Gr. naz. carm. 1.1.11 (On the Incarnation)

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 σέβετἰσοθέως Πατρὸς ἐπουρανίου.
νήπιος, ὅστις ἄνακτα Λόγον βροτὸν ἔνθα φανέντα
οὐ σέβετἰσοθέως οὐρανίοιο Λόγου.
τέμνει δ μεγάλοιο Πατρὸς Λόγον, ἠὲ Λόγοιο [5]
μορφὴν ἀνδρομέην, καὶ πάχος ἡμέτερον.
ἦν Θεὸς, ἀλλἐπάγη Πατρὸς Λόγος ἡμέτερος φώς,
ὥς κε Θεὸν μίξῃ, μικτὸς ἐὼν χθονίοις.
εἷς Θεὸς ἀμφοτέρωθε· τόσον βροτὸς, ὅσσον ἔμἔρδειν
ἀντὶ βροτοῖο Θεόν. Ἵλαθι, τρωτὸς ἄνω. [10]
τόσσον ἔχοις. Τί δἔμοιγε νόον, καὶ μίξιν ἄφραστον;
ἀμφὶ Θεὸν, θνητοὶ, στέργετε μέτρα λόγου.
εἰ μὲν δὴ πεπίθοιμι, τὸ λώϊον. Εἰ δὲ μελαίνεις
τὸν χάρτην πολλαῖς χιλιάσιν ἐπέων,
δεῦρἄγε, πλαξὶ τεαῖς ὀλιγόστιχα ταῦτα χαράξω [15]
γράμματἐμῇ γραφίδι, 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 σεβετἰσοθεῶς in 2 and 4) with hZeus 86–87, which both begin and end with ἑσπέριοςνοήσῃ. 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 φωτίζει πάντα ἄνθρωπον Jn 1:9), and where the Logos is said to “become flesh and dwell among us” (Καὶ 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.

  1. 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).

  2. Chantraine 1968 s.v. rejects an etymology from νη– and ἔπος.

  3. The term refers to the juxtaposition of the same or similar words with prosodic variation. For instance, Call. hZeus 55: καλὰ μὲν ἠἐξευ, καλὰ δἔτραφες, 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.

  4. 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.

  5. This is the only passage of which I am aware where an author uses γραφίς in this metaphorical sense.

Back to Wordpress

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 is now simply 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.

CTE Tutorial

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 [1].  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:

Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 2 41 06 PM

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…

Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 2 49 36 PM

Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 2 50 33 PM

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
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 2 53 13 PM
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 2 53 59 PM

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:
  Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 2 59 52 PM
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 00 13 PM
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…
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 08 39 PM
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 10 39 53 AM
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.  

Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 16 00 PM

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:
 Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 21 19 PM
Clicking References –> Apparatus Reference (or pressing F5) brings up the apparatus window:
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 25 12 PM
In the scheme I’ve chosen, we then input the reading of the other ms(s).
 Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 27 03 PM
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…

Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 28 44 PM

A box then comes up with a list of sigla:
 Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 28 55 PM
Double clicking the proper siglum then adds it to the entry (it should appear in yellow).  
 Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 29 02 PM

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:
 Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 35 38 PM
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 35 50 PM

Adding Notes
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.
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 40 00 PM

Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 40 33 PM
“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.
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 46 18 PM 

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.  

Line Numbers
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.   
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 52 47 PM
Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 51 14 PM
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.  

 Screen Shot 2014 06 12 at 3 57 15 PM
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!

ἐν αὐτῷ,

[1] Dilts, M.R., Demosthenis Orationes, vol. 1 (Oxford 2002)

Origen on Punishment – A Different Take

I my recent series on Origen and eternal punishment (v. here), I translated a portion of a lecture [1] in which Origen speculates about the end of time and the nature of punishment.  Some scholars take Origen’s “universalism” as a given, but the situation is more complicated than that.  In the homily on Ps. 76, Origen suggests pretty clearly that punishment is not eternal, and lasts only for a time.  He’s a bit elliptical, but it’s not difficult to fill in the gaps.  In other places, however, Origen states the familiar eternal punishment doctrine without comment.  Once such example comes in his third homily on Ps. 36, which I translate below.  He is commenting on Ps 36:19 (LXX), “They [sc. the righteous] will not be put to shame in an evil time, and in the days of famine they will be full.” In a future post, I’ll examine the Greek adjective αἰώνιος, and explore whether the two views can be reconciled.  

The righteous will inherit the promises forever in those days , and they “will not be be put to shame in an evil time.” ‘An evil time’ is what he calls the time of judgment,  due to the great number of sinners.  Because of the great number being punished, it is only the righteous who “will not be put to shame in an evil time,” that is, when the resurrection occurs and all shall rise, some to life, and some to eternal shame and rebuke.   

γὰρ ἐν ἐκεῖναις ταῖς ἡμέραις
εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα οἱ δίκαιοι τὰς ἐπαγγελίας,
καὶ οὐκ αἰσχυνθήσονται ἐν καιρῷ πονηρῷ,
καιρὸν δὲ πονηρὸν, τὸν τῆς κρίσεως ὀνομασε
διὰ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν ἁμαρτανόντων.
διὰ τοὺς πολλοὺς τῶν κολαζομένων,
μόνοι οὖν οἱ δίκαιοι, οὐκ αἰσχυνθήσονται
ἐν καιρῷ πονηρῷ
, ὅταν ἡ ἀναστασις
γίνηται, καὶ ἀνίστανται, οἱ μὲν, εἰς ζωὴν,
οἱ δὲ, εἰς ὀνειδισμὸν καὶ αἰσχύνην αἰώνιον. (Cod Mon Graec. f. 62v).


[1] I say lecture (instead of homily) because I am not sure that it was spoken in a church.  The greek word ὁμιλία, whence comes our word homily, originally just meant informal talk or lecture (rather than a highly polished rhetorical speech).  Homily became associated with Christian sermons because they tended to be the former, not the latter.  

ἐν αὐτῷ,

Maximus the Confessor’s Comments on “The Diversity of Gifts” located

Although it required an embarrassingly long search, I finally found the passage to which Basil the Lesser refers in his commentary on Gregory’s 41st oration.  The reason for my aporia was that most of Maximus’s Ambigua is not in the TLG, which is where I was looking for it!  The Ambigua is a massive, sprawling work devoted to ambiguous passages in Gregory of Nazianzus.  It’s divided into two parts, the Ambigua to Thomas is in the TLG, but this only includes 5 “difficulties.”  The rest of the work, the Ambigua to John is much larger (well over 100 if the text I found is accurate), but is not in the TLG.  Of course after discovering this the hard way, and finding the text elsewhere, I discovered that the apparatus of the Sources Chrétiennes pointed me to the Patrologia Graeca vol. 91. I’ve learned a lesson though: don’t over rely on the TLG!  It’s a remarkable tool, but far from complete, especially for Patristic texts.

The text from Maximus can be found here, in section 173.  The discussion is only two hearty paragraphs, so I hope to post a translation and comments soon.  

ἐν αὐτῷ,


Semester in Review

As I have now had the time to sufficiently “decompress” from the fall semester, a little reflection is in order.  This was my first semester as a graduate student at Catholic in the Greek and Latin department.  It was a busy, and often stressful, semester, but (Deo Gloria!) I did well.  I’m pleased with how the semester went, even if I could have done better (in Syriac especially).  

I took four classes: a Greek course in which we read Homer, Latin Prose Composition, a Late Antique History Seminar, and Intro to Syriac.  Reading Homer was difficult early in the semester.  I had not read much Greek poetry before that, and I’ve still not read much Odyssey and Iliad in translation.  The difficulty, as many will tell you, is the vocabulary.  However, by the middle of the semester, I was reading along without too much difficulty.  For my term paper, I wrote on the use of Homer by Gregory of Nazianzus in a few of his dogmatic poems.  This was a lot of fun to write, and if possible I’ll adapt some of my paper into blog posts.  

Latin Prose Composition was a terrific course, though quite difficult.  We used the venerable textbook by Bradley and Arnold (something with which my fellow classicists can no doubt identify).  As I’ve never had a formal course in Latin Grammar before (I was mostly self-taught before arriving at Catholic), I learned quite a bit.  We regularly translated English into Latin, which was beneficial and challenging.  In addition to now having declensions and conjugations drilled into my head, I have a much better grasp of syntax.  Soon I’ll get to apply all this to reading Cicero, which will be lots of fun!

The Late Antiquity seminar was quite useful.  The literature is so vast that it was more an introduction to the resources than anything else, but I read some useful books, both primary and secondary.  For my term paper, I wrote on Origen and Greek philosophy in the third century.  The paper was historical in its focus: I argued that “philosopher” is the most appropriate title for Origen, and that to understand the man one must understand how Greek philosophy operated during his life.  The paper was more of a survey than anything else, but I may expand some of the ideas into further papers (Deo temporeque volentibus!).  

Intro to Syriac was, at the end of the semester, my most difficult class.  I did well early on, when I had more time, and when the material was a bit easier.  But by the time we got to all the weak verbs in the final weeks of the semester I had a hard time keeping up.  This was my first semitic language, so much was new to me.  I’m thankful the formal grammar instruction is over: now we’ll move on to reading texts, which is the fun part!

The semester had several other milestones.  I finally completed the Ancient Citations Index for volume 2 of the Cambridge Companion to Ancient Mediterranean Religions. Prof. William Adler, one of my undergraduate professors, edited this volume, and it contains two articles by Catholic faculty (Fr. Sidney Griffiths and Prof. William Klingshirn).  It’s due out next year.  

I also presented my first academic paper at the annual meeting of the Byzantine Studies Association of North America.  The paper dealt with digital stemmatology and the Palaea Historica, a text on which I worked with Prof. Adler at NC State.  I enjoyed seeing Boston: the city is a lovely place.  My paper was well received, and I was able to hear interesting talks from others.  

I thankful for how well the semester went, and most especially because my wife and I are no longer in a long-distance relationship.  She finished her bachelor’s degree this fall at NC State University, graduating summa cum laude and valedictorian with a degree in Computer Engineering!  I am extremely proud, and enormously thankful to have her as my wife.  As smart as she is, she is even more loving and loyal.  She will now be joining me in DC and starting her job in January.  

Τῷ δὲ δυναμένῳ ὑπὲρ πάντα ποιῆσαι ὑπερεκπερισσοῦ ὧν αἰτούμεθα ἢ νοοῦμεν κατὰ τὴν δύναμιν τὴν ἐνεργουμένην ἐν ἡμῖν,  αὐτῷ ἡ δόξα ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ καὶ ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ εἰς πάσας τὰς γενεὰς τοῦ αἰῶνος τῶν αἰώνων, ἀμήν. (Eph. 3:20)

ἐν αὐτῷ,


One abstract accepted, another submitted

Yesterday, I received news that my abstract had been accepted for the “Preaching After Easter” conference which will take place in March, 2013 in Leuven.  The title of the abstract is “For those who love learning,” Gregory of Nazianzus on the Miracle of Pentecost.  It will essentially be a more detailed write-up of the passage I’ve examined here and here from Gregory’s Or. 41 on Pentecost.  I’d like to publicly thank Charles Sullivan, through whom I became interested in the passage, and whose dialogue has been extremely helpful in sorting out the intricacies of Gregory’s argument and its later reception.  I’m particularly curious about the philosophical background he may be pulling in, and also the way he weaves different scriptural passages together.  I think it’ll be fun to do a paper that’s not, strictly speaking, “digital humanities.”  

But back in the “digital” domain, I’ve submitted an abstract for the meeting of the North American Patristics Society next May.  The paper will essentially be an digital authorship analysis of as much as I can transcribe from the recently discovered Origen codex. I hope to show that stylometric analyses support an attribution of the homilies codex to Origen, and I’d also like to examine the stylometric differences within the codex.  Hopefully it’ll be accepted!  I’ve yet to attend a NAPS conference, but I’ve heard good things.

ἐν αὐτῷ,