Description of P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt.

Due to the circumstances in which P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt. was acquired, the provenance of the piece is unknown.^{Footnote 7} While there are a few phonetic spellings and one grammatical feature that might suggest it was written somewhere in Upper Egypt, these are not conclusive.^{Footnote 8} The papyrus upon which the text is written measures approximately 8 cm x 24 cm (H x W)^{Footnote 9} and is light brown in color. The papyrus survives almost intact, although the uninscribed right margin has sustained some damage, leaving the individual fibers visible. Between ll. 3 and 4 there is a distinct space of about 1 cm, but it is apparent that no text is missing as a single word is split between the two lines (ⲉⲧⲉⲥ|ⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ); it therefore appears that this space was due to damage to the papyrus that had already occurred before the text was inscribed.^{Footnote 10} There are a number of vertical folds on the papyrus in increments of ca. 2 cm that suggest that at one point it was folded up, which may imply that the text is an amulet, since amulets, often being portable, were frequently folded,^{Footnote 11} although there are also examples of formularies (texts consisting of one or more recipes) written on single sheets that are also folded.^{Footnote 12} The use of the generic name marker might imply a formulary, although examples of the copying of such paratextual material into amulets and other such applied texts is also attested.^{Footnote 13}

The five-line text is written clearly with a dark brown ink in a bilinear script, slightly inclined to the right, of the type often known as the “sloped majuscule.” From the mid-point of l. 3 the strokes used to write the letters are noticeably thinner and lighter, perhaps indicating a change of ink or stylus or the sharpening of a reed pen. A few letters (notably theta, tau, upsilon, and djandja) have slight serifs. While the letters are generally well-spaced, some letters touch and theta-epsilon combinations are ligatured with the crossbar of theta extending and forming the crossbar of epsilon (ll. 1, 2, 4). Notable letterforms include djandja, which is written with a distinct hook at the top of the right oblique, and perhaps alpha, whose form varies throughout the text.^{Footnote 14} The text demonstrates several common non-standard orthographies (ⲅ > ⲕ, ⲟ > ⲱ, ϯ > ⲧⲓ, and ⲉⲓ > ⲓ), the assimilation of ⲛ > ⲙ is not written (l. 1), and the short vowel indicated by a supralinear stroke in standard Sahidic orthography is instead written using epsilon in several places. Overall the script and orthography are fairly regular and give the impression that the writer was reasonably competent.

The dating of informal Coptic hands poses numerous well-known problems; the type of script used here, the “sloped majuscule,” seems to have developed from the angular “severe style” in the fourth century CE, but continued to be used and developed for Coptic texts into at least the twelfth century CE.^{Footnote 15} Alongside its use in documentary texts it is often found in what Walter C. Till called Kleinliteratur––“folk literature,” liturgical texts, and proto-scientific works, including medical, magical, and alchemical texts.^{Footnote 16} While similarities to the hand may be noted in seventh-century manuscripts,^{Footnote 17} the closest parallels seem to be with liturgical texts from the ninth century, in particular Pierpont Morgan inv. M636, which can be dated with some likelihood based on its re-use of a protocol from the governorship of ‘Ubayd Allāh (795–797 CE),^{Footnote 18} and P.Lond.Copt. 514, which likely dates to the patriarchate of Michael III (880–907 CE).^{Footnote 19} Although both of these hands represent more formal versions of the hand appearing in P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt., there are notable similarities, in particular the distinctive serifs on the upsilon, delta, tau, and djandja, and the narrow theta which is ligatured to the following letter (cf. P.Lond.Copt. 514 verso, l. 2). Based on these comparanda, a ninth-century date seems most likely, although it might equally be placed in the late eighth or early tenth centuries. Such a date would coincide with the period of the greatest production of literary texts attesting to the discourse of celibate marriage in Egyptian Christianity (discussed below), which tend to come from the eighth to the eleventh centuries.^{Footnote 20}

Edition of P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt.

Provenance unknown, 8.0 cm x 24.0 cm (H x W), Late Eighth–Early Tenth Centuries CE

Translation

I adjure you (pl.) today, that, just as you (fem. sing.) guarded your virginity and your purity and your marriage, NN daughter of NN will guard her virginity and her marriage and her purity.

Notes

1. ⲧⲓⲱⲣⲉⲕ ⲉⲣⲱⲧⲉⲛ ⲛⲡⲱⲟⲩ. Illocutive performative phrases of this type, using first person verbal forms, are common in Greek and Coptic magical texts, especially at the beginning of invocations. The verbs used tend to be verbs of either invocation––calling upon the named power––or adjuration––placing the power under an obligation comparable to an oath.^{Footnote 21} In Greek texts, the most common verbs of adjuration are ὁρκίζω^{Footnote 22} and ἐξορκίζω,^{Footnote 23} while Demotic does not seem to use a directly comparable form.^{Footnote 24} Coptic texts use either the Greek loanwords, the verb ⲱⲣⲕ^{Footnote 25} or its causative equivalent ⲧⲁⲣⲕⲟ.^{Footnote 26}

In this context, ⲱⲣⲕ is always followed by an object indicated by the preposition ⲉ-/ⲉⲣⲟ. Grammatically, the addressee here is plural, although the following possessive pronouns (ⲡⲟⲩ-, ⲧⲟⲩ-) are feminine singular, which would seem more appropriate for the figure we take to be the most likely object of the adjuration, the Virgin Mary. The use of a plural pronoun here is thus surprising and might be understood either as an indicator of respect, or as a mistake, arising from a mechanical use of the plural in a formulaic phrase. While the use of the second person plural for a singular addressee as an indicator of respect is not discussed in any grammar of Coptic, and does not seem to have been treated at any length in print, it is found in certain documentary texts from at least the seventh century, presumably as a borrowing from Greek, where it is standard by the sixth century CE.^{Footnote 27} Nonetheless, a number of other Coptic magical papyri alternate in usage between a second person singular and plural form of address without any obvious motivation, indicating either confusion (a lack of mastery of the language or register) or, perhaps more likely, a lack of care when reproducing formulaic phraseology.^{Footnote 28} Here we suggest that the use of a plural is an error, although the possibility that it is used meaningfully in deference to the status of the adjured being must be borne in mind as a possibility; a future study of pronoun usage in such texts, though beyond the scope of this discussion, may provide a more definitive answer.

The female identity of the addressee is unusual and deserves comment. Female deities are regularly called upon in older Greek magical texts, and several Coptic texts mention Isis^{Footnote 29} or the Virgin Mary, or feature the practitioner speaking in the person of Mary.^{Footnote 30} In these examples, however, they do not invoke or adjure either Isis or Mary as a power. Such direct invocations and adjurations of female beings in Coptic magical material are much rarer; there seems to be only one example in the corpus of 304 manuscripts published in 2017 by Roxanne Bélanger Sarrazin,^{Footnote 31} and the subject in this case is a female demon adjured to leave a patient alone.^{Footnote 32} A second, unpublished invocation calls upon a female power, perhaps the Greek goddess Artemis, to protect the user.^{Footnote 33} Invocations to Mary are found, however, in a group of Greek amulets offering healing and protection from disease and demonic forces, and dating to between the third and seventh centuries, which address or invoke Mary either alone, with other Christian figures such as saints, or with God.^{Footnote 34}

The third element, “today,” appears in several Greek materials,^{Footnote 35} but becomes very standard in Coptic performative phrases.^{Footnote 36} The use of this adverbial element may be tied to the concern for immediacy common in magical texts––compare “now, now, quickly, quickly”(ἤδη ἤδη ταχὺ ταχύ),^{Footnote 37} a regular element at the end of invocations––a demand that the request be carried out as soon as possible.

The writing of ⲱⲣⲕ and ⲉⲣⲱⲧⲛ̅ with epsilons between the two final consonants is not particularly diagnostic; these kinds of writing are common in standard Bohairic and Fayumic, although Kahle notes that they are found extensively in non-literary texts from Ashmunein and further north.^{Footnote 38} In regards to ⲡⲱⲟⲩ, Crum^{Footnote 39} and Westendorf^{Footnote 40} note forms with the vowel sequence ⲱⲟⲩ as Sahidic with Akhmimic influence, Akhmimic, and Lycopolitan, although Kasser notes the same form as appearing in a Bohairic text.^{Footnote 41} The predominance of forms from southern dialects might suggest an origin in Upper Egypt for this text, although the substitution of omicron and omega in non-standard Coptic is widespread.

ⲛⲧⲁⲣϩⲁⲣⲉϩ. For reasons discussed below (see “Comparable Magical Material”), the concept of virginity as something that needed to be especially “guarded” or “kept” (ϩⲁⲣⲉϩ ≍ φυλάσσω)^{Footnote 42} does not seem to occur in Egyptian-language texts before the advent of Christianity. It does appear by at least the third century BCE in Greek language texts, for example in Callimachus’s Hymn to Artemis, in which he recounts how the goddess asked Zeus to “allow [her] to guard [her] virginity forever” (l. 6: δός μοι παρθενίην αἰώνιον . . . φυλάσσειν).

The concept seems to become more common in Christian texts. Its use in two contexts is particularly relevant for our discussion here. Several texts refer to Mary, mother of Jesus, as having “kept/guarded” her virginity even in motherhood. Gregory Thaumaturgus claims that “the Holy Virgin carefully guarded the lamp of virginity” (ἐπιμελῶς γὰρ ἡ ἁγία Παρθένος τὴν λαμπάδα τῆς παρθενίας φυλάττουσα),^{Footnote 43} while Basil of Caesarea insists that the example of the vulture shows that it is not impossible for “a virgin to give birth, keeping her virginity immaculate” (παρθένον τεκεῖν, τῆς παρθενίας αὐτῆς φυλαττομένης ἀχράντου),^{Footnote 44} and John of Damascus refers to Mary as “she who kept her virginity unblemished in childbirth” (τῆς ἐν τῷ τίκτειν φυλαξάσης τὴν παρθενίαν ἀλώβητον).^{Footnote 45}

In other contexts, individuals in non-sexual marriages are described as “protecting” their virginity. Thus, in Palladius’s Lausiac History, Amoun tells his wife on their marriage night that they should sleep separately “so that [they] may please God, keeping [their] virginity untouched” (ἵνα καὶ τῷ θεῷ ἀρέσωμεν φυλάξαντες ἄθικτον τὴν παρθενίαν),^{Footnote 46} while, in the Life of Julian and Basilissa, Julian exhorts his bride to accept the commands of Christ “so that we may guard <our> virginity” (ἵνα τὴν παρθενίαν . . . φυλάξωμεν).^{Footnote 47} This language recurs in the Coptic Life of Abba John Khame, in which the holy man explains to his wife that if they “guard [their] virginity” (ⲉϣⲱⲡ ⲁⲛϣⲁⲛⲁ̅ⲣⲉϩ ⲉ̅ⲧⲉⲛⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ̅), they will receive the inheritance of the righteous.^{Footnote 48} In the Coptic Life of the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos is described as being welcomed into Paradise by the male and female virgins “who guarded their virginity” (ⲛ̅ⲧⲁⲩϩⲁⲣⲉϩ ⲉⲧⲉⲩⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ̅),^{Footnote 49} and likewise, in the Coptic Apocalypse of Paul, those who “guard the purity of their virginity” (ⲉⲧⲛⲁϩⲁⲣⲉϩ ⲉⲡⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲟ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲩⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ) are described as dwelling in Paradise with the children slain by Herod.^{Footnote 50}

2. ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ. The word ⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ does not seem to occur in the primary Sahidic translation of the Bible; παρθενία is instead translated as ⲙⲛ̅ⲧⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲟⲥ (Jer 4:2), ⲙⲛ̅ⲧⲣⲟⲟⲩⲛⲉ (Sir 42:10, Luke 2:36), or even ⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ (Sirach 15:2: ⲛⲑⲉ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲥϩⲓⲙⲉ ⲉⲥⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ < ὡς γυνὴ παρθενίας). Nonetheless, it does appear in a number of documentary, literary, and magical texts.^{Footnote 51} It always seems to refer, for both men and women, to the state of being without sexual experience in a fairly literal fashion.^{Footnote 52} In the testament P.KRU 67 (seventh or eighth century CE), for example, a father describes the problems in his son’s marriage as being due to the fact that the παρθενία of his son’s wife was “not intact” at marriage (l. 22: ⲧⲉⲥⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ ⲟⲩⲟϫ ⲁⲛ). In the Martyrdom of Apater and Erai, Erai is dragged to a tavern (ⲙⲁ ⲛ̅ⲕⲁⲡⲏⲗⲟⲥ) by a soldier who “desires to do violence and undo her virginity” (ⲉϥⲟⲩⲱϣ ⲉ̅ⲑⲉⲃⲓⲟⲥ ⲟⲩⲟϩ ⲉ̅ⲃⲱⲗ ⲉ̅ⲃⲟⲗ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲥⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓ̅ⲁ),^{Footnote 53} while in the Encomium of Pisentius the fallen angels are said to have “abandoned the perfume of virginity” (ⲉⲁⲩⲭⲱ ⲛⲥⲱⲟⲩ ⲙⲡⲥⲑⲓⲛⲟⲩϥⲓ ⲛϯⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ) and “mixed with the pollution of women” (ⲁⲩⲙⲟⲩϫⲧ ⲛⲉⲙ ⲡⲑⲟⲗⲉⲃ ⲛⲛⲓϩⲓⲟⲙⲓ).^{Footnote 54} These passages strongly suggest that ⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ in Coptic refers to literal virginity rather than simply continence, a point which will be discussed further below.

ⲡⲟⲩⲧⲉⲃⲱ. The form ⲧⲉⲃⲟ for Sahidic ⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲟ is listed by Crum as Fayumic,^{Footnote 55} but by Kasser simply as non-standard Sahidic.^{Footnote 56} We see here the same writing of ⲟ as ⲱ observed above in ⲙ̅ⲡⲟⲟⲩ, and the same use of ⲉ for the standard supralinear stroke seen in ⲱⲣⲕ (l. 1) and ⲙⲛ̅ (ll. 2, 4, 5).

Of the various Greek terms for which the noun ⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲟ stands in translated literature,^{Footnote 57} the most relevant here seems to be ἁγνεία, literally “purity,” but with a secondary meaning of “chastity,”^{Footnote 58} which is regularly associated with παρθενία in Christian literary texts. Although the pairing does not seem to be biblical, it begins to appear regularly around the fourth century in reference to the male and female virgins who formed part of Christian congregations. Eusebius speaks of those women who dedicate themselves to God, “practicing absolute purity and virginity” (ἁγνείαν παντελῆ καὶ παρθενίαν ἀσκήσασαι),^{Footnote 59} while Cyril of Jerusalem says that those who receive the reward (“crown”; στέφανος) for “virginity and purity” will shine like angels (ἀναγραφαῖς ἔχει παρθενία καὶ ἁγνεία, καὶ μέλλεις λάμπειν ὡς ἄγγελος).^{Footnote 60} The Apostolic Constitutions lists “those that are in purity and virginity” (τῶν ἐν παρθενίᾳ καὶ ἁγνείᾳ) alongside the widows and those who are married as the beneficiaries of a prayer.^{Footnote 61} This language recurs in the Lausiac History, in which Amoun instructs his bride in “the principles of virginity and purity” (περὶ παρθενίας καὶ ἁγνείας εἰσηγεῖτο λόγον).^{Footnote 62}

The pairing of “purity” with “virginity” continues in Coptic texts which were probably influenced by this Greek discourse. As we have seen, the Apocalypse of Paul speaks of the post-mortem rewards of those who “guard the purity of their virginity” (ⲉⲧⲛⲁϩⲁⲣⲉϩ ⲉⲡⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲟ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲩⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ),^{Footnote 63} while in the Life of Abba John Khame, the holy man prays to the Lord to remain “in the purity of virginity” (ϧⲉⲛ ⲟⲩⲧⲟⲩⲃⲟ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉ ϯⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ̅), and in the final address his “perfume” (ⲥⲧⲟⲓ ⲛⲟⲩϥⲓ) is said to have spread abroad like a lily from the “purity of [his] virginity” (ⲡⲧⲟⲩⲃⲟ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲕⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ̅).^{Footnote 64} Other occurrences associate “purity and virginity” not with ordinary virgins, but rather with the Virgin Mary herself. Thus, for example, in the Coptic Discourse of Mary Theotokos attributed to Cyril of Jerusalem, Jesus promises to cause the angels to hymn his mother constantly, “for [she] resembles them in [her] purity and in [her] being a virgin” (ϫⲉ ⲉⲣⲧⲛ̅ⲧⲱⲛ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ ϩⲙ̅ ⲡⲟⲩⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲟ ⲙⲛ̅ ⲧⲟⲩⲁⲓ̅ ⲛ̅ⲧⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲟⲥ).^{Footnote 65}

3. ⲉⲣⲉ ⲛⲁϩⲁⲣⲉϩ. Although this form resembles a second future, its function is clearly optative or jussive, expressing a wish or command, rather than one of contrastive emphasis, the normal function of the second future in Coptic. This usage has recently been treated extensively by Leo Depuydt, who notes it as a particular feature of the southern dialects (Sahidic, Akhmimic, and Lycopolitan/Subakhmimic).^{Footnote 66}

Comparable Magical Material

Magical texts that aim to manipulate sexual relationships have a long history in Egypt,^{Footnote 67} and the extensive corpus of Greek and Demotic material from the Roman period presents us with over one hundred examples.^{Footnote 68} The largest subset of these are “love spells,” which may be defined as those texts whose aim is to attract a desired sexual partner, or to maintain exclusive sexual and romantic claims upon an existing partner,^{Footnote 69} although a smaller number of spells in this broad category are aimed at separating couples.^{Footnote 70} Both of these types continue to appear in the later Coptic material, but in addition we find a few instances of two almost entirely new variants: spells designed to reconcile separated couples,^{Footnote 71} and spells intended to prevent individuals from having sexual intercourse with one another.

We are aware of seven surviving Coptic examples of this last type of recipe, and at least one Greek example. The Greek text, found in a fourth-century CE handbook,^{Footnote 72} is intended to prevent a woman from “ever being had by another man” (ἐὰν θέλῃς γυναῖκας οὐ μὴ σχεθῆναι ὑπὸ ἄλλου ἀνδρός) and involves placing a clay crocodile in a lead coffin with voces magicae along with the request written upon it. The request here names the woman, but also the client (assumed to be male), and so has much in common with binding love spells which demand that the victim have sex only with the client.^{Footnote 73} Two similar examples are found in a ninth- or tenth-century Coptic handbook; the first is for a man whose wife is sinning against him (ⲧⲉⲃⲥⲓⲙⲓ ⲉⲣⲛⲁⲃⲓ ⲉⲣⲁⲃ),^{Footnote 74} and is aimed at ensuring that “no-one [else] will be able to sleep with her” (ⲛⲟⲩⲁ ⲛⲉϣⲕⲁⲧ ⲛⲉⲙⲁⲥ), while the second is for dealing with a man who is “chasing after a woman” (ⲟⲩⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲉⲃⲡⲏⲧ ⲉⲩⲥⲓⲙⲓ),^{Footnote 75} and aimed at ensuring that “he will no longer chase after strange women” (ⲙⲉⲃⲡⲏⲧ ⲥϩⲓⲙⲓ ⲛϣⲉⲙⲁ)––that is, presumably, he will ignore women other than his wife. An interesting counter-example is found in a slightly later codex, with the title “a binding of a bridegroom” (ⲟⲩⲙⲟⲩⲣ ⲛⲛⲉⲙⲫⲓⲟⲥ); the editor suggests that its goal was to prevent the consummation of a marriage.^{Footnote 76}

Three texts, two applied and one recipe, include the names of both the woman and the man with whom she is not to have intercourse. These are, for the most part, phrased as curses against the man’s potency:^{Footnote 77} he is to be unable to have intercourse, he must be unable to ejaculate, his penis is to shrivel to become “like an ant,” and so on. In two of these, the term virginity (παρθενία) is used; the man is to be unable to “release” (ⲃⲱⲗ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ) the virginity of the woman.^{Footnote 78} In addition to binding the man’s virility, the example that survives as a recipe also binds the woman, or more specifically, her “virginity” (ⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ); by being magically “bound” (ⲙⲟⲩⲣ), it cannot be “released.”^{Footnote 79}

All of these examples share the commonality of preventing sexual contact; in this sense they are almost inverse love spells. It is not clear, however, that they all come from the same social contexts. The first examples we considered were explicitly intended for the use of individuals in relationships, and intended to prevent their partners from having intercourse with other, unnamed individuals. It is less clear that the later examples, however, belong to this context, especially in view of the fact that “virginity” is mentioned in two of them. It is of course possible that “virginity” here should not be understood in a strict sense; that is, it could refer to the woman remaining a “virgin” only with respect to the specific named male, or remaining “virginal” only while their partner is absent. But as discussed above, ⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ in Coptic does seem to refer to an absolute lack of sexual experience rather than simply continence. This suggests that the spells mentioning παρθενία are in fact intended to “protect” women who were virgins. It is possible to imagine that the spells would have been used by sexual rivals who wanted to ensure that they would have the opportunity to “undo” the girl’s virginity themselves––virgins were the stereotypical victims of love spells in literary texts––and such a motivation may lie behind the spells which aim to prevent a man from consummating his marriage with his wife. In most cases, though, we might expect that a rival suitor would be more likely to turn to a love spell.

This leaves the woman’s own family as perhaps the most likely commissioners of such a spell. It may be that the importance of young women’s sexual innocence for the honor of their family and her future marriage possibilities (and the economic prospects which depended upon them) could have motivated family members to use magic to prevent her from having pre-marital intercourse with less than desirable men.^{Footnote 80} This possibility might also explain why this particular type of text appears only in Coptic texts, produced in a Christian milieu, and not in the earlier Greek or Demotic material. Several scholars have noted that virginity does not seem to have been accorded the same value in traditional Egyptian society as it had in Greek, Roman, and later Christian culture;^{Footnote 81} the paradigm of Egyptian femininity, Isis, was said to have had intercourse with her brother-husband Osiris in the womb, and was thus, in a sense, never a virgin.^{Footnote 82} By contrast, virginity was an ideal in the broader Greek- and Latin-speaking world, and even more so in Christianity: Mary, the mother of Jesus, is explicitly invoked as an example in one of these “virginity spells”: “[the man] must not be able to release the virginity [of the woman] until the virginity of the Holy Virgin is released.”^{Footnote 83} It is possible that this shift in the ideological valuation of virginity may have led to the development of a new type of magical spell, intended to preserve the virginity of young women.

The present text displays some clear similarities to the examples discussed above; like them, it is intended to prevent sexual activity, employs the word παρθενία, and uses the example of the virginity of a female divine being as a mythic precedent for the virginity of the woman at whom the spell is targeted. But there are also notable differences: first, while the “virginity-spells” discussed above function primarily by binding a male victim, our text is intended to function by causing the female target to protect her own virginity with the assistance of the adjured female power. Secondly, it is not her virginity alone which is to be protected, but her “virginity, her marriage, and her purity.” As we have seen, references to “virginity and purity” are common in discussions of consecrated virgins, but “marriage” is, at first glance, surprising here, given that sexual intercourse is typically understood as a necessary constituent part of marriage, to the extent that marriage itself is often cast as the opposite of virginity. While we might be dealing here with a “fidelity-spell” of the type dealt with above––to prevent a woman from having intercourse with other men––this seems unlikely, given the apparent specificity of the term παρθενία. This leads us to suggest another potential context for the amulet, the phenomenon of celibate marriage that existed in late antique Christianity.

Spiritual and Celibate Marriages

For the purposes of our discussion here we will divide marriages in which sexual renunciation was practiced by Christians into two types. The first type, the “spiritual marriage,” was a union contracted between two individuals, at least one of whom had already committed themselves to celibacy. By contrast, a “celibate marriage” was one in which two individuals married and subsequently decided to remain celibate and to never consummate the marriage. In practice, our sources do not always distinguish clearly between the two (or even variations among them),^{Footnote 84} but it is a distinction worth noting, not least because the two practices often attracted different evaluations by patristic authors.^{Footnote 85} While the former was roundly criticized for endangering committed virgins by presenting them with the temptations of married life, the second was praised for introducing virginal purity into the married state.

According to one definition, “spiritual marriage” was embodied in “the domestic relations under which two self-professed ascetics of different sexes decided upon chaste cohabitation.”^{Footnote 86} This union was designated in various church fathers primarily by reference to the female partner; in the East they were pejoratively referred to as συνεισάκτοι (“those brought in together”)^{Footnote 87}––whence the term syneisaktism to refer to the practice––and in the West primarily as virgines subintroductae, literally “virgins surreptitiously brought in.”^{Footnote 88} Though it has been argued that 1 Corinthians 7:36–38 can be read as evidence for apostolic sanction of syneisaktism,^{Footnote 89} unambiguous examples of this union do not emerge until the third century.^{Footnote 90}

The first clear reference to this practice appears in a letter of Cyprian from the middle of the third century. In this letter (Ep. 4) Cyprian replies to a priest named Pomponius regarding a question about excommunication.^{Footnote 91} Pomponius had informed Cyprian that he recently excommunicated a deacon because it had come to his attention that he was cohabitating with a consecrated virgin, apparently even sharing the same bed, although both maintained that they had preserved their virginity.^{Footnote 92} Cyprian censures the practice and credits Pomponius with having taken the correct course of action in excommunicating the deacon.^{Footnote 93}

By the beginning of the fourth century the practice was common enough that the Councils of Elvira (306 CE) and Ancyra (314 CE) issued specific canons against it;^{Footnote 94} the practice was condemned once again at the first ecumenical council of Nicaea (325 CE).^{Footnote 95} In fact, between the fourth and eighth centuries, over twenty councils explicitly condemned the practice, which might suggest that it was fairly widespread.^{Footnote 96} Though it is sometimes assumed that the practice effectively ended in the sixth or seventh century, as the Novellae constitutiones of Justinian outlawed it,^{Footnote 97} there is evidence that forms of this practice may have lingered beyond this time.^{Footnote 98}

In the later fourth and fifth centuries we have the most explicit evidence for the practice from the church fathers, as well as the most blistering attacks. All three Cappadocian fathers—Gregory of Nyssa,^{Footnote 99} Basil of Caesarea,^{Footnote 100} and Gregory of Nazianzus^{Footnote 101}—were aware of it and condemned it; the latter, at somewhat of a loss to describe the practice, referred to such marriages as “ambiguous unions” (ἀμφίβολοι συζυγίαι).^{Footnote 102} But the most caustic reference comes from Jerome. In a letter to Eustochium, who had asked how the “plague” of agapetae came to be within the church, Jerome calls the agapetae “one-man whores” (meretrices univirae) and “a race of novel concubines” (novum concubinarum genus).^{Footnote 103} Chrysostom devoted two treatises to the subject, the only two such discussions devoted to the subject that have survived from antiquity.^{Footnote 104} Chrysostom’s treatment of the practice is more moderate than Jerome’s caustic statements, even though, like Jerome, he is thoroughly opposed to it. For Chrysostom, unmarried men and women living together and even sharing the same bed not only looked very bad, but could potentially lead to weaknesses of the flesh and immorality. While he conceded that some such couples remained pure and chaste, he also alleged that the women involved in such unions periodically required the services of a midwife.^{Footnote 105}

While the church fathers were almost unanimously opposed to “spiritual marriages,” their attitudes toward “celibate marriages” were quite different. Unlike the former, these were legal marriages where a male and female joined in a union and were accorded the status of a married couple, but chose sexual renunciation within the marriage.^{Footnote 106} This type of asexual marriage may have had its origins as early as the second century with the emergence of the Encratite movement. For example, in the Shepherd of Hermas the author is told by an angel to henceforth treat his “wife” (σύμβιος) as a “sister” (ἀδελφή).^{Footnote 107} While various third-century references to celibate-like marriages could be cited,^{Footnote 108} one of the most well-known examples is found in the Acts of Thomas 11–13 where Christ, in the form of Thomas, preaches sexual renunciation to a couple on their wedding night to which they mutually agree.^{Footnote 109} Another notable example comes from an anonymous third-century writer in North Africa who composed a homily that drew on the language of the hundredfold, sixtyfold, and thirtyfold harvests in Jesus’s parable of the sower (Matt 13:8, 23, 29);^{Footnote 110} here it was argued that the hundredfold reward was for virgins, the sixtyfold reward was for chaste widows, and the lowest tier was only for the married who had renounced sexual relations and lived in a celibate marriage—married couples who were sexually active were apparently disqualified from reward.^{Footnote 111} The fourth and fifth centuries brought forth a number of well-known examples of celibate marriages. Paulinus of Nola, in an epithalamium for Julian of Eclanum and his bride-to-be Titia, enjoins them from the start of the marriage to renounce sexual relations and to agree on a “compact of virginity” (concordia virginitatis).^{Footnote 112} Elsewhere, Paulinus praises married couples who had renounced sexual relations and lived as “brother and sister.”^{Footnote 113}

Celibate Marriages in Egypt

Turning specifically to the evidence for Egypt, there are a number of stories from the fourth through the tenth centuries that describe “celibate marriages,” although we have been unable to find explicit references to “spiritual marriages.”^{Footnote 114} The earliest attested example of a celibate marriage in Egypt appears in the anonymous Historia Monachorum in Aegypto (ca. 396/397 CE) and Palladius’s Lausiac History (ca. 420 CE). Both sources contain accounts, which some variations, of an Abba Amoun of Nitria (ca. 290–347 CE) who was forced to marry but convinced his new bride on their wedding night to live in a celibate marriage.^{Footnote 115} John Cassian likewise preserves with approval a story that was related by an Abba John from Scetis of a layman who was endowed with a special grace from God so that he could cast out all sorts of demons because although he had been married twelve years he had never consummated the marriage and “kept [his wife] a virgin and treated her as a sister” (sororis loco a se virginem custodiri testabatur).^{Footnote 116} While it is also alleged that the fourth-century Macarius the Great (ca. 300–390 CE), the famous ascetic who first settled at Wadi al-Natrun and then further south into the desert region, also had a celibate marriage, this is only claimed in his much later hagiography.^{Footnote 117} Along the same lines, another late hagiography tells the story of an Egyptian martyr named Julian who was executed in Antinoopolis during the Great Persecution (ca. 303–305 CE), and who lived in a celibate marriage.^{Footnote 118}

Writing in the late fourth century, Jerome claimed that the patriarchs of Alexandria were celibate and that those who were married had “abandoned their conjugal rights” (aut si uxores habuerint, mariti esse desistunt).^{Footnote 119} The best-known example, albeit from much later sources, of an Alexandrian patriarch who had allegedly lived in a celibate marriage is that of Demetrius (bishop ca. 189–232 CE).^{Footnote 120} The story of the patriarch’s virginity seems to first appear in the Encomium on Demetrius, attributed to Flavian, bishop of Ephesus, and probably dating to the tenth century CE, before being further elaborated in later biographies.^{Footnote 121} Accused by his congregation of unworthiness due to his married state, Demetrius is commanded by an angel to reveal the “mystery” (μυστήριον) that exists between him and his wife. On the morning of Pentecost, Demetrius and his unnamed wife perform a miracle before the whole Christian community of Alexandria, passing a burning coal between their robes without their being burned. He then goes on to reveal that when they were married by Demetrius’s parents, they agreed to forego a sexual relationship in order to be guaranteed a marriage that would continue into eternity in Paradise. Their celibacy is guaranteed by the presence of a “creature resembling a flying eagle” (<ⲟ>ⲩⲍⲱⲟⲛ ⲛ̅ⲑⲉ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲁⲓⲧⲟⲥ ⲉϥϩⲏⲗ) that appeared in their bed each night, covering their bodies with its wings to prevent any shameful sights.^{Footnote 122} The identity of this “creature” is made explicit in the retelling of the story from the Arabic-language Synaxarium (thirteenth century CE), where it is called “the Angel of the Lord” (ملاك الرب).^{Footnote 123}

As one moves to the eighth through tenth centuries there are additional stories of Egyptian holy men, bishops, and patriarchs living in celibate marriages. The biography of Patriarch Khā’īl I (Michael: 743–767 CE) preserved in the Arabic History of the Patriarchs makes passing reference to a bishop of Gaugar named Abba Cyrus who lived with his wife in a celibate marriage for many decades while sharing the same bed.^{Footnote 124} John of Khame’s (d. 859 CE) tenth-century hagiography contains an episode wherein he convinces his new bride on their wedding night to live in a celibate marriage.^{Footnote 125} Likewise, in the biography of Patriarch Mīnā II (956–974 CE), written by bishop Michael of Tinnīs (d. after 1055 CE), he convinces his new bride to live in a celibate marriage, although this only comes out when a certain group of followers reject his episcopal nomination on the grounds that he is already married; however, through an interview with his wife it is discovered that the marriage had never been consummated and so his appointment is approved.^{Footnote 126}

Towards a Context for P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt.

The presence of the terms “virginity” and “marriage” in P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt., as well as the literary evidence from Egypt from roughly the same period that attests to the practice of celibate marriage, leads us to suggest that celibate marriage is the most likely context for its use. As noted in the textual commentary, it uses the same terminology—“protecting virginity” (ϩⲁⲣⲉϩ ⲉⲧⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ ≍ φυλάσσειν τὴν παρθενίαν) and “purity” (ⲧⲃ̅ⲃⲟ ≍ ἁγνεία)—that recurs in the accounts of celibate marriage recorded in the Lausiac History, Life of Julian and Basilissa, Encomium on Demetrius and Life of Abba John Khame, as well as other accounts of consecrated virgins and monks. Here we will briefly draw upon these parallels and attempt to describe possible lived contexts in which this “magical” text might have been used.

One of the key events in the accounts of celibate marriages is that which previous authors have called the “bridal chamber scene”—the moment in which the newly married husband and wife find themselves alone in their bridal chamber (νυμφών) after the wedding, and, rather than consummating their marriage, decide to dedicate themselves to celibacy.^{Footnote 127} As noted by Mikhail, while Western examples of the topos tend to have the wife persuading the husband to be celibate, the Egyptian texts generally reverse this, having the husband persuade the wife, who may nonetheless have come to the same decision independently.^{Footnote 128} The outcome is usually that the pair make an agreement, at times described as a pact (διαθήκη,^{Footnote 129} ⲥⲙⲓⲛⲉ^{Footnote 130}), often explicitly deciding to keep it secret from their families, who are generally the ones who arranged the marriage.

In addition to this basic format, there are two variants of interest to us here. The first is the phenomenon of prayers to God for assistance in keeping their virginity,^{Footnote 131} which may provide a parallel to the use of a “magical” invocation—the texts which we call “spells” usually are described as “prayers” in the texts themselves.^{Footnote 132} The second is the intervention of supernatural beings to assist the couple in keeping their oath. The most explicit of these is the appearance of an aquiline angel in the Encomium of Demetrius, a figure who recurs as an “angel of the Lord, like a bird” in the retelling of the life of John Khame in the Synaxarium.^{Footnote 133} Less clear in its function, but perhaps parallel, is the appearance of Jesus and Mary to Julian and Basilissa after they have pledged themselves to virginity, alongside virgins and angels who crown the couple in a second marriage ceremony and confirm their destiny among the heavenly virgins;^{Footnote 134} a still earlier example of this topos may be the appearance of Jesus to newlyweds in the Acts of Thomas.^{Footnote 135} These accounts thus represent the acceptance of a celibate marriage as a kind of “ritual” which involves three individuals—a wife, a husband, and God, who may be represented by an angel or saint.

The magical text contained in P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt. assumes likewise three figures, although they are not, perhaps, the same three as in the literary accounts of celibate marriage. The identity of the first figure, the practitioner who speaks the adjuration in the first person (“I”), is unclear. The second figure is the female being who is adjured in the second person (“you”) as a paragon of married virginity and purity, who finds a parallel in the superhuman beings who assist the literary couples. The third is the female “target,” referred to in the third person (“she, her”), who is to follow the example of the female being and keep her own married virginity and purity.

The likely identity of the adjured female being seems fairly apparent. While the most explicit hagiographical parallels have an angel perform the role of supernatural helper, such angels are always male, and so the most likely solution in this case seems to be the ever-virgin Mary.^{Footnote 136} While Mary is not appealed to as an explicit example for married virgins in the extant Egyptian evidence, she is often invoked as a model for virgins in general.^{Footnote 137} But as noted in the textual commentary, the language used to describe Mary is almost identical to that used for other virgins, and as we have seen, she appears to Julian and Basilissa in their vita, speaking to the bride just as Christ speaks to the husband. In this scene, she is accompanied by other virgins, among whom the couple are promised a place, and this link between Mary and the heavenly virgins recurs in the Coptic accounts of the virgins in heaven welcoming the Theotokos to Paradise, which use the same language of “purity” and “virginity.”^{Footnote 138} Finally, we may also recall that one of the few other attested “virginity spells” makes an explicit reference to Mary,^{Footnote 139} who thus seems to be the most likely candidate for the adjured female being here.

The female target is, as we have said, most likely a woman in a celibate marriage. This raises the interesting question of whether a parallel invocation once existed for such a woman’s husband, addressing a male supernatural figure—Jesus, an angel, or a virgin saint—for the same purpose. While this remains a possibility, Alwis has noted that hagiographical accounts of celibate marriages usually focus on the woman as the key site for the preservation of and anxieties about virginity, and so it seems very possible that no such parallel male invocation ever existed.^{Footnote 140}

The identity of the practitioner in P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt. poses the most problems.^{Footnote 141} While we might imagine that the woman herself used the invocation, this seems unlikely, as spells asking for help for the speaker usually refer to the beneficiary in the first person.^{Footnote 142} Consequently, it seems that the practitioner was probably a different individual—either male or female; the woman’s husband, or, perhaps more likely, a ritual specialist commissioned by the husband, the wife, or perhaps even another interested party. Here though we should note the theme of secrecy which often occurs in accounts of celibate marriages—the couple keep their decision secret from their family—and Alwis has noted that the very few known historical examples of celibate couples may confirm that such practices were often highly secretive, threatening as they did the reproductive role of the family, and confusing the spheres of virgin monastics and married laypeople.^{Footnote 143} For this reason it is possible that the husband, by definition already complicit in a celibate marriage, would be the most likely commissioner of a ritual of which this invocation was part. The issue of secrecy raises a second question: was the female target aware of the use of this adjuration? Or, like a love or separation spell, would one partner commission the ritual without the other’s knowledge in an attempt to manipulate their behavior? That this could be the case is perhaps suggested by the “magical” form of the text.

The alternative would be to imagine a kind of formalized ritual, similar perhaps to the supernatural wedding scene in the Life of Julian and Basilissa, in which the couple pledged their commitment to married virginity in the presence of a ritual expert who read out the text. This would in turn imply that we are dealing with a text which might be better described as “liturgical,” that is describing a formalized, if not official, public church ritual.^{Footnote 144} There are, indeed, many formal parallels between magical and liturgical texts, and the division between the two categories remains to be fully explored.^{Footnote 145} To some extent both represent, at least in the case of papyrological manuscripts, redescriptive categories used by modern scholars rather than categories explicit in the texts themselves. To name only the most obvious formal criterion of similarity, they both often use illocutive performative invocations in the first person, regularly using the same verbs—principally παρακαλέω. But we may note that while the texts categorized as “liturgical” usually have the practitioner speak in the first person plural,^{Footnote 146} “magical” texts usually involve the use of the first person singular—that is, in official Christian rituals the ritualist (bishop, priest, deacon, etc.) generally addresses God and his subordinate powers as the representative of his community, whereas in magical texts (as in private prayers), the ritualist addresses the supernatural power(s) as an individual.^{Footnote 147} P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt. also contains a second feature relevant to the liturgical/magical division, the use of an adjuration rather than an invocation. Adjurations do appear in liturgical texts, but not addressed to divine powers—prayers used to bless oil for healing in church rituals may use adjurations, but only against inanimate objects, such as oil, and hostile forces, such as venom, and never against God or his subordinate divine powers.^{Footnote 148} By contrast, adjurations regularly appear in Greek and Coptic magical texts from Christian Egypt, addressing inanimate objects, and demonic and divine beings alike.^{Footnote 149} For these reasons, it seems more likely that the virginity adjuration under discussion here was not used in a public performance, but rather a private “magical” ritual, perhaps carried out in a clandestine fashion by an individual who offered a range of such services. This hypothesis may be strengthened by the fact that it mentions only the wife. Like a love or fidelity spell, it may have been commissioned by a husband anxious about the commitment of his wife to marital virginity and purity.

The final questions concern the type of manuscript which P.Rosicr.Mag.Copt. represents, and the type of ritual in which it was used. As discussed above, its physical format contains both features usually considered typical of an applied amulet (significant folding) and of a formulary (the presence of the generic name marker). In either case, we might imagine that the text itself would have existed in both forms. From other Coptic formularies, we know that “magical” rituals often consisted of three key acts—(1) the speaking of an invocation or adjuration, (2) the burning of an offering (usually some kind of incense), and (3) the creation of an applied object, often a written version of the invocation. The manuscript here, then, might represent either an exemplar to be recited and copied, or the outcome of such a ritual, which might then be worn, or, since we have suggested that the woman may not have been aware of the ritual, deposited in a significant place—a shrine of the invoked being, the door or the bedroom of the couple’s house.^{Footnote 150} All these are speculations, but they would fit the general pattern of such texts.

Conclusion

The exact context of the amulet is difficult to pinpoint, as it lacks a clear provenance and is devoid of explicit references about who is being invoked and who is the practictioner. Nonetheless, keeping in mind the proposed date of the piece and what it does convey––it appeals to a female figure who guarded “virginity,” “purity,” and “marriage” and seeks the same for the text’s female target––a very plausible context for the piece is a celibate marriage where Mary the perpetual—yet married—virgin is being adjured.