MAN AND CIRCUMSTANCE
INTRODUCTION
Why would anyone be
interested in an obscure lawyer and poet that lived some fourteen hundred years ago in a rural Egyptian village?
Why did I become interested, so interested that I devoted much of my career to studying him?
First, it was the challenge and excitement of working with ancient documents. Everything we know about Dioscorus of Aphrodito, we know through papyrus scrolls and fragments that were discovered by accident some one hundred years ago.
Second, he is important to poets. The poems that we found in his papyrus scrolls are the oldest surviving poems written by the hand of a known poet. They are older than T. S. Eliot’s neatly typed manuscripts, scribbled with corrections by Ezra Pound. They are even older than Emily Dickinson’s neatly tied packets in the attic. Dioscorus wrote his poetry in the sixth century A.D. They are working copies, with corrections and variations squeezed above the verses and into the margins. Though they may have circulated locally, his poems were never published during his lifetime. Yet now, so many centuries later, they have been distributed all around the Western World. The originals are treasured by libraries, museums, and collectors. The poems have been published again and again in journals and in books, and at conferences they have been discussed and debated by scholars from every nation. That should give hope to any forgotten poet!
His poems were misunderstood by the historians that discovered and first published them. Historians—to which discipline I belong—are not generally known for their love of poetry, their sensitive perceptions, or their appreciation of the abstract and spiritual. They were baffled by what they read. These poems did not fit into the Classical molds that they had learned at school. Most scholars labeled them as poorly written, occasional verse. Still, some had a gut feeling that there was something more, something deeper at work in these poems. And my first book explored that depth.
Finally though, as I get older, I start to appreciate Dioscorus more as a man than an object of study. He was a poet, a lawyer, and clever entrepreneur. He was a leader of his community, who travelled from Egypt to Constantinople to bring the emperor their grievances. He was a devoted and resourceful son, brother, husband, and father.
Dioscorus was a man born into challenging circumstances. The world as he knew it was vanishing. The law and order that he loved so much—sometimes even the initial letters of his verses spelled out words, and the lines were equal mathematically—were quickly collapsing. The government that had the responsibility to protect him and his community was now attacking his family and neighbors more savagely than the barbarian hordes from the desert. And yet Dioscorus, with endurance and forbearance, used the tools that he had learned—law and poetry—to resist peacefully the swelling violence, greed, ambition, and indifference of the governing rulers.
And he used prayer.
Dioscorus was a man whose plight strikes deep into my heart. His response is a model for all people and all times.
Dioscorus was a real life hero. And the discovery of his personal, business, and legal papers, buried for centuries, was a happy circumstance for us all.
C. K.
A note about the photographs:
During the past two decades I have enjoyed several extended stays in the Middle East, while pursuing my research on archaeology and ancient documents. Before the start of one of the trips, my mother, a Church historian and professional photographer in Chicago, gave me one of her old cameras. It was a Yashika Lynx 1000. On a subsequent trip, because she liked my pictures, she gave me her Nikon N2020 AF. These were the cameras that I used for these photos. For the black-and-white photos, I used ORWO NP 22 film. For color, I used Kodachrome and whatever else the desert had to offer.
Many of the photos were shot in Middle Egypt in November 1995. At that time, Middle Egypt was, in effect, closed to foreigners because of security risks. With the help of friends at the Chicago House in Luxor, I was able to get permission from the generals in Luxor and Tima to travel alone into the rural regions. What I found there was an Egypt free of tourists, which is rare, and Egyptians relaxed and free of scrutiny. Around 2000, the area opened up again. Tourists returned, foreign archaeology resumed, and the villagers exchanged their donkeys for cars. What one sees in these photographs is an Egypt that has disappeared along with the pharaohs, Roman generals, and Byzantine monks.
Why did I become interested, so interested that I devoted much of my career to studying him?
First, it was the challenge and excitement of working with ancient documents. Everything we know about Dioscorus of Aphrodito, we know through papyrus scrolls and fragments that were discovered by accident some one hundred years ago.
Second, he is important to poets. The poems that we found in his papyrus scrolls are the oldest surviving poems written by the hand of a known poet. They are older than T. S. Eliot’s neatly typed manuscripts, scribbled with corrections by Ezra Pound. They are even older than Emily Dickinson’s neatly tied packets in the attic. Dioscorus wrote his poetry in the sixth century A.D. They are working copies, with corrections and variations squeezed above the verses and into the margins. Though they may have circulated locally, his poems were never published during his lifetime. Yet now, so many centuries later, they have been distributed all around the Western World. The originals are treasured by libraries, museums, and collectors. The poems have been published again and again in journals and in books, and at conferences they have been discussed and debated by scholars from every nation. That should give hope to any forgotten poet!
His poems were misunderstood by the historians that discovered and first published them. Historians—to which discipline I belong—are not generally known for their love of poetry, their sensitive perceptions, or their appreciation of the abstract and spiritual. They were baffled by what they read. These poems did not fit into the Classical molds that they had learned at school. Most scholars labeled them as poorly written, occasional verse. Still, some had a gut feeling that there was something more, something deeper at work in these poems. And my first book explored that depth.
Finally though, as I get older, I start to appreciate Dioscorus more as a man than an object of study. He was a poet, a lawyer, and clever entrepreneur. He was a leader of his community, who travelled from Egypt to Constantinople to bring the emperor their grievances. He was a devoted and resourceful son, brother, husband, and father.
Dioscorus was a man born into challenging circumstances. The world as he knew it was vanishing. The law and order that he loved so much—sometimes even the initial letters of his verses spelled out words, and the lines were equal mathematically—were quickly collapsing. The government that had the responsibility to protect him and his community was now attacking his family and neighbors more savagely than the barbarian hordes from the desert. And yet Dioscorus, with endurance and forbearance, used the tools that he had learned—law and poetry—to resist peacefully the swelling violence, greed, ambition, and indifference of the governing rulers.
And he used prayer.
Dioscorus was a man whose plight strikes deep into my heart. His response is a model for all people and all times.
Dioscorus was a real life hero. And the discovery of his personal, business, and legal papers, buried for centuries, was a happy circumstance for us all.
C. K.
A note about the photographs:
During the past two decades I have enjoyed several extended stays in the Middle East, while pursuing my research on archaeology and ancient documents. Before the start of one of the trips, my mother, a Church historian and professional photographer in Chicago, gave me one of her old cameras. It was a Yashika Lynx 1000. On a subsequent trip, because she liked my pictures, she gave me her Nikon N2020 AF. These were the cameras that I used for these photos. For the black-and-white photos, I used ORWO NP 22 film. For color, I used Kodachrome and whatever else the desert had to offer.
Many of the photos were shot in Middle Egypt in November 1995. At that time, Middle Egypt was, in effect, closed to foreigners because of security risks. With the help of friends at the Chicago House in Luxor, I was able to get permission from the generals in Luxor and Tima to travel alone into the rural regions. What I found there was an Egypt free of tourists, which is rare, and Egyptians relaxed and free of scrutiny. Around 2000, the area opened up again. Tourists returned, foreign archaeology resumed, and the villagers exchanged their donkeys for cars. What one sees in these photographs is an Egypt that has disappeared along with the pharaohs, Roman generals, and Byzantine monks.