Manuscripts Beyond the Canon

In anticipation of the upcoming annual meeting of #sblaar20, Ancient Jew Review will host a series of articles from a panel organized by Janet Spittler and Lily Vuong, chairs of the Christian Apocrypha Section. For the next two weeks, we will publish essays from a session celebrating the work of Tobias Nicklas and the "Beyond Canon: Heterotopias of Religious Authority in Ancient Christianity” project of the Universität Regensburg.

“Beyond Canon” is a broad concept, and a good one for a research institute. It enables scholars to engage in any number of critical activities on many different traditions, in different languages, produced and transmitted at different times. Critical editing, textual exegesis, historical enquiry, the developments of tradition, and reception all stand within the ken of the beyond the canon frame of reference. And much of the work being carried out under the auspices of the institute in Regensburg works itself out along these lines. For example, Mari Mamyan is working on an edition of an Armenian infancy gospel, Janet Spittler continues to explore the transmission of Johannine apocrypha, and I have heard Tobias Nicklas give papers recently on 5 and 6 Ezra and the Tiburtine Sibyl. All of this work is, at least to my mind, fascinating and important, strengthened further by the culture of collaboration within the institute itself, a luxury that only generous public funding and a hospitable atmosphere can buy. As one might expect, the work tends to revolve around “apocryphal” or “pseudepigraphical” works and themes and issues associated with them. These are perhaps the most obvious outlets for research beyond the canon, but there are other less-intuitive routes for engagement with this area. It is these alternative vectors that I want to bring to the table.

My own brief contribution to the institute – I visited for a short time in 2019 – focused on the issue of manuscripts within the beyond the canon program, giving special attention to late ancient commentary traditions and their paratexts. In one sense manuscripts play an obvious role in the research carried out on apocryphal and other early Jewish and Christian writings beyond the canon. They are the primary arbiters of the texts or works that are the main focus of most affiliated scholars, even if most people tend to rely on critical editions and translations when they exist. And it must be said that much work remains to be done on the tracking down, cataloguing, imaging, editing, and publishing of most manuscripts for these traditions. Some of these works, like the Tiburtine Sibyl and the Dormition of Mary traditions, are more widely preserved than some biblical works. Classical textual scholarship on these traditions is ongoing, of course, but if we begin to imagine the entirety of the material that lives beyond the canon, the task of working with the manuscript record quickly becomes overwhelming.

What I want to do in this discussion is more specific: to gesture toward the importance of manuscripts, even manuscripts that preserve “biblical” works, as vectors for researching beyond the canon. The manuscript evidence demonstrates that there is often no hard and fast bibliographic distinction between canonical and non-canonical material and that, in certain circumstances, it is the very presence of non-canonical material that defines the canonical as such. This discussion moves in two directions. First, I want to point out that the canonical and non-canonical share material spaces in manuscript traditions. Many people who work with “biblical manuscripts” – a deeply problematic collocation if there ever was one – have known this for a long time, going back most obviously in “recent” scholarship to Hermann von Soden and even further to Erasmus.[1] But New Testament textual scholarship in particular has been focused mainly on text critical and text historical issues, both which, it must be noted, remain valuable critical approaches. We have not yet truly begun to cash out the significance of bibliographic realities of manuscripts for the ways that scholars talk about canonicity and what lies beyond. And second, at least when it comes to most manuscripts traditions that I have encountered, it is the trappings of tradition the mediate the canonical to readers. Substantial manuscript paratexts, none of which were produced by the biblical authors themselves and which live in a liminal space beyond the canon, are the primary features that frame all engagement with the texts of whatever works a community chooses to acknowledge as canonical. This is a long way of saying that what lies beyond often determines or mediates what is within.

Sharing Space

When we think about “biblical manuscripts” we tend to think about an object that is set apart from other “non-canonical” works and traditions. We imagine manuscripts that look like our modern Bibles and critical editions where “biblical” works are segregated from profane literature and encased between two covers as complete iconic objects. Apocryphal manuscripts are things discovered by nineteenth century explorers who “rescued” them from caves in the desert, musty medieval library recesses, or some monastery in the east populated by monks who did not properly value the contents of their libraries. Biblical manuscripts, on the other hand, are maintained as sacred objects worthy of preservation. Or so the popular idea goes. Textual scholars know that vignette is nonsense: in many cases, biblical and apocryphal works have ended in up in the same codex side by side, either by initial design or a later act of archival preservation. This reality is particularly relevant when we think about the bibliographic contexts of the book of Revelation.

One such example is Paris, BnF grec 239 (GA 2028; diktyon 49811, copied in 1422 by Michael Kalophrenos.[2] The vast majority of the manuscript (1r-117v) is devoted solely to the book of Revelation, interspersed with Andrew of Caesarea’s commentary and adorned with anthropomorphic and zoomorphic capitals and a miniature cycle of images depicting Revelation’s cosmic antagonists (Rev 12:3; 13:1-3, 11; 17:1-3). If you were to look up this manuscript in the Kurzgefasste Liste, the “content overview” sections would simply note “rK,” meaning that this manuscript preserves only Revelation (with commentary) among New Testament works. However, if you were to turn past the dated colophon on 117v, you would encounter yet another work on 118v, a work in a later (probably sixteenth century), less polished hand with slightly different writing block dimensions and paper than the rest of the manuscript. This work is a partially preserved copy of the long recension of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas.[3]

It is clear that the juxtaposition of works – Revelation and Thomas – within this codex is the product of a later bookbinder or owner with an archival tendency, perhaps someone like Vincenzo Lucchino who owned the manuscript in the sixteenth century and who was an editor and printer in Venice and Rome. At their initial production phase, these works were not meant to share the space of a single codex. But regardless of the intent of their producers, these works now share a bibliographic context that blurs the line between the canonical and the beyond, a point reinforced further by the presence of Andrew’s commentary as an intermediary for accessing the Apocalypse. Another route for thinking beyond the canon is to explore further the boundary spaces that exist (or that begin to breakdown) between the canonical and the beyond in specific material contexts. Is BnF grec 239 a “biblical manuscript?” Is it an “apocryphal manuscript?” Is the distinction meaningful or valuable for studying early Christian writings and their transmission in late Byzantine and Humanist textual cultures? Does the bibliographic context of these works matter for our evaluation of their content? These questions, at least to my mind, are worthy of further exploration in the context of studies beyond the canon.

Another interesting example along these lines is a set of manuscripts that combine the book of Revelation with portions of the corpus areopagiticum, ascribed to Dionysius the Areopagite. In Acts 17:34, the narrator reports that Dionysius became a convert, along with a woman called Damaris, after hearing Paul’s speech at the Areopagus in Athens. Although pseudepigraphical, the governing voice of these late ancient mystical treatises is attached to a minor biblical figure, and many interpreters accepted the works of pseudo-Dionysius as the genuine products of the figure mentioned in Acts. Interestingly, seven of Revelation’s Greek manuscripts appear in codices that also preserve the works of pseudo-Dionysus (GA 1948 2016 2042 2055 2059 2062 2595), and at least five of these were initially designed to contain both the sets of works.[4] In other words, there is a small, but substantive tradition that intentionally aggregated biblical and non-biblical works within a single codex. Take for example Vat. gr. 370 (GA 2059; diktyon 67001), an eleventh century parchment codex. It contains five works of pseudo-Dionysius with the scholia from Maximus the Confessor that often accompany this corpus (1r-146v), followed by a short lexicon to assist in the interpretation of pseudo-Dionysius’ complex Greek. On the recto of the next folio, the kephalaia table of Andrew’s commentary on Revelation occurs, prefacing Revelation alongside Andrew’s commentary (151v-251v). The material, mise-en-page, scribal profile, and paratextual strategies of both sections demonstrate that they were composed at the same time and intended to sit alongside one another within the space of a single codex.

A loose literary relationship between pseudo-Dionysius and Revelation does exist. Pseudo-Dionysius does allude to Revelation in De divinis nominibus and De coelesti hierarchia, especially to the heavenly court and New Jerusalem passages. Likewise Andrew of Caesarea explicitly quotes “Dionysius the Great” four times in his commentary on the Apocalypse.[5] But these connections do not account for the bibliographic composition of most of these manuscripts, especially considering that the Pauline Epistles are also included in GA 1948. The logic of this surprisingly robust tradition of bibliographic juxtaposition remains unclear. Why collocate the book of Revelation (sometimes with commentary) as an appendage to parts of the corpus areopagiticum? What social functions did these codices serve? What do they say about the sociology of the New Testament’s canon, Revelation’s place within it, and the function of early pseudepigraphs attributed to minor biblical characters? Does this arrangement make an implicit statement on the Apocalypse’s authorship or canonical status? The existence of material manifestations that fail to observe the strict separation of canonical and non-canonical works raises a number of questions relevant for further exploration.

Paratexts and the Canonical

This leads me more directly to the issue of paratextuality. In the previous examples, the works collocated alongside the book of Revelation, be it Thomas or pseudo-Dionysius, do not function as paratexts vis-à-vis the biblical work. The relationship between Thomas and Revelation, for example, is not necessarily one that creates an interpretive network between these texts. But there exists also another class of texts that are often transmitted alongside the New Testament whose functions are explicitly paratextual; their explicit reason for being is to inform the reading of canonical texts. These texts, comprised mainly of prefaces, epigrams, and lists, stand beyond the canon while at the same time defining the canonical as such.

One interesting example, and one that is a mere bus ride away from my flat, is Dublin, TCD MS 30 (GA 61; diktyon 13584). Famous for its inclusion of the Johannine Comma and its influence on Erasmus’ later editorial activities, this sixteenth century paper manuscript clearly demonstrates the role of paratexts in negotiating canonical spaces. The manuscript contains the entire New Testament in the following order: gospels, Pauline epistles, praxapostolos, and Apocalypse, each of which are perceived as independent units despite their aggregation. It is clear that this paper manuscript was initially designed as a bibliographic unity intended to produce only the New Testament works. The bibliographic logic of Montfortianus is eminently biblical in a way that is familiar to modern popular conceptions of Bible, but it is not without its paratextual frames that contribute to the feeling that the object is something unfamiliar.

Perhaps the most unfamiliar part of this biblical manuscript is the string of fifteen prologues and extracts situated between the end of John and three blank folios that precede Romans (192r-198v).[6] These statements come from a variety sources, including John Chrysostom, Theophylact, Eusebius, Origen, and other anonymous traditions. They comment upon John, Mark, and Luke, in that order, and they function as implicit commentary on the gospels that precede them, providing contextual and historical information from a range of traditional interpretive sources. For example, the first three extracts create a composite portrait of John as one of the sons of thunder (βροντῆς τὸν ὑιὸν, cf. Mark 3:17) and as an author (it is asserted that he wrote his Gospel on Patmos during the reign of Trajan), despite his background as an illiterate (ἀγράμματος) fisherman.

The three texts that pertain to Mark also transmit traditional information relating to the evangelist’s identity, the location of his literary activities, and his historical context. For example, the first text on Mark relays that his gospel was composed in Rome only ten years after Christ’s ascension, that he was a disciple of Peter, known also to John, Paul, and Barnabas, and that he preached the Gospel in Alexandria.

The majority of the paratextual material that follows the gospels in Montfortianus, however, is concerned with Luke, offering access to additional background information on the evangelist. According to the first text, the apparent differences in the Lukan genealogy vis-à-vis Matthew’s are due to the fact that Christ’s birth or place of origin is a paradox (ἡ γένεσις παράδοξος ἦν). From another excerpt attributed to John Chrysostom in other sources, we also learn that Luke was a doctor who took great care in the composition of his gospel. The eleventh excerpted text provides personal information on Luke and meditates on the events in his gospel that differ from Matthew, including the genealogy, his excision (ἐκλογήν) of the temptation narrative, certain miracles, and differing details surrounding Pilate in the passion narrative. Other texts focus on legitimizing Luke’s apostolic connection to Paul.

In Montfortianus, this stand-alone string of paratextual material retroactively shapes the ways that readers engage the gospels and understand their provenance and authorship. There is no overarching editorial agenda here, but a selective, yet substantive chain of tradition with no metatextual comment on their arrangement or rhetorical agenda. Their common thread is that they are purely concerned to illuminate the reading of the biblical text. Even so, they continue to stand beyond the canon, occupying a liminal space, legitimating and framing reading events and interpretive encounters. These types of paratexts are certainly not canonical on their own; they are drawn from non-canonical commentaries and treatises. But they only exist in this form to enlighten and authorize a canonical collection. Even in a late codex that closely resembles the bibliographic makeup of early print editions, texts that stand beyond the canon are integral to its composition. This phenomenon, which is widespread in early Jewish and Christian literature, is surely ripe for further exploration in the context of research on canonical questions and the development of scriptural traditions beyond.

All of this is to say that, in addition to the continuing editorial work on manuscripts that preserve works that live beyond the canon, there are multiple channels for research on manuscript traditions of all kinds that make sense within the context of the beyond canon agenda. There exists a breadth of underexplored material in many languages, even among manuscripts that preserve canonical texts, that deserves further scrutiny along these lines. Manuscripts show that religious practices, the development of tradition, and the framing of canonical boundaries are all fundamentally flexible enterprises that are deeply interconnected.

[1] See Martin Wallraff, “Paratexte der Bibel: Was Erasmus edierte außer dem Neuen Testament,” in Basel 1516: Erasmus’ Edition of the New Testament, ed. M. Wallraff, S. S. Menchi, and K. von Greyerz (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 145-173.

[2] I have written about this manuscript in more detail in “Image, Memory, and Allusion in the Textual History of the Apocalypse: GA 2028 and Visual Exegesis,” in Studien zum Text der Apokalypse II, ed. M. Sigismund and D. Müller (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2017), 435-454.

[3] See Stephen Gero, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas: A Study of the Textual and Literary Problems,” NovT 13 (1971): 49. The text of this witness was also included in Fabricius’ 1719 Codex Apocryphus Novi Testamenti, pp. 1.159-176.

[4] For a detailed overview of these manuscripts, see Garrick V. Allen, Manuscripts of the Book of Revelation: New Philology, Paratexts, Reception (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 178-185. The combination is GA 2595 is the work of a later bookbinder.

[5] See further Sergio La Porta, “Exegeting the Eschaton: Dionysius the Areopagite and the Apocalypse,” in New Approaches to the Study of Biblical Interpretation in Judaism of the Second Temple Period and Early Christianity, ed. G. A. Anderson, R. A. Clements, and D. Satran (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 269-282.

[6] I discuss this material more fully in Allen, Manuscripts of the Book of Revelation, 163-172.

Garrick V. Allen is a Lecturer in New Testament at Dublin City University.