Author Archives: MJH

About MJH

I have a PhD in Church History & Classical Studies with a research interest in the Church Fathers (aka "Patristics") -- specifically Pope Leo I -- and an MA in Classics and an MTh in Church History. I am also Anglican (I guess; no better options have snagged me yet). Oh, and I live in Scotland.

Men, persons, humans

Thor: A person who is not a human

Since the Old English use of man to mean ‘a human being’ has been largely co-opted at this stage in the history of English to mean ‘a male human being’, many people have rightly sought new, gender-neutral/inclusive nouns to refer to individual human persons.

The most common solution is person/persons (or people). However, this does not work in all cases, since in some domains, human beings are not the only persons potentially under discussion. The realms that come to mind in this regard are theology, mythology, and science fiction and fantasy. In the last dual category of genre fiction, Star Trek calls us earthlings humans (pronounced by Quark the Ferengi as ‘humahns’). Obviously, many non-humans in Star Trek are persons — Odo and Hu, just to mention those who’ve already made an appearance on this blog. But all humanoid species and many non-humanoid species in Trek are persons. Even Q, the space fairy.

I am actually less certain about fantasy, since I do not read a lot of new fantasy. In Tolkien, the human species is populated by Men with a capital ‘M’, reflecting both the archaic nature of the language and its cadence as used by Tolkien as well as Tolkien’s own era.

In mythology, one has a variety of non-human persons. The concern here arises for translators and philologists who want to discuss literature in the Classical tradition. How do you render anthropos and homo? It cannot be person, since by current English usage, gods, demi-gods, centaurs, et al., are also persons.

Similarly in theology. In Christian theology, God is a Trinity of Persons, so it is actually imprecise to use person where a few decades ago one would have used manMankind also runs into similar problems, often solved by humankind, a word I dislike; much better to say humanity, I think. One place where this is a difficulty is Genesis 1, where God speaks of making, in older translations, ‘man in our image’. Andrew Louth circumvented this danger in Introducing Eastern Orthoodox Theology by consistently rendering (from Greek, not Hebrew) anthropos as human kind until he had to bring the discussion to the singular.

Many current English translations of the Bible and ancient Christian literature seem to think person is a perfect synonym for anthropos. Or, in the case of new translations of the Nicene Creed, cut men out altogether, ‘who for us and for our salvation’. Loses some of the theological potency; us what?

One of the books that is consistent in using one solution to the problem is Greta Austin, Shaping Church Law Around the Year 1000: The Decretum of Burchard of Worms. She consistently always refers to human beings using the substantive humans. This works. It is not as common as it should be, although I see it every once in a while. The philological objection is, of course, that human is an adjective, not a noun. But adjectives are frequently nounified when necessary, and this maintains the linguistic precision of the Latin text under discussion as well as the theological context of Burchard.

Perhaps not a breakthrough or deep or illuminating, but it is important for us to keep in mind not only why we may wish to shift our lexicon away from something, but also to consider where we are turning. Precision and accuracy are important, and person is often too imprecise for accuracy in language.


Late Antiquity in Medieval Durham

My latest post at the Durham Priory Recreated Project blog is about the various different Late Antique texts found in the priory library. In many ways, medieval Christianity is just a 1000-year reception of ancient Christianity. Enjoy!

Late Antiquity in Medieval Durham

Personhood and Relationship (and Odo from Star Trek)

I’ve blogged on this topic once before, in relation to the character of Hu in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Hu, you will recall, was a Borg who became dislocated from the rest of the Borg Collective, and during his time on the USS Enterprise, became friends with Geordie Laforge. This friendship was the evidence necessary not simply of Hu’s emergence as an individual separate from the drone-state of the Borg, but of being a real person.

You see, we manifest our personhood not simply in our individuality (rocks are individual, my mobile phone is individual, the Wedgewood vase on my windowsill is individual) but in our relationships with others. True personhood, whether human, alien, or divine, is manifested most fully in relationship with others.

And in relationships of love — such as friendship — that personhood is actualised in a particular way that can bring out the best in us.

It turns out that this theme is not restricted to Hu. In Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Season 3, Episode 14, ‘Heart of Stone’, Odo and Major Kira are trapped in some caverns in a seismically unstable moon. In true Trek fashion, Kira is trapped in a crystal, and looks about to die, so she asks Odo to tell a story to keep her occupied.

Odo tells the story of how he got his name.

Odo, in case you don’t know it, is a changeling, a shapeshifter. He was discovered by a Bajoran scientist and raised in a lab. At first, they did not know what Odo was. All the specimens in the lab were labelled, and this one was given the label, ‘Odoital’, which was meant to represent that the specimen was unknown, but is actually the Cardassian word for ‘Nothing.’

Once it became clear that Odo was actually sentient, they still called him Odo, but broke it in two like a Bajoran name — Odo Ital. Whenever anyone called him by this name, Odo, he heard this nothing behind it. That that was all he was — nothing.

But not anymore. Not since meeting Kira. And the rest of the crew of the space station Deep Space 9. Now, when people call him ‘Odo’, it simply means himself.

Through friendship, through companionship, this lost, lonely alien, who until recently knew no other of his kind, became comfortable with his own person. Odo became a name to him; it meant himself.

This is what our relationships do to us. We are not discrete, atomised individuals, but persons interacting all the time, moving through one another in relationship. These relationships are what make us persons. We should probably cultivate good ones, I think.


Last week, my father-in-law and I started the new year right with a New Year’s Day trip to Vindolanda Roman fort and Hadrian’s Wall. Here I am at Vindolanda:

And here I am at Hadrian’s Wall:

Vindolanda excited me because it is a fairly well-preserved Roman fort, and it is the source of some very remarkable archaeological finds. There were Roman forts at Vindolanda from about the year 85 (all these dates are AD), around the time of Agricola (made famous by Tacitus’ work of the same name) until the Romans left 395? 410? Three main forts have been found, but they estimate that as many as nine were built on this spot.

The first thing that should be said of Roman forts in Britain: Most of them are little more than waist-high foundations. They have excavated some parts of Vindolanda more deeply than that, but this is mostly what you will see. This is the case of the other Roman remains I’ve seen here, such as Bearsden, Cramond, Chesters, and Corbridge. I have seen nothing Roman as spectacular as Ostia Antica or Pompeii in Britain.

Here’s a shot of Vindolanda:

Vindolanda is not right on Hadrian’s Wall but about a mile to the south on the Roman military road with the mediaeval name of the Stanegate. I’ve visited another Roman fort on the Stanegate at Corbridge. Like Corbridge, Vindolanda had a civil settlement, or vicus, connected with it as well. When you approach Vindolanda from the West today, you pass through the vicus on your left, and a few military buildings on your right — the military buildings include some of the praetorium from the Severan fort (so, c. 200).

The buildings of the vicus are long and narrow because, apparently, you were taxed based upon the amount of streetfront you took up. One of the last buildings before you reach the walls of the fort is the tavern. Somehow that makes sense — a place for both civilians and soldiers, after all. They suspect that it would have had some upper floors for rooms.

The wall of the fourth-century fort isn’t bad:

They are still excavating inside the walls. Here you’ll find the usual suspects, such as the granary with its raised floors to keep the grain dry:

And the strongroom in the principia (HQ), which is underground in the small temple where the standards of the legion would have been stored along with the image of the emperor.

Of interest is the temple to Jupiter Dolichenus (Dolichenum). Jupiter Dolichenus is a cult popular with soldiers. He is an adaptation of a god from ancient Syria (now southeastern Turkey), and he turns up at a number of places in Britain. This is a reminder of the varied nature of the people living in Britain under Roman rule. The Dolichenum was destroyed in the later fourth century, presumably as a result of Christianisation and the closure of public temples and the rescinding of public funds for non-Christian religions.

Of interest were the foundations of some round houses of the Severan era. At that time, there was a rebellion, and these houses are built in local fashion, so it is supposed that they were built to house Roman sympathisers who were targeted by their neighbours.

And there was a bath house, as always. I like hypocausts:

Eventually the Romans left, but Vindolanda seems to have been inhabited until the ninth century. So I find myself interested in post-Roman Vindolanda: Who lived here? What various changes did they make besides a church in the praetorium? What artefacts did they leave behind?

For it is for its artefacts that Vindolanda is chiefly famous. And, amongst these, the Vindolanda Tablets are the famousest. Vindolanda’s site preserves an extraordinary quantity of organic material — shoes, wooden tablets, animal bones, etc. The shoes took me by surprise:

There was also a room full of cow skulls in the museum, but I didn’t take a photo. All of your expected pottery is there, too — Samian ware and the like.

I was most glad, however, to see the Vindolanda Tablets. These are wooden tablets covered in writing. Some are letters, some are inventories, some are requests for requisitions. There are comments about beer, about roads, about the local populace. There is a birthday invitation. They are wonderful, and they are one of the greatest finds in twentieth-century British archaeology, for texts can add flesh to the bones dug up by archaeology.

After Vindolanda, we walked part of Hadrian’s Wall near Housesteads Roman fort. Here’s a photo of the stunning countryside with the Wall running along that crag in the distance:

The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire, Vol. 1, by R. C. Blockley

The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire: Eunapius, Olympiodorus, Priscus and MalchusThe Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire: Eunapius, Olympiodorus, Priscus and Malchus by R.C. Blockley
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is volume one of Blockley’s study and edition/translation of Eunapius, Olympiodorus, Priscus, and Malchus, four Greek-language historians writing in the fifth-century (although early stages of Eunapius may have been published in the later 300s). These historians only survive for us in fragments — quotations by later, Byzantine, authors, or use by other late antique and ‘Byzantine’ historians (not always with attribution).

They are important because the fifth century is a century of fragmented knowledge and history. So we need all the sources we can get. They are also important because they represent a particular genre of history writing of which we have but little from this era of Graeco-Roman history.

Blockley divides this volume into two parts: The Historians and The Fragments. In the first part, each historian is introduced in turn, providing plausible dates of publication, his background, what the original contours of the history would have been, what he was like as a stylists, what he was like as a historian, what we think his main concerns were, his relationship to Christianity, and how we know this; from what I can tell, the bibliography was up to date at time of publication (1981). These chapters are followed by a discussion of what ‘classicising history’ is and how we should classify these historians — not as ‘pagan’ (not all of them are) nor as ‘secular’ (that, too, is misleading) but as ‘classicising’; they are consciously writing in the tradition of Herodotus, Thucydides, Polybius.

Part two is a discussion of the same material from the other direction — what are the sources for our fragments, how do we know these fragments are from these historians, and then a brief summary of what each fragment includes.

This is a highly useful book, readable, fairly brief, and a good introduction to the sources edited and translated in volume 2.

View all my reviews

Patristic homilies for a medieval Christmas

My latest post on the Durham Priory Library Recreated project blog looks at Durham Cathedral Library B.II.2, a copy of Paul the Deacon’s homiliary of patristic sermons arranged by feast:

Christmas in the Codices

Please do textual criticism on something other than the New Testament

If you did Septuagint criticism, you could work on the Vienna Genesis! LOOK AT IT

A friend recently directed my attention towards the Tyndale House Greek New Testament. It’s not a bad idea, as far as editions go. They try to determine what the actual first-century spelling or pronunciation of the words at hand was and then use it, rather than a levelled-out, standardised, modern-Classical Greek spelling. This will please those of the ilk who like to see Cristus in medieval Latin instead of Christus. It is also, apparently, designed simply to be read, which is a fine idea as well. From what I’ve read on their blog, it seems that sound philology lies behind this edition of the Greek New Testament. It seems that Dirk Jongkind (whose work on the scribal habits of Sinaiticus I’ve actually read) and team should be pleased.

So you can go buy it and put in on the shelf next to your copy of the United Bible Societies’ Greek New Testament and the Nestle-Aland Greek New Testament, 28th edition, (both of which have about the same text) and Michael W. Holmes’ SBL Greek New Testament. (I guess, after making sure the world had a third edition of Lightfoot’s The Apostolic Fathers, Holmes felt there weren’t enough New Testaments?)

I shouldn’t be snarky. I should, as a (Latin) text critic be happy to see the science itself flourish and get publications.

Except, I wonder — is this evidence of textual criticism flourishing and getting publications?

Or do all of our promising Greek scholars with an interest in ancient Christianity find themselves beating to death the text and mss of the New Testament with no new major ms finds for years? I think the reason why NT textual criticism is innovative is twofold: 1. They have way too many mss and frags to deal with. 2. There are so many of them (scholars, that is).

Anyway, the point of this rambling rant is: Could you please divert your skills and resources and attention to something else? I, myself, am working on texts that haven’t been edited since 1753 (the letters of Leo the Great), for the most part, but also a couple that haven’t had any work done since 1723 (Coustant’s edition of the popes before Leo). This afternoon, I was looking at Durham Cathedral Library, B.IV.17, a twelfth-century copy of the Decretum of Burchard of Worms. Now, Burchard hasn’t been edited since 1748, but he’s at least had some very interesting textual criticism done since they found his autographs.

Those texts are Latin, I realise. But if the Greek Bible is of interest to young minds, brimming with linguistic knowledge, wouldn’t it be nice to see the Septuagint get some of the love? We have that German Bible Society edition, but that’s not fully and truly critical, and La Bible d’Alexandrie is not yet done, from what I can tell. This is the Bible Paul of Tarsus read, people; the Bible of Justin Martyr, of Clement of Alexandria, of Origen, of Athanasius, of John Chrysostom, of the Greek priest next door. From a purely academic standpoint, this is a hugely significant text in need of a lot of work. I know people are working on it, but they seem mostly to be French or German.

And what about the texts of the people who helped forge Christianity? The Apostolic Fathers aren’t the only ante-Nicene texts that could do with some sprucing up. And even if one stuck to the Apostolic Fathers, they only have three editions, not 28. Consider Clement of Alexandria, turn of the third century; Sources Chrétiennes lists the following if his texts as not even having someone to work on them: Canon EcclesiasticusHypotyposeis, letters, De pascha, and several fragments. Anatolius of Laodicea (d. 280-90) has no one lined up for De decem primis numeribus. If you had the inclination, you could go through their list and see who else they haven’t finished. There are many. Moreover, just because someone has an edition in Sources Chrétiennes or in the Corpus Christianorum doesn’t mean it’s any good; I heard a rumour about a recent text of something by Origen (which I forget now) being worse than Patrologia Graeca.

And why should we, as scholars, invest in Patristic textual criticism rather than the New Testament? Not only because the New Testament has probably been overanalysed and done to death, but also because knowledge is good. Philology and philosophy and theology and history rest, to a large degree, on the texts we read them in. If those texts are bad, we are missing some of the nuance, some of the beauty, some of the philosophical accuracy, some of the historical detail. Besides that, all those New Testament manuscripts people like to read are contemporary with or later than the Greek Fathers who need work done on them. Codices Vaticanus and Sinaiticus are post-Constantinian. Claromontanus is sixth-century. P45 is from around 250 — so contemporary with Origen and later than Clement of Alexandria. These are the writings and beliefs and ideas of the people who copied out the texts that transmitted the New Testament. Getting to know them and their world should really be part of the same intellectual enterprise as getting to know the New Testament.

And if you’re good enough at Greek and wanting to branch out, maybe give some pre-Christian Hellenistic texts some love. They need it, too.

Or if your Latin is up to it, I know of a few popes who need some work. 😉