Paul's Letters as Artifacts: The Value of the Written Text among Non-Literate People

Non-Literate Use of Writing in Curse Tablets (Defixiones—Latin designation or Katadesmoi—Greek designation)

Extant defixiones or binding spells, commonly inscribed upon lead tablets, abound from as early as 5^th–4^th centuries bce in Sicily and Attica through the entire Roman period (1^st–6^th century ce), with 1,500 recovered thus far (Gager: 3–4). These defixiones or katadesmoi provide a wealth of information as to how written language was used by a cross-section of society. John Gager traces the development of defixiones from the Greek through the late Roman period, noting that the earlier tablets are simpler in form, that is, many only contain a single name of the target, or the name plus a binding verb—katadein is typical in Greek—and the name of the deity invoked (Gager: 5; Faraone: 5). These tablets may contain a figure that represents the target of the entreaty with a brief phrase: “I bind X” (“bind” was the verb commonly used to capture someone in an amorous connection) or “I restrain X” (“restrain” was the verb commonly used to diminish an opponent's capabilities). A few special uses of letters do occur in the earlier tablets, which include techniques that express a mystical meaning, such as spelling the names of the targets backwards or with their letters scrambled (Gager: 5).

There are few mystical word formulations before the Roman period, but a notable exception is the use of a set of six terms called the ephesia grammata, dating from the 4^th century bce, consisting of: askion, kataskion, lix, tetrax, damnameneus, and aision/asia. The ephesia grammata are claimed to make the one who wears them in a pouch into a potent and aggressive force, the use of which, not surprisingly, was popular with boxers (Gager: 5–6). However, the ephesia grammata are the exceptional use of mystical wording in curse tablets from the early Greco-Roman period. Instead, human or animal images are more common tablets from this era, and these representations contain few or no words, letters, or symbols. But the curses increasingly involve writing to the point that figures become rare on the tablets from the later Roman period. Unintelligible writings (voces mysticae) begin to dominate the total area of the inscription. Palindromes, signs or symbols (charaktêres), vowel-series, triangles, squares, and other geometric shapes constructed with letters are some of the elaborations in the later defixiones (Gager 6–8).

Defixiones were employed in a wide range of settings, with the common intent to bring others persons or objects under the power of the supplicant. Targets ranged from the horses of chariot drivers, against whom a spell was cast for a broken leg or other injury, to opponents in public courts, against whom a plea for the binding of the opposing advocate's tongue or mind should produce an inarticulate defense due to stammering or loss of memory, or to the man or woman who was the object of sexual passion, for whom the spell would bind the affections of the targeted person to the supplicant (Gager 45–46; 78). The curses were pronounced orally as the written curse was cast into the shrine (as in the case with the goddess Sulis Minerva at Bath), or was buried (as in the case of those found at the starting blocks in the Roman athletic arenas).

It is generally accepted that professional scribes were enlisted to compose the contents of the defixiones throughout the centuries of their popular use. Both the formulaic style of the language and composition of the requests points to trained inscribers. Furthermore, the seemingly ubiquitous use of defixiones across social classes implies that a large percentage of the clients would have been non-literate (Gager 20, 177). So, the significant issue for this study is the extra expense and effort that was expended to present a written formulation of what was an oral curse formula by a largely non-literate population. These tablets carry the written words of oral petitions for revenge, for an advantage over enemies or opponents, or for requited love. Gager notes that oral prayers and invocations are thought to be part of the process of crafting and depositing a defixio, as well. He describes the process of instituting a curse as “the symbolic medium of written and spoken words … that could change the world” (118). It is a testament to the mystical power that the written text had within non-literate cultures that clients would go to these lengths to cast a spell in both oral and written form.

In December 1979, a cache of 130 tablets dated between 175–400 ce was recovered from the sacred springs at the base of the temple of Sulis Minerva at Bath (Cunliffe: 59). The themes of these tablets were similar to those uncovered in other geographic regions: a “concern for justice, the punishment of thieves, [and] the recovery of stolen property” (Cunliffe: 63). Barry Cunliffe concurs with Gager that professional scribes were available in Bath and that many of the tablets came from their hands. Cunliffe argues that the basic mechanical ability to etch letters onto lead tablets was a specialized skill that most supplicants at Bath would not possess. Further evidence of professional scribes is revealed in the formulaic composition of the petitions to the goddess which express the idiomatic language of curses. Finally, the orderly composition of the lettering on the tablets is indicative of the work of trained craftsmen (Cunliffe: 98–101— see Figure 1 on the preceding page). The Bath cache indicates that a large percentage of supplicants were paying scribes to etch words onto tablets that would be cast before the goddess at the time that the oral curse was proclaimed. The time and effort that supplicants put into adding a printed component to their curses attest to the supplicants' belief that an inscribed curse was a weightier curse.

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Figure 1:

Curse Tablet

Perhaps the most intriguing find among the curse tablets at Bath is a group of around 100 tablets that are designated as “illiterate scribbles” by the scholars who examined the find (Cunliffe: 247). These tablets, it is presumed, have been inscribed by the non-literate supplicants themselves, perhaps too impoverished to pay a scribe. “Illiterate texts” are evidence that non-literate people envisioned the mystical power of the written aspect of the curse. Inscribed markings that do not conform to actual lettering or to the known patterns of inscribed symbols or characters imply that non-literate people viewed even pseudo-inscriptions as potent, and they assumed that a replication of lettering enhanced their supplications (see Figures 2 and 3, at right). It is notable that these non-literate etchings replicate the positioning of the writing on the literate tablets and that a similar percentage of the tablet is covered with markings. The inscribers, although clearly neophytes at writing, and by all accounts are non-literate, appear to be trying to replicate formulaic curse tablet inscriptions.

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Figure 2—

“Pseudo-Inscription”

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Figure 3—

“Pseudo-Inscription”

Non-Literate Use of Writing with Lamellae (Amulets)

Further broad-based evidence for the belief of the efficacy of the written word for magical potency comes from the evidence, compelling because of its quantity, that people from every social strata used lamella to advance desires for love, wealth, to increase power, to enable victory in competitions or in battles, to cure diseases, or to thwart demons. According to Roy Kotansky, the lamellae became more elaborate over time, progressing from simple charms that were placed upon the body with an oral recitation of a magical formula, to amulets that were either inscribed with magical formulas or had a compartment within which written formulas were rolled up and inserted (Kotansky: 107–11). Some now-famous Fayum portraits show the subjects with lamellae around their necks. There is ample evidence, according to Gager, that a majority of the population in the era of the New Testament writings wore some such protective amulet on a regular basis. References to their frequent use appear in the writings of Galen who lived in the mid-first century ce, in the works of Plotinus and Iamblichus, both dated from the third century ce, and in the writings of Gregory of Nazianzus, born in 330 ce. The longest extant discussion of the use of lamellae appears in 2 Maccabees (Gager: 218–22). The Maccabean example stands as a cautionary tale against the use of lamella by faithful Jewish men who should have known better. These particular Jews, who had joined forces with Judas Maccabeus and his army against the governor of Idumea, were killed in battle. When Judas returned to the site of the battle to collect their bodies, he discovered that each of those who had been killed was wearing the amulets from “the idols of Jamnia, which the law forbids the Jews to wear” (2 Macc 12:42). Judas then calls upon those with him to view for themselves the evidence against the Jews who fell in battle. According to the Maccabean history, every one of those who had died in battle were wearing amulets of protection, quite common amongst soldiers, but also donned by people from all walks of life. The amulets were generally worn around the neck, but could also be affixed to particular parts of the body that were injured, or fashioned in the form of rings that one might wear to protect against bites, and engraved on metal phylacteries to be worn on the head to protect against migraines and evil spirits (Kotansky: 116). In the account in 2 Maccabees, the deaths of the Jewish fighters are blamed on their reckless reliance upon the lamellae, which revealed their lack of faith in the far greater power of the God of the Jews to protect them from harm (2 Macc 12:34–39). The Maccabean account stands as a cautionary tale to faithful Jews who might be tempted to follow the practices of their pagan neighbors and seek protection from the mystical words that hung around their necks. The very existence of such an elaborate account implies that a number of Jews were persuaded by the power of the amulet, even though their sacred texts prohibited Jews from wearing them.

Many of the writings used in the lamellae can be found in two ancient compendiums of magical formulas: the Greek Magical Papyri, from Greco-Roman Egypt dated from the 2^nd century bce and the Sepher Ha-Razim, a Jewish compilation of magical practices dating in written form from the early 4^th century ce. What is significant for this discussion about both of these sources is that they link the efficacy of the epōdai (spells) with the use of written formulas. For example, the Greek Magical Papyri have the following instructions for creating a phylactery:

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Figure 4—

Phylactery for Bodily Protection

Instructions for another example of a protective charm that is worn around the neck state: “Onto lime wood write with vermilion this name: ‘EPOKŌPT KŌPTO BAI BAITOKARAKŌPTO KARAKŌPTO CHILOKŌPTO BAI (50 letters). Guard me from every daimon of the air on the earth and under the earth, and from every angel and phantom and ghostly visitation and enchantment, me (write name).’ Enclose it in a purple skin, hang it around your neck and wear it” (Betz: 88).

There are also instances of the co-opting of Homeric verses into magical formulas. This particular set from The Iliad is considered effective for a variety of circumstances:

And the range of issues these verses attend to is impressive:

Specific instructions follow for each type of spell, for specific offerings, oral chants, and locations of the ritual ceremonies to ensure the efficacy of the spells.

And from the Sepher Ha-Razim, come these instructions for a passion spell:

The magical names of angels are frequently invoked to direct the wishes of the supplicant in the Sepher Ha-Razim. Their names, written on copper or iron lamellae, are incorporated into magical spells to expel “dangerous wild animals” from the city, to cause a river or sea to subside, to drive away evil spirits from a pregnant woman, or to protect a soldier from blows from weapons (Morgan: 53–55). Detailed instructions of the manipulation of the lamellae follow for each contingency.

Beyond the use of familiar passages, instructions in magical texts commonly feature mysterious characters or symbols that, when copied and placed in amulets, were believed to provide far greater potency than could written phrases from known languages. The Greek Magical Papyri contain many drawings of mystical symbols that may be copied, such as these charaktêres in figure 5, which were to be inscribed on a silver leaf and then worn as a protective charm (Betz: 88). The Sepher Ha-Razim suggests combining these charaktêres along with the lists of the names of angels in order to enhance the power of the spells (Morgan: 46—see Figures 5 and 6, above).

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Figure 5—

Charaktêres

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Figure 6—

Abecedaria

This same inclination—that unknown letters or writing have magical powers—is well documented in Danish folklore with the discovery of the runes—believed to be the first letters used in Denmark (dated from the 13^th century)—rediscovered long after they had fallen out of use (Holbek: 183). The phrase, “the casting of runes,” describes the use of these “magical” letters to conjure a spell. A woman, for example, can be induced to love another when she eats or touches something upon which runes are inscribed. Not surprisingly, the casting of runes was regarded as evil sorcery, to which several ballads in Danish culture attest. Holbek concludes that as literacy becomes more widespread, the notion of the mystical quality of words that at one time applied to any form of writing, was transferred to incomprehensible words or symbols (Holbek: 184).

Other magical charms use the so-called abecedaria, wherein power resides in the inscription and clever arrangement of letters, with the supposed underlying belief that one captures the essence of every word with the replication of the alphabet characters themselves, including all the secret names of the angels and demons (Holbek: 184). Indeed, the familiar magical chant “abracadabra” arises as an abbreviation of the entire alphabet. The Greek Magical Papyri contain pyramid designs that use all the vowels (as in figure 6 above) that are part of the process whereby one summons a daimon who will reveal all things to its companion (Betz: 3). Similar pyramids of letters appear as common amulets in 16^th–17^th century Italy, believed to provide an efficacious cure for fevers when worn around the neck of an ailing person (Burke: 31). Within the same era, a similar cure for fevers was recorded in Danish culture: “Write a word like abracadabra or kalamaris on a piece of paper which is hung around the patient's neck. Day by day, one letter is cut off and given the patient to eat. When all letters are gone, the fever is gone” (Holbek: 185).

Non-Literate Use of Writing in Various Other Contexts

Peter Burke argues that in the era of early modern Italy (1350–1600), the largely non-literate population regarded the written word as a part of the process of communication with supernatural beings. For example, words composed on so-called “papers of goodwill” (carte del benevolere) had powers, that (when one was touched by them) would remove any ill will the target might have towards the person with the papers. In addition, the words would become more potent if they were placed in the form of a cross or triangle and were written by a virgin (Burke: 31–32).

Susan Niditch catalogues a number of references from the Hebrew Bible that reveal a similar belief in the mystical quality of the written word: Exodus 32:16; Daniel 5; Isaiah 4:3; Daniel 12:1; Exodus 32:32; Malachi 3:6; Psalm 6:29; Ezekiel 2:9–3:11; Ezekiel 24:2; Ezekiel 17:14–16; Job 19:23; Isaiah 30:8; and Deuteronomy 17:14–20. Perhaps the most striking is the ritual described in Numbers 5:11–31, in which a curse for a guilty woman is written on a scroll, the writing of which is then washed off into a potion called “the water of bitterness” (5:23–24) that the accused woman is required to drink. If the curse is effective, and the woman suffers from the symptoms of bitter pain, a swollen womb, and a withered thigh, the woman becomes “an execration among her people,” but if not, she is to be re-socialized into the community (Niditch: 82–83).

There are numerous accounts of Native American cultures' similar reactions to texts when they first encountered the writings of the Europeans (Gledhill, Bender, Troelle). The case of Sequoyah from the Cherokee nation is particularly illustrative for this discussion. Sequoyah, who eventually created a syllabary for the Cherokee language, is motivated to do so by his braves' awe-struck reaction to the texts of the white people. The following episode illustrates well the power of written text in the context of non-literate Cherokee people. When a white man had been taken prisoner, he filled his Cherokee captors with wonder when he produced a letter from his pocket and read its contents to them (Harbsmeier: 264–65). They called the letter a “talking leaf” and “accepted it as a message from the Great Spirit.” The following scene is written in 1885 by Forster, who observed the Cherokee and recorded his findings in volumes now promoted by the Office of Indian Rights Association:

The Value of Paul's Written Letters

This cross-cultural view of the potency of the written texts for non-literate communities challenges the long-standing devaluation of Paul's written correspondence. The prevailing scholarly view envisions Paul as a reluctant letter-writer who struggles to maintain his authority through words on papyrus that pale in comparison to the robust rhetorical persuasion of his opponents. Their face-to-face oratory captivates the churches, who then begin to question Paul's authority. In this portrait of Paul, the letter is the anemic voice that cannot compete with the power of personally-delivered rhetoric.

The prior examples of the use of writing in non-literate cultures, however, reveal a common affinity for written texts in the ancient world. The curse tablets demonstrate the lengths that non-literate people went to ensure that their oral curses were enhanced with the gravitas of a written text. Pseudo-inscriptions on some of the tablets further reveal that for the non-literate persons who could not afford a professional scribe, the representation of writing was a viable substitute for official lettering, and certainly preferable to curses uttered without inscribed lettering. Even more common than written curses were the protective llamella that included special lettering or charaktêres, believed to possess such efficacy against illness, evil, and curses that even pious Jews were tempted to don them for added protection. Based upon the prevalence of writing in a largely non-literary ancient culture, some general assumptions can be made about the reaction to writing. Firstly, within non-literate societies, writing in various forms is interpreted as having a magical potency, the ratio of which is directly related to the exotic formation, shape or unfamiliarity of the lettering. Moreover, people who are literate may react similarly to unknown lettering, as in the case of the discovery of the runes. Secondly, non-literate people did not avoid the use of written texts merely because they could not read them. Rather, non-literate people wore amulets with protective sayings on them and paid scribes to etch their curses onto lead tablets that they themselves could not read. In brief, written texts added weight to oral utterances, and in some instances, had the ability to inspire awe in non-literate societies.

Therefore, we must reconsider whether Paul's written correspondence actually placed him at a marked disadvantage, as per Robert Funk who argues that there is a clear hierarchy in value and effectiveness in Paul's interaction with his churches: letters sent without an official envoy are least significant; letters delivered by designated emissaries carry more weight than a mere letter; but a letter, no matter how significant the letter-carrier, always pales in comparison to the power of a personal visit by the apostle (Funk: 249). In effect, Funk claims that the use of a letter so disadvantaged Paul, that he would only resort to letter-writing when a personal visit was impossible. In other words, in a culture dominated by oral rhetoric, no person of authority would abnegate the power that his or her personal presence carried by relying upon written correspondence unless a visit was impossible.

Margaret Mitchell's work on envoys in the ancient world does pose the possibility that Paul might have opted to rely upon his couriers rather than return to communities who might have been less than loyal to Paul and where a warm welcome was not guaranteed. She goes so far as to propose: “it is quite possible that we have a Pauline corpus in the first place because of the relative ineffectiveness of Paul's personal presence and his own creative recognition of that limitation” (Mitchell: 642).

However, the evidence from the use of writing in non-literate cultures affirms that the printed letters themselves would have contributed to Paul's success, as well as his letter-carriers. More than offering a convenient way for Paul to manage a problematic relationship, Paul's letters actually elevated his status with his largely non-literate communities (Johnson 2006: 498–501). Comments in the Corinthian correspondence allude to this phenomenon. The Corinthians had been impressed by Paul's correspondence before he wrote 2 Corinthians. Anticipating the objections of some to his decision to send another message via envoy and written letter, Paul echoes past criticism: “I do not want to seem as though I am trying to frighten you with my letters. For they say, ‘His letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible’” (2 Cor 10:9–10). Paul's remarks reveal his understanding of the impact that his previous writings have had on this community—to the point that Paul's critics seek to discredit the impact of his writings by denigrating his oratorical skills (Mitchell: 641–43).

Paul's churches by and large would be unable to read Paul's correspondence; however, Paul underwent the expense of lengthy, written letters that his envoys would present to the communities after the contents were performed for the gathering. The letters had their own inherent value; the estimated cost of a sheet of papyrus is surprisingly expensive—$30.00–35.00 with the appropriate cost adjustments (Harris: 194–95). Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, for instance, would have required three or more sheets of papyrus, glued together and transported in a roll; thus it would have appeared as a substantial and impressive document, the likes of which few if any of the Corinthians would have owned (Niditch: 76).

According to ancient representations of orators, instead of reading the letter (or speech) verbatim, the papyrus scroll served as a prop in the presenter's hand (Rhoads: 123). Their presentations could have been made without the accompaniment of a written document, but the Corinthians likely afforded greater respect to Paul's message because the oral performance of Titus was accompanied by a papyrus letter from Paul (Johnson 2015: 95–97). The written text was not used as a manuscript of the content of the message as much as it was an intriguing artifact that added weight to the presentation (Shiell: 39–77). Following the performance of the letter's contents, the letter would have been presented to the community. Although they could not read it—or precisely because they could not—the physical letter became a cherished possession for the church.

The previous survey of the use of writing by non-literate societies displays that Paul's letter-writing campaign contributed to his success, rather than detracted from it, as has been commonly argued by Pauline scholars. Paul wrote to communities who could not read the lettering on the manuscripts. The letter-recipients might look upon these papyri crowded with words and associate them with the potent wording that was prevalent in their world. Long after the memory of the performance of Titus had waned, Paul's written remarks stood as artifacts, as indecipherable characters that conveyed mystical power and authority.

Any supposed rhetorical disadvantage that Paul might have suffered by acting as an apostle in absentia was counteracted by the artifact of the written text that endured after the message was first delivered. Instead, one ought to imagine Paul's letters as “gifts” that would bestow a sense of worthiness on his communities (Stirewalt: 114). The letters were part of the culture's proclivity to endow illegible markings with the power to provoke results that spoken requests could not produce.