From my diary

We all know the Amazon.com book ordering process — you register an account, choose the book, hit the button, enter the delivery address, hit the button, choose a credit card, hit the button, display the order, and hit go.

I’d always thought of that as pretty streamlined, until today when I ordered a copy of the Loeb edition of Aulus Gellius’ Attic Nights from Book Depository.  They didn’t make me create an account, or do most of that.  I clicked to add the book to the basket.  I clicked to check out, entered my address and card details on one spartan screen, pressed one click and it was all done.

Very nice!

I’ve decided that I must read the Attic Nights.  Bill Thayer at Lacus Curtius has the Latin and part of the English online, which I was looking at this lunchtime.  But I can’t read this sort of book on-screen, useful as it is. 

In book 1, I read the first story, about how the Greeks calculated the shoe-size of Hercules, as measured from the length of the race-track at Olympia. 

Another anecdote related how Demosthenes secretly approached the whore Lais, who demanded an enormous sum.  Demosthenes replied that he would not purchase shame for 10,000 drachmas.

A quotation from Metellus Numidicus on marriage followed:

If we could get on without a wife, Romans, we would all avoid that annoyance; but since nature has ordained that we can neither live very comfortably with them nor at all without them, we must take thought for our lasting well-being rather than for the pleasure of the moment.

It seems like it might be a good book to read on the sofa in front of the TV on these wintry nights.

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Galen on a 300-year old papyrus roll

Another interesting statement from Reynolds and Wilson, Scribes and Scholars (3rd ed) appears on p.34:

Although papyrus is tougher than most people think, and a roll might last as long as 300 years (Galen 18(2),630), the average life would be shorter, and parchment was a much more durable material; in time its toughness was to prove a vital factor in the survival of classical literature.

The reference, to the Roman medical writer Galen, would be inscrutable to most of us.  Fortunately on this blog we wear our underpants over our trousers, metaphorically, and so readers may know that this is a reference to the 20-volume edition of the works of Galen by Kuhn, published in the series Medicorum Graecorum between 1821-6.  Such brief references are an unnecessary pain to the beginner, however.

Several volumes of this series are online.  Vol. 18, part 2 is on Google books here, and page 630 is here.   On p.629 we find that this is Hippocratis de medici officina liber et Galeni in eum commentarius I1 book by Hippocrates on the workshop of a doctor and Galen’s commentary on it.  The work begins with a preface from Galen, of which this is a part. I might see if I can get the preface as a whole translated.

Meanwhile, here’s the sentence.  Galen is talking about the work of Hippocrates which he is reproducing:

τινὲς μὲν γὰρ καὶ πάνυ παλαιῶν βιβλίων ἀνευρεῖν ἐσπούδασαν πρὸ τριακοσίων ἐτῶν γεγγραμμένα, τὰ μὲν ἔχονιες ἐν τοῖς βιβλίοις, τὰ δὲ ἐν τοῖς χάρτοις, τὰ δὲ ἐν διαφόροις φιλύραις, ὥσπερ τὰ παρ̕ ἡμῖν ἐν Περγάμῳ.

Quidam enim etiam vetustissima volumina ante trecentos annos scripta invenire studuerant, quae partim quidem in libris, partim vero in chartis, partim demum in tiliaceis membranis, quemadmodum apud nos Pergami conservabant.

For some also had desired to find very old volumes, written three hundred years ago, which I had at Pergamum, of which part were preserved in rolls, part on papyrus (χάρτοις), and part on excellent lime-tree bark (διαφόροις φιλύραις).

The διαφόροις φιλύραις I thought was parchment — that’s what membranis usually means in the sort of books I read! — but LSJ suggests that  φιλύραις is the “the bass underneath [the lime-tree’s] bark, used for writing on, Gal. 18(2).630,” — this very passage! — “Hdn. 1.17.1, D.C. 72.8 ; for garlands, φιλύρας . . ἄφυλλος στέφανος Xenarch. 13 .”

Galen at least did indeed believe a roll could be 300 years old.  The fact that some of the material wasn’t even on papyrus, but on bark, suggests that this is real testimony.

UPDATE: A translation of the whole preface from the Greek is here.

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Translations of ancient Greek literature into Middle Persian

In 529 AD the emperor Justinian closed the Academy in Athens.  The remaining heirs of Plato chose to travel to the court of the Sassanid Persian King of Kings in order to continue  their studies there.  Finding conditions among the barbarians uncongenial, in time they returned. 

But it raises the question of why we never hear of translations of Greek literature into Persian.  The Persian empire was a potent adjacent power throughout the Greek classical period, and revived in the 3rd century and continued down to the Moslem conquest in the 7th century. 

I never read L. D. Reynolds and N. G. Wilson, Scribes and Scholars (3rd) without learning something.  On page 256 I learn that a few texts are indeed extant in translations into Pehlevi. 

Wilson lists four texts: the novel about Alexander the Great known as ps.Callisthenes; the Geoponica; and two astrological texts, the handbook of Vettius Valens which we have discussed before, plus Teucer of Babylon’s Paranatellonta, which is a new text to me.

Wilson references “Studies presented to E. G. Browne, 1922” (in his usual casual fashion), which turns out to be A Volume of Oriental Studies Presented to Edward G. Browne on his 60th birthday (7 February 1922), and thankfully online at Archive.org.  The specific article is that by C. A. Nallino, which turns out to be on p.345-363 and entitled Tracce di opere greche giunte agli Arabi per trafila Pehlevica.  Unless my eyes deceive me, this is about texts which ended up in Arabic via Persian, rather than about Greek texts in general.  The article merely discusses these four texts, and the evidence for them.

It would seem, therefore, that there might be more, were one to look.

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Masses of scholia online at Archive.org

Searching for “scholia” in Google or Google books is disappointing.  But try searching at Archive.org!  This search, http://www.archive.org/search.php?query=scholia, gives a huge list!

Did anyone know there were scholia on Suetonius, Vitae Caesarum?  I certainly didn’t!

UPDATE: Oh bother.  The “scholia” on Suetonius is merely a modern set of comments in Latin, not ancient scholia!

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A new nadir in atheist behaviour

I find that the Wikipedia Mithras article is currently being vandalised by an anonymous atheist who has read one article (by Marvin Meyer) in one non-scholarly book on the subject, and is determined that all articles in Wikipedia shall reflect what he believes is the truth — that Christianity and Mithras are somehow connected. 

With such people it is not possible to reason, so, after a couple of hours of vain and polite attempt at reason, I have withdrawn and left him to it.  Such people come along from time to time.  Over time, his changes will get reverted, and I have other things to do than explain the obvious to the dishonest and obtuse.

But it is a reminder that no learning and scholarship and objectivity is proof against the determination of a scumbag.  In Wikipedia the scholar and the troll meet on equal terms; and thus most Wikipedia articles on controversial subjects are of no real value, for the same reason.  

But I was amused that this troll proceeded, in order to advance his goal, to object to my suggestion that only professional Mithras scholars should be quoted; to complain that the footnotes quoted the sources verbatim; to demand that I translate Renan’s book for him — he did not see reading it as a necessary prelude to editing the remarks in the article about it — ; to launch personal accusations against me; and finally — the new nadir — to complain about me because, when referring to the (untranslated) commentary of Servius, I ventured to provide a link to a post on this blog with a translation of it.  Usually people are grateful, when I do such things.

Of course none of this was honest; it was merely an attempt by someone who knew he was in the wrong to “win” by any means over someone he knew to be better informed than himself.  Such is the moral standard of rather too many atheists.

It is hard not to despise atheism, when you encounter this kind of atheist.  It seems to produce such selfish, dishonest and hateful people.  Whatever happened to the atheism of J. S. Mill, the sort of atheism which was based on reason and logic rather than violence and dishonesty?  That valued freedom of conscience, and abhorred the inquisition?  It seems to have been a casualty of the last century.  

If so, we live in poorer times.   Superstition is rampant in our society, thanks to the New Age movement, and the power of priests and mullahs over uneducated people in the Third World has not attentuated conspicuously.  A rational, intelligent, gentle atheism would be a valuable contribution at such a time.  But where is the atheist who will put it forward?

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Latin scholia

I was writing yesterday about scholia, mainly with reference to Greek scholia.  But then it occurred to me to wonder what there was by way of Latin scholia.

A search online quickly revealed that, as with ancient Greek literature, the scholia is mainly attached to poetry and drama.  Two exceptions I came across were Lucan’s Bellum civile and the Bobbio orations of Cicero.  But otherwise it was poets and dramatists all the way.

I found myself reading an interesting article on the scholia of Juvenal.  The author argued that the scholia cannot belong to the period immediately after Juvenal, since they make crashing mistakes, such as not recognising Corbulo as the famous general of Nero, but instead supposing it is a noun referring to fat people!  The logic is good, and the inference, therefore, is that they belong to the period in the 4th century when interest revived in the literature of the early empire.

This has important consequences.  We know very little about Juvenal himself.  Old biographies are attached to the scholia.  But it must be questioned whether these have any real historical value, and whether they are older than the scholia, or merely compilations of hearsay from the Constantinian period or later.

It is interesting that few of the scholia have been translated.  Many scholia are text-critical, and to understand them it is necessary to know Latin, or Greek, as the  case may be.  Naturally there seems little need to translate, what only those equipped with the language can follow.  But others are historical, and have no such need.  We could usefully have more translations, I think.

All the same, the expansion of Google books makes it possible, for anyone with a little Latin, to explore a field that few could access.  One of my favourite books is the old Loeb edition of Juvenal.  This discusses the scholia in the introduction, but I never dreamed that people like me might have access to these.  As of today, I know better.

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A modern story about Louis Pasteur and the atheist

Curious Presbyterian has a charming story, which I reproduce below.

A story is told of a young businessman sharing a compartment on a train with an elderly gentleman.  When he noticed that the old fellow was quietly and intently praying with his rosary, the young man chided him for his ‘superstition’ and told him that science had rendered the beliefs of religion irrelevant.

“How did you come to discover that?” the old gentleman asked.

His companion didn’t really know how to answer the question fully right then and there, so he offered to send him a few texts and public lecture notes on the subject for his enlightenment.  “What’s your address?’ he asked, “I’ll send you the material via the Post Office.”  The old man rummaged in his coat pocket and produced a tattered business card that read, Louis Pasteur, Paris Institute of Scientific Research.

Louis Pasteur was the 19th century giant of microbiology who proved the germ-theory of disease and invented the rabies vaccine.  His humility certainly didn’t hinder his greatness and his commitment to science did not preclude his belief in God.

I hope this is true.  It is a very nice story.

I don’t want to be a party-pooper, and I would very much like to believe this story.  But before I give my assent, I would like to know that it is actually true.  I have grown into the habit of questioning things which I find convenient, in case they are “too good to be true.”  And the story comes with no reference, which should always make us wary.  I wonder what a search would find…

 The story comes, so Curious Presbyterian tells us, to him from Father Tim Moyle, who uses it as an introduction to an excellent article here.  There can be no question but that both repeat it in good faith.  But … is it true?  How do we know?  It does not take long to find an atheist site which claims Pasteur as an atheist.

This link takes us to a preview of Maurice Crosland, Science Under Control: The French Academy of Sciences 1795-1914, p.199 which identifies Pasteur as a Catholic, and references an anti-atheist position to Pasteur, Oeuvres, vol. 6, part 1, pp.56-7, in a discussion of fermentation at the academy of medicine, and another as Correspondance, vol.2, p.151, 154.

I have no more time to search now, but I think we must be wary.

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The origins of scholia

Homer and other poetical texts were used in school rooms during the classical period, and after.  Inevitably this led to a need for explanation of unusual or obsolete words, summaries of books, and explanations of mythological events — the same sorts of things that modern students seem to require in order to read Jane Austen or Shakespeare.

Ancient texts were written on papyrus rolls or scrolls.  These had narrow columns, and narrower margins.  It was possible to place a letter or symbol in the margin, but little more, although we do have examples of attempts to write in margins.  Consequently these explanations had to be written in separate rolls.

These commentaries were composed early in the classical period, and continued to be composed and compiled throughout antiquity.  They often consisted of a series of entries, beginning with the word or words under discussion, or the beginning of the line of poetry concerned, or the start of the first line of a passage, followed by the comments.  These comments would often include comments from older commentators, often separated by “allws” (“alternatively”). 

Inevitably such commentaries could swell to a considerable size, and might therefore be epitomised in turn, and then the epitome augmented.  Copyists might feel able to change the comments, far more than with a normal literary text.  Many of the commentaries are lost, subsumed into subsequent compilations of comments, but a considerable number survive.

In the Hellenistic period, at the museum of Alexandria, the staff worked on the text of Homer and other classical texts, producing considerable quantities of commentary on textual and other issues.  None of this material has survived directly, as stand-alone commentaries — our earliest extant commentaries are 2nd century BC — but they are quoted again and again in subsequent compilations.

The invention of the modern book form — the parchment codex — made a considerable change to the practice in this area.  A codex could contain considerably more text than a papyrus roll, and nearly all codices have wide margins.  It was therefore perfectly practicable to take material from commentaries and write it in the margin; and this practice seems to have become endemic at some period between the 4-6th centuries AD, and continues down to the end of the Byzantine period of Greek texts.

These marginal comments are known as “scholia”, although in some branches of classical studies the term is also applied to the stand-alone commentaries, which, after all, contain the same sorts of material and are usually the sources of the scholia.

The “old scholia” were soon supplemented by Byzantine scholia.  These themselves were often based on older sources, directly or indirectly, and therefore can preserve ancient opinion about ancient texts.

A thorough introduction to the subject, and what commentaries and scholia exist for classical Greek texts, with references, can be found in Eleanor Dickey’s Ancient Greek Scholarship, which I thoroughly recommend and which is the source for these remarks.  She also details how to read a critical edition, the Latin abbreviations used, and gives exercises in how to read and translate scholia.  And the book is very cheap as well!  Anyone with an interest in the subject should buy one.

I am amused to see Cramer editing various scholia in the 19th century.  We have discussed his work before, in this blog, in the context of catena-commentaries.  The connection between the two is perhaps something that should be explored.

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From my diary

Last night I was reading some Christian blogs and I stumbled on Curious Presbyterian.  The author has run a series of detailed posts about some of the problems Christians are facing in modern Britain, and unlike so many has not minced his words. 

Comments seem to be disabled — at least I couldn’t add comments on any of them.  But other Christian bloggers have written on how the organised haters simply abuse the comment facilities on their blogs to try to start fights and generally wear them down, and this may be the reason why.

There is a disturbing post there about Stephen Green of Christian Voice, from the Daily Mail.  Let us hope that it isn’t true; Stephen has done a great deal to organise Christian action against some of the taunting that goes on. 

Back to ‘real life’, and I’m still reading Eleanor Dickey’s book on the scholia in ancient Greek texts.  It is very dense, but very sound.  With great difficulty I got through the first chapter last night.  It’s not long, but full of good things.

I kept asking myself, “Why has no-one done something similar for the catenas?”  Inevitably it could use some more references at points, tho. 

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Do we find the New Testament church in the Fathers?

The New Testament is the word of God, and the basis and of a Christian’s daily walk with Christ.  It is our SatNav in the motorway network of life.  May we always turn to it before we get to Spaghetti Junction!

The church that we see in the NT is (a) mostly Jewish (b) based on local congregations, but with an emotional loyalty to the apostles in the Jerusalem Church (c) not blessed with bishops and priests.

Very often, when we come to read the Fathers — especially the apostolic Fathers — our motivation for doing so is that we want to know what happened next.  I would myself always refer people first to Eusebius Church History, in the excellent Penguin translation by G. A. Williamson, for answers to that, not least because he quotes verbatim otherwise lost early sources.   Then I would recommend the reading of the apostolic fathers, and then all 10 extant Fathers writing before 200 AD.  Such a course of reading gives one a mastery of the data not to be obtained in any other way, and really takes very little time.  The whole lot could be skim-read in a week during the evenings.

But I suspect that many of us cannot help feeling that the Church (with a capital C) that we see in those works is a very different animal to that which we find in the New Testament.  All these bishops, for one thing, look markedly unapostolic, and they look ever less apostolic as they swell in importance (and self-importance, sadly) in the years after Cyprian. 

Indeed already, ca. 215 AD, Tertullian has cause to criticise one bishop as a “veritable pontifex maximus, a bishop of bishops”, who has ventured to take on himself the right to forgive adultery and fornication on application at his office! (De Pudicitia, 1).  Tertullian suggests that the letter issuing this instruction should be posted where it will be of most use to those affected, namely in the red-light district, outside certain temples, or over the doorways of brothels.  When one modern editor commented, “Churchmen have not liked Tertullian; they praise him with reservations,” it is perhaps passages like this that explain why.  Another bishop is accused by Tertullian of violating the Scantinian law, which prohibited sodomy.

But it is less the abuses of the church in late antiquity that trouble us, so much as a sense that the organisation looks little like that which we see in the bible, and the literature emanating from it equally so.  I think the impression is a valid one, and deserves consideration.  Why is this the case?

Of course for a Roman Catholic the answer is that the New Testament does not concern itself primarily with such matters, but that the apostles appointed bishops and set up the organisation to take things forward.  No doubt there is truth in this, and certainly the texts witness to such appointments.  Whether the prelates of late antiquity such as Cyril of Alexandria were quite what Peter and John had in mind may, I think, be legitimately debated.

But there are other factors.  Much of second century Christian literature — I exclude the apocrypha and the scribblings of heretics — consists of apologetic literature directed to an uncaring pagan emperor and casting itself in whatever form the author thought might gain a hearing.  Other portions consist of anti-heretical literature.  The NT contains neither, and these together give a quite misleading impression.  If we exclude these, we are left with a selection of letters, more or less, mostly from the apostolic fathers. 

These are far more like the NT than we might imagine.  1 Clement deliberately harks back toPaul’s letters to the Corinthians.  The letters of Ignatius may be troubled by docetists, but their relation to the NT is also obvious.  The Didache is not a letter, but is both Jewish and refers to apostles and prophets.

We must also remember that 99% of literature written before 200 AD is lost.  What we have is largely a matter of accident.   The large quantity of apologetic literature is the produce of a single accident.  In the 10th century Archbishop Arethas of Caesarea was interested in early Christian apologies, and got one of his toadys to give him a book with a whole load of them copied into it.  That book has survived, and thereby  influences our perceptions.  Other collections doubtless might have been made at that time; but since no-one was interested in copying such old and out-of-date texts, they perished.

Finally, and by no means least, we must consider the question of translation.  Most of us will read this pre-200 literature in stilted older translations, often written by men in the Oxford Movement and steeped in ecclesiasticism.  There is quite a gulf between these and a modern NIV, and still more a Good News Bible.  This again fosters a sense of distance, which is purely accidental.

I suggest, therefore, that our picture of the early church in the first century should really follow New Testament lines.  As time goes on, things change; but probably more slowly than we realise.  I doubt that Polycarp, who died ca. 155, knew of a church other than that founded by John the Apostle.  I have my doubts that Irenaeus, writing ca. 180, did so, although things were very clearly changing.

Change is inevitable, and so is a return to God.  That is the nature of human beings, and it is the history of the church also.  But I do not think we should be troubled if we find something very ecclesiastical in our reading.  Think instead of the house churches that must have continued, where no member never wrote a line that has reached us, but in which the early Christians actually worshipped.

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