| Origen (Comm. Matt.) | Citation | Gospel | Ammonian pericope # | Range (per your file) | Boundary type |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 12.28 | Mt 16:26 | Matthew | 170 | Matthew 16:24–26 | end (last verse of unit) |
| 12.29 | Mt 16:27 | Matthew | 171 | Matthew 16:27 | whole-unit (single-verse unit = start/end) |
| 12.30 | Mt 16:27 | Matthew | 171 | Matthew 16:27 | whole-unit (single-verse unit = start/end) |
| 12.30 | Jn 1:14 | John | 5 | Jn 1:14 | whole-unit (single-verse unit = start/end) |
| 12.31 | Mt 16:28 | Matthew | 172 | Matthew 16:28–17:9 | start (first verse of unit) |
| 12.31 | Mk 9:1 | Mark | 87 | Mark 9:1–9 | start (first verse of unit) |
| 12.31 | Mt 20:23 | Matthew | 202 | Matthew 20:20–23 | end (last verse of unit) |
In Origen, the most probative Greek evidence for a pericope-based apparatus is not the mere presence of quotations, but the way quotation is made to function as an articulated unit that governs the movement of exposition. In Comm. Matt. 12.28–31 the discussion advances by consecutive lemmata—first the closing question of Mt 16:26 (12.28), then Mt 16:27 (12.29–30), then Mt 16:28 (12.31)—and each lemma is treated as a discrete exegetical “stop,” after which Origen draws in tightly delimited parallels (e.g., the Johannine doxological lemma Jn 1:14 in 12.30) and then returns to the Matthean sequence. This is the characteristic rhythm of an indexed pericope system: a stable anchor-text provides the segment boundary, and other Gospel material is attached as secondary witnesses without dissolving the primary segmentation. Even where Origen does not advertise any numbering, the Greek texture shows lemma-governed segmentation: the Matthean wording is introduced as the object of inquiry and then becomes the hinge by which he modulates from literal reading to theological inference, and from there to controlled cross-Gospel corroboration. The salient point is methodological: Origen’s discourse behaves as though it were “walking” a pre-divided Gospel text, stopping at points that are naturally suited to serve as section heads (Mt 16:26–28), and using those stops as sites for parallel alignment.
That feature becomes clearer when one notices how Origen’s connective language tends to preserve the integrity of the lemma-unit. He will often keep the lemma short and stable, then allow extended doctrinal elaboration to unfold around it, while subsequent scriptural material is attached either as proof (“καθὸ …”) or as a second lemma serving a distinct rhetorical function (thus Jn 1:14 is not merely cited; it becomes the verbal support for the δόξα contrast he is drawing). In other words, Origen’s practice is not simply “biblical citation,” but citation as segmentation: the exegetical paragraphing tracks a succession of bounded Gospel slices. That is precisely the kind of behaviour one expects from a reader formed in (or at least comfortable with) an Ammonian/Eusebian habit of handling the Gospels as arrays of divisible, recombinable units.
By contrast, the Greek of the Letter to Theodore (as preserved in Clement’s voice) makes segmentation explicit at the level of quotation-technique, but it does so through the idiom of excerpting and textual policing rather than through the idiom of running commentary. The opening programmatic sentence is telling: “Σοὶ τοίνυν οὐκ ὀκνήσω τὰ ἠρωτημένα ἀποκρίνασθαι δι᾽ αὐτῶν τοῦ εὐαγγελίου λέξεων τὰ κατεψευσμένα ἐλέγχων.” The promise is not to interpret a continuous sequence, but to refute fabrications “through the very words of the Gospel.” The apparatus-like character then appears in a cluster of technical moves.
First, Theodore uses incipit–explicit bounding formulas that are functionally equivalent to section-markers: “Ἀμέλει μετὰ τὸ ἦσαν δὲ ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ ἀναβαίνοντες εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα, καὶ τὰ ἑξῆς ἕως, μετὰ τρεῖς ἡμέρας ἀναστήσεται.” Whatever the exact textual shape intended by “καὶ τὰ ἑξῆς ἕως …,” the structure is unmistakable: a known starting phrase is cited, a stretch is elided, and a known ending phrase supplies the terminal boundary. This is not casual abbreviation; it is boundary-definition by recognizable edges. Second, the letter then marks the transition from boundary-definition to verbatim insertion: “Ὧδε ἐπιφέρει κατὰ λέξιν …” The phrase κατὰ λέξιν is a claim about exactness, and it functions like a scholastic flag: what follows is not paraphrase but controlled quotation. Third, the letter repeatedly signals how one unit sits in the sequence by explicit “followed-by” language: “Ἐπὶ μὲν τούτοις ἕπεται τὸ … καὶ πᾶσα ἡ περικοπή.” Here ἕπεται and πᾶσα ἡ περικοπή are the key. “The pericope” is treated as a recognized block, not merely as “some verses,” and the author claims to know what immediately “follows upon” the cited unit. Finally, the same technique is used again to mark a later attachment-point: “Μετὰ δὲ τὸ καὶ ἔρχεται εἰς Ἱεριχὼ ἐπάγει μόνον …” Again, the writer locates a passage by its incipit and describes what the text “adds” (ἐπάγει), implying a disciplined sense of sequence.
Taken in isolation, this is exceptionally strong evidence for a pericope-conscious handling of Mark: the author is not merely quoting; he is mapping, bounding, and stitching—incipit, explicit, verbatim block, “then follows,” “after this it adds”—with vocabulary (περικοπή, κατὰ λέξιν, τὰ ἑξῆς ἕως) that reads like the metalanguage of excerpting from a segmented book. Yet this same observation also limits what the Theodore passage can prove about Ammonius specifically. Incipit–explicit citation and “and the following” formulas are widespread in ancient scholarly and ecclesiastical writing. They can be generated by ordinary manuscript practice (locating and delimiting a passage in a codex by its memorable edges) without presupposing the existence of an Ammonian cross-reference system. The letter’s procedure is entirely compatible with an Ammonian/Eusebian apparatus, but it does not require one.
So the comparative judgment depends on what is being claimed. If the question is whether the Greek indicates unitized Gospel reading, Theodore is a vivid witness: it foregrounds unit boundaries overtly and even names the unit (περικοπή), while combining boundary-phrases with a claim of verbatim reproduction (κατὰ λέξιν) and a negative control statement (“Τὸ δὲ γυμνοὶ γυμνῷ … οὐκ εὑρίσκεται”), which presupposes collation against an authoritative Markan text. If, however, the question is whether the Greek is a witness to Origen’s use of an Ammonian apparatus in the stricter sense—i.e., an intellectual technology for coordinating multiple Gospels by pre-divided sections—Origen remains the stronger witness. His commentary does not merely demarcate a block and quote it; it proceeds in lemma-steps that behave like an index-walk through Matthew while systematically appending parallels from other Gospels as secondary attestations. That pattern is precisely what an Ammonian apparatus is for: not simply delimitation, but controlled alignment.
Accordingly, Theodore’s language offers a strong formal analogy to pericope apparatus (especially in its explicit boundary markers and its “whole pericope” talk), but it is a weaker probative witness for Ammonius as such, because the same Greek techniques belong to the broader culture of excerpting and refutation. Origen’s Greek, even when not enumerative, is a stronger witness to the logic of the Ammonian enterprise: unitized lemmata functioning as anchors for cross-Gospel coordination, which is more than excerpting—it is apparatus-like reading in action.
