2

Investigation

This chapter looks at the primary theological idea that lends the poems in the Madrashe on Faith their unity, the idea that God cannot be understood by human interrogation, and that the theological controversies of the fourth century emerged because of attempts at interrogation of the divine. Yet it is not only that this idea provides the collection with its theological and lexical unity. Tracing Ephrem’s articulation of the idea also shows the way his poetry filtered the world through the lens of the Bible. In this chapter, I first argue that we can situate the poems’ condemnation of theological debate in the intellectual landscape of Antioch and Mesopotamia of the 360s as a response to the theological ideas developed by Aetius and Eunomius. I then argue that Ephrem takes the language and theological ideas that he uses to respond to Aetius and Eunomius from the Bible. In the Madrashe on Faith’s emphasis on “investigation,” therefore, we can see its particular melding of the Bible and the world.¹

EPHREM’S LANGUAGE OF INVESTIGATION

In Ephrem’s First Discourse to Hypatius—one of his few prose works—he refers briefly to an idea common in his writings. He is addressing the New Testament scene in which Peter attempts, but fails, to walk on water (Matt. 14:28–33). Peter’s experience reminds Ephrem of the intellectual drowning that overtakes a person who seeks to transcend the limits of human knowledge. The latter represents a much worse situation: “In the waves of the sea [only] bodies sink, but in the waves of investigation, the mind sinks or is delivered.”²

In his English translation of the passage, C. W. Mitchell capitalizes the term b‘ātâ, “Investigation.”³ His intuition is a good one, even though I do not follow it in this book. Within Ephrem’s corpus, the terms b‘â and bṣâ, both of which can translate as “to investigate,” signify much more than simple questioning, more than basic intellectual curiosity. While Ephrem certainly allows for a positive interpretation of investigation in certain circumstances (as indicated above by the reference to being delivered), the term far more frequently represents a near blasphemous activity—a human claim to know and incessantly discuss things that only God can know.⁴ Alongside bṣâ and b‘â, Ephrem also refers frequently to draš (“to debate”), ‘qab (“to discuss”), and šʼel (“to question”) to signify this illicit inquiry.⁵

Both as a series of terms, and as a theological idea, “investigation” resonates within the Bible as well as within the fourth-century world of Ephrem and his audience. Literarily, as a collection of Syriac terms, “investigation,” “debating,” and “discussing” lend a literary coherence to Ephrem’s works, especially the Madrashe on Faith. Ephrem’s specific language acquires its meaning from a variety of contexts—contexts within his literary works themselves, and contexts outside of those works, both literary and social. A term like bṣâ, “to investigate,” has a history of usage that lies outside Ephrem’s own employment of the term, both predating and concurrent with it.⁶ Inevitably, on some level, Ephrem’s “investigation” is shaped by these external worlds, the one in which Ephrem actually lived, wrote, and spoke, and the literary world (primarily biblical) upon which he drew for inspiration. At the same time, as Ephrem embedded bṣâ and its connected vocabulary within his corpus, these terms acquired a particular meaning that could alter and ultimately transcend that of the term as it existed outside the literary work. It is the meaning that arises out of the relationship of these two worlds—of the Bible, of the madrashe—that this book seeks to uncover.⁷

This book argues that to understand the role of the Bible within Ephrem’s madrashe, one must understand the poetic context in which his use of the Bible is embedded. “Investigation,” both as an idea and as a collection of vocabulary, lends theological and literary coherence to the Madrashe on Faith. This idea and these terms, in turn, shape the way Ephrem reads the Bible within these poems. On a most basic level, Ephrem’s emphasis on investigation leads him to divide biblical characters into two general groups—those who investigated and those who did not. At the same time, however, the Bible offers him the heroes and villains that he divides along his own rhetorical lines. And they offer not only broad outlines, but also specific language and narrative shape. Likewise, on a micro level the Bible provides him with basic terminology for humans, for the natural world, and for God.⁸

But why is this language of investigation so important for Ephrem? From where does it come, and how does it resonate with the language of the Bible? While scholars have often noted the importance of this language for Ephrem, there has been little attempt to explain why this language.⁹ Most scholars have associated the language with Ephrem’s polemics against anti-Nicene subordinationists.¹⁰ And while the fourth-century Trinitarian controversies provide a context for this language, this context does not explain how the language functions within Ephrem’s corpus or how it resonates exegetically with the Bible. In what follows, I situate the language of investigation within Ephrem’s corpus and argue for points of comparison with the Trinitarian debates emerging to the west of Ephrem. I then suggest that the rhetorical power of this language within Ephrem’s poetry comes from its relationship to the Bible as much as from its historical context. Ephrem draws on this particular language and its broader resonance within the Bible, and in so doing creates a relationship of likeness between his madrashe and biblical discourse.

“INVESTIGATION” IN EPHREM’S MADRASHE

Among the vocabulary that Ephrem develops to denote “investigation,” five terms predominate: bṣâ, b‘â, draš, ‘qab, and šʼel. I translate two of these terms, bṣâ and b‘â, as “to investigate.” Draš I translate as “to debate,” ‘qab as “to discuss,” and šʼel as “to question.” Three basic aspects of this vocabulary immediately strike the reader.

First, these five terms dominate the theological lexicon of the Madrashe on Faith. The terms bṣâ and b‘â stand at the heart of that text, occurring almost 350 times.¹¹ (For this reason, I typically refer to the broader phenomenon to which all these terms refer simply as “investigation.” I intend this to be inclusive of other terms such as “debating” and “discussion.”) Draš and ‘qab occur almost 130 times each.¹² The least common of these terms, šʼel, still occurs more than 75 times.¹³ Altogether, 76 of the 87 madrashe in the collection draw on this vocabulary.¹⁴ As a point of comparison, the terms haymen, “to have faith, or belief” and haymānûtâ, “faith, or belief” occur only about 120 times in the entire corpus of the Madrashe on Faith. It is no surprise, then, that a nineteenth-century Syriac-Latin edition called the work not Madrashe on Faith (following the title that the manuscripts themselves give), but contra Scrutatores, “Against the Investigators.”¹⁵ The work’s polemic against these unnamed “investigators” and the ambiguous “investigation” in which they engage far outweighs its privileging of “faith” or any other theological concept.

The second immediately noticeable aspect of “investigation” is that Ephrem leaves it relatively undefined. Never does he explicitly outline the activity that counts as investigation. In poem 4:6, speaking to the Lord, he says, “Your appearance was not greater / than only the weak, / nor investigation into you hidden [from only them].” And five stanzas later he writes, “You are near and far, / and who can arrive at you? / Investigation’s (b‘ātâ) reach / cannot come to your side.” We can infer from these passages that “investigation” refers to some sort of illicit inquiry into the divine. But what does this inquiry entail? At what point does licit inquiry become illicit? Ephrem does not explicitly say.

Nor does he identify in historical terms the purveyors of this investigation. When he does associate persons with it, he speaks exclusively in biblical terms. Biblical villains investigated (the scribes at poem 3:11, and the Pharisees at 7:9), as did otherwise virtuous characters in moments of moral collapse (Thomas at 7:11, and Abraham at 21:6). For the most part, however, biblical heroes studiously avoided debate (Noah and Abraham in poem 56, and Daniel in 8:14–16).

Third, this language tends to cluster around statements regarding the divine essence and the Father’s begetting of a Son. Poem 37:26 condemns “whoever presumes to investigate the womb / of the Essence more powerful than all.” In 5:19, Ephrem chastises those who, rather than seeking divine healing, “investigate [the Lord’s] nature and his birth.” Poem 45 concludes with the command to “cease from the investigation of [his] begetting.” Though with less frequency, we see this outside the Madrashe on Faith as well. In Madrashe on Virginity 16:4, Ephrem pronounces a blessing on the one who does not “debate (draš) about [the Lord’s] begetting.”

Because of this association of investigation with issues of divine begetting, most scholars have suggested that this language developed, at least in part, in response to the fourth-century Trinitarian controversies.¹⁶ This association certainly seems accurate. Insofar as Ephrem defines investigation concretely, he often does so with reference to these issues of divine begetting. A couple of passages outside the Madrashe on Faith make this point strikingly.

In On the Church 15, probably written during the reign of Julian (361–363), Ephrem remembers fondly the reigns of Constantine (d. 337) and Constantius (d. 361), but bemoans the Christian behavior of his present time.¹⁷ Prior to the reign of Julian, he writes, “our mouth went crazy and attacked our Creator. / [Sitting] in the shade, we made war through our discussions (b-‘ûqqābayn).” This localizes the idea of “discussion”: it refers concretely to the controversies that followed the Council of Nicaea and preceded the reign of Julian “the Apostate.”¹⁸ Here, Ephrem interprets Julian’s reign as divine punishment for precisely this behavior.

An even more striking use of the language of investigation occurs in Ephrem’s Madrashe Against Heresies. Outside of the Madrashe on Faith, the vocabulary denoting investigation occurs most frequently in those madrashe.¹⁹ On the whole, his use of this language in the Madrashe Against Heresies is unremarkable. While the poems clearly represent investigation as a negative activity, they rarely focus on the idea at any length.²⁰ However, in the few cases where Ephrem does develop a more precise use of the language, he clearly has these Trinitarian issues in mind. This can be seen most strikingly in the third Madrashe Against Heresies.

The majority of that poem argues against what Ephrem presents as the polytheism of Marcion and Bardaisan. In the first seven stanzas, he accuses them of applying the name “Being,” fit only for the one God, to created beings, thus affirming a multiplicity of gods. Ephrem says that “they perpetually put God’s name on / the idols that they have worshiped” (MAH 3:1:4–5). Yet in 3:8, this argument takes a surprising turn. Because of their tendency to multiply deities, Ephrem writes, Marcion and Bardaisan willingly, and to their credit, acknowledge that the Son of God is divine. At this point, the object of Ephrem’s polemic shifts. He writes:

[MAH 3:9] Who would not confess this True Son,

Especially since, look: tares proclaim his birth?²¹

Let us be shamed by the deniers who do not deny his birth!

Who would not weep and repent

Upon seeing the outsiders who believed without investigating?

Look at those inside who were not satisfied, to the point of madness!

Understanding the polemic in this passage demands, first, that we understand Ephrem’s distinction between “outsiders” (barrāyê) and “insiders” (gawwāyê). As Sidney Griffith has shown, by “outsiders”—a group Ephrem here refers to initially as “tares”—Ephrem denotes religious groups that, while using Christian symbols, have no formal relationship to Ephrem’s own ecclesial body.²² Though Ephrem will identify a host of such “outsiders,” within the Madrashe Against Heresies he is focused primarily on followers of Bardaisan, Marcion, and Mani.²³ “Insiders,” in contrast, refer to those groups who have, or have had, some formal relationship with the Church, but who have, from Ephrem’s perspective, set themselves outside of it because of errant teachings.²⁴ Within the Madrashe Against Heresies, Ephrem’s subordinationist opponents form by far the most common “insider.” In this passage, Ephrem is clearly writing against these subordinationists. They are the “insiders” who, Ephrem argues, refuse to “confess this True Son.” Up to this point, the language of investigation has been absent in this poem. Yet here, when Ephrem shifts from a polemic against Bardaisan and Mani to one against Arius, the language of investigation appears.²⁵

This material from the Madrashe Against Heresies, coupled with the language’s presence in the Madrashe on Faith, suggests that, in Ephrem’s mind, the language of investigation connects closely with his anti-subordinationist concerns. While he does apply the language to other polemical opponents, he does so far less, and with language that is much more general.²⁶ And even within the Madrashe Against Heresies, when he uses the language of investigation in a concrete manner, he does so with these subordinationist opponents in mind. This suggests that, for whatever reason, Ephrem came to emphasize “investigation” as a uniquely anti-subordinationist tool; that his emphasis on investigation arose in conjunction with his awareness and commitment to rebutting subordinationist ideas.

Because Ephrem rarely mentions specific persons or events, it is difficult to know how he developed this particular emphasis on language in connection with the Trinitarian controversies.²⁷ We can affirm that Ephrem uses this language most frequently in his anti-subordinationist works. And we can affirm that the language does not appear to be common in Syriac literature prior to Ephrem, at least not with the same weight Ephrem gives it.²⁸ But why does Ephrem use this language? From where does it come?

As with most ideas in Ephrem’s corpus, it is difficult to construct a strict genealogy. Even where we can construct a loose genealogy, this does not explain why or how Ephrem is borrowing a particular idea.²⁹ With the language of investigation, rather than arguing for a hard and fast process of influence, I suggest that we can point to two contexts of which Ephrem was aware, and in which this language also appears—the context provided by the Trinitarian controversies and that provided by the Bible. With respect to the former, Ephrem’s language of investigation helps us connect him to the broader late antique world, while still indicating his unique voice within it. We see this unique voice emerging with respect to the latter context, as well, as he shaped the world of theological controversy through the pages of the Bible.

THE CONTEXT OF EPHREM’S “INVESTIGATION”

Historically speaking, Ephrem’s emphasis on “investigation,” “debate,” and “discussion” sits at the intersection of two developments in the late antique world. On the one hand, his insistence on God’s transcendence of human discourse marks a key point in the development of an apophatic theology that would come to dominate the Eastern Mediterranean landscape, but whose core ideas can be traced back to the Hebrew Bible.³⁰ On the other hand, this language of investigation reflects the particular Christian culture that emerged in the fourth century, following the conversion of Constantine (ca. 312). In 325, Constantine convened the Council of Nicaea to deal with debates about the divinity of Christ. Yet, far from settling disagreements, this initial council bred only more councils, a number of which were convened between 325 and 381, each offering variant ways of dealing with the fall-out from Nicaea.³¹ What resulted was a culture of debate, one about which Gregory of Nyssa comically remarked:

Everywhere in the public squares…people would stop you and discourse at random about the Trinity. If you asked something of a moneychanger, he would begin discussing the question of the Begotten and the Unbegotten. If you questioned a baker about the price of bread, he would answer that the Father is greater and the Son is subordinate to Him. If you went to take a bath, the Anomoean bath attendant would tell you that in his opinion the Son simply comes from nothing.³²

Within Ephrem’s madrashe, this language of investigation emerged as a specifically anti-subordinationist discourse. But following Nicaea, a variety of theological positions developed, running along a spectrum from outright subordination of the Son to the Father, to an absolute insistence on the essential unity of the two.³³ How do we situate Ephrem’s anti-subordinationist language on this spectrum? While admitting the difficulty of answering this question with absolute certainty, I nevertheless argue that his particular polemics against investigation resonate with two movements in and around Antioch in the mid-fourth century.³⁴ Connecting him to these movements can also help us think more generally about Ephrem’s relationship to Greco-Roman culture.

In poem 22:20 of the Madrashe Against Heresies, Ephrem once mentions a certain “Aetius.” Aetius was a controversial philosopher and theologian in and around Antioch in the 350s and 360s.³⁵ His most prominent disciple and able interpreter was Eunomius (also in Antioch in the 350s and 360s).³⁶ Aetius wrote his main work, the Syntagmation, in 359.³⁷ Roughly a year later, Eunomius wrote his Apology, with the aim of expanding and interpreting the thought of Aetius.³⁸ At the heart of Eunomius’s thought lies the idea that through precise language about God, one can come to know God absolutely. Eunomius identified the term “Unbegotten” as the proper name of God—the name that referred to his substance. This meant that one who was begotten—that is, the divine Son—could not be considered divine in the same way as God himself (the Unbegotten).

It is hard to read Eunomius through a lens other than that fashioned by his most vocal opponents: the Cappadocians and John Chrysostom, writing in the 360s to the 380s.³⁹ In their writings, in addition to critiquing Eunomius’s theological ideas, they came to criticize his theological and literary style—terse, opaque, and obsessed, from their perspective, with excessive argumentation. In three anti-Eunomian treatises that postdate Ephrem by almost a decade—Gregory of Nazianzen’s Oration 27 (380), Gregory of Nyssa’s Against Eunomins (381), and, especially, John Chrysostom’s On the Incomphrensibility of God, homilies 1–5 (386)—these general polemical concerns coalesced into a much broader critique against Eunomius’s claim to know more about God than humanly possible. These writers cast a shade upon Eunomius: he was a philosopher rather than a theologian; he sought knowledge rather than adherence to faith; he liked to argue and used words in a way that invited controversy.⁴⁰

Ephrem’s repeated condemnation of investigation finds a clear parallel in these Greek condemnations of Eunomius. And beyond just the emphasis on investigation, much in Ephrem’s Madrashe on Faith resonates with this anti-Eunomian context. Like Eunomius and his Cappadocian colleagues, Ephrem’s Christology focuses on divine names and the relationship of those names to the divinity they represent.⁴¹ Ephrem critiques his opponents for privileging nonbiblical names, a critique Basil would level against Eunomius and his privileging of “Unbegotten.”⁴² And while Ephrem never directly references the term “Unbegotten,” his constant identification of the Son as “begotten” may represent a polemic against the insistence on the name “Unbegotten” by Eunomius.⁴³ Perhaps most importantly, Eunomius’s teacher Aetius is the one figure from this controversy, besides Arius, that Ephrem mentions by name.⁴⁴

Ephrem’s notion of “investigation” developed in a theological culture—of which Eunomius is the best representative—that privileged debate and argumentation, and put forward the idea that, through this argumentation, one could obtain intimate knowledge of God. The ideas of Eunomius and Aetius were common in Antioch in the 360s, the same time Ephrem was performing his poems in Edessa, roughly 220 miles to the northeast, separated by a well-traveled road. Ephrem need not have known Aetius’s and Eunomius’s works in detail to form a general conception of their ideas. As I argued in chapter one, the bilingual culture of Edessa would have made Ephrem’s access to these Greek ideas relatively easy, even if he could not read the texts himself. Thus, as we construct a fourth-century theological backdrop against which to set Ephrem’s notion of “investigation,” Eunomius’s argumentative insistence on the knowability of God forms one likely point of orientation. In scholarship since the 1940s, this has been the most commonly assumed polemical target.⁴⁵

Yet, it is helpful to remember that the Cappadocians were not the only fourth-century figures in the Eastern Mediterranean who emphasized the danger of theological discussion in the context of the Trinitarian debates. Ephrem’s mistrust of theological debate also resonates generally with the “Homoian” movement of mid-fourth-century Antioch, as that movement has been reconstructed by Hans Brennecke.⁴⁶ “Homoian,” a Greek term meaning “like,” refers to the tendency of these thinkers to eschew the Nicene language of ousia and speak of the relationship of the Father and Son in terms of “likeness” rather than in terms of essence (ousia). Brennecke identifies the movement as operating around the Eastern Mediterranean in the late 350s and best represented by the Councils of Rimini (359), Seleukia (359), and Constantinople (360), each of which enjoyed the patronage of the emperor Constantius.⁴⁷ In addition to their eschewal of the language of ousia, Brennecke argues that these Homoians demonstrated a strong mistrust of theological speculation, an emphasis on biblical language as sufficient for theological discourse, zeal against anything redolent of “paganism,” and a close connection to the emperor Constantius.⁴⁸

Ephrem, in varying degrees, exhibits all of these characteristics. In his Madrashe on Faith, he consistently speaks of the relationship between Father and Son in terms of “likeness,” and at no point does he describe them as “consubstantial” (Syriac, bar kyānâ or bar ʼîtuteh, translating the Greek homoousios).⁴⁹ While he does not intend this language of likeness to suggest a radical subordination of the Son to the Father, he does clearly want to avoid ousia language.⁵⁰ He also criticizes theological language that takes key terms from outside the Bible.⁵¹ Further, in his Madrashe Against Julian, Ephrem strongly criticizes paganism, and in both that work and the Madrashe on Nisibis, he praises Constantius.⁵² Most prominently, as we have seen, Ephrem’s mistrust of theological speculation forms a cornerstone of his anti-subordinationist thought.

In trying to contextualize Ephrem’s polemics against investigation within the fourth century, I suggest that both of these movements were formative. Chronologically, Ephrem was delivering his Madrashe on Faith at about the same time that Eunomius and Basil were active in Antioch and Cappadocia. But it seems likely that his theological proclivities were already formed generally by the theological culture of the “homoians.”⁵³ What I want to emphasize is that, from the perspective of Ephrem’s polemic against investigation, the two formative influences work together. From the Homoians, I would argue that Ephrem acquired a general mistrust of theological debate. That general mistrust was then specifically reified in response to Eunomius’s insistence that humans could know God in essence.

INVESTIGATION AND THE BIBLE

There is yet one more piece that we can add to this puzzle. Ephrem’s epistemological views were shaped by the Mediterranean theological culture in which he developed, but they were also shaped literarily through the pages of the Bible. This book traces the way that Ephrem’s poetry merged the world of the Bible with that of his own fourth century. We can see this merging in the very rhetoric that binds the Madrashe on Faith. Ephrem’s polemic against investigation reflected the theological culture of fourth-century Antioch, but Ephrem articulated and poeticized his mistrust by constructing a specific lexicon that emerged from the Bible. I examine the relationship between the Bible and Ephrem’s anti-investigative language first by looking at his use of the discourse of nature, and then by looking at his replication of anti-investigative discourse located within the Bible.

Investigation, Bible, and Nature

I initially suggested three basic aspects of the language of investigation as it appears in Ephrem’s madrashe. The language occurs frequently (especially in the Madrashe on Faith), is not discursively defined, and tends to cluster around discussions of divine begetting. Here I can add a fourth characteristic: Ephrem often compares investigation into the natural world (or, more generally, the world of created things) to investigation into the divine.⁵⁴ By establishing this relationship between the two, Ephrem traces a connection between the rhetoric of the Bible and that of his poems.

Typically, Ephrem combines the investigation of the natural world and the investigation of divine begetting in a single reflection. Poem 5:8:3–11 reads:

Look: the sun has revealed

Everything to the whole eye.

Nothing which [the sun] has concealed even in part

Can [the eye] investigate.

[The sun] has revealed everything to [the eye],

But [the eye] is unable to investigate [the sun].

Your concealed birth has revealed

A hundred times more than the sun.

Who will gaze upon your brightness?

Between the natural world, represented here by the sun, and divine begetting, there is an ascending hierarchy. Rather than expressing the relationship between the two anagogically—that is, that through the contemplation of the lower, humans can arrive at some understanding of the higher—Ephrem connects them negatively. He insists that if humans cannot understand the created world, they could not possibly understand its Creator.⁵⁵ This type of argument is foundational to the Madrashe on Faith’s presentation of investigation. Generally speaking, Ephrem reflects on nature pedagogically in these poems, as he does throughout his corpus. His reflection on nature is typically directed toward this type of rhetorical argumentation. Alongside this negative argument, however, he will occasionally articulate the relationship positively: just as nature betrays a particular ordering, so there is a certain order through which one can proceed to investigation.⁵⁶

In his rhetorical use of nature, Ephrem imitates similar arguments in the Bible. Perhaps the most famous example of this sort of a rhetorical use of nature appears in Job 38–41, a passage upon which Ephrem draws frequently.⁵⁷ In Job 38, the Lord poses a series of questions to Job, the bulk of which concern natural phenomena: how did the earth come to be? How is the sea contained? Where does death dwell, and what does its dwelling place look like? These questions continue more or less unabated until chapter 42, at which point they elicit their intended response: Job admits that he understands very little, either of the Lord or even of his creation. Ephrem alludes to this particular scene in MF 9:4:

God came

To Job in judgment.

He asked him (šaʼleh) of revealed things

And with his questioning (šûʼʼālâ) silenced him.

If Job was unable

To speak of revealed things,

Who will presume to demand

The hidden things of the Firstborn?

Do not presume, O weak one!

Job, famous for [enduring] castigations,

Was overcome by questions (šûʼʼālê).

Here, “revealed things” refers to the natural phenomena addressed in Job, while “hidden things” refers to the theological matters at issue in the fourth century The root šʼel, “to question” (from which derives šûʼʼālâ, “question” or “questioning”) occurs three times in this single passage, and frequently throughout the Madrashe on Faith. It also appears prominently in Job 38:3 and 40:7.⁵⁸ Through this shared language, Ephrem draws a connection between the rhetoric of his poem and that of Job. In so doing, he brings the authority of the biblical book to bear on his argument. But he also creates a literary space in which the world of the Bible and his own world exist in a relationship of likeness—the two speak with a unified voice.

In MF 64, Ephrem constructs another argument from nature, again similar to that found in Job 38–41. He concretely alludes to the latter narrative only once, in the eighth stanza. There he asks, “Who has seen and investigated the Behemoth on dry ground, / or the Leviathan in the sea” (64:8:1–2)? While this reference to the series of questions that span Job 40:15–41:34 stands as the only concrete biblical reference in this stanza, it is preceded by a series of questions that undoubtedly intend to evoke the biblical scene. These, however, are not quoted from Job but are invented by Ephrem:

Who has investigated the earth? Though its measurement can be observed,

It stretches out without measure. From where have ears [of corn] produced

Whole harvests? Date-palms, sweetness?

Grapes, wine? Olives, oils?

From where have blossoms brought colors and fragrances,

Along with spices (MF 64:6)?

None of these questions have exact parallels in Job 38–41, but they all sound reminiscent of that divine monologue. By referring two stanzas later, in MF 64:8, to the characters discussed in Job 40:15–41:34, Ephrem connects the questions he is asking to those which the Lord asks Job. Yet it is significant that he does not simply quote or rephrase the biblical questions. Rather, he writes his own questions to evoke the biblical text, and then signals the connection through his concrete reference to the Leviathan and the Behemoth. On the basis of that reference, his audience can locate his nonbiblical questions as emerging from that book—as imitative of it. But unlike the book of Job, Ephrem does not seek to condemn human investigation into the divine in general. Rather, Ephrem takes Job’s general argument and directs it toward the specific controversies in which his own audience is involved: “How much more hidden,” he asks, “is the Child of the Lord of all? Who could explore the great / womb of his begetter?”

Passages such as MF 9:4 and 64:8, in which Ephrem connects his understanding of investigation and nature to a very specific biblical passage, are rare. More often he provides loose echoes—a clustering of vocabulary that evokes specific passages from the Bible. It is difficult to classify Ephrem’s relationship to these passages in terms of “influence” or “exegesis.” Rather, by evoking biblical arguments about nature through specific terms, Ephrem fosters a relationship of likeness between the Bible and his madrashe.

MF 28 begins with a litany of heavenly and earthly phenomena—lightning, rays of the sun, earthquakes, storms, floods (28:1); medicine, wine, spices, sleep, and food (28:2). All are enlisted to ask a basic question: if these things, though created, are so powerful and awe-inspiring, how could someone hope “to investigate the Consuming Fire” that created them (28:2:8)? All of this natural language has precedent in the Bible, yet there is no single passage upon which Ephrem appears to be drawing.⁵⁹ This changes two stanzas later when Ephrem embeds a concrete allusions to Wisdom 11:20. MF 28:3 reads:

The Good One, therefore, who has arranged for us (takkes)

Weights, scales, and measures (metqālê kîlê ʼâp mûšḥātâ),

So we can approach created things through order (l-ṭaksâ),

To accept their aid in measure (b-kîlâ):

The One greater than all surely has not given himself for them to approach

Him with measure (ba-mšûḥtâ), yet without order (d-lâ ṭaksâ)!

How would he order all (ṭakkes kul)

And not order (lâ takkes) his investigation for investigators?

We can compare this passage with Wisdom 11:20 (with linguistic parallels in italics): “But everything is established according to measure (b-kîlâ). According to weight and scale (b-ṭaksâ wa-b-metqālâ) you have placed them.”⁶⁰ Beyond these linguistic parallels, the two passages cohere in their broad sense: both depict the world as a place that God has ordered to enable humans to arrive at knowledge of him. Ephrem expands this sense in MF 28 and rewrites it to demonstrate the proper shape of investigation. Here his interest is not in the complete incomprehensibility of nature. Rather, he appeals to an idea of divinely inspired natural order, through which one can proceed to an understanding of divinity. Taking this language from Wisdom, he suggests the possibility of a legitimate “investigation,” one that follows a natural order.

Poem 47:1 is similar:

These things are easy for those who know [them], but difficult for the simple:

The work of craftsmen, the fabric of the wise;

Weaving and crafting, sculpture and ornament;

Treatises and calculations, weights and measures

Which humans have discovered through wisdom,

Measuring the earth and weighing the waters.

On the basis of this description of the wise man, Ephrem then asks in 47:2:

Given that the simple cannot investigate the wise…

How much further is the wisdom of the wise behind

The Creator of all in his wisdom?

How mad they are!—who hope to discuss and investigate

The nature of the Creator, the Son of the Maker!

For Ephrem, the categories of “created” and “nature” are synonymous, so that all the activities he here mentions fall under the category of “natural.” His picture of the wise man is one that is redolent of similar descriptions in Proverbs and Sirach, though he does not concretely refer to those passages.⁶¹ As elsewhere (though different from the previous example), Ephrem’s argument is negative, forbidding investigation into the divine: as the simple cannot understand the wise, neither can the wise understand the Creator.

To what extent does Ephrem explicitly draw on the Bible in this passage? Within 47:1, Ephrem seems to embed two allusions: to Exodus 35:35 and Isaiah 40:12. These allusions, however, are sparse, and dispersed throughout the stanza.

The allusion to Exodus 35:35 appears in lines two and four of 47:1, in the words “the work of craftsman” (‘bādâ d-ʼûmmānê), “the fine linen of the wise” (zqûrâ da-ḥkîmê), and “calculation” (ḥûšbānê). As a whole, Exodus 35 does not concern itself with the ideal wise man but details for the Israelites the materials needed for the adornment of the tabernacle. In the verse to which Ephrem alludes, Moses tasks two men, Bez’alel and Oho’liab, with the construction of the tabernacle. Ephrem takes this description and uses it to describe the ideal wise man.⁶²

Ephrem couples this allusion to Exodus 35:35 with a second allusion, this one to Isaiah 40:12. In the latter verse the prophet, while declaring the glory of the Lord, asks a series of rhetorical questions. In a way similar to Job 38, these questions aim to demonstrate the meekness of humanity in comparison with the divine:

Who has measured the waters ( ʼakîl mayyâ) in the palm of his hand, or has marked off (mšaḥ) the heavens with a span? Who has measured ( ʼakîl) the dust of the earth (ʼar’â) with his fist, weighed (tqal) the mountains in a scale (b-metqālâ), or dirt in a balance?⁶³

Ephrem’s use of this verse appears in lines 4 and 6. The term “weights” (kîlâ) derives from the same root (k-w-l) that translated “measured” (ʼakîl) in the above translation. And “measures” (mšûḥātâ) derives from the same root (m-š-ḥ) that translated “marked off” in the above translation. Line 6—“measuring the earth and weighing the waters”—represents a mash-up of several terms from the verse: mšaḥ (“to measure”), tqal (“to weigh”), and “waters” (mayyâ).⁶⁴

Why does Ephrem draw on these two passages? The Isaiah passage is more obvious: Ephrem’s general rhetorical aim is to construct a distance between humanity and God. This is precisely what the questions in Isaiah aim to demonstrate. Somewhat ironically, however, Ephrem uses these same characteristics—to measure the earth and weigh the waters—to demonstrate what a sage can do through knowledge. In poem 47:2, however, he inverts this rhetoric in a way that resonates with Isaiah 40:12 and argues that even though the wise man can do marvelous things, the Creator is still higher.

The Exodus passage is intriguing, because, from a certain perspective, it seems irrelevant to Ephrem’s argument. The language is not taken from a passage that deals with nature, but one that deals with temple worship. However, it is entirely possible that Ephrem is taking this language from the Bible simply because it is biblical. Based on his use of biblical language, it is clear that Ephrem prefers to incorporate biblical language into his poem, regardless of the narrative context of that language within the Bible. This practice has the effect of merging the discourse of the Bible with that of his madrashe. In this case, his use of biblical language need not depend upon semantic likeness. The importance of the language lies in the fact that it comes from the Bible, regardless of what it means. Yet, his use of this Exodus passage may run deeper. Given that the context of his quotation of Exodus comes in a passage that describes the ritual adornment of the temple, Ephrem may intend to suggest that the wise man is the one who puts his abilities toward the glorification of God rather than the investigation of God.

In these passages, Ephrem creates a relationship of likeness between the Bible and the idea of investigation as it is articulated in his madrashe. Through allusion, quotation, and expansion, Ephrem builds his own rhetorical presentation of investigation out of that found in the Bible. On one level, their message is the same: in the passages upon which Ephrem draws, the Bible uses the opacity of nature to make an argument about the greater opacity of the divine. Yet, on another level, Ephrem extends this argument to the particularities of his own community: the God whose opacity nature reveals is precisely the God who has begotten a Son, yet whose begetting cannot be investigated. Ephrem has thus taken these particular fourth-century issues and recast them through the much larger lens of the Bible. Within the madrashe, Ephrem’s arguments, as well as the precise language he uses to make those arguments, merges with the arguments and language of the Bible.

Investigation, Bible, and God

So far I have suggested two broad contexts for Ephrem’s use of investigation: the fourth-century theological controversies and biblical traditions that posit the opacity of nature as an argument for the greater opacity of the divine. Neither of these contexts, however, alert us to the precise biblical usage of the language itself (with the exception of Job’s use of šʼel). And Ephrem himself does not help us in finding these biblical antecedents: never does he reflect on the significance of the terms that he uses to delineate this theological enterprise; never does he quote biblical passages in connection with this language. However, if we trace the use of three of Ephrem’s terms—bṣâ, b‘â, and ‘qab—throughout the Peshitta, a compelling picture emerges.⁶⁵ Aside from a few passages where bṣâ carries a positive valence, bṣâ, b‘â, and ‘qab tend consistently to convey an activity in which God engages, with the inner lives of humans as its object.⁶⁶ That is, God investigates humans rather than the other way around. Insofar as humans are able to investigate, it is only because they have acquired wisdom and thus act with their highest faculties. This biblical argument, articulated primarily through the use of bṣâ, b‘â, and ‘qab, resonates entirely with the use of the language in the Madrashe on Faith.

The idea of investigation as an activity that belongs properly to God appears frequently in Wisdom literature and the prophetic books. In the opening verse of Psalm 139, the Psalmist exclaims, “O Lord, you have investigated me (bṣaytān[y]) and known me,” and repeats this at the end of the Psalm (v. 23, “Investigate me, O God, and know my heart”). The book of Jeremiah states simply, “I, the Lord, search the heart and test the inmost parts (bāṣê lebbâ w-bāḥar kûlyātâ)” (Jer. 17:10).⁶⁷ Proverbs 20:27 suggests the possibility of human investigation but only into the human subject, and only using the human soul: “The lamp of the Lord is the breath of humans. It investigates all interior rooms” (bāṣyâ kullhôn tāwānê d-karsâ).⁶⁸

Within the book of Job, outside of those passages we have already discussed, the language of investigation is slightly more complicated, but still confirms our general picture. In Job 5:27, one of Job’s friends, Eli’phaz, finishes his lengthy speech with a confident proclamation: “This we have investigated (bāṣeyn), and so announce it: you should recognize [its truth].” Eli’phaz is confident in the substance of his speech—he believes he has investigated the matter and uncovered its truth. But as the reader knows, his confidence is comically misplaced, and the use of bṣâ, “to investigate,” is ironic. In claiming to investigate, Eli’phaz claims a perspective accessible only to God. Following his friend’s assertion, Job delivers a scathing rebuke to his friends, asking them, “Will it go well for you when he [i.e., God] investigates you” (d-bāṣê lkôn) (Job 13:9)?⁶⁹ Similarly, in Wisdom 6:3, the author tells his addressees that the Lord “will investigate your thoughts” (maḥšabātkôn mebṣê). This association continues in the New Testament: Romans 8:27 refers to God as “he who searches the hearts of men (māʼeš dên lebwātâ),”⁷⁰ and in 1 Corinthians 2:10 identifies the Spirit as the one who “investigates everything, even the depths of God” (rûḥâ gêr kulmeddem bāṣyâ ʼâp ‘ûmqaw[hy] d-ʼallāhâ).

In the few cases where the Peshitta uses this language to describe human ways of knowing positively, it describes knowledge that can be obtained only by the wise. In Proverbs 2:4–5, the addressee (“my son”) is told that if one “seeks [wisdom] (teb’îew[hy]) like silver, and investigates it (tebṣîew[hy]) like a treasure,” then it will bring knowledge of God. In Job 29:25, Job reminisces on his former days of blessedness—how people sought him out for the wisdom of his counsel. In those days, he says, “I would investigate (ʼebṣê) their ways.” Job, that is, had divine-like insight into humans. In Sirach 6:27, the author advises his listener (again, “my son”) to “Examine (bdaq) and investigate (bṣâ) and seek (b‘â) [wisdom] and you will find [it].” Ecclesiastes seems to play with this tradition. In the first chapter, the author claims that, “I applied my heart to investigate (l-meb‘â) and understand through wisdom all that is under heaven.” He then admits, however, “this is an evil concern the Lord has given humans with which to concern themselves.”

These books suggest a theological tradition according to which “investigation,” signified by the Peshitta translators primarily with the verb bṣâ (but also b‘â and ‘qab), referred to an activity belonging rightfully to God and available only to certain humans, and only in limited contexts. All of this language coalesces most provocatively in 4 Ezra. The date of 4 Ezra in Syriac has not been the subject of much scholarly study. The earliest Syriac manuscript derives from the late sixth or early seventh century, and it is difficult to tell whether this represents its debut in Syriac or if it was known before then.⁷¹ Ephrem appears never to quote the book outright or refer to it explicitly. Yet, it is in 4 Ezra that Ephrem’s language of investigation finds its most precise parallels.

The most compelling scenes that utilize Ephrem’s language of investigation appear in chapters 5, 12, and 13. The book 4 Ezra 5 begins with an apocalyptic sequence, in which the seer is told of the future desolation of the earth (vv. 1–13), followed by the seers own questioning of the Lord’s judgment regarding this coming desolation (vv. 23–30). It is here that we find a concatenation of Ephremic language. In verse 31, an angel appears to Ezra to explain why the Lord will desolate Israel. In a move reminiscent of Job 38, the angel does not offer Ezra an answer but yet another question: “Do you love [Israel] more than his Maker does?” To this Ezra responds (v. 34), “No, my lord, but because of my grief I have spoken…. for I seek (bā‘ê-nâ) to understand the decree of the judgment of the Most High. And I search for something of his judgment” (w-ʼe‘aqqeb meddem men dîneh). Ezra has thus asked for an insight—an insight born of investigation—which belongs properly only to God. In response, then, the angel tells him (v. 35), “You cannot” (that is, investigate this matter) (lâ meškaḥ ʼa[n]t). Here, then, we have two of Ephrem’s preferred terms for investigation, and they are used by Ezra to signify his own desire for divine knowledge, a knowledge that the angel then denies him.

In 4 Ezra 12:3, a similar picture is offered. Chapter 12 concludes an extensive vision scene, from which Ezra awakes “in great perplexity of mind and in great fear” (12:3b). He blames this state on his spirit’s investigation: “Behold,” he says, addressing himself, “you have brought this upon me because you investigate the ways of the Most High (m‘aqqeb-ʼa(n)t ʼûrḥāteh da-mraymâ).” He then asks the “Most High” for strength. Note here that Ezra does not ultimately claim that he should not have investigated, only that “perplexity…and great fear” emerged within him as a result. This suggests the gravity that accompanied the behavior.

Finally, 4 Ezra 13 contains an extensive apocalyptic vision sequence, followed by an interpretation of that sequence. However, the interpretation leaves out a crucial detail: the explanation of a mysterious man, presumably the Messiah, “coming out from the sea.” In 13:52, Ezra asks the Most High to explain this mysterious man. The Most High refuses, and says, “Just as no human can investigate and find or know what is in the depths of the sea (ʼaykannâ d-lâ māṣê ʼnāš d-nebṣê w-neškaḥ ʼaw nedda‘ meddem da-b-‘ûmqaw[hy] d-yammâ), so no human among those who are on the earth can see my son or those who are with him.” Here we have a fascinating grouping of Ephremic language and ideas. First, 4 Ezra uses the sea as a metaphor for divine incomprehensibility, just as Ephrem does throughout the Madrashe on Faith. Second, in the language he uses to describe this incomprehensibility—no one can investigate—there appears Ephrem’s exact term for investigation. Finally, it is precisely the “son” of the Most High that Ezra cannot investigate. For Ephrem, of course, it is the begetting of the Son of God that is inscrutable to humans.

In verse 54 of this same chapter, this prohibition on investigation gets mollified slightly. The “Most High” explains the dream sequence to Ezra, “because,” as the text tells him, “you have forsaken your own ways and have concerned yourself with mine, and have investigated things related to my law (ʼaylên da-d-nāmûsâ ʼennên b‘ayt).” So, Ezra cannot investigate the mysterious son, but he can investigate the things related to God’s law. This is remarkably similar to Ephrem’s view of investigation: Ephrem condemns any kind of investigation related to the Son but admits that some investigation is permissible, if carried out in certain ways, with certain objects.

Altogether, this makes for a compelling portrait. “Investigation” refers primarily to a divine activity through which deep knowledge of human behavior is acquired. In some cases, humans can engage in this divine task but only in pursuit of wisdom, and only a select few. Even here, however, there are limitations. Ezra is told that he cannot investigate the son. The author of Ecclesiastes seeks only “what is under heaven,” not what is above. The Lord confounds Job, in chapters 38–41, with precisely a litany of things that lie under the sun. In Ephrem’s Madrashe on Faith we see replicated this biblical discourse surrounding investigation.

CONCLUSION

For Ephrem, investigation marks a behavior allowable only in very particular instances. One can investigate things that are revealed—things that lie “under the sun” and within the text of the Bible. Ephrem’s opponents, however, in trying to uncover the mechanics of God’s begetting of a Son, have transgressed this hidden-revealed boundary and are now seeking what cannot be found. And even with that which is revealed, Ephrem is cautious. Surely he would concur with the author of Ecclesiastes: “This is an evil concern the Lord has given humans with which to concern themselves.”

Investigation unifies the discourse of the Madrashe on Faith. Ephrem’s polemic against “investigation” developed alongside his anti-subordinationist polemic, but it also developed in concert with the Bible, building upon the Bible’s own theological rhetoric. In the very unifying theme of the Madrashe on Faith, we can see Ephrem’s biblical poetics at work: investigation resonates equally in the theological culture of the fourth century and in the pages of the Bible. In interacting with the Bible, Ephrem is always mediating it to his audience, and mediating between his audience and the Bible. He is always fashioning the Bible in light of his audience, and his audience in light of the Bible. In investigation—in the very theme that unites the Madrashe on Faith—we see this process at work. Investigation is an idea that takes shape equally in the world of the fourth century and in the world of the Bible.

The concept of the Bible itself is, of course, not straightforward. While we can speak with some confidence about Ephrem’s biblical versions, this is only part of the story. “The Bible”—as a body of documents that have come to be seen as sacred—is always a theoretical concept, always in a process of being constructed for a particular audience. So what does Ephrem think the Bible is? How does he construct this body of texts for his particular audience?