Below you’ll find nice Homeric simile in Gregory’s long iambic poem against anger (carm. 1.2.25). I treat this in the dissertation, and post my poetic rendering here. The text comes from PG 37, though I’ve consulted the readings of Oberhaus 1991.
δεῖ δ’, ὡς ἔοικε, μή τι μαλθακὸν λέγειν, 
κακοῦ τοσούτου τῷ λόγῳ προκειμένου·
ἀλλ’ ὡς πυρὸς βρέμοντος ἀγρίαν φλόγα,
πηδῶντος, αἰθύσσοντος ἐντινάγμασι
πολλοῖς, ἄνω ῥέοντος ἐμψύχῳ φορᾷ,
λάβρως ἀεὶ τὰ πρόσθεν οἰκειουμένου, 
ὕδωρ, κόνιν πέμποντας εὐνάσαι βίᾳ·
ἤ θῆρα λόχμης ἐκφανέντα συσκίου,
φρίσσοντα, πῦρ βλέποντα, ἐξαφρούμενον,
μάχης ἐρῶντα, καὶ φόνων καὶ πτωμάτων,
λόγχαις, κυνηγοῖς, σφενδόναις καταιχμάσαι 
For one must, as is meet, avoid all languor, 
when such an ill is set before one’s reason,
and quench, like those that dirt and water cast
against a fire that belches wild flame,
and leaps and jumps with numerous shakes,
and climbs aloft with motion from within
greedily making all that was its own; 
or slay, as hunters take the wild beast
with spears and slings, when it appears from deep
within the shadowed grove, with eyes ablaze
and hair erect, foam oozing from its mouth,
lusting for battle, corpses and their death. 
Oberhaus, M. 1991. Gregor von Nazianz. Gegen den Zorn : (carmen 1, 2, 25) : Einleitung und Kommentar. Paderborn: Schöningh.
In carm. 1.1.11, Gregory attacks the “impious verbosity” of Apollinarians, who asserted that Christ did not assume a full humanity in the incarnation, but that the divine Logos replaced his human mind (νοῦς). Below I’ve printed the text from the PG, my verse translation, and some comments adapted from the present dissertation chapter:
Νήπιος, ὅστις ἄνακτα Θεοῦ Λόγον αἰὲν ἐόντα
οὐ σέβετ’ ἰσοθέως Πατρὸς ἐπουρανίου.
νήπιος, ὅστις ἄνακτα Λόγον βροτὸν ἔνθα φανέντα
οὐ σέβετ’ ἰσοθέως οὐρανίοιο Λόγου.
τέμνει δ’ ἢ μεγάλοιο Πατρὸς Λόγον, ἠὲ Λόγοιο 
μορφὴν ἀνδρομέην, καὶ πάχος ἡμέτερον.
ἦν Θεὸς, ἀλλ’ ἐπάγη Πατρὸς Λόγος ἡμέτερος φώς,
ὥς κε Θεὸν μίξῃ, μικτὸς ἐὼν χθονίοις.
εἷς Θεὸς ἀμφοτέρωθε· τόσον βροτὸς, ὅσσον ἔμ’ ἔρδειν
ἀντὶ βροτοῖο Θεόν. Ἵλαθι, τρωτὸς ἄνω. 
τόσσον ἔχοις. Τί δ’ ἔμοιγε νόον, καὶ μίξιν ἄφραστον;
ἀμφὶ Θεὸν, θνητοὶ, στέργετε μέτρα λόγου.
εἰ μὲν δὴ πεπίθοιμι, τὸ λώϊον. Εἰ δὲ μελαίνεις
τὸν χάρτην πολλαῖς χιλιάσιν ἐπέων,
δεῦρ’ ἄγε, πλαξὶ τεαῖς ὀλιγόστιχα ταῦτα χαράξω 
γράμματ’ ἐμῇ γραφίδι, ἣ μέλαν οὐδὲν ἔχει.
Foolish who worships not th’ eternal Word
as equal to the high Father in heaven.
Foolish who worships not th’ incarnate Word,
as equal to the heavenly Word on High,
but cuts from Father’s might His Word, or else
doth cut the Word from human shape, our breadth.
The Father’s Word was God, but made our man
so that, with mortals mixed, He’d mix in God.
A single god comprising both: a man,
to make man into gods: have mercy, thou
who art above the Wounded Word on high.
For you, no more– why seek from me the knowledge
of that ineffable and holy mixture.
Oh mortals, mind the boundaries your speech.
Should I persuade thee, that is all the better;
yet if you stain your page with myriad lines
come here and I will scratch these letters few
onto your books, with pen that bears no stain.
Gregory begins with learned etymological word-play. The Homeric adjective νήπιος (“childish” or “foolish”) was derived in several ways. The prefix νη– generally negated what followed, but some ancient writers speculated that νη could also be an intensifier (cf. the affirmative particle ναί, still used for “yes” in Modern Greek). Clement of Alexandria, for instance, argued that the νη– in νήπιος should not be understood as a privative (κατὰ στέρησιν), but an intensifier.1 He thereby argued that νήπιος mean “extremely gentle” (cf. ἤπιος, “gentle”) rather than “witless.”2 Gregory here employs the νη in an intensifying manner, but derives the compound νήπιος from νη and ἔπος (“word” or “verse”). Instead of Clement’s “extremely gentle,” Gregory suggests the heretics are extremely verbose. Gregory thus subtly introduces a theme that runs through the poem: the verbosity of heretics and the limits of human speech.
Gregory’s theme, proper brevity in speech, makes allusions to Callimachus appropriate. These he delays these until the end, but there makes them quite explicit. If the heretics fail to respect the limits of human speech, they will go on “blackening their pages with many thousands of lines” (πολλαῖς χιλιάσιν ἐπέων), with which Gregory alludes to Aet. fr. 1.4 (ἐν πολλαῖς ἤνυσα χιλιάσιν “[because I have not written one song] in many thousands of lines”). The adjective ὀλιγόστιχα (1.1.11 15) occurs several lines later in the Aetia prologue (fr. 1.9), also before the bucolic diaeresis.
Though Gregory delays the Callimachean allusions until the end of the poem, the work contains Callimachean stylistic elements throughout. One might compare the striking anaphora of the two opening couplets (νήπιος ὅστις ἄνακτα in 1 and 3, οὐ σεβετ’ ἰσοθεῶς in 2 and 4) with hZeus 86–87, which both begin and end with ἑσπέριος … νοήσῃ. Moreover, Gregory employs a number of juxtaposed prosodic variants, a favorite technique of Callimachus.3 Some he achieves through position, that is, by placing a word ending with a closed short syllable before a word beginning vowel and then repeating it before a word beginning with a consonant, thus lengthening the syllable. So λόγον (“Word”) in line one is scanned as a pyrrhus ( ˘ ˘), but in line three it is scanned as an iamb (˘ ¯) because its final syllable is lengthened by the following word βρότον (“person”). He also exploits the flexibility afforded by consonant clusters composed of mutes and liquids, which optionally lengthen a preceding short vowel. So πατρὸς is scanned as a trochee in line 2 (¯ ˘) but a pyrrhus in line 4 ( ˘ ˘). He combines the two methods in line 7, where πατρὸς again appears, but now scans as a spondee (¯ ¯), since it is followed by a word beginning with a consonant. Finally, Gregory exploits bi-forms of the same word. In lines 9 and and 11, he places τόσον, ὅσσον, and τόσσον in close proximity. The prosodic variation here is made possible by the option of dropping a sigma in the pronouns τόσσος and ὅσσος.
Gregory’s etymological word play continues in line 7, where he writes that “the Word of the Father was made our man (φώς).” He here exploits the homophones φώς (man) and φῶς (light). By Gregory’s period the difference original difference in tonal accentuation would scarcely have been heard.4 Gregory certainly intends us to hear John 1 in the background, where Jesus as the Word (λόγος) is described as “the light of men” (τὸ φῶς τῶν ἀνθρώπων Jn 1:4) and “the true light that illumines every human being” (τὸ φῶς τὸ ἀληθινόν ὃ φωτίζει πάντα ἄνθρωπον Jn 1:9), and where the Logos is said to “become flesh and dwell among us” (Καὶ ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν Jn 1:14).
After a few lines dealing with Jesus’ incarnation, he bids his imagined to be satisfied with his extremely brief account of the incarnation (11). Instead of probing things that are, strictly speaking, ineffable (ἄφραστον), Gregory tells them to “respect the limits of speech” (12). Gregory here again plays on the polyvalence of the word μέτρον (“limit” or “measure”). The more significant point is a theological one: the nature of the Incarnation is ultimately beyond the human being’s capacity to capture in words. Yet Gregory playfully takes it also to the more banal reality of the length of a literary work, effectively what we would call word or page count. The last few lines of the poem link this theological error (failing to respect the limits of human speech) to an aesthetic error (writing endlessly with so sense of proper length). Gregory characterized his own reply as unstained in both senses: it is true theologically and written in a concise style. The stylistic concerns are here foregrounded by the allusions to Callimachus already mentioned, and by the striking ending to the poem, where Gregory promises to write his works with a “pen that bears no stain” (line 16). He is, once more, delighting in paradox, for we could equally translate the line “a pen that has no ink.” Gregory here uses γραφίς (“pen”) in a metaphorical sense similar to the Latin stilus.5 His theological insight finds expression in a “spotless” style.
Chantraine, P. 1968. Dictionnaire étymologique de la lange Grecque. Paris.
Hopkinson, N. 1982. “Juxtaposed Prosodic Variants in Greek and Latin Poetry.” Glotta: Zeitschrift Für Griechische Und Lateinische Sprache 60: 162–77.
καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ ἔστι τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ νηπίου κατὰ στέρησιν ἡμῖν νοούμενον, ἐπεὶ τὸ νη στερητικὸν γραμματικῶν νομοθετοῦσιν παῖδες (Clem. of Al. Paed. 1.20).↩
Chantraine 1968 s.v. rejects an etymology from νη– and ἔπος.↩
The term refers to the juxtaposition of the same or similar words with prosodic variation. For instance, Call. hZeus 55: καλὰ μὲν ἠἐξευ, καλὰ δ’ἔτραφες, οὐράνιε Ζεῦ (“Well you grew, and well you were raised, heavenly Zeus”). The first καλὰ must be scanned as a trochee (¯ ˘), the second as a pyrrhus (˘ ˘).
For a typology and examples, see Hopkinson 1982. In his partial catalogue, he lists several examples from Gregory, but none from this poem.↩
This is, as it happens, another coincidence on which Clement of Alexandria commented (Paed. 1.6.28). He suggested that because the redeemed person is “light in the Lord” (φῶς ἐν κυρίῳ, from Eph 5:8), the human being was rightly called a φώς by the ancients.↩
This is the only passage of which I am aware where an author uses γραφίς in this metaphorical sense.↩
After a year or two at Squarespace, I’ve decided to return to WordPress. This blog largely contains material from before I started my graduate work at Catholic 6.5 years ago, but I’ve decided to revive this blog rather than beginning something new. I’ve transferred my domain here, so what was mapoulos.wordpress.com is now simply alexpoulos.com. I’ve rechristened the site “equulus” (κῦδος to the one who parses that). The content that was at the Squarespace site will be moved over here in due course.
Within the next couple of months I’ll be finishing and defending my dissertation on the poetry of Gregory of Nazianzus. After that, I’m planning to resume work in software development and pursue scholarship outside of work. This will afford me more flexibility in what I undertake research-wise and, paradoxically, more time to blog here. We’ll see what comes of it.
One of our new staff members at church recently came across mention of the word εὐαφής in a book that he’s reading. The author noted that Cyril of Alexandria used the word, and cited this passage in Cyril’s Interpretatio in psalmos. He then asked me if I knew of a translation. To the best of my knowledge, the Interpretatio in psalmos remains untranslated, though I’d love to be corrected! However, the passage was short, so I’ve decided to translate it and post it here. I’ve indulged in one small emendation to the text, which I wasn’t able to make sense of otherwise (marked in the Greek). [Update: A gracious commenter has supplied a better suggestion that involved only a repunctuation of the text. I’ve incorporated his suggestions into the text and translation.]
“The sacrifice for God is a contrite spirit” (Ps. 51:17)
The power of spiritual worship does not come simply through the mind alone, but continually take on in one way or another as a fellow runner in the race the fragrance of good works, which comes by a willingness to obey, if indeed we should attain it. For we say that obedience is the fruit of a pleasing and pliant heart, of a heart that has nothing rough within it. The sort of heart that the obdurate Jews had was hard and difficult to lead. Take as proof that one of the holy prophets took on on their role and said, “Why have you mislead us off your path, Lord? Have you hardened our hearts so that they do not fear you?” (Is. 63:17) Hard hearts are utterly unable to receive the word of God. We should expect, then, that a contrite spirit would be most fitting as a sacrifice for God and as an offering of spiritual fragrance. By contrite spirit, of course, we mean a soul that delights in and yields to the divine scriptures.
Θυσία τῷ Θεῷ πνεῦμα συντετριμμένον.
Τῆς πνευματικῆς λατρείας ἡ δύναμις οὐ διὰ ψιλῆς καὶ μόνης διανοίας ἔρχεται, συνδρομὴν δὲ ἀεί πως δέχεσθαι φιλεῖ καὶ τὴν ἐξ ἔργων ἀγαθῶν εὐοσμίαν, ἣν δὴ κατορθοῦντες,1 τὴν δι’ ὑπακοῆς καὶ εὐπειθείας. Τὴν δέ γε ὑπακοὴν καρπὸν εἶναί φαμεν τρυφερᾶς καὶ εὐαφοῦς καρδίας καὶ οὐδὲν ἐχούσης τὸ ἀπηνές· ὁποία τις ἦν ἡ τῶν ἀτέγκτων Ἰουδαίων σκληρὰ καὶ δυσάγωγος. Καὶ γοῦν τὸ αὐτῶν πρόσωπον ἀναλαβὼν ἔφη τις τῶν ἁγίων προφητῶν· «Τί ἐπλάνησας ἡμᾶς, Κύριε, τῆς ὁδοῦ σου; ἐσκλήρυνας ἡμῶν τὰς καρδίας τοῦ μὴ φοβεῖσθαί σε;» Σκληραῖς δὲ καρδίαις ἀπαράδεκτος παντελῶς ὁ τοῦ Θεοῦ λόγος. Οὐκοῦν εἴη ἂν καὶ μάλα εἰκότως εἰς θυσίαν τῷ Θεῷ καὶ εἰς ἀφιέρωσιν πνευματικῆς εὐοσμίας πνεῦμα συντετριμμένον, τουτέστι ψυχὴ τρυφερὰ καὶ τοῖς θείοις εἴκουσα λόγοις.
1) hic interpunxi sequens suggestum commentatoris Grigoris (v. infra)
This post contains a walkthrough for creating a simple critical edition in the Classical Text Editor (CTE). For my example, I’ve chosen a text that I’m reading at the moment, Demosthenes’ Philippic I. I’ve reproduced much of the information for the first three sections of Dilts’ edition . His edition includes the Greek text, and apparatus criticus, and an apparatus of later sources. All of the steps of this tutorial should be doable with the demo version of the CTE, with the exception that the demo version does not produce non-watermarked output.
You may go through the tutorial with your own text, or you may use the same portion of Demosthenes that I did. If you choose to use Demosthenes, you may make use of the following:
– The main text (an RTF file).
– The final PDF (from which you may take the variant readings).
I’ve also uploaded my final CTE file. I wouldn’t open it unless you get stuck. It’s easy to get confused in the CTE if you have multiple files open.
If you discover any of the links have broken, please let me know at once!
I’m not a CTE expert by any means, and I can’t say that I’ll be able to answer your questions, particularly if they don’t relate to the steps below. That said, feel free to leave comments, questions, corrections, or suggestions below. I’ll do my best to answer.
If you’d be interested in seeing tutorials for other sorts of editions (like an a text with parallel translation), do let me know.
Creating the file and preparing the main text
Upon launching the CTE, one is greeted with the following blank page:
The first step is to create a new file (File –> New).
At this point, one should decide the number of apparatus and notes’ files needed. By default, the CTE creates one critical apparatus and one “notes” section. This is satisfactory for this particular text, but it’s conceivable one would want to add more (for instance, if you needed a critical apparatus, source apparatus, and explanatory footnotes). Be careful to note that when the CTE says “apparatus” is generally means “critical apparatus” (i.e. apparatus of variant readings). Though we might speak more loosely of an “apparatus of sources,” in CTE parlance this is called a “Notes.” The dialog for specifying the number of Apparatus and Notes windows is found at Format –> Number of Notes/Apparatus…
At this point, we should also clearly tell the CTE that our apparatus is an apparatus of variant readings:
– Bring up the apparatus window (Ctrl+A or Windows –> Apparatus)
– Click on Format –> Apparatus Settings
At this point, we may enter the main text into our “Text Window.” For this example, I copied in the text from Perseus and then changed it to match Dilts’ text. Next, we may introduce the section divisions into the text. The CTE provides a number of ways of doing this; by far the easiest is simple paragraph numbers. To enable features like automatic referencing by section and line number, we need to tell the CTE where are sections begin. To do this, one highlights the number (note, only highlight the number, not the following punctuation) and then clicks Insert –> Chapter Identifier:
After this, the number should now be highlighted yellow, which indicates that the CTE recognizes it as the start of a new section. Go ahead and repeat this step for each section.
Creating the Sigla
At this point, you should have input the main body of the text and marked the sections. We may now input the sigla into the CTE. Note that for simple output, this is not strictly necessary. You may simply type out your sigla manually when inputting textual variants. Using the CTE facilities for sigla, however, does offer several advantages. For instance, it makes it very easy to change a siglum if you need to do so later. It also makes it easy to modify the formatting automatically, for instance, if one always wants to have bolded sigla, or italicized sigla, in the apparatus. Finally, the CTE also allows creating mss groups, a feature I won’t explore here.
Sigla are managed from the sigla window, which one accesses at Format –> Sigla…
The “New Button” allows one to create a new siglum. The CTE keeps track of mss by number. We don’t have any ms groups, so for our purposes, each siglum gets a unique numerical identifier (in the above picture, the “1”) and a visible identifier that will appear in the apparatus (in the above picture, S). After inputting the two identifiers, make sure to click Apply. Note that italics, bold, etc. are all permitted for sigla. I start at 1 and simply increment the ms number by 1 as I add mss, but what matters most is that each siglum as a unique number. After adding all of the sigla, they should be visible at the left side of the dialog.
Inputting variant readings
At this point, we have everything we need to begin inputting variant readings into the critical apparatus. To do this, one highlights the affected text in the Text window, and then selects References –> Apparatus Reference (Or press F5). Note that if the variant only affects a single word, you can simply place the cursor after that word. For one of our readings, for instance, one ms reads καὶ αὐτὸς instead of simply αὐτὸς. To input this, we place our cursor after αὐτὸς:
Clicking References –> Apparatus Reference (or pressing F5) brings up the apparatus window:
In the scheme I’ve chosen, we then input the reading of the other ms(s).
We may then use the Sigla dialog to input add the sigla to our apparatus to specify that this reading belongs to A. To do this, click Insert –> Siglum…
A box then comes up with a list of sigla:
Double clicking the proper siglum then adds it to the entry (it should appear in yellow).
If one has multiple variants at a single location, the default way to do this is to separate entries by a colon (see, for instance, the variant for τοι εἰ above). If the reading affects multiple words, make sure to highlight the entire phrase. For instance, A transposes the phrase ὑμεῖς ἐπράξατε τῆς πόλεως into τῆς πόλεως ὑμεῖς ἐπράξατε. To input this variant, we highlight the phrase and then type out the entire phrase in our entry as it appears in A:
Adding notes works much the same way as adding variant readings. However, you need to decide first what sort of referencing system you wish to use for the notes. The default choice uses line numbers (the same system used for variant readings). Another popular system is footnotes. As far as I’m aware, you can’t switch between the two systems on the fly. If you decide later to change your mind, you’ll need to go back through the text and re-add the references.
To choose your setting, open the Notes window (Windows –> Notes, or press Ctrl+N). Then select, Format –> Notes Settings.
“Text Reference” is the default, which uses line numbers (either section line numbers or page line numbesr). “Footnote numbers” will instead introduce running footnotes into the text (like this file).
After one has decided what system to use, you may then input notes almost exactly like critical apparatus entries. Select the relevant location in the main text (either a range, or a location), and then click References –> Notes Entry, or use Shift+F5. This will then bring up the Notes window and allow you to input the relevant information. Repeat for as many notes as you have.
At this point, you should have your notes and apparatus entries added to the text. You’re now able to run print-preview (File –> Print Preview, or Ctrl+J) and see your text (perhaps heavily watermarked if you’re using the demo version). The main work is now done, and all that remains are formatting tweaks.
By default, the CTE prints line numbers for both the sections and the page. I find two sets of line numbers confusing and displeasing to the eye. To change this, one goes to Format –> Document and then go to the Margins tab.
As you can see, the default puts “Page line numbers” in the inner margin and “Chapter Line numbers” in the outer margin. I’d recommend choosing one and making the other “None.” Note you can also use this dialog to change the frequency of line numbers.
Changing the separator in Chapter+Line references
By default, the CTE uses a comma as its separator in references. Thus, if a variant shows up on the 3rd line of the 2nd section, this shows up in the apparatus as 2, 3 (As I understand it, this is the typical European practice). Americans much prefer to use a period here, so that it’s printed as 2.3. To change this, go to Format –> Document and then navigate to the Notes tab.
Changing the character in the field “Between Chapter and Line” from a comma to a period will produce 2.3 instead of 2, 3.
That’s all for now. As mentioned above, if you have any suggestions, comments, or questions, please let me know in the comments!
 Dilts, M.R., Demosthenis Orationes, vol. 1 (Oxford 2002)
I always knew I read Plato to have my pre-conceptions reinforced ;-).
“’Let us not become,’ said he (Socrates), ‘haters of words, like those misanthropes become. For it is not possible,’ he said, ‘for one to suffer anything worse than to hate words, since word-hating and misanthropy derive from the same type of character.’” (Plato, Phaedo, 89d).
“μὴ γενώμεθα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, μισόλογοι, ὥσπερ οἱ μισάνθρωποι γιγνόμενοι: ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν, ἔφη, ὅτι ἄν τις μεῖζον τούτου κακὸν πάθοι ἢ λόγους μισήσας. γίγνεται δὲ ἐκ τοῦ αὐτοῦ τρόπου μισολογία τε καὶ μισανθρωπία.”
As a followup to my recent Varia post, I’d like to explain two programs that I used recently in my Textual Criticism class: Juxta and CTE. To do so, I’ll run through how the final product came together from start to finish. Our goals were traditional: we wanted to use Lachmanian methods to create a stemma and establish the archetypal text, to the degree possible.
The first part of preparing an edition, of course, is to choose a text, and then to acquire images of as many of the manuscripts as possible. This requires reading through any prior literature about the text, but also includes combing through manuscript catalogs to determine which, if any, mss contain your text. Digital catalogs are thankfully making this process much easier (V. e. g. the marvelously helpful website Pinakes: http://pinakes.irht.cnrs.fr/). This task is still a chore, though. Thankfully my professor, Dr. Mantello, had already done this work for us. He had both selected the text (a sermon of Bishop Robert Grosseteste on clerical orders), and obtained PDF copies of all of the relevant mss. The mss came to 13 in total. One ms’s text was partial, and another two were partially illegible, either due to poor imaging, or fire damage. There were six students in the class, so Prof. Mantello split the sermon into 3 sections. Each pair were responsible for a third of the text (my section came out to about 1400 words).
The next order of business was to prepare collations: that is, to determine where the mss varied from one another. This is where I found Juxta helpful. Juxta allows one to compare 2+ transcriptions of a given text very easily. Unfortunately, perhaps, this requires full-text transcriptions of each ms. This can take a lot of time, especially with 13 mss. Some texts, of course, have dozens, or even hundreds of manuscripts, and most texts will be much longer than the small 1400 word section of our sermon. That said, preparing accurate transcriptions of 13 mss took me only a 2-3 months, and I was also working on plenty of other stuff in the meantime. For those with longer texts, doing a smaller chunk (say about 1,500 words) from one part of the text will generally allow one to highlight the most important mss without having to transcribe every single mss in toto.
Now, regarding transcriptions: In an ideal world, one would have at least two people making transcriptions of the same ms. This allows one to compare the two transcriptions at the end to highlight trouble spots and to eliminate typos and other errors. As my teammate chose to to a manual collation, this option wasn’t available, so I made do in other ways (her manual collations were invaluable later in the process, however). Once I had transcriptions of two different mss, I normalized the orthography  then compared these two transcriptions two one another. At each difference, I checked the mss to ensure that my transcriptions were correct. At the end of this process, I had two fairly accurate transcriptions which I then used to correct the rest of my transcriptions as I finished them. This is by far the most tedious part. Even after I had ferreted out most of the problems in my initial pass, I still found myself consistently returning later to the mss to check particular readings (and often found that transcriptions still contained errors). Unfortunately, I also took the longer approach of typing each new transcription from scratch. It occurred to me later, through reading a paper of Tara Andrews, that it’s much faster to modify an existing transcription to fit a new ms instead of starting from scratch. In any case, accurate transcriptions are a necessity for any further work. This stage, though often tedious and monotonous, is extremely important. Juxta (or another comparison tool) is quite useful even at this stage, since highlighting the differences between transcriptions will often highlight errors in your transcriptions.
After transcribing, one can then proceed to examining the differences between mss. Juxta is helpful here. Here’s a screenshot:
Right now, I’m using the ms K as my “base text.” Areas with darker highlighting indicate that a larger number of mss have a variant reading at a certain point. In this case, there’s an important omission shared by 8 mss at the beginning of our section (running from collocantur existentes … ecclesiastice hierarchie). Clicking on the dark text will show what the variant mss read:
Unfortunately, Juxta is not smart enough to determine group similar readings together. In this case, N O R Rf all have the exact same omissions. R6 has the omission too, but inserts an et to try and make the resulting text make more sense. Ideally, Juxta would group all of the readings together (perhaps it will in the future, or perhaps I’ll create my own version that does that: it’s free and opensource after all!). It still, however, provides a useful overview of the tradition at any given point. Here’s a less complicated example:
This shows that 4 mss have the text in ecclesia or in ecclesiam. As these four mss have a number of other shared readings that are unique to them, it’s clear that they belong to a family. After further analysis, it becomes clear that this in an addition that doesn’t belong in the archetypal text. If you’d like a file to test with, I’ve uploaded a test file with a selection of manuscripts.
Using Juxta, I was able to determine work out a provisional stemma of the 13 mss. Traditional Lachmannian methods worked pretty well. There were a number of omissions and other agreements in error that allowed us to group the mss into families and then into a stemma. Furthermore, our examination of the internal evidence (the text) corresponded fairly well with the relationships that Thomson had posited based on external criteria (like dates, and the number and order of the sermons contained in the mss). My initial stemma required some reworking, both because of errors in my transcriptions (that my partner thankfully discovered) and because the place of one ms wasn’t clear when looking only at our sections. Incorporating data from the other sections allowed us to place that ms with more confidence.
The final step was to incorporate all of this information into a critical edition, replete with critical apparatus and source apparatus. The information for the apparatus of sources was more straightforward. Prof. Mantello had helped us track down the important sources. Creating the critical apparatus naturally required us to decide what the original text was. The stemma made this straightforward in most cases. In a few cases, the better attested reading was less satisfactory on internal grounds. In a few places, I chose a poorly attested reading, or even ventured a few emendations (though for most of them, I failed to convince Prof. Mantello). When examining trouble spots, the electronic Grosseteste was immensely helpful. It allowed me to check a particular construction across a wide swathe of Grosseteste’s corpus.
I used the Classical Text Editor (CTE) to assemble my final product. The CTE is quite a powerful tool. It has the ability create a wide variety of critical editions. Ours was a fairly simple text+notes+apparatus, but one can also add further apparatuses, or even add parallel texts/translations. There are a few downsides. First, the program is quite expensive (to the tune of several hundred USD, though there is a free trial that is fully functional except for the ability to generate non-watermarked output). Second, the program is difficult to use if you don’t have someone to show you the basics. I have a computer science degree, and found myself frequently frustrated at first. That said, the basics aren’t difficult once you’ve been shown how the program works. I gave a presentation for my classmates, and everyone decided to use it for their text. Only one other student in the class had a technical background, but everyone was able to use the program to assemble their text.
And I must say, the output is pretty sharp. The only other means I know to create something comparable is LaTeX, and that requires quite a bit more technical knowledge than needed for the CTE. (It was LaTeX, for instance, that I used to create my text and translation of Origen’s 3rd homily on Ps. 76) As an example of CTE output, here’s the first page of our final text: InLibroNumerorum_mapoulos_excerpt.pdf. If anyone knows of CTE tutorials (besides the help files), I’d love to know about them. Sometime soon I’ll post some basic walkthroughs that I created for my classmates.
I should say that there are a number of useful tools that I’ve not mentioned here. Our final goal for this project remained a printed text. Things look differently if web-publication is in view (the CTE does support TEI output, but I’ve not tested it to see how it works). Also, there’s much work being done in the field of digital stemmatology. Tools like stemmaweb allow one to use a number of different algorithms to create a stemma digitally. Variant graphs, for instance, look like a useful way to look at the tradition. I don’t read Armenian, but I’m very impressed by the technical aspects of Tara Andrew’s digital edition of Matthew of Edessa. Her academia.edu page is well worth a look if you’re interested in digital editions.
Do apprise me of anything important I’ve omitted in the comments, particularly if you’ve advice on better ways to approach the task.
 Normalizing the orthography is an important step as orthographic variants usually aren’t important for distinguishing the relationships between mss. I kept my original transcriptions, which followed the orthography of the mss, but did most of my analysis on the basis of the normalized files.
 Thomson, H., The Writings of Robert Grosseteste (Cambridge 1940)