Peccata Lectionis—Understanding and Misunderstanding Scripture in Aphrahat the Persian Sage’s Demonstrations (4th Century) ^†

Abstract

In this paper, I focus on a major corpus of the earliest Syrian Christian literature, Aphrahat the Persian Sage’s collection of epistles titled Demonstrations (Taḥwyātā; early 4th century), in order to gauge his thoughts on the “sins of reading”, peccata lectionis. First, I present the Aphrahatic corpus as it currently is and has been perceived over time in its Western and Eastern reception history. Then, I briefly consider what importance early Greek and Syriac monastic sources—like the Vita Antonii, the Pseudo-Macarian Homilies, Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Palladius’ Historia Lausiaca, the Ktābā dmasqātā (the Syriac Book of Steps), etc.—attributed to the reading of scripture as a regular part of a monk’s daily practice. It is against this historical backdrop that Aphrahat’s stance on reading scripture can be meaningfully interpreted. Finally, I present and analyze what the earliest-known orthodox Syrian church father, Aphrahat himself, has to say about the reading of scripture and its concurrent threat, the peccatum lectionis. As the Persian Sage was an excellent Biblical scholar, he made abundant references to religious reading practices in his Demonstrations. To his mind, the locus where sin may enter the meditative reading of early Syrian versions of the Bible is the interpretation of the text: misunderstanding it may lead to sin and potentially damnation. However, the wise person should be able to evade this danger, supported by the natural piety and cosmic religion inspired in them by the majesty of creation, which is a true reflection of divine infinity.

1. Introduction

In this paper, I am looking into a major corpus of the earliest Syrian Christian literature, Aphrahat the Persian Sage’s collection of epistolary homilies titled Demonstrations (Taḥwyātā;1 4th century), in order to gauge his thoughts on the “sins of reading,” peccata lectionis. First, I present the Aphrahatic corpus as it currently is and as it has been perceived over time in its Western and Eastern reception history. In the next step, I briefly consider what importance contemporary Greek and Syriac monastic sources—like the Vita Antonii, the Pseudo-Macarian Homilies, Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Palladius’ Historia Lausiaca, the Ktābā dmasqātā (the Syriac Book of Steps), etc.—attributed to the reading of scripture as a regular part of a monk’s daily practice, and what they identified as potential dangers in that practice. It is against this historical backdrop that Aphrahat’s stance on the “sins of reading” can be meaningfully interpreted. Finally, I present and analyze in detail what he has to say about the reading of scripture and its concurrent threat, the peccatum lectionis.

The Persian Sage was an outstanding Biblical scholar, expert in applying scriptural passages to underpin his arguments, who made ample references to religious reading practices in his Demonstrations. To his mind, the locus where sin may enter the meditative reading of early Syriac versions of the Bible is the interpretation of the text, as misunderstanding it may lead to sin and potentially damnation. Now, a peccatum lectionis is a misunderstanding or misinterpretation of the sacred text, which is an act of conceit and arrogance, and which may occur because of the infinite depth of scripture. That, in turn, reflects God’s infinite wisdom—hence, a hermeneutical infinity follows directly from God’s infinity, which is also majestically manifested in creation. While from the majesty of nature, God’s goodness also follows, Aphrahat argues that God’s majesty inspires natural piety and a cosmic religion in us. At the same time, the attribute of divine infinity also grounds Aphrahat’s argument for divine incomprehensibility, from which, again, follow a minimalist, reduced Christian creed and a commandment of silence, as well as the practice-oriented nature of the religion he commends, with the commandment of love and humility at its center. The Persian Sage suggests that whoever observes these will become God’s living temple, with scripture providing a sure guidance for their way of life; whoever keeps the commandment of silence will be able to evade the danger of a peccatum lectionis.

While in recent decades, there has been a distinct surge in Aphrahatic studies across the world (see my notes and bibliography), and an erudite paper from the pen of Andrzej Uciecha has specifically dealt with how Aphrahat contrasts the limitations of the human intellect with the “wisdom and inconceivable depth hidden in Holy Scripture” (Uciecha 2018, pp. 673–88, especially pp. 674–77), my focus here is on showing how the attribute of divine infinity is, in a metaphorical sense, a double-edged knife that, on the one hand, points us to the essence of God and a loving admiration for Him, but on the other, also highlights our incapacity to fully grasp the divine Word, compelling us to resign ourselves to a rock-bottom credo.

2. The Aphrahatic Corpus and Its Reception History in the East and West

The first, inimitable flourishing of Syriac Christian literature fell in the 4th century. It was during this time that Aphrahat—also known as Aphraates—and Saint Ephrem the Syrian,2 “the Harp of the Holy Spirit,” worked in various Syriac-speaking territories of the Middle East, more precisely Northern Mesopotamia. The anonymous monastic sermon collection titled Book of Steps (Ktābā dmasqātā) also originated then.3 Aphrahat himself—the first significant, non-Gnostic Syriac Christian writer—lived in Sasanian Persia, probably during the first part of the 4th century.4 He may have been a younger contemporary of Saint Jacob of Nisibis (floruit cca 320) and an older contemporary of Saint Ephrem (cca 306–373). In what follows, I offer an outline of the content and reception history of his Demonstrations, because such an overview also provides solid historical and philological grounding to my analysis in Section 4.

Aphrahat wrote 23 biblically inspired Syriac treatises in a deeply personal tone under the title Demonstrations (Taḥwyātā). The first 22 texts are arranged in the manuscripts in an alphabetic order corresponding to the Syriac alphabet, based on the initial letter of their opening words,5 while the 23rd homily, composed later, stands aloof.

The topics of the 23 “demonstrations” are, in order, 1. On Faith; 2. On Charity; 3. On Fasting; 4. On Prayer; 5. On Wars; 6. On Monks and Members of the Covenant; 7. On Penitents; 8. On the Resurrection of the Dead; 9. On Humility; 10. On Pastors; 11. On Circumcision; 12. On the Passover; 13. On the Sabbath; 14. An Exhortation (or On Preaching); 15. On Various Foods; 16. On the Gentiles Who Were Called Instead of the People; 17. On the Anointed, the Son of God; 18. Against the Jews, on Virginity and Sanctification; 19. Against Those Jews Who Say They Will Be Gathered Again; 20. On Supporting the Needy (or On Almsgiving); 21. On Persecution; 22. On Death and the Last Judgment; and 23. On the Cluster of Grapes.

The root of the noun taḥwītā (a feminine noun defined by Payne Smith’s (1879) Thesaurus Syriacus as a “demonstratio, argumentum”), meaning “proof, demonstration”, is identical to that of the verb ḥwā, which is not used in the basic Peal stem, but in the intensive Pael (ḥawi), meaning “to announce; to signify; to reveal, show; to prove”, while Sokoloff’s (2009) state-of-the-art Syriac Lexicon lists “to show, point out, indicate; to report, inform; to tell, teach”, etc., as potential meanings. Aphrahat’s treatises, formally epistles,6 are indeed demonstrations in that they generally begin with the assertion of a thesis, which he then justifies by listing and analyzing a plethora of biblical examples. We should not expect Aristotelian syllogistics from him—Aphrahat’s method of proof is (a potentially full) induction by biblical exemplification, a sort of showing or leading-on, Handleitung. Sub-theses that form part of his main ethical or moral theological thesis, and their proofs, can be the independent subjects of individual sections. A recurring phrase in the texts is Aphrahat’s acknowledgement that he has proven his thesis—which often means that he has exhaustively enumerated and interpreted a large number of Old and New Testament passages. The persuasive, demonstrative nature of his discourse is also evident in his regular use of the formula ’anā ’apīsāk d…, meaning “I will prove to you, I will convince you that…” The tone of the demonstrations is often quite personal, bearing a distant parallel to the ancient Greek literary genre of parainesis. A concrete example of this is the explicitly exhortative Demonstration 6, which deals with the rules of monastic life, especially sexual abstinence (qadīšūtā) for both male and female īḥīdāyē, monks. Based on the outlook and teaching of this demonstration and the entire corpus, it is virtually certain that Aphrahat himself was an īḥīdāyā and qadīšā. The personal character of his work is further indicated by the frequently recurring phrase ḥabībi, “my beloved one,” which addresses the unknown recipient of the treatises. The epistolary nature of the texts is confirmed, among other things, by Demonstration 4, where, at the end of section 19, Aphrahat says that he has sent his teaching in written form, as a letter, to his beloved disciple, instructing him to “be diligent in everything I have written to you.”7

The European discovery of Aphrahat’s lifework is illuminated by its reception history, which also provides insight into the philological difficulties of interpretation and the often adventurous cultural history of (pre-)modern Semitic philology. The Aphrahatic corpus was translated into Armenian early on and transmitted under the name of Saint Jacob, Bishop of Nisibis (†338). Consequently, its first printed, Old Armenian–Latin bilingual edition by Nicolaus Antonelli also attributed the Demonstrations to Jacob (Sancti Patris nostri Jacobi episcopi Nisibeni sermones cum praefatione, notis, & dissertatione de ascetis quae omnia nunc primum in lucem prodeunt; Antonelli 1756). This edition contains 18 of the total 23 demonstrations; it inserts a historical treatise of nearly 400 columns by Nicolaus Antonelli titled De ascetis before the Demonstration 6. Its learned philological introduction (i–xviii) does not even discuss the possibility of Aphrahat’s authorship, and it either judges the Syriac original to be lost, or—as a more likely option—considers the collection to have originally been written in Armenian.8 Judging by the Latin translation of Demonstration 4, the Armenian translation adheres closely to the Syriac original.

In the 18th and particularly the early 19th century, in the 1830s and 1840s, several European travelers purchased numerous late antique Coptic, Syriac, Ethiopian, and Arabic manuscripts from monasteries in the Nitrian Desert near the Nile Delta, primarily from the monastery of the Virgin Mother of God, and to a lesser extent, the monastery of Saint Macarius. These manuscripts were first partially transferred to the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, and then eventually ended up in the British Museum’s manuscript collection.9 This collection, referred to in library history as the “Nitrian Collection,” included three manuscripts of Aphrahat’s epistles, which thus became available for the first time in Syriac in dated manuscripts.10

The editio princeps of this Syriac original was published by William Wright (1830–1898), the eminent Cambridge Arabist and Semitic philologist, who cataloged the Syriac manuscripts in the British Museum a little more than a century after Antonelli’s edition (The Homilies of Aphraates the Persian Sage, edited from Syriac Manuscripts of the fifth and sixth Centuries, in the British Museum, with an English Translation, vol. 1: The Syriac Text; Wright 1869—a tomus unicus, since the promised second volume containing the English translation never came out). The book’s introduction discusses and rejects the possibility of Saint Jacob’s authorship on chronological grounds, dating Aphrahat’s epistles to the period between 337–345 on the basis of the author’s own declaration in chapter 25 of Demonstration 22. It describes the three involved manuscripts, the oldest of which is dated to 474. Wright further notes that Aphrahat often quotes the Pšīṭtā, the “Simple” Syriac Bible translation, from memory and therefore incorrectly (while according to our current knowledge, the Pšīṭtā text of at least the New Testament was only finalized and disseminated in the early 5th century).11

The first, though incomplete, modern foreign language translation of the corpus directly from the Syriac original was the work of the renowned German Semitic philologist Gustav Bickell (1838–1906; Ausgewählte Schriften der syrischen Kirchenväter Aphraates, Rabulas, und Isaak v. Ninive, zum ersten Male aus dem Syrischen übersetzt; Bickell 1874; translation of homilies 1–4, 7–8, 12, 18, and 22).12 Bickell’s nuanced assessment states that Aphrahat had a profound knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, though his allusions and quotations are sometimes simple, unelaborated lists; his teaching is sober and rational, lacking the poetic inspiration of Saint Ephrem (which is not totally true). Dogmatically, Bickell continues, Aphrahat is orthodox, apart from his teaching that the soul remains in the corpse after the death of the body, waiting unconsciously for the resurrection (Demonstration 8, chapters 19–22; see also Demonstration 22, chapter 6). Bickell argues that the first Syriac church father was unaware of the fiercely contested Arian controversy to his west, and in theology, he primarily argued against Judaizing Christianity (as is especially evident in Demonstrations 18 and 19) (Bickell 1874, pp. 14–15).

The next important stage in the reception history was the dissertation of Carl Joseph Francis Sasse (b. 1855; Prolegomena in Aphraatis Sapientis Persae sermones homileticos; Sasse 1878). The forty-page volume aims to provide a comprehensive historical–philological overview of Aphrahat, his style, and his dogma, including the aforementioned doctrine of hypnopsychia, the dormition of the souls. It presents the history of the Armenian reception in much greater detail than other studies. According to Sasse, while the exact date of the Armenian translation is unknown, it can be placed in the 5th century based on cultural history and linguistics (Sasse 1878, pp. 23–26). Sasse praises the Armenian translator’s proficiency in Syriac and the precision of his work, but also faults his systematic errors and the poor quality of the copy; he nevertheless makes suggestions for correcting the readings of the Syriac original based on the Armenian text. He is dissatisfied with Antonelli’s editorial work, and even more so with the quality of his Latin translation, which he calls a paraphrase rather than a translation—and asks for a new edition of the Armenian text (ibid., pp. 31–33). He also specifically addresses Aphrahat’s biblical quotations, concluding that the Syriac Father takes the Old Testament passages from the Pšīṭtā version (which Sasse believes proves its antiquity), while in Sasse’s assessment, the Gospel quotations go back to a text variant independent of the Pšīṭtā (ibid., pp. 34–40).

Sasse’s dissertation was chronologically followed by the extensive, methodically systematic historical–theological doctoral dissertation of Jacobus Forget, defended in Louvain following the work of Wright and Bickell (De vita et scriptis Aphraatis, sapientis Persae, dissertatio historico-theologica; Forget 1882, with a Latin translation of Demonstration 21, pp. 330–53).13 Forget’s treatise explicitly categorizes Aphrahat’s texts as epistulae, and in addition to our author’s already mentioned error concerning the dormition of the souls, he draws attention to his eschatological view that the world will end after six thousand years from creation (see Demonstration 2, chapter 14) (Forget 1882, pp. 285–93). Following Sasse’s remarks (Sasse 1878, p. 16), Forget also praises the purity of Aphrahat’s Syriac vocabulary and syntax and the simplicity of his style, but (also following Sasse) (Ibid., pp. 206–16), he finds faults with him for being verbose. Based on the introductory, partially Armenian-only, request letter,14 he considers the epistles to be addressed to an unknown monk, to whom Aphrahat clearly refers in Demonstration 1, chapter 1, and elsewhere.

The first complete translation of the Demonstrations into a modern foreign language—German—was made by Georg Bert (Aphrahat’s des persischen Weisen Homilien. Aus dem Syrischen übersetzt und erläutert; Bert 1888).15 The lengthy introduction to the translation draws our attention to the colophons of Demonstrations 10 and 22, which call the author “the Persian Sage” (ḥakīmā pārsāyā).16 Starting from Aphrahat’s several epistles concerning Jewish topics, Bert assumes that the Persian Sage learned from Jewish scholars (Bert 1888, p. xiii); and from chapter 1 of Demonstration 11, as well as from the closure of Demonstration 22, he concludes, in agreement with early scholarship, that our sage must have been a bishop (as well as a hermit, an īḥīdāyā) (ibid., pp. xiv–xv). He thoroughly investigates Aphrahat’s place of activity, but on the basis of chronology, rejects the hypothesis, represented by several scholars, that the author lived in a monastery in Mosul (now Iraq). From Aphrahat’s own statements, however, Bert concludes that he was certainly a subject of Šapūr II, the Persian šāhanšāh (sedit 309–379), and worked in the Syriac-speaking part of Persia, that is, Eastern Syria (ibid., pp. xvii–xix). He argues this on the basis of linguistic history, referencing Theodor Nöldeke’s Mandäische Grammatik (Nöldeke 1875).17 Reviewing Aphrahat’s meager ancient and medieval Syriac historical impact, he emphasizes that he believes the author had a greater impact on the Armenian Church through the Armenian translation than on his own. Further, he points out that in the West, Aphrahat’s work was only known by Gennadius of Massilia, who worked at the end of the 5th century and listed Aphrahat’s works in his continuation of Saint Jerome’s (cca 347–cca 420) lexicon De viris illustribus (cca 490–495, chapter 1), mistakenly attributing them to Jacob, bishop of Nisibis.18 The next closest news of Aphrahat in the West, then, was going to be the aforementioned Armenian–Latin bilingual edition by N. Antonelli—over a thousand years later.

The following milestone in the reception history was the Syriac-Latin bilingual critical edition by the French monk–pastor, Syriac scholar, and music historian Jean Parisot OSB (1861–1923) in volumes I/1 and I/2 of the Patrologia Syriaca (Paris: 1894–1907) under the title Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstrationes (first 22 Demonstrations: vol. I/1 (Parisot 1894), 23rd Demonstration: vol. I/2 (Parisot 1907)).19 This is the current textus receptus. The Patrologia Syriaca was launched at the initiative of René Graffin (1858–1941), a Syriac lecturer at the Institut Catholique in Paris, with the aim of making important Syriac sources—manuscript or already printed—easily accessible to researchers of church and liturgical history, Greco–Syriac translation literature, and New Testament philology. In the volume’s preface, Graffin, referencing the Syriac literary overviews of Wright (1887) and Bickell (1871), discusses the critical method, specifically touching on the issue of the vocalization that is generally missing in the manuscripts. In the volume’s introduction, then, Graffin’s student, Jean Parisot, the Maronite scholar, reports—in line with the above—that Aphrahat’s manuscripts were transferred to the British Museum between 1838 and 1850 from the Virgo Deipara monastery in the Nitrian Desert. Parisot separates the first ten exhortative, paraenetic Demonstrations from the next 12, which—being largely anti-Judaic polemics—are apologetic writings arguing against the large Jewish population living in the Persian Empire, discussing the continuity between the Old and New Testaments, Jesus’s role as the Messiah, the fulfillment of prophecies, etc. The moral theological teaching of Demonstration 18, which prefers virginity over marriage—and, we might add, the entire Demonstration 6—recalls the similar position of the Syriac Acts of Judas Thomas (see especially the 8th act).20 Parisot, then, draws attention to the errors of Gennadius and Antonelli, and with the help of Assyriologist François Thureau-Dangin (1872–1944), he describes the Ethiopic (Ge’ez) translation of Aphrahat’s 5th Demonstration. Finally, presenting the author from a dogmatic perspective, he draws attention to the significance of the poetically inspired Demonstration 23, in which Aphrahat professes a single, uncreated God who is “His own reality/essence” (‘ityo’ dnapšeh), but who is also three persons (Demonstration 23, chapters 52 and 58–63).

After this, just before the turn of the century, appeared the Select Demonstrations of Aphrahat (Gwynn 1898, 345–412)21 by the Irish pastor and Syriac scholar John Gwynn (1827–1917). However, the nearly ten-thousand-column volume only published beautiful, literary English translations (of Demonstrations 1, 5–6, 8, 10, 17, and 21–22) without any commentary.

The 20th century marks the beginning of a more in-depth research period for Syriac church and theological history, partly through the publication of further volumes of the Patrologia Syriaca (1904–1926) and the Patrologia Orientalis (1904–),22 partly through the emergence of highest-caliber Syriac scholars such as the aforementioned Anton Baumstark (1872–1948, author of the still indispensable Geschichte der syrischen Literatur [Bonn: 1922]); the Syrian-born Maronite father Alphonse Mingana (1878–1937), who later worked in Manchester and Birmingham (publisher of Sources Syriaques [Leipzig: 1907–1908] and, especially, of the seven-volume, fundamental Syriac source edition, the Woodbrooke Studies); the Estonian Lutheran pastor and Syriac scholar Vööbus (1958) (1909–1988, author of the comprehensive History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient [Louvain: 1958–1960]); and others. These scholars, the founding fathers of modern Syriac studies, still worked directly from the manuscripts, which they studied (and purchased) in their original form in libraries and monasteries across Europe and the Near East—their manuscript-saving work alone is of immense significance.

A complete French translation of Aphrahat appeared in the late 20th century (Marie-Joseph Pierre: Aphraate le Sage Persan: Les Exposés I–II = SC 349 and 359; Paris: Éditions du Serf, 1988–1989), as did a complete German translation (Peter Bruns: Aphrahat: Unterweisungen I–II. Freiburg: Herder, 1991–1992). At the end of the century, Sebastian Brock, the doyen of international Syriac studies today, contributed to maintaining an interest in Aphrahat with his volume The Syriac Fathers on Prayer and the Spiritual Life (Brock 1987). Brock is also the author of the article on Aphrahat in what may be seen as a milestone in contemporary Syriac studies, the Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage (Brock et al. 2011; “Aphrahat”: No. 39, pp. 24–25).

A new phase of reception of Aphrahat by the Indian Syriac Church began in the 21st century—Kuriakose Valavanolickal’s translation of Aphrahat was also the first complete English translation (Aphrahat: Demonstrations 1–2. Kottayam, Kerala: Valavanolickal 2005). However, the most recent complete English translation of the corpus is Lehto’s (2010) The Demonstrations of Aphrahat, the Persian Sage (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2010).

While this sketch of reception history reveals how (early-) modern Europe and the Middle East has tried and is trying to understand Aphrahat’s spirit, which was totally imbued with scripture and regarded the purity of the heart (dakyūtā dlebā) to be the foremost Christian virtue, it is at this point necessary to draw a broader interpretive picture in which to locate Aphrahat’s ideas on the “sins of reading.” Hence, we are turning to what a representative selection of contemporary Egyptian and Syrian, Greek, and Syriac monastic sources have to say on the practice of reading the Bible.

3. Reading of Scripture in the Early Eastern Monastic Literature

In the Near East, a large number of contemporary sources describe monastic reading practices both in Greek and in Syriac, providing an interpretive backdrop to Aphrahat’s hermeneutical conceptions.23 These include, to name only the most prominent, Saint Athanasius’ (cca 293–373) Life of Antony, especially chapter 44;24 then, Pseudo-Macarius’ 50 Spiritual Homilies, especially Homily 3;25 Theodoret of Cyrrhus’ (393–466) Religious History (aka History of the Monks of Syria), more specifically, the vita of Marcianus in chapter III, 5; then, Palladius’ (cca 363–cca 430) Lausiac History, especially lives 4, 11, 18, 32, 47, 54, and 57; again, the Syriac Book of Steps (4th century), especially section 1 of Homily 11; but perhaps even the later Palestinian itinerant monk, John Moschus’ (cca 550–cca 620) Spiritual Meadow may be called in as a witness (see chapters 31–32, 40, 51, 87, and 152 of the collection).

But while all these sources bring out the importance of biblical meditation for monastic living, only Theodoret and the Book of Steps proffer concrete examples of a “sin of reading.” The reason for the reticence of the majority of the sources on this issue might be that the peccatum lectionis is a very particular topic, and that for most early Eastern monastic, ascetic authors, reading the Bible is fundamentally associated with enlightenment of mind and pure intellectual joy, to judge by the content and context of many such passages. Besides Aphrahat, Theodoret and the Book of Steps somehow really stand out as sources which “zoom in” on the dangers of reading scripture.

Now Theodoret of Cyrrhus, in his account of the life of Eusebius of Teleda, tells of a peccatum lectionis as we read that a monk Ammianus rebuked his companion Eusebius for not listening to an open-air reading of scripture that was to be accompanied by exegesis, because Eusebius was immersed in contemplating the landscape in front of them. Ammianus’ reproach resulted in Eusebius punishing himself quite severely for his act of negligence, a “sin of reading” committed by failing to give ear to the lectio divina, and consequently missing out on the interpretation of the text:

When the other <Ammianus> replied, “In your delight over the ploughmen you were doubtless not listening,” he <Eusebius> made a rule that his eyes were never to look at that plain nor feast upon the beauty of the heavens or the choir of the stars; but using a very narrow path, whose breadth is said to have been a span, to get to the house of prayer, he did not thereafter allow himself to step outside it. They say that he lived on for more than forty years after making this rule. So that, in addition to this resolve, some duress should compel him to this, he bound his waist with an iron belt and attached a very heavy collar to his neck and then used a further chain to connect the belt to the collar, so that bent down in this way he would be forced uninterruptedly to stoop to the ground. Such was the penalty he imposed on himself for looking at those farm-workers.26

In section 7 of the same chapter, Theodoret goes on to explain that Eusebius regarded these measures as precautionary provisions in order to fend off more malicious temptations of the “evil demon.” But the point is that Eusebius himself immediately identified his momentary lapse of attention as a sin that deserves punishment. It is worth noting that his inattention is represented as a peccatum even though the reason why he had failed to listen was his awe for the beauty of creation; that the pain of the self-inflicted penalty was absolutely out of proportion, both in duress and in duration, with the “sin” committed; and that the penalty was bound to (and also meant to) totally destroy his own body, which was nevertheless the handiwork of God.

Next, the Syriac Book of Steps, in section 1 of Homily 11 (“On the Hearing of the Scriptures When the Law is Read Before Us”/Dᶜal mašmaᶜtā daktābē w’emati dmetqrē nāmūsā qdāmayn) also makes it clear that as a rule, in north-eastern Mesopotamian monastic communities, a scribe used to read out biblical passages, which then were to be explained by another monk, in order to enable the fellow monks to differentiate the “grand” commandments from the “small” ones.27 Homily 1 (sections 2–3) and Homily 2 (section 1) add that without this explanation, monks may not know how to make sense of the seemingly contradictory ethical principles enjoined by the Gospel. If, however, that distinction is not perceived, Homily 19 continues, then the foundational evangelic virtue of mūkākā (πράοτης, humilitas) will be endangered, because it is one of the great commandments that a gmīrā, “perfect” believer, is obliged to teach and care for—and not contempt—the “ordinary” believer.

If that is not understood, a monk will be exposed to the danger of committing a peccatum lectionis because by failing to grasp the meaning of the Word, they may puff themselves up, cast off all motivation to serve the “ordinary” Christian, and hereby scorn the cardinal virtue of humility.28 That amounts to a sin ultimately deriving from reading and not understanding scripture, and the implication is that interpreting the sacred text is an intellectual challenge, a tall order even for the “perfect” believer—it is, in fact, a specific pitfall for the otherwise totally dedicated īḥīdāyā, μοναχός, solitarius.

Theodoret and the anonymous preacher of the Book of Steps hence make us understand that there are, potentially, even different kinds of peccata lectionis. But what Aphrahat describes as a “sin of reading” is, again, of another kind.

4. Aphrahat’s Caveats Concerning Bible Study—Against the Backdrop of His Cosmic Religion

Probably an important man of the church, Aphrahat as it were steps forward directly from the very texture of the biblical text, “breathing” scripture, such is his dedication to, and dependence on, holy writ. As Adam Lehto points out, “There is, throughout, a certain oscillation between the author’s voice and the voice of scripture…” in the Demonstrations.29 While probably citing it from memory, he has the biblical text at his fingertips,30 utilizing it, as has been mentioned above, in large-scale inductive reasonings to carry his point convincingly and in a personal tone. More often than not, this means that his “demonstration” is a simple protracted enumeration of scriptural passages, but sometimes, he has recourse to an allegorical or typological interpretation—see especially Demonstration 20, sections 7–12, where Aphrahat refers the Gospel figure of the rich man (Lk 16, 19–31) allegorically to Jewish believers, and the figure of Lazarus typologically to the Savior, etc.; and Demonstration 1, section 11, where, on account of the Parable of the Lost Coin (Lk 15, 8), the lost denarius allegorically refers to the first commandment, which, says Aphrahat, the house of Israel could not keep.

Whilst these allegories are part of an anti-Judaistic discourse, and therefore tendential and ideologically laden,31 the Persian Sage does have his set of general caveats concerning scriptural interpretation. In a well-known passage from Demonstration 22, section 26, he tells us how not to relate to the sacred text, and how to fight back against potential peccata lectionis:

Everyone who reads the holy scriptures (the former and the latter, in both testaments), and reads with an open mind, will learn and teach. But if he argues about things that he does not understand, his mind will not receive instruction. If he finds sayings that are difficult for him and he does not understand their meaning, let him say, “What is written is written well, but I have not attained knowledge.” And if, about these sayings that are hard for him <to understand,> he questions discerning sages who teach doctrine, and if ten sages speak to him in ten ways about one saying, let him accept what pleases him. And if nothing pleases him, he should not mock the sages, for the word of God resembles a pearl: no matter how you turn it, it appears beautiful.32

Excessive questioning, caviling, mocking, and arguing on account of scriptural interpretation are therefore “sins of reading,” instead of which the modest believer should acknowledge their ignorance vis-a-vis holy writ, and liberally embrace the possibility that there may be several concurrent interpretations of a specific passage. However, this kind of peccatum lectionis is, paradoxically, made possible by an entirely positive feature of scripture: its infinite semantic riches, itself a true revelation of infinite divine wisdom—in short, of divine infinity. As Aphrahat goes on to point out,

…even if a person’s lifetime was as <long as> all the days of the world from Adam to the completion of time, and if he sat and meditated on the holy scriptures, he would not understand all the meaning of the depth of the words. No human is able to rise up to the wisdom of God <ḥekmteh d’Alāhā>…33

The inexhaustible wealth of scripture is a point that Aphrahat drives home in several of his treatises (see further Demonstration 5, section 25: “meṭul dmelawhi d’Alāhā lā mestaykān u’āplā metḥatmān,” “because the words of God are not counted and also not limited”).34 Paradoxically, while scripture is written in human language, it is nevertheless so saturated with divine meaning that it is like an infinite abyss between God and man in which human intellectual capacities are clearly out of their depth—as Craig E. Morrison puts it, for Aphrahat, “no interpretation is ever sufficient. Biblical exegesis is just a bit of sunlight… The word of God remains a vast ocean of sand and mortals can handle but a few pebbles at a time.” (Morrison 2008, p. 81) These depths of scripture, as has just been suggested, ensue from the infinity of divine knowledge and wisdom itself, understood in the sense of inexhaustibility—as Demonstration 10, section 8 puts it, such is

…the knowledge of God <īda^cteh d’Alāhā >. Though people take from it, there is no deficiency in it, nor can it be defined by human beings. The one who takes from it cannot consume it <all> by taking, and when he gives <he> is not diminished at all. When you take a flame from a fire with a lamp and light many lamps with it, the fire is not diminished when you take from it… […] Thus, when he draws near to the fear of God, he is unable to receive all of it, and when he has received as much as possible, no lessening of it will be discernable.35

This is a candid recognition of divine infinity (see also Demonstration 14, section 35): God’s grandeur is overwhelming and impossible to comprehend, even though believers may entertain an intimate relationship with Him (see Demonstration 23, section 59).36 Now, divine infinity is reflected majestically in physical nature as well, which is also an expression of divine bounty (Demonstration 23, sections 57–58)—for Aphrahaṭ’s fundamental theology suggests that God is at the same time the infinite, self-existent (ītyā dnapšeh), cosmic Creator and the Good (ṭābā),37 where His creative aspect is logically interconnected with His bountiful aspect insofar as the goodness of creation demonstrates divine bounty:

The sun rises at your word, and through your will goes around your whole creation. The moon is wondrously transformed, and you set it up for the division of times. You arranged the lights in the firmament, and they are an adornment for all creatures. The winds blow at your pleasure, and from time to time demonstrate their strength… The birds float in the air, and travel their routes like a worn path, and the fish of the sea do likewise.” (ibid., p. 521)

This hymnic recognition of divine bounty amounts to a confession of love towards the cosmic creator and sustainer of the universe (Demonstration 23, section 58), whose infinity inspires natural piety and a cosmic religiosity in us (Demonstration 14, sections 13 and 15).

However, the attribute of divine infinity also grounds Aphrahat’s argument for divine incomprehensibility. From that, in turn, springs a postulate for a minimalist, reduced Christian creed and a commandment of silence (concerning the minutiae of the divine attributes), as well as the practice-oriented nature of the religion he commends, with the commandment of love and humility at its center. As is known, Aphrahat proposes his famously minimalist creed in Demonstration 1, section 19, as well as in Demonstration 23, section 60, where we read that

this alone we know: There is one God, one Christ, one Spirit, one faith, and one baptism. To say more than this is of no use to us. If we speak, we will fail, and if we investigate, we will be harmed.38

5. Conclusions

Hence, by a logical transition from the natural awe experienced at the infinite wonders of creation, we are naturally driven to acknowledge the infinity of God, which is also revealed as the endless wisdom of the holy books; and since the human mind can never intuit the depths of the divine knowledge, it again logically follows that we should keep silent about what we do not know and resign ourselves to practicing the commandments in humility.39 The Persian Sage suggests that whoever observes these precepts will become, with a beloved evangelical metaphor of 4th-century Syriac theology, God’s living temple (see Demonstration 6, section 1; Demonstration 14, section 35; and Demonstration 23, section 59), with scripture providing a sure guidance for their way of life (since the main objective of reading scripture is, again, to practice the commandments; see Demonstration 14, sections 32 and 35; Demonstration 23, section 1), and will be able to evade the danger of a peccatum lectionis:

…though investigation into words is good in order to learn and understand, what is better is to fear God, the Giver of words, with a pure heart, He who justifies us, and who has written and set before us, that through great labour and much fear, and by the narrow gate and the tight path, we advance fearing God.40

That conclusion is in full concord with how the Book of Steps relates to potential “sins of reading” (see above), while Aphrahat’s endorsement of reticence about the divine attributes (beyond the trinitarian doctrine) accords just as well with Saint Ephraim’s (†373) core negative theological teaching,41 spelled out in the Hymns on Faith (madrašē dᶜal haymānūtā),42 that the entire divine nature as such is beyond human comprehension and cannot be expressed in words without being “downsized” so an orthodox theologian should not even start a discussion about it (see the programmatic Hymns 1–3). The birth of the Son is shrouded in an especially deep mystery—the only safe manner of approaching that enigma is silence (Hymn 4).43

Finally, closing the circle, at least Gregory of Nyssa († cca 394) and Gregory of Nazianzus († cca 389), Cappadocian systematic theologians and Aphrahat’s younger contemporaries would also endorse the paradoxical theological thesis that the only scrutable aspect of the divine nature is its inscrutability (cf., of Gregory of Nyssa, section 3 of the Great Catechetical Oration; of Gregory of Nazianzus, sections 4–5 of the 2nd Theological Oration). It seems to be the case, however, that from among the 4th century, of authors we have examined, only Theodoret, Aphrahat, and the Book of Steps call attention to a latent danger deriving from inattention to, or misinterpretation of, holy writ (a peccatum lectionis); and that perhaps only Aphrahat establishes an explicit, logical link between the infinity of the creative divine essence, the inexhaustible semantic riches of scripture, and an inspired cosmic religiosity.