BOOK REVIEWS

Emma Loosley. The and Literature of the Bema in Fourth- to Sixth- Century Syrian Churches. Patrimoine Syriaque 2. Kaslik. Parole de l’Orient, 2003. Pp. 294.

REVIEWED BY MARICA CASSIS, UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO [1] Although northern holds the remains of hundreds of churches from the fourth through seventh centuries, the approximately forty-five churches containing a bema—the large horseshoe-shaped platform in the centre of the nave—have historically been the most studied structures. The architectural evidence for the bema was presented initially by Georges Tchalenko.1 Since then, there have been several books and articles which use the architectural evidence to illuminate the literary evidence.2 Emma Loosley should be commended for bringing together the architectural and literary evidence in her attempt to prove that these churches are located in discernible clusters which may reflect a particular school of thought at . In The Architecture and Liturgy of the Bema in Fourth- to Sixth-Century Syrian Churches, Loosley illustrates the importance of looking at both the literary accounts and the physical remains of the entire corpus of churches when making observations about the architecture and liturgy of the West Syrian . [2] In her introduction, Loosley sets out the two major aims to her study: to provide an updated account of the bema churches through photographs taken during her own fieldwork and to try to establish these churches within the architectural corpus and liturgical tradition of the churches of Syria (pp. 21-22). She then gives a brief account of the development of early Christian architecture (pp. 22- 26) and introduces the region where the majority of these churches are found, the Limestone Massif in north-western Syria (pp. 26-28).

1 Georges Tchalenko, Églises Syriennes à Bêma, (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1990). This work is based on his survey work during the 1950s. 2 The most recent work is Erich Renhart, Das Syrische Bema: Liturgisch-archäologische Untersuchungen (Graz: Grazer Theologische Studien, 1995). 237 238 Book reviews

The reader is subsequently introduced to the problems associated with studying the bema churches, including the issue of how the term bema should be defined when it is used in the written sources (pp. 20-30). For example, depending on the origin of the source, the term can refer to a large platform in the nave or the raised area or can be used as a synonym for the ambo. Loosley also briefly discusses the use of the bema in other religious traditions, since its origins almost certainly lie outside of (pp. 30-32). Finally, she identifies the major problem in defining and explaining the bema. Although there are several extant examples of the bema, its purpose is unclear in the few West Syrian liturgical sources we possess (p 35). [3] The introduction identifies a number of the major problems in studying the bema churches. These are issues that Loosley goes on to discuss in the remainder of the book, and include such things as scholarly reliance on East Syrian sources to explain West Syrian liturgy. However, the one area that is left unfinished in the introduction (and in the rest of the book) is the discussion Loosley begins on the origins of early Christian architecture and the development which eventually led to the bema churches (pp. 22-26). The evolution of in Syria from the third century house church at Dura Europos to the massive structures of the fourth and fifth centuries, including those with bemata, is not clearly presented here. I could not help feeling that this short section on the origins of Christian architecture could have been expanded into a short chapter which would have provided a better context for the discussion of the bemata. [4] The first chapter of the book is the strongest, and Loosley presents a number of new archaeological ideas which should restart the discussion about this particular corpus. She presents the archaeological evidence for the bema, both in Syria and elsewhere, and discusses the archaeological evidence for the origins of the bema within the architectural tradition (pp. 44-47). Loosley also reestablishes several of the facts that we know about these churches, including the absence of the bema from monastic churches and the fact that only one bema church is known per settlement. (pp. 43-44). In doing so, she addresses the two major theories concerning the construction and use of these particular churches: the assertion that all of the bema churches were associated

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with martyria (pp. 49-57)3 and Castellana’s hypothesis that the bema was the result of the social or political influence of wealthy members of the community (pp.57-64).4 [5] In both cases, her analysis is absolutely correct. She first dismisses the idea that the bema was only connected to churches which had an important relic or holy site affiliated with them. She points out that while the majority of the bema churches were connected to sites with martyria, the cult of was prevalent throughout Syria and consequently it is not really possible to connect only bema churches with martyria or relics (p. 55). For example, many important pilgrimage sites were found without a bema, particularly those connected to Stylites (p. 56). Rather, she offers the possibility that the bema provided a way to display or use a relic during services. Since the bema stood in the same place as the pillar of the Stylite in some of the major pilgrimage churches (such as at Qalcat Semcan), Loosley suggests that the that is sometimes found on the bema might be linked to the display or veneration of the relic during the liturgy (pp. 49-50). This is an extremely interesting idea that deserves further consideration, since it has been difficult to explain the use of the altar on the bema given the presence of an altar in the sanctuary. [6] The second part of her discussion centers on Castellana’s idea that these bema churches can be connected with a prominent member of the community through their proximity to an important tomb or nearby villa. (pp. 57-60). According to Loosley, these “are elements that Castellana relates to civil rather than ecclesiastical power” (p. 57), suggesting that the bema churches were the result of a wealthy or powerful patron. Loosley quite rightly points out that we know far more about the actual architects of these churches than we do about the patrons, citing the extremely important example of Markianos Kyris, the man responsible for building a large number of these structures. (pp. 60-64). Following this reasoning, she turns away from the concept of a secular patron, and considers the questions of who would have built these churches and why. Her observation that Markianos Kyris was also a member of a religious community (since he was buried in a

3 This theory comes out of an assessment of Tchalenko’s work. See particularly page 52 in Loosley. 4 P. Castellana, “Note sul bema della Siria settentrionale.” (Studia Orientalia Christiana, Collectanea 25 [1992]), 90-100.

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) (p. 61) leads into her discussion of the possibility that the bema churches reflect a particular set of religious teachings coming from Antioch. These churches were built in clusters over the period of three centuries, each group probably reflecting the earlier one. She is further able to identify these churches as a unique corpus by distinguishing these bemata from the bemata found further to the west, (pp. 68-70) and the bema of the East Syrian church in Mesopotamia. [7] In her second chapter, the author turns to the sources that mention the bema. Loosley returns to the discussion started in the introduction concerning the proper translation of the term, and discusses its presence in Jewish and Manichean sources (pp. 86-88). She then turns to the Syriac sources, where she restricts herself to liturgical commentaries and explanations. As well, she restricts herself to unambiguous references to the bema as the large platform in the nave (p. 89). She brings to the forefront the issue of the lack of sources in either the West or East Syrian traditions. Her discussion starts with the earliest sources, including the Didascalia Apostolorum, and concludes with the ninth century East Syrian Expositio Officiorum Ecclesiae. [8] Earlier studies of the liturgy of the bema for both the West and East Syrian traditions have relied heavily on interpretation of the East Syrian texts, a methodology which does not account for the important differences between these groups. Loosley stresses this point, and it is an important one (pp. 100-102). While her discussion of the later sources is clear, I found her discussion of the earliest sources problematic precisely because it was not clear. In her discussion of the Syriac version of the Didascalia Apostolorum, for example, she talks first about a church layout which places a platform at the east end of the church, a liturgical arrangement known from Dura Europos (p. 90). She then discusses another passage from the same source that clearly uses the word bema, and indicates that the reference “specifically refers to the bema in the centre of the nave.” (p. 90). While the Syriac does use the word bema, the text does not clearly indicate its placement within the church.5 Loosley’s interpretation may be correct, but a clearer and

5 Arthur Vööbus, The Didascalia Apostolorum In Syriac, Chapters 1-X. CSCO 176, (Louvain: Secrétariat du Corpus SCO, 1979), 38.

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more complete discussion of the Syriac would have been helpful. This is a problem throughout the section on the earliest sources. [9] Chapter 3 moves a step further, and tries to illustrate how the bema was used in the West Syrian liturgy through a combination of the textual and archaeological sources. Loosley also compares the East and West Syrian traditions in terms of the liturgical organization of the bema and the symbolism associated with it. Again, she is quite rightly cautious of using the East Syrian sources to assess the West Syrian archaeological material. Based on her own archaeological evidence and the literary analysis, and Renhart’s categorization of the sources concerning the bema, she concludes that “the bema is always a peripheral element in West Syrian texts rather than at the centre of the rite.” (p. 128) The fact that the bema did not always play a central role could perhaps have been better connected to Loosley’s theory about the liturgical connections of the bema churches with a single school of thought emanating from Antioch. If her theory is correct, this could explain why there are few references to the bema in the West Syrian texts, and why it does not retain the mystical dimension that it does in the East Syrian texts. [10] The final chapter is dedicated to summing up the answers that can be given—and stating those that still remain. Loosley illustrates the importance of associating written and archaeological sources, and provides an update on the situation of these very important monuments. She provides a list of work that still needs to be done on these churches. Loosley quite rightly calls for a comparison of East and West Syrian architectural styles—and I believe this could be expanded to a work much like hers for the bema (p. 148-149). Further, Loosley has initiated discussion on an even bigger problem: much more work needs to be done on all of the churches of northern Syria, not just those containing bemata. [11] The remainder of the book is dedicated to three appendices and a catalogue of photos from the bema churches. The appendices provide the sources of our information on all of these churches; the dates; and the obvious clusters that Loosley has identified (pp. 155-163). The photos provide a photo essay on both preservation and decay and are an extremely important document of what we are losing in this region archaeologically (pp. 167-283). However, she has not included either a map of the region or any church

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plans, which often makes it difficult to visualize the churches and liturgical arrangements she is discussing. [12] Overall, The Architecture and Liturgy of the Bema in Fourth- to Sixth- Century Syrian Churches is a valuable addition to the debate concerning the bema churches of northern Syria. Loosley’s architectural assessment is extremely important, and her clear divisions between West and East, and even among the West Syrian community should help to restart the debate about uniformity in the early Christian world. The need to look at both architectural and literary evidence is also highlighted by this work.

Peter J. Williams, Early Syriac Translation Technique and the Textual Criticism of the Greek Gospels, Gorgias Press, Piscataway NJ, 2004, xvi + 339 pages (Texts and Studies. Contributions to Biblical and Patristic Literature, Third Series, Volume 2), ISBN 1-59333-096-0. $65.00

REVIEWED BY JAN JOOSTEN, MARC BLOCH UNIVERSITY [1] Using a translated text in textual criticism creates many complications: before any collation can be made, the translated text needs to be ‘retroverted’ into the original language; only then can questions of relative priority and textual history be addressed. Retroversion is hard to accomplish and always leaves a margin of doubt. The problem is particularly palpable in textual criticism of the Old Testament, where chance has it that some of the main textual witnesses—notably the Septuagint—are translations. In OT research, the need to establish the ‘translation technique’ characterizing a given textual unit is well recognized (although perhaps not universally applied). A large body of research on the translation technique of the Septuagint exists, comprehending both theoretical considerations and extensive studies of detail. [2] Textual criticism of the is relatively less dependent on versional evidence. Thousands of Greek manuscripts are attested, representing a wide variety of textual types and reaching back as far as the second century. Nevertheless, the ancient translations of the New Testament do have something to offer. The roots of the Latin and Syriac versions go back to the second century (although the manuscripts are not earlier than the fourth century, and transmit much material that is later than the second century). These two versions also attest, often jointly, many readings that are absent from the Greek tradition or extant only in a small group of manuscripts (notably the famous codex D). [3] As in the field of OT textual criticism, so in the NT, caution should be observed in using the versions. A reading attested in a version is not equivalent to a reading in a Greek manuscript. In certain cases, an apparent variant in a version may go back to a Greek variant; but one can never entirely exclude the possibility that the variant was created during the process of translation. Many striking deviations in the versions have no other source than the linguistic or stylistic requirements of the target language. The present study by Peter Williams is devoted to the identification of

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such translational deviations in the Old Syriac and Peshitta versions of the Gospels. Where detailed research can establish that a certain type of variation regularly occurs in the Syriac versions, these versions may no longer be quoted as evidence for the said variation in Greek manuscripts. [4] A good example is provided by one of the first investigations offered in the book, the addition of the name (pp. 24-37). There is a noticeable tendency in both the Peshitta and Old Syriac to add this name where the Greek has a mere pronoun. For instance, in Matt 4:21, the Greek manuscripts read: “he called them (i.e., the sons of Zebedee),” but the Curetonian Old Syriac reads: “Jesus called them.” Since this tendency is very marked, it is methodologically unsound to quote the Syriac versions in support of Greek manuscripts having the same addition. In Matt 8:3, “he touched him,” many Greek manuscripts read: “Jesus touched him.” The latter reading is found also in the Peshitta and the Old Syriac. Yet there is no way of knowing whether the Syriac versions reflect a Greek text having the addition of the proper noun (in which case they would count as textual evidence), or whether the addition of the name Jesus was made by the translators (in which case the Syriac reading lays no weight in the scales). In Williams’ study, the addition of the name Jesus is fully documented and extensively discussed, leaving little room for doubt as to the text-critical implications of the phenomenon. [5] In six chapters, many other phenomena are studied in the same detailed way: addition and omission of proper nouns, common nouns and pronouns; changes regarding articles, particles and adverbs; grammatical variants such as alteration in number, person, voice or tense; questions of word order; variations in words of speech, and miscellanea. Some brief “rules for the use of Syriac in NT textual criticism” are spelled out in appendix 1, while a second appendix lists a large number of suggested corrections to the apparatus of Nestle-Aland’s 27th edition of the NT text. [6] The book will be very useful for the small number of specialists whose business it is to produce critical editions of the NT text. One may expect future editions of Nestle-Aland’s editio minor to omit a large number references to the Syriac versions. In a few cases, the elimination of the Syriac witnesses may change the balance of probability and lead to some adjustment in the establishment of the critical text.

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[7] For all those who are not into the composing of critical apparatuses of the gospel text, the usefulness of the book is less immediate. Indeed, the kind of textual phenomena treated in this work almost never have exegetical implications. Since the mere pronoun ‘he’ and the proper noun ‘Jesus’ clearly have the same referent in Matt 8:3, the interpretation of the passage will change little whichever reading is adopted. This is not to say Williams’ work is uninteresting. Much can be learnt on the workings of the Syriac language, on the attitude of the Syriac translators to their source, on the history of the text of the New Testament. But on all these points, the reader must go, so to say, beyond the limits the book has set itself. [8] Nowhere in this monograph is it stated explicitly that the text- critical value of the Syriac versions of the gospels is small. Nevertheless, by disqualifying so many readings attested in the Syriac, the argument may in the end raise doubts as to the very worth of these versions. It is only justice, then, to point out that many striking readings occurring in the Peshitta and, especially, in the Old Syriac gospels cannot, in fact, be accounted for simply by their translation technique. A good example is found in John 3:18, where the Sinaitic Old Syriac alone reads ‘the chosen son’ against the Greek manuscripts’ ‘the only son.’ Being either unattested in the Greek tradition, or attested only in codex D, many of these readings are regarded with utmost suspicion by textual critics of the NT. Yet it would be right to restore them to our critical apparatuses, so as not to lose sight completely of the potential contribution of the versions to the history of the text of the New Testament.

F. Briquel Chatonnet, M. Debié and A. Desreumaux, eds., Les inscriptions syriaques. Études syriaques 1. Paris. Paul Geuthner, 2004. Pp. 171. ISBN 2-7053-3759-8. Paperback. €40.

REVIEWED BY ANDREW PALMER, SCHOOL OF ORIENTAL AND AFRICAN STUDIES [1] This is a series of essays intended to make stimulating reading for non-specialists, while not being intended exclusively for them. A review for a journal of Syriac studies should consider the book from the specialist’s point of view. The French Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres is to publish a series of volumes, arranged by country or region, constituting a systematic edition of Syriac inscriptions around the world: Recueil des Inscriptions Syriaques, to be referred to as RIS. The volume under review appears to be a survey of the inscriptions to be edited in this collection. The several chapters originated in papers presented by various scholars to a conference held in Paris on 7 November 2003. The contributors (in alphabetical order) are: A. Badwi, F. Briquel Chatonnet, A. Desreumaux, M. Gorea, A. Harrak, F. Helliot-Bellier, A. Kassis, W. Klein, P. Marsone, R. Niu, L. van Rompay, J. Thekeparampil and J.-B. Yon. The map on p. 169 shows Asia, Cyprus and as the areas to be covered, but on p. 51 reference is also made to two inscriptions in . No reference is made to the growing number of inscriptions in the churches of the Syrian Christian diaspora (see one example in paragraph 11 of this review). This volume is also the first in a series of Études syriaques to be published by the newly- founded Société d’études syriaques, of which the object is “the culture of Syriac-speaking Oriental Christianities, whatever their confession,” including “sacred scripture, , patristics, , grammar, history, law, liturgy, astronomy, medicine, poetry and graphic arts,” a list which, while it is probably intended to include “everything which makes up the cultural wealth of these communities,” happens to omit architecture and archaeology (p. 11). Non-Christian Syriac, though, is perhaps intentionally excluded. [2] The survey begins with , the home of the Syriac dialect. Briquel Chatonnet and Desreumaux do mention The Old Syriac Inscriptions of Edessa and Osrhoene by Drijvers and Healey (1999) and the earlier work of Segal on the pre-Christian Aramaic inscriptions, though they refer neither to the extensive pagan

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inscriptions of Soghmatar, nor to the Christian inscriptions collected from Qasr al-Banat by Max van Oppenheim in 1899 and imperfectly published by B. Moritz in Beiträge zu Assyriologie und semitischen Sprachwissenschaft 7.2 (1913), 157-74. They outline the history of Syriac epigraphy (pp. 15-17); distinguish two types of inscriptions, those on sacred monuments and those commemorating the death of clergy and “even of women”— though it ought to added that these were nuns (p. 18f.); and mention the regions of Commagene and , on one side of Osrhoene, and Tur ‘Abdin on the other (p. 19f.), before going on to discuss Syria (p. 21f.), where Christian Syriac mosaic inscriptions have been found in many of the ancient churches. (This reflects the favourable conditions which have obtained in that country for Christian archaeology.) There are even a couple of civic inscriptions in Syriac, which means that language was used beyond the religious sphere. These inscriptions tell more about the past than just names and dates (p. 23f.): a lintel at Zabad engraved in Syriac, Greek and Arabic is “the earliest dated inscription in the Arabic language and script.” On M. Gorea’s drawing one can make out “in the year 823” (A.D. 511/2?). The Alpha, though Greek, hangs on the right arm of the cross, Omega on the left, a probably unconscious Semiticism. The authors conclude “that Edessa seems to disappear rather early from the corpus, whereas in Northern Syria the use of Syriac in inscriptions increases from the fifth century onwards.” This argument from the silence of Christian Syriac epigraphy in Edessa ignores the manuscripts, some of them produced before 600, which attest the continued use of Syriac there. Many witnesses lie buried: who, then, will be “astonished” (p. 24) that they do not speak? The authors themselves regret that no systematic archaeological research has been done in Edessa. [3] The next chapter, on the inscriptions of Lebanon, has a historical introduction by Kassis with a map (pp. 29-31); a section on the stone inscriptions by Yon (pp. 32-36); and a section on the painted inscriptions (pp. 36-40), in particular the twelfth-century paintings in the church of Mar-Tedros at Baḥdidat, which are presented by Badwi with reference to the unpublished MA- dissertation of his student Chadi Abi Abdallah (corrigenda: nos. 1-5 do not correspond to nos. 1-5 in the figure and in no. 7 the Syriac word for darkness is spelled with ‘Ayn instead of Ḥeth). Omitted from the survey, perhaps because of its uncertain provenance—it

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turned up on the antiquities market in Lebanon, but it refers to the era of Antioch—, is a long and informative inscription commemorating the construction of a bema, presumably of stone, “in the year 653, in the computation of Antioch, in the year eight” (note the phonetic transcription of the Greek number as oghdo), that is between 1 October 604, when the 653rd year after Julius Caesar’s grant of autonomy to Antioch began, and 31 August 605, when Byzantine Indiction VIII ended (B. Aggoula, “Studia Aramaica III,” Syria 69, 1992, 391-422, includes, on pp. 401-6, a new edition with a translation in which E. Renhart, Das syrische Bema, Graz, 1995, p. 53, places too much faith). The era of Antioch is unlikely to have been used so far south as Lebanon (the date 859 on the lintel-inscription from Ḥarb ‘Ara, in the extreme North of Lebanon, is plausibly interpreted as Seleucid on p. 32 of the book under review, though, as can be seen from Plate II.1, the era is not specified). The most interesting stone inscriptions of Lebanon are those of the quarries of Kamid al-Lawz, which show that men from Edessa and even further afield (some were East Syrians) were quarrying here in 715 under the Caliph Walid. [4] After travelling from Northern Mesopotamia through Syria to Lebanon, the survey arrives in the Holy Land. “Inscriptions of travellers and émigrés” are found in Acre, Galilee, Jericho, , Jerusalem, the Negev, Sinai, Jordan, Cyprus and Rome. Desreumaux, the author of this chapter, here announces his forthcoming publication of the Syriac graffiti on the columns of the mediaeval porch of the Holy Sepulchre. Those that are dated bear witness to the continuation of the pilgrimage of Syrian Christians from Northern Mesopotamia to Jerusalem during and after the Crusading period. Having published papers on this pilgrimage and on the relations of Syrian Christians with the Crusader states, this reviewer was disappointed that these inscriptions were not placed in their historical context. See A. Palmer, ‘The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem,’ Oriens Christianus, 75 (1991), 16-43, and id., ‘The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem, Part Two: Queen Melisende and the Jacobite estates,’ Oriens Christianus, 76 (1992), 74-94. We also learn of the recent discovery, in 2002, of two eighth-century (?) inscriptions in the black desert of Ḥarrah, the first Syriac inscriptions to be found in Jordan (they are to be published by M. Gorea) and of the epigraphic evidence of an East- Syrian community on Cyprus in the fourteenth century (p. 50).

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[5] There follows a chapter on the Syriac inscriptions of the Monastery of the Syrians in Egypt which amply satisfies the reader’s hunger for historical context. The inscriptions illuminate the relationship between Dayr al-Suryān and the city of Tagrīt, in Iraq, beginning with the mirror-image memorial to the (Tagrītan) Patriarch Cyriac (793-817), unique in Syriac and much earlier than comparable inscriptions in Arabic, and the record of what may have been the origin of the monastery in 819 (a suggestion: might not the second letter in line 5, though it looks like a Beth, be read as a Mim?). Van Rompay, the author, questions the general validity of the statement that the Syrians in Egypt regarded themselves as belonging to the Church of Syria in the light of three prominent inscriptions of the ninth and tenth centuries at that monastery which put the Patriarch of the Coptic Church first, see H. Kaufhold, “Kirchliche Gemeinschaft und Schisma im Spiegel syrischer Schreibervermerke,” Oriens Christianus 85 (2001), 94-118. He points out that linguistic politics at the monastery, where Coptic and Syrian dwelled side by side, leaned towards Coptic in the ninth century and towards Syriac in the thirteenth, from which time onwards Kaufhold’s conclusion, which was based on colophons, may indeed apply (p. 62). His closing reference to the “radical uniqueness (unicité radicale)” of the details on which inscriptions oblige us to concentrate reminds this reviewer of that first searching encounter with letters on stone, by which a hand long dead grips the imagination and makes a new initiate in history. [6] Harrak’s chapter on Iraq (pp. 75-106) is the longest in the book, and the most systematic. He classifies the abundant material into (A) liturgical, (B) funerary, (C) commemorative and (D) historical inscriptions and divides each of these groups into as many as nine sub-categories. The category of liturgical inscriptions, also introduced (under another name) by Briquel Chatonnet et al., is a necessary one, certainly for modern inscrip-tions. Harrak concludes his liturgical section with the following words: “The great number of liturgical inscriptions and the beauty of their calligraphy underline the fact that these inscriptions hold in the Syriac Church the place occupied by icons and statues in the Byzantine and Latin Churches; hence their sacred character” (p. 87). This goes too far. The devotees of an Eastern Orthodox icon or a Roman Catholic statue light candles in front of the object of their devotion and kiss it if they can. And even in a church where

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the walls are covered with holy pictures, such as St. Ephrem’s, Heilbronn, there may be a number of beautifully calligraphed liturgical inscriptions. [7] Among the funerary inscriptions from Tagrīt Harrak documents the use of phrases such as “May the Lord have pity on So-and-so on the Day of Judgement!” (p. 88) and refers to a similar inscription about two Tagrītans in the Monastery of the Syrians in Egypt. The shared diction surely supports Harrak’s claim that the latter inscription is also funerary. This time it is surely Van Rompay who overstates his case (p. 69): “Nothing indicates that these two persons were dead at the time the inscription was produced.” Harrak also examines the epigraphic diction of building-records. This reviewer was pleased to read that ḥaddeth should not always be taken in its literal sense of ‘renovate,’ since it is sometimes a euphemism for ‘rebuild’ (rebuilding churches was forbidden under Islamic law). Compare already A. Palmer, ‘Corpus of inscriptions from Ṭūr cAbdīn and environs,’ Oriens Christianus 71 (1987), 53-139, at p. 95. [8] The following chapter on ‘Syriac and Manichean magic bowls of Mesopotamian origin,’ by Gorea, is marred by a number of misprints and mistranslations: mryhwn d‚swt‚ is read as “Lord of healings” (p. 112), instead of “Lord of doctors” (osawoto is the plural of osyo) and pṣn corresponds to nothing in the English translation quoted in note 16 on p. 113. Nevertheless, this is a valuable contribution. The next chapter, Hellot-Bellier, addresses itself to ‘the contribution of Syriac inscriptions to our knowledge of the history of the Christians of Urmia,’ but this contribution comes to so little that it is hardly worth writing about (p. 122). One wonders what Wassilios Klein could have done with the Syriac tombstones of Iran; his interpretation of those published by Chwolson from finds in Central Asia (650 of them in Kirghizstan) is a bold one, carefully related to historical questions raised by other sources. He concludes that the Black Death which ravaged Europe in 1347-51 did not originate in , as commonly thought, for it arrived in China “a few years after 1338/9,” in which year (witness: the tombstones) it decimated the sedentary population of Northern Kirghizstan and made them unable to resist the wave of nomads. As a direct result, Christianity disappeared from this region until the Russians brought it back in the nineteenth century. Texts vertically inscribed as if they were

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banners hanging from the arms of the Cross (p. 132) appear elsewhere in a context of near-despair, where a Christian community threatened with extinction invoked this talisman of survival through suffering. See A. Palmer, ‘The Messiah and the Mahdi: History Presented as the Writing on the Wall’ in: Polyphonia Byzantina: Studies in Honour of Willem J. Aerts, ed. Hero Hokwerda and Edmé Smits and Marinus Westhuis. Mediaevalia Groningana, 13 (Groningen, 1993), 45-84. [9] Eight lines of Uyghur writing are inscribed vertically below the arms of a cross at Chifeng in Inner Mongolia, framed by a quotation from the Aramaic (Pshīṭto) version of Psalm 34:5: ḥūr lwoteh w sabar beh (“Look on Him and place your hope in Him”) and the same words (also quoted in the Ehnesh East Wall inscription) are found framing a cross above a lotus flower in Beijing (p. 149). The rest of the paragraph on Beijing in the chapter on the inscriptions of China by Niu, Desreumaux and Marsone (p. 149) is too allusive to be comprehensible. The references to the illustrations on Plate VII in this chapter are unclear, not being given in the same way as in other chapters. On p. 150 (just after Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel have been referred to, without comment, as “angels”) we read that Wu Wenliang, beginning in 1928, collected a large number of inscribed gravestones, but the bibliography includes no publication by Wenliang. The authors are unaware of the project on the Christian tombstones of Quangzhou which Sam Lieu, Ken Parry and others have been working for some years now at Macquarie University (See the interview they gave to Rachael Kohn on 5th March 2003). This project, which enjoys wide academic support, is funded by UNESCO as part of its Integrated Study of the Silk Road programme. One of their findings is that God is referred to in a number of Christian inscriptions of Quangzhou as Buddha! [10] came to China from , so the name of Buddha offers us a transition to Kerala, the south-western coastal state to which the last chapter of the book, by Briquel Chatonnet, Desreumaux and Thekeparampil, is devoted. After a brief survey of Indian Church history the authors survey the inscriptions, which are classified as records of building-work; “inscriptions commémoratives” (records of other historical events); altar- inscriptions and prayers; and funerary monuments. This agrees, in the main, with Harrak’s classification, though he coins the more

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compact term “liturgical inscriptions” and (a possible source of confusion) uses “inscriptions commémoratives” of building- records, distinguishing these from “inscriptions historiques.” They go on to speak of the particular interest of this corpus of sixty-two inscriptions, collected by the authors in 1996, 2000 and 2002. There are no inscriptions securely dated before the arrival of the Portuguese, though there are some from before the Synod of Diamper (1599), which already show Latin influence. Excessive pressure to conform to Roman Catholic tradition led to an appeal to the Syrian Orthodox patriarch in the seventeenth century (Oath of the Coonan Cross, 1653), as a result of which contacts began to take place between Kerala and Tur ‘Abdin, which gave rise, in 1874, to a poetic inscription about the mission of two envoys of the , one of whom died in 1685 and was buried in Kothamangalam. This is an example of the Syriac renaissance of the nineteenth century, which is attested by a number of inscriptions. [11] The authors also refer to inscriptions of the mid-twentieth century in Trichur and even to one in Ayamkudi dated to the year 2000. This makes it difficult to defend the omission from the book of any reference to the late twentieth and early twenty-first century Syriac inscriptions of Europe, the Americas and Australia. Perhaps these should, after all, form a volume of RIS? In the Syrian Orthodox church of St. Ephraem in Heilbronn, Baden- Württemberg, for example, there is a commemorative inscription on the front of the altar (church bought from American Centre in 1995, sanctuary built with donations from the Swirinoyo family of Bê Sallo Makko and others and consecrated by Mor Dionysius Isa Gürbüz in 2002), a eucharistic inscription (John 6:53) around the arch of the altar-niche, a more general liturgical text (Psalm 26:6) around the archway of the Royal Gate, a baptismal text (John 3:5) around the arch of the niche on the south side in which the font is placed and a commemorative inscription around the gûrno itself, accompanied by the same baptismal text. The chapter under review ends with a note on the scripts of Kerala (compare A. Palmer, ‘The Syriac letter-forms of Ṭūr ‘Abdīn and environs,’ Oriens Christianus 73, 1989, 68-89) and these are illustrated by two drawings: one of the splendid funerary inscription of Alexander de Campo at Kuravilangad (A.D. 1687) in English, Syriac and Malayalam on p. 162 and one of an inscription recording the construction of a

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doorway at the west end of the Syrian Orthodox Church of Thomas at Mulanthuruthy in 1575. [12] A photograph of the latter inscription taken by Riccardo Grassetti is printed in S. P. Brock and D. G. K. Taylor, The Hidden Pearl, 3 (S. P. Brock and W. Witakowski): At the turn of the third millennium: the Syrian Orthodox witness (Rome, 2001), p. 116. This reviewer has seen it and traced with his finger the original contours of the writing, which were not accurately followed by the later painter, who knew little Syriac. It is the painted inscription which is drawn (inaccurately in line 5) on p. 158 of the book under review. For RIS a squeeze should be made and photographed in a raking light which shows only the contours in the stone. This is one of the inscriptions allegedly showing Latin influence in the years leading up to the Synod of Diamper (p. 164). That will be disputed here. Here are three translations with the phrase to be discussed here underlined: En l’an mille cinq cent septante-cinq de la naissance de notre Seigneur Jésus-Christ, au mois de teshrin premier, le 9e jour, un dimanche, on a posé la porte du sanctuaire de l’église Saint-Thomas + en kullam sept cent cinquante-et-un ++. (Briquel Chatonnet et al., 2004, p. 156f.) In the year 1575 of our Lord Jesus Christ, on the 9th of the month of October, a Sunday, this doorway was set up for the nave of the church of St Thomas; by the Kulam era, the year 751. (Brock et al., 2001, p. 116) In the year / (one) thousand and five / hundred and seventy / and five [according to] (the era of) the birth / of our lord Jesus / Christ, / in the month Teshrīn / Qdīm thereof / on day : 9 : (for: “on day 9 thereof”?) / on (day) one in the week (i.e. Sunday) / (subject postponed till the end) raised up (this) door / for the prayer-hall of (this) church / the Holy Thomas (subject of the verb “raised up”). / + Kullam seven / hundred and fifty / and one. + + (Palmer, here) As Briquel Chatonnet et al. have seen, Brock’s passive “was set up” (representing Olap-Taw-Taw-Qup-Yud-Mim) does not correspond to the traces on the stone, where the reading Olap-Qup- Yud-Mim is clear (it is confirmed by the sense of touch). The translation must therefore be “he raised up,” but who is the subject? According to normal Syriac practice in all centuries the

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subject is usually postponed until after the main statement. A study of epigraphic diction in and around Tur ‘Abdin confirms this with specific reference to building records: see A. Palmer in Oriens Christianus 72 (1988) 114-23. Shying away from the conclusion that Saint Thomas is the subject, Briquel Chatonnet et al. translate “on a posé.” The same study of epigraphic diction shows that this would have been expressed with a passive verb. [13] “Saint Thomas raised up a doorway/door for the prayer hall of the church.” Supposing this is the correct translation—and there is nothing to be said against it in philology—how would contemporaries have understood this strange statement? The Syriac tar‘o can designate either a doorway or the door by which it is closed. If it were the former, then we should have to suppose that the church was built without a doorway on the west side and that this was added in 1575, which seems unlikely. The first readers would of course have been aware that a human carpenter fabricated the door, but they may have been willing to believe that Saint Thomas operated through that human body. St Thomas is represented in the apocryphal Acts of the Apostle Judas Thomas as the twin of Jesus, who brought the Christian to India. He is the Apostle of India and might well have been opposed, as such, to St Peter, the Apostle on whom the Roman rested its authority. Such an opposition, in the second half of the sixteenth century, could have been regarded as dangerous by that Church. Perhaps that explains the enigmatic nature of this inscription: a forbidden patriotism is here encrypted. The key to the code may lie in the . In Chapter 10 of the Gospel according to John Christ calls himself a doorway and brands as “a thief” anyone who comes into the sheepfold another way. Perhaps, then, our inscription is a guarded way of saying, seventy-eight years before the Oath on the Coonan Cross, that ‘St Peter’ (i.e. the ) is stealing the sheep which belong to St Thomas? In any case, we cannot translate ‘idto, followed, without a d-, by the words qadisho tuma, as “l’église Saint- Thomas” without imposing a foreign idiom on the Syriac language, which is perhaps why Briquel Chatonnet et al. speak of a Latin influence on the diction of this inscription. Another solution, much simpler, only occurred to me when it was too late to check it by running my finger over the words once more: perhaps what was originally written was qashisho, not qadisho, and the door was erected by an ordinary human priest called Thomas who may have doubled

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up, like St Thomas, as a carpenter? For a carpenter-priest in Bsorino, a village of Tur ‘Abdin, see A. Palmer, and Mason on the Tigris Frontier: The Early History of Ṭur ‘Abdin, University of Cambridge Oriental Publications, 39 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), microfiche 2, H: “The Book of Life: Translations of the Narrative Sections,” p. 11. [14] Les inscriptions syriaques is a collection of scholarly papers which form an eloquent, accessible introduction to a subject otherwise difficult of access. It makes no claim to exhaustiveness and indeed it is easy, as a specialist, to find important omissions in it. It reveals the scope of the planned Recueil des Inscriptions Syriaques and amply justifies that project. Desreumaux announced this new initiative more than ten years ago; see A. Desreumaux and A. Palmer, “Un projet international: Le recueil des inscriptions syriaques,” VI Symposium Syriacum 1992, ed. R. Lavenant (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 247; Rome, 1994) 443-47. One can see from the volume under review that he has been the most active of all those involved. He is to be congratulated warmly on what he has achieved so far. If this review has been critical of certain aspects of this survey, it is only because it is important that the RIS itself should be in all essentials immune to criticism and so a worthy monument to the evident commitment of the contributors.

Pauline Allen and C. T. R. Hayward, Severus of Antioch. The Early Church Fathers. London and New York. Routledge, 2004. Pp. vii + 200. ISBN 0-415-23402-6 (paperback). $29.95.

REVIEWED BY LUCAS VAN ROMPAY, DUKE UNIVERSITY [1] Severus of Antioch is one of the most important authors of the Syrian-Orthodox and Coptic-Orthodox Churches. According to historians of the imperial church he held the patriarchate of Antioch from 512 to 518, the year in which he was deposed, at the beginning of the reign of the Chalcedonian emperor . His followers, however, continued to consider him their patriarch until his death in 538. Severus’s leadership, which lasted 26 years, was of crucial importance for the formation and consolidation of the anti- Chalcedonian, Miaphysite movement. [2] While Severus wrote his numerous works in Greek, very little has been preserved in that language. It is only in recent years that Greek fragments, which are preserved in exegetical Catena manuscripts, are being systematically published and studied. See particularly F. Petit, La chaîne sur l’Exode, I. Fragments de Sévère d’Antioche (Louvain, 1999), with a second volume, covering the remaining books of the Octateuch and the books of Kings, forthcoming (2006). The gradual loss of interest in Severus’s Greek works marks the shift of the anti-Chalcedonian movement from the Greek to the Syriac and Coptic cultural areas, a shift which took place in the sixth and seventh centuries and reached its completion in the early Islamic period. [3] In view of the loss of the original Greek Severus, the existence of an extensive corpus of Syriac translations is all the more important. Many of these translations were produced during Severus’s lifetime and are preserved in sixth-century manuscripts. Even if they do not represent the actual wording of Severus’s original writings, they give us access to the milieu of the mid-sixth- century anti-Chalcedonians in Syria and Egypt, many of whom were bilingual (Greek and Syriac or Coptic), and many of whom were instrumental in shaping what would later become the Syrian- Orthodox and the Coptic-Orthodox Churches. Compared to the importance of the Syriac transmission of Severus’s works, the Coptic evidence is much more modest, although it once may have been significant. From Coptic and Syriac, Severus’s name and fame became part of Christian-Arabic literature, from which his legacy

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later reached Ethiopia. The Arabic and Ethiopic fields have not yet been fully explored, even though remarkable progress has been made in recent years. Youhanna Nessim Youssef’s 2004 edition and translation of an Arabic Life of Severus, corresponding to the Ge’ez version published by E. J. Goodspeed in 1909, may be singled out: The Arabic Life of Severus of Antioch Attributed to Athanasius of Antioch (Patrologia Orientalis, 49,4; Turnhout, 2004). [4] The present volume, which is edited by Pauline Allen and C. T. R. Hayward, is a most welcome one, as several of Severus’s works have remained relatively little-known in the English speaking world. One finds here long excerpts from various works, most of them newly translated. The translations are by: Robert Hayward (Texts 1-15: extracts from various theological works and Cathedral Homilies, nos. 13 and 14; Text 17: Homily no. 72; and Texts 18-25 and 27-28: extracts from various letters), Iain Torrance (Text 16: Homily no. 18), Witold Witakowski (Texts 29-34: Hymns), and Pauline Allen (Text 26: fragment from a letter). The omission of the translators’ names from the respective chapters and from the Table of contents is misleading and unfortunate. [5] Except for text no. 26 (ten lines from Greek), all other translations are from Syriac. The English translations are particularly welcome for Severus’s theological works, which have been published mostly with Latin translations, and for his homilies, the editions of which are accompanied by French translations. To my knowledge, one more homily has been translated into English, namely no. 52 (On the Maccabees), in R. L. Bensly, The Fourth Book of Maccabees and Kindred Documents in Syriac (Cambridge, 1895), p. xxvii-xxxiv. As for Severus’s letters, most of these have been published by E. W. Brooks (in 1902-1904 and in 1916-1920, respectively) with excellent English translations, which these new translations do not substantially improve. The dossier of letters exchanged between Severus and a certain Sergius (after 518), published and translated into Latin by J. Lebon in 1949 (CSCO 119-120 / Syr. 64-65), was made available in English by Iain R. Torrance in his Christology after Chalcedon. Severus of Antioch and Sergius the Monophysite (Norwich, 1988), 143-236, an important complement to the theological texts translated in the present volume. [6] The first three chapters of the book provide well-written introductions to (1) Severus’s life, (2) Severus’s thought, and (3) Severus’s works. In the broader historical sketch of the Miaphysite

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resistance to the Council of Chalcedon one might have preferred to see a bit more nuance in the description of Justinian and Theodora in their alleged roles of opponent and supporter of the anti- Chalcedonians, respectively. It is also incorrect, I think, to see in John of Tella’s ordinations of priests in the late 520s the birth of “a separatist and independent church” (p. 28). The Miaphysites’ alienation and separation from the imperial church should rather be seen as a gradual process, spanning the entire sixth and even part of the seventh centuries. [7] Building upon earlier studies by J. Lebon (1951), R. Chesnut (1976), A. Grillmeier (1995), and I. Torrance (1988), a laudable effort is made here to analyze, understand, and contextualize some basic ideas of Severus’s theology, which is profoundly Cyrillian (p. 34-38). In view of this, the following statement, which serves as a conclusion, is unsatisfactory (p. 37-38): “Despite the orthodox language in which such soteriological principles are enunciated by Severus and other monophysites, it is difficult to escape the impression that it was not only Julian of Halicarnassus who believed that, while Christ was a true human being, he was not an ordinary one. The interpenetration of the two natures results in a dominance of the divine nature in the union, and the exchange of properties (communicatio idiomatum) seems one-sided.” Not only is the use of the term “orthodox” problematic in this context, but the application of a non-Miaphysite “orthodox” meta-discourse introduces a theological prejudice that hampers historical understanding. [8] “The Early Church Fathers” series has so far produced a number of important volumes. Severus of Antioch, who was one of the protagonists in a period of intense theological discussion and stood at the intersection of the Greek and Syriac worlds, has a well- deserved place in it. The highly readable translations provided in this volume will further increase awareness and understanding of this important tradition within early Christianity.

Robert A. Kitchen and Martien F. G. Parmentier. The Book of Steps. The Syriac Liber Graduum, Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Robert A. Kitchen and Martien F. G. Parmentier, Cistercian Studies Series 196, Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercian Publications, 2004.

REVIEWED BY ANNE SEVILLE, CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA [1] This volume continues the long-standing Cistercian Studies Series’ tradition of translating monastic literature of all periods into English and joins a growing section dedicated to Syriac spirituality. Indeed it is an important contribution, allowing us a glimpse into one lesser known, pre-monastic strand of asceticism on the eastern fringe of the . The late fourth, early fifth century community to which this work was addressed is stratified into different levels of Christian behavior and observance. The anonymous author focuses most of his attention on two of these levels, what the translators have termed “the Perfect” and “the Upright.” The Perfect ones have renounced all earthly desires and through following the great commandments (for example, to treat everyone better than oneself, to not judge others, to live free from care, etc.), mortifying their bodies, and practicing absolute poverty in the imitation of Christ, they have attained enlightenment and seek to educate other Christians. The second-tiered Upright have not overcome their struggle with material goods and thus lead a life engaged with worldly pursuits and work to minister to the physical needs of the Perfect. Their spiritual disciplines include attempting to fulfill the moral and cultic rules found in the “inferior commandments” (i.e. the Ten Commandments) and the Golden Rule. [2] Kitchen’s extensive introduction begins by acquainting the reader with the general origins of Syriac Christianity. Emphasizing its ascetic flavor, he concisely describes the earliest Syriac literature, its use of vivid imagery and symbolism, and the unique practices that make Syriac Christianity distinct from its Mediterranean counterparts. [3] After a detailed examination of scholarship throughout the last century pertaining to the Liber Graduum (with well-documented footnotes), the introduction proceeds to an overview of the structure of the work (or its lack thereof), brief descriptions of each mēmrā, and general themes that connect the work together. Highlights of this latter section are the translator’s discussions of

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the frequently overlooked “fledgling” or intermediate ascetic ranks, such as “the sick and the children,” and consideration of some of the pastoral problems of his community. For instance, tensions exist among the various levels concerning who merits material support, and external charges of elitism must be answered. [4] Kitchen rightly downplays the role of the Liber Graduum in the Messalian controversy. Although historically several scholars had hoped that this was the missing Asketikon of the Messalians, this claim could not be proven through its doctrinal content. The Liber Graduum does demonstrate some Messalian tendencies, like the indwelling of demons, but never fully exhibits unorthodox beliefs. From what we know of the surviving descriptions of Messalian beliefs and practices, such as the total efficacy of unceasing prayer in contrast to the spiritual inefficacy of the visible Church and sacraments, these ideas are not supported by our anonymous author. [5] The translation has been made from Michael Kmosko’s edition found in Patrologia Syriaca 3: Paris, 1926; the enumeration of the mēmrē and the column numbers inserted into the translation follow this text. Kitchen and Parmentier present a fluid translation that is faithful to the spirit of the work overall, skillfully preserving the frank discussion of how these practices ought to be lived out and what the relationships among various Christians ought to be. [6] In addition to the introduction and translation, Kitchen and Parmentier have provided a bibliography of other modern translations of sections of the Liber Graduum, several pages of studies covering the history of scholarship on this work, and a few brief listings on Syriac Christianity in general. There is also an index to the extensive scriptural references of the Liber Graduum that has been extended to include some post- and extra-canonical writings and an index to proper names and places. A subject index would be desirable for such a lengthy and thematically inter-connected work. But these materials along with the comprehensive introduction provide a solid entry point for anyone interested in Syriac Christianity, and the work as a whole offers scholars a valuable resource for the early development of the ascetic life in Syria.

Mar Aprem Mooken, The Assyrian Church of the East in the Twentieth Century (Mōrān ‚Ethō, 18; Kottayam. St. Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute, 2003), 307 pp.

REVIEWED BY ALEXANDER TOEPEL, UNIVERSITY OF TÜBINGEN [1] In spite of its comparative proximity the modern history of the Church of the East remains one of the underdeveloped fields in the study of . Any publication on this subject is, therefore, to be welcomed, and in regard of the book under review here this is the more so, since its author, His Grace Mar Aprem, Metropolitan of All India, to a great extent not only witnessed but shaped the history of the Assyrian Church of the East during the last forty years. As is to be expected, the book deals first and foremost with the history of this church, while the uniate Chaldaean church, which ultimately stems from the same tradition, receives only minor attention. After two introductory chapters on the origins and history of the Assyrian Church until 1900 (pp. 17- 67) its history during the twentieth century is presented according to a division into four periods: a period of decline from 1900 to 1918 (pp. 69-112), a period of uncertainty from 1918-1933 (pp. 114-164), a period of sufferings from 1933-1975 (pp. 166-184) and finally the ecumenical era from 1976 to the present (pp. 186-216). The book contains several appendices which include documents of interest, such as the 1994 Common Christological Declaration of Pope John Paul II. and Catholicos Mar Dinkha IV. as well as a Joint Synodal Decree of the Assyrian and Chaldaean churches for promoting unity among each other from 1997. [2] As the distribution of page numbers shows, the major part of the book deals with the period from 1900-1933 and it is here that the author makes a real contribution by drawing upon the riches of the Syriac manuscript libraries in India. Especially on pp. 117-157 the account is based entirely upon the letters of Mar Abimalek Timotheus, Metropolitan of All India from 1908-1945, who acted as regent to the young patriarch Eshai Shimun in the early 1920’s and, during that time, took an active role in the politics of his church. Hereby the author opens up an “Indian perspective” on Nestorian church history in the twentieth century, a perspective which is largely absent in the few hitherto available works on this subject. Likewise informative is the section on the ecumenical era

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from 1976 to the present, in which the author himself played a significant role and thus is able to present an eye-witness account. [3] Apart from these issues which are treated in detail, at other points there is a potential of deepening the investigation. To begin with, the book is purely church-historical in character, which means that the political aspect of the narrated events is not expressly stated. For the uninformed reader, however, at times it would have been useful to include some background information. Since Assyrian church history prior to World War I took place within the framework of the Ottoman Empire and its policies towards religious minorities, a knowledge of the millet system is necessary for understanding some peculiarities of this church’s history in the 1920’s and 30’s. On p. 158 the patriarch’s temporal power is briefly mentioned, but it is not made clear how far this claim to civil jurisdiction is related to the Ottoman law system. In addition it has to be said that the account on pp. 157-159 is—as the author on p. 157 n. 65 himself acknowledges—based upon an account friendly towards Patriarch Eshai Shimun. In fact it seems to have been the case not so much that British or Iraqi officials tried to diminish the influence of the patriarchal family but rather that the Patriarch himself insisted upon retaining (and presumably exercising) his temporal power, and that this was the main reason for his eventual expulsion from Iraq (cf. J. Joseph, The Nestorians and their Muslim Neighbors [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961], pp. 198- 200; G. Yonan, Assyrer heute [Hamburg: Gesellschaft für bedrohte Völker, 1978], pp. 60-61). [4] The same holds true in regard of the Patriarch’s relationship to the Nestorian military leader Agha Petros, which could have been treated in more depth than is actually the case on pp. 116-117, 157. Especially on p. 157 the Agha’s rather dubious role in the repatriation attempt of 1919 is not mentioned at all. Another issue which carries the potential of more detailed treatment is the question of “Assyrian” nationalism. In the title and throughout the book the term “Assyrian” is used as a denominational marker in accordance with this church’s official usage since the 1940’s (cf. Yonan, Assyrer, p. 154). It is, however, to be regretted that the background of this term, which originally was applied in an ethnic sense, is not explored in greater detail, especially since the works by J. Joseph and J. F. Coakley (cf. Joseph, Nestorians, pp. 13-21; J. F. Coakley, The Church of the East and the Church of [Oxford:

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Clarendon Press, 1992], p. 4-6 with n. 12)—upon which the account on pp. 51-67, 99-110 otherwise is heavily dependent— contain lengthy sections on this. [5] Finally it has to be asked whether—given the fact that Mesopotamia at this time was regarded as being vital to British imperial interests (cf. D. Fromkin, A Peace to End All Peace [London: André Deutsch, 1989], pp. 146-149, 449-454, 558-567)— the motive behind the Anglican church’s “mission of help” (p. 69) was really as altruistic as it is presented on pp. 69 and 85. Even in the W. A. Wigram’s letter to the of Canterbury from 1911, which is quoted on pp. 96-98, the link between the Church of England’s missionary work and the political interests of the British Empire is made unmistakably clear. In this respect the Anglican determination to preserve the Church in the East in its original state rather appears as an attempt to keep it from falling under Presbyterian, Catholic or Russian Orthodox sway and the influence of the countries behind these churches, namely the United States, and Russia. Notwithstanding the good intentions of individual churchmen this seems to have been a serious motive behind the help which the Assyrians received from the Anglican church and the British crown (cf. Joseph, Nestorians, pp. 87-92, 95-107). British military interest in the Assyrians is made especially clear by the history of the Iraq Levies, which consisted of Nestorian tribesmen and played a vital role during the British mandate in Iraq and even in World War II (cf. Yonan, Assyrer, pp. 56-57, 74-76). These are briefly mentioned on p. 154 in connection with the Indian metropolitan Mar Timotheus’ failed attempt to visit their bases in 1927. In order to understand, however, why the British authorities refused to give Mar Timotheus, who at this time opposed the Patriarch Eshai Shimun, access to their Assyrian levy troops it would have been helpful to refer to the political situation outlined just above. [6] For clarity’s sake it is furthermore necessary to indicate a few minor inaccuracies. (p. 30-31) Obviously Rabban Sauma is confused with Marqos, later Patriarch Yahballaha III. Marqos never visited Rome and therefore cannot have been blessed by the pope (p. 31) Here it is stated that after Timur’s genocide the Church of the East “never had peaceful days.” There are, however, no massacres reported until 1843 (cf. Joseph, Nestorians, pp. 29-30). (p. 99) Kemal Atatürk was not involved in the Young Turk

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revolution of 1908. The person in question here is probably Kemal Pasha. Last but not least an index would substantially facilitate the use of the book. [7] These points notwithstanding, the book’s strength remains that for the first time it affords a glimpse into the rich archive material in India which for the larger part still awaits investigation. By giving access to this material the author points towards a dimension of Nestorian church history which lies beyond the question of ethnic minorities in the Middle East. The book thus not only provides a useful update on the history of the Assyrian Church, but draws attention to the erstwhile truly ecumenical and global character of the Church of the East, which is gradually being recovered today.