penetrated Edessene art can be decided only by new discoveries. It did not, for
example, affect the Orpheus composition where the figures are in three-quarter view or
profile. Similarly, the role Edessa may have played in the formation of this art remains
to be evaluated. Traces of the Edessene pavement school have been found at Zeugma,55
and its tenacity would seem proved by the date of A.D. 278 of the “funerary couch
mosaic.”56 Soon thereafter it apparently faded as a local style. It should be noted that
this nonclassical tradition in northern Mesopotamia was restricted to figural art and
had little impact on architectural sculpture.
MONUMENTS FROM A.D. 297 to 640
Sculpture
In the fourth century we note the result of what may have been a fourth wave of
classicism into northern Mesopotamia, which provided the fundamental decorative
vocabulary of early Christian sculpture, that of the “very ornate vine scrolls and
moldings” mentioned above. The earliest building to survive thus decorated is the
baptistery of the cathedral of Nisibis dated A.D. 35957 Its exterior (figs. 8-9) and interior
(fig. 17.1) moldings are densely ornamented in a late antique style not previously
encountered in our survey of earlier monuments, and which includes bead-and-reel,
vine and acanthus scrolls, dentils, egg-and-dart, and palmettes on continuous cornices
and archivolts and on door frames, along with pairs of split palmettes.58 The
Corinthian capitals (fig. 19) are carved with feathery volutes and finely knotted gar
lands. The details are fairly delicate and the overall effect luxurious.
Very similar in technique to the vine scrolls at Nisibis (e.g., fig. 9 above lintel) are the
scrolls that cover the early Christian columns (fig. 6) excavated in the Great Mosque at
Uarran, which have been only briefly published.59 These limestone columns, which
had wind-blown acanthus leaves at their base (a Hellenistic feature),6° continue a
tradition of that type of column or pilaster best known in the Temple of Hadrian (A.D.
123-139) at Cyzicus (fig. 5).61 At the top of one nearly complete column at Uarran,
however, there is a cross in medallion with a “chi rho” monogram beneath it;62 both
symbols are an integral part of the decoration. The columns adorned the twelfth-
century extension of the mosque at Ilarran, but their original provenance may have
been Edessa. In 1183, according to the copyist of Ibn Uawkal, Salab al Din completely
dismantled the church of St. Sophia at Edessa and transported its stones up to the
citadel and also to the Great Mosque at Uarran whose arcaded façade, incorporating
earlier sculpture, was finished by 1184.63 St. Sophia had been rebuilt as the Melkite
cathedral of Edessa after the flood of 525.64 Some fragments of moldings found in the
Edessa citadel are of a sixth-century type (discussed below) and may have derived from
this church; the vine-covered columns and some garlanded acanthus capitals among
the spolia reused at Ilarran may be from the same source. Some of the capitals bear
columns,
close resemblance to sixth-century examples at Rusafa.65 The vine-covered
of 359
however, have a closer stylistic affinity to work both in the baptistery at Nisibis
be placed in this earlier
and that at Palmyra of 297 (see below). They may therefore
3l332066 (or,
period and I suggest that they were carved for the cathedral of Edessa built
in its
perhaps, for its baptistery of 369) and reused (as chancel or ciborium columns?)
rebuilding as St. Sophia 525.67
Meso
The closest parallels for this ornate early Christian sculpture of northern
and
potamia may be sought in the “baroque” architecture of Baalbek and Palmyra,68
9)
in particular at the latter site where vine scrolls very similar to those at Nisibis (fig.
door
and Uarran/Edessa (fig. 6) ornament a tomb ceiling,69 the Grave Temple,7° and
This last
frames of the Temple of the Standards of the Camp of Diocletian (fig. 17.1).”
be
monument is dated by inscription to A.D. 297 although how much work can
Nisibis
ascribed to that date is a matter of conjecture.72 The feathery volutes of the
door
capitals (fig. 19) also find a rudimentary counterpart in the same Camp.73 Certain
of
frames at Heliaramia (Qasr el Ueir el Gharbi) (fig. 7), 60 kilometers southwest
of the
Palmyra (fig. 1), are undoubtedly contemporary with those of the Temple
them, as he did those at
Standards at Palmyra. Although Schlumberger considered
in 297
Palmyra, to be earlier, other scholars have taken them as part of the work done
stylistic
on Diocletian’s limes,74 a position supported, I think, by the evidence for
continuity in sculpture after A.D. 300 at Nisibis and Ilarran/Edessa.
It has been observed that the architectural sculpture of Palmyra, executed between
the early first century and 300, reveals an inner consistency of development as regards
motifs and style;75 moreover, compared with the local funerary sculpture, it betrays
imported craftsmanship.76 Whether these two points can be explained in terms of a
school of sculpture established nearby, perhaps in northern Mesopotamia,77 is now
impossible to say. We have as yet no other evidence for this dense type of sculpture—
a
either the vine scrolls or the heavily ornamented moldings—in northern Mesopotami
is
before 300. The classical carving of the third-century rock-cut tombs at Edessa
relatively simple in style78 or has fewer and different motifs from those at Nisibis
described previously.79 An early connection in sculpture between Osrhoëne and Syria
which
may be documented, however, by several capitals (fig. 4) found at Ijarran,8°
continue the convention of notched acanthus ribs, a Hellenistic feature until now
known in the east exclusively at Al Konoum in Afghanistan (early second century B.C.)
of
and in the Temple of Jupiter at Baalbek (A.D. first century).8’ The second city
northern Mesopotamia that may have had an important school of sculpture is Nisibis,
of the
where remains, unfortunately, have been virtually neglected, aside from those
baptistery. In addition to the latter and the marine pavement mentioned above (see
note 44), there is part of a colonnade still standing which has Corinthian capitals
of
deserving of further study.82 The only other sculptured monument in the province
is
Mesopotamia is the third-century tower tomb at Fafi, discussed above, where there
nothing to be linked directly to work of either the third century at Palmyra or the
fourth century at Nisibis, unless the uncut acanthus capitals prove on closer examina
tion to be similar to those of the Palmyrene tetrapylon.83
destruc
The likelihood of a flourishing school of sculpture based at Palmyra after its
tion in 272 is not great. Thereafter the city was largely a military headquarters,
although it became a bishopric.84 The great funerary art stops in 272,85 as the pros
perous merchant class moved elsewhere. In fact, in 297 Diocletian designated Nisibis as
the principal trading center between Rome and Persia (the privilege until recently
enjoyed by Palmyra itself), while making it at the same time the military headquarters
of the Roman eastern frontier.86 It is therefore extremely likely that Palmyrene mer
chants had already, in some numbers at least, transferred their trade to Nisibis (which
had close commercial ties with Edessa) after 272,87 and, furthermore, that in 297 the
same craftsmen were at work for Diocletian at Palmyra, Heliaramia (Qasr el Ueir), and
Nisibis (perhaps on the palace used for imperial visits that is mentioned by Am
mianus).88 Arguing in favor of these two propositions is the continuity of taste and
craftsmanship displayed sixty odd years later in the baptistery of Nisibis (359) (and
undoubtedly also in the cathedral itself, built 313-320), and in the columns (fig. 6)
found at Uarran and carved, perhaps, for the cathedral of Edessa (313-323) or its
baptistery (369). Whether the sculpture was introduced into northern Mesopotamia in
272 or 297 or earlier is a purely theoretical matter at present. But the dissemination of
this sculpture throughout northern Mesopotamia after the fourth century can be fairly
well documented.
Right up to the Persian and Arab conquests there continued in northern Meso
potamia a strong taste for the grape vine and for classicizing elements such as strongly
profiled door moldings and relieving arches (fig. 27),89 column pedestals,9° inhabited
scrolls,9’ and ornamented niches (fig. 11),92 as well as for the Corinthian capitals and at
least three groups of ornament employed in the baptistery at Nisibis. The first and best
known set of these ornaments93 is that which adorned its continuous interior mold
ing,94 and which is next found embellishing the basilica at Martyropolis (Silvan)
(fig. 20), which is probably the cathedral that Bishop Marutha built (4 10-420) and now
is destroyed.95 The fine carving and composition of the ornament on the moldings—
which includes flutes, egg-and-dart, bead-and-reel, and vine scrolls—and of the gar
landed acanthus capitals correspond very closely to the work done at Nisibis forty to
fifty years earlier. Other extant examples of this type of decoration date to the late fifth
and early sixth century, with those at Dara (for the frieze, see fig. 17.5) probably being
contemporary with the construction of the city by Anastasius, A.D. 505-507 or soon
thereafter.96 The work at Dara was overseen by the clergy of Amida, where related
sculpture survives in the church of the Virgin,97 and reused in the Great Mosque
(figs. 15, 17.7).98 Further examples exist, notably in the cities of Edessa (possibly from
the church of St. Sophia built after 525) and, south of the Euphrates, Rusafa (on
several monuments including the tetraconch cathedral of 520; for a frieze, see
fig. 17.6.)100 This sculpture appears also in the Tur Abdin at Uali in what may be a
bishop’s church subject to, and about contemporary with, the cathedral at Dara.’°’ The
only set of this ornament still intact is preserved in Deir Zacfaran (the “Saffron Monas
tery”) outside Mardin (fig. ll).b02 Although among the sixth-century examples the
vines can be simplified and the carving rigid and sometimes flat, what is striking about
this group, covering the period 359 to 530, is its consistency in, for example, the order
of the ornaments on the moldings,’°3 the conservative aspect of the acanthus capitals
which always accompany them (figs. 11, 15, 18-21), and the details of their garlands.
This consistency argues for a strongly established local school of sculpture, where a
classical tradition was upheld even in the face of outside influences such as those
brought by the workers “from the east to the west”°4 who built Dara for Anastasius.
Zacfa
Traces of these craftsmen from Syria and further west can be seen also at Deir
ran’°5 and at Dara where there are, in addition to the local acanthus capitals (fig. 21),
two impost capitals and a wind-blown acanthus capital (fig. 22) that is very similar to
capitals in Ravenna.’°6 Nevertheless, the continuity of the more classical tradition is
proved by the churches of the late seventh and eighth centuries which we shall
consider below.
A second type of sixth-century ornament traceable to Nisibis is found at $alali in the
Tur cAbdin (fig. 31).’°7 There, the monastery church of Jacob the Hermit has, in
addition to garlanded uncut acanthus capitals, two paneled pilasters (figs. 10, 17.3, 27)
adorned with a vine scroll which is interlaced in a complicated fashion and more
realistically rendered than are the simplified undulating vines on the friezes of Dara,
Rusafa, and related monuments. Although the monastery was founded before
the death of Jacob in 421, no exact date has been advanced for the $alah church. No
other sculpture closely related to it has yet been found in the area, but it probably
represents the work of a second school of (sixth-century?) sculptors active in Byzantine
Mesopotamia.’°8
Turning to Persian northern Mesopotamia we see a parallel continuity in architec
tural sculpture (fig. 17.4) in the Nestorian monastery built about 571 by Abraham of
Kashkar some 30 miles northeast of The apse archivolt is covered with a set
of motifs that differ from those of Byzantine Mesopotamia. These include a series of
split palmettes which copy closely those that decorate door frames in the Nisibis
baptistery.”° The pair of two-zoned capitals (fig. 23) surviving from the monastery”
have in their upper zones large naked angels holding wreaths which encircle a cross in
one case and a male bust in the other. The leaves in the lower zone are very well
executed, but they and the other motifs betray a school of sculptors distinct from those
active in Byzantine Mesopotamia. One could say, therefore, that the late sixth-century
carvings at Mar Abraham represent the classical tradition in sculpture as preserved in
Pesian Nisibis, a tradition that survived the removal of the population of that city in
363, just four years after the completion of the baptistery.
In sum, one can make several generalizations concerning the architectural sculpture
of northern Mesopotamia in the early Christian period. Although at least three schools
of carving have been noted, including one whose work is traced over perhaps two
hundred years, there is still a certain homogeneity apparent (fig. 17). The order of
decoration is largely Corinthian: with the exception of the intrusions noted at Dara,
the capitals are almost uniformly cut and uncut acanthus; neither the antique Ionic
nor the Byzantine impost capital made lasting inroads there. The antique moldings
differ in their composition from contemporary examples at Constantinople and
Ravenna,”2 and the sculpture repertory is on the whole distinct in style and content
from that of Syria.”3 Finally, Byzantine Mesopotamia found itself the preserver of a
classical tradition at the time when more oriental fashions prevailed at Constan
tinople,114 and Nisibis likewise produced sculpture, equally conservative, that had
little in common with current Sasanian taste.
Architecture
Confronted with the sustained classicism of its early Christian sculpture one natu
rally poses the question of whether northern Mesopotamia was simply a cultural
backwater at this time. It was not. The most luxurious trade goods and the best
limes engineers passed through northern Mesopotamia between the third and seventh
centuries. Constantius, Anastasius, Justinian, and Heraclius all built in northern
Mesopotamia. Northern Mesopotamians traveled widely: to Antioch, Berytus, and
Alexandria to be educated; to Jerusalem on pilgrimage; persecuted Monophysites went
in exile to Alexandria and Constantinople; scribes worked in Syria and Constan
tinople; and to Persia went large groups of captives (sometimes to return) and indivi
dual missionaries. Furthermore, the results of exterior contacts can be seen in the types
of architectural plans, pavements, wall mosaics, metalwork, and manuscript illumina
tions to be found there, where the current fashions of the mainstream art of the empire
were locally deployed on a par with any Byzantine metropolitan effort.
Among the city churches of northern Mesopotamia, the large columnar basilica at
Martyropolis (fig. 20) can be compared with many others of the late fourth and early
fifth centuries,”5 and the aisled tetraconch church of Amida has been linked by Klein
bauer with other late fifth and early sixth-century episcopal churches of the Patri
archate of Antioch.”6 Churches of both city (figs. 8, 20) and countryside (fig. 31) were of
ashlar masonry as in Syria, Cilicia, and other eastern provinces. A Mesopotamia ele
ment in the architecture is found in the local type of church of transverse barrel-
vaulted nave and closed sanctuary rooms known previously only in sixth(?)-century
(and later) monasteries such as those at Salab (figs. 27, 31), Qartamin (512), and Qillith,
whence its usual designations as “monastic.”7 It has recently been discovered also at
an outpost, now called Ambar, one mile outside the walls of Dara. This church
probably dates to the foundation of the city, 505507,h18 and would be an instance,
parallel to that of the ornate sculpture considered above, where the builders working on
an imperial project adopted local elements. In the case of the sculpture (figs. 17.5,21),
which most likely decorated the cathedral inside Dara, the local element was of classi
cal heritage and in the case of the Ambar church plan, outside Dara, it was of the
Mesopotamian or nonclassical heritage. In this second example, however, it should be
noted that Roman building methods were applied (e.g., in the vaulting). The reverse
may be the case as regards the second type of northern Mesopotamian local church,
that found principally in villages and hence known as “parochial.”9 Here the hail
church known throughout the Roman Empire has been transformed by the addition of
arcades built against the interior lateral walls. It has been suggested that, although
they now bear barrel vaults, initially the arcades were introduced as an expedient
(perhaps borrowed from the mural arcades of the “monastic” church) to support roofs
of heavy oak, the timber locally available.’20 Other local features of these churches are
the entrances confined to the south side and the oratories (beit slotha) that stand south
of them.’2’ In sum, although in the cities (judging from Martyropolis, Amida, and
Constantina/Tella, on which, see below) Byzantine churches of a classical type were
in the countryside local forces were at work either in adopting a nonclassical
type of church (the “monastic”) or in adapting a classical type (the trabeated hail
church) to their individual needs (and obtaining the “parochial” church). All, how
ever, resembled the city churches in their decoration.
Pavements
The few early Christian pavements recovered in northern Mesopotamia find their
counterparts in other Byzantine work of the period. There is nothing comparable to
the local quality of many Edessene pavements of the third century. Three later pave
ments from that city which bear animal decoration may date to the fifth century. The
first is an inhabited scroll border in a tomb which closely corresponds to a scroll in the
basilica at Mopsuestia (Missis) in Cilicia (which has been dated variously fourth to
sixth century)’23 and also to a scroll in the aisled tetraconch (?) at Akdeirmen Hüyük
near the Euphrates.’24 Little remains of the main field of the Edessa pavement, how
ever, and what is left suggests a pagan theme.’25 A pavement fragment found in a tomb
and now in the museum (fig. 29) has a bird upon a white field “sown” with red hearts,
very similar to one found at Dibsi Faraj.26 This type of mosaic background is charac
teristic of the fifth and sixth centuries,’27 as is the style of the bird.’28 A third pavement
from Edessa, still unpublished, is the only one recovered from within the city itself.’29
The mosaic includes part of an animal procession (of which only four animals remain)
and part of a large border of plain and guilloche bands forming swastikas and enclos
ing panels with birds. The procession belongs to a group of fifth- and sixth-century
pavements in Syria and Cilicia,’3° where our border is found used in the late fourth and
fifth centuries.’3’ A fourth tessellated pavement, also unpublished and still only par
tially examined, is in the baptistery of Deir Zafaran outside Mardin. The ornamental
motifs there include a hexagonal border and a diagonal grid pattern filled with
rosettes; both are common individually and combined in late pavements at Antioch.’32
Part of a pavement of extreme simplicity and perhaps of the fifth century was encoun
tered in a sondage at Reshcaina/Theodosiopolis.33
The fashion for opus sectile pavements, which had been noted to increase in the
sixth century, is attested at Dara (505-5l8)’3 and at the monastery near Qartamin (512).
The former, only a small section of which is visible in an open courtyard, is composed
of panels of hexagonal designs separated by narrow slabs of marble. This scheme is
found in Bath F at Antioch, restored in 537/8.” The Qartamin pavement is much
more eccentric and colorful, although it is arranged around a well-known motif, that
of the spiraling disc.’36 The latter is surrounded by cross patterns fashioned of very
small pieces of marble. One diamond contains thirteen subdivisions. A similar treat
ment is seen in a pavement at Apamea.”7
Wall Decoration
Most of what is known of the wall decoration of the early Christian churches of
northern Mesopotamia is typical of the period in general. The walls of St. Sophia of
Edessa were revetted with Proconesian (?) marble,’38 and until this century, marble
revetment was visible on the apse wall of SS. Cosmas and Damian at Amida,’39 as were
clamp holes at Martyropolis (fig. 20). The Qartamin monastery is said to have had
marble revetment in the sanctuary and fragments of this may have been used to patch
the pavement there.14° No wall paintings survive in northern Mesopotamia and the
unique extant wall mosaic adorns this same sanctuary (fig. 30). It is signed in Greek
and is certainly comparable to other early Christian mosaics in its vine trellis and
border motifs, in its style, and in its technique (e.g., angled gold background tes
serae).’4’ The unusual compositions which fill the lateral walls—ciboria standing over
altars with flanking trees—have been discussed in relation to an “aniconic” trend
notable in parts of the eastern provinces which has been explained occasionally, and
probably erroneously, in terms of a Monophysite 142 Undoubtedly, other
churches of northern Mesopotamia were adorned with wall mosaics as were the church
of St. Sophia at Edessa (“golden mosaic”)’43 and possibly the basilica at Martyropolis
(fig. 20).’ A more local form of mural decoration, although found also in a few
churches in Thrace, Lycia, and Cappadocia, consisted in a large cross cut in relief on
the apse conch of the sanctuary. This may first appear here in the church of St. Saba
(Mar Sovo) at lIah in the Tur CAbdjn The carvings of the cornice, archivolt, and
capitals of this apse seem contemporaneous with those of Dara (figs. 17.5, 21) and
would therefore date the church to the early sixth century. The same crosses filled the
conches of the Nestorian church of Abraham of Kashkar (571) in Persian northern
Mesopotamia,’46 cited above, as well as those of later village churches and oratories of
the Tur Abdin of the seventh, eighth, and tenth centuries.’47
Meta Iware
There is written evidence for both the production and abundance of metaiware in
northern Mesopotamia. In the Roman period (the third century), bronze coins were
produced in mints at Edessa, Ilarran, Nisibis, and Reshaina,’48 and Diocletian estab
lished a large imperial armament factory at Edessa.’4 As in Constantinople and in
other provinces, both the church and laymen of this region possessed large quantities
of gold and silver right up to the Arab conquest.’5° Here also, large quantities were
handed over in ransoms to the Persians,” and yet more was probably buried in this
region, which was a perpetual battlefield. The activities of Symeon of the Olives, the
Mesopotamia entrepreneur and builder of 700, were reputedly launched with a treasure
he discovered by the fort of Qalcat Hatem Tai in the Tur cAbdin 162 Unfortunately, in
stark contrast to what we know from texts, the solitary recovery in northern Mesopo
tamia from the early Christian period is a bronze bucket. (The bronze censers asso
ciated with this area may be later.)’53 The bucket was found between Amida and
Mardin at the small fortified site of Kale-i Zarzevan and is now in the Istanbul
Greek inscrip
Museum. It is decorated with crosses under an arcade. Its niello inlaid
atoi3.
tion, reading ‘Ytèp Eiç Kcti cywtipiaç ‘Avttrrátpou icaI irctvtôç tot duiou
K6ptOç qu2át cmi (sic) (In fulfillment of a
vow and for the salvation of Antipatros and
in its opening
of all his household. May the Lord guard you),’54 corresponds exactly
seventh-century
formulas and its letter forms to the dedicatory inscriptions on sixth- to
church. In form,
silver.’55 The bucket was undoubtedly a donation by Antipatros to his
vessels incised
technique, and motifs this bucket has been linked to a group of similar
is still being
with mythological and hunting scenes, whose place of manufacture
suggestedS7 that the Zarzevan bucket may have been
discussed.’56 It has recently been
connection the
manufactured in nearby Amida, and it is interesting to note in this
existence of copper mines in the general vicinity of that city, three to the
this group, it
and one to the south, at Tell Besmaj.”9 Concerning other buckets in
singles out
could further be noted that the fourth-century Expositio, quoted above,
beasts for
hunting as an outstanding activity in northern Mesopotamia, where, in fact,
trapped.6O
the circus and amphitheater were
Manuscripts
The eighty-odd colophons surviving in Syriac manuscripts from the peiiod (i.e.,
those dated between A.D. 411 and 640) imply that Edessa enjoyed a high reputation in
manuscript production both at home and abroad.’6’ People traveled far to buy a
manuscript in Edessa.’62 It was to this city that Chosroes II sent for books for his
Christian wife’s monastery.’63 Edessene scribes identify themselves as such in manu
scripts written in Edessa itself, on the Euphrates, and in places around Apamea. Other
Mesopotamian centers of manuscript production were Amida and Although
the Rabula Gospels are often attributed to northern Mesopotamia, there is indepen
dent documentary evidence that Beth Zagba where the manuscript was executed may
be sought instead in Syria, in the area near Riha, northeast of Apamea.’6’ Other
illuminated manuscripts associated with northern Mesopotamia—the Paris Bible’66
and the Paris’67 and Diyarbakir’68 Gospels—display the type of late antique painting
that was universally popular.’69 The birds of the Paris Gospels rival in the delicacy of
their brushwork those of the Vienna Dioscorides,’7° to whose gilded backgrounds the
Paris Bible offers a comparison.’7’ The latter manuscript could perhaps be assigned to
Persian Mesopotamia on the grounds of its Nestorian text.’72 Although found in Séert
in northern Iraq,’7’ it may well have been executed in Nisibis, the center of Nestorian
learning and manuscript production and, as manifested in a satellite institution,
the monastery of Abraham of Kashkar, a center which conserved a classical tradition
in sculpture.
TRANSMISSION OF A CLASSICAL TRADITION AFTER A.D. 640
Concerning the transmission of the classicizing sculpture of early Christian north

ern Mesopotamia, I would prefer to leave aside the problem of fifth- to sixth-century
masons from this area working in northern Syria and vice versa, as studied to some
extent at sites such as Qalcat Seman and Deir Zacfaran,174 and to consider very briefly,
instead, the question of transmission after the Arab conquest. The latter can be demon
strated to some extent in four areas: locally within the Christian community; to the
Umayyads; to the Armenians; and to the Inalids and Ayyubids.
Christian Northern Mesopotamia
For the first transmission, the Tur cAbdin preserves a number of churches covering
the period 640 to 800, with several dated examples falling in the eighth century.17’
Much of the antique sculptural heritage can be seen concentrated in the mid to late
seventh-century church of the Virgin at Uah (fig. 26), which has exterior pilasters,
ornamented niches inside and out, column pedestals, Corinthian capitals, and deco
rated moldings.’76 The old formulas reappear somewhat transformed here and in a
series of related buildings at Arnas (fig. 17.8), Kefr Zeh (fig. 17.9), Uabsenas (700-734;
fig. 17.10) and the monastery of the Cross.’77 At this last place, at IIah, and at Arnas the
interlaced vine scroll examined already at Salah (figs. 10, 17.3) now has an abstract,
almost arabesque form (fig. 17.8). It is completely undercut and the alternating grapes
and leaves are reduced to a series of tiny trefoils. A new geometric ornament of over
lapping circles and diamonds has been added to the repertory,’78 and the eggs and
flutes have been dropped. The cut Corinthian capitals (fig. 24) are simplified and
dessicated, the garlands are reduced to loops at the corners, and plaiting is added above
and below. Elsewhere in northern Mesopotamia the classical tradition of plain profiled
moldings and uncut acanthus capitals, seen for instance at Salah (fig. 27), persisted in
eighth-century buildings such as two small contemporary churches at Uah, one dated
740 (figs. 12-13, 28), and in the church and oratory at Heshterek, one or both
dated 772.’
The Umayyads
The links between the seventh- and eighth-century Christian art of northern Meso
potamia and Umayyad art have not yet been sufficiently analyzed, although introduc
tory observations have been made, notably by Bell.’80 The only fruitful area of compar
ison now is that of sculpture. Certain motifs popular in the early Christian period both
in northern Mesopotamia and elsewhere—rows of upright acanthus leaves, bead-and-
reel, and crenelated dentils, for example—are seen passed on, as at Mshatta.’8’ What is
of more immediate relevance here, perhaps, is the presence at Mshatta of rows of split
palmetes, scaled bands, and deeply undercut vine scrolls,’82 which were contempo
raneously in use in northern Mesopotamia.’8’ Likewise the appearance of a particular
winged palmette ornament at Arnas’84 and Uah (fig. 13) might be traced to influences
manifested at Mshatta and et-Tuba.’8’ Reenforcing the art historical case for such
contacts is the extensive series of Syriac inscriptions in a Lebanese quarry. These
record that Christian masons from northern Mesopotamia worked for the Caliph
-II

cAnjar, whose con
Walid I about A.D. 714 at Kamed,’86 at about 17 kilometers from
some striking
struction has consequently been attributed to him’87 and where there are
(fig. 24).
parallels (fig. 25) to capitals in the mid to late seventh-century church at Uah
The Armenians
northern
To discussions of architectural and sculptural transmissions between
add
Mesopotamia and Armenia conducted by Strzygowski’88 and Kleinbauer’89 I would
offers a numbe r of
the massive building at Viranehir (Constantina/Tella)’9° which
sions,
similarities to the church of Zwartcnocc at Valarapat’9’ with regard to dimen
on” has recently been
layout, and sculpture.’92 A date of 622 for the Constantina “octag
641-661 and
suggested,193 which would bring it close in date to the Armenian church of
ctions in northern
which would make it one of the last large-scale Christian constru
Mesopotamia in the tradition of classical architecture.
Twelfth-Century Classical Revival
The last transmission to be mentioned here is illustrated by the Great Mosques of

Amida and Harran, where elaborate columnar façades incorporate both genuine relics
of late antique sculpture and twelfth-century imitations. In the case of Amida, the
materials, from an unknown building of the fifth to seventh century, were reused in
1116/7-1124/5 in the west façade of the courtyard (figs. 15 excluding inscription, 17.7)
and then copied in 1163/4 on the east façade (figs. 16 excluding capital and column,
17.l1).194 One can therefore judge the results: the topmost row of leaves, the egg-and-
dart, and the flutes have all become arabesque scrolls, the modillions are now project
ing leaves, and the split palmettes are transformed into winged palmettes. Otherwise,
the bead-and-reel, dentils, and vine scrolls are respected. The sculpture at Uarran is
more heterogeneous and awaits classification and study. As related above, stones from
St. Sophia (built 525) at Edessa were reused in 1183 in the north façade of the mosque
at I{arran and moldings similar to those found in the Edessa citadel may have been
among the spolia which included columns (fig. 6) and capitals. If, however, it was not
the ornament of St. Sophia which provided models for the twelfth-century voussoirs at
l to their
Uarran (figs. 14, 17.2; the capitals there, e.g., fig. 4, are more problematica as
date), some other examples of late antique sculpture were undoub tedly availab le at the
time. Unlike the Amida sculpture (fig. 16), that at IIarran shown here in figure 14
preserves vine scroll, eggs, modillions, flutes, lead-and-dart, and bead-and-reel, but the
late classical spirit has been violated by the proportions (the vine scroll and eggs are
equal) and by exotic scrolls and motifs, which on other fragments at Ilarran are even
more prevalent.
To sum up, contrary to what its history and literary culture might lead one to
expect, northern Mesopotamia was receptive to classical influences in its art and archi
tecture, which are already apparent in the first century A.D. and which are sometimes
mixed with, or adjacent to, elements of nonclassical influence. This duality persisted
I
until 300. The monuments of the second and third centuries indicate that side by side
with sculptors who produced Greco-Roman forms of architectural decoration there
worked other craftsmen who specialized in a more oriental type of funerary sculpture
known in greater abundance at Palmyra. Similarly, the local school of mosaicists at
Edessa was influenced by both Antioch and the “Mesopotamian” painting style of
Palmyra and Dura-Europos. By A.D. 300 the nonclassical elements largely disappeared
from the art, as we know it, of northern Mesopotamia. Vestiges of ancient Mesopo
tamia remained in the transverse barrel-vaulted churches of the countryside. Other
wise the art and architecture, particularly as seen in the cities, kept pace with that of
the rest of the empire, as would be expected in an area that was both a commercial
bridge between East and West and an important military frontier. In the one area of
architectural sculpture, northern Mesopotamia proved itself a better guardian of the
classical tradition than did Constantinople. We have speculated that the particular
type of late antique moldings and acanthus capitals found at Nisibis in 359 may have
been either introduced into northern Mesopotamia from Palmyra in 272 or 297, or that
they may have originated in northern Mesopotamia. Once established, this sculpture
style, more ornate than earlier classical work known at Edessa and Fafi, continued
throughout the early Christian period, remaining, on the respective sides of the front
ier, independent of both contemporary Byzantine and Sasanian influences. After the
Arab conquest this classical tradition was maintained by the Christians of northern
Mesopotamia, and its impact on the makeup of Umayyad, Armenian, and twelfth-
century art remains to be fully explored.
St. Anne’s College

Oxford University
1. A. H. M. Jones, The Cities of the Eastern Roman Prov 156 f.; cf.A. H. M. Jones, “Asian Trade in Antiquity,” The
inces, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1971), 215-23; M. R. Charlesworth, Roman Economy (Oxford, 1974), 140-50.
Trade Routes and Commerce of the Roman Empire (Cam 6. Ammianus Marcellinus XIV.3.3, ed. and trans. J. C.
bridge, 1929), 97 if.; L. Dillemann, Haute Mésopotamie Rolfe (Cambridge, 1971), 24 f.
orientale et pays adjacents (Paris, 1962), 190-92. 7. John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints, ed. and
2. Jones, Cities, 542: Osrhoëne, capital Edessa, table XXXI; trans. E. W. Brooks, P0, XVII (1923), 158 if., 187 if.; ibid.,
Mesopotamia, capital Amida, table XXXII; South Mesopo XIX (1925), 560 if., 572. The Syriac Chronicle known as that
Lamia, capital Dara, was created AD. 512 (see E. Honigmann, of Zachariah of Mitylene, trans. F. J. Hamilton and E. W.
Evêques et évêchés monophysites d’Asie antérieurs au VI Brooks (London, 1899), 167, 208 f.
siècle [Louvain, 1951J, 103 if. for the date); Armenia IV, 8. John of Ephesus boasts, “all of us . came from the
. .
capital Martyropolis, was created 536, see Jones, Cities, 221. well-known monasteries of Amida and we read and wrote
Nisibis was, from AD. 363 capital of the Persian province of with confidence,” Lives, P0, XVIII(1924), 319. On the role of
Beth Arabaye; for its ecclesiastical administration, see J. monasteries in education, see Segal, “Communities,” 120 f.,
Fiey, Nisibe, metropole syriaque orientate et ses suffragants 131.
des origines a nos jours, CSCO, CCCLXXXVIII, Subsidia, 54 9. Idem, Edessa, 95, 105; A. Vödbus, History of the School
(Louvain, 1977), 16-193. of Nisibis, CSCO, CCLXVI, Subsidia, 26(Louvain, 1965).
3. E. Stein, L’Histoire de Bas Empire, II (Paris, 1949), 10. See note 17 below for work done on the Roman limes.
519 If. 11. For work done by Anastasius, see C. Capizzi, “L’im
4. See especially J. B. Segal, “Mesopotamian Communities peratore Anastasio 1(491-518),” OCA, 184 (1969), 216 if., and
from Julsan to the Rise of Islam,” ProcBrAc, 41(1955), 109- for that by Justinian, see Procopius, Buildings, hi-vu;
39, and the bibliography in idem, Edessa. The Blessed City V.ix.3I.
(Oxford, 1970), 265-89. ha. Where it was available. e.g., in the sculpture of Nis
5. Ed. and trans. J. Rouge, SC, CXXIV (Paris, 1966), ibis and Amida, he chose to see it in an oriental light. For a
summary of his views, see J. Strzygowski, Origin of Christian ians (London, 1962), nos. 105, 110.
Church Art (Oxford, 1923), 22, 32, 140 f., 167-70 and passim. 30. These are incised and less symmetrically arranged
12. This excavation is largely unpublished. See note 59 than at Hatra, and the cloak on the shoulder has fairly deep,
below. realistic folds.
13. C. W. McEwan et al. Soundings at Tell Fakhariyah 31. See note 27 above.
(Chicago, 1958), 2, 3, 15-18, 21, 46. 32. This capital is one of a pair on the Edessa (Urfa)
14. Dillemann, Mésopotamie, 37, 174 1.; M. Mallowan, citadel, which may be dated late 2nd or early 3rd century AD.;
“The Excavations at Tall Chagar Bazar,” Iraq, 3 (1936), 6. see Segal, Edessa, 26 f.; on other classical sculptures at Edessa
15. Segal, Edessa, passim; idem, “Pagan Syriac Monu see ibid., 27 if., pls. 15, 22-24, 26-27. Other objects in the
ments in the Vilayet of Urfa,” AnatSt, 3 (1953), 97ff,; on the museum from the cemetaries include two reliefs of mourning
Tektek Mountains, see also Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint (see fol erotes and a pair of small, spirally fluted columns with wind
lowing note), 148 if., andAnatSt, 7(1957), 7, blown acanthus capitals (photgraphs unpublished).
16. C. Preusser, Nordmesopotamische Baudenkmäler alt 33. Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint, 142, pl. 68.
christlichen und islamischerZeit (Leipzig, 1911); F. Sarre and 34. Ibid., 149 if., pls. 249-56.
E. Herzfeld, Archäologische Reise in Euphrat-und-Tigris 35. Ibid., 29, p1. 108 (inscription). On Fafi, see Dillemann,
Gebtet (Berlin, 1911-20); G. Bell, The Churches and Monas Mésopotamie, 230 f,
teries of the Tur cAbdin. Studies by Gertrude Bell, ed. 36. For illustrations of the façades and the scroll, see
M. Mundell-Mango (London, in press) (cited hereafter as Bell, Tur cAbdin reprints, pls, 108-11, The inhabited scroll
Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint) in which, see bibliographical sur (here acanthus filled with animals hunted by putti) was
vey, 167 if. See also M. van Berchem and J. Strzygowski, revived in the early 3rd century and was popular all over the
Amida (Heidelberg, 1910) and, recently, F. W. Deichmann empire. J. M. C. Toynbee and J. B. Ward Perkins, “Peopled
and U. Peshlow, Zwei sphtantike Ruinensthtten in Nord Scrolls: A Hellenistic Motif in Imperial Art,” BSR, 18(1950),
mesopotamien (Munich, 1977). 1-43; see ph. x, xi, xvi, xviii and xxvi, for examples relevant
17. For the limes, see most recently Dillemann, Mésopo to ours. The lintel decoration at Fafi is more appropriate as
tamia (note I above); On city walls, see A. Gabriel, Voyages tomb sculpture and relates to a popular sarcophagus theme
archéologiques clans Ia Turquie orientate (Paris, 1940); D. van that was disseminated throughout the empire from the quar
Berchem, “Recherches sur la chronologie des enceintes de ries of Proconessus. See J. M. C. Toynbee, The Hadrianic
Syrie et de Mbsopotamie,” Syria, 31(1954), 254-70.; D. Oates, School (Cambridge, 1934), 202-30, pls. xutj-xLviit, where it is
Studies in the Ancient History of Northern lraq (London, pointed out that the putti become “lanky boys” (as at Fafi) in
1968). the 3rd century (214 note 1, p1. xcviii, 2); and Ward Perkins,
18. Great Britain, War Office, Geographical Section “Roman West” (note 24 above), 183 note I, p15. XLIXc-L.
General Staff, Eastern Turkey in Asia (1:250,000) (1901-23). ph. XL1Xc-L.
19. A few are mentioned by J. G. Taylor, “Journal of a 37. Tchalenko, Villages, I, 184; II, 20; III, ph. ccii, 4.
Tour in Armenia, Kurdistan and Upper Mesopotamia etc.,” 38. For pavements recently recorded at the site, see J. Wag
Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, 38 (1968), 346 if. ner, Seleukia am Euphrat/Zeugma (Wiesbaden, 1976), 100-
20. H. Seyrig, “Palmyra and the West,” JRS, 40(1950), 1-7. 105, pls. 22-24. For the large pavement featuring personifica
21. A. Perkins, TheArt of Dura Europos(Oxford, 1973), tions of Roman provinces, Poseidon and a border of masks
15, fig. 4. and hunting putti, found in 1879 and now divided among
22. H. Pognon, Inscriptions sémitiquesde to Syrie etde Ia various collections, see ibid., 86; M. Jatta, La rappresentanze
Mésopotamie et de Ia region de Mossoul (Paris, 1907), 15, figurate delle provincie Romane (Rome, 1908), 4 illus.;
ph. i-it. L. Budde, Antike Mosaiken in Kilikien, I (Recklinghausen,
23. E.g., in northern Syria on a tomb at Bamuqqa (G. 1969), 81f., pls. 158-65; F. Baratte, Catalogue des mosaIques
Tchalenko, Villages antiques de la Syrie du nord, I-Ill [Paris, romaines et paleochrétiennes du Musée du Louvre (Paris,
1953-58], p1. cxci, 3) and on a villa at Kaukanaya (ibid., 1978), 131 f., fig. 139. A panel portraying reclining figures
p1. ccviii, 3). from another pavement from Zeugman is in the Victoria and
24. J. B. Ward Perkins, “The Roman West and the Par Albert Museum.
thian East,” ProcBrAc, 51(1965), 183. 39. Wagner, Zeugma, 102.
25. A few are known in Gaul, Spain, and Africa. See 40. lbid., 104 f.
E. Will, “La tour funéraire de Palmyre,” Syria, 26 (1946), 41. Baratte, Catalogue, 132.
87-116; and zdem, “La tour funéraire de Ia Syrie et les monu 42. The “Phoenix mosaic” dated 235/6; see Segal, Edessa,
ments apparentés,” ibid., 258-312; fig. 12 shows their geo 32, 56, p1. 43.
graphical distribution; the tower tombs at Fafi (see note 35 43. M. von Oppenheim and H. Lucas, “Griechische und
below) and those of the Tektek Mountains (Segal, Edessa, 29) lateinische Inschriften aus Syrien, Mesopotamien und Klein
are omitted from these studies. asien,” BZ, 14(1905), 58ff., p1. iv, figs. 21-22. On the inscrip
26. This tower tomb, south of Edessa at Deir Yaqub, has tion, see J. B. Chabot, JA (1906), 287 note 2, and on the style
been dated variously from the 1st century B.C. to the 2nd AD. of the mosaic, see D. Levi, A ntioch Mosaic Pavements (Prince
Pognon, Inscriptions, 103, pl. v; Will, “Tour de Sync,” 273 ton, 1947), 394 f., 540.
and note 2; Segal, Edessa, 29; Deichmann and Peschlow, 44. This pavement was discovered in 1980 during the con
Ruinensthtten, 43 1., pis. 17-19. For Sumatar (AD. 165), see struction of an apartment building and was removed to the
note 15 above. museum at Gaziantep. The photographs which the director
27. Ward Perkins, “Roman West,” 189-93; M. Lyttleton, of the Mardin Museum, Bey Abdulhalik Erkmen, kindly
Baroque Architecture in Classical Antiquity (London, 1974), showed to me reveal a marine scene, with a Greek inscription,
84-96, 193-95; M. Cohledge, Parthian Art (London, 1977), laid out around a central sinking in the floor. Among similar
28, 67-78. At Dura-Europos, however, Parthian domination marine pavements at Antioch, that closest in style to the
resulted in a change to rubble and mud brick masonry; see Nisibis example may be in the House of Oceanus and Thetis,
Perkins, Dura, 20. See also Dillemann, Mésopotamie, 37. which is dated late in the period 235-3 12; Levi, Pavements,
28. Now in the Urfa Museum. 222, p1. cc.
29. E.g., as in R. Ghirshman, Iran. Part hians and Sassan 45. Ibid., 540, figs. 154, 203. All Masudiye is on the
eastern bank of the Euphrates and can therefore be considered 64. Segal, Edessa, 189.
Mesopotamian. 65. On the moldings, see Guyer, “Amida” (note 93 below),
46. A photograph of the pavement in situ was published figs. 7-8 and Mundell “DZ” (note 93 below), fig. 4 and related
by J. B. Segal in “New Mosaics from Edessa,” Archaeology, text. The capital reused on the great central arch at IJarran
12 (1957), 157; see also idem, Edessa, 511,, p1. 44. (Deichmann and Peschlow, Ruinenstätten [note 16 above],
47, Budde, Kilikien, II, p1. 44. p1. 23.2), as well as other unpublished examples, have gar
48. One may be dated 176/7; see Segal, Edessa, 30 noteS, lands closer in form (having a chainlike quality, with “eggs,”
p1. l4b; for others, see ibid., 27-29, 33 1., 39-41; pls. 1-3, l4a, not rosettes, at their corners) to those at Rusafa (e.g., Kollwitz,
17a, 25. AA [1954] [note 100 below], fig. 11) and Amida (Bell, Tur
49. For Palmyra, see M. Colledge, The Art of Palm yra tmAbdin reprint, pls. 9, 20-21), rather than to those at Nisibis
(London, 1976) and for Dura, see M. Rostovtzeif, Dura Euro (fig. 19 here); the cahices at Uarran could also be compared
pos and Its Art (Oxford, 1938) and Perkins, Dura (note 21 with those at Rusafa: e.g., Kollwitz, AA (1954), figs. 11-12;
above). idem, AA (1963), figs. 5-6.
50. On the Palmyra pavements, see the following note. 66. Segal, Edessa, 181.
The Roman pavements at Dura, found in the baths, are very 67. The nearly complete column (fig. 6) is 3.05 m high.
simple and inscribed in Greek. One has a standard hexagonal According to the description of St. Sophia given in a Syriac
pattern which has been transformed into “a gaming board of hymn (ibid., 189 f.), “its roof extended. without columns”;
.
some sort.” See Excavations at Dura Europos, Preliminary but the hymn mentions chancel and (perhaps) ciborium
Report of the Fourth Season (New Haven, 1933), 32 1., 78 columns, as well as those of the exterior porticoes.
no’ 180; and ibid., Sixth Season (New Haven, 1936), 104 f., 68. Lyttleton, Baroque Architecture, 84-96, 193-95, 229-54.
p1. xxxix. 69. T. iJiegand, Palmyra, II (Berlin, 1932), ph. 53c.
51. H. Stern, Les mosaIques des maisons d’Achille et de 70. Ibid., I. fig. 72.
Cassiopee a Palmyre (Paris, 1977), 42. 71. K. Michalowski, Palmyre. Fouilles polonaises 1963 et
52. The execution of the tomb pavements there is per 1964 (Warsaw, 1966), figs. 142-44, 146. Decorated moldings
functory or confused; see references in note 125 below. found there (ibid., figs. 154-57) could also be compared with
53. Ward Perkins, “Roman West,” 195 f. those at Nisibis.
54. Ibid., 196 f. 72. D. Schlumberger, “Etudes sun Palmyre,” Berytus, 2
55. Wagner. Zeugma, 101, p1. 24a. (1935), 164 if., idem, “Le prétendu camp de Dioclétian,”
56. Segal, Edessa, 27, 39, p1. 2. MéIUSJ, 38(1962), 77-98; Michalowski, Palmyre 1963 et 1964,
57. It is dated by a Greek inscription in its south façade; 121-27; idem, “Les fouilles polonaises a Palmyre,” AArchAr
see Sarre and Herzfeld, Reise (note 16 above), II, 337 1., Syr, 21(1971), 137 if. M. Gawhikowski, “Le Camp de Diode
fig. 314; IV, ph. cxxxvrtt. The best plan is found in ibid., II, dan: bilan préliminaire,” Palmyre: bilan et perspectives (Stras
fig. 316. For other illustrations, see Preusser, BaudenkmiIler bourg, 1976), 153-63.
(note 16 above), pls. 49-52; and Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint, 73. Those of the tetrapylon, accepted as work of AD. 27
pls. 70-83 and bibliography. possibly by sculptors from Mesopotamia; K. Michalowski,
58. Ibid., p1. 81. Palmyre. Fouilles polonaises 1960 (Warsaw, 1962), 38-41,
59. S. Lloyd, The Illustrated London News, 222 (21 Feb figs. 81-82, 84; the author discusses as an unusual feature the
ruary 1953), fig. 12; and AnatSt, 10 (1960), 8 (where they are leafy hehices (figs. 78-85), but not the volutes.
described as “probably fifth century”). They are now in the 74. D. Schhumberger, “Les fouilles de Qasr el-Heir el
Urfa Museum. For work done at IJarran, see S. Lloyd and Garbi (1936-1938), rapport préhiminaire,” Syria, 20 (1939),
W. Bnice, “Harran,” AnatSt, 1 (1951), 77-111; D. S. Rice, 197 and note 4, ph. xxxiii-2 (above).
“Medieval Harrãn,” ibid., 2(1952), 36-83; G. Fehéväri, “IJar 75. Lyttleton, Baroque Architecture (note 27 above), 253 f.
ran,” Encyclopedia of Islam, III (1971, pp. 227-230); cf. K. A. 76. Colledge, Palmyra (note 49 above), 235-42.
C. Creswell, Early Muslim Architecture, 2nd ed. II (Oxford, 77. Ibid., 238 and note 723; see also note 73 above.
1969), 644-49, ph. 139. I would like to thank Dr. G. Fehévdri of 78. Segal, Edessa, e.g., pls. 23-24, 26-27.
the School of Oriental and African Studies of the University 79. Ibid., p1. 22, which shows leaf-and-dart, an undu
of London, who now has charge of the excavation material, lating scroll, and bead-and-reel.
for his kind help concerning it. 80. Now in the Urfa Museum.
60. Upright not wind-blown, Lyttleton, Baroque Archi 81. Lyttleton, Baroque Architecture, 901., fig. 20, p1. 100.
tecture, 58-60, p1.61; the later, e.g., on capitals, are classical as 82. Bell, Tur cAbdin 142, p1. 68. On other remains at
well as early Christian, ibid., 261. Nisibis, see ibid., 142, p1. 69, and Dillemann, Mésopotamie
61. B. Ashmole, “Cyriac of Ancona and the Temple of (note 1 above), 190-92, p1. VIII; on which cf. Fiey, Nisibe
Hadrian at Cyzicus,” JWarb, 19 (1956), 179-91, pls. 36-38, (note 2 above), 120 if.
39b-e. The fragment published in the present article was 83. For the Fafi capitals, see Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint,
photographed on the site of the temple in August 1979. On pls. 109-10, and for those at Palmyra, see Michalowski, Pal
carved vine scrolls, see also Toynbee and Ward Perkins, rnyre (2960), figs. 88-92.
“Peopled Scrolls” (note 36 above), 23-26, 28 f., 33 f., 35-38. 84. Schiumberger, “Etudes,” 160 f.
62. AnatSt, 10(1960), 8. 85. Colledge, Palmyra, 22, 61, 71, 87.
63. On the dismantling of Si. Sophia, see Segal, Edessa, 86. W. Seston, Dioclétian et Ia Tétrarchie, I. Guerre et
256, and Anonymi auctoris Chronicon ad AC. 1234 per réformes (284-300) (Paris, 1946), 171 if.
tinens, II, trans. A. Abouna, CSCO, CCCLIV, Scniptores Syri, 87. In fact, the favored trade route had already moved well
CLIV (Louvain, 1974), p. 128 and note 5 (by J. M. Fiey). The before AD. 272 from Palmyra north to Nisibis and Edessa; see
latter source places the event around the death of Nun al Din, J. Starky and S. Munajjed, Palmyre (Paris, 1952), 84.
and then his son, al Malik al Salib Ismacil, in 1174. The 88. XXXV.8.l7.
enlargement of the mosque at IJarran was started by Nun al 89. Mar Yaqub at $alab (see note 107 below); for other
Din before his death in 1174, and presumably completed by sites—Dana, Amida, Martyropohis, Deir Zafaran, Kale-i Zar
Salah al Din; the façade was seen and described by Ibn Jubayr zevan, and Rusafa—see Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint, p1s. 5, 15,
in 1184. See Fehévári, “Uarrãn.” 39, 188; Deichmann and Peschlow, Ruinenst/ltten, (note 16
above), pls. 8, 10-11; C. Mango, Byzantine Architecture (New massivs,” AA (1978), 575-601.
York, 1974), P1. 36. There are also examples in the courtyard 114. An outstanding exception to generalizations about
of the Great Mosque of Edessa (photographs unpublished). northern Mesopotamia is the second church at Martyropolis,
90. For Rusafa, see Mango, Architecture, pis. 36, 95; those that of the Virgin, which, like the basilica there, is now
at Constantina/Tella and Mar Abraham monastery are as yet destroyed; see Bell, Tur CAbdin reprint, 126 if., pls. 54-66.
unpublished. This church, which requires further study, was probably
91. At DeirZafaran, see Mundell, “DZ” (note 93 below), built sometime after the creation of the province of Armenia
figs. 1,8. Drinking birds appear in the rinceaux at Salab (fig. IV in 536 (see note 2 above) and displays more outside
27 here) and Amida (fig. 15 here). influences in its ornamentation than do other northern
92. Others are at Amida and Dara and can be seen in van Mesopotamian monuments. If it is late 6th century, its
Berchem and Strzygowski, Amida, p1. iv.1 and Mundell, decoration offers an extreme contrast to that of Mar Abraham
“Dara” (note 96 below), fig. 6. Those at Mar Abraham monas (A.D. 571) and the two later buildings at Rusafa (559 and
tery are not yet published. 569-581).
93. On this sculpture, see S. Guyer, “Amid.a,” Rep 115. Ibid., 124. This church is similar to late 4th and early
Kunstw, 38 (1916), 193 if., and M. C. Mundell, “The Sixth 5th century basilicas in its dimensions and in particular in
Century Sculpture of the Monastery of Deir Zafaran in those of its nave (38.65 x 25.75 m), which are extremely close
Mesopotamia,” Actes do XVe Congrès International d’Etudes to those of the nave of the martyrion basilica of Dibsi Faraj
Byzantines, Athènes (1976) (in press). (38.50 x 23.75 m) dated 429; R. Harper, “Excavations at Dibsi
94. See B. Brenk, Spätantike und fri2hes Christentum Faraj, Northern Syria, 1972-74: A Preliminary Note on the
(Berlin, 1977), fig. 245b. Site and Its Monuments,” DOP, 29 (1975), 333.
95. Bell, Tur CAbdin reprint, 124, pls. 38-49. 116. IV. E. Kleinbauer, “The Origin and Functions of the
96. M. C. Mundell, “A Sixth Century Funerary Relief at Aisled Tetraconch Churches in Syria and Northern Mesopo
Dara in Mesopotamia,” JYB, 24 (1975), 219, figs. 6-7. tamia,” DOP, 27(1973), 91-114.
97. Bell, Tur CA bd in reprint, 107, pls. 18, 20-21. 117. On this type of church, see Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint,
98. See note 194 below. 56. and, e.g., fig. 25.
99. See notes 63-67 and relevant text. 118. This is apparent from the similarities in building
100. J. Kollwitz, “Die Grabungen in Resafa,” Neue techniques and decoration noted between the two sites; see
deutsche Ausgrabungen im Mittelmeergebiet und im vor Mundell Mango, “Deux bglises” (note 109 above).
deren Orient (Berlin, 1959), 45 if.; idem, AA, (1954), 119ff.; 119. By the 8th century it is found in cities also, as is
ibid. (1957), 69ff.; ibid. (1963), 328ff.; ibid. (1968), 307ff.; attested by the church added onto the north side of the Nisibis
W. Karnapp, ibid. (1970), 98ff.; T. Ulbert, ibid. (1977), 563ff.; baptistery in 713-758. On this type of church, see Bell, 7’ur
W. Karnapp, Die Stadtmauer von Resafa in Syrien (Berlin, cAbdin reprint, 56, and, e.g., fig. 29.
1976); see also S. Guyer in Sarre and Herzfeld, Reise (note 16 120. Mundell-Mango in ibid., viii f. Cf. Deichmann and
above), II, 1ff.; and H. Spanner and S. Guyer, Rusafa, die Peschlow,” Ruinenstiiten, 17ff. and Bell, Tur Abdin reprint,
Wallfahrtsstadt des heiligen Sergios (Berlin, 1926). 45.
101. Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint, 112, pls. 121-122. 121. On these, see Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint, p. x.
102. Mundell, “DZ” (note 93 above). 122. Although the dome-on-squinch plan of St. Sophia,
103. Bead-and-reel, palmettes, fillet, frieze, dentils, egg- Edessa (after 525), used also in the contemporary church of
and-dart, flutes, bead-and-reel, palmettes. Occasionally another St. Sergius, Gaza (before 536), is of oriental rather than classi
element, such as modillions, is inserted, or something is cal derivation, it became a standard church type in both East
left out. and West.
104. Zachariah (note 7 above), 166. 123. For the Edessa pavements, see Segal, Edessa, pls. l7b-
105. Mundell, “DZ” (note 93 above). 20, esp. 18; for that at Mopsuestia: Budde, Kilikien, I (note 38
106. F. W. Deichmann, Ravenna. Geschichte und Monu above), p1. 86; E. Kitzinger, “Observations on the Samson
mente (Wiesbaden, 1969), 65, figs. 35-39. The plaited capitals Floor at Mopsuestia,” DOP, 27 (1973), 138 and notes 18, 52.
published by Bell (Tur ‘Abdin reprint, pls. 66, 67a, 83) also 124. H. Candemir and J. Wagner, “Christliche Mosaiken
represent a departure based on either Byzantine tss’o-zoned in der nbrdlichen Euphratesia,” Studien zur Religion und
capitals or the basket cornice bosses of Deir Zacfaran; see ibid., Kultur Kleinasiens. Festschrift fi%r Friedrich Karl Dofner, ed.
pls. 194-97. S. Sahin, F. Schwertheim, and J. Wagner (Leiden, 1978), 205
107. Ibid., 147, pls. 232-48. if., fig. 1, p1. 7. This site is 30 km northwest of Zeugma (Bal
108. See Bell’s discussion of the pilaster sculpture in Tur kis); see H. Hellenkemper, “Kirchen und Klbster in der nörd
cAbdin reprint, 41 f. She assigns the church to the period lichen Euphratesia,” ibid., 407, fig. I.
before the Arab conquest (ibid., 79) and then reassigns it, 125. This pavement was found in a tomb north of the
together with most of the churches of the area, to the eighth city. Of the composition in the central field only part of a
century (ibid., 82 f.). Deichmann and Peschlow (Ruinenstiit wing and a hand holding a staff survived. See Segal, Edessa,
ten, 24) consider it to be sixth-century. 32, 51, plan II, pls. 17b-20. Segal has proposed Zeus and his
109. Ibid., 139 and M. Mundell Mango, “Deux églises de eagle or Ganymede as the main subject. It is difficult from the
Mésopotamie du Nord: Ambar et Mar Abraham de Kashkas,” remains to counterpropose a Christian theme in keeping with
CahArch, 30 (in press), figs. 13-16, 18-24. Figure 17.4 here the 4th to 5th century date suggested above on stylistic
represents a niche archivolt, not that of the apse. grounds for the border. Few tomb pavements have been re
110. Ibid., p1. 81. covered in Syria to offer comparisons of iconography. At
111. One has been removed to the monastery near Qar Antioch, in addition to abstract patterns (Levi, Pavements,
tamin. 291, pl. cxx d-e) there is a personification of Amerimnia
112. Mundell, “DZ” (note 93 above). (“Freedom from Care”) (c. 300) (ibid., 225 f., pl. LI d) and a
113. Although there is evidence of influences both ways funerary banquet (c. 400) (ibid., 295-304, pls. LXV1-LXVII a-c,
between northern Mesopotamia and Syria; see note 174 CLXvI).
below. For the great variety in Syrian sculpture see C. Strube, 126. Attributed to the late 5th century, Harper, “Dibsi
“Baudekoration in den Kirchen des nordsyrischen Kalkstein Faraj,” 332 f., fig. lob.
127. As in the House of the Buffet Supper (425) at Antioch 153. On this group of perhaps thirty to forty censers,
and later, used both as an independent pattern (Levi, Pave decorated with New Testament scenes, see most recently F. W.
ments, 436-53, fig. 167, lS. Lxxxiv, xci, cxxvi a, cxxxviii d-f, Hamilton, “Thuribles: Ancient or Modern?” Iraq, 36 (1974),
CXL d, CXLI b-c), and with figural compositions (ibid., pls. 53 if. One of these bears a modern Arabic inscription men
LXXXIII c, LXXXV a, LXXxvi, LxXxvII-Llx). tioning Mardin; ibid., 63; two are inscribed in Syriac (one
128. As described ibid., 593 if., l5. LXXIV, LXXVII. mentioning Sarnosata), ibid., 64; and two of the censers are
129. Now on display in the museum. from Midyat in the Tur Abdin, ibid., 53 note 3, 55 no. 19.
130. These are large compositions dates 429, 452/3, 469, 154. No. 852; N. Firatli, A Short Guide to the Byzantine
473 and 483-85. See C. Dulière, MosaIques des portiques Works of Art In the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul
de Ia Grande Colonnade (Brussels, 1974); Harper, “Dibsi (Istanbul, 1955), 50, pls. 15, 37; Deichmann and Peschlow,
Faraj,” 329 (and 332 note 9), fig. 7b; and M.-T. Canivet and Ruinenstà’tten, 39 f.
P. Canivet, “L’Ensemble ecclésiale de Uuarte d’Apambne 155. For a general discussion of these inscriptions, see
(Syrie) (Campagnes de 1973-1976),” Syria, 56 (1979), figs. 10- K. Weitzmann and I. evenko, “The Moses Cross at Sinai,”
11, 14, 18, There are related but smaller compositions dated DOP, 17 (1963), 391 -98, esp. 394 f.
578; see Baratte, Catalogue (note 38 above), 138, fig. 141. 156. The bucket closest to the Mesopotamian one in
131. At Hirbet Muqa dated 394/5 (J. C. Baby and others, details of ornament is that in Madrid. For a recent discussion
Mosaiques de l’église de Herbet Muqa [Brussels, 19691, 23 ff., of the group, see A. Caradini, “La Secchia Doria: Una ‘Storia
ph. I, iv 2) and at Antioch dated 387 (a variant, Levi, Pave di Achille’ Tardo-antica,” Studi Miscellanei, 9 (1964), 28 f.,
ments, pls. cxiv b) and also attributed to the 4th and 5th where our bucket is attributed to 450-550.
centuries (ibid., l5. LXX a, cx c, cxxiii a-b, cxxx c). 157. Deichmann and Peschlow, Ruinenst/itten, 39 f.
132. E.g., ibid., l5. Lxxiv a, xcii a, cxx d, cxxv b, cxxvi 158. At Ergani, Karabek, and Keydak, see P. S. de Jesus,
a-b, d, CXXVII, CXXVIII, CXXXI b, d, cxxxiii c. The Development of Prehistoric Mining and Metallurgy in
133. McEwan, Soundings (note 13 above), 3, p1. 16 B. Anatolia, I, (Oxford, 1980), 104; II, 259 f., nos. 121-123, map 8.
134. The Dara pavement is unpublished. For comments 159. Taylor, “Journal” (note 19 above), 356.
on opus sectile pavements in general, see, A. H. S. Megaw, 160. Expositio, ed Rouge (note 5 above), p. 238.
“Interior Decoration in Early Christian Cyprus.” Rapports et 161. These colophons have been collected and commented
Co-rapports, XV Congrès International d’études byzantines upon as part of the doctoral thesis mentioned in note 150
(Athens, 1976), 4-9. above.
135. Antioch-on-the-Orontes, III. The Excavations 1937- 162. From various villages and monasteries including
39, ed. R. Stillwell (Princeton, 1941), 8 f., 256. some near Horns and Apamea, see preceding note.
136. E. J. W. Hawkins and M. C. Mundell, “The Mosaics 163. And for the Nestorian monastery of Beth ‘Abbe, E.
of the Monastery of Mar Samuel, Mar Simeon, and Mar A. W. Budge, The Book of Governors: The Historia Monas
Gabriel near Kartmin,” DOP, 27(1973), 282, 292, figs. 47-49. tica of Thomas, Bishop of Marga AD 840 (London, 1893),
137. J. Napoleone-Lemaire and J. Balty, L’Eglise a atrium L if.
de Ia Grande Colonnade (Brussels, 1969), l5. XXVI 2, xxvii. 164. On Nisibis, see F. Nau, “L’Araméen chrétien (syri
138. C. Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire 312-1453 aque). Les traductions faites du grec en syriaque au Vile
(Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1972), 58. siècle,” RHR (1929), 232-87.
139. Van Berchem and Strzygowski, Amida, fig. 90. 165. The primary evidence is that offered by the letters
140. Hawkins and Mundell, “Mosaics,” 282, 291; see the exchanged in AD. 567-568 between Monophvsite abbots and
far left side of fig. 47 and the center of fig. 48. bishops; see M. Mundell Mango. “Where was Beth Zagba?”
141. Ibid., 283 if. in Okeanos. A Tribute to Ihor evéenko (forthcoming). For
142. E.g., ibid., 293 f.; Mundell, “Monophysite Church the letters, see most’recently A Caquot in Tchalnko, Vil
.
Decoration,” in Iconoclasm, ed. A. Bryer and J. Herrin (Bir lages (note 23 above), 63 if.
mingham, 1977), 59-74; Cf. S. Brock, “Iconoclasm and the 166. J. Leroy, Les manuscrits Syria ques a peintures (Paris,
Monophysites, “ibid., 53-58. 1964), 208-18, pls. 43-48.
143. Mango, Art, 58. 167. Ibid., 198-206, pis. 35-41.
144. The pitting for the plaster bed (see Bell, Tur cAbdin 168. Ibid., 128, 130, 207 f., pls. 18.1, 42.
reprint, 83) extends, however, down into the area which was 169. K. Weitzmann, Late Antique and Early Christian
apparently revetted with marble. Book Illumination (London, 1977), 21 f.
145. Mundell, “Decoration,” 65 f., fig. 9. 170. A. von Prernerstein, K. Wessely, and J. Mantuani,
146. For Dara, see note 96 above. For Mar Abraham, see Dioscorides, Codex Aniciae Julianae picturis illustratus
Mundell Mango, “Deux églises” (note 109 above), figs., 13-16, (Leiden, 1906), fols. 4741 476f 477v.479v 480v, 482, 483’.
8r,
18-24. 171. Leroy, Manuscrits, 208, where it is noted for fol.
147. Mundell, “Decoration,” 65 f., fig. 10; Bell, Tur “Pharaoh on his throne.” The backgrounds to all the prophets
cAbdin reprint, note 69, pp. 14, 19, 101, 132. were also gilded, traces of which are visible through a magni
148. G. F. Hill, Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Arabia, fying glass.
Mesopotamia and Persia (London, 1922), lxxxvi-cxii. 172. List of Peshitta Old Testament Manuscripts (Leiden,
149. A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284-602. A 1961), 37, and Vetus Testamentum Syriace, IV. 6 (Leiden,
Social, Economic and Administrative Survey III (Oxford, 1972), iv. I should like to thank Dr. S. Brock for this
1964), 834. information.
150. The evidence supporting this statement has been 173. Leroy, Manuscrits, 212.
gathered and discused in my dissertation on “Artistic Patron 174. Tchalenko, Villages, I, 231 f., 266; Mundell, “DZ”
age in the Roman Diocese of Oriens 3 12-634,” soon to be (note 93 above).
completed at Oxford University. 175. Bell, Tur CAbdin reprint, p. ix.
151. E.g., Dara gave 1000 pounds of silver to Chosroes I in 176. Ibid., pls. 133, 135-40, 143-45. On stylistic grounds it
540; see preceding note. is clear that this and the four following monuments are
152. S. Brock, “The Fenqitho of the Monstery of Mar nearly contemporary and they are provisionally dated here
Gabriel in Tur CAbdin OKS, 28 (1979), 175.
“ with reference to Mar Symeon at Uabsenas (700-734) (see
ibid., 110), which is probably the latest of the group (see also 1978), 10ff.
note 177). Cf. ibid., 82 f. 190. Bell, Tur cAbdin, reprint, 155, fig. 58 and pls. 89-96.
177. Ibid., 99, 110, 120, 131, pls. 101-4, 159-63, 185-87. 191. On which, see most recently Kleinbauer, ArtB (1972),
No photographs of Mar Symeon at Uabsenas have been 245 if. and idem, “Design.”
published. 192. Zwartnoc has an inner diameter of 33.73 m (idem,
178. Ibid., pis. 143-44 ArtB [19721, 254) and that of Viranlehir is 32 m east to west
179. Ibid, 115, 117, 118, pl. 151. and 34.50 m north to south (see Bell, Tur cAbdzn reprint,
180. Ibid., 82 f. 155). Both buildings have a circular exterior with three pro
181. On Mshatta, see Creswell, Architecture (note 59 jecting porches and a projecting sanctuary, and apparently
above), II, 578-606, 614-48, pis. 112-36. had barrel-vaulted ambulatories. In addition to the sculpture
182. Ibid., pls. 121-24, 127-29. at Zwartnoc already linked to other northern Mesopotamian
183. Bell, Tur CAbdin reprint, pis. 101-3, 139-45, 160-61, sculpture (Kleinbauer, “Design,” 11 f.), one could relate capi
186. tals decorated with split palmettes (Syrzygowski, Baukunst, I,
184. Ibid., pl. 103. fig. 115 center) with mullion capitals still lying in the
185. Creswell, Architecture, pis. 123, 138. On eE-Tuba in “octagon” at Viranlehir (unpublished photograph).
general, see ibid., 607-48, pls. 137-38. 193. Bell, Tur cAbdin reprint, 157, where it is suggested
186. P. Mouterde, “Inscriptions en syriaque dialectal a by the present writer that the church may have beenbuilt
Kamed (BeqS),” MéIUSJ, 22 (1939), 73-106. when the relics of Jacob Baradaeus, the founder of the Jaco
187. Creswell, Architecture, 478-81, pls. 78 A-C. bite church, were returned to Constantina/Tella, his native
188. J. Strzygowski, Die Baukunst der Armenier und city, in 622.
Europa, I (Vienna, 1918), 373 if., 445 if. 194. Van Berchem and Styzygowski, Amida, 43-69, 136-
189. W. E. Kleinbauer, “Zvartnots and the Origins of 63, 207-18, 298-334, figs. 23-25, 57-59, pls. vsii-xvi, xx; Gabriel,
Christian Architecture in Armenia,” ArtB, 54 (1972), 256-62; Voyages (note 17 above), 190-94; M. Rogers, “A Renaissance
idem, “Tradition and Innovation in the Design of Zvart of Classical Antiquity in North Syria (1 lth-l2th Centuries),”
notz,” II International Symposium on Armenian Art (Erevan, AArchArSyr, 21(1971), 347-56.
THE FORMATION OF
THE ARMENIAN LITERARY TRADITION
ROBERT W. THOMSON
HIS paper attempts to assess the literary influences that shaped the development
T of Armenian writing down to the ninth century.’ The main concern is with what
Armenians say about themselves, and more especially with how they say it—that is,
with the literary images that Armenian authors used to express their own experience.2
Written texts give us only part of the composite picture that Armenians built up of
themselves and their place in the world around them. But the importance of written
texts is enhanced by the fact that the more significant literary works not only inform us
about the ideologies of their authors, their interests, and their concerns for the prob
lems of the moment. These texts live on, become part of the historical record, and are
reinterpreted in succeeding generations. So the formation of a tradition, in literary
terms, is a complex procedure. Although one may point to a beginning at a specific
moment—for the sake of argument, let us say the invention of the script, though in fact
literary ideas and traditions in Armenia go back much earlier—so then although there
may be a beginning there is no end, for traditions are being reworked all the time. And
old ideas or images which have dropped out of common use, or even common knowl
edge, may surface again, as in the Armenian renaissance beginning in the eighteenth
century, when the heroes of ancient Armenia reemerge as national symbols.
But tradition may also have a life of its own. In literary terms this is nicely illustrated
by the Armenian interpretation of St. Athanasius of Alexandria. Many of his works
were translated into Armenian, some in the fifth century, some a little later. But these
accurate renderings of the Greek did not have a very wide circulation and only a few
manuscripts containing the early translations survive. On the other hand, quotations
from Athanasius abounded in florilegia, dogmatic treatises, official letters, and other
such documents which quoted the great fathers of the church as authorities for certain
theological positions. But, as is well known, such collections of quotations are likely
to be tendentious, and curious changes sometimes creep in. Thus in some texts
Athanasius is portrayed as the champion of the anti-Chalcedonian view espoused by
the Gregorian Armenians.3 There is nothing peculiarly Armenian about such distor
tions. But the purpose of the illustration is to suggest that different views of the same
person or event may well coexist, and hence that it may be difficult to speak of the
Armenian literary tradition. The historical texts reflect the fragmented state of Arme
nian society, even though by a natural tendency toward simplification many Armenian
136 ROBERT W. THOMSON
historians did gloss over the divisions within their country,4 and many of their simplifi
cations have lived on.
My general purpose in what follows is twofold. First, to indicate in general terms
those literary models that were used by Armenian writers. And second, to elaborate in
greater detail on how Armenian writers adapted their models and literary themes to the
Armenian situation and formulated their response to problems of their own time. I
begin by plunging into two texts in order to indicate the kind of adaptations that
might be made. I shall then go back to the origins of Armenian literature and attempt
to build up a more general picture of Armenian writing, its themes, and its interests.
We have in Armenian two accounts of the revolt against Iran that culminated in
defeat for the Armenians on the battlefield at Avarayr in 451. The shorter account, that
in the historian Lazar, was written within fifty years of the event—though the text of
Lazar as we now have it has been subjected to later embellishment.5 The longer
account is by E1ië, the date of whose work is a matter of fierce dispute.6 But here it is
only important to note that Eli has introduced into his narrative—or rather, has so
framed his narrative to include—concerns of a more general religious and patriotic
nature. Some interesting contrasts emerge when we compare the two accounts of the
harangues to the Armenian troops before the final battle.
Lazar claims that both the Armenian general Vardan and the priest Lewond
addressed the troops. The priest Lewond spoke of the glorious fate of previous Chris
tian martyrs, especially St. Gregory the Illuminator, and urged the soldiers to hasten to
share in the inheritance of the saints in the heavenly Jerusalem. (The reference to
Gregory is particularly relevant to Lazar, for the patron of his History is Vahan Mami
konean, uncle of the martyred Vardan, descended from a marriage tie between the
family of Gregory and that of the Mamikoneans.) The general Vardan then repeated
the same exhortation to martyrdom, again reminding the Armenians of St. Gregory.
Each of these speeches is summarized by Lazar in one paragraph.7
But Elië’s account is very different. Some time before the battle he has Vardan give a
four-page exhortation. Vardan urges the soldiers to accept a holy death, but on no
account to mingle cowardice with valor. This contrast of earthly cowardice and heav
enly valor or virtue is an important theme that runs through the whole of Eli from
beginning to end, based not only on biblical themes but also on passages taken from
the Armenian version of Philo.8 Vardan then reminds his troops of the cause for which
they are fighting: their ancestral and divinely bestowed religion. This is repeated later,
always in terms taken directly from the Armenian version of Maccabees. Particularly
significant is the fact that the term religion used by E1i (awrenkc) is a literal rendering
of the Greek nomoi. It carries in Armenian the connotation of a whole way of life and
does not refer to specifically religious practices separate from traditional mores.9 Var-
dan does not refer to the Armenian example of Gregory or even explicitly mention
earlier Christian martyrs.
Following this speech, says Elië, Vardan continued to encourage his soldiers, not
neglecting the argument of liberal pay; and then Eli gives a brief summary of the
wars of the Maccabees which, he claims, Vardan had read out to the whole army. That
summary is important, not merely because of the specific comparison between the
THE ARMENIAN LITERARY TRADITION 137
situation of the Armenians and that of the Jews facing Antiochus, but for bringing out
other themes vital to Elië’s History: not only martyrdom for traditional laws, but also
the themes of the holy covenant to which not all Armenians (or Jews) had been
faithful, the temples and impure rites of the foreign and heathen Persians (or Greeks),
and the contrast between those who held firm to the end and those who slackened. All
these themes had been woven into Eli’s History from the very beginning and reap
pear in the later section that describes the fate of prisoners in Iran following the defeat
at Avarayr.’°
Closer to the time of the battle, according to E1i, the priest Lewond gave another
address to the Armenian troops, which runs to eight pages in the Armenian text.”
Lewond begins with an injunction to remember our forefathers who lived before the
birth of Christ. In elaborate fashion he recalls the great models of virtue in the Old
Testament: Noah, Abraham, Moses, Pinehas, who removed profanation by slaughter,
David, who scattered the forces of foreign invaders, the generals of ancient Israel who
purified their land from heathen idolatry. What is particularly interesting about this
speech is not the absence of Christian parallels or references to St. Gregory, nor even
the recollection of Old Testament heroes, but the close parallel in structure with the
speech of Matathias to his sons before his death as given in I Macc. 2.
So the contrast between Lazar and E1i in their approach to the same events is
striking. Lazar is concerned primarily with the overt glory of the Mamikonean family
to which his patron belonged, and the specifically Armenian hero Gregory. Eli is more
subtle. His hero is the same Vardan, but the cause for which he fights is a combination
of heavenly virtue and Armenian ancestral traditions. Although Lazar twice uses the
term “ancestral” in his History with reference to Armenian customs and religion, he
does not make this the overriding theme. Neither historian wishes to recall that in fact
Christianity was not the ancient, ancestral religion of Armenia but marked a new turn
in Armenian culture that had not won complete acceptance even by the time of the
revolt led by Vardan.’2 But only Eli sees such a direct parallel between the Armenians
and the Maccabees that not only is his whole work suffused with verbal reminiscences
of the Armenian version of those books, but its basic structure depends on themes
taken from them. It is not the Christian martyrs from the times of Roman or Sasanian
persecution who are explicitly cited as examples—though the influence of both Greek
and Syriac hagiography is profound in Eli’3—but the heroes of Israel who made no
distinction between religion and patriotism.
There is another Armenian writer who sees an even closer link between Armenia and
ancient Israel—Movsës Xorenacci. Like the generality of Armenian historians he is
concerned with the glory of his patrons—in this case the Bagratuni family, whose
ancestry he traces back to one of the leading Jews taken captive by Nebuchadnezzar.’4
But of more direct concern for the present theme is Movsës’ general approach to
Armenian history. For despite his specific glorification of the Bagratids, Movss is
unique among Armenian historians of the period before 900 in trying to place Arme
nia on the stage of world history. That is, Movsës not only traces the development of
the Armenian nation from its origins in the days of the giants and sets out the descent
of the earliest Armenian rulers from Japheth, he places the story of Armenia in its
the first
historical perspective vis-à-vis the great empires of the past.’5 At the very end of
to
book of his History Movss gives himself away—or at least admits to a susceptibility
wishful thinking: referring to the Armenian Zarmayr who led a small Ethiopian army
to assist Priam in the Trojan war, Movsës notes that Zarmayr was killed at Ilium: “By
Achilles I would like to think and not by any other hero.”
Now although Movsës refers to Homer by name in this paragraph, he is not in fact
of
quoting from the Iliad but from the description of the Trojan war in the Chronicle
Eusebius. And it is on the basic framework of the Chronicle that Movsës bases his
whole first book, appropriately entitled “Genealogy of Armenia.” The debt of Movss
in
to the Chronicle and to Eusebius’ Church History (which was also available
Armenian translation, this one from Syriac rather than directly from the Greek) has
been examined elsewhere.’6 But Movsës also had another model in mind. He fre
quently refers to antiquarians or antiquarian lore, and opens the third book by stating:
“there is no study of the antiquity of our land.” The term in Armenian is “hnaawsu
tiwn, a calque on the Greek ápatooyIct. Moses seems to be the first to use this
particular word and its cognate hnaaws for “antiquarian,” though the first chapter of
the Armenian version of Dionysius Thrax’s Ars Grammatica renders tatopIa by
“hnaget patmutciwn.”17 Now àpatoAoyia is a term used frequently by Greek writers
for a title to histories, the most famous being Josephus’ IoatKr1 ápxoOy
Movsës’ debt to Josephus therefore deserves further comment.
It is ironic that Movsës quotes Josephus by name five times but on each occasion
either the information is not in Josephus or Movsës has used a different source. It is,
for example, a common thing for Movss to use Eusebius’ Chronicle and Church
History as direct sources; and if Eusebius mentions an earlier writer on whom he was
relying, Movss claims that he used that source directly himself. So, in describing the
worms that grew inside Herod because of his presumption against Christ, Movss adds
“as Josephus narrates.” But Movsës’ description is taken from Eusebius, where
Josephus is indeed quoted as the source.’8 Perversely, Movss’ direct use of Josephus is
unacknowledged. In his second book, Movss elaborates on the account in Josephus’
Jewish Wars of the wars between Rome and Parthia in order to boost the role of the
Armenian kings Tigran and Artawazd. The involvement of Tigran in Palestine then
gives Movss an opportunity to explain the origin of the numerous Jewish colonies in
Armenia known to him from the Armenian history Pcawstos Buzand.’9
But more important than the rewriting of history to the greater glory of Tigran or of
the Bagratids was Movsës’ basic attitude to his country and its historical role. The
passage (I 3) is famous, but it merits repetition. Movsës is commending his patron for
commissioning this History of the Armenian People and contrasting his interest with
the neglect of earlier Armenian princes:
I do not wish to leave the unscholarly habits of our first ancestors without a
word of censure, but to insert here at the very beginning of our work the reason for
reprehending them. If in truth those kings are worthy of praise who in written
accounts fixed and ordered their annals and wise acts and inscribed each one’s
valour in narratives and histories, then like them the compilers of books or
archives who were occupied with similar efforts are worthy of our eulogies.
Through these, I say, when we read their accounts we become informed about the
course of the world, and we learn about the state of civilization when we peruse
such wise discourses and narratives—those of the Chaldaeans, Assyrians, Egyp
tians and Hellenes. It is indeed to the wisdom of these men, who undertook such
studies, that we aspire.
So then it is clear to us all that our kings and other forefathers were negligent
towards scholarship and unconcerned with the life of reason. For although we are
a small country and very restricted in numbers, weak in power, and often subject
to another’s rule, yet many manly deeds have been performed in our land worthy
of being recorded in writing; nonetheless, not one of these undertook to have them
written down.
The first paragraph is based on Eusebius, who at the beginning of his Chronicle
refers to the same peoples who have written histories in the same order. The second
paragraph is more interesting. “We are a small country, very restricted in numbers”—
there are verbal parallels here with the Armenian text of the opening of Josephus’
Jewish Wars: “They disparage the actions of the Jews. But I fail to see how the
conquerors of a small people deserved to be accounted great.” Movss “reprehends”
the unscholarly habits of our ancestors as Josephus “reprehends” the Greeks. Both
make a great “effort” to present a “faithful” but “brief” account of their respective
nations’ histories, not injecting anything “inappropriate” but expounding only
the “truth.”
To enter into a more detailed discussion of Josephus’ influence on Movss would
take us away from the main theme.2° But it should be fairly clear that by the time of
Eli and Movss, Armenian historians were capable of sophisticated interpretations of
events and could adapt foreign sources to the Armenian situation with considerable
finesse. Let us now go back to the beginning and see how Armenian literary interests
and skills developed.
It would be misleading to begin with the invention of the Armenian script by

Matoc around A.D. 400.21 That invention was of profound significance for the trans
position of Armenian learning into the Armenian idiom. But one must not suppose
that there had been no Armenian learning or scholarship before the time of Matoc.
Five hundred years earlier the enthusiasm of King Tigran for Greek culture was widely
noted by classical writers; and Plutarch extolls the tragedies, orations, and histories of
Tigran’s son, King Artawazd—though alas nothing has survived.22 Of more direct
relevance to Christian Armenia was the fact that in the fourth century numerous
Armenians studied under Libanius in Antioch; his correspondence with Armenian
pupils spans two generations.23 And individuals from Armenia might make a name for
themselves in the Greco-Roman world. Prohaeresius, for example, came from Persian
Armenia.24 As a Christian sophist working in Athens, he included among his pupils
Basil of Caesarea and Gregory Nazianzenus. Of course we have to beware of claiming
such international figures imbued with Hellenistic learning as being consciously
Armenian. It may be that, as in the Byzantium of later centuries, one’s ethnic origin
was of less importance than one’s cultural orientation.
It was therefore perfectly natural for a young Armenian of good family to receive an
education in Greek literature, as did Matocc, the later inventor of the Armenian
alphabet. His biographer Koriwn gives us scant details of his early life, concentrating
his energies on Matocc’s Christian virtues as monk and missionary. But Koriwn does
expressly state: “In the years of his youth he was educated in Greek literature (vareal
hellenakan dpruteamb)” before becoming attached to the royal divan at the Arsacid
court. So when Matoc’ finally was able to fashion a script for Armenian in the city of
Samosata, we are not surprised to read that he was aided by a certain scribe named
Rufinus, who is described as being versed in Greek literature (hellenakan dprutcean).25
However, IMatocC’s purpose in inventing an Armenian script was not to make the
literature of antiquity available to his fellow countrymen who had not had the benefit
of a classical education; his efforts were entirely directed to providing Christian texts
needed for missionary work and for the strengthening of the church in Armenia.
According to Koriwn, Matocc’s first translation, made with two of his pupils, was the
book of Proverbs.26 This they took back to Armenia from Samosata as an example of
what could be accomplished with the new script. And Koriwn then compares
triumphal return home with the descent of Moses from Mount Sinai bearing in his
arms the divine law. The joy of the Armenians in having the words of God in Armen
ian (hayabarbar, hayernaaws) was indeed no less than that of the Israelites on seeing
the tablets inscribed in Hebrew. This and other elaborate comparisons in Koriwn’s
biography are illustrations of the influence of Greek rhetorical practice—here sunkrisis
—on the earliest compositions in Armenian. We shall return later to the formal
Armenian texts on rhetoric.
The next task of Matoc and the Armenian patriarch Sahak was to organize groups
of young pupils who were set to learning the new script. Many of these young men
were then sent abroad with instructions to render into Armenian the most important
Christian texts in Syriac and Greek. So rather than the centers of pagan learning, it was
now the turn of Edessa, Melitene, and most notably Constantinople, to see an influx of
Armenian students, though we should not ignore the continuation of traditional
pagan study. Zacharias Rhetor, [or example, who studied in Beirut with Severus, notes
the presence of an Armenian among the law students who were renowned in magic.27
Although we could draw up a long catalogue of works translated into Armenian in
the fifth century,28 the Armenian writers of that period themselves rarely mention titles.
Koriwn refers to “many inspired books of the fathers of the church,” to Sahak’s
translation of the “collection of ecclesiastical writings”—generally interpreted as the
bible—to commentaries on scripture and to the canons of Nicaea and Ephesus which
were brought back from Constantinople by Eznik, Lewond, and Koriwn himself.29
And, according to Koriwn, Matocc later composed many homilies based on scripture
with special emphasis on the hope of the resurrection, in order to arouse the ignorant
and those occupied with worldy affairs to the good news. There has been some debate
as to whether any surviving Armenian homilies are to be identified with Matocc’s
own compositions. The answer is probably no.3° But from our point of view the
significant thing is that Armenians earlier set to translating now were composing
original works in Armenian. This helps explain the amazing rapidity with which
Armenian literature developed.
The next stage in our discussion will be to examine the adaptation to specifically
Armenian situations of Greek and Syriac texts that were studied and translated by the
succeeding generations of Armenians.
Adaptation can be deliberate (whether acknowledged or not) or unconscious. By the
latter I mean the use of literary topoi that were “in the air,” so to speak. Just as
Matocc’s homilies were reportedly drawn from the scriptures, so later works might
reflect the Armenian versions of John Chrysostom, Gregory Nazianzenus, Eusebius, or
even the Alexander Romance, without any deliberate attempt to deceive or mislead.
Some specific examples should clarify the distinction between deliberate adaptations
and the use of topoi.
In the History of Agatcangelos which describes the conversion of Armenia and the
work of St. Gregory the Illuminator, we read that Gregory’s son Aristaks attended the
council of Nicaea. (And his name does indeed appear in the list of signatories.)3’ He
also supposedly brought back to Armenia the Nicene canons—to which St. Gregory
made additions, thereby rendering his own see of Armenia still more glorious. How
ever, this passage is based on Koriwn’s description of the return of Eznik and Lewond
from Constantinople.32 In fact, this whole section of Agatangelos is borrowed, often
verbatim, from Koriwn; for Agatange1os credits Gregory with the missionary endea
vors undertaken by Matocc, and even ascribes to Gregory the same homilies concern
ing the hope of the resurrection. This is what I would call a deliberate, fraudulent, but
unacknowledged adaptation.
On the other hand, in the first part of his History, Agatcangelos describes the tor
ments inflicted on Gregory and the martyred nuns in terms very reminiscent of com
mon hagiographical themes. As with the anti-Christian edicts ascribed to Trdat before
his conversion, Agatcangelos is merely following standard literary practice, fleshing
out his narrative with picturesque details taken from the hagiographical stockpot.33
However, if one looks at the History as a whole, then a more meaningful parallel does
come to mind.
The text of Agatangelos as we have it in Armenian is not the product of the circle
around Matocc. But here we are not concerned with the dating, with the subsequent
additions to the story, or with the variants in other languages. It is the general format
that is of relevance. Roughly speaking, the material falls into the following stages:
1. The scene is set for the arrival of a missionary from abroad.

2. The king is converted because of the miraculous cure effected by the missionary.
3. The missionary preaches a very long sermon expounding the Christian faith.
4. The king encourages the building of churches and the establishment of a
regular ecclesiastical hierarchy.
5. The proper succession within that hierarchy is arranged before the death of the
original missionary.
I.]
It is no coincidence that the general structure of Agatcangelos’ History follows the

pattern of the Syriac Teaching of Addai. Although for Agatangelos Gregory is the
story
prime mover in the conversion of Armenia and he makes no effort to push the
known in
back to apostolic times, the story of the conversion of Edessa had been
Armenian from the fifth century, and was presumably familiar from Greek and Syriac
in
sources even earlier.34 Addai, in fact, was later adopted as the first missionary
for our
Armenia, and Abgar came to join the roster of Armenian monarchs.35 But
immediate purpose, the History of Agatangelos gives us examples of three kinds
of adaptation:
1. Of general format
2. Of literary themes or topoi
3. Of deliberate falsification
I am not suggesting that there is anything peculiarly Armenian about this kind of bor
rowing and adaptation. But our theme is how such devices were used in an Armenian
context.
If, then, we turn our attention to those basic works in which Armenian authors
expressed their views of Armenia and the Armenians as an individual people and
the
country, we should not be surprised to find that many of the concepts used or even
framework do not have their origin in Armenia itself. Thus Koriwn begins his bio
graphy of the master with the following words: “When was the divinely-bestowed
script completed for the race of Mkenaz and the land of Armenia?” Note the
order of the Armenian: zAzkcanazean azgin ew Hayastan aarhin zAstuacapargew
groyn. . . With the very first word Armenia is placed within the framework of the
.“
biblical exposition of the origin of mankind.36

This introductory phrase of Koriwn was later adapted by Agatangelos, with one
interesting change. In the Prologue to his History, like Koriwn, he explains what his
subject will be: the bringing of the divinely bestowed gospel (again Astuacapargew) to
the race of Torgom and the land of Armenia (zTcorgomay azgis, zHayastan aarhis).
Toward the end of the book, when the king had been converted, then “the grace of the
gospel Rowed forth for the Armenians of the house of Tcorgom,” a phrase repeated
in
again.37 And even earlier than Agatcangelos, the phrase “house of Torgom” appears
the canons of the council of Sahapivan held in
44438 Except for Koriwn, Armenian
writers generally consider that Torgom rather than Mkenaz provides the link between
the
Japheth and the Armenians, following the Greek tradition already established by
Movss
time of Hippolytus.39 But sometimes one reads of “our Akenaz,”4° and
Xorenaci uses the reference in Jeremiah 51:27 to “the kingdoms of Ararat and the
army of Mkenaz” to prove the existence of an Armenian kingdom at that time.4’
The geographical distribution of the various races that descended from Noah
receives some attention in Armenian writers, but only after the period with which we
are here concerned. However, from the beginning Armenians regarded themselves as
living “in the Northern regions,” a phrase found first in Koriwn and emphasized
several times by Agatcangelos. Elië refers to the “benighted regions of the North which
King Trdat illuminated by his faith in Christ.” Movss Xorenaci speaks of Armenia as
being in the North by way of contrast with Babylon and Assyria, and he notes that
Armenia is “superior to all other nations of the North.”42
But in general early Armenian writers paid little attention to geography. They take
for granted the threefold division of the world into Europe, Libya, and Asia known to
the classical geographers, Armenia being in Asia.43 This division, however, does not
correspond to the division of the human race into three branches as descendants of
Sem, Ham, and Japheth. For according to this second division the Japhetic nations
occupied lands in both Asia and Europe.44 But Armenian writers do tend to correlate
the two divisions without indicating that there may be discrepancies.45
In their accounts of the settlement of these Northern regions by their ancestors,
Armenian sources indicate that there were already a few scattered human settlements
even before the arrival of the Armenian eponymous ancestor Hayk. These sources, the
so-called Primary History46 and Movss Xorenaci, integrate the story of Hayk’s coming
to Armenia into the account of the tyranny of Bel the Titan as known from Eusebius’
Chronicle. The tale of Hayk’s successors and their expansion over the land had
supposedly been preserved by a certain Syrian, Mar Abas, who took it from an old
inscription. Elaborating on this, Movss Xorenacci claims that the earliest source for
Armenian history had been written in “Chaldaean” and had been deposited in the
Parthian archives at Nineveh. Alexander the Great had had a Greek version made,
from which Mar Abas extracted what was relevant.
The idea that traditional legends may be authenticated by discoveries in archives is a
very old theme.47 In a Christian context the correspondence between Jesus and King
Abgar preserved in the archives of Edessa immediately springs to mind—and in fact is
relevant to our theme, since Movsës claims that Abgar was an Armenian monarch and
that the Edessan archives also contained other documents relevant for Armenian his
tory. But the content of Mar Abas’ find at Nineveh is an amalgam of information from
Eusebius’ Chronicle and remembered Armenian tradition, which Movsës has re
worked to the greater glory of his patrons, the Bagratids. We would have been saved
much ink and paper if more attention had been paid to Movsës’ clever use of a literary
device than to the assumed integrity of the historian.
But of more relevance to our immediate theme is the fact that Armenian geographi
cal interests are restricted to political geography. There is only one major work of
geography in early Armenian literature, the Aarhaccoycc, which probably dates from
the seventh century.48 But its unknown author is not interested in the physical geo
graphy of Armenia; although he has a few comments on the fauna of various regions
and describes the rivers and mountains, his prime concern is with the borders of the
different provinces. Of course the classical geographers were also concerned with
borders and frontiers. But the detailed divisions and subdivisions of the AarhacCoycC
do remind one of the careful listings of noble families, the Gahnamaks, which
recorded the order of precedence so vital for the harmonious regulation of the
naxarar system.49
The Armenians hardly ignored the natural beauties of their land. But it is note
worthy that the numerous rhetorical descriptions of Armenia’s scenery are couched in
terms of the ideal outdoor life of the noble and his pleasure in the hunt.5° Again, these
are features basic to the naxarar structure of Armenian society. The Armenian idealized
landscapes are a far cry from the groves of Statius or Ovid, for they do not reflect the
stylized longings of city culture. On the other hand, images from nature do play a large
role in Armenian literature; but these are primarily themes with a Christian content
which have their closest parallels in the Cappadocian fathers. The sea and voyaging,
for example, are very common themes; but they are taken from biblical and patristic
sources rather than from a common Armenian experience. And images of birds and
trees, of the wonders of the seasons—especially of spring—are literary topoi paralleled
in Gregory Nazianzenus and other fathers well known in Armenian.5’
In this regard it is particularly interesting to note the influence of such works as
Basil of Caesarea’s Hexaemeron in a context neither literary nor theological. As noted
above, the prime interest of Matocc’s circle of pupils was on providing Armenia with
ecclesiastical texts. To that effect, they studied abroad and became proficient in Syriac
and Greek. This pattern of foreign study was not new in Matocc’s own time, and for
many hundreds of years it remained a standard feature of Armenian scholarly life. So it
is not surprising that within a few generations of the invention of the script Armenian
versions of secular Greek texts began to appear, notably of the texts used in Constan
tinople and elsewhere for rhetoric, grammar, logic, followed by Armenian adaptations
of mathematical and astronomical studies. The peculiar thing about many of these
works is not their content but their style.52 But of interest here is the fact that one of the
works on science attributed to the seventh-century Armenian mathematician Anania of
Sirak is but a rewriting of the Armenian version of Basil’s Hexaemeron, a version
which itself is very aberrant from the original.53
Now Anania is interesting for another reason. He has left a short autobiographical
statement in which he describes his travels in search of teachers of mathematics. After
visiting Theodosiopolis and Constantinople, he eventually found a suitably learned
instructor in Trebizond. This man was named Tychikos; he had been born in Trebi
zond, had served in the Roman army in Armenia during the reign of Tiberius (578-82),
and there he had learned Armenian. Wounded in a Persian attack on Antioch
(c. 606/7), he visited Jerusalem and then spent three years in Alexandria. From there he
went to Rome for a year and finished his studies in Constantinople. Finally he returned
to his hometown, where Anania met him. Anania ends his own autobiographical
sketch with pejorative comments about his fellow countrymen’s ignorance; he pours
scorn on those pupils of his who studied with him for only a short time before setting
up on their own: “They taught what they did not know; hypocrites, they pretended to
“s” Similar sentiments
possess knowledge and demanded to be addressed as ‘teacher.’
may be found in the Letter of the historian Lazar (though its authenticity is suspect),
in which he defends himself against his calumniators by emphasizing his own learn
ing gained in Greek lands by studying the great Fathers of the church, whereas his
enemies were pupils of Anus, Apollinarius, Nestorius, and Eutyches—an unlikely
combination of teachers! They were ignorant and lazy, says Lazar, and to them applies
the proverb: “At a pig’s wedding the baths are sewers.”55
But more important for our theme than such examples of scholars’ pique is the
itinerary of studies that Anania ascribes to Tychikos. It is picked up, for example, by
Movsës Xorenacci. He claims to have been sent to study rhetoric in Alexandria; he then
went to Rome, being blown to Italy while making for Greece. From Rome he went on
to Athens and Constantinople. Unfortunately, the death of his master Matocc cut
short his merry time at the capital—for Movss was a young man and very fond of
dancing—and he had to return home.56 And at the end of his History, writing as an old
man with an old man’s jaundiced view of the world, not only does Movss say,
“Students are lazy to study and eager to teach; they are theologians before their exami
nations,” he adds, “Even the teachers are ignorant and presumptuous, lovers of gold
and envious.” The description of his journey is based on literary sources, for Movss
was writing about 300 years after the events he describes; and his account of Alexandria
owes much to Pseudo-Callisthenes. Another journey from the eighth century also
seems to be based on the grand tour of Tychikos. In this case the traveler is Stephen of
Siwnikc, among whose important translations is the work of Pseudo-Dionysius the
Areopagite. There are several versions of his travels in later sources. The first, Movss
Dasuranc’i, says that Stephen went to Rome to study and brought back books of the
faith. It is not immediately clear whether Old or New Rome is meant, though Movsës
then adds a garbled version of the Iliad and Aeneid and notes that 1000 years after the
founding of Rome Constantine transferred the kingdom to Byzantium. But later ver
sions have Stephen staying in Constantinople and Athens. From there he went to
Rome, then returned home “having traveled thousands of miles on the bosom of the
vast ocean.”57 It is difficult to take these later elaborations as gospel truth; but the
important thing is that there was a recognized pattern of scholarly travel which
included Athens and Rome as well as the known Armenian colony in Constantinople.
Although this had a basis in fact, it was elaborated in literary texts as a topos.
The emergence of Athens and Rome in Armenian texts as great centers of learning
naturally leads to the question of Armenian knowledge of classical antiquity and its
literature, Constantinople and Alexandria being important to Armenians as Christian
cities. The Armenian interest in Aristotelian logic and Neoplatonism would naturally
make Athens a necessary stop on the grand tour. But Rome and the Trojan war were
more remote to Armenian concerns, despite the reference noted above in Movss Xore
nacci. What then did Armenians know of classical literature that would influence their
own literary concerns and interests?
There are clear borrowings in Eznik, for example, one of the earliest Armenian
writers, from Achilles Tatius. This Achilles is not the Alexandrian novelist but the
author of a commentary on the Phainomena of Aratus. Eznik quotes from him when
describing the immobility of the earth in the middle of the celestial sphere, and in
offering an example of apparent versus real motion: for an ant crawling from West to
east on the rim of a wheel that is itself turning from east to west, because of the more
rapid motion of the wheel seems to be moving in a westerly direction. Although Eznik
is untypical in using Greek texts in the original, he is typical in using a late antique
source of the second or third century A.D., rather than going back to the earlier
authors.58 More widely known, because available in Armenian, was the Progym
nasmata of the Alexandrian rhetorician Theon;59 on this, and on the Progymnasmata
of Aphthonius, was based an Armenian guide to rhetoric later ascribed to Movss

Xorenaci.6° But these translations, like those of the Scholia to Gregory Nazianzenus
by Nonnus,6’ were not the product of the first translators but of the Hellenizing
school—if indeed one should use the term “school” of texts that share certain linguis
tic peculiarities as their basic common feature.
It was through such works of rhetoric, through scholia, through works on grammar
(for the Ars Grammatica of Dionysius Thrax was translated and adapted for the
Armenian language),62 and through the Armenian version of the Alexander Rom
ance63 that Armenians learned of the world of antiquity. There was no rendering of
Euripides, Thucydides, Hesiod, or Callimachus—to take some names at random. Of
Homer, however, it is more difficult to be sure. The only extant translation was made
in the eighteenth century. But there are numerous references in manuscripts to Homer
the poet and to a philosopher Homer.64 In a sixteenth-century manuscript in Paris
there is a vocabulary of Homeric words;65 and in a manuscript of 1776 dealing with
grammar there are miniatures of Matocc, the translators, the eighth-century Stephen
of Siwnik, the seventeenth-century Simeon of Julfa, and Homer.66 Among the books
of Stephen of Siwnikc there was supposedly an account of the destruction of Ilium and
the building of Rome, of which Movss Dasuranci gives a summary.67 But his tale is
such an extraordinary imbroglio that one must doubt whether the historian was really
familar with either the Iliad or the Aeneid.
Since the world of classical antiquity was not meaningful for Armenians, it is
interesting to note how some of the Greek technical texts were adapted for an Arme
nian audience. For example, the rendering of the Definitions of Philosophy attributed
to David the Invincible Philosopher omits most references to Alcibiades, who would be
unknown, and to gymnastics, which was not a typically Armenian sport. It changes
Hector to Tigran, and turns Greek mythological creatures into Armenian ones such as
the viap. On occasion nymphs are metamorphosed into angels and demons; other
such liberties are taken.68 But original Armenian literature in its formative stage was
definitely the product of a Christian culture in which reminiscences of classical pagan
antiquity were used only for decorative effect.
From the point of view of literary tradition the significant works are those that set a
trend and are later perceived as authoritative. Thus Eznik’s treatise on God and the
nature of evil69 will not in the long run be as significant—despite its intrinsic value
both as historical evidence and as an example of philosophical reasoning—as the
History of Elië. For Eznik did not set a pattern, either in form or matter. The emphasis
that textbooks of classical Armenian put on Eznik as a stylist is somewhat misplaced,7°
in that his style is most untypical and his work was more or less unknown to Arme
nians after his own time. On the other hand, Eli has lived on through the centuries to
the present day, and his History has shaped the outlook of succeeding generations of
Armenians to questions of patriotism and national identity.
Our symposium is concerned with Armenia and Syria up to the ninth century. In
Armenia some fields of literary endeavor did not mature until well after that time:
biblical commentaries, for example, or most forms of poetry. Nonetheless, the ninth
century does mark an important stage in the development of Armenian literature, and
most especially historical writing. For after the ninth century scholars made conscious
efforts to put the past in order—that is, to sort Out the previous histories, to place them
in a chronological progression, and to fill in details about their authors. It is after the
ninth century that the major figures I have had occasion to mention are grouped
together to form a body of disciples of a common master, Matocc. It would take us
beyond our present purpose to study in detail this process of physical assimilation,
whereby Eli, Movsës Xorenaci, David the Invincible Philosopher, and others,
become contemporaries of Koriwn and Eznik and share their journeys to Constan
tinople and elsewhere.7’ Thanks to this impulse to group the formative writers around
the master, not as pupils many times removed or pupils by a common heritage, but as
direct associates, we are able to celebrate this year the fifteen hundredth anniversary of
David the Invincible Philosopher.
But if one looks at the historical productions and other literary works of Armenia in
what we have called the “formative period,” does any general picture emerge? Are
there any common characteristics that are peculiarly Armenian? Let us, then, review
the main themes of the preceding discussion.
Whether or not the literary interests of Armenians at Tigran’s court in the first
century B.C. had any lasting impact that carried over into Christian times is hard to say.
For example, Euripides had been popular, as Plutarch indicates. But there was no
theater in Christian Armenia, and those Armenian homilies which attack theatrical
productions seem to reflect the continuation of Christian literary themes rather than
dangers to Armenian morals.72 (In parentheses I may add that many conclusions about
social life in Armenia based solely on literal readings of such homilies rest on a
precarious footing; just as in Eii, for example, one cannot draw conclusions about
fifth-century Armenian arms and armor from Pauline imagery.) However, the not
inconsiderable number of Armenians who studied and traveled abroad would have
been personally familiar with the Greek theater, and would have kept alive in Armenia
proper an appreciation of the merits of a classical education.
In Christian Armenia horizons were broadened by the influence of Syriac. Before the
invention of the Armenian script, according to Pawstos Buzand, only those with some
acquaintance of Greek or Syriac were able to grasp the full significance of the Christian
message. For only those with knowledge of either tongue could resist the appeal of
Armenian pagan mythology with its lively oral traditions.73 Pawstos had his axe to
grind. But the influence of Syrian Christian literature in fourth-century Armenia was a
new and significant development. After the invention of the script a vast mass of Syriac
literature was rendered into Armenian, both original Syriac works like the homilies of
Afrahat or the hymns of Ephrem, and translations into Syriac such as Eusebius’ Eccle
siastical History. However, the influence of Syrian themes on Armenian writing has
not been studied in depth.74 The fairly obvious impact of hagiographical imagery, for
example, that of the Syrian Martyrs on the History of Elië, is well known.75 But the
more significant influence of Syriac works on Armenian theological writing in its
various forms has hardly been broached, save for the study of liturgical texts. For up to
now the study of Armenian theology has mostly been restricted to the more formal
works, those dealing with Christological problems where the influence was more
palpably Greek.
In view of the long-standing involvement of Armenia in the Greco-Roman world it
is natural that Greek literature provided the most influential models in the develop
ment of a native historiography, and that Constantinople was regarded (in Lazar’s
words) as the fountain of science whose streams spread out in all directions.76 Nonethe
less, for complex reasons that would take another paper to expound, the Armenians
never identified themselves wholly with Greek culture. Nor did they find solidarity in
their Christian culture with their neighbors the Syrians or the Georgians. Armenian
literature reflects this sense of separateness, for although nearly all writers were ecclesi
astics, they were very conscious of belonging to a society that was foreign to the city
culture of the Hellenistic world and of sharing ancient traditions that derived from the
Iranian world. In their effort to articulate this sense of Armenian individuality, early
writers found many parallels with the situation of the Jews in Seleucid times. The
imagery adapted by Eli from the books of Maccabees to the Sasanian period was
adapted again by TCovma Arcruni77 to the Armenian situation under Muslim domina
tion, and remains vivid to the present day as a reflection of Armenian experience. So
the formative period of Armenian literature that we have been considering is of pro
found significance. For it has shaped the expression of a national ethos that is as alive
today as it was in the days of Matocc.
Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations

Harvard University
1. The 9th century is an appropriate terminus, for by then 6. Elii, Vasn Vardanay ew Hayoc Paterazmzn, ed. E. Tër
the most influential Armenian histories had been written and Minasean (Erevan, 1957). On the date, see Inglisian, “Arme
it is only after the 9th century that these major works are nische Literatur,” 168-69.
quoted and adapted and that legends about their rather 7. Lazar, 70-71.
obscure authors begin to emerge. 8. EliIë, 100-104. For the parallels in Philo, see the intro
2. For a convenient summary of Armenian literature, see duction to Thomson, Elishë (in press).
V. Inglisian, “Die armenische Literatur,” HO, 1, 7 (1963), 9. See R. W. Thomson, “The Maccabees in Early Armen
156-250. The present paper attempts to generalize and to ian Historiography,” JThS, n.s. 26(1975), 329-41.
expand on some of the topics of a literary nature treated in the 10. Eli1, 105.
introductions to English translations of three classics of early 11. Eliië, 106-13.
Armenian historiography: R. W. Thomson, Agathangelos: 12. Fourth-century opposition to Christianity is described
History of the Armenians (Albany, 1976); R. W. Thomson, in detail by Pawstos Buzand. The biography of MaItoc
Moses Khorenatsi, History of the Armenians (Cambridge, (inventor of the Armenian script) by his pupil Koriwn makes
Mass., 1978); R. W. Thomson, Elishë: History of Vardan and it clear that in the first part of the 5th century Christianity had
the Armenian War (in press). only a tenuous hold in many parts of the country. Both Lazar
3. On this, see R. W. Thomson, “The Transformation of and Etiië draw attention to the large number of Armenians
Athanasius in Armenian Theology,” Le Muséon, 78 (1965), who opposed Vardan’s rebellion, submitting to the shah in
47-69. both political and religious matters.
4. See, for example, N. G. GarsoIan, “Politique ou ortho
13. Most notable are the verbal parallels with the Armen
doxie? L’Armbnie au quatrième siècle,” REArm, n.s. 4 (1967),
ian version of Syrian martyrdoms in 4th-century Iran. The
297-320.
Armenian text is attributed to Abraham Xostovanol, men
5. Lazar Parpeci, Patmutciwn Hayocc, ed. G. Tër
tioned in both Lazar and EliIë as a survivor of imprisonment
Mkrtean and S. Malxasean (Tiflis, 1904) is the only critical
in Iran following the battle of Avarayr in 451. Abrahamu
edition. But for fragments that predate the recension known
Xostovanoli VkaykArewelicc, ed. G. Tër-Mkrtean (jmia
from the manuscripts, see C. Sanspeur, “Le fragment de Ibis
cm, 1921).
toire de Lazare de Pcarpi, retrouvé dans le Ms. 1 de Jerusa
lem,” REArm, n.s. 10 (1973-74), 83-109; and C. J. F. Dowsett, 14. Moyss Xorenacci, Patmutciwn Hayoc, ed. M. Abe-
“The Newly Discovered Fragment of Lazar of Parp’s His lean and S. Yarutiwnean (Tiflis, 1913), I 22.
tory,” Le Muséon, 89 (1976), 97-122. 15. On Movss’ attitude to historical writing and his use
of earlier sources, see the introduction to Thomson, Moses 42. Koriwn, 24; AgatangeIos, §175; EliI, 72; Movsës
Khorenatsi. Xorenaci 110, 17; III 68.
16. See the previous note. 43. E.G., Movsësll2.
17. See N. Adontz, Denys de Thrace et les commentateurs 44. Hippolytus, Chronik, 10.
arméniens (Louvain, 1970), 1 (lines 14-15). 45. E.G., Stephen of Tarön, Patmutciwn tiezerakan, ed.
18. Movss Xorenaci, II 26. S. Malaseanc (St. Petersburg, 1885), I 4; A. Soukry, Géo
19. For Movsës on the Jewish colonies, see Thomson, graphie de Moise de Corène (Venice, 1881), 14.
Moses Khorenatsci, 28-29. 46. This is published as a preface to the History of
20. See further Thomson, ibid., 25-31, and esp. 56-58. Sebëos: Patmutciwn Sebëosi, ed. G. V. Abgaryan (Erevan,
21. The invention of the script is described by Koriwn, 1979), 47-55. English translation in Thomson, Moses Khore
Lazar, and Movsës with some variations on the details. An natsq, 357-68.
important collection of essays on this topic was published as 47. See W. Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung
vol. 7 of the Banber Matenadarani (Erevan, 1964). der Antike, Hypomnemata, XXIV (Gottingen, 1970).
22. Plutarch, Life of Crassus, § 33. 48. This exists in two recensions. The longer has been
23. See P. Petit, Les Etudiants de Libanius (Paris, 1957). edited by Soukry; see note 45 above. The short recension may
24. Eunapius, Vitae Sophistarum, ed. I. Giangrande be found in Movsës Xorenaci, Matenagrutniwnkc (Venice,
(Rome 1956), X 1, 8. 1865), 585-616, and in Anania irakaci, Matenagrutyuna, ed.
25. Koriwn, Patmutciwn Varuccew Mahuan srboyn Mes A. G. Abrahamyan (Erevan, 1944), 336-54.
ropay Vardapeti (Tiflis, 1913), 9, 15. Cf. the description in 49. For the Gahnamaks, see N. Adontz, Armenia in the
Agatangelos, § 863, of King Trdat as “versed in Greek secular Period of Justinian, translated with partial revisions, a bib
literature [yunakan aIarhakan dprut’eann].” liographical note and appendices by N. G. Garsolan (Lisbon,
26. Koriwn, 15, indicates that this was used as a text in 1970), 188-234.
instructing young scribes. 50. E.g., the soliloquy of Arlak III on leaving his home
27. Zacharias Rhetor, Vita Seven, ed. M. A. Kugener, P0, land as given in Lazar, 8-12.
II, 1 (1907), 57. 51. Such parallels with nature are a notable feature of the
28. But it is not always possible to date translations from Teaching of Saint Gregory, for which, see note 30 above.
Greek or Syriac precisely. For a general guide to translations 52. See V. Manandean, Yunaban Dproca ew nra Zarga
into Armenian, see G. Zarpanalean, Matenadaran Haykakan ccman Srannera (Vienna, 1928), and A. N. Muradean, Hun
TcargmanuteanccNaxneacc (Venice, 1889) and Inglisian, “Ar aban Dprocca ew nra Der Hayereni Kcerakanakan Termina
menische Literatur.” banutcyan Stelcman Gorcum (Erevan, 1971).
29. Koriwn, 26, 31. 53. See G. V. Abgaryan, “Sirakac’un veragrvac Yalags
30. On the attribution of these homilies, see R. W. Thom Ampoc ew Nlanac’ AIatutean masin,” Patma-banasirakan
son, The Teaching of Saint Gregory (Cambridge, Mass., Handes, 52, Pt. 1(1971), 77-94. For the Armenian text of the
1970), 37. Agatangelos, § 886, ascribes the same homilies to Hexaemeron, see iark vasn vecoreay arautcean (Venice,
Gregory the Illuminator. 1830).
31. H. Gelzer, H. Hilgenfeld, and 0. Cuntz, Patrum 54. The text of Anania’s autobiography may be found in
Nicaenorum Nomina (Leipzig, 1898), 72, 198. Abrahamyan, Anania irakacci, 206-9 (cf. note 48 above). See
32. Agatangelos, § 885, and the note thereto in Thom also H. Berbbrian, “Autobiographie d’Anania Sirakaci,”
son, Agathangelos, ad bc. REArm, n.s. 1(1964), 189-94; and P. Lemerle, “Note sur les
33. See the details in the introduction to Thomson, données historiques de l’Autobiographie d’Anania de Shirak,”
Agathangebos. ibid., 195-202.
34. The Armenian rendering of the Syriac text is not a 55. Lazar, 193.
strict translation but an adaptation: Labubneay TcultcAbgaru 56. Movss Xorenaci, III 62, 68.
(Venice, 1868). The basic story would be known in Armenian 57. For the various accounts of Stephen’s travels, see
from the translation of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History, itself S. Gero, Byzantine Iconoclasm during the Reign of Leo III,
made from the Syriac translation: Eusebiosi Kesaraccwoy CSCO, Subsidia, 41 (Louvain, 1973), 143-49.
Patmutiwn Eketeccwoy (Venice, 1877). 58. For Eznik’s sources, see L. Manes, “Le De Deo d’Eznik
35. The further elaborations were in force by the time that de Kolb,” REArm 4(1924), 1-212.
the Hwtory of Movss Xorena6i was written. Addai’s death 59. Theon, Progymnasmata, ed. H. Manandean (Erevan,
in Armenia is described in the Martyrdom of Thaddaeus and 1938).
Sandukht: Vkayabanutciwn ew giwt ngaraccs. Tcadei Ai’ak’e 60. This text is known as the GirkcPitoyicc (lit. “Book of
by ew Sandtoy kusi (Venice, 1853). On this text, see N. Aki XpEtat”). Text in Movsës Xorenaci, Matenagrutciwnkc
nean and P. Tër-Polosean, “Matenagrakan hetazOtutiwnner, (Venice, 1865), 341-579. On this, see A. Baumgartner, “Uber
Tadëi ew 5andtoy Vkayabanutiwna,” Handes Amsorya, 83 das Buch ‘die Chnie,’” ZDMG, 40 (1886), 457-515; and
(1969), 399-426; 84 (1970), 1-34, 129-48. R. Sgarbi, “Contributo allo studio delle fonti dell’opera
36. I.e., among the descendants of Noah via Japheth; see yalags Ptoyzts’attribuita a Mosè Corenese,” Rendiconti, Isti
Gen. 10:3. tuto Lombardo, Accademia di Scienze e Lettere, Classe di
37. Agatange1os, § 776, 796. Lettere e Scienze morali e storiche, CII (1969), 78-84.
38. Kanonagirkc Hayocc, I, ed. V. Hakobyan (Erevan, 61. A. Manandian, “Die Scholien zu fünf Reden des
1964), 426, 429. Gregor von Nazianz,” Zeitschrift für armenische Phibobogie, 1
39. Hippolytus, Chronik, ed. A. Bauer and R. Helm, (1903), 220-300.
GCS, XLVI (Berlin, 1955), 12. 62. See note 17 above.
40. E.g., Vardan, Hawakcumn Patmutean (Venice, 1862), 63. Patmutciwn A bek csandni Makedonaccwoy (Venice,
14. 1842). On this Armenian version and its medieval revision,
41. Movses Xorenacci, I 22. Movsbs Dasuranci, Patmu see N. Akinean, “Die hanschriftliche Uberlieferung der ar
tciwfl A!wanicc Aarhi, ed. J. Emin (Moscow, 1860), 114, menischen Ubersetzung des Alexanderromans von Pseudo
refers to Armenia as “the land of Torgom and the descendants Kallisthenes,” Byzantion, 13 (1938), 201-6.
of Aikenaz.” 64. The philosopher Homer is credited with a treatise on
the Three Powers (zawrutciwnkc) of Heaven; see, e.g., Vienna, Patmutiwn Hayocc, ed. K. S. Melik-Ohananean (Erevan,
Arm. 649, fols. 188a.190a. 1961), 28, 36.
65. Bibliothèque nationale, Arm. no. 260, fols. 32v147r. 72. See Homily no. 17 in the farkc attributed to John
66. Matenadaran, no. 5996. Mandakuni (Venice, 1860) 131-37, and the passing reference
67. Movsës DasXurancci, III 18. in Homily no. 9 (ibid., 85).
68. Armenian text in Dawitc Anyalt, Sahmank Imas 73. Pawstos Buzandaci, Patmutciwn Hayocc (Venice,
tasirutcean, ed. S. S. Arewiatyan (Erevan, 1960); Greek text in 1933), III 13.
A. Busse, Davidis Pro legomena et in Porphyrii Isagogen 74. The recent work of R. Murray, Symbols of Church
Commentarium (Berlin, 1904), 1-79. and Kingdom (Cambridge, Mass., 1975), shows that many
69. Eznik de Kolb, De Deo, ed. L. Manes and C. Mercier, themes from early Syrian Christianity were known in Arme
P0, XXVIII, 3, 4 (1959). Cf. note 58 above. nia through translations. But the history of the Armenian use
70. E.g., A. Meillet, Altarmenisches Elementarbuch (Hei of those themes and their adaptation to the Armenian situa
delberg, 1913), 2. tion remains to be written.
71. See, e.g., Stephen of TarOn, Ii; the Preface to David’s 75. This was first indicated by B. Kiwlësërean, Eti.fë,
Elegy on the Cross, in his Matenagrutciwnkc (Venice, 1932), kcnnakan usumnasirut (Vienna, 1909). Cf. note 13 above.
5; Samuel of Ani (long recension of the Chronicle) in M. F. 76. Lazar, Patmutciwn, 4.
Brosset, Collection d’historiens arméniens, II (St. Petersburg, 77. A study of the literary sources of the 10th-century
1876), 385; Vardan, Hawakcumn, 54-55; Kirakos Ganjakecci, historian Thomas by the present author is in progress.
THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM
OF THE “AGATANGELOS” CYCLE
NINA G. GARs0IAN
N seeking to approach the subject of the largely subliminal resistance to the great
I thrust of Hellenism in Early Christian Armenia and the persistence of nonclassical
traditions, I should like to focus here on a narrow opening wedge: a consideration of
some aspects of the intricate compilation purporting to be a contemporary account of
the Christianization of Armenia in the fourth century A.D., commonly known as the
History of Armenia attributed to an otherwise unknown and far too felicitously named
Agatangelos, “the Bearer of Good Tidings.” Such an undertaking is notoriously
fraught with danger, for more than thirty years have elapsed since the most distin
guished study of the so-called History opened with the caveat, “ii faut avoir de bonnes
excuses pour parler de l”Agathange’.”2 Since then, newly identified manuscripts, sub
sequent editions, and studies have added to the record.3 Hence any responsible scholar
must sedulously examine his conscience before addressing once again the vexatae
quaestiones of this “enigmatic” work, and precise limits should be set to this enquiry.
It is in no way my intention to present yet another analysis of the disparate “Agatcange.
los” Cycle or to discuss the dates, ramifications, interactions, or possible dogmatic
coloration of the two main groups of recensions—the so-called A group resting on an
Armenian text of the second half of the fifth century A.D. (Aa), which is the main source
here, together with its subsequent Greek and Arabic translations (Ag, Ar) and some
Georgian fragments; and the V recensions presumably going back to an Armenian
archetype, but of which we have only a series of more or less interlocking versions—
Greek, Arabic, a hybrid Karuni, and others (Vg, Vo, Va, Var, Vk, etc.).4 Rather, still
following the admonition of Gerard Garitte, my intention is “de se mettre a la
recherche de données nouvelles.”5 More specifically, I intend to raise the question
hitherto unasked, to my knowledge, of the particular audience for whom this compila
tion was intended and of the resultant implications.
There no longer seems to be any reason to query the thesis that the earlier portion
within the composite Cycle of the “History,” the portion dealing with the royal and
Gregorid cycles, the martyrdom of the Htipsimian saints, the punishment of King
Trdat and his conversion, “had at an early date taken the form of a more or less
coherent narrative.”6 Nor can there be any serious doubt as to the genre to which this
narrative unit belongs. The Vitae of Saint Gregory and the Htipsimian virgins
abound with the pious clichés that are the stock-in-trade of Early Christian hagio
graphy.7 Indeed, the most cursory analysis of these Vitae reveals every hallmark of the
152 NINA G. GARSOTAN
most formulaic and unhistorical hagiographic form categorized by Hippolyte Dele

haye as “the Epic Passion.”8 Not a single one of the standard banalities of this
type: the persecuting emperor—preferably Diocletian—and his edicts;9 the solemn and
lengthy trial before the ruler in person—if possible;’° the dialogue between the judge
and the martyr alternating the blandishments and threats of the one and the rhetorical
homilies and fulsome prayers composed of a tissue of scriptural quotations of the
other;” the almost ludicrously horrifying torments inflicted on the martyr,’2 and his
miraculous survival;’3 the punishment of the persecutors;’4 the supernatural voices
and visions;’5 and, most important, the faithful secretary taking down his eyewitness
account’6—has been overlooked by “Agat’angelos.” The literary type with which we
are dealing here is consequently clear, and so is its purpose. It is a classic example of
the hagiographic genre in which a putative historical figure has been subsumed into
an all but anonymous divine champion whose career is a mere illustration for the
central lesson of the ineluctable victory of the Christian God over the demonic forces of
paganism.’7 The milieu of the compiler is equally identifiable: “It was one dominated
by biblical and hagiographic terms, and where ecclesiastical considerations were
paramount”;’8 his ties to his biblical and Greco-Syrian models are unmistakable.’9
Given this rigorous adherence to the pattern of the “Epic Passion,” we should
expect the faithfulness of “Agatcangelos” to his model to remain unbroken. And yet
the occasional manifestation of atypical and seemingly incomprehensible or gratuitous
elements raises the question of possible survivals from earlier and possibly less Hellen
ized recensions of the work,2° and of the cultural background of the Armenian neo
phytes to whom the lesson embodied in the text was directed. To suggest a solution for
these problems, I should like to consider primarily the famous if equivocal episode of
the punishment of King Trdat for the martyrdom of Saint Gregory and of the virgins
Htipsime and her companions in the Armenian text.
Immediately following the death of the virgin martyrs, “Agatcangelos” continues:
The king spent six days in profound grief and deep mourning because of
his passionate love for the beautiful Rhipsim. Then afterwards he arranged to
go hunting; he had his soldiers gather the pack of hounds, the beaters scattered,
the nets fixed and the traps set; then he went out to hunt in the plain of
PCatakan Shemak.
But when the king, having mounted his chariot, was about to leave the city,
then suddenly there fell on him punishment from the Lord. An impure demon
struck the king and knocked him from his chariot. Then he began to rave and eat
his own flesh. And in the likeness of Nabuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, he lost his
human nature for the likeness of wild pigs and went about like them and dwelt
among them (cf. Dan. 4:12-13). Then entering a reedy place, in senseless abandon
he pastured on grass, and wallowed naked in the plain.2’
This account is transmitted with remarkable consistency in the various versions of

the “Agatcangelos” Cycle.22 In some cases the decision to go hunting rests exclusively
with the king, in others this distraction is urged upon him by his nobles.23 The
THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF “AGATANGELOS” 153
pervasiveness and degree of the demonic possesion of the royal court varies.24 The
separate Greek version of the Life of Saint Gregory in the Escorial (Vg) and the Arabic
versions (Va, Var), as well as the Greek text from Ochrid (Vo) and the Karuni
version (Vk), omit the name of the intended locus for the royal hunt.25 But the
focus of the episode, the transformation of King Trdat into a wild animal for his sins
and the comparison of his punishment with that of Nabuchadnezzar are all but
invariably present.26
The comparison to the fate of Nabuchadnezzar, which occurs twice in most versions
of “Agatcangelos27 is unquestionably warranted, and the metamorphosis in the
Armenian account is an almost exact parallel of the transformation in the Book of
Daniel of the Babylonian king who for his sins likewise dwelt “with the wild beasts”
and was fed “with grass like an ox.”28 Even the appearance of the two sinners with
their hairy bodies and clawlike nails is almost identical.29 It seems obvious therefore
that here, as in so many other cases, the Armenian compiler has followed a Scriptural
model. Yet one factor categorically differentiates the two accounts. Whereas Nabuchad
nezzar is invariably likened to an ox,3° Trdat is equally invariably metamorphosed into
a wild pig, or rather a wild or•3
Although earlier scholars attempted to give a rational explanation for Trdat’s
metamorphosis by suggesting that the king had lost his reason and was suffering from
an attack of lycanthropy,32 this hypothesis will not withstand analysis. The transfor
mation of Trdat is intended to be real and not a mere figment of the king’s diseased
imagination.33 This is amply clear from the immutable identification of the animal
into which the king has been changed as a wild boar, or varaz.34 This identification is
supported by the description of the king before his return to human form in the
Armenian recension of “AgatCangelos’:
The king. . had been changed into the form of a wallowing pig. For his whole
.
body had become hairy, and on his limbs bristles had grown like those of great
wild boars.. Similarly the appearance of his face had turned into the hard snout
. .
of an animal living among reeds. .
Now king Trdat was still in the form of a pig save only that he could speak in
human fashion. The claws on his hands and feet were those of a pig, his face was
like a snout, he had great teeth like a boar, and he was hairy all over his body.35
Similarly, the numerous decorated Armenian stelae from the seventh century A.D.,
among others at Kasa, Talin, and Ojun, which illustrate this narrative, depict the
king before his healing with the unmistakable long snout and tusks of a wild
boar (figs. l4).36
The original form of the story is unquestionably the one found in the Book of
Daniel, not merely because of its obvious chronological precedence and the reference to
it in most of the recensions of the “Agatangelos” Cycle37 but as a result of its greater
coherence. Despite some supernatural overtones, the biblical story has an inner consis
tency between the form assumed by the Babylonian king and his subsequent behavior.
He “is fed” or “eats grass like an ox.” On the contrary, the Armenian account juxta
154 NINA G. GARSOYAN
poses the irreconcilable statements that Trdat had become both a wild boar and herbi
vorous, a contradiction that apparently disturbed even the early translators, since the
incongruous phrase concerning the pasturing on grass is missing from most of the
versions of the story.38 Given the meticulous adherence of the Armenian compiler to
the various minutiae required by the genre of the “Epic Passion” noted earlier, and his
gratuitous allusion to Nabuchadnezzar, his alteration of the particular animal found
in the original cannot be fortuitous; all the more so in that the change occurs in all of
the versions of the story no matter how simplified or reduced.39 Consequently, the
original transformation of the king into an ox or bull must presumably have carried
implications so contradictory to the lesson of the episode—the divine retribution
visited on the king for his sins—that the alteration of the animal became mandatory.
To the best of my knowledge, the ox or bull is an equally “neutral” creature in
classical and Judeo-Christian mythology. It carries no specific symbolic overtones that
might confuse the listeners as to the point of the teaching addressed to them.4° Such,
however, is not the case if we turn from west to east and posit that the neophytes to be
edified by “Agatcangelos” were familiar with common Zoroastrian beliefs. For there,
the symbol of the ox carried invariable and unmistakable connotations.
Throughout the earliest Avestan texts, the Gãthãs, and particularly in Yasnas 29, 46,
and 51, the Soul of the Ox (or cow) cries out helplessly to Ahura Mazda and the
Immortal Entities for protection against the forces of evil; its supporters are praised,
and curses are invoked against its tormentors:
To all of you [the Immortal ones] the soul of the cow [ox] lamented: “For whom
did ye shape me? Who fashioned me? (For) the cruelty of fury and violence, of
bondage and might, holds me in captivity. I have no pastor other than you.
Therefore appear to me with good pasturage.
Wise one, when shall the bulls of heavens rise forth for the maintenance of the
word of truth?...
Yes, the deceitful one has guarded the draft-oxen of truth . from arising,
. .
being, as he is, difficult to challenge and contentious by reason of his actions.

Whoever shall expel him, Wise One, from rule or from life, that person shall free
the oxen for the flight of good understanding..
And the final curse:
Neither are the Karpans our allies, they who are at a distance from our laws and
from the pasture. Theirs is a pleasure from (bringing) injury to the cow [ox] by
their actions and their words, a doctrine which shall place them in the House of
Deceit [Hell] at the end.43
Similarly in later Zoroastrian cosmological and eschatological texts, such as the

Greater Bundahi.’n, the Primordial Bull or cow appears among the first creations of
Ahura Mazda, alongside Gayomart the Primeval Man, and its death is instigated and
contrived by the forces of evil:
THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF “AGAT’ANGELOS” 155
Fifthly, He [Ahura Mazda] created the sole-created Gay. She was white and . . .
shining like the Moon and her height was three reeds of average-length; He
produced the Water and Tree for her help. .
.
Then the Evil-Spirit with all the dlv came to.

. . . the Gay. He let loose
. . . . .
Greed, Needfulness [Pestilence], Disease, Hunger, Illness, Vice and Lethargy on

the body of the Gay.. She immediately became feeble and ill,.
. . and she passed . .
away.45
Even so, this crime turns into a blessing for humanity, since all good animals were
created from the body of the Gay, just as mankind sprang from that of its counterpart
Gayomart:
Gô, that is Gêu-urvan is the spiritual soul of the sole-created “Gay” from whom
the beneficent animals of five species came into being.46
Similarly, the sacrifice of the bull Hadhayo at the end of time will provide the bev
erage of immortality and herald the final Renovation of the world marking the long
awaited triumph of Good over Evil:
So—too, is the Hatayàns, that is, ‘Hadhayàs gay’, from whom they prepare the
immortal beverage at the renovation of the universe, .
.
Finally, on a less exalted and more mundane note comes the celebration of the ox in
the Bahrãm Yat:
In the ox is our strength, in the ox is our need; in the ox is our speech; in the ox is
our victory; in the ox is our food; in the ox is our clothing; in the ox is the tillage,
that makes food grow for us.48
Innocent victim, benefactor of mankind, savior, the ox could under no circumstances

be used as a symbol of evil or retribution in the Zoroastrian tradition. Its care and
protection was a fundamental point of doctrine.49
Nor was reverence for the ox merely an esoteric dogmatic detail known only to a
restricted group of learned theologians acquainted with the minutiae of the sacred
scriptures. The frequency of the representations of the Primordial Bull on Sasanian
seals is an index of the widespread popularity of this figure.5° The recognition of its
transcendental connotations is displayed with particular clarity in the iconography of
the Sasanian silver plate known as the “Klimova Plate,” now in the Hermitage
Museum, on which the Sasanian king in the full “Glory” of his apotheosis, or perhaps
the Moon god himself, seated on an elaborate crescented throne is drawn heavenward
by pairs of bulls urged on by supernatural drivers (fig. 6).’ Persistent folkloric evidence
suggests that these beliefs were part of the popular tradition of the Transcaucasian area
in particular.52 In such a milieu the identification of the sinner Trdat with the symbol,
par excellence, of innocence and virtue was patently impossible. It could only confuse
the hearers of this episode and hopelessly compromise its intended lesson of deserved
and ineluctable divine retribution. The driving home of this crucial moral point
required at all cost the excision from the text of the incongruous image of the ox.
The validity of the suggested explanation for “Agatcangelos’” departure from his
biblical model in this episode rests of necessity on the hypothesis of an Iranian com
ponent present alongside the classical one in the cultural context of Early Christian
Armenia. Proof of such a hypothesis is still required, as well as an explanation for the
compiler’s choice of the wild boar for the royal metamorphosis rather than some other
maleficent animal, or the standard kingly symbol of the lion.
The very setting of the episode with which we are concerned reinforces its Iranian
coloration. The punishment strikes the king at his most exalted moment, the hunt,
which is the classic locus for the royal apotheosis and the manifestation of the kingly
“Glory” distinguishing the legitimate ruler in the Iranian tradition (fig. 5).53 At a more
tangible level, the opening sentence of the passage, “the king spent six days in profound
grief and mourning. . . Then afterwards he arranged to go hunting
. . .is itself a
.“
testimonial to the observance, or at least the knowledge, of the custom whereby the
Persian King of Kings absented himself from the hunt in time of mourning.54 But most
significant are some of the attributes and varying qualities of the king.
Trdat is described as being “strong as a giant,” with “solid bones and an enormous
body,”55 capable of remarkable feats, such as throwing men and beasts over high
walls,56 swimming the Euphrates when gravely wounded carrying his horse and armor
on his back,57 and bringing down from Mount Masis stone blocks so “immense, solid,
wide, enormous and huge” that “no single person could move [them], not even a great
number of men. But he with his giant strength. . picked up eight blocks and carried
.
them on his own back.”58 This superhuman strength is reminiscent of that of the
“elephant bodied” Rustam in the later Iranian epic of the Sãhnãmeh, and of the feats
of the Sasanian kings celebrated on their official reliefs: Bahrãm II at Sar Mahad
singlehandedly and calmly engaging two lions simultaneously to protect his house
hold, or ArdaTr I and Ohrmizd II at Naq-i Rustam overturning both their adversary
and his horse with a single thrust of the lance.6° These heroic exploits are likewise part
of a familiar tradition; they are the prerogative and the stock-in-trade of eastern kings
and champions from remote antiquity.6’ Two aspects make them of particular interest
in the present context.
One of these is the fact that Trdat’s vaunted strength appears to wax and wane in the
course of the narrative. He is, as we know, extraordinarily powerful in the episodes of
the wall and the swimming of the Euphrates early in the tale and again toward its end
to permit his pious collaboration in the building of the chapels to the martyred virgins
by bringing the huge stones down from the summit of Mount Masis, but between these
two extremes the record is less clear. To be sure, the king seized by demonic possession
after his metamorphosis rages almost out of control so that his nobles are unable to
subdue him.62 Yet “Agatcangelos” relates with considerable relish that during his
struggle with St. Htipsimë, the king, “who was such a powerful soldier and strong of
body,” was shamefully beaten to the ground and stripped naked “by a single [little]
girl”!63 A phrase that he repeats four times and which is embroidered in the Karuni
version by the comment “he had become before her as the little birds . [although]
. .
she was barely out of her childhood.”64 In both cases the relative strength of the
protagonists is patently due to supernatural agents contending through their persons.
There is little to be said in the case of St. Htipsime, who is explicitly God’s champion,
as “Agatangelos” states repeatedly and hammers home in the sermon of St. Gregory to
the penitent Armenian court:
“Was it really possible for a single young girl to resist a giant, as you saw with
your own eyes? How could this have happened, unless God had given the right of
victory in order to save his martyrs without spot from your iniquitous impiety?”65
The case of the king is both more complicated and more revealing.
In the various episodes that we have been considering, “Agatcangelos” attributes
Trdat’s exploits less to mere bodily strength, albeit it is invariably attendant, than to
an intangible quality, kca jut ciwn, which characterizes the king. This abstract noun and
the adjective kcaj from which it is derived present considerable difficulties for philolo
gists, since no acceptable etymology has been provided as yet.66 But their usage by Early
Christian Armenian sources with the meaning “prowess, valiance,” “valiant, valorous,”
rendered by the Greek àpeti, àvöpeia is both consistent and clear.67 “Agatcange1os
himself applies them systematically to the Arsacid kings, Trdat and his father Xosrov,
to God’s champions, the saints, and to the Good Shepherd, who gives his life for his
sheep.68 Likewise, his immediate successor in point of time, the historian Wawstos
Buzand, perhaps the most Iranized of the early Armenian authors, normally restricts
their usage when speaking of individuals to the Arsacid kings and to his patrons the
Mamikonean sparapets, especially his favorite Mue1, whom he exalts on all possible
occasions.69 The positive, indeed eminently virtuous character of the kcajutciwn is
emphasized by its denial to Trdat during the period of the persecution of St. Gregory
and the virgin martyrs, and to sinful kings, such as Tiran or Pap, censured by Armen
ian ecclesiastical historians. Kcaj emerges in fact as the ultimate encomium, the heroic
epithet par excellence, used by the contemporaries for rulers and champions. As such,
it is attached to the names of the Armenian kings, Arak kcaf” and to the Arsacid
“
dynasty in general hailed collectively as “kcajarancc,” “most valiant of men,” whose

kca jut ciwn even in death extended its protection over their native land.7° Indeed, the
epithet kcaj may even have become a standard component of official royal formulas.7’
Just as in the case of Htipsim’s unfeminine strength, Agatangelos explicitly
names the supernatural agent of Trdat’s kcajutciwn in the proclamation which he puts
into the mouth of the king:
May greeting and prosperity come with the help of the gods,. may valor
. .,
[kcajutciwn] come to you and to the whole of our Armenian land from valorous
[kcaj] Vahagn. .72
The similarity of this type of formula to other Zoroastrian benedictions, such as,
May Vohuman give you wisdom,
or more significantly,
May you vanquish your enemies like VrOrayna!

kca jut ciwn
have long been noted by Jean de Menasce,7’ but the identification of the
with the god Vahagn is still more crucial for the present investigation.
We know that the position of Vahagn was particularly exalted within the pre
Christian pantheon of Armenia. It has recently been suggested with considerable
persuasiveness by James Russell that in Armenia at the beginning of the Sasanian
period Vahagn was taking the place of the sun god MiOra,74 who was downgraded in
the contemporary syncretism to the level of the Greek Hephaistos.75 At an even earlier
date, the kings of Commagene, Armenia’s neighbors and kinsmen, had themselves
depicted on their official reliefs at Nimrud da receiving their investiture indifferently
from MiOra of from VrOrayna.76 There can, in any case, be no doubt that Vahagn
rather than MiOra is identified as the radiant sun both in the account of his epiphany77
and in the Armenian Lectionary, echoed by the Armenian version of Philo, which
notes that “some worshipped the sun and called him Vahagn.”78 Similarly, Vahagn
takes his place in the dominant Zoroastrian official trinity of Armenia: Ahura Mazda,
Anãhit, Vahagn,79 thus evicting the MiOra of earlier invocations.80 “Agatangelos”
devotes far more detail to the destruction of Vahagn’s temple at Atiat of TarOn than
to that of the other pagan shrines, and he insists with particular vengefulness on its
total eradication, leaving not a single vestige behind that he attributes to supernatural
means, human ones having proved of no avail.8’ The compiler stresses that St. Gregory
was especially desirous of destroying this temple because it was outstanding for its
wealth, and because “ignorant men still made profane sacrifices at these surviving
altars.” The first Armenian church and a ritual of special commemoration were
instituted on the spot.82 Of particular interest to us is ‘Agatcangelos specification
that many royal offerings had been made to Vahagn’s shrine, which was “a place of
sacrifice for the kings of Greater Armenia,”83 and Trdat’s perhaps significant absence
from the destruction of this temple, whereas he both attended and participated in the
overthrow of all the others.84
Despite their dissociation by Emile Beneviste,85 there seems to be little reason to
reject the equation of the Armenian Vahagn with the Iranian yazad VrOrayna from
whom he is etymologically unchallengedly descended.86 The demonstration of the link
between the two and indeed with the Indra Vrtrahan of the i?g Veda given by Dumézil
and Father de Menasce,
L’Arménie iranisée nous transmet ici, sous une forme vivante et populaire, a
l’abri des scrupules d’une théologie moralisante un VOragna qui, en marge de
l’Avesta, a dii rester sans discontinuité depuis les temps les plus anciens, celui de
beaucoups de cantons de l’Iran.
THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF “AGAT’ANGELOS” 159
leave little room for further challenges. Perhaps the deepest argument for the identifi
cation of the two deities is the identity of their natures and functions.
Like Vahagn, who is kcaj by nature,88 VrOra-yna “created victorious (perozgar),”
is the god of strength and valiance and the giver of victory throughout the Zoroastrian
scriptures. The Avesta repeatedly celebrates his prowess in answer to the enquiries
of ZaraOustra:
“Who is the best armed of the heavenly gods?”

Ahura Mazda answered: “It is Verethraghna made by Ahura.. .
Then he who is strongest [VrOra-yna] said unto him: “I am the strongest in

strength; I am the most victorious in victory; I am the most Glorious in Glory; I
am the most favouring in favour: I am the best giver of welfare; I am the best
healing in health-giving.
“And I shall destroy the malice of the malicious, the malice of Daêvas and
men, . . .“
“We sacrifice to Verethragna” . “He is strong and Victorious is his name; he

. .
is victorious and Strong is his name;.
At a much later date, the Greater Bundahiin likewise asserts,
Vahrãn [VorOra-yna] is the standard bearer of the heavenly gods [yazadan]; no one
is more victorious than he [who] always lifts up the standard for the victory of the
gods.9°
Thus, VrOrayna, “created victorious,” is the celestial model for victorious warriors.9’
Again, like Vahagn, the dispenser of kcajutciwn to king and country, VrOrayna,
the constant companion of MiOra and of the royal “Glory,”
bore the good Glory made by Mazda, the Glory made by Mazda that is both health
and strength,92
and he bestows it in turn on those who invoke him. On ZaraOustra he bestows “the
fountains of manliness, the strength of the arms,” and vision in the three worlds of sea,
earth, and heaven.93 On a more mundane level
VOragna in this house preserves the good things [“arenö] with wealth and
cattle.94
But more than “good things” the X”areno or warrah is the supernatural royal
“Glory” which attends and protects the legitimate ruler of Iran, even more in the epic
than in the strictly religious tradition.95
Finally, it is not impossible that VrOrayna was in the ascendence in Iran during
this period as Vahagn was in Armenia. The royal Sasanian onomasticon attests more
Bahrãms than any other divine name with the possible exception of Ohrmizd/Ahura
Madzã himself.96 The use of the so-called VrOrayna crown with the wings symbolic
160 NINA G. GARSOAN
of the god was popular in Sasanian times, most particularly in the reign of the becom
ingly named Bahrãm II (A.D. 276-293). Most important of all, Father de Menasce has
shown that two little noted Pahiavi texts raise Vr3Orayna to the highest level of the
Zoroastrian pantheon when he successfully reduces the spirit of evil Ahreman to a state
of impotence and captivity after the Heavenly Entities have failed in this task, and that
this victory foreshadows the final victory of Ahura Mazda over the forces of evil at the
end of time:
concerning the seventh Am.asfand [Holy Immortal], Bahrãm Yazad the victorious
[perozgar], destructor of the Adversary [du.man zadãr] Ohrmazd the creator
. . .
spoke to the six Am.sasfand, “go and bring the impure Ahreman bound to me.”
All the six Amasfand went and sought Ahreman for a long time without being
able to seize him. And [they] . returned and came to tell the Omniscient
. .
One: “We have long sought Ahreman, but he has not fallen into our hands,”
Then the Omniscient One said to Bahrãm Yazad: “You whom I created victorious
from the beginning, perform a deed of victory; go with the six Ama.asfand and
bring Ahreman bound to me.” Bahrãm Yazad went. and brought the impure
. .
Ahreman bound before Ohrmazd. Then Bahrãm Yazad took the impure
. . .
Ahreman to Hell and thrust him in head downward. He returned to Ohrmazd

saying, “I have thurst the impure one into Hell.” Ohrmazd the creator rejoiced
and said: “From the beginning I have declared thee victorious, now thou hast
achieved victory; I confer upon thee the title of Amasfand, for thou hast accom
plished what the six Amsâ’sfands could not accomplish.” This is why it is said
that Bahrãm Yazad is the seventh Am.asfand.
0 Zardut. . I shall tell thee another thing in praise of Bahiam Yazad in this
.
same pasage of the Avesta and the Zand, namely that the prowess of Bahrãm
Yazad was created more powerful than the other yazadan. This victory shall be at
the Resurrection. .Of this Barhãm Yazad whom you name victorious it is said
. .
in the Avesta and the Zand that he goes into the spiritual [menog] and the material
[gtig] world with more blessing and more glory, that is to say that he watches
over both worlds.
Thus, both in Iran and Armenia Vr0rayna and his counterpart Vahagn seem to have
been in this period powerful deities, bearers and bestowers of prowess, protectors of the
king and of his realm.
It may well seem at this point that we have strayed very far from the original subject
of this enquiry, but one of the chief characteristics of V3roOrayna should bring us
directly back to its core. Alone among the Iranian yazadan, Vr0rayna is famous for
his incarnation in ten avatars, seven of which are animal forms.99 All of these are
detailed with care in the Bahrtm Ya.t, but the fifth overwhelmingly caught the atten
tion of the contemporary Sasanian world: the varaz, or wild boar. This is the form
singled out on two occasions in the Mihir Yat as well to characterize V3rOrayna as the
companion of MiOra:
A
THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF “AGATCANGELOS” 161
Grass-land magnate Mithra we worship. . in front of whom flies Ahura-created
.,
VrOrayna in the shape of a wild, aggressive, male boar [varaz] with sharp fangs
and sharp tusks, a boar that kills at one blow, is unapproachable, grim, speckle-
faced, and strong, has iron hind feet, iron forefeet, iron tendons, an iron tail, and
iron jaws.
As in the case of the ox, the symbolic identification of VrOrayna with the varaz was
not restricted solely to a learned theological milieu but achieved a far broader currency.
The threatening prophecy of the famous bard Angares to Astyages in which he likened
Cyrus the Persian to a wild boar loosed in a marsh was seen by both Windischman and
Benveniste as the earliest Greek allusion to VzrOrayna in his symbolic incarnation
and in his relationship to the ruler, despite the reservations of Mary Boyce.Ol In the
Iranian world, the profusion of compounds in Varaz- found in the onomasticon indi
cates the same devotion to his prototype as did the previously mentioned frequency of
Bahrãm.’°2
Far more important, Iranian art in the Sasanian period fairly swarms with represen
tations of wild boars. Be it on stone reliefs, stucco decorations, silver plates, seals, or
even textiles, the motif is ubiquitous.’°3 To be sure, not every boar is necessarily to be
associated with VrOrayna as Boyce cautions us again.O4 Some of the representations
may be no more than realistic hunting scenes, such as the reliefs at Taq-i Bostan, and
some of the Sasanian silver plates.’°5 Nevertheless, symbolic suggestions are often
present. The hunt itself is a transcendental setting in Iran, as I have shown on a
number of other occasions, and the killing of the wild boar by the king may have a
totemic as well as a symbolic meaning, as suggested by Duchesne-Guillemin.’°6 On
several hunting plates, the king shoots at other animals but not at the attendant boars,
thus suggesting at least the possibility that their presence may at times be more sym
bolic than realistic.’07 Similarly, the boars’ heads lined up beneath the royal couch in
the Walters Gallery Banqueting Plate may be nothing more than hunting trophies,
but in the context of the royal “Glory” depicted on this type of scene, they, too, may be
an allusion to the prowess and supernatural attributes of the king, as are his crescented
crown and undulating ribbons, as well as the ram-horned diadem of his
The pearl roundels surrounding boars’ heads both on the stucco decorations from
Damghan,O9 and on are reminiscent of the necklaces of enormous pearls
which are the prerogative of the king in Sasanian iconography (fig. 8).”
The identification of VrOrayna with the boar seems to have been known to all
classes of Sasanian society. Seals bearing the figure of a varaz indicate a more private
devotion.”2 Gold statuettes and pendants of wild boars decorated in one case at least
with symbolic scenes of animal combat and outspread wings holding a crescent moon
surmounted by a star suggest cult objects from a princely or royal
Finally, Barhãm II did not limit his allegiance to his namesake to the adoption of a
crown with his attributes. On at least one of his coin issues, the queen represented
alongside her husband wears a diadem surmounted by a complete boar’s head
(fig. 7).114
The multiplicity of these examples is surely sufficient to demonstrate the devotion to
Vr9rayna in contemporary Iran and the hold of his identification with the wild boar
on popular imagination. Nor was this symbolism unknown to Armenia.The near
absence of figured monuments from the Sasanian period in Armenia unfortunately
does not permit an iconographic analysis. But the compounds in Varaz-, to name but
King Varazdat and the royal princess Varazdut at the top of the social scale, testify to
an Armenian devotion equal to that of Iran, and whose traces were still clearly visible
even after the Christianization of the country.”5 In an interesting pasage of Pawstos
Buzand, the Sasanian King ahpuhr II is shown allaying the fears of Arak II of
Armenia, who had asked for a guaranteed safe conduct before venturing into the
Persian realm:
He [ahpuhr] according to the custom established for a solemn oath in the Persian
realm had salt brought [in] and sealed it with a ring with [the representation of]
a wild boar.
Hence the Armenian author and presumably the king seem to have been familiar with
this avatar of VrOra-yna in his particular role of companion of MiOra, the god of
contracts, for the specific purpose of enforcing oaths and punishing the forsworn.”6
Thus in both Iran and Armenia, the image of the varaz was inextricably bound in
learned and popular tradition with the god Vr3Ora1na or Vahagn. And the transfor
mation of Trdat into this very animal could not fail to project symbolic overtones
made all the sharper by “Agatangelos’” repeated portrayal of the transformed king
with his boar’s snout, bristly body, and metal hard nails on his fore and hind feet in an
almost exact counterpart of the classic representation of the incarnate VrOrayna in
both the Bahrãm and the Mihir Ya.ts, as well as in current Sasanian iconography.”7
An additional discrepant detail between “Agatcangelos’” account of Trdat’s meta
morphosis of Nabuchadnezzar’s misadventure in the Book of Daniel takes us one step
further still. The setting of the royal transformation is generally terser and less pre
cisely detailed in the V group of recensions of the “Agatcangelos” Cycle.”8 But the
A group dependent on the Armenian text insists repeatedly on one particular: Trdat
while in the form of a varaz takes shelter among the reeds [elegj.”9 Here again we are
faced with a case where “Agatcangelos” has strayed from his model, since the Book of
Daniel has nothing to say about reeds.’2°
There is little need, however, to seek far for a source of seemingly
gratuitous information. Its exact parallel is to be found in Sasanian iconography
where the varaz is consistently shown in a reedy, swampy setting, be it the elaborate
background provided for the royal hunt in the Taq-i Bostan relief, in the clear repre
sentation of reed thickets on several of the silver hunting plates and stuccoes, or in the
rigidly schematic pattern of the panel from Chal Tarkhan now in the Philadelphia
Museum (figs. 9_11).121 This uniformity is all the more noteworthy in that Sasanian
reliefs and genre scenes, whatever their medium, are remarkably devoid of indications
of the setting. Some silver pieces, especially the so-called Sari Plate in the Tehran
Museum, have a rudimentary border of schematized hillocks and bunches of wild
flowers, soon reduced to the token representation of a small pyramid composed of
THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF “AGATcANGELOS 163
three triangles, presumably indicating a mountainous background.’22 But with min
imal exceptions, the action of Sasanian monuments takes place in an ideal setting
lacking any indication of time or space.’23 Only the wild boar benefits from a clear
representation of its habitat which allows of no variations. This may be nothing more
than a realistic observation of the animal’s habits, and the boar in the reeds has a long
history in the Ancient Near East;’24 but the pervasiveness of this single motif in a
tradition notorious for its lack of realistic settings suggests once more a greater signifi
cance of the theme. This seems especially to be the case for the totally schematized,
monstrous, single, isolated reeds, without the slightest realistic overtones, planted like
ideograms next to the wild boars in the Chal Tarkhan panel (fig. 12). The implication
of these scenes seem to be that the reed is in some way the indispensable companion of
the
Occasional glimpses of this coupling can be found in literature as well. In the tale of
Cyrus and Astyages, Dinon notes that the wild boar symbolizing the Persian conqueror
had been loosed “in the marshes [oç].”26 In his account of the cowardice and
humiliation of the non-Arsacid King apuh son of Yazdgard, imposed by the Persians
on the Armenians, and the concomitant display of kCa jut ciwn by the Armenian nobles,
Movsës Xorenaci gratuitously informs us that the disgraceful episode occurred while
the king was hunting “wild boars in a marsh [i amb].”27 In the Greater Bunda
hi.n the “Glory” of Ferrdun takes refuge in the root of a reed in the ocean.’28 Finally,
Dumézil has traced the parallel between VorOrayna-Vahagn Viapaka1 “the Dragon
reaper” and the Indra Vrtrahan of the Mahãbhãrata, who after his killing of the
monstrous Vttra takes refuge in the stalk of the yellow lotus in a lake within the ocean
where he will be discovered by the fire god Agni.’29
All of these tales as well as the iconography point toward a mythological link
uniting VorOrayna, Vçtrahan, and the varaz with reeds, transcending mere naturalis
tic observation, and probably belonging to the popular epic tradition rather than to
the stricter religious ones of the Avesta and the 1g Veda where this coupling does not
occur.’30 But the clearest example comes from Armenia itself, in the famous quotation
of native pagan mythology given by Movsës Xorenaci:
In childbirth were the heavens,

In childbirth was the earth,
In childbirth the purple sea.
And in the sea travail held the small scarlet reed [etegnik].
From the reed rose up smoke,
From the reed rose up flame,
And from the flame a fair-haired youth sprang forth.
He had hair of fire,
Anda beard of fire,
And his little eyes were suns.’3’
At his flaming birth Vahagn bursts forth from the reed in the sea.’32 Nor could
“Agatangelos” and his hearers have been totally ignorant of this popular tale told and
164 NINA G. GARSOAN
retold by Armenian bards, since the learned historian Xorenacci admits having heard
with his own ears “some singing this on the lyre”.’33
Under these circumstances the emergence of the wallowing Trdat-varaz from the
swampy reeds takes on the aspect of a parody of the epiphany of his divine protector
and alter ego from the magic reed. The king, and only he, assumes the form of the
varaz during his punishment, whatever the demonic possession of the other members
of the Armenian court.’34 Thus the locus as well as the form of Trdat’s metamorphosis
reinforces his identification with Vahagn and the moral of “Agatcangelos’ parable. “
Like Htipsimë, Trdat is but the personification of his protector in the cosmic tale of
the struggle between Good and Evil. The king’s shame and ridicule reflect back on his
god who has been unable despite his kcajut(Iwn to save his protégé from the humilia
tion of being vanquished by “one little girl” animated by the Holy Spirit, or from the
vengeance of the Christian God who reduces him to a subhuman level. Far from being
victorious and divine, Vahagn manifests himself as nothing more than a dirty pig.’35
The lesson is now perfectly coherent. The king is punished by being transformed
into his divine prototype whose impotence before the Christian God is demonstrated
beyond reasonable doubt, and the king’s strength and true kcajuñwn will return only
with divine grace after the sacramental cleansing of penance, absolution, and baptism
to assist in the holy work of the purification and conversion of Armenia. Now “Aga
tcangelos” conforms precisely to the pattern of the “Epic Passion” in which the pro-
tagonists are but figureheads in the triumph of Christianity over paganism. But for the
lesson to have carried its full impact to his newly converted hearers, indeed, for it to
have been understandable at all, they must have been acquainted if not with the
Zoroastrian scriptures proper then with edifying tales that might be called “Bible
stories from the Avesta” in which the “innocent ox” and the “valiant varaz” played
their appointed parts. So the popular imagination of Early Christian Armenia was
peopled with Iranian symbols that even Hellenized and devoutly Christian ecclesias
tics could not disregard.
Columbia University
1. The paradox that the author of an Armenian work s’immiscer inutilement dans ces querelles a n’en plus finir,”
presumably composed before the creation of the Armenian Garitte’s masterly study unquestionably brought much order
alphabet should have a patently Greek name is but a foretaste on the scene, but see notes 3 and 4 below for more recent
of the difficulties that have plagued the investigators of the publications.
“enigmatic” work. See note 16 below. 3. The most useful has been R. W. Thomson, Agathan
2. G. Garitte, Documents pour l’étude du livre d’Aga gelos: History of the Armenians (Albany, 1976; cited hereafter
thange (Vatican City, 1946; cited herafter as Documents), vii: as Aa), giving a reprinting of the text together with an
“Autour de ce livre énigmatique s’est abattue Ab Oriente et ab English translation and extensive notes and commentary.
Occidente une masse redoutable d’hypothèses éphémères, de The text used was the one of the Lukasean Matenadaran
systèmes contesrables, de polémiques sans objets, de trou edition (Tiflis, 1914), which is identical with the critical
vailles illusoires et de problèmes qui n’en sont pas; l’histoire edition, Agatcangetay Patmutiwn Hayocc [Agatcangelos’ His-
des origines de 1’Eglise arménienne est ainsi devenue une des tory of Armenza], ed. G. Tër Mkrtean and S. Kayanyeanc
zones dangereuses de l’érudition, oil ‘des champions de causes (Tiflis, 1909) except for the omission of the apparatus criticus.
perdues’ . . ‘continueront de batailler par habitude quand
. The Thomson edition will be the one referred to in this paper
l’inanité de leurs disputes sera devenue claire aux yeux du unless otherwise noted. A translation of the lengthy Teaching
monde entier’: tout travailleur consciencieux se doit de ne pas of Saint Gregory found in Aa but missing except for fragments
‘—‘‘
I %
‘
: ‘%.
-
1 . Xaraba yank’ Stele 4. Kasax Capital 2. Ojun Stele
Seventh Century
I
5. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 6. Leningrad, The Hermitage Museum.
Sasanian Silver-gilt Dish with Hunting Scene “Klimova Plate”
(Fifth Century). Purchase, Fletcher Fund, 1934
7. Leningrad, The Hermitage Museum. 8. Washington, D.C., The Texile Museum.

Silver Coin of Bahrãm II Textile Fragment with Boar’s Head
in Pearl Roundel (No. 3.304)
9. Leningrad, The Hermitage Museum. Sasanian Silver-gilt
Plate with Hunting Scene
10. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sasanian Stucco

Fragment from Mesopotamia (Sixth Century).
Purchase, Rogers Fund, 1932
I
: .:
‘
.
!
VL.’
‘—
:(:‘, L
11 . Philadelphia Museum of Art. Stucco Fragments

from Sasanian Palace. Purchased: Museum Funds
12. Chal Tarkhan Eshqabad, Horseman Spearing a Boar.

CourtesyMuseum of Fine Arts, Boston. MFA/Persian Expedition, 12 January 1939
from the other recensions was published separately by R. W. l’illusion qu’ ils appartiennent au méme cycle et forment
Thomson (Cambridge, Mass., 1970; cited hereafter as AaT). comme les péripéties dun drame marchant vers le méme
4. See notes 2 and 3 above for Aa and AaT. Ag denouement. Whether or not the martyrdom of the Htip
‘ ‘
G. Lafontaine, La Version grecque ancienne du livre ar simian saints had a genetic link with the Vita of St. Gregory,
ménien d’Agathange (Louvain, 1973). Ar A. Ter Ghewon (ibid., 102-14, and Thomson, Aa, xii) does not concern us
dyan, Agatcangetosi arabakan nor mbagrutCyun [A New here. The link had been firmly forged by the time of the
Arabic Version ofAgatcangetos] (Erevan, 1968), based on Sin. present Armenian recension. This composite unit seems to
Ar. 395; See also G. Garitte, ‘Une version arabe de l’Agathange
‘ have formed the common core of the History since “there was
grec dans le Sin. Ar. 395,” Le Muséon, 63 (1950), 231-47. The no such unified tradition concerning the events in Armenia
Georgian fragments appear linked directly or indirectly to after Gregory’s rescue, the versions not only relate certain
. . .
Aa. See Garitte, Documents, pp. 13-16; idem, “Le ‘Traité episodes in different ways but add details and even long pas
géorgien sur la foi’ attribué a Hippolyte,” Le Muséon, 78 sages not found in the Armenian” (Thomson, ibid.)
(1965), 119-72; and P. M. Muradyan, “AgatCangelosi Patmu 7. For a detailed discussion of the various hagiographic
tcyan mi hatvacci hin vracCeren tcargmanutcyunj [The Ancient genres, see H. Delehaye, Les Passions des martyrs et les genres
Georgian Translation of a Fragment from Agatcangelos His- littéraires, 2nd ed. (Brussels, 1966; cited hereafter as Passions),
tory], Patma-Banasirakan Handes [Historico-Philological
‘ ‘
as well as Thomson, Aa, xliv, and the succeeding notes.
Journal; cited hereafter as P-BH] (1972/1), 63-66. 8. Delahaye, Passions, 171-226: “Ces Passions offrent de
The first edition of the Arabic version Va based on Sin. Ar. telles analogies de composition, elles sont faites de matériaux
460 was given by N. Marr, Kreshchenie Armian, Gruzin, si semblables, qu’elles font penser a des constructions uni
Abkhazov i Alanov sviatym Grigoriem (Arabskais versiia) (St. formes et sans style, dont les pierres provenant dune méme
Petersburg, 1905), and G. Garitte included a Latin translation carrière, seraient assemblées sur un plan uniforme. Ii y a entre
thereof in his Documents, 27-116. A complementing manu les Actes historiques écrits sous la dictée des événements et les
script, Sin. Ar. 455 [= Var] was published by A. Ter Ghe récits des martyrs qui leur ont succedé, la difference que nous
wodyan, ‘Agatcangelosi arabakan mbagrutCyan norahayt
‘
mettons entre l’oeuvre dun maître et un produit industriel”
amborjakan bnagir [The Newly Discovered Complete Text (171). “Apparentées par les éléments dont elles sont compo
of the Arabic Version ofAgatangelos],” P-BH (1973/1), 209- sees et par la disposition générale des matières, nos Passions
36. Two new Greek versions have likewise come to light: Vg, le sont également par le style et l’étrange uniformité. Il . . .
based on Scor. Gr. X III 6, published by Garitte, Documents, ny a pas a sen étonner, vu que les auteurs de ces récits ne se
20-149; and Vo = idem, “Une nouvelle Vie grecque de S. contentent pas d’imiter quelques modèles mais qu’ils se pil
Grégoire d’Arménie dans le ms 4 d’Ochrida,” Byzantion, 32 lent les uns les autres. Ces ressemblances s’expliquent le
. . .
(1962), 63-79, and idem, “La Vie grecque inédite de S. plus souvent par le fait qu’une phraséologie de convention
Grégoire d’Arménie (ms 4 d’Ochrida),” AnalBoll, 83 (1965), avait fini par se constituer a l’usage des hagiographes et que
233-90. The Karuni version (Vk) was brought out with a l’emploi de certaines formes de langage faisait désormais par-
French translation by M. van Esbroeck, ‘Un nouveau témoin
‘
tie du métier” (222-23). See also Peeters, Naples, 103-4:
du livre d’Agathange,” REArm, n.s. 8 (1971), 13-167. ‘
‘La suite de l’histoire est, en gros, celle qu’on pourrait racon
See also A. Ter Ghewondyan, ‘Agatangelosi Patmutyan
‘
ter d’avance, sans avoir lu une seule ligne du récit des . . .
hnaguyn patarikner [The Earliest Fragments of Agatange banalités hagiographiques qui suffiraient a dénoncer ici une
los’ History],” Lraber (1971/2), 37-41; the Greek fragments imagination peu inventive. And see Thomson, Aa, pp. lxxiv-
“
published in Garitte, Documents, 358-406; and the Syriac lxxxv, etc.

Letter of George Bishop of the Arabs, reprinted with a Latin
translation in ibid. 408-20. For the interrelations of these and
,
9. Aa, xxxviii for the persecuting ‘ruler of the Greeks”;
‘
other versions, see Garitte, Documents, 1-19, Thomson, Aa, cxxv-cxxxi and cxxxiii-cxxxvi for King Trdat’s edicts; and
xxii-xxiii, li-lu, lxxv-xcvii; Lafontaine, Ag, 13-106, van Es- clii-clvii for Diocletian’s edict. See also Trdat’s answer to
broeck, Vk, 14-20, 132, etc.; a useful stemma is provided by Diocletian in Vg, xl, which has been omitted in Aa; Garitte,
Ter Ghewondyan, Ar, 20. Documents, 37, 293. For the discussion of the role of the
No attempt can be made to give even a summary of the emperor and his edict, see Delehaye, Passions, 173, 175, and
enormous literature on Agatangelos but an exhaustive treat- Thomson, Aa, pp. xlv-xlvi, xlviii; 458, xxxviii note 1; 468,
ment of earlier studies can be found in H. S. Anasyan, cxxix note 1, and cxxxv note 2; 470, cliii note 1 and clvi note
Haykakan Matenagitutcyun [Armenian Bibliology], I (Erevan, 2; as well as Garitte, Documents, 285-86, who notes both the
1959), cols. 151-213. The suggestive even if often overstated banality of the introductory formula in Vg and its unsuitabil
study of K. MelikCOhanjanyan, “Agatcangelosi banahyusakan ity since there was no persecution in Armenia at the begin-
albyurneri harcci iurj [On the Problem of Agatcangelos’ ning of St. Gregory’s passion. Hence the artificiality of Vg’s
Folkloristic sources],” P-BH (1964/4), 53-82, was published introduction with its automatic recourse to a standard cliché.
posthumously long after the preparation of the material, 10. Aa, 1, cf. Delehaye, Passions, 177. Likewise, for the
which was ready in 1923 and elaborated in lectures during the flight of the Hripsimian martyrs shifting the jurisdiction over
l930s. There seems to be no reason to question the date in the them from Diocletian to Trdat and Diocletian’s letter to the
460s for the present Armenian recension given by Thomson, Armenian king, see Aa, cxlix-clvi, and Delehaye, Passions,
Aa, xvi, xc-xci, and AaT, 3. 178-79. The nameless attendants, bystanders, and execution-
5. Garitte, Documents, vii. ers noted by Delehaye, ibid., 180-81, are also present in
6. Thomson, Aa, lviii. This fact had been noticed earlier Aa: ten torturers, lxxiv; “the scribes of the tribunal, xcix; ‘ ‘
by P. Peeters, “S. Grégoire l’Illuminateur dans le calendrier Taat the son-in-law of the sparapet Artawan, cxxi; ‘a legion ‘
lapidaire de Naples,” AnalBoll, 60 (1942), (cited hereafter as of infantry, clxii; “friends of the king, clxv; to see Hrip
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘
Naples), pp. 102-3: “Que le rédacteur d’Agathange ait opéré sim’s great beauty a great and confused crowd gathered—
sur des récits préexistants, ou qu’il ait fabriqué lui-méme a princes and nobles, freemen and common people—clxiii,
coup de plagiats, de contrefaçons ou autrement, les pièces clxxiii, clxxviii, clxxx; to them are added the royal servants,
assemblées dans sa rhapsodie, ces pièces: la geste de Tiridate, clxxxiii, clxxxix-cxc; ‘the king’s nobles, the chief execu
‘
les Actes de S. Grégoire et le roman de Ste. Hripsimé ont été tioner with torturers, cxcvii; ‘other saints
‘ ‘ ‘ more than . . .
faconnés pour s’embolter les uns dans les autres et créer ainsi seventy people, cxcix; and also cciv, ccvi, ccix, etc., com
‘ ‘
panions of the saints, fellow martyrs, and throughout the on “Ia fiction du témoin bien informé.” The hypothesis that
anonymous torturers. the too aptly named Agatangelos was really an eyewitness of
11. Aa, l-lxviii, lxx-lxxiii, lxxv-xcviii, c-cv, cviii-cxiv, cxvi- the events he relates has long since been rejected. See Thom
cxxi, in the case of St. Gregory; cxliv-cxlviii, clxviii-clxxii, son, Aa, pp. xvi, xxiv-xxvi, lxxix. Consequently, this detail is
clxxiv, clxxix, clxxxiii, clxxxv-clxxxviii, cxciii-cxcvi, cc-cci, one more cliché of the “Epic Passion.”
ccvii, in the case of the virgin martyrs. Cf. Delehaye, Passions, In addition to these main points, note also, e.g., the paral
184-97. For the network of scriptural quotations which makes lel between the stampede and trampling of the bystanders,
up much of the martyrs’ discourses and prayers, see Thom Aa, clxxv-clxxvi, and “the tempest which followed the martyr
son, Aa, lxxx-lxxxiv, as well as his identification of biblical dom of Mark,” ibid., 472, clxxvi note 1; the specious preci
references and allusions throughout the above sections. The sions such as Gayane’s use of Latin in her admonition to
similarity between Aa, lxvii, and the passage from the “Acts Htipsimë, Aa, clxxxix, cf. Delehaye, Passions, 180, on the
of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus” cited by Delehaye, Passions, 185, giving of names to the bystanders; the heavy reliance on
is a particularly striking illustration of the monotonous rig Psalms, Aa, lxvi, lxvii, lxxix, lxxxii, xciii, xciv, xcvii, civ,
idity of the hagiographic pattern: cxx, cxlv, cxlvii, cxlviii, clxxix, clxxxvi, cxciv, cxcv, cxcvi, cc,
ccvii, cf. Delehaye, Passions, 196; even the detail of the judge
Acts Aa, lxviii interrupting the proceedings to go out to lunch, ibid., 180, is
found in the Kariuni version, Vk, ciii, 45, “au moment de la
“Nous ne sacrifions ni a la “But as for your saying ‘you neuvième heure il sortit pour manger du pain et se reposer,”
pierre ni au bois. Vos dieux have insulted the gods’ what although the purpose of the king’s exit is not specified in the
ont des oreilles, mais n’en could this insult mean to Armenian, Aa, clxxxii.
tendent pas Ia prière des them who have no sensation 17. Delehaye, Passions, 172-73: “l’image hiératique du
hommes; ils ont un nez, mais even of anyone honoring martyr désormais substituée au portrait c’est un hero de . . .
ne sentent pas le parfums des them? For they have been race supérieure. La lutte dont it est sorti vainqueur l’élève au
offrandes qui leur sont faites. created by the hands of men. dessus de tous les vaillants. II s’agissait de terrasser.
. . . Ia . .
Ils ont une bouche et ne For they have a mouth puissance de ténébres incarnée dans le paganisme. Dans cette
parlent pas; ils ont des mains and do not speak. They have lutte le martyr est le champion de Dieu qui combat en lui et
et ne palpent pas, des pieds eyes and see not. They have pour lui c’est, dans des proportions grandies, Ic héros
. . .
et ne marchent pas. Qu’ils hands and feel not. They have d’épopée.”
soient comme eux, dit l’Ecri feet and move not. There is 18. Thomson, Aa, lxxxvii.
ture, ceux qui les ont faits no breath in their mouths. 19. Idem. The entire commentary of Thomson on “Aga
et ceux qui mettent en eux Those who made them will tangelos’ History” brings out the compiler’s familiarity with
leur confiance.” become like them, and also and reliance on scriptural and classical patristic models,
those who hope in them Peeters, Naples, 104, notes that V. Langlois, Collection des
[Ps. 113:13-16; 134:16-18].” historiens anciens et modernes de l’Arménie, I (Paris, 1967;
cited hereafter as CHAMA), 137 note, had already observed
See also Aa, lviii, lix, lxxi, lxxiii, lxxx-lxxxi, cxi: “But the “une analogie suspecte” between the fate of St. Hripsimë and
hammered idols, sculpted and polished and worked [cf. Wisd. that of Diocletian’s daughter Valeria, as given in Lactantius’
13:11; Is. 41:7], I never held to be gods.” De mortibus persecutorum, xv, xxxix-xli, I-li.
12. Aa, lxix, lxxvi, cii, ciii, cv, cvi, cvii, cix. cxi, cxii, cxix, 20. See Thomson, Aa, xxv, lxxix, xcii, as well as lxxvi,
in the case of St. Gregory; cxcviii, ccvi-ccviii for SS. Hripsim xcii-xciii, xcvii for the existence of earlier versions of the Vita
and Gayane. Cf. Delehaye, Passions, 197-207 and Thom of St. Gregory and the association of “Agatangelos” with the
son, Aa, pp. lxxxiv-lxxxv, and esp. 473-74, cxcvii note 2, on northeastern patriarchal seat of Ejmiacin linked to the Hel
the parallels for Hripsimë’s offering her tongue to be torn lenizing tradition of Caesarea of Cappadocia. On the Hellen
out, and 465, cii note I and ciii note 1; 466, cxv note I, and ization of the Armenian Church in the 4th and 5th centuries,
cxix note I. see, inter aIm, my The Paulician Heresy (The Hague, 1967),
13. Aa, cii (and 465, cii note 2), cxiii-cxiv, cxx, cxxii, 223-25.
ccviii (cf. 475 ccviii note 1 on the recourse to beheading when 21. Aa, ccxi-ccxii:
all other tortures fail), ccxv, ccxvii-ccxviii, Cf. Delehaye, Pas “llp,’ q / /o”p & j4bp pd_
sions, 207-12. nptd,
“fr,’”i ‘
14. Aa, clxxix and esp. ccxii, to which I shall return in 1k.,, Jd &1b
much greater detail. Cf. 475, ccxii note 1 and Delehaye, Pas ,,,fc,d,,,,
sions, 217-18. Note also the death of the bystanders, Aa clxxvi, “““q, I5Iq “p urnIrj, “rPt””t i
whose parallel is traced by Thomson, 472, clxxvi note 1. ‘‘
15. Aa, clxxv, for the supernatural voice encouraging 212 (L,1 // tt t?”
Hnpsime and her companions; ccl. for the angelic vision ‘k1
comforting St. Gregory in the pit; ccxiv-ccxvi, for the visions
/.
t,. tP”’’””p’ “‘i””i &Ptd’ ,c
of Princess Xosrovidut, in addition to the great vision of St. / ‘/“‘jp ‘4r t.
Gregory, dccxxxi-dcclv. Cf. Delehaye, Passions, 213-15. ,, I,,. ,,
16. Aa, xii-xlv, dcccxcvii: “4p.fd, <‘‘‘q fri, ,,Th

‘r / d&. ‘ , ‘Ph- “‘it”’/ /“““ &r” q””’ p4 i””’ 4f
4,LL./ pb/u., f..j&ph k, &g &ppk.j plIjfp: b 1L.1.1i,,
“ rfr/ {& j&,i 1&pt
&j / 44
(xii), “,.., &gk.q & 4”i’t”1
‘ri” 4j’’g”g, “‘it “r” ‘‘tf E’”4 “‘“‘““
22. Ag, lxxxix-xc and the versions dependent on it, espe
lq&q ‘t”’”& “eP’t”1”’, cially Ar, clxxxii, repeat Aa almost exactly. The V group
Note also brings minor and occasionally significant variants or omis
the recording scribes of the tribunal (xcix): “ti ?r,’ sions, which will be discussed in their place, but it does not
/p Cf. Delehaye, Passions, 182-183 alter the main lines of the story. See notes 23-26 below.
23. E.g., Vk, 51 note 156. les accès duquel les malades s’imaginent être changes en loup
24. Ibid., 151 note 158. ou en toute autre espèce d’animal sauvage, hurlent comme les
25. Vg, li, substitutes the vague phrase, “pfpt toi toitou fauves, fuient Ic jour la companie des hommes et courent Ia
lyOn i icatà auvsOetav Osjpa lyiveto.” Va, xxxviii, is still nuit a travers les champs, etc ; also F. Tournebize, His
briefer: “iussit ille exercitum suum adesse ut ad venationem toire politique et religieuse de I’Arménie (Paris, 1910), 457;
exiret.” Garitte, Documents, 48. The same is true of Vo, “on sera logiquement amené a Ia conclusion que voici: Ia
lxxxix: “Kcii peth tbç H 111zpag ctaç tatç têiv apyovttov légende qui transforme Tiridate en sanglier s’explique beau-
Oi)tOU 1rctpaKAiasmV hCEAEUGCV ouvaOvas abtot to atpa coup mieux, si on suppose chez cc prince quelque maladie
tOitebov lti tO lsA9eiv a&tOv sic Kuvijytov,” 266, cf. 237. Vk, soudaine et humiliante, présentant a ses contemporains tous
cxxv, 51: “Alors les nobles entrèrent chez lui et lui dirent . . . les signes d’un chktiment divin; telle serait, par exemple, une
de sortir a la chasse et de se divertir. On lui apporta une maladie mentale analogue a Ia lycanthropie, OU, si Ion veut a
monture, et il monta dessus, et les nobles sortirent avec lui,” une obsession diabolique et jugée incurable par les moyens
is equally inexplicit, although in the preceding section, humains.” J. de Morgan, Histoire du peuple arménien (Paris,
cxxiv, it adds details to the king’s sorrow: ‘il eut un chagrin 1919), 102-3, still insists that the king, “étant tombé malade
énorme, rejeta Ia couronne de sa tbte, ne mangeant ni ne fit sortir de prison Grégoire qui le guérit.” Still more
buvant, et gémissant sur dIe en disant: ‘Je n’en ai pas vu de recently, R. Grousset, Histoire de l’Arménie des origines C
pareille ni parmi les Grecs ni parmi les Arméniens ni dans 1071 (Paris, 1947) yet again maintained that “Tiridate est
aucune autre contrée.” alors châtié par une crise de lycanthropie (transformation en
26. Vk, 51 note 157. Nabuchadnezzar is not mentioned at sanglier, varaz) visiblement renouvelée de celle du Nabucho
this point in Vk, cxxiv-cxxvii (although cf. xcv), nor in the donosor biblique.” See next note.
8th-century Letter of George Bishop of the Arabs, iv, who is 33. In general, the thesis of a merely mental illness is
the only one to omit the metamorphosis of the king into a wholly inappropriate for the ethos of 5th-century hagio
wild beast: “Postquam autem in fovea fuit [Gregorius] per graphy, which expects palpable miracles and the tangible
annos XIII, Ut dicit historia eius (at nos, si tibi placet, III punishment of persecutors, and has no use for rational
annos tantum ponemus), egressus est rex ad delectationem et explanations of the supernatural.
venationem animalium. Super quem extemplo spiritum 34. The A recension of “Agatangelos” alternates the
malignum immisit Deum; et insanivit, et de mente sua exivit, term for a wild pig, “./jptl,/, with that for a wild boar,
et carnem sUam mordebat.” Garitte, Documents, 409. See also “p”’”; Aa, ccxii, dccxxvii.dccxxviii, dcclxiii, dcclxxiii.
next note. Cf. Nor Batgirkc Haykazean Iezwi, II (Venice, 1836), 789,
27. Aa, clxxix and ccxii Ag, lxxvi, lxxxix Ar, cliii, 5.0. varaz; also H. Aarayan, Hayeren Armatakan Bataran
clxxxii Vk, xcv, but not cxxvi Va, xxv, xxxviii; on the [Armenian Etymological Dictionary], VI (Erevan, 1932), 582-
contrary, Vg gives the reference in lii, but not in xliii. See 583, s.v. H. Hubschmann, Armenische Grammatik (Leipzig,
Garitte, Documents, 39, 49. 1895), 244, no. 606; C. Bartholomae, Zum altiranischen WOr
28. Dan. 4:21-22: “q I”’q/ q&pj terbuch (Strasbourg, 1906), 1366; so. varãza- ; D. N. MacKen
““‘“‘“ 1çj01 “‘r”’if” ‘ I’ “k zie, A Concise Pahiavi Dictionary (London, 1971), 87, so.
‘“q”’” “‘‘“‘q”” warãz. Ag, lxxxix, has “audypoç,” and i’g, lii, “pstd tthy
“‘
/ g”p”j I;p4b1cg 45L, ; also ibid., dypis)v bPv,” etc. The contexts, however, leave no doubt in
12-13, 28-30. The transformation from human to animal any of these cases that we are dealing with a wild boar and not
form, the dwelling with wild beasts, and the eating of grass a domestic porker. See note 135 below and next note.
are all noted in Aa, ccxii; see note 21 above for the text. Most 35. See note 29 above, also Aa dcclxiii: “f’’4
of the other versions, except Vk, cxxviii, omit the eating Sp?”’”’ & fr jJl.j1 /jp.ph. pjg
of grass. .4p .lI,,,,,,jl, &,.
29. Dan 4:30: “1’ &J/1. ,c ./&,, t. I fd9&1, t.
fr ‘“‘t”tht”’ &. /.. frppL hpp’ J&fk &. P”””’”’t
“‘,‘2”’” ““fr’ /
5”t”I 1’P1i’/’5 ‘1”P’/ ‘P”’ t..’.j1 JpThn/ “rAg, cix, cxx: Ar, ccxxx, cclxiii-cclxiv. Vo,
‘/“‘t”1? 1j i4F,j,t. fl
flJ & cix, cxii is close though not as detailed, whereas Vg, lxii,
hpr” ‘,P”.’”u lxxxvi-Ixxxvii, Va, lxxviii, and Vk, cxxxv, cli, cxcii, merely
Aa, dccxxvii: &p / 4&ppL say that the king still had the form of a boar without
t”4fr f”g”'t Q’ any description or pass over the episode. See notes 100 and
& P4 “‘“i””” p 117 below.
&é’. q.jptbL. L’. .jjqt 36. See figs. 1—4. The number and uniformity of these
&,. “'s’”’w /‘pp” q’’’”’”php representations attest to the popularity of the story and paral
t,. qpd4&j. . .
. /ppI. j/”-p”g I’ “‘“h”’ lel the uniformity of the recensions on this episode.
ppjL p fdI14 t. fr ) 37. The Book of Daniel is usually dated in the 2nd
1 century B.C., 166-165, according to W. 0. E. Oesterley and
v”i’”g “- n’Yfr/
Jf tjk.,bt.dd,, T. Robinson, An Introduction to the Books of the Old Tes
/. dfnj Jpqdf:” See also dcclxxiii Ag cix, tament (New York, rpt., 1958), 334-36, as well as R. Hammer,
cxxii Ar, ccxxx, cclxiii-cclxiv; Va, lxxv-lxxvi, lxxviii, lxxx The Book of Daniel (Cambridge, 1976), 4-6. As noted earlier
is far less detailed, as are Vg, lxi, lxvii, lxxxviii, lxxxix, and (see note 4 above) Thomson gives the date c. AD. 460 for the
Vk, cxxiv-cxxv, cxlii, cxliv, cli cxcii, cxcvii, ccv. compilation of Aa. Even if we accept Garitte’s thesis (Docu
30. Dan. 4:22: “‘r2””'”i”p””éq’ ments, 334) that Vg “a en propre plusieurs éléments qui
r ibid., 4:28. The Septuagint has “thç 3oç” in all of these representent certainement une tradition ancienne disparue
passages. des autres recensions,” a view shared by Thomson, Aa, xxv,
31. ,4a, ccxii, dccxxvii-dccxxviii, dccxxx, dcclxiii-dcclxiv, and Ter Ghewondyan, Var, 215, though cf. Lafontaine, Ag,
dcclxxiii; see note 35 below. 33-34, and 36-37 note 66, this earlier tradition cannot antedate
32. V. Langlois, CHAMA, I, 150 note 3: “Le roi Tiridate the creation of the Armenian alphabet at the beginning of the
était vraisemblablement atteint de Iycanthropie, espèce parti 5th century AD, For the references to Nabuchadnezzar in the
culière d’aliénation mentale et de délire mélancolique, dans “Agatangelos” Cycle, see notes 26 and 27 above.
38. See notes 21 and 34 above. Only Aa, ccxii, and Ar, Zarathustra, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1959), and others. The main con
clxxxii, suggest that Trdat had incongruously become a cern of the present paper is not with the multiple problems of
‘herbivorous wild boar.” Even Ag, lxxxix, although taken the GJt has but rather with the ubiquitous presence of the ox
directly from Aa, omits the reference to the eating of grass. as a beneficient animal throughout the Zoroastrian scriptures.
The same is true of the V cycle: Vg, lii; Va, xxxviii; Vo, 42. Gdthds, Y.46.3-4, pp.80-81. Insler’s translation of 3a-b
which in this section corresponds to Va, Garitte, “Une nou is close to that of Lommel, Gat has, 46, although he prefers
velle Vie grecque de S. Grégoire,” 69; only Vk, cxxviii, “the bulls of heaven” for “uXiand asnsm” to Lommel’s “die
returns to the juxtaposition, “il paissait avec les sangliers et Stiere der Tage”; see Insler, Gdthds, 264, note 46.3. On the
broutait le gazon.” contrary, Duchesne-Guillemin, Zoroastre, 214, followed by
39. All the versions agree with the Armenian that the Henning, Hymns, 75, gives “aube des jours” and a very
animal into which Trdat was metamorphosed was a wild pig different translation of these lines.
or boar. There are no variants or hesitations on this subject to 43. Gathas, Y.51.l4, pp. 106-7. The translation of this
my knowledge, with the exception of the silence in the frag. passage is also problematic; see Lommel, Gat has, 178, Str. 14,
mentary treatment in the Letter of George Bishop of the also Duchesne-Guillemin, Zoroastre, 278, and Henning,
Arabs; see notes 26, 34-35 above. It is interesting that the Hymns, 147, who gives a different version. Despite these vari
translators dropped the eating of grass, which derived from ations, however, the curse on those who torment the ox
the original biblical story, rather than correct the identifica emerges clearly from all the variants. Cf. Y 44.20 and the
tion of the wild animal to bring it back into consonance with Bahram Yalt, The Sacred Books of (he East, ed. F. M. Muller,
the model. This method reinforces the thesis that the choice XXIII (Oxford, 1880), 23 1-48, no. 54 on the daevas as the
of animals in this episode is significant and by no means opponents of the ox.
fortuitous. For the multiple other references in the Gathãs to the pur
40. Bulls figure in classical mythology, as in the tales of
ity and beneficence of the ox, his divine creation, the virtue of
the rape of Europa, or of Pasiphae and the Minotaur. They
his protectors and the evil of his tormentors, see also Y 28.1;
are met with in the traditional Roman sacrifice of the suove
29.3,5-11; 31.8-10; 32.7-8,10,12-15; 33.3-4,6; 34.14; 44.6,20;
taurzfia, but they seem to have no personal symbolism beyond
46.9,19; 47.3; 48.5; 49.4-5; 50.1-3; 51.5,7. An echo of the com
the obvious symbols of virility and the agricultural life. To
plaint of the Ox-Soul to the Immortals and the identification
my knowledge, the bull or ox plays no significant role in the
of Zarafiustra as his protector in Y 29 seems clearly to be
biblical tradition.
found in the Greater Bundahiln (cited hereafter as Gt.Bd.),
41. S. Insler, ed. and trans., The Gjthds of Zarathustra
despite Dumézil’s objection to this juxtaposition, La Plainte,
(Leiden, 1975; cited hereafter as Gãthãs), Yasna 29.1, pp. 28-
3 1-37. See Gt.Bd., IVA, 1-6, Zand-.Jkasih, Iranian or Greater
29. Insler, 119, translates “gau.f urvgnam” as “the soul of the
Bundahi.fn, trans. B. T. Anklesaria (Bombay, 1956):
cow,” and insists in his commentary on Yasna 29, pp. 134-47,
etc., esp. 135, that gaui should be taken as a feminine form. “1 When the sole-created Gay passed away, she fell to
Nevertheless, gay can be rendered as either a masculine or a the right hand . . 2. GOi-Orün, as is the soul of the sole-
.
feminine; see C. Bartholomae, Altiranisches Wörterbuch created ‘Gay’ [Gay aëvadat], came out of the body of the Gay,
(Strasbourg, 1904), 505-8, s.v., and most translators prefer the stood before the Gay, and cried to Ohrmazd as much as a
former: e.g., J. Duchesne-Guillemin, Zoroastre (Paris, n.d. thousand men, when they vociferate at a time: ‘To whom has
[1948]), 195; “L’Sme du boeuf s’est plainte auprès de vous,” Thou left the chieftaincy of creatures, when the Earth has
also Y 29.2-3, 7, 9, etc., 196-97, and his English translator, lain in ruins, the Tree is dried, and the Water afflicted? Where
M. Henning, The Hymns of Zarathustra (London, n.d. [1952]; is the man of whom Thou saidst: “I will produce,” so that he
cited hereafter as Hymns), 57: “To you did the soul of the ox may proclaim preservation?’ 3. Thereupon Ohrmazd spoke:
complain”; also 59, 61, etc.; H. Lommel, Die Gathas des Zara ‘Thou art ill, Oh GOi-örfln! Thou hast borne the illness from
thustra (Basel-Stuttgart, n.d. [1971]), 27: “Euch kiage die the Evil-Spirit; this oppression of the Evil-Spirit would not
Seele des Stieres”; W. Hinz, Zarathustra (Stuttgart, n.d. [1961]), have been, if it was proper to produce that man in this Earth
166: “Euch klage des Stieres Seele”; J. Duchesne-Guillemin, at this time.’ 4. Forth went GOi-Orün up to the Star station,
“On the Complaint of the Ox Soul,” Journal of Indo and cried in the same manner, and forth up to the Moon
European Studies, 1 (1973), 101-4, etc. Most likely, as was station, and cried in the same manner, and forth up to the
observed by G. Dumézil, “A propos de Ia Plainte de lAme du Sun station, and cried in the same manner. 5. He, then,
Boeuf (Yasna 29),” Acadbmie Royale de Belgique, Bulletin de showed her the Fravahr of Zartüsht, saying: ‘Him I will pro
la Classes des Lettres et des Sciences Morales et Politiques (Se duce for the world, so that he may proclaim preservation.’
série), LI (1965) (cited hereafter as La Plainte), 23 note 6. Gi51-örfln became satisfied and assented, saying: ‘I will
I: “gui dbsigne sans doute le bovin en général, peut-etre nourish the creatures,’ that is she agreed to be re-created in the
plus spécialement le male, d’après Sb, on il est associb S Ia material life as the beneficial animal [go-spand J.” Cf. Zat
Vache-Mère,”although M. Mole, Culte, mythe et cosmologie spram, 2.13-14 in Mole, Culte, 200, and idem., 87, 89, 90,
dans l’lran ancien (Paris, 1966), 547, leans in the opposite 93-94, 150-52, 183, 190-202, 248-51 and note 7, 254 and note 3,
direction when characterizing the “Bovin Primordial (plutôt 258, 261-63, 287, for references to and commentaries on these
vache que taureau, mais peut-btres les deux S la fois)”; see texts. Also J. Duchesne-Guillemin, “Miettes iraniennes,” Horn
also M. Boyce, A History of Zoroastrianism, I (Leiden mage a Georges Dumézil (Brussels, 1960), 98-99, for the per
Cologne, 1975), 210-22. sistence and evolution of the term gOspand.
The text of the gat has is notoriously obscure, and transla 44. Gt.Bd., IA.l2.
tions diverge widely. Insler’s edition has been used for the 45. ibid., IV.lO, 19-20, cf. 1-4.
sake of convenience, since he gives the transliteration of the 46. ibid., XXVI.26, and IA, 13-19, “He created Gayô-mart
original, but his translations are often idiosyncratic and not with the Gay Out of the Earth. He created forth the sperms of
beyond challenge. His insistence on the feminity of the gay or men and animals, out of the Light and verdure of the Sky;
gaul may perhaps be influenced by his familiarity with the —as those two sperms are of the principle of Fire, not of the
Indic rather than the purely Iranian tradition at this point. principle of Water—; He produced them in the material body
His version should, therefore, be compared with those of of the ‘Gay’ and Gayô-mart, so that the complete propagation
Duchesne-Guillemin, Lommel, H. Humbach, Die Gat has des of men and animals arose therefrom. Likewise, IV.21; VIE.
1-6; VII. 4-6,9; XIII.1-2, 4-5, 7; XVI. 3-4; and note 43 above also clxxxi Ag, lxxvii, lxxxv. Cf. Movsës Xorenaci, Patmu
for IVA.l-6. tciwn Hayocc [History of Armenia], ed. M. Abelean and
47. ibid., XXVI.27, and XXXIV.22-23: “Ohrmazd will, at S. Yarutciwnean (Tiflis, 1913; cited hereafter as Mx.], II,
that time, be the perfector of his creatures. And Sosiyans
. . . lxxix, lxxxii for the English translation Moses Khorenatsi,
with his associates will perform the rite for the restoration of History of the Armenians, trans. R. W. Thomson (Cam
the dead; and they will slay the ‘Hadhayas gay’ for that rite; bridge, Mass-London, 1978; cited hereafter as MK), 226-27,
out of the fat of that ‘gay’ and the white horn they will pre 232-33; also Thomson, Aa, 474, ccii note 4.
pare the immortal beverage, and give it to all men; and all men 58. Aa, dcclxvii: “br aa/ / t/”i 1t,d4 a&af
will become immortal up to eternity and eternal progress”; apaunju, aLtnan, aFsa/nI1u, jaq/du, ,‘yaI,nLIin, I7/TIjWJIiLt, LflflL—
also XXIVE.22; see also Boyce, Zoroastrianism, 89-90, 244. aj 4t.ap, /‘5 &, ,tht&t,.j
While it is interesting to note in passing that even in the pa[J&a Jap1Ija4’ faJapJb/. ap.t’ aLa/ Iajarjop
variant and perhaps distant tradition in which the taurobo 4aJIapap ap4al’ / /&paj /p qaJI lfp &
1mm became the prerogative of Miflra the bull remained the eaadat pIpfp/ qI,ajapaL aaapag): Ag, cxxiv, Vg,
unblemished sacrifice required for the salvation of mankind, lxxxvii, and a very skimpy reference in Va, lxxix. Vk, cxcix,
the relationship of Mifiraism to Zoroastrianism lies outside of specifies that twenty men could not have performed this feat.
and is not germane to the present study. 59. Le Liure des rois par Abou’lkasim Firdousi, I, ed. and
48. Bahram Yalt (cited herafter as BYt), 61, cf. Y X.20 trans. J. MohI (Paris, 1876), 281-84, 287-89, 351, 353-54, 365,
(62). 372, 417, etc.
49. E.g., inter alia, AirW, 509: “Die Plege und Schonung 60. R. Ghirshman, Persian Art (Paris, 1962), 173, 179, pls.
des Rinds . . steht im Mittelpunkt der zarafluitrischen
. 215, 220; V. G. Lukonin, Iran 11(1967), p1. 134.
Lehre 61. The royal hand-to-hand combat with wild beasts and
50. C. J. Brunner, Catalogue of Sasanian Stamp Seals in monsters is a recurring theme from early Mesopotamian
the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1978; cited times, through Assyrian and Babylonian reliefs and seals, and
hereafter as Stamp Seals), 77-80. on the Achaemenian decorations of the palaces of Persepolis.
51. P. 0. Harper, “Thrones and Enthronement Scenes in See, inter alia, A. Parrot, Assur (Paris, 1961), 32-33, 54-56, 145,
Sasanian Art,” Iran, 17(1979), 61 and p1. 1. See also J. Orbeli, 158, 181, 196, 209G, 252, pls. 36, 38, 63, 64, 177, 192, 195, 227,
“Sasanian and Early Islamic Metalwork,” in A Survey of 244, 262, 319; R. Ghirshman, The Arts of Ancient Iran (New
Persian Art, II, ed. A. U. Pope, 736 and p1. 207B, and H. P. York, 1964), 202-3, pls. 250-53.
L’Orange, Studies on the iconography of the Cosmic King In an Armenian context the same valor is attributed to
ship in the Ancient World (Oslo, 1953), 37-48, 64-79. Trdat’s predecessor, Trdat I, who, at the circus in Rome at the
52. See, e.g., the numerous versions of the Georgian folk time of his coronation, showed remarkable bodily strength,
poems praising the ox as God’s creature and as the benefactor which amazed the onlookers, “tØ athpart iayupóç” by killing
of mankind, recording its unmerited suffering and lamenta two bulls with a single arrow, “róe8asv 0 Tsptbbtiç iivuOcv
tions, and invoking curses on its tormentors in a startling tO tiç Ibpaç thpta, ieaf bOo ye taOpoug pt hpa e’i y
echo of the Gat has noted by Dumbzil, La Plainte, 37-43 and inatOv, bsStpnae iced bitt ictetve”; Cassius Dio, Dio’s Roman
the attendant notes. To be sure, these poems are recorded at a History, ed. and trans. E. Cary (London-Cambridge, Mass.,
relatively recent date, but the very persistence of these clearly 1955), LXII, xix, LXIII, iii, vol. VIII, 118-19, 140-41. The
Zorastrian concepts in oral literature attests the depth of their same valor is attributed to the late Armenian King Varazdat,
penetration into popular tradition. As regards their use as an Olympic champion and the killer of two lions, MX, III, xl
evidence for an Armenian milieu, it may be worth noting MK, 301-02. The theme of heroic animal combats is resur
Dumézil’s entirely legitimate commentary here, “Moms mar rected yet again for the benefit of Sapuh Bagratuni by Sebëos,
quée qu’en Arménie, Ia Georgia a en son temps d’influence Sebëosi episcoposi i Herakln, ed. K. Patkanean (St. Peters
mazdéenne,” 41 (italics added). burg, 1879), x, 53-55 Histoire de Héraclius par l’evêque
53. P. 0. Harper, The Royal Hunter (New York, 1978), Sébéos, trans. F. Macler (Paris, 1904), 37-39. See also Thom
also N. G. Garsoian, “The Locus of the Death of Kings: Iran son, Aa, 459, xliii note 1, and Garsoian, Locus, 4 1-42.
ian Armenia—The Inverted Image,” The Armenian Image in 62. Aa, ccxii Aa, lxxix, Va, xxxviii, Vg, lii. Vk, cxxvii-
History and Literature (Los Angeles, 1981) [cited hereafter as cxxvii, omits this detail.
Locus], pp. 46-54, 62-64, and particularly note 74. 63. Aa, clxxxi: “qaanpt, fruit rjaj, p
54. Aa, ccxi, see note 21 above for the Armenian text. This adapLa/ ndu/ np ajuujtu 4,aittat p aJajtfr’
. . .
custom is recorded by Suetonius, Lives of the Caesars, ad. and ap jaqijaL t/ff ujapa&aj /aaapaajp /jado b jopn
trans. J. C. Rolfe (London-Cambridge, Mass., 1941), Gains &aJp 1pfruauu/: “, cf. cxci-cxcii, ccii: ““p aJ1a# 4jop
Caligula, v, 1,410-11: “ad indicium maximi luctus; regum et opaap (p k pnui 4lpo’ ja72italf ffrnftjaqfJa4apLa,
etiarn regem et exercitatione venandi et convictu megistanum jfrL(p l/aJo 1Auantj” Ag, lxxvii, lxxx, lxxxv, Va, xxvi,
abstinuisse, quod apud Parthos iustiti instar est.” xxix, Vg, xlv-xlvii, neither one of which has the second pas
55. Aa, ccii: “Iat- Ii,. jfl ‘ij’f 8’ag 4Ijajaqop sage quoted and are much terser. Vk, ci-cii, cxiii-cxv likewise
&p&baj,” cxxiii: “pod ‘I&po &jaq9 pS’&q”. = Ag, lv, lacks the last passage but also shows an interesting variant:
lxxv. This is not to be found in the V group at this point after Htipsima’s final victory over the king and her departure
except for Vk, xxix, cf. cxiv. from the palace, this version comments, “et voici que per
56. Aa, xlii-xliii: jJaJSpqaa ‘t”L
“ 1cf&a1. sonne ne la remarqua” as she made her way through the city,
ba & papaqaYL & p””-1 a’g [var. /‘LaF, whereas all the other recensions emphasize her irresistible
I ‘“ni] jaj4n,y. &njp / JJ qopb, t strength at this point, e.g., Aa, cxcii: “Opening the doors by
“‘fr” See the critical 1909 edition, p. 28, force she went Out cutting through the crowd; and no one was
line 1 and Thomson, Aa, 459, xlii note 2, for the variants. able to hold her.” Cf. also Aa, ccxxxiii, if.
Ag, xix. There is again nothing in the V recensions except 64. Vk, cxiii-cxiv: “it etait devenu auprès d’elle comme
for Vk, xl. pareil S de petits oiseaux et elle était juste après len
. . .
57. Aa, ccii: “p 1ap&/fj. /.&uq’ &1d41 &p /apaJ / fance.” Cf. preceding and following notes.
aa&paqJL. ‘ .
/ p,ct,— 65. Aa, clxxx-clxxxi, cxci-cxcii, ccii Ag, lxxvii, lxxx,
t ‘I’’t’”’i J I,aLg I’ ifr’’i “fle et ‘i””’ b/i’aa,” lxxxv; Va, xxvi, xxix; Vg, xlv; Vk, ci, cxiii To the still
170 NINA G. GARSOIAN
unbaptized Trdat, rhis divine force interestingly appears to be Cf. MX, III, xlii MK, 305, which is echoed in PCB, V, iv, and
sorcery, Aa, cclii; Aa, ccxlix, ccxxxiii. “b 4J (-‘p would seem to indicate the continuance of Parthian Arsacid
‘“‘p &f Jpqj’ n&& “‘t”’i/ r’(-” formulas in Iran even after the change of dynasty.
/,4 (-p “‘p ifrt’ bU(- ,, 70. PCB, IV, xxiv,
(-p 1bL ft/ q/p Z”i”i, pud fg q/
. .
-
pgt
/4.’j fJLJp / jophb(-:” ‘
‘“i” 15&/ p4
66. Aarean, Etymological Dictionary, VI, 1396-1400, si’. See also Aa, cxxvi: . .
.
No attempt at an etymology is made in HObschmann’s ,f 4d&,” and my Locus, pp. 42-45. Also, for the identi
Grammatzk, though an Ossetian one is proposed by 0. Sze fication of the kcajutciwn with the royal house of Armenia,
menényi, “Iranica III,” W.B. Henning Memorial Volume, ed. S. Kanayeanc, “Kcajancc tan ayn ë Ariakuneac, Iolovrdakan
M. Boyce and I. Gerschevitch (London, 1970). None of these vëpa [The House of the Valiant, i.e., the Ariakuni Popular
attempts has gained wide acceptance. Cf. Eznik’s reverse ety Epic],” Ararat (1917), 522-24, and S. Haykanun, Eminian
mology deriving kcaj from kcajutciwn, “Eznik de Koib, De azgagrakan !olovacu [Emin Ethnographic Collection], II
Deo,” ed. and trans. L. Manes and C. Mercier P0, XXIII/3-4 (Moscow-Valariapat, 1901). As seen in note 68, the formula
(1959), cxliv, 467 605, for the translation. kcajarancc may also be used fora single individual.
67. Ag, lvii, “bpeni,” lv, “àvbpeicz,” etc. H. W. Bailey, 71. In Aa, Trdat is truly called kcaj only at the beginning
Zoroastrzan Problems in Ninth-Century Books, rev. ed. (Ox and the end of the narrative: xii-xiii, xvii, xliv, xlvii, dcccxcii.
ford, 1971; cited hereafter as ZP), p. xvii equates on one occa In the four intervening cases, cxxiii, clxxi, ccii, ccxxxiii, the
sion kcajutczwn with nevakih, “good things,” but see notes 68 memory of the king’s kajutciwn is invoked merely as a foil to
and 69 below and my Locus, pp. 4 1-45. his shameful overpowering “by one little girl.”
68. The repetition of the encomium in the case of kings, Similarly, PCB, III, xviii and MX, II, 1, lxxxii = P4K, 129,
especially of Trdat, is remarkable: Aa, xii: “p1,, 232, use the epithet for Trdat the Great but for none of his
Spu”’”j, ‘g d’ kt”’1 fI’fr ‘f ‘--“; xiii:
&qtu’1’ successors—Xosrov, Tiran Ariak, Pap—who on the contrary
‘i Ip’5 are singled out as having performed no deeds of valor, e.g.,
p 1c i’”’jp . . .
MX, III, viii, xi MK, 260, 264. The laudatory epithet does
f1cb . . t IJ & 4op.Jnj QAd,L not reappear before the 5th century A. 0. for Varazdat, PCB, V,
xvii: ‘g pu’t’g S,pj ‘j,g xxxiv, and Xosrov, MX, III, xlviii MK, 311. The one excep
cxxiii: “u’L q/’ (Sp’”]- (-p - tion in the case of the captive Ariak II in P73, V, v presents
q’”q - .Tb pgfJtd special problems, and I shall return to that enigmatic passage
ccii: “np jj4 11L,1’ in a separate study. For the reason of the hiatus in the use of
dcccxcii: “j’4p. .
. ‘p the heroic epithet by these historians, see my “Politique
‘f’ ‘p’d’g Sp’’.”.” also xlvii, clxxxi. The application of ou orthodoxie? L’Armbnie au quatrième siècle,” REArm,
the epithet to saints and martyrs occurs primarily in the n.s. 4 (1967).
Teaching of St. Gregory, AaT, cdxcvii, dcxxxii, dcxxxv, 72. Aa, cxxvii: “flqf”jL ‘‘b & /gL o—
dcxxxvi; also Aa, dccxcviii, dcccxlvi, dccclxxvi; likewise in - -
. 2”-PF- l&q / ?‘l ‘4L(- db—
the case of the Good Shepherd, AaT, cdxlv, cdlxi, cdlxxxi “j Z”j’.5 p’/” (Thomson’s translation has been
(Joh. 10:11). It is interesting to note that the prefatory chap slightly altered by me) Ag, lviii, “bpet bptv bitb tof fvapf
ters, xii-xvii, in which the heroic epithet is most frequent are tou ‘HpaKfouç ...,“who then shortens the formula, signi
missing from Ag, which has its own preface in the Lauren- ficantly omitting the reference in Aa to the párkc and kaju
tine manuscript, ii-ix, pp. 173-77. Only clxxi = Aa, dcccxcii, tiwn of Trdat’s Arsacid ancestors. Even more interestingly,
has the formula rendered in Greek as “ptatr ctotAfwv the independent V recensions— Va, ix; Vg, xxix; Vk, xxix—
Ttptbhttr ...,“ which does not quite render the Armenian omit the entire proclamation with its incomprehensible or
,pL5.” perhaps embarrassing Iranian overtones. See note 88 below
69. Pawstos Buzand, Patmutciwn Hayoc’ [History of for Vahagn’s own kcajutciwn.
Armenia], 4th ed. (Venice, 1933; cited hereafter as PB], III, 73, J. de Menasce, “La Promotion de VahrSm,” RHR,
iii, 18, “hJ’’p”1i,,,=4. .
.
-“L Spq”.j 133 (1948) (cited hereafter as Promotion), 5-6.
pj/”; V, v, p. 206: “(1,’ llp4 f”; V, xxxiv, p. 238: 74. J. Russell, “Zoroastrian Problems in Armenia: Mihr
“[p”v””’] -- “2 ...“; IV, ii, pp. 76-77; V. ii, and Vahagn,” Proceedings of the Conference on Classical
p. 195; iv, pp. 200, 204; xx, p. 217; xxxvii, pp. 242, 244; xliv, Armenian Culture (Philadelphia, 1979, to be published). In
p. 259, for the Mamikonean. The two exceptions where indi the Avesta, Var0rayna is the constant companion of MiOra,
viduals are hailed as kcaj are Vahan Amatuni, III, viii, p. 19; thus making their confusion understandable; see note 92
and King Ariak’s faithful retainer, the mardpet Drastamat below. For another possible confusion of the qualities of
lord of Angel, V, vii, p.211. The saints are also honored with MiOra and Vra0rayna, see also A. Stein Old Routes of West
this epithet, e.g., James of Nisibis, III, x, p. 34, etc. I shall ern Iran (London, 1940), 324-44, following A. von Gutsch
return elsewhere to the Iranian elements in Pawstos Buzand mid, Kleine Schriften, III 89. This thesis was followed by
and to his apotheosis of the Mamikonean. Benveniste; E. Benveniste and L. Renou, Vrtra et VrOragna
The usage of kcajkcajutdiwn is somewhat more diffuse in (Paris, 1934), 74-75, though it was to be rejected by V.
Movsës Xorenaci, although he too uses the epithet for rulers, Minorsky in his review of Stein’s book, BSOAS, 11(1943-46),
e.g.: Haik, MX, I, lx, xi MK, 84, 93; Paroyr, MX, I, xxi MK, 659-61.
109; Trdat and Ariak II, MX, ii, i-u, lxviii, lxxxii = MK, 75. Aa, dccxc: “U” var.: “lflp4ut” Ag, cxxiii;
129-31, 215, 232-33; Xosrov, “.f =pd9 kipq ‘=j”g ‘Hpaiatoç.”
MX, III, xlviii MK, 311; Artaibs, MX, II, 1 r MK, 191; as well 76. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 66-67, pls. 79-80. The equa
as Smbat Bagratuni, MX, II, xxxviii, xliii, xlv MK, 180, 184, tion of Vahagn with Vara6rayna is discussed later. For the
186, etc. relation of Armenia with Commagene, see G. Tiratsyan,
Of particular interest is Movsës’ transmission of what may “Strana Kommagena i Armenia,” Telekagir (1956/3), 69-74.
well be a royal Sasanian formula: “ll 77 MX, I, xxxi = MK, 123. A more detailed discussion of
‘p’j” [The most valiant of the Mazdaeans, ãhpur this important passage is given later in this paper.
King of kings],” MX, III, xvii, xxvi P4K, 271, 282, 317. 78. fafocc [Lectionary]; “Il= “p4’’/& L
Ijn4/” Philo Judaeus, “Yalags tasn Banicn [De ccxliv. All in all, there is a far greater stress on the violence
Decalogo],” afkc [Homilies] (Venice, 1892), 237, “p4”— and totality of the destruction and its wholly supernatural
11,,L 74L.” Cf. Nor Bargirk, II, 771, s.v. “Vahagn;” and character.
H. Aaryan, Hayocc annanunneri bataran [Dictionary of 82. Aa, dcccix: “
/ J’up/thIt
Armenian Proper Names], V, new ed. (Beirut, 1972), 8-9, s.c. :(-/d Ag. cxl. 17k, ccxliv-
p””/’” ‘g=t”
For this identification, see also, M. Abelvan, “Hay Vipakan ccxlix Omits this detail, and Va, Vg ignore the temple alto
banahyusutyuna.” Erker [Works], I (Erevan, 1966), 75, and gether; see preceding note. The existence of a temple of
7 2-93 for Vahagn in general. Vahagn at Aitilat of TarOn and the building of the “mother
79. Aa, cxxvii. See note 72 above. church” of Armenia there is confirmed by PCB, III, xxiv,
80. R. Kent, Old Persian, 2nd. rev. ed. (New Haven, 1953), cf. MX, II, viii, xii MK, 142, 148. See also A. Carnière, Les
154 A2Sa: “By the favor of Ahuramazda, Anaitii, and Huits sanctuaires de l’Arménie payenne (Paris, 1899).
Mithras, this palace I built. May AhuramazdS, Anaitis and 83. Aa, dcccix Ag cxl, but not the V versions: “p,uf
Mithras protect me from all evil, and that which I have built J-u,j1,,. doLq
4 “4/’,
may they not shatter or harm.” This is the famous inscription 4”’j”5
in which the names of AnahitS and MiOra appear for the first 84. Aa, dcclxxviii, makes a great deal of the fact that “the
time alongside of Ahura Mazda in Persian texts. king in person hastened with all his army . to the city of
. .
81. Aa, dcccix-dcccxix Ag, cxl-cxlii. Interestingly, both Artashat in order to destroy the altars of the deity Anahit
Va, cxliii-cxlvi and Vg, clv-clviii ignore the shrine of Vahagn there.” He is present at the destruction of the temple of Tin,
at Airilat and mention only the attendant one of Nana idem; of Baniamin at Tordan, Aa dcclxxxiv; of Anahit at ErPz,
Aphrodite. Vk, ccxliv-ccli turns the name of the shrine into Aa, dcclxxxvi; of Nana at Tail, idem, and presumably at the
Vae illi uae illi (Vay leh Vay leh, en syniaque).” See Thom destruction of the temple of Mihr at Bagayati, Aa, dcclxxxix,
son, Aa, 489-90, dcccix note 2, for the problem connected with since “the king came to every place,” Aa dcclxxxviii, and he
the name of the shrine. had to journey to Valariapat immediately thereafter to attend
Most of the other shrines are dispatched in one paragraph: the army muster he had summoned there, Aa, dccxci. The
Aa, dcclxxviii-dccxc Ag, cxxviii-cxxxiii; Va, xci-c; Vg, ciii- statement that St. Gregory “did not rely on the awe and
cxii; Vk, ccviii-ccxvi, which inverts the order by putting Bag authority of the king,” Aa, dcclxxxviii, carries little convic
awan first and leaves Out most of the others. With the possible tion in this context and seems intended only to stress the
exception of the shrines of Anahit at Artalat and Erz, Aa, prestige of the church and the compunction and collabora
dcclxxix-dcclxxxi, and dcclxxxvi Ag, cxxix, cxxxii; Va, xci- tion of the king mentioned immediately thereafter. Even the
xcii, xcix; Vg, ciii-cv, cxi; Vk, ccxii-ccxvi, the shrines are shrine of Zeus-Aramazd himself at Ani of Daranalikc is car
despoiled and destroyed by natural means. The temples of ried out, “with the devoted assistance of the king,” Aa,
Anahit have their full complements of demons (although M. dcclxxxv. In the case of Vahagn’s temple, however, the king
L. Chaumont, Recherches sur l’histoire d’Arménie (Paris, could under no circumstances have been present since we are
1969), 144, questions their supernatural character (cf. Thom told in the very next chapter that “Trdat [then]. heard that
. .
son, Aa, 484, dcclxxix note 1), and supernatural means are Gregory had arrived in Armenia. He took his army and his
needed to destroy the shrines. Nevertheless, the temple of wife Ahskhpn and sister Khosrovidukht and set out from the
Artalat was not totally obliterated, “but the people who had province of Ayrarat, from the city of Valarshapat, to meet
come razed the remaining foundations, and distributed the Gregory. . But he (Gregory) moved around” so that the
..
accumulated treasures to the poor Aa, dcclxxxi. At ErPz,

...,“ king caught up with him finally only on the banks of the
“Saint Gregory, the king and the pious army, broke into Euphrates, Aa, dcccxvii-dcccxix.
pieces the golden image of the female deity Anahit, and they 85. Benveniste, Vtra et V6ragna, 75-80, followed by
completely destroyed and pillaged the place, seizing the gold J. Duchesne-Guillemin, La Religion de l’Iran ancien (Paris,
and silver.” Aa dcclxxxv. In these cases also, therefore, the 1962), who gives a review of recent theories, 175-78. The
focus seems to be rather on normal destruction with the arguments of Dumézil and de Menasce, for which see note 87
supernatural playing a tangential role intended to edify below, however, seem incontrovertible.
rather than describe. - 86. Aaryan, Etymological Dictionary, V, 8, s.c.; Htibsch
The destruction of the shrine of Vahagn is totally isolated mann, Armenische Grammatik, 75-77; even Benveniste, Vitra
from the others, occurring only after the return of St. Gregory et V’Oragna, 82, does not object. See also I. Gershevitch, ad.
from Caesarea, although this might be a geographical acci and trans., The Avestan Hymn to Mithra (Cambridge, 1967;
dent. “Agatangelos” stresses that the nobles and the army cited hereafter as MYt), 158-63 note 51.
ordered to destroy the temple were helpless against it, and 87. G. Dumézil, “Vahagn,” RHR (1938), 163; de Menasce,
only the divine wind raised by St. Gregory’s cross at his invo Promotion. See also Abelyan, Erker, I, 90-91; Orbeli, Sasan
cation of the Lord was able to overthrow its altars. Moreover, ian. . Metalwork, 726-28; and G. Dumézil, Heur at malheur
-
“it destroyed them so thoroughly that afterwards no one was du guerrier (Paris, 1969); cited hereafter as Heur), 104-21, 125-
able to find traces in that spot, neither of stone nor wood, 27, especially 111, etc. If valid, the suggestion of G. Widen
neither of gold nor silver; and it did not appear at all that gren, “The Sacral Kingship in Iran,” Atti del VIll Congresso
there had ever been anything there.” Aa, dccxii-dcccxiii. The Internazionale di storia delle religione (Florence, 1956), 123,
Karluni version embroidering, as is often its wont, adds, “il that the king acted as a dragon-killer at the new year’s festi
n’en resta pas pierre sur pierre. Et [le temple] devint souple val, would provide one more link between the Iranian ruler
comme du gazon et le vent se répandit sun tout au point que and the Armenian Vahagn Viapakal, “reaper of the dragons.”
sa terre signifie égalisée, comme s’il ny avais jamais eu aucun 88. MX, I, xxxi MK, 122-23. Vahagn in this version is
bâtiment sur elle,” Vk, ccxlviii-ccxlix and 82 note 264 for the said to be the “son” of Tigran who shares in his father’s
pun on the name of Aitilat in Syniac. Both Aa and Vk, bc cit., valor, “for the descendants of heroes are heroes.” See note
note that all of the clergy serving this shrine was massacred at 72 above.
its destruction, whereas the one at Artalat was merely devoted 89. BYt, 1-3, at passim.
to the service of the church, Aa, dcclxxxi. Finally, the relics of 90. Gt. Bd., 170, as quoted in Benveniste, Vjtra at
the saints brought by Gregory from Greek territory refused to V8ragna, 50. See J. Danmesteter, La Zend-Avesta, II (Paris,
dwell on this polluted spot, Aa, dcccx-dcccxi, 17k, ccxliii- 1892-93; rpt. 1960), 313. Cf. Boyce, Zoroastrianism, 268, 292,
I
and the messianic hopes quoted in ZP, Appendix I, 195-96. man, Persian Art, 229, p1. 278, Lukonin, iran II, pls. 81-84,
91. AirW, pp. 1412-24; see note 98 below. See also Benve and particularly, A. D. H. Bivar, Catalogue of Western Asia
niste, Vitra et VOragn, 29-30; Boyce, Zoroastrianism, 62-65; tic Seals in the British Museum. Stamp Seals H: The Sassan
Dumézil, Heur, 104-21, 125-27; idem., “Vr20rayna,” Mélan ian Dynasty (London, 1969), 76-79, pls. 12-13; the senmurv,
ges Henri Grégozre, 1(1949), 223-26. The epic counterpart of Ghirshman, Persian Art, 228-29, pls. 271-72, 275-76; P. 0.
Vr0rayna on earth is the heroic hunter, Bahrãm GOr, as was Harper, “The Senmurv,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Bul
observed by both Barthold and Orbeli, Locus, note 84. letin (November 1961); and perhaps the ram, Ghirshman,
92. BYt, 2, et passim. For Vro8rayna’s association with Persian Art, 228-29, pls. 273, 277, etc.; see note 112 below, but
both Miera and the royal “glory,” the locus classicus is the the boar is in the overwhelming majority, e.g., Ghirshman,
Mihir Yait, MYt, lxvii, lxx, cxxvii, cxli, 104-5, 106-7, 136-37, Persian Art, 187, 194-96, 200, 207, 218, 223, 231, pls. 229, 236,
144-45, also 58-61. See also H. S. Nyberg, Die Religionen des 239, 247, 259, 266, 281; Lukonin, Iran ii, pls. 32, 137, 147;
alien Iran, trans., H. H. Schraeder (Leipzig, 1938, rpt. 1966), K. Erdmann, Die Kunst irans zur Zeit der Sasaniden (Berlin,
71 ff.; H. Ringgren, Fatalism in Persian Epics (Uppsala 1943; rpt. Mainz, 1969), pls. 37, 41, 43, 60; etc. See following
Wiesbaden, 1952), 78 ff., 94-99, esp. 95; Benveniste, Vitra et notes.
VOragna, 3 1-32; et al. 104. Boyce, Zoroastrianism, 63 note 276.
93. BYt, 11-13. 105. E.g., the Taq-i Bostan relief and some of the hunting
94. BYt, 41. The translation in ZP, 14, is more successful plates, Ghirshman, Persian Art, 194-96, 212, pls. 236, 252.
than that in SBE, p. 242, which is contradictory at this point, 106. J. Duchesne-Guillemin, “Art et religion sous las Sas
but for the extension of xareno beyond “good things” both sanides,” La Persia nel Medioevo (Rome, 1966), 382.
in the Armenian kcajutciwn and in the epic tradition, see note 107. E.g., Ghirshman, Persian Art, 207, pl. 247, and
70 above and the following note. Lukonin, Iran Ii, p1. 137, where the boar may, however,
95. The locus classicus for the protection extended to the be dead.
legitimate king by the royal ‘Glory” is the Karnamag-i 108. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 218, p1. 259. Cf. Locus,
Adralrr, where the visible passage of the warrah from Arta pp. 57 and 58, fig. 3.
wan the Parthian to the Sasanian Ardairr symbolizes and 109. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 200, p1. 239A.
consecrates the change of dynasty in Iran, see The Kârnâmak 110. Ibid., 231, p1. 281; Harper, The Royal Hunter, 128,
i Artakhshir PâpJkân, III, trans. E. R. Antia (Bombay, 1900), pl. 53; The University of Michigan Museum of Art, Sasanian
vii-xx, 16-18, and my “Prolegomena to a study of the Iranian Silver (1967), 143, p164.
Aspects in Arsacid Armenia,” Handës Amsorya (1976), ill. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 161, 163-65, 210, 218, 244,
cols. 184-86, etc. pls. 205, 208-09, 250, 251, 267, 269. It is interesting to observe
96. R. Frye, The Herztge of Persia (Cleveland-New York, that the pearl border reappears on at least one seal with a
1963), Appendix 3, “The Dynasty of the Sasanians,” p. 283. If boar’s head, Bivar, Stamp Seals, II, p1. 20 CG, and that it is
one grants the title of Bahrãm VI to the usurper Bahrãm commonly used on royal Sasanian coins to surround the
Cobën (AD. 590-591), the Bahram/Varahrans outstrip the ruler’s portrait, Ghirshman, Persian Art, 245-47, pls. 304-13.
Ohrmazd/Hormizds by one. For the prevalence of the name Other animals occasionally have pearl roundels: the sen
Bahrgm, see also F. Justi, iranisches Namenbuch (Marburg, murv, Ghirshman, Persian Art, 228-29, pls. 271, 275; the
1895; rpt. Hildesheim, 1963), 361-65, s.v. Werekraghna; also winged horse, ibid., 229, p1. 278; the ram, ibid., 228, p1. 273,
419-22. Sasanian Silver, 125, 141, pls. 41, 61; all of whom may also be
97. R. Göbl, Sasanian Numismatics, trans. P. Severin associated with VarGrayna. There is the case of a lion’s head,
(Braunschweig, 1971), 9, 44-48; Ghirshman, Persian Art, 173, ibid., 129, p1. 46, who is a royal animal by definition; and
p1. 214. some birds, who are beneficial animals in the Zoroastrian
98. “Munich Rivãyat [M55J,” in de Menasce, Promotion, tradition, Ghirshman, Persian Art, 230, pl. 279, and Harper,
7; “BN Suppi. Pers. no. 2045,” lxxx-lxxxi, ibid., 11, 15. De The Royal Hunter, 63, p1. 20. But in a larger number of cases
Menasce’s entire argument is reproduced by Dumézil, Heur, the animals are not distinguished in this fashion even when
108-10. graced with the glorifying streaming ribbons of the warrah,
99. BYt, 2,7,9,11-13,15, 17, 19-21, 23, 25, 27. Cf. Dumézil, e.g., Sasanian Silver, 118, p1. 32; see also 113, 114, 116, 117,
Vahagn, 166-68, and Heur, 106, 125-27; Boyce, Zoroastrian 120, 121, 123, figs. 26, 27, 32, 36, 39; Ghirshman, Persian Art,
ism, 63; Duchesne-Guillemin, Religion, 38, et al. 128-30, pls. 272, 274, 276, 280, etc. See Harper, The Royal
100. MYt, lxx, with a slight variant in cxxvii, also 62 Hunter, 108, for the royal regalia.
note, and 219 note 702; BYt, 15. See also Benveniste, Vitra et 112. Bivar, Stamp Seals, II, 26, and p1. 20: “animals of
VOragna, 34-35, 69, 73. frequent occurrence which have strong connection with an
101. Dinon apud Athenaeus, xiv, Fragmenta historico Iranian deity are the ram and the boar, both of which repre
rum graecorum, II, C. Muller ad. (Paris, 1848), 91: “cixo sent incarnations of Verethragna.” The ram may also be a
xouvou oiiv toS ‘Aotubyouç petà ti5v piuv, tote ‘Ayydprjç representation of the warrah (associated with VaraGrayna)
Ovopa, (o5toç 8’v tfv &bv 6 vboOtatoç) i6ev eioic)iiOeic since this is the form that it takes in the Karnamag-i Ardalir
tate iia et9topvnv, iixzI tO axatov etitev, thç ápettat etc tO (see note 95 above), but the boar is unmistakable. See also
Doç 8piov ptya, OpaaOtepov bOç bypiou 0 äv Kupteuoj tv note 116. Brunner, Stamp Seals, 102, comments that the
KeG’ a&rOv tOltoov, itoAoZç pet’ OAiyov iabioc paeZtat. boar’s head was so popular that the bear came to be confused
‘Epopévou M tof ‘Aatubyooç, itoiov Gspiov hpe Ktipov tOy with it.
rHporjv.” F. Windischman, Zoroastrische Studien (Berlin, 113. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 223 and p1. 266: “The sym
1863), 276-77; Benveniste, Vitra et VjOragna, 68-70. Cf. M. bolic nature of the two motifs is evident and the second one
Boyce, “The Parthian Gosãn and Iranian Minstrel Tradi has a connection with the elements of which certain royal
tion,” JRAS (1957), 20. crowns were composed. This small object must have been a
102. Justi, iranzsches Namenbuch, 348-50. This pheno mascot owned by a member of the ruling House, for the boar,
menon was also noted by Benveniste, Vrtra et VOragna, 35; animal-incarnation of Verethragna, god of victory, was en
See note 96 above for Bahram. graved on the royal seal affixed to edicts, treaties and state
103. To be sure, other avatars of VrGrayna also make papers.” See note 116 below. For a more realistic representa
their appearances in Sasanian art, e.g., winged horses; Ghirsh tion, see Lukonin, Iran II, pl. 32.
114. ibid., p1. 113, see also GObl, Sasanian Numismatics, below), we have proof from Movss Xorenaci that one such
44, “Crown prince 3” and “Crown prince 4”; for the queen, tale survived long after the Christianization of Armenia, and
pl. IV, 56, 59, 67, 69, also Duchesne-Guillemin, Art et at least one more seems to have existed; see M. H. Ananikian,
Religion, 380. The simultaneous presence on the coin illus “Armenian Mythology,” in Mythology of All Races, J. Arnott
trated by Lukonin of the royal Vr29rayna crown, the boar- McCullough ed. (London, 1925), 37.
headed diadem of the queen, and a bird-headed bonnet (also 118. See notes 22-26, 38-39, 62, etc. above, and see next
one of VarGrayna’s avatars, BYt, 19-21) on the crown prince note.
may well be a triple symbol of the royal family’s devotion to 119. Aa, ccxii, dccxxvii-dccxxviii Ag, lxxix, cix Ar,
the god, although some elements of Anahita may also be clxxxii, ccxxx. On the contrary, Va, xxxviii, xli-xlii; Vg., lii,
present. lxii; Vo, lxxix-xcii; Vk, cxxvii-cxxviii, cxxxv, cxlii, cclxxx,
115. Aaryan, Proper Names, 62-69, see note 192 above for either gave no particular locus for the metamorphosis or
Justi. PB, V, xxxiii-xxxvii for King Varazdat; III, xv, for speak vaguely of meadows, bushes, etc.
Varazdut, who was not only a royal princess, sister of the 120. Dan. 4:21-22, 30. See notes 28 and 29 above.
king, but a member by marriage of the patriarchal house of 121. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 187, 194-96, pls. 229, 236;
St. Gregory; also III, xiv for Varaz Dimaksean; III, xii for Erdmann, Die Kunst Irans, p1 41; Lukonin, Iran II, pls. 137,
Varaz ahuni, prince of Copk, etc. 147; Sasanian Silver, 95, p1. 5; etc.
116. Ibid., IV, liii: “Up,Ij /.,4pp <““-““““p/”I &pTh
122. Ghirshman, Persian Art, 208-11, pls. 248, 251: “A
c qfr jjJ 4& 44A tp/4 series of triangles, along with some flowers and shrubs,
‘ b 1,, p&&’ opfrg 4p/J tpJdy
builds up a purely conventional landscape.” Cf. Erdmann,
‘j1g1q pq p/p d_
Die Kunst Irans, pls. 65, 66; Harper, The Royal Hunter, 39,
t jqku’g.” Although he notes that “the popularity of
58-59, pls. 6, 17-17B; Lukonin, Iran II, pls. 140, 148; Sasanian
the figure of the boar on Iranian seals is of course well
Silver, 111, p1. 24; etc.
known, and can readily be connected with the belief that the
god Verethragna made his appearance in this form. As the 123. E.g., Ghirshman, Persian Art, 153-54. 158, 161, 167-
guardian of oaths and the punisher of perjury, his representa 68, 172-73, l’19,2O6-’7,2l2-l3,pls. 196,200,205,211,214,215,
tion would of course be specially appropriate to a seal [see 220, 245-47, 252; Erdmann, Die Kust Irans, pis. 59-64;
note 112 above],” Bivar, Stamp Seals, II, 29, 32, suggests that Lukonin, Iran II, pls. 138, 139, 141, 142, 143; Harper, The
Pawstos, or Artak II, was mistaken in trusting the King of Royal Hunter, 40, 48, pls. 7, 12; and many others. A partial
Kings’ safe-conduct, since, according to Masudr, Muriij al exception seems to be the bear; Ghirshman, Persian Art, 200,
dhahab Les Prairies d’or, trans. C. Pellat (Paris, 1962), I, no.
z
pl. 239B, is a companion piece to the boar in the reeds,
650, 243, the royal ring with the boar seal was used for death p1. 239A, and the curious Berlin plate, Erdmann, Die Kunst
warrants. Masudr’s catalogue of royal rings and their func Irans, p1. 65.
tions is not necessarily trustworthy, and Arfak may well have 124. E.g., the Assyrian relief of a sow with her young
been mistaken in his trust, as subsequent events were to dem crossing a marsh from Niniveh; Parrot, Assur, 42, p1. 51.
onstrate all too clearly (although the Armenian king too was 125. The nonrealistic character of the outsize reed comes
foresworn and ãhpuhr II may consequently have considered aaoss particularly clearly in the Chal Tarkhan fragment in
himself free). Be that as it may, Pawstos’ story shows that he the Boston Museum; Harper, The Royal Hunter, 113, p1. 46.
was familiar with VarGrayna in his varaz incarnation as the There are to be sure representations of boars without a reed
enforcer of oaths, be it protectively or ominously. For the setting: Ghirshman, Persian Art, 207, p1. 247; Erdmann, Die
spelling out of this function of Vra9rayna in the Mihir Yalt, Kunst irans, pls. 60, 64, 65; these are usually representations
see note 100 above. Orbeli, Sasanian . .Metalwork, 731,
-
of the hunt with a mixed bag of animals among which boars
notes an interesting Georgian custom that may well be a late are also included. It is therefore all the more interesting that
Transcaucasian echo of Vara0rayna’s early function: “At the in the cases of p1. 64 three stiff reeds have specially been
New Year, the great day of fête, the Georgian king sent a provided as a background to the boars, although no indica
boar’s head to his chief minister (and perhaps to other impor tion of landscape has been supplied for the other animals. In
tant members of his court as well), who was required to eat of the opinion of M. Rostovtzeff, “Some New Aspects of Iranian
the flesh before he paid his New Year’s call on his sovereign. Art: The Heroic or Epic Art of Iran,” SemKond, 6 (1933),
The origin of this ceremony is unknown, but when Vere 181-82, the representation of the varaz in the reeds was a
thraghna went to earth to punish liars he assumed the form of typically Sasanian motif.
a boar, and perhaps a bit of boar’s meat would constrain an 126. See note 101 above.
official to honesty.” 127. MX, III, lv MK, 324. It is entirely possible that this
117. Aa, ccxii, ccxix, and asp. dccxxvii-dccxxviii, dcclxiii- is merely a naturalistic detail since a wild ass hunt is menti
dcclxiv, dcclxxiii. See notes 35 and 100 above for the parallel oned just before. Nevertheless, the detail is gratuitous and the
descriptions in Aa, dccxxvii, and the Mihir Yalt. The Bahrãm episode is carefully chosen to illustrate the effeminacy of
Ya.ft, although less detailed, runs along the same lines: “Vera the Sasanian in contrast to the kajutciwn of the Armenian
thraghna. . came.
- . running in the shape of a boar, oppos
-
magnates. Finally, the theme of the fire among the reeds
ing the foe, a sharp-toothed he-boar, a sharp-jawed boar, that is a highly symbolic one. See below, and notes 128, 129, 131,
kills at one stroke, pursuing, wrathful, with a dripping face, 132. I shall return to this theme in a forthcoming study.
strong, and swift to run, and rushing all around,” BYt, 15. In 128. Gt. Bd., XXXV, 38. “This, too, one-says: ‘The glory
view of Dumézil’s and de Menasce’s opinions that the image of FrêtOn had-settled on the root of a reed, in the ocean
of Vra0rayna had been reduced by the “moralizing” Zoroas FrSkh kart; NOtargâ having, with sorcery, transformed a cow
trian clergy though preserved more accurately in Armenia into a goat, led her there; having reaped the reeds there, for a
(see note 87 above), of Boyce’s demonstration, Gdsãn, of the year, he gave them to the cow, till the glory went over to
liveliness of oral literature in both Armenia and Iran during the cow
this period, and of the prevalence of the varaz motif in Sasan 129. Dumézil, Vahagn, 155-61; idem, Heur, 112-15.
ian iconography, it seems warranted to suggest that popular 130. There is no mention of reeds in either the Mihir or
tales concerning VrGrayna-Vahagn were told and retold in the Bahrdm YaIt’s descriptions of the transformation of
the countryside. Indeed, as we shall see (p. 163 and note 131 Vr9rayna into a varaz; see notes 100, 117 above; also
Dumézil, Vahagn, 153-54, and Heur, 104-8 for the purification 134. Aa, ccxiii, ccxx, the court is in torment from demonic
of the Indic and the Iranian traditions from unsuitable ele possession, the nobles rave and eat their own flesh; also
ments some of which survive in the itihãsa and popular texts. ccxlvi, dccxxvii, dccxxx; the compiler details the ills of which
131. M, I, xxxi MK, 123. In providing my own transla the people were cured by St. Gregory after his final healing of
tion, I have endeavored to preserve the epic ethos which per the king; Aa, dcclxxiii-dcclxxiv: “In similar fashion all the
vades this passage: “ ‘bpi.)p &pI,/d, IpIjl4p kp4frp, Lpt4p t people who were gathered in great number were cured of each
/‘ #r”/” tp4 f’ J4p & &q&frIj- j one’s affliction: some had been lepers, some paralytic, crip
&1&d, &l4p, fq i”5 t1p t pled, hydropic, possessed, suffering from worms or gout.
d4fr4. 4r Thus Christ in his mercy opened his all-powerful healing
d, & 4i n’.” The divi grace, and healed all through Gregory; those afflicted were
sion of this passage was long since given by Abelyan, Erker, I, cured of each disease.” Not one of these, however, has been
72, and seems entirely warranted given the “epic” pattern transformed into a varaz; that seems to be a royal prerogative
of repetitions. not shared with anyone, as is to be expected since Vahagn is
132. Dumézil, Vahagn, 162-63 Heur, 116-17. To the the dispenser of royal kca jut diwn. It is likewise interesting to
objection of Benveniste, Vrta et VOragna, 76, 78, that “Les note Trdat’s “Christian” metamorphosis or rebirth as he is
dieux iraniens n’ont pas d’enfance. Ils naissent, mais ne freed from the powers of evil by St. Gregory. Aa, dcclxxiii:
grandissent pas; des leur venue au monde us possèdent leur “The king . . suddenly trembled and threw off from his
.
stature et leurs attributs définitifs,” and “vahagn . .est- body the pig-like skin. . . His face returned to its own form
.
devenu dieu, comme Herakles, alors que vreragna l’était des and his body became soft and young like that of a newly born
le principe,” the following answers can obviously be made. infant Finally, it is tempting to speculate whether
First, though small in size, vahagn at his birth is fully adult Gregory had not become, with God’s help, the true “vila
since his beard is specifically mentioned. Second, the reduc paka” through his overcoming of the snakes in the pit into
tion in size of Indra while hidden in the stem of the lotus is which he was cast, Aa, cxxiv, ccxv, ccxxxix, ccxlvii-ccxlviii,
underscored in the Mahabharata; cf. Dumézil, Vahagn, 156- ccli. The epithet is not used, but the hypothesis is tempting
58 Heur, 113-14. Third, the deification of a vahagn born by its symmetry. It cannot, however, be proven on the
human is a commentary of Movsës Xorenacci, as Benveniste existing evidence.
himself admits, as such it is the entirely natural reduction by 135. See note 34 above. “Agatangelos” understandably
a Christian historian who cannot admit the birth of any prefers the more insulting term xox, “pig,” to the more hono
“gods.” His account of what Dumézil rightly calls “une yen- rific varaz, but both occur to make the moral of the story clear.
table pyrotechnie” is hardly that of a normal human birth or It is interesting that in the questionable last section of
an apotheosis; it is the flaming epiphany of a god. Fourth, the journey to visit Constantine in Rome, the text no longer
Vahagn is indeed born with his “attributs définitifs,” since he knows the animal into which Trdat was transformed and uses
immediately runs to engage the dragons which bestow upon the general term for an animal, ‘f, d”; Aa,
him his characteristic attribute of “Vi.fapakal.” dccclxxvi.
133. MX, I, xxxi MK, 123.
THE HELLENIZING SCHOOL
Its Time, Place, and Scope of Activities Reconsidered
ABRAHAM TERIAN
HE Armenian literary heritage of the sixth to eighth centuries is comprised for the
T most part of a vast corpus of translations from Greek, which, unlike biblical and
theological translations of the Golden Age (fifth century), maintains the Greek word
order or syntax. These predominantly philosophical translations generally have been
called the work of the Hellenizing School, or l’école hellénistique, sometimes called
the Philhellene School or l’école grécophile. Perhaps the designation “Grecizing
School” explains the characteristics of these translations more accurately. The word
“School” stands for a school of translators: founders and successors devoted to the
same translational tendencies, just as one would speak of the School of Sahak, Mesrop,
and their circle.
Partial and inconclusive studies on the subject warrant the quest indicated in the
subtitle. The subject itself is inherently problematic, especially in the absence of con
clusive evidence for the time and place of the earlier translations by the School. There
are but few colophons and proemia revealing certain dates and personal and place
names in conjunction with later translations. Consequently, and in due consideration
of the School’s translational activities, reference will be made to sources outside the
corpus, especially to works that show immediate dependence on the earlier transla
tions. The question of the purpose for the syntactically strange renderings is addressed
at the end of the study, which necessarily abounds with references to Manandean’s
magnum opus on the development of the School.’
The translations under consideration have been variously arranged into four
groups, representing, prima facie, four successive periods of active translating.2 To the
first group belong the Tvii ypa.qtatucr of Dionysius Thrax, a handbook of rhetoric
belonging to Aphthonius,3 certain Philonic and pseudo-Philonic works—several of
which survive only in Armenian,4 Books IV and V of Irenaeus’ Adversus haereses and
his Demonstratio praedicationis evangelicae (Etc itittv tot àitoato2ticoU icrp&y
jicttoc)—now extant only in Armenian, and the so-called Alexander Romance wrongly
ascribed in antiquity to Callisthenes. To the second group belong the refutation of
Chalcedon by the Monophysite Timothy of Alexandria (nicknamed “the cat”), the
Progymnasmata of Aelius Theon, Hermetica (“To Asciepius”), Porphyry’s Isagoge on
Aristotle’s Categoriae, the latter’s Categoriae and De interpretatione, and Jamblichus’
commentaries on Aristotle.5 To the third group belong the works of Dawit Analtc (the
Neoplatonist David the Invincible)—excluding the liturgical works attibuted to him,
176 ABRAHAM TERIAN
the pseudo-Aristotelian De mundo and De virtutibus et vitiis, Plato’s Apologia,

Euthyphro, Leges, Minos, and Timaeus, the collection and exposition of the stories
ascribed to Nonnus of Panopolis, Euthyches’ denunciation of the Nestorian doctrine
of two persons or substances in Christ—available only in Armenian,6 two works On
Nature, one ascribed to a certain Zeno and the other anonymous, and a few other
anonymous works possibly of late Stoic origin—all of which survive only in
Armenian. To the fourth group belong the Hexaemeron of George of Pisidia, the
Phainomena of Aratus,7 the Historia ecciesiastica of Socrates, the mystic works
attributed to Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, selections from Cyril of Alexandria,8
Nemesius’ De natura hominis, and Gregory of Nyssa’s De hominis oificio.9
This grouping is based primarily on the way Greek compounds are rendered into
Armenian. As Manandean observes in his study (limited to the first three groups
excluding the Platonic and possibly Stoic works), there seems to be no serious effort in
the earliest translations consistently to render Greek compounds with Armenian com
pounds, but in the later translations a mechanical imitation of Greek compounds
becomes increasingly common, to the extent that many of the newly compounded
words stand out as hapax legomena in the latest translations.’° However meritorious
these observations may be, the methodology remains questionable because of omis
sions even within the limits of the study, such as failure to include a third of the
voluminous translation on Philo’s works.’1 Also, instead of dwelling more on the
relative frequency of similarly constructed compounds in the various translations or
groups, Manandean places undue emphasis on the importance of unique compounds,
which he limits to certain groups as determining factors in his categorization.’2 It is
not surprising that many of the words he claims to be peculiar to the second or even
third group are found also in the first. For example, in the translation of Philo’s works
(first group) one finds such third-group words as “nerhakan” (vávttoç, Legum al/ego
riae i. 18), “makacCowtCiwn ( totrIJ11, ibid., 6, 68, 70; De Abrahamo 71, 73), and
“ndhanrakan” (icaOotKóç, ibid., 3).13 A more accurate picture emerging from
Manandean’s word-study is that of certain compounds abounding in one or another of
the respective groups rather than being limited to them, and that of one group of
translations overlapping the other—apparently in the sequence outlined above—with
no boldly drawn demarcation lines between them and no precise order of works within
the respective groups. The evidence, rightly perceived, suggests that the translations of
the first three groups were accomplished within a single period—perhaps by one
generation.’4 The similarities and differences obtaining between the various transla
tions of the first three groups may be explained not so much by the lapse of time
between them as by the translators’ possible use of a Greek-Armenian lexicon and their
habitual selection and combination of Armenian equivalents.’5 The compounds and
technical terms of the fourth group, omitted in its entirety by Manandean, likewise
manifest well-established lexical forms found in the earlier translations. Moreover,
since the translations of this last group do not follow the Greek syntax as strictly as the
earlier translations, there appears to be some lapse of time between it and the rest.
Consequently, it would be more accurate to speak of two major groups: the first three
and the fourth.
THE HELLENIZING SCHOOL RECONSIDERED 177
The end of the School’s translational activities, as we shall see, can be established
easily by ascribing most—if not all—of the translations of the fourth group to Stepca
nos Siwnecci and his early eighth-century Constantinopolitan associates. Determining
the time and place of the School’s beginnings, however, is difficult. Aucher was the first
to observe the dependence of Movss Xorenaci, Mambr Vercanol (whom tradition
presents as a younger brother of Xorenaci), and Eli Vardapet on the Armenian
translation of Philo.’6 Thinking of the traditional dates given to these celebrated
writers, Aucher was quick to place the founding of the School in the fifth century.’7
The traditional dates given to Eli and Xorenacci need not be challenged anew;’8 but
should they be insisted upon, then it must be said that for a century thence no other
dependence on any of the translations of the Hellenizing School is to be found in the
existing literature. As for Mambrë, his name, among others, appears in conjunction
with the Girkc ëakacc,9 and the traditional date given to him derives from the er
roneous date given to this book, which, as we shall see later, was translated in 576/7
and not a century earlier. It may not be superfluous to add that none of these writers
has an exact quotation from Philo. The first Armenian writer to quote Philo by name
is the seventh-century sage Anania irakacci,20 about whom more shall be said later. In
view of the questionable traditional dates given to Elië (who still remains the earliest
witness to the Armenian version of Philo), Xorenaci, and Mambr, we are compelled
to look into the evidence emerging from the use made by other writers of the remaining
translations of the first group.
It has been observed that Philo and Irenaeus were translated at about the same time;
they both belong to the earliest translations of the School.2’ Yet the earliest witness to
the translation of Irenaeus are a certain Yohan of Karin, an insignificant writer of the
late sixth century, and VrtcanEs Kertcol in a letter addressed to Sowrmn Stratelat and
dated 604/5.22 Likewise, the translation of Aphthonius’ handbook on rhetoric (the
Girkcpitoyicc) was known to Sebos Episkopos and Dawitc Harkacci, both of whom
flourished about the middle of the seventh century.23
The founding of the School must have been marked by the translation of the Tvi,
ypaqzattici of Dionysius Thrax, which, as a primer, was basic for the rest of the
translational activities of the School.24 Of special interest in this particular version are
the Armenian substitutions for the Greek examples. Where the original text has illus
trations from the Greek country, the translator provides examples suggestive of the
Armenian countryside. He even names cities of West Armenia, including, TarOn and
Cronk Albalyan suggests that these names betray the homeland of the translator and
perhaps that of his associates, the country around Tarön.25 Manandean goes so far as to
observe linguistic affinities between the translator and the dialect of the region of
Bagrewand, TarOn, and Karin.26 But he errs in denying any literary dependence on
Thrax that would help establish the time of the translation.27 To a certain degree,
however, the early scholia on Thrax by Armenian grammarians (kcertcolkc) of the late
sixth century provide helpful evidence to establish the approximate time of the transla
tion and thereby the founding of the School. From among a number of such works,
Adoncc gives the primacy to the scholion of Dawitc Analytc,28 who, as we shall notice,
flourished in the late sixth and early seventh centuries. Another noteworthy scholion
178 ABRAHAM TERIAN
on Thrax is by Movss Wertcolahayr,29 who excelled as a teacher at about the

same time.3°
Thus far, the evidence from the literary sources seems to indicate a 570 date for the
founding of the School. As for Manandean, he seems to be puzzled about the date for
the School’s beginning, even though he too rejects the traditional fifth-century date for
Elië,3’ the earliest witness to the translation of Philo. Basing his evidence on the use
made of these early translations by later writers in chronologically descending order,
he draws successive conclusions before setting a date at “about the middle of the sixth
century,” specifically, between 552 and 564 (later 560 and 564), his date for the transla
tion of the refutation of Chalcedon by Timothy of Alexandria, which he takes as the
terminus ad quem for the translations of the first group and the terminus post quem
for those of the second group.32 But he arrives at this date first through an erroneous
emendation of a corrupt reading in the text of the refutation, where reference is made
to the month and day of the death of Dioscorus, Patriarch of Alexandria (d. 454), and
second by applying the supposed terminus post quem of authorship for the transla
tion.33 His error becomes more elusive when testimony alluding to a mid-sixth-century
translation of the refutation is brought to bear on the argument.34 Earlier, and on
better grounds, he places the translations of the first group “before the seventh cen
tury.”35 Later in his study, and with hardly any evidence, he places the founding of the
School “either at the beginning of the sixth or at the end of the fifth century,” and
elsewhere, “at the end of the fifth century,”36 yet always maintains that the translations
of the first group belong to the “first half of the sixth century.”37 Akinean closely
follows Manandean’s analysis of the literary sources, but in due consideration of his
studies on Eli, he places the founding of the School between 572 and 575 and most of
its translations between 572 and 603.38 In a much later study, however, he has 590-610
for the translations.39
The time and place of the Aristotelian translations (second group) may be estab
lished through the colophon of the Girkcëakacc, a textbook of the “Opyctvov, written
in the form of quaestiones et solutiones. Like much of the rest of the Aristotelian
corpus, its translation is attributed to Dawitc Analytc, though at times the names of
Xorenaci and Mambr are also given.40 The colophon, reproduced in a number of
manuscripts,4’ reads:
This book was completed [lit., written or penned; greacc zgirs zays] after a long
lapse of time. Thus God brought us to such a time, when is the 76th year of the
Armenian era [627/8]. I. Gowrgn, a scribe to Armenian leaders and first regent to
holy kings, am the recipient of this book [Groccs aysm]. The previous colophon of
this book [grocs aysmik] is amazing, since this book on beings was written
[grecaw girk’s ays eagks] as a translation ordered by the sovereign Yovhanns
Gabe1inaci, Catholicos of the Armenians, in the 25th year of the Armenian era
[576/7]. Bishop Sargis Arabacci attests to this in a faithful testimony.
The text of the colophon calls for a form-critical analysis, for we seem to have two
colophons in one: the one comprising the first half and logically ending at the middle
of the text with reference to ownership, the other comprising the second half and
alluding to another, earlier colophon. In the first half we have the words greac’ zgirs
zays and in the second half grecaw girk’s ays (the former is more in keeping with the
syntax of the Hellenizing School). At the end of the first half we have groccs aysm and
at the beginning of the second half groccs aysmik. Also, the words girkcs ays eagkcs do
not necessarily refer to the title of the epitome, which is Girkc ëakacc and probably a
derivative title. Finally, girkc may refer to a codex containing several books, just as the
identical singular and plural forms of this word allow us to think in terms of more
than one book. Even at the outset, the first of the two colophons seems to imply a great
undertaking. It was probably appended to the Aristotelian corpus of translations, at
the end of which appeared the quaestiones on the “Opyctvov.42 Prior to the thirteenth
century (judging from the oldest extant manuscript), a copyist of this textbook was
quick to add the “amazing” information obtained from “the previous colophon of this
book” (baycc zarmanali i naxki yiataki groccs aysmik), which he found probably
within the covers of his exemplar (construing “previous” as referring to sequence
rather than time). With the early severance of the quaestiones from the rest of the
corpus, the conflate colophon came to be invariably associated with the end part.
What interests us most, however, is the date for the translation, which is significant
in light of the close affinities—even the proximity in time—between the Aristotelian
translations and those of the first group. The names of the Katholikos and of the
Bishop are equally significant for enabling a historical correlation. For according to
the Syriac historian John of Ephesus (d. 586), the Katholikos arrived in Constan
tinople in 572, where he died a few years later, and was followed at the Byzantine
capital by the Armenian stratelatës or magister militum Vardan and many nobles who
were received with great honor by Emperor Justin 11(565-578) and were admitted to the
court circle.43 By way of synchronism, the above colophon and the chronicle of John of
Ephesus reveal the provenance of the School’s translational activities and perhaps even
the literary and educational interests of this elite party. We may note in passing that
the date for the translation shows that the Katholikos was still living in 576/7;
consequently, the traditional date given for his death (574)44 must be revised in light of
the colophon. As for the bishop bearing witness to the ordering of the translation, he
must be SargIs bar Karja, the Syriac Bishop to the Arabs, who was noted for his literary
pursuits in the second half of the sixth century.45
Along with the proemia which ascribe the translation of the Girkcëakaccto Dawitc
Anyalt, we must consider those that ascribe to him the translation of Aristotle’s De
interpretatione as well.46 Such proemia compel us to associate Dawit with the Hellen
izing School at Constantinople, where the Aristotelian works, among others, were
translated. Moreover, the 576/7 date for the translation of the Girkceakaccagrees with
internal evidence in two of his own writings which were also translated by the same
School: the Pro legomena philosophiae and In Porphyry isagogen commentarium.47
On three occasions in the Pro legomena Dawitc quotes Olympiodorus the younger,48
who flourished in Alexandria as head of the Neopla tonic school and died after 564/5.
Dawitc refers to him as “the philosopher” in the first two instances and seems to
appeal
to him as a final authority in all three instances. The contextual overtones of the
180 ABRAHAM TERIAN
remarks on Olympiodorus seem to indicate a teacher-pupil relationship. Further sup
port strengthening the links established between Dawit and Olympiodorus may be
derived from the Neoplatonist Elias, whose scholion on Porphyry’s Isagoge has much
in common with the scholion of Dawitc on the same work, not only in form and
content but also in reliance on Olympiodorus.5° The works of Elias and Dawit
abound with such overwhelming similarities that in many instances they are compar
able to classroom notes taken by successive students if not classmates.
We may safely conclude that Dawitc is a late contemporary of Olympiodorus and
flourished at the end of the sixth century and the beginning of the seventh. Because of
his Neoplatonic orientation and dependence on—if not direct association with—
Olympiodorus, we must place Dawitc at Alexandria, where he would be an early
contemporary of John Philopone and Stephanos, who moved to Constantinople early
in the reign of Heraclius (610) as head of the Imperial Academy.5’ It is very likely that
Dawitc preceded these men to Constantinople and there continued a fellowship with
them that had its beginnings in Alexandria.52 We will also have to conclude, on the
basis of the date we have ascribed to Dawitc, that his works were translated into
Armenian apparently during his lifetime. That is to say, he translated not only
Aristotle but probably his own works as well. Since his time coincides with the early
period of the School and the height of its translational activities, we are inclined to
think that he must have played a significant role in the School. His Greek writings
probably date to his Alexandrian days and his translations and later works to his
Constantinopolitan period.53
The early influence of the Aristotelian translations on native writers is most clearly
seen in the writings of Anania Sirakacci, especially the influence on the pseudo-
Aristotelian De mundo on Anania’s Yalags rjagayowtcean erknicc.54 Several other
translations hitherto considered have likewise left their strongest influence on Anania,
in whose writings we also find the first exact quotations from the Armenian version
of Philo.55
Fortunately, “the father of the exact sciences in Armenia,” as Anania is often called,
has left a personal account of his curriculum vitae, which gives some information
about certain academic circles of the time and yields some pertinent data for our thesis.
This seventh-century account survives in two recensions, one shorter than the other.56
While further text-critical study is needed to establish better the relationship obtaining
between the two recensions, we shall draw upon the generally preferred longer version
without disregarding the peculiar readings of the less reliable shorter version. The
following is a partial summary of Anania’s testimony.
After having studied the Scriptures and all the literature available to him in his
native country, Anania wished to study philosophy and arithmology—whether
mathematics or chronology—which he considered the mother of all knowledge. But he
found no one in Armenia who knew philosophy, and he could not even find books on
the sciences. He therefore went “to the country of the Greeks,” and on the advice given
him at Theodosiopolis by a certain Eleazar, he came to the Byzantine province of
Fourth Armenia.57 There he studied for six months with a certain mathematician
named Kcristosatowr (Gk. Xpatóotoç).58 Perceiving that his master’s science was not
sufficient, he thought of going to Constantinople. He then met some of his country
men who were coming from Constantinople. They dissuaded him from taking such a
long trip and counseled him to go instead to Trebizond, where there was a very
knowledgeable and famous “Byzantine doctor,” named Tychikos, who also knew
Armenian, having lived in Armenia in his youth. Students were rapidly leaving Con
stantinople to attend his school, and recently, a group of youths from the capital, led
by a deacon from the patriarchate named Philagrios, had done this, traveling by sea to
Trebizond. The compatriots of Anania had taken the same boat with the group as far
as Sinope, whence they were continuing overland. Anania followed their advice, went
to Trebizond, found Tychikos, and remained there as his favorite disciple for eight
years. He read extensively in the rich library of his master, where he found all kinds of
books on every subject: “secret books and open, ecclesiastical and profane, scientific
and historical, medical and chronological.”
Throughout the rest of his account, Anania goes on to tell enthusiastically how his
master had learned Armenian, how he acquired such great knowledge, and how he
came to settle at Trebizond.59 It is not within the scope of this study to explicate the
significance of these passages. Suffice it to say that the testimony should prove to be of
great importance to the historian of Byzantine education, especially as it pertains to a
period about which very little is known from Greek sources.6° We must note that
Anania concludes with reference to his return to Armenia, where he in turn became a
teacher. There he knew nothing but repugnance, for the Armenians “love neither
learning nor knowledge.”6’
We now turn to draw from Anania’s testimony the elements pertinent to our thesis.
First, if we are to believe him, at the beginning of the seventh century there was no one
in Armenia who knew philosophy and there were no scientific books there either.62
This implies that the philosophical and scientific works translated by the Hellenizing
School belong to a provenance outside of Armenia and that they could not have been
translated long before his time. Had any of them been translated a century or so before
his time, it would have been known in the ensuing period. To be sure, his account
agrees with the literary evidence presented thus far. Moreover, he alludes to the pres
ence of Armenian students at Constantinople at a time when the Hellenizing School
seems to have been still active in the metropolis. That would be the time when the
works constituting the third group were being translated, including, among others,
the pseudo-Aristotelian De mundo, which had a considerable impact on Anania’s
thought. Students such as those mentioned by Anania were perhaps instrumental in
spreading such translations.
At this juncture we may consider another external evidence derived from the sixth to
seventh-century Syriac translations of Aristotle and related commentaries, which also
maintain the Greek syntax. Nöldeke in his Syriac grammar invites attention to such
translations, but he does not enumerate them.63 Baumstark touches on these works in
his introduction to Syriac literature,64 but in a chronological treatment of what may be
termed a genre of translations. In a most comprehensive study included in this publi
cation, Brock brings into focus the Syriac corpus of Aristotelian translations and their
academic environment.65 We may discern further similarities—if not a relationship—
182 ABRAHAM TERIAN
between these syntactically awkward Armenian and Syriac translations. Suffice to say
that the syntactical similarities of these corpora, their partially identical contents, and
their emergence at about the same time cannot be incidental. They deserve further
study with reference to the nonmonastic schools of the period.
As for most of the translations constituting the third group, they do not follow the
Greek syntax as strictly as the earlier translations. There is a marked syntactical dis
tinction, for example, between the Aristotelian (second group) and the pseudo-
Aristotelian (third group) translations. To be sure, however, there are syntactical dis
tinctions even within the group, to the extent that some translations, such as those of
the works of Dawitc and Nonnus of Panopolis, are syntactically closer to the transla
tions of the second group than to others within their group. Thus at certain points the
distinction between the two groups is marginal and arbitrary, and at other points it is
clearly justifiable. The gradual loosening of the syntax in this group may be due to
short intervals of time between the various translations. As for the later translations of
this group—those of the Platonic and possibly Stoic works excluded by Manandean
and Akinean—they are well accounted for by Arevatyan, who rightly places them in
this group.66 Their grouping can be ascertained not only on the basis of rare com
pounds but also on the basis of syntax. Moreover, there is no attestation to any of these
translations prior to the seventh century. In addition to the witness of Anania irakacci
to the earlier translations of this group, there are two late seventh-century citations of
the translation of Eutychus’ denunciation of the Nestorian doctrine in the letters of
Yovhannës Mayragomecci and Xosrovik Tcargmani •67
The last name to be associated with the School is that of Stepcanos Siwnecci, to
whom is attributed most of the translations constituting the fourth group. The
Pseudo-Dionysian translations conclude with a colophon by the translator, dated in
the second year of Emperor Philippicus (712),68 and those of Nemesius’ De natura
hominis and Gregory of Nyssa’s De hominis opificio conclude with similar cob
phons dated in the first year of Emperor Leo III (7l7).69 While Stepanos is also the
acknowledged translator of considerable selections from Cyril of Alexandria,70 he is
not to be regarded as the sole translator of the works belonging to the fourth group. He
was assisted by his intimate friend and classmate Grigor Kcahanay Ayrivanecdi and a
certain Dawit Hiwpatos, with whom he returned to Armenia in 728, after having
spent nearly two decades studying and translating at Constantinople (71228).71
The strange syntax of the translations of the Hellenizing School has left a marked
influence on contemporary writings.72 In addition to the commentaries on Thrax, the
later works of Dawit Analyt, and the compositions of Stepcanos Siwnecci, some
influence may be detected in the early seventh-century letters of Vrtanës Kcertcol and
Grigor Kcertcol.73 Further influence may be seen in the works of other seventh-century
writers including Anania irakaci, Dawitc Harkacci, and Todoros Krtenawor—a
propagator of the Chalcedonian faith among Armenians—and his disciples, Sahak
Jorporeci (d. 703) and Yovhan Ojnecci (d. 728), both of whom became renowned
heads of the Armenian Church.74 Clearer still is the influence on the writings of
Xorenaci75 and Xosrovik TcargamRc, a contemporary of Ojnecci.76 The influence of
the Greek language, rather than that of the Greek syntax of translations, may be
discerned in writers as early as Eznik Kolbacci (fifth century) and as late as Giigor
Magistros (eleventh century).
Akinean observes that the interlinear translations of the Hellenizing School were to
help Armenian students enrolled in the Byzantine schools of the day.77 His meritorious
observation deserves serious consideration, especially in light of our remarks on the
various colophons cited above, the account of Anania, and the Syriac translations of
Aristotelian works. Accordingly, we must note that no attempt was made by the School
to translate the complete works of voluminous writers like Plato, Aristotle, and Philo,
but only select works apparently intended for tutorial purposes. Of Plato’s works only
the Apologia, Euthyphro, Leges, Minos, and Timaeus were translated. All five works
occupy a most significant place in the history of Platonic interpretation. Of Aristotle’s
works only the Categoriae and De interpretatione were translated, and theirimpor
tance in Neoplatonism need not be restated. Likewise, about a third of Philo’s works
was translated, including the Quaestiones, or his first commentary on the Pentateuch,
select works from the subsequent commentaries, De vita contemplativa, and the dia
logues with Alexander (De providentia I-Il and De animalibus). Along with the
grammar of Dionysius Thrax, these works, even in part, cover all that was essential for
the Trivium in this late classical period: grammar (which, as the Art of Letters,
included literature), rhetoric, and dialectic (the last ranging from bare logic to the
combination of pagan philosophy and Christian theology, the works of Philo being
the most appropriate models for the combination of philosophy and theology). The
remaining works also seem to belong to academic circles, including the three works
dealing with Christobogical controversies, the strange translation of which would
otherwise be of little value for a monastic school.78 We may also note that the works of
Dawit Anyaltc, like many of the Neoplatonic scholia on Aristotle, are composed as
7tpá1.ç or “lessons” and seem to have been intended for delivery as classroom lectures.
Similarly, the question and answer form of the Aristotelian epitome, which now bears
the title Girkc iakac is most appropriately written for teaching purposes.
If placing the translational activities of the Hellenizing School at Constantinople is
correct, and if indeed these activities were somewhat connected with the schools of the
day, as they seem to be, then the translations of the School would represent the kind of
texts used for certain structured courses of learning during the period of the School’s
activity (570-730). In the absence of direct evidence for texts and curricula in Byzantine
sources of the same period,79 the indirect evidence of the Armenian translations of the
School may be deemed important for the history of Byzantine education.
The cumulative evidence suggests that the Hellenizing School was active 570 to 730
at Constantinople and that the scope of its activities was within the realm of the
Byzantine schools.8° The influence of the School, however, was not limited to its time
and place. Although the translations had minimal influence on the language, affecting
but a few contemporaries, their influence on Armenian thought was far reaching.
Obviously, contemporary writers and scholiasts—some of whom were also translators
—were familiar with the thought of these philosophical treatises, and it is through
their writings that the influence of the School continued into subsequent centuries. As
for later would-be commentators on these translations, because of the Greek syntax,
184 ABRAHAM TERIAN
they had little or no understanding of these works. What most impressed the Armenian
scholiasts of the late Middle Ages was the obscurity of the language and the challenge
to convey its meaning. They accepted this as being the fault of the readers, not of the
authors or the translators. For the scholiasts these philosophical writings were to be
tackled only by men of profound ability. It is not surprising that they were more likely
to quote these works than to interpret them.
Andrews University
1. Y. Manandean, Yownaban dprocca ew nra zargac5man Documents, VII (London, 1936), 20-21, and the author’s
.frjannera, Azgayin matenadaran, CXIX (Vienna, 1928). For “Syntactical Peculiarities in the Translations of the Helleniz
an excellent survey of the literature, both ancient and mod ing School,” First International Conference on Armenian
ern, see N. Akinean and P. Tr-Phlosean, “Matenagrakan Linguistics; Proceedings, ed. J. A. C. Greppin (Delmar, N.Y.,
hetazotowtiwnner: Yownaban dproca,” Handes amsorya, 1980), 197-207.
91(1977), 1-72. 16. J. B. Aucher, ed. and trans., Philoni Judaei sermones
2. Manandean, Yownaban, 86-255, accounts for the works tres hactenus inediti: I et II de providentia et III de animals-
in the first three groups. excluding the Platonic and possibly bus (Venice, 1822), ui-v.
Stoic works in the third group; so also N. Akinean, ‘Yowna 17. Ibid., iii. After suggesting that Xorenaci is the trans
ban dprocca,’ Handes amsorya, 46 (1932), 273-77, who syn lator of Philo’s works, p. ii, Aucher goes on to identify the
thesizes Manandean’s classifications and sets off the stories translator with a certain Leontius, who is mentioned by Lazar
ascribed to Nonnus of Panopolis and the pseudo-Aristotelian Pcarpecci (ed. Tiflis, 1904, 202) as the friend of a philosopher
De mundo as a fourth group; cf. Akinean and Tr-POlosean, named Movsës; moreover, he identifies this philosopher with
“Matenagrakan,” 15-18. The Platonic and possibly Stoic the historian Xorenaci, p. iv; cf. N. Polarean, Hay grolner
works have been rightly added by S. Areviatyan, “Platoni (Jerusalem, 1970), 14-15, 40, who attributes the translation of
erkeri Hayeren t5argmanowtyan lamanaka,” Banber mate several of Philo’s works to Xorenaci, and the rest to Movsës
nadarani, 10 (1971), 16-18, whose list we have followed with Kertolahayr.
some reservations, contenting ourselves with few modifica 18. For a detailed study, see N. Akinean, EIiIë Varda pet,
tions in the order of works within the groups and with addi I-Ill (Vienna, 1932-60); for a survey of the arguments on the
tions indicated in the notes. date of Xorenaci, see C. Toumanoff, “On the Date of
3. This is the Girkcpitoyicc, wrongly attributed to Movsës Pseudo-Moses of Chorene,” Handes amsorya, 75 (1961), 467-
Xorenaci. 76; Studies in Christian Caucasian History (Washington,
4. For a complete list of these works, see the author’s D.C., 1963), 330-34; on the sources of Xorenacci, see R. W.
Philonis Alexandrini De animalzbus: The Armenian Text Thomson, ]l’Ioses Khorenats’i: History of the Armenians,
with an Introduction, Translation, and Commentary, Sup Harvard Armenian Texts and Studies, IV (Cambridge, Mass,
plements to Studia Philonica, I (Chico, Calif., 1980), 3-6. 1978).
5. To this we may add the Girk’ gakac an Aristotelian 19. Polarean, Hay grotner, 21.
textbook on the “Opyavov, written in the form of questions 20. Aucher, Ph ilon, v-vi.
and answers. 21. F. C. Conybeare, “The Age of the Old Armenian Ver
6. Here we may add the letter of Peter of Antioch, sion of Ireaneus,” in Mechitharisten-kongregation, Huschard
wrongly attributed to Petros Kcertcol or Perros Episkopos san, Festschrift aus anlafi des IOOjdhrzgen bestandes der
Siwneacc, the translation of which maintains the Greek syn Mechitharisten-kongregation in Wien (Vienna, 1911), 193-
tax; see Girkct tcttcocc (Tiflis, 1901), 99-107. 202 (Conybeare, however, was misled by the traditional date
7. This work, Yatags am pocc ew nlanacc, was, until given to Elii, who utilizes the Armenian Philo); A. Varda
recently, attributed to Anania irakaci. nean, “Lezowagan nmanowtiwnner PiIoni ew Irenëosi Hay
8. Five short selections from Athanasius may be added to tcargmanowt(iwnnerow mëj,” Handes amsorya, 35 (1921),
this collection; see Srboyn A tanasi A telkcsandrioy Hayra pets 450-58; Manandean, Yownaban, 228-36; see also the introduc
ia,kc, tcowttckc ew anddimasaccowtiwnk (Venice, 1899), 56- tions to the various editions of the Demonst ratio, all of which
88, 281-83, 344; cf. Jerusalem MS 534. have a 7th-century date for the translation.
9. For various editions of certain of these works, see 22. N. Akinean, “S. Ireneos Hay matenagrowtean mbj,”
H. Aatean, Armatakan ba,aran, I (Erevan, 1926), 30-58; for a Handes amsorya, 24(1910), 200-8; hastily and perhaps errone
few more recent editions, see S. Areviatyan, “Platon,” 16-18. ously, he ascribes the translation of Irenaeus to Vrtans; see
10. Yownaban, 86-255. also Manandean, Yownaban, 230-31.
11. Ibid., 108 note, 124 note. 23. A. Baumgartner, fiber das Buch “Die Chrie” (Leipzig,
12. Ibid., 107-15, 127-34, 153-55, 159-61. 1886); G. V. Yovsbpean, Dawitc Hark(accin ew Pitoyic
13. Ibid., esp. 115, 133-34, 160; cf. 144-45, 184-87, 194-96. girka,” Ararat (February 1908), 203-16.
Areviatyan demonstrates the presence of such words in the 24. Manandean, Yownaban, 115-24; Akinean, “Yowna
translation of Plato’s works, “Platon,” 13-14. ban,” 275; for the text of Thrax, see N. Adonc, ed., ,Tnonncisfi
14. So thinks Akinean, “Yowaban,” 27 1-92. PpaKHOCKFIO n apMiincKne TonKoBaTenu (Petrograd, 1915), 1-
15. H. Lewy, The Pseudo-P hilonic De Jona, Studies and 56 and his enlightening introduction (cited hereafter as Thrax).
25. N. Albalean, “Ditolowtiwnner N. Adonci nor grki that neither of the two other writings pertaining to Christo
vray,” Ararat (January-December 1919), 70-71, concluding logical controversies and translated by the School (those of
that the translation of Thrax was accomplished at Taron; cf. Eutychus of Constantinople and Peter of Antioch) is alluded
A. Vardanean, “Artawazdahaw, Hayk, Haykaap, Vahagn,” to in the testimonia. More on these “barbaric” translations,
Hands amsorya, 34 (1920), 281-83. Both authors seem to rely which cannot be of much use in dynamic controversies, shall
on A. Meillet, Altarmenisches Elementarbuch (Heidelberg, be said later (see note 78 below).
1913), 4. 35. Yownaban, 95.
26. Yownaban, 227-28, where he does not rule out a west 36. Ibid., 223, 226; Areviatyan, “Platon,” 16, follows
Armenian provenance; cI. H. Aatean, Hayocc lezowi pat uncritically Manandean’s late-5th-century date, which accom
mowtiwn, II (Erevan, 1951), 142-68, who discerns a more modates the traditional view on very poor grounds.
western dialect.
37. Yownaban, 106, 216, 229-32.
27. Yownaban, 107; cf. 95, where he denies any clear evi
38. “Yownaban,” 208.
dence to help date any of the translations considered by him.
28. Thrax, 79-124; Adonc, however, concludes that this 39. N. Akinean, “Dawit Anya1t ew Dawit Harkac5i,
scholion was written on the Greek version rather than on the Yownaban dprocci targamaninern Sst Hay awandowtcean,’
Armenian translation and questions the scholiast’s identity Handes amsorya, 70 (1956), 123-63.
with Dawit Ayaltc, p. clxxxiii; he also places the translation 40. Among manuscripts attributing the translation to
in the 7th century, p. cxciii. Manandean clearly demonstrates Dawii/, see Jerusalem MSS 401, 1288, 1291, etc.; among those
the scholiast’s dependence on the Armenian translation and attributing it to others as well, see 68. 1303, etc.; see also
his identity with Dawitc, Yownaban, 210-11, 218-22. The Polarean, Hay grolner, 21.
antiquity of this scholion is attested by a 7th century anony 41. Erevan MSS 270, 580, 589, 1754, 2018, 2607; all but the
mous scholion which mentions it repeatedly, Thrax, 128-29; last date from the 17th century, the last is dated 1300 (old
cf. 127, 137, 145, and by the scholion of Stepanos Siwneci, numbers cited by Akinean, “Yownaban,” 290, where the
181-219. Adonc attributes the anonymous work to Mambrb colophon appears).
Vercanol, ibid., cxiii-cxiv (but cf. Jerusalem MS 1311, 642- 42. Manandean, Yownaban, 136-42, thinks the colophon
45), Manandean attributes it to POlos Kertol, Yownaban, alludes to the works of Aristotle, perhaps the Categoriae, and
212-13. underlines its importance in dating the translations of the
29. Adonc, Thrax, 159-79; Polarean, Hay grolner, 39-40, second group, p. 216. Akinean, “Yownaban,” 290-91, sees a
ascribes to Kertolahayr the translation of Thrax, several of reference to the scholia on Aristotle. The reference could well
Philo’s works, and the handbook of Aphthonius. be to the entire Aristotelian corpus translated by the School.
30. Judging from the dates given to his students: T5ëodo- 43. Hist. Ecci. ii. 18-19; vi. 11; the surviving third of the
ros Kertol, Petros KertO, and Ezras Angelacci; see Manan chronicle covers the period 571-85; cf. Y. C. Me1konyan,
dean, Yownaban, 246-55 and his references to Asolik on Asorakan atbiwrner Hayastani ew Hayeri masin (Erevan,
p. 224; cf. Polarean, Hay grotner, 39, 44. 1976), 431; on various migrations of Armenians to Byzan
31. Yownaban, 88, 106, 124. tium, see J. Laurent, L’Arménie entre Byzance et l’Islam
32. Ibid., 107, 115; forearlier conclusions beginning with (Paris, 1919), 190-91. The favorable situation of Armenians in
“before the second half of the seventh century,” see pp. 93, 95. Byzantium changed during the reigns of Tiberius (578-82)
33. Ibid., 95-107; he seems to have been misled by Tër and Maurice (582-602).
Mkrtrean (cited on p. 97), who, emending the date, places it 44. M. Ormanean, Hayocc ekeleccin, 5th ed. (Antilias,
between 480 and 484, as the dae for the translation; so also Lebanon, 1952), 200.
Akinean, “Yownaban,” 279-84, who, emending the date 45. A. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur
differently, places the translation between 601 and 603 and (Bonn, 1922), 184-85.
finds its first mention in a letter by Vrtans Kcertcol (dated 46. Arm. Bëriarinënias, a corruption of the Gk. flepi
606), in which Vrtanbs boasts of having collected a number eplsTlveiac; see, e.g., Jerusalem MSS 401, 407, 791, 833, 948,
of anti-Chalcedonian works, among them that of Timothy of 974, 1411, 1501, etc. This credit to Dawit5 appears in every
Alexandria (Girkc tcltcocc, 126; cf. 91, 140). To this letter Aki proem or subtitle to Aristotle’s works.
nean appends another letter by Abraham Katcotikos (dated 47. A. Busse, ed., Davidis Pro legomena et in Porphyrii
607), in which mention is made of absurd transliteration of Isagogen commentarium, Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca
names of bishops and bishoprics in translations from Greek XVIII, 2 (Berlin, 1904); 5. Arevlatyn, ed., ,Zaan,s Heno6e.stu-
(and not absurd translations from Greek as Akinean thinks, MbIfi, Onpec3eaeHws çz5wsocoz5uu (Erevan, 1960), and ,laaHJ
col. 282, quoting Girkctdttcocc, 183), done at Owtha (Edessa), Heno6enMMll, ToizKoeauue AHaAumuku Apucmomeira (Ere
where Vrtcanës lived and where Akinean is wrongly inclined van, 1967).
to place the translations of the second group. The latter seem 48. 64.18-19, 24-26, 28-65.9 (ed. Busse); but twice in the
to derive from a Chalcedonian circle; see Manandean, Armenian text, where the third is missing: 134.5, 11 (ed.
Yownaban, 136, 225. Areviatyan).
34. Ibid., 96-97, citing Photius and the anonymous of the 49. In his commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorologica he
De rebus armeniae; see also N. Akinean, “Timot’ëos Kowz mentions the comet which appeared in the 281st year of the
Hay matenagrowtean mej,” Handes amsorya, 22(1908), 261- Diocler.ian era (564/5).
65, 294-302. For two other interdependent testimonies that 50. A. Busse, ed., Eliae in Porphyrii Isagogen et Aristote
have come to light since, see Akinean-Polosean, “Matenagra lis Categorias commentaria, Commentaria in Aristotelem
kan,” 65-68, where all four testimonies are excerpted in the Graeca XVIII, 1 (Berlin, 1882), v-ix; but in Davidis Prolego
notes. and where sufficient reasons are given to conclude that mena, v-vi, Busse insists that Dawit’ was a pupil of Elias;
the mid-6th-century translation of Timothy’s refutation cf. M. Khostikian, David derPhilosoph (Diss. Leipzig, 1907),
alluded to in these testimonia cannot be the translation by the who argues against Busses later views; see also Manandean,
Hellenizing School. The strongest evidence is that the Ar Yownaban, 49-52, who goes on to identify Elias with Olym
menian version of Philoxenus, mentioned with Timothy’s piodorus the Younger.
refutation, does not belong to the Hellenizing School (see 51. H. D. Saffrey, “Le Chrétien Jean Philopon et Ia
also Akinean, “Yownaban,” 283-84). We may likewise add survivance de l’école d’Alexandrie au VIe siécle,” REG, 72
186 ABRAHAM TERIAN
(1954), 396-400; H. Usener, De Stephano Alexandrino (Bonn, allusion to Eurychus in a letter of Vrtanës Kertol, Girkc
1880), 3-6. tttcocc, 116.
52. For a concise treatment of the Christian takeover at 68. Jerusalem MSS 451, 1120, 1328, 1386, etc. Likewise, an
Alexandria and the move to Constantinople, seeR. T. Wallis, anonymous scholion on Pseudo-Dionysius States that “it was
Neoplatonism (New York, 1972), 139-40. translated by Stepanos, Bishop of Siwnik, at Constan
53. Polarean’s differentiation between the Greek author tinople,” see e.g., Jerusalem MS 270B, p. 3.
and the Armenian translator as two distinct personalities 69. Jerusalem MSS 1862 (Nemesius), 390 (Gregory of
(Hay grolner, 73) cannot be maintained for the simple reason Nyssa).
that the dates of authorship and translation are about the 70. In addition, some mansucripts also attribute to him
same. A detailed study of the questions surrounding Dawit few selections from Athanasius; see, e.g., Jerusalem MS 534.
must be left to another publication. 71. Polarean, Hay grolner, 112-15; see also the authorities
54. This observation was first made by G. Tër-Mkrtean, cited by him; cf. S. Orbélian, Histoire de Ia Siounie, II, trans.
Anania irakai (Valariapat, Armenia, 1896), 35. M. Brosset(St. Petersburg, 1864), 49-51. Areviatyan, “Platon,”
55. Aucher, Philon, v-vi. 18, limits the years of the translator’s activity to 712-18.
56. The shorter recension was first published by K. Pat 72. Aatean, Hayocc lezowi patmowtiwn, II, 142-68;
kanean, Ananiayi irakownwoy mnaccordkcbanic(St. Peters G. Jahowkyan, K’erakanakan axatowtcyownnera mzjnada
burg, 1877), 1-4, then by L. Alilan, Hayapatowm (Venice, ryan Hayastanowm (Erevan, 1954), 41-114; A. N. Mowradyan,
1901), 232-33, and is available in an English translation by Yownaban dprocca ew nra dera Hayereni k’erakanakan ter
F. C. Conybeare, “Ananias of Shirak (A.D. 600-650 c.),” HZ, 6 minabanowt’yan stelcman gorcowm (Erevan, 1971), passim;
(1897), 572-74. The longer recension was first published by et al.
J. Dashian, Katalog der Armenischen Handschrzften in der 73. Girk tdltcocc, 93-98, 112-45, 196-211 (Vr(anës), 153-60
Mechitaristen-Bibliothek zu Wien (Vienna, 1895), 174-76,
(Grigor). The letter wrongly ascribed to Petros Kertol or
then by A. G. Abrahamyan, Anania irakaccow matenagrow
Petros Episkopos Siwneac (ibid., 99-107) is a translation
tcjwns (Erevan, 1944), 206-9, and is available in a French
from Greek; see N. Biwzandaci, “T1takcowtiwn,” Handes
translation by H. Berbérian, “Autobiographie d’Ananias ira
amsorya, 22 (1908), 155-56; N. Akinean, “Kiwrion katcowli
kaci,” REArm, n.s. 1 (1964), 189-94.
kos Vrac’,” Handes amsorya, 23 (1909), 332; Manandean,
57. He gives no further indication of the place.
Yownaban, 93-95.
58. Most likely, the mathematician was a Greek whose
74. Polarean, Hay grolner, 83-102.
name Anania renders in Armenian.
59. Tychikos had served in Armenia during the reign of 75. Aucher, Philon, ui-v.
Tiberius (578-82) and was wounded during a warfare with the 76. Polarean, Hay grolner, 106-8; Manandean, Yowna
Persians early in the reign of Maurice (582-602). He then fled ban, 89-91.
to Antioch and vowed to devote the rest of his life to study and 77. “Yownaban,” 285; Akinean-Polosean, “Matenagra
teaching. Upon being healed, he went to Jerusalem for a kan,” 55; Lewy, DeJona, 15.
month, then to Alexandria for three years, off to Rome for 78. These are: the refutation of Chalcedon by Timothy of
“not a few years,” and eventually to Constantinople. At the Alexandria, Eutyches’ denunciation of the Nestorian doctrine
latter place he spent “not a few years” studying with “a dis of two persons or substances in Christ, and the letter of Peter
tinguished man, a doctor of the city of philosophers” (the of Antioch. All three may have been translated at the same
short recension adds “Athens”; however, the long version time and may rightly belong to the third group. This does not
implies Constantinople, which merits such a designation preclude the existence of other translations of the same
during the reign of Heraclius, 610-641). Upon the death of his polemical writings at the height of Christological disputes in
famed teacher, Tychikos was asked to occupy his chair, but he the 6th and 7th centuries. Vrtanës Kertol cites a number of
declined the imperial invitation insisting that he had vowed anti-Chalcedonian works which he had collected and at times
not to leave Trebizond. translated (see note 33 above). He also seems to have been
60. See the perceptive study by P. Lemerle, Le premier familiar with the translation of the Hellenizing School, judg
humanisme byzantin. Notes et remarques sur ensiegnement ing from a derogatory allusion to new ways of translating
et culture a Byzance des origines au X siecle, Bibliothèque (Girkc td1tcoc, 116).
Byzantine, VI (Paris, 1971), 43-108, esp. 81-85, and his “Note 79. In particular, see H.-G. Beck, Kirche und theologesche
sur les données historiques de l’Autobiographie d’Anania de Literatur im byzantinischen Reich (Munich, 1959); “Bildung
Shirak,” REArm, n.s. 1(1964), 195-202. und Theologie im frdhmittelalrerlichen Byzanz,” Poly
61. He had earlier attributed to his master a statement chron ion: Festsch rift Franz Ddlger zum 75. Geburtstag, ed.
about the prevailing illiteracy in Armenia. P. Wirth, Corpus der griechischen Urkenden des Mittelalters
62. Certainly the fundamental texts in the Armenian und der neuren Zeit I (Heidelberg, 1966), 69-81; Lemerle, Le
monastic schools were biblical, liturgical, and the more theo premier humanisme byzantin; P. Speck, Die Kaiserliche Urn
logical books among patristic writings; see R. W. Thomson, versität von Konstantinopel: Priizisierungen zur Frage des
Agathangelos: History of the Armenians (Albany, 1976), lxxx. höheren Schulwesens in Byzanz im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert,
63. T. Ndldeke, Kurzgefasse syrische Grammatik (Leip ByzArch, 14 (Munich, 1974).
zig, 1898), ix-x. 80. As S. Der Nersessian summarily observes (following
64. Geschichte, 184-85. Akinean): “The Philhellene school, the activity of which
65. S. Brock, “From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac extends over the seventh century, may have started in Con
Attitudes to Greek Learning.” stantinople approximately in 572 when the catholicos John
66. “Platon,” 8-20; for the various editions of the possibly and a number of nobles came to the capital and remained
Stoic works, see p. 17. there in exile for almost twenty years.” Armenia and the
67. Cited by Akinean, “Yownaban,” 289, who also finds Byzantime Empire (Cambridge, Mass., 1945), 26.
ELI AS WITNESS OF THE ECCLESIOLOGY
OF THE EARLY ARMENIAN CHURCH
BoGHos LEv0N ZEKIYAN
EVERAL studies have been made in this century of patristic and early Christian
S theology.’ The Church is one of the main redemptory realities these theologies refer
to. The present study also forms part of these attempts to reconstruct, in its keypoints
and details, the first phases of the evolution of Christian doctrine, with special refer
ence to Eli Vardapet, an outstanding figure of the Armenian Church and one of the
best prose writers in ancient Armenian literature.2 Of course, such a paper cannot
claim to be an exhaustive investigation of the subject. My aim is simply to point out
some basic features of EliE’s ecclesiology as a premise for further research. In relation
to this subject, it should be noted that the theology and spirituality of the Armenian
Church, although not lacking in depth and originality, have generally been ignored by
scholars, whose attention has been directed mainly to the Greek or Syriac areas as
being representative of the whole Christian East.
Eli, a historian, panegyrist, exegesist, and theologian, attained great renown with
his History of 1/ardan and the Armenian War,3 considered his literary masterpiece. His
perspicacity as a profound theologian is deeply revealed in this work, since it does not
merely consist of history but is also a theology of history.
This theology is focused on the reality of the Church, and this is the aspect of
Eli’s work considered here. We can assume that he conveys a deeper ecclesiology than
any other writer of the early Armenian Church.
His historical work is the primary source for this paper, since it provides the richest
amount of ecclesiological data. However, such data are indeed integrated with an anal
ysis of the author’s other writings, such as the Sermons, Panegyrics, and Commentaries.
I believe that the authenticity of the corpus of Eli, in its main components, belong
ing to only one author, cannot be reasonably questioned. The same could be stated
regarding the period of this literary production, which we can confidently state
belongs to the second half of the fifth century.4
The struggle of Vardanankc_of Vardan and his companions—is, in the view of
Eli, a struggle for the preservation of the glory and liberty of the Church. In the
author’s mind, the image and reality of the Church are not only the reason for the
historical event, but they also represent the keystone or the axis that enables us to
coordinate in a synthesizing glance the different aspects of the redemptory realities,
and to perceive the inner connections between them. Here we have to make clear that
on the Armenian side the battle of Vardanankc was not a religious war in the classical
188 BOGHOS LEVON ZEKIYAN
sense of this term, that is, a war to impose a religious confession, whereas it was in the
case of the Persians. As for the Armenians, they fought only to preserve their religious
freedom and their ethnic identity from the menace of a huge empire. The battle was the
logical result of the resistance that the Armenians opposed to the Persian claims up to
the supreme sacrifice.
We can consider the end of the fifth chapter of the History a basic point in this
respect: the Church appears here in her very function as the center of Elië’s Christian
understanding of the historical event. This chapter gives a description of the final
preparations on the eve of the war. Everything takes place in an atmosphere of high
spirituality. After the speeches of Vardan, the commander-in-chief of the Armenian
forces, and of Lewond Erecc, the priest who had been the soul of the insurrection, “an
altar was set up and the most holy Sacrament was offered. Baptismal fonts were
prepared and all through the night those of the troops who had not been baptized were
baptized. In the morning all of them received communion and became as radiantly
attired as on the festival day of the great Holy Easter.”5 The chapter ends with a hymn,
as a final maestoso, which “the entire body of the troops shouted with great joy and
high exultation. . .: ‘May our death be equal to the death of the righteous and the
shedding of our blood to that of the sainted martyrs; and may God be pleased with our
voluntary sacrifice and deliver not his Church unto the hands of the heathens.’ “6
These words, in their conciseness, express the nucleus of Eli’s History. It is, in its
entirety, but a development of this main ideal: to preserve the Church. This ideal
returns as a leitmotif under Eli’s pen in crucial moments. So, for instance, when the
Armenian naxarars, or princes, who went to the Persian court to negotiate, before the
war exploded, were kidnapped and put into prison; they exclaimed recalling Abra
ham’s sacrifice: “‘Receive, 0 Lord, our voluntary sacrifice and let not this wicked
prince subject Thy church to scorn and ridicule.’ “
Similarly, when a Persian troop
accompanied by the traitor Vasak encircled a fortress where a detachment of the
Armenian forces and priests had taken refuge, the men inside the fortress exclaimed
aloud and said: “We thank Thee, 0 Lord our God, that Thou hast held us worthy of
Thy heavenly call, while the churches are still full of the pious. . .May our death be
.
equal to the death of the valiant martyrs . . and may the Lord be pleased with His
.
churches together with the many willing victims who rise upon the holy altar.’ “8 And,
the historian continues: “After saying this, the two hundred and thirteen men suffered
death on the spot.”9
Also, when Eli describes the restrictions and the sufferings imposed on the Arme
nians by the Persian ruler Yazdegert II, he concentrates the aim of all this action in one
simple phrase: “So that the glory of the church might be dimmed.”° He even adds that
the Armenians endured all kind of material and economic troubles and did not rise up
until “the church had not yet been molested.”1
Quotations showing the central position of the Church in Eli’s approach to the
Vardanian war abound.’2 Let us, however, go on to investigate, in its main lines, how
Elië understands the reality of the Church and how this reality stays at the center of
his theological thought and especially of his theology of history.
THE ECCLESIOLOGY OF ELIE 189
SPIRITUAL ASPECTS OF THE CHURCH
A first point to bring into relief is the close link between the spiritual reality of the
Church and the material church building. There is such a close link between the two
that they often are subject to the same predicates, as we can see comparing the parallel
passages where E1ië speaks, for instance, of the motivations of the war. He says: “All
of them bore their countless sufferings with great patience, placing their hopes in God
and beseeching with prayers, that he might not suffer them to witness the destruction
of their holy churches.”3 Then again: “We are ready to suffer persecution, death, and
all sorts of violence and afflictions for our holy churches, which our forefathers
entrusted to us by the grace of the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and through which
we were reborn. . . Since we recognize
. . . the Apostolic Catholic Church our
.
mother.”4 These words are all the more significant insofar as the consciousness of
having inherited from their ancestors these churches immerses these people in the
spiritual universe of faith and Christian grace which build up the spiritual Church.
A very pregnant passage in this sense is the following one where the Armenian
naxarars make the apology of their faith to Yazdegert:
“Do not, 0 King, require that of us; for the church is not a creation of man, nor
a gift of the sun, which you erroneously take for god.. . Churches are not gifts of
.
kings, nor creations of skilled art, nor a discovery of the wise, nor the spoil of the
valor of troops, nor the false illusion of devils. And whatever you say of earthly
beings—the great as well as the humble—none of these can ever establish a church.
On the contrary, it is a gift from the great God, which he offered not to any
particular person, but to all rational people who are predestined to dwell beneath
the sun. Its foundation is set on a firm rock, which neither those below can move,
nor those above can shake. And that which neither heaven nor earth can rock, no
man can boast of conquering.”15
We have here a splendid explanation of the divine, heavenly, or in our technical

terms, the “supernatural” nature of the Church. But let us consider now our present
question. The passage from the singular to the plural and again to the singular in the
use of the term “church,” in a context of a logical and theological reciprocity, is
indicative of the deep connection between the Church as such in her spiritual identity
and the churches as material constructions. Of course, the plural “churches,” as such,
can also mean the local communities. And, I believe that this sense is not to be
excluded. Rather, some positive and, to some extent, intentional ambivalence is in
herent in the plural use of the term. Furthermore, it seems almost impossible from the
whole context of Eli’s History and his many immediate references to the church
buildings to deny in the present case a basicrelation to these latter ones. It would be
wrong to think that the use of the term “church” both in the singular and the plural,
in spiritual and material meanings, is a question of literary style. On the contrary,
there is a process of continuous development in the sense of an approach to a deeper
and inward reality. We can state that there is between the two a relation like that of the
symbol or of the exterior and tangible sign to its corresponding invisible and spiritual
reality. This statement can also be confirmed by an attentive analysis of the passage
quoted. In fact, the first phrase, which is like the assertion of a thesis, regards the
church directly as a spiritual entity. This axiomatic proposition is then illustrated by
the concrete image of the material churches. The discourse continues resuming the
idea of a spiritual church which can now be better understood in its universal light and
strength as symbolized by the multitude of the material buildings as well as of the local
communities. The ambivalence of the term “church” in the singular, toward the
middle of the discourse, with a meaning oscillating between the material and the
spiritual and the subsequent passage to a wholly spiritual area is, in this respect, of the
utmost significance.15’
MATERIAL ASPECTS OF THE CHURCH
The church edifice is the privileged place where Christian mysteries and Christian
life find their full expression. This is evident from all those countless assertions
referring to the churches, to their splendor, their exemption from secular power, their
function of gathering together Christian people and establishing an actual com
munion among them, a communion extending to the living and the dead. Describing
the miserable end of Vasak, the traitor, Eli says: “Neither was his name mentioned
among the saints nor his memory recalled at the holy altar of the church.”6 These
words imply something very serious in the view of E1ië. The exclusion from being
remembered in the church, at the holy altar, means nothing less than exclusion from
everlasting bliss. One’s presence in the church, in spiritual communion with the
faithful community, is an effective sign of one’s communion with the saints.
Yet the function and importance of the church building receive a more profound
elaboration in two passages in which the symbolic power of the edifice assumes a
“sacramental” dimension. One of these texts occurs in the third chapter. Elië writes,
while relating a speech of the Persian high magician through which is of course
reflected the thought of Eli himself: “Even though he [the Persian king] closed and
sealed the church doors throughout Persia, they made a church of every house and
performed their services everywhere. Each of them considered his person a temple
[Arm. vkayarans = martyria] and they all believed that a temple built of flesh was
better than that of soil.”7 The second text, from chapter 7, is even more preg
nant. This time it is the historian himself who speaks: “Psalms were their whispering
songs and the reading of the Holy Scriptures their absolute joy. Every man was a
church in himself and a priest as well. Their bodies were holy altars, and their souls,
worthy offerings.”8
These two texts are very important, since they give the most crystallized expression
to the relationship between the church as a building and the church as a spiritual
reality. In fact, the last words of the first quotation indicate clearly that the full reality
of the church is to be found only in the spiritual order. This is the essential reality that
gives to the material edifice its Christian meaning and its sacramental dimension. This
interior reality molding the tangible one is, as becomes evident especially from the
THE ECCLESIOLOGY OF ELI 191
second text, the spiritual, “reasonable” sacrifice of each faithful, in virtue of which one
shares in the priesthood of Christ.
We can resume saying that the spiritual temple, which is in each faithful, is essen
tially built up with the gift and sacrifice of one’s self as an offering priest. This interior
dimension is actually symbolized by the church buildings of the Christian community.
THE CHURCH AND SOCIETY
We have considered the church both in her material and spiritual aspects; however,
we took into consideration this spiritual dimension mainly in its sacrificial and
priestly expressions, without any explicit relation to the social and community aspects
of the Church. To have this wider vision, we must consider now some titles or images
that reveal to us some new meanings or functions of the church.
Maternity
The function we deal with is maternity: the Church is a mother. Eli elaborates this
concept thoroughly. In the third chapter of his History we have the following declara
tion made by the crowd of the people who say: “We are ready to suffer persecution,.
for our holy churches,. . through which we were reborn; and we were baptized in the
.
name of Jesus Christ with the hope of one faith. In the same manner we wish to redeem
ourselves by torture and by shedding of blood. Since we recognize the Holy Gospel to
be our Father and the Apostolic Catholic’9 Church our mother, let no evil meddler
come between us to separate us from her.’ “20
The same idea is more emphasized in chapter 8 in relation to the unity of the
Church: “‘Since our mother church which conceived us is one and our spiritual father,
the Holy Ghost, who gave us birth is one.2’ Why should the offsprings of the same
father and mother be in discord and not in a complete harmony?”22
The various aspects of this filiation—birth by the Holy Ghost, generative virtue of
the Gospel, sacramental action of the baptismal font, grace of adoption, communion
of the saints in virtue of this grace, and communion with Christ for one’s belonging to
the Church—appear together in an amplified vision when E1i describes the defection
of Vasak. This fact must not surprise us. Elië is so profoundly troubled by the betrayal
that Vasak’s figure, with its completely negative presence, holds in his History even a
more prominent position than that of the hero Vardan, and some of Elië’s finest pages
are those in which he mourns the tragic destiny of the traitor. Here are Eli’s words
describing Vasak’s defection:
He had separated himself and had withdrawn from the holy church of his own
will and was wholly estranged from the love of Christ.
The memory of the coming of the Son of God was lost to him and he never
recollected the teaching of the Holy Gospel. He was neither affected by threats nor
comforted by promises. He renounced the font wherein he was conceived and was
completely oblivious of the receptive Holy Spirit which gave him birth. He reviled
the sacred flesh with which he was purified, and trampled the living blood by
which his sins were expiated. He obliterated the certificate of adoption and with
his own hands destroyed the firm impression of the ring-seal. He withdrew from
the ranks of the blessed and caused many to rebel with him.23
This maternal image of the Church is, however, only one aspect of her generative
function. In fact, the Church, which gives birth to new children, by this very fact is
also, in her members and her inner reality, generated by the same divine virtue. Thus
the maternity of the Church is essentially correlative to her fihiation. The instruments
of this divine virtue, by which the Church is at the same time mother and daughter, are
the so-called <mp,p <n&l/p. (hark hogekirk), that is, “the Fathers, bearer of the
Spirit”: the Apostles, the Prophets, the true Pastors who sow God’s word and faith in
the hearts of men.24 This is the paradoxical reality of the Church that by the same act
she becomes mother and daughter, generator and generated.
Ut
The other basic image or concept used by Eli to define Church’s nature is that
expressed by the Armenian word riquui (uxt), a very complex term indeed in its various
meanings. In its fundamental acception uxt is, according to Haykazean, a solid prom
ise, a word established with an oath, treaty, league, covenant.25 No doubt the term is
used also by Elië in his primary sense as, for instance, in the following passage: “They
sent the same person [Vahan] . . as envoy to the Huns
. . . in order that he establish
.
friendly relations and conclude a treaty [Arm. uxt] with them to preserve the union
unbreakable.”26
Further, in ancient Armenian, classical and postclassical, uxt has then a derived
signification which is that of clergy. It is not difficult to realize how such a derivation
came about. In fact, an uxt, in the above mentioned juridical or moral sense of the
term, is something constitutive of the state of the clergy; hence the passage from the
ethicojuridical signification to the socioecclesiological connotation of its use. This
meaning occurs also very frequently under Elië’s pen.27
The expression nL/Jn &&!nj (uxt ekeleccwoy) is almost a technical term in Elië
to indicate the clergy. Synonymous expressions with the term uxt occur much less
frequently, as ,L/uu1 pus’wIiuijnt[dIiuds (uxt kcahanayutcean).28
We meet also in Agatcangelos similar expressions as “uxt kcahanayutcean srboy
ekelecwoy” and “uxt srboy ekeleccwoy k’ahanayutean,” each of them being used
once.29 What is important is the absence of such expressions from the earlier Armenian
redaction of the life of St. Gregory the Illuminator—translated from a Greek original
and preserved only in a Greek version made from the Armenian—in the passages
corresponding to those of the actual Armenian redaction.3° We can infer that the
expressions at issue were introduced, probably under Eli’s influence, during the
definitive Armenian redaction of Agatcangelos toward the end of the fifth century.3’
Expressions such as “uxt ekeleccwoy” and “uxti mankunkc (ekeleccwoy)” to indicate
the clergy are to be found frequently in canonical collections translated in the classical
THE ECCLESIOLOGY OF ELISE 193
period as well as in later canonical and liturgical texts.32 Suffixed terms from uxt, as
uxtawor, uxtakan (qui ha bet votum or qui tenetur voto) are also frequent in the same
canonical literature in the sense of clergy as well as of monks or ascetics. These suffixed
forms do not occur in Elië.33 Nevertheless, their semantic link with the expressions
mentioned above is evident. In the early literature we find the term uxtawor, besides the
canonical texts, in Eznik in the sense of monk or ascetic34 as well as in the versions of
the Sermons of Aphraates (Sermon 6), published under the name of Jacobus Nisi
benus,35 and of the monastic rules of St. Basil (Girkcharccotacc or harccmancc ),36 still
unpublished.37 Always prior to Elië, we find the term uxtakan in the version of the
Cathecheses of Cyril of Jerusalem where the Greek has icpuoi.38 However, to the
best of our knowledge, Eli seems to be the first writer, besides the canonical literature,
to use the expression uxt ekelecwoy in the sense of clergy.
All these expressions and primarily those uxt ekelecwoy as well as uxti mankunkc
clearly have a Judeo-Syriac derivation. We meet already in the Bible such expressions
as beney habberIt_ordikc uxtin (Ezech. 30:5), berIt hakkehunnah_uxt kcahana
yutcean (Nehem. 13:29), berIt hallëwI—uxt Leweay (Mal. 2:8). Similar expressions
occur frequently in the early Syriac area, where “bnay” or “bnat Qyamâ” (sons or
daughters of the Covenant) are usual words to indicate people engaged in celibacy or
virginity and ascetic life.39
The passage from such expressions to the Armenian canonical and ascetic ter
minology of the fifth century is in a natural continuity. There is, however, also a
difference between the Syriac and the Armenian traditions. While in the Syriac area the
term Qyama seems to be primarily related—probably under Essenian influence—to
celibatic consecration,4° in Armenia the basic use of the term uxt seems to mean the
belonging to the Church hierarchy, independently from one’s state of celibacy. We
have a clear indication for this in the version of the Apostolic Canons: Kargecin
aiakealkn ew edin hastatuteamb etë ok i kargë patoneic ew yuxte ekeleccwoy, ew
kames3i kusan linel, barwoy gorcoy ccankay (Constituerunt Apostoli firmiterque
statuerunt: ut qui ex ordine ministrorum vel clericorum caelibatum servare voluisset
bonum opus desideraret).4’
Besides these uses of the word uxt which are not peculiar only to Elië, we still meet
in him a third important meaning, which occurs more than once and which we can
consider as an extension of the socioecclesiological connotation of the term. In this
sense, the Church or the Christian community as a whole is an uxt. It is indeed true
that the expression uxt ekeleccwoy is almost a technical term in Eli,ë to indicate the
clergy; to the best of our knowledge, it is rarely used in another connection. As exam
ples we can quote the following passages:
1. After Elië has mentioned the names of the Bishops gathered at Artaat to answer
the letter of Mihrnerseh, he says: “All these bishops, many chor-bishops, and honor
able priests from various places, together with the holy covenant of the church”42
(handerj surb uxtiw ekelecCwoy).43
2. After the Armenians received the mournful news of the troubles that the Persians
caused to the Albanian Christians of the Caucasus, “They dismissed the messengers
• in order that they might.

. .
prevent them from molesting the holy covenant of
. .
the church.”44
3. In the title of the third chapter as it is expressed in the introduction or dedication
of his work which E1i addresses to the priest Dawit Mamikonean. Although we
cannot be sure that the actual redaction of this part of the introduction reflects Eli’s
original,45 it is, however, highly probable that if some manipulation occurred, it rather
concerned the titles of the last three chapters. So, we can assume as very likely the
attribution to Eli of the title of chapter 3: Miabanutciwn uxtin ekeleccwoy (The
Unity of the Church Covenant).46 Now, it is utmost evident that uxt ekelecwoy means
here the whole Church or better the whole community of the Christian Armenians
engaged in the defense of their faith. This evidence comes from the historical context
of the entire chapter. Let us quote the following passage as representative of the
author’s intention: “Thereafter, master and servant, a delicately reared noble and a
rustic peasant, were considered equal, and no one was more or less valiant than the
other. They all possessed the same willing heart—men and women, old and young,
and all who were united in Christ—because generally all men as well as women were
equipped with the same militant spirit, wore the same armor of faith in Christ, and
reinforced their waist with the same girdle of truth.”47 Thus, if we have to admit as
genuinely belonging to Eli the title of this chapter, no doubt uxt ekeleccwoy refers
here to the Church as a whole.
Hence we can conclude that in all the above mentioned contexts the expression uxt
ekele3woy means, most likely or surely, the community of the faithful as such.
We find used by Elië in the same significance the expression uxt kcristonëutcean,
which occurs at least four times in the History.48 Moreover, we meet at least once the
related expression uxt kcristonicc.49 In all these cases, surely in that of iii 85 (73), uxt
indicates rather than an ethicojuridical act as such the unity and compactness of a
social body resulting by virtue of some sacred word, oath, league; in other words, the
“Men of the Covenant.” Uxt kcristonëutcean or k’ristonëicc are the Christians them
selves united and compact by virtue of a sacred word, by virtue of their consecration, of
their Covenant with the Lord. In the same way Eli uses also the expression uxt
Hayoc,5° which directly indicates those Armenians faithful to their religion and espe
cially to their proposal of fidelity to it even at the price of fighting and suffering.
Similar too is the usage of the expression uxt aakcinutcean,5l where the abstract
aakcinutcean can also stay for the concrete aiakcineacc according to some of classical
Armenian, with the meaning of a community of virtue (value) or a community of the
virtuous (the valiant), as a compact, strongly united body.
Thus we have for this concrete socioecclesiological use of expressions such as uxt
kcristonëutcean a similar derivation to that of uxt ekeleccwoy from the ethicojuridical
concept of uxt. Of course, the particular historical circumstances in which Eli wrote
his work are an important factor in explaining why the whole Christian community is
regarded by him as an uxt. We can remember here the inner connection in the Syriac
area of the idea of Qyamâ with a Holy war that is fought in the ascetic life.52 We think
that such a collation between the two ideological frames would not be out of context.
THE ECCLESIOLOGY OF EUE 195
In fact, the positive uxt, that is, the solemn engagement, of the faithful Armenians
before the war is on many occasions stresssed by our author.53 This historical back
ground of EliFs work, which may have inspired in him the vision of the whole
Christian community as an uxt, a Covenant, does not exclude, however, that there may
be other, deeper reasons for this conception of the Christian community. As a matter of
fact, the clergy forms an uxt because of a special dedication to the Lord in virtue of a
sacred word; thus also all Christians form an uxt because of the sacred and solemn
promise of their Baptism. No matter that this relation is not explicitly asserted by
Eli. We possess, indeed, evidence enough to make such an inference. We have already
said that the solemn engagement of the faithful Armenians is on many occasions
stressed by him, and that is the reason why he can speak of the uxt Hayoc as the
compact body of all faithful Armenians. We can then, by analogy and fully in the
context of Eli’s ecclesiology and sacramental doctrine, see the basis for the uxt kris
tonutcean in the baptismal engagement.
It is possible, perhaps, to show an early Christian path to this conception of Eli of
the Church as a Covenant in a primitive Syriac tradition whose interpretation, in any
case, is not quite certain. We would refer to those passages in early Syriac writers where
the idea of Qyama seems to extend to all the community of the Baptized.54
We can conclude that uxt is one of the main aspects of the Church in her social
reality. The Church forms an uxt, first of all, as to her ministers. But the Church forms
also an uxt as to the entire body of her members. Ministers and faithful are tied
together with such a solid, such an unbreakable bond as is the uxt, the most sacred
engagement of men with God and among themselves. The Church, in her very reality,
is the incarnation of this Covenant between God and men and of the inner union of
Christ’s faithful each with one another.
It has been the aim of this brief study to present the main aspects of Eli’s vision of
the Church. The Church is basically a spiritual reality, divine by her origin, her
foundation, her aim. In her activity she is the Mother bearing men for eternal life, and
in her receptive reality she is the community of God’s children and Christ’s brethren.
Both in her active and receptive dimensions she is an uxt, a compact community
united in the solid bonds of Christ’s faith and love, infused and nourished by the
sacramental life. Although a social body by her very nature, the Church is also an
indivisible reality in her single members. Within each Christian are expressed and
realized the life of grace and God’s glorification. Finally, all the spiritual reality of the
Church, both in its social and personal dimensions, finds its symbolic expression, in
the fuller sense of an effective and actualizing signification, in the image of the mate
rial church building, a privileged place for the assembly of the faithful.
Mekhitarist Academy of San Lazzaro, Venice

University of Venice
Center for the Study and Documentation
of Armenian Culture, Milan
1. For an account of the research in symbolic theology, believing it to be dependent on Lazer Parpeci. A more atten
see R. Murray, “Recent Studies in Early Symbolic Theology,” tive analysis of the texts shows, on the contrary, that Flub has
Heythrop Journal, 6 (1965), 412-33. a much more detailed knowledge of the facts and his informa
2. For a bibliography on EliIë, see H. S. Anasyan, “Mate tion corresponds better to the political and ecclesiastical
nagitutiwn” (Bibliography), in EliIëz Vasn Vardanay ew content of Armenia between the years 440 and 470; see in
Hayocc paterazmin, crit ed. E. Tr-Minasean (Erevan, 1957) particular E. Ter-Minasyan, Neracutiwn [Introduction] to
204-19; this bibliography in the part of “Literature” refers to the modem eastern Armenian translation of EliIb’s History
the whole work of E1ii but as to the editions and translations (Erevan, 1946), 14-92; and the two articles of B. Hamblian
it is limited to Efiië’s History. cited above. Further arguments could be added to those
Some additional studies, not mentioned in this biblio advanced by these authors.
graphy or posterior to it, include: B. Hamlian, “Analati 5. Flub, Vartananc patmut’iwns, Arewmdahay aiarha
Iotovka ew anor masnagcol ebisgobosnera [The Council of ban verajecc Y. Jovigian (Modern western Armenian trans. by
Artalat and the Bishops who took part in it].” Bazrnavep, 109 Y. J.)—Yeghisheh, The History of Vartanank, trans. D. H.
(1951), 256-62; 110 (1952), 4-10; idem, “Hay episgobosneru Boyajian (New York, 1952), v, 137 (114). In the following
inknaglux cetnatrutean masin nkatolutiwn m [A Consid notes the references are always to this English version if not
eration of the Autonomous Consecration of the Armenian otherwise indicated. I give in parentheses the corresponding
Bishops],” Bazmavep, 110 (1952), 149-52; Jovagan, “Hayagi page of’ the Armenian text of the critical edition of Tbr
takan ditofutiwnner. Eliië [Armenological Observations. Minasean, As this edition unites in one chapter the fifth and
EliI],” Hask, 35 (1966), 277-78; N. Akinian and P. Tr the sixth of prior current editions, it contains seven instead of
Polosian, “Madenagrakan hetazotutiwnner. Abraham Zena eight chapters. A second edition of the Armenian and English
kaci xostovanol episkopos Bznuneac [Philological Studies. versions I have quoted appeared in 1975 in two separate
Abraham Zenakac’i the Confessor Bishop of Bznunik’],” volumes. It seems to be simply a reprinting of the first edition.
Handes Amsorya, 84 (1970), cols. 386-404; V. K. Caloyan, 6. Ibid.
Hayocc pcilisopcayutcean patmutciwn [History of Armenian 7. ii, 55 (49).
Philosophy] (Erevan, 1975), 85-88; R. W. Thomson, “The 8. vii, 151-53 (vi, 123).
Maccabees in Early Armenian Historiography,” JThS, n.s. 26 9. vii, 153 (vi, 123).
(1975), 335-37, 341; E. Ter-Minasyan, “Eliië,” Hay m.iakoytci 10. ii, 27 (23).
nlanawor gorcinera. V-XVIII darer [The Famous Figures 11. Ibid.
of Armenian Culture. 5th-l8th centuries] (Erevan, 1976), 56- 12. Besides the texts I have still to quote, the following
69; L. H. Ter-Petrosyan, Abraham Xostovanoti “VkaykA ones can be seen: Author’s dedication to the priest Dawit
rewelic”a (Bnagrakan hetaotutiwn) [The “Oriental Mar Mamikonean, p. 5 (5); I, 13 (10); II, 57(50); III, 83, 90, 92 (70,
tyrs” of Abraham the Confessor (A Study of the Text)] 77, 79); VI, 147 (V, 121); VII, 157, 163 (VI, 127, 132); VIII, 191,
(Erevan, 1976), 50-54, 59-60. 233 (VII, 154, 188).
3. For editions and translations, see Anasyan, “Matena 13. vii, 53 (46-47).
gitutiwn”; the corpus of the writings of Elii has been pub 14. iii, 79 (67). See note 19 below.
lished twice in Venice: EtiI Vardapeti Matenagrutciwnk 15. ii, 53 (46f.).
(1838, 1859). I quote the second edition. A dissertation left out iSa. Another very significant passage from the plural to
of this corpus was published later: Elisbe Vardapet, Ques the singular, from the material building to the spiritual com
tions et réponses sur Ia Genèse—Harc’munkew patasxanik munity, in the use of the term “church,” is the following:
i Girs Cnndocc EtiIëi Vardapeti arareal, publ. and trans. “We are ready to suffer persecution, death, and all sorts of
N. Akinian and S. Kogian, P0, XX, fasc. 1 (Vienna, 1924). violence and afflictions for our holy churches, which our fore
A commentary of Eliië on Genesis, fragments of which exist, fathers entrusted to us by the grace of the coming of our Lord
mentioned also by later authors, has not yet been found; see Jesus Christ, and through which we were reborn” (iii, 79). In
N. Akinian, “Eliië Vardapet Kolaci. Keankn ew grakan the Armenian text both the relative pronouns are in the plu
gorjunëutiwna [F. V. K. His Life and Literary Activity],” ral, and their perfect parallelism makes it clear that both refer
Handes Amsorya, 65 (1951), cols 1-3. There is an unpublished to the “holy churches” excluding the suggestion of referring
study on this subject, as a doctoral dissertation, by L. Xai the second relative to “the grace of the coming of our Lord
kyan, EtiIëi “Araracocc Meknutciwn” a.iatut’iwns [The Jesus Christ”: “Patrast em i halacans . .vasn surb ekele
.
Commentary of Flue on Genesis] (Erevan, 1945), mentioned ceac, zor awandec’in harkn mer atajink zoruteamb gal
by S. Arewiatyan, “Platoni erkeri hayeren targmanutean stean Team meroy Yisusi Kcristosi, orov verstin cnak i mi
lamanaka [The Time of the Translation of Plato’s Works yoys hawatocn mkrtuteamb i Kristos Yisus” (p. 67). See
into Armenian],” BanberMatenadarani, 10(1910), 12 note 10. also notes 14, 19, and 20.
Large fragments of a philosophicotheological composition 16. vii, 173 (vi, 140).
on the soul of men have been preserved in a manuscript 17. vii, 71 (60f.).
copied in 981 (MS 2679 of Erevan, once 202 of Ejmiacin: 18. vii, 155 (vi, 125). Cf. also I fCarCarans Teai’n [On the
cf. Ccuccak jei.agracc Maltoccianuan Matenadarani [Catalogue Lord’s Passion], in EtiIbi Matenagrut’iwnk’, 245.
of Manuscripts of the Maitoc Library, I [Erevan, 1965], col. 19. I have revised here Boyajian’s translation. The Ar
853). These fragments have passed into the Venetian edition menian text has “Ew mayr zatakelakan eke1eci katcolikb.”
of the corpus (pp. 369-76) through MS 209 of the Mekhitarist 20. iii, 79 (67).
Academy of San Lazzaro in Venice, copied from the manu 21. I have revised Boyajian’s translation. The Armenian
script of Ejmiacin. reads “ew ml b hayr mer surb Hogin or cnaw zmez.”
4. The whole corpus has such individual features of style 22. viii, 209 (vii, 170).
and thought that it would be difficult to explain them other 23. iv, 107 (91), Cf. also Yerewumn TeatnAlakertacc [On
wise. This is, of course, a general statement not referring the Lord’s Apparition to the Disciples], in EtiIbi Matenagru
necessarily to each single part of Elii’s corpus. As to dating t’iwnk’, 312; 1 Kcarozutciwn Atakcelocc [On the Preaching of
this literary production, much has been written on this sub the Apostles], ibid., 354.
ject. Some critics of the first decades of this century assigned 24. I Ccarécarans Teatn, 241. Cf. also I Kcarozutciwn
Eliib’s work to later centuries, namely to the 6th or 7th, Atakcelocc. ibid.
THE ECCLESIOLOGY OF ELIE 197
25. Nor batgirk Haykazean Lezwi, 2 vols. (Venice, 38. Eranelwoyn Kiwrti Erusatemay Hayrapeti Koécumn
1836-37). encayutcean, XV (Vienna, 1832), 309; PG, XXXIII, 877: Cate
26. iii, 91. I have revised the English version, The Armen chesis XV, vii.
ian reads “uxt hasratel ankakuteamb unel zmiabanutiwnn” 39. See R. Murray, “Recent Studies,” 424f.; idem. Sym
(p. 78). bols of Church and Kingdom. A Study in Early Syriac Tradi
27. Some examples: ii, 26 (23); iii, 69, 71, 73 (59, 62, 63); tion (Cambridge, 1977), 12-17, 29f.
iv, 109 (92). 40. See note 39 above.
28. iii, 63 (54). 41. Canones Apostolici, ed. H. Ghedighian, in Fond, Ser
29. Cf. Haykakan Hamabarbat, 4, Agatcangetos (Tiflis, ies II, fasc. XXI: Collectio Canonum Ecclesiae Armenae, I
1909); II (Erevan, 1973), 355. (Venice, 1941); Canones Apostolici Primi, can. 32, p. 26
30. Cf. G. Garitte, Documents pour l’étude du livre (Armenian text and Latin version); Kanonagirkc Hayoc, i
d’Agathange, ST, CXXVII (Vatican, 1946), Greek text, par. 46f.
148, p. 92. 42. ii, 32; here and in the subsequent passages I change to
31. Cf. P. Ananian, “La data e le circosianze della con “covenant” where the English version has “league” for the
secrazione di S. Gregorio flluminatore,” Le Muséon, 74 Armenian “uxt.”
(1961), 317-24. 43. ii, 28.
32. Seeanay ew Hayoccpaterazmin (Erevan, 1957, 1972). 44. iii, 83 (71).
33. For the History can be collated Haykakan Hamabar 45. Cf. F. Tbr-Minasean, Ataja ban (Foreword) to his crit
bat, 5, E1iA’bi Vasn Vardanay ew Hayocc pat erazmin (Erevan, ical edition of Flub’s History, VI-VII.
1957, 1972). 46. Flub’s dedication to Dawitc Mamikonean, p. 3 (2), and
34. Cf. Haykakan Hamabarbal, 1, Eznik, Etc Alandoc the title of ch. iii which repeats Flub’s words in his dedication.
(Venice, 1826; Erevan, 1972), 710. 47. iii, 78 (67).
35. Editions: Srboy HOrn meroy Yakobay Mcbnay Epis 48. iii, 85, 93 (73, 78); vii, 155 (vi, 126); viii, 231 (vii, 187).
koposi Caikc Sancti Patris nostri Jacobi Episcopi Nisibeni 49. i, 9 (7).
Sermons’s, cum praefatione, notis, et dissertatione de Ascetis 50. iii, 87(75); iv, 107, 111 (90, 93).
quae omnia nunc primum in lucem prodeunt (Rome, 1756); 51. iv, 13 (95).
Girkc or kobi Zgon arareal Srboyn Yakobay. Hayrapetin
. . 52. Cf. Murray, Symbols of Church, l6f.
Mcbin k’atak’i, estndroy Srboy HOrn meroy Grigori Lusa 53. For instance, iii, 77, 85, 97 (66, 73, 82). The English
worc7in (Constantinople, 1824). version is not always expressive as to the full semiological
36. See Haykazean. value of the word.
37. For a bibliography, see H. Anasyan, Haykakan Mate 54. Cf. Murray, Symbols of Church, l4f.
nagitutciwn, II (Erevan, 1976), cols. 1361-63.
THE EARLY ARMENIAN ICONOGRAPHIC PROGRAM
OF THE JMIACIN GOSPEL
(Erevan, Matendaran MS 2374, ohm 229)*
THOMAS F. MATHEws
HE Ejmiacin Gospel includes three different sets of illustrations in sharply con

T trasting styles: (1) preface miniatures at the beginning of the codex; (2) occasional
marginal miniatures within the text; and (3) four miniatures at the end of the book
(figs. 1-4).’ Not having sufficient comparable material at hand, Josef Strzygowski mis-
attributed all three sets of miniatures. The initial and concluding miniatures he iden
tified as Syrian painting of the fifth and sixth centuries, respectively, while the
marginal illuminations he attributed to Yovanns, the tenth-century Armenian scribe
mentioned in the colophon.2 Frédéric Macler3 and Kurt Weitzmann4 both took issue
with this sorting of the material, but the final solution of the puzzle was offered by
Sirarpie Der Nersessian in two separate articles.5 The marginal miniatures in the text,
Der Nersessian points out, are associated with the division of the text into pericopes,
and these divisions on the grounds of paleography must be dated to the eleventh or
twelfth century The initial miniatures, on the other hand on the basis of both style
and content are entirely consistent with tenth century Armenian painting and should
assigned to the date and place indicated in the colophon of the book, that is, 989 in
be
the monastery of Noravankc in the canton of Blean, in the province of Slwnlkc 6
The four concluding miniatures, which are the subject of this paper, are somewhat
more difficult to place Stitched in on a pair of stubs at the end of the text but before the
colophon, they derived from an older manuscript that was somewhat larger and were
trimmed to fit their present setting The four miniatures carry no inscriptions that
might betray their date or land of origin On the basis of style, however Der Nersessian
has argued that the miniatures belong to the sphere of Armenian painting prior to the
Arab invasions that began in 640 On the one hand the style of the miniatures stands
apart from the style of early Syrian manuscript painting, hile on the other hand the
wide eyed, oval faces compare well with the faces of the tetramorphs, for example, at
the early seventh century church of St Stephen at Lmbat 8
Some confirmatory evidence for this attribution can be found in the system of illus
tration exhibited by the four miniatures Within the wide range of systems of Gospel
* would like to acknowledge a special debt of gratitude I Evans, Nina G. GarsoIan, Prudence 0. Harper, Evelyn
owe to colleagues who generously shared information and Harrison, Krikor Maksoudian, Alexander C. Soper, Priscilla
advice with me in preparing this paper, particularly to Helen Soucek, and Alice Taylor.
200 THOMAS F. MATHEWS
illumination developed in the world of Byzantine and East Christian art, the “classic
Armenian system” constitutes a unique contribution to the realm of the illuminated
book. As represented in manuscripts of the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Armenian
system consists of a set of full-page scenes which follow the canon tables and are in
turn followed by portraits of the evangelists, often the four grouped together on a
single page.9 The four concluding miniatures of the Ejmiacin Gospel fit most comfor
tably into this peculiarly Armenian system. The set is composed of four subjects, the
Annunciation to Zachariah, the Annunciation to the Virgin, the Adoration of the
Magi, and the Baptism. The full-page format of the miniatures and the selection of the
subjects point toward the Armenian system. It is also significant that the fourth scene
in this set, the Baptism, includes in its borders the portrait busts of the four evangelists.
Insofar as the classic Armenian system concluded with a page, or pages, of the evange
lists, the placement of evangelist medallions in the border of the Baptism suggests that
this was the concluding scene of he set. It is proposed that we have here, in compact
four-page format, the earliest instance of the classic Armenian system of Gospel
preface pages.
If this is so, then we have a serious task on our hands. For the work of the art
historian is not simply to identify the cultural context to which the material under
consideration belongs, but to interpret the material in that context. If we are looking at
the first consecutive set of Armenian Gospel iconography, we cannot avoid asking
what has dictated the selection of this set of scenes and what has shaped the icono
graphy. The challenge is to reconstruct the thought patterns that lie behind these four
miniatures. The iconography under examination here makes a strong and coherent
statement of early Armenian reflections on the central mystery of the Epiphany, and
at the same time it contains some of the strongest evidence for the early date of
the miniatures.
Two presuppositions underlie the present enterprise. The first is that Early Chris
tian art is never a naive, storytelling art. Between the unadorned Gospel narrative and
its translation into images something invariably intervenes, and that “something”
constitutes the most important ingredient for interpreting the work of art. For every
process of selecting Gospel material and every shaping of the material into concrete
images involves a partisan exegesis of the text, and every exegesis belongs to a time-
bound and culturally conditioned way of receiving the Christian message.
The second presupposition involves the manner of using literary sources. In
invoking literary sources to explain visual material one need not imply a cause-and-
effect relationship between the two. One does not have to imagine the painter with a
patristic library on his shelf in order to invoke patristic sources; one need only demon
strate that the literary and visual materials both come from the same milieu. Literary
and visual material are parallel manifestations of the same culture; artist and
theologian breathe the same air, and the same fabric of ideas appears in both their
works. In the present context I have tried to restrict the use of literary sources to early
Armenian material or to other sources known to have been translated into Armenian at
an early date.’°
AN EARLY ARMENIAN ICONOGRAPHIC PROGRAM 201
THE ANNUNCIATION TO ZACHARIAH
The unifying theme of the four miniatures under investigation is obviously the
Epiphany, the celebration of which at the opening of the Armenian church year
embraces the Birth and Baptism of Christ and includes the Gospel readings for all four
of the Ejmiacin miniatures.” In the first act of our four-part drama we witness the
encounter between Zachariah, father-to-be of the Baptist, and the angel Gabriel (fig. 1).
Although this is the starting point of Luke’s account of the events leading up to the
birth of Christ, the subject is extremely rare in Early Christian art. The selection of so
unusual a scene must indicate some special importance attached to the figure of
Zachariah. In addition, several features of the iconography remove the scene from the
realm of simple storytelling and begin to direct us toward a peculiarly Armenian
understanding of the mystery of the Epiphany.
Only two other occurrences of the subject survive in this period, and the two show
an interesting contrast in composition. In the Gospel of St. Augustine, a Latin manu
script of the sixth century, Zachariah, tunic-clad and holding incense in his right
hand stands behind an altar while the angel in profile approaches from the left;’2 in
the Rabbula Gospel of 586, however, it is the angel who stands behind the altar,
framed by an arch, while Zachariah approaches with incense from the right (fig. 5)13
The Ejmiacin miniature is of this same general type of composition; the angel is more
or less behind the altar framed by the temple facade while Zachariah approaches from
the right. This Syro-Armenian composition also distinguishes itself from the later
Byzantine examples of the subject, which generally show the angel entering and
finding Zachariah at the altar.’4 In this respect the Syro-Armenian composition shows
a greater sensitivity to the narrative of Luke in which Zachariah is said to have entered
and found the angel standing at the altar (Lk. 1:9-11). But there is a further significance
to this Syro-Armenian composition to which we will return in connection with the
Annunciation to the Virgin.
Other details are unique to the Ejmiacin handling of the subject. First, the angelic
messenger, beyond his customary long tunic, staff, and fillet, has wings of peacock
plumage. Although peacocks are nearly ubiquitous in Roman and Early Christian art,
the use of their gorgeous feathers for angel wings is unusual and cannot be without
significance.’ The known instances indicate something of a pattern. The pair of
peacock-angels on the triumphal arch of St. Catherine’s on Mt. Sinai lack explanatory
inscription, though they are firmly dated 54860.16 But when peacock-angels appear in
the apse of the Panagia Angelokistos on Cyprus, dated to the late sixth century, they
bear bold inscriptions identifying them as Michael and Gabriel (fig. 6).” The only
other example that has come to light, a sixth-century relief of Proconnesian marble in
the Antalya Museum, is also inscribed: “The Archangel Gabriel.”8 The dates of these
monuments are convenient in connection with our proposed pre-Arab date of the
Ejmiacin miniatures, and the inscriptions are also convenient. The angel who appears
to Zachariah identifies himelf, “I am Gabriel, who stand in the presence of God”
(Lk. 1:19). Clearly the peacock plumage is being used to set apart a special class of
angels, the archangels. Consciousness of ranks and distinctions among angels is a
well-known phenomenon of the late sixth century linked to the popularity of the
Celestial Hierarchies of Dionysius the Pseudo-Areopagite.’9
Further symbolic associations may also be intended in giving the angel peacock
wings. A Christian symbolism of the entire animal kingdom was systematically
developed in Early Christian times in a series of editions of the Physiologus, including
translation into Armenian.2° The Baptism miniature, as we will see below, makes
unmistakable reference to the Physiologus, and it is not unreasonable to suppose that a
similar reference may be intended here. According to the Physiologus, “The peacock is
the most pleasant of all birds of the sky. Comely in form and beautiful in his wings, the
peacock walks about and regards himself with pleasure. He struts excitedly and looks
on the world with disdain; but when he casts a glance on his own feet he cries out
weeping grievously, for his feet are not in keeping with the rest of his beauty.”2’ From
this observation the moralizing author concludes that the Christian should take his
delight in the gifts with which God graces him, but he should weep over his unattrac
tive parts, his sins. If the artist is conscious of such symbolism, then he has created in
his angel a creature of pure grace, for in place of the unattractive parts that the peacock
had to bewail, the angel is given the body of a handsome youth.
Rank and distinction are also important in the iconography of Zachariah himself. In
this respect our miniature shows a peculiar sense of fidelity to the priest’s Old Tes
tament situation. One should note that, according to the Mosaic law, the altar of
incense was to be placed before the veil that hung before the ark of the covenant
(Ex. 30:6), as our painter observed. The painter also did his best to observe the details of
the priest’s vestments as described in Exodus 28 arid 3922 The outer mantle is decorated
with two panels of precious stones mounted in gold, which are meant to illustrate the
“breastpiece of judgment” (Ex. 28:16-21). Beneath this Zachariah wears the “robe of
the ephod,” which was made of blue, with bells of gold around its skirts (Ex. 28:31-35).
Around his miter was prescribed a gold diadem of sorts, which the artist has shown as a
kind of golden laurel wreath (Ex. 28:36-38; Lv. 8:9).
What is most interesting about this iconography is not the degree of archeological
accuracy but the clear departure of the iconography from the Gospel of Luke. For the
vestments depicted are those of the High Priest, which according to St. Luke Zachariah
certainly was not; he was simply one of the large staff of priests, organized in twenty-
four courses, who took turns according to lot in offering incense in the temple
(Lk. 1:8-9). It is the apocrypha that elevate Zachariah to the status of High Priest and
transform him from an incidental figure into one of the major protagonists of the early
life of Christ.
The innumerable recensions of New Testament apocrypha, in many languages,
testify to their wide popularity in Early Christian times. Ironically their popularity
seems to contribute to their neglect in modern times, for scholars tend to infer that they
were essentially a frivolous literature, an entertainment genre more or less on a par
with the mindless soap opera of our day.23 The inference is incorrect and the neglect
deserves to be remedied. The apocrypha may entertain, but they are not without a
point of view, a cultural bias, and often a theological message. The Armenian Infancy
Gospel especially deserves reexamination.24 Paul Peeters, who traced its history,
assigned it a sixth-century Armenian origin by way of paraphrase and expansion of
Syriac sources. At the same time, he points out, there also existed in Armenian transla
tions of the Protoevangelium of James, a document widely circulated in Greek and
Syriac starting in the second century.25
It is the Protoevangelium that first speaks of Zachariah as a High Priest, and indeed
mentions his robe fringed with bells. To his role as father of the Baptist the Proto
evangelium adds his role in finding a celibate spouse to ensure the virginity of Christ’s
mother.26 The Armenian Infancy Gospel, however, enlarges even further the priest’s
role in a series of separate episodes: Zachariah assigns Mary her sacred employment of
spinning for the veil of the temple; after she has conceived he prophetically forecasts
the salvation that will spring from her; when Joseph is accused of having violated
Mary’s virginity, Zachariah presides over the trial-by-poison that proves their in
nocence; finally, during the Massacre of the Innocents, he lays down his life in the
sanctuary rather than reveal the whereabouts of his newborn son John.27
Something more is involved here besides the storytelling. Behind the legend and
behind the iconography stands a profound theological conviction common to the
Syrian and Armenian churches but not shared by the rest of the Christian world, a
conviction that the priesthood of Christ, in order to be authentic, had to be continuous
with the priesthood of the Old Testament. While elsewhere theologians insist that
Christ was priest in “the order of Melchisedek” (Heb. 6:20; 7), meaning that he was a
kind of maverick priest coming from outside the Levitical line to replace it with a new
spiritual priesthood, the Syrian fathers, as Robert Murray has demonstrated, were
concerned with a linear continuity of priesthood, which they imagined to be passed on
from Aaron down to Zachariah.28 From Zachariah it was passed on to John the Baptist,
who conferred it directly on Christ at his Baptism. The Rabbula Gospel illustrates this
continuity graphically by placing the first High Priest, Aaron, holding the rod of his
election, directly over the Annunciation to Zachariah (fig. 5).
The new importance of Zachariah in the Armenian Infancy Gospel parallels his
prominence as High Priest in the opening scene of our Ejmiacin Gospel miniatures,
and both have their explanation in the theological role assigned to Zachariah as the
essential link in Christ’s inheritance of authentic priesthood. To this theme and its
Armenian theological development we must return in the last miniature, the Baptism,
which is, in this view, Christ’s ordination. But we must recall that there was also in
Armenia a very tangible component of this belief in Christ’s hereditary priesthood, for
in Armenia the Christian priesthood was also largely hereditary. Priesthood was the
special prerogative of two families, the Gregorids and the Albianids, a phenomenon
which Adontz describes as a feature of the naxarar structure of Armenian society.29 The
Byzantine Council of Troullo went out of its way to condemn the Armenian custom of
hereditary priesthood in 692, but of course without effect.3° The Armenian liturgy
reinforced this parallel between the Armenian priesthood and Zachariah’s ancient
Levitical priesthood. The vesting prayer at the start of the liturgy describes the priest’s
robes as the prescribed robes of Aaron, including his bell-fringed ephod; and the hymn
of incensing compares the priest’s sacred task to that of Zachariah.3’
THE ANNUNCIATION TO THE VIRGIN
The Annunciation to the Virgin is among the most common subjects in Early
Christian art, yet it exhibits in the jmiacin Gospel several noteworthy features that
remove it from the unadorned narrative of Luke’s Gospel (fig. 2). I have already
remarked on the special iconography of the angel, who appears with peacock wings as
he did in the Annunciation to Zachariah. I have also alluded to the shift in composi
tion between the two annunciations. Whereas Zachariah approached the angel, here
the angel, according to a formula also found in the Rabbula Gospel, approaches the
Virgin, who is enframed by the archway of her house (figs. 1, 5, 7). The consistency of
the Rabbula and jmiacin miniatures in observing this difference is probably not
fortuitous, for it is a point remarked upon by Ephrem the Syrian. In his Commentary
on the Diatesseron, which was translated into Armenian in the fifth century, he
observes: “Zachariah approached the angel, to make it clear that his [Zachariah’s] child
was to be less than the angel; but the angel himself made approach to Mary, to make it
clear that her Child was the Lord of the angel.”32 Both Ephrem and the illuminators
are conscious that in proper ceremonial etiquette the lesser in dignity should go in to
meet the greater.
In response to the angel’s greeting the Virgin has risen from her wicker chair and let
fall her spinning in the basket before her. Once again the apocrypha intervene between
the Gospel text and its illustration. Both the Protoevangelium and the Armenian
infancy Gospel refer to the Virgin’s occupation of spinning at the time of the Annun
ciation, but again the detail is more than a matter of “narrative coloring.”33 In the
ancient world at large spinning was the occupation of the noble woman and a sign of
her devotion to domestic duties. Whether on Greek or Roman funerary reliefs, the
faithful wife is shown repeatedly with distaff, spindle, and basket, or any one of these
signs of her domesticity.34 Especially during the absence of a husband, when a
woman’s behavior might be expected to become frivolous, it was important that she
prove her constancy by spinning; hence the story of Penelope’s industry during
Ulysses’ absence. It was important, then, that Mary, receiving this strange visitor in the
absence of her husband, should be represented spinning like the upright and noble
woman that she was.
In the iconography of the Annunciation the Virgin’s hands are commonly occupied
with her labor, but often too she gestures in response to the angel with a sign of speech
or surprise, refusal or acceptance. The pensive gesture in which she raises her hand to
her chin in the Ejmiacin Gospel is unusual. It occurs in the Basilica Euphrasiana,
Parenzo (530-35), and in a more affected form in an ivory of the sixth or seventh
century in the Castello Sforzesco, Milan.35 In classical art this is the standard gesture of
deep perplexity.36 Its use in the Penelope fresco from Pompeii (fig. 8) presents a
striking parallel to its use in our miniature. The Virgin’s perplexity was mentioned by
Luke: “She was greatly troubled at the saying and considered in her mind what sort of
greeting this might be” (Lk. 1:29). But while in Luke the issue was resolved in eight
verses, the discussion expands to eight long paragraphs in the Armenian infancy
Gospel.37 This special interest in the Virgin’s uncertainty is peculiar to the Armenian
apocryphon. Just as Penelope (Odyssey, XIX, 100-334) was confronted with a strange
messenger (her husband in disguise) bringing her word of her husband’s long-awaited
return, the Virgin was confronted with a messenger she had never met promising the
long-awaited Savior of Israel. Like Penelope she had to test the veracity of the mes
senger; she asks for assurances both of the divine origin of his message and of the
protection of her virginity. This may resemble the soap opera’s exploitation of a
potentially compromising situation, but the author of the Armenian Infancy Gospel
uses the dialogue to spell out the most fundamental dogma of the Incarnation. Mary
need not fear for her viriginity, the angel explains, because the Lord who appeared to
Moses in the burning bush without consuming a leaf would take flesh in her without
the agency of man; her child was to be the Son of God.
THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI
The third miniature is the most complex of the four and the most difficult to
interpret (fig. 3). The event is pictured in the domestic setting indicated by the Gospel
of Matthew: “Going into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother” (2:11),
but many features of the iconography involve apocryphal sources. Around the simple
nucleus of Matthew’s narrative a bewildering fabric of legend quickly grew up, includ
ing recensions in Latin, Greek, Syriac, Arabic, Armenian, Ethiopic, and Uigur. Ugo
Monneret de Villard has provided us with the basic map through this forest of
material.38 While some of the Syrian sources can be connected with the iconography of
the jmiacin miniature, the most convincing associations are with the Armenian
Infancy Gospel.
Beside the throne of the Virgin stands an angel who introduces the eldest of the three
visitors. Although this motif occurs in other, non-Armenian representations, it seems
to have its best explanation in the Armenian Infancy Gospel. For while in other
accounts of the coming of the Magi it is always the appearance of the star that informs
them of Christ’s birth, in the Armenian version it is the angel Gabriel.39 As soon as he
had delivered his message to Mary, Gabriel went directly to the Magi to invite them to
worship the Child who was to be born. The journey of the Magi then coincided with
the nine months’ pregnancy of the Virgin.
Early Christain art customarily shows the Magi dressed in floppy Phrygian caps,
short tunics, and loose pants; in the commonest version they stand in a file offering
gifts on veiled hands.4° The dress, the pose, and the veiled hands have all been traced to
origins in Roman imperial art where vanquished orientals are shown paying homage
to the emperor.4’ The jmiacin miniature, on the other hand, follows a more complex
composition in which the Mother of God, enthroned, takes a frontal pose in the center
while the Magi group on either side. This composition was employed in the sixth
century ampulae from the Holy Land as well as in a pair of ivories which have been
assigned an origin in Syria or Palestine.42 Moreover, the dress of the Ejmiacin Magi
makes specific eastern references.
Instead of the usual floppy Phrygian caps, the Magi wear firm domical hats set with
rows of pearls and decorated with bands, tied in back, falling loose in fluttering
ribbons. In spite of some damage, these ribbons are clear in the Magus who turns his
head in profile (fig. 9), and they are traceable in the Magus on the right. But this kind of
headdress is characteristic of the authentic magi, the priests of the Zoroastrian cult. On
Sasanian seals magi, identified by inscriptions, wear domical tiaras studded with pearls
and fastened with fluttering ribbons (fig. 10), in addition they have large pendant pearl
earrings like those of the Ejmiacin Magi.43 The same form of tiara, decorated with
appropriate insignia, could also serve a prince or high government official, and this is
true of the rest of the clothing of the Magi. The articles they wear—trousers, jacket, and
cloak—are indeed proper to priests; derived from riding clothes, this outfit lessened the
danger of ritual contamination that could result from brushing against objects with
more copious, flowing garments.44 Yet nearly the same dress, perhaps in different
colors, was worn by the princely class of Parthian and Sasanian Iran. For example, at
Dura-Europos in the third century, when Mordecai was shown in triumph, his royal
Parthian robes were decorated with rich bands of embroidered material like those of
our Magi, and he wore a beribboned tiara.45 A further royal association must be read in
the curious pose of our three Magi, who although they are in motion toward the
Mother of God nevertheless keep their heels together. As Grabar pointed out, this
seems to be the result of an attempt to adapt the seated pose of Sasanian royalty, who
commonly assume a frontal posture with their knees apart and their heels together.46
If the artist has combined priestly and royal attributes in the jmiacin Magi, this is
perfectly in keeping with the literary sources. According to the Armenian Infancy
Gospel, the Magi were priestly guardians of a secret book of divine revelation which
they passed on from father to son.47 This document, which told of the coming of the
Savior, had been given by the Lord to Adam, who passed it on to Seth. It came into the
hands of the Magi from Melchizedek, who had received it from Abraham in the time of
King Cyrus. It is not clear in the text whether the author regarded Melchizedek as a
magus, but it is clear that he saw him as the link by which some measure of orthodoxy
and authentic revelation was conferred on the priesthood of the magi.
At the same time the Apocrypha identify the Magi as kings. Both the Syrian Book of
Cave of Treasures and the Armenian Infancy Gospel picture the Magi traveling to
Judea with their armed forces. The Syrian source identifies them specifically as
Sasanian kings, clothed in double costumes with priestly garb on top of their royal
robes.48 According to the Armenian sources, however, they were three royal brothers,
Melkcon, king of Persia, Paltasar, king of India, and Gaspar, king of Arabia.49
Christ as king deserved the worship of kings. The basic catechism of Armenia, the
Teaching of St. Gregory, emphasizes the Davidic inheritance of Christ’s kingship in
the context of his birth from the Virgin Mary. He is called prince, “because ‘a branch
springs from the root of Jesse, says Isaiah, and a flower from his branches (Is. 11:1),’
that is, the birth of the daughter of David. Then he will sit on the throne of David and
will bring his kingdom to success.” Furthermore, “the only begotten Son of God, the
beloved who shares the Father’s throne, became a son of David (Mt. 22:42) and ele
vated his throne forever. . . And He was declared king not only by the previous
.
indications, but also by a sign at the time itself by the magi who came and said: ‘Where
is he who was born king of the Jews (Mt. 2:2)?’ And they inquired from the scribes and
arrived where the child was; there they worshipped and paid Him obeisance.”5°
It was equally important, from a polemical point of view, that the Magi be identified
as priests. Insofar as Armenia was Zoroastrian before it was Christian and was long
pressured by its Sasanian overlords to return to its pre-Christian practice, it was impor
tant to portray the priests of Zoroastrianism acknowledging a higher priesthood in
worshipping the Christ Child.5’ Whatever truth Zoroastrianism could claim, and what
ever authenticity its priesthood had, it could only lead, according to the apocrypha and
according to the Ejmiacin miniature, to the more complete truth of Christianity.
The miniature contains a more obscure allusion to Zoroastrianism in the distinction
of the three ages of the Magi. The Magus beside the angel is shown with the grey hair
and beard of an old man; the next, in profile, has the black hair and beard of a mature
adult; and the last, on the left, is shown as a beardless adolescent. Although this
iconographic detail is adopted widely in Middle Byzantine art, it is an anomaly in the
Early Christian period.52 It has its parallel, however, in the Armenian Infancy Gospel
in which the three Magi in worshipping Christ have three different visions of him.
Going out afterward they exchanged their impressions among themselves; Gaspar
reported seeing a child “Son of God incarnate, seated on a throne of glory.” Paltasar,
however, saw him as commander of the heavenly forces “seated on an exalted throne
before whom a countless army fell down and adored.” Finally, Melkon saw him dying
in torment, rising, and returning to life.53 Returning twice more, the three Magi found
their visions exchanged to confirm the identity of the three manifestations of Christ.
This curious story has parallels in two other apocrypha. In the Chronicle of Zuqnin,
attributed by Monneret de Villard to Edessa before 50, the triple vision takes place
before the Magi set out from home; and in Marco Polo’s Legend of the Magi, also of
Syrian derivation, the three visions are said to correspond to the ages of the Magi—
each sees Christ to be of his own age.54 The three apocrypha are clearly connected, and
the three ages of the Magi in the jmiacin miniature must be associated with this triple
vision of Christ.
The background of this triple vision, as Leonard Olschi analyzed it, must be found
in Zoroastrianism, and specifically in the later form of that religion known as Zurva
nism.55 Throughout its history Zoroastrianism was much concerned with time—
infinite time, or “zurvan,” and three cosmic units of time (creation, separation, and
mixture) which entered the liturgy personified as objects of veneration. Zurvanism may
be viewed as a kind of gnostic attempt to minimize the basic dualism of Zoroastrianism
by reducing the creators of good and evil, Ohrmazd and Ahriman, to the status of twin
sons of Zurvan, eternal time. Obscure though it be, this was the Zoroastrian doctrine
encountered by the Armenians in the fifth century. Eznik addressed himself to
Zurvanism in his treatise On the Sects,56 and the Armenian Church Council of 450 was
convened precisely to formulate a response to Zurvanism. As the Council said, in part,
“God did not receive the beginnings of his existence from anyone, but he is eternal in
himself; he is not in any place but is his own place; he is not in any time but time
derives from him; and he is prior not only to heaven but also to the thoughts of men
and angels.”57
It is this eternal Christ whom the artist has tried to represent in the Ejmiacin
miniature, worshipped by Magi representing three ages of cosmic, earthly time. Christ
himself, one must observe, is represented in a most exceptional iconography, for he
does not sit directly in his Mother’s lap but inhabits an oval aureole or mandorla of
blue which she holds in her hands. The basically visionary character of the mandorla
in Early Christian art has been ignored; there has been a tendency to turn exclusively to
Roman imperial sources for its explanation.58 Mandorlas in general have been
regarded as a Christian takeover of the imago clipeata. In Roman art, shields, generally
round but sometimes also oval, were a common form of funeral portrait which by
growth in popularity was adopted in imperial portraiture as well. The mandorla,
then, is seen as an instance of the adaptation of triumphal imperial imagery to Chris
tian purposes; as Der Nersessian says of the mandorla in the Ejmiacin miniature,
“C’est l’image sacrée du souverain offerte a l’adoration de ses fidèles.”59 There is,
however, an obvious impropriety in such an interpretation in the present context, for
the artist could not have intended to show the Virgin holding an image of the Christ
Child. The narrative, whether in the Gospel or the apocrypha, can hardly accommo
date such a reading: the Magi did not journey nine months to behold only a picture of
the newborn king. Something more is intended in the mandorla.
There is a gap between the Roman prototypes and the Christian mandorla icono
graphy which has been overlooked in earlier discussions. Roman clipeate portraits are
exclusively bust images, a characteristic that emphasizes the purely pictorial status of
the one represented. By contrast, the image in the Christian mandorla whether in the
Ejmiacin miniature or elsewhere, is a full-length figure clearly endowed with life and
movement. While the imago clipeata consists of a flat surface to which the bust image
is affixed, the Christian mandorla surface exists behind the figure. The figure enjoys the
freedom of a living body in front of the mandorla; he can overstep and reach beyond
the border of the mandorla and other figures can interact with him by entering over the
border.6° Finally, while the clipeate oval is a plain field, the mandorla is often bordered
in concentric bands of color, especially red, white, and green, as in the Rabbula Gospel
or in the Armenian frescoes of Lmbat and Talin.61
All of these features can be traced in early Buddhist art in Central Asia. Though the
shape of the Buddhist aureole is variable—oval, circular, or flame-shaped—the Buddha
in front of the aureole is always a full-length figure, whether standing or seated, and he
enjoys the same kind of reality status as Christ does before his mandorla. This is most
clear in sculpted images, in which the Buddha stands independent in front of the
aureole;62 but it is also clear from the fact that the Buddha can overstep the border or be
joined by other living figures who enter his space in front of the aureole.63 The field of
the aureole is sometimes blue as in Christian art, and it is often bordered in concentric
bands of red, white, and green.64 Finally, it should be pointed out that the iconography
of the Buddha in his oval aureole was in circulation long before Christian art made use
of the motif.The coin of King Kanika I carrying such an image of the Buddha has
been dated by Rosenfield to the first decades of the second century (fig. 11 ).65
The meaning of the mandorla therefore must be reassessed. It is not a shield, nor
does it represent a picture of Christ in the hands of the Virgin; rather, like the Buddhist
aureole it is meant as a radiance, a circle of light, a zone of glory.66 In the iconography
of the jmiacin Gospel the mandorla is intended to emphasize the visionary nature of
the Magis’ encounter with the Divine Child in whom they beheld the supratemporal
character of Zurvan, that is, eternity.
One final detail of the jmiacin miniature that has escaped notice is the gesture of
the Christ Child. In Early Christian iconography of the Adoration of the Magi, the
Child sometimes reaches out to receive the gifts that are offered, but most commonly he
raises his right hand in benediction. The extended right arm with the palm turned
toward the viewer is unique in Early Christian iconography. It is a gesture, however,
that is known in both Roman imperial art and in early Buddhist art with the same
overtones. In Roman art it is the gesture of imperial largess, as on the Arch of Galerius
in Thessalonike;67 in Buddhist art it is the varada, or segan-in mudrã, the gesture of
charity, the dispensing of favors.68 Thus, in the final analysis the artist has presented in
bold terms the stark paradoxes inherent in the Incarnation. Christ is represented as
eternal Lord, beyond the succession of birth, growth, and death, though he has
assumed these limitations in his human nature; he is surrounded with a glory so
pronounced that even his all-pure Mother cannot hold him in her hands, though she
has just given birth to him; the Magi offer him gold, incense, and myrrh, but in his
gesture of charity he is beyond need of gifts, for he is the source and dispenser of
all favors.
Such a position is of course entirely consonant with the anti-Nestorian preoccupa
tions of the Armenian church in the sixth century. For Armenian polemicists the term
Nestorian included the “heresy” of Chalcedon, for Chalcedon’s insistence on the two
natures of Christ, each perfect in itself and unconfused in their union, sounded very
much like Nestorius’ separation of the two natures.69 Nestorius’ own position the
Armenians confronted in its most radical form as the katcolikos Babgn defined it in
his letter of 505: “The Katolikos of Assyria and the other bishops who are Nestorians
teach that God [i.e., the Word] was two sons: the one, God, the Word, equal to the
Father, who descended from the heaven, and the other, Jesus, mortal man like us who
was born of Mary and who because of his becoming more righteous than any other
man, was honoured and by grace called ‘Son of God’ [thus being] only by name and
not [truly] Son of God and equal to the Father.”7° The Adoration of the Magi as
illustrated in the Ejmiacin Gospel and amplified in the Armenian Infancy Gospel
makes a strong statement of the orthodox Armenian position: Christ was not a man
who became divinized; rather, at his very birth from the Virgin Mary he was fully
divine, the eternal Word of God, and this divinity was seen and recognized by the Magi
when they came offering their gifts.
THE BAPTISM
The fourth miniature is both the conclusion and the climax of the set (fig. 4). It is the
only miniature that is formally enframed, and the iconography of the frame enters into
the statement made by the miniature itself. As noted previously, the evangelists’ por
traits found in the four corners signal the conclusion of the set, according to the classic
Armenian system of Gospel illustration. In their original setting the text of the
Gospels would have followed directly on the next page. The iconography of the
evangelists offers one more corroboration of the early dating of the miniatures, for the
uniform age and appearance of the four authors have their nearest parallel in the four
busts of the evangelists in the sixth-century Rossano Gospels.7’ Later evangelists tend
to be distinguished into a pair of older men (Matthew and John) and a pair of younger
(Mark and Luke).
The Baptism climaxes the Armenian liturgical celebration of the Epiphany. The
text of the event (Mt. 3:1-17) is the reading for the Blessing of the Water with which the
Epiphany liturgy concludes.72 The Armenian custom of associating Baptism with
Birth in the same feast has consequences in the iconography.
In general the iconography of the scene can best be described as archaic.73 The
ministering angels, the attendant disciples, and the personification of the River
Jordan, all of which are introduced into the Baptism in the course of the sixth century,
are missing from the Emiacin miniature. Instead the miniature follows closely the
simpler scheme used in the Rabbula Gospel (fig. 12). John, clad in his heavy garment
of camel’s hair, stands on the left and leans over to place his right hand on the head of
Christ. The naked figure of Christ emerges, chest-deep in the water of the Jordan, and
directly over his head the dove of the Holy Spirit descends from the hand of the Father
in a manifestation of the Trinity. The words from heaven, “This is my beloved Son,
with whom I am well pleased” (Mt. 3:17), were linked in Armenian to the text of
Psalms 2:7, “The Lord said to me, ‘You are my son, today I have begotten you.’ “The
latter was the Midday Psalm for the feast of Epiphany.74 The parallel of the two verses
seemed to confirm the Armenian identification of the day of Christ’s Baptism with his
birthday. This association seems also to have suggested one detail in which the icono
graphy departs from that of the Rabbula Gospel, and that is the portrayal of Christ as a
beardless young man. The origins and original meaning of the two types of Christ,
bearded and beardless, remain obscure,75 but in our Armenian context the preference
for the beardless youth should be tied to the persistent association of Baptism
with Birth.
The iconography of the Baptism may be said to restate the divinity of Christ within
a Trinitarian context. This cannot be claimed as a peculiarly Armenian feature of the
subject, for it derives directly from the Gospel text and is understood fairly universally
in the iconography of the subject in Early Christian times. For an Armenian statement
of the theme one may turn to the passage on Christ’s Baptism in the Teaching of
St. Gregory: “He who came from the bosom of the Father is versed in the mysteries of
his begetter. For there is no lack with Him of the grace of the Spirit, but He Himself is
one with the Father and the Spirit in will, in mind and purpose; for He Himself is the
distributor of the grace of the Holy Spirit. For the Father loves his Son, and all things
established by the Father are through the Son. And what is of the Father, the same is
also of the Son; and as is the Father, so also is the Son; and all the grace of the Spirit is
distributed by the Son.”76
More peculiar to our Armenian context, however, are the implications of the icono
graphy of the border in which we find repeated ten times the image of the pelican
(fig. 13). Indentifiable by her color as pelecanus roseus, a species that ranges from
southeast Europe to Asia,77 she spreads her wings and pecks at her breast while stand
ing in a lavish chalice. The chalice and the paten that accompanies it are encrusted
with pearls and other large jewels and further decorated with pendant pearls on
delicate gold chains. This motif, the pelican in a chalice, is unknown in Byzantine art
where the pelican is used in the marginal Psalters as a symbol of loneliness in connec
tion with Psalm 102:7.78 The motif should also be distinguished from Western use of
the “Pelican in her Piety” where she appears seated in her nest surrounded by her
young.79 The pelican in a chalice deserves to be called a Syro-Armenian invention, for
the only other example that has come to light is in the Rabbula Gospel. Carlo
Cecchelli identified the somewhat damaged bird on fol. 5a as a fledgling eagle;8°
but since eagles are not known to hatch in chalices, and since the bird has the same
pose and the same rosy breast as the Ejmiacin example, it must be identified as a
pelican (fig. 14).
The symbolism comes directly out of the Physiologus, that textbook of Christian
natural history whose origin in the East and translation into Armenian were men
tioned above.8’ The pelican who revived her young with blood from her own side was a
type of Christ in his self-sacrifice on the cross. “For ascending the cross and opening
his side, he let flow blood and water for salvation and eternal life—blood, in reference
to his ‘taking the chalice and giving thanks,’ but water in reference to the baptism
of repentance.”82
With this symbol we come full circle. While the first miniature gave pledge of the
authenticity of Christ’s priesthood—to be received through Zachariah and John the
Baptist—the final miniature promises the fulfillment of his priesthood in his sacrifice
of the cross. The Baptism therefore is here represented as the conferral on Christ of the
authentic priesthood by which God ordained the salvation of the world. In his
Commentary on the Diatesseron Ephrem the Syrian tells us:
“The Spirit that rested on him in his baptism gave witness that he was the [true]
shepherd; for through John he received prophecy and priesthood. Indeed he had
already received the kingship through his birth, which was of the house of David;
the priesthood of the house of Levi he received through a second birth, his
baptism by a son of Aaron. Therefore whoever believes that he [the Word] had a
second birth in this world must also believe that through this latter birth, the
baptism of John, he received the priesthood of John.”83
The Teaching of St. Gregory bears witness to the Armenian understanding of this
doctrine:
“Then came the great John, son of the high priest Zachariah. Here came the
companion of the temple, not a stranger. Here was the heir and inhabitant of
Sion, of the same ephod-wearing priesthood, wearing a tiara of the honor of the
robes of holiness, bearer of tradition of the commandments, not a foreigner but
suitably girded, the descendent of Moses and the branch of Aaron and the evan
gelist of Sion, worthy of anointing; he received the honor of the priesthood of his
forefathers. So all the grace of the tradition of the prophecy of the race of
. . .
Israel,. .the priesthood, with the kingship, was entrusted [to him] through the
.
tribe of Levi. And he gave the priesthood, the anointing, the prophecy, and the
. . .
kingship to our Lord Jesus Christ.”84
CONCLUSION
Our search to understand the four final miniatures of the jmiacin Gospel has
repeatedly underscored the debt of early Armenian art to neighboring cultures. In some
miniatures the iconography has close parallels to Syrian material, in other cases
Roman and Byzantine sources are evident, and in still others sources in Asia must be
credited. The closest parallels all reinforce a dating in the late sixth century or early
seventh century. Yet the four miniatures are in no sense a collage or an eclectic assem
blage of the leftovers of other cultures, for the material makes a strong and well-
constructed statement with a coherence and purpose of its own. A single program
embraces the four miniatures and that program is specifically early Armenian in its
intellectual content. It is true that one might say there are varying degrees of
“Armenian-ness” in the literary sources to which we have had recourse—some simply
translated from other languages (such as the Physiologus), some paraphrased and
rewritten for an Armenian audience (such as the Armenian Infancy Gospel), and some
of entirely native Armenian composition (such as the Teaching of St. Gregory). In
spite of this diversity, however, all of this material constitutes a genuine Armenian
intellectual heritage, for translated material found its way into Armenian not by acci
dent but by a process of selection that chose works for their peculiar relevance to the
Armenian experience. The jmiacin miniatures are a unique document of early
Armenian culture and a powerful witness to the maturity and accomplishment of that
civilization prior to the Arab conquest.
The Institute of Fine Arts,

New York University
1 For color reproductions of the four miniatures, see L.

.
arménienne au Vile siècle et les miniatures de l’évangile
A. Durnovo, Armenian Miniatures, trans. I. J. Underwood d’Etchmiadzin, ‘ ‘ Actes du XII Congrès International des
(London, 1961), 33-39. Etudes Byzantznes, III, (Belgrade, 1964), 49-57, republished in
2. J. 5trzygowski, Das Etschmiadzzn-Evangeliar: Beiträge Etudes byzantines et arméniennes, pp. 525-32.
zur Geschzchte der armenischen, ravennatischen und syro 6. The colophon specifies only Noravankc in Siwnikc,
agyptischen Kunst (Vienna, 1891). and there are in fact four sites called Noravankc (“New Mon
3. F. Macler, L’Evangzle arménien, edition phototypique astery’ ‘) in Siwnik. A more recent study, however, has linked
du ms. 229 de la bzbliotèque d’Etchmiadzin (Paris, 1920), 12-13. the patron of the manuscript, a priest named Lord Step’an
4. K. Weitzmann, Die armenische Buchmalerei des 10. nos, to inscriptions at Noravankc in Blean. S. Barxudarean,
‘Ejmiacin Avetarani Grutean Vayr [The Ejmiacin Gos
‘
und beginnenden 11. Jahrhunderts, 1st Forsch, IV (Bamberg, ‘ ‘
1933), 3-14. pel, The Place of Its Writing], Banber Matenadarani, 4 (1958),
5. 5. Der Nersessian, “The Date of the Initial Miniatures 43-59.
of the Etchmiadzin Gospel,” ArtB, 15 (1933), 1-34, cited 7. The fact that the miniatures had to lose most of their
hereafter as published in her collected works Etudes byzan borders to fit the codes clearly dissociates them from the 6th-
tines et arménzennes (Louvain, 1973), 535-58; “La Peinture century ivory covers of the codex. In their present state
1L
hi “--a . :: .
1 . Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374, fol. 228r, The Annunciation to Zachariah

2. Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374, fol. 228v, The Annunciation to the Virgin
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detail, The Annunciation to Zachariah, with Aaron
__________________
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(measuring 340 x 255 mm) the two folios rank among the MS 1204, fol. 143v and the book of Kells, fol. 209v; it later
largest Early Christian codices, along with the Vienna Gene- enjoys a special popularity at the end of the Middle Ages in
sis (335 x 250 mm) and the Rabbula Gospel (336 x 266 mm). Northern Europe.
For comparative measurements, see K. Weitzmann, Late 19. De celesti hzerarchza, chap. 9, PG, III, 257-60.
Antique and Early Christian Book Illumination (New York, 20. Max Wellmann favors a Syro-Palestinian origin of the
1977), 27-30. Physiologus in the 4th century, in Der Physiologus, eine
8. For early Syriac illuminated manuscripts, see Jules relzgzonsgesch ichtlzch-naturw zssenschaftliche Un tersuchung
Leroy, Les Manuscrits syriaques a peintures (Paris, 1964); for (Leipzig, 1930). Franciscus Sbordone is responsible for sort-
reproductions of early Armenian fresco painting, see Nikolai ing out the various redactions of the manuscript, in Physio
G. Kotanjyan, Cvet v Rannesrednevekovoz 2zvopzsi Armenii logi graecz singulas variarum aetatum recensione codicibus
(Erevan, 1978). One should note in passing that Der Nerses fere omnibus tunc primum excussis collatisque (Milan, 1936).
sian’s stylistic argument would be stronger if there were more Nikolai Marr’s study was not available, Fisiolog, Armiano
evidence; no other Armenian manuscripts of the period sur grusinskiy isvod (St. Petersburg, 1904). The Armenian trans
vive and there are no figurative frescoes from Syria to be lation, according to Sbordone, was made around the year 600
introduced into the comparison. One should also point out from the first recension. It must be pointed out that the chap-
that the facial types of the jmiacin miniatures are not a ter on the peacock was added in the second, “Byzantine”
native Armenian invention but a local variant of a facial type recension of the 5th or 6th century; it would have to be
common in monumental wall decoration of the Justinianic assumed in the present situation that the symbolism of the
period. peacock-angel was imported with the image itself from the
9. The “classic Armenian system’ shows up equally in
‘ Byzantine world.
the ‘renaissance’ group of manuscripts that form the subject
‘ ‘ 21. The author’s translation from Sbordone, Physiologi
of Weitzmann’s study cited above (n. 4), and the so-called gracel, pp. 204-5.
‘ ‘
Melitene group’ which arranges its illuminations longi
‘ 22. On the interpretation of these obscure passages, see
tudinally on the page. For a recent discussion of the Melitene Roland de Vaux, Les lnstitutions de l’Ancien Testament, II
group, see Bezalel Narkiss and Michael E. Stone, Armenian (Paris, 1960), 200-6, 268-70.
Art Treasures of Jerusalem (Jerusalem, 1979), 36-40. For 23. Monneret de Villard characterizes the Armenian In-
comprehensive treatment of Armenian manuscripts of the fancy Gospel as a work of ‘barocchismo turgido. He adds,
‘ “
1 Ith century, see T. A. Izmailova, Armjanskaja Miniatjura XI “La prolissità verbosa di tutta la narrazione . . ha l’anda
.
Veka (Moscow, 1979). mento del racconto di un cantastorie.” U. Monneret de

10. On the scope of early Armenian translating activities, Villard, Le leggende orientali sui magi evangelici, ST, CLXIII
see 1. Hausherr, “Arménienne (Spiritualité), Dictionnaire de
“ (Vatican City, 1952), 77.
Spzrztualzté I (Paris, 1932), 862-67; more recently, on transla 24. French trans. and introduction Paul Peeters, Evan
tions from the Greek Fathers, see R. W. Thomson, “The giles Apocryphes, II: L’Evangile de l’Enfance (Paris, 1914),
Fathers in Early Armenian Literature,” Studia Patristica, 12 i-liv, 69-286 (cited hereafter as L’Evangile). Text edition by
(1975), 457-70. Of course beyond translated material, as Esayi Tayecci, Ankanon Girkc Nor Ktakaranacc, Tcangaran
Thomson indicates, Armenians were familiar with a wide Haykakan Hin ew Nor Dprutceancc [Apocryphal Books of
range of Greek and Syriac material in their original languages. the New Testament, Treasury ofArmenian Literature, Ancient
11. Ca.oc’ Girk [Lectionary] (Jerusalem, 1873), see read and Modern], II (Venice, 1898) (cited hereafter as Ankanon
ings under nos. 1 and 371. Girkc).
12. Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 286, fol. 129v. 25. L’Evangile, xxix-l.
F. Wormald, The Miniatures in the Gospels of St. Augustine 26. Protoevangelium, chap. 8, E. Hennecke and W. Schnee
(Cambridge, 1954), p1. 8. melcher, New Testament Apocrypha, I, trans. R. Wilson
13. Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana, MS Plut. I, 56, (Philadelphia, 1963), 378-79.
fol. 3b. C. Cecchelli, G. Furlani, and M. Salmi, The Rabbula 27. Armenian Infancy Gospel, chaps. IV, 8; V, 13; VII,
Gospels (Olten, 1959). 3-9; XIV, 1-8. L’Evangile, 89, 101, 114-19, 157-61. Ankanon
14. For example, see Mt. Athos, Panteleimon MS 2, Girkc, 13-14, 22, 3 1-34, 57-59.
fol. 243r. Treasures of Mount Athos, II (Athens, 1974), p1. 292; 28. R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom, A
or see Rome, Vat. Gr. MS 1613, p.61.11 Menologio diBasilio Study in Early Syriac Tradition (Cambridge, 1975), 178-82.
11 (Turin, 1907), p1. 61. 29. Nicholas Adontz, Armenia in the Period of Justinian:
15. This aspect of angel iconography does not seem to The Political Conditions Based on the Naxarar System, ed.
have attracted attention before. See G. Stuhifauth, Die Engel and trans. N. Garsoian (Lisbon, 1970), 286-88.
in der altchrzstlzchen Kunst (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1897); 30. Mansi, XI, 957-59.
G. Berefelt, A Study on the Winged Angel, The Origin of a 31. Divine Liturgy of the Armenian Apostolic Orthodox
Motif (Stockholm, 1968). Church, rev. 4th ed., trans. T. Nersoyan (New York, 1970),
16. G. H. Forsyth and K. Weitzmann, The Monastery of 15-16, 19.
Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai, The Church and Fortress of 32. Ephraem Syrus, Commentaire de l’Evangile Concor
Justznzan (Ann Arbor, Mich., 1968), pls. 122, 123. dant, ed. and trans. L. LeLoir, CSCO, CXXXVII-CXXXVIII,
17. J. I. Smirnov, “Christianskija Mozaiki Kipra,” Viz Scriptores Armeniaci, I, II (Louvain, 1953-1954); citation
Vrem, 4 (1897), 1-93; on the dating, see A. H. S. Megaw, from book I, chap. 6 in I, 6; date and history of the Armenian
“Early Byzantine Monuments in Cyprus in the Light of text discussed in the introduction.
Recent Discoveries,” Akten des XI Internationalen Byzan 33. Protoevangelium, chap. 11, Hennecke and Schnee
tinisten-Kongress (Munich, 1958), 345-51; idem, “Byzantine melcher, I, 380; Armenian Infancy Gospel, chap. V, 2, L’Evan
Architecture and Decoration in Cyprus: Metropolitan or gile, 90; Ankanon Girkc, 15.
Provincial?,” DOP, 28 (1974), 74-76. 34. To cite only Eastern examples, see M. A. R. Colledge,
18. D. Talbot Rice, Art of the Byzantine Era (New York, The Art of Palmyra (London, 1976), figs. 63, 64, 68, 74, 76, 83,
1963), fig. 48. The peacock angel seems to disappear entirely and 85.
in later Byzantine art, though it occurs occasionally in the 35. G. Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, trans. J.
West (for example, the Gel lone Sacramentary, Paris, B.N.Lat. Seligman (Greenwich, Conn., 1971), fig. 72. For the ivory, see
K. Weitzmann, ed., Age of Spirituality: Late Antique and Le leggende, 27-49, 65-68; on the Marco Polo legend, see
Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century (New York, idem, 78-90.
1979), no. 448, where a Syro-Palestinian origin is proposed. 55. L. Olschki, “The Wise Men of the East in Oriental
36. G. Neumann, Gesten und Gebdrden in der griechi Traditions,” Semitic and Oriental Studies Presented to W. Pop
schen Kunst (Berlin, 1965), 125-36. - per (Berkeley, 1951), 375-95. On Zurvanism, see R. C. Zaehner,
37. Armenian Infancy Gospel, V, 1-8, L’Evangile, 89-97; Zurvan, A Zoroastrian Dilemma (Oxford, 1955), and his more
Ankanon Girkc, 14-19. recent views in Dawn and Twilight, 181-247.
38. Cited in note 23 (hereafter Le leggende). - 56. On the Sects, II, passim. Crit. ed. and trans. L. Manes
39. Armenian Infancy Gospel, V, 10; L’Evangile, 97; and C. Mercier, De Deo, 2 vols. (Paris, 1959), P0, XXVII, pts.
Ankanon Girk’, 19. 3.4 III-IV (fasc. 136-37).
40. Schiller, Iconography, 1,94-114; figs. 245-70. 57. Eliië, History of Vardan, chap. 2, 83-84.
41. This was established in a brilliant article by Franz 58. For the use of the imago clipeata in Roman art, see
Cumont, “L’adoration des mages et l’art triomphal de Rome,” Johannes Bolten, Die Imago Clipeata: Em Beitrag zur Portrait
Atti dellapontif. accad. rom. di archeologia, ser. III, Memorie und Typengeschichte: Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des
III (1932-33), 81-105. The theme has been further developed Altertums, XXI/l (Paderborn, 1937); R. Winkes, Clipeata
by A. Grabar, L’Empereur dans l’art byzantin (Paris, 1936). Imago, Studien zu einer rdmischen Bildnisform (Bonn, 1969).
The older work by H. Kehrer, Die heiligen drei Konige in For its alleged adaptation in the Christian mandorla, see
Literatur und Kunst, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1908-1909), remains G. W. Elderkin, “Shield and Mandorla,” AlA, 42(1938), 227-
valuable for its review of literary sources, even though its 36; 0. Brendel, “Origin and Meaning of the Mandorla,”
typology of Early Christian iconography is inadequate. The GBA, 25 (1944), 5-24; A. Grabar, “Imago clipeara chrétienne,”
more recent work of G. Vezin, L’adoration et le cycle des L’art de Ia fin de l’antiquité et du moyen age, I (Paris, 1968),
mages dans l’art chrétien primitif, Etudes des influences 607-13.
orientales et grecques sur l’art chrétien (Paris, 1950), is too 59. S. Der Nersessian, Etudes Byzantines et Arméniennes,
naive in method to contribute anything worthwhile to the 529.
subject. 60. In the Rabbula Gospel, for example, Christ oversteps
42. A. Grabar, Ampoules de Terre Sainte (Paris, 1958), and reaches beyond the mandorla in the Ascension, while in
pis. i, ii, iv. One of the ivories is in the John Rylands Univer the Dedication miniature he sits on a three-dimensional
sity Library, Manchester; the other is in the British Museum. throne in front of the mandorla and other figures enter his
See W. F. Volbach, Elfenbeinarbeiten der Sphtantike und des space before the mandorla from either side. Cecchelli, The
frdhen Mittelalters (Mainz, 1952), figs. 127 and 133; K. Weitz Rabbula Gospels, fols. 13b and l4a.
mann, Age of Spirituality, nos. 457 and 476. 61. Kor’anjyan, Cvet, pls. 26 and 42.
43. Richard N. Frye, Sasanian Remains from Qasri Abu 62. D. L. Sneligrove, ed., The Image of the Buddha (New
Nasr: Seals, Sealings and Coins (Cambridge, Mass., 1973). York, 1978), pls. 64, 106, 127, 131, 136, 137.
44. Mary Boyce, Zoroastrians: Their Religious Beliefs and 63. Ibid., pls. 136, 137.
Practice (London, 1969), 67. 64. Mario Bussagli, Painting of Central Asia, trans.
45. On this painting and Mordecai dress, see Dalia Tawil, I,. Small (Geneva, 1963), 34, 38, 39, 70.
“The Purim Panel in Dura in the Light of Parthian and
65. J. M. Rosenfield, The Dynastic Arts of the Kushans
Sasanian Art,” JNES, 38 (1979), 94-109. For a discussion of
(Berkeley, 1967), 253-58.
Parthian dress, see H. Seyrig, “Palmyra and the East,” JRS,
40(1950), 1-7; Colledge, Art of Palmyra, 96-104. 66. On the meaning of the aureole in Buddhist art, see
46. A. Grabar, “Etudes sur Ia tradition arménienne dans A. C. Soper, “Aspects of Light Symbolism in Gandhãran
l’art medieval,” REArm, 13 (1966), 13-37. Sculpture,” Artibus Asiae, 12(1949), 252-83, 314-30; 13(1950),
-
47. Armenian Infancy Gospel chap. XI, 10-11; L’Evan 63-85.

gile, 137-39; Ankanon Girk’, 46-47. On the history of the 67. H. P. Laubscher, Der Reliefschmuck des Galerius
magi in their Zoroastrian Context, see R. C. Zaehner, The bogens in Thessaloniki (Berlin, 1975), pl. 60, 1.
Dawn and Twilight of Zoroastrianism (New York, 1961), 68. For early examples, see Snellgrove, The Image of the
16 1-69. Buddha, pls. 64, 74, 87, 126, 129, 130. On the meaning of the
48. Monneret de Villard, Le leggende, 6-8, 14. gesture, see E. D. Saunders. Mudra: A Study of Symbolic
49. Armenian Infancy Gospel, XI, 1, L’Evangile, 131-32; Gestures in Japanese Buddhist Sculpture (New York, 1960),
Ankanon Girk’, 42-43. Further on, however, Baldasar is said 51-54.
to be king of Arabia, and Gaspar of India, chap. XI, 17, 69. K. Sarkissian, The Council of Chalcedon and the
L’Evangile, 142-43; Ankanon Girkc, 49. Armenian Church (New York, 1965), esp. chaps. 5-7,
50. The Teaching of Saint Gregory, An Early Armenian pp. 148-213.
Catechism, trans. R. W. Thomson (Cambridge, Mass., 1970), 70. Ibid., 200.
chaps. 395, 399-400, pp. 84.85. 71. A. Muñoz, II codice purpureo di Rossano (Rome,
51. On the pre-Christian religions of Armenia in general, 1907), fol. 5r, p1.
see R. Grousset Hzstoire de l’Arménie des Origines a 1071 72. Caloc’Girk’,no. 1.
(Paris, 1947), 117-20. The primary source for the 5th-century 73. J. Strzygowski, Ikonographie der Taufe Christi, em
resistance to the reimposition of Zoroastrianism is Elilë, His Beitrag zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der Christlichen Kunst
tory of Vardan and the Armenian War. English trans. R. W. (Munich, 1885); Schiller, Iconography, I, 127-45.
Thomson (Cambridge, Mass., 1982). 74. Cf. note. 72.
52. For a sampling of the iconography, see Schiller, 75. For a recent discussion of these issues, see E. Dinkier,
iconography, figs. 245-70. The distinction of ages in the “Ikonographische Beobachtungen zum Christustyp,” Gesta,
Magi at S. Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna, is the result of 18 (1979), 77-87.
modern restoration. 76. Teaching of St. Gregory, chap. 443, trans. Thomson,
53. Armenian Infancy Gospel, chap. XI, 19-20; L’Evan 99.
gile, 143-44; Ankanon Girk’, 50. 77. Nouveau Larousse Illustré, s.v. Pelican.
54. On the Chronicle of Zuqn in, see Monneret de Villard, 78. For example, see Moscow, Khludov Psalter, fol. 104,
M. V. Scepnika, Miniatjury Chludovskoi Psaltyri (Moscow, to the first recension, which was translated into Armenian
1977). around 600.
79. E. Kirschbaum, Lexikon der christlichen Ikonogra 82. Sbordone, Physiologi graeci, 18-19.
phie, I (Rome, 1968), 390-92. 83. Commentaire de l’Evangile Concordant, IV, 3, p. 35.
80. Cecchelli, The Rabbula Gospels, 56. 84. Teaching of St. Gregory, chaps. 429-30, 432, trans.
81. See note 20 above. The chapter on the pelican belongs Thomson, 94-95.
NONCLASSICAL SOURCES FOR THE ARMENIAN MOSAIC
NEAR THE DAMASCUS GATE IN JERUSALEM*
HELEN EVANS
N Jerusalem in the Musrara Quarter outside the Damascus Gate there was excavated
I in 1894 an elaborate mosaic floor with an inscription in Armenian consecrating the
work “to the memory and salvation of all Armenians whose names the Lord knows.”
The inscription is one of the most archaic examples of Armenian epigraphy surviving
today (figs. 1 and 2).’
Below the inscription a large, rectangular design is enframed by a plaited border. At
the base, a thick-stemmed grapevine emerges from an elaborately bejeweled gold and
silver amphora forming a series of circular scrolls. From the massive stem of the vine
hang sparse and angular small leaves and a number of larger, darkly outlined grape
clusters. The symmetrical arrangement of the leaves and grape clusters reinforces the
overall symmetry of the grapevine grid itself. The vine scrolls enframe forty-one birds,
including one in a cage; a basket of grapes; a basket of bread; and a chalice. To the
sides the birds are arranged in pairs by species in opposition across the center row of
circular medallions. Long-legged, cranelike aquatic birds predominate, accompanied
by doves, partridges, peacocks, and an eagle.2 Of all these birds, only one bird in the
cage, the goose, and the eagle of the center row stand alone, and only the eagle is posed
frontally with his wings spread.
The mosaic continues above the inscription where it is enframed in a waved border
of black and white. There, four partridges stand on a flower-strewn field flanking a
silver goblet that appears to be filled with bread. The body of the goblet is shaped of
repoussé petals like that of the amphora and chalice in the larger mosaic.
On the basis of epigraphy Stone suggests a date no later than the sixth century for
the mosaic, the era to which Avi-Yonah and Kitzinger assign it on the basis of style.3
Narkiss compares it with the less finely detailed Shellal mosaic of 561, with which it
shares certain motifs.4
The Armenian mosaic is typical of many mosaics in Palestine and Syria done in a
basically Byzantine/classical style which use a similar scroll to display various objects,
including birds, beasts, plants, and men.5 The Armenian mosaic, however, is unusual
in its exclusive use of birds, and this is what constitutes the puzzle of the mosaic.
* I would like to take this opportunity to thank Thomas thank Sebastian Brock, Prudence 0. Harper, K. Hintlian,
F. Mathews without whose aid and advice the development of Michael Sullivan, Alice Taylor, and Estelle Whelan for their
this paper would not have been possible. I would also like to generous advice.
218 HELEN EVANS
Crowfoot and Dauphin have argued that no symbolic intent should be attached to the
design, and Narkiss has suggested an interpretation of the motifs ultimately based on
Roman pagan symbolism.6 However, since the inscription on the mosaic is in
Armenian it is worth investigating whether the iconography makes any specifically
Armenian statement. The purpose of this paper is to establish an iconographic inter
pretation of the mosaic based on Armenian sources stemming from a basically
nonclassical tradition.
It is difficult when studying the Christian art of Palestine or the Near East to trace
those elements of early Christian art that are not part of the Greco-Roman tradition,
since the vocabulary is dominated by designs easily associated with classical art. With
out denigrating the importance of the Greco-Roman artistic and cultural tradition in
the Near East, it is essential to survey also the Eastern Christian tradition for concepts
and motifs borrowed from the eastern civilizations with which there was contact.
The most important source for early Armenian theology is also our most important
source for the iconography. The Teaching of St. Gregory, which was included in
Agatcangelos’ mid-fifth-century History of the Armenians, uses bird imagery exten
sively in contexts where the birds become the just, the resurrected, those who are to
attain heaven. To use Thomson’s translation, “Those who stand in this loyalty to the
command of the righteousness will take the form of a dove with rapid wings and will
fly on the wings of the Holy Spirit to attain the kingdom of heaven,” or in another
place, “all hearers . . [should prepare]
. . to wait on the divine trumpet of the
. .
coming, that all might be freely joined to that troop of birds. that they too may be
. .
worthy to acquire their wings and rise to the heights and see the Lord of heights
without shame.” Elsewhere the author described birds as “Nature’s trumpet,” which
would “give warning to all of the Lord’s coming in the resurrection of the dead.”7
“Flying birds,” especially swallows, turtledoves, and cranes, were stressed by the
author as symbols of resurrection in association with spring and new plant life; else
where he used doves as symbols of the soul.8 These are precisely the birds that
dominate the Armenian mosaic in Jerusalem. That this very positive concept of birds
was widely accepted in the Armenian tradition is shown by the text of the Divine
Liturgy. There, in a prayer for the repose of souls, one finds: “All nations of mankind
rejoiced when they heard of the resurrection. With new feathers were they adorned at
thy resurrection,” or in a midday hymn “God arose and the whole universe is adorned
with new wings.”9 Elsewhere in another prayer for the repose of souls Enoch and
Elijah are described as “living in old age in dovelike form. . in the supernal Jerusa
.
lem, the dwelling of the angels.”° In a hymn for his feast day St. John the Baptist is
called “harbinger of spring in our land, thy sweet sounding voice of a dove,” which is
closely related to the bird/spring/resurrection imagery of the text ascribed to St.
Gregory.’1 Bird imagery is used for Christ in descriptions of his resurrection and only
in that connection. In a Sunday melody one finds: “The fowl, the fowl awoke. . .He .
called, he called to the turtle-dove, to his beloved nurtured in love.”2 There too a
gardener says to Mary at the tomb: “The fowl is risen, the wakeful being.”3 And in an
ode for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, Christ is “a fowl bright, peerless. .
On that wood of the cross peerless. . . He had wings glistening like silver.”4
.
THE ARMENIAN MOSAIC BY THE DAMASCUS GATE 219
I propose that the Armenian inscription on the Jerusalem mosaic, “to the memory
and salvation of all Armenians whose names the Lord knows,” reflects the same pat
tern of thought we have been tracing in the Teaching of St. Gregory and the Divine
Liturgy. The birds stand for the dead in their risen state.
The unique pose of the eagle at the midpoint of the center row of the medallions
would seem to possess a special significance (fig. 3). In the Armenian version of the
“Harrowing of Hell” Christ is compared to an eagle, as is Lazarus. (The Greek recen
sion of the text does not use this bird imagery.) Christ is described as driving Satan and
his legions from hell as the eagle drives partridges before him. This description is also
used by the katcolikos Zacharias in a sermon of the mid-ninth century. Although these
references postdate the Armenian mosaic, it is thought the original translation of the
“Harrowing of Hell” into Armenian occurred in the fifth or sixth century.’5 At that
time nonclassical Syriac writers, such as Ephrem, who used the eagle as a symbol for
Christ, had been translated into Armenian.’6 Especially important for this discussion
is Ephrem’s description of Christ as “the heavenly eagle” in his Hymen Contra
Haereses in a description of the battle against Satan.’7 This nonclassical, semitic
tradition would appear to be the logical source for the Christ/eagle imagery in
Armenian literature.
Thus I propose that the eagle on the mosaic should be seen as a symbol of Christ. As
the savior of man, the conqueror of hell, he will free the bird in the cage above him
which as Grabar has shown is a Neoplatonic symbol for the soul of man.18 Although
an Armenian textural source for the symbolism has not emerged, it is known that
Neoplatonic texts were among the early works translated into Armenian in the fifth
century.’9 Further, the use of the motif in the canon table of the tenth-century Ejmiacin
Gospel indicates its popularity as a symbol to the Armenians.2° Certainly the motif was
well established in early Christian Palestine where it is found on the mosaic of the
church of Elie, Marie, and Soreg at Gerassa and the bread stamp from Mamre recently
discussed by Frazer.21
The ultimate source for this Armenian connection of birds with the resurrected does
not appear to be derived from the Greco-Roman Christian world. Clement of Alexan
dria and St. Augustine used birds, including peacocks, as symbols of the sin of pride.
To both authors, and many others, the only admirable birds were the meek ones, such
as doves and pigeons.22 It is Basil of Caesarea in his Hexaemeron of the 350s who first
presents birds as role models for human behavior.23 However, Basil failed to develop
the resurrection symbolism used in the Armenian tradition. Nor did Romanos the
Melode, the great Byzantine hymnist of the sixth century, use birds as symbols in his
resurrection hymns.24
It is rather in the East, in Zoroastrianism, that one finds precedents for Armenian
bird symbolism. Birds are first recorded as creatures of the power of good in the
Zoroastrian world scheme by Plutarch.25 Details of this view are elaborated in the later
Bundahi.n, which describes the Zoroastrian concept of the creation of the world.
While the earliest preserved copy of this text dates to the ninth century, its theological
sections are thought to be derived from an Iranian recension of the early fourth cen
tury. There the one hundred and ten species of birds are described as the creation of
220 HELEN EVANS
Ohrmazd to oppose “noxious creatures.” Various mythical birds aided man: the
Chamru protected Iran, the Kariptar taught man the Avesta; the Zor-bara drove
away evil. Scavenger birds were good as they cleansed the land of waste.26 The
var-yna (hawk/falcon), considered to be the seventh form of the God Bahrãm, was
thought to possess magical properties and may have been depicted as an eagle. The
cock was the companion of the god who protected man from demons and led him
to the “Path of Selection” after death.27 It is this view of birds as helpers of man and
gods that would seem to have influenced Armenian thought as it came to see birds as
symbols of the good, the just, the resurrected.
The Sasanian Empire in its continual battles with the Roman Empire occupied
most of Armenia from A.D. 387 to 591. When Zoroastrianism was made the official state
religion in the fifth century, the ruling applied to Armenia. Intense and rather success
ful efforts were made at mass conversions to Zoroastrianism in Armenia at that time.28
If the birds in the grapevine of the Armenian mosaic are symbols ultimately derived
from Zoroastrian precepts, what of the grapevine itself? Although plants are also
products of the good, there is little mention of the grapevine in Zoroastrian texts. In
the Teaching of St. Gregory the vine is associated with the good: “The vine recalls the
tame (beasts),” and with Christ: “He will bind his ass to the vine and his donkey to
bunches of grapes, that is his coming in humility to the laborers of the vineyard who
did not desire the Lord of the vineyard.”29 These biblical references are elements of
the multifaceted image of the vine expressed by the early Syriac Christian writers
such as Ephrem, Aphrahat, and Cyrillona, whose writings reflect a semitic, not
Greek, tradition.3°
The complex imagery applied to the grapevine in Syriac writings related it to Christ,
the passion, the Church, the eucharist, and the Tree of Life in varying combinations of
the ideas. According to Murray, Old Testament vineyard imagery was closely related to
the Johannine vine through the ambiguity of the Syriac word karma, meaning both
vine and vineyard.3’ The Syriac use of the vine as a passion symbol with the attendant
implications of eucharist and resurrection would be an appropriate and not unreason
able interpretation of the vine in the mosaic as Syriac Christian texts were among the
first works translated into Armenian. Cyrillona’s description of the “True Vine” in his
“On the Pasch” as translated by Murray is typical of this imagery:
They saw the cluster hanging—

high at the head of the Cross;
Golgotha became the vine-plant
and from its sweetness looked out.
With their lips they received its [his] blood,
and seized with their hands his truth.
The vine is Christ who came to us,
reached out to us the Cluster in love.”32
The concept of clusters of grapes as the righteous whom Christ would save, as also
described in the Catana of Severus in a text attributed to Ephrem, would explain the
THE ARMENIAN MOSAIC BY THE DAMASCUS GATE 221
relative stress given them in the designs of the vine on the mosaic. “The grape in the
cluster is a type representing the righteous in the Nation.”33
By extension the basket of grapes and bread in the center medallions of the mosaic
are to be associated with the eucharist, the means to salvation for the righteous,
perhaps as described by Ephrem:
Blessed be the Vineshoot, which became

the Chalice for our salvation!
Blessed also be the grape,
the source of the Medicine of Life!
Blessed also be the Farmer, who became
the wheat which was sown
and the wheat which was harvested!”34
Perhaps this imagery explains the placement of the chalice in the precise middle of the
mosaic emphasized by the only birds whose pose interrupts the general symmetry of
the design.
It is also within the eucharistic context that the continuation of the mosaic above the
inscription is to be read. It must be seen as representing the Old Testament prefigure
ment of the eucharist, the provision of the quail and manna by the Lord to the
Children of Isreal in the wilderness. Those lines from Exodus 16:13-14 are described in
the Teaching of St. Gregory.35
The multiplication of partridges, or quail, on the mosaic is a final indication that
the origins of the iconography of the mosaic should not be sought in Western sources.
Aristotle’s Natural History, which so influenced Western Christian writers, describes
these birds as having “deceitful” and “nasty” habits.36 In contrast the Physiologus,
written in a Syriac milieu, describes them as brooding and hatching the eggs of others,
who then leave them as the “foolish in heart” leave the Church before coming to full
adulthood and returning to it. Surely it is an attitude such as this that encouraged the
repetition of the quails not only in the Old Testament setting where they are essential
but also twice on the vine.
In this paper I have attempted to show that images in the Christain East stylistically
related to the Byzantine/classical tradition may not always be iconographically
dependent upon it as in the Armenian mosaic.38 On this mosaic it is the Armenian
inscription that is the key to the sources of its iconography, in spite of stylistic similari
ties to other Palestiaian Byzantine products.
The Institute of Fine Arts,

New York University
222 HELEN EVANS
1. Archdeacon Owesepian, “Mosaik mit armenischer In 16. Dr. S. Brock brought the examples of nonclassical,
schrift in Norden Jerusalems,” ZDPV, 18 (1895), 88-90. S. Der Syriac Christ/eagle imagery to my attention. S. Der Nerses
Nersessian, Armenian Art (London, 1978), 67. B. Narkiss, sian, The Armenians (New York, 1970), 86. Agatangelos,
The Armenian Art Treasures of Jerusalem (Jerusalem, 1979), History of the Armenians, trans. and commentary R. W.
21, 28, 167 notes 1, 6, 13. B. N. Arakelian, “Armenian Mosaic Thomson (Albany, 1976), iii.
of the Early Middle Ages,” Primo Simposio Internazionale di 17. Ephrem, Hymen Contra Haereses, ad. E. Beck, CSCO,
Arte Armenia (Venice, 1978), 5-7. CLXIX, Scriptores Syri 76 (Louvain, 1957), 53, line 15.4.
2. M. Avi-Yonah, “Mosaic Pavements in Palestine,” Quar 18. A. Grabar, “Un Theme de l’iconographie chrétienne:
terly of the Department of Antiques in Palestine, 2 (1933), 36 L’oiseau dans la cage,” CahArch, 16(1966), 9-16.
no. 132. He identified the details of the mosaic. However, he 19. Der Nersessian, The Armenians, 87.
reversed the bird types on the third and sixth rows below the 20. Grabar, “Un Theme de l’iconographie,” fig. 7.
inscription and inaccurately identified the long-legged birds 21. Avi-Yonah, “Une école,” pl. CLxXXH, 2. M. E. Fraser,
of those rows as ostriches. The long and short necks on the “A Syncretistic Pilgrim’s Mould from Mamre (?),“ Gesta, 18
birds of the first and fifth rows below the inscription are rest (1979), 137-45.
ing and active poses of the same species, possibly a type of 22. T. F. Clemens, Christ the Educator, trans. S. P. Wood,
ibis. Avi-Yonah identified the bread in the basket as fruit but Fathers of the Church, XXIII (Washington, D.C., 1953), 15,
there are no leaves associated with the oval shapes as there are 207, 224. Augustinus, De Civitate Dei, XXIV.2, PL, XLI,
with the grapes above to substantiate the association. col. 502, trans. in A Select Library of the Nicene and Post
3. Narkiss, Armenian Art Treasures, 167 note 3. Dr. M. E. Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, 1st ser. ad. P. Schaff
Stone in a letter has confirmed his interpretation of the epi (rpr. Grand Rapids, Mich., 1956), 2, 324. Augustinus, Confes
graphy as being contemporary with the pictorial areas and sionum, 111.5, PL, XXXII, col. 708, trans. in A Select, 1, 80.
having no later than a 6th-century date. M. Avi-Yonah, “Une 23. Basil, Hexaemeron, trans. mA Select, ibid., 8,96-100.
école de mosaique a Gaza au sixième siècle,” La mosaique 24. M. Carpenter, Kontakia of Romanos (Columbia, Mis
gr&o-romaine, II (Paris, 1975), 379. E. Kitzinger, Byzantine souri, 1973), 1, 251-327.
Art in the Making (Cambridge, 1977), 89. 25. J. H. Moulton, Early Zoroastrianism (London, 1913;
4. Narkiss, Armenian Art Treasures, 28. rpr. Amsterdam, 1972), 399-400.
5. Avi-Yonah, “Une école,” pis. cLxxlx-cLxxxll. On Plate 26. B. T. Anklesaria, Zand-Akasih, iranian or Greater
CLXXX the labels for figs. 1 and 2 are reversed. A. D. Trendall, Bundahiin (Bombay, 1956), 4-7, 123, 199, 201.
The Shellal Mosaic (Canberra, 1942), p1. IV. H. Klengal, 27. C. J. Brunner, Sasanian Stamp Seals in the Metropoli
Syria Antiqua (Leipzig, 1971), 18. tan Museum of Art (New York, 1978), 104, 107-8. Anklesaria,
6. J. W. Crowfoot, Early Churches in Palestine (London, Zand-Akasih, 203, 219, 221.
1941), 119. C. Dauphin, “Byzantine Pattern Books: A Re 28. C. Toumanoff, Studies in Christian Caucasian His
examination of the Problem in the Light of the ‘Inhabited tory (Georgetown, 1963), 364, 366 note 32.
Scroll,’ “Art History, 1/4 (1978), 408. Narkiss, Armenian Art 29. Agatange1os, 126 no. 537, 78 no. 376.
Treasures, 28. 30. R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom (Cam
7. Agatangelos, The Teaching of S. Gregory: An Early bridge, Mass., 1975), 2, 31.
Armenian Catechism, trans. and commentary R. W. Thom 31. Ibid., 95-130.
son (Cambridge, Mass., 1970), 1, 148 no. 605, 163-64 nos. 658 32. Ibid., 124.
and 659. 33. Ibid., 119.
8. ibid., 163 nos. 655-57, 147 no, 603, 148 no. 605. 34. ibid., 120.
9. T. Nersoyan, Divine Liturgy of the Armenian Apos 35. Agatangelos, 60 no. 313.
tolic Orthodox Church (New York, 1970), 62, 88. 36. Aristoteles, Historia Animalium, trans. D. W. Thomp
10. ibid., 63. son, Works of Aristotle, IV (Oxford, 1910), IX.8, p. 6l3b.23
11. ibid., 113. and IX.9, p. 6l4a.30.
12. ibid., 87. 37. 0. Seel, Der Physiologus (Zurich, 1960), 18-19 no. 18.
13. ibid. 38. Avi-Yonah, “Une école,” 377-82, believed the Arme
14. ibid., 112. nian mosaic to be one of a series of Palestinian mosaics done
15. S. Der Nersessian, Etudes Byzantines et Arméniennes for churches and synagogues by a school of mosaicists in
(Louvain, 1973), 437, 443, 445, 453. Gaza. This is a problem separate from the iconography.
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•

NINA G. GARSOYAN, THOMAS F. MATHEWS

and ROBERT W THOMSON

Published with the Assistance of

Composition by Cambridge Typesetters, Ltd.

Printed by Braun-Brumfield, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the

AELRED CODY, O.S.B. . . . . . . 89

MARLIA MUNDELL MANGO 115

BOGHOS LEVON ZEKIYAN 187

(photo: C. Ogilvie) Mango)

Nina G. GarsoIan: THE IRANIAN SUBSTRATUM OF ‘AGATCANGELOS”

Xarabe yank’ Stele (Seventh Century)

1—4. Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374: (photo: Richard Anderson, Dumbar

Plut. I, 56, fol. 4b (detail from C. 14. Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana MS

1—3. Jerusalem, Armenian Chapel near 1. View from Entrance

AA Arch/iologischer Anzeiger, Supplement GBA Gazette des Beaux-Arts

OrSyr L’Orient Syrien SC Sources Chrétiennes. Collection dirigée

N designing the conference represented by these papers the organizing committee at

HIS paper attempts to sketch general characteristics of Syriac Christianity down

THE SOURCES AND THEIR PROBLEMS

EARLY SYRIAC RHETORIC

You too, then, 0 Physician,

Waf 1-kon wale, asawata, (8)

Let us watch for the hour of the glorious Bridegroom

that we may enter with him into his marriage-chamber.

Nettar wadeh d-Hatna biha (8)

THE GENIUS FOR SYMBOLIC EXPRESSION

You descended into Sheol with mighty power,

WO apparent paradoxes provide an appropriate setting for this paper. In the

THE EARLY PERIOD

Philoxenus of Mabbug is a particularly useful yardstick, for here is a man who is an

SEVENTH AND EIGHTH CENTURIES

Arabic;53 in Chalcedonian circles in particular Greek nonetheless continued to act as a

Above all the Greeks is the wise Porphyry held in honor,

It is to certain translations of Greek secular texts, such as Aristotle’s Organon, that

I heard a poet of the world magnifying virginity,

YSTEMATIC research on the persistence of pagan cults and practices in Christian

It is therefore impossible to speak of pagan cults and practices in Syria as a well-

The Institute of Semitic Studies and

Department of Religious Studies

THEODORE AND HIS SCHOLION

We do not have enough information at our disposal for a proper biography of

LITERARY CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF THE SCHOLION

The Literary Genre

Structure and Content

The Authenticity of the Scholion

THE INTELLECTUAL AND RELIGIOUS MILIEU OF THE SCHOLION

It is obvious that Theodore bar KônI’s Scholion should be discussed in relationship

The Nestorian School Community

Institute of Christian Oriental Research

We worship thee, Only-Begotten of the Father spiritual lamb that came

down from heaven to earth so as to become a propitiatory sacrifice on behalf of all

now. . and forever.