Introduction
Over the past few decades, a rough scholarly consensus has emerged among scholars of rabbinics and Syriac Christianity concerning the historical development of institutionalized academies, i.e., Babylonian yeshivot and the School of Nisibis, in Sasanian Persia.Footnote 1 Catalyzed initially by David Goodblatt’s monograph Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia, this emerging consensus states that both rabbinic and Christian academies of higher learning emerged relatively late, perhaps towards the end of the fifth century.Footnote 2 Prior to the rise of institutions like the yeshivot in Pumbedita and Sura, rabbis met in what might best be described as local study-circles attached to a particular teacher or rabbi. Likewise, prior to its institutionalized incarnation as the School of Nisibis, the “School of Persians” may have been just one of a number of “voluntary associations” organized along ethnic lines, closer in form to synagogues than “schools.”Footnote 3 The shift from discipleship circles oriented around particular teachers to institutionalized academies, that is, actual places dedicated to learning, complete with curricula, semesters, and a standing faculty, would have far-reaching consequences in the formation of rabbinic and Christian identities.
Though missing from this broader discussion, Manichaean literature nevertheless has much to contribute. Like the rabbis, the Manichaeans were a “scholastically”- minded, Aramaic-speaking late antique community who shuttled back and forth between the Roman Near East and Sasanian Mesopotamia.Footnote 4 In this article, I first argue that the Manichaean genre of texts known as the Kephalaia, which, for the most part, consists of both the Kephalaia of the Teacher (1 Ke) and its sister text the Kephalaia of the Wisdom of my Lord Mani (2 Ke), strengthens and broadens this emerging consensus on the historical development of pedagogy in late antique Syro-Mesopotamia.Footnote 5 To make my argument, I focus on three formulae from the Kephalaia: the formula of Mani “sitting among” his congregation (and less frequently, of disciples “sitting before” Mani), of a disciple “standing before” Mani, and of various people “coming before” Mani. It is important to note here that, to the best of my knowledge, the Kephalaia is the only extant Manichaean work that uses these three phrases as formulae. As such, I begin with the assumption that the Kephalaia does not represent Manichaean pedagogy as a whole, or even a part of a whole, but as a particular expression of Manichaean instruction whose relationships with other forms of Manichaean instruction remains yet to be determined. In any case, I conclude this first section by arguing that, like their rabbinic and Christian neighbors, Manichaeans taught their disciples in discipleship circles oriented around a local teacher.Footnote 6 There is no explicit evidence that the Manichaeans responsible for the Kephalaia studied in an academy.
In the next section, I turn to contextualize Manichaean instruction as represented through these three formulae with their parallels in the Babylonian Talmud. Aside from the Kephalaia, the Babylonian Talmud seems to be the only extant text from late antique Mesopotamia that consistently uses these formulae to mark moments of instruction. As such, it presents a unique opportunity for comparison with the Kephalaia. Without getting into the difficult question of why these corpora use these formulae, I ultimately argue that Manichaean pedagogy bears an unusually close relationship to rabbinic models of instruction. It is therefore peculiar but not unique to its context. By refracting the parallel formulae found in one corpus through the other, we can discern a shared social script operating within both communities. Put another way, though Manichaeans and rabbis participated in separate fields, they nevertheless played by a similar set of rules, a shared habitus. This model of analysis is necessary precisely because there were no institutions to impose canonized rules for proper behavior, as I argue in the first half of this paper. We must therefore try to discern how Manichaeans functioned as durable communities of learning, even without an institution. I will conclude by raising a few questions that my argument opens up for the comparative study of Manichaean and rabbinic literature.
The Strata of Redaction in the Kephalaia
Before investigating these three formulae, however, a brief word about the redaction of the Kephalaia is necessary.Footnote 7 The formulae that I analyze in this article belong to a particular stratum of the Kephalaia.Footnote 8 Since this stratum cuts through every chapter of the corpus, we must attribute this stratum to the work of redactor(s) who organized the “content” of tradition into a “standardized” form. This stratum has at least two related functions: first, its literary function is to organize and frame the content of Mani’s words. To that end, it employs various formulae, like the ones discussed here; a range of literary devices, e.g. the parable and enumerated lists; and other literary strategies of anthologization, e.g. juxtaposition of multiple textual units. Second, this stratum locates the traditions of each chapter, i.e., Mani’s words, in a particular moment of Mani’s life. Occasionally, the redactors will provide more contextual information for that particular moment. This in turn furnishes crucial information on Manichaean pedagogy and serves as the primary data for our analysis. Ultimately, this stratum provides the internal scaffolding that renders both codices into a coherent whole and not simply a mass of random statements ostensibly uttered by Mani.
The presence of this stratum in both codices of the Kephalaia complicates straightforward assumptions that the Kephalaia accurately reflects pedagogy within Mani’s lifetime in third-century Mesopotamia. Since 1) the redactors of the Kephalaia responsible for this stratum probably lived after Mani,Footnote 9 2) the terminus ante quem for the Kephalaia is sometime in the early fifth century,Footnote 10 and 3) the formulae associated with pedagogy can be found in both codices and are thus the product of the redactors, it follows that this stratum reflects the world of its fourth-century redactors and not necessarily that of Mani’s.Footnote 11 In other words, the redactors responsible for this stratum encoded their own pedagogical realities into it. Consequently, we should not necessarily understand this stratum’s depiction of pedagogical moments as descriptions of Mani’s past, but as representations of the redactors’ present. This also means that the redactors’ “Mani” is a cypher for the ideal Manichaean teacher and does not necessarily refer to or describe the deeds of the historical Mani.
A. Sitting in The Kephalaia of the Teacher [1 Ke]
The typical opening formula for a “sitting” study session usually runs like this: “Again, it happened one time, when Mani was sitting among the church in the midst of his disciples” [1 Ke 169.27–28].Footnote 12 Occasionally, the redactors supply further contextual clues that specify the manner and place where Mani sat. When we see such clues synoptically, we can conclude that “sitting” does not indicate the mere physical act of sitting but situates Mani and his disciples within a study session oriented around a Manichaean teacher. These study sessions did not occur in established schools nor did their participants follow a standard curriculum. Rather, they were ad hoc, as evidenced by the fact that Mani uses happenstance events as off-the-cuff opportunities to teach his disciples.
To reconstruct how the Kephalaia represents sitting study sessions, it is helpful to begin with its participants. Though the formula “Mani was sitting in the midst of his disciples” highlights Mani as the sitter, other chapters verify that Mani’s disciples also sat before him. For example, K8 opens with the phrase, “Once again, the light-man speaks to the congregation that is sitting before him [
].” Similarly K2 says: “This is the occasion . . . that for his disciples who sat before him, questioned him, they say to him [
].” These formulae attest to the pedagogical nature of these sessions. It should be noted here that the corpus does not usually depict the disciples as “sitting before” Mani, but “standing before” him. I will return to this topic in the following section.
The Kephalaia never depicts Mani teaching from a curriculum nor does it assume that there is a single place dedicated to studying. Instead, Mani held sitting sessions in a wide range of places. Moreover, his discussions were usually based on happenstance events. While one must always keep in mind the possibility that “happenstance” events are simply part of the literary form of the kephalaion and thus not reflective of social reality, both the consistency of this form and the lack of circumstantial evidence otherwise inspires some measure of confidence in their historical accuracy. For example, K95 says:
Once again, the Apostle is sitting in the congregation of his disciples. The heavens were cloudy that day. He brought his eyes up and saw the cloud that day. He says to his disciples: This cloud that is apparent to you, which you see, I will reveal and teach you about it, how it ascended.
Similarly, K65 opens by saying:
Once again, the Apostle is sitting down in the congregation of his disciples. One time, and the sun shone forth. He began to recount to his disciples about the greatness of the sun and its divinity.
Mani discusses the true interpretation of clouds in K95 and the divinity of the sun in K65, respectively. More importantly for our purposes, these opening passages imply that the disciples are sitting outside, where both Mani and his disciples can see the cloudy skies and the shining sun, and not in a specific building dedicated for study. Of course, one could assume that they were sitting inside and then looking outside, yet there is nothing in the passages themselves that warrants such an assumption. Furthermore, Mani’s discourse on the sun and the cloud is sparked by the appearance of the sun and the clouds, that is, by happenstance events. There is no hint of a structured curriculum nor do his words point towards a pedagogical context beyond this particular sitting session. Just as quickly as it began, the study session ends. This strongly suggests that Manichaean teachers did not follow a standard curriculum nor did they organize their study-sessions into pre-determined chunks of time. Rather, these kephalaia present moments of instruction happening rather spontaneously.
Mani also held sitting sessions in cities. In K76, for example, Mani is “sitting in the city of Ctesiphon” [
] when the Sasanian emperor Shapur summons him to his presence. Mani stands up to go and greet Shapur. He returns and is only able to sit for a short time [
] before Shapur summons him again. This happens a third time, spurring a disciple named Aurades to ask Mani to send them another Apostle like Mani who might be unencumbered by Shapur’s demands. Mani responds by teaching his disciples that the world cannot bear two Apostles in the world at the same time.
The specificity of the term “sitting” suggests a technical valence: Does one ever sit in a city? One might walk through a city, as Mani himself does in K347 (
), or simply be in a city (K322: 
), but sitting in a city demands explanation. Given the nature of the exchange that follows between Mani and Aurades on why the world cannot sustain two Apostles, “sitting” clearly marks a pedagogical context. Furthermore, Aurades’ speech supposes that there were a multitude of disciples sitting before Mani. He says “Give us” and “. . . will remain with us.” The redactor here is invoking an image of Mani teaching his disciples who sit before him. Finally, Aurades’s plea that Mani remain with his disciples suggests that sitting involves sustained interaction between Mani and his disciples. We do not know what Mani was teaching prior to Shapur’s invitations or even whether he was teaching. Whatever he was doing, we know that Mani had not begun with a discussion on why there could not be two Apostles in the world, since he only does so in response to Aurades. This suggests that contingent factors drove the topic of discussion, which further suggests that the Manichaeans did not have a structured curriculum.
If external factors might draw Mani away from sitting with his disciples, then they might also intrude into his study sessions. The occasional presence of non- Manichaeans in these sessions suggests that they were rather porous, perhaps even oriented outwards toward the broader public. It goes without saying that their intrusion, and indeed the very fact that entire kephalaia are built around these intrusions, demonstrates the absence of an established curriculum. It also suggests that Manichaean study sessions were culturally legible to non-Manichaeans, which explains why they are able to navigate their way into Mani’s sitting sessions. Let us turn to two examples. K121 opens by saying, “Once again, on one of the occasions, as our enlightener is sitting . . . in the midst of the land of Babylon, a man came before him [
], a presbyter belonging to the sect of the basket. He is a worshipper of idols.” The very fact that a Manichaean could plausibly imagine a presbyter from a local Babylonian community approaching Mani while he is sitting in a study session suggests that Manichaean teachers held study sessions in broadly accessible locations, i.e., somewhere in the “midst of the land of Babylon.” A similar example can be found in K89, which opens by saying, “Once again, it happened one time, a Nazorean came before the Apostle. He says to him, ‘I will ask you one word! You, for your part, persuade me with a single word, but not many words.’ ” Though the formula for “sitting” is missing in this passage, it nevertheless has another formula that I will examine further below: in the same way that K121 features a Babylonian sectarian who “came before him,” so here “a Nazorean came before the Apostle.” For now, both opening passages demonstrate something of the porousness of study sessions, where not only disciples could gather, but non-Manichaeans might come to ask Mani questions.Footnote
13
We gain a similar impression of the porousness of discipleship sitting circles from an unusually well-crafted representation of a study session, which is also held within a city. K83 opens with a description of a sitting session that includes not only disciples, but also city officials:
Once again, it happened one time, while the Apostle is sitting in a great congregation, as some . . . the teachers and elders . . . by the rulers and first citizens [
]. Now, he is sitting down in their midst [
]. All of a sudden, one of the elect came before him, but not . . . he is an elect . . . his commandments. He is an ugly man in his body . . . in his midriff, but he is perfect in his holy righteousness. He is a man who is upright in his truthfulness. When he came into his presence, he spread himself on the ground and paid homage before the Apostle in love. The masses of well-born men and free women cast their eyes about and saw that elect crying out in joy, exulting loudly and giving praise . . .
He [the ugly man] was paying homage all the time, giving praise . . . the glorious one stood up from the bēma, where he was sitting. He drew and gathered him into him and hugged him to his body, kissing the elect. He sat down. . . . And when he had sat upon his bēma . . . with the entire congregation of well-born men and free women sitting before him.
In this scene, Mani is sitting in the midst of a great congregation that includes both his disciples and the leading politicians of this city, who are also “sitting before him.” As elsewhere, sitting here also seems to carry a technical sense; it does not mean the mere physical act of sitting but is how the Kephalaia introduces a study session. Furthermore, the presence of Sasanian elites points to the outward orientation or at least the porousness of these study sessions. To be clear, I am not saying that the leading politicians of the city actually sat before Mani as a historical fact. Rather, the unproblematic presence of aristocrats in these “sitting” sessions gives the strong impression that these moments of pedagogical exchange were not closed off from the broader public.Footnote 14 Indeed, it was perhaps because these study sessions were not housed in specific buildings or within clearly demarcated institutional structures that we have such a diverse cast of people interacting with Mani.Footnote 15
Interestingly, the redactors use the cycle of “sitting before” and “standing before” to transition from the introductory narrative about the “ugly” Elect to the middle section, which focuses on the formation of pearls. After Mani chastises the aristocrats for not recognizing the inner perfection of the ugly Elect, the chapter goes on to say,
When they [the aristocrats] were settled, they sat . . . while his disciples stand. They paid homage, saying to him: Tell us, our master . . . how (pearls) came about and were formed in the sea [1 Ke 202.6–11; 
. . .].
This transition points to one possible scenario for how a discussion within a sitting study session might have moved from one topic to another. In short, “Mani’s” answers were also opportunities for disciples to ask further questions. This pedagogical style highlights the teacher and disciple relationship as the standard channel for instruction; the disciples’ job was to draw out Mani’s wisdom through a series of pointed and relevant questions. If so, then it is difficult to see how a curriculum might have fit within these sitting sessions simply because there is no space for a regular and corporate study of Manichaean scripture. Of course, the students already seem to know about the traditions found in the Manichaean “canon.” Yet even then the Kephalaia generally refers to these texts as a catalyst for an oral-aural exchange between Mani and his disciples.Footnote 16 In other words, the mention of the “canonical” Manichaean scriptures often operates in the same way as the sun shining and the clouds rising; they are happenstance events that catalyze a new topic of discussion within a sitting study session.
To recapitulate, 1 Ke furnishes strong evidence that sitting sessions were primarily pedagogical in function. None of those factors that one might associate with an institutionalized academy appear in the Kephalaia. Rather, they were non- institutionalized, had no standard curriculum, and did not take place in a specific building. Each session seems to have had a discrete topic of discussion sparked by some happenstance event or by the disciples’ questions. The presence of non- Manichaeans in these sessions reflect the porousness, and perhaps even outward orientation of these study sessions. Given these points, we might speculate about how this discourse reflects the pedagogical realities of those responsible for its emergence. We cannot, of course, read these sitting sessions as descriptions of real events, nor can we simply say that they exist purely as “imaginary” discourse. Rather, the most reasonable solution seems to be that the redactors encoded their own pedagogical contexts into this stratum of the corpus.
B. Sitting in the Kephalaia of the Wisdom of my Lord Mani [2 Ke]
Though much of The Wisdom of my Lord Mani [2 Ke] remains to be edited and published, even a cursory skim through the available materials gives the reader a strong impression that we are dealing with a text that is more “literary” than The Kephalaia of the Teacher [1 Ke]. As opposed to 1 Ke, which often reads like deposits of textualized tradition, many of the chapters of the 2 Ke edited so far have a literary texture, as identified by Tardieu, who noted its emphasis on dialogues, a measure of interiorization, realistic contexts, identified characters, and a sense of narratival progression.Footnote 17 For our limited purposes, 2 Ke both confirms and extends what we have seen in relation to “sitting” in 1 Ke. There is still no hint of a standardized curriculum nor a building dedicated for studying. Instruction still happens through teacher-disciple relationships and Mani holds sitting sessions in a diverse range of locations. Nevertheless, 2 Ke also extends sitting in new directions. It not only associates sitting with textual production, e.g. writing letters and books, it also draws out possible connections between sitting and judgment.
The association between sitting and textual production is especially clear when we turn to the Goundesh cycle [K327–340]. 2 Ke describes Goundesh as a courtier in the Sasanian retinue and as a philosopher who eventually became Mani’s disciple. In K332, Goundesh participates in a “sitting session” where the disciples read Mani’s books out loud. This chapter opens by saying,
Once again, it happened another time, as Goundesh is sitting . . . as they read in his presence from the Treasure of Life. The Apostle uttered great lessons to him. . . . When Goundesh listened to this lesson that the Apostle uttered . . . written in this book. Says he to the Apostle, “This book is very great! It is a book . . .” . . . The Apostle says to him, “It is a new book [
].”
Again in K333, it says,
Once again, it happened another time, when the Apostle was sitting down, the scribes sat before him writing letters to different places [
]. Goundesh came before the Apostle. He listened to him, the way that he writes without . . . them in his letters . . .
In contrast to 1 Ke, where it is usually Mani, and to a lesser extent, the disciples who do the sitting, 2 Ke focuses on a single character—Goundesh—sitting before Mani. By the time Goundesh enters the scene, the disciples, marked here as scribes, are already busy producing texts. They also act as amanuenses for Mani in K333. Both kephalaia hint at the importance of scribal production within these sitting sessions.
The Manichaean Homilies at least corroborate this association between sitting, textual production, and pedagogy.Footnote 18 The Sermon on the Great War, for example, which already mentions the Kephalaia,Footnote 19 says that the evil spirit “killed the readers of truth, who are always sitting, occupied with wisdom” (Homilies 12.20–21: 
). In fact, the Sermon is filled with references to this broader pedagogical and textual world.Footnote 20 We might even catch a glimpse of how these readers went about creating books like the Kephalaia. It says, “You will find them [reading] them [i.e., Mani’s books] publicly and proclaiming the name . . . in them, the name of his lord and . . . him, and the name of all those who gave . . ., and the name of the scribe who wrote it, and also the name of he who put the punctuation marks in it, and the name . . .” (Homilies 25.14–19). Though the Kephalaia attributes all traditions to Mani, this sermon points to the broader networks necessary for producing such a text, from the collection of individual traditions all the way to those who ornament the words and pages. Given the importance of textual production in this sermon, it is no surprise that it glorifies the “readers” by saying, “How greatly will they love the reader, since thousands will come to visit him, male and female, masses and masses in every city. The churches and the catechumens’ houses will be like schools. You will find them singing psalms and . . . hymns . . . publicly in the presence of . . .” (Homilies 30.27–33).
2 Ke also suggests that sitting sessions were associated with holding court and meting out judgment. It is unclear, however, whether the chapters examined below provide evidence of Manichaeans holding court during sitting sessions since, in both examples, it is the non-Manichaean Sasanian elite sitting and meting out judgment. For example, K326 depicts a meeting between Mani and a Zoroastrian judge named Adourbat, who is sitting either by the gate of a Fire Temple or, more likely, within it. Adourbat hears legal cases from the crowd that had assembled outside the gate of the temple and “rises many times up” (
) to carry out his duties.Footnote 21 Likewise, K322 depicts Mani speaking to Thirousak, a Sasanian general. The Apostle accuses Thirousak of murder since Thirousak wants to kill a wolf that they had caught in their hunting trip. Mani uses terms that evoke the formula of sitting examined above: the wolf was “brought into the midst” (
), which is similar to the formula of Mani sitting “in the midst [
] of the congregation.” Furthermore, the wolf had “no helper among all the people seated in front of it and those standing up” (
). As with Adourbat, the sitting session here resembles a court. Mani adopts the role as the advocate for the wolf, eventually arguing that the wolf should not receive total destruction for killing a single sheep, when humans slaughter many more animals for consumption.Footnote 22 Nevertheless, again, we must be cautious of connecting sitting with judgment, since in both cases above, the one “sitting” is a non-Manichaean who already possesses some measure of political authority in the Sasanian world—a Zoroastrian priest and a military general.
Our final example from K323 narrates an encounter between Shapur, the king of Touran, and Mani. This chapter showcases how the location of one’s body, its comportment, and social status intersect in the act of sitting. In this chapter, after a brief introduction in which Mani approaches “the gate of the king,” Mani invites Shapur to come sit beside him.Footnote 23
Says the Apostle to him: Come and sit beside me upon the . . . The King of Touran, however, did not sit (there); rather he sat upon “a place spread before him.” Says the Apostle to him: Why did you not sit beside me? Says the King of Touran to him: It is not fitting for me to sit with you [
], nor am I wor- thy to sit upon “a place spread out” before you [
] because you are the blessed Buddha. You are the Apostle of God. If you please, I will proclaim before you . . . this lesson that I have heard in the wisdom of Buddha (2 Ke 354.2–11; cf. 2 Ke 356.8–9).
Where one sits matters. This chapter uses accepted standards of “sitting” to narrativize the superiority of Mani’s station over Shapur the king. The emperor presumably sat in some awkward location, if he sat at all, since he considered himself unworthy of sitting beside or before Mani. Shapur recognizes that sitting beside Mani would be tantamount to assuming parity with him and refuses to do so. Indeed, Shapur even refuses to sit before Mani, presumably with the rest of the disciples. This is surely a fantasy written by later Manichaeans who thought of themselves as superior even to the King of Touran. I will discuss this passage a bit more below, but for the moment, we should not ignore the pedagogical context of this sitting session. After Mani interprets the wisdom of Buddha that Shapur had once heard, this chapter concludes by saying: “The king himself listened to the lesson of the righteous one. He received the wisdom of God from him” (2 Ke 356.2–3: 
).
C. Standing in the Kephalaia
The counterpart to “sitting before Mani” is “standing before Mani.”Footnote 24 K84, for example, opens with a disciple standing up before the Apostle to ask him a question and concludes with that disciple sitting down. It reads: “Once again, on one occasion, one of the disciples stood up before the Apostle. He questioned him, saying . . . [
].” Similarly, K116 opens with a disciple questioning the Apostle. Though there is no mention of him standing up, it nevertheless concludes with that disciple sitting down.Footnote 25 In K322, as we have seen, where Thirousak and Mani were discussing the fate of the wolf, Mani said, “Nor was there a helper among all these people seated in front of it and those standing up” (
), suggesting that sitting and standing were complementary modes of participation in a “sitting” session. Finally, we have already seen the example of the “ugly” Elect, in which the aristocrats sit down once they are persuaded by Mani’s rebuke, and the disciples, who were presumably sitting down, stand up to ask a question. One might cautiously universalize the formula to apply to the whole of the Kephalaia and say that chapters that begin with a disciple “standing before” Mani means that he is participating in a sitting study session.
The formula of “standing before” introduces a scenario where a disciple asks Mani a question through his own volition. Disciples do not stand when responding to Mani’s questions, as in K72 and K98, but only when they themselves initiate the exchange. In every case, a disciple either seeks clarification on some doctrinal matter or on some perceived mismatch between doctrine and their experience as members of the Manichaean church. In K88, for example, a catechumen stands up before Mani to tell him about an Elect he had seen quarreling with another Elect. He is troubled by their behavior and doubts that they are righteous at all. Likewise, in K81, a disciple stands up before Mani and complains that he is overwhelmed by his responsibilities as the leader of his local church. He requests that Mani release him from his duties. These examples suggest that, like the formula of “coming before,” the formula of “standing before” Mani functions as a literary device for distinguishing between one’s mundane life as an “everyday” Manichaean and these moments of instruction, where the disciple comes to process their experiences as a Manichaean in the real world “out there.” Again, the fact that these “happenstance events” (e.g., seeing the Elect quarrel or the onerous burden of being a leader) catalyze the contents of each kephalaion suggests that there is no established curriculum at play guiding the disciples along a predetermined path.
Furthermore, this formula suggests that responsibility for learning did not rest solely on the teacher, but also on the disciples. In fact, the disciples regularly prod Mani with questions so as to draw out, bit by bit, some of the wisdom lodged within him. Occasionally, they cite an earlier tradition that they had heard from Mani, usually with a request that Mani clarify or expand on that teaching.Footnote 26 Similarly, disciples sometimes ask Mani to “recount” a teaching or they begin their question by saying “I have heard you say, my master . . .,” which means that they had already heard a version of that teaching earlier.Footnote 27 Such examples point towards the organic nature of pedagogical instruction, which assumes an extended relationship with the Manichaean teacher. Indeed, it may be significant that the disciples often introduce their requests for clarification by saying that “We have heard you say . . .,” which points towards the importance of oral-aural instruction, on the one hand, and the Kephalaia’s self-presentation as transcriptions of Mani’s words, on the other.
D. To Come Before in the Kephalaia
There is one more formula worth noting. Though the formula of “coming before” or “coming into the presence of” Mani [
] appears relatively infrequently in the edited corpus so far, it is somewhat strongly associated with sitting study sessions.Footnote 28 In five of the eleven examples in which someone “comes before” Mani, Mani is sitting among his disciples. Most of these individuals are non-Manichaeans: Nazoreans, followers of the Sect of the Basket, Sasanian aristocrats, and philosophers like Goundesh, Masoukeos, and Iodasphes all “come before” Mani. These examples suggest that sitting sessions allowed outsiders to participate and ask questions, which, again, is not surprising if we assume that these sessions were held in generally accessible locations.
This formula generally emphasizes the individuality of the approaching person. Both K83 and K121, for example, specify the “religious” affiliation of the approaching person. Other chapters emphasize their emotional interiority, as in K336, which depicts Goundesh’s distress over his realization that he is imprisoned in this cosmos. The formula also introduces named individuals, which is somewhat rare in the corpus available so far, as with philosophers like Goundesh but also with Manichaean disciples, like “Pabakos son of Artashahar son of Mousar” in K341. The reason for this emphasis on the individual may be to provide a reason for why this particular person asked this particular question. It is not a coincidence, then, that Pabakos asks about the Law of Zarades since, as Dilley notes, Pabakos, or Papak in middle Persian, was a popular name among Sasanian nobility.Footnote 29 Goundesh and the other named philosophers ask questions about the nature of the cosmos, since this was presumably the type of questions that philosophers would ask. The Nazorean asks Mani about the nature of God since it contradicted his own Nazorean perspective. Ultimately, this emphasis on the individual tends to highlight the asymmetry in knowledge between the approaching person and Mani; by underwriting the approaching person as an individual with specific characteristics, the corpus is able to depict Mani as an omniscient respondent, a figure able to field potential challenges from all sides.
Manichaean Pedagogy in its Late Antique Context
I have sketched out above the contours of three formulae associated with pedagogy in the Kephalaia. In this section, I turn to contextualize these formulae in its Mesopotamian setting through examples culled from the Babylonian Talmud.Footnote 30 As David Goodblatt has noted, the preposition “before” a certain rabbi (-ד הימק) forms the backbone for a range of formulae that mark pedagogical contexts in the Babylonian Talmud.Footnote 31 A Coptic parallel in the Kephalaia for the Jewish Babylonian Aramaic “before” (-ד הימק) is 
(lit. before him) or 
(lit. in the midst). As with the Babylonian Talmud, this phrase forms the building block for three of the formulae discussed here: “sitting before” (-ד הימק -ביתי; 
), “standing before” (-ד הימק-יאק; 
), and “coming before” (-ד הימקל אתא; 
).Footnote 32 These parallels should not be understood as examples of borrowing, as if Manichaeans borrowed these formulae from the rabbis. Rather, these literary parallels probably reflect editorial choices that undergirded the processes of compilation, culling, and anthologization of ostensibly oral traditions that lie behind both the Babylonian Talmud and the Kephalaia.
Yet it is also necessary to go beyond the textual and into the social. My basic argument for this section is that Manichaean forms of pedagogy discussed above bear an unusually close relation to rabbinic forms of pedagogy. That is, the formulae found in the Kephalaia function similarly enough to their parallels in the Babylonian Talmud that we can posit a shared pedagogical culture that encompassed both the Manichaeans and the rabbis. In order to make this point, however, we need to delimit what we are comparing, especially since we are talking about non-institutionalized forms of pedagogy. In the absence of authorized institutions regulating “proper” behavior, how did Manichaeans and rabbis organize into and function as coherent learning communities, even without codified rules of behavior? What distinguished, for example, a moment of “learning” from any other moment, especially without the institutional rhythm of curricula, semesters, and faculty? I suggest that it is through the formulae of bodily comportment and positions that the text marks moments of instruction. Bourdieu’s notion of field and habitus informs my inquiry in this direction. I suggest that though both Manichaeans and rabbis operated within different social fields, they nevertheless played by a shared set of unspoken rules, a common habitus; two games, one capacious set of rules.Footnote 33 Here, I model my inquiry on the work of specialists of rabbinic Judaism who use the idea of habitus to uncover how rabbinic texts represent and articulate bodily practice as meaningful social elements within rabbinic culture.Footnote 34 In the conclusion, I will speculate on how this argument can open up new questions and possibilities for the contextualization of Manichaean literature in its late antique Syro-Mesopotamian setting.
A. To Sit Before
Scholars have pointed out that late antique Aramaic-speaking populations use words derived from the Semitic root y-t/š-b to denote pedagogical contexts.Footnote 35 David Goodblatt, in particular, has rigorously analyzed the formula “to sit before Rabbi X” and concludes that it means “to study with R. X.”Footnote 36 As argued above, Manichaeans also “sat” with their disciples in local circles and engaged in the study of oral traditions; instruction occurred on an ad hoc basis and topics of discussion did not follow a predetermined or standardized curriculum. This shared understanding of “sitting” grounds the following analysis of Manichaean and rabbinic pedagogical habitus. At the same time, we need to analyze the social dynamics of teaching: How was the relationship between sage and disciple actualized through the act of sitting? Here, I note two points of similarity between Manichaeans and the rabbis: the importance of location vis-à-vis the teacher and what constitutes a proper “scholastic” disposition.
First, both Manichaeans and the rabbis operated within a pedagogical culture that mapped hierarchy onto one’s physical proximity to the sage. For example, in K323, the king of Touran refused to sit beside Mani because doing so would be to assume parity with Mani, whom he calls Bouddas and the Apostle of God. He also refused to sit before Mani, presumably because he thought himself unworthy to even sit as a disciple.Footnote 37 Or, perhaps he refused to sit beside or before Mani because he recognized that his type of cultural capital (political power) differed too radically from Mani’s own (revelatory wisdom). Whatever the case, this chapter demonstrates that “sitting” was not neutral; where one sat vis-à-vis Mani determines and is determined by one’s status and type of cultural capital.
Just as Mani’s identity as Bouddas expressed the politics involved in sitting, so too does a rabbi’s identity as the embodiment of Torah.Footnote 38 In b. Moʿed Qaṭ. 16b, for example, Mar Uqba sits before Shmuel at a distance of four cubits when they are studying Oral Torah (יסרג) and Shmuel sits before Mar Uqba four cubits away when they sit in judgment (אנידב יבתי ווה), presumably because Mar Uqba was more adept in adjudication.Footnote 39 Nevertheless, Mar Uqba sat within the hollow of his pillow (יקייח אתפיצב אבקוע רמל היתכוד היל), thus lowering himself physically to express his inferiority to Shmuel in matters of Torah. In their game of “who sits before whom,” Mar Uqba and Shmuel evoke Shapur’s dilemma since they too recognize that the location and comportment of their bodies express a cultural script for performing hierarchy. At the same time, this same script can also lead to the expulsion of rabbinic bodies from within a “sitting” circle. For example, when R. Haninah sits before R. Yannai reciting Scripture and then contradicts him on a matter of halakhah, R. Yannai tells R. Haninah to “Leave and go read your verses outside!”Footnote 40 R. Yannai’s rebuke recognizes the priority of halakhah over recitation and puts R. Haninah literally “in his place,” that is, outside of the “sitting” circle. After all, R. Haninah transgressed an unstated rule: the one who sits before another rabbi expresses through the location of his body his participation in a student-teacher relationship. One can only imagine how Mani would have responded if a disciple “sitting before” Mani dared to contradict aspects of his revelation. While this and other similar narratives highlight the rabbinic valorization of halakhah, they also suggest that the rabbis were conscious of hierarchy, especially as expressed through the location, comportment, and even expulsion of rabbinic bodies.Footnote 41
Such examples demonstrate that moments of instruction were already embedded within a broader culture, not isolated from them. We see this in K83, which features the “ugly” Elect worshipping Mani. There, the ugly Elect broke cultural norms that silently undergirded the operations of a study session; he was too expressive in his worship of Mani, too “ugly” for such a performance, and got too close to Mani. This is what led the aristocrats to mock him. We can read against the grain of this narrative to discern how Manichaeans imagined what an idealized study session looked like: it was run with a measure of sober-minded decorum, the disciples should sit somewhere appropriate to their station, and it should be populated by “able-bodied,” if not attractive, men.Footnote 42 Certainly, K83 is not presenting the behavior of the ugly Elect as something to be emulated. Furthermore, K83 seems to assume that masculine ugliness is more useful for its particular rhetoric than other gendered forms of ugliness.
Such unstated assumptions play an extremely important role among the Babylonian rabbis, as scholars like Jeffrey Rubenstein have shown.Footnote 43 Julia Watts Belser in particular shows how certain rabbis and figures “[function] as a kind of disability performance artist—whose disabled body becomes ‘center stage’ precisely so that the performer can draw the objectifying stare and critique its power.”Footnote 44 Something similar might also be said about our “ugly” Elect. K83 marks him as a man “ugly in his body” [
] and as having some sort of “disability” around his midriff.Footnote 45 His “ugliness in body” draws both the eyes of the wealthy aristocrats and the attention of the reader as Mani critiques the power of the disabling gaze, reminding them that the true value of a person does not lie in their embodiment, but in their faith. It is important to note, however, that K83 does not present Mani as breaking protocol when he steps down from the platform to embrace the ugly Elect. Rather, it is the ugly Elect who violates the norm. The kephalaion then takes advantage of that Elect’s missteps in order to highlight Mani’s compassion and magnanimity, even towards someone coded as undeserving of such treatment. If this reading is correct, the narrativization of such social scripts may also point to their flexible durability in real life, thereby hinting at how Manichaeans and rabbis functioned as “scholastic” communities even without the constraints of an institutional authority.
Furthermore, in the eyes of the aristocrats, the ugliness of the Elect in K83 is compounded by his excessive display of emotion. We find analogues for excessive displays of joy among the rabbis in b. Ber. 30b–31a. Though none of the rabbis featured here are marked as “ugly,” these anecdotes are still useful for thinking about expectations for what constitutes a “proper” scholarly disposition. In b. Ber. 30b, we read two short stories of Abbaye “sitting before” Rabba, and R. Yirmiya “sitting before” R. Zeira. Both Rabba and R. Zeira notice that their respective colleagues are “too happy” (אבוט חדב), and cite a verse cautioning against excessive joy. Their respective colleagues respond that such behavior is allowed when donning phylacteries. While these incidents take place within a “sitting” session, b. Ber. 31a continues with anecdotes that vaunt the importance of a sober-minded disposition even beyond that context: when the rabbis are “too happy” at a wedding of a colleague’s son, the father of the groom intentionally breaks an expensive cup or sings a morbid song about the inevitability of death. These examples seem to demonstrate the importance of a sober-minded disposition among those who embody Torah, one that steers clear of excessive displays of emotion, even when the circumstances allow for them, i.e., during weddings. In the same way that the aristocrats’ sneering at the ugly Elect’s expressive worship of Mani exposed an unstated assumption about what constitutes a proper “scholastic” disposition, so too do the anecdotes about the rabbis here.
B. To Stand Before
As we saw above, the formula to “stand before” always indicates that a disciple is about to ask a question out of their own volition. After Mani answers the disciple, the disciple sits back down. As such, the disciple only remains standing for the duration of his conversation with Mani. These points suggest that when a disciple “stands up,” he is actually involved in a “sitting” study session. This is the extent to which the Kephalaia offers information on the act of standing.
The Babylonian Talmud contains examples in which a disciple who is “standing before” his rabbi asks him a question, usually regarding some aspect of proper halakhic practice.Footnote 46 This matches Goodblatt’s observation that the formula “ ‘To stand before X’ means not just to happen to be near X, but specifically refers to serving a master as his disciple-attendant.”Footnote 47 The formula usually frames a scene that highlights the importance of the master-disciple relationship for the transmission of halakhic practice. Such instruction can happen through speech, as with the disciple asking the rabbi a question, and also through sight, with the disciple observing and emulating the actions of his rabbi, the embodiment of Torah.
At the same time, the formula of “standing before” a rabbi is not restricted to moments of instruction but operates as a general sign of respect among the rabbis. We find ample evidence for non-pedagogical “standing” throughout the Babylonian Talmud, especially in b. Qidd. 32a–33b.Footnote 48 In b. Qidd. 32b, for example, we encounter two parallel stories about a rabbi serving drinks to other rabbis at his son’s wedding. In each story, only one set of rabbis stand up ('ימקמ ומק) before the rabbi as he is pouring drinks, and as a result, that rabbi gets angry at this perceived slight. The lesson seems to be that one must show respect to a rabbi at all times (היל יעב רודיה דבעמל), even when serving drinks at a wedding. In this case, “showing respect” means standing before a rabbi. A baraita in b. Qidd. 33a goes on to define “standing for the sake of respect” (רודיה הב שיש 'מיק) as standing within four cubits of someone else’s rabbi and standing up as soon as one sees one’s own rabbi. The text goes on to relate a story of how Abbaye would stand up in honor as soon as he saw the ears of Rav Yosef’s donkey. This sugya concludes with a debate about whether it is necessary to stand up before one’s rabbi when engaged in Torah study. Though some rabbis hold that one is not obligated to stand before one’s rabbi when engaged in Torah, Abbaye curses anyone who follows this ruling (ייבא 'לע טייל). Such examples show that “standing” could also function as a sign of respect within the rabbinic community. We might therefore see the examples of disciples “standing before” their rabbi as a particular intensification of this general phenomenon, not as a specifically “pedagogical” phenomenon.
Though the Kephalaia does furnish strong evidence for the association between pedagogy and standing before one’s teacher, it does not provide evidence that “standing before” operated as a general sign of respect. Nevertheless, we might be excused for speculating beyond the narrow evidence of the Kephalaia: since the Manichaeans sat and stood before their teachers during moments of instruction in a way similar to the rabbis, then perhaps we can postulate that the Manichaeans also stood before their teachers as a sign of respect. If so, we might speculate that Manichaean disciples did not stand for some practical purpose, e.g. to amplify their voice or to make them easier to spot, but simply because it was expected of them as disciples before their teacher.
C. To Come Before
As discussed above, the formula “to come before” in the Kephalaia always introduces an individual, often a non-Manichaean, who engages directly with Mani. The identity of that individual informs the general trajectory of that kephalaion. Because our concern is on habitus, let us again see how the formulae in both the Babylonian Talmud and the Kephalaia coheres with one another. K89 opens in the following way:
Once again, it happened one time, a Nazorean came before the Apostle. He says to him, “I will ask you one word! You, for your part, persuade me with a single word, but not many words.”
The Apostle speaks to him, “If you are able to utter to me a single word, then I myself will also utter a single word. However, if you may ask many, then again I too will proclaim a multitude!”
Compare this with the famous story of the convert from b. Šabb. 31a:
Again, an incident, a Gentile came before Shammai [אבש דחא יוגב השעמ בושו יאמש ינפל]. He says to him, “I will convert on the condition that you teach me the entire Torah while I am standing on one foot.” Shammai pushed him away with the builder’s tool in his hand.
He came before Hillel [ללה ינפל אב]. He converted him. He said to him: Do not do to your colleagues what is hateful to you. This is the entire Torah and what follows is its interpretation. Go study.
These passages are nearly identical in structure: Again (בוש; 
), it happened (השעמ; 
), a Nazorean/Gentile came before (ינפל אבש; 
) Mani/Shammai. The challenges raised by the Nazorean and the Gentile are also similar; they both ask the sage to perform an impossible task under completely arbitrary conditions. Their identities inform the type of question they ask; the Gentile must be a Gentile if he is to convert, and the Nazorean asks what seems to be a “typically” Nazorean question. These literary parallels suggest that Manichaeans and the rabbis shared similar assumptions for how an outsider should approach and engage with a sage.Footnote 49 Clearly, outsiders should not impose arbitrary rules for how a sage must respond to their question. Shammai, for one, recognizes the ridiculousness of the Gentile’s proposition and responds appropriately by ignoring him. Mani and Hillel, however, humor their guests and rise to their challenge. As for Mani, he again accepts those who had “crossed the line” of appropriate behavior, as we had already seen in the case of the ugly Elect in K83. There, it was to demonstrate his compassion. Here, it is to demonstrate that Mani is able to field all challengers and to even catch them at their own game. This is demonstrated especially well in 2 Ke, where Mani bests three challengers: Goundesh, Masoukeos, and Iodasphes.
The examples above help us see that Manichaeans and rabbis shared a sense of how an “outsider” should approach a teacher. As for “insiders,” the Kephalaia depicts disciples approaching Mani to worship him,Footnote 50 to learn from him,Footnote 51 and, surprisingly enough, to be comforted by him. In K336, for example, Goundesh “comes before” Mani to complain about his feelings of discontent. Mani tries to encourage him, noting that Goundesh is well-regarded by everyone, including the king. The rest of the chapter is too fragmented for comprehension, but it concludes with Goundesh declaring that he is no longer discontent, presumably because Mani had successfully reminded him that his true home is in the Kingdom of Light. For our purposes, this kephalaion suggests that disciples approached their teachers not only for instruction, but to be encouraged. In fact, it is difficult to make a strict separation between the two, in so far as the Kephalaia occasionally depicts disciples asking Mani knotty and worrisome questions that emerged precisely from their own emotional turmoil as a Manichaean disciple in the real world.Footnote 52 As such, these kephalaia hint at the enduring relationships that Manichaean teachers cultivated with their disciples. These relationships surely extended far beyond what is visible in the Kephalaia, which as a genre is more focused on the moments of instruction that emerge out of these already-existing relationships than in mapping out the contours of those relationships.
Similar uses for the formula “to come before” can be found in the Babylonian Talmud. There, the formula “X came before R. Y” most often depicts a scene in which two individuals “come before” a certain rabbi in order to resolve a dispute, especially around issues related to property, inheritance, and boundaries.Footnote 53 In such cases, the litigants come from a wide swath of Mesopotamian society, including non-rabbinic Jews, rabbis, Gentiles, women, and “idolators.” Though the majority of such uses for the formula relate to matters of adjudication, an appreciable set of examples points to a far broader use. Non-adjudicatory examples of this formula include scenes where rabbis and students seek to appease an offended party, directly or through another party,Footnote 54 request further midrashic interpretation,Footnote 55 ostracize someone,Footnote 56 verify the seals of tax documents,Footnote 57 authenticate a dinar,Footnote 58 dispense charitable sustenance,Footnote 59 manumit an enslaved person,Footnote 60 receive medical advice,Footnote 61 clarify the integrity of a manuscript,Footnote 62 study a book,Footnote 63 and give advice on building a house.Footnote 64 This set of examples offers a different vantage point for assessing how rabbinic students approached a rabbi. They suggest that “coming before” was not uniquely tied to moments of rabbinic instruction, but that such moments of instruction participated in a broader set of normative expectations for how both outsiders and insiders should approach a sage. As we saw above, where the formula for “standing before” a rabbi could function as a general sign of respect, the broad use of the formula “to come before” also seems to operate beyond the narrow boundaries of moments of instruction.
Of course, as far as we can tell, no one came before Mani to resolve a legal dispute with their neighbor.Footnote 65 Conversely, no one approached a rabbi to worship him as the Apostle of Jesus Christ. Nevertheless, I have argued that a wide range of people did “come before” a rabbi and Manichaean teachers to study scripture, to challenge them, to seek their advice, and to appease or to be appeased by them. Moreover, as my initial example of the Nazorean and the Gentile indicated, both rabbis and Manichaeans shared a sense of how outsiders should approach a sage. As a result, it seems likely that both Manichaeans and rabbis shared a common set of expectations for how both outsiders and insiders should “come before” a sage.
Conclusion
I have made two arguments in this paper. The first argument is that, like their rabbinic neighbors, late antique Mesopotamian Manichaeans did not study in institutions of learning with a semester system, standing faculty, or established curricula. Rather, the topics of discussion emerged from happenstance events and did not go beyond the boundaries of each “sitting” study session. Manichaean teachers and disciples met in diverse locations and, perhaps as a result, were generally receptive to the presence of outsiders. My second argument is that this model of instruction bears an unusually close relationship to rabbinic models of pedagogy. More specifically, I argued that while the rabbis and Manichaeans were part of different communities, they shared a set of unspoken socialized “rules of engagement,” a common habitus. I made this argument by showing how three parallel formulae found in both the Babylonian Talmud and the Kephalaia—of “sitting before,” “standing before,” and “coming before”—cohere with one another.
I would like to conclude with three brief points, one relating to the limits of this study and two relating to where we might go from here. First, the model of instruction discussed above presented only one aspect of Manichaean pedagogy and focused on only one genre of Manichaean literature. Even so, it is still difficult to reduce Manichaean “education” to singular moments of instruction. Rather, the boundaries for what constitutes “instruction” might reach the boundaries of the community itself. As we might expect given the lack of institutional norms imposing boundaries between what is “scholastic” and what is “non-scholastic,” moments of instruction reflect the dense instantiations of broader social norms and cannot be isolated from those broader social contexts. Consequently, we must also pay attention to how each community constructs and employs various apparatuses for socializing—“educating”—its members. Liturgy would perhaps be one fruitful point for extending this conversation, especially given the size of the still understudied Manichaean Psalmbook, not to mention the prominent role that liturgy played among Aramaic-speaking Christian populations, on the one hand, and the potential for incorporating the study of synagogues and churches into this comparative venture, on the other.Footnote 66 Furthermore, hagiographies of Syriac “ascetics” as well as a deeper comparison with the Apophthegmata Patrum may also prove to be fruitful points of continuity: we might ask to what degree does the literary representation of Mani cohere with representations of other “holy people” dotting the Ancient Near East?Footnote 67
Second, my argument above suggests that Aramaic-speaking communitiesin late antique Syro-Mesopotamia operated within a shared set of material and cultural constraints. The fact that rabbis, Manichaeans, and ChristiansFootnote 68 taught in discernably similar ways in similar circumstances cannot be explained away as mere coincidence nor as incidences of wholesale borrowing. Instead, we can posit a shared set of material, economic, and cultural factors operating behind and within each community. Although the precise nature of these factors remains opaque, the mere positing of a shared background may help us in our analysis of the texts produced by these communities. This leads us to the third point.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, if we posit a shared set of constraints operating within each community, we might be able to explain how such constraints informed the content and form of those texts produced by each community. Indeed, how did the model of instruction discussed above impact the content and form of texts like the Babylonian Talmud and the Kephalaia?Footnote 69 In what ways do these texts bear the imprints of the social realities that stand behind them and in front of them? From this point of view, it may be no coincidence that both the Babylonian Talmud—not to mention most of rabbinic literature—and the Kephalaia are “anthological” in form.Footnote 70 Moreover, both the Kephalaia and rabbinic literature exhibit remarkably similar literary strategies for creating and organizing tradition, e.g., the extensive use of parables,Footnote 71 symmetrical lists, thin stenographic layers of redaction, and the use of regular formulae. Indeed, given such similarities, perhaps it is no coincidence that both communities would come to valorize their teachings as nothing less than oral revelation, as “Torah in the Mouth” with the rabbis and as the Kephalaia with the Manichaeans.Footnote 72
; or perhaps simply a raised platform]. We cannot extrapolate from this example that Mani always sat on a bēma. Its appearance here is rhetorical: the bēma heightens the affective aspects of this scene by drawing attention to Mani’s superiority and contrasting it with the physical ugliness and wanton abandon of the ugly Elect. The aristocrats’ snooty attitude and rejection of the ugly Elect puts Mani’s humility and acceptance of that man in sharp relief. Having been properly chastened by Mani, the aristocrats sit back down, and the disciples take this moment as an opportunity to stand up to ask Mani a question. For more on the bēma festival, see Manichaean Texts from the Roman Empire (ed. Iain Gardner and Samuel N. C. Lieu; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 237–38.
] someone, as found in K61, 322, 323, 326, 327, 337. This formula of “walking to” is strongly associated with the act of greeting (
).
. Perhaps the Elect was hunched over since the text seems to contrast his physical disability in his midriff with his “Uprightness [
] in Righteousness.”
