Sbath project – sample of Hunain gets the raspberry

An unexpected problem; the sample of a translation of Hunain ibn Ishaq has got the raspberry from the person I sent it to for checking.  “Make sure the person you use has a solid training in classical Arabic”, I am admonished.  Actually I think the translator has.  Have sent the comments to the translator, and am awaiting the explosion!

Meanwhile I have offered a commission for treatises 15-19 (a grand total of 12 pages!) to an old and trusted translator.  But with the new term coming up, now may not be the best time.

I’ve really enjoyed being on holiday this summer.  How rarely can one take more than a week or two off at this time, as I have been able to do?  Back to work on Tuesday.  A little unenthusiastic, as is usual after a holiday. Also there is no air-conditioning in its offices, except for the offices of the directors. Still, it will be good to get back in the routine.

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Hunain ibn Ishaq translation now underway

I’ve found a translator and commissioned a translation of the work of Hunain ibn Ishaq, the 10th century Christian translator of scientific works who worked for the Abbassid caliphs, plus a commentary on it by a Coptic author.  The two make up 20 pages in Paul Sbath’s Vingt traites, although for the Hunain work there is a critical text by Samir Khalil Samir which we’ll use instead.  It’s about valid and invalid ways to prove your religion is true.  The result will be public domain and posted on the web so we can all access it.

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If a scribe has two copies of a text in different bookhands, which will he copy?

At the renaissance there was an explosion of copies of manuscripts.  These thick neat manuscripts will be familiar to all who have handled manuscripts at all, and are found everywhere.  Fifteenth century copies are commonplace.

I’ve just been reading Emil Kroymann’s study of the transmission of the text of Tertullian in Italy, and the role played by the central book-collector of the renaissance, Niccolo Niccoli.  Niccoli was one of us.  If he lived today, he’d be a blogger.  He was an awkward chap, who enjoyed poor health, and was difficult to deal with.  He amassed a huge collection of manuscripts, which passed to Lorenzo the Magnificent after his death, and are today in the Biblioteca Mediceo-Laurenziana in Florence.

Kroymann did a journey into Italy at the end of the 19th century, and collated all the Italian manuscripts he could find.  In particular he found a manuscript in Florence, written in a gothic book-hand, and a copy of it in Niccoli’s hand, done in a Roman book-hand, both in the Laurentian.

The result of his collation was to discover that all of the Italian copies were descended from Niccoli’s manuscript.  Not one was copied direct from the manuscript in gothic book-hand, despite the fact that the two copies have always been together.  The scribes found it easier to read a copy in “Roman” font, rather than the gothic hand.

Yet the gothic manuscript was not ancient.  It too was written in the 15th century, by two Franciscans at Pforzheim in southern Germany.  Cardinal Orsini had made a  journey there, and returned carrying a copy of Plautus — THE copy of Plautus, which alone contains a mass of his plays — and this Tertullian manuscript.  Both were “borrowed” by Niccoli, to copy; Orsini was able to extract the Plautus from Niccoli’s hands, but the Tertullian he never got back.

We need to be aware of the “path of least resistance” that scribes will take, when technology changes.  There are various doorways down the years through which an ancient text must pass in order to reach us.   Probably one copy is made, in each case, in the new format; and that becomes the ancestor of all subsequent copies. 

When the roll format was abandoned in the 4th century in favour of the parchment codex book, those texts not copied into the new format doubtless speedily ceased to exist.  The compiler of the Theodosian codex ca. 450 complains even then that works by second-century jurists like Ulpian no longer are accessible.  The flimsier papyrus rolls, no longer considered the most valuable or easiest to use, must quickly have fallen apart.

Likewise when the uncial and capital book-hand of antiquity gave way to the various minuscule book hands in the 9th century, which were both more economic in parchment and easier to write, the older copies must have become inconvenient.  They were still readable, and parchment is forever; but if you had to carry a volume to a neighbouring monastery so they could copy it, would you want a big or a small volume?

We see the same phenomenon here in Italy in the fifteenth century.  The scribes could have used the copy that Niccolo used; but found it easier to copy the copy, typos and all.

Then we all know how the first text to be placed into print tended to become the ancestor of all printed texts up to the 19th century.  Again, this was  a doorway.  Yet the texts that were printed were by no means the best; they were often those which were simply most readily available.

Today we have texts being placed onto the internet.  This too, I suspect, is a doorway.  There will come a time, soon, when offline material is simply ignored.  These texts too will perish.

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Another untranslated bit of Greek – Philip of Side

I’m still turning photocopies into PDF’s, and in the process finding projects I’d forgotten about.  I’ve found a couple of articles on the fragments of the 4th century Ecclesiastical History of Philip of Side, preserved in the Bodleian manuscript Barrocianus 142 (itself a mish-mash of historical excerpts).  No-one has ever translated the fragments into English.

I wish I could hire people who know Greek.  I’d solve that problem.

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Chrysostom is better in Syriac than in Greek! And what about the Arabs?

If you look at the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers collection, you will see a large number of sermons on books of the bible by John Chrysostom.  The NPNF series was a pirate edition; it reprints the Oxford Movement translations, minus their notes, edited by Charles Marriot in the 1840’s and 50’s.  You have to be struck by the sheer volume of these things.  The sermons are of value to exegetes, of course.  Pre-internet it was nearly impossible to access the Oxford Movement “Library of the Fathers” volumes.  I suspect the notes would repay investigation.

But while turning photocopies into PDF’s, I came across an interesting article about the manuscripts of Chrysostom by J. W. Childers, Chrysostom’s Exegetical Homilies on the New Testament in Syriac Translation.  This tells me that the earliest manuscripts of the Greek tradition are 10th or 11th century; not bad, but by no means early.  I know that just listing medieval copies of Chrysostom takes volumes, so there is clearly a very great number of manuscripts.  So it is a surprise to learn that no earlier copies exist.

But Childers article draws attention to the fact that the manuscripts of the Syriac version are far earlier.  Thus for the Homilies on Matthew, the first 32 sermons (of 90) are preserved in four manuscripts, all from the Nitrian desert in Egypt, all of the 6th century.  Another translation existed, referred to by Philoxenus of Mabbug in an anthology composed before 484 AD.  The translations were made using the standard techniques of the 5th century, and show that the text of the Greek did not alter appreciably between the 5th and 10th centuries.  The translations are insufficiently literal to be much use for text-critical concerns.  But for the homilies on Paul’s letters the 6th and 7th century manuscripts are even more literal, and so can be used to correct the Greek.

The homilies were also translated from Syriac into Arabic, and catalogues of manuscripts invariably contain some.  There is quite a section on these in Graf’s Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur vol. 1.  While the manuscripts may not be early, they will reflect a Syriac text that may be.  It  might also be interesting to wonder what exists in Armenian.

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If you employed a translator, what conditions would you impose?

One of the possible translators I’ve been swapping emails with has balked a bit at some of my terms and conditions.  No, not the ones specifying the transfer of his immortal soul and 10cc of blood; most academic contracts contain such terms these days, or so I gather.  No, it’s the ones about how the contract runs.  He suggested that I ask what people think. 

So … what would YOU put in as a condition of getting the job done?  Here’s a set that I sent out recently, slightly amended since I forgot an important bit!

I have to put a few conditions on this commission, as I have had some awkward experiences with people in Lebanon offering translations. These are negotiable, of course, and designed merely to avoid some awkward situations that would not arise with a reputable person like yourself.

Money: I offer 10 cents US.  Do you have a Paypal account?  That is easily my easiest method of payment, you see. 

1.  First, would you do a translation the first page of the material as a sample? I will then get the result checked by another scholar. If it is of academic standard, then I will pay for it then and there, and we will continue; if for any reason it is unsuitable then we will cancel the commission and nothing will be owing.

2.  I would like to receive chunks of the translation at regular intervals (say once a week?), so that I can see that progress is happening.  I will pay for these as they arrive.  If there is a long period of no progress or no contact, of course I reserve the right to cancel and put the work elsewhere.

3.  Delivery to be in electronic form, in Word .doc or .rtf format.

4.  Copyright of each chunk passes to me on payment.  [I then intend to place it in the public domain.  However you get a non-exclusive right to do whatever you like with the results; if you want to revise it further and publish yourself with extra notes etc, then please do.]

The last bit in brackets applies to those commissions where I don’t intend to sell a book form of it.

Anything to add?  Objections to the tone?  Anything to subtract?  All thoughts will be welcome!

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How I met the archbishop

On check-in to the Oxford Patristics Conference in 2007 all attendees were given distinctive plastic bags to carry all the literature in.  As a result, here and there in the streets of Oxford delegates were visible at some distance by the bag.  This led to awkward situations, where you would suddenly realise that the person stood next to you was also carrying The Bag.  An awkward cough, and a nod, usually resulted.

The conference started with a garden party in Christ Church College.  I was making my way down St. Aldates, when out of a side-road right next to me, carrying The Bag, popped none other than Rowan Williams, currently Archbishop of Canterbury, evidently heading the same way.  Tableau!  Neither of us could well avoid or ignore the other without overt impoliteness, and so we made the sort of polite conversation that strangers do when placed suddenly in a situation where they must be polite. 

Down to Tom Tower we went in this fashion, through Tom Quad and under the stairs to the hall and out towards the back into a courtyard which in turn opened into the garden.  In the centre of the yard was a dozen or so men dressed all in black uniforms with clerical collars.  All these looked as if they lived in these uniforms every day. 

As we came out into the yard, a single voice was raised with a polished, clerical joy; “Ah here he is! The main event!”  I cannot convey to you the tone of that voice.  Not a single note of sincerity was present in it.  No tinge of genuine emotion was present.  In short, it was a piece of gross flattery.

Astonished, I looked at the archbishop; but his face did not change.  I remember thinking how like a mask his face was.  Without speaking he approached the gathering of sycophants — for such they plainly were — and perforce, not wishing to simply stalk off, I followed.  After all, I would not drop someone without a word, even an archbishop; my mother brought me up better than that.  So I stood there for a minute or so, ignored by both, until I suddenly realised that I had been dropped, as I had thought rude to drop another.  I did not exist, and was being ignored as unimportant.

At that, I chuckled to myself, at the absurdity of it all, and carried on, past the sycophants into the garden, and into cleaner air.  The last I saw of the archbishop was of the man and his court moving towards a side-building for some purpose of doubtless ineffable import, at least to their own welfare and advantage. 

All these clerics were of junior rank.  None of them, we may be certain, had any parishes to attend, or funerals to conduct.  No, these southern middle class boys were the “upwardly mobile” clerics, above such tedious duties, engaged in ingratiating themselves.  Imagine such a life; one of constant court, constant flattery.  Yet… can anyone doubt that the bishoprics of the Church of England are filled from these people?  Indeed is there much doubt that none will achieve high office in the CofE, unless they are of this type?  For who else is known to those who make appointments? 

This small group, this narrow system of people, all self-serving … is this really the Church of England as it really is?  The parishes full of ordinary people merely sheep, to be fleeced for the benefit of the few?  The sheep may wonder why the bishops are always of such a poor standard, so often self-serving atheists in all but name, so harsh on anyone who presumes to query whether the church is really fulfilling the commands of Christ, so generous to adulterous clergy and those caught in worse vices.  But the sheep count for nothing, if appointments are made like this.  The hard-working parish clergyman counts for nothing.  I recall one bishop who paid his chauffeur more than the parish clergy received, thereby causing resentment among the latter; but of course he cared not at all for that.  The diocese had been earned by ceaseless flattery and court, no doubt, and was his in law and in fact, to use or abuse as he chose.  Judging from the works of puritans like Richard Baxter, it has never been different since the reformation.  Perhaps longer…

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence.

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New archaeology at Caistor St Edmund

After yesterday’s photograph, I happened to see today on the TV that new archaeological digging is to begin at Caistor St Edmund.  The Norfolk Archaeological Trust own the site and have a website with some (not very useful) information on it.

After WW1, when former war pilots were at a loose-end, many of them turned to other things.  In the summers that followed, strange markings were visible in the crops in some places, and the photographs revealed ancient buried ruins.  One of the most spectacular images was from Caistor St Edmund, taken in 1929 (image from here, click on image to see larger image offsite).

1929 aerial photograph of Caistor St Edmund
1929 aerial photograph of Caistor St Edmund
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Undoubtedly the funniest reason to refuse work I ever saw

Well the project to translate the untranslated passage of Chrysostom’s Adversus Judaeos has collapsed; and for such a curious reason!  The translator who offered himself turns out to be politically correct.  My experiences with Lebanese translators who expect to be paid for writing gibberish “translations” has led me, invariably, to ask to see a sample page or two first, and to explain why I ask.   The translator himself is not Lebanese, of course.  I received this delicious epistle in reply:

After serious consideration concerning your conditions I feel in the need to decline your offer. I have too much respect for people coming from any other country and from any background (religious included) to accept an offer from somebody commenting about “awkward experiences with people in Lebanon offering translations”. I find this regional specification rather politically incorrect. Saying that you have experienced problems with other scholars is enough to justify your conditions, without reference to their place of origin.

Can any of us imagine writing to someone who is offering money and lecturing him on how to write a private email?  But best to know now.

I’ll seek out another translator, then. 

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