The Mêmrâ on the Signs Moses Performed in Egypt
An Exegetical Homily of the "School" of Ephrem I would like to express my gratitude
to the anonymous readers of this article for their helpful feedback. I am also
indebted to Jeffrey Wickes, Susan Ashbrook Harvey, and Philip Michael Forness
for reading and commenting on earlier drafts. All errors remain my own.
Blake
Hartung
Saint Louis University
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James E. Walters
Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute
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Blake Hartung
The Mêmrâ on the Signs Moses Performed in Egypt: An Exegetical Homily of the "School" of Ephrem
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Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies
Beth Mardutho: The Syriac Institute, 2018
vol 21
issue 2
pp 319–356
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Ephrem the Syriam
Translation
Commentary
Homilies
Exegesis
Exodus
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Abstract
This article examines the Mêmrâ on the Signs Moses Performed in Egypt, a text first published by J.J.
Overbeck. Despite its attribution to Ephrem of Nisibis (ca. 307–373), this mêmrâ is not well-known in Syriac scholarship. In this article, I
provide the first English translation of the text, and argue that it is the product of
the literary circle of Ephrem in fourth-century Nisibis or Edessa. Furthermore, I
contend that this prose exegetical homily represents a genre almost entirely unknown in
extant early Syriac literature. As a witness to little-known exegetical and homiletical
practices in that formative period, it enriches our understanding of the early emergence
and development of Syriac Christian literary culture.
PART I: THE MÊMRÂ ON THE SIGNS AND
SYRIAC LITERARY CULTURE IN THE FOURTH CENTURY
Introduction
Although scholars widely acknowledge Ephrem of Nisibis
(ca. 307–373) as a singular figure in
Syriac literature and a valuable source for Christianity in late antique Northern
Mesopotamia, many texts bearing his name remain untranslated and unstudied. Among
the vast corpus of little-known Syriac texts attributed to Ephrem is a prose
mêmrâ entitled “First
Mêmrâ On the Signs Moses Performed in
Egypt” (hereafter, MoS). The manuscript heading identifying this
mêmrâ as the “first,” could
refer to its place as the initial
mêmrâ in the codex, or, as
Jansma argues, to its place as the first in a series of (now lost)
mêmrê on Moses in Egypt. See
Taeke Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies d’Egypte,”
L’Orient Syrien 6 (1961): 3–24,
23. This text has survived (along with several other
mêmrê attributed to Ephrem) in a
single manuscript of the fifth or sixth century. London, British Library Add. 17189, folios
1v–4v. See William Wright, Catalogue of the Syriac
Manuscripts in the British Museum acquired since the year 1838, Vol.
2 (London: British Museum, 1871), 407. This small codex contains five prose
homilies:
On the Signs Moses Performed in Egypt (fol.
1r–4v),
On the Coming of the Spirit and the Division of the Tongues in the Upper Room (fol.
4v–6r), On the Fast fol. 6r-8v),
On the Creation of the World (fol.
9r–12v), and
On the Sin of Adam (fol.
12v–15v). Although J.J. Overbeck produced a printed edition of
MoS in 1865, J.J. Overbeck, ed., S. Ephraemi Syri Rabulae Episcopi Edesseni Balaei
Aliorumque Opera Selecta, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1865), 88–94.
Based upon my reading of the manuscript, Overbeck’s edition is a nearly
perfect reproduction of the text. In my translation, I offer only a few
minor corrections on the basis of the manuscript. Taeke Jansma
is the only modern scholar to have discussed it in
detail. In an article on the
mêmrâ, Jansma strongly contended for
accepting it as an authentic work of Ephrem. Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies.”
Despite Jansma’s argument, which has been accepted by
Brock, Sebastian P. Brock, “St. Ephrem: A
Brief Guide to the Main Editions and Translations,”
The Harp 3 (1990):
7–29. more recent scholarship has largely overlooked the text. See, e.g., the
absence of mention of MoS in the
exhaustive survey of editions of texts of Ephremic authorship (including
works of doubtful and dubious authenticity) in Joseph Melki, “Saint Ephrem
le syrien, un bilan de l'édition critique,” Parole de
l’Orient 11 (1983): 3–88.
MoS also does not appear in the
recent guide to Syriac homilies produced by Forness. See Philip Michael
Forness, “A Brief Guide to Syriac Homilies,” Version 3, 11–12. Accessed at
http://syri.ac/sites/default/files/A_Brief_Guide_to_
Syriac_Homilies_-_Versi.pdf This article seeks to
correct this omission by providing the first English translation of
MoS and integrating this homily more
fully into the scholarship on fourth-century Syriac literature. With its origins
in the the literary circle or “school” of Ephrem,
MoS is a remnant of the early stage of
the flourishing of Syriac Christian literary culture. Although its artistic prose
style and narrow exegetical format are relatively anomalous, there is reason to
believe that MoS bears witness to a
poorly-attested genre in early Syriac literature. As such, its style and
exegetical method are of great value for enhancing our understanding of this
decidedly murky period of Syriac history.
This article makes two major claims about MoS: first, that
it dates from the fourth or early fifth century; and second, that it belongs to
the “school” of Ephrem. With regard to text’s date, I draw on several streams of
evidence: the dating of the manuscript; the lack of influence from the exegesis of
Theodore of Mopsuestia and the “Antiochene school” (which rose to prominence in
Syriac exegesis in the mid-fifth century); and the absence of monastic interests
or priorities in the text (setting it apart from most later Syriac homiletical
material). For the second contention of this article—that
MoS belongs to the “school” of
Ephrem—I offer three major points of evidence. For one, the text is of Syriac
origin, employing citations from the Peshiṭta rather than the Septuagint. Further,
MoS has some literary relationship
(sharing common vocabulary and thematic elements) with Ephrem’s Commentary
on Exodus. Finally, although the genre of the text (a prose
exegetical homily, also identified as a tûrgāmâ) appears to
be relatively unique among extant fourth-century Syriac sources, its exegetical
method has only two close parallels in Syriac literature: Ephrem’s
Commentary on Genesis and Commentary on Exodus.
Text and Authorship
Although few scholars have critically examined the Mêmrâ on the
Signs, there is a small but important body of scholarship on the text.
Following Overbeck’s initial publication of MoS, the
earliest evaluation of the text fell to F.C. Burkitt. In an appendix to his study
of the Gospel quotations in the writings of Ephrem, Burkitt judged all five prose
homilies preserved in B.L. Add. 17189 to be translations from Greek, and therefore
inauthentic.
Given that the subject of Burkitt’s inquiry was quotations from the Gospels,
and that no such quotations appear in MoS, he did not
cite this specific mêmrâ in his
analysis of the five homilies. See F.C. Burkitt, Saint
Ephraim’s Quotations from the Gospel, Texts and Studies:
Contributions to Biblical and Patristic Literature 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1901), 75–79. Later histories of Syriac
literature (by Baumstark and Ortiz de Urbina), followed Burkitt in placing the
five mêmrê preserved in B.L. Add.
17189 among “Ephremic” works of dubious authorship. See Anton Baumstark,
Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, mit Ausschluss der christlich-palästinensischen Texte (Bonn:
A. Marcus and E. Webers, 1922), 44; Ignatius Ortiz de Urbina,
Patrologia Syriaca (Rome: Pont.
Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1965), 68, no. 4.
In a 1961 article, Taeke Jansma challenged this scholarly consensus. His study
provided a French translation of
MoS and argued in favor of the mêmrâ’s attribution to Ephrem. Jansma’s argument focused
primarily upon the close correspondences between
MoS and Ephrem’s Commentary on Exodus. Abbreviated hereafter as CommEx. He identified several common themes in the two
texts’ interpretations of Exod 7–8: the contrast between the
reality of
Moses’ miracles and the
illusory miracles performed by
Pharaoh’s magicians Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,” 12-15. On the
transformation of the staffs into snakes, see
MoS §5 (Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 89–90);
CommEx VI (R.-M. Tonneau, ed.,
Sancti Ephraem Syri in Genesim et in Exodum commentarii, CSCO
152, Syr. 71 [Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1955], 134). On the transformation of the
water to blood, see MoS §6
(Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 90–91);
CommEx VII.2 (Tonneau,
Commentarii, 135–6). On the
plague of frogs, see MoS §8
(Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 92–93);
CommEx VIII.1 (Tonneau,
Commentarii, 136–137).;
and the juxtaposition of the magicians’ belief and Pharaoh’s unbelief in the
aftermath of the plague of lice (Exod 8:19). Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,” 16. See
MoS §10 (Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 94);
CommEx VIII.2 (Tonneau,
Commentarii, 137). He
then noted close parallels in vocabulary between
CommEx and MoS.
Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,” 17–18. For instance, he
observed that after the transformation of Moses’ staff (Exod 7:10), both
MoS and
CommEx identify it as a ܬܢܝܢܐ (“serpent”), and the
trans-formed staffs of Pharaoh’s magicians as ܚܘܘ̈ܬܐ (“snakes”). The Peshiṭta, in contrast, describes both as
ܬܢܝ̈ܢܐ. Jansma, “Une
homélie sur les plaies,” 17. See
MoS §5 (Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, p. 89);
CommEx VI.1, VII.4 (Tonneau,
Commentarii, 134,
136). As Jansma saw it, the choice of two distinct words for “snake”
highlighted the two texts’ common desire to distinguish between the feats of Moses
and the magicians. He also observed that both texts use the same words to describe
the magicians’ failures to “transform” (root ܫܚܠܦ) the “natures” (ܟܝ̈ܢܐ) of
things.
Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,” 17. See
MoS §5 (Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 90);
CommEx VI.1, VII.2 (Tonneau, Commentarii, 134, 136). Once again, such a
description fits the two texts’ shared goal of downplaying the achievements of the
magicians in favor of the miracles of Moses. Ultimately, Jansma identified no less
than fourteen such examples in which the two texts share common vocabulary. Jansma, “Une
homélie sur les plaies,” 17-18. On the basis of these close
correspondences in language and themes between the
CommEx and MoS,
Jansma concluded that the mêmrâ was
the work of Ephrem.
Jansma’s analysis advanced our understanding of
MoS in two key respects. First, he
proved that the text was originally written in Syriac (relying upon Peshiṭta, not LXX, readings from Exodus).
Second, he demonstrated the extremely close textual relationship between
MoS and Ephrem’s Commentary on Exodus. The most problematic feature of Jansma’s analysis
was his singleminded focus on the question of authorship. As I shall demonstrate,
the authorship issue is not as clear-cut as Jansma argued. There are several
possible interpretations of the literary relationship between
MoS and
CommEx.
To make the case for an early date of composition (and address the issue of
authorship), we must turn to the single surviving manuscript of MoS, the fifth/sixth century codex B.L. Add. 17189. Wright, Catalogue, 407. The early compilation of the codex
indicates that the composition of
MoS can date no later than the fifth
century. The attribution of authorship in the manuscript is somewhat more
complicated. The initial title (on fol. 1v) appears in a later hand, and
attributes the homilies to either Ephrem, Basil, or John Chrysostom. Running
titles on later folia, however, describe the texts as the work of Ephrem. Fol. 2r, 9r, 12v,
13r. For a complete description of these marginal titles, see Wright, Catalogue, 407. F.C. Burkitt argued that
the headings attributing the homilies to Ephrem were written in a different hand
and thus offered no evidence as to their attribution at the time the codex was
copied.
Burkitt, Saint Ephraim’s Quotations from the Gospel,
76. Given the diverse character of the collected homilies (some
are Syriac compositions and others are translations from Greek) it is possible
that when assembling this compilation of homilies, the original scribe did not
know or bother to attribute the collection to any single author. On the basis of this (apparently
cursory) examination, Burkitt initially judged all of the homilies to be
original Greek compositions. (Burkitt, Saint Ephraim’s
Quotations from the Gospel, 77). Later, Jansma argued that the
fourth and fifth homilies
(On the Creation of the World and
On the Sin of Adam) were translations of Greek
homilies of the Antiochene exegetical tradition. See Taeke Jansma, “Une
homélie anonyme sur la création du monde,”
L’Orient Syrien 5 (1960):
385–400; idem, “Une homélie anonyme sur la chute d’Adam,”
L’Orient Syrien 5 (1960):
159–182. The first three (MoS,
On the Fast, and On the Coming of the Holy Spirit) appear to be of
Syriac origin. As it is, the manuscript itself provides evidence
that MoS was composed at a relatively early date, but it
does not provide any clear indication of its authorship.
Despite their varied provenance, the five
mêmrê of B.L. Add. 17189 share a
common profile.
Given the concurring presence of native Syriac homilies as well as
translated Greek homilies with an Antiochene exegetical bent within the
codex, Jansma attributed this codex to the “School of the Persians” in
fifth-century Edessa. (Taeke Jansma, “Les homélies du manuscrit Add. 17.189
du British Museum. Une homélie anonyme sur le jeûne,”
L'Orient Syrien 6.1 [1961]:
412–440, 436–37).Jansma overstates the evidence for the existence of such a
school (a common problem discussed above). Nevertheless, this collection of
Greek and Syriac homilies attests to a transitional moment in Syriac
Christian literary production. With the exception of the second
homily (On the Fast) they each explicate a single passage
of Scripture. This is likely why the scribe identified them in a heading as
tûrgāmê (“explanations” or
“interpre-tations”). See B.L. Add. 17189, fol. 12v (page heading).
Although it is quite difficult to parse the precise nature of such
literary terms in early Syriac literature, a similar collection of
tûrgāmê by Jacob of Sarug provides
evidence that scribes used the word
tûrgāmâ to describe a distinct prose
homiletic form of early Syriac exegesis. In the case of B.L. Add. 17189, for example, the
homilies are variously described as
mêmrê and tûrgāmê. For a summary of some of the Syriac terms used for
commentary literature, see Lucas Van Rompay, “Between the School and the
Monk’s Cell: The Syriac Old Testament Commentary Tradition,” in The Peshiṭta: Its Use
in Literature and Liturgy: Papers Read at the Third Peshiṭta Symposium, ed. Bas Ter Haar Romeny, Monographs of
the Peshitta Institute (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 30. Jacob composed
the vast majority of his homilies in meter, in the artistic and elevated language
of poetry. His six
Festal Homilies (tûrgāmê), by contrast, are prose homilies centered upon explaining a
passage of Scripture associated with a particular time in the liturgical year
(e.g., the Baptism of Jesus in Hom. 2:
On Epiphany). Frédéric Rilliet, ed., Jacques de
Saroug: Six homélies festales en prose, PO 43.4 (Turnhout: Brepols,
1986). The six homilies are:
On Nativity (I), On Epiphany (II), On The Forty-Day Fast (III),
On Palm Sunday (IV), On the Friday of the Passion (V),
and
On the Sunday of the Resurrection (VI).
Other early prose homilies I have examined are described in the manuscript
tradition as mêmrê or
mamllê. This is the case with
the anonymous prose homilies edited by Desreumeux and Graffin. See Alain
Desreumaux, ed., Trois Homélies syriaques anonymes sur
l’Épiphanie, PO 38.4 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1977); Francois Graffin,
ed., Homélies anonymes du VIe siècle, PO 41.4
(Turnhout: Brepols, 1984). These examples of tûrgāmê attest to a particular form of homiletic exegetical composition
known to early Syriac writers, characterized by a prose format and a narrow
exegetical focus. The manuscript evidence, therefore, supports the following
conclusions: that MoS was written in
Syriac no later than the fifth century, compiled in a collection of
exegetically-oriented homilies—which the scribe identified as
mêmrê or tûrgāmê—in the fifth or sixth century, and as a part of that collection
was not originally attributed to any particular author. To attribute
MoS to the fourth/early fifth century,
and to the nebulous literary circle often described as the “school” of Ephrem,
will require additional proof.
Fourth-Century Syriac Literature and the “School of Ephrem”
Although we possess numerous hymns, homilies, and prose works by Ephrem, For a survey of the
editions and translations of Ephrem, see Melki, “Saint Ephrem le syrien.”
See also Brock, “St. Ephrem: A Brief Guide.” as well as several
works by other authors, namely Aphrahat, Jean Parisot, ed.,
Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstrationes, Patrologia
Syriaca 1.1 (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1894). Cyrillona, Carl W. Griffin,
ed.
The Works of Cyrillona (Picataway,
N.J.: Gorgias Press, 2016). Although scholars have theorized several
possible identities, we know nothing of the identity of the poet Cyrillona,
the author of five (or six) poems extant in a single manuscript (B.L. Add.
14591). Given that his work seems to originate from around the turn of the
fifth century and his style is strikingly similar to Ephrem’s, it is
possible that his sophisticated
mêmrê and
sûgyātâ also emerged from the
ascetic literary circle associated with Ephrem. See Sebastian Brock,
“Qurillona,” in The Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the
Syriac Heritage, edited by Sebastian Brock et al. (Piscataway, N.J.:
Gorgias Press, 2011), 346–347; Carl W. Griffin, “Cyrillona: A Critical Study
and Commentary,” Ph.D. dissertation, Catholic University of America, 2011,
esp. 1–76. and the anonymous author of the Book of Steps, Michael Kmosko, ed., Liber
Graduum, Patrologia Syriaca 1.3 (Paris: Firmin-Didot 1926).
Scholarly consensus has tended to date this idiosyncratic text to the fourth
century. Recently, however, Kyle Smith has raised some valuable challenges
to this consensus, arguing that the
Book of Steps may be a
“purposefully anonymous (and in that sense, pseudepigraphic), fifth-century
biblical commentary wherein the author masquerades as a first-century
writer”. He offers the ecclesiastical reforms of Rabbula
(ca. 430) as a possible moment
of tension that may have precipitated the work’s composition. See Kyle
Smith, “A Last Disciple of the Apostles: The ‘Editor’s’ Preface, Rabbula’s
Rules, and the Date of the Book of Steps,” in Kristian S. Heal and Robert A.
Kitchen, eds.,
Breaking the Mind: New Studies in the Syriac Book of Steps (Washington,
D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2013), 90–91. these
extant writings reveal very little about the context of their composition or the
lives of their authors. In the attempt to make sense of the shadowy world of
fourth-century Syriac Christianity, scholars have sometimes overstated their
evidence. One
of the most striking examples of this is the attempt to place Ephrem’s
writings in a chronological sequence, contrasting texts believed to be
earlier (from Ephrem’s time in Nisibis) with writings which are allegedly
more mature and therefore later (from Ephrem’s time in Edessa). The most
detailed implementation of this periodization appears in Christian Lange’s
study of the
Commentary on the Diatessaron. See
Christian Lange,
The Portrayal of Christ in the Syriac Commentary on the Diatessaron, CSCO
616, Subsidia 118 (Louvain: Peeters,
2005), 29–33. The problem with
this approach is that relies upon subjective assessments of “maturity,” and
unproven historical assumptions about the cultural and religious situations
in Edessa and Nisibis, respectively. In fact, we know very
little of the social and religious landscape of important cities like Nisibis and
Edessa, or of the historical circumstances of the lives of crucial authors like
Ephrem. For a
thorough summary of the extant evidence and the numerous remaining questions
regarding Ephrem’s home city of Nisibis, see Paul S. Russell, “Nisibis as
the Background to the Life of Ephrem the Syrian,”
Hugoye 8 (2005): 179–235. With
respect to the historical details of the life of Ephrem, scholars reject the
Syriac Life of Ephrem and
Testament of Ephrem as later
compositions conveying little accurate data regarding Ephrem’s life. For
this problem, see
The Syriac Vita Tradition of Ephrem the Syrian, ed. and trans. Joseph
P. Amar, CSCO 629/630 (Louvain: Peeters, 2011); idem, “Byzantine Ascetic
Monachism and Greek Bias in the
Vita Tradition of Ephrem the
Syrian,” OCP 58 (1992): 123–156;
Bernard Outtier, “Saint Éphrem d’après ses biographies et ses œuvres,”
Parole de l’Orient 4:1–2 (1973):
11–33, 12–15.
As a result, contextualizing the extant literature of the fourth century has
proven a significant challenge. For exegetical works, one of the most productive
avenues thus far has been to trace the connections between Syriac and Jewish
exegetical traditions. See Sebastian Brock, “Jewish Traditions in Syriac
Sources,” JJS 30, no. 2 (1979):
212–232; Paul Féghali, “Influence des targums sur la pensée exégétique
d’Ephrem,” in IV Symposium Syriacum 1984: Literary Genres
in Syriac Literature, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229 (Rome:
Pontifical Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1987), 71–82; Nicolas Sed, “Les
hymnes sur le paradis de saint Ephrem et les traditions juives,”
Le Muséon 81 (1968): 455–501;
Tryggve Kronholm,
Motifs from Genesis 1–11 in the Genuine Hymns of Ephrem the Syrian, with Particular Reference to the Influence of Jewish Exegetical Traditions (Uppsala:
Almqvist & Wiksell, 1978). We do not, however, know when and
how Syriac and Jewish sources came to share these common traditions. Furthermore,
despite efforts to associate fourth-century Syriac exegesis with other
contemporaneous Christian traditions—particularly the “Antiochene School” See, e.g., Nabil
el-Khoury, “Hermeneutics in the Works of Ephrem the Syrian,” in
IV Symposium Syriacum, 1984: Literary Genres in Syriac Literature, Orientalia
Christiana Analecta 229 (Rome: Pontifical Institutum Studiorum Orientalium,
1987), 95–6; Kronholm, Motifs from Genesis 1-11,
25–7; Sten Hidal, Interpretatio Syriaca: die Kommentare
des Heiligen Ephräm des Syrers zu Genesis und Exodus mit besondere[r]
Berücksichtigung ihrer auslegungsgeschichtlichen Stellung, trans.
Christiane Boehncke Sjöberg, Coniectanea biblica. Old Testament series 6
(Lund: Gleerup, 1974), 25. —the earliest works of Syriac exegesis
exhibit marked differences from the work of Diodore and Theodore, as Lucas Van
Rompay has shown.
See Lucas Van Rompay, “Antiochene Biblical Interpretation: Greek and
Syriac,” in The Book of Genesis in Jewish and Oriental
Christian Interpretation: A Collection of Essays, ed. Judith
Frishman and Lucas Van Rompay (Louvain: Peeters, 1997).
MoS likewise shows no evidence of the
influence of Antiochene exegetical culture, a matter which I will discuss in
greater detail below.
The rapid dissemination of Ephrem’s works and the great reputation he quickly
attained indicates that his influence inspired a great deal of scribal and
literary activity in and beyond the cities where he lived and worked. In his
biographical sketch of the life of Ephrem (one of the earliest in any language)
the fifth-century Greek historian Sozomen presents a multi-faceted (even
contradictory) portrait of the man. Sozomen’s Ephrem is an anchoritic ascetic, a
popular hymn-writer, and a renowned teacher and philosopher who produced many
famed students.
See Sozomenos. Historia Ecclesiastica, ed. and trans.
by Günter Christian Hansen, FC 73:1-4 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004),
III.16. Later Syriac sources also described Ephrem as a teacher,
associating him with the nebulous “School of the Persians” in Edessa. For the primary
source of this tradition, Barḥadbšabbâ’s
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools (ca. 600),
see Addai Scher, ed., Cause de la fondation des
écoles, PO 4.4 (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1908) 381. For a thorough
commentary on this text, see Becker, Fear of God and the
Beginning of Wisdom, 98–112. The image of Ephrem as a
teacher offers a particularly intriguing context in which to interpret his vast
and diverse literary corpus. Ephrem himself alludes to the activities of teaching
on several occasions. For example, in the third Mêmrâ on
Reproof, Ephrem develops a lengthy metaphor of the human mind as a
tablet upon which to copy and learn God’s law. The image is of a young
copyist learning to write in straight lines and duplicate the correct
letters. By contrast, he says, humans are inclined to wander off and copy
the word “mammon” instead of “God,” when they should be following the
example of their divine teacher
(Repr. III.389–433). For the
best analysis of the limited evidence on Ephrem’s educational background,
see Ute Possekel, Evidence of Greek Philosophical Concepts
on the Writings of Ephrem the Syrian, CSCO 102 (Louvain: Peeters,
1999), 48–54. It also provides a possible setting in which to
understand the composition of MoS. As
much as we might like to envision an exegetical homily like
MoS as part of the curriculum of an
Ephremic theological “academy,” there is no evidence for a formal Christian
“school” in Nisibis or Edessa during Ephrem’s lifetime. The earliest references to this
school originate from the sixth century. Among them are Jacob of Sarug’s
Letter 14, Simeon of Beth Arsham’s
Letter on Bar Ṣawmâ and the heresy of the Nestorians, and
Barhadbšabbhâ’s
Ecclesiastical History and
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools. For
a more in-depth analysis of these sources, see Adam Becker,
Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 41–61. We might better
conceptualize the teach-ing and writing of Ephrem and his colleagues within the
context of an ancient “voluntary association” that only gradually developed the
features of a formalized institution, as Adam Becker argues with regard to the
“School of the Persians.” Becker, Fear of God and the
Beginning of Wisdom, 69. On the existence of the “School of the
Persians,” Becker takes a less credulous view of the sources than his
predecessors. J.B. Segal, for example, allows that while “there is no direct
evidence that he founded, or taught at, the School of the Persians... it
would be strange if he were not associated with it.” (J.B. Segal,
Edessa: The Blessed City [Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1970], 87.). Likewise, Arthur Vööbus sees Ephrem as laying
a “foundation” that developed into the school (Arthur
Vööbus,
History of the School of Nisibis, CSCO 266, Subsidia 26 [Louvain:
Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1965], 8–9). H.J.W. Drijvers even argues for the
existence of an earlier “School of Edessa” preceding Ephrem’s time. See Han
J.W. Drijvers, “The School of Edessa: Greek Learning and Local Culture,” in
Centres of Learning: Learning and Location in
Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East, ed. Jan Willem Drijvers and
Alasdair A. MacDonald, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 61 (Leiden:
Brill, 1995), 58–59.
In a recent article, Jeffrey Wickes proposes a setting for Ephrem’s literary
activity that attempts to account for his renown as a teacher and the
sophisticated subject matter of his writings. He argues that Ephrem composed the
majority of his works within and for an ascetic “literary circle,” a group that
would have “blurred” modern distinctions between school, liturgy, and monastery.
Wickes writes:
Because of the particularly bookish content of many of the madrāšê, we can think of this small circle neither as the local parish, nor as some kind of proto-monastery, but as a proto-school, gathered to learn and pray. The small gatherings of iḥîdāyê (“single ones”), qaddîšê (“holy ones”), and btûlātâ (“virgins”) read, sang, prayed, discussed, and wrote.
The ideals of their life were ascetic, but their asceticism was carried out in
especially literary ways. Jeffrey Wickes, “Between Liturgy and School:
Reassessing the Performative Context of Ephrem’s Madrāšê,” JECS 26, no.
1 (2018): 25–51, 45.
Such a literary circle would provide a context in which to comprehend the rapid
rise in Ephrem’s fame across the Eastern Roman Empire. Less than twenty years
after his death, his reputation had reached Jerome in distant Bethlehem. See Jerome, De Viris Illustribus 115. We can envision
Ephrem and his disciples engaged not only in prayer and teaching, but also in book
production and even potentially translation, working to promulgate and spread
their work beyond the confines of Nisibis or Edessa. Sozomen claims that Ephrem’s
writings were being copied and translated into Greek even during his own
lifetime. See Sozomen, HE III.16.
Although we possess no direct evidence of Syriac book production from the fourth
century, B.L. Add. 12150, the oldest known Syriac codex (dated to 411 CE), attests
to a longstanding history of Syriac scribal practices in Edessa that must underlie
the production of a codex of such quality and sophistication. Millar, “Greek and Syriac in
Edessa,” 106.
Others in Ephrem’s circle seem to have produced their own works during and after
his lifetime, some of which are extant. They likely composed the earliest
pseudonymous Ephremic writings in the Syriac literary record, as tributes to or
continuations of Ephrem’s work. Some of Ephrem’s madrāšê cycles
(particularly the Madrāšê on Julian Saba and the Madrāšê on Abraham Qidunaya) seem to be of mixed
provenance, with an original Ephremic core supplemented by additional
pseudo-Ephremic material. The likely explanation for this phenomenon is that
Ephrem’s literary and ascetic circle continued to copy, supplement, and
disseminate the master’s writings after his death. See Sidney Griffith,
“Julian Saba, “Father of the Monks” of Syria,” JECS
2, no. 2 (1994): 185–216, 201; idem, “Abraham Qîdunayâ, St. Ephraem the
Syrian, and Early Monasticism in the Syriac-speaking World,” in Il Monachesimo tra Eredità e Aperture, ed. Daniel
Hombergen and Maciej Bielawski, Studia Anselmiana 140 (Rome: 2004), 239–64,
250; Andrew Hayes, Icons of the Heavenly Merchant: Ephrem
and Pseudo-Ephrem in the Madrashe in Praise of Abraham of Qidun,
Gorgias Eastern Christian Studies 45 (Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias Press,
2016), 20. This literary circle was probably also the setting in
which Ephrem’s followers compiled and revised the apparently heterogeneous Commentary on the Diatessaron. In his study of the Commentary on the Diatessaron, Christian Lange argues
that the commentary was of heterogeneous origin, a school text with later
additions and corrections by Ephrem’s students. See Lange, The Portrayal of Christ, 66–67. Aba is the only other
named member of Ephrem’s circle whose works survive today. Sozomen names Aba as one of
several notable “disciples” of Ephrem, and the title “disciple of Ephrem”
frequently accompanies his name in the extant manuscript fragments. See
HE III.16. However,
until the recent discovery of a previously-unknown treatise
On Faith in the library of Deir
al-Surian (attributed in marginal notes to Aba), only fragments of his work had
been recovered.
Wadi al-Natrun, Deir al-Surian, Syr. 20C, fol. 76–194v. For a description of
this unpublished text, see Sebastian P. Brock and Lucas Van Rompay, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts and Fragments in the
Library of Deir al-Surian, Wadi al-Natrun (Egypt), Orientalia
Lovaniensia Analecta 227 (Louvain: Peeters, 2014), 105–110. Aba
evidently composed several works of exegetical interest, including commentaries on
the Diatessaron and the Psalms, and a
mêmrâ on Job. For these fragments, which
survive in B.L. Add. 17194 and B.L. Add. 14726, see François Nau, “Fragments
de Mar Aba, Disciple de Saint Ephrem.”
Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 17
(1912): 69–73; Gerrit J. Reinink, “Neue Fragmente zum Diatessaronkommentar
des Ephraem-schülers Aba,”
Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 11
(1980): 117–133. While they reveal almost nothing of the context
of their production, the works of Ephrem and Aba, and some of the earlier
Pseudo-Ephremic writings, attest to a highly literate circle, capable of producing
works of exegesis, polemic, and theology in poetry and prose.
The central question for our purposes is whether
MoS should be attributed to this
circle. At first glance, it seems to bear little resemblance to other
mêmrê associated with Ephrem and his
circle, most of which are metrical in form and thematic in content. For instance, the
three Mêmrê on Reproof and
Mêmrê on Nicodemia urge the
people of Nisibis to repentance, while the
Mêmrê on Faith warn against what
Ephrem sees as false teachings. Although its exegesis closely
resembles that of Ephrem’s Old Testament commentaries, it is written in an
artistic prose akin to that of Ephrem’s
Letter to Publius and Mêmrâ on Our Lord. Sebastian Brock first proposed the category of
“artistic prose” in his critical edition of the
Letter to Publius. See Sebastian
P. Brock, “Ephrem’s Letter to Publius,”
Le Muséon 89 (1976), 261–305,
263. Like this text, MoS (though
not written in meter) employs literary features common to Syriac poetry,
such as repetition and personification. Finally,
MoS centers on a single biblical
account, a method shared by only two
mêmrê of likely Ephremic authorship,
both of them metrical—the
Mêmrâ on Nineveh and Jonah and the Mêmrâ on the Sinful Woman. Critical editions of both
mêmrê can be found in Edmund
Beck, ed, Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Sermones
II, CSCO 311–312, Scriptores Syri 134–135 (Louvain, 1970).
The only possible parallels to
MoS from Ephrem and his circle are
extant only in fragments: the
Mêmrâ on the Prologue of John attributed
to Ephrem Burkitt
reproduces these fragments, with an English translation and commentary, in
Burkitt, Saint Ephraim’s Quotations from the Gospel,
59–65. and Aba’s Mêmrâ on Job. Fragments
of these mêmrê reveal them to be prose
homilies with a narrow exegetical focus, similar, therefore, to
MoS. One other comparable text is a
short mêmrâ/tûrgāmâ of Syriac origin
preserved with MoS in B.L. Add. 17189:
On the Coming of the Holy Spirit. For this text, see Taeke Jansma,
“Une homélie anonyme sur l’effusion du Saint Esprit,”
L’Orient Syrien 6 (1961):
157–178. With its robust Trinitarian formulae and defenses of the
divinity of the Holy Spirit, however, the earliest possible date of composition
for this text would place it in the decades after Ephrem’s death (around the turn
of the fifth century). Furthermore, although the homily focuses on the Pentecost
narrative, the author is more willing to make direct theological application and
reference other biblical passages than the author of MoS.
Despite these differences, it seems to reflect another variation on the same
genre. If B.L. Add. 17189 had not survived, there would be no complete extant
witnesses to this type of homily from the early period of Syriac literature.
Finally, although MoS bears a close
resemblance to Ephrem’s Commentary on Exodus, the exact
nature of their literary relationship is unclear.
MoS could have been a homiletic
reworking of some of the exegetical traditions found in the Commentary on Exodus. It is also possible that
MoS was the earlier text, and
CommEx was a summary or compilation of
existing homiletic exegetical material. In the preface to his
Commentary on Genesis, Ephrem
describes the Commentary as a brief summary of what he had written about “at
length” (ܒܣܓܝܐ̈ܬܐ)
in his mêmrê and madrāšê. Perhaps something similar may have been the
case with
CommEx. See CommGen, Prologue,
1 (Tonneau, Commentarii, 3).
This could perhaps explain why the manuscript heading (Vat. sir. 110, fol.
76) identifies CommEx as a
tûrgāmâ, a label which—as I have
argued—early Syriac scribes used to describe a form of homily.
Nevertheless, the close parallels between the two texts offer the best evidence
for attributing MoS to the Ephremic
circle. Whatever the case, we cannot be sure of the precise author of
MoS. It could, as Jansma argues, be
the work of Ephrem. It is just as possible, however, that
MoS was written by an unknown member
of Ephrem’s circle. In fact, its style and literary form (otherwise unattested in
Ephrem’s works) weigh against attributing it to Ephrem himself. Yet other factors,
especially its exegetical method, support locating the composition within the
Ephremic circle.
Performance and Biblical Exegesis
MoS offers no outright clues about the
context and circumstances of its delivery. Although its artistic prose style and
humorous comments on the biblical narrative seem well-suited to the context of a
publicly-delivered homily, there is reason to believe that it was not addressed to
either a monastic audience or to a public liturgical audience. The exegetical
method of MoS gives some indications
as to its possible audience and function. First, although the
mêmrâ consistently contrasts the false
illusions of the magicians and the works of God through Moses, it strikingly never
offers any sort of contemporary moral application of this theme. The reader
familiar with Ephrem’s corpus might expect the author to take the opportunity to
inveigh against the magicians or astrologers of his own time, associating them
with the defeated magicians of Exodus. See, e.g., Ephrem’s vehement condemnation of Christian
women who turn for help to “magicians” (ܚܪ̈ܫܐ) and “diviners” (ܩܨܘ̈ܡܐ) in the
second
Mêmrâ on Reproof (Repr. II.
605–614, 759–784). Yet
MoS contains
no obvious moral or theological
exhortations. This approach suggests that the
mêmrâ was addressed, not to a public
homiletic context, but to a smaller literary circle. Within this circle, it
appears to have played a more narrow and constrained role, perhaps correlating to
the conventions of this form of exegetical homily, and its distinct (albeit
unknown) place in the “curriculum” of the study circle. What, then, might have
been the purpose of such a homily?
The exegetical method of MoS most
closely resembles Ephrem’s commentaries on Genesis and Exodus. It adheres to a
narrow narrative frame of reference and retells the biblical account while
clarifying problematic narrative elements. In addition, it gives no symbolic or
typological readings of any events in the Exodus narrative. Unlike “literal”
exegesis in the Greek tradition, See Lucas Van Rompay, “The Christian Syriac
Tradition,” in Hebrew Bible, Old Testament: The History of
Its Interpretation, Vol. I, Part 1, ed. Magne Sæbø (Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996, 612-641, 624. it does not dwell
on the meaning of the words of the
biblical text, but focuses on the interpretation of the narrative. Lund’s comments on Ephrem’s
Commentary on Genesis are also
applicable here: “Ephrem's work is primarily a commentary on the story of
Genesis, not its text
per se.” (Jerome Lund,
“Observations on Some Biblical Citations in Ephrem's Commentary on Genesis,”
Aramaic Studies 4 [2006]:
207–220, 220). In this respect,
MoS has almost no parallels in
Christian exegetical literature, save Ephrem’s commentaries on Genesis and Exodus.
To borrow Lucas Van Rompay’s description of Ephrem’s Old Testament commentaries,
“there is a world of difference” between the exegesis of
MoS and contemporaneous exegetical
works in Greek (as well as later works in Syriac). Van Rompay, “Between the School
and the Monk’s Cell,” 40. The Armenian commentary on Exodus
attributed to Ephrem (almost certainly a translation from a Syriac original)
provides a helpful contrast. This commentary frequently cites and alludes to other
portions of Scripture, and occasionally embraces allegorical or symbolic readings
of the narrative.
For instance, when commenting on the plague of blood, it pivots to an
allegorical reading: “the river with its purity is the people of Israel
while Egypt is an example of sin.” To support this reading, the author draws
upon Isaiah 1:18 and 1 Cor. 10:1–4. While this is not an uncommon approach
in early Christian texts, it is strikingly different from the limited frame
of reference of MoS. (Mathews,
Armenian Commentaries [ed.], 15;
Mathews,
Armenian Commentaries [trans.], 14).
The distinctive quality of the exegesis of
MoS (shared only by works of Ephrem)
lends further credence to situating the text in the fourth-century literary circle
of Ephrem.
While MoS limits itself to the
confines of a single biblical narrative and refrains from referencing other
biblical passages, its retelling of the text is selective, foregrounding a single
theme at the expense of most others: the conflict between the true “signs”
performed by Moses and the false “represen-tations” of the magicians. This concern
is central to the way that the
mêmrâ retells the story of Exodus. It
does not engage in detailed exegesis of every verse of the relevant portions of
Exodus, but passes over entire sections of the narrative. Sections 1–4 of the
mêmrâ depict Moses’ arrival in Egypt,
borrowing language from God’s call of Moses in Exod 4:23 “Let my son go and let him serve
me. If not, I will kill your firstborn son.”
(MoS §3; Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 88). and Moses’ initial
encounter with Pharaoh (Exod 5:1–2), “‘The Lord, God of the Hebrews, has sent me to you and
says,
“Let my people go and let them serve me.” But
Pharaoh, in the hardness of his heart, answered [with] the statement: ‘I do not know the Lord, and I will not let Israel
go.’” (MoS §4; Overbeck,
S. Ephraemi, 89). but completely bypass
the account of the bricks without straw (Exod 5:3–23) and the details of Exod
6–7:7. These omissions allow the
mêmrâ to proceed dramatically from the
initial arrival of Moses to the transformation of the staffs, which it presents as
the first battle in the “war” of signs between Moses and Egypt. For warfare imagery, see §1, 3,
5, 7, 8, 9.
The mêmrâ’s retelling of Exodus addresses problematic
interpretive issues primarily through “narrative expansions,” the addition of
events, dialogue, and explanations to the biblical narrative. For this terminology, see James
L. Kugel,
In Potiphar’s House: the Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (San
Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1990), 4. For my application of Kugel’s
classification to Syriac studies, I am indebted to Kristian Heal, “Reworking
the Biblical Text in the Dramatic Dialogue Poems on the Old Testament
Patriarch Joseph,” in The Peshiṭta: Its Use
in Literature and Liturgy: Papers Read at the Third Peshiṭta Symposium, Monographs
of the Peshitta Institute 15, ed. B. ter Haar Romeny (Leiden: Brill, 2006),
87–98, 88. Its dramatic narrative arc and (uneven) use of
dialogue place it in an early stage in the development of biblically-oriented
dialogue literature in Syriac (types 4 and 5 in Sebastian Brock’s five-part
classification of the Syriac dispute and dialogue tradition). Brock proposes a five-type
classification system of disputes and dialogues in the Syriac tradition.
Type 1 is the classic precedence dispute in alternating stanzas, which
appears only in madrāšê (and
their sub-genre, sūgyātâ). Type 2 is what Brock calls
a “transitional form... where the two parties no longer speak in alternating
stanzas, but are allocated uneven blocks of speech.” Both
madrāšê and
mêmrê of this sort are extant.
Type 3 comprises dialogue
madrāšê with a narrative
framework and no alternating pattern of speech. Types 4 and 5 are
represented in narrative
mêmrê which make the narrative
framework the forefront. (Sebastian P. Brock, “Dramatic Dialogue Poems,” in
IV Symposium Syriacum 1984: Literary Genres in Syriac
Literature, OCA 229 ed. H.J.W. Drijvers, R. Lavenant, C. Molenberg
and G.J. Reinink [Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1987],
136-8). As a prose text, it stands apart from virtually every
known representative of dramatic dialogue literature in Syriac. The fact that
MoS does not bear the features of the
more developed and formalized Syriac dialogue poems of the fifth- and
sixth-century adds further support to dating the text to the fourth century or
early fifth century.
Narrative expansions are the homilist’s primary means to develop the central
theme of the mêmrâ: the distinction between the actions of
Moses and those of the Egyptian magicians. Other added details contribute relatively little
to the primary themes of the
mêmrâ, but do serve to address
other potential questions raised by the biblical narrative. For instance, in
the mêmrâ’s account of the Nile turning to blood, it
explains that the river had changed into blood because it contained the
blood of the Hebrew children. Similarly, the fish in the river died (Exod
7:21) “because they had become graves for Hebrew infants.”
(MoS §6 [Overbeck, S. Ephraemi, 90]). The same explanation also appears
in CommEx VII.1.
MoS consistently presents the mimicry
of the various plagues by the sorcerers of Egypt as a “representation” (ܕܘܡܝܐ), an “appearance”
(ܐܣܟܡܐ), or a
“falsehood” (ܕܓܠܬܐ),
rather than “the truth” (ܫܪܪܐ).
See Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,” 13–16. The homilist
repeatedly claims that unlike Moses, the magicians only
appeared to change the natures of
things. Jewish
sources also make this distinction. See, for example, Josephus,
JA II.14. A similar concern
appears in Ephrem’s
Commentary on Exodus (see
VIII.1) as well as the pseudo-Ephremic Armenian commentary on Exodus: “But
[the sorcerers] did not actually or truly change created things as Moses
[had done], but they did perform them by illusions to lead astray those who
were watching... For if they could not interpret the clear and plain dream
of Pharaoh, how could they possibly change created things?” (Mathews,
Armenian Commentaries [ed.], 18;
Mathews, Armenian Commentaries
[trans.],16). In fact, as the conclusion explains, their
actions were only the result of human “skill” (ܐܘܡܢܘܬܐ), while Moses’ feats were
the result of the “creative power” (ܒܪܘܝܘܬܐ) of God.
MoS
§10 (Overbeck,
S. Ephraemi
, 94). Elsewhere, Ephrem draws clear distinctions between divine ܥܒܘܕܘܬܐ and creaturely ܐܘܡܢܘܬܐ. Although the terminology for divine “creative power” is different here, the concept is the same. See Amar and Mathews,
Selected Prose Works,
240, n. 97.
The mêmrâ adds a number of
supplementary explanations and narrative expansions intended to advance this
distinction.
For example, after a sarcastic appraisal of the magicians’ efforts to mimic
Moses’ production of frogs, the
mêmrâ cites details from the narrative
of Exodus: “For when Pharaoh petitioned Moses, he prayed and they died. And they
piled up their bodies “into heaps,” and the land of Egypt
stank from their stench.”
Exod 8:14.
To this, it adds, “Their carcasses proclaimed the reality of their bodies.” In
contrast, then, it describes the fate of the frogs produced by the magicians.
Unlike the stinking carcasses of Moses’ frogs, these frogs simply “dissipated into
the air like smoke, for their appearance had neither body nor tangible
reality.”
MoS
§8 (Overbeck,
S. Ephraemi
, 92). This addition to the Exodus
narrative clarifies the distinction between the actions of Moses and the magicians
and anticipates the repentance of the magicians following the plague of lice
(§10).
The details the mêmrâ adds to the
account of the river turning to blood are likewise quite remarkable:
“The magicians also did the same through their
enchantments.”
Exod 7:22. A misleading representation (ܕܘܡܝܐ
ܕܓܠܐ)! Neither true nor accurate (ܫܪܝܪܐ ܚܬܝܬܐ
)! Where did they [find] water for themselves to make
into blood? For there was not [any] water left in the land of Egypt that had
not been turned into blood! The Egyptians longed to drink water, but they were
unable. They dug around the river to drink water. Exod
7:24. So from this it is known that the magicians did not make blood from water, for look: there was not any water that one could drink until Moses prayed and the water returned to its first nature! MoS §6 (Overbeck,
S. Ephraemi, 91).
In this example, the homilist displays a striking willingness to bend the plain
meaning of the text in support of that theme. He argues that, since the magicians
possessed no water to transform into blood, the plain meaning implied by the text
is impossible! He derives this apparent contradiction from a close reading of the
biblical narrative, noting (following Exod 7:20–21) that
all of the water in Egypt had turned
to blood. He then applies this information to the following verse’s claim that
“the magicians did the same through their enchantments” (Exod 7:22), and concludes
that this would have been impossible. Jansma makes the odd claim that such inconsistencies
between the narratives of
MoS and Exodus were meant to
capture the attention of the audience. See Jansma, “Une homélie sur les
plaies,” 19. This example reveals something of the author’s
exegetical process. A problem raised by the biblical account becomes an
opportunity to expound an important theological theme: the distinction between
divine and creaturely activity. The homilist makes this point in a relatively
straightforward exegetical manner, considering a problematic passage by reference
to another part of the same passage.
We can characterize the exegesis of
MoS as follows: an absence of moral or
ascetic exhortation and theological application in favor of a subtle and narrow
form of narrative exegesis. In light of this evidence, we may venture the
following hypothesis regarding the purpose and performance of the homily. This
homily, along with perhaps many others (now lost), was not performed for a
liturgical audience, but for a smaller body, probably the ascetic literary circle
associated with Ephrem. Within this context, the homily (which may have been
variously described as a mêmrâ or tûrgāmâ) likely functioned as a sort of exegetical exercise.
It retold a familiar biblical story in a way that clarified potential problems,
providing a pattern of interpretation for others to follow. This initial level of
exegetical work offered by the homily could then support moral or theological
applications of the biblical passage in other contexts.
Conclusion
When viewed in relation to other extant fourth-century Syriac literature,
MoS is a strikingly unique work. It
bears a close literary relationship to Ephrem’s
Commentary on Exodus and its
exegetical method is nearly identical to that of Ephrem’s commentaries. Its
elegant artistic prose, however, resembles texts like Ephrem’s Mêmrâ on our Lord, while its format as a piece of narrative exegesis is
reminiscent of Ephrem’s metrical
Mêmrâ on Nineveh and Jonah. Simply
put, although there are sufficient reasons to date this text to the fourth or
early fifth century and to attribute it to the Ephremic literary circle, there is
no other piece of extant early Syriac literature quite like this one. Regardless
of whether its author was Ephrem himself or someone in his circle (a question
which we cannot answer with certainty),
MoS provides a crucial piece of
evidence for a form of homiletic writing almost entirely absent from the record of
early Syriac literature: the prose exegetical
mêmrâ or
tûrgāmâ. Why such forms of homiletic
composition were not favored by later Syriac copyists is unclear. Nevertheless,
MoS offers new insight into the
little-known formative period of Syriac literary culture in fourth-century
northern Mesopotamia, shedding additional light on the exegetical practices and
forms of writing common to Ephrem’s literary circle.
PART II: TRANSLATION
Notes on the Translation
Because this is a prose text, I have opted not to present the translation in a
lined format, as it appears in Overbeck’s critical edition. Instead, I have
created new paragraph-based section numbers. The numbers in parentheses indicate
page and line numbers in the critical edition. This format is in line with the
precedent set in the most recent English translations of Ephrem’s prose
works. Joseph
P. Amar and Edward G. Mathews, Jr., trans.,
St. Ephrem the Syrian: Selected Prose Works, Fathers
of the Church 91 (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press,
1994).
First Mêmrâ on the Signs Moses Performed in Egypt
§1. Moses, like a divine general, put on hidden armor and
came to wage a new war against Pharaoh and his hosts. Without horses and
chariots, he fought against armed Egyptians. Without legions and armed
troops, he entered to shatter Syr. ܢܬܪܘܥ. This has a passive sense, but it
is immediately followed by the active imperfect verb ܢܟܒܘܫ. For the
sake of internal consistency, I have rendered both as
active. walls and smash fortifications. When Egypt was
prosperous in its lifestyle, and Pharaoh was exalted in the authority of
his kingship, a foreign message of a new war was announced to them. A
strange report reached The sense of the Syriac term ܪܡܐ is more like
to ‘cast’ or ‘put’ into the ears. This choice of words suggests
something very physical about the act of
hearing. However, for
the sake of translation, I have opted for more conventional English
wording. their ears, and a word of liberation from the
yoke of their slavery was spoken to them. §2. For at that time,
[Moses] spoke authoritatively to Pharaoh: “The Lord has sent me Except for
the first letter, ܫ, the manuscript is illegible. Overbeck reads it
as ܫܕܪܢܝ. to you to tell you: ‘Release my firstborn son
Israel, whom you have enslaved for yourself [as] a humble slave. Remove
your authority from him! He is freeborn! For too long you have subjugated
him under [your] authority. He is my own inheritance, The Syriac word ܝܪܬܘܬܐ
can also be translated as ‘property,’ but the translation
‘inheritance’ is reminiscent of Deut 32:9: “Because the Lord’s
portion (ܦܠܓܘܬܗ) is his people, and Jacob his allotted inheritance
(ܝܪܬܘܬܗ).” but you have received him in slavery as if
[he is] part of [your] inheritance. Loosen your yoke from his neck! For
too long you have worked him harshly. Break your shackles off his neck!
For too long you have tormented him The Syriac verb ܐܥܡܠ can alternatively
mean ‘imposed toil.’ without compassion. Keep your
blade from his children! For too long you have made his mothers bereft
[of their children]. Hold back your sword from murder! For too long you
have increased his destruction. Let my son Jansma
rightly identifies manuscript’s addition of a ܘ prefix before ܠܒܪܝ
as a scribal error. (Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,”
4). go and let him serve me. If not, I will kill your firstborn son.” Exod
4:23. This message was heard from Moses. §3.
Egypt was in an uproar and its hosts were in turmoil. The magicians and
sages assembled before the king, and [people of] all ranks and stations
were present for the spectacle. They came to see who this was who had
advanced and entered their borders. The Syriac is singular.
With what was he armed, that he had dared to enter their city? In whom
did he place his trust, that he cast this terrifying message into their
ears? Who was his escort, Or ‘his companion’ (ܠܘܝܬܗ). that
he would wish to contend against Egypt and Pharaoh? How great was his
power, Or perhaps ‘his army’ (ܚܝܠܗ). that he scorned them and
entered their land? Great and small, strong and weak, assembled, for the
message was frightening and it roused the whole court Syr. ܟܠ ܬܪ̈ܥܝܢ. The noun
can have the sense of ‘royal court,’ which is how I translate it
here. with its harsh sound.§4. Now when Egypt
had assembled like locusts, The Syriac is singular. and
Pharaoh was standing among them at their head, Moses and Aaron stood
before them and were fearlessly saying to Pharaoh: “The Lord, God of the
Hebrews has sent me to you and says, ‘Let my people go
and let them serve me.’” Exod 5:1. But Pharaoh, in the
hardness of his heart, replied: “I do not know the
Lord, and I will not let Israel go.” Exod 5:2.
[Moses said]: “O Pharaoh, if you do not know the Lord,
you will learn about him.” [Pharaoh asked]: “How will I learn
about him?” [Moses said]: “You will learn about him through his
power, which I will show you.” A similar line of additional dialogue appears
in the Armenian commentary on Exodus attributed to Ephrem:
“Although you do not know who God is from [your] sorcerers whom you
do know, you will learn about that One whom you do not know.”
(Edward G. Mathews, Jr., ed., The Armenian
Commentaries on Exodus-Deuteronomy attributed to Ephrem the
Syrian, CSCO 587, Scriptores Armeniaci 25 [Louvain:
Peeters, 2001], 13).§5. And Moses threw down his
staff, and it became a serpent. The text uses two different Syriac nouns
to describe the serpent of Moses (ܬܢܝܢܐ) and the serpents of the
magicians (ܚܘܘ̈ܬܐ), as Jansma points out. (Jansma, “Une homélie sur
les plaies,” 17). It gazed at Pharaoh and alarmed him,
and at the Egyptians and unsettled them. Then the magicians also threw
down their staffs and they became serpents, not truly, but in appearance.
To Pharaoh and the Egyptians, they looked to be serpents. But given that
they were not [serpents], those staffs were dead and shriveled wood! They
did not change from their own natures, and they did not become what they
were not. They were unable to flee and could not fight (by their own
power, since they had not changed from their first nature. But
the staff of Moses, As Jansma notes, the text identifies the
staff as the staff of Moses, rather than Aaron, as in the text of
Exod 7:10–12. (Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,”
21). because it had truly changed and became a serpent in
reality, hissed and swallowed up the staffs of the magicians. And by its
gorging, it made known the transformation of its nature, and through this
affirmed that it had indeed truly become a serpent when it swallowed up
the staffs of the magicians. But at this, “the heart of
Pharaoh was hardened.” Exod 7:13 (almost a direct quotation from the
Peshiṭta: ܐܬܥܫܢ
ܠܒܗ ܕܦܪܥܘܢ). Now at this it would have been appropriate
for him to recognize that Moses had won the victory, and defeat had
befallen the magicians Following Jansma, I believe that the
manuscript’s pointing of ܚܪܫܐ as singular was a copyist’s error.
(Jansma, “Une homélie sur les plaies,” 4). from the
beginning of the contest (since they arrived
with a staff and left without a staff)! But if, as Pharaoh believed, the
staffs of the magicians had become serpents (which they did not!), it
would have been proper for him to be an honest observer between Moses and
the magicians, and to see that the feat of Moses was more powerful than
that of the magicians. But “the heart of
Pharaoh was hardened,” so that his scourging would increase; and
his mind became unbending, so that his end would be evil. He was led
astray by the illusions of the magicians so that he would drown in the
sea; and he put his trust in an erroneous shadow, so that he would demand
those things that he owed the judgment of [divine] justice. The Syriac
text here is difficult to understand, but the meaning seems to be
that by putting his trust in things other than God, Pharaoh would
condemn himself before God’s judgment seat. An alternative (albeit
looser) translation might also be possible: “He was so confident in
an erroneous shadow so that he would demand those things that were
owed to His just judgment.” In this reading, Pharaoh would be
described as asking for things that belong rightly to God.
§6. In the morning, [Pharaoh] came out to the river
and Moses stood before him and said to him: “If the transformation of the
staff did not persuade you, today let the transformation of the river
convince you!” And Moses struck the river with [his] staff, and
immediately it was transformed into blood (and it was real blood).
Immediately the fish in the river that had been turned into blood
died,
Or “immediately the fish in the river died, for they were turned to
blood.” because hidden within [the river] was the blood
of the children. The fish also died because they had become graves for
the Hebrew infants. Cf. Exod 1:15–22. There was blood
even “on the wood and on the stones.” Exod 7:19.
Pesh.: ܒܩ̈ܝܣܐ ܘܒܟܐ̈ܦܐ Indeed, that blood of which Egypt
was guilty appeared in every place to accuse those who shed it!
“The magicians also did the same through their
enchantments” Exod 7:22.—a misleading
representation! Neither true nor accurate! Where did they [find] water
for themselves to make into blood? For there was not [any] water left in
the land of Egypt that had not been turned into blood! Cf. Exod 7:19.
The Egyptians longed to drink water, but they were unable.
They dug around the river to drink water. Exod 7:24.
So from this it is known that the magicians did not make blood from
water, for look: there was not any water that a person could drink until
Moses prayed and the water returned to its first nature! And with that,
Pharaoh returned The same verb (ܦܢܐ) used to describe the
transformation of the blood back into water in the previous
sentence. to his rebellious mind, so that the
discipline he deserved because of his wickedness would prevail over him.
§7. And again the Lord said to Moses, “Speak to Aaron and let him
wave the staff over all the water of Egypt, and it will swarm with
frogs.” Exod 8:3,5. The staff was a
sign Syr. ܢܘܦܐ. The same root as the verb ‘wave’ above. to
the host contained in the water: like an army it was commanded by the
general, and like a battle formation it submitted to the leader.
Now, instead of the flocks of birds Syr. singular the water
had formerly produced, it vomited up terrifying legions. The
contrast is between flocks of water birds flying off of the river
en masse and the hordes of frogs now emerging from the water.
And it gave forth an innumerable throng, a single race
without variation, The same word (ܫܘܚܠܦܐ) is used elsewhere in
this text to describe the
true ‘transformation’
wrought by Moses (of the snake and of the river). However, in this
case, it seems to have a different sense. a new
creation born without copulation, multiplied without birth, increased
without propagation, grown up without days, and matured without months. A
force which is unarmed but not beaten; though without armor, it does not
die; without chariots, but overtakes the swift; without skill, but treads
down walls; without strategy, but brings down fortifications; without
knowledge, but knows how to wage war; contemptible, it humbles kings;
weak, it defeats the mighty. [The frogs] buried the land and
covered the fields; traversed walls and entered into homes; climbed into
the beds of kings and reclined on the couches of rulers; overturned their
tables, having defiled their meals; Syr. singular and spilled
their drinks, Syr. singular having climbed into
their cups. All of these verbs in Syriac are singular,
presumably referring to the ‘army’ or ‘force’ of frogs. However,
for the sake of English translation, I have rendered them as
plural.
§8. “The magicians also did the same through their
enchantments” Exod 7:7.: another lie, and not
the truth! O the blindness of Pharaoh! If the magicians had been
useful, Syr. ܚܫܚܘ. The text seems to mean that the
magicians were not of any use to Egypt, because they only attempted
to add more frogs to those that Moses had already produced. An
alternative interpretation is as follows: “If the magicians had
been adept [at their sorcery], they would not have imitated Moses”
(i.e., they would not have needed to simply mimic whatever he did).
they would not have imitated Moses’ feat. Rather (had they
been able), they would have negated whatever Moses had done. And look:
Moses would have failed, those [magicians] would have conquered, and
Egypt would have been delivered! For victory in warfare is when one
conquers the armies of his enemy, not when one adds to his adversaries.
But when the magicians mimic Moses, it neither harms Moses nor helps
Egypt, since they do not negate Moses’ feat, but add to his feat! And if
the frogs that the magicians had made truly had bodies, Syr.
singular. they would have increased the affliction of
Egypt, This is another example of the hypothetical
perfect. since they were adding to those that Moses had
made. But because [the frogs] were The Syriac reads
“it was a deceitful
image”, but I have altered this in translation for the sake of
clarity. a deceitful image, [the magicians] were not of
any use. However, those that Moses had made were truly frogs, and
their death testified [to this]. For when Pharaoh petitioned Moses, he
prayed and they died. And they piled up Overbeck has ܟܣܘ, but the manuscript
reads ܟܫܘ.
their bodies “into heaps,” and the land of Egypt
stank from their stench. Exod 8:14. Their carcasses
proclaimed the reality of their bodies. But those that the magicians had
made dissipated into the air like smoke, for their appearance had neither
body nor tangible reality. It is unknown from where they came, nor is it
known where they went. Because they did not even exist, they vanished.
Again Pharaoh’s heart was hardened. He turned toward himself and
continued in disobedience. §9. And the Lord said to Moses: “Speak
to Aaron and have him raise [his] staff over the land.” Exod 8:16.
So he raised [his] staff and lice appeared in the dust of the earth. [The
earth] sprouted, though there was no seed in it. It vomited forth, though
it did not produce [a crop]. It sprung up, though it did not receive
[seed]: a flying seed, a moving harvest, an inedible eater, an afflicter
of all races. The clouds of lice which were swarming and crawling
upon each body, descending upon each figure, eating from all flesh, and
tormenting [both] animals and humans, were bringing pain to king and poor
man alike. No one could care for his companion, for each one was
attending to his own pain. There was no slave who helped his master, nor
a maidservant who aided her mistress; no father who cared for his son,
and no mother who cared for her daughter. They were afflicted before one
another, but no one was able to save his companion. The wild
beasts were bellowing in pain, and the livestock were crying out in
agony. Consumed by their itching, they were knocking down walls. And dust
and clouds were rising up from the ground because of their rolling. The
wild beasts were scampering off This verb (ܦܘܚ) also carries the sense of
‘to stink,’ so the Syriac description carries a humorous resonance
that cannot be conveyed in English. in all directions,
and the livestock were running amok: herds [of cattle] The Syriac uses two
similar words: ܪ̈ܡܟܐ ܘܒܩܪ̈ܐ, but I have chosen to render these with a
single English word. The distinction between the two words for
‘herd’ is too subtle for English translation. were
wandering among the mountains, and flocks [of sheep] Again, I have
simplified more complex Syriac pastoral terminology. The Syriac
text uses two nouns: ܓܙܪ̈ܐ ܘܡܪܥܝܬܐ, both
of which essentially describe a ‘flock’ of sheep or goats. The
distinctions which exist are once again too subtle for English
translation. were splitting off in all quarters.
[Both] inside and outside, people were wailing: “O lice, weak army which
has defeated the strong! O tiny bodies which have overcome the mighty! O
gentle mouths which have filled all mouths with wailing! O wretched sight
through which enchantment has been exposed!Ӥ10. Until then, by
its shadow, error led astray, but through the crucible of the lice, the
fraud of the magicians was exposed. And what they did not wish to confess
on the first day, they confessed because of the lice. The lie ran toward
the truth, took off its shoes, Lit. ‘unshod its feet’ (ܐܢܚܦ
ܪ̈ܓܠܝܗ). and stayed still. The day grew warm and the
clouds dissipated; the sun dawned and darkness fled. Daytime reigned and
night was veiled. The magicians were stricken in their bodies and
unwillingly confessed the truth. This somewhat obscure line likely
means that being bitten by the lice led the magicians to their
eventual (albeit unwilling) confession of God’s power.
They cried out to Pharaoh: “This is the finger of
God!” Exod 8:15. But his ears, The
Syriac is singular. stopped up with contention, did not
hear. O hardened heart! He did not believe Moses, nor did he give
credence to the magicians. He did not fear God, nor did he wish to let
the People go. The magicians turned away from their battle with
Moses, like men defeated in a competition. They ended the contest and
gave the crown of victory to that One through whose power Moses had
contended. And they did not imitate the actions of Moses any further, for
they knew that his skill was not like their own. Rather, it was “the
finger of God,” which is stronger than all. Indeed, they saw that it was
the creative power of God and not human skill. For through the signs in
Egypt was seen the creative power of God, to whom be glory forever!
Amen.
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