Thoughts on Antiquity, Patristics, putting things online, information access, and more
While working through the output of my scan of Ibn Abi Usaibia, I have just come across a mildly amusing OCR error. It’s caused by the fact that “ī” is often read as “f” or “r”.
Thus I have just seen a reference to “Ibn Barrf‘s defence of al-Harfrf”. It should, of course, be “Ibn Barrī’s defence of …”.
Ibn Barrf sounds like such a good name, tho!
Up to page 840 with correcting the OCR of Ibn Abi Usaibia.
I also got my Christmas cards done and posted today, complete with financial enclosures for teenage nephews. The latter is important — an uncle is not expected to send goodies, but to relieve the financial strain.
It took me three goes before I was happy with my circular letter. It’s a hard thing to write, as you mustn’t just regurgitate whatever you did with last year.
Obviously it’s probably best to omit things like the period under observation in Broadmoor, that you were sacked recently for being useless at your job, or your recent exciting discovery that you like Barry Manilow’s music. People don’t need to know these things. “Restraining order” can be such an unpleasant phrase. So humour them.
You know it will be read at Christmas, so it ought to be positive. Do you want to be thought of as the chap whose letter is left until last?
You know it may be read by people facing difficulties themselves, so you probably don’t want to remind them of things they may also face, and which may worry them — like whether any of us will ever be able to afford to retire.
You know that some of those reading it may be suffering financially — which means you don’t moan about (e.g.) how difficult you find it to park your new Ferrari in the garage. Nor, I should add, do you advise them helpfully that getting the butler to do it is the answer. Why provoke resentment among the ever-shrinking number of people who will send you a card at Christmas?
No, be bright, be positive, and try to leave people with a smile!
Ibn Abi Usaibia tells the story of an Egyptian physician and scholar, who evidently married a woman of no education, as some scholars have been led to do, down the centuries. The consequences of this particular mistake have been pleasantly depicted by no less a hand than Jane Austen, in Pride and Prejudice.[1] Here is what Ibn Abi Usaibia tells us of Ibn Fātik[2]:
Al-Mubashshir bin Fātik, i.e., the Emir Mahmūd al-Dawlah Abū ‘l Wafā’ al-Mubashshir ibn Fātik al-Amirī, was one of the most eminent emirs and most distinguished scholars of Egypt. He was always busily occupied, loved learning and was fond of meeting scholars, debating with them and putting to use what he imbibed from them. One of those with whom he associated and from whom he learnt a great deal about astronomy and mathematics was Abū `Alī Muhammad ibn al-Hasan ibn al-Haitham. He was also acquainted with Shaikh Abū ‘l-Husayn, known as al-Āmidī under whom he studied many philosophical disciplines. Moreover, he applied himself to medicine, keeping company with the physician Abū ‘l-Hasan Alī ibn Ridwān.
Al-Mubashshir ibn Fātik was the author of excellent works on logic and other philosophical disciplines, which have become renowned among specialists. He also engaged assiduously in copying books; I have seen numerous volumes in his handwriting, containing works by ancient authors. He acquired a huge number of books, many of which are still extant, but the color of their leaves has changed owing to immersion in water.
Shaikh Sadīd al-Dīn al-Mantiq told me in Cairo: “The Emir Ibn Fātik was eager to acquire knowledge and possessed a collection of books. On coming home, he spent most of his time with them, finding no better occupation than reading and writing and convinced that this was the most important pursuit. He had a wife of noble descent like him, of the family of one of the state dignitaries. After his death — may Allāh have mercy upon him — she betook herself with her maids to his library. She bore a grudge against the books, since her husband had devoted himself to them and neglected her. While bewailing him, she, together with her maids, threw the books into a large water basin in the center of the building. Later the books were retrieved and this is why the many books of Ibn Fātik which have been preserved are in such a state.”
I say: Among the pupils of al-Mubashshir ibn Fātik was Abū ‘l- Hair Salāma ibn Rahmūn.
Ibn Fātik wrote the following books:
1) “K. al-Wasāya wal-Amtāl wal-Mūgaz min Muhkam al-Aqwāl.”
2) “Choice Maxims and Best Sayings.”
3) “The Book of the Beginning,” on logic.
4) A book on medicine.
(After some thought I have refrained from posting an image of an “ignorant but hot” woman as an illustration. I have a feeling it might give the wrong message).
On a visit to the Cranmer blog this evening, I was confronted with a confusing piece of advertising:[1]
Now what does “Passionate about Ajax?” convey to your mind?
Is it this?
Or even this?
I fear that the IT recruitment company responsible might get some strange replies ….
The following passage in the dictionary of medical writers by the 13th century Islamic writer Ibn Abi Usaibia made me chuckle.
The physicians of note who lived in the time between Hippocrates and Galen, apart from Hippocrates’ own pupils and his sons, were the following: S . . . , the commentator on Hippocrates’ books; Ancilaus the physician, Erasistratus II, the dogmatist; Lyco, Milo II, Gallus, Mircaritus, the author of a book on medicaments, Scalus, a commentator on Hippocrates’ works, Mantias, another commentator on Hippocrates’ works, Gallus of Tarentum, Magnus of Emesa, the author of a book on urination, who lived 90 years; Andromachus, who lived 90 years: Abras [?] also known as the “Remote,” Sounachos the Athenian, the author of a book on drugs and pharmacology, and Rufus the Great, who was from the city of Ephesus and was unrivaled his time in the medical art.
Poor Magnus, to be so remembered, from a life of 90 years.
Likewise the unfortunate Abras must have had a rough time at school. “Pass me the ‘remote’, boy” gains a whole new meaning!
…, erm, <cough>, me.
“Why so?” I hear you cry. (At least, I hope that’s what you’re saying.) Well, it’s like this.
I’m interested in the Coptic catena on the Gospels, published without a translation by Paul De Lagarde back in the 1850’s-ish. I knew that an Arabic translation exists of that catena, and that the Arabic version is more complete. For the sole surviving Coptic manuscript has lost many of its pages in the years. But as far as anyone knew, the Arabic was unpublished.
Some time back I discovered that an edition with Italian Spanish translation existed of part of the Arabic catena, covering Matthew. The Arabic was edited by Iturbe, around 50 years ago, and attracted no attention, and I only stumbled on it through my habit of compulsive reading of patrology bibliographies. I wanted to include the Arabic fragments of Eusebius in my book. So I got hold of a copy of Iturbe, in two volumes, and had the fragments included in my book.
Recently the translator of the Coptic fragments has told me that she and her team fancy doing more of the De Lagarde catena into English. That’s very good news, of course, and I want to help. Apparently they also have some Arabic skills, so are interested in the Arabic version. I’ve offered to supply them with a copy of one of the manuscripts — because most of the Arabic catena is still unpublished. So I thought I’d look in Iturbe and find out what mss. exist.
She was also asking for details about the Arabic catena. Now I have a couple of PDF’s of selected pages, which I sent her, telling her that I borrowed the book. That’s what it usually means, when I have a PDF of a few photocopied pages.
Just now, then, I was looking for stuff about Iturbe online, and came across my own post above. It turns out that actually I did NOT borrow the book, contrary to my statements in several emails. It seems that, erm, I bought the book. In fact, once I realised this, I realised that I knew where they were as well. Yup: that’s them on my shelf.
Ah, what a fallible creature is man! “Quick Watson, the straight-jacket!”
An interesting email came to me today from David Wilmshurst, discussing the problems that a scholar has in editing Wikipedia, with a very nice turn of phrase in it:
No agreement will ever be possible in a democratic forum like Wikipedia, because Assyrians and Chaldeans cannot agree on the basic premises. Instead, I have outflanked these miserable insects – as the Nestorian patriarch Elisha (524-39) amiably termed his opponents – by writing my own book on the subject, in the hope that after it is published I can bludgeon them into submission by citing it as an authority. I confess, though, that I am not optimistic of success.
The phrase “miserable insects”, for the dogs in the manger, is a delightful one. My correspondent also kindly sent over a translation of the passage in which Elisha said this. It comes from the Nestorian Chronicle of Seert, Part II, Chapter 25, apropos of the schism of Narsai and Elisha. Elisha has suppressed Narsai’s supporters in most of Mesopotamia, and only Kashkar in Beth Aramaye still openly defies him.
Elisha, on his return to Seleucia, reached an agreement with the metropolitans and bishops who supported him to take his revenge on the inhabitants of Kashkar. He then consecrated a bishop named Barshabba in place of Samuel. This bishop, who was rejected by the people of Kashkar, returned to Elisha.
Thanks to the doctor Biron, who obtained for him a royal edict aimed at giving him support, and to the militia commanders, who were ready to act upon his orders, Elisha resolved to attack the people of Kashkar to take his revenge on them. They, having got wind of his plan, prepared to defend themselves, to fight, and to repel whoever attacked them. They were supported by many men from Beth Huzaye and Beth Garmai, who opposed Elisha.
The latter was extremely angry at this. ‘How,’ he said in the presence of the people of Seleucia, ‘do those those miserable little insects, who claim to have rejected and humiliated me, think that they can get the better of me, since I have been victorious everywhere else?’ This speech reached the ears of the people of Kashkar, and inflamed their anger.
Elisha returned to his residence, holding the royal edict in his hand. One of the people of Kashkar approached him in the middle of the crowd to kiss his hand. When the catholicus held it out to him, the man of Kashkar seized the edict from him and gave it to someone else. A strict search was made for this man, but he was never found.
The quarrel worsened. One group of supporters would tear the clothing from their opponents, or the two sides would come to blows. Elisha was mortified to have lost the royal edict, which had cost him so much to obtain, and to have been the object of the offensive mockery of the people of Kashkar.
I fear that the Chronicle of Seert is not a pro-Elisha source! But the impatience of a great man with foolish opposition is apposite.
The text was published with French translation in the Patrologia Orientalis series by Addai Scher, who was done to death in 1915 as part of the massacres of Christians by the Turks. I don’t know of an English translation, however.
I saw a headline in a local paper: “Teacher suspended after using ‘inappropriate force’ to restrain pupil”.
For some reason my mind drifted back to the halcyon days of Down with skool, and the varied methods of assuring justice favoured by the cane-wielding masters of the day.
What would Nigel Molesworth, the curse of St. Custards — or at least those who had to teach him — have thought?
Probably they would have said that things could go too far.
But I think that probably the only idea of “inappropriate force to restrain” in Nigel’s mind would be “hanging a boy by the neck until dead”.
Looking out of the office window at 4 minutes to 4pm. Thick fog is gathering outside.
It’s getting dark. It’s Friday evening. It’s foggy. Soon the lorry drivers will pour out of goods’ yards onto the motorways and jack-knife their lorries across the main commuter routes, as is traditional under these conditions.
Such conditions must have been more romantic in Victorian times.
What? Do you mean that the sinister doctor and the mysterious chinaman have removed the body to the lonely house on the moor?!
These days, they’d simply get stuck in traffic. Fu Manchu never had to cope with speed cameras I’m sure.
Devotees of 1066 and all that, the only reliable guide to English history, will enjoy this article by John Crace in the Guardian, parodying Radio 4’s History of the world in 100 objects. It’s a joy! A couple of extracts:
33 The Rosetta stone This seemingly ordinary stone tablet (196BC) was the key that unlocked Egyptian hieroglyphs. The text itself may appear a rather boring tax record, yet it reveals how Egyptian customs became the basis of international tax law. As George Osborne says: “It clearly shows that pharaohs are entitled to keep a £4m trust fund offshore while the rest of the country gets screwed.”
60 Kilwa pot shards It’s amazing what a few broken pots can tell us. These fragments (AD1400) found in Tanzania show us that people have always been clumsy and that if they took more care we would have a lot more artefacts. As Dr Jeremy Ceramics says, “I agree with everything Neil has just said.”
h/t Bread and Circuses, which I ought to read more often.