Whether ‘‘pagan’’ [gentiles] or Christian [Christianus], whether man or woman, whether boy or girl, whether slave or free, has stolen from me Annianus (son of) Matutina [?] six silver coins from my purse, you, lady goddess, are to exact [them] from him.
Tab. Sulis, 98, Tomlin 1988: 232-3
Late antique defixiones (curse tablets) stand in a long tradition of Greek and Roman social practices concerned with seeking justice (Versnel 1991; Gager 1992). The example given above, probably from the fourth century, was deposited in a sacred spring near Bath, Somerset (England). The individual who commissioned the curse tablet - or scratched the words onto the lead and folded it up himself - obviously believed that the dea Sulis had power over Christian and non-Christian thieves alike. A list of eighteen personal names is thoughtfully appended to the curse, to help the goddess in her task of identifying the culprit and recovering the stolen silver coins. As the editor of the Bath tablets astutely notes, ‘‘The tablets are petitions for justice, not magical spells. . . it is the legalism of their language which strikes the reader more than its ‘religiosity’ ’’ (Tomlin 1988: 63, 70). The Bath curse tablets are quite explicit in what they seek from the goddess Sulis: one states that a certain Docimedis has lost two gloves and asks that the thief responsible should lose their minds [sic] and eyes in the goddess’ temple {Tab. Sulis, 5, Tomlin 1988: 114-15). Other late Roman examples seek the goddess’ help in identifying a domestic burglar {Tab. Sulis, 99. 2-3, Tomlin 1988: 235); robbers of jewelry, clothing, and textiles {for example, Tab. Sulis, 10, Tomlin 1988: 122-3, and 97, Tomlin 1988: 230-1); and a possible plowshare stealer {Tab. Sulis, 31, Tomlin 1988: 148-9). Most of these tablets also seek restitution of the stolen goods, via the goddess. A further cache of British curse tablets, from Uley in Gloucestershire, record the theft of animals and farm implements and invoke the local deity Mercury {Tomlin 1993). In this ‘‘under-policed world’’ {Tomlin 1988: 70), both haves and have-nots took advantage of a cheap and immediate avenue of {‘‘supernatural’’) justice.
John Gager notes that judicial cursing tablets, stretching in time from archaic Greece to Late Antiquity, cut across all social classes and are no respecters of gender {Gager 1992: 119). We can add to this the fact that ‘‘Christians’’ and ‘‘non-Christians’’ alike commissioned them. A made-to-order curse tablet from fourth - or fifth-century Egypt makes an appeal to the holy Christian martyrs on behalf of a woman named Theodora:
I beg, I invoke, I pray to you, holy martyrs, I, Theodora, the injured party. I lodge this suit against Joor and his wife, throwing myself on your goodness, so that you may do as I would do with Joor and his wife: Beat them and bring them to naught. {P. Michigan 1523 lines 1-8, Meyer et al. 1994: 217-18)
The curse ends with the plea that the holy martyrs might speedily decide in Theodora’s favor against her opponents, in a formulaic language highly reminiscent of contemporary petitions to imperial legal officials {for the latter see Gascou 2004). Some of the curse tablets also invoke biblical stories. In a seventh-century Coptic text, a widow appeals to the Christian God to bring quick judgment against a certain Shenoute, son of Panim: ‘‘You must strike him just as you struck 185,000 among the host of the Assyrians in a single night. You must bring upon him fever and chill and jaundice. You must make his enemies open their mouths’’ {Munich Coptic papyrus 5, Meyer et al. 1994: 188-9). With a neat twist to the idea of the intercession of Christian saints, the tablet closes with the instruction that it has to be buried with a corpse, which must then appeal day and night to the Lord, along with all the corpses lying around it, ‘‘all of them calling out, together, what is in this papyrus, until God hears and [brings] judgment on our behalf’’ {ibid.). Small wonder, we might conclude, that Augustine was intent on teaching his fifth-century audience that daimones {‘‘demons,’’ in a Judaeo-Christian context) are ‘‘in reality spirits whose only desire is to do harm, who are completely alien from any kind of justice’’ {August. De civ. D. 8. 22).
Some individuals in Late Antiquity also believed that special rites of ‘‘magical divination’’ could be employed to detect thieves and recover stolen property. For example, an undated papyrus gives a spell to catch thieves with the aid of the god Hermes and a host of other deities, involving the consumption of bread and cheese {PGM 5. 172-212, Betz 1986: 104). Curiously, a letter read out to the church synod at Ephesus in ad 449 accuses Sophronius, bishop of Constantia, of employing exactly such a spell in an attempt to recover a sum of stolen money. Far from appealing to Hermes, Bishop Sophronius, so the accusation reads, made the culprits swear on a gospel text before compelling them to complete a ‘‘bread and cheese’’ ordeal (Dickie 2001: 277). Accusations of‘‘magical practices’’ should, of course, be viewed as symptomatic of social competition and conflict (Brown 1972b). However, while this type of justice may seem closer to early medieval dispute settlement than late Roman law, we should also note the existence of spells and curses that were specifically commissioned to interact with formal late Roman forensic proceedings.
Traditionally, curse tablets could also be commissioned to silence and ‘‘bind the tongues’’ of opponents in legal disputes. The second-century physician Galen adopts an attitude of intellectual superiority over those who would use spells and charms against their legal opponents, ‘‘so that they will be incapable of saying anything during the trial’’ (Galen ‘‘On the powers of all drugs,’’ 12, quoted in Gager 1992: 120). The use of these forensic binding curses continued into Late Antiquity. The Sepher ha-Razim, a Hebrew collection of spells and curses copied in the late Roman period, includes a recipe for preparing a curse tablet to reverse bad fortune in a legal trial (Gager 1992: 117). Another remarkable papyrus, complete with drawing and charakteres (‘‘magical’’ signs), promises ‘‘an excellent charm for gaining victory in the courts, it works even against kings; no charm is greater’’ (PGM36. 35-6, Betz 1986: 269). There are also late Roman apotropaic rituals aimed at protecting litigants against the magic of their opponents. A lamella (charm) that was meant to be worn on the body comes with a guarantee that anyone who carries it in court will stay undefeated. The ‘‘magical’’ words inscribed on this charm are three Homeric verses from Book 10 of the Iliad, intended to invoke the divine assistance of the gods ( PGM 4. 2145-50 and 2160-5, Betz 1986: 76). Was Tribonian perhaps even remotely aware of this ‘‘magical’’ use of Homeric verses in legal contexts when he drafted his Constitutio Omnem?
There are also curse tablets aimed at cutting off disputes before they have had the chance to develop. A curse tablet of the third or fourth century makes a vivid request:
Akeilios Phausteinos and Stephanos, my opponents in the matter concerning the slaves and concerning the private property and concerning the papers and concerning the things of which they might accuse me; ... concerning these matters may they neither think (about them) nor remember (them); and cool off their mind, their soul, and their passion, from today and from this very hour and for the entire time of (their) life. (Jordan, ‘‘Survey of Greek Defixiones,’’ 179, quoted in Gager 1992: 144-5)
This type of tablet may have been especially useful in the context of mediation and arbitration. Finally, at the other end of the judicial process comes a spell known as ‘‘The Praise of Michael the Archangel,’’ the ritual uses of which encompass jail breaks:
A person who is thrown in prison: Copy the power on sherds of a new jar. Throw them to him. They will force him out onto the street, by the will of god. (Heidelberg Kopt. 686, Meyer et al. 1994: 326-41 at 339)
According to the copyists of this spell, the Christian God could certainly move in mysterious ways.
World History
