Blog: How the Lived Time project resulted in a revised date of death for Bishop Pesynthios of Koptos

Although the database of the Lived Time project mainly includes documentary texts, literary texts that record dates and regular time-related events are included as well, since they may provide additional information on the experience of time, the timing of activities and how time is expressed. One such text is the Coptic Encomium on Bishop Pesynthios of Koptos, which is preserved completely in a manuscript dated 1005 CE at the British Library (edited by Sir Ernest Wallis Budge) and partly in a late seventh- or early eighth-century manuscript at the Coptic Museum (its edition is entrusted to me). Although the complete version is from a much later date than the period central to the Lived Time project, the fact that it contains the same anecdotes as the earlier version encouraged me to add some time-related details to the database. When processing the passage on the day on which Bishop Pesynthios passed away, I realized that the Julian date indicated in many recent studies is probably a year too late. If so, the bishop did not die in 632 but in 631.

According to the Encomium, the bishop died at sunset on “the thirteenth day of the month Epeiph of this fifth year”, that is, in a fifth indiction year (transl. Budge [1913]). Budge did not convert the date, but Walter Ewing Crum equated the fifth indiction year with the Julian years 631-632 (in 1914 and 1927). Gawdat Gabra Abdel Sayed was the first to propose an absolute date – July 7, 632 – in his dissertation Untersuchungen zu den Texten über Pesyntheus, Bischof von Koptos (569-632) (1984). This date features regularly in publications relating to the re-edition of the bishop’s correspondence (a Leiden-based project directed by Jacques van der Vliet and Florence Calament, in which I am involved as well), the edition of the Encomium (e.g. in my article of 2018) and the bishop’s functioning (my dissertation).

The appearance of an indiction year in an eleventh-century text version – copied at a time when the indiction system was no longer in use – implies that the time description is based on a centuries-old tradition and rightfully included in the Lived Time database. The conversion of the date to July 7, 632 was based on the implicit assumption that the indiction year started on Thoth 1, on the same day as the traditional Egyptian civil year, and that July was almost at the end of the indiction year. However, Roger Bagnall and Klaas Worp demonstrated that the start of the indiction year was subject to regional differences: in the Thebaid, it began on Pachon 1 or May 1 (also noted in this blog and an article by Sofie Remijsen and myself). Consequently, Epeiph came early in the indiction year and the recorded date actually converts to July 7, 631, which fell on a Sunday. This would certainly be true in the case of documentary texts. However, Bagnall and Worp have the impression that dates by indiction in literary texts are still linked to an era starting on Thoth 1. This hypothesis requires further study, but for the present, I accept the new date, based on the assumption that the recorded date goes back to an early version of the literary text that was composed in Western Thebes at a time when indiction years were increasingly used in documentary texts, that is, the late seventh or early eighth century.

Episcopal documents already confirm that Bishop Pesynthios was not a legendary saint but an actual historical person. Remarkably, not a documentary text or inscription but a literary source records a precise date of death, which enables scholars to better anchor him in a historical framework, less than a decade before the Arab conquest of Egypt.

I included the revised year of death in two recent articles (here and here) but have not yet fully discussed it in a scholarly publication, as it should ideally be included in the long-awaited edition of the Encomium.

Renate Dekker

Blog: Can we approach the rural history of Byzantine Egypt from below?

Past summer, I had the opportunity to present my ongoing PhD project at the 31st International Congress of Papyrology. Because the main idea of this project was born during my time as a research assistant in the Lived Time project, I only found it fitting to rewrite my paper into a post for the Lived Time blog.

It all began with documents I found hard to understand. Not the language of the document as such, but that which was documented. They were surety agreements between farmers, sometimes also clergy, and a middleman (often called Menas), who represented a landowner, like the wealthy Flavia Anastasia. In one instance, Apollos promised another farmer would stay on his field. And not just this farmer, but also his livestock and his family. Otherwise, the guarantor would pay a fine. What was happening here? Why would people enter into such contractual agreements? Regular contact with fellow students who worked on postcolonial and environmental history has helped me think of alternative ways to approach the source material.

The capacity in which the farmers of Egypt appear to us is in their capacity as possible migrants. They move, or they don’t – voluntarily and involuntarily. Working a field means staying somewhere. Leasing does as well. Leaving your town because you believe taxes are too high means moving. And these choices have effects. I believe it is very reasonable to suppose that the organisation of taxes and agricultural production take into account the power – so to say – of the peasant to move. After all, no historical development on a policy level takes place in a vacuum.

Studies of Roman Egypt show that we can incorporate this notion in our historical narratives. One example is the history of an extra tax that was meant to compensate the loss of income due to men who evaded taxes by leaving their place of registration, which bore exactly that name, also in Greek (the μερισμὸς (ἐπικεφαλίου) ἀνδρῶν ἀνακεχωρηκότων). Among those who have written about how this government measure came into being and disappeared as a failure, Naphtali Lewis has written most on the topic. Some pottery shards that are part of the archive of Chemntsneus and Kabiris (TM arch. ID 118) show how the system worked, as Paul Heilporn has elaborated on. Currently, Fabian Reiter is working on regional variation (or not) of taxation in Roman Egypt – or rather: names of taxes -, including the one concerning ‘runaway taxpayers’.

We can bring strands together, the peasant as potentially mobile and the peasant as powerful. The study of contemporary migration helps us, by conceptualising migratory behaviour as an individual decision. A lot of factors are at play when a potential migrant decides to move or stay. Push and pull factors are inadequate to fully explain migratory decisions and therefore do not suffice to write a history of mobility, nor can we estimate the influence of mobility on the course of history if we do not treat it as the complex phenomenon it actually is. These sociological insights help see the scarce information we have in a different light.

This information is unevenly divided in space and time. Clusters of evidence on the farmers of Byzantine Egypt have come down to us in ways that force a comparative approach. We know a lot about fourth-century Fayyum villages at the edges of the desert, and we have an interesting dossier on a large estate in the Oxyrhynchite, which was owned by the Apion family. Aphrodito is another cluster. Fiscal codices might also be interesting. I am, at the moment, still undecided on which case studies are best suited for my research. It is an ongoing project, of which the second out of four years has started this month.

Kevin Hoogeveen