Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt 9781407306087, 9781407335599

Table of contents :
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Introduction
1. Re-thinking Egypt’s Past
2. The New Kingdom Textual World
3. Living in New Kingdom Memphis
4. The Coptic Period Textual World
5. Living in Coptic Period Thebes
Conclusion
Bibliography
Plates

Citation preview

BAR S2031 2009

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt

HORBURY

Mary Horbury

PERSONAL IDENTITY AND SOCIAL POWER

B A R

BAR International Series 2031 2009

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt

Mary Horbury

BAR International Series 2031 2009

ISBN 9781407306087 paperback ISBN 9781407335599 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407306087 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

BAR

PUBLISHING

For a gorgeous little Diana-girl

CONTENTS

List of illustrations Introduction

1

1. Re-thinking Egypt’s Past

5

2. The New Kingdom Textual World

17

3. Living in New Kingdom Memphis

41

4. The Coptic Period Textual World

65

5. Living in Coptic Period Thebes

91

Conclusion

111

Bibliography

113

Plates

143

i

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Plates (photographs taken by the author) 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17.

Detail of Ramesses III subduing non-Egyptians. First court of mortuary temple of Ramesses III, Medinet Habu, Thebes. Butehamon’s house, within temple enclosure of mortuary temple of Ramesses III, Medinet Habu, Thebes. Houses of Coptic Djeme visible on enclosure wall behind. View of Deir el Medina from slopes of the Qurn. Ptolemaic Temple to Hathor (re-occupied in the Coptic period) visible on the left of picture, floodplain behind. 18th dynasty alabaster sphinx, re-used in Ramesside period Memphis, now in its contemporary setting of the open air museum, Memphis. Terrain of Memphite area today: a snapshot near Mit Rahina (Memphis). More layers of history. Abou Haggag mosque on top of Coptic church in the east side of the court of Ramesses II, Luxor temple. Pylon of Ramesses II also visible on left of picture. On the slopes of the Qurn, one of the two pyramidal summits in west bank Thebes, looking south west. Walking on ancient paths between pharaonic and Coptic period sites. View of Thoth Hill, the other pyramidal summit in west bank Thebes. View of quarry settlement in foreground. Both sites were used in the pharaonic and Coptic periods. Climbing the slopes of the Qurn. Looking south east towards the floodplain, mortuary temple of Ramesses III (Medinet Habu) and Coptic period Djeme, visible on edge of floodplain. Nile and east bank of Thebes visible in the distance. In Deir el Roumi, Coptic period monastery in the Valley of the Queens, west bank Thebes. Looking towards the floodplain. In Deir Kurnet Murrai, Coptic period monastery and church of St Mark, west bank Thebes. Looking towards the floodplain, mortuary temple of Ramesses III visible in the distance. In Site VII, Coptic period hermitage, west bank Thebes. Base of mudbrick tower visible in the foreground. Paths down towards Ramesseum (also occupied in the Coptic period) on the floodplain. Site VII. Pharaonic period tomb, in and around which Coptic occupation and use of site clustered. On path to Ramesseum from Djeme, looking west to the Qurn. Site VII visible on slopes of Qurn. In mudbrick tower in forecourt of pharaonic period tomb of Daga, Coptic period Monastery of Epiphanius. Looking towards Deir el Bahri, mortuary temple of Hatshepsut and site of Coptic period Monastery of Phoibammon, west bank Thebes. Pasts stacked together in the present. Stone blocks from pharaonic and Coptic periods stored together in the grounds of Luxor Temple. Layered landscapes: cables and a typical Egyptian floodplain sunset.

ii

Introduction

longer felt surprise at the paradoxes in and between ancient sources, just fascination at why they seem to be such a necessary function of existence.

As with most obsessions, mine with ancient Egypt has a long history. When I was seven years old my teacher, Lyn Sanderson, encouraged my friends and I to sit by a stream and make clay pots, pretending we were by the Nile in Egypt. I never quite forgot that afternoon, trying to connect with a distant time and place.1

I discovered something of life on the margins of the state after my BA when I briefly worked in Sana’a, Yemen. On days off from work I travelled to remote villages, whose inhabitants looked not so much to the state as to their own locality, imposing their own curfews to control entrance and exit into their domain. I returned to the world of academic study, to the Institute of Archaeology, where the aims of the institute led to an accepted view about how the past should be approached. This was always contextualised by spending one day a week at a one-stop service for refugees, assisting individuals who had literally just arrived in Britain. I played with children who had been through the unimaginable both in their home country and in their journey to the UK. All were seeking to live under a more benevolent state. The continual question of why identities are imposed, why people are excluded and why the insupportable is supported never left me. Inevitably it was to form my PhD topic. I felt that the apparently opposing contexts of New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt were prime case studies in which to look at how and why people manage to live under extreme centralisation and under its opposite, locally based power. The resulting PhD now forms the body of this book.

When I actually began to study Egyptology at the age of 18 I was thrilled to be finally accessing the lives of people who were from what seemed to be such an alien world. To be doing so through translating their own texts and studying their material culture felt like an incredible privilege, and the process of questioning these sources and many of the secondary sources was a fascinating one. By the time of my first trip to Egypt in 1994 I was intrigued by the different political systems which had occurred in this visually stunning country. Pyramids juxtaposed to one of the biggest metropolises in the world and mudbrick Coptic buildings barely clinging to pharaonic monuments of absolute power. Alongside this search into the past, I continued to make my own observations on contemporary British political life, noting with all the virtue of youth the dissonances between statement and reality. This connected with what I was learning about the Egyptian past. I cycled from classes on literature, material culture, history, Egyptian and Coptic to Campsfield House immigration detention centre outside Oxford. Here I would sit and listen to refugees recount their experiences, their suffering as the worlds of ideology and reality clashed. Locked behind twenty foot high fences and razor wire simply because of their country of origin, their voices and experiences were barely heard. Their joy if freedom was achieved was overwhelming. One friend who’d been imprisoned for two years in Campsfield phoned me to say ‘I’m free, free as a bird’.

That most dazzling period of Egypt’s history, the New Kingdom (c.1550 – 1070 BCE) has left a legacy which still stuns when visiting the country today. The Coptic period leaves a very different impression; it was a time when Egypt’s inhabitants finally shed their past, looking abroad for new life patterns. The term ‘Coptic period’ is a controversial one, on which there is no general agreement, many claiming it should be discarded as a term altogether.3 I choose to define the Coptic period as the fourth to ninth centuries CE, a time when the Coptic language was at its most prevalent in Egypt. This timespan covers a huge range of textual source material, including Greek, Arabic, Coptic, and Latin from a variety of settings. The same variety in textual sources from this timespan is witnessed in the material record, whose range includes highly urbanised domestic and monumental settings alongside ceramic evidence in surprising contexts. The term ‘Coptic period’ is used in a broad sense with the potential to encompass a full spectrum of

My questioning of contemporary society led me to look at why states were ever thought to be an appropriate form of organisation. And so ancient Egypt, as the first state in the world, was a vital example. My BA dissertation topic, strongly influenced by Friedrich Engels’ The origin of the family, private property and the state, looked at the material record of state formation.2 For me at that point, all states served to do was to generate endless hypocritical ideological statements in the maintenance and creation of unjustifiable differences between people. In vacations, I worked with older people, reinforcing my view of the state as a structure which inevitably lets the vulnerable down, however grand its ideological statements and benevolent its intentions. By the end of my BA, I no

3 In using it, I am out of sync with current thought in academia, for example, Clackson 2004, 41 characterises the term as a ‘vague cultural label with an equally undefined chronological association’. Török 2005, 7 argues against the use of the term ‘Coptic art’, maintaining it is more appropriate to look at Egyptian late antique, early Byzantine and medieval Christian art. Even with the term ‘New Kingdom’ there are problems, not of vagueness, but to do with the rigidity it imposes on our approach to the Egyptian historical record as the past is maintained in set periods of alleged control and disorder. See Hornung 2006, 197-217 for the chronology of New Kingdom.

1 Toivari-Viitala 2001, 13 in her study of Deir el Medina wisely talks about the danger of over identifying with your subject of study! 2 Horbury 1996.

1

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt inhabitants in Egypt during five centuries of political change.

The axis of my argument is provided in the switch to the Coptic period, a huge jump in all sorts of ways, but one which I justify in terms of the insights provided. And so Chapter Four, The Coptic Period Textual World, contrasts the New Kingdom world, with its superficially centralised and strong state, with that of the Coptic period. This period is crucial in that it represents the first comprehensive rejection of the pharaonic past. What was the effect (if any) of a switch in belief systems for the experiences of those in Egypt at that period? The structure of Chapter Four mirrors that of Chapter Two, with letters as the main source material. More formal letters to and from political/religious leaders, written in Greek, Latin, Arabic and Coptic, as well as less formal letters between friends reveal the different ways in which individuals sought to assert their identity in a world with more than one focus. In Chapter Five, Living in Coptic Period Thebes, I assess how far beliefs expressed in textual sources were reflected in the built environment. Coptic Thebes, as New Kingdom Memphis, was an urban environment with a multiplicity of religious settings, superficially pointing to a religiously focused identity for the wider population. The interaction of the population with these settings is looked into. Source material includes objects, graffiti, urban layouts, religious buildings and the network of ancient paths across the area. How far did the adaptation of pharaonic buildings in Thebes represent a rejection of the past?

Delving behind initial impressions of these two utterly disparate periods gave me enormous scope for approaches and choice of source material. I looked for evidence which was most likely to provide the least selfconscious presentation of identity so that I could contrast this with some of the much more self-conscious material. This includes textual and non-textual evidence. In my view, letters and the urban environment held the most potential in revealing the least pre-planned assertions of social organisation.1 Whenever quoting primary textual source material, I do so in English translations to allow non-specialist access to the text. In making these translations, I stick closely to the original language, rather than providing more idiomatic English translations.2 Two utterly modern phrases, personal identity and social power, form the crux of my argument. They summarise, albeit in terminology far removed from Egypt’s past, my desire to tease out how people living during these contrasting periods dealt with varying bonds of social responsibilities, interactions and pressures. Chapter One, Re-thinking Egypt’s Past, places the topic in its historiographical and theoretical setting. Since the 19th century, generations of scholars have sought to discover Egypt’s past, which had been lost for so long. I trace the changing assessments of what it meant to be an Egyptian, and briefly re-evaluate the contribution made by social theory to our understanding of the past, of the individual, identity and the state. I include discussion of the Afrocentric controversies, which are looked at in the context of archaeological research on ethnicity. An alternative approach is suggested. Chapter Two, The New Kingdom Textual World, looks at statements of self emanating from the centre of power, and assesses their impact. Letters in Middle/Late Egyptian from royal and non-royal contexts are discussed, allowing an assessment of the accessibility of the state. The means of selfexpression are investigated, as is the reaction of those with political power to failure. How far did the literate conform to the idea of Egyptian-ness as promoted by the state? In Chapter Three, Living in New Kingdom Memphis, I contrast the material from Chapter Two with evidence from New Kingdom Memphis. What does the urban layout and material record of Memphis reveal about how New Kingdom Egyptians organised their worlds? This chapter exposes the impact of official beliefs on the Memphite population. The relationship of the formal areas of the city to the less formal areas is investigated. How far were the Memphites dependent on the state?

Getting to this point has been a long process in every sense. My PhD was written from 1998-2002, and was funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Board. University College London provided additional financial support when I fell ill in Egypt in 2000 during a research trip. The Hospital for Tropical Diseases looked after me on my return to the UK. I am especially grateful to Dr Wright of the Hospital for Tropical Diseases for his care after my discharge from hospital. My parents, Kathie and William, my sister Kate, and my husband Daniel all supported me on the hellish road back to health, and I thank them all, most especially Daniel, for so much else as well. In addition, Anita Howard, Pallavi Kuruvatti and Angela Zhou have been crucial friends through much. During the writing of the PhD I received academic advice from a number of sources. My supervisor, John Tait, provided me with freedom, wise guidance and inspiration throughout, and has continued to assist me since. I learnt much from conversations with Dominic Montserrat just after I had embarked on this topic, and remember with gratitude a lively afternoon spent reading ostraca with him and Sarah Clackson in the Petrie Museum. They are both missed, as is Peter Ucko, my second supervisor, who was a source of thoughtprovoking discussions. I received enthusiastic advice from a number of other individuals at various stages of my PhD, including Beverley Butler, Kevin MacDonald, Okasha El-Daly, Carol Downer, and from my PhD examiners, Siân Jones and Penny Wilson. David Jeffreys

1 There is a vast range of source material revealing more selfconscious assertions of identity still there to be tapped. Perhaps the most self-conscious set of material is formed by mortuary evidence which is itself a crucial aspect to the lived environment. 2 My translations are also informed by the work of earlier translators, where relevant.

2

Introduction about an article in press, and Patricia Spencer and Guy Lecuyot gave me permission to use it, whilst providing additional references as well. David Davison and Rajka Makjanic gave me prompt advice, James Bell lent me a computer to write it on, and Kathie Horbury and Daniel Gordon carried out hours of Diana-care so I could actually snatch some time to do the work. I should add that any errors of fact or judgement in this text are all mine.

was always a source of information, in particular before my research trip to Egypt in 2000 (which was also funded by the AHRB) when he advised me on approaches, source material and references. Between finishing the PhD and the very recent task of revising it at least a little for publication, I have learnt a huge amount in my workplaces, all non-academic. I have been privileged to work with refugees, older people and within the co-operative movement with peace campaigners. I am grateful to the very many inspiring people I have met in the process. They have continually led me to reassess my own perspectives. When originally thinking about publishing my PhD I received vital assistance from Terry Wilfong who read the entire PhD and provided detailed comments and suggestions. At a similar stage John Baines was the source of a very useful discussion and a title. After what eventually became a lapse of six years Caroline Hebron encouraged me just to get on with it. More recently, David Jeffreys informed me

Through all this, my readings of all types of theory have become more cynical, and my surprise at paradox, dissonance and hypocrisy in political systems has completely dissipated. States will persist as an apparently necessary form of social organisation, but this does not mean that we cannot learn much from asking questions about how and why people have formulated their lives in different political and historical settings. It is not enough simply to describe their lives.1

See Valbelle 2003, 20, who notes that Egyptologists tend simply to write what publishers of popular books and their readership want, and to teach students similarly; see also Redford 2008, 23. 1

3

4

1 Re-thinking Egypt’s Past

argue that such a pre-occupation was relevant to nineteenth and early twentieth century scholars of New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt, and was furthermore not without significance for those actually living during the periods under investigation. The theoretical frameworks of modern scholarship may have changed since the nineteenth century, but this has not always resulted in widely differing conclusions. Frequently it is the language used to express any conclusions which has changed rather than the conclusions themselves. This is especially the case when studying the more distant past, where uncertainties and multiple interpretations are always going to be part of an interpretation of available evidence, whatever the theoretical outlook. Even the debate about the presentation of facts and the development of theory is not new. In an introduction to ancient history (including that of ancient Egypt) published in 1871, John Mahaffy criticised the tendency of French historians who ‘make history a mere arena for supporting a pre-conceived political theory’ and he also regarded empirical study as more important than theoretical work: ‘I often apprehend that the present tendency of Oxford culture is to encourage the writing of these sketchy theoretical essays, brilliant in style and conception, but impatient of real labour’.2 The suspicion that the development of theory was not as rigorous or as necessary as the accumulation of new information has lingered. The priority, especially with a civilization as unknown as that of ancient Egypt, has been to collect primary evidence. Thus Jac Janssen’s work on the economic life of one community in New Kingdom Egypt made no reference to economic theory, facts had to come first, the theory would follow.3 It has even been argued that postmodern theory can obscure rather than reveal the past when used in historical research.4 Indeed, it has been stated that essential archaeological skills are being lost whilst theoretical knowledge increases.5

On the seafront at Nice, above a passageway, an inscription records France’s debt to the USA in World War One. It thanks the USA for its assistance in the ‘conflit mondial de la civilisation contre la barbarie’. Few would now interpret World War One in such a simplistic light, and visitors to Nice pass under the inscription, barely noticing it. In contrast, when faced with similar statements on the pylons of ancient Egyptian temples, or when told of the hostility expressed by fifth century CE Egyptians towards those who did not conform to their world-view, the visitor to Egypt responds with an unquestioning fascination. So this was how people used to live. The Egyptians of the New Kingdom (1550 – 1070 BCE) and the Coptic period (fourth to ninth centuries CE) were masters of self-presentation. Certain images spring to mind; that of an all-conquering Ramesses II or of a Coptic hermit, persisting in a life of denial against all the odds. General as well as more specialized studies about New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt serve to propagate the images put forward by the Egyptians themselves.1 By such means, modern perceptions of both New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt can be dominated by views which may only have held any meaning amongst a small proportion of people actually living in Egypt during those periods. Just as the inscription at Nice masks a whole set of realities, so too do these images of New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt. Frequently the approach to Egypt of the New Kingdom or the Coptic period has been one in which emphasis has been placed either on the limited means of selfexpression, or on endlessly variant life patterns. Life in Egypt has been presented as one of extremes, and certain questions have not been addressed.

Yet despite these critiques it can feel increasingly hard to access works in archaeological and Egyptological research which do not show a devotion to theory drawn from other disciplines as writers seek to demonstrate their cutting edge research.6 Sometimes it seems as if theory has been identified as a mechanism both to rescue archaeology and Egyptology from any accusations of irrelevance and to make the subjects appear contemporary. Both archaeologists and Egyptologists have sought to emphasise that their work is not naive, that it is responding to, and useful to, other fields of study.7 Egyptology has, however, always developed

The presentation of monolithic certainties, whether by an Egyptian of the New Kingdom or of the Coptic period, leads to the questions of why some attempt at unity of cultural presentation appears to be necessary for a society to survive and how far any consensus is possible. New Kingdom Egypt is studied alongside Coptic Egypt in order to gain a fresh perspective on these questions. The two periods, separated by a huge distance in time and merely united by geographical space, saw the inhabitants of Egypt live under opposing world-views. New Kingdom Egypt represents the height of Egyptian imperialism and Coptic Egypt is instead a world of fragmentation and competing belief systems.

Mahaffy 1871, 6, 20. Janssen 1975, 1. 4 Evans 2000. 5 Jeffreys 2006b, 164; see also Tassie 2007, 1769-70. 2

SOME HISTORIOGRAPHY AND THEORY

3

The subject of this book appears to be rooted in a very contemporary obsession: that of identity. Yet I would also

1

6

For an example of a highly theoretical approach to past issues see Gundlach and Klug 2004. 7 For example, Murnane 2003, 16 views the utilisation of theory by Egyptologists as a positive development.

For example, Smith 1993, 89.

5

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt alongside and been a part of history, archaeology, papyrology, linguistics and textual criticism, with a timespan ranging from before the earliest hieroglyphs to Coptic..1 It is area studies par excellence, whose range ever grows with the new skills and developments needed for archaeological research, amongst much else.2 Nevertheless, a desire to locate any archaeological and Egyptological research more visibly in the wider arenas of anthropology, history or social theory, areas which have long undergone much self-reflection, has meant that these processes of theoretical examination are given an air of urgency.3

derived language choices. A classic example of this is E.P.Thompson, renowned for his polemic against theory who nonetheless was himself theoretically grounded in all his historical research by his Marxist position in approaching the history of the ruled rather than the history of the rulers.10 Indeed, where the impact of theory is most visible in archaeology is in the way in which it has skewed the type of subjects actually researched. Thus identity, ethnicity, nationalism, indigenous peoples and the influence of archaeology on the contemporary political arena are among the most popular and frequently funded areas of research. These topics incidentally stress the relevance of archaeology outside its immediate confines as it is used to empower the disenfranchised. These increasingly anti-nationalist, antiprogressivist (in terms of the analysis of cultural change) and multi-cultural angles serve to distance archaeology from the nation-building associations of its past.11 Incidentally, the postmodern theory which can find a home in these archaeological texts is also condemned by some from the far left as preventing the discovery of any hard information thus denying the existence of progress and thereby furthering the capitalist programme.12 Perversely the intention of postmodernists such as JeanFrançois Lyotard was quite the reverse.13

With respect to Egypt’s pharaonic past, this is most obviously represented by Lynn Meskell’s works, and a desire to focus on less/non-hierarchical evidence, to emphasise the non-textual as opposed to the textual.4 Theoretical insights have also been used on more overtly hierarchical evidence from ancient Egypt, as the only way in which to avoid mere guesswork in the reconstruction of the past.5 Indeed, theory does seem to be very handy when fleshing out arguments where actual evidence is lacking. Of central relevance to any study of the New Kingdom is the statement that ‘official ideology was aggressively uniformitarian and evidence for cultural diversity is sparse’.6 Even in what many would consider a a stereotypically Egyptological publication, a translation and commentary of a text, theoretical awareness has had to be demonstrated at the beginning.7 Coptic period research has also been integrated into a more contemporary theoretical setting, with, for example, a chapter on Coptic Egypt in a study of the body in antiquity.8

Changing political priorities have seen the aims of archaeology and Egyptology change and develop with the assistance of theory, but nonetheless the topics studied would have been as familiar to earlier scholars, albeit with a different political slant. So this book could in earlier times have been used to demonstrate the racial links between New Kingdom and Coptic period Egyptians, or to highlight the ‘difference’ or ‘superiority’ of the ancient Egyptians to other ancient peoples and to link them in with the western world. Nothing can ever be quite new, just the slant we want to put on it, and the questions we demand of our evidence.14 Underlying it all is the need to engage our readers, to allow them to empathise with something in our text and merely to enjoy it. No more is nationalism or imperialism the key to this. Instead words more likely to inspire interest include diversity and resistance.15

Despite this increasing theoretical awareness, theory can make little visible impact on the outcome of the actual text apart from frequent asides to cross-cultural material and parallels,9 which have long been a part of Egyptological writing. Nevertheless it is well-nigh impossible to approach any study of the past without any kind of theoretical presuppositions, expectations or theoretically

Adams, W, 1997, 27-8; Redford 2003, 6-7. El-Bialy 2007, 1. 3 The frequency of calls for new approaches to Egyptology and their political/institutional contexts could become a source of study in themselves; for one of the latest calls for change see Ucko 2003 in his foreword to an eight volume series, Encounters with Ancient Egypt. See also Graves-Brown 2008, xviii-xix who repeats the point that Egyptology is ‘particularly averse to reflexive activity and prone to insularity’. Compare Wilkinson 2008a, 2008b. 4 For example, Meskell 1994; see Pinch 2003, 444 for discussion on on how an opposition between textual vs. non-textual evidence is not useful. 5 Baines 1996b, 360. 6 Baines 1996b, 362. 7 Enmarch 2008. 8 Montserrat 1999; this is just one example from many. 9 For example, Alston 2002. 1 2

Thompson’s polemic, see Thompson 1978; for a critique of this see Burke 2001. 11 For example, Kohl and Fawcett 1995; Jones 1997; Baker 1990, 54-5; Gosden 2001. 12 Peacock 2002, 10, 226-30. 13I am very grateful to the Chester Philosophy Forum for discussion on this point, especially to Martin Jenkins who presented a paper on Lyotard to the group. See also www.philosophicalpathways.com/newsletter/issue137.html. 14 Burke 2001, 164-5 points out the role of theory in this process. 15 The change in terminology is epitomised by the fact that words terms as ‘self-definition’ are now used in popular introductions to Ancient Egypt, see for example, Morkot 2005. 10

6

Re-thinking Egypt’s Past Bringing the past to life

Wales,7 and the setting of ancient Egypt was contrasted to England: ‘all this sounds very different to our own life. Instead of the village High Street, or the main railway line, or Piccadilly or the Strand, the essential landmark for the Egyptian was (and is today) the Nile’.8 Such was the interest in the lifestyle of the ancient Egyptians that their eating habits, their homes and their domestic lives were narrated.9

With a civilization as distant, and until the nineteenth century, as lost to the west as ancient Egypt, there has been a continual demand for information on the social, not only the political aspects to the life of an ancient Egyptian, covering much of what could now be termed ‘identity politics’.1 Egyptologists had to satisfy the public’s demand to know more about how an ancient Egyptian lived, who an ancient Egyptian was, and what her/his pre-occupations and religious beliefs were. As Greece and Rome had been subsumed into the intellectual heritage of the West, so too did Egyptologists hope that Egypt would become ‘an automatic part of everyman’s inheritance’.2 The search was for the individual in Egypt, for the experience of the ‘ordinary’ person living under pharaonic rule, to counter the despotic images generated in the Old Testament: ‘much nonsense has been written about the oppression of the people, their tears and groans. With the splendid organisation evident in the work, the people must have been well managed, and there was no hardship whatever in carrying out the work’.3 At the same time, it was realised that the individual was bound to be more elusive than in more recent civilizations: ‘the individual may not have expanded here as he did in Greece, but Egypt was nonetheless, like Greece, an exceptional success’.4 An undue emphasis was also continually placed upon the unique almost enlightened nature of the ancient Egyptian civilization to give the readers something to admire: ‘nor can we fail to remark the difference between them and their Asiatic rivals, the Assyrians, who even at a much later period, had the great defects of Asiatic cruelty – flaying alive, impaling and torturing their prisoners; as the Persians, Turks and other Orientals have done to the present century; the reproach of which cannot be extended to the ancient Egyptians’.5

In stimulating and satisfying any interest in the Coptic period in Egypt, the scholar’s task was, in a way, easier, as one aspect of life during that period could be understood with easy reference to the present. The prevalent religious belief in Egypt at that time, Christianity, made parallels simpler, yet the material culture of that period did not have nearly the same aesthetic impact as that of the pharaonic era.10 This also meant that it was the Christian beliefs which were the prime, if not the only, focus of interest. Where interest was shown in the life-patterns of Egyptians of the Coptic period, it was frequently only the evidence from monastic contexts which was available or utilised. Thus it was possible to build up an intimate and detailed picture of the lives of a group of Egyptians living in a monastery on the west bank at Thebes. Their eating habits, domestic and sacred space as well as their business dealings were all charted through a careful excavation.11 The lives of Christians in modern Egypt also provided what was thought to be a living witness to the Coptic period, as well as to the pharaonic period. The Coptic liturgy as still said in Coptic churches in Egypt preserved for modern observers a part of ancient religious ritual supposedly linked to the Egyptians of the Coptic and pharaonic period.12 Bringing the ancient Egyptians to life was a complex process, and research was often concentrated on recovering the lives of the elite, primarily through the excavation of burial sites and through the priority given to textual finds. Yet there were those who were interested in the less glamorous finds and sites as well. In common with such interests, emphasis was placed upon recording the context of finds and upon the careful use of different

In books charting the ‘everyday’ lives of the ancient Egyptians, writers referred to more familiar images, to bring the past closer and to render the Egyptian civilization as something less distant. Parallels were continually drawn, to make ancient Egypt less strange, while at the same time differences were emphasised.6 For example, the numerous titles of the king of Egypt were compared to the large number held by the Prince of

Petrie 1923, 9. Glanville 1933, 17. 9 Glanville 1933. 10 Orlandi 2006, 33 on history of archaeology of Coptic Egypt; Emmel 2006, 179 on tendency of scholars to view Coptic literature as ‘derivative’ and therefore of secondary interest; Shisha-Halevy 2007, 2, 23, 27 on how linguistic research on Coptic has been impeded by a similar view of it as derivative, resulting in Coptic grammar merely being analysed in terms of the extent of Egyptian or Greek influence on it. Butler 1884, vii; Butcher 1897; Murray 1963, 141; see Behlmer 1996 and Horbury 2003 for overview of western interest in Coptic past. Orlandi 2006, 22 suggests that Coptic studies began as long ago as the eighth century. 11 Winlock and Crum 1926. 12 Lane 1842, 489; Sayce 1911, viii; Storrs 1943, 53. 7 8

For viewpoints on the history of western knowledge of ancient Egypt see Parramore 2008, 1-5, 9-17 and Allen 2009, 5-10; for nonwestern knowledge of ancient Egypt see Haarman 1996 and ElDaly 2005; for a summary of the processes in the discovery and in the contemporary interpretation of Egypt’s textual past in the west and in Egypt, see Parkinson 2009, 222-59 and see Mégally 2002 for an example of an ancient Egyptian text presented simultaneously in hieroglyphs, English, French and Arabic. 2 Glanville 1942, xvii. 3 Petrie 1923, 26. 4 Berr 1927, xxvii. 5 Wilkinson 1854, 3; compare Baines 1999d, 12. 6 Wilkinson 1857, ix. 1

7

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt types of sources, textual and non-textual.1 Nor was the use of cross-cultural parallels entirely haphazard, but was also guided by academic principles. An early example of this is provided by a history of Egyptian and Mesopotamian religions, published in 1882, in which a strong case was made for the necessity of comparative work as a means for understanding the past.2 A comprehensive, anthropologically grounded examination of the rural population of Upper Egypt during the 1920s proved to be of use to Egyptologists seeking to explain material finds, and is still of use today.3 At about the same same time, a Festschrift was written for Francis Llewellyn Griffith, a major figure in Egyptology, and the sections of this book reveal the wide priorities of Egyptological research and the integration of anthropological parallels. They also demonstrate a desire to study Egypt over a vast historical period, from its origins until Islam and reveal the utility of studying one geographical area through such a timespan.4 The eight sections of the book cover history; texts and philology (hieroglyphic and hieratic); texts and philology (demotic, Coptic, Arabic and Old Nubian); texts and philology (Greek); art, archaeology and science (this section is only a little shorter than the three text and philology sections combined); religion; anthropology and the history of Egyptology. This epitomises the broad and far-reaching, and in no way isolationist aims of Egyptology at this period, in which skills from many different disciplines were integrated in order to achieve an understanding of Egypt’s past. The contributions include a comparative study of burial customs in central Africa, the Sudan and Egypt, in which the reader was warned that no generalisations could be made,5 and the volume concludes with a series of almost random impressions gained by an Egyptologist whilst working in Egypt. His diverse interests included the study of forgeries for their own sake, and his account was free from any patronising statements of superiority.6

and in the prioritisation of different types of evidence.7 Barry Kemp’s work in particular aimed to show that the ancient Egyptians were not just the manipulated tools/victims of their rulers. This immediately makes his work more accessible, and the ancient Egyptians more understandable and real thus achieving the aims expressed by earlier scholars such as Stephen Glanville. It was in the late 1970s that Egyptologists had openly started to re-evaluate their priorities and to relate Egyptology more to the developments in the social sciences. Once more, Egyptology had to be sited in the midst of other academic developments and regain some of that interdisciplinarity seen in the 1930s. A change of focus for Egyptological research was demanded in Kent Week’s Egyptology and the Social Sciences. For example, instead of excavating monumental sites, settlement sites should now be the focus.8 In 1976 an entire issue of the Royal Anthropological Institute News was dedicated to promoting a cross-disciplinary fertilisation between Egyptology and anthropology, and by 1997 it was felt necessary to produce a further publication on Egyptology and anthropology. This more recent work saw anthropologically oriented articles in which theoretical models were used as a starting point. In one of these, terminology such as self and other was applied to New Kingdom imperialism, specifically relating to New Kingdom depictions of Nubians.9 This initial study has now been developed into a book which integrates theory to provide an anthropologically based study of imperialism in Nubia.10 The concern to locate Egyptology in an anthropological setting, as epitomised by the above works, has frequently resulted in changing the emphasis of Egyptological research and the types of evidence looked for (basing it more in less elite, archaeological evidence). Any bias towards textual and monumental evidence is now tipped towards non-textual, non-monumental evidence. This is a natural development not only given the new techniques of conducting archaeological research in Egypt, but also as a reaction to the view of Egyptologists as treasure hunters and as a response to contemporary archaeological priorities and regulations in Egypt. As noted above, however, an interest in the domestic, private space of the ancient Egyptians had always run alongside the desire to reveal luxury products, even if the focus had been on dramatising the wealth and achievements of the elite. Furthermore, the use of ancient Egypt to sociological work had long been noted, and ancient Egypt was included as a comparative study in a series compiled by the sociologist Herbert Spencer in the 1920s. The aim of the series, as described by Flinders Petrie, the editor of the volume on Egypt, was to list the characteristic aspects of each different society under uniform headings, allowing

The above attempts at bringing the past to life in Egypt, through the careful use of a variety of sources alongside a willingness to use modes of comparison or parallels from modern as well as ancient societies, still have resonance today. Since the 1930s many books and articles have been produced which aim to chart the lives of the ancient Egyptians in their own terms. The vast majority of these have been broadly theory-free, and the main differences between such works and earlier works has been in the use of new material, the choice of language, of expression,

Kemp 1984; Petrie 1891, 161; McLean 1913, vi-vii. Tiele 2000 [1882], xvi. 3 See Ikram in Blackman 2000 [1927], ix-x. 4 Glanville 1932b. A volume on Thebes, looking at aspects of its sacred environment up until the present day, provides a recent example of the insights to be gained from a cross-chronological perspective; see Dorman and Bryan 2007. 5 Seligman 1932, 462. 6 Quibell 1932. 1 2

For example, Cerny 1973; Kemp 1993. Weeks 1979; Bietak 1979. 9 Baines 1976; Lustig 1997; Smith 1997, 81-5. 10 Smith 2003. 7 8

8

Re-thinking Egypt’s Past easy comparison. A further aim of the text was to allow an objective reading of facts: the reader would be ‘uninfluenced by the hypotheses or prejudices of other persons’. Despite what now appear as the very dated (and idealistic) aims of the book, Spencer’s categories of information hold fascination for the contemporary (and postmodern) reader, whereby ‘bodily mutilations’, ‘clothing’ and ‘magic’ are listed alongside other categories such as ‘division of labour’ and ‘general government’.1 It is fascinating that it was felt necessary to identify such categories in order to reveal the full facet of past societies. The book as a whole now forms a very modern statement on identity, conceived well in advance of all our recent theorising on the concept.

should be the priority, or so the argument goes.7 As the complex debates concerning feminist theory have developed and as they continue, real attempts have been made to ensure the lives of women in ancient Egypt are less elusive.8 Similarly, textual sources have been removed from their pinnacle, and have been increasingly mistrusted as sources for historical material, yet it is also a travesty to assume that textual evidence has always been read in a straightforward, accepting manner. One extraordinary claim in a recent volume, aimed once more at revolutionising Egyptology, was that the mere process of language learning results in a less questioning approach to the past.9 I would argue that the reverse is the the case. Questioning is central to the process of learning languages, of understanding grammatical systems and in any assessment of possible meanings and intentions behind the written word. The use of literary theory represents one mechanism to deal with some of the questions raised when translating texts. It has helped to vocalise the different techniques utilised in ancient texts. Developments in the analysis of Egyptian literature have closely mirrored developments in the study of literature as a whole, whereby we have become more aware of alternative readings and less normalised perspectives as we try to access wider sectors of that world.10 Investigation into the Coptic period in Egypt is often a sideline occupation, not fitting easily into any category of study, but overlapping with many, and forming a much smaller focus of research than that of pharaonic Egypt.11 Interest in Coptic Egypt is often mainly textual, as shown by the focus of international Coptic conferences, but at the same time contemporary theoretical preoccupations have long been applied to Coptic texts and more settlement archaeology has been called for.12 Post-processualism has also now been retrospectively applied to excavation reports of the early 1920s.13 The use of post-processualism in this context has not, in my view, opened out readings of the evidence which were not accessible anyway, but it

A comparative work on ancient Egypt set in the context of six other civilizations stands in the tradition of Spencer. Here, Bruce Trigger aimed to get closer to past lives through eliminating his own prejudices, applying the same terminology as used in the civilizations under study. Such careful and systematic investigation of cross-cultural categories thus aimed to avoid the inappropriate application of parallels between societies. Cross-cultural parallels formed the core of the argument, instead of merely forming occasional references. One of the clearest conclusions which was to emerge from Trigger’s work was the centrality of hierarchy to early civilizations, and a lack of resistance to this form of social order.2 The aims of his book have recently been replicated with a further study directly comparing Mayan and Ancient Egyptian worlds. Here, the methodology is not as instructive as Trigger’s, but the comparisons similarly interesting.3 A similar, but much less in-depth, attempt at comparative work has been made on Coptic period material, in which letters were compared with material from fifteenth century England.4 More direct insights are possible when the comparative material is chosen from a world closer to the ancient Egyptian; a recent example is a comparison of gender depictions in Mesopotamia and Egypt.5 A focus on the less visible in ancient Egypt continues to be a priority. This incidentally rebuts real or imagined accusations from other archaeologists about the elitism of Egyptology. Now sophisticated archaeological surveys aimed at elucidating non-elite lives are as central to Egyptology as they are to archaeologies of other parts of the world, even if this means drill cores rather than finding the sort of elite items suitable for impressing tourists.6 This has also been reflected in the huge variety of specialists needed for excavations today and in the changing nature of undergraduate teaching of Egyptology. The non-literate majority of ancient Egypt

Tassie 2007, 1782; Graves-Brown 2008, xviii. For example, Robins 1993; Fletcher 2001; Toivari-Viitala 2001 for for her painstaking reconstruction of women’s lives in Deir el Medina; Sweeney 2006 who tracks women’s activities as they grew older in Deir el Medina; Routledge 2008 who contrasts the subordinate images of women in art with the actual status they may have held. 9 Graves-Brown 2008, xviii. 10 Loprieno 1988; 1996; see Parkinson 2009, xii who states that his most recent reading of key texts is perhaps ‘post-theoretical’. His studies (see also Parkinson 2002) are closely allied with the ways in which literature from other settings is now read. Contrast Redford 2003, 4 who reminds us that ‘real historical events needing historical analysis’ lay behind literary texts. 11 Orlandi 2006, 19. 12 Leipoldt 1903; Frend 1982; Orlandi 1993; Bagnall 2001; Wilfong 1998a; Krawiec 2002 who uses Foucault to analyse gender in Shenoute’s White Monastery; Brakke 2006 on the application of gender theory to monastic texts; Wilfong 2002 on gender in Djeme. 13 Bucking 2007, 22. 7 8

Petrie in Spencer 1925. Trigger 1995. 3 Meskell and Joyce 2003. 4 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 25-35. 5 Asher-Greve and Sweeney 2006. 6 El-Bialy 2007, 1; Weeks 2008. 1 2

9

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt has definitely served to make any interpretations more plausible academically.1

previous scholars, nor indeed to anyone given the universally applicable relevance of individuals’ lifecycles.7

Very much in the tradition of those such as Glanville and Petrie, Meskell has attempted to bring Egypt’s past to life in a new way. Theoretical perspectives infuse her work. Her books blow away any accusations about the fustiness of Egyptology, but nonetheless they do not take us that far from those thought to be long outmoded such as Glanville. Despite sometimes long introductory comments dealing with, for example, third wave feminism, a frequently traditional set of source material (such as mortuary data), textual and non-textual is then utilised, albeit from different angles.2 The aim of her work was stated explicitly in a postscript to one of her books: ‘This project has drawn on a variety of scholarly traditions: the Annales historians, third wave feminism, the postprocessual school of archaeology, and a host of disciplines such as anthropology, social theory, and literary studies. Crucial insights from those fields allow us to view Egypt from a postcolonial perspective, to deconstruct the layered preoccupations of older scholarship, and to expose our own preconceptions, thereby reenvisioning Egypt for a new millennium’.3

Uniting the history of research into the past of Egypt has been the concern to bring it to life, to fill it with individuals who have been explained in contrast to today as well as in parallel to other civilizations from the past and present. This has been framed in an increasingly sophisticated theoretical framework which has changed priorities and made the subject more acceptable in a contemporary context. Meskell’s Egypt is populated by sensuous individuals, free from the moralising influence of the Judeo-Christian world, just as Petrie’s Egypt was populated by well-ordered content workers. And the practices of the ascetes, living in the Egyptian desert following Christian lives fit themselves well to contemporary interests, just as they can also be a source of religious inspiration. These changes of emphases do not change what actually happened.8 The reminder that a convincing, evocative past can be captured without the overt statement of theoretical perspectives is provided by a study of twelve individuals from 2650 BCE to 150 BCE in Egypt. In this, parallels and comparisons were inserted effortlessly into a narrative which achieves its aim of bringing Egypt ‘home’,9 compelling its readers to engage with and delight in the ancient Egyptian past, in the tradition of much Egyptological research.10

Yet, if stripped of the terminology, Meskell’s insights would be along the same lines as those of Glanville. She has also aimed to bring people to life in ancient Egypt (as has Kemp), and has presented the evidence in a similarly lively, accessible narrative. Her book on private life in Egypt, based upon evidence from Deir el Medina, a New Kingdom settlement for those who worked for the king on the royal necropolis at Thebes, has many of the same intentions as Glanville or Petrie’s works, despite the theoretical aims expressed above.4 Thus when she stated: ‘we can go some way toward reconstructing the sensual life of the Egyptians: the material pleasures, intoxications, tastes, aromas, music and dances that they embraced and that enhanced their bodily being’ her aims were not far from earlier Egyptologists such as Thomas Peet5 who wrote that the ancient Egyptians ‘were a bright, merry people with very little taint of cruelty in their nature, who loved wine and music and feasting’. Through all these authors the ancient Egyptians are brought closer. Even the aim of viewing the ancient Egyptians in their own terms, that of their lifecycle6 would not have been alien to

Controversial identities One central aspect to bringing Egypt’s past to life has been the desire to find out the actual physical identity of the ancient Egyptians, to the extent that in the past any book addressing the issue of identity in Egypt would have been thought to be discussing race. This is a topic which has, in the main, been increasingly abandoned as anthropological research has changed its priorities, and as postcolonialism has replaced colonialism.11 Few would now approach this book hoping to find out what colour the Egyptians thought they were, or to discover more about a unique racial link between Egypt of the New Kingdom and the Coptic period. That it would still be possible demands a short insight into how the obsession in the race of the Egyptians has been played out. How is it

Although compare Gilchrist 2000, 325-6 on the innovation of this approach for archaeological research; see Szpakowska 2008 for example of a recent study structured around the lifecycle of one imagined individual. 8 See Goehring 1997; Yanney 1992; Thompson 1978, 232-3. 9 Ray 2001, 1. This aim in itself could be argued about at length by theoreticians, see also Parkinson 2009 who successfully conveys his enjoyment of literary texts and of Egypt. 10 Ray 2001. See also Parkinson 2002, 288 and Parkinson 2009 on the importance of empathy and the imagination in approaches to ancient Egyptian literature. 11 Sometimes this seems like a superficial change of emphasis, see Keita and Kittles 1997. 7

1 See for example, Bucking 2007, 36 where he is able to put forward the multi-functionality of some of the texts found on the excavation. He is also able to argue that the context and presence of what were traditionally thought to be ‘school exercises’ do not mean that there was literally a school with a teacher and children in the monastic environment, Bucking 2007, 43. 2 For example, Meskell 1999, 8-95; see review by Sweeney 2003b. 3 Meskell 2002, 208. 4 See review by Sweeney 2003a. 5 Meskell 2002, 148; Peet 1931, 7. 6 Meskell 2001, 200; 2002, 57.

10

Re-thinking Egypt’s Past now possible for scholars to discuss the identity of the ancient Egyptians without mentioning race?1

that Egypt should now be considered as the precursor to the Islamic Middle East.7

Part of the essential ‘fact’ gathering carried out in the early nineteenth and early twentieth centuries involved the copying of reliefs from monuments across Egypt. This is still an essential part of Egyptological research.2 Part of the motivation behind such work in centuries past was to record the numerous depictions on monuments of what appeared to be non-Egyptians, often labelled by country of origin, always in submission. In his contribution to Griffith’s Festschrift Petrie noted that he had been commissioned to record such images, alongside images of Egyptians, though he does not state who commissioned the work. It was on a trip in 1886 with Griffith that Petrie gathered the information, which was later privately printed.3 In sixteen pamphlets numerous photographs catalogued both Egyptian and non-Egyptian heads cut from their context, with each photograph labelled in terms of the supposed identity of the person depicted. These labels distinguished between types of Egyptians as well as between Egyptian and non-Egyptian, for example the category of ‘high Egyptian’ was used. This aimed to be a scientific objective study of use to Egyptologists, anthropologists and the many who were interested in race at this period. Now the pamphlets just seem like a relic of a past world, which we can deconstruct with all the selfrighteousness that our era is somehow better.

Nonetheless, ancient cultures are still viewed in terms of the contribution made to later societies, like some kind of pecking order.8 Not unusual is the claim that the study of ancient cultures can ‘enhance life in broader society’, and contribute to our own world.9 Hence, an ancient culture can all too rarely be studied simply for its own sake, as everything has to have a utility. Into this, the ongoing Afrocentrist debate, once ignored by Egyptologists, views the race of the ancient Egyptians of central importance alongside their contribution to African civilization. Their argument is to demonstrate that African civilization is intertwined with the Egyptian, and in so doing, to right some contemporary inequalities.10 Cheikh Anta Diop spent his life’s work exposing what he saw as the racist exclusion of black Africans from the ancient Egyptian world by scholars.11 His work, in counteracting a racist bias of the past, also involved a type of racism; Egypt was now to be proved as an exclusively black civilization. So Diop thought that by formulating a way of testing mummified skin for melanin content he would categorically settle the issue. Diop’s main audience was amongst similarly minded Afrocentric scholars. Yet he had studied at the Sorbonne, and eventually did have a PhD thesis passed, having had a previous one rejected. The Parisian basis for much of his work is epitomised by the publishing house Présence Africaine which published Diop throughout his life.12 Despite this western setting for much Afrocentrist work, interaction between Diop and other Egyptologists was limited. By 1974 the issue of the race of the ancient Egyptians was considered so pressing that there was a UNESCO forum on the population of ancient Egypt. Jean Vercoutter, one of those who refuted Diop’s claims, preferred to see Egypt as a ‘melting pot’, and he argued that more physical anthropological studies were necessary to determine the race of the ancient Egyptians. Mainstream Egyptologists allegedly had not prepared properly for the conference which, the Afrocentrists argued, epitomised their apathy on the whole issue and their willingness to view the study of Egypt as distinct from the study of African history.13

Petrie’s work is by no means unique, other scholars at the time were similarly keen to categorise the Egyptians racially.4 The state of research by the 1920s can be summarised by one theory then current: the term ‘Brown Race’ was used to express the theory that the protoEgyptians were part of a widespread group of people who spread across north east Africa and much of western Europe. Each development in Egypt was attributed to a different wave of invasions, or population movements. The related issue of the role of Egypt in the formation of western culture is still debated.5 Glanville concluded his general introduction of the ancient Egyptians by suggesting that the alphabet arose from the influence of the Egyptians on the ‘semitic peoples’ – the implication being that we should be interested in the ancient Egyptians because without them ‘our’ civilization would not have arisen.6 These kinds of statements have been countered in recent times by similar statements arguing

Indeed, there does seem to be something in this criticism, as the apathy amongst Egyptologists and classicists seemed to disappear miraculously once a mainstream

For example, Meskell 2001. See Dorman 2008. 3 Petrie 1932 for a discussion of his trip; Petrie 1899; Drower 1995. 1995. 4 This type of research continued into the 1930s, for example Terry Wilfong has drawn my attention to an official statesponsored German project carried out in the first part of twentieth century, then updated with a 1930s text; see Meyer 1973. 5 See Allen 2009, 5-9. 6 See Allen 2009, 26 for discussion of the use and meaning of the word ‘civilization’. 1 2

7 Smith 1923; Glanville 1933; for a critique of Egypt’s influence on on western culture see Mieroop 1997. 8 See also Redford 2004, 3. 9 O’Connor and Reid 2003, 10. 10 See for example, Allen 2009, 3. 11 MacDonald 2003, 95. 12 Diop 1962; 1967; Dathorne 1989; Clarke 1989; Masolo 1994; Fall 2000; Jules-Rosette 1998. 13 Vercoutter 1978, 23-5; Moitt 1989, 350-1; Noguera 1976, 2.

11

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt academic, Martin Bernal, had entered into the debate.1 His three volumes of Black Athena, received a great deal of coverage, and responses, within and outside academia, far in excess of those stimulated by Diop.2 The pre-dominant message was a powerful one: that attitudes towards Egypt were inextricably linked with the racist agendas of western Europe. These agendas had effectively served to obscure Egypt’s contribution to Greek civilization. There is clearly much to learn from such statements despite the at times flawed use of evidence.3 Not surprisingly, classicists responded with vigour given that most of Bernal’s arguments were directed at classical scholarship, some alleging that there was little genuinely new about Bernal’s work.4 This is something Bernal freely acknowledged. It is also important to note that the study of the classical world is not exceptional in having a raceobsessed and racist past. Such a past is part of the history of the majority of academic disciplines, none of which have been utterly unreflective or unaware of the issues.5

can no longer be simply ignored.9 The Afrocentric perspective has, for example, helped open out interpretations of kinship systems in ancient Egypt, by freeing them from western presumptions.10 Egypt is now unequivocally seen as part of Africa.11 The situation whereby a programme released in the late 1990s as part of a French radio series about pharaonic Egypt completely failed to look at Egyptian-African linkages should no longer occur.12 More recently, it was considered a particular achievement that an African American had, for the first time, presented a paper to the International Congress of Egyptologists.13 Few, then, would pick up this book hoping to discover about the actual physical identity of the ancient Egyptians. Some, however, may pick up the book hoping to read all about the ethnicity of the ancient Egyptians and the Copts. Especially in the light of much archaeological research into ethnicity and the everincreasing number of Egyptological studies on this subject. In my view, ethnicity is another controversial identity, closely related to the Afrocentric perspective, in which ethnicity can become almost a replacement term for race.14 As argued by Kenan Malik, a definition of ethnicity which depends on assertions of shared cultural and belief systems ‘allows us to divide humanity into discrete groups without feeling the taint of racial ideology’.15 And in all the controversies surrounding the meaning of the term ethnicity it is hard to forget the notions of race which then brings the argument back to the Afrocentrists. This ritual of academic study, in which the existence of something is denied but then studied anyway has been condemned in a forthright article by Paul Gilroy: ‘the pious ritual in which we always agree that “race” is invented but are then required to defer to its embeddedness in the world and to accept the demand for justice nevertheless requires us to enter the political arenas that it helps to mark out’.16 Given what is, in my view, the interchangeability of the terms race and ethnicity, this comment could equally be applied to ethnicity.

Many qualms about Bernal’s work stem from the pivotal role of the supposed racial identity of the ancient Egyptians. Whilst this undeniably allows some very public restitution for the bias of some western scholarship, it can also lead to the bizarre situation where racial interpretations are placed on evidence which is devoid of racial indications.6 It seems that contemporary political and social inequalities have generated an argument which is far removed from Egypt’s past. Bernal has acknowledged this, explicitly stating that he sees no ‘biological utility’ to the term race, but he has exposed the political inadequacy at the heart of the academic debate: ‘In the United States and Western Europe, “one drop of black blood” is enough to label someone a “black”. However, when Ancient Egypt is viewed, no one is considered “black” unless he or she conforms to the European stereotype of a West African. Very few Ancient Egyptians would have been labelled “white” in nineteenth- or twentieth-century Britain or America’.7 Thus, for Afrocentrists, Bernal has become an ally, as they continue in their work to link Egypt with Africa. Their work has steadily gained wider impact, particularly in the USA.8 Mainstream Egyptologists, with many reservations, have also had to acknowledge the insights which Afrocentrism may bring to the study of ancient Egypt, it

In arguing for the use of the term ethnicity as a vital tool in archaeological research, Siân Jones painstakingly trawled through vast quantities of theory on ethnicity, trying to reach a meaningful conclusion about which

Incidentally, many, including Bernal, have noted with interest that he is also a grandson of the Egyptologist, Alan Gardiner. 2 Bernal 1987; 1991; 2006. 3 Bernal 1987; 1991; Said 1994, 15-6; see also Butler 2007, 67-71. 4 For an example of such responses see collected articles by classicists and Egyptologists in Lefkowitz and Rogers 1996; see also Perkus 1995; Coleman 1992; North 2003. 5 See Finley 1975, 76-81. 6 Bernal 1991, 244; Bard 1996, 106. 7 For critiques see Roth 1995a; Snowden 1996, 127; Bernal’s response 2001, 28-9. 8 Jeffreys 2003a, 13 points out that the USA is really the only location in which Afrocentrism thrives. 1

9 Crawford 1995; Finch 1986; Boyd 1991; Crawford 1996; Roth 1995b, 15; Parramore 2008, 48-50. See O’Connor and Reid 2003 for an example of a comprehensive discussion on this. 10 Allen 2009. 11 For example Redford 2004; O’Connor and Reid 2003. 12 Roth 1995a, 14; Diop and Diop 1997; Le Comité1997. 13This was at the Tenth International Congress of Egyptologists, 2008. See Beatty 2008. 14 See Keita and Kittles 1997, 541. 15 Malik 1996, 175. 16 Gilroy 1998, 842.

12

Re-thinking Egypt’s Past definition was the most appropriate.1 In this, ethnicity was made more attractive politically to study than race. Unlike race, it was acknowledged that ethnicity had both fixed and fluid elements, but at the same time the fixed element of ethnicity could not be denied.2 Her work has in part influenced the increasing number of studies which emphasise the heterogeneity of ancient Egypt and the multiple ethnicities of people living within Egypt’s borders. It is all too easily imposed onto New Kingdom Egypt.3 The term ethnicity is now a completely routine tool with which scholars approach ancient Egypt, including the Coptic period. These studies incidentally and no doubt, conveniently, serve to make ancient Egypt a society more understandable in modern terms and move it away from the stereotype of Egypt as a homogenous closed nation.4 Given these controversial identities, it is hard and perhaps impossible to break free from the mind-set which looks for separate groups in evidence from the past, labelling them according to their race/ethnicity, albeit with an awareness of fluidity. Indeed, a great deal of archaeological and Egyptological endeavour is simply about identifying past peoples and assigning cultural forms to them. Ethnicity allows this type of research to persist as it frees the subject from the racial overtones which taint its past, even though the objective of study remains remarkably similar.

ethnicities or racial origins understandable in modern terms from the evidence. Instead, I use the concepts revealed by primary sources as people sought to demonstrate identity and assert power in all sorts of ways. This includes the contrast of Egyptian/nonEgyptian, which itself hides a wealth of complexity.5 Relevant as a point of comparison, is the issue of Greek identity, something which had no national point of reference, yet held meaning for the Greek and non-Greek: ‘a Roman, of course, would have often referred to a Greek as a Greek, not as an Athenian or Ephesian (as they would call a man a Gaul or a German), just as the Greeks had always identified non-Greeks by “national” labels’.6 PERSONAL IDENTITY AND SOCIAL POWER All sorts of people, for all sorts of reasons, have claimed special linkages with Egypt’s past and its people. A rap artist from Marseilles, the son of Italian immigrants, has called himself Akhenaton, taking inspiration from a king of Egypt whom he has interpreted as a humanitarian and egalitarian ruler.7 For Copts living in the USA, the pharaonic and early Christian past is a source of difference and of contemporary empowerment.8 For an Egyptian feminist her identity is ‘African and Arab and Egyptian because my genes were drawn from all these, because my history goes back to Egypt for seven thousand years, to Isis and Ma’at and Noon’.9 For an Egyptian Egyptologist, there are ‘affinities with the past’.10 For a Californian High Priestess of the Goddess, there are direct spiritual links to ancient Egypt’s female deities to be celebrated.11 For a cultural theorist, the ‘Egyptian heritage belongs to all humanity, offering wisdom and inspiration that can brighten the future.’12 A more sinister side to this empowerment and celebration of links between past and present identities is seen in the establishment of organisations such as the now-banned Tribu KA. This was a group of people who took their inspiration from ancient Egypt, and who manifested themselves in attacks on the Jewish area of Paris.13

The assertion of difference was clearly crucial in both New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt, but whether this can be transferred into a meaningful statement concerning the existence of ethnic/racial groups is, in my mind, doubtful. Furthermore, it merely reinforces the perceived centrality of ethnicity in both our analysis and in our construction of past and present worlds. It ends up normalising the concept. The aim of this book is not to argue for particular 1 The literature on ethnicity is vast, I found the following useful to read alongside Jones’ literature summary: Banks 1996 for discussion of construction of ethnicity; Barth 1969; Cornell and Hartmann 1998 for discussion of ethnicity and race; Hall 1997; Piertese 1996; Thompson 1989. 2 Jones 1997, 65-79, 88-90, 96-7 drawing on primordial and instrumental models of ethnicity, incorporating also Bourdieu’s concept of habitus. For criticism of Bourdieu 1977 see Lane 1999, 108. 3 For example Wilson 2007, 28 states that the Delta ‘seems to have been a multi-ethnic enviroment’; by far the most detailed application of Jones’ theories (with adaptations) to the Egyptian setting has been in the work of Smith 2003, who applies them directly to Nubia. He emphasises the ‘dynamic nature of ethnicity’and uses his fieldwork to highlight the contrast between texts and archaeology. 4 Though see Goudriaan 1988 for an early example of an Egyptological study into ethnicity which highlighted the importance of contextual variability; see also Leahy 1995; Baines 1996b; Ray 1998 10-1; see Smith 1993, 89 for homogenous stereotype; see Wilkinson 2007, 2 who argues against this stereotype and whose edited volume is thematically organized into categories completely understandable in terms of our own contemporary world; see Smith 2007 for argument that the Egyptians had a very modern concept of ethnicity.

5 Compare Finley 1975, 62; see Allen 2009, 25, who in line with other Afrocentric scholars uses the term ‘Kemetian’ for an Egyptian, drawing on ancient terminology for Egypt. Complexity theory as a particularly contemporary obsession, see Eyre 2008, 186. 6 Finley 1975, 133. 7 Radikal 2001; compare Montserrat 2000 for discussion on Akhenaten through time. 8 See Ayad 1989. 9 El-Saadawi 1998, 127. 10 Haikal 2003a, 31-2. 11 Austet 2009, xviii, 16, 58, 61, 68. 12 Parramore 2008, 178. 13 These attacks took place in 2006, see newspaper reports in L’Humanité 31/05/06 and Libération 30/05/06; although banned, the group has reformed under the name Génération Kemi Seba. Thanks to Daniel Gordon for discussion and information on this point.

13

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt These alternative perspectives on, and ownership of, perceived Egyptian past identities are firmly set in the historiography of ancient Egypt. The study of Egypt’s past by the Egyptians themselves was not encouraged by the colonial powers, and, at times, actively discouraged due to the possibility of empowerment.1 The ancient Egyptians were seen as so identifiable and as so dominant in the ancient world that anyone identifying with the people who achieved all that would be stimulated and empowered to reject colonialism.2 Indeed, following the 1922 declaration of independence in Egypt, Egyptians of the Misr al-Fatah movement did celebrate their identity in a pharaonic context.3 In contrast, in contemporary independent Egypt it has been alleged that few are concerned with, or identify with the ancient past, although at the same time it is possible to trace a recurrent and ongoing Egyptian ‘Egyptomania’ alongside a significant number of Egyptians studying Egyptology at university.4 Despite this, many of the most renowned sites sites in Egypt are now fenced off, preserved primarily for tourists who swoop in and out in coaches.5 The ancient has been cut off from its contemporary landscape.6 Ensuring that the ancient past nevertheless has a proper place on the Egyptian curriculum is therefore now a priority, symbolised by the new children’s gallery in the Egyptian Museum.7 Many Egyptologists, whatever their country of origin, try to celebrate the links between identities in the past and present in order to foster a sense of ownership amongst Egyptians of an Egyptian past.8 Links can, for example, be reliably identified in the realm of language and in burial practices.9 In this circular process, in which different people have for different

reasons claimed Egypt’s past as theirs, engagement with the Egyptian past is seen as vital in ensuring its survival, the evidence for which is speedily disappearing in the face of pressures such as urban expansion.10 In all this the personal identity of the ancient Egyptians becomes crucial and obviously bendable to current expediencies. 11 Appropriately, in Egypt’s ancient past as well political situations may have played a role in reinforcing a sense of identity and place in the world. I use the phrase personal identity as a starting point in my examination of primary source material, to summarise the interplay between small-scale and wider-scale perceptions of the world. This is inevitably set against the background of numerous contemporary studies into identity politics, in which academics and others have sought to define what makes a person at any particular moment in time. For some, gender will be more important, to others religion, to others nationalism and to others the past, just to name a few.12 Lots of these terms are anachronistic to the ancient world, without any equivalent. For instance, modern historians shudder at the thought of the term nationalism being applied in a pre-modern context, though the term is not without its use. So in my view, it is important at least to try to free any study of ancient Egypt from an overload of contemporary terminology, however much such concepts remain subconsciously in one’s mind.13 They will remain implicit rather than explicit. Instead, I seek to enter the evidence afresh, whilst unavoidably making use of language based very much in the present, which includes the term personal identity.14 Integral to personal identity is the idea of social power: in other words, how someone living during these two very disparate periods was able to react to and respond to their context and exert power in all sorts of ways.15 The idea of power is bound up with theoretical and philosophical discourses, as controversial as the debates on race,

1 Reid 1985, 233; Wood 1998, 181-2, 189; Musa 1961, 50; Kamil 2007, 30; Butler 2007, 87-90; Jones 2008, 118-9 on issues surrounding further development of Luxor as a tourist centre. 2 The works of Said are crucial in any analysis of this; see in particular Said 1994; 1995; and for critiques of Said, see MacKenzie 1995 and Moore Gilbert 1997. 3 Reid 1985, 240; Haarlem 1988, 99; Wood 1998, 180-4. 4 Roussillon 1998, 370-3; Hassan 1998, 214; Haikal 2003b; see also El-Shal 2007a who examines patterns of visit to Egyptian sites by educated Egyptians; Jeffreys 2006b, 164. See Haikal 2003b, 127 for point that 400-500 Egyptians graduate each year with a BA in Egyptology. 5Hawass 2003 on the problems associated with tourism, especially in terms of the conservation of ancient Egypt’s monuments; see also Butler 2007, 257. 6 Jones 2008, 106-107. 7 Jones 2008, 107; O’Connor 2003a, 5; El-Shal 2007a, 625 for argument that Egyptian schools and universities need to arrange more visits to historical sites. 8 Leblanc 1999; Décobert 2000; Myśliwiec 2003, 11; Stadelmann 2003, 13. 9 See Atallah 2001; Youseff 2003 and Haikal 2003a, 31-2 who also argues for the establishment of ethno-Egyptology as a core course in Egyptological studies; compare also Allen 2009 on linguistic links between Egypt and other countries in Africa. ElShohoumi’s 2006 study reveals continuity in appeals to the living written on contemporary tombs in Egypt. Careful argumentation throughout typifies her discussion, note especially pages 357-8.

Parack 2008, 65. See Thomas 1990, Baker 1990; Bond and Gilliam 1994; Fowler 1995; Whitehouse 1998, Furedi 1993, Lowenthal 1994 and Wallerstein 1993 for discussion of past into present. 12 A few examples of some academic and non-academic discussions about the many permutations of identity: TrevorRoper 1994, 35-41; Rattansi 1994, 57; Cohen 1995; Starr 1978; Bondi 1996; Minh-ha 1997, 217; Rabinowitz 1997; Beauvoir 1954, 91; Nevo 1998; Ranger 1994; Kabbani 1989; Aburish 1998, 42-3; Anderson 1994; Abu-Lughod 1988; Perkus 1995; Bammer 1995; Bhahba 1995a, 1995b; Clark and Wilkie 2007; Rapport and Dawson 1998; Shack 1994. 13 Especially given my own background of interest in this topic. 14 For example, the term ‘individual’, which I use frequently in the text, can bestow too many westernised perceptions about what it means to be a person, including the idea of autonomous action. ‘Personhood’ is an alternative term, see Clark and Wilkie 2007, 1-3 for this viewpoint. See also Meskell 1998, 152-3 and Baines 1999c, 25. 15 See Blackledge 2005, 4 on the role of language in informing and maintaining social practices, and the importance of an authoritative context in giving language power. 10 11

14

Re-thinking Egypt’s Past ethnicity, and identity.1 Theories about ideology abound, with ideology seen as the means by which injustice in society is glossed over and power exerted.2 Althusserian concepts of ideology had always seemed a very attractive, albeit dated, mode of analysis, especially when relating them to New Kingdom Egypt. The idea of ‘ideological state apparatuses’ seemed to me to fit precisely the role of religion in that political context, and provided the explanation for why Egypt’s civilization was so distinct and enduring.3 With time I have come to realise that not only the state plays a role in social control and that power structures are more complex than allowed for by Althusser.4 At this point Foucault’s more encompassing analysis of ideology (despite his dislike of the term) seems appropriate as the state ‘for all the omnipotence of its apparatuses, is far from being able to occupy the whole field of power relations’.5 Nonetheless, in times of strong state control it should also be presumed that the state has the ultimate in coercive power at its disposal.6

Absorbing the background and reaching the sources Different types of evidence are considered together in a way in which has not been attempted before. The groundswell of studies on ancient Egyptian life-patterns and identity have primarily been concerned with enumerating those lives, albeit in an increasingly sophisticated format. For the Coptic period, the evidence is all too frequently segregated into categories, with an emphasis on the monastic life, increasingly using theoretical perspectives. Thus, for the Coptic period, evidence from different communities is investigated side by side, wherever possible. Considering the New Kingdom alongside an era which witnessed Christianity is crucial to my argument. In theory, they represent two completely opposing worlds, one stereotypically seen as all encompassing, the other seen as disparate and chaotic. Indeed, writers have emphasised the impact of the contrast between New Kingdom Egypt and Judeo-Christian beliefs.9 I use these two periods as classic case studies to test how far people’s lives intersect with their political and social context. Through entering both periods via similar types of source material, textual and non-textual, and through organising the material into categories arising from the evidence itself, this book represents a quest for an answer to how far it was possible to live freely.

In seeking to understand why the ancient Egyptians generated their own particular long-lasting mode of social order it is not enough to claim that the ‘ideological state apparatuses’ restrained and controlled them. Far more complex processes lay behind the creation, legitimation and maintenance of particular social systems.7 The concept of social power allows this complexity to be highlighted, and prioritises the potential contexts in which Egyptians during both these periods sought to assert their communal and individual selves. This could have been achieved through a whole range of linguistic and non-linguistic means.8

See list of definitions of ideology in Gabel 1997, 133-5. Hodder 1995, 63. 3 Althusser 1993. 4 I was helped on the way by reading Hodder 1992, 208-10; Bhabha 1995a, 3; Baines 1996b, 360; Foucault 1986; 1988; 2002, 33, 348; Parkinson 2002, 86; Blackledge 2005, 12, 21, 26-8; Gutteridge and Machado 2006 amongst others. 5 Foucault 1986, 122. 6 Goldstone and Haldon 2009, 6. 7 Blackledge 2005, 12-13, 24-9 on contemporary context; Goldstone and Haldon 2009, 7-9 on ancient states; Smith 2003, 187 on ancient Egyptian context. 8 Baudrillard 1997, 162-3, Bourdieu 1977, 89. 1 2

9

15

For example, see Meskell 2002, 143.

16

2 The New Kingdom Textual World

convenient but also unfortunate word because it carries with it an overload of negative connotations from today’s world, as we struggle against elitism in all sorts of contexts.3 The context

Leaving behind a self-obsessed present, in which claims and counter-claims will continue to be made on the most appropriate way to approach the distant past, it is time to discover the New Kingdom world, hampered, or perhaps aided by the use of contemporary language. Separated by more than 3000 years, it may seem almost arrogant to think it is possible even to attempt to understand why people lived in the way that they did.1 The New Kingdom Kingdom represents a classic phase of ancient Egypt, in which many of the monuments most known to us were built. It witnessed the resumption of centralised power following the Second Intermediate Period, and comprises the 18th, 19th and 20th dynasties. Some of the individual kings of these dynasties, especially of the 18th and 19th, are names which seem very familiar to us, including those of Tuthmosis III and Ramesses II. These two kings were most closely associated with the peaks of imperial power, during the 18th and 19th dynasties respectively, a time when Egypt had a very international setting. By the 20th dynasty, such imperial power was ebbing, with Ramesses III facing many challenges, and the rest of the 20th dynasty saw a continued diminution of centralised power.

Uniting the years 1550-1070 under the term ‘New Kingdom’ suggests a cohesive era in which stability and centralised power were the norm.4 The timespan is vast, however, and political and religious changes were by no means unknown. Furthermore, much of the historical detail is still debated and uncertain, especially regarding the transitions between different monarchs. This is particularly the case in understanding the accession of Hatshepsut, the female king.5 As in the Coptic period, an era more frequently associated with change, there were power struggles and decentralisation alongside phases in which segments of the population were vulnerable to attack and in which the religious beliefs of the population changed. Thus it has often been asserted that, contrary to expectations, Egyptian society was subject to change in both the short and long term.6 Usually the most obvious example of dramatic change during the New Kingdom is the reign of Akhenaten (1353-1335), and as such has inspired a huge quantity of research some of which points out that the changes were not resistance-free and of limited implementation. Detailed studies of the texts, art and architectural forms of other stages in the New Kingdom have also put Akhenaten’s reign in a general context of development.7

The New Kingdom as a whole has left a huge material and textual record, which implies a strong, centralised state able to sponsor and organise a complex world. Given the strength of this system, it is not surprising that the evidence for the lives of those not directly connected to the New Kingdom state is elusive. Tracking the lives of those connected to the state is inherently linked to the written word, which was central to the New Kingdom state.2 The ability to participate fully in written discourse defined a person’s status with Egyptian society, and literacy remained an ideal rather than a reality for many. As a means of articulating power, and asserting the values of the state, texts were much used. At the same time, the written word could also be a vehicle for questioning the state itself. The different scripts of Egyptian highlight the different functions of the textual in Egypt, with hieroglyphs primarily for the monumental, and hieratic for the less formal. Accessing extant texts from this era in Egyptian history allows an insight into personal and communal identity during a period of imperial might and decline. Letters are the focus of this chapter, selected as a body of evidence because they derive from across the spectrums of literate society, including highly crafted statements and seemingly more spontaneous messages. They are studied in order to expose the means of selfexpression open to an Egyptian with access to literacy living in what would appear to have been a tightly defined world. The code word I resort to frequently in order to describe this group of individuals is ‘elite’, a

Indeed, much of the New Kingdom was a process of change, development and reactionary behaviour. The New Kingdom commences with the 18th dynasty, itself a reactionary period in which the previous rulers, the Hyksos, were cast in a negative light or even omitted entirely from the record. Instead, the new rulers sought to set themselves in the same mould as the 12th dynasty rulers, and embarked on conquests abroad, ever expanding Egypt’s territories. Egypt’s empire extended both to the north and to the south of the country, into Syria-Palestine and Nubia, and throughout the New Kingdom these borders would fluctuate and recede. In such territories visible witnesses to Egypt’s presence were erected under many of the 18th and 19th dynasty kings. In Nubia this was characterised by Egyptian temples, the most renowned being Abu Simbel, but in Syria-Palestine the Egyptian presence was far more low-key and on a

3 See also Redford 2008, 31 who also dislikes the term elite but for a different reason: because it ‘conjures up the idea of aesthetes’. 4 Moeller 2007, 64 states that for most of the New Kingdom there were ‘no threats to the heartland of Egypt’. 5 Depauw 2003, 56. 6 Assmann 1995, 190-210; 1996, 225-315; Baines 1997, 217; Robins 1999, 55. 7 Bomann 1991, 74; Assmann 1995, 67-8 on the religious aspect.

Redford 2008, 33 emphasises the ‘huge gap in time and ethos’. See Allen 2007, 388 on how texts are the key to our understanding of that state. 1 2

17

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt much smaller scale.1 These conquests also affected Egypt internally, with an increase in the power of temples and the military, both of which were fundamental to imperialist ambitions. In this the king was still the focus of the political system, although the power relations were delicate, with the military and the priesthood sometimes the main power-brokers. Horemheb, for example, was a military general who ruled Egypt between 1319-1307, at the very end of the 18th dynasty. Through the course of the 19th dynasty the temple lands increased in size, and by the 20th dynasty it was the temple of Amun at Karnak which exerted most power in Upper Egypt, under a hereditary priesthood.2

more generalised picture is never easy. The literate in New Kingdom Egypt wrote about themselves, the state, their relationship to it, and about those who fell outside the state.8 Hence, completely excluded are any first hand accounts of those who were unable to enter the textual domain, or those whose texts the accidents of history have not preserved. The gap between the written and the spoken word in ancient Egypt may have been vast.9 For example, Coptic preserves in written form a large number of local dialects within Egypt, which are not reflected in the monolithic and linguistically centralised world of the ancient Egyptian text. The main written language during the New Kingdom was Late Egyptian, which is first evidenced during Akhenaten’s reign. This was a development from Middle Egyptian, the classic language which continued to be used during the New Kingdom, for example in the transmission of Middle Kingdom literature.10 Late Egyptian differs from Middle Egyptian in terms of grammatical structure, orthography and in vocabulary.11 Alessandro Roccati argues that the development of Late Egyptian was due to the imperialist setting, in which a bilingual environment influenced the written language and literary corpus.12

Any religious developments in the New Kingdom impacted both on the position of the king and on the beliefs of the Egyptians who seem to have been able to interact personally with the divine world. Or rather, there is much more evidence relating to personal belief practices than during earlier periods in Egypt, especially by the late New Kingdom, the second part of the 20th dynasty.3 Egypt itself has been termed a moral entity, in which religion was the main unifying force, the basis of ‘nationalisme pharaonique’.4

Written Egyptian would have been alien as a language to many in ancient Egypt, emphasising the separation between elite and non-elite.13 For us, who must be even more alien to the languages of ancient Egypt than its contemporaries, there can be no simple equation between translation of an ancient text and any comprehension of the full set of meanings intended when the text was composed or copied in ancient times.14 Philology has to be coupled by a full openness to the variety of intentions behind a text.15 In particular, I have found it useful to bear in mind Antonio Loprieno’s use of two terms ‘topos’ (the beliefs of a society as passed on by its officials) and ‘mimesis’ (an individual’s response to such beliefs/ideology) when analysing textual sources.16 Furthermore, with reference to literary texts it is important to remember that they were, in essence, as essentially fictitious to the ancient Egyptians as they are to

In this political setting, lived the actual population of Egypt, estimated at an upper limit of 4,500,000, although any estimate for this period is essentially guesswork.5 They lived in a diverse physical landscape. The various regions of Egypt, which include the oases, the deserts, the narrow Nile Valley, the Mediterranean coastline and the Delta, still provide a contrast today.6 For the majority of men in Egypt, whose occupations are revealed by the Wilbour papyrus, life was one tied to the land with bouts of military service, but in which the ideal of correct treatment was nonetheless maintained by the elite.7 The literate world Here arises the endless problem which will always beset those who study the past, what to do about those for whom records do not happen to remain. Deciding how far evidence from one piece of source material may depict a

8 Baines 2007a, 13 views both writing and visual culture as ‘instruments of the state and of its principal representative, the king’. 9 Roccati 1980, 77-9; Sweeney 2008b, 192 who emphasises our ignorance of ancient Egyptian speech. 10 Allen 2008, 189, 196. 11 Parkinson 1999a, 48-9; Junge 2001, 18-23 12 Roccati 2003, 42-3. 13 Baines 1983, 581-4; Baines 2007a, 156-7 although see also Parkinson 2009, 10-12 on the potential of literary texts to reveal alternative, ‘subaltern’ readings. 14 Simpson 2003, 45-6. 15 For examples of the wealth of theoretically inspired discussions on accessing the meaning behind ancient texts see Quirke 1998, vii-viii; Loprieno 1996, 222-31; Baines 1996b, 374-5; Assmann 1999; Liverani 1990; Parkinson 2009, 3-19. 16 Loprieno 1988, 10-3, 15-40, 97; 1996, 217.

Literature on this is vast, see for example, Redford 1995, 158-9; Galán 1995; Kemp 1978 for comparison of different types of imperialism in Nubia and Syria-Palestine; Wimmer 1990 for an evaluation of the evidence for Egyptian temples in Canaan; for maps see Manley 1996, 69, 71, 73; for in-depth discussion of architecture of imperialism see Morris 2005. 2 O’Connor 1992, 208; Baines 1995, 23, 29-30, 34; Lesko 1991, 111. 3 Sadek 1988, 293-5; Baines 1991, 180-6, 198; 1995, 34; 2001, 3. 4 Drioton 1957, 377-9 ‘il n’y avait pas de racisme, on le voit, au fond du nationalisme pharaonique, mais une philosophie religieuse universaliste, accueillante pour ceux qui l’acceptaient, intolérante pour ceux qui la repoussaient’. 1

5

O’Connor 1992, 190. For introductory descriptions of these areas, see Jeffreys 2007; Wilson 2007; Darnall 2007; Mills 2007. 7 O’Connor 1992, 190, 194; Roive 1940, 46; Gardiner 1948. 6

18

The New Kingdom Textual World us today.1 And this seeps down into what may be considered documentary texts, which also contain many levels of fiction and reality.

have been able to read hieratic.8 This figure for literacy includes the possibility of women being part of the literate population; they seem not to have been specifically excluded from literacy. In the tombs of non-royal men and women, a signifier of the ‘cultured elite’ a scribal palette is depicted with women as well as men,9 perhaps suggesting that women could use literacy for the same range of reasons as men.10 Some Egyptologists have taken such low estimates of literacy as an insult to the civilization they study. It is worth quoting one of the objections in full as it demonstrates well how deep the ‘civilization competition’ runs in academic waters: ‘This guess at a literacy rate is misleading at best and at worst appears as an unnecessary and uncalled for patronizing attempt to denigrate the substantial achievement of one of history’s greatest civilizations and for that matter to impugn the importance that most civilized people attributed to literacy’.11 Obviously such statements are far more about the person making them than about the subject being studied. The literacy debate is one which will not be resolved, but it seems fair to conclude that literacy, or access to it, was closely coupled to the exertion of power, on a localised and less-local basis whilst at the same time there might have been the potential for independent knowledge and interpretation of some aspects of the written form.

In any textual analysis, it is also crucial to have some awareness of the extent to which literacy impinged on the population. Despite the gap between spoken and written Egyptian, the differences between the literate and the non-literate were not completely distinct. Hence some of the so-called literate elite would employ others to do their writing for them, resulting in many different levels of literacy, some of which were very partial. Furthermore, the majority of Egyptian fictional works originated from oral culture.2 Once these fictional works reached written form they could be transmitted more widely and more quickly. One literate person could relate the ‘story’ to many other less literate and illiterate people. It is easy to imagine a fluid process whereby a fictional work could originate in a completely oral setting, be written down, transmitted orally again and written down again and so on; hence many texts, most obviously the literary texts, did not have authors in the western sense.3 Ancient Egypt has been identified as a society which was dominated by literacy, the boundaries of which may have been much wider than we presume.4 The non-literate could, through an oral setting, enter the world of the literate and enjoy a wide body of texts, even impacting on their ongoing creation. Furthermore, the extant material past of ancient Egypt is notable for the extent to which the written intruded at every opportunity. For example, temples were covered with texts, hieroglyphs were central to art forms and papyri and ostraca dominated different aspects of Egyptian life. It is even possible to argue that the hieroglyphic script is more accessible than the alphabetic, with the possibility that an illiterate Egyptian could actually have made some kind of sense of some aspects of a hieroglyphic text, and even of a hieratic text, especially in those cases where a sign is used to represent a word.5

Some more formal texts

Despite these very real nuances, it has also been hypothesised that a maximum of 1% of the entire population in ancient Egypt may have been literate (including all degrees of literacy), with local variability possible.6 In Deir el Medina there may have been 5% literate, with changes over time. For example, writing seems to have been used more in Deir el Medina during the 19th and 20th dynasties than previously.7 It is also possible that most of the literate in Egypt would only

During New Kingdom Egypt, there was what now seems to have been a large textual output, as rulers proclaimed their power and as individuals reflected on the conduct of life. In these texts, boundaries were drawn between the Egyptian and non-Egyptian domain, and the Egyptian world defined as a place in which just order was maintained by an all-powerful king.12 Certain texts were placed within temples. One of the most powerful expressions of an imperial zeal is the Poetical Stela of Tuthmosis III, found in the Karnak temple.13 In this, Re was the narrator, describing how he had enabled Tuthmosis III to overwhelm all foreigners. Such a statement probably had more validity during Tuthmosis III’s reign than at any other point in the New Kingdom, yet the hyperbole is still apparent as the Egyptian king is portrayed as a ruthless, conquering hero against any nonEgyptian for whom each victory was never in question. Throughout the New Kingdom, in texts celebrating victories over non-Egyptians, the king was continually

Parkinson 2002, 13; Parkinson 2009, 278. Baines 2007a, 146-60. 3 Parkinson 2002, 13; Baines 2003a, 18. 4 See for example Janssen 1992. 5 Tait 2001, 31-4. 6 Baines and Eyre 1983 is the key text for this argument; Dorman 2008, 78 is an example of a more recent author supporting this perception – he talks about literacy being limited to a ‘relatively minute sliver of society’. 7 Haring 2006, 110-11.

8 Baines and Eyre 1983, 77, 90-1; Baines 1983, 580, 584; Parkinson 1999a, 71. 9 Bryan 1985, 24-5, 32. 10 See Baines and Eyre 1983, 84-5 for alternative argument that women would have used literacy for cultural not functional reasons. 11 Lesko 1990, 657; see Baines 2007a, 172 for his response to this. 12 Shaw 2008, 122 on the ‘decorum’ of the military presentation of the king. 13 Lacau 1909, 17-21, pl. vii.

1 2

19

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt hailed in such a light, even when the realities of imperial power were far distant.1 Thus the king’s power could be proclaimed when at the same time his power was relatively non-existent.2 Inevitably, only one side of a situation was elucidated, as is especially demonstrated by the many representations of tribute bearers approaching the king. The other side of the picture is not shown, that of Egyptians approaching non-Egyptian rulers with gifts, and nor is it made clear that many of the tribute bearers to Egypt would actually have been traders entering as equals not as supplicants.3

Seth may have been a serious fiction, without all the humour which the text conveys today. If it was, however, humorous and satirical to the ancient Egyptian as well (which seems hard to deny), then the text could either have stemmed from less official culture, or could have been as central to official culture as the more ‘expected’ aspects of the Egyptian world.9 Indeed, there was a long history within ancient Egypt of using literature to explore accepted beliefs and to question the state. This illustrates well both the willingness and the need of the literate to explore and debate their own situation. Contrary to expectations about the pre-enlightenment world, elite individuals and their collective identity did not blindly accept their role and purpose in life.10 It has also been argued, however, that such texts always end up reiterating accepted life patterns, cultural forms and the state, however much these are questioned in the intervening text.11 So it seems that there was an acceptance and acknowledgement that life forms should not simply be accepted unquestioningly. Questions had to be asked so that the worries which led to them could be shown to be needless.

As a counterbalance to the bombast of the monumental world, fictional texts gave space for Egyptians to explore their place in the world and their identity in more subtle ways.4 Both the Tale of Wenamun and the Contendings of Horus and Seth are classic examples of this. Both narratives stem from the ‘second phase’ of New Kingdom Egyptian literature, thus to after the Amarna period.5 They may both have been composed during a time of weak central control, and this political setting may have been crucial to their appearance. The Tale of Wenamun is a fictional tale in the style of a documentary text whose end is lost.6 The extant text, superficially a first person account of a trip to collect timber from Byblos, can be understood as undermining the Egyptian abroad (in particular the Upper Egyptian), exposing the demise of Egyptian prestige. For an Egyptian audience, the tale explored motifs and themes of central concern to them, and reinforced what it actually meant to be an Egyptian by putting an Egyptian in a non-Egyptian context.7 Similarly, the Contendings of Horus and Seth could be interpreted as challenging certain givens in Egyptian official beliefs.8 This was a literary fiction in which the petty rivalries of the divine world appear to be ridiculed (and in which, incidentally, the writing of letters plays a crucial role). To the modern reader it can be hard to equate the intensely awe-inspiring images of the deities in Egyptian temples with the antics of the deities in this tale. This apparent contradiction may not have been read as such by the ancient Egyptian, for whom the Contendings of Horus and

This need to comply with cultural norms is epitomised by two further types of literary texts, instruction texts, in which the correct conduct of life was outlined, and autobiographical texts, in which it was confirmed that an individual had managed to abide by certain standards.12 These can seem to us now to express the essence of personal identity in New Kingdom Egypt. For example, in the 19th dynasty Instruction of Any13 it was acknowledged that such instructions were difficult to follow, but nonetheless necessary and possible. This provides advice to a son, who is urged to treat others well, to act mildly and with restraint even to those who challenge him. For example, he was to marry, have a son, study, act properly towards his mother and the gods, make preparations for his burial, and make offerings to his parents after their death, but was also to respond calmly when reproved by a superior, even when unjustly reproved. The low-key life envisaged in the instruction text above, in which an individual fulfilled on a local/personal level the ideals of the centralised state, stands in stark contrast

Spalinger 2003, 422; Shaw 2008. 2 See O’Connor 1992, 204; Late Ramesside period texts in for example Peden 1994, contrasted with Piankh’s comments. 3 See Liverani 1973, 193 and Kemp and Merrillees 1980, 280 for this analysis. 4 Loprieno 2003, 32-3. 5 Baines 1996c, 157; Loprieno 2003, 45 dates Wenamun to the very beginning of the Third Intermediate Period. 6 Gardiner 1932, 61-76; Broze 1996; Baines 1999b; Assmann 1999, 1, 89. 7 Eyre 1999b, 239: ‘an Egyptian puts forward in direct fashion what one may describe as the Egyptian colonialist ideology. An ironic response in the mouth of a foreigner in a text addressed to an Egyptian audience, is a device that focuses on the gap between ideology and reality in Egyptian political claims. The foreigner has the privilege of directly denying a dogma, that an Egyptian must approach in a more roundabout way’. 8 Gardiner 1932, 37-60. 1

For this interpretation see Kemp 2001, 129; see also Landgráfová 2008 for her analysis of the subversion of roles in Egyptian love songs. 10 Parkinson 2002, 78 on the value ‘attached to social and intellectual freedom’. 11 Parkinson 1999b, 71. 12 According to Kemp 1995, 50 there was not ‘a distinctively religious way of conducting one’s life’. See Frood 2007 for publication of Ramesside period biographical texts. JansenWinkeln 2004 argues that Egyptian instruction texts and biographies are not that closely related due to differences in linguistic styles and phraseology. 13 Suys 1935; Quack 1994. 9

20

The New Kingdom Textual World to the Autobiography of Ahmose son of Abana.1 This individual was a soldier who fought under Ahmose, Amenhotep I and Tuthmosis I, at a crucial period at the beginning of the New Kingdom. His description of his life was composed solely of his military actions, perceived as the most praiseworthy aspect of his life. All his military exploits were related, and the text sought to demonstrate how Ahmose had worked in the service, and more importantly, in the presence of the king and state all his life, that he died in old age still in the favour of the king.

reveal a desire to proclaim, uphold, question and undermine what it meant to be an Egyptian. This was despite (or you could argue because of)9 the fact that such texts were maintained by involved individuals. Some level of disagreement was, therefore, an expected feature of the textual negotiation and interpretation of life, but this was set against the background of a tightly defined world united in the person of the king.

These idealised perceptions of life, with individuals firmly placing themselves within the Egyptian state, and showing a collective sense of how life should be conducted, were set against the background of apparently documentary texts in which the alleged failures of individuals were catalogued by those who restrained them. For example, there seems to have been a series of crises which took place during the Ramesside period, all of which were initiated by those who in theory should have been least likely to rebel against the very norms they served to maintain.2 For example, some of those who systematically robbed the kings’ tombs in Thebes (during the reign of Ramesses IX) seem to have been state officials.3 The investigation into the robberies, and the justice served on the culprits, was carefully recorded.4 The robberies occurred at a time when the power of the state was diminished, but there is also evidence that tomb robbing was a problem during earlier phases of the New Kingdom.5 The punishment of those who plotted to assassinate Ramesses III was similarly described and recorded in great detail. The Turin Strike Papyrus also records what happened when the state failed. It shows those at Deir el Medina carrying out a sustained series of protests at the king’s failure to pay them proper rations (during the reign of Ramesses III).6 Those who were in the king’s elite workforce led this series of protests, occupying the first courtyard of the Ramesseum.7

One of the most tantalising aspects to ancient Egypt is the survival of letters. Some of them appear to give spontaneous non-negotiated messages to us now about what it was like to live in that world. This body of evidence ever grows, as new material is published and as existing material is re-interpreted.10 Some letters were apparently spontaneous, brief messages whose meaning it is almost impossible to access given the lack of background information, whilst others are highly structured, formalised works. The more formal letters were sometimes later quoted in another type of text, such as an autobiography. As a form of written communication, the participants ranged from the king to government officials and members of the Deir el Medina community. This was reflected in the range of words used in Egyptian for a letter, which covered the more formal letters from the king, which were effectively commands, as well as letters from non-royal individuals and much more brief communications.

LETTERS

Whilst those associated with the most authoritative social power generated texts constantly reiterating the pattern of an ordered world, they also reveal an inevitable inability to achieve these aims. From the evidence, it is clear that the literate, the different levels of the elite were amongst those who challenged the state. Hence, it seems appropriate that literary poems such as The Dialogue of Ipuwer and the Lord of All, written in the Middle Kingdom but circulated in the New Kingdom as well, articulated the worst fears about the order of the world.8 Formal texts

A certain formality in structure encompasses most of the letters, with set phrases and five main sections. These sections comprise the introductory formula, with the names of the sender and the recipient; greetings and prayers made to various deities on behalf of the recipient of the letter; subject of the letter; closing formula and address.11 Each of these sections could be expanded or shortened according to the motivations of the sender, and certain sections could be omitted altogether.12 Changes be discerned in the content of the formulaic elements of a letter; before Akhenaten’s reign the writer only asked that the recipient be favoured by the deities, after this period the writer actually performed religious actions on behalf of the recipient.13 It is possible to analyse the formal parts of letters, discern subtle manipulations of convention and hence make tentative conclusions about the intentions of the letter writer.14 For those who approach letters simply as a potential source for historical information the

Sethe 1906, 1-11. Vernus 2003b. 3 Vernus 2003b for general discussion of these events. 4 See Peet 1930; Peden 1994, 225-59. 5 Kemp 1995, 38. 6 See Edgerton 1951; Frandsen 1990; McDowell 1999, 235-8; Vernus 2003b, 50-69. 7 Smith 2003, 181. 8 Enmarch 2008, 64.

See Kemp 2001, 129 for this view. See, for example, Grandet 2006 and Demarée 2002 for publications of ostraca which include letters. 11 Pleyte 1869, 11, 13-7; Bakir 1970, 31; McDowell 1999, 28; Junge 2001, 292-5. 12 Sweeney 2001, 16-7. 13 See Baines 2001, 8-9. 14 See Sweeney’s 1998 study of 28 Ramesside letters apparently written by women.

1

9

2

10

21

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt profusion of formulaic expressions is intensely frustrating. The formulae are, however, not devoid of information, quite the reverse, especially in the realm of social interaction.1 Nor were formulae written unthinkingly as is demonstrated by letters written during the physical separation of the writer and recipient in which formulaic greetings are notably more detailed than usual, due to the anxiety caused by travel in the distant past.2

The majority of extant New Kingdom letters derive from one settlement, Deir el Medina, a village on the desert edge in western Thebes. There are 470 of these letters surviving, though this is not a static figure. Women wrote a tiny, but not insignificant, proportion of these letters.7 The residents of Deir el Medina worked on the construction and decoration of the royal tombs, living with their families and dependents in an environment, which in many ways was exceptional. Their physical setting was that of one of the foremost cities in Egypt, a centre of royal and religious display. On the east bank of Thebes were the temples of Karnak and Luxor, and on the west bank were mortuary temples, and the royal tombs on which they worked. During the New Kingdom, the built environment of Thebes was continually added to, destroyed and re-shaped by different kings in succession, as each sought to demonstrate his piety and power. A more direct link between the monumental structures and those from Deir el Medina occurred during the Late Ramesside period, probably during the reign of Ramesses X, when at least some of the community moved to live within the walls of Medinet Habu, the mortuary temple of Ramesses III.8 Here, within the enclosure walls, the residents were safer from attack than when exposed at Deir el Medina, and were also closer to sources of water, and the cultivation. Many of the letters date from this period, written by those who lived around the temple, surrounded by images of hostile non-Egyptians and texts listing Ramesses II’s victories against the Sea Peoples, at a time when Thebes itself was being sporadically raided. Two of the main individuals in the Late Ramesside letters are Butehamon and his father Dhutmose, both ‘scribes of the tomb’, a position of responsibility.9 Butehamon’s house (the remains of which can still be seen in Medinet Habu) appears to have been a comparatively spacious living environment, and many of the Late Ramesside letters may have been found within it.10

To understand the context, purpose and content of letters better it is useful to divide them into two broad categories: those letters which were written in order to be sent (ie real letters) and those letters which were written as model letters for the purposes of instruction. Red ink was only used in model letters. Real letters cover short messages as well as longer letters, and could cover matters of administration, business, personal need, or could be written to maintain a friendship. They could be addressed to one person, or to a group of people. They have been discovered in a variety of archaeological contexts, from tomb assemblages to the rubbish dumps of settlement sites. Some are devoid of archaeological context having been bought from dealers. Letters were written in Middle/Late Egyptian hieratic on ostraca or papyri, with the very broad generalisation that letters on ostraca were shorter than those on papyri.3 Many of the letters surviving from ancient Egypt are preserved only in ancient copies.4 These copies could be on ostraca, papyri, or written in hieroglyphs on stelae for display. When letters became part of a monumental text, for use on a stela delineating a boundary, for example, then their purpose and meaning changed considerably.5 The close conjunction between the written and the oral in ancient Egypt was also a part of the world of letter writing, whereby in the Old Kingdom at least, it was considered a performative art, linked to the worlds of literature and fiction. People may have read out the letters as they wrote them to someone who may have merely been sitting in the same room as them, with the whole interaction resembling a performance rather than the letter writing arising out of a simple functionality as we would understand it.6 By the New Kingdom, it is still noticeable that letters were written between people who were merely living five minutes’ walk away from one another.

Inevitably, because the majority of extant texts from New Kingdom Egypt stem from Deir el Medina, and because it provides a rare example of a settlement site, it generates endless research. Amongst such research, there has been an unsurprising tendency to try to view the site as unexceptional. This is despite the clearly above average level of literacy in the community, which arose out of necessity due to the highly skilled nature of their work. Levels of literacy in Deir el Medina would have fluctuated throughout the New Kingdom; for instance it has been

1 Gardiner 1951, 115 argued that Ramesside letters ‘shed no light on the peculiar characteristics of Pharaonic civilization’, by contrast see Sweeney 2001, 75-6, 99. 2 For this argument see Baines 2001, 7, 11-2, 27-8. 3 For discussion of types of letters see Bakir 1970, 23, 31-2; Sweeney 2001, 23. 4 See Gardiner 1937, IX. 5 For example, bestowing public status on the recipient of the letter. 6 Baines 1999a, 25; for New Kingdom see Sweeney 2001, 6.

7 See Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 15 where they state 5.7% were written by women. 8 McDowell 1999, 23; Sweeney 2001, 11; Teeter 2002, 1; compare Haring 2006 who states that we only know for certain that Dhutmose and Butehamon moved to live within Medinet Habu’s temple enclosure. 9Niwinski 2003 argues that there were two different officials named Butehamon separated by about 50 years, due to graffiti at Deir el Bahari which is written in different handwriting. 10 Cerny 1936, 249; 1973, 382.

22

The New Kingdom Textual World suggested that as much as 40% of the community may have been literate.1 It is certainly fascinating that one of the residents of Deir el Medina, Kenhikhopeshef, seems to have owned a private library in which many of the literary texts of the day were stored perhaps for shared use and enjoyment by a wider populace.2 The mere ownership of such a library may have been a clear assertion of social power and hence status.

records of the king’s expeditions. Supposed real documentary texts, letters, could be quoted on such stelae, as well as in the midst of other types of texts, for example on tomb inscriptions. When used, often in the midst of a more florid text, they added a touch of immediacy, of authenticity, as well as a change of style. They also gave a permanency to a text which otherwise would only have been preserved on papyri or ostraca. When letters copied onto stelae discussed the non-Egyptian, their transformation into a monumental text, written in hieroglyphs, reinforced and sometimes altered the original messages contained within the letters. These could state in unequivocal terms the superiority of the Egyptian over the non-Egyptian, the world depicted as a simple polarisation of Egyptian/order against nonEgyptian/chaos. Furthermore, they also precisely and clearly asserted the power of the Egyptian king, and the divine support maintaining him and his circle.

How far to extend any findings from Deir el Medina evidence to the rest of New Kingdom Egypt is something which is going to remain debatable. For Meskell, the question is simple: the diversity of the villagers makes them an apt case study directly applicable to the rest of Egypt: ‘the richness of the material presents a vast social mosaic, which is comprised of the experiences of many individuals: elite men and women, servants and slaves, children of various ages, foreigners, the disabled, the elderly and outcast’.3 In stating the obvious, that Deir el Medina had a variety of inhabitants, Meskell is also obscuring something important, that the balance of power, and social relations within Deir el Medina must themselves have been altered through the high proportion of highly skilled residents whose primary work was not the land but the construction of tombs for the kings of Egypt. The evidence naturally prioritises these inhabitants, for instance we do not even have any burial places for the least skilled members of that society.4 It is only as an example of a skilled community working on state projects, that Deir el Medina is informative. During the New Kingdom there would have been other similarly structured communities, at sites such as Abydos.5

Three such letters involve the viceroy of Kush. He ruled, on behalf of the king, the area south of Elephantine, as far as, (and for a while beyond) the fourth cataract. This area as a whole was seen as a fundamental part of Egypt, with Egyptian temples and monuments constructed at regular intervals throughout, yet at the same time its inhabitants were seen as a potential threat to the Egyptian state. The ability of the king to extend the borders of Egypt meant that non-Egyptians could be included within the parameters of Egypt.8 These three letters provide a snapshot into an apparent clarity of thought and expression regarding the power of the king, the administration of Kush and the division of the world into Egyptian/non-Egyptian across a time-span of at least 200 years. In the first of these letters, Tuthmosis I speedily sought to contain any disorder stemming from the transition to a new king by writing to his deputy in Kush, informing him that he had now ascended the throne.9 This letter, an assertion by Tuthmosis I of his newly attained power, also commanded the viceroy to make offerings on behalf to the gods of Elephantine. Tuthmosis I was providing a clear statement that his hold on power was firm. The viceroy had to submit to the king. The text itself was then copied onto a stela in the Wadi Halfa, just north of the second cataract as the king sought to assert his authority.

DELINEATION OF THE WORLD Central to any imposition of power was the need to publicise that power and delineate its boundaries. The king’s achievements, and his piety, could be described in texts which were written on stelae.6 Such stelae were located with little apparent concern for audience. Thus they could be situated high on a rockface, where, even in the unlikely event of someone being able to read them, their location made this unlikely. Instead, their purpose cannot be viewed in terms of propaganda, but rather as symbolic witnesses to the Egyptian presence (real or not).7 Border stelae, when outside Egypt, were not simply placed to delineate an unmoveable point, a line between Egypt and the outside world but also as commemorative

A wider assertion of authority was made in the second of these letters. Amenhotep II wrote to his viceroy, User Satet, describing his victories over non-Egyptians, and gave advice about dealing with non-Egyptians.10 This letter sees the king treat his viceroy in a very dismissive

See Janssen 1992, 89; McDowell 1999, 4; Lesko 1994, 134 for discussion of literacy levels in Deir el Medina based, in part on the frequency of short messages which were more likely to have been written by the letter-writer him/herself rather than a scribe. 2 Pestman 1982. 3 Meskell 1999, 4. 4 Strudwick 1995, 105 for Thebes. 5 See Kemp 2001, 126. 6 Spalinger 2003, 418, 422. 7 See Baines 1996b, 347; compare Parkinson 2002, 14-5 on ‘propaganda’ in literature. 1

8 See Cerny 1959; Warburton 2001, 181, 189; Galán 1995, 127, 1345. 9 Sethe 1906, 79-81; Lacau 1909, 11-3, plate V; Wente 1990, 27, no 15; Cairo Stela 34006. 10 Helck 1955, 1343-4; Dunham and Janssen 1960, 17, plate 82; Morschauser 1997, 203-22; Wente 1990, 27-8, no. 16; BMFA Stela 25.632.

23

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt way, rather as you would expect him to treat nonEgyptians. John Baines has argued that this demonstrates that Egyptians were ‘integrated into the basic subjection of people under authority’.1 At the same time, it could be argued that the letter actually sees the king being dismissive of the Nubians, rather than of the viceroy whom he is merely warning about the difficulties of his post.2 In the first part of the letter, Amenhotep II detailed how he had overpowered those in the north and the south (lines 3-5), and praised the viceroy for his victories in ‘all foreign countries’ (line 5). He concluded this section by criticising non-Egyptians associated with the viceroy (lines 7-9). In these lines, women were singled out as an apparent source of ridicule, directly associated with cities conquered by Amenhotep II: ‘But as for the woman of Babylon, the servant-girl from Byblos, the young girl from Alalakh, and the old woman from Arapkha, the people of Takhsi, they are of no account whatsoever. Indeed what is their use?’ Each woman mentioned was depicted as being from a different stage of life, so that the main phases in a woman’s life were listed: childhood, adulthood and old age. These women might be a direct caricature of rulers of those countries which had opposed Amenhotep II.3 Apparently, it was an insult for a man, a ruler, to be equated with a woman, and non-Egyptian women of all ages could be seen in the same negative light as conquered non-Egyptian men. This type of specifically anti-female abuse brings to mind Coptic texts, but does not necessarily need to be directly equated with day to day perceptions of women in New Kingdom Egypt.4

Nevertheless, execration texts from the Old Kingdom onwards specifically condemn the Nubians, who, it was feared, would turn the magic of these texts against the Egyptians. The Egyptian fear of Nubian magic is also attested in medical texts and in the Book of the Dead, and then is seen in later period texts, in particular the Second Setna Tale, which features a Nubian magician.8 The reference to magicians in this letter contains within its meanings a suggestion of the malevolent use of magic by non-Egyptians, as well as the warning that it was necessary to be careful when dealing with them at any level. The recipient was warned to be on his guard. Clear differences were made between Egyptians and nonEgyptians, but at the same time it illustrates how essential interaction between the two were for the ancient Egyptian state. It was not a closed world, and the king anticipated this in his statements to his subordinates, which could then be copied onto stelae. Imperial self-assurance so central to the above letters also finds its way into the third letter involving the viceroy of Kush. This letter was recorded on a stela dedicated by Ramesses II which was displayed in the midst of imperial territory at Kuban, the Egyptian fortress about 108 kilometres south of Aswan.9 At the top of the round topped stela Ramesses II is depicted making offerings to Horus and Min. The purpose of the stela was to proclaim the success of Ramesses II’s initiative to dig a well in the desert on the road to the gold mines.10 To back up Ramesses II’s allegations of a successful venture, a letter from the viceroy of Kush describing the construction of the well was quoted in full. The subject of the letter was introduced through the assertion that the ‘viceroy of the vile (Xs) Kush’ had dispatched a letter (line 32). Xs was a word frequently associated with the enemies of Egypt, highlighting their ever-present source of disorder and destruction.11 Ramesses II was specifically identified as having personally ordered the well’s construction, a probable fiction which served to boost the supposed influence and omnipotence of the Egyptian king.12 Ramesses II was also informed by his viceroy that his subject peoples (the land of Akuyta) had been filled with joy by the construction of the well. Such statements were not out of place in the Egyptian context, with several texts referring either to the happiness of non-Egyptians or to the kindness of the king towards non-Egyptians. Such statements served to emphasise the justice of Egyptian rule, that it was of benefit to Egyptians and nonEgyptians, as well as demonstrating that the king’s power extended equally over both Egyptian and non-Egyptian alike. They were all his subjects so could be treated in the

By the second section of the letter, non-Egyptians are connected with magic. The viceroy is warned: ‘indeed, do not be lenient with the Nubians; Beware of their people and of their sorcerers’ (lines 10-11). This is not a simple expression of dislike for the non-Egyptian, rather it is a warning to the viceroy to treat this particular category of peoples with caution. HkAw may need to be translated less literally as an allusion to cunning speeches of the Nubians5 and at the other extreme could simply be referring to Nubian magicians. The association of outsiders with magic is something well-attested, but in ancient Egypt magic was not exclusively the realm of nonEgyptians by any means, nor did it have only negative connotations, being frequently employed for positive purposes.6 Magic was an inherent part of the daily practice of Egyptian religion, carried out by priests who sought to protect Egypt from malevolent forces.7

1 Baines 1999d, 12 who also terms Amenhotep’s treatment of his viceroy as ‘casual cruelty’. 2 I am grateful to Terry Wilfong for pointing this out to me. 3 See Morschauser 1997, 207. 4 See Chapter 4. 5 Morschauser 1997, 208-9. 6 Thomassen 1999, 57; Ritner 2001, 322; Dunand and Zivie-Coche 2004, 126; see David 2002 for a general discussion of magic in ancient Egyptian religion. 7 Frankfurter 2005, 162.

Ritner 1995, 108, 125, 140; Koenig 1987, 105-10. Tresson 1922, 10, plate III; Wente 1990, 29, no. 19; Kuban Stela, lines 31-6. 10 Breasted 1906, 117-23. 11 Beatty 2008. 12 See Shaw 2008 for 18th dynasty fictitious statements about the king. 8 9

24

The New Kingdom Textual World same way, and this treatment inevitably included condescension and cruelty as well as humanity.1

were to be feared and kept outside Egypt ‘proper’ (line 66), but at the same time their skills were to be utilised and praised (lines 53-6). The purposes of the letter were three-fold; to congratulate the Nubians whilst informing that their victory was due to the king and Amun-Re, to command them to continue their job whilst ordering them not to penetrate Egypt, and to make administrative arrangements. This dependence on non-Egyptians to maintain security in Egypt’s border zones was carefully argued so that it was presented in a format which did not deny the supremacy of Egypt: any success of nonEgyptians in serving the Egyptian state was due to the Egyptian state itself. Thus in this letter Ramesses IX actually does manage to confirm the supposed power of Egypt, despite the obvious inconsistencies in content.

Sources of instability The confidence with which the power of the Egyptian king could be asserted within his own circle, and the strong identity this bestowed on them all did not remove inconsistencies from statements emanating from this circle. Non-Egyptians were potentially disruptive but they were also essential to the maintenance of Egyptian power, and in this they were once more on an equal with Egyptians: a potential source of instability and stability. The king freely acknowledged the use of non-Egyptians in the upkeep of Egyptian boundary zones. Boundaries, the edges of territory, were the traditional zone of limited control for ancient states. Many of these letters were preserved as copies on papyri, especially in the manuals discussed above. In one example of this, one of the king’s deputies was reprimanded for withdrawing the ‘TjuktenLibyans of the Oasis Land’ from their job of patrolling the area.2 Seti II, who wrote this letter, presided over a period of relatively tight central control. In periods of less tight central control the king could write to non-Egyptians thanking them for their assistance in repelling other groups of non-Egyptians. A letter of Ramesses IX was written to a group of Nubians protecting Egypt against the Bedouin.3 The initial address of the letter provides a link back to previous eras in Egyptian history, with wellknown attributes of Nubians listed: out of the four groups of Nubians addressed, three were described as ‘feather wearing’ and the fourth as ‘bow carrying’ (lines 39-42). These groups of people had been central in the protection of a mining expedition, specifically of the ‘gold washing teams’ (lines 42-4). Whilst congratulating the Nubians, Ramesses IX was also concerned to bring that victory back into the Egyptian domain, to attribute it to himself and Amun-Re. This is seen in lines 45-9, where Ramesses IX stated that it had been his action which had overthrown the Shasu-Bedouin, and that it had been Amun-Re, the ‘lord of every land’ who had provided vital assistance. Thus the pretence that the king as well as his chief deity were all powerful was maintained.

Perhaps it was the strength of the kingly circle’s identity as Egyptian that allowed this inconsistency within their own statements. It was even possible for the Egyptian king to be thanked for bringing supposedly disruptive non-Egyptians within the Egyptian state. One letter from a woman, presumably a member of the core elite, to Seti II thanks him for sending her non-Egyptians to receive training.4 Translators of the text have presumed that this training was to be in weaving, yet the text just notes that it was in ‘this great task’ (lines 2,3-2,4).5 She noted how Seti II was continuing the custom of Ramesses II, and stated that such people were ideal: ‘it is only the people who are like the people whom my Lord, life, prosperity, health, caused to be brought, who are able to be effective and who are able to receive my teaching as they are foreigners in the manner of those who were brought to us in the time of Usermare-Setepenre, life, prosperity, health [Ramesses II], the Great God, your good father’ (lines 2,5 – 2,7). Even in textual discourse such as the above letter, in which facts appear to be presented, it is not possible to simply take them at face value, to draw conclusions about the actual situation in Egypt. The textile industry in Egypt has long been assessed as an area in which the majority of jobs were held by non-Egyptians, and Gurob in particular has been seen as a centre for non-Egyptian textile workers, doubtless leading to the interpretation of the above letter as referring to trainee weavers. Textual translation has been directly affected by suppositions from archaeologically based argumentation, when the two worlds may be very different (reality and texts).6 For instance, pits were found at Gurob which have been interpreted first as funeral pyres for non-Egyptians, latterly just as rubbish pits, and now again as funeral pyres but this time specifically for Hittite women. A parallel example of contradictory pictures presented by

Once this assertion had been made, Ramesses IX asked that the gods look kindly upon the Nubians in return for their victory, discussed matters of administration, and then restated the position of the Nubians with relation to the Egyptian state. He instructed the Nubians to continue defending the ‘gold washers’ against the Bedouin, but at the same time to refrain from attacking Egypt themselves: ‘do not allow the Shasu-Bedouin to attack them [the gold washers], and do not come to attack within the land of Egypt’ (lines 65-6). From one perspective, non-Egyptians

Gardiner 1940, 14-5; Wente 1990, 36, no. 34; P.Gurob III,1,rt. See Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001, 453. 6 See Weatherhead and Kemp 2007, 409 with reference to textual and archaeological evidence from Amarna: ‘what individuals in power say and what society as a whole reflects back to them are not, however, identical’. 4 5

Baines 1999d, 12. P.Anastasi VI; Gardiner 1937, 46-7; Caminos 1954, 176-81; Wente Wente 1990, 35, no.32; lines 10,8 – 11,8. 3 Kitchen 1983, 519-22; Wente 1990, 38-9. 1 2

25

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt different types of evidence is seen in the Middle Kingdom town of Lahun. It has been hypothesised that the wool industry in Crete was so important that specialists would have been brought to Egypt, thus introducing Aegean motifs into the Egyptian artistic repertoire. This logical argument, based upon archaeological finds, is contradicted by textual evidence from Lahun in which only Asiatics were mentioned as working in the textile industry. These sorts of contrasting pictures are never going to be completely equated, but they can fill one another out.1

to the scribe that being Egyptian involved enjoying a world in which all functioned properly, but at the same time it was necessary, in the service of the state, to work in places in which nothing functioned properly. A classic example of this is a text, probably intended as a letter, though the opening address is missing, in which the writer describes being in an alien environment.3 The official writing the text is beset by insects, unripening fruit and intense heat, describing himself as being in ‘the beating of the land’. The verb used is Hwi which can also mean roam/wander, and makes with tA an idiomatic expression, literally ‘the roaming of the land’.4 Nomadic behaviour and by extension locations were seen as the reverse of proper, Egyptian life which comprised a settled existence in the Nile Valley. To compound the writer’s discontent and fear at being in this location, he is surrounded by 500 dogs and jackals making him nervous of leaving his house.5

A central requirement of royal letters, whether preserved for us in a monumental context or on papyri, seems to have been to present the king’s identity with a clarity and certainty, demonstrating his absolute power. This was reiterated in both the actual content of a letter and in the formal addresses used at the beginning and end. In this display of identity, and in the maintenance of the core elite’s identity, distinctions were also drawn between Egyptians and non-Egyptians, between different categories of non-Egyptians, between different levels of officialdom, and between different locations which were defined in relation to those who lived there. Areas which were claimed as part of Egypt’s territory had by necessity to be occupied by supposedly undesirable non-Egyptians. This pragmatism ran quite happily alongside idealistic statements of power, intent and control.

Such were the alleged perils when leaving the familiar, ordered world of Egypt, that a scribe was urged to be happy with his occupation as, unlike a soldier, he was not compelled to wage war in unfamiliar territory. This theme appears repeatedly in many texts, some of which were written as letters.6 In one copy, a scribe writes to another scribe, listing the trials of a soldier.7 Foremost amongst these trials was the requirement to fight outside Egypt, specifically in the hills of Syria-Palestine (lines 5,9). No mention was made of the inhabitants of such places, instead the misery of the place was put down to the duties of the soldier in what was inhospitable terrain. The prime reason for discontent was the long march to battle through the hill-country, in which the soldier became like a pack-animal, exhausted even before the onset of battle (lines 5,10-6,1).

Outside the immediate royal context It is not surprising that letters derived from the royal context show this ease alongside inconsistency when defining the world in terms of being an Egyptian. This ease also finds it way into letters from outside this context as well. Indeed, the letters mentioned so far would have been used in scribal manuals, as ideal types of letters from which scribes could learn the necessary styles, vocabulary and formats of letters. Through copying out these letters, and through using them as templates for other letters, those involved in the process would have had continual reiterations of how they should (and perhaps did) perceive themselves and their surroundings.2 An oftrepeated theme in scribal exercises, in these letters/reports, is that of the difficulty associated with being outside one’s usual environment, frequently outside Egypt. This theme derived directly from the kingly perception of all that was in Egypt as representing the proper, ordered functioning of life. Thus it was reiterated

It is clear, however, that individuals did not unthinkingly buy into the stereotype that all outside Egypt was negative and to be avoided. A classic example of this is seen in a model letter, probably composed during the reign of Seti II. The survival of this text on ten ostraca as well as on papyri indicates its popularity. The letter purported to have been written to a scribe with the text containing as many difficult words as possible so the student could learn from copying them out.8 In great detail the writer listed the hardships encountered by a scribe accompanying military expeditions abroad. The writer posed as someone of experience, pulling the leg of

1 See Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001, 453 for textile workers theory; see Meskell 2002, 37 and Politi 2001, 111 for differing pit theory; see Fitton, Hughes and Quirke 1998, 134 for Lahun. 2 The idea of scribal school as an environment in which to absorb and transmit essential reiterations of Egyptian-ness is perhaps reinforced by the fact that so far the more challenging discourses such as The Dialogue of Ipuwer and the Lord of All, have not been found in this context. See Enmarch 2008, 24-5.

3 P.Anastasi IV; Gardiner 1937, 48-9; Caminos 1954, 188-98; text survives in several copies. 4 See Caminos 1954, 189 who states that this is not a real topographical name. 5 Lines 13,2 – 13, 3. 6 Caminos 1954, 91-5. 7 P.Anastasi III; Gardiner 1937, 26-7; Caminos 1954, 91-5. 8 P. Anastasi I; Gardiner 1911; Wente 1990, no. 129; Wente 1995, 2216.

26

The New Kingdom Textual World a naive youngster about to enter his profession. Numerous reasons were cited for the military scribe’s life being one of unrelenting physical difficulties, including the physical landscape of the non-Egyptian world. The inhabitants of this foreign world were also to be feared, with the words used to describe non-Egyptians mimicking those words used in royal texts. Descriptions of non-Egyptians were made as fearsome as possible. For example, the Shasu-Bedouin were caricatured, pictured as hiding behind bushes waiting to ambush the unaware Egyptian: ‘the narrow path is dangerous as the ShasuBedouin are concealed beneath the bushes, some of them being of four or five cubits, their nose to foot, and have fierce faces’(lines 23,7 – 23,8). The exaggeration implicit in this description was built upon a known situation, whereby the disenfranchised, or nomadic populations, lived in the hill country on the fringes of the state.1

In a letter written during the nineteenth dynasty, at some point during the reigns of Merenptah or Seti II, the issue of a missing Hm was addressed.5 He was referred to first merely as a Syrian, then his full name, parentage and country of origin were given, and then the writer went back to referring to him solely as the Syrian. Early on in the letter it was made clear that he had been part of a cargo of non-Egyptian labourers. But at no point was a negative adjective associated with him. The actual purpose of the letter was to relate certain administrative problems to a superior, a priest called Ramose of the temple of Thoth ‘satisfied of heart’ in Memphis, paramount of which was the missing Syrian. The writer was a scribe called Bakenamon, who had been ordered by Ramose to find out what had happened to him: ‘furthermore, I have made enquiries into the Syrian of the temple of Thoth, whom you wrote to me about and I have found that he was placed as a cultivator of the temple of Thoth under your authority in Year 3, month 2 of Smw, day 10, from among the Hmw of the ships’ cargoes which the overseer of the fortresses had brought back’ (lines 910). The Syrian’s name, parentage and country of origin were then given: ‘to cause that you know his name: the Syrian Nekedy, son of Sertja, whose mother is Kedy of the land of Aradus, a Hm of the ship’s cargo of this temple in the ship captain Kel’s boat’ (lines 11-12).6

The implication of this text was that once an Egyptian encountered the non-Egyptian world it would become less threatening. The worldly Egyptian was one who could tease another Egyptian about their lack of experience of the outside world. Only an unworldly student would have been in any way alarmed by this text, and perhaps the best way to deal with such fear was to make a joke out of it. The outside world could indeed be a cause of fear, but at the same time it could be integrated into the Egyptian world. For example in another letter the writer describes the king’s actions in allowing the ShasuBedouin to be temporary residents of Egypt as something beneficent, not as a cause for fear.2

This letter provides a very specific designation of Nekedy’s identity: his country of origin, his father’s name, his mother’s name and place of origin, his occupation and the method by which he reached Egypt. It is a very factual letter, with no words wasted on asides. Such very specific designations ran alongside much more general designations for non-Egyptians some of which ended up as a general term of reference without any non-Egyptian meaning. a and its Late Egyptian version Aaa was one of these general designations for a non-Egyptian. It was sometimes written with the throwstick determinative, typically associated with foreign countries. Translations of Aaa include ‘foreign mercenary troops’, ‘interpreters’, and ‘Nubians’ without necessarily being used as a general term for non-Egyptians.7

Part of that identity of being an Egyptian, of participating in these elite textual discourses, was the reality of living alongside others in Egypt who were identified as nonEgyptians. Hence, non-Egyptians were frequently referred to in letters without any negative attributes, whilst a person’s supposed country of origin appears to have bestowed a main form of reference. By the eighteenth dynasty non-Egyptians were frequently termed as Hm, in conjunction with their country of origin.3 How to understand Hm, and the other words used for slave/servant, whether to translate it is ‘servant’ or ‘slave’ is unresolved, although it could clearly mean both, depending on context. It could simply have had the more general meaning of ‘employee’, implying a degree of autonomy, but also lacking the personal freedom we would now expect. The differences between different forms of slavery, and between slavery and serfdom, are now blurred and difficult to distinguish.4

This closeness of the non-Egyptian world to someone identifying as an Egyptian is seen in the references to Aaa in the Late Ramesside Letters. Sometimes the term is used in a context which is no longer explicit to us. At the end of a letter addressed to Dhutmose, the writer warns the recipient to ‘keep an eye on the matter of the Aaa’.8 In another letter, from Dhutmose to Butehamon, Dhutmose complains that one of the letters sent to him had never reached him. This was supposed to have been delivered

Yurco 1997, 30. P.Anastasi VI in particular line 6; Gardiner 1937, 76-7; Caminos 1954, 293-6. 3 Bakir 1952, 31. 4 Bakir 1952, 6, 72; Meskell 2002, 105-6; Hofmann 2005, 179-244 for in-depth discussion of slavery in the New Kingdom.

P.Bologna 1086; Wolf 1930, 89-97; Wente 1990, 124-6; see also Gardiner 1948, 115. 6 Wolf 1930, section IV. 7 Bell 1976, 1-24, 90-2; Goedicke 1966. 8 P.Bournemouth, line 12; Cerny 1939, 65, no 44; Wente 1967, 77-8, no. 44; Janssen 1991, plate 55.

1

5

2

27

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt by an Aaa: ‘now as for you having said about the matter of the letters, about which you said: “Have they reached you?” They have reached me except for the letter which you gave to the Aaa Seti, the brother of the fisherman Panefermneb’.1 Despite the failure of Seti to deliver a letter, a negative adjective was not linked to him, although this may simply have been from a desire to be concise.

eliminate variation and maintain linguistic integrity in the written word. Unity was somehow important. That this was maintained in the face of many other changes in the language during the course of the New Kingdom in terms of grammar, structure and vocabulary, is significant.7 A literate Egyptian would not have been unaware of nonEgyptians speaking other languages, or of other Egyptian dialects, and competence in non-Egyptian languages was also required for some Egyptians, given Egypt’s international setting. A cuneiform tablet found at house O.49.23 in Amarna may have been an exercise written by a non-Egyptian trying to learn Egyptian, though it could also have been written by an Egyptian trying to learn how to write cuneiform. This tablet consists of numerals written in Egyptian on the left with cuneiform numbers on the right.8 There was also an attempt to understand the question of how different peoples ended up speaking different languages during the New Kingdom, and it was attributed to the actions of the divine world. The first mention of the separation of languages was in the Hymn to the Aten, from the Amarna period.9

The deceptive simplicity of some Egyptian texts with their rigid statements of Egyptian-ness and the opposite is blurred not only by the very general terminology for nonEgyptians but also by the possibility of a non-Egyptian becoming an Egyptian. Any labels bestowed on people or which people chose to take up themselves need not have had a permanency. One of the most potent pieces of evidence for this is from another Late Ramesside Letter, in which there is a list of men who had been appointed to cultivate new land. Amongst them was a man who was called ‘the son of aA-mr, of the new land of pr-DADA who was [wn] an Aaa’.2 In perhaps a deceptively neat translation it is possible to translate wn simply as an indicator of past time.3 This sentence provides an unexpectedly explicit demonstration that it was possible to abandon the status of non-Egyptian-ness and become Egyptian.

Conversely, lack of knowledge of Egyptian was a signifier of someone’s non-Egyptian-ness. In a letter, part of a scribal exercise, an official informed his scribe that he had not been working as hard as he should, despite various punishments.10 The scribe’s ability to deflect and ignore any punishment led his superior to compare him to an ass that had been beaten or to a Nubian. The Nubian is described as speaking a foreign language: ‘You are as a Nubian, speaking a foreign language [Aaa], who has been brought in with the tribute’ (line 8,1).11 This image of a non-Egyptian, being brought to Egypt as an item of tribute, and speaking in a foreign language was thus as accessible a motif as that of a beaten ass, and to be compared to either could be equally insulting.12 The two aspects of the Nubian, as tribute and as someone who spoke a foreign language reiterated his lowly status. The letter ends with a warning that the scribe will be brought under control in the end.

This does seem almost too neat to be true, perhaps some other meaning completely was intended by the writer. It fits all too neatly into other pieces of evidence put forward in the argument that for the Egyptian state assimilation of the non-Egyptian was perfectly possible. The sons of non-Egyptian rulers could be civilized within Egyptian palaces, educated to then export a loyalty and dependence to Egypt back to their own countries.4 Yet any of my instinctive cynicism that such argumentation fits all too easily into modern colonial models is lessened by other evidence. A stela of Ramesses II from western Thebes records that he tried to force a group of nonEgyptians, the Meshwesh, to abandon their language and to speak Egyptian instead.5 In the Instruction of Any, a text known to the Deir el Medina community, the son was encouraged to stick to his father’s instructions by being informed that even non-Egyptians can learn Egyptian.6

Alongside this sense of a non-Egyptian being someone who an Egyptian would not want to be compared with, there is also a flexibility in the labels for non-Egyptians. Several groups of non-Egyptians are regularly mentioned in letters, whose origins were outside Egypt, but whose long-term roles within Egypt came to mean that their nonEgyptian label stood for their occupation as well. People

Linguistic preference was part of a person’s identity as an Egyptian. The curious contrast, mentioned above, whereby written Coptic is completely dialect-dependent, whilst written Egyptian is completely dialect-free may signify a concerted effort on the part of the state to

See Roccati 1980, 80, 84. Smith and Gadd 1925, 230-8. 9 Sauneron 1960, 32-3. 10 P.Sallier I; Gardiner 1937, 85; Caminos 1954, 319-21. 11 Caminos 1954, 320 translates this as ‘gibbering’; Gardiner 1941, 25 notes that Aaa is being used in its original sense as ‘speaking in a foreign language’. 12 See also Smith 2003, 27 who highlights that non-Egyptians could be equated to an animal, here we have an Egyptian being equated to one. Blackledge 2005, 23. 7 8

P.Brit.Mus 10326; Cerny 1939, 17-21, no 9; Wente 1967, 37-42, no.9; Janssen 1991, plates 37-8; see lines 8-10. 2 P.Bibl.Nat.199 II; Cerny 1939, 53, no.33; Wente 1967, 69, no.33; Janssen 1991, plate 86. 3 Cerny and Groll 1993, 296-7; also translated as such by Wente 1967, 69. 4 See Leblanc 1999. 5 Bruyère 1930, 34-7; Bakir 1952, 112. 6 Quack 1994. 1

28

The New Kingdom Textual World who had never lived in a country other than Egypt, could still be referred to by the name of their supposed ancestors’ original geographical location.1 These groups of of people included the Medjay, who had originally been associated with Nubia but who were now policeman.2 Further groups included the Meshwesh and the Sherden, who were used for defending Egypt.3 Despite long historical inscriptions detailing conquests over such people they became an integral part of New Kingdom Egypt.

vs. 6) and ‘send the Medjay Hadnakht, see to it that he is sent to me quickly, and do not allow him to delay. [I] have written to you for him already through the Sherden Hori’ (lines vx. 7-8).8 These three individuals regularly performed tasks on behalf of Piankh, Dhutmose and Butehamon. For example, Butehamon replied to Dhutmose, telling him that the Medjay Kas had been getting on with his work, and stated that the Medjay Hadnakht had been entrusted with the delivery of the letter.9 Similarly, in another letter Dhutmose wrote to Butehamon, mentioning the Sherden Hori as the person who had delivered copper spears to Dhutmose in Nubia, and Dhutmose also complained that Butehamon had not replied about the ‘matter of the Medjay Kasy’.10 A concise description of the process of delivery of letters and the way in which their contents were made public is seen in a letter written by Butehamon to Piankh whilst Piankh was in Nubia: ‘we have paid attention to all the matters which our lord wrote to us about. As for this letter having been sent to us through the hand of Hori, the Sherden, this messenger of our lord, the scribe Butehamon ferried across and received it from him in the first month of Smw, [day] 18’ (lines 10-2). When the letter reached Butehamon he then read it out to the workmen of the Necropolis.11

For the Late Ramesside community at Medinet Habu, there was the dual position that such people could be identified as a threat to the inhabitants whilst at the same time other allegedly non-Egyptians were central to the functioning of the community, mirroring patterns of behaviour in the royal context as well. Warnings were given that the Meshwesh were approaching Thebes, and work on the royal tombs ceased because of the hostile presence of the Meshwesh.4 Their presence has been interpreted as one of the reasons for the decline in graffiti in western Thebes in the late 20th/early 21st dynasty.5 The fear and disorder which was allegedly caused by the Meshwesh could be discarded once the Meshwesh accepted some degree of authority, thus enabling them to be accorded rations.6

Identification as part of a group did not mean that stereotypes had to be used when writing about that group. For example, criticism of the Medjay was not applied unilaterally. When they were criticised, it was due to a particular event when they had not fulfilled their roles adequately. For example, when a chief of the Medjay had failed to carry out his duties as a policeman, then he was addressed in a derogatory manner. He was reprimanded solely on the basis of his administrative failings, and was also reminded of his position, his relatively low status: ‘you are a son of the subordinates; you are not a nobleman’ (line 26,6).12

Other groups of non-Egyptians regularly identified in texts from Deir el Medina were the Medjay and the Sherden. There may have been as many as sixty Medjay working in western Thebes. Their separateness from the community of workmen as a whole was emphasised by textual sources revealing that they did not receive rations with the workmen and appear not to have lived in Deir el Medina but on the floodplain near Medinet Habu.7 This supposed separateness did not prevent interactions with other residents of western Thebes. Both the Medjay and the Sherden were used in the delivery of letters, and were mentioned without any negative adjectives. The ‘Medjay Hadnakht’ delivered letters between Butehamon, Dhutmose and Piankh, as did the ‘Sherden Hori’. Dhutmose gave Butehamon instructions: ‘moreover do not be neglectful of the Medjay Kas, and give to him the bread rations and see to it that he weaves the fabrics’ (line

The king’s proud delineation of the world, seen in his letters, was to a certain extent reflected in other letters of the literate across a wide timespan. The terms used in the king’s letters to refer to those regarded as from outside Egypt were taken up by other literate people in Egypt. Thus a non-Egyptian, in the same way as an Egyptian, could be referred to within a letter about a variety of issues as a matter of course, both with and without any condemnatory comments. These were possibilities opened up by the king himself and his core elite, with the

1 Snape 2003, 97 talks about groups of people having a recognised recognised distinct identity even though they all lived in Egypt. 2 See also Zibelius-Chen 2007, who examines this term through time, it became the Coptic word for soldier but also retained a geographic relevance as well. 3 Redford 1997a, 60-2; Gauthier 1926, 66; McDowell 1990, 51-2; Richardson 1999, 149; Leahy 1995, 228; Warburton 2001, 82, 91-8. 4 See Haring 1992, 73-4; Sweeney 2001, 78-9; Cline and O’Connor 2003, 112-3, 134 who state that the sea people provide a ‘classic conjunction between archaeological and historical accounts of the past’; O’Connor and Quirke 2003, 19-20. 5 Peden 2000, 288. 6 Haring 1992, 78. 7 Cerny 1973, 262, 280-1; McDowell 1990, 54; see town register P.BM 10068.

8 P.Brit.Mus.10326; Cerny 1939, 17-21, no.9; Wente 1967, 37-42, no.9; Janssen 1991, plates 37-8 see above for earlier discussion of this letter. 9 P.Turin 1971; Cerny 1939, 31-3, no. 16; Wente 1967, 49-51, no. 16; 16; Janssen 1991, plates 92-3. 10 P.Turin 2026, especially lines 16-7 and 21-2; Cerny 1939, 71-4, no. 50; Wente 1967, 83-5, no. 50; Janssen 1991, plates 103-104. 11 P.Brit Mus 10375; Cerny 1939, 44-8, no. 28; Wente 1967, 59-65, no. 28; Janssen 1991, plates 39-40. 12 P.Anastasi V; Gardiner 1937, 70-1; Caminos 1954, 269-73.

29

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt acknowledgement in his letters of the utility of nonEgyptians, and their necessity to the functioning of the ordered Egyptian world. When a non-Egyptian failed in an allotted task, then a more derogatory tone could enter a letter. This fluidity in understanding the world emphasised the layers of meaning behind any designation of people as non-Egyptian, which cannot now be simply interpreted as referring to anyone from outside Egypt. Furthermore, the same motifs as seen in the king’s letters could be taken up in a non-royal letter, but reinterpreted to expose the lack of basis for a negative view of the nonEgyptian world.

fearful3. Only at the end of the letter was the well-being of Memphis conveyed. An even more emphatic exultation of the king’s power was made in a letter initially written to Merenptah. The style of this letter was so admired that it was later adapted to form a letter praising Seti II, and the letter reads more like a hymn of praise than an actual letter4. Yet the origin of the text, or merely its alleged origin, was in a letter, as the initial phrase reads: ‘this is a letter to provide information for the king at the palace, life, prosperity, health, “Beloved of Ma’at”, the horizon where Re is’ (lines 5,6-5,7). An almost dream-like atmosphere was created through the description of the king’s power. For example, the writer compared Merenptah to Re: ‘your rays enter into the cave, and no place is devoid of your beauty; you are told the condition of every land while you are resting in your palace’ (line 6,1). The expression of discontent

THE APEX OF THE ORDERED WORLD The self-image of the king as the centre of the ordered world alongside his deities was proudly proclaimed in letters derived from him. This self-assured claim to greatness and omnipotence was also reflected in letters derived from non-royal contexts, in which letter-writers paid homage to the Egyptian deities and to the king. The dual homage was both appropriate and necessary. For someone living in ancient Egypt, status was perhaps a key factor in personal identity, given the hierarchical nature of that society.1 Formalised statements confirming the respect due to the king and/or the gods did not only frame letters addressed to the king or his immediate circle, but also appeared in letters written solely for a friend or an acquaintance. Merely listing the titulary of the king at the beginning of a letter to him, conveyed the writer’s supposed acceptance of the king’s power.2 However unthinking the thought processes behind these statements were, the frequency with which they were written means that they were likely to have provided an ongoing subconscious reiteration of the status quo.

Such whole-hearted acceptance of the king did not exclude the possibility of writing to him with complaints and criticism. Perhaps the clearest attestation of this is in the Amarna letters, where you would most expect to see complaints given the complexity of the power relationship between the Egyptian king and non-Egyptian ‘supplicant’ rulers. The Amarna letters were written to Amenhotep III and Akhenaten by these rulers from outside Egypt, and the archive is formed by about 300 clay tablets. They are mostly written in Akkadian, the international language of the time. The king was continually appealed to for help, hence the topos of the ‘righteous sufferer’.5 Those who wrote to Amenhotep II and Akhenaten emphasised and played upon their supposed wretched condition. For example, Ribaddi of Gubla frequently wrote to the king; each time his condition and that of his territories was alleged to be worse than before, with more and more devastating attacks from the ‘Habiru’ and apparently no support from the king. He greeted the king as a suppliant,6 but was also able to fall into bitter reproaches to the king for his lack of assistance.7

Letters actually addressed to the king could be particularly florid in their praising of him, and this could dominate the content of a letter as a whole. Two letters, which were written to inform the king that all was in order in his establishments, primarily focused on expressing admiration for the king and his omnipotence. The first of these was written to Amenhotep IV by an official in Memphis. The actual news of the letter, that Memphis was thriving, was introduced by formal phrases exalting the power of the king. These statements reflected the king’s view of what his role was; he had to maintain power within his domain, with the help of the gods. For example, the writer asked that Ptah help Amenhotep IV exert power over the southerners, and to make lands

Just as the Amarna letters show non-Egyptians hailing and at the same time reproaching the Egyptian king, other letters written by Egyptians show the same two-fold approach towards the king and his circle. For one individual, Meriyotef, who lived during the reign of Ramesses II, not having his letters replied to was a particular problem. The letter was written in Lower

3 P.Gurob 1.1 and 1.2, especially lines 6-7; Sandman 1938, 147-8, no. CXLIV; Wente 1990, 28, no 17. 4 P.Anastasi II 5,6; Gardiner 1937, 15-6, no. 6; Caminos 1954, 4850, no. 6; Wente 1990, 34-5, no. 31; later incorporation into letter to Seti II see P.Anastasi IV, 5; Caminos 1954, 153, no.9. 5 See Cohen and Westbrook 2000; Higginbotham 2000, 41-2; Baines 1999b, 228; Giles 1997, 39; Liverani 1973, 184. 6 For example EA 68; Knapp 1997, 387; Moran 1992, 137-8. 7 For example EA 126; Knapp 1997, 405; Moran 1992, 205-7.

Assmann 1989, 56 on Egyptian kingship being ‘a kind of religion quite in the same way as Egyptian religion is a form of political organization’; Baines 1990; Sweeney 2001, 233; Eyre 2008 on hierarchy and status. 2 See for example O.Cairo JE 72467; Daressy 1927, 174-5; Wente 1990, no. 33. 1

30

The New Kingdom Textual World Egypt, from the royal court. Meryiotef wrote to Prince Ramesses-Maatptah, beginning the letter with the required formal phrases, assuring the prince that he was asking the gods to grant the prince long life and health. The actual subject of the letter was limited to a few short remarks, Meryiotef curtly stating that not one of his previous letters had been replied to.1

Taxation would often have been one of the central means by which the authority of the state was felt across the country as a whole, and could result in real hardship much of which is inaccessible to us now. Amongst textual evidence, complaints about taxation feature frequently. Taxation reminded each individual that they were part of an Egyptian state, that this involved financial contributions and/or military/labour service. The complaints of the literate about high taxation, when they would presumably have been the people most able to buy themselves out of the more unpleasant and dangerous labour duties, present only a very partial picture. One such letter was written at the very end of the twentieth dynasty by the overseer of Elephantine to an individual thought to have been the ‘Chief Taxing master’.5 The actual formal phrases of greeting were limited to the first five lines of the text, in which expressions of goodwill towards the official and the king were made. Baines has argued that this letter was between two officials who would have known each other, hence the opening formulae need not be understood as hypocritical in relation to the content of the letter, but as a necessary aspect to a personal letter.6 After these expressions of goodwill towards the recipient, the writer immediately states his concern. The rest of the letter was a succinct description of the complaint, unembellished by any further phrases of respect.7 The writer’s levels of tax had been set unfairly high;8 he had been alleged to have cultivated land which he had not and tax had been set too high on a low-yielding piece of land. As well as being free from any extra phrases of respect, this section of the letter was also free from any expressions of frustration or anger.9 Letters complaining about the imposition of taxes were such a usual part of life for some in the New Kingdom, that they were one of the types of texts copied by scribes as exercises. Indeed, one of the letters copied onto P.Bologna 1094 followed the same format as the above letter, with the same protestations that tax was being extorted upon items which the writer (a priest) did not have.10 This letter was not, however, addressed to the official in charge of tax, but instead was asking the recipient to collect the evidence to prove the writer’s case and then present it to the vizier.

Letters appear to have been one method for Egyptians to access officials at a higher level than themselves, to voice dissatisfaction. Political unrest, dissatisfaction and power struggles were a part of New Kingdom Egypt. Earlier scholars sought to rationalise how it was possible for an Egyptian to rebel so clearly against an Egyptian state, which they interpreted as having been omnipotent.2 I would prefer to see the strength of the Egyptian hierarchy and belief system as a response to the awareness that discontent, questioning and rebellion are as natural and essential a part of life as acceptance and order. Protestations in letters were surrounded by phrases expressing acceptance of the ruling powers. Dissatisfaction was voiced but usually within the status quo maintaining the writer’s sense of place within the Egyptian hierarchy. Protest and complaint did not mean the cancellation of belief in an Egyptian-ness. And the reverse was also true. The key to understanding such expressions of discontent in New Kingdom Egypt and how they impacted on someone’s personal identity is in looking at how the state chose to meet the demands made upon them. The frequency with which complaints were written suggests that it was not a totally pointless exercise. For example, letters of complaint often included constructive comments on how to remedy the situation. In fitting with the highly structured nature of Egyptian society, people phrased their complaints in accordance with the person they were approaching. It was only towards those of equivalent, or almost equivalent, status to themselves that complaints were phrased with complete exasperation.3 Such was the acceptability of justified complaints that the Middle Kingdom Tale of the Eloquent Peasant was composed around an individual’s struggle for justice against an unjust official. The king was a source of justice, providing a contrast to his officials: there was a distinction between a corrupt periphery and a just centre.4

The literate in Deir el Medina also voiced their complaints in carefully worded letters to their superiors, as well as resorting to other forms of more ‘direct action’. This is seen in two letters, both of the nineteenth dynasty. The first is from the scribe Neferhotep and the second from

1 P.Leiden I 367; Bakir 1970, plates 15-6, XXI; Janssen 1960; Wente 1990, no. 23. 2 See Edgerton 1951, 145 ‘Pharaonic Egypt was a totalitarian state, and the Pharaoh was its dictator’; compare research on Stalinist Russia (the contemporary political context which may have inspired the choice of terminology used in this statement) and letters written to government officials Fitzpatrick 1999, 175-7. 3 Sweeney 2001, 192, 227 discusses letters of complaints; although see also Sweeney 2008, 199 who reveals that superiors were sometimes addressed without any politesse, merely making use of imperatives. 4 Parkinson 1998, 54, 77.

P.Valençay no 1; Gardiner 1951. Baines 2001, 18-20. 7 See rt line 6-vs line 11. 8 According to the letter writer, someone collecting tax on behalf of the ‘House of the Chantress of Amun’ was responsible for over-taxing him. 9 Sweeney 2001, 229-30. 10 This text is probably from Memphis see Gardiner 1937, 6-7; Caminos 1954, 17-20. 5 6

31

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Kenhikhopeshef, one of the leading officials in the Deir el Medina community during the nineteenth dynasty. Both the letters were addressed to the vizier. Neferhotep’s letter survives on an ostracon, found at Deir el Medina, and so would have been a copy of the letter which was sent, or a draught version of it.1 In this text, Neferhotep wrote to the vizier To, commencing his letter with all necessary introductory phrases including a long list of deities to whom he has been praying every day, asking that the king remain in power. Neferhotep further depicted himself as an upstanding Egyptian through informing the vizier that he had been working properly and well. Then, after these reassuring sections, Neferhotep wrote that the community was suffering intensely from poverty and urgently needed help. For example, in lines 10-2, Neferhotep asked that ‘may our lord cause that we may live; indeed we are dying, we are not living’. Kenhikhopeshef wrote his letter in order to complain to the vizier, Panehsy. He phrased his letter with great care.2 The first half of the letter was an eloquent description of how all was well in Thebes, full of assurances that the workmen of Deir el Medina were working hard, and this section concluded with a passage complimenting Panehsy (lines 4:1-4:8). Only after this highly complimentary and reassuring section did Kenhikhopeshef voice his discontent. He listed his complaints, which concerned the failure of the state to keep the workmen supplied with the tools necessary to build the royal tombs (lines 4:9-4:12). He tactfully attributed this lack of attention to the community’s needs to the distance between Thebes and the central government, in particular the king (line 4:14).

These letters vividly illustrate the sense of place within the Egyptian world which allowed individuals to express discontent while at the same time embracing the hierarchical structure and codes of social decorum. That which was so proudly claimed by kings throughout the New Kingdom, namely the centrality of the king to life in Egypt, was also acknowledged in letters written by his subjects. He was the apex of the Egyptian world, and a whole hierarchy of officials worked under him, who were owed as much respect. Statements almost overwhelming in their adoration of the king, his deities, and his deputies, did not mean that such individuals could not be criticised.5 At the same time, the king was identified as the ultimate source of justice, as someone who could rectify problems caused by those lower down in the echelons of government. There was a complicated web of compliance in the maintenance of a recognisably Egyptian world. Conformity was the only route, but this conformity could encapsulate discontent as well as contentment.6 DIFFERENTIATION WITHIN THE EGYPTIAN WORLD Being a literate inhabitant of Egypt did not simply involve expressing loyalty to the king, the gods and his officials, focusing upon the state as a generator of identity and social cohesion, and uniting in a disdain for the outside world. Alongside these aspirations, which also contained within them room for manoeuvre, ran a more localised set of references for someone’s personal identity. In this the familiar geographical locale was all-important. The physical landscape of Egypt itself created a number of boundaries: the opposition between the cultivation and the desert; between the green fertile flat land and the craggy, stony desert mountains; between the Delta and the Nile Valley; between the oasis areas and the surrounding desert; the shores of the Red Sea and the Mediterranean contrasting with the Nile. Furthermore, the physical landscape was not stagnant, with the annual inundation transforming the landscape and the sense of the familiar. Such contrasts were implicitly acknowledged in the titulary of the king, which commemorated the unification of Egypt, and in the terms, kmt (‘the black land’, the floodplain) and DSrt (‘the red land’, the desert).7 The confusion induced by being in an unfamiliar part of Egypt was recognised. In the Middle Kingdom Tale of Sinuhe Sinuhe’s state of mind when leaving Egypt was compared to that of a Delta man in Elephantine. The identification of people from different areas within Egypt, was matched by the use of the term rxyt for non-elite

It is also worth providing an example when someone lower down in the hierarchy made complaints. Such letters are less usual. One example was written to Kenhikhopeshef himself.3 The draftsman Prehotep wrote to Kenhikhopeshef, with a series of complaints. He addressed Kenhikhopeshef as his ‘superior’ (Hry – compare with Piankh’s complaints about the king, see below), wished him life, prosperity and health, but offered no further phrases of goodwill. Instead he complained that Kenhikhopeshef was always demanding that he carried out work, but overlooked him when it came to rations of beer. To emphasise his unhappy situation Prehotep accused Kenhikhopeshef of treating him like an animal: ‘I am like a donkey to you’ (line 8).4 The purpose of the letter was summarised in a postscript, which concluded: ‘I am seeking to fill my stomach through you’.

5 Kemp 2001, 129 typically terms this ‘the language of sycophantic subservience’ which he sees as the ‘price to be paid for the survival of a popular culture of disrespect’ – I do not view them as such oppostions. 6 Redford 2008, 32 emphasises the lack of choice as we would understand it: ‘no ancient Egyptian enjoyed the luxury of being free of commitment: he was locked into a system and proselytizing was needless’. 7 Compare Allen 2009, 25 on terms for Egypt.

O.16991; Wente 1961, plates VII-VIII, 255-7. P.Chester Beatty III, vs 4-5; Gardiner 1935, 24-6, C, plates 11-2 a; Wente 1990, 48-9, no. 52. 3 O DM 303; Kitchen 1980, 534-5, A.30; Wente 1990, 149, no. 204 see also Sweeney 2001, 220-1. 4 Compare statements in earlier letters where non-Egyptians and Egyptians are compared to animals. 1 2

32

The New Kingdom Textual World Egyptians and non-Egyptians, both were potentially disruptive.1

form of a letter, and contains within it all the necessary New Kingdom letter formulae. The actual text was composed as work of fiction, employing several devices to make it seem more realistic, making it distinct to model letters and unique in Egypt and even further afield.

Despite the unity in the styles of monumental architecture up and down Egypt, there were also contrasts in the built environment, with sites unique in the intensity of their monumental architecture, such as the pyramid fields or Thebes. There may also have been contrasts in the lifestyles of the inhabitants of the different areas, for example, in their choices of personal adornment, dress and in culinary preferences. This is hinted at in the model letter, P.Anastasi I, mentioned above, in which a reference was made to an Upper Egyptian linen shirt.2 Likewise, the power structure in Egypt was not solely dictated by the centre. A hierarchy of local officials would have carried out the business of state in varying ways resulting in very different experiences for residents of the different locations in Egypt. This relationship between local and central power has been explored, with an emphasis upon the delegation of power.3

Wermai listed his title at the beginning of the text, he was ‘god’s father’ in the temple of Heliopolis, and was writing to the royal scribe. Approximately the first quarter of the text is concerned with supplying all the formulaic expressions of goodwill towards the recipient. Once the actual purpose of the text is reached, Wermai loses no time in describing graphically his fate. As soon as he begins this section of the text, Wermai states the cause of his problems: he had been removed from his job, had lost his possessions, and had been forced to leave his home (‘I was cast out of my city’, column 2, line 5). This personal catastrophe was emphasised through providing a vivid illustration of the general chaos in Egypt at the time: ‘when the land was immersed in the flames of war, in the south, the north, the west and the east’ (column 2, line 11). Crucial to the text is Wermai’s reaction, both on finding his home environment filled with enemies and on having to leave his home. Forced to wander across Egypt, and on occasion outside its borders as an exile looking for a home, he found himself a stranger, a condition he despised. ‘I was always in a city which was not mine or I was in a town which I did not know as I was in the condition of being a stranger (xpp)’ (column 3, line 7). It was irrelevant that Wermai was mainly wandering within Egypt’s borders: what mattered to him was being in the city he knew, and in which he was known. Thus being outside his home locality was bound to be painful, and he vividly describes the loneliness which accompanied his exile (column 3, line 9 – column 3 line 13). The actual place in which he settled, presumed to have been a rural location within Egypt was one beset by troubles.7 In contrast to Wermai’s previous life, he was now beset by hunger, living amongst a starving population wronged by the overlord. False corn-measures were used to rob the populace of their wages, and taxation was so high that noone, including Wermai, was able to pay it on time. The desperation of the situation was such that the ‘Nile has dried up (ceased) and their land is in darkness’ (column 4, line 4). Yet, throughout it all, Wermai maintains his hope that the recipient of the letter will be able to inform a nameless individual of his plight, enabling him to receive assistance. This whole text serves as an eloquent expression of the unhappiness and desperation which ensued the forced removal of an individual from the home surroundings, even when still within Egypt’s borders.8 His experience undermined his very sense of

Disdain for the non-familiar Travel and movement were associated with those sorts of people, nomads, who were thought to be threatening to a stable world. For many in Egypt, travel itself was not something carried out for pleasure, but occurred instead when the state required it, for reasons of labour sometimes related to the annual inundation, or for military purposes, or to escape the state.4 For the elite, however, there may have been a much more normalised free sense of movement as they ‘chose’ to travel between their homes, maintaining a familiar landscape in more than one place. Specific journeys may also have enhanced status, especially given the wider setting of the New Kingdom.5 The reactions of those who had to leave their home environment are only preserved by those with some level of literacy. Linguistically, any regionalism was staunchly ignored by the written language, yet letter writers did not avoid mentioning feelings of despair when away from home, exposing disquiet even when still within Egypt. This was such a stereotypical part of being an Egyptian that it had resonance within a literary context as well. A Late Egyptian literary text was discovered at el Hiba in a pot which also contained the Tale of Wenamun and the best extant copy of the onomasticon of Amenemopet. This text, in a copy of about 1000 BCE, known either as the Tale of Woe or as the Letter of Wermai, should perhaps be dated to the 21st dynasty in origin as with the Tale of Wenamun, although its origins may be in the 19th dynasty.6 It was written in the first person, in the Pavlova 1999, 103-104; contrast Baines 1996b, 367; see above. Gardiner 1911, 27. 3 Eyre 2000, 35. 4 Volokhine 1998, 54; Galán 2005, 156-7; Eyre 2008. 5 Baines 2007b, 5, 10, 19-21, 23. 6 P.Pushkin 127; Caminos 1977, 76-80; Baines 1999b; Moers 1999, 56; Schipper 2005. 1

See Caminos 1977, 80. See Loprieno 2003, 45 who contrasts Ramesside travel literature with that of the Middle Kingdom. By the Ramesside period Egypt and abroad ‘cease to be distinct entities’ and ‘protagonists move away from the centre towards a periphery that neutralises the relevance of the concept of border’.

2

7 8

33

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Egyptian-ness, and it would have been worrying had it not.

anxiety over whether he will return alive to Thebes.5 Dhutmose greets Butehamon, listing his titles, and then greets the deities of Thebes (lines 1-3), and finally appeals to the deities local to him in Nubia, asking that: ‘Horus of Kuban, Horus of Aniba, and Atum, lord of the earth’ grant Butehamon a long life (lines 3-4). Straight after this, Dhutmose makes clear his wish to be back in Thebes, also asking his local deities that they ‘cause that Amun of the thrones of the two lands, my good lord, may bring me [back] alive – so that I may fill my embrace with you – [from] iiAar, where I am abandoned [xAa] in this distant land’ (lines 4-5). He then briefly manages to discuss some business, before returning once more to his main concern. He appeals to Butehamon: ‘Tell Amun, joined-witheternity, Amenophis, Nofretari, Meretseger, my mistress, and Amun, holy-of-place, to bring me back alive. Place me in the presence of Amun, joined-with-eternity, and Amenophis, and say to them, “You will bring him back alive”, and tell Amun, lord of the thrones of the two lands, to save me’ (lines 15-8). To die away from home is his greatest fear, a theme familiar from Egyptian literature.

This fictional text perhaps represents every elite Egyptian’s worst nightmare and draws on everyone’s fear of being wrenched from the familiar. For the ordered, stable ideal of New Kingdom Egyptian society to function people had to be content in their familiar landscape, despite the fact that many were routinely required to leave that landscape. A series of letters written between Dhutmose and Butehamon eloquently mirror the literary outpourings of Wermai. Dhutmose was forced to be away from Medinet Habu on official duty, but while he was away he kept up a full written correspondence with Butehamon, constantly checking that all was well in Thebes. He travelled both south and north of Thebes, and expresses his continual anxiety over matters in Thebes, how everyone was in his absence, alongside frequent appeals that Butehamon pray to the Theban deities on his behalf. The elaborate phraseology of the letters reinforces the idea that it would have been a social requirement for him to be homesick when away from home. Egypt as somewhere distinct to return to is suggested by the standard phrase used by Dhutmose, r Xry r Kmt coming down to Egypt, and he sometimes calls Nubia ‘the land above’, its existence acknowledged in terms of its geographical relation to Egypt.1 These terms had no fixed reference, demonstrating what counted as return to Egypt could merely be movement within Egypt, for instance going from the oasis/desert areas of Egypt back into the Nile Valley.2 In addition, Dhutmose seems to have had a monolithic attitude towards the world beyond home: he uses the term iiAar to describe anywhere that was not Thebes, so areas within Egypt and outside, in Nubia, are both signified by this word. This term could be translated as a compound of ar (out from) and iiA (indeed) to mean ‘indeed to get out’, or its phonetic similarity to the word iAA (the wondrous land encountered by Sinuhe) could have been intentional, to emphasise its contrast to that paradisiacal location. One translator’s rendering of the word as ‘hellhole’ seems particularly apt.3 By contrast, Thebes as the home destination was simply termed niwt (town); no other word was necessary it was the town.4

Dhutmose vividly describes this fear in another letter from Nubia, in which he also manages to express his concern for his family.6 Once more he asks Butehamon to make offerings to Amun on his behalf and to tell Amun ‘to bring me back from iiAar, the place in which I am’ (lines vs 2-3). He emphasises his state of distress at being away from home, which has affected his physical well-being. He states that he is unable to sleep (lines vs 2-3). These extra details add pathos to his situation, and increase a sense of urgency for his return. This unease must also have been increased by the fact that Dhutmose was going to Nubia on a military expedition.7 Physical hardship was to be expected when being in an unfamiliar locale, but it is when Dhutmose is in Egypt (but away from Thebes) that his physical state deteriorates quickest. When writing from within Egypt,8 Dhutmose conveys the same despair as in his letters from Nubia, with the same language and phrases, including the request to ask Amun to bring him back safely (lines 9-10). As usual, he briefly manages to discuss some business, but then moves on swiftly to emphasise his physical state: ‘please tell Amun to bring me back. Indeed I was ill when I reached the north, and I am not at all in my [usual] state’ (lines vs 3-4). He says that he’s in iiAar of NA-mxAy (lines 9-10), the ‘hellhole’ of NAmxAy, perhaps a locality near Memphis.9

One classic example of Dhutmose’s unhappy letters sees the actual business of the letter, including instructing a coppersmith to make spears, interrupted by the constant 1 For example, P.Bibl.Nat.197, VI; Cerny 1939, 64, no. 43; Wente 1967, 76-7, no. 43; Janssen 1991, plate 79. 2 Compare with Eloquent Peasant, who goes from the Wadi Natrun r Kmt, from the edge to the centre – Parkinson 1991, 1, R, 1.7; see use of these terms in eg P.Bibl.Nat 197, VI; Cerny 1939, 64, no. 43. 3 See Valbelle 1990, 187; Wente 1967, 19 for ‘hellhole’ translation; for Sinuhe see Blackman 1932, 23, B 81 and Parkinson 1998, 16, 51. 4 Gauthier 1926, 75; see Butehamon referring to Thebes as niwt in P.Brit.Mus. 10284; Cerny 1939, 48-9, no. 29 line 7; see also Atallah 2001, 175.

5 P.Brit.Mus.10326; Cerny 1939, 17-21, no. 9; Wente 1967, 37-42, no. 9; Janssen 1991, plates 37-8. 6 P. Turin 1973; Cerny 1939, 2-5, no. 2; Wente 1967, 20-1, no. 2; Janssen 1991, plates 95-6. 7 See anxiety of Dhutmose as soon as he reached his superior at the frontier post at Elephantine in P.Turin 1972; Cerny 1939, 7-8, no. 4; Wente 1967, 24-7, no. 4; Janssen 1991, plate 94. 8 P.Leiden I 369; Cerny 1939, no. 1; Wente 1967, 18-21. 9 See Gauthier 1926, 17.

34

The New Kingdom Textual World Perhaps all this correspondence formed part of an elaborate, expected ritual mirrored in other texts, whereby the writer sets out a series of complaints, real, imagined or merely exaggerated in order to comply with the perception of what it should be like for an Egyptian when leaving his home surroundings. Dhutmose complains about the lack of replies from Butehamon,1 but at the same time we do have replies from Butehamon showing he did write back. One reply shows Dhutmose’s instructions being carried out in full, with Butehamon appearing to accept that Dhutmose was in danger.2 Butehamon begins this letter by reassuring Dhutmose that he has been praying to the gods, as requested. He enumerates a long list of Theban gods, including Amun of Djeme [Medinet Habu], to whom he has prayed everyday, asking that Dhutmose’s general favours him (lines 1-9). He specifically states that he made these entreaties whilst standing in the ‘open court’ of Amun of the beautiful encounter. Butehamon concludes this initial section of the letter by asking that the gods of Dhutmose’s locality hand him over to the gods of Thebes (lines 9-10). Butehamon’s prayers fulfilled word for word Dhutmose’s repeated requests to him.3

unavoidable, then those at home were expected to provide extensive support. Dhutmose’s letters were full of demands; those he wrote to had to pray to the gods for his safe return, and had to look after his affairs and responsibilities in Thebes. The mortuary temple of Ramesses III around which they lived was where these prayers had to be made for Dhutmose. Thus it was appropriate that such requests may have been made in the first court of a temple covered with condemnations of the non-Egyptian. Yet it is also significant that equal effort had to be invested by Dhutmose’s community to bring him back safe from areas within Egypt. Complaints also seem to be a set part of such letters in which the writer complains that the recipient has not been attentive enough in replying. The pull of the home locality thus had to be depicted as very strong, as did the fear of dying away from home. This is a known theme in literary tradition, as is seen in the Tale of Sinuhe amongst others: yet for Dhutmose it was not dying outside Egypt which was the cause for concern, rather it was the fear of dying away from Thebes which worried him. He was just as anxious about dying within Egypt, but outside Thebes, as he was about dying in Nubia. His fears may have been well-founded as it is possible he did die outside Thebes. This is suggested by a graffito written by Butehamon in western Thebes.5

Accompanying Dhutmose to Nubia was Shedsuhor, and Butehamon wrote to him asking him to look after Dhutmose.4 This particular letter also reads a little like a set piece which people would have churned out when someone left, with its stereotypical emphasis upon the inexperience of the traveller and the threat of the nonEgyptians who will be encountered. Butehamon describes the dangers which the nervous or inexperienced traveller would be exposed to, and he is also worried about Dhutmose’s lack of military experience. Butehamon tells Shedsuhor to take care of Dhutmose as ‘you know that [he is] a man who does not have any experience whatsoever, for he has never before made the journeys which he is on’ (lines 7-9). Butehamon goes on to emphasise further that Dhutmose is inexperienced as he had ‘never before seen a fearful face’ (line 11). As has been seen in other types of texts, such as the model letter discussed above, the inhabitants of a non-Egyptian locale added to its strangeness. There would have been a necessity to describe them as fearful.

For an Egyptian trying to conform, locally based identities were as crucial as a wider perception of being part of an Egyptian world. Both of these were a necessary aspect to the Egyptian state. Stability was enhanced through a dislike of movement (associated with dangerous nomadic tribes, outcasts and only acceptable when undertaken on behalf of the state) and through a wider acceptance of the role of the Egyptian king in maintaining Egypt’s borders. Despite order being associated with anything within Egypt as a whole, it was also accepted that an individual would (and should) prefer to remain in her/his home environment, and that other regions in Egypt might be unsettling. Hence, the oft repeated theme of the disordered region, or the corrupt local official alongside the yearning for a home city and the acceptance that the king was the ultimate source of order, despite the layers of disorder below him.

It was clearly essential for someone considering himself part of the Egyptian world to express a marked reluctance to travel outside the home locality. If such a journey was

Maintenance of the familiar Home, encompassing family, friends, servants as well as local deities, could provide a central aspect to someone’s personal identity and where they asserted most social power. Anything or anyone outside that immediate network could be threatening.6 Extant letters demonstrate demonstrate this desire to maintain networks of friendship during all periods of the New Kingdom, not just during the late Ramesside period. These professions

See P.Leiden I 369; Cerny 1939, no. 1; Wente 1967, 18-21. P.Turin 1971; Cerny 1939, 31-3, no. 16; Wente 1967, 49-51, no. 16; 16; Janssen 1991, plates 92-3. 3 Compare P.Turin 2026; Cerny 1939, 71-4, no.50; Wente 1967, 835, no 50; Janssen 1991, plates 103-104 where Butehamon has to ask the gods to ‘ “[Bring] him back healthy and cause that he reaches home down to Egypt from the distant land which he is in, and [you will see him] standing in the open court”.’ 4 P.Brit.Mus. 10284; Cerny 1939, 48-9, no.29; Wente 1967, 65, no. 29; Janssen 1991, plates 33-4; Thijs 2000, 64. 1 2

Sweeney 2001, 119; see also Niwinski 2003 for complications in reading graffiti about Butehamon. 6 See Allen 2009 for one reading of kinship terminology in Egypt. 5

35

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt of friendship, protestations of missing an individual could also form part of a careful approach to a request for assistance. They were made by different levels of literate society, from those with nationally based power, as well as those with a more local power base, or none at all. They also expose a desire for the proper running of society, for the maintenance of values expressed in sources such as the instruction texts and in tomb autobiographies.

extend literacy and to ensure that the men in Dhutmose’s house are clothed.5 Elite individuals had been proclaiming they had done these sorts of actions during their lives in their autobiographies from the Old Kingdom onwards. Dhutmose’s statements also bring to mind the instruction texts, with their instructions to protect women, children and to prevent anyone from having to go naked. Perhaps the particular virtue which is encouraged by the instruction texts is that of looking after people who are not part of your family or close social network, whereas Dhutmose is merely encouraging his son to look after his own. Indeed, Dhutmose refers to the people he asks after in his letters as ‘my people’, and is reassured that ‘all your people are alive, prosperous and healthy’.6 Butehamon further reinforces Dhutmose’s sense of himself as the beneficent patriarch of them all with the request that Dhutmose was ‘not to abandon xAa any of us at all. Indeed you know that you are the father of all of us’ (lines 13-4). Butehamon when expressing his distaste at being in iiAar also used the verb used for ‘abandon’.7

A classic example of purely phatic letter is in an archive of letters which were written to and from an eighteenth dynasty official, Ahmose.1 Hori, an official, writes a letter of only five lines, of which the first three and a half lines form the necessary introductory greetings. He asks that the gods and goddesses grant Ahmose a long and healthy life, before a very brief line and a half of information in which he asks ‘How are you, how are you? Are you well? Behold I am well’. This is an exceptionally minimal phatic letter, and may indeed have formed part of a larger request.2 One very emotional request from a chantress of Amun is included within a letter written by a man, Meh, whose main purpose is to ask the recipient to treat a chariot officer correctly.3 In this business letter he includes the request from the chantress, Isinofre, quoting her in the first person: ‘my heart desires to see you very much, with my eyes as big as Memphis because I am hungry to see you’ (line 12 vs 1). Quoting the chantress in the first person creates an immediacy and makes her words sound even more like Egyptian love poetry. More business-like but nonetheless emotive requests to see people were included routinely in letters which were asking for something. Maanakhtef, a carpenter during the twentieth dynasty at Deir el Medina wrote a functional (and unfinished) letter to a superior, the vizier’s scribe Amenmose.4 The purpose of the letter was to ask for more supplies so Maanakhtef could prepare varnish for a coffin. Presumably as part of the process in order to achieve a positive reply, Maanakhtef begins his letter by stating ‘it is my desire to hear about your condition a thousand times a day as you have not come this year’ (line 2).

Terms of exclusivity and difference Alongside this identification with family and associated dependents, were many terms which allowed for other types of people to be identified.8 These terms demonstrate the different and sometimes officially sanctioned and propagated factors in someone’s personal identity. Many of these factors such as status and occupation would have involved no active choice on the part of individuals. In Deir el Medina letters we have seen discussions about the Medjay, Sherden and Meshwesh coupled with requests that all family members are looked after, including women and children. Afurther category of people mentioned in a Deir el Medina letter is formed by the Hwrw.9 The letter writer asks the recipient, a woman, to write ‘to me about your condition, the condition of the woman Tadjeddjepiti, and the condition of Basa and the Hwrw’ (lines 3-5). The translation of Hwrw could either be the impoverished or despicable people. An identity conferred by, and recognised by the state on a type of people in Deir el Medina, seems to have been that of ms-xr. This term demonstrates a wider sense of group

Alongside this need to display and reinforce close social networks, was the need to appear to be maintaining the required way of life. A microcosm of an ideal Egyptian life is provided in Dhutmose’s letters to Butehamon. He wrote to his son asking that those values central to the perception of someone as a right-thinking Egyptian were carried out in the small scale of his home environment. So he encourages his son to look after the women and children, to ensure the work in the fields is carried out, to guard the conscripts, to

5

P.Leiden I 370; Cerny 1939, 9-11, no 5; Wente 1967, 27-32, no. 5; Janssen 1991, plate 66-7. 6 P.Turin 1971; Cerny 1939, 31-3, no. 16; Wente 1967, 49-51, no. 16; Janssen 1991, plates 92-3. 7 P.Phillips; Cerny 1939, 28-30, no. 15; Wente 1967, 47-9, no. 15; Janssen 1991, plates 90-1; see above. 8 See for example, Allam 2006, on the role of the scribe in the judiciary in Deir el Medina. He argues that this role was so important that only his title needed to be used, that of scribe, rather than his actual name; see also Janssen, Frood and GoeckeBauer’s 2003 study of different categories of service personnel at Deir el Medina. 9 O.Petrie 62; Cerny and Gardiner 1957, plate 73, no. 2; Wente 1990, 165, no. 270.

1

P.Brit.Mus 1013; Glanville 1928, 303-304, plate XXXII, fig. 1, plate XXXIII, fig.2, plate XXXV; Wente 1990, 91, no.114. 2 Glanville 1928, 303. 3 P.Northumberland I; Barns 1948, plate IX-X; Wente 1990, 113-4, no. 132; it is a late 18th/early 19th dynasty letter. 4 P.DM 9; Kitchen 1983, 672, no. 2; Wente 1990, 168-9, no. 285.

36

The New Kingdom Textual World FACING APPARENT FAILURE

identification, outside that of family and dependents but below that of the state. Translations of this term include ‘young (employee) of the royal tomb’,1 ‘young boys of the tomb’ ie male children who would become workmen on the royal tombs when older,2 and ‘native of the necropolis community’ which allows greater flexibility in the age of a ms-xr, despite ms being strictly a word for a child.

Despite the expressed confidence of the elite in their structuring of the world, with the support of the religious world in the maintenance of Egyptian order and the king supreme amongst Egyptians, there was also the inevitable threat of the collapse of that world. Whenever disorder threatened, it had to be dealt with speedily. An underlying acceptance of the inability of the state to restrain subversive elements was freely acknowledged, as seen in letters from a royal context. There was an understanding that statements made by the elite about their, and by implication, Egypt’s place in the world could not be universal truths. In the face of this it was even more important to maintain a strong personal identity.

Ms-xr seems to have been used as a simple way of describing a particular type of inhabitant of Deir el Medina. Therefore, when describing the dispersal of the community, Dhutmose who was at the time living in Medinet Habu wrote to Hori who was in eastern Thebes, mentioning the ms-xr: ‘Now we are living here in the Temple [Medinet Habu] and you know the way in which we live both inside and outside. Now the ms-xr have returned. They are living in Niwt, and I am living alone here with the scribe of the army Pentahunakht’ (lines 6-9).3 The ms-xr were not the only category of the community to have moved elsewhere, Dhutmose requests that the ‘men of the necropolis’ are sent by Hori from eastern Thebes back to western Thebes (lines 9-10).4 The Meshwesh (lines vs. 4-5) are also mentioned, possibly in the context of an attack.5

As the king was able to acknowledge that he needed help from non-Egyptians in order to maintain the state, so did other Egyptians mirror this alongside the ideal that they too were able to contain disorder. Disorder included not only criminal, anti-social activities but also failures to conduct life in the proper manner. The lack of success met by the Egyptians in meeting the ideal of social order is revealed by letters which deal with crime and punishment.

Being a ms-xr seems to have granted elevated status within Deir el Medina as it could result in special treatment from the state. One alleged criminal was let off because of this special status.6 The letter writer had been accused of stealing tools. His twelve servants were taken away, as well as him, in place of the tools. But due to his special status as a ms-xr, his father was able to make representations to the king who set him free: ‘My father reported to the pharaoh, life, prosperity, health, and he caused that I was set free, because I am a ms-xr' (lines 13-4). The self-importance of the writer was heightened through his report of his perceived close relationship with the king. This is a theme within many documents of Deir el Medina.7 Such a relationship may not simply have been wishful thinking on the part of Deir el Medina residents. Given the small number of the elite, of which Deir el Medina residents were a part, it may have been practically possible for the king to have direct, personal interaction with them. Although whether on quite such a personal level as implied by this writer is another question.

Prisons are casually referred to in texts as a means of asserting authority and imposing punishment. They immediately bring to mind the possibility of state-run institutions, with people being incarcerated for indefinite periods of time but at the same time it is possible to see that this authority need not have been state-based. Depriving someone of their freedom could all too easily have been achieved, and could have been imposed for varying periods of time and on an impromptu basis in impromptu locations. Certainly the threat of imprisonment was a key way of achieving desired outcomes, with violence a very real undercurrent. Two letters from the ‘standard bearer Maiseti’ discuss the use of prisons.8 The first is written to the ‘garrison captains who are in the northern region’, and suggests that they are not fulfilling their duties as an Egyptian correctly.9 Specifically they have not been treating the ‘god’s personnel who are in Tell el-Balamun’ in the proper manner. The garrison captains do not appear to have committed any crime, other than that of omitting their religious duties. So severely is this perceived that they are threatened with imprisonment: ‘when this letter reaches you, you will not let service for the god there be inactive or you will be imprisoned’ (lines vs 1-2). In the second letter Maiseti writes to an official called Hat.10 He orders Hat not to move prisoners until explicitly commanded to, and to keep control of them. If he fails, Maiseti threatens

1

Edwards 1960, 10, note 7. Cerny 1973, 28, 117. 3 P.Berlin 10494; Cerny 1939, 23-4, no. 12; Wente 1967, 44-5, no. 12; Janssen 1991, plates 53-4. 4 See also Cerny 1973, 370. 5 See Wente 1967, 45. 6 O.BM 5631, rt; Birch 1868, plate XVIII; Erman 1905, 100-106; Cerny and Gardiner 1957, plate 88; Wente 1990, no 196. 7 McDowell 1990, 242-4. 2

8

These date to the late 18th/early 19th dynasty. P.Cairo 58053; Bakir 1970, plate 1, I-II; Wente 1990, 114-5, no. 133. 10 P.Cairo 58055; Bakir 1970, plates 3-4, V-VI; Wente 1990, 115-6, no 135. 9

37

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt to kill him: ‘you will die under my hand’ (line 7). This is simply control through extreme threats and violence. Perhaps violence was so deeply entrenched in Egyptian society that these threats were merely the required way of trying to get something done in Egypt and would not have appeared as extreme as they do to us. Order could not be maintained through a simple identification of each member of the elite with the Egyptian political and religious system, fear had its place too: Maiseti appears worried that proper religious duties are not being carried out by a member of the elite, an official. Surely if this member of the elite fully identified with the religious/political system of which he was a part he would not have needed threats to ensure that he played his role in maintaining it?

as for the Pharaoh, life, prosperity, health, whose superior [Hry] is he still?’ (lines 8-vs.1).5 Piankh felt confident enough in his position as general of southern Egypt to openly state the king’s inadequacies in correspondence which could after all have fallen into the wrong hands. Failure to live as an Egyptian should Those discussed in the previous section seem to fall outside what is commonly perceived to have been proper, Egyptian behaviour. This is true both of the protagonists of the letters and of the people to whom punishment is being threatened. Given that failing to live or act in the accepted manner impacted on the most elite sectors of society, it is not surprising that such behaviour was condemned. It had both political and domestic implications, with disorder a threat to every sphere of someone’s life. The domestic impact is seen in a letter from a woman in Deir el Medina where these implications are described.6 She writes to her sister, describing how her husband has been treating her harshly because he felt her family was not supporting them with material goods as they should. In voicing his complaint and threatening his wife with divorce, the husband himself was not treating his wife with the respect owed to her. She reports the threat her husband had made to her: ‘briefly, if you say anything, you will go to Kmt’ (lines 10-11). Kmt here is being used specifically to mean the Black Land, ie the cultivation as opposed to the desert edge where the couple were living in Deir el Medina.7 Access to letter writing allowed this woman to make an appeal for help even though she had been instructed not to.

A series of letters from Deir el Medina provide a snapshot into these inevitably conflicting questions. They were written during the very end of the New Kingdom during the reign of Ramesses XI.1 Throughout his reign, Ramesses XI continued to churn out statements of his power, which became more and more distanced from reality.2 This political background particularly colours the content of these letters, in which the punishment of two Medjay, whose names are not given, was discussed. We never discover what crime has been committed, other than they may simply have said something they should not have.3 Complete secrecy surrounded this set of letters, the matter was not to be discussed outside the circle of people involved in the letters. Piankh orders Dhutmose to question the Medjay, to see if there was any truth in the allegations against them: ‘if they find out that [it is] true, you shall place them in two baskets and they shall be cast into the water at night – do not let anyone of the land find out’ (lines 6-8). This is the only letter in which Piankh failed to mention that the Medjay were to be killed before being placed in the baskets; thus it was not intended to execute them by drowning, this was instead a way of concealing the bodies. The subterfuge involved in this correspondence is perhaps dictated by the fact that in theory it was the king who had the exclusive right of ordering the death penalty and by the fact that Piankh appears to be questioning the authority of the king.4 Immediately after ordering the disposal of the bodies, Piankh started a new section of the letter by asking: ‘another matter: as for the Pharaoh, life, prosperity, health, just how will he reach this land? And

The instinctive way in which people struggled to live according to ideals propagated around them is epitomised by a literary text, Menna’s Letter, written by a despairing father. Menna writes in the style of a letter in order to reprimand his son, Pa-iry who was renowned in the Deir el Medina community.8 Pa-iry was not at home like he should be, and despite all Menna’s efforts in bringing up his son correctly he had spurned them all. Every elite Egyptian’s greatest worry, the text as a whole incorporates many of the themes of this chapter. It demonstrates a knowledge of earlier Egyptian literature by a New Kingdom resident of Deir el Medina.9 It also seems to witness to a genuine motivation on the part of that resident to publicise his son’s behaviour. It thus implies that there was a desire to use literacy skills

1 Letters written by Piankh in Nubia to Dhtumose in western Thebes P.Berlin 10487; Cerny 1939, 36-7, no. 21; Wente 1967, 53-4, no. 21; Janssen 1991, plate 50; by Payshuuben in western Thebes P.Berlin 10488; Cerny 1939, 53-4, no. 34; Wente 1967, 69, no. 34; Janssen 1991, plate 51; by Nuteme (Piankh’s wife or daughter – see Sweeney 2001, 173) who was in eastern Thebes P.Berlin 10489, Cerny 1939, 54, no. 35; Wente 1967, 69, no. 35; Janssen 1991, plate 52. 2 See Peden 1994, 112-4. 3 See Sweeney 2001, 173. 4 McDowell 1990, 242-3.

Compare Sweeney’s 2001, 145 translation of Hry as boss which fully conveys the power of Piankh’s words; Parkinson 2009, 136 briefly mentions this letter. 6 O.Prague 1826; Cerny and Gardiner 1957, plate 70 (2); Wente 1990, 147-8, no. 200; McDowell 1999, 42, no. 16. 7 Wente 1990, 170; McDowell 1999, 42. 8 O 12074; Cerny and Gardiner 1957, LXXVIII-LXXIX; Foster 1984; McDowell 1999, 144-7; Fischer-Elfert 2006; Foster and Foster 2008, 216 who remind us that this text only exists in one copy. 9 The Middle Kingdom texts of the Tale of the Shiprwrecked Sailor and the Tale of the Eloquent Peasant: see Fischer-Elfert 2006, 88,92. 5

38

The New Kingdom Textual World outside the immediate context of work or functionality, and suggests a willingness to use ‘leisure’ time for such purposes.1 The ideal of learning promoted in those texts incorporated into scribal manuals was apparently taken up by this individual, at least. He also seems to have absorbed the recommended social norms, to have accepted them, and have been able to generate his own text which entirely fitted into the Egyptian context. As a reaction to failure it was a proper response of a literate Egyptian and further highlighted the contrast between the right-thinking father and the son who had failed to live as an Egyptian should. The text ends (line 15, verso, plate 79) with the recommendation that Pa-iry look after ‘this letter’ as it ‘will be an instruction’.2

inconsistencies from his presentation of the world. He was the king who quelled non-Egyptians yet he also chose to depend upon non-Egyptians. This apparently opposed set of actions was for the same purpose: that of maintaining the Egyptian state, the reference point for the king’s subjects. The definition of who should be eliminated and who should be incorporated into the state was fluid. This was despite the supposed country of origin of an individual being a prime identity marker in letters. What seemed to have mattered more about an individual was whether he/she was a source of disorder within the state. Thus, in very broad terms, a nonEgyptian could be welcomed into the state or excluded just as an Egyptian could be – even if in an ideal world it may have been more comfortable to assign disorder to the outsider.

CONCLUSION The letters looked at in this chapter derived from across the time-span denoted as the New Kingdom, but especially from the 19th and 20th dynasties. Despite other locations being represented, the majority of letters contain expressions of what it meant to be an Egyptian in Upper Egypt, in Thebes. The majority of the literate populations in Egypt are unknown and unrecorded, meaning any conclusions really only have weight for those whose writings we have actually been able to access.

Any perception of the outside world could be just as fluid. The hostile environment encircling Egypt’s edges could begin as soon as an individual left home, regardless of whether or not the Egyptian Nile Valley had been left behind. This stemmed not only from a perception that all that was outside one’s home was inevitably negative, but also from a desire to be amongst those who were important to the individual, who gave a sense of identity, belonging and safety. Letters expressing such thoughts were reflected by (and reflected) similar expressions in literary texts. For some, the disordered world began not on the limits of Egypt’s power, but as soon as the world personally known to an individual was abandoned. The assertion that all was well when inside the territory of the king and his deities was clearly not felt. At the same time, such a reaction to enforced travel could be assigned to inexperience. The experienced individual could encounter the non-familiar world, a place which should have been threatening, and return to tease the inexperienced individual about the dangers supposedly lurking there. Knowledge could remove fear. The acceptability of an individual could depend on an ability to conform to such cultural norms. The presence of those who failed to conform was inevitable, but this also meant that stereotypes could continue to have some power even in the face of routine exceptions and contradictions.

Nevertheless, several conclusions about the world of those who wrote the letters do emerge. The strength of the Egyptian belief system is suggested by the unitary forms of letters, which, for the most part, include formulaic expressions of respect towards the recipient and the religious (and sometimes the royal) world. Likewise, the clarity of thought on what comprised correct (Egyptian) behaviour, or on what the duties of the king were, implies an acceptance of the necessity to conform to definitions of Egyptian-ness. Language was being used continually to reinforce a sense of place. Not surprisingly, given their authorship, letters seem to feed upon and reflect ideas seen in other types of text current in Egypt. The blurring of boundaries between different types of text was enhanced through the composition of literary texts in the style of letters, and through the inclusion of letters in monumental contexts.

Nevertheless, there was something which meant that even with that knowledge which would seem to undermine an Egyptian view of the world, that view was not widely rejected. The letters of literate individuals, whether close to the king or not, portrayed a compellingly unitary world. For us now, they depict a world we can happily identify as Egyptian, with its constant reiteration and repetition of certain themes. The letter writer was not able to (or did not wish to) by-pass conventions. It makes the hints of variant world-views and of the inadequacies encompassed by New Kingdom Egypt all that more tantalising. Something of these conformities and alternatives may now be discerned in the urban environment of Memphis.

The strength of this system also betrays the inability of any system to exclude doubt or subversion, however deeply engrained its ideals. Dogmatic statements made within textual settings did not automatically reflect the lived reality of New Kingdom Egypt. The authors of such statements were well-aware that they were not universally applicable, but instead were depicting an ideal world. In endlessly depicting this ideal, non-real world, it took on a reality of its own. Even the apex of the Egyptian world, the king, failed to eliminate See McDowell 1999, 144. Fischer-Elfert 2006, 88 who notes that this text only becomes instructive at the end. 1 2

39

40

3 Living in New Kingdom Memphis

be difficult to access the motivations of individuals in ancient Egypt. So dominant and all-consuming were the Egyptian norms of behaviour and structure that even in domestic architecture it can be hard to discern any alternatives, or any assertion of personal identity outside that accommodated by the state.4 How did those more distant from the core elite engage with or relate to the symbols of Egyptian central control in their midst? Modern commentators would like to see individuals being able to have some control over the own lives and making choices about their living and working environment even when living under authoritarian regimes.5 Ancient Egypt has been viewed as one of the ultimate authoritarian regimes in which individual expression and action on the periphery of the state was limited, if not excluded. Through examining the urban layout and material finds of Memphis, I provide some assessment of how far official motivations were followed by a wider sample of that populace, and how far that population was able to move around areas in the city, including its religious and ceremonial areas.

Memphis the city was one of the classic metropolises of New Kingdom Egypt, located in the north of the country far from the Theban context of much of the textual material discussed so far. This textual material, revealing the motivations, interests and loyalties of New Kingdom Egyptians, demonstrated a range of opinions despite the inevitably tiny sector of the population involved in the texts. Even within the royal domain, for example, bold statements of disdain for the non-Egyptian were coupled with a dependence on the non-Egyptian. A frequent theme was also the importance of home, of the familiar locality, and with it the local deities. Individual choice may have played little role in the expression of such feelings, nevertheless they were a facet to what it meant to be an Egyptian at this period. As we move from the exclusively textual to the equally complex evidence provided by the New Kingdom city of Memphis, more conflicting pictures emerge. The settlement area of the city is the focus, comprising its royal, ceremonial as well as residential and working areas. As one of the major cities in New Kingdom Egypt the city of Memphis has the potential to reveal much about the identities and loyalties of its citizens.

Cities in ancient Egypt The extent of urbanism in Egypt was debated for some years, influenced by the lack of excavations of settlement sites in contrast to the situation in Mesopotamia.6 The lack of settlement sites left to modern onlookers has been attributed both to the physical environment (the difficulties of excavating on the intensively occupied floodplain) and to the priorities of archaeologists.7 Furthermore, the straight application of modern geographical definitions of cities to ancient Egypt can be

Contemporary and historical urban environments have been routinely investigated as sources for uncovering the lives and motivations of their inhabitants, and social order. Architecture is able both to limit certain behaviours, and to enable them.1 Naturally any interpretation of a built form in the past is complicated by the different levels of understanding and meaning involved in its construction and use, making it crucial to recover as many aspects of that environment as possible. The architecture and layout of an urban setting, of the ceremonial and non-ceremonial areas, may be influenced by the way in which the living environment of that place is organised.2

doorways, panelling, and other decoration, courtiers, costumes, furnishings, and many other elements were used to create a setting overwhelming in itself – and even more so in the context of the typical mud-brick villages and even larger houses’; see also Rapoport 1997, 18 and compare O’Connor 1982, 19 ‘the royal city was regarded as an axis mundi’. 4 See also Stevens and Eccleston 2007, 159 who usefully remind us to look behind the ‘rigidity in material expression’; this is of course given the proviso that we are able to access domestic architecture at all: even with cemetery evidence we have to deal with the reality that to have a grave meant a certain degree of social status had been attained see Wada 2007, 349. 5 See Jamieson 2000, 203 who shows how the colonial message was reinforced within the domestic setting through the segregation of space in Cuenca, Ecuador; compare Buchli 2000 who writes about the personal adaptation of domestic spaces in Stalinist Russia; see also Loprieno 2006, 169 who raises the possibility that, for Deir el Medina residents at least, there may have been little real interest in officially sanctioned cultural forms and religious practices. 6 For the example from popular literature see Wilson 1960, 135 for statement that ancient Egypt lacked cities; Wilson 1960, 150 for qualifications of that statement; for discussion in academic literature see O’Connor 1972, 683; Kemp 1977a; 1977b; Bietak 1979. 7 See Kemp 1984; Cannuyer 1989, 45; Giddy 1999a; Grimal 2000, 54.

In New Kingdom Egypt, the formal areas of the city clearly convey the dominant cultural forms. Power is portrayed through the location of the monumental buildings, their height and their uniqueness, amongst other features. The ancient Egyptian palace has been used as a classic example of how societies displayed and exerted power through architecture.3 In this context, it can

1 See for example, Kent 1997, 2 who states ‘architectural partitions usually are conscious manipulations by humans to create boundaries where they do not exist in nature’. 2 Bawden 1997, 153. 3 See Rapoport 1982, 117 ‘here a wide variety of architectural manipulation and ornament was used to produce a suitable feeling of awe in visitors. Note the implication that it was selfevident to all and that we can still so interpret it. The palace was a set of messages to communicate awe and subservience: absolute size, scale, settings, approach, spatial sequence, color,

41

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt irrelevant,1 allowing a range of settlement types in ancient Egypt to be identified.2 The differences between cities and towns/villages are seen not so much in terms of size, but rather in terms of the presence of a metropolitan as opposed to an agricultural population.3 And the metropolitan population need not have been as distinct from rural areas as is presumed now in contemporary western views of urbanism.4

Amarna provides a paradigm for much of the knowledge of ancient Egyptian cities, given that it is the best preserved and most extensively excavated city in Egypt. Its unique origins as the city of Akhenaten built, lived in and abandoned in fifteen years, nevertheless do not need to disqualify it as a site with wider implications for the understanding of the articulation of power, with the city plan dominated by the king’s palace.11 Planned development in cities, as exemplified by Thebes and Amarna, was coupled with a much more organic element in the construction of space. Even in Amarna housing areas grew up gradually and haphazardly with little planning as roads stimulated development and as new people arrived in the city.12 Memphis’ long and continuous history of occupation meant it had a much more dynamic process of development. The origins of the city lie in the Early Dynastic Period and the Old Kingdom when it was the capital of Egypt. It grew and developed, even when it was no longer the capital.13 New Kingdom Memphis developed out of a number of adjoining settlement areas, with no ‘grand plan’ for the nonroyal/sacred areas.14

The process of urbanisation of Egypt has depicted the kings of Egypt as town planners, keenly involved in the development of towns, they are alleged to have been the first to ‘devise an urbanising policy’.5 Such language seems to put the kings of Egypt at the beginning of a liberal, progressive community-minded tradition of enlightened town planning, but nonetheless the city in Egypt was an important aspect to the state, somewhere closely linked to the king.6 It has been argued to have been the very essence of ancient Egypt, at the heart of its religious beliefs as the locality of deities, and therefore central to someone’s personal identity.7 Religious beliefs can therefore be argued to have been central to form any sort of communal identity – Coptic Thebes is a later example of just such a living environment – and in Memphis there were a multitude of deities to whom loyalty could be given.8 Urbanism in ancient Egypt has also been seen as a factor allowing people of different origins, Egyptian and non-Egyptian to bond and unite in a communal identity.

Sometimes it is in tracing the interplay between the textual and archaeological sources that the ancient Egyptian city can come to life most vividly. Sources such as Papyrus Lansing depict ideal housing for the elite, and an area of large housing, distinct from other housing areas was discovered in Amarna. These houses were so extensive, over 250 metres2 with large gardens and granaries that a degree of economic self-sufficiency could be met. Large scale boundary walls separated these houses from other areas of housing.15 Architectural homogeneity in less elite housing terms does not exclude heterogeneity in terms of possessions and activities inside. A further example is provided by the main chapel at the workmen’s village at Amarna, where religious practices seem to have been completely devoid of any reference to the Aten cult, despite the textual output of that period suggesting the dominance of that cult.16 The lack of detailed contextual excavations of settlements in Egypt means that such insights are rare. Even in the most complete site, Amarna, inferences about the organisation of space often have to remain as inferences: ‘we know next to nothing about urban organisation and attitudes in ancient Egypt, but one can imagine that people travelling from the remoter parts of the city, particularly after sundown, would have found some of the city neighbourhoods unwelcoming (not least through the

Memphis was one of the major political and population centres in New Kingdom Egypt. The capital of Egypt, the location of the government moved between different cities in the New Kingdom. In the 18th dynasty Thebes was the capital; in the course of the New Kingdom, Amarna, Memphis and Piramesses were successively royal strongholds.9 Despite these changes in the location of government, Memphis retained its position as one of the central cities in Egypt.10 Its location at the southern end of the Delta, on the western side of the River Nile, as well as its religious centres, ensured its continuous settlement until its demise as a centre for intensive occupation during the first few centuries CE. Shaw 1998, 1050. See Adams, M, 1997. 3 Eyre 1999a, 35-9; see Brewer and Teeter 2007 for general discussion of cities, towns and villages in ancient Egypt. 4 Redford 1997b, 212-3, 217. 5 Badawy 1967, 109. 6 Lichtheim 1980a, 15. 7 Cannuyer 1989, 47-8, 51 on city in wisdom texts, where it is ‘une cité plutôt xénophobe ou égocentrique’; Assmann 2001, 19-20 who states ‘for ancient Egyptians, the concept of the city was thus first and foremost determined by religion..In Egypt, everyone had “his” city and “his” deity whom he “followed” and who cared for him’. 8 See Baines 1997, 235; Assmann 2001, 25. 9Traunecker 1988; Herold 1998, 129. 10 Grimal 2000, 58. 1 2

See Kemp 1977a; 1986, 92. Shaw 1992, 150; Kemp and Garfi 1993, 47. 13 Baines and Malek 1992, 134; Martin 1992, 21. 14 See Smith 1938, 215 who typifies Memphis as an ‘agglomeration of various villages, precincts, and defensive towns, which gradually merged together, like London, into a large city’; Petrie 1909a, 1, also compared Memphis to London. 15 Shaw 1992, 151, 162, 164. 16 See Weatherhead and Kemp 2007, 412. 11 12

42

Living in New Kingdom Memphis attacks of watch-dogs), or under the supervision of watchmen, or even closed altogether to outsiders’.1

the city that was home.10 As such Memphis could appear both in more formalised literature (the Book of the Dead) and in the seemingly more informal love poetry from the Ramesside period. As mentioned above, the longing to be in the home city was heightened by the wish to be near the deities of that location. In the Book of the Dead (chapter 183) Hennunefer describes Memphis, the city he came from.11 He highlights certain characteristics of the city: it unites two areas of Egypt, it is the focus of both these areas and it is a place where the god lives. It was not only as a place to be praised and longed for after death that Memphis featured in textual writings. The love poetry of the Ramesside period pictured Memphis as an object of beauty and desire. Such love poetry seems to be so individual and so highly personalized by any standards, let alone in the context of other New Kingdom literature, that it is hard to remember that even these emotions may really just have been a generalized expected product of a scholarly elite.12

MEMPHIS The most visible features of the ancient city of Memphis are its burial grounds which were developed from the early dynastic period onwards, initially as royal and elite cemeteries.2 They comprise the pyramid fields of Abu Rawash, Giza, Zawyet el Aryan, Abusir, Saqqara and Dahshur, some of the most visited sites in Egypt. The extent of the cemeteries, 30 kilometres, was not matched in size by the living New Kingdom city. Estimating the size of the New Kingdom city is complex, due not only to the shifting course of the Nile, but also to the necessarily partial nature of any excavations. Memphis is thought to have been a very sizeable settlement. The known area of the city stretches 1.5 kilometres west to east, and 4 kilometres north to south, which would only have formed 10% of the city at its largest point.3 Its geographical location was superb, with access to the Delta as well as to western trade routes, and with its location near Helwan, the boundary between Upper and Lower Egypt.4

In one of these love poems the poet appeals to Ptah of Memphis in order to give assistance in the pursuit of a woman.13 Elements of Memphis are compared to deities: I am going to anx-tAwy (Memphis) In order to speak to Ptah, the lord of mAat Give my sister to me tonight! The river is as wine Ptah is its rushes Sakhmet is its foliage Iadet its buds Nefertem its lotus flowers... Rejoicing, the land grows light in its beauty Mn-nfr (Memphis) is a bowl of fruit placed in the presence of the beautiful of face.14

In secondary literature about New Kingdom Memphis, the city is depicted as a thriving urban centre, a place in which Egyptians and non-Egyptians freely intermingled and lived and in which the business of empire was carried out.5 It has been designated ‘la métropole par excellence’.6 The series of excavations which have been carried out in the course of the twentieth century and which are still ongoing, provide information on the royal/religious complexes of the city as well as the non-ceremonial.7 Maps of the ruin fields of Memphis reveal the tiny proportion of the city which has been excavated.8 Much of the area has been incorporated into modern settlements, and the visible features of an ancient site include the ten mounds enumerated by David Jeffreys.9 Most earlier excavations concentrated on the areas immediately adjoining, as well as within, the great temple complex of Ptah in the hope of finding statuary.

Another poem sees the poet not addressing a person or a deity, but instead addresses Memphis directly. A state of agitation, induced by being separated from Memphis, and with it Ptah, is vividly described: Behold, my heart has gone furtively, it hurries to a place which it knows It has journeyed downstream in order to see Hwt-kA-ptH (Memphis) However, if only I could continue to sit quietly, waiting for my heart so that it may tell me the condition of mn-nfr No business has come to completion as my heart has leapt from its place Come to me Ptah, in order to take me to mn-nfr

The products of the core elite culture leave no doubt as to the meanings and identity to be gained from being a resident of Memphis. A well-recognised topos in New Kingdom literature was that of the desire to be in or near Kemp and Garfi 1993, 47. Jeffreys 1998. 3 Kemp 1977b, 195; see Kitchen 1991 for his mainly textually based plans of Ramesside Memphis; Jeffreys 2001, 373; Leclère 2008, 26. 4 Jeffreys 2001, 373. 5 Kees 1977, 179; Kitchen 1982, 115. 6 Grimal 2000, 58. 7 Major excavations were by Petrie, Fisher, Anthes and Jeffreys; for general maps of the excavated areas see Kemp 1977a, figure 7; Zivie 1982, 26; Jeffreys 1996, 289. 8 See Jeffreys 1985, 7. 9 Jeffreys 1985, 17-45; 2001, 374. 1 2

Lichtheim 1980a, 16; Assmann 2001, 19-27; Hagen 2007, 249. Budge 1899, 4-6, plates 2-3; Allen 1974, 200-2. 12 Contrast Maravelia 2003 who tries to use love poetry to indicate the position of women in New Kingdom Egypt. 13 P.Harris 500; Müller 1899, plates 4 –5; Lichtheim 1984, 189-90 see also Lichtheim 1980a, 22. 14 Lines 6-9; ‘beautiful of face’ is an epithet for Ptah. 10 11

43

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt May you cause that I may freely see you My wish is to spend much time asleep but my heart is not in my body all my limbs have been overwhelmed by evil my eye is weak through looking my ear does not hear my voice is hoarse and all my words are upside down Be kind to me, may you cause that I overcome them.1

of the city, Egyptian and non-Egyptian alike, are described as happy, for example ‘the Asiatics of the city are sitting, confident, embraced’ (line 2,8) as were the noble women of the city (line 4,3). Perhaps the description of confident Asiatics was included to emphasise Memphis as a benevolent living environment – even non-Egyptians could live happily there. The word Asiatics was not just used simply in its literal sense, it could also be used simply to denote occupation, this time slaves.7 If this is the case here, it also serves to reiterate the wonders of Memphis.

This lively description emphasises the intense physical distress caused through absence from the familiar locality and perhaps more importantly, its deity.2 The actual physical effects of being outside Memphis were very similar to the feelings induced in Sinuhe when he was fleeing from Egypt, from the known environment. An attachment to the immediate locality in Egypt was an accepted and expected aspect to being an Egyptian. The implication of the above poem was that Memphis was almost a paradise, a place in which one could be happy, when outside Memphis the reverse was true. An identification with the city of Memphis was made, nevertheless this could have been understood as implicitly referring to Egypt as well. This is suggested by the fluidity in the terms of reference for Memphis, and by the Greek name for Egypt, Aigyptos, which seems to have been derived from Hwt-kA-ptH, one of the ancient names for Memphis.3 There were several further names for the city which could be used specifically for a certain area of the city or for the city as a whole.4 The city as the country and vice-versa is implied in the ancient Egyptian word for Egypt, kmt, which was written with the city determinative.5

This letter vividly creates a picture of Memphis as a very relaxed environment, in which there were different groups of people identified on the basis of gender, profession and perhaps country of origin, who were enjoying life to the full. As much as Book of the Dead 183 and the love poems above, the model letter was seeking to idealise Memphis – not surprisingly the image given was one of a city without comparison. But also in more routine texts, such as a letter complaining that the recipient had been causing trouble with her father, the importance of the immediate locality was emphasised. The deities of Memphis were integrated into the formulaic greetings at the beginning of the letter.8 The importance of reverence to, and identification with, local deities, as opposed to deities from outside the locality, is shown by the way that formulaic greetings were routinely adapted.9 These texts convey what it could or should mean to be from Memphis, to live in one of the foremost cities of Egypt. The strongest sense is gained of the utter centrality of the city to thought, emotions and even physical wellbeing. This was how you were meant to feel as an Egyptian.

The idea of Memphis as a paradise seen in the love poems above is reiterated in a model letter purported to be from a chantress of Hathor to a chantress of Amun.6 It is the same type of model letter as seen in Chapter 2, and likewise its origin may have been in a real letter, and gives a rare ostensibly female perspective on the city. She begins the letter with the required wishes of good health, and invokes the many deities of Memphis, including the Syrian gods Ba’al and Qadesh (line 1,6) and the deceased kings of Egypt (line 2,1). She then launches into a very lengthy glowing description of Memphis, introducing this section with the words: ‘I have approached mn-nfr, and I have found mn-nfr in a very excellent state’ (line 2,3). She lists the riches to be found in the city, which include food, grain, oil, cattle and weapons (lines 2,4 – 4,7). The people

THE FOCI OF MEMPHIS Few visual remnants of the New Kingdom occupation of Memphis are left in situ, and the shifting course of the Nile has meant changes in the physical landscape as well. It is still possible, however, to look at a landscape which the Memphites themselves would have seen. On the west of the city lie the necropolis areas, with the stepped pyramid of Saqqara, and the pyramid fields to the north and south, which would have provided a constant reminder of the past. During the New Kingdom, if not attempting to view them from the midst of narrow, crowded streets, these pyramids would have been much more visible than today, and it would also have been possible to gaze across the Nile, northwards to Heliopolis providing a connection between these two highly

1 P. Anastasi IV; Gardiner 1937, 39, no. 8; Caminos 1954, 150-2, no. 8. 2 Compare with Guksch 1994. 3 Baines and Malek 1992, 134. 4 For example inbw-HD; mn-nfr and anx-tAwy, see Jeffreys 2001, 373. 5 Kmt, specifically the ‘Black land’, the floodplain, see Cannuyer 1989, 45. 6 P.Sallier IV; Gardiner 1937, 88-92, no. 1; Caminos 1954, 333-49, no. 1.

See Baines 1996b, 375-6. P.Bologna; Gardiner 1937, 9, no. 13; Caminos 1954, 26-8, no. 13, lines 9,8 – 9,9 and 10,6-10,7. 9 See Chapter 2 where Theban or Nubian deities could be inserted at the appropriate point. 7 8

44

Living in New Kingdom Memphis significant urban centres.1 The desert sands with their monuments to the dead were not the sole reminders of the power of the Egyptian state. In the midst of the settlement areas were large scale religious and administrative buildings, providing a ceremonial aspect to the city such as that seen in Thebes and Amarna.2 Here was an area in which the motivations and belief systems of the core elite could be demonstrated in architectural form.3

settlement recognisably urban, dominating the entire city. And it was the enclosure which provided the initial visual impact, an area of sanctity but also of exclusivity. This exclusivity needs to be borne in mind: it was such that even the more accessible temples were unlikely to have been used as the main place for religious activities by the vast majority of the population.11 This demarcation of exclusive space is seen most clearly where temple remains are still extant above ground, as at Thebes. At one time, however, the great temple complex of Ptah in Memphis was similarly as imposing, and was surrounded by smaller temples outside its enclosure wall, reinforcing the sanctity of the area. The course of the Ptolemaic period enclosure wall, which followed the line of earlier period walls, enclosed within it approximately 25,000 metres2 and several temples.12 Only one area of the temple complex inside the enclosure wall has been excavated in any detail, the West Hall of Ptah, built by Ramesses II. This comprised a pylon, set into the west side of the enclosure wall, and a hypostyle hall.13 Construction of sacred ways emphasised the approach to the sacred. In the Ramesside period there was an incredible, and some would argue, unusual, re-working of the whole of this sacred environment.14 Ramesses II built four main entrances to the enclosure on each axis, along which were smaller temples with opportunities for the privileged visitor to make libations. At the end of each sacred way there is likely to have been a gate in the wall of the great temple complex of Ptah, outside which there might have been a colossus of Ramesses II.15

Great temple complex of Ptah Memphis the city was bound up with the god Ptah. Here was his locality, his dwelling on earth, and as such there were a number of temples built for him. Alongside this devotion for Ptah, there is also evidence for a number of other deities worshipped within the city. Suitably for a city of its importance and size, there were a large number of temples,4 and in the Ramesside period careful planning ensured that new temples to Ptah became the foci of the city. The movement of the Nile freed up new land which was also used for new temple structures.5 In this rebuilding material from previous structures was re-used. For example, it has been shown that Ramesses II’s rebuilding of the royal/religious sections of the city had been set in motion during the reign of Seti I.6 Archaeological evidence for some of the temple complexes of Memphis is, in some cases, non-existent. Instead, inscriptional evidence, such as devotional stelae, is the sole source of evidence for a temple’s existence.7 For example, the location of the temple of Aten, built in Memphis during the reign of Akhenaten, is thought to have been Kom el-Qala’a on the basis of textual and prosopographic evidence.8

Colossal statues were a vital element of the temples at Memphis, and were placed in locations of high visibility, in particular in front of pylons. Even those with little access to the actual temples would have been able to catch a glimpse of these vast statues of the apex of their world.16 At the base of such statues were engraved the names of captive countries, such as Syria.17 Almost twice life size granite statues of Ramesses II were placed outside the pylon of temple A.18 The Abu el-Hol, the most wellknown colossal statue of Ramesses II from Memphis was originally 44ft high.19 Along with another colossal statue of Ramesses II it may have stood at the main southern

Each temple was separated from its surrounding areas through the use of an enclosure wall, which vividly demonstrates the importance of architectural boundaries. This wall served both to delineate the sacred space and to exclude those who were not meant to penetrate it. Merenptah described the building of a temple wall for Ptah as an act of devotion in itself.9 This is recorded on a limestone stela, found in the surrounding wall of the great temple complex of Ptah. Part of it reads ‘he made (this) as a monument for his father Ptah, making for him the Great Wall of mry-n-ptH-Htp-xr-mAat who makes wide the space for Ptah’.10 A temple was what made an Egyptian

Assmann 2001, 27; Baines 2001, 3; Baines 2006, 292-3. Petrie 1910, 39; Anthes 1959, 7, 66-7; 1965, 3; Jeffreys and Smith 1988, 57, 61. 13 Petrie 1909a, 5-6. 14 Malek 1988, 45. 15 The southern sacred way was discovered in 1982, see Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1984, 25. 16 See Simpson 1982 for a discussion of Egyptian sculpture as propaganda; see also Ammoun 1991, 87; Delacampagne 1991. 17 See Petrie 1909a, 10. 18 Temple A was one of the temples built on the approach to the enclosure wall of the great temple area of Ptah, see Smith, Jeffreys and Malek 1983, 30-3. 19 This was discovered in 1820 to the south of the great temple complex of Ptah, near the south gate, Jeffreys 1985, 24. 11 12

Jeffreys 1998. See Leclère 2008, 41-56 for summary of New Kingdom Memphis, especially the monumental areas. 3 Baines 1991, 180; Baines 2006, 283. 4 Aston and Jeffreys 2007, 75. 5 Bakry 1972; Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1987, 12; Malek 1988, 45; Jeffreys and Malek 1988, 28. 6 Jeffreys and Smith 1988, 65-6. 7 Dussaud 1926, 277; Badawy 1948, 27. 8 Malek 1997, 95-7, 99. 9 Anthes 1959, 2, plate 9a. 10 Anthes 1959, 5; Sourouzian 1989, 47-8, fig.14. 1 2

45

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt gate to the great temple complex of Ptah. Moving past these statues, the more elite visitor to a temple would have continued to pass through a wealth of similar images as the Egyptian world-view was put forward in material form. Thus it was appropriate that it was the very people who were behind the formulation and maintenance of this world-view who could penetrate furthest into a temple complex.1

Egypt and for the existence of private religious practices.6 In the seminal article on this topic non-Egyptians (Syrians) were identified as the stimulus in the development of Egyptian personal piety.7 Others have seen the Amarna period as having been the stimulus, whilst others have seen private religious practices as having been ever-present in Egypt, an essential aspect to religious behaviour.8

Numerous fragments of statuary and complete statues have been excavated within the great temple complex of Ptah, illustrating the high investment in the area throughout the New Kingdom, including during the Ramesside peak.2 An alabaster sphinx, notable both for its size and its material, is thought to have been made during the 18th dynasty, but re-used during the Ramesside period.3 A statue of the scribe Amenhotep, an administrator during the reign of Amenhotep III, provides a vivid snapshot into the investment made in religious areas of this city. It was excavated in the West Hall of Ptah (not its primary context). Amenhotep describes the foundation of a temple dedicated to Ptah which he supervised on behalf of Amenhotep III (lines 1318). He pictures the temple and its surroundings as something amazing.4

Not just anyone could make a votive offering, and for the types of votive stelae and statuary that are recovered from Memphis a formality and lack of spontaneity would have surrounded the whole process. The state governed and controlled the presentation of such offerings, with, in New Kingdom Thebes, workshops attached to the temples for the specific production of the votive offerings.9 Many of those donating the stelae/statuary were themselves artisan-priests, and the deposition of a votive offering involved a series of actions which themselves needed to be carried out by a member of the elite. This tight structure associated with the presentation of votive offerings reflects the structure of the Egyptian world, whereby the status of an individual allowed the deposition of offerings to be an act demonstrating personal status and identity. For a woman married or related to the right man, it was possible to access the temple, though as for the privileged man, this access may have only been to the open forecourt at the most.10 The deposition of offerings as found in an excavation does not reveal much about the access achieved by the individual who made the offering. Votive stelae and statues were moved by the priests, taken on into the inner parts of the temple.11

Tracing religious practices Indications of how individuals living in Memphis may have identified with the religious complexes in their midst are provided by the many votive statues and stelae found in and around Memphis’ temple areas.5 How far the placement of these votive statues and stelae was a genuine act of devotion or a necessary aspect to functioning in Egyptian society is not clear, although for the dedicator of the stela/statue there need not have been any dichotomy between the two extremes.

Dedications to non-Egyptian deities feature strongly in the votive offerings from Memphis. How this devotion was stimulated is unclear. Was Amenophis II responding

Egyptologists in the early twentieth century were delighted to discover votive stelae as they thought they at last had evidence which demonstrated that ancient Egyptian religion was reflective, self-aware, widely accessed and more easily understandable in terms of the Judeo-Christian tradition. So votive stelae have become part of the argument for the existence of pilgrimage in

Yoyotte 1960, 22, 45; see also Dunand and Zivie-Coche 2004, 109-12; and Gahlin 2007 for a summary. 7 Gunn 1916, 93. 8 Contrast Assmann 1996, 190 with Baines 2001, 1-2. See also Stevens 2006, 8, 17 who emphasises the blurred boundaries between state and private religion (both of which she views as modern constructs), and Sweeney 2008 for discussion of direct consultations on personal matters with the oracle (the deified king Amenhotep I) at Deir el Medina carried out by women as well as men. Lephoron 2008, 230-9 for summary of aspects to ‘personal worship’. 9 Pinch’s study of votive offerings to Hathor is crucial in this analysis; see Pinch 1993, 327-33; Baines 1991, 183. 10 Pinch 1993, 332-48; see also Schulman 1967, 154 who concludes that Memphite votive offerings were from the ‘middle or upper middle levels of society’, the majority of whom ‘from the lesser priesthoods’ and the ‘skilled artisan class’. 11 For example the Karnak cachette Wilkinson 2000, 64; compare Stevens 2006, 250-1 who emphasises the facilitation of ‘popular worship’ at state run temples, and the development by the state of shrines which were then run privately, as may have happened with the 24 private votive chapels in the workmen’s village at Amarna. 6

1 See Baines and Yoffee 2000, 16 who put forward this view ‘the principal focus of high culture was the very elites themselves, at whose behest it was created and for whom it was sustained, and the great gods’. There are, however, various alternatives to this view. 2 Mariette 1872, plates 27-98; Daressy 1902, 27; Petrie in Engelbach 1915, 32; see also Eaton 2007 for emphasis on the multiple images of single deities within each temple complex, they were never focused on one primary cult statue. 3 Jeffreys 1985, 21. 4 Gardiner in Petrie, Wainwright and Gardiner 1913, 32-6 who emphasises Amenhotep’s ‘grandiloquence’. 5 see Borchardt 1934, 90, no. 1174; Bourriau 1982; Clère 1968, 146; Wild 1979; Schulman 1988.

46

Living in New Kingdom Memphis to a pre-existing situation in sanctioning the incorporation of non-Egyptian deities into the Egyptian pantheon or was he the stimulus for this?1 Amenophis II’s alleged involvement in the process, however, is shown by a stela found at Mit Rahineh which enumerates his conquests.2 Amenophis identifies with ‘Amun Re who lives in Perunefer’.3 The text vividly describes Amenophis’ victories in Syria, in which ‘he crossed the River Orontes, over the waters, with violence like Reshep’.4 A Canaanite god was thus seen as a valid point of comparison for an Egyptian king. Furthermore, Reshep was a god whose iconography remained resolutely non-Egyptian.5 An identification with a Canaanite god in the midst of a text discussing conquests in Syria-Palestine seems an anomaly, but it is also appropriate. When abroad the king could take on the qualities of the local gods and conquer its people with the skills of their gods. At the same time, it draws a stark contrast to the description of Amenophis’ return to Memphis which drew upon formulaic phrases in order to illustrate the glory of his conquests: ‘his person approached the town of Memphis, his heart avenged with every foreign land, all lands being under his sandals’.6

assumption has skewed the interpretation of the two pieces of evidence used to argue for non-Egyptian priests.9 The ranks and names of a priest of Amun in Perunefer who was also a priest of Ba’al and Astarte during the 18th dynasty were used to demonstrate his non-Egyptian origins,10 when really he may have been born in Egypt. Indeed his priestly titles, which were Egyptian, demonstrate that the worship of Ba’al and Astarte was conducted along Egyptian lines.11

This apparent distaste for all places non-Egyptian appears to be contradicted by Amenophis’ assumption of Reshep as one of his personal gods. It may be that Reshep’s military ‘credentials’ made him particularly attractive to Amenophis,7 but I think it is more likely that this process represented a form of conquest in itself, not even the gods of non-Egyptian lands could avoid being taken over by an Egyptian king. The completeness of this process is aptly demonstrated by Amenophis II’s sphinx stela from Giza which mentions Reshep as well as Astarte, a Syrian goddess. Here Amenophis relates how when he was regent he was told to look after the king’s horses. When he did this, he notes how ‘Reshep and Astarte rejoiced over him because he did everything his heart desired.’8 The setting of the sphinx stela, on the north eastern side of the sphinx in the heart of Giza and the content of the text, a celebration of the physical prowess of Amenophis II, demonstrate the integration of these non-Egyptian deities into what now seems to have been an incredibly historic landscape.

Astarte, that other non-Egyptian deity mentioned by Amenophis II on the sphinx stela, was also a source of devotion for Memphites during the 19th dynasty. She had a number of cult temples within the city.15 A 19th dynasty votive stela shows a man and woman with their son carrying an offering to Astarte. They identify Astarte specifically as a Syrian goddess, calling her ‘mistress of the sky’ and the ‘queen of the two lands’.16 Astarte’s iconography could draw on Egyptian deities, in a stela from the reign of Merenptah she is shown in headdress very similar to those worn by Hathor.17

Amenophis II’s enthusiasm for Reshep means it is not surprising that Reshep appears on non-royal votive stelae in Memphis. Further stimulus for this process may have been the movement of Egyptian officials between SyriaPalestine and Memphis.12 One stela has a secure provenance as it was discovered during Petrie’s excavations in the west hall of Ptah.13 This stela shows an individual kneeling before Reshep, who is holding a mace in his right hand. Another votive stela shows an individual greeting Reshep as ‘the great god, lord of the sky’, but only conjecture links its provenance to Memphis.14

It is not possible to typify a devotion to non-Egyptian deities as an activity of a non-Egyptian Memphite community. Nor is it possible to speculate about the number or location of any non-Egyptian Memphites on the basis of the location of temples devoted to nonEgyptian deities, when such deities were part of Egyptian life. An incorporation of non-Egyptian deities into the religious life of Memphis seems to have been achieved without undermining the statements of the elite concerning non-Egyptians, once more contradictions were to be expected and perhaps not even noticed.

Despite this unequivocal integration of non-Egyptian deities into the Egyptian pantheon and identity, it has been argued that any temples to non-Egyptian deities must have been served by non-Egyptian priests. This

See Kamish 1985, 20 for first piece of evidence. Helck 1962, 482; Stadelmann 1967, 34. 11 Kamish 1985, 20; 1990, 42. 12 See Giveon 1980, 144; Helck 1962, 488; Leclant 1960, 4; Cornelius 1994, 2. 13 Petrie 1910, 39, plate XXXIX; Leibovitch 1940, 490; Stadelmann 1967, 68; Fulco 1976, 11; Stewart 1976, 44. 14 Fulco 1976, 8-9. 15 Badawy 1948, 23; Helck 1966, 1-2; Martin 1992, 29; See Daressy 1911, 258 for a stela from Tura which links Astarte to Perunefer, which may have been in Memphis. 16 Koeffoed-Petersen 1948, 35-6, plate 44. 17 Petrie 1909a, 8, pl XV; Leclant 1960, 11-3. 9

10

Simpson 1960, 65. Drioton 1947, 61 – a similar version of this stela was found in the Karnak temple at Thebes. Mit Rahineh is the name of the modern settlement on part of the ruin field of Memphis. 3 Perunefer as potentially one of the port areas in Memphis, see below; Badawy 1943, 3. 4 Drioton 1947, 61; Fulco 1976, 3-4. 5 Simpson 1960, 72. 6 Badawy 1943; Drioton 1947, 57. 7 Fulco 1976, 31. 8 Helck 1962, 489; Zivie 1976, 64-9, line 23. 1 2

47

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Alongside these allegiances to deities who were nonEgyptian in origin, were allegiances to the main deity in Memphis, Ptah. Stelae have been found in secondary contexts under all of the formal spaces so far excavated in Memphis. They include round topped stelae, depicting the mummiform Ptah facing another god, nHi, who was shown as a bird, with a uraeus serpent and a sun disk on its head.1 Perhaps, however, the most striking impact of this devotion is seen in the deposition of numerous ear stelae. Under the West Hall of Ptah Petrie excavated a large number of stelae dedicated to Ptah, in a secondary context as they had been thrown away.2 A large number of ear stelae were found amongst these stelae. Any number of ears could be inscribed on them without any further information.3 Some of the ear stelae also depicted the owner of the stela and could include inscriptions.4 One of the stelae discovered by Petrie depicted 376 ears beneath which was the owner kneeling with his arms in supplication.5 What the deposition of the ear stelae meant to the ancient Egyptians, and what response from the deities was expected, is not certain. The ears could be representations of the supplicants’ ears, meaning lots of Memphites suffered from ear disorders and wanted Ptah to cure them, or they could be depictions of the deity’s ears in order to increase the likelihood of the deity listening to the supplicant.6

and identity of those who are least likely to be recoverable. One temple of Ptah, in particular, provides a fascinating insight into religious practices, and, incidentally into archaeological interpretation.10 It was located near the great temple complex of Ptah, 250 metres south of the West Hall of Ptah and was built by Ramesses II. It consisted of four elements: court, sanctuary, pylon and an enclosure wall. It may initially have been built as a private chapel for the king.11 With time, the use of the building seems to have developed. It was still in use during the reign of Seti II, and on the basis of the deposition of votive offerings the excavator stated that the temple had become accessible to a wider range of people.12 The offerings, which included figurines of the goddess Tawret, were found inside as well as outside the sanctuary, allegedly ‘proved the Sanctuary to be the place in which the common man prayed to Ptah’.13 The one item of evidence from this temple, however, which really can provide some evidence on how the temple areas in Memphis could be approached, is a libation basin, found in the sanctuary. It also demonstrates how members of the elite could identify with, and express loyalty to Memphis as a city.14 This rectangular limestone basin was dedicated to Ptah by Amenemhat, scribe of the dockyard. A kneeling statue of Amenemhat would have originally been attached to the basin.15 The whole basin was highly decorated, with a depiction of the walls and towers which would have surrounded the great temple complex of Ptah.16 The towers resemble the ‘Syrian’ gate at Medinet Habu.17 Onto the raised relief of the wall and the towers, were carved, in sunk relief, a series of ears and prayers to Ptah. The decoration of the basin was carefully composed: the texts face away from the statue of Amenemhat, and the ears are orientated to look as if they are able to catch the words.18 The text itself consists of a series of statements praising Ptah. Two are particularly relevant in this context. In one, Amenemhat speaks about Memphis as a place: ‘Praise to you in Hwt-k3-ptH (Memphis), the most notable of all cities’.19 This formulaic epithet reiterates the theme of Memphis as an unsurpassable city. The second statement deals with the question of the accessibility of the temple complexes for the actual Memphite population. Amenemhat says: ‘Praise to you at the great wall, it is the

A cache of votive offerings cut out of the wall reliefs of the temples and palace of Merenptah were thought to provide a tantalising glimpse into the beliefs of people less elite than those usually associated with the deposition of New Kingdom votive offerings.7 First the excavator thought that this action was ‘the usurpation and reuse of royal material carried out not by the highest of the high, the king, but rather by the lowest of the lows, the pious but very poor members of Egyptian society’.8 More recently, the excavator reinterpreted these offerings as dating from the Third Intermediate Period, from private houses built in the area and therefore providing evidence of a domestic, rather than a formal, cult.9 The reinterpretation of this evidence illustrates once more the need to restrain a natural eagerness to uncover the beliefs

Schulman 1964, 275-6; see Schulman 1963, plate VII, 177-84, also very damaged limestone stela perhaps dedicated to the cult of the living Ramesses III. 2 Petrie 1909a, 7-8; Petrie in Engelbach 1915, 33. 3 For example, see Petrie 1909a, plate XIII, compare with ear stelae found in Amarna see Stevens 2006, 84-5, 149-50 who also notes that ear stelae (or fragments of) have been found in a domestic setting at Amarna and at Deir el Medina; see also Morgan 2004 for in depth discussion of ear stelae at Deir el Medina. 4 See Koenig 1994, 119-21. 5 Petrie 1909a, 7, plate IX, no. 49, plate XIII. 6 Holden 1982, 296; compare Pinch 1993, 247-64. 7 Schulman 1967, 154-6. 8 Schulman 1967, 156. 9 Schulman 1988, 88. 1

Anthes 1957; 1965. Anthes 1965, 6. 12 Anthes 1957, 8; 1965, 4. 13 Anthes 1965, 4; obviously I have reservations about this statement. 14 Anthes 1959; 1965, 72-8. 15 Wall-Gordon 1958, 168. 16 Jacquet 1958, 163; Anthes 1965, 73-4, plates 24-5; O’Connor and Silverman 1979, 32. 17 Jacquet 1958, 163; Wall-Gordon 1958, 173. 18 See Wall-Gordon 1958, 168 for this interpretation. 19 Wall-Gordon 1958, 170; Anthes 1965, 73. 10 11

48

Living in New Kingdom Memphis place where prayers are heard’.1 The wall of the temple as a location for prayer has inevitably led to the comparisons with practices at the Western Wall in Jerusalem.2 It could be that the wall was the only place where prayers could be heard, the only place where the majority of the elite could hope to gain any access.3 That this motif was not limited to the libation basin is shown by a number of other votive offerings found in the temple’s locality which were themselves in the form of towers/gateways, with little or no inscription, except for ears in sunk relief.4

whole sacred area was adapted and re-built throughout the New Kingdom, and the way in which the temples were used would have developed with time. Religious festivals were one of the few occasions where a wider section of the elite could access the temple and reinforce their perception of the world.9 On such occasions, some of the populace could actually enter the first court of the temple, whilst others could watch the procession of the barque as the hidden deity was brought out of the temple.10 Nonetheless, the inherent exclusivity of participation in formal religious activities in Memphis, including festivals, is epitomised by the way in which the donors of votive offerings actually deposited in the central formal sacred areas were from a limited sector of the population. Even for the scribe of the dockyard Amenemhat, the wall of the great temple complex of Ptah was a primary source of devotion, implying the more sacred areas inside the complex were limited in access. For many in the city, such temples would have been a fixed and dramatic point in their landscape, perhaps even one which they may have identified with and felt loyalty to, but it was a point which few could access on a regular basis, unless they were members of the priesthood.11

A chapel from the time of Seti I was situated right against this enclosure wall, and the three seated statues within it show the power of the motif of Memphis as a source of devotion.5 These three statues were thought to be Ptah, Isis and Nephthys, but a detailed study of their iconography reveals instead that one of the goddesses is in fact Tsmt, the personification of the tower seen in the votive offerings above.6 The other goddess, with an incomplete crown, seems to be mn-nfr (Memphis) on the basis of the traces of her name on the statue.7 Memphis was revered, not only as the location for its major deity, Ptah, but also as a deity in its own right. The co-existence of a narrow locally based religious devotion apparently followed and promoted by a core elite and associated dependents, with other less provincial deities is demonstrated further by a Ramesside temple of Hathor. In this temple, Hathor was represented in two different and distinct ways. She was shown as the Memphite Hathor and as the Heliopolitan Hathor, and the temple seems to have originally been dedicated to the Heliopolitan Hathor alone, with the Memphite Hathor added later. These two goddesses highlight the links between these two urban centres. The epithet of the Memphite Hathor seems to imply that she was associated with a distinct part of the city.8

Royal residences Adjoining the great temple complex of Ptah and those temples in close proximity to it, were the residences of the royal family, suitably situated so as to be part of the sacred and ceremonial complexes of the city. During the Amarna period, this relationship was crystallised in the window of appearances, a direct link between the palace and the first court of the temple.12 As at Amarna, where the palaces were themselves places of symbolism and religious ritual, with Akhenaten moving between them in a symbolic procession,13 some of the palaces in other royal cities may only have been lived in for very short periods of time by the king, if at all – he may just have visited them. Ramesses III’s palace at Medinet Habu is a classic example of this, it adjoins the first court of the temple, linked by a window of appearances, but may only have been lived in rarely by the king.14

The sacred areas of the city encapsulated an ideal, but changing, world which seems to have been open to the possibility of divine assistance from non-Egyptian deities. This was despite the concept of a temple as a divine cosmos, a place in which the Egyptians cast aside forces of disorder, such as non-Egyptians. Hence in temples, most notably on pylons, we see the endlessly repeated image of the king smiting non-Egyptians, twisting them by their hair, their faces, in some cases, shown in full-frontal view instead of the side aspect reserved for Egyptians. The

9 See Stevens 2006, 7 for discussion of question of public involvement in state run festivals; Smith 2003, 183 thinks the images of non-Egyptians in the first courts of temples were meant for a wider audience, to re-affirm and maintain the centrality of the Egyptian world. 10 Baines 1991, 148-9; Stadelmann 1991a, 141. 11 Teeter 2007, 323, who emphasises that many in the priesthood were part time, so would have returned to their normal places of work and habitation spreading knowledge of formal religious practices and buildings into the less formal domain. 12 Mallinson 1999, 78. 13 Lacovara 1999, 64-7. 14 See O’Connor 1991, 171 for discussion of different purposes of palaces, including the recreational.

1 Wall-Gordon 1958, 170; Anthes 1965, 73; compare this evidence with evidence from Thebes where icons of the gods were put on exterior walls of the temple and became objects of piety, Brand 2007. 2 For example, see Wall-Gordon 1958, 175. 3 See Anthes 1959, 7. 4 For example, see Anthes 1965, 77-8, plate 25d. 5 Perkins 1949, 41, plate Ixa. 6 Perkins 1949, 41; Berlandini 1984, 32-7. 7 Berlandini 1984, 38. 8 nbt nht rsyt mistress of the southern sycamore; El-Sayed Mahmud 1978.

49

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt The only royal palace to have been excavated in Memphis, is that of Merenptah.1 This is located on the south east side of the Ptah enclosure, in Kom el Qala’a, and was itself only partially excavated, on its eastern side. It may have been connected directly via a royal road to the Ptah enclosure as the northward axis of the palace, if extended, leads to a colossus of Ramesses II outside the eastern gate.2 The excavation reports have never been published in full, and blocks from the palace continue to be found.3 Merenptah’s palace was just one of a number of building works carried out by the king in Memphis, whose links with the city were immortalised in the Israel stela.4 Palaces were not simply houses for the kings of Egypt, but also symbolic spaces reflecting the ideal perception of the cosmos.5

further images of bound captives representing each category of peoples supposedly conquered by Merenptah.11 This epitomises the attitude to nonEgyptians: some of those approaching Merenptah on his throne would have been from outside Egypt, and their subject position (real or not) was thus made explicit. NonEgyptians had to be walked over in order to reach the king. But an analogous situation would have existed for Egyptians travelling to royal palaces beyond Egypt. Memphis, as a city at the very core of Egypt suitably conveys to us now a self-assured image of wealth, power and religious devotion even through the small proportion of its sacred and ceremonial areas now excavated. The key for this in terms of broader personal identity is in looking at any possibilities of interaction between the domestic, personal sphere with the ideas presented in the royal, ceremonial areas of the city.

The palace itself was a mud-brick structure, of over 300 metres2, part of a much larger complex of over 15 acres, in which there may have been another palace or temple. It was probably only ever intended to house the king for short visits.6 The eastern wing of the palace consisted of a large open court, with rows of columns on all sides opening out into sets of official apartments.7 Wall decoration was an essential element to the impact of the palace. In this court, the reliefs showed Merenptah worshipping Ptah, his relationship with Ptah crystallised in his name, ‘beloved of Ptah’. This court may have been where booty from foreign conquests was paraded, including non-Egyptian prisoners. Merenptah may have looked down on them from a ‘window of appearances’ as suggested by details in reliefs found in the palace, although this was an inward-facing second storey window, higher than other ‘windows of appearances’.8 The whole palace serves to reiterate the supposed supremacy of Egypt.9 The throne room, in particular, provides an encapsulation of the official world view during the New Kingdom.10 This was where Merenptah would have received diplomatic visitors and courtiers, and it was decorated with the aim to impress, fulfilling all the stylistic conventions expected for such a space. At the centre of the room was a dais for the throne. On each of the four sides, was a panel with a depiction of a bound captive. Surrounding the panels was a border formed by the hieroglyphs reading ‘all peoples’. To approach the throne any visitors had to climb a ramp, on which were

HARBOUR AREAS No archaeological evidence directly relating to the harbour areas at Memphis has been discovered, yet it is accepted that from its very location Memphis was a city which depended on its ports, as did other settlements in Egypt.12 The ports at Memphis may have been a site for formal action directed by the state.13 More informal action could take place there as well, for example the buying and selling of market goods. There were three main terms for port in ancient Egypt, and these could related to informal as well as more formal arrangements: mryt, mniwt and wxryt. The harbour of Amenhotep III at western Thebes represents one end of the scale. It was associated with his mortuary temple and palace and was a vast artificial harbour basin, with its size not entirely dictated by functionality.14 At the other end of the scale, some harbours in royal cities could just be simple jetties, as at Amarna.15 Riverbank and harbour areas in ancient Egypt have been assessed as potential loci for action outside the main parameters of the state. Ancient Egyptian sources attest to these areas witnessing interaction between populations, alongside trade.16 The riverbank has been viewed not only as an area within which non-Egyptians lived and worked, but also as an area in which women were allowed to function beyond their immediate household. In a sense, therefore, the riverbank could be viewed as a subversive location, an area in which the state and temple economies were by-passed, and where non-Egyptians, as well as Egyptian women and men, could interact on a

1 Although there has been speculation about other possible sites for royal palaces in Memphis, including adajacent to the small temple of Ramesses II – see Anthes 1965, 6. 2 Jeffreys and Smith 1988, 65-6. 3 See Pennsylvania Museum Journal for partial descriptions. 4 Sourouzian 1989, 33-9, 53. 5 O’Connor 1991; O’Connor 1995, 268, 290-2. 6 See Jeffreys 1985, 19-21; Sourouzian 1989, 39-41; O’Connor and Silverman 1979, 25; O’Connor 1991, 173-5; it had all the necessary elements for a king’s short stay, including a bathroom. 7 Fisher 1917, 213; see plans in O’Connor 1995, 399, figs 7.6, 7.7. 8 Fisher 1917, 222; O’Connor 1991, 176. 9 Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1986, 10-11. 10 Fisher 1917; 1924.

Fisher 1917, 218. Kemp and O’Connor 1974, 102. 13 See Stadelmann 1967, 127. 14 Kemp and O’Connor 1974, 134. 15 Kemp and O’Connor 1974, 103. 16 Janssen 1975, 510. 11 12

50

Living in New Kingdom Memphis commercial basis.1 But these seemingly sideline economies may really have been at the heart of the Egyptian economy.2 The river-bank was the obvious place for both formal and informal trade, in perishable and nonperishable goods, given that the Nile was the main means of communication and travel within Egypt.3

Perunefer Memphis during the New Kingdom was much more of a river based city than is apparent today. Over the past millennia the Nile has moved steadily eastwards, so that in the New Kingdom it was a ‘riverine city’.9 The location Perunefer inevitably forms a central part to any discussion of the harbour areas in Memphis.10 Perunefer is primarily known from votive stelae, such as those mentioned above, but is not located archaeologically.11 This archaeological void means that the actual toponym Perunefer should perhaps be considered as a code word for a substantial port area in Memphis, whether or not it is the Perunefer.12 Characteristics of such a port area, as exemplified by Perunefer, are described in a papyrus from the time of Tuthmosis III.13 In this text, Perunefer is identified as a royal dockyard, provisioning fleets of ships heading off for military expeditions. The name no longer appears in texts after the end of the 18th dynasty, perhaps due to the silting up of the harbour.14

Those who worked on the Nile and beyond on the sea may have had a particular shared sense of identity, generated by working on water.4 The captains of ships which traded between Egypt and the Near East could be depicted as non-Egyptian. There is certainly a literary setting for this, in the Tale of Wenamun, set in the 21st dynasty. Here, Wenamun was taken to Byblos in an Egyptian boat run by Syrians – both the captain and the crew were labelled as Syrian, a fact which increased Wenamun’s confusion. As an Upper Egyptian, he was used only to Nile traffic, and not to sea travel beyond Egypt, which was dominated by non-Egyptians.5 This fiction may be drawing upon a known situation in Egypt. For example, there were boat captains with non-Egyptian names, although there are many problems with this type of evidence.6 The actual people involved in the sea trade between Egypt and other countries may also have formed a distinct group.7 Their sense of communal identity may have arisen because they were among the few in Egypt who had travelled beyond its borders in a non-military context, experiencing a non-Egyptian world. One of the points of departure would inevitably have been the ports of Memphis.

The ongoing dispute over the definitive location for Perunefer demonstrates well the problems encountered when reconciling source types in ancient Egypt. This dispute is, in part, based upon an assumption about which was the most probable location for a large number of non-Egyptians and for a large royal port. For Manfred Bietak, the excavator of Tell el-Dab’a, his site is definitively the location for Perunefer.15 The extensive evidence found at Tell el-Dab’a for allegedly nonEgyptian activity, in particular the non-Egyptian pottery, was felt to be indicative of a widespread trading between Egypt and the eastern Mediterranean, based at Tell el Dab’a. Thus the Syrian-Palestinian deities identified with Perunefer were in fact located at Tell el-Dab’a. There are flaws in Bietak’s argument, hence the ongoing nature of the dispute.16 The first he acknowledged himself, which is the minimal evidence, though he confidently wrote that such evidence may be forthcoming.17 He now believes that the large palatial complexes he has excavated at Tell el-Dab’a provide evidence.18 Secondly, he resorts to an argument of commonsense in order to clinch Perunefer as part of Tell el-Dab’a, saying Tell el-Dab’a made more sense strategically as a location for a naval base, given its

It does not seem fanciful, therefore, to propose that the harbour areas in Memphis may have seen interaction between groups of people who lived and worked in very different settings. Much of the existing research into Memphis’ harbours has been driven by an overwhelming desire to find a non-Egyptian area of the New Kingdom city, such as is known from the Graeco-Roman textual evidence. In this the driving expectation has been that the port districts would have been the most likely location for non-Egyptians to live and work. Not only is this paralleled by Graeco-Roman Memphis, but is also influenced by the acceptance that, within the modern era, port cities such as Marseilles have formed an area for ‘foreign populations’.8

Smith, Jeffreys and Malek 1983, 40; Jeffreys 1985, 48-55, 59. For example, Kitchen 1991, 94. 11 Cabrol 2000, 234; Jeffreys 2006c, 37 terms the evidence for Perunefer’s location, whether at Memphis or Tell el-Dab’a, as ‘circumstantial’. 12 Jeffreys 2006b and 2006c has called for a comprehensive reexamination of the evidence. 13 P. BM 10056; Glanville 1931; 1932a. 14 Säve-Söderbergh 1946, 38; Jeffreys 1985, 48; Jeffreys and Smith 1988, 61; Jeffreys 1996, 29.3 15 See for example, Bietak 2005, 18; Bietak 2007, 432. 16 See Jeffreys 2006b and 2006c, 37. 17 Bietak 1999, 48. 18 Bietak 2007, 432. 9

10

1 Smolárikova 2003; see also Bleiberg 2007 for a summary of private enterprise in Egypt. 2 Eyre 1998, 173, 176-7, 185; Zingarelli 2003. 3 Bickel 1998, 167. 4 Bickel 1998, 157, 164-9. 5 See Spens 1998, 112. 6 Kitchen 1979, 207, no. 370; Spens 1998, 112. 7 Bickel 1998, 169 and see 171 emphasising functionality of travel. 8 See Hertmans 2001.

51

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt proximity to the Mediterranean.1 Finally, the potential for Syrian-Palestinian cults to flourish outside Tell el-Dab’a seems to have been implicitly dismissed, despite evidence to the contrary. Once more, a backward argument is still being applied in order to confirm a topographical location. A port was a location for non-Egyptians, so Tell el-Dab’a is the more likely location for non-Egyptians, so the port must have been there, but at the same time the possible location of the port at Memphis is used to demonstrate the supposed ‘multi-culturalism’ of Memphis. Furthermore, Memphis as a large city supposedly means that it is likely to have had a large naval base, similarly the same can be argued for Tell elDab’a.

Nonetheless, the conviction remains that a royal port such as Perunefer was predominantly a non-Egyptian place of work and settlement, a place where non-Egyptians could freely worship their own deities. Such a conviction has a long history. When Petrie excavated at Memphis he avidly searched for any evidence for non-Egyptian activity, arguing that ‘it is to be expected that the foreign quarters be along the east side nearest the river, as commerce was their purpose’.8 Any finds of a nonEgyptian origin were interpreted as being indicative of a non-Egyptian owner.9 Petrie’s deductions about the location of a non-Egyptian settlement area within Memphis were based upon finds of Greek pottery, from the eighth century onwards, in Kom el Qala’a (on the eastern side of Memphis, near the river) which included pottery heads of foreigners.10 Inevitably, given Petrie’s interests, he was much excited by these finds. In the excavation report, the Greek pottery was at first only suggestive of a foreign settlement at Kom el Qala’a,11 but in the rest of the report Kom el Qala’a was definitively referred to as ‘the foreign settlement’.12 The equation between the pottery heads and living population was crudely made. For example, Petrie surmised that most of the non-Egyptians were male as the majority of the nonEgyptian figures were male.13 Yet these finds are still considered significant in the reconstruction of Memphis, with non-New Kingdom finds linked to New Kingdom settlement patterns: ‘the discovery over the years of nonEgyptian (Phoenician, Persian, Archaic Greek artefacts in this area, and quantities of ceramic heads of foreigners at Kom el-Qala’a to the south, may signify the whereabouts of the earlier (New Kingdom) port of Perunefer, which attracted the city’s ethnic minorities’.14 I have argued earlier that devotion to non-Egyptian deities in an Egyptian city does not need to signify a non-Egyptian population, with the Egyptian king the foremost amongst the devotees and influencing (or reacting to) other Egyptians in their devotion to non-Egyptian deities. Similarly, ceramic finds of a non-Egyptian origin or appearance are regularly associated with a non-Egyptian owner,15 an approach which is hard to substantiate. In Memphis, moreover, much of the archaeological material found in the eastern areas of the site dates from periods later than the New Kingdom,16 and, that aside, it is not

The assessment that Perunefer was in Memphis has a longer history of investigation behind it, and is perhaps more generally accepted. Originally it was thought to be in Bubastis, as an inscribed block of stone was found there on which Amenophis II was making offerings to ‘Amun who dwells in Perunefer’.2 The Delta remained a general location for Perunefer, given its identification with nonEgyptian deities, based on a stela of Amenophis II worshipping Astarte ‘in Perunefer’ which was found at Tura.3 Gradually, through the analysis of further textual evidence, it was widely agreed that Perunefer was actually located in Memphis, but the lack of any archaeological evidence for this means that discussions will continue.4 Certainly, at Memphis during this period there was a great deal of trade and business which logically could not have operated without a port such as Perunefer. A Memphite Perunefer has been called ‘the major provisioning centre for the auxiliary fleets backing up the ambitious Asiatic campaigns of this time’.5 Tomb reliefs in the Saqqara necropolis as well as the Papyrus Anastasi are the source materials for arguing that a sizeable weapons manufacturing industry was based at Memphis. Such weapons would have been loaded onto the ships setting out for war in a port such as Perunefer.6 A substantial proportion of the Memphite population would have been engaged in working in and around the ports, given the centrality of the river to the city. Nor is it necessary to presume that it was non-Egyptians who were associated with this type of shipyard-based work.7

Petrie 1909a, 4. See also critique of Lahun Middle Kingdom evidence in Szpakowska 2008, 77. 10 Petrie 1909a, 3, 4, 15-7; see also Ashton 2003a, 4, 32 and Ashton 2003b, 188. Stevens 2006, 93-4 discusses actual New Kingdom fragments of figurines of foreigners found at Amarna, on one fragment is the inscription ‘the foreigner’. She surmises they were used in rituals. 11 Petrie 1909a, 3. 12 See Petrie 1909a, 4. 13 Petrie 1909a, 16. 14 Jeffreys 1999, 490. 15 See Bourriau 1981a, 121 16 Jeffreys 1988, 3. 8 9

Bietak 2007, 432. Naville 1891, 30. 3 Daressy 1911, 258; Gauthier 1929, 141. 4 Säve-Söderbergh 1946, 38-9; Jeffreys 1985, 48; Kamish 1986, 31; Jeffreys and Smith 1988, 61. 5 Jeffreys 1985, 48; for Perunefer on a lake based on P BM 10056 see Wall-Gordon 1958, 174; for Birket Habu see Kemp and O’Connor 1974, 106. 6 Sauneron 1954, 9-12. 7 Kamish 1985, 19-20. 1 2

52

Living in New Kingdom Memphis possible to provide a direct linkage between non-Egyptian ceramic finds and the presence of non-Egyptians.1

It is not hard to see that a port could play a crucial role in Memphite life and in supporting the activities of the state. The purposes of such a port required that a large variety of people passed through it, as well as worked in its midst. It could be a site for religious devotion in the city, with a number of deities directly associated with it, including non-Egyptian. Any such area does not need to be designated as a non-Egyptian district. As has been seen, non-Egyptian finds relate to trade and consumption, not only to a supposed concentration of non-Egyptians.11 The consumption of non-Egyptian goods, the desire to worship non-Egyptian deities and the reality of working with and alongside non-Egyptians in Memphis, appears to preclude a universally rigid definition and separation of Egyptian/non-Egyptian.

More nuanced approaches can be advised in the attempt to understand the purpose and ownership of a ceramic vessel.2 Advances in the analysis of pottery fabrics allow differentiations to be made between pottery made outside Memphis, or beyond the Nile Valley, and pottery made in the Nile Valley to imitate non-Egyptian styles and forms.3 For example, the Mycenaean pottery found at Memphis and elsewhere in Egypt may actually have been made in Palestine.4 Similar conclusions have been reached about ivories with Egyptian iconography found outside Egypt.5 In Memphis, much of the non-Egyptian New Kingdom pottery found can be linked directly to trade, hence the centrality of a harbour like Perunefer to the movement and distribution of non-Egyptian goods. For example, at Kom Rabia (see below), many sherds of Canaanite jars have been excavated, these were used to convey important commodities such as oil and were re-used.6 This process of (re)-distribution via palace officials means that non-Egyptian ceramic finds are made in non-primary contexts.

I suspect that, despite this, it will be a while before it is possible to shed the presumptions and terminology of later periods, including our own, when looking at New Kingdom Memphis and its port areas. For example, when usefully highlighting the potential of river-bank areas not only for trade and communication but also as providing new land for agriculture and housing with the movement of the Nile, Jeffreys could not avoid hypothesising about who would have used such land: ‘as a means of housing ethnic minorities the potential of islands, possibly with locally uncontested farming rights and property boundaries, would also have been important, and in a sense the gradual physical merging of island suburb with west bank metropolis may have helped the integration of a foreign minority to the indigenous population’.12 This quote is obviously layered with all sorts of presumptions I would argue are unfounded, especially about the delineation between Egyptian and non-Egyptian.13 I would prefer to see occupation as a more significant factor in the location of different Memphites.

Any non-Egyptian ceramic finds seem not to be indicative of population types but instead of the thriving trade networks which operated from and within Memphis. Trade has been identified as one of the major motivating factors behind the expansion of Egypt in the New Kingdom, with certain items from outside Egypt of central importance for the Egyptian state. Incense may have been one such item, used within temple ritual and in non-state contexts as well.7 One of the sources for incense resin was Syria-Palestine. In Amarna, over 100 fragments of Canaanite jars were found with traces of incense resin on them.8 That trade routes were open and active during the Amarna period, allegedly an epoch of imperial decline, draws into question either the notion of imperial decline or of the necessity of an empire to keep trade routes open. In Memphis itself, further items which would have been traded into the city include olive oil, wood and wine, as well as a human trade, often as trophies of war.9 Likewise, from ports such as Perunefer, Egyptian products were dispatched to the non-Egyptian world.10

KOM RABIA The most documented settlement area in Memphis to have undergone modern excavation techniques is a section of a small residential and working district, the site of RAT in Kom Rabia.14 This is located outside the great enclosure wall of Ptah, and is 500 metres2 in size.15 The motivation for excavating in this area was to ‘investigate the ancient slope and possible southward extension of the

Bourriau 1981a, 72 See Bourriau and Quirke 1998, 62, 71-2; Bourriau 1981b, 28; Smith 2003, 205 for an analysis of ceramic choices and alleged cultural groupings. 3 See Bourriau, Smith and Nicholson 2000; McGovern 2000. 4 Nordström and Bourriau 1993, 183. 5 Lilyquist 1998, 29. 6 Bourriau 1990; Nordström and Bourriau 1993, 185-6; Serpico 1999, 271. 7 Serpico and White 2000, 889-90. 8 Serpico and White 2000. 9 Smyth 1998, 14; Nordström and Bourriau 1993, 185. 10 Padró 1998, 41-2.

Compare Feldman 2002, 93-4 for analysis of depiction of a woman (supposedly an Egyptian princess) on an alabaster vase from Ugarit. 12 Jeffreys 1996, 294. 13See also Jeffreys 2006c, 37 for a more recent statement along similar lines: ‘Were harbours originally a way of controlling immigrant and maritime communities, and was the disappearance of these communities a result of social integration as much as environmental change?’ 14 Jeffreys 2006a; other modern excavations include one in Kom el Fakhry, see for example Gaballa 1991. 15 Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1986, 4; Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1987, figure 1; see also Jeffreys 2006a, plans 1-3.

1

11

2

53

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt associated feature, and thereby to test the theory that the New Kingdom and earlier levels sloped down here to the east, perhaps to an ancient river front.’1 The site is fascinating because it illustrates the links between temple and residential areas, the working lives and beliefs of the occupants and the ways in which residential and working space was negotiated and defined. Its physical proximity to the great temple complex of Ptah implies that this official space would have had some impact on the residential.2

majority of ceramic finds at the site were used in the context of food preparation, storage and consumption.9 Over 2000 objects (many very fragmentary), including a large number of tools, were excavated which seem to have been used for domestic purposes.10 Some of these activities may point to the independent production of votive objects for use and deposition by people in the immediate locality, without any reference to the state.11 It is possible given the continuity in the site and its proximity to the administrative areas that the area was actually created by, and run by the state, to house its ‘employees’, specifically priests for the local temples.12 Any personal identities revealed may once more fit closely into the expected, Egyptian context.

Kom Rabia was essentially a New Kingdom area of settlement, from which no contexts later than the Third Intermediate Period were recovered. The Middle Kingdom period of the site was characterised by a series of residential installations (houses/room units) which were enclosed within a wall on their east side, which may have been along the side of the river.3 During the New Kingdom, Levels II-V, there were three distinct architectural patterns. Once these patterns were established, during the mid-18th dynasty, they were maintained, despite an increase in the number of installations. These three areas ran from west to east; on the west were a series of narrow rooms, resembling magazines, in the central area were small scale houses and on the eastern side were two larger houses with courtyards, one of which fits in well with the usual Egyptian town house plan.4 Even within the small area under investigation there was a careful delineation of living space as the larger houses on the eastern side were made distinct from the rest of the site, in particular the smaller houses in the central zone, through the maintenance of a north-south wall established in the Middle Kingdom.5 This wall effectively separated the two areas, whose inhabitants merely shared access to a grain store.

Domestic identities Within these houses (sometimes it is only possible to call them ‘installations’ – a wonderfully general term), people seem to have lived, worshipped and carried out forms of manual work.13 The clear delineation seen in the street patterns and in the division of public space, seems to have been less clear once inside the home. What formed a domestic object or a religious object or a work object may have been irrelevant categories to a New Kingdom Memphite, who may have used the same item in several different ways depending on current need.14 This blurring of categories is particularly seen in the large number of free-standing figurines and statuettes (the majority made from Nile silt) found in Kom Rabia.15 Classifying an object as a figurine/statuette is always

9 Bourriau 1990, 19 – ceramic finds included Mycenaean pottery and Canaanite jars. 10 Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1986, 4 used these to demonstrate that it may have been an artisans’ quarter, Giddy 1999b, 3 has argued they point to ‘domestic household practices’; see Shaw 1998, 1059 fig. 3 for a graph comparing diversity of activities of residents of Memphis, Malkata and Amarna; see Jeffreys 2006a, 29-30 for more recent discussion of this; see also Gaballa 1991 on large quantities of flint and stone tools found at Kom el Fakhry. 11 Jeffreys 2006a, 30. 12 Jeffreys 1996, 290; Jeffreys 2006a, 23-4 shows that by the 19th/20th dynasty Kom Rabia houses would only have been 70 metres away from the temple district, hence uses this as one of the arguments that these may have been houses for the priesthood; Koltsida 2007, 140-1 traces the occupation patterns of houses in Amarna and Deir el Medina and shows that uniform houses end up being adapted through time. 13 See Stevens 2006, 216, 226-34, 247-9 for analysis of what she terms ‘private religious activity’ in domestic context at Amarna; see Driskell in Jeffreys 2006a 17-21 for an analysis of lithic use in Kom Rabia. 14 See also Baines 2007a 4-5 who reminds us that ‘no human group organizes its material in exclusively pragmatic or utilitarian ways’. 15 Koltsida 2007, 26 who notes that objects such as ornaments and figurines were frequently found in the front rooms of houses in Amarna and Deir el Medina; see Kleinke 2007 on gendered domestic space at Deir el Medina.

Activities in the archaeological record also emphasise this delineation of space; on the east side of the site there was more frequent rubbish removal while on the west side there was much more frequent rebuilding as well as more evidence for domestic activities.6 One hypothesis that this was because the eastern side of the area housed the members of the priesthood and hence their houses would have been kept swept is interesting.7 Typical for the lived environment in ancient Egypt, the whole area of Kom Rabia consisted of mudbrick structures with earth floors, and some of the houses had stone thresholds.8 The Giddy 1999b, 1 See Kemp 1972, 657, 659, 661, 675 for emphasis on the administrative and economic power of temples 3 Giddy 1999b, 2-3 4 See Jeffreys, Malek and Smith 1986, 5; Jeffreys and Malek 1988, 17; Jeffreys 1996, 287; Giddy 1999b, 2-3; Jeffreys 2006a, 15-7. 5 See Jeffreys 1996, 287; 2006b, 29-30. 6 Jeffreys 1996, 287; 2006a, 78; precise find spots and contexts are meticulously reported in Jeffreys 2006a. 7 Jeffreys 2006a, 78. 8 Giddy 1999b, 3; Jeffreys 2006a, 15. 1 2

54

Living in New Kingdom Memphis going to be controversial. This is because it endows an object with religious meaning when there may well have been none.1 Comparative evidence, context as well as distinctive iconography can be crucial in assigning a figurine as male/female, deity/toy, deceased ancestor/anonymous ‘individual’, or as a prop for magical and fertility rites.2 These ‘categories’ need not have been exclusive, with one item being used and transferred from one context to another. Some ended up in funerary contexts, but this may have been the last of many different uses of item.3 Hence, re-interpretation in archaeological literature is ongoing.4 In Lisa Giddy’s presentation of figurines from Kom Rabia, which were found at all levels of the site, this uncertainty is necessarily ever-present. For example, some figurines were classified as ‘male’ purely on the basis of a ‘lack of feminine attributes’.5 As Giddy acknowledges, her category of ‘models, games and miscellaneous objects’ may well include those objects which were primarily religious and classed amongst the ‘male’ figurines there may be those items which were primarily used as toys.6 Furthermore, none of these items were found in their primary site of deposition, so that any meaningful contextual analysis is impossible.7

at the time. It is interesting, nonetheless, to see Memphites participating in what seems to have been a wider cultural activity witnessed in Upper Egypt as well as to the north of Egypt. These patterns of practice are reiterated by the fragments of 46 cobra statuettes, from all periods at the site. These bear resemblances to statuettes found outside Egypt, in particular Beth She’an.8 External influence need not have been crucial in the manufacture of such objects, which may have been drawing inspiration from Renenutet, a cobra goddess based in Lower Egypt. It is even possible that the limestone cobra statuette discovered is a representation of Meretseger, the cobra goddess of Thebes. Interpreting the existence of a statuette of Meretseger in a Lower Egyptian context has raised questions similar to those posed by the existence of nonEgyptian pottery types. Giddy speculates that this may indicate the presence of ‘Upper Egyptian “immigrants” resident temporarily or permanently at Memphis and continuing, at a household level at least, the local cult practices of their place of origin, or indeed assimilating such practices (and their material manifestations) within the domestic cults of the Memphite community’. Material finds inspired by non-local belief systems frequently lead the interpreter to suggest a non-local owner and generator of such items. This is not a necessary approach, and the actual owners could just as easily have been longstanding Memphites.

The utility of the evidence is in demonstrating patterns of practice, whether ritual/play/embellishment of living space, which were similar to those in other parts of Egypt and further afield. Figurines classified as female on the basis of positive characteristics can be compared to similar items also found in a settlement context, though in a far fewer quantities, at Amarna and Deir el Medina. The ‘heavy wigs’ have been interpreted as reminiscent of Hathor, although it is only on a pottery figurative plaque that a definitive identification of Hathor can be made. The domestic, albeit secondary, context for similar figurines at Deir el Medina has led to the inference that they were used within the ‘sphere of family life’, leaving the exact intentions suitably vague, as indeed they might have been

Alongside this use and creation of objects within the domestic sphere, it may be that Kom Rabia residents personally interacted with the past and the religious world without requiring the state’s intervention. A limestone anthropoid bust was found in Kom Rabia, which immediately brings to mind the anthropoid busts at Deir el Medina to which gender can only rarely be assigned. This lack of gendered attributes may well have been intentional.9 The Deir el Medina busts are seen to be part of an ancestor cult, whereby central to an individual’s personal identity was reverence to, and remembrance of, ancestors.10 Two limestone stelae, one only very fragmentary, found at Kom Rabia may also be indicative of this. These date to the Ramesside period, and one of the stela depicts a deity, probably Ptah, standing on the left, with what may be a falcon or a vulture. These stelae may be similar to the Ax iqr n Ra stelae, primarily known from Deir el Medina which residents placed within their homes, allowing them to address prayers to a deceased relative.11 The evidence from Kom Rabia is not

1 See Picasso’s speculation that one of his artistic creations might be wrongly interpreted as religious in the future just as ancient Egyptian objects have been in Gilot and Lake 1990, 298. See also Stevens 2006. 2 See Ucko on predynastic Egyptian figurines 1968, 427-34; Finley 1975, 88-90 and Stevens 2006, 282, 328 who examines some of the potential ritual acts which could have involved figurines and emphasises the overlap between religious and non-religious activities. 3See Pinch 2003, 446; Asher-Greve and Sweeney 2006, 163-4. 4 See Meskell 2002, 84 who not surprisingly sees the bed models and female figurines from Deir el Medina as from the ‘sphere of sexuality and fertility’ whilst others view them as toys. Szpakowska 2008, 55-8 usefully emphasises the multiple possibilities of such figurines. The same figurine could be used for religious purposes, played with by children, and used as a means to pass on important cultural values to children as well. 5 Giddy 1999b, 43 compare Ucko 1968, 174; note figurines were also found at Kom el Fakhry (18th/19th dynasty context) see Gaballa 1991, 27. 6 Giddy 1999b, 310, 43-9, catalogue 46-9. 7 Giddy 1999b, 13.

8 Compare Stevens 2006, 100 who demonstrates that cobra statuettes are a feature of Egyptian sites as much as they are of non-Egyptian sites, with a significant number found at Amarna. 9 Wilfong 2007, 212. 10 Koltsida 2007, 89-90 11 See Pinch 2003, 444-5 who terms the dead ‘multi-locational’, who could be revered in a variety of settings which included houses, cemeteries and temples.

55

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt enough, however, to confirm that household cults were in operation; for instance the stelae may have been found in a secondary context and could simply have been used as a building material.

from other contexts in Egypt, especially the funerary, testify to an apparently shared desire to maintain certain norms of appearance. Copper alloy hair curlers/manicure sets, kohl sticks and copper alloy tweezers were among the finds. A series of non-ceramic vessels, the fragments of 31 vessels in all, may include items which were meant to be used in the preparation of cosmetics. These were made from stones such as calcite, diorite-gneiss and granite, and included two kohl-pots.6

All the uncertainties in the evidence can make any attempt to ascertain personal identity on the basis of material culture seem completely hopeless. A particularly clear example of the lack of clarity with which we can interpret some of this evidence is provided by a description of one of the Level II houses having a ‘square bench in the north west corner supporting a ceramic object of possible cultic purpose (although it may have been an animal trap or coop)’.1 All the domestic objects above, however, when they were being used in a primary context point to a variety of what may have been religious, magical and domestic (including simple entertainment) practices which drew upon patterns of ownership seen across Egypt and outside, including in colonial outposts. Their forms are what we would now consider as recognisably Egyptian.

Domestic pursuits The residents of Kom Rabia appear to have followed as similar a lifestyle and patterns of belief to their rulers as their circumstances allowed. The unprecedented numbers of tools and instruments discovered in Kom Rabia also point to a degree of self-sufficiency, allowing a life less orientated towards the state. It is, as yet, impossible to ascertain whether the quantities of such finds are atypical for a Nile Valley settlement site, but it does suggest that informal economic exchange was possible in the domestic environment.7 It also emphasises the household as a basic organising structure and locus for a variety of industrial activities, which were at the core of people’s experiences, whatever their occupation.8 As in Deir el Medina, where the residents were able to carry out considerable economic activities on their own behalf, so here too do there seem to have been similar openings for work outside the immediate domain of the state or home. For example, weaving and fishing are testified by the bone netting tools as well as by stone weights (one of which was an anchor).9 The blurring of boundaries between domestic and industrial activities, between activities carried out for immediate domestic purpose or those which were for wider gain, mean that the same tools could have been put to use in both spheres of activity. Thus the largest pounders would have been used in the construction of buildings, on an industrial and domestic scale, and in the manufacture of stone furniture for domestic or temple use.10

Furthermore, it is interesting that when it comes to items of personal adornment, the residents used motifs familiar to us from religious as well as royal settings. Faience was the dominant material used, for items which ranged from earrings to anklets. The use of faience seems to have been as a substitute for more precious materials, and such items from their omnipresence seem to have been considered essential, not mere adornment. The shared motifs across boundaries in New Kingdom Egypt could result in similar reference points, in similar modes of appearance.2 Thus someone living in Kom Rabia wore pendants which were formed out of hieroglyphic symbols central to the Egyptian state.3 For example, a faience anx sign and a copper alloy fly were amongst the finds.4 Scarabs were also a frequent decorative element, usually made from either faience or steatite.5 They were used as an element in an item such as a ring or a bracelet, and on such items a devotion to the monarch could be record. So, consciously, or subconsciously, through the wearing of a ring the owner could display his/her loyalties. All that separated such items from those which the king and his circle wore was the material and workmanship. The essential element, the message conveyed by the motif, was the same. Nevertheless, the actual interpretations of such motifs and the reasons for utilising and wearing them could have differed vastly.

Domestic adornments Even when there is no direct imposition of power by the state over the ways in which individuals choose to live or how they choose to organise their own domestic space, there is still often a high degree of conformity with the dominant culture.11 In the Memphite context, this conformity, whether from a conscious effort to identify visibly as an Egyptian or whether from an anxiety not to stand out, has been seen in the construction of personal

Items of personal adornment formed just one aspect of the outward presentation of a specifically Egyptian personal identity. Cosmetic instruments, similar to those known Jeffreys 2006a, 15. See also Robins 1999, 67 for a discussion of hairstyles as status indicators. 3 Compare with Smith 2003, 107. 4 Giddy 1999b, 76-88. 5 Giddy 1999b, 54-72.

Giddy 199b, 256. Giddy 1999b, 161-253; Shaw 1998. 8 See, for example, Stevens and Eccleston 2007. 9 Giddy 1999b, 162-6 193-201. 10 Giddy 1999b, 210-4. 11 See Baines 1996b, 361.

1

6

2

7

56

Living in New Kingdom Memphis appearance. It is also witnessed by the items which were used to enhance the internal and external domestic space.

but may also have been used in the maintenance of any household religious practices.10

These are included amongst those objects which Giddy has classed as ‘household items’, ‘non-ceramic vessels’ and ‘architectural, inscriptional and sculptural pieces’ but may also have included figurines/statuettes.1 The same qualifications in interpretation apply, some items may have been intended for use within a state-building, and merely discarded, although they may also have been intentionally re-used in Kom Rabia.2 This issue is particularly raised by the glazed faience tiles in the southwest and west-central areas of the site.3 These had not previously been found outside a palatial context, or in an area closely associated with a state building in Egypt, itself a problematic statement due to the lack of settlement sites excavated. Thus Giddy used several hypotheses to explain their appearance, amongst which was the suggestion that they were in a domestic context, having been re-used, or that this area was an abandoned state building.4 If the tiles were re-used, or even generated for a domestic context, then a close link, in terms of material culture choices, between the different spheres of Egyptian life could be suggested. This certainly should not be excluded as a possibility.

It is not surprising, however, that the residents desired to own a selection of household items which would not have been out of place in more spacious domestic settings. Given the obvious investment into different kinds of ‘quasi-industrial’ activities by the community, and the localised means of exchange and production of surplus, embellished household items need not have been a luxury difficult to access. One of the most potent ways in which an individual could embellish a home was through the use of a carved stone lintel, under which every visitor to the house would pass. These may actually have only been granted by the state to certain officials, rather than being the product of an individual choice. An inscribed stone lintel was found in a secondary context, dating to the Ramesside period. The symmetrical scene shows two priests, one on either side, with characteristic shaven heads. Accompanying this were the priest’s name and titles.11 The influence of the dominant culture on the residents this area as witnessed by the style and range of possessions was significant. The domestic environment could be a potent purveyor of status and identity, and help to maintain norms.12

The range of other household items seems to support the idea that an interest and an investment in material culture, in enhancing the living environment, were not confined to official areas in Memphis, although their presence raises the same questions as the tiles.5 Thus one item of furniture, for example, could have decorative features, made separately, added on to it.6 Such features, classed as fittings, drew upon a range of motifs including one in the shape of a papyrus flower.7 The mere presence of furniture, itself not an essential part of the domestic environment, also testifies to this interest in material culture at a localised level.8 As with the items of personal adornment, those making the furniture out of stone (stools, tables, and supports) were probably seeking to imitate furniture made out of more expensive materials such as wood.9 The stone supports also suggest that furniture in other more precious (but perishable) materials did exist. Further indications that function was not the overwhelming concern in equipping a house, are provided by the ways in which utilitarian and nonutilitarian vessels were made out of hard to work materials, such as granite and basalt. These vessels may have been simply utilitarian, for the preparation of food,

Life in Kom Rabia Our natural delight at this site, with its wealth of objects with a context is offset by the lack of conclusive evidence about the purpose and lifestyles of the inhabitants. For example, there are a large number of objects which the excavators were unable to identify, and this in itself was seen as significant.13 Indeed, perhaps it would be worrying if, given our huge distance from Memphis both culturally and timewise, we were able to identify with confidence the purpose and intention of all objects excavated here. Likewise, almost no written material was discovered at the site, despite the wealth of other sorts of material remains. This is perhaps not surprising given the other means of communication possible, but it also leads to more uncertainty: were the inhabitants really unable to make any use of any level of literacy or is it just that no evidence has happened to survive?14 At the same time, however, it is important to note that Kom Rabia provides evidence that the ideals and beliefs seen in temple and palace settings in Memphis could be mirrored in personal material possessions. Thus deities from official settings found form as pendants for use within the home. Prestige could perhaps be gained from the possession of items which had ascetic as well as

Giddy 1999b, 133-59, 255-89, 291-306. Giddy 1999b, 133. 3 Giddy 1999b, 138-42. 4 Giddy 1999b, 140. 5 Giddy 1999b, 144, 151. 6 See Giddy 1999b, 142-50. 7 Faience – EES 610/EAO 30. 8 Giddy 1999b, 133, 153-9. 9 Giddy 1999b, 153, 155. 1 2

Giddy 1999b, 255. Giddy 1999b, 302-303; Jeffreys 2006a, 12. 12 Crocker 1985 on Amarna. 13 Giddy 1999b, 307. 14 See recut potsherds Giddy 1999b, 291-2 and reminder that ‘negative’ evidence is the worst type of evidence to argue from. 10 11

57

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt utilitarian purpose. A visibly Egyptian lifestyle could be maintained, reinforcing the suggestion that the elite worldview was able to endure because it incorporated non-elite beliefs.1 Some kind of existence independent from the state was also possible, as is demonstrated by the localised production activities.

public gathering that united the land and served as an ideal stage for royal propaganda’.7 Travelling to some of the more visible foci of the Memphite landscape, such as the pyramids at Giza, would have been a not inconsiderable journey from Memphis, and as such would not have been a widely accessible, easily undertaken, journey. Yet it has been possible to identify sites at the Memphite cemeteries and the Giza plateau to which Memphites made devotional visits.8 Such visits may not only have stemmed out of a desire to pay respect to a particular deity, but also to pay respect to the illustrious monuments of those from the ancient Egyptian past, who were of course also deified individuals.9

MEMPHIS AS A SETTING FOR PILGRIMAGE It seems that personal devotion to the range of deities worshipped in Memphis could extend outside the immediate circle of those in power. Even the limited evidence of votive offerings, discussed above, shows that some of the populace sought assistance from the sacred world. Within the city, it was possible, to a limited extent, to visit religious sites such as the wall of the great temple complex of Ptah. There may also have been opportunities for Memphites to travel outside the confines of the city as an act of devotion, to the cemetery areas and the pyramid fields. These were an integral part of the city landscape.2

Khaemwese, one of the sons of Ramesses II who became the high priest of Ptah at Memphis, is the most renowned Egyptian individual to whom an interest in the Egyptian past can be securely linked.10 He appears to have spent much of his time in Memphis, and set about restoring the monuments of long-lost individuals, although he also plundered some monuments for stone. His reputation for scholarly, and pious interest in the past was such that he featured in later Demotic literature, the Setna ‘cycle’. At both Giza and Saqqara he restored monuments, recording his actions in inscriptions and thus paid respect to deceased kings as far back as the Old Kingdom. In this process he uncovered lost features of the landscape, including a statue of a son of Kheops in his funerary temple at Giza. At Saqqara the monuments renovated by him included the step pyramid of Djoser. This landscape could be as important to the Memphite, albeit the royal Memphite, as the religious areas of the actual contemporary city.

The idea of pilgrimage, of a journey specifically in order to visit a sacred site/person, is well-known from many religious contexts, and is more and more frequently applied to the ancient world.3 Merely to go on a pilgrimage implies a high degree of devotion to a deity, as well as a willingness (and freedom) to use any ‘leisure’ time, however minimal, in an act of personal piety. In the ancient Egyptian context, where travel was something rarely undertaken, a religious visit could be incorporated into a military or a mining expedition instead of being the primary reason for a journey.4 In a volume of Sources Orientales, published in 1960, a study of pilgrimage in ancient Egypt was included alongside studies of pilgrimages in other parts of the world, such as India. In this, the existence of pilgrimage in ancient Egypt was taken as a given.5 The key pieces of evidence used to argue for the existence of pilgrims in ancient Egypt included votive statues, stelae and graffiti.6 Similarly, the incorporation of the oracle into religious festivals at Thebes during the eighteenth dynasty has been seen as creating a religious experience for the wider populace: ‘from far and near, people flocked to Thebes to be present at the Opet festival and to take part in the new experience of a new divine presence. The festival became an occasion of pilgrimage and thus the locus of a great

It is important also not to romanticise the New Kingdom elite attitude to the monuments around Memphis. Whilst some areas at Giza were restored, others were used as easy sources of building stone in Memphis and in Giza itself. As just noted, even a figure known for his interest in the past, such as Khaemwese, destroyed as well as restored monuments. Alongside a perception of Giza as a site in which kingship could be re-affirmed11 was an accompanying willingness to dismantle the monuments of past rulers.12 For example, the great temple complex of Ptah in Memphis was constructed with blocks from the 7 Assmann 2001, 194; see also Kitchen 2007; Baines 2006 for analysis of monumental environment in Egypt as an essentially ‘exclusionary’ spectacle. 8 See Yoyotte 1960, 49-52, 57-60; Zivie 1976, 282; Zivie-Coche 1988, 119-211; Volokhine 1998, 81. 9 See Redford 1986, 190 for the effect Giza and Saqqara had on the royal circle; Vernus 1995, 165-8 for the importance of the past in official ideology; Dunand and Zivie-Coche 2004, 114-5 emphasise the historicity of the Memphite region; Fischer-Elfert 2003, 131-3. 10 See Redford 1986, 196-7; Aufrère 1998, 16-22; Ray 2001, 82-90. 11 See Lehner 1991, 405 12 See Meskell and Joyce, 2003, 160.

1 O’Connor 2001, 131 and Stevens 2006, 269 talks of a ‘common religious language’. 2 See Thompson 1988, 3. 3 Rutherford 2003, 172. 4 Yoyotte 1960, 24; see also Volokhine 1998. 5 Yoyotte 1960, 20. 6 Yoyotte 1960, 22-4.

58

Living in New Kingdom Memphis valley temple of Khephren.1 Pragmatism was allied with belief. Unfortunately it is impossible to access how those actually working on the reconstruction of these ancient monuments viewed their task, whether the landscape, with the tombs of deified ancestors, had any impact on them, or whether it was merely part of the everyday toil. No presumptions should be made either way.2

been recorded is one from the reign of Tuthmosis III, and another from either Amenophis II or Tuthmosis IV’s reign.9 The writers of both these texts specifically stated that their intention had been to worship Sahure. The second graffito incidentally reminds us of the continual theme of Memphis as a locality for non-Egyptians. This was dedicated by an individual whose father’s name was Anat-Montu, combining the non-Egyptian deity Anat with the Egyptian deity Montu. Inevitably, it has been suggested that this graffito was written by someone of ‘foreign origin’ who, because of his supposed foreign origin may then have lived in the ‘colony’ at Memphis.10 Needless to say, this is one more example of the circularity of the argument concerning the presence of non-Egyptians in Memphis. Other sites visited at Abusir during the New Kingdom include the temple of Userkaf, and the tomb of the fifth dynasty vizier Ptahshepses.11 The graffito in this tomb reveals a dual interest in seeing the pyramids alongside expressing devotion to Sekhmet of Sahure.12

The main sources for ascertaining New Kingdom use of the pyramid fields are votive offerings and graffiti. Neither source really gives any indication of the religious patterns or thought processes of the wider populace.3 This is despite the best hopes of later interpreters.4 Graffiti as a source material appears initially to have more potential for revealing less culturally dictated thoughts of individuals. Indeed, graffiti has been hailed as ‘the study of human beings using a form of written communication that is invariably free of social restraints’5, yet the actual content of graffiti from ancient Egypt is usually repetitive, merely listing the owner’s name, titles and any pious hopes.6 The standardised phrases stemmed directly from elite culture, and, far from being ‘free of social restraints’ seem instead to be infused with social restraints. Unlike in more modern societies, the primary or indeed secondary purpose of graffiti in ancient Egypt does not seem to have been to record subversion.7 Rather, the information to be gained from graffiti is primarily from their location, showing patterns of movement and the interpretation of different points in the landscape.

And this dual interest typifies the evidence from Abusir. Hence a desire to visit a particular site could stem both from an interest in the monuments of the past as well as a specific religious devotion. These two aspects cannot really now be separated as the owners of the monuments were themselves perceived as deities from whom help could be sought. New Kingdom kings played perhaps a crucial role in the establishment and stimulation of such religious practices, with the literate, those with some degree of political power who were most able to make such visits, or who were the most able to leave some record of their visit.

At the site of Abusir, the pyramid fields of the 5th dynasty kings, the mortuary complex of Sahure became the focus of a cult dedicated to Sekhmet in the New Kingdom. A chapel of Sekhmet was built there, and she was invoked as ‘Sekhmet of Sahure’. Votive stelae were placed in the environs of the temple, amongst which were ear stelae of the type seen in Memphis. The New Kingdom rulers played a vital role in the generation and stimulation of this religious site, which was also a site visited by nonroyal individuals.8 As a deceased, and now deified, king from ancient Egypt’s past, it was seen fit to give him offerings and offer up prayers. At one time it was possible to note at least twenty graffiti, now mostly faded, in Sahure’s funerary temple. Amongst those which have

This pattern of movement and devotion is reflected in other pyramid fields as well.13 Giza, for example, was a site which had been in decline until the New Kingdom, when it became a focus for religious visits.14 These were centred on the sphinx, who became identified with the god Harmakhis; Amenophis II built a temple to Harmakhis (later enlarged by Seti I) just north-east of the sphinx.15 The construction of this temple, and the sphinx stela of Amenophis II did not mark the onset of the worship of the sphinx, whose placement in the midst of what was an area often used for royal hunting trips out of Memphis had ensured its prominence in the royal mind.16 The name of Harmakhis is first recorded in a document from the time of Amenophis I.17 The development of a

Lehner 1991, 394-5. Compare McDowell 1992, 108 assessing impact of the past on Deir el Medina inhabitants. 3 See Jacquet-Gordon 2003, 5 where she interprets even nontextual graffiti (for example depictions of footprints, crocodiles, and boats) in the temple of Khonsu at Karnak as having been carried out by members of the lesser priesthood, ie still by an elite. 4 See above with reference to Schulman. 5 Peden 2001, xxi. 6 Peden 2001; Franke 2001, 38. 7 See Parkinson 2009, 136-7 for mention and brief discussion of an instance in which graffiti may have been expressing subversion. 8 Borchardt 1910, 101-106, 120-35; Yoyotte 1960, 49-50; ZivieCoche 1988, 114. 1 2

See Peden 2001, 59-60, 95-6; Megally 1981, 219-40. Megally 1981, 232. 11 Peden 2001, 58-9, 95-6. 12 Peden 2001, 95-6. 13 For Dahshur and Meidum see Peden 2001, 63-7, 101-102. 14 See discussion of area delineated by term Giza in Zivie-Coche 1988, 113-6. 15 Yoyotte 1960, 50-1. 16 Yoyotte 1960, 50; Zivie 1976, 321; Sourouzian 1989, 50. 17 Zivie-Coche 1988, 119. 9

10

59

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt religious centre based in this Old Kingdom setting serves to situate the New Kingdom kings firmly in the tradition of the successful Old Kingdom rulers. In contrast to the cult of Sekhmet of Sahure at Abusir, the worship of the sphinx was a new cult developed around an old monument.1 The success of this is shown by the royal and non-royal votive stelae which were dedicated to Harmakhis, and in the identification of Harmakhis with the Canaanite god Houroun.2

Theban population but to regulate those who tried to enter the Valley of the Kings.9 Using the term ‘pilgrimage’ for the patterns of use in the sacred sites in the vicinity of Memphis implies a freedom of movement and expression of personal devotion which may not have been present.10 Both amongst New Kingdom royalty, and their immediate circle, it seems to have been necessary to display some level of interest in, and devotion towards, those who had built the monumental structures that framed the Memphite horizon. Throughout the New Kingdom there was an incredible investment into the maintenance of earlier structures and into the establishment of new religious and mortuary sites, although this was also set alongside the destruction of past environments. The graffiti and votive stelae testify to a desire to record pious visits, and to seek help from the deities located on the desert edge.

But it is inevitably Saqqara which can be most closely linked to Memphis, and which, from the quantity of the graffiti, appeared to have been visited the most.3 In the New Kingdom it was still used extensively as a burial site for important Egyptian officials as well as for Memphite citizens, and as a centre for renewed mortuary cults. Excavations at Saqqara continue to reveal wealthy and elaborate tomb complexes. In the New Kingdom, it would have been a site full of activity, both for construction workers and for visitors to the area.4 As at other sites near Memphis, the motivations for these visitors seems to have been primarily religious, in order to pray to gods of western Memphis, and in order to honour memories of ancestors real or imagined. There was also an element of straightforward interest to see the monuments, though, as mentioned earlier unravelling the two motivations is difficult and perhaps needless.5

Despite the tone of the sphinx stela of Amenophis II, in which Giza was depicted as somewhere accessible from Memphis with the aid of good horses, for the majority of Memphites Giza would just have been somewhere visible on the horizon (on a clear day). Or else it would have been the setting for hard physical labour.11 Even in Saqqara, a site intimately linked to Memphis, there would have been areas beyond which only the most privileged could go. The range of sacred localities in the pyramid fields and in Memphis would have had similar limitations of access, which nevertheless may not have extinguished a desire to express devotion to the deities resident there, as far as was possible. For the New Kingdom rulers, and to an uncertain degree some of their subjects, the pyramid fields around Memphis were a fundamental part of their city.

Graffiti at Saqqara included those from within and from outside the royal circle, including Memphite scribes. This graffiti is mainly focused on the step pyramid and associated complexes, with the cult of the deified king Djoser active.6 Anyone visiting these foci of devotion and leaving graffiti there would have had to go past a multitude of other monuments, from both the distant and more recent past, as well as past building sites for new monuments. And this reality raises the question of accessibility in what was a built-up area.7 Questions of access may well have been just as complex as within the city of Memphis, and may even have been more complex. Nothing can be said with any certainty on this, other than to highlight the situation in western Thebes as a perhaps useful comparison. In western Thebes, the government devised a series of measures, which might have included checkpoints, in order to limit access to the necropolis areas.8 Any regulation was not to prevent the Deir el Medina community from interacting with the rest of the

CONCLUSION The New Kingdom city of Memphis appears, to the modern observer, to have been the epitome of an ancient Egyptian city. Surrounded by what today seem the essential aspects of the Egyptian civilization, it would have been hard not to identify as an Egyptian, as a Memphite. The foci of the city were the royal and religious complexes which were repeatedly reworked by New Kingdom rulers. As the locality for one of the major deities in ancient Egypt the scale of the great temple complex of Ptah was equivalent to that of Karnak. The city was built to function effectively as a royal capital, with port areas to which goods from the rest of Egypt and abroad could be transported. As was seen in other royal cities, such as Thebes, due investment was made by the

1 Zive-Coche 1999,119; Stevens 2006, 250-1 suggests this temple may have been envisaged primarily as a centre for ‘public worship’ despite being established and supported by the state. 2 Zivie 1976, 327; Zivie-Coche 1988, 120; 1997, 64. 3 Peden 2001, 61; Baines and Riggs 2001, 111 who called the patterns of use at this site ‘antiquarian visits’. 4 Martin 2000, 115-9; Martin 1992, 35-98, 41-2; Zivie 2001. 5 Peden 2001, 61. 6 Peden 2001, 62-3, 96-9. 7 More so than at Giza, for a description of activity at Giza see Zivie 1976, 324. 8 Ventura 1986, 171-9.

McDowell 1994, 41-2, 58 in contrast to Ventura. See Adams 2007, 168 who argues that pilgrimage was not an essential part of Egyptian religion, though festivals were. 11 Compare Stevens 2006, 304 who notes how difficult it is to ascertain impact of natural and built environment on the general population. 9

10

60

Living in New Kingdom Memphis rulers into the cemetery areas, where mortuary cults to long deceased kings were renewed, and new temples built.

military, priesthood and the king. The priesthood eventually assumed greater power than the king, with the death of Ramesses XI in 1070 taken as the final endpoint of the New Kingdom, after which power was openly divided between Tanis and Thebes.1 Despite this political division of Egypt during the Third Intermediate Period (1070-712), the memory of a united Egypt was maintained, with re-unification attempted on several occasions. Dynastic marriages reinforced links between the rulers of Tanis and Thebes, and excavations at the city of Tanis have shown the extensive re-use of pharaonic structures as well as the existence of highly skilled workmanship. For example, the collection of gold vessels found in the royal tomb of Psusennes I (1040-992) are seen as a continuation of skilled New Kingdom art forms.2

That the royal/religious complexes did not operate in total isolation is clear from the evidence of Kom Rabia. In this very minimal excavation area ample evidence has been found to demonstrate the uptake of religious ideas as well as recognisably Egyptian high elite material culture (albeit in much less precious materials) within domestic and industrial space, the boundaries of which were fluid. The two worlds may have been closely connected. If, as has been suggested, Kom Rabia was lived in by those who worked in the administration of the temples, then any close links are unsurprising, and indicative of the limited sector of the population revealed in the evidence. A Memphite could operate on several different levels within the city, and might even have been able to circumvent the official areas of the city. An individual could work in an official setting but at the same time benefit from transactions on a more localised basis, or could approach the wall of the great temple complex of Ptah as an act of devotion as well as maintaining a domestic cult, and could combine a belief in Memphite deities with a belief in non-Egyptian deities.

The non-Egyptian vs Egyptian dichotomy becomes pronounced during this period, especially in our interpretation of it, as people of alleged non-Egyptian origin exerted power in the style of New Kingdom kings.3 For example, Shoshenq I (945-924) was from a Libyan family based in Bubastis, and he attempted to unite Egypt.4 Despite brief attempts at centralisation, the Third Intermediate Period was characterised by kings ruling simultaneously in places such as Herakleopolis and Leontopolis (22nd – 25th dynasties). Of these dynasties, the 25th became the most important in the long term, as Piye conquered as far north as Memphis. As a Nubian, from Napata, Piye saw himself as an Egyptian seeking to reestablish order in Egypt.5 The Late Period, 712-332, saw Piye’s successor Shabaka (712-698) unite Egypt, effectively establishing this Nubian dynasty as the most powerful in Egypt.6 The origin of the rulers of Egypt appeared to make little difference to the Egyptian state. Instead the new rulers firmly positioned themselves in the context of Egyptian history, looking to the past in the generation of new art forms.7 This was particularly marked during the 26th dynasty. Egypt also alternated between being a province of other territories and carrying out invasions in Asia and Nubia. For example, Psammetichus I (664-610) functioned as a vassal king of the Assyrians.8 As in the New Kingdom, alleged non-Egyptians formed a vital part of Egypt’s armed forces. Greeks and Carians were used by Psammetichus I, and became important in trade as well. This is demonstrated by the founding of Naukratis in the seventh century. Here we get the kind of evidence which has so affected the study of New Kingdom settlements, and in particular Memphis: Naukratis during the reign of Amasis (570-526) was declared to be town solely for

Due to an understanding (and a bias in the evidence) of high elite culture as typically Egyptian, other forms of belief and practice can be construed as un-Egyptian, or as surprising, when for a Memphite they might have been as essential a part to Egyptian identity as more recognisably Egyptian traits in material culture. Thus the interpretation of objects apparently of non-Egyptian origin, of the widespread worship of non-Egyptian deities, or of the ownership of luxurious items of material culture in a basic domestic architectural setting needs to be placed firmly within the experience of being an Egyptian. The nonEgyptian could be incorporated into the Egyptian or not, as the situation required. So much of the evidence for non-Egyptian as opposed to Egyptian activity originates from periods later than that of the New Kingdom, ends up being infused with contemporary presumptions and is then transposed backwards onto the New Kingdom. The second half of this book jumps over one thousand years in order to examine personal identity and social power in a completely different setting, albeit in the same broad geographical space. And in these intervening years we see what has been identified as the development of more modern preoccupations and categories, alongside the eventual break up of Egypt as a unified and dominant political entity.

1 See O’Connor 1992, 229-32; Assmann 1996, 319-45; Mysliwiec 2000, 26. 2 Msyliwiec 2000, 29. 3 See Baines 1996b, 378-80. 4 Assmann 1996, 346-50. 5 See Stela of Piye, Lichtheim 1980b, 66-84. 6 Assmann 1996, 371-5. 7 Assmann 1996, 375-493 ‘der Kult der Vergangenheit’. 8 Lloyd 1992, 338.

Documents such as the Late Ramesside letters date to the very last stages of New Kingdom Egypt. Gradual disintegration and change resulted in changing power relations between the different structures of the state, the

61

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Greeks. Egypt also became a haven for Jewish exiles from Babylon, and much of what is known about this period is derived from non-contemporaneous non-Egyptian accounts, such as the histories of Herodotus.

of Octavian (Augustus) following the Battle of Actium (30 BCE), and then became a province of Rome (from 14 CE) under which heavy taxes were levied on the Egyptian population.6

The Persian rule of Egypt (525-404; 343-332) resulted in Egypt being depicted as subservient, just one amongst the many provinces of the Persian empire. Despite the negative reputation of the Persian rule in Egypt, propagated in Egyptian as well as non-Egyptian sources, archaeological evidence has revealed that what have now become recognisably Egyptian forms of material culture persisted. Even the statue of Darius from Susa, which proclaimed the subjugation of Egypt, drew upon Egyptian art forms and texts to situate Darius as the just heir of the Egyptian throne.1

Distinctively, the Ptolemaic and ensuing Roman periods saw widespread investment in non-Egyptian cultural forms and literature with a segment of the population who despite, in many cases, never having known a country other than Egypt, were identified with Greek cultural forms and still are by us today. The presence of these populations following what would seem to be different cultural forms, beliefs, and languages, and for whom identity may have been imposed by the state, has led to varied opinions on the extent of any cross-over. It is increasingly being realised that these were not completely distinct groups of people. Whilst hostility, as seen in the Oracle of the Potter, and open riots between different peoples as well as revolts occurred,7 there has also been a desire to present cultural interaction as the pre-dominant feature of life in Egypt during these periods.8 For instance, developments in mortuary literature used to be automatically assigned to Greek influence, when really such developments can be assessed as part of an Egyptian tradition with links back to earlier literature.9 Once again, life for an urban Egyptian would have been very different to life for a rural Egyptian, despite the fact that they were both living within Egypt.10

Distinctions, whereby status became more fixed and dependent on country of origin, and determining place of residence – so for someone identified as an Egyptian this was now a label of subservience – became more pronounced with the establishment of the Ptolemaic dynasty (304 BCE – 30 BCE). Following Alexander the Great’s victory in 332, Egypt was administered as an independent country by the Greeks, who promoted Greek language and literature. Continual investment into the Egyptian temples was made, although the priests of the Egyptian temples were now part of the Greek power structure, while at the same time Alexandria was developed as a specifically Greek centre.2 Official identities on the basis of supposed country of origin could be bestowed by the state and result in differential treatment, yet the Ptolemies also depicted themselves as Egyptian kings.3

It was in the Roman period that new regulations consigned Egyptians to the lowest status, when certain taxes and punishments were imposed on the basis of identity alone.11 For the first time, no official legitimacy was given to the Egyptian language.12 Nonetheless, the Roman elite continued to support Egyptian religious traditions.13 For example, Trajan (98-117 CE) pictured himself in the guise of an Egyptian ruler.14 Material witnesses to the pharaonic past were also noticed as is shown by the number of ‘tourists’ to sites such as the

For the Ptolemaic period, leading into the Roman period, historians have analysed the lives of those in Egypt using terms usually associated with the modern past. Thus the literature of the Ptolemaic period, for example the Oracle of the Potter has been understood as nationalist propaganda, in which the Egyptian condemned the Greek.4 Furthermore, the Roman period in Egypt has been analysed as a time of unrelenting hardship for anyone who was identified as an Egyptian, whatever their status, ie a label purely based on country of origin determined their status and how they were treated by those with political power.5 Egypt had become the personal property

had not been subjected to even in the worst days of the pharaohs and the Ptolemies, when at least the product of her labour had remained in the country’. This is not a view widely held any longer. See Pfeiffer 2008 on the ruler cult in the Ptolemaic period. 6 Ritner 1998, 1-2. 7 See Goudriaan 1988, 107-108. 8 See Ashton 2001, 53 and 2003, 29-33, 88, who talks of the ‘borrowing of elements’, and the links between Greek and Egyptian artists; La’ada 2003 who notes how difficult it was for Romans to distinguish officially between Greeks and Egyptians. 9 Smith 2009, 10. 10 Ritner 1998, 5. 11 See Reinhold 1980, 100-101, 103; although following 212 CE Egyptians were allowed to become Roman citizens Lewis 1984, 19. 12 Ritner 1998, 6-9. 13 Capponi 2005, 169-70; Klötz 2008, 63-4, 76. 14 Ritner 1998.

Mysliwiec 2000, 135-7, 146-55. See Bianchi 1992; see Butler 2007, 90-2, 222-3, for the ongoing implications of this view of Alexandria as Greek. 3 Clarysse 1992, 52 although see also Goudriaan 2000, 58 who emphasises the lack of official designations; La’ada 2003, 167 who argues that ‘from at least the 280s onwards Hellenistic Egypt was a polyethnic society which was not based on a system of ethnic discrimination’; see also Bingen 2008 for broad discussion of Hellenistic Egypt. 4 Lloyd 1982; Sørensen 1992; Frankfurter 1993, 253-7. 5 For one extreme of this view, see Watterson 1988, 16: ‘Egypt thus became a land exploited on behalf of foreigners, a role she 1 2

62

Living in New Kingdom Memphis Colossi of Memnon1 and by the removal of pharaonic antiquities to the imperial capital amongst other locations.

and in opposition to, officially generated literary and cultural norms. Amongst those with most political power there was no simplistic view of the world, with inconsistencies inevitable in their own statements of power in both the textual world and in the built environment. For those exerting power on a much smaller scale within their own social setting, inconsistency was also inevitable. There was an awareness of the need to uphold social order, to act rightly towards one’s family and dependents and to mirror on a lesser scale the cultural patterns of the dominant group. In both contexts, state and non-state violence, or merely the threat of it, underlay and codified all sorts of interactions.

These intervening thousand years demonstrate changes both in the nature of evidence presented to us now, and in the experiences of those with power. Personal identity amongst the elite could be focused on a range of cultural forms, with new and intertwined cultural patterns emerging.2 One aspect of someone’s identity, that of country of origin could be imposed and used as the reason/excuse for the state to treat that person, and the socalled national group to which he/she belonged, in a particular way and regardless of occupation or status. This seems now to be a very modern development, and essentially stems from a world which cannot be directly transposed onto New Kingdom Egypt.

Against such a background, it is even more interesting to note expressions of self-reflective behaviour and locally codified domestic practices. Humour and self-sufficiency, for example, did not damage the norms of a world so distant from our own. Perhaps it implies an elite for whom the constant reiteration of values may have ended up imparting meaning and purpose. But what the evidence from the New Kingdom really shows us is that being a New Kingdom Egyptian certainly involved a lot more than can be inferred from the limited written and material record, and than was perhaps anticipated by those at the very heart of that world. If that was the case during a period of supposedly tight central control, what was possible during a period of disparate foci?

Nevertheless, it is not surprising, given that apparent segregation of people according to their imposed country of origin, that scholars have sought to find similar divisions in New Kingdom Egypt from what is much less clear evidence. I have argued throughout against imposing terms such as ethnicity onto the search for what life was like for an Egyptian during the New Kingdom. This has left the evidence free to present a range of factors integral to personal identity and social power, amongst which was the role played by a supposed country of origin. What we have seen instead in New Kingdom Egypt is the formulation of life patterns in response to,

See Foertmeyer 1989; Adams 2007, 177, 181 who emphasises that these ‘tourists’ were not interested in an Egyptian past, but were visiting the sites of Thebes as aspects of the Graeco-Roman world. 2 See Bernal 2008 for some insights into the complexity of this relationship. 1

63

64

4 The Coptic Period Textual World

which demanded exclusive devotion, and with the demise of strong centralized government, knowledge of the pharaonic civilization and religion receded and was ultimately rejected. The decline in the knowledge of hieroglyphs and hieratic can be traced through documents. These demonstrate that the rise of Christianity cannot be directly linked to their demise: demotic had instead been used as the language of sacred texts. The latest extant hieroglyphic inscription dates to August 394, in the form of a votive graffito on the temple of Isis at Philae.6 At the same time, however, the gradual dominance of Christianity as a religion which apparently bore no relation to the pharaonic, inevitably resulted in a complete change in religious beliefs in Egypt, for the first time in three thousand years. Thus as a point in Egyptian history at which to examine the potency of change, (encompassing political, social, cultural and religious developments), on a population, the Coptic period presents an apt paradigm. In contrast to the New Kingdom, those living in Coptic Egypt did not have the weight of over 1,000 years of cultural formation and literary tradition to focus any assertions of personal identity and social power. Instead, they were living in a time of radical change as new communal identities were established and rejected.7 In theory, it should have been a time when personal choice in the more modern concept of the phrase became a possibility.

Now it is time to take the jump between political settings, in order to assess properly the role of such settings on people’s lives. Over one thousand years had passed between the culmination of the New Kingdom and the use of Coptic as a fully-formed written language in the third century CE.1 In that period, Egypt had inevitably changed as being a nonEgyptian could be an official mark of prestige. Alexandria and Antinoe are two examples of a new classically inspired urbanism.2 Nome capitals had become hellenised cities, with colonnaded arcades, and with the Egyptian temple lying redundant in their midst. In Egyptian villages change can be discerned as the relationship between villages and cities developed. Superficially, it would appear that Egypt had long been distancing itself from its pharaonic past. Despite these huge changes in the political orientation of Egypt, there was not a total rejection of the pharaonic civilization.3 For example, there were developments in the Egyptian language and in artistic conventions. The nonEgyptian rulers sponsored the construction of Egyptian temples in which they were depicted as truly Egyptian kings, and the Egyptian priesthood survived, with the hieroglyphic repertoire extended in nuance and function. The interactions between the Mediterranean, the Greek and the pharaonic worlds continued, resulting in changing styles of depiction, and in the development of religious ideas and deities, such as Serapis whose popularity spread far beyond Egypt.4

Background and approach Following the gradual spread of Christianity in Egypt, a Christian world-view was generated and maintained. This world-view, according to some, became a specifically Egyptian Christian world-view after the Council of Chalcedon.8 It was a turbulent period of change for those in Egypt, as the Egyptian past could be cast in a negative light. This was not the first time that the past had been rejected in Egypt. Certain Egyptian kings had disassociated themselves from previous rulers, destroying evidence of their rule. Each intermediate period had also been depicted by ensuing rulers as a time of disorder to be spurned, however little this depiction was based on reality. For the first time, however, the Egyptian past became almost irrelevant in the elite organisation and justification of the present.

Thus, in terms of the survival of the pharaonic, the Coptic period is of huge relevance as during this era the pharaonic civilization was discarded, not to be revitalised. Three thousand years of a very identifiable world-view came to an end. The landscape of immediately pre-Coptic Egypt would not have been that startling to the New Kingdom Egyptian, and, for the modern scholar much of what is known about, for example, pharaonic temple ritual is merely derived from texts inscribed in the Temple of Horus at Edfu, built between 237 and 57 BCE.5 There had also always been development and change at sites central to the religious world of the ancient Egyptians, such as Thebes, as each king sought to leave evidence of his presence and piety.

Despite this, the past could not be entirely forgotten. The Coptic language became the last stage of ancient Egyptian, preserving a few demotic signs, and a whole grammatical system which can be traced back to Old Egyptian. Likewise, the built environment of Egypt provided a constant witness to the pharaonic civilization as it was gradually transformed

Nevertheless, with the gradual onset of a new religion, 1

Bosson 1999, 69. For Alexandria as an intergral part of Egypt not somewhere distinct see Tacoma 2006, 2; Minnen 2006, 90; Pearson 2007, 111 for statement that Christian monks were living in Alexandria as early as the second century. 3 Bernal 2008, 119-21. 4 Claus 2003, 85-92; Capponi 2005, 177. 5 Wilkinson 2000, 205. 2

6

Frankfurter 1998, 248-9. Minnen 2006, 90-1, who argues against writing simple oppositions into life in Egypt at this time, with, for example, many different versions of Christianity present. 8 Frend 1982; Monophysite Egyptian beliefs in opposition to their Diphysite rulers. 7

65

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt into a Christian environment.1 The external appearances of the churches of Shenoute’s White Monastery are amazingly similar to that of an Egyptian temple, yet this may not be a simple continuity, rather it may be a reinterpretation of the past.2 One of the most striking aspects of continuity is in the surprising persistence of the practice of mummification amongst Christians, although interpreting this is also not simple.3 Amongst the rural inhabitants of Egypt, customs derived from pharaonic Egypt could be identified in the modern age. Thus, for modern scholars, the pharaonic could still be discerned in the lifestyles of twentieth century Upper Egyptians.4 In Coptic religious practices and church architecture, links to the ancient Egyptian past can be found, even today.5

Egypt’s.12 An article in a journal for emigrant Copts puts the case for this in an extreme way, linking certain socalled attributes of the modern Coptic community directly to the ancient Egyptian past. Commonalities are said to include language, moral conduct, education, friendliness, generosity and even the use of perfume.13 My priority here is not to argue for the continuation of cultural beliefs and practices from the New Kingdom to the Coptic, but rather to use these two disparate periods as case studies simply because of their disparity in time and characteristics. The timespan between New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt is vast, and any connections between the two were primarily in terms of geographical space. Crucially, I look at how these vastly different periods (in terms of political setting and cultural references) affected personal identity and the interplay of power relations. The contrasts innate in these two periods could not, at least superficially, be more different and it is these differences which will expose how far a person’s identity was dependent upon his/her political/cultural setting. We have already discovered that the success of a centralised system did not depend on an all-encompassing uptake of that system’s formulation of identity in order to survive. During the Coptic period Christianity was able to supersede one of the longest surviving civilizations, albeit a civilization already in decline, but one which had even been shown a token respect during the Roman domination. Yet it was not to survive as the major focus in Egypt, with the Muslim conquest of 641 eventually ensuring the demise of Coptic as a living language, and the demotion of Christianity to a minority religion.

It is not, however, my aim to trace a simple progression between New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt.6 This has been the remit of those who were concerned with emphasising the link between modern Copts and the ancient Egyptians.7 In particular, the role of the patriarch of Alexandria has been directly compared to that of the ancient Egyptian king.8 Thus scholars have drawn upon a very few references in Christian texts in which the patriarch was called a pharaoh, and seen a conscious nationalist connection with ancient Egypt.9 This is now thought to have been a modern reinterpretation.10 Despite the term ‘pharaoh’ not being indicative of a conscious link to an Egyptian past, it is also important to recognise that merely using the term pharaoh brought a memory of ancient Egypt into a contemporary setting, even if it was not ancient Egypt itself which was the stimulus for this memory. Drawing on the same biblical associations, a modern anti-capitalist handbook has been entitled Two Hundred Pharaohs, Five Billion Slaves.11

The Coptic period Nonetheless, some Afrocentrists, Egyptologists and Coptic scholars have sought to emphasise the rooting of Christianity in ancient Egypt, and the links between past and present. This serves to empower the disempowered, such as emigrant Coptic communities, and to heighten contemporary interest in a past as distant as that of ancient

By using the term Coptic period, I am referring to the fourth to ninth centuries, a time in which Coptic became the most widely language in Egypt. As a term, it has no political reference. It is now little used by contemporary scholars, especially given its vagueness and the way in which it can imply a simple equivalence between Coptic and Christian.14 Many scholars nowadays prefer to divide these centuries into their political phases: Roman, Byzantine, Islamic, with a broader term of ‘Late Antiquity’ applied as well,

1

Westerfield 2003, 5 Török 2005, 50, 180. 3 See Förster 2008 for a detailed discussion of this; see also David 2008, 37. 4 See for example, Blackman 2000 [1927] with its new introduction by Salima Ikram. 5 El-Shal 2007b and Horbury 2003. 6 See comments and approaches of Zandee 1971, 219. 7 See Butcher 1897. 8 Cannuyer 1992. 9 See Hauben 1998, 1350. 10 Reymond and Barns 1973, 5; Hauben 1998, 1351-2 who states ‘the biblical image was intended to vilify persons deemed to give evidence of tyrannical and oppressive behaviour, or of excessive greed. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the Egyptian heritage’. 11 Peacock 2002. 2

12

Finch 1986, 179-200; Ayad 1989; see Török 2005, 6 on how awareness of the Coptic past has empowered the Coptic community. 13 Ayad 1989, 100; journal articles such as this should be viewed from the context of intense concern amongst the Coptic emigrant community about the treatment of Copts in Egypt, see for example Thomas and Youssef 2006. 14 Lewis 1970 argues that the term ‘Graeco-Roman Egypt’ for a period covering Ptolemaic, Roman and Byzantine Egypt was too imprecise as to be useful, the same criticism can be made of the use of the term ‘Coptic Period’; Lloyd 2007, 42 states that the ‘world of Late Antique Egypt..was, in all matters of any significance, the world of late Graeco-Roman culture.’

66

The Coptic Period Textual World reinforcing Egypt’s setting within the whole Late Antique world.1 Not surprisingly, the choice of which term to use is often dictated by an individual’s research priority.2 The assignation of historical periods is a much debated topic and one which imposes almost arbitrary differences and barriers, alongside broad generalisations, onto the Egyptian evidence.3 It can all too often skew any insights gained, as evidence is needlessly excluded.4 My use of the term ‘Coptic Period’ allows me to focus on a timespan when Coptic was at its most active as a language in Egypt, whilst at the same time allowing me to include evidence from across some of the many different types of communities resident in Egypt at this period, especially those who spoke/wrote Coptic.5

the oasis town of Karanis, as well as smaller settlements based around a monastic foundation, such as existed at Wadi Sarga.9 Furthermore, there were those who chose to live in border zones, on the edge of the cultivation or further into the desert, either due to ascetism and the desire to lead the life of a hermit, devoted to God, or due to the need to avoid the penalties of the state. These two reasons need not have been distinct. The country itself was divided into huge estates, the owners of which, had, from the fourth century until 641, been gradually taking over the duties more usually associated with the state.10 People were defined by their relationship with the landowners, with the majority completely dependent on them.11 These landowners included monastic foundations.12 The Muslim conquest initially appears to represent a turning point for Egypt, yet it has been argued that there was a high degree of continuity for those who lived in towns and villages.13 As had been the situation in Byzantine Egypt, central authority was felt in the realms of taxation and military service. Islamic influence was still largely limited to the main administrative areas and the major effect of the change in power would have been in taxation, with nonMuslims classified as dhimmi, and thus having an extra tax to pay.14

Politically, therefore the Coptic Period was a time of change. During the fourth century, Egypt still fell under the Roman Empire. By the end of the fourth century it had become incorporated into the Byzantine world under whose auspices it by and large remained (once succumbing to a Persian occupation between 619 and 629) until the Byzantine Treaty of 641 in which Egypt was surrendered to the Muslims. Alexandria itself did not surrender until 642.6 This political change was combined with the growth of Christianity, the decline of paganism and ultimately, the introduction of Islam after 641. During the growth of Christianity in Egypt, the Christian world as a whole was in a state of flux as it debated what should be the canonical form of Christianity. It was after the Council of Chalcedon in 451 that Egyptian Christianity became sidelined. It maintained the Monophysite position, in opposition to what became the official Diphysite view.7 Thus in Egypt at this time it is not possible to point to a single viewpoint on what the Christian lifestyle should be either. Instead the evidence demonstrates a wide variety of Christian beliefs being followed within Egypt, with heretics a continual source of worry to those who considered themselves orthodox. 8 The Byzantine rulers of Egypt were themselves Diphysite, and so were ruling a population predominantly Monophysite, although with a substantial Diphysite minority.

In spite of certain aspects of continuity in the administration of Egypt through these religious and political upheavals, inevitably some repercussions were felt, especially amongst certain sectors of the population. Christianity was a banned religion, between 110 and 210. Nonetheless it was followed and propagated in Egypt, amidst a variety of other religious beliefs and practices. Persecutions on account of a refusal to deny Christian beliefs occurred at intervals. For example, the beginning of Diocletian’s reign (284) was taken as a starting point for the Coptic calendar, preserving a memory of the particularly violent persecutions of Christians in Egypt which had been initiated by Diocletian.15 These links between the persecutions and the use of the Coptic calendar were, however, only crystallised in the ensuing centuries, with the term of ‘Era of Diocletian’ first used in a non-Christian context.16 It is in Nubia, in the eighth century, that the term ‘Era of the Martyrs’ is first

Coptic Egypt was composed of areas which differed greatly in character. There were highly urbanized areas, for example the Mediterranean city of Alexandria, or

9

Sidarus 2008, 185, 188 emphasises the Egyptianisation of the Greeks by this stage, with a bilingual elite who must have known Coptic. 10 Bachrach 1967, 165. 11 Krawiec 2002, 25; see Tacoma 2006, 272 on Roman period in Egypt, where property transmission was key in maintaining status. 12 Sidarus 2008, 187. 13 Kennedy 1998, 67; Wilfong 1998b, 181-2. 14 Ye’or 1996, 121-4; Wilfong 1998b, 179; see also Sijpestejn 2004, 134 for discussion of an Arabic letter which demonstrates that by the eighth century there were Muslim landowners in Egypt, ie they were moving out of their metropolitan setting. 15 Török 2005, 82. 16 Bagnall and Worp 2004, 68.

1

Giardina 1989, 103. Youssef in Thomas and Youssef 2006 argues that between c.340 CE and 640 CE ‘Egypt was fully Coptic’. 3 See Bagnall 2001, 227. 4 As argued by Clackson 2004 with respect to the use of the term ‘Coptic period’. 5 Compare Wilfong 2002, xx-xxi for his thought processes before finally resorting to the term ‘Coptic’ alongside the term ‘Late Antique’. 6 Cannuyer 1996, 36; see Ruffini 2008 for useful in depth discussion of Byazantine Egypt. 7 Doorn-Harder 1995, 16-8. 8 Bagnall 2008, 29. 2

67

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt witnessed, influenced, it seems by the growing awareness of being a Coptic minority.1

developed,10 and written documents testify to its increasing utilisation in all spheres of Egyptian life, urban and rural.11 Documents could be written in both Greek Coptic, and certain renowned individuals (such as Dioscorus of Aphrodito) revealed knowledge of the Greek world in their composition of Coptic texts.12 Communities such as those at Wadi Sarga often chose to express themselves in either Greek or Coptic depending on the context.13 In Shenoute’s White Monastery, there was an extensive library where monks worked at translating into Coptic Greek patristic texts alongside classics from Greek literature.14 It has long been established that there is no need to view Coptic as the language of the so-called unsophisticated rural population.15 The embeddedness of Coptic in Egypt is demonstrated by the multiplicity of dialects. Each had a geographic locale: the broadest division came to be made between Sahidic Coptic in the south of the country up to Memphis, and Bohairic in the north, the Delta region. For the majority of the population, at least those living outside the main administrative cities, Coptic was the first language, with Sahidic the most widely known dialect.16 Latin and Arabic were more directly linked with the ruling powers, as languages of administration which rarely (at this point) saw use outside official documentation. Yet for those living in Fustat, administering the new province of the Islamic caliphate, Arabic was the language of daily life, as well as officialdom for its 200,000 residents.17 Coptic survived as one of the languages of administration until 705 when a decree asserted that Arabic was to be the sole official language of administration.18 By 1000 Coptic seems to been no longer used as an actual daily, living language,

Constantine’s declaration of Christianity in 312 meant that Christianity became the official religion of the Roman empire, and persecution and exile became the fate of heretical Christians or non-Christians. Thus Athanasius, patriarch of Alexandria was repeatedly exiled, first by Constantine in 325.2 In 392 paganism was banned by imperial edict.3 During the sixth century the majority of non-Christian communities had ceased to function, except for those which were more isolated, such as by Lake Mareotis.4 Some of those who converted to Islam may have done so straight from paganism, without having become Christians first.5 Traditionally, the success of the Muslim conquest has been attributed in part to the eagerness of a predominantly Monophysite population to rid themselves of their Diphysite rulers, but other factors clearly played a role including the incompetence of the Byzantine rulers.6 The first few centuries of the Islamic period in Egypt did not circumscribe to any great extent the freedom of the Egyptians. The rulers supported the Monophysite church, Egyptians maintained a large role in the administration of the country and churches continued to be built.7 Nonetheless, excessive taxation seems to have sparked a series of rebellions in the eighth century. In the Delta as well as in Upper Egypt, Egyptians rebelled against their rulers.8 These rebellions were eventually crushed (in 832), an event linked to the onset of widespread conversion to Islam. Certain regulations regarding Christians were initiated at intervals between the eighth and the ninth centuries, such as the public wearing of yellow turbans.9 At the same time, however, Coptic speakers continued to play a role in the administration of the country and in the development of public buildings, such as the mosque of Ibn Tulun (built in 876-9).

Cribiore 1996, 3. MacCoull 2007b, 752. Coptic used in non-literary settings by fourth century, MacCoull argues that it was used especially by women. 12 Rubenson 1992, 16; Rousseau 1999, 18-9; Sidarus 2008, 190-1. 13 Coptic/Greek bilingualism in documentary texts is notable, see Delattre 2008a, 385 on bilingual (Greek/Coptic) eighth century invoices from Bawit; Brune 2005 on bilingual word lists from the Fayoum; see Sidarus 2008, 185, 189 for trilingual Latin/Greek/Coptic document from fifth/sixth century; MacCoull 2007a, 382, 388-89 on continuing Greek/Coptic bilingualism in Aphrodito ‘no matter who was in power’; Clackson 2004 and 2007 for extensive discussions on bilingualism in archival material and modern academic segregation of material and ensuing neglect of Coptic, despite the source material being excavated together see also Wilfong 2006, 328; Tovar 2004 for how far bilingualism affected vocabulary of Greek in Egypt – Greek did not borrow any verbs from Coptic. 14 Orlandi 2002, 211. 15 Clackson 2001, 43; Parkinson 1999a, 102; Sidarus 2008, 188-9. 16 Cannuyer 1996, 76-7. 218-9; Wilfong 1998b, 184; Kasser 1966, 109. 17 Kubiak 1982, 128; Kennedy 1998. 18 Wilfong 1998b, 184-5; Zabarowski 2005 for an example of 13th century text written in Coptic (an unusually late date for this), and which argues against Coptic assimilation to Islam. 10 11

The literate world The written evidence from Egypt at this period reveals the main languages to have been Greek and Coptic. At some point during the second to third centuries Coptic was

Bagnall and Worp 2004, 67. Clauss 2003, 258-72. 3 For a discussion of these periods see Frankfurter 1998; this needs to be compared with Minnen 2006; Cannuyer 1996. 4 Wipszycka 1988, 157-8. 5 Rémondon 1952, 72. 6 See Den Henijer 2000, 239 for the Coptic historiographical response to conquest; Kaegi 1998, 49-50. 7 Abdel-Tawab 1986, 324-5; Wipszycka 1988, 160; see Lapidus 1972, 249 who states ‘for Arab leaders the world had been conquered in the name of Islam, not for the sake of converting it to Islam’. 8 Lapidus 1972, 256; Kennedy 1998, 67. 9 See Lapidus 1972, 253, 258; Alcock 1999, 24. 1 2

68

The Coptic Period Textual World although it has continually remained a language used in church ritual.1

Alexandria in the third century, to make their views known on religious matters to large number of communities and individuals.8 As certain Christian communities in Egypt became the dominant way of life in the seventh to ninth centuries texts played a vital role. They maintained the importance of a community and served to point out the perceived faults of others.9 For those rallying round Shenoute, the Monophysite leader of the White Monastery in Upper Egypt, his texts were crucial in reinforcing their personal and group identity.10

Coptic, Greek, Latin and Arabic were not the only languages used in Egypt at this time. Coptic speakers consistently translated other works from the Christian world. In Thebes, for example, there were Syriac texts, and the translation of texts essential to the Christian life required an intimate knowledge of such languages.2 The Jewish community in Egypt, specifically in urban settings such as Alexandria and Babylon maintained their knowledge of Hebrew, generating sacred texts as well as translating them into Arabic.3 Furthermore, trade, travel and the impact of nomadic peoples, raiding Egyptian villages and towns, meant that other languages were heard.4

The actual establishment of Coptic as a new form of the Egyptian language has been seen as demonstrating the relationship between orality and literacy, illustrating the demand for another means of writing within Egypt.11 Just as the extent of literacy in the Coptic world has been romanticised, so too has the development of Coptic itself. For example, Keith Hopkins claimed ‘Coptic originated as a script of protest’,12 and he argued that this protest was directed against the government and the Greeks. The very fact that the Greek alphabet and a considerable quantity of Greek vocabulary were used in Coptic seems to minimise the idea of Coptic as a ‘script of protest’, and also furthers the stereotype of Coptic as the language of the disenfranchised rural poor. This was perhaps implicitly acknowledged by Hopkins later in the very same article where he went on to describe Coptic as a ‘cultural fusion’ between the Greek and Egyptian worlds. Others, in contrast to the extremes of Hopkins’ argument, emphasise the bilingual and educated world out of which Coptic arose.13 The immediate context of Coptic may have been in a non-Christian environment, in order to record vowels in religious incantations.14

An instinctive reaction when approaching the Coptic period after New Kingdom Egypt is to be overwhelmed by the comparative wealth of textual evidence. This includes documentary texts and literary texts which are far more numerous and more diverse in terms of geographical location than the material from New Kingdom Egypt. The context of literacy in the Coptic period seems to have been far removed from that of the New Kingdom, with literacy an apparently more accessible skill. It was in such a spirit of enthusiasm that Leslie MacCoull stated excitedly ‘the amount of letter writing that was practised at all levels of Coptic society and at all periods was prodigious’.5 The problem of literacy in the ancient world has been extensively looked at, but primarily with reference to Greek and Latin, with little mention of Coptic. The power that the written word could exert within an ancient society has been widely acknowledged.6 The Vindolanda texts from Hadrian’s Wall, dating to 90-120 CE illustrate the dual role of literacy: uniting disparate populations over a large area, and, when used by those with power, being a method of ensuring tight and efficient control.7 With the onset of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman world textual works proved vital in putting forward and ratifying viewpoints. Texts such as the festal letter enabled bishops such as Dionysius, patriarch of

In an attempt to assess the extent of Coptic literacy, and to get away from over-optimistic statements such as those generated by MacCoull, a variety of Coptic scholars have emphasised the context of literacy; for example, monastic populations show a higher degree of literacy than elsewhere. Literacy rates may have increased between the fourth and seventh centuries, and literacy seems to have been an accessible, and necessary skill for monks, nuns and priests.15 To generalise from this to the rest of society Bowman 1996b, 134-5. Cameron 1996, 198-200, 204-205. 10 Barns 1964; Wesselzky 1992, 617; Behlmer 1998, 358; see Lane Fox 1996, 129 for discussion of how texts could establish and maintain identity. 11 Orlandi 1986, 52; Bowman 1991, 125. 12 Hopkins 1991, 146. 13 Bagnall 1993, 253; Rubenson 1992, 16; Parkinson 1999a, 102. 14 Ritner 1998, 9; Aufrère 1999; see also Hopkins 1991, 146 who suggests that Coptic literacy was used to convert the ‘lower class faithful’; Bagnall 2005, 13 shows how Coptic speedily came to be used in non-monastic contexts as an everyday language; Choat 2006, 40 notes how Coptic was not only a language for use by Christians. 15 See Steinemann 1974 for the now refuted estimate of 40-50% literate based upon texts from Djeme; for refutation of 8

Krawiec 2002, 4; also note the ongoing modern attempts to revive Coptic as a living language. 2 See Satoshi 2006 who demonstrates that in ninth century Wadi Natrun Coptic texts were translated into Syriac and then into Arabic; see also Martyros 2007 about Syrians in the Wadi Natrun. 3 Stillman 1998, 198-201. 4 See Alcock 1983, 13, 87-8 ‘their language’. 5 MacCoull 1986a, 41; compare Bagnall 2008, 35 who writes about the ‘uneven presence of private correspondence’. 6 Frankfurter 1998, 268-9. 7 Bowman 1996a, 110-1, 123 – Vindolanda texts show the use of Latin outside the immediate context of government, but at the same time the percentage of people fully able to participate in the reading and writing of such material was minimal and the letters were highly stylised. 1

9

69

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt is, as ever, complex, though it is important not to see a simple dichotomy between the literate and illiterate world.1 Boundaries of literacy and illiteracy could be just as blurred as in the New Kingdom. With reference to Greek documents, ‘slow writers’ have been identified. These were people who were not able to write easily but who nevertheless used their writing skills to make money, for example in drafting simple business agreements for those who were less literate than them. Such people did not fit easily into the category of either literate or illiterate, and could switch between the two.2 Many of the Coptic texts also reveal this process, with even some of the shortest letters written out by someone who was being asked to write it out on that person’s behalf.3 Functions of literacy affected who were literate, with those in governmental positions having to have some knowledge of Greek, Coptic, Latin or Arabic, and those who chose to become monks, nuns, or priests could also attain some degree of literacy as well. The possession of high status and wealth did not necessarily lead to literacy, as in the New Kingdom high status individuals could employ others to do their writing for them.4 Oral transmission of texts was a key technique for the spreading of knowledge and beliefs across Egypt.

Jerusalem and the Ascension alongside which a hymn in praise of Christ had been carved in Greek.9 Texts also entered into the domestic context, with stone lintels above the entrances to houses incorporating a design often including Christ’s name. Even objects such as key used in the White Monastery, during the fifth/sixth century, included a text set into its design. By such means, a body of beliefs could be established and maintained, and certain texts could become part of the experience of being an Egyptian. The importance of the text as a defining feature for someone’s life is seen in the burial of individuals with texts. In a fourth/fifth century cemetery of Al-Mudil, 40 kilometres north-east of Oxyrhynchus, a Coptic psalter was found placed underneath a young girl’s head in a shallow grave.10 Through texts, reference points were created which an individual could abide by, or not. Many of these more formal texts were aimed at fully incorporating Egypt into the Biblical heritage, of manoeuvring Egypt away from its past and creating a new tradition. This is also reflected in less formal texts, where casual references are frequently made to biblical figures. The Coptic textual tradition consists of a wide body of Christian texts, including hagiographies, polemical texts such as sermons, and liturgical texts alongside the more mundane texts of daily life including letters.11 Hagiographies formed a genre of texts in which a deceased individual was praised, and their life described in glowing terms with descriptions of how temptation had been avoided. Travel formed an important theme in such texts, which also served to create a Christian landscape.12 Coptic and Greek hagiographies were very closely linked with the presumption that many Coptic lives of saints and martyrs were translations of Greek originals.13 The Life of Shenoute, the leader of the White Monastery, who lived from about 347-464, provides a classic example of a Coptic hagiography.14 It was ostensibly authored by Shenoute’s disciple, Besa. In reality it seems to have been an amalgamation of ‘speeches of praise’ which were given every year to commemorate Shenoute, and which were only latterly attributed to Besa.15 In the text, a lively account is provided of Shenoute’s life, in his role as leader of the White Monastery. Johannes Leipoldt established Shenoute’s fame for the western world, depicting him as a rather crude, harsh leader, which is only just starting to be re-assessed in suitable depth in the light of Stephen Emmel’s publication of Shenoute’s textual corpus.16

Textual boundaries Within Egypt, the boundaries between those of different beliefs were often laid down and negotiated in texts. These boundaries were many and not fixed. For instance, the term ‘Christian’ implies a unity which simply was not present. For example, there were tensions between the assertions of monastic and ecclesiastical authority, which frequently did not coincide.5 Many central texts for Christians were translations and copies of the psalms and gospels. The methods by which such texts were made public or communicated to their communities included public recitation, circulation of books and manuscripts and public display.6 For example, a sermon condemning heretics was written up on the whitewashed walls of the tomb of Daga, which had been transformed into the church of the Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes.7 Furthermore, texts were incorporated into art forms, into textiles, wall paintings and woodwork.8 This is particularly demonstrated by the interior of the churches of Old Cairo (Babylon). For example, a lintel of carved sycamore wood, from the fifth/sixth century once inside the Church of Al-Mo’allaqa depicted the Entry into

Steinemann see Bagnall 1993, 257-8 and Wipszycka 1984, 287; Wipszycka 1972. 1 Lane Fox 1996, 128-9. 2 Youtie 1971. 3 See Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 7. 4 Lefort 1955, I; Bagnall 1993, 258. 5 Krawiec 2002, 14-16. 6 Frankfurter 1993, 33; Winlock and Crum 1926, 196-208. 7 Crum and White 1926, plate XV. 8 Bénazeth, Durand and Rutschowscaya 1999.

Török 2005, 351. Gabra 1999, 88, 96-7, 110-1. 11 Sheridan 2007 on rhetoric in Coptic sermons. 12 Downer 2007, 441; Vliet 2006, 54. 13 Orlandi 1991, 1191-6. 14 The dates for Shenoute’s life are taken from Emmel 2004, 11-12; see Emmel 2008b for general discussion of Shenoute. 15 Lubomierski 2007, 533-4; 2008; Mekhaiel 2008. 16 Leipoldt 1903; Leipoldt and Crum 1906; Bell 1983; Emmel 2004. 9

10

70

The Coptic Period Textual World The narrative themes in Shenoute’s hagiography demonstrate instead those aspects of the Coptic monastic life considered to be important. Shenoute was firmly placed in the Old Testament tradition, as the heir to a nonEgyptian world, and was compared to the prophet Elijah. Shenoute’s holy characteristics were emphasised throughout: he showed self-discipline, denying himself sleep; he was humble; he was so holy that he was able to travel on a cloud.1 He was also placed in opposition to wrong thinking groups of people, these included the Hellenes, the Blemmyes and the barbarians, and Shenoute’s tangible power was such that he rivalled local power-brokers.2

transport him to Babylon. Barbarians also caused John to leave Scetis, as they were described as having destroyed the churches. When living in the desert, away from the barbarians, John continued to convert people and perform miracles. When describing the burial of John, Zacharias took the opportunity to condemn the Council of Chalcedon along with all heretics.8 The lessons of hagiographies were wound into a lively narrative which meant they had the potential to be entertaining as well as instructive. Polemical texts by contrast were frequently a series of instructions backed up by biblical quotation: lively, but not in a narrative framework. The greatest body of such texts comes from the White Monastery, and is attributed to Shenoute and to those within his monastery. These demonstrate well the disjuncture some in the Coptic period tried to make both with the non-Biblical past and with disturbing elements in the present. Shenoute’s style of writing is such that it is completely infused with Biblical references, quotations and imagery as he fashioned himself in the style of an Old Testament prophet.9 Close analysis of biblical texts was used to justify a particular point of view, for example Shenoute argued that it was possible to be a devout Christian and be married.10 His writings also reveal his familiarity with the Greek textual world.11 These texts were sometimes addressed to large numbers of people, displaced as a result of political unrest and seeking refuge in the environs of the White Monastery, and were copied and circulated widely. In such texts certain groups of people could be identified for condemnation, including lapsed Christians, Jews and heretics, and the alleged hideous misdeeds of non-Christians could be described.12 Shenoute frequently condemns Hellenes, as also seen above in the Life of Shenoute, which suggests a violent clash between the Christian and the non-Christian during this period, alongside a rejection of the past. It is, however, uncertain whether this word simply refers to non-Christians or to Christians who were not Christian in the way Shenoute thought they should be.13 Rather the people Shenoute identifies as Hellenes may simply sometimes have been hellenised Christians, ie Christians who spoke Greek rather than Coptic, and who retained many Greek cultural practices, such as the ownership of statues on mythological themes, and who did not view

By their very nature, hagiographies presented a picture of the world which was unequivocal, and not necessarily particularly connected with reality.3 Boundaries were set up between those who were right-thinking and those who were not. Hence they are informative about perceptions rather than actualities. In about the eighth century an individual called Isaac wrote the Life of Samuel of Kalamun. In contrast to Shenoute, Samuel spent much of his life in the western desert, in the Faiyum, then in the Siwa oasis during the seventh century.4 His life was one of privitations imposed by others, yet he remained firm in his own beliefs. This text contains a vivid description of the impact of being forced to live with those of different belief systems, and uniquely associates the borderland with a ‘wild woman’.5 A group of hostile, nomadic peoples, described as barbarians captured Samuel. He was kept in captivity, undergoing harsh treatment until eventually he succeeded in converting some of the barbarians. Isaac places much emphasis on the strange religious customs of the barbarians, and how life became better for Samuel as soon as the barbarians had acknowledged the validity of his religious beliefs.6 The purpose of hagiographies, in providing instruction, inspiration and guidance meant that similar motifs appear in all the texts. Some were written long after the subject’s death, but this did not impede the presentation of just as lively a narrative. For example, the Life of St John the Little was written by Zacharias of Sakha in the eighth century with no personal knowledge of the saint who had lived from c.339 – c.409.7 The themes are similar to those in the two texts above: like Samuel, John went to Scetis to become a monk, and like Shenoute, he enjoyed the miraculous intervention of a cloud, provided this time to

See chapters 3-5, 75-6, 81. Leipoldt and Crum 1906; Young 1993; Emmel 2004; Brakke 2007, 53; Behlmer 2008. 10 Penn 1995. 11 Sidarus 2008, 190; Emmel 2004, 206. 12 See Amélineau 1888, 112-3; and Westerfield 2003, 8-9 for indepth discussion of section in the sixth century Panegyric on Macarius of Tkôw where pagans are described killing Christian children. 13 Cameron 2007; see Westerfield 2003, 11 for view of Hellenes as referring to anyone non-Christian who could not be otherwise categorised (for example, as a Manichaean); also Choat 2006, 435. 8 9

1 See chapters 18, 12, 21, 54-67; Leyerle 2000, 452; compare Kuhn and Tait 1996, 1-2, 7, 142-5, stanza 19-21. 2 See chapters 83, 89-90, 106-108; see below for discussion of translation of Hellenes, Blemmyes and barbarians. 3 See Smith 2002, 246-7 on Frankfurter’s too literal reading of an episode in the Life of Shenoute. 4 Alcock 1983; Kuhlmann 1998, 174. 5 ‘Wild woman’ as used by Behlmer; see Behlmer 2007, 413-4. 6 Chapters 14, 17-23. 7 Mikhail and Vivian 1997; Amélineau 1894, 316-410.

71

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt that as contrary to their Christian beliefs.1 Though Shenoute would have had very different opinions on that, hence his expeditions to such wealthy hellenised Christians to attack their houses and statues.2 Certainly, it seems to be significant that Shenoute’s depiction of paganism is of something entirely Greek, with deities always given Greek names.3 He appears completely ignorant of local Egyptian deities and religious practices, perhaps suggesting that any such practices had ceased to exist in the area by the time of Shenoute.4 Further nuances are added by Emmel’s argument that the pagan Gesios who features in the Life of Shenoute as well as in texts written by Shenoute may actually have been the former governor of Thebais and a ‘crypto-pagan’.5

responding to the Nag Hammadi texts, and attacking both Origenist and Evagrian Gnosticism.7 These types of Coptic literary texts all demonstrate the importance attached to belief in official discourse.8 One eighth century texts asks rhetorically ‘why should I say these things to the ignorant Jew?’.9 Someone’s personal identity was bound up with their religious beliefs. This should have made it a world far harder to control, as differences were everywhere with many openly made statements of disagreement. Heresy was as much a concern as simple ignorance of Christianity, and condemnation of people was usually simply on the basis of their beliefs rather than nationality.10

There is a well-known example of when Shenoute actually deals directly with the problems of explicitly Egyptian cultural forms of the past. In one of his wellknown writings he discusses hieroglyphs, displaying his lack of knowledge about how the writing system worked. He compares the present state of a shrine to the actions which would go on there once it had been christianised. He directly contrasts the hieroglyphs to righteous texts. A long list of animals was incited in order to describe the hieroglyphs, then Shenoute states that all these signs are nonsensical and will be replaced by the scriptures.6 The concern with pagan shrines occupied about half of the text, which also covers the problems of lapsed Christians, the kingdom of heaven, wealth and the behaviour of women.

Apocalyptic texts also attempted to delineate the world clearly for right-thinkers, and also at times provided a more nationally based source of personal identity. The Apocalypse of Elijah is a classic example of this. This was probably composed in Greek, but translated into several Coptic dialects around the end of the third century. The earliest extant manuscript dates to the beginning of the fourth century and is in Akhmimic. The text is concerned with the end of the world, how good will be pitched against evil, with the righteous Christians surviving judgement day to enjoy paradise. It has been argued that as well as owing much to Jewish and Biblical tradition, the text is also firmly rooted in the Egyptian experience.11 Thus parallels can be made with Egyptian kingship ideology as well as with Demotic literature. A key theme is the survival of Egypt in the face of disorder inflicted by her traditional enemies. The Assyrian kings and the Persians cause chaos in Egypt, with the Nile flowing blood, until a king rises to save Egypt. In order to banish chaos, places of non-Christian worship had to be destroyed as well. This text maintains the idea of Egypt as a unified and distinct entity, whose fate is not only linked to the banishment of hostile outsiders but also the elimination of those who do not follow the true Christian path. So, whilst incorporating contemporary concerns and traditions into the text, the Apocalypse of Elijah also seems to be suggesting a generalised literary memory of Egypt’s distinctness and re-claiming it as a focus for Egyptians.12 This text was not unique in doing this: for example, the Coptic story of Cambyses’ invasion of Egypt. When

The tone of these polemical texts, written either by Shenoute or by his associates, is such that it appears that they felt their way of life was continually under threat, as it may well have been. Indeed, a heretical catechical text was found inside the White Monastery itself. Shenoute’s response to this discovery was probably read out in public, and in this he appealed to the memory of Athanasius and his suppression of the Meletians in order to demonstrate that catechical texts should not be tolerated. He also worked his way through the beliefs of the heretics, demonstrating that each belief had a false basis. This included the belief that there were many worlds in the universe, perhaps suggesting that he was

See Cameron 2007 for this interpretation. Others would argue these expeditions were exclusively to pagan shrines, see for example Török 2005, 91 who argues that these accounts show that paganism was very active. 3 Smith 2002, 243-4. 4 Smith 2002, 244-5; see also Minnen 2006, 82 who argues that there was not much left for Shenoute to christianize. 5 See Emmel 2002; also Emmel 2008a for analysis and publication of crucial text concerning Gesios. 6 See Young 1981, 349-50, lines 25-14; compare with Westerfield 2003, 7 who says that Shenoute’s account is ‘relatively accurate but coloured by the presence of a biblical subtext Ezekiel 8: 7-10 and informed by a Christian agenda’. She compares it to the fifth century story of Theophilus and Three Thetas.

See Orlandi 1982, 85-6, 88-9, 95. Gotter 2008 on literary motif of temple destruction. 9 Elanskaya 1994, 387. 10 See Sahas 1990, 57; Reymond and Barns 1973, 5 ‘the crudest manifestations of national and racial prejudice are not to be found in the native literature about Egyptian martyrs, provincial as it is’. 11 See also Enmarch 2008, 28 who argues that despite similarities in themes between the Middle Kingdom text The Dialogue of Ipuwer and the Lord of All and Coptic apocalyptic literature we do not need to assess this as demonstrating direct transmission of the text. See similar but more general statement in Parkinson 2009, 218. 12 Steindorff 1899; Frankfurter 1993, 17-8, 159-238.

1

7

2

8

72

The Coptic Period Textual World Cambyses was attempting to invade Egypt, he tried unsuccessfully to outwit the Egyptians, including writing a letter in the name of the king of Egypt.1

especially were eagerly tapped for evidence of this.6 The priority given to publishing Greek material has distorted perceptions of historical context.

The content of the above Coptic literary texts provides an insight into some of the ‘choices’ facing someone living during the Coptic period. Most of the above texts survive from the White Monastery, and so demonstrate that particular world. They also demonstrate wider horizons as well because a significant proportion of the texts in the White Monastery were part of a body of material circulated across Egypt including to the White Monastery. The anxiety seen in many of the texts show that it was not possible to eliminate heretical or non-Christian beliefs, with continual reminders both of the happiness which may result from conversion and of the eternal punishment for those who resist. Underlying this Coptic textual tradition were the numerous magical texts in which help was sought from a variety of sources by those identifying with Christian beliefs. Hence, despite their often unequivocal nature, Coptic literary texts do not present a simple, clear-cut world and could not appeal to the entire population of Egypt, some of whom looked to different sources of personal identity. It is with this in mind that a distinct body of texts (letters), written by those with political and religious power, as well as by those without, is approached.

As more material has been published, far greater complexities are being read from the letters, some of which show a unity of expression whether Christian or not and irrespective of language.7 It is not possible to attribute a letter to a Christian author simply on the basis of alleged Christian sentiments, with style not indicative of religious belief.8 Instead of segregating letters into illassigned categories, analysing the purpose and context of a letter is now a more useful technique in accessing meaning behind these texts.9 The varied contexts and purposes of letters have the potential to alter significantly any assertions of personal identity and social power. It is also important to highlight the spoken element to such letters. As in the New Kingdom letters, spoken messages would have accompanied the writing of letters, as well as the delivery or recitation of all the types of letters.10 Another hope felt by long-past editors of letters is summarised by this statement: ‘in private letters especially the varied life of the common people stands self-portrayed’.11 This statement is over-enthusiastic for two reasons. First in the context of the absence of universal, or near universal, literacy, and secondly because of the social restraints which seem to have governed the composition of a letter. Formulaic expressions were as central to letters from this period as they were in the New Kingdom. This is seen in many of the letters discussed below, in which certain conventions and formulae persisted across time as well as across those with different beliefs. These conventions have been studied in detail. Greek letters have been the focus of analysis. In these, three or four main sections have been identified, each of which could be expanded and embellished according to the purpose of the letter. Any embellishments were also dependent upon the conventions of a particular period. To aid this cohesive style, there would have been letter writing manuals in Egypt.12 Coptic letters were as carefully formulated, with the same divisions and similarly formulaic expressions, arising as they frequently did from the same context, with the same authors.13 But it is for this ‘varied life’ that

LETTERS A basic definition of letters, made in the 1920s, still stands: they were a means of communication between those who chose not to, or who were not able to, carry out that communication in verbal form.2 In the first half of the nineteenth century, a book was compiled with a list of letters so far known, from what the author termed ‘the earliest times’ until the fifth century CE. Different types of letters were included and the body of the book consisted of a study of the letters of the church fathers.3 Much of the historiography of research into letters merely reveals the inevitable prejudices of political context. For example, in the 1930s the statement was made that the expression of love was felt to be ‘beyond the competence of the Egyptian race mixture’.4 Nonetheless, this historiography has also had a longer-term impact on actual approaches to Egyptian material, in which any letters where expressions were thought to be mirroring ‘our’ perceptions were identified as Christian and often studied separately.5 The mere existence of letters was also thought to represent the workings of a more modern world, and Greek letters

6 Meecham 1923, 70 celebrated the universality of human nature as represented by letters. 7 Choat 2006, 15-7; 148-9. 8 Compare with Dunand and Zivie-Coche 2004, 334 who point out that it is difficult to distinguish a non-Christian burial from a Christian burial. 9 Exler 1976, 15-8; Stirewalt 1993, 2, 6-25 for three settings of letters, ‘extended’, ‘normative’ and ‘fictitious’. 10 Karlsson 1962, 17. 11 Meecham 1923, 21. 12 Exler 1976; White 1981, 91; Karlsson 1962, 15, 112; Ioannidou 1986, 6. 13 Biedenkopf-Ziehner 1983; see 1996, 22-9 for a comparison of motifs such as homesickness in Late Ramesside letters and in

Jansen 1950; Cruz-Uribe 1986, 55; Lloyd 1994, 198. Meecham 1923, 37. 3 Roberts 1843. 4 Winter 1933, 129 wrote this when discussing reasons for the absence of love letters in the corpus of material; see also Bell 1922. 5 Winter 1933, 155, 167-70. 1 2

73

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt editors have pored over papyri and ostraca, struggling to decipher and translate sometimes very obscure letters. Social codes and norms surrounded the whole process of letter writing, as in the New Kingdom, but they do have the potential to preserve uniquely direct snapshots into the past, including what can happen when social norms are abandoned.1

between monastic and non-monastic.10 Most of the Coptic letters are undated, with any suggestions of date made by modern editors usually based on handwriting style or provenance and cover a broad time-span of a century or more.11 Sometimes the use of letters to write to people in close proximity, even within the same monastic complex, seems bewildering, why could they not just have spoken to one another? For example, many of Shenoute’s letters are written not to men, but to women, nuns, who were living in the female compound at the White Monastery. Yet due to the fact that Shenoute was no longer able to enter the female area he had to write to them; this did not apply in the case of his communications with monks which could remain spoken.12

One of the many exciting aspects to studying such a body of material is that it is ever-growing. This is both due to new material from ongoing excavations, as well as to the vast amounts of unpublished material which is in museums and libraries awaiting publication.2 Sites and archives preserve Greek letters alongside the Coptic. In the process of sifting through material, much of my evidence with a known provenance stems from a group of sites which have preserved texts in Greek, Coptic, Latin and Arabic alongside one another. For example, these include Upper Egyptian towns such as Aphrodito,3 the Middle Egyptian town of Oxyrhynchus4 (published Oxyrhynchus letters are Greek, despite the fact that numerous Coptic texts were found there as well),5 and from the Faiyum area, from towns such as Dionysias and Karanis.6 Three monastic sites also feature strongly. The first is Deir el Bala’izah, a monastery twelve miles south of Asyut, which was excavated by Petrie. The secure provenance of the material makes it possible to date the texts to 675-775, 370 of the 3000 have been published.7 The second site is the Monastery of Epiphanius which was situated on the west bank at Thebes and occupied until about the ninth century. Texts from that site also have a secure provenance due to its careful excavation.8 The third site is that of Wadi Sarga, a settlement site about fifteen miles south of Asyut which was probably occupied between the sixth and seventh centuries by members of a monastic community and possibly others.9 The monastic context of that material naturally emphasises the monastic as a potent focus for identity. This may be apt, as one of the features of the Coptic period may well have been a particular type of intense religious culture which meant that not only economic need dictated the linkages

The authors of letters included powerful figures such as Athanasius, Besa, or a government official, alongside much more peripheral figures whose lives are otherwise lost. How far did the views expressed by such differing writers concur? What were the relationships between different forms of text? In the process of surveying the source material patterns in the evidence have emerged, from which I provide examples. DELINEATION OF THE WORLD In direct contrast to New Kingdom Egypt, there were a number of ever shifting official identities to which a resident of Egypt could subscribe. Clear guidance and instruction could be given by those in Egypt with influence. Thus there were different groups of people, dispersed across the country, all with their different foci. When political control was tight, then there was the added focus of a central power, whether Roman, Byzantine or Islamic, demanding taxes, or corvée duty and delineating the remit of their power. The powerful Throughout the Coptic period, official letters were written and sent within Egypt as certain duties were exacted from the population. In the initial section of these letters the writers would list their titles, situating themselves in their political context. Clear instructions were given to ensure the compliance of the population, who may or may not have stemmed from the same set of beliefs as their rulers. Unlike the New Kingdom, officials in the Coptic period had to write frequently to those who chose neither to identify with the state, nor with the specific religious beliefs of their rulers despite the fact that these people were meant to be their subjects. This made the challenge of compliance more complex, although it was tackled in a similar way, with bald statements of authority, justification and threats.

1

See Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 5, 9; Krawiec 2002, 6 who uses letters written by Shenoute as the main source material for a discussion of gender in the White Monastery. 2 For example, excavations at Kellia and western Thebes continue to produce new material; unpublished material in museums and libraries is being made ever more accessible, through, eg, the use of computer databases, and through being catalogued, see Clackson 2007 on Oxyrhynchus material. 3 MacCoull 1988, 2-9. 4 MacLennan 1968, 12. 5 Choat 2006, 30-3. For all-encompassing volume on aspects of the city, its history and texts, see Bowman et al 2007. 6 Davoli 1998, 73-116, 301-24. 7 Kahle 1954, volume 1. 8 Winlock and Crum 1926; Crum and White 1926. 9 Crum and Bell 1922.

10

Krawiec 2002, 20-5. Worrell and Husselman 1942, 171. 12 Emmel 2004, 557. 11

74

The Coptic Period Textual World guaranteed them their right to live in safety and under their protection as long as they continued to pay their polltax, which they had not paid during a rebellion. This was ordered in a late seventh/early eighth century Greek letter. It survives in Greek, but with the opening formula in Arabic as well, in which both the Islamic message (‘in the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate. There is no God but God, he alone and Mahommed is God’s messenger’) and the name of the governor of Upper Egypt are stated.9

For an official writing in Latin on behalf of the ‘Count of the Thebaid frontier’ in 505, these challenges were dealt with by formulaic assertions of authority which could have stemmed from the Roman empire at the height of its power.1 The titles of superior are listed, and the order is said to come straight from the emperor, who is described in set terms. He is entitled ‘Augustus’, and at the same time his order is granted a sanctity, it is the ‘sacred order of our lord Anastasius, the most pious, the conqueror, the eternal Augustus’.2 The aim of the letter is to ensure the recipient meets his military service duties. The recipient is identified in three ways, first by his name (Heracleon), then by his father’s name, and finally by his city of origin.3

Alongside such assertions of political control, in which religious beliefs were made clear, were official letters in which religious leaders sought to maintain religious authority. One of the methods used by Christian leaders to assert authority, to provide guidance, and to delineate the boundaries needed to maintain a Christian life was via festal letters.10 These were addressed to the Christian population as a whole, not to a particular person (‘expanded’ setting), and as such were read out in churches, monasteries and in the open air, to an audience which often would have consisted primarily of those committed to the religious life. One of Athanasius’s letters was written in Greek on the wall of the vestibule of the tomb of Daga at Thebes, the church of the Monastery of Epiphanius.11 The wall of the vestibule was whitewashed, covering up any hieroglyphic texts and then the text was written on top. This letter survives in several copies, and Athanasius states that ‘orthodox monks in all places’ are his audience. The aim of the letter is to ensure that monks do not turn to heresy: Athanasius immediately asserts his authority with the opening statement that he is the Archbishop of Alexandria. He orders the monks to ignore any heretics. Such a letter would presumably have been read to the monks at the Monastery of Epiphanius, after which it was carefully copied onto the walls of the church, a decision dictated by the importance of the letter’s message. Heresy must be combated. Here we see hieroglyphs being covered up, removed from sight, and in their place a Greek text reminding people to remain true to their Christian beliefs, not to descend into heresy. In the process of finding a useful wall to display the text, the monks failed to obscure completely the ancient Egyptian world, they left the bottom row of hieroglyphs on display. Perhaps hieroglyphs did not worry them as much as we sometimes seem to think they should have done.

Following the Muslim conquest of Egypt, letters frequently had to be written to the non-Muslim population. Authority in that case often had to be asserted without any shared belief. Nonetheless, the religious identity of the letterwriter was made clear in the opening and closing formulae, despite the fact it may have had little resonance for the recipient. From the town of Aphrodito, which was the capital of an administrative area, some of the official letters written whilst Kurrah ibn-Sharik was governor (709-14) survive. These were written in Greek, Coptic or Arabic, with some of the taxation letters bilingual (Greek/ Arabic) whilst others were non-literal translations.4 The governor commenced his letters, which were frequently written by underlings on his behalf, with the phrase ‘in the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate’, included the address, in which the governor’s authority would be asserted, and then stated ‘I praise God, there is no other God’.5 After this statement of religious belief, the business of the letter could be dealt with, in this case the collection of taxes from bishops, and the letter ends with the Islamic wish that ‘peace be on those who follow the guidance’.6 This particular ending seems to be one which was specifically aimed at non-Muslims, letters written to Muslims ended with ‘the grace of God’.7 In another letter of the governor, demanding taxes from farmers, the actual writer of the letter stated his name and religion, he was the ‘Muslim ibn Laban’.8 This contrast between the religious identities of those with political power and those without was particularly pronounced in the letters written to the residents of the monasteries at Thebes. Their Muslim rulers

Public denunciations could also be made by renowned religious figures as a way of asserting control over those who had failed, and as a threat to others. So a letter ostensibly addressed to one person was also intended to be read out and communicated to a much wider group of people. Besa, Shenoute’s disciple, wrote to a lapsed nun, Herai. The letter is preserved in a seventh/eighth century copy, showing its message persisted through time. The sins

1

P.Ryl.IV 609. Lines 3-4 3 See Malouta 2009 on the use of a patronymic as a formal way of identifying people in Roman Egypt. 4 See Abbott 1938, 7; Ragib 1981, 173. 5 See Abbott 1938, 42-4; Oriental Institute no. 13757 – an Arabic letter. 6 See lines 14-5. 7 Abbott 1965, 24. 8 Abbott 1938, 47-9, Oriental Institute no. 13756, in Arabic with a Greek translation of the address, Abbott speculates that the letter writer may have been a Christian convert to Islam. 2

9

Bell 1926, 266-75. Brakke 2000, 1114. 11 P.Mon.Epiph. 585. 10

75

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Such designations, however, did not need to refer to non-Egyptians nor did they need to be applied solely to those who physically attacked the Nile Valley. They could simply be used to signify anyone who did not conform to the writer’s definition of correct living.5 In the biography of Samuel of Kalamun, as mentioned earlier, the potential for an individual to shake off the status of barbarian once Christianity had been embraced was demonstrated. The use of the term ‘barbarian’ to signify anyone who might cause any sort of disorder, physical or otherwise, had a long history. In origin, the word was used by the Greeks for anyone non-Greek, which did not necessarily need to include negative connotations, but usually did.6 The early Christians themselves were designated as barbarians by the Roman world. Having achieved integration into the Roman world, however, Christians ceased being identified as barbarians, but instead non-Christians became the barbarians, using the word in the same way as Hellenistic and Greek sources. Following the Muslim conquest, Arabs were identified as ‘barbarians’, as people without culture.7 It was even possible for Shenoute to urge his congregation who had just fled from ‘barbarian’ attacks, to go on to treat their children ‘barbarically’.8

committed by Herai had led her to abandon her status as a Christian, and be liable to condemnation as part of the pagan world. Herai’s situation meant that she was now descended from the pagan enemies of the Hebrews: ‘Your father, he is an Amorite, and your mother is a Hittite’.1 Herai had entered a world which was in total opposition to the Christian, merely by leaving the monastic community.2 To emphasise this, Besa had been forced to mention the traditional enemies in the Old Testament, who also, incidentally, were enemies of the ancient Egyptian state too. The intensity of the language and the manipulation of biblical excerpts makes Heike Behlmer’s analysis of this text as demonstrating specifically ‘gendered abuse’ particularly apt.3 Potential destabilising influences In a world where the main powerbrokers had fundamental differences in the ways in which they made sense of their worlds, it was inevitable that there would be no agreement on what constituted a threat to their own perceptions of what was a proper ordered life. It is these flagrant oppositions within Egypt between people seeking to exert authority which I find so fascinating in comparison to New Kingdom Egypt. Here in the Coptic Period we find individuals trying to capture every aspect of someone’s life, whether it is in the realm of religious beliefs or in enforcing labour/military duties or in demanding taxation. Such domination of an individual’s life is familiar from the New Kingdom, but now we see a variety of opposing ‘options’ officially available. Such a huge gap between worlds was known in the New Kingdom, but what is fascinating about the Coptic Period is the apparent freedom for disagreement to be openly stated. No longer was it necessary to negotiate opposition through literary texts.

Letter writers situated themselves against the background of the non-Egyptian, of barbarian or Persian aggression, whether writing in Greek or Coptic. They defined themselves in opposition to such categories of people. For example, a woman who described herself as the ‘mother of Moses’ wrote to a Roman official, Abbinaeus, living in Dionysias (in the Faiyum). Her letter, an appeal written in Greek in about 346, asked that someone called Heron be released from military service four days early. He had been enlisted in ‘the pursuit of the barbarian’.9 Direct appeals for assistance in the face of attack by the alleged non-Egyptian were made to those within and outside Egypt. For example, the bishop of Syene and Elephantine wrote in Greek in the fourth/fifth century to the emperors Theodosius and Valentinus.10 The impact of those labelled as ‘barbarians’ is described. The severity of the situation was emphasised by the writer with the phrase ‘we are in the midst of the neighbouring barbarians’, whose crime also included destroying churches. Such a motif appears in letters from all over the Byzantine world, not only from Egypt.

Even in New Kingdom Egypt threats to the accepted, ordered way of life came from those who had, in theory, accepted that sense of what it meant to be a right-thinking Egyptian. In the Coptic Period, anyone who was not of the same belief system could be perceived as a threat, even if they were not using physical aggression. Often, however, it was the combination of a clash of beliefs and aggressive attacks which marked out a group of people as a destabilising influence. The same labels were used for different groups of people. Both the non-Christian and the Christian were forced to flee from barbarian attacks. One of the most frequent non-Christian groups of people to attack those in the Nile Valley were the Blemmyes, who at intervals exerted control over areas inside Egypt. When the term ‘barbarian’ is used in Shenoute’s writings, it is often presumed that it is referring to the Blemmyes.4

When political power was lacking, or unreceptive to appeals for help, then people sought assistance from more local organisations, such as the monasteries. Papas writes in Coptic to Apa Elisaius making an emphatic appeal on

5

See Krawiec 2002, 49 for discussion of letter where Shenoute uses the term in just such a way. 6 Finley 1975, 122. 7 Stroumsa 1996, 343-7, 351, 358. 8 Emmel 1998, 82, 91. 9 P.Lond.II 410. 10 P.Leid.II Z; Winter 1933, 181.

1

Kuhn 1956, 109, V, 4, volume 2, 105. She had also asked to take with her the belongings that she had deposited with the monastery when she had originally entered it. 3 Behlmer 2002, 21-7. 4 See Barns 1964, 158; Revillout 1874; Rémondon 1952, 73-8. 2

76

The Coptic Period Textual World behalf of himself and his family.1 His family had become refugees, escaping from what was described as the ‘south’ to the ‘north’ because of the ‘Persian’. Papas eloquently describes the urgency of the situation, his children are hungry, he has had to bring them north ‘that they may live’, and he is also worried that the ‘Persian’ will come north to find him. The aggressor is simply referred to as the ‘Persian’ with no further signifiers provided. The recipient clearly did not need any additional information in order to understand the nature of the threat, a generalised label sufficed. For the modern reader, it leaves several questions open: whether the term ‘Persian’ was used for a group of people or just for one particular person, and what the ‘Persian’ had actually done.2 Two women, Maria and Susanna, when writing to Panachora at the Monastery of Epiphanius, were explicit about the misdeeds of the ‘barbarians’.3 This letter is in a fragmentary state, and was written in two sections, the first by Maria and the second by Susanna, in their own handwriting. Suitably, given the fact they are asking Panachora for help, they show her great respect, but are also specific that they have been the victims of actual physical violence: the ‘barbarians’ had taken the father and the son’ and were also alleged to have murdered someone. Another woman living in Thebes, wrote to a priest describing the difficulties she was in, attributing many of them to the Persians.4 She was alone, as her husband had died and her son had left Thebes, and was unable to pay the tax she owed. The Persians had stolen her cattle (line 18), and were also accused of having beaten her son (lines 15-6). She urges the recipient to help her, as she is in danger of being evicted from her house and being forced to be an exile (lines 23-4). A resignation about the inevitability of Persian attacks enabled preparations to be made in order to minimise their effect. In this, monasteries could play a central part. An ostracon, found at the Monastery of Epiphanius, recorded the measures taken by a widow called Thecla and her husband in order to avoid the disruption caused by the Persians. Thecla writes to the monastery, asking for payment for corn which her husband had given to a priest to sow. This corn had been sown in order to provide necessary extra food and supplies should the Persians come south, causing chaos.5

their situation concisely. These terms were used both for those who conducted aggressive incursions and raids against people living in Egypt as well as for those who did not follow the same belief system as the letter writer. Yet the interchangeability of these terms leads to a lack of precision as soon as a letter is read out of its original context. This is seen in particular in a late sixth/early seventh century Coptic ostracon from Luxor.6 The writers, Agathon and Martha, ask that the recipient ‘be so kind to pray for me as the barbarians have disturbed us very much’. The original intention behind this sentence remains elusive, given the use of ambiguous language: we are left uncertain as to who the barbarians were, and what they have done, with the Coptic verb used referring to dissent as well as to literal acts of aggression. So we are left with two options for understanding this letter: the writers were victims of physical aggression on the part of non-Egyptians (or rebellious Egyptians) or they had had ideological disagreements with certain inhabitants of Luxor. In both cases, however, it is clear that Agathon and Martha saw themselves as the reverse of barbarians.7

The use of generic terms to denote fear-inducing groups of people, distinguishing them from those who were no threat to ordered living, allowed letter writers to express

Another useful categorisation which was completely subjective on the part of the letter writer was that of ‘stranger’. People could be termed strangers whether they came from a neighbouring town or from outside Egypt. The condition of being a stranger was not one to be envied, although a stranger did not necessarily have to be a source of disorder. It was an official designation, as well as a term used informally by the wider population.8 This was reflected in the Greek and Coptic terminology. As had long been established, the Greek ξενος could refer to a stranger or to a foreigner, and bound up with the term were Greek perceptions of the hospitality owed to a stranger. The Coptic word for foreigner held both meanings as well, and with the addition of mai became the term for ‘hospitable’.9 φυγας was used in both Greek and Coptic to mean stranger as well as fugitive. One of the most frequent uses of the designation ‘stranger’ in an official context was in references to tax collection. A typical example of this is an official Greek letter written in 308/309 in which the demand is made that all strangers living in particular villages are handed over for tax purposes.10 As with other sectors of the population, strangers had to be kept track of. Thus in the eighth century a high official (possibly the governor of Aphrodito) wrote in Coptic to a subordinate demanding that he monitor the strangers of that district.11 For the

O.CrumVC 67. 2 Crum 1939a, 32. 3 P.Mon.Epiph.170; see also Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 245 who try to identify the barbarians directly with the Persian invasion of 619-629; see also Winlock and Crum 1926, 99 who also tried to associate three other letters P.Mon.Epiph.300 (see below), P.Mon.Epiph.433 and P.Mon.Epiph.324 with that Persian invasion. 4 Drescher 1945, 91-2, 94. 5 P.Mon.Epiph.300.

Smith 1974, 61-6. Unrest in Egypt could also be referred to without use of the terms ‘barbarian’ and ‘Persian’; see P.Mon.Epiph.624. 8 MacMullen 1964, 184; see also ambiguous contexts for the term in for example O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 50, 1, and use of the Coptic term for foreigner used for animals as well as humans P.Mon.Epiph.413, P.Mon.Epiph.487, O.Vind.Copt.254. 9 See for example P.Neph.15. 10 P.Cair.Isid.126 – this letter is from the archive of Isidorus who lived in Karanis. 11 P.Ryl.Copt.277. 6

1

7

77

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt bishop of Shmoun trying to catch and punish those who had stolen corn, flax and hens, strangers formed just one potential guilty segment of the population.1 He wrote to a town, threatening the population, taking care to specify all its different sectors: ‘now whether it is a man or a woman or a stranger or a man of the town’. Each of these people ‘will be under the curse of the law and the prophets’.2 In seeking to assert his authority, he uses figures from biblical texts and also uses threats based upon biblical curses. His hope presumably was that the people in that town would identify so closely with Christianity that they would be intimidated by such language.

enough.7 The second letter, written in the fifth century by a woman, Tare, demonstrated that it was the presence of family, of friends, which made a non-familiar locality habitable. Tare wrote to her aunt expressing her unhappiness at being in a place called Apamia, possibly the well-known town in Syria. Her mother had just died, and Tare wrote about her ensuing loneliness. Her troubles were two-fold; she was now alone and in a ‘foreign place’.8 As in New Kingdom letters, travel away from the familiar could be seen as something negative, as something to be avoided. One Coptic letter from Bala’izah describes the efforts made by an individual to be released from government service.9 In the first five lines of the letter, the the writer addresses a whole selection of individuals along with their children, asking them to pray for him. He also requested that prayers be made on his behalf in the monasteries and churches of his home village.10 It is only after this quite elaborate introduction that he goes on to describe what has happened to him whilst away from home: ‘God desired and I went to Babylon, through God’s will being safe. I brought the letter in to the governor and God desired and I was released’.11 God’s role in his fate is continually emphasised, and the rest of the letter relates further attempts of the writer to be released. There is no explicit statement by the writer of any unhappiness at being away from home. Nevertheless, his concerted attempts to be released from service alongside his desire to reassure his friends and family and ask for their prayers indicate that he would have preferred to be at home.

Assignation as a stranger immediately consigned someone to a status lower than that of most other sectors in the population. It was a reference routinely made and used in all sorts of official and non-official contexts, Greek and Coptic. Besodorus, writing in Greek, wrote to his friend Theophanes to complain that he had had to find out from strangers how his friend was.3 In a Coptic letter of the seventh/eighth century, the writer draws a contrast between home and the house of stranger: ‘whether you are in the house of a stranger or in your own household you will not lack for anything’.4 This lower status meant that strangers expressed gratitude for kind treatment, and were apparently surprised to receive it. For those who were beneficent towards strangers, it was an extra source of praise. A phrase in a letter written by a group of strangers summarises the situation; they were strangers yet their hosts were kind to them, and this was repaid through the strangers not fulfilling their stereotype; ie they caused no harm to their hosts or to their churches. They wrote: ‘we are strangers and you accepted us because of God and we ourselves have not done evil to you or to your churches’.5 In another example, a new recruit in a monastery, Andreas, asked that the recipient of his letter, a deacon, remember him simply because he was a stranger: ‘you know that I am a stranger’.6

The condition of being away from home, of being amongst those who were unknown, and of thus being a ‘stranger’ was one to be feared. It was felt whether inside or outside Egypt, and assisting someone in such a condition was an action to be praised. Ways in which absence could be eased included letter writing as well as the provision of letters of introduction to someone forced to travel.12 The condition of ‘being a stranger’ was sometimes imposed by the state as a punishment, as seen in the various exiles (within Egypt) endured by Athanasius. Siwa Oasis was just one of the destinations to which people could be exiled.13 People could also impose on themselves a state of exile in order to fulfil a religious need, to demonstrate that they could purposefully undergo hardship. This is demonstrated by three literary texts, which seem to feed upon and feed the feelings expressed in the above letters. In Samuel of Kalamun’s life, Samuel is described as having expressed great joy that

When in the home locality, the status of stranger was discarded. Thus complaints were voiced by those forced to be away from home. This is seen in two Greek letters. The first, a fourth century letter from Oxyrhynchus appears to mirror Butehamon’s complaints when away from Thebes, despite arising from an obviously farremoved context. In this letter, Judas wrote to his father and to his wife, expressing his distaste for being in Babylon. He had had a riding accident whilst away from home, and asked that his father and wife come and help him home. Even though Judas was only in the Egyptian Babylon he wrote as if he was further afield. It was far

P.Oxy.XLVI 3314, see especially lines 16-9; Rea 1978, 103. P.Bour.53; Winter 1933, 159; Collart 1926, 103. 9 P.Bal.187. 10 Lines 4-5, also Kahle 1954, 601, footnote 6. 11 Lines 5-8, see also Kahle 1954, 600. 12 See Leyerle 2000, 458-63 on the perils of travel. 13 Kuhlmann 1998, 173. 7

P.Ryl.Copt.267. 2 Lines 5-7. 3 P.Herm.6 see below for more letters from Besodorus. 4 O.Vind.Copt.286, lines 14-17. 5 P.Mon.Epiph.171. 6 P.Mon.Epiph.192. 1

8

78

The Coptic Period Textual World God was to accompany him to Scetis.1 No longer would he be a stranger: he would be away from home, but with God he would not be alone, he would have someone familiar with him. Two martyrologies from ninth century manuscripts depict the condition of being a stranger as so hard that to have undergone it was a source of extra praise. In the martyrdom of Paese and Thecla, Paese is told by an angel that there were three achievements which merited sainthood: having been a stranger, martyrdom and chastity.2 All three Paese had achieved or was about to. The same criteria, with the exception of chastity, were presented to Shenoufe and his brethren.3 Their martyrdoms were to be carried out in a strange city.

The relationship between the writer and the addressee was established through these formulaic phrases, in which the addressee was often hailed as one far superior to the writer. This was common to letters derived from a variety of contexts, and has been seen as a central aspect to Coptic Egypt in which patronage was the main form of social organisation.4 Status was a key factor in personal identity, whatever the religious belief. For example, in a fourth century Greek letter Anatolius, a follower of Hermes Tremegistus wrote to Ambrosius. Whilst clearly stating his own social position (‘chief prophet’), Anatolius wrote to Ambrosius with great respect, terming him the ‘foremost of the wisdom of the Greeks and one who is pleasing and beneficial for us’.5 Anatolius ends with the request that Hermes Tremegistus and all the gods ‘bestow happiness on you for ever’. This letter is one of several from the same archive, all of which show the same awareness of social niceties, the same desire to praise and flatter others who may or may not have been of higher status than themselves.

The delineation of the world was utterly dependent upon the perspective of the writer. Egypt was now just one of many states undergoing a chaotic and increasingly decentralised political situation, in the midst of which Egyptians found different foci, even following the gradual re-establishment of central power with the Muslim conquest. Thus a superficial Egyptian/non-Egyptian dichotomy only had a very limited relevance, due to the divisions in the Egyptian world, not only on the basis of status/occupation but also on the basis of religious identities. A unifying feature amongst the letter-writers was the willingness to perceive the world in terms of order/disorder, with barbarians, Persians and strangers a source of disorder. It was not necessary to subscribe to pharaonic definitions of chaos vs order to perceive the world in similar terms: the differences (both between pharaonic and Coptic Egypt and between those living in Coptic Egypt) were the solutions to chaos. In Coptic Egypt these could be assessed as subscribing to the correct belief system, be it Christian or non-Christian, or to ensuring the imposition of power, Roman, Byzantine or Muslim. It was such solutions which created outsiders, and which defined the world.

Writers also routinely assert their unworthiness even to write to the recipient, this is especially the case in monastic contexts, where the emphasis on humility is striking. People writing to the monasteries were often writing in order to request assistance of some sort from members of the religious hierarchy. For a Christian seeking to demonstrate that he/she was living in the correct manner and therefore worthy to be assisted, it was perhaps vital to depict oneself as an unworthy individual.6 A Coptic letter typifying this approach is from the sixth/seventh century, from Wadi Sarga. In it, the writer asks for assistance and states ‘I know that I have been daring in that I have written to your most holy and honoured fatherhood, in excess of my worthiness’.7 Sometimes these kinds of statements were made between people of apparently similar status. A bishop, Isaac, writes in Coptic to another bishop, Michaias, about the ordination of a priest.8 Michaias had previously refused to to accept the priest, Isaac is asking that he accepts him, and so addresses Michaias as ‘your angelhood’, ‘your goodness’, ‘your sanctity’ and he signs the letter ‘from Isaac, this humblest bishop’.

The apex of the ordered world The apparently single focus provided by the king for New Kingdom Egyptians was not mirrored in the Coptic period. Religious and political power were not united in one figure. The religious world was one of openly competing and fundamentally opposed beliefs, in which different leaders tried to assert influence and authority. Authority on a political level was similarly asserted by the different echelons of bureaucracy, which did not need to share the same belief system as those under their control. In many of the letters which survive, the writers show a sense of hierarchy and social position. The care with which New Kingdom Egyptians usually addressed those with any power is likewise demonstrated in Coptic period letters, in which formulaic phrases of respect were also central.

Letter writers also demonstrated how closely they allied themselves with the norms of identity through routine use of phrases referring to worshipping or kissing the feet of the recipient. Such phrases were not exclusively used for addressing members of the church hierarchy, and are

MacCoull 1989, 502. This letter is possibly from Hermopolis see Rees 1964, 5; P.Herm.3. 6 Monastery of Epiphanius material shows that those identifying themselves as humble were, for the most part, either clergy or monks/nuns – see Winlock and Crum 1926, 129. 7 O.Sarga 109. 8 O.Crum VC 39, this letter is from Djeme. 4 5

Alcock 1983, 3, 39, 77, 119. Reymond and Barns 1973, 70, 177, 81 Ri. 3 Reymond and Barns 1973, 88, 190, 107 Ri 10. 1 2

79

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt seen in Greek and Coptic contexts. When writing in Greek to a member of the military bureaucracy during the sixth/seventh century, an individual (Christopher) wrote that ‘in writing this I very greatly worship and kiss the footsteps of my master until we meet.’ 1 This letter is only about routine military matters, yet the writer still thought it apt to style himself in this way. A less surprising context for such statements is in a Coptic business letter to a monk, from the late eighth/early ninth century.2 Kosma writes to Apa Georgios, asking that ‘before everything, I greet and kiss the dust of the feet of my patron, lord, father, and all the people who are orthodox.’ His respect was thus only offered to those who fitted within his own belief system and world view, which was at variance with the official world view of those in political power in Egypt at the time. The two viewpoints were able to run alongside each other. Kosma goes on to reiterate his subservience to Apa Georgios, asking him ‘to command your son and your slave’ if there were any further requests. In the archive of the Monastery of Epiphanius several letters record the writer desiring to kiss the feet of the recipient.3 For instance, Apa Victor writes to another monk, Apa Psan, stating ‘before everything I do obeisance to you and I kiss the dust of the feet of your fatherhood which is holy until the good God makes me worthy to see your angel[sic] face to face’.4 The extremes of humility as a vital aspect to personal identity meant that one letter writer stated ‘I lick the dust of the feet of your goodness’,5 and another writer states that he is ‘not worthy to do obeisance to the prints of the feet of your holiness’.6 And such was the power of people addressed in that manner, that their words could be compared to perfume.7 One townsperson writes expressing gratitude to a monk: ‘our whole town is filled with perfume after your lordship spoke about the temptations of which the hater of mankind has carried out.’8 Language was being consciously used to reinforce a community and an individual’s sense of the correct order of the world.

something imposed on someone, therefore to choose to label yourself in such a way shows quite a dramatic reversal of normality. This active denigration of self occurs in letters from the fourth century and later. A fourth/fifth century Christian Greek letter has been unnecessarily singled out as exceptional in the use of its language.10 The writer, Philoxenus addresses his parents and uncle, referring to himself as ‘your slave and worshipper’. He is writing merely to thank the recipients for their presents, to let them know about his health, to ask that they convey his greetings to a list of people, including a nun and to request some prayers, listing the names of five saints. He reinforces his status as a slave once more with the address of the letter: ‘to my most honourable father Zoilus [from] your slave Philoxenus in the lord God’. The type of language in this letter is seen in other types of letters, Greek and Coptic. Theophilus, writing in Greek to his employer John, in the sixth century, called himself a ‘slave of your magnificence’.11 The term παιδαRιον is used in another Greek letter, which may have had its literal meaning of ‘young child’, but could also have had the sense of slave/servant.12 This group of people write to their landowner, showing the same humility as those writing in Coptic to monks from the Monastery of Epiphanius: ‘First we kiss the feet of our good lord. We ask you, lord, give orders to receive the little fish to the esteem of your ‘slaves’. For we know, lord, that we cannot find anything worthy of your status’. A much shorter letter, of uncertain date, sees a man called Pisrael write to a bishop with a similar subservience: ‘I do obeisance to my lord and father, who is honoured in every way, your slave Pisrael’.13 Interestingly, this Pisrael may be associated with the Theban Pisrael who was himself possibly a bishop. Alongside the expressions of humility when dealing with anyone perceived to be of importance, ran declarations of sinfulness on the part of the letter writer. This is now seen as very much a stereotypically Christian attribute, and appears again and again in Coptic Egypt. People wrote letters in order to ask that the recipient aid them in removing their sins. Ultimate forgiveness was acknowledged to come only from God, inevitably the apex of the world for Christian writers in Egypt. In the fourth century Meletian Greek letters, only now recorded in copies, there is an eloquent example of the contrast drawn between sinful self and virtuous other. The writer calls on those more worthy than himself to ask for assistance in removing his sins: he is ‘lowly and afflicted and unworthy to look upon the light of the sun, so that God may [cancel] the decree of my sins by your most secure and most holy prayers’.14 He states that he has

The motif of ‘slave’ was also used as a technique in establishing unworthiness. In both Greek and Coptic, the words for ‘slave’ can also be translated as ‘servant’.9 It is hard to provide a clear-cut distinction between the two, and we should not expect to be able to. Overlapping and blurring between the two terms is inevitable, and is seen in many contexts, including New Kingdom Egypt. It is enough to realise that such terms were normally associated with something negative. They were usually

P.Oxy.LIX 4006. P.Fay.Copt.25; Crum 1893, vi. 3 See P.Mon.Epiph.113; 239; 411. 4 P.Mon.Epiph.431, lines 1-3. 5 P.Mon.Epiph.164. 6 P.Mon.Epiph.140. 7 See P.Mon.Epiph.163; 247; 354. 8 P.Mon.Epiph.216. 9 See Crum 1939b, 665a where xal is translated as servant and slave. 1 2

P.Oxy.LVI 3862; Sirivianou 1989, 133. P.Oxy.I 140. 12 Handley et al 1992, 184-6, note 2; P.Oxy.LIX 4008. 13 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I.52, 6; see Behlmer 2007a for discussion of Pisrael. 14 P.Lond.VI 1917, lines 6-8. 10 11

80

The Coptic Period Textual World written to monks in Lower and Upper Egypt to secure more prayers for the forgiveness of his sins. Coptic letters see this theme again and again.1 One writer, Teras, who lived in Djeme, identified himself as a dog, so bad were his sins.2 He writes to Apa Frange, repeatedly asking for prayers.3 He concludes his letter by thanking Apa Frange for his letters: ‘I rejoiced very much indeed with my whole heart because you remembered a dog which is dead and which stenches, a worthless and rejected sinner. Farewell.’4

life, especially given the overwhelming monastic context of the letters. DIFFERENTIATION WITHIN THE EGYPTIAN WORLD The variety of life patterns followed within Egypt meant that merely living within Egypt’s geographical borders need not have been a primary source of personal identity. This was similar to the position in New Kingdom Egypt, where, even though there was a central government and a distinctly Egyptian world-view, Egyptians could (and were perhaps meant to) look more to the local environment and to their own networks of family, friends and business contacts for a sense of belonging, of identity. The contrast of physical environments was just as strong in Coptic Egypt, and the living conditions differed greatly from place to place. At the same time, different geographical settings did not prevent apparently disparate groups of people sharing in belief systems and a distinctive world-view.

Frequently these types of declarations were quite pragmatic: yes the writer depicted him/herself as completely unworthy and subservient to the recipient but at the same time he/she expected the recipient to do something in return. It was a two-way process, much as in the New Kingdom where an individual could be hailed at the same time as being criticised or asked for help, without hypocrisy.5 These forms of address coupled with denigration of self were not merely naive, unthinking ‘respect’. This was seen above with reference to carefully phrased business letters, but was also seen in other contexts. A Coptic letter from Karnak provides a good example of this. The purpose of the letter was simply to accompany gifts presented to members of the church hierarchy, yet the writer still asks for prayers and holy water in return: ‘be so good as to remember to lift up your hands which are holy and place your shadow over us, and send a little water of blessing so that I can throw it on the animals which are ill.’6

The liberal use of kinship terms in letters created and maintained communities of people with shared beliefs. At times these kinship terms did reflect an actual family relationship, at others, not.7 They are used frequently in letters from all sorts of backgrounds, Christian and nonChristian. A fourth century Greek letter provides a classic example of a wealth of kinship terminology crammed into one letter. Horigenes writes to Sarapammon in order to tell him he cannot meet with him as had been previously arranged. Half the letter, however, is taken up with a long list of people Horigenes is greeting, which includes two so-called mothers and fourteen brothers.8 In another example, Theophanes, the follower of Hermes Tremegistus mentioned above, receives letters from two men, John and Leon, who refer to him as their ‘beloved brother’, and who pass on greetings from ‘all the brothers who are with us’.9 The power of such terms in uniting groups of people separated geographically but united in belief system comes across very strongly in this letter, and is mirrored in letters from other contexts.

Even during the Coptic period, a time usually seen as one of change in both political and religious spheres, those actually living in Egypt seem to have been able to express in writing a clear expression of their own sense of place in the world. There were clear continuities across the centuries in declarations of personal identity. Those who demanded respect and reverence were, as in the New Kingdom, those who held religious authority, political control or who were in a position to affect the lives of those who approached them. Thus it was possible for the father of a family, for a local landowner, for a military overseer, for a monk or for a bishop to be addressed with similar phrases of adoration. For each individual, there could be a different focus to his/her world, ranging from an employer to an ascete. Moreover, the majority of these letters contain no mention of a political power: that was distant and of no apparent relevance to the functioning of

In the archive of fourth century Meletian letters there are texts in Greek as well as Coptic. One of the Greek letters sees Pennes write to Apa Paieous. He describes their 7 For example, see P.Brookl.19; P.Oxy.LXIII 4365; also Choat 2006, 50; Krawiec 2002, 134-60 for a discussion of kinship terminology used by Shenoute to refer to biological family as well as to the monastic ‘family’; see Rubenson 2007, 79 on use of kinship terminology in St. Antony’s letters. 8 P.Oxy.LVI 3859; Sirivianou 1989, 120 who hypothesises that this may be a Christian letter. 9 P.Herm.4 – fourth century Greek, see lines 8-11; see also discussion in Choat 2006, 90-1 who argues this letter could be a Christian one, demonstrating that the non-Christian Theophanes knew and interacted with Christians as well. Once more, close interaction and shared language seems to be a feature of this period. Supposedly contrasting belief systems did not separate people’s social practices.

1See O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 57, 2, 14081; P.Mon.Epiph.208; O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 23, 4. 2 Comparison with an animal forms a particularly vivid use of language to present an upturned view of personal identity; compare with New Kingdom material. 3 See Chapter 5 for Apa Frange who lived in Sheikh Abd elQurna; O.Medin.HabuCopt.137. 4 verso, lines 4-11. 5 See Baines 2001, 18-20. 6 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 54, 1, esp. lines 6-12.

81

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt physical distance but also their proximity provided by their shared religious beliefs.1 He notes how they ‘shall be called Christians in Christ’, and sends greetings to Apa Paieous and his brothers. This is comparable to a letter from the same archive in Coptic, written either to or from Apa Paeious.2 Here the recipient is greeted as ‘a soldier of Christ’ and as ‘my father and my beloved.’ There do not seem to have been implications in terms of personal identity in the choice of whether to use Greek or Coptic in a letter. Much the same sentiments were expressed, whatever the language choice, with the same emphasis on kinship across geographical space. For instance, in one letter, of the late fourth/early fifth century, both Greek and Coptic were used. The majority of the letter is in Greek, with five lines in Coptic.3 Apa Johannes addresses this letter to his ‘beloved brother and blessed in God, Paulos’. This sense of kinship between like-minded people persists through this period. From the sixth century archive of Dioscorus we see his father referred to in a Coptic letter as ‘my beloved honoured brother’,4 and in another letter from this archive the writer refers to the unity provided by a shared belief system: ‘be so good as to remember me, and remember all the brothers and fathers and the whole people of God’.5

This perceived unity provided by religious belief could also be used as a lever for an individual to demand action. If someone wanted to identify with, and belong to, a community of like-minded individuals, then they had to be willing to act in a certain way. Sasnos, a monk, was urged to help out a group of people in debt, ‘for thus it is fitting for your love of Christ.’10 Theon, writing in both Latin and Greek to Pascentius, urges him to treat an old woman and her son with due respect and fairness, ‘as a Christian should’.11 Another individual was encouraged build a church without delay: ‘by your god in heaven, as you shall find wives for your male children, above all, as I am your debtor for this great gift, dedicate yourself to the church’.12 Familial For someone living in Coptic Egypt, there were incredibly close ‘kinships’ caused by shared beliefs, which ran alongside actual familial relationships.13 Family relationships were part of the way to establish someone’s identity, as people were often named in relationship to their fathers.14 Yet in different locations across Coptic Egypt there were individuals who seemed to move purposefully into non-familial groups, cutting across their original identification with their biological family. This obviously had the potential to create tensions. The ideal of correct treatment of family seems to have existed, as in New Kingdom Egypt, but we also have records in letters of failures by offspring to treat their parents as they should. A neglectful son is reprimanded by his parents in a fourth century Greek letter. The parents, Psais and Syra, complain that their son has not visited them for a long time, and inform him that they have both been ill and are waiting for his return in order to kill the pigs.15 A letter from someone called Paul demonstrates the kind of response a son might make to a letter such as the above. His mother had complained that he had not written to her enough.16 He explains that he had only received one letter from her, despite the fact that she had written to him more often. In explaining this, he shows a very respectful attitude to his mother, calling her ‘maternal kindness’ and ‘most revered and most well-born lady mother’.17

In places beyond Egypt’s borders or beyond the immediate setting of home there could be people with whom it would be possible to feel an immediate sense of kinship. The status of being a stranger or a threat was cancelled out as long as that person shared in the same belief system. This idea was reinforced through the category of Greek letters known as letters of introduction. These followed a set format and provided a guarantee of a welcome for a stranger.6 One fourth century letter sees one community send greetings to another, referring to each other as ‘brothers’ and asking that a group of people be treated well: ‘therefore, receive them in love as friends, for they are not catechumens’.7 Such letters eased an individual’s travel across different parts of Egypt, from one community to another, making a journey both safer for the individual and reinforcing connections between religious groups. Some letters may literally have been used as a kind of passport, to be produced at each stage of a journey.8 For instance, one such fourth century Greek letter is addressed to ‘my beloved brothers and fellow ministers in every place’.9

P.NagHamm.68 – a Greek fourth century letter, reused as a binding for the Nag Hammadi texts. 11 P.Oxy.XVIII 2193; fifth/sixth century letter. 12 Didymus writing in Greek to Athanasius; fourth/fifth century letter P.Oxy.LIX 4003, lines 3-11. 13 See Krawiec 2002 for discussion of White Monastery and kinship. 14 See Malouta 2009, 120, 123, 138 on fatherless children in Roman Egypt, whose inability to be identified with a patronymic did not seem to affect their status in any negative way. 15 P.Oxy.X 1299 and discussion in Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 274; see also P.Oxy.XLVIII 3403 and P.Oxy.XLVIII 3396 for similar letters. 16 P.Oxy.LVIII 3932. 17 This kind of respect is mirrored elsewhere: see P.Ryl.IV 624 Roberts and Turner 1952, 114. 10

P.Lond.VI 1919 . P.Lond.VI 1921 for discussion of authorship see Bell 1924, 94. 3 P.Amh.II 145. 4 P.YaleCopt.1; MacCoull 1988, 9. 5 P.YaleCopt.19, lines 5-6. 6 Naldini 1968, 127; Sirivianou 1989, 111-4; see for example fourth century letter P.Oxy.XXXVI 2785. 7 P.Oxy.XXXI 2603, lines 25-6; Harrop 1962, 135, 139. 8 Sirivianou 1989, 114. 9 P.Oxy.LVI 3857. 1 2

82

The Coptic Period Textual World In certain situations, parents were inevitably unable to fulfil their responsibilities towards their children, despite the importance in which the family was held. It was sometimes necessary for parents to sell their children, as slaves/servants, or to donate them to a monastery when other means of support became impossible.1 The protection of orphans, denoted as such when a child’s father had died, and of widows, was seen as a necessary and worthwhile activity. As central to order as it had been in New Kingdom Egypt. For a member of the Melitian community in difficulty, those sharing his beliefs were encouraged to help when a father had been forced to sell his children. This is in a letter dating to 330/340, written in Greek but with the address in Coptic.2 It was written by Herieous who described the financial problems of Pamonthius. He also asked for assistance to be given to Pamonthius, who was a wine dealer who had fallen into debt because of over-taxation. The debts had grown so much that his creditors had sold his possessions and taken his children to sell as slaves. The aim of the letter was to help Pamonthius pay his debts, enabling him to buy his children back. This case was reinforced in a second letter in which Moses and Herieous wrote again. The lack of details in this second letter perhaps indicate that it was written to be circulated round the community as a whole.3 Donating a child to a religious community was a more complex process, not done simply because of financial hardship.4 Legal documents record the process of donation, as do letters in which a monastery could be thanked for taking in a child.5 Apa Victor wrote in Coptic on behalf of parents who had donated their daughter to a monastery. In the letter they expressed their gratitude to the monastery.6

identified himself as a priest, wrote to Damianus, asking that he be kind to the children of the now deceased Stephen. Their fatherless state was identified as a prime reason for being kind to them: ‘you know that they are orphans’. A similar letter, written by Apa John to Apa Isaac asked that he take pity on a widow and her children, referred to as orphans.9 The respect that could be gained from obeying such requests is shown by the way in which a superior was addressed in a sixth/seventh century Coptic letter. The individual addressed was referred to as the ‘father of orphans and the judge of widows’.10 One of the most visible forms of self-identification seen in extant Coptic letters was as a pauper, and povertystricken people formed a distinct sector in society, often listed alongside orphans and widows. Assisting those in need could be an act of piety in itself, as in the case of orphans. Letters written by paupers, or on their behalf, were often addressed to monasteries, and they appealed for help, explicitly delineating their position with no glamorisation of poverty. In the Theban context, letters reveal an environment in which a sizeable proportion of the writers needed assistance to survive, or claimed to.11 One monk was complimented on the way in which he had looked after the poor, as a prelude to a request for help for Phantup, ‘for indeed he is a very poor man and is very much in need’.12 On another ostracon, a picture of a man begging was drawn below a letter in which the recipient was asked to ‘be good to the poor man Atri’.13 Once more, the survival of monastic archives skews the evidence; inevitably a number of letters were found in the Monastery of Epiphanius in which help was asked for those in need.14 To have fallen into poverty from having once been a wealthy individual could be viewed as worse than having always been poverty stricken. This is suggested by one of the Monastery of Epiphanius letters in which an individual’s former status was perceived as making him a more worthwhile case than others: ‘for he is a great man’s son who has come down to poverty’.15

Likewise, the vulnerability of those whose father/husband had died was acknowledged. In letters these people were frequently discussed, as is shown by a series of Coptic letters some of which were very brief. In one fragmentary letter orphans were associated with other weak members of society such as poor women and children, and in another a nun, Maria, wrote to Kyriakos the Hermit about a male orphan. She asked for Kyriakos’ prayers for the orphan, describing the orphan as ‘little’ and wrote that the boy’s father had died, entrusting him to her care.7 An ostracon from Djeme records the wish of the letter writer that the recipient treat orphans well.8 Here, Victor, who

Those with ill-health formed another vulnerable group, towards whom there was a responsibility to behave properly and charitably. Those suffering from ill health wrote letters, describing their situation, asking for help. Just a group of people were motivated into caring for the fatherless or for the pauper so too did they try to help the ill.16 Two Coptic letters surviving as part of the Nag

See Wilfong 2002, 99-104 on women donating their children in Djeme. 2 P.Lond.VI 1915. 3 P.Lond.VI 1916; Bell 1924, 76. 4 Nathan 2009, 290. 5 Papaconstantinou 2002 on acts of donation from the monastery of Phoibammon in Thebes, see also chapter 5; Nathan 2009, 290 notes that as early as the fourth century monasteries started to accept children. 6 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 66,1. 7 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 45, 1; O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 81, 23; Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 200. 8 O.Medin.HabuCopt.141. 1

O.Theb.28. P.Ryl.Copt.297. 11 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 73 argue that the background of the Persian invasion skews the evidence; people seem more desperate in their letters than they would have at other times. The uncertain date of much of the material makes it hard to link statements in letters with political events. 12 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 62, 5. 13 O.Theb.32. 14 For example, see P.Mon.Epiph.165; 173; 188. 15 P.Mon.Epiph.185. 16 See for example, O.CrumVC 78; O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 19,3. 9

10

83

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Hammadi bindings deal with the sickness of an individual, Aphrodisios.1 In the first, Daniel wrote to Aphrodisios expressing his sympathy: ‘for I heard that you were ill with a great sickness and my heart was in great pain’.2 In the second, Aphrodisios discussed his illness. His letter may have been addressed to Sasnos (see above), and he writes about business matters but concludes the letter with an emotive statement about his health: ‘for I do not know what will happen to me, whether I will come out of the body or whether I will live’.3 The kind of sympathy that such letters aimed to evoke, was also hoped for in a sixth-century Coptic letter explaining the reasons for a non-payment of taxes.4 Moses writes to Phoibammon and Dioscorus, explaining that it had not been possible for taxes to be paid in full as the people in question were ill.5

over us have almost made me a corpse’.9 Advice was given to the bereaved in letters, and these condolence letters exist in Greek as well as Coptic. They form a small category of letters in Greek texts, and they all encourage the recipient to put sorrow in the past.10 For example, in a fourth century letter, Alexander commiserates with his brother on the loss of his son.11 Whilst expressing sympathy, Alexander is also keen to assert that life must continue, and begins with a quotation from the ‘blessed Paul’(the rest of the letter is lost). In the fifth century, Theodorus addresses the inevitability of death, writing to Canopus on the death of his wife and asks ‘what can we do against humanity?’12 Similar feelings were expressed in a sixth/seventh century fragmentary letter, which was written in biblical terms throughout.13 The writer encourages the recipient through reminding him that those who had died were now with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. These kinds of letters demonstrate that formerly non-Egyptian religious tradition could now be a source of comfort. This association of the dead with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob also appears in Coptic texts.14 In Coptic condolence letters we see the dead associated with the patriarchs, and the use of biblical quotations to provide consolation.15 Despite the reassurances of biblical literature, bereavement was still acknowledged to be an unenviable state. Someone writes to an individual whose daughter had died. This loss was perceived to be all the more terrible because she was an only child, and the writer states that his eyes were flowing with tears as he wrote.16

The religious priorities of the sufferer and his/her helpers influenced some of the responses to ill health. Sometimes the illness itself, and any recovery, could be directly attributed to the workings of a divinity. Ambrosius, part of the circle of the Theophanes of Hermopolis, was unable to see Anatolius, as he had hoped.6 He writes to Anatolius, informing him that one of his daughters was ill, preventing him from travel. The cause of her illness was assigned to the divine world: ‘for one of the gods in wickedness brought these to me’. Divinities could inflict illness but could also be the source of recovery. Two further letters show a more benevolent deity. The first, a fourth century Greek letter, was written by a servant to his superior.7 His mistress had been ill, and the servant writes that they need to thank God because he had listened to their prayers and saved her. The second, a Coptic letter, of the eighth century from the monastery at Bala’izah, was written by a couple to their son.8 They inform him that his mother had been seriously ill, but ‘God raised her up’.

Whole communities of people, even those separated by geographical space, could find reassurance, support and identity through written communication. In this, the state could play an almost irrelevant role. Rather the crucial factors were the religious beliefs and facilities available in the area. Religious beliefs as propagated in texts were used by letter writers to encourage correct behaviour towards different categories of people identified as needing assistance.

The particular perspective of the writer could affect the perceptions of death, and advice given to those who had been bereaved. Images of death abound in Coptic literature, and the metaphor of death as a symbol of current difficulties found its way into letters as well. For example, someone called Constantine writes to Apa Epiphanius about the festal letter, commenting that ‘the afflictions which surround the world now and the death which is

FACING APPARENT FAILURE Any pockets of ordered life in Coptic Egypt were constantly under threat. During the New Kingdom, the state asserted its responsibility for maintaining and putting forward a structured, ordered world, in which political and religious authority were broadly united. Despite the deceptive clarity of this system, deviations and failures were expected and

1

Fourth century letters; P.NagHamm.C4; C5. Lines 5-6. 3 Lines 9-10. 4 MacCoull 1992, 106-109, II from Dioscorus of Aphrodito’s archive. 5 MacCoull 1992, 109 attributes this illness to a ‘famine and consequent wave of sickness in the Aphrodito area in the aftermath of a raid by nomadic Blemmyes’. 6 P.Herm.2 – Greek, fourth century. 7 P.Oxy.VI 939. 8 P.Bal.245. 2

P.Mon.Epiph.131, lines 3-4. See Chapa 1998, 15 for discussion of condolence letters in Greek. 11 P.Princ.II 102; Chapa 1998, 130-7. 12 P.Oxy.LIX 4004; Chapa 1998, 139-47, [no.11], lines 6-7. 13 P.Oxy.XVI 1874; Chapa 1998, 149-59. 14 See Cramer 1941, 43. 15 See for example, BKU III 398. 16 BKU III 397. 9

10

84

The Coptic Period Textual World promise that he would not be disobedient again rounded off the letter. The futility of his pleas is demonstrated by two further letters, in which the economic as well as the spiritual pitfalls of exclusion from a monastery were made clear. He asks again to be remembered in the monastery’s prayers.7 In the second letter he complains about his financial situation, writing of ‘great tribulations’, and specifying that he has no money.8

dealt with. In Coptic Egypt, where life patterns were at times in total contrast to those with political authority, there were variant views of what constituted deviant behaviour. Yet, as in the New Kingdom, such behaviour was expected and did not appear to undermine such beliefs. For Christians in Egypt, orthodox or not, there was an everpresent vigilance for that which threatened to diminish their Christianity.1 These threats were personified as Satan, and in letters throughout this period individuals requested assistance in combating Satan. When an individual failed in that struggle, then a community could deal with him/her in various ways, the most serious of which was demotion to an outsider, excommunication. Such struggles, following the Muslim conquest, were of little concern to the political powers, and were often conducted on a very localised basis. Thus when an individual was reprimanded for misdeeds, the cause of them was assigned to Satan. Struggling against Satan could be a fundamental part of a Christian, especially an ascetic, life. This is particularly shown in a Coptic letter probably written by a bishop to a cleric who had been failing to live up to the ideals of a Christian life. In this the writer understood that everyone was subject to the wiles of Satan.2 The writer emphasises the omnipresence and the threat posed by Satan: ‘for this is our prayer at all times that the Lord help us to get rid of every disagreement which Satan, the plotter against us from the first, scatters around, wanting to put a stumbling block for each one of us through his neighbour’.3

The apparent resolution with which his monastery dealt with him suggest that Shenoute’s transgressions had been serious. In that case, the response to failure was expulsion. This brought not only spiritual unease but also financial uncertainty.9 A whole support system was removed. Shenoute’s situation was by no means unusual. In the immediate context of Bala’izah, there is a letter recording the attempts of Basile and Pishote to be readmitted to the monastery.10 This letter follows a similar pattern to Shenoute’s letters. The desperation felt by an individual upon exclusion from a religious monastery is matched by the clarity of expression in the letters of excommunication themselves, leaving little or no room for manoeuvre.11 Bishops were often responsible, as a point of last resort, for reprimanding, and, if necessary, excommunicating a member of a religious community. Thus Bishop Abraham writes in Coptic to expel a monk from the church,12 and either an archimandrite or a bishop writes to an individual in Bala’izah informing him ‘behold you are excluded from the holy mysteries’.13

Serious failures were met by excommunication, and there are many letters recording both the imposition of demotion to outsider status, and pleas to be reinstated, accepted again. This is demonstrated in particular by a whole series of letters involving an individual called Shenoute (not the Shenoute). They derive from the religious community at Bala’izah, and were preserved in the monastery’s archive.4

Such demotions to outsider status did not, however, need to be permanent. This is suggested by a letter from the Monastery of Epiphanius in which the writer states that he has expelled a deacon. This expulsion was temporary, pending the outcome of an investigation into his behaviour.14 It was also possible for monks to leave a community against their superior’s will, to choose to become outsiders, an action which could inspire recriminations. Serapammon, the head of the community of the ‘rock of Apa Thomas’ writes in Coptic to the archimandrite of another monastery in the seventh/eighth century about some monks who had absconded.15 This letter survives in a partial state, but it is clear that the writer asks for moderation in any punishments, because ‘your most pious fatherhood knows the storms of youth’.16

Shenoute’s pleas for acceptance highlight the boundaries which could be imposed by a monastic community, and the unhappiness of an excluded member. He fully acknowledges his wrongdoings in his letters, and takes care with the composition of each one. For example, in one letter he writes: ‘I, this sinner and disobedient one, I know that I have transgressed all the commands which you laid down for me and I am guilty in every sin’.5 Then, in the same letter, he goes on to ask that he be allowed to return to live in the same monk’s cell as before. Perhaps realising that this would not be possible, Shenoute asks that his former fellow-monks at least pray for him: ‘I implore you by God that you do not throw me out from you in your prayers’.6 A

P.Bal.189. P.Bal.190. 9 See Krawiec 2002, 22-25 who considers the economic impact of being expelled from a monastery just one of several factors which made it an unwelcome position to be put in. 10 P.Bal.202. 11 See for example, O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 25; O.CrumVC 77. 12 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 46, 4. 13 P.Bal.234. 14 P.Mon.Epiph.158. 15 P.Ryl.Copt.289. 16 Lines 7-8. 7 8

See Bell 1986. O.Crum VC 45. 3 Lines 1-7. 4 P.Bal.188-91. 5 P.Bal.188, lines 2-5. 6 Lines 14-5. 1 2

85

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt The fear of excommunication was such that the threat of expulsion was used by those in authority to impose their will. A priest, Senetom, was commanded to celebrate a service by his bishop who writes: ‘if you do not go you are excluded from the clergy’.1 It also meant that letters contained endless blessings against being led astray. A Coptic Theban letter concerning a request for wood and camels also asked that ‘the Lord blesses you and protects you from the tricks of men and the snares of the enemy’,2 and a sixth century Coptic letter written to Dioscorus of Aphrodito by a monk asks that many blessings be bestowed on Dioscorus including that he be kept from all evil by the Lord.3 Similarly, the condemnation of those who had failed was harsh. For example, Helias wrote to his mother, mentioning someone who bore the ‘curse of God’.4 Another individual, in a letter found at the Monastery of Epiphanius was warned that he was (or perhaps will be) seen as pagan and godless.5

their compliance with and uptake of the religious beliefs shared by the recipients of their letters. One letter writer mentions various groups of non-orthodox Christians, including the Diphysites, Sabellians, and the Simeonites, but instead makes clear that he identifies with the words of ‘Athanasius, Cyril, Basil, Gregory, all our holy fathers’.9 A proper orthodox right-thinking man. It was not as if the literate population of Egypt sat around and pondered which religious belief they would subscribe to and identify with, rather there was an element of compulsion, urgency and pragmatism in the maintenance of whatever identity they had ended up with. Language as a device of exclusion It was clearly possible to make a choice about whether to use Greek or Coptic in a letter for simple pragmatic reasons. Similar sentiments could be expressed, whatever the language, and, on occasion, the same person could choose to write in either language. For instance, Coptic may have been a language which women in particular chose to write in.10 The unity of expression whatever the language or the particular belief system is striking. Even if someone identified themselves as coming from a completely different belief system they could still use some of the same modes of expression and identity-signifiers. There is, however, a set of documents which suggest that people could manipulate the written form of the language in order to support a distinct identity. They were composed in Coptic but were written out with the Greek script. Two of the documents were letters, covering the usual range of subject matter. For example, letter no. II sees Macarius write to David, greeting him very warmly before moving onto business matters. 11

Dissent was an integral part of Christian life in Egypt, from its origins onwards. Alexandria during the time of Athanasius is renowned for the physical violence which could ensue between opposing Christian factions, as each struggled to assert their beliefs, and as Athanasius tried to assert his authority over the whole of Egypt.6 Given the city’s location as the seat for the major religious power brokers, it is not surprising that we seem to see in the city an extreme form of the kind of power struggles and tussles known from elsewhere in Egypt. A letter, from the Meletian archive, reveals what it was like to be part of a religious group condemned by another.7 In it, Callistus describes the inflictions imposed upon himself and his fellow Meletians by Athanasius and his followers. He writes to Apa Peious and Patabeit, providing a vivid image of the impact of conflicting beliefs. He tells how Athanasius’ followers, with a group of soldiers, had tried to arrest Isaac, Bishop of Letopolis, along with Heraiscus. They had been unsuccessful, but nonetheless had beaten up four Meletian monks. Heraiscus is not known from any other sources, but he has been identified as the Meletian bishop of Alexandria, therefore a direct threat to Athanasius’ power.8 Further restrictions imposed by Athanasius on the Meletians were also enumerated by Callistus. These included the imprisonment of a bishop, a priest, a deacon and eventually Heraiscus himself. The maintenance of orthodoxy remained an issue throughout the Coptic period. Letter writers were always keen to establish their orthodoxy,

Those who were unable to read this written form of the language, despite being literate, would have been excluded. Roger Bagnall has warned that ‘a text, or even a whole library of texts, does not make a sect or community’.12 It is hard, however, to understand this selection of documents written in Coptic as anything other than representing a specific group of people with a distinct set of beliefs. Such a total avoidance of the Coptic script when writing a number of documents in Coptic is unusual. Even those sounds which are exclusive to Coptic were instead rendered by a combination of Greek signs. Walter Crum understood this as signifying that the texts were written by Egyptians whose first language was Greek but whose knowledge of Coptic was not very great. The logical conclusion of Crum’s argument was thus that

1

P.Mon.Epiph.154. O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 71, 1, lines 13-15. 3 MacCoull 1991, 23-6. 4 O.Brit.Mus.Copt.I 55, 1 – this letter is from Naqada and is in a fragmentary state. 5 P.Mon.Epiph.485. 6 Brakke 2000, 1104. 7 P.Lond.VI 1914; probably dates to May-June 335. 8 Hauben 1981, 453. 2

O.Crum VC 44. See Clackson 2007, 340; MacCoull 2007b, 752. 11 Crum 1940; for letter II see Crum 1940, 10-12, plate II; see also Shisha-Halevy 2002 for discussion of fourth century texts written to members of Manichaean community in what seems to have been a special dialect. 12 Bagnall 1993, 304. 9

10

86

The Coptic Period Textual World the texts arose from a Greek speaking sectarian community, such as the Melkites.1

would accept more’.5 Tax collection was an ongoing problem following the Muslim conquest. The remaining part of a Coptic letter from Bali’azah records the warnings given to a corrupt local tax official by his superior in the government treasury.6 Only the last five lines of the letter remain, in which the official was told he had to return that which he had unfairly levied. The letter concludes with the words: ‘shame by the will of God and peace be unto you’. This last phrase, ‘peace be unto you’, forms an essential part of Muslim letters, as seen above, but here it is used in a Christian context as is signified by the cross at the end of the letter.7 By contrast, in another letter from Bali’azah, a Muslim writer makes clear his non-Christian beliefs through omitting the statuary cross at the beginnings and ends of letters, instead using the two diagonal strokes.8 Very self-aware statements of identity.

It appears surprising, however, that the format of these documents should have been put down to an inability in the Coptic language. The more complicated stage of the language, its grammar and structure, had been mastered by those who wrote the texts. Surely the script represented the least problematical aspect of the Coptic language, and working out how to represent Coptic letters with combinations of Greek letters must in itself have been challenging. Rather than stemming from a group of people with little knowledge of Coptic, these documents appear instead to have resulted from an intimate knowledge of both languages, purposefully manipulated. What that purpose was, however, remains unclear. Into this interpretation fits an alternative viewpoint, that these texts simply represent a dialect, unknown from elsewhere, which has been termed ‘dialect G’.2 A reason for the formation of this ‘dialect’ could have been to exclude those who did not know it.

More visible ways of subverting the state, of expressing discontent include actual riots and physical violence against people and property. One late fifth century Greek letter vividly describes a riot at Lycopolis.9 Its very florid nature led the editors to speculate that it does not describe an actual event.10 The letter does, however, reveal an intense dislike and fear of disorder and of riots. Martyrius writes to someone he addresses as his father, stating how the ‘riots and madness’ were still on his mind. The actual description of the riots still has the power to bring them to life today. He relates how his wife and daughter only just managed to survive. Political disturbances outside Egypt were also a source of concern and anxiety. One individual, temporarily resident in Alexandria writes to Theodorus to inform him that he has arrived safely in Alexandria, and discusses what are termed ‘disturbances’: ‘we have already written to you about all the disturbances which were set in motion in the great army and at Constantinople.’11

Public disorder In the struggles to maintain a particular religious identity, letter writers also reveal struggles with the political authorities. During this period, one of the most visible ways in which political authority of any sort was asserted over the Egyptian population was in the collection of taxes and in the demand for some kind of labour/military duties. Resisting attempts to collect tax was a frequent form of dissent throughout this period. Many Egyptian letters deal with attempts to collect tax, and the punishments for those who continued to resist. Political authorities tried to maintain an ordered state, in the face of opposition which is easier to track than in the New Kingdom.

Alongside wider violence against the structures of the state, the fear of localised violence during the Coptic period was very real. Letter writers frequently lamented that they had been attacked. In one such example, the victim described his attacker as a ‘lawless transgressor’.12 This letter was written in the seventh century, in Coptic, and the attack had been carried out by someone called Ammonius who was alleged to have been drunk when beating the victim. Sometimes such letters were written in order to gain some kind of retribution, a recompense, monetary or otherwise, for having been attacked. Not surprisingly, in letters such as this it feels as if as much is

For example, the misdeeds of some government officials are recorded in a fourth century Greek letter. Chaeremon writes to Dorotheus to inform him that some comarchs had been arrested. Some of their colleagues had protested so much at these arrests that they themselves were also arrested, and others had gone missing. A possible solution to the crisis was that the wives of the imprisoned comarchs be arrested instead, and the comarchs released.3 An actual victim of attempts to divert the correct collection of taxes records a series of incidents carried out against him.4 The dispute was between tax collectors about the amount of grain which they had received. Part of the letter reads ‘the landowner was drugged so that he

5 See Hoogendijk and van Minnen 1991, 248 for justification of translation of εφαρμακευθη as drugged. 6 P.Bal.256. 7 See Kahle 1954, 684. 8 P.Bal.185. 9 P.Oxy.XVI 1873. 10 Grenfell, Hunt and Bell 1924, 64. 11 P.Oxy.LVI 3872; Sirivianou 1989, 167. 12 O.Mich.Copt.4.

Crum 1940, 5. Kasser 1966, 106, 112. 3 P.Oxy.XLVIII 3409. 4 P.Leid.Inst.69 – a late fifth/early sixth century text, from either the Hermopolite or Oxyrhynchite nome. 1 2

87

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt being made of any attack as possible. Supposed fear of an attack was alleged to be so great that one individual writes to state that it was impossible for him to go out from his home: ‘I cannot find a way to go out and leave my house as I may be robbed.’1 A kind of violence permeates much of the textual discourse in the Coptic period, whereby threats of all sorts are routinely uttered in letters as a way of achieving compliance.2 In what seems to be a routine letter dealing with how much barley should be given out to labourers, the writer utters the threat that God will destroy the recipient’s soul if he fails to comply.3 In another letter, the writer states that if money he is owed is not paid back ‘I shall send the one who will bring it out of your bones’.4

of his salary, and describes their hunger, complaining that they had had to sell all their possessions, including their cloaks. If George does not act, Justus states that he and his companions will die of hunger.11 As ever, perceptions of what constituted criminal behaviour were relative and decided by those with some kind of power, political, social or religious.12 Hence, people were threatened for having sheltered criminals from the state or from religious authorities. An official Greek letter relates how a village headman has sheltered a female robber. She had stolen property from the church, and had later sought, and found, sanctuary with the village headman who had protected both her and her booty. The letter demands that the church treasures be retrieved and the woman arrested if necessary.13 When punishment was administered, in cases where the criminals (or perhaps some would say victims) had found no defence or defenders, it was invariably severe. The governor of Aphrodito writing in about 710 describes the punishment to be given to a group of fugitives upon their capture.14 They were to be whipped forty times, restrained in a kind of wooden apparatus whilst marching, fined and all their accomplices fined as well. Bishop Abraham writing in Coptic to a culprit who had allegedly stolen from a church, causing disruption in it, states that all those who had committed the crime would be excluded ‘from communion with his whole house’.15 Key to all these punishments was the assertion that the criminal would be designated as an outsider, as a threat to society.

Alongside what now feels like very real violence and coercion in the texts, there are also records of appeals for leniency and forgiveness in the face of supposed misdeeds. Those in the church hierarchy could be a source of help for the criminal as well as the bestower of punishments. The Bishop of Hermopolis, for example, in about 346 writes in Greek to a Roman official in Dionysias asking him to forgive Paulus, a soldier who had committed the serious crime of desertion.5 From the Monastery of Epiphanius letters survive in which writers asked for help when suffering a range of punishments, and the monastery may have had a role in the implementation as well as in the termination of any such punishments. One writer asks to have his stocks removed, he had had them on for three days,6 whilst another asks how long he would have to remain in irons.7 Another letter, written by two people, one of whom is a woman named Thecla, records their complaints that they have not been visited.8 They describe their situation, claiming that ‘we gave our life for you, behold you have forgotten us’, and ask for food.9 They then use threats to ensure a positive response, if food is not brought to them then ‘as the Lord lives, we will take six soldiers and come north and hand you over together with all your affairs’.10 Such prisoners were able to access writing materials, or those who would write letters for them, ensure the delivery of such letters and issue threats. This leaves a broad picture of the way in which imprisonment was used as a punishment. This is a situation not only seen in the Monastery of Epiphanius. For example, Justus writes in Greek to his superior George, whilst he is in prison in Heracleopolis with some of his friends. He asks for some

CONCLUSION The Coptic textual world is far removed from that of the New Kingdom in that explicit expressions of disdain could be made by an individual for those sectors of Egyptian society which did not fit in with that individual’s view of the world. Covert means were no longer needed to vocalise, in literary form, discontent and disagreement with others, including with the official beliefs of the state. It is also possible to trace the ideas of individuals such as Shenoute in different types of sources. Furthermore the struggle for personal identity in a world which was fragmented meant that self-assured statements abound. The uncompromising picture of the world presented in hagiographical, polemical or apocalyptic sources seems to have held at least some kind of relevance for those identifying themselves as Christian. Thus individuals

Lines 2-4, P.Mon.Epiph.222. See Krawiec 2002, 28-9 for a discussion of routine violence as a strategy for ensuring order in Shenoute’s White Monastery. 3 P.Amh.II 153 – sixth/seventh century Greek letter. 4 P.Mich.Copt.15. 5 P.Lond.II 417. 6 P.Mon.Epiph.181. 7 P.Mon.Epiph.219. 8 P.Mon.Epiph.177; see also discussion in Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 246. 9 Lines 8-10. 10 Lines 22-6. 1 2

P.Oxy.LVI 3870. See for example P.Herm.48, fifth century Greek letter in which the writer defends someone charged with attempted robbery. 13 P.Oxy.XVI 1832; see also Wilfong 2002, 113-4 for other textual examples in which inexplicit/partially surviving references are made to women who have caused disturbances in churches. 14 P.Lond.IV 1384. 15 O.CrumVC 40. 11 12

88

The Coptic Period Textual World vocalised their inability to live up to Christian ideals as laid out in hagiographical texts, and those in the church hierarchy attempted to provide authority, guidance and inspiration in the Christian world. Serious failure by a monk/nun/priest to abide by certain requirements could result in excommunication, which was as painful as physical punishment. So influential was Christianity, that it affected individuals’ self-perception and selfpresentation whether in a religious community or not. Statements about the sinful state of the writer and requests for prayers to be put to God on the writer’s behalf were sometimes the central and even the only message of a letter. The pre-dominant context of survival in monastic archives (especially those of Thebes) no doubt over-emphasises the role of the religious, and the impact of Christian beliefs on the lifestyles of the wider population.

similarities. This emphasises the utility of studying this range of source material within a broad historical span, and balances out the view of the dominance of Christianity on self-perception. A certain fluidity of beliefs is also demonstrated by the terms used for the outsider in Egypt. Persian, barbarian, stranger, pagan were terms used in a variety of contexts throughout the Coptic period. They could be used generically, to signify sources of disorder, or with more specific meanings covering those of a different belief system as well as a label for a perceived state of being. Frequently, their use was utterly subjective on the part of the writer, and would have had an entirely different interpretation if those signified by one of the above terms had read the text. Personal identity was not solely dictated by the uptake of a particular belief system. Through time and across belief systems, the home environment and family could be as central to the perception of an individual as his/her religious beliefs. Furthermore, an individual’s status in society, whether vulnerable or wealthy, fundamentally influenced any perception of the world, and could remain little affected by whichever religious or political beliefs held sway. Nevertheless, the decision whether to endure, to enjoy or to escape from such a situation could depend upon an individual’s interpretation of any of their belief systems as expressed in the textual world of Coptic Egypt. How this was played out in the context of what appears to have been an archetypal Christian environment will be discovered next.

Letters from non-Christian contexts have also been discussed. Crucially, these could differ little from Christian letters of the same period, containing similar expressions and aspirations. Likewise, it was possible for Christian letters to include phrases normally used in a Muslim context. Despite the claims of difference made by certain Christian leaders it was not possible to exclude contact and interaction between those with different beliefs. Indeed, Shenoute’s vehemence against heretical texts was, on one occasion at least stimulated by the very presence of such texts within the White Monastery. A documentary text, whether Christian or non-Christian, whether written in Greek, Coptic, Latin or Arabic, or in more than one language at a time, can show remarkable

89

90

5 Living in Coptic Period Thebes

the Muslim conquest did not result in any disjuncture in urban environments.7

From the textual evidence, a religious identity was an aspect to life in Coptic Egypt, a focus of those with power and those without. The protection and promotion of an accepted life pattern against those who refused to conform to it was seen as vital. In this chapter, one area in Upper Egypt, Thebes, is investigated with the aim of tracing the archaeological evidence for living patterns and delineation of space in what was a predominantly Christian context. I argue that the built environment of Thebes, as one of the foremost pharaonic cities in Egypt, provides an ideal test case for assessing the role of the past in the formulation of personal identity. It also allows an evaluation of the influence of Christianity on the lives of the Thebans, who included townspeople as well as those whose lives were determined by the desire to follow an exclusively Christian, ascetic life. The sharply defined world seen in Coptic period textual evidence can then be assessed in the light of the archaeological sites in Thebes.

Evidence for the built environment stretches across the country and often gives only a very partial picture of a settlement. It includes structures, which, though not preserved in their original state, are still in use today, such as the monasteries of Wadi Natrun, or the churches of Babylon. Frequently, it is the ruins of a monastic or monumental structure which provide the only evidence for the existence of a settlement, such as the Monastery of Apa Jeremias at Saqqara. This has helped to create an image of Coptic Egypt as an environment consisting of dispersed clusters of settlement, with no real urban impetus.8 It has also played its part in equating Coptic with a rural, materially poor population, a stereotype which has now almost been discarded, in the light of the bilingual and intertwined world which was Coptic Egypt. Yet confusion can remain. For example, Djeme, a settlement in western Thebes, was referred to by Alston in different contexts as a ‘town’ or as a ‘village’.9 These two terms create a very different image of Djeme for the modern reader, accustomed to a hierarchy of settlements, and leave confusion as to what type of living environment Djeme was. Certainly, the degree of urban planning alongside more spontaneous development as seen at New Kingdom Memphis is less easily visible in Coptic Egypt, where houses and monumental buildings closely adjoin, often piling up within older structures. This does not mean, however, that careful planning did not go into the settlements, or that there were not areas of high-density living in Coptic Egypt.

The Coptic period has been stereotyped as witnessing the decline of urbanism in Egypt, at least of a specifically Roman-inspired urbanism, with the seventh century a crucial turning point.1 The focus of state sponsored urban development became Fustat instead of Alexandria. Here a new political and religious world could be developed for the conquerors.2 Other urban sites, such as Babylon, just near Fustat, relied upon the permission of the nonChristian rulers for the continued development of religious structures vital to the administration and functioning of the Coptic church.3

The caution which must be exerted when approaching this period is underlined by insights regarding Late Antique Egyptian funerary sculpture. This body of material primarily dates to the period preceding the Muslim conquest, and has shown that accepted boundaries between Christian and non-Christian, and between types of settlement in Egypt need to be reexamined: ‘relations among city, cemetery, and monastery become, throughout the period, inextricably interwoven, and the tombs of urbanites, both polytheists and Christians, are found in the same cemeteries sharing generic styles and formats. In other words, religiously defined communities were not entirely isolated topographically, nor did they create or maintain separate styles.’10 THEBES

The different belief systems of those in Egypt have been viewed as having an effect upon the built environment of Egypt.4 For example, it has been possible to identify a complete change in the use and layout of the town of Abû Mînâ, following the departure of the Chalcedonian population after the Arab conquest.5 But the relationship between religious beliefs and the lived environment is complex, and clear insights such as that provided for Abû Mînâ are rare. A classic example of this complexity is Roger Alston’s work on the urban environment in Roman and Byzantine Egypt. On the one hand he states that Christianity cannot be viewed as having exerted an exclusive influence on cities, but on the other hand he cites Christianity as one of the reasons for the decline of the city in Egypt.6 Furthermore, a study of the town of Edfu has revealed that, contrary to previous assumptions,

The settlements at Thebes have increasingly been used as source material for those interested in Coptic Egypt.11 This is primarily due to the wealth of textual and

Alston 2002, 366-7; see Gascoigne’s 2005 reassessment of this. Kubiak 1982, 221; Kennedy 1998, 64-5. 3 Abdel Tawab 1986, 324-5; Gabra 1999, 113-4. 4 See Haas 1997, 206-14; Bowersock 1996, 266 for the christianisation of Alexandria; Grossmann 1998, 295. 5 Grossmann 1998, 297. 6 Compare different statements in Alston 2002, on pages 125, 366 and 367. 1 2

Gascoigne 2005. Thomas 2000, 44. 9 Compare Alston 2002, 85 with Alston 2002, 304. 10 Thomas 2000, 34. 11 See Wilfong 1999; Alston 2002; Wilfong 2002; Behlmer 2007a. 7 8

91

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt archaeological evidence which survives from this area, and which continues to be found. Thus in Terry Wilfong’s study of Coptic agricultural patterns in the Early Islamic period, Thebes provides the central reference point.1 I have chosen this area as a suitable case study for a number of reasons. First, it saw a high level of occupation, which in the case of the west bank, suddenly terminated. Monks, hermits, nuns, and those following a variety of non-religious occupations lived alongside each other in close proximity. It had seen a diverse population, which by the end of the fifth or early sixth century was predominantly Christian.2 A town, Djeme, was located on the west bank in the midst of what seems to have been a monastic landscape. Secondly, it was also a location which attracted visitors and residents from beyond its immediate environs, both from Egypt and further afield. Thebes became, not for the first time in its occupational history, an active and thriving pilgrimage centre, an area for heightened religious awareness. Thirdly, given that it had been one of the foremost New Kingdom cities in terms of its monumental architecture, it provides a fascinating insight into how those in the Coptic period reacted to the built witnesses of the pharaonic past in their midst.3

which seventeen people from Djeme signed.7 In this, they seek to reassure the government that money would be sent in recompense for a man who had refused to carry out his corvée duty. And in a Theban ostracon from the first half of the eighth century, it is possible to note the influence of the new rulers through the usage of Arabic loan words in legal documents.8 There are Coptic period remains, including monumental as well as residential structures, on both banks of the Nile at Thebes. The majority are located within and around pharaonic structures, in various states of preservation.9 Occupation of the west and east banks of the Nile had been more or less continuous since the pharaonic period. The west and east banks at Thebes differ in their physical setting. The floodplain on the east bank is much wider than on the west bank, and the ancient sites of eastern Thebes are located within the floodplain. Desert hills are set back from the river on the east bank, about 10-15 kilometres away, whereas on the west bank the floodplain is narrow, the desert hills an integral part of the floodplain landscape, being only 3-4 kilometres from the Nile, which has shifted through time. On the west bank, the Coptic period sites of Thebes are to be found within the floodplain as well as on the desert edge and beyond.10

Thebes in the Coptic period raises similar issues to New Kingdom Memphis, questions of religious access and motivation. As in Memphis, there was a multiplicity of devotional locations alongside influences from outside Egypt. In contrast to New Kingdom Memphis, however, Coptic Thebes was not a political centre of any wider importance. Armant, a town 10 kilometres to the south of Thebes, was the political centre of the area. Direct links with Lower Egypt, the centre of political power for the whole of Egypt, were limited to rare visits to Alexandria (for religious reasons) by individuals from Thebes and to infrequent written communications.4 Physically distant power centres did not mean that those in Thebes were ignorant of religious and political developments. For example, the Bishop of Armant used to spend much of his time actually living in western Thebes, amongst those leading a religious life.5 Furthermore, John of Pisentius, the seventh century bishop of Coptos, chose to live in Djeme when contemplating whether to accept the post of bishop.6 The impact of political developments could be felt as well. For example, a document survives from Djeme, dating to the period after the Muslim conquest,

The east bank of the Nile at Thebes had been a centre for the Roman military, with a Roman castrum located within the Luxor temple during the fourth to sixth centuries. During the seventh century, the residential areas of the west bank increased in size, and the district was to flourish until the ninth century, when the area was apparently abandoned. Occupation continued on the east bank, however, with a bishopric established there by the eleventh century.11 Western visitors to Thebes from the seventeenth century onwards depict an empty and wild place.12 One visitor suggested that west bank Thebes continued to be a location for monasticism for many centuries after its abandonment: ‘on a rocky hill, perforated on all sides by the violated sepulchres of the ancient Egyptians, in the great Necropolis of Thebes, not far from the ruins of the palace and temple of Medinet Habou, stand the crumbling walls of an old Coptic monastery, which I was told had been inhabited, almost within the memory of man, by a small community of

Schiller 1932, 56-63, no.6. Richter 2004. 9 See Doresse 1960, 30-1; Boutros and Décobert 2000, 78-83 for west bank occupations. 10 New evidence for Coptic occupation of the west bank is being continually discovered. 11 Stewart 1991, 1484. 12 For example see Pococke 1743, 91 visiting Thebes at the beginning of the eighteenth century stated ‘Carnac [Karnak on the east bank of the Nile] is a very poor village, in which the people have mostly built their cottages among the ruins to the south of the temple’. 7

Wilfong 1999, 218. 2 See Rémondon 1952, 67, 73; Wilfong 2002, 4-5. 3 For instance, Brakke 2008 states that fourth century monks were the most active part of the Egyptian population in ‘the destruction of pagan temples’; see Frankfurter 2006, 23 for a list of options faced by Christians in adapting their surroundings; see Freed 2008, 132-41 for description of New Kingdom Thebes. 4 Winlock and Crum 1926, 99. 5 See Winlock and Crum 1926, 105; Timm 1984, 159; Behlmer 2007a, 168. 6 Budge 1913, 281-4. 1

8

92

Living in Coptic Period Thebes Christian monks.’1 This suggestion is not corroborated by any other authors.

in western Thebes continues to demonstrate the validity of this statement.8

The starting point

Ambivalence about the Coptic material past has largely been discarded nowadays, but what can remain is an automatic tendency to attribute destructive patterns within pharaonic structures to ideologically motivated Christians.9 The re-working of pharaonic structures includes many actions which are impossible to attribute with certainty to any particular period. These include pilgrim grooves, the partial destruction of statues, and erasures of figures in temple reliefs. Throughout the pharaonic period, Egyptians adapted and changed their monumental surroundings. The excavation of Karnak has continually revealed the extent to which the New Kingdom rulers obscured or destroyed the work of their predecessors, and the official areas in New Kingdom Memphis were also endlessly re-worked. Thus what today seems to be an action motivated by a disdain for pharaonic ideals could have been carried out at any point in the past, including during the pharaonic past.

The most recognisable and well-known aspect of Egyptian Christianity is still its influence on the ascetic Christian life. Whilst still part of the Byzantine world, Egypt’s monastic movement provided inspiration and guidance to Christians from Egypt and beyond.2 This is epitomised by the Historia Monachorum in Aegypto, which is a Greek text written as a travel narrative describing the journeys of non-Egyptian monks to the monks and hermits of Egypt. The journeys took place in the late fourth century and the text creates an image of Egypt peopled by monks and hermits, as a place infused with religious experience.3 The Historia Monachorum was a widely circulated and influential work, which depicted the monastic world as mirroring the Bible, and which illustrated the rewards received by someone undertaking a pilgrimage to Egypt. An image was created by the author, and expanded upon in order to achieve the author’s aims.4 And despite its literary purpose and setting, several points are of significance when looking at Coptic Thebes because they illustrate perceptions of what should constitute a quintessential Christian environment.5 First, the landscape of Egypt is pictured as one dominated by monastic communities and hermits, even in urban settings. Secondly, the population of Egypt is shown as being dependent upon such communities and individuals. Thirdly, Egypt’s religious life is shown as being impressive to the non-Egyptian pilgrim. All these literary topoi form a background to this assessment of the lives of those in Coptic Thebes.

Indeed, destruction and subsequent rebuilding formed a central part to the ancient experience of the built environment. The dominant material used in Egypt for building was mud-brick, a material which lends itself to frequent rebuilding. The interpretation of a destruction level in an archaeological excavation is frequently given political or ideological significance, which also serves to make the interpretation of the site more dynamic and lively. The Israeli context is the most obvious example of this, where ash layers were often thought to relate directly to a biblical event and then used to elucidate certain episodes in the Bible.10 To a much lesser degree, archaeologists can be similarly affected by the vehemence of Shenoute’s writings against pagans, and then automatically interpret the construction of a Christian building on top of a destroyed earlier structure as having resulted from an ideological clash. Close textual analysis can even reveal these so-called descriptions of ideological confrontations between Christians and non-Christians as having had little basis in reality,11 making it even more unwise to transfer readings of textual material onto the material past. It has also been asserted that Christians systematically set about destroying temples during the fourth and fifth centuries.12 I would argue, however, that, just as the textual record contains within it a greater complexity than would first appear, so too does the re-use

In contrast to the study of the material remains of New Kingdom Egypt, Coptic Egypt’s material past has been approached with much more ambivalence. Archaeologists simply were not particularly interested in what they saw as the Coptic period remains hampering their view of the New Kingdom past.6 The publication of the Monastery of Epiphanius material provides one of the outstanding exceptions to this generalisation. It provides an overview of western Thebes, with a short description of the different Coptic sites, and a mapping of the area.7 The insight of the authors, writing in the 1920s, that this mapping revealed only a tiny proportion of the Coptic sites is very valuable. The ever-increasing amount of material and evidence stemming from careful excavations

8 Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 138-40 for a brief summary of past and present work on western Thebes. 9 This then seeps into more general literature, for example, Parramore 2008, 7. 10 Yadin 1967, 258; see Glock 1999, 330-6 for an example of of this approach and Zuckerman 2007 for a more sophisticated long-term analysis of destruction levels. 11 See Smith 2002, 246. 12 O’Leary 1938, 55-6; Habachi 1972; contrast with Hahn, Emmel and Gotter 2008, 19 who state the reverse.

Curzon 1955 [1849], 129. 2 See Hardy 1952, 87 who wrote ‘there was almost a kind of tourist trade to the Egyptian desert’. 3 See Chitty 1999, 51; Russell 1981 for translation and discussion of the text. 4 See Frank 2000, 50; Frankfurter 2006, 15. 5 Rapp 2006. 6 See Horbury 1998; 2003; Behlmer 2007a. 7 Winlock and Crum 1926, 3-24. 1

93

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt and destruction of pharaonic sites have a much greater complexity than simple violent rejection. It is all too easy to assert that ideological change is equivalent to rejection of the past which then results in destruction of the sacred, when more organic and sometimes unthinking processes of adaptation and absorption occurred.1

castrum seems to have provided the stimulus for the first church built within Luxor temple, and to have inspired its complete christianisation. Not rejection then, but a response to need as those stationed in the castrum wanted somewhere to enact their Christianity, and found the most suitable place to be the one with pre-existent religious function. This church dates to the late sixth/early seventh century, and traces of it are still visible today. It is located just outside the east pylon, ie just outside what would have been the main entrance of the castrum. It was built along the basilica plan, witnessed throughout the Christian world, and was unusually ornate in that decorative stones were specially manufactured for it, rather than simply re-used.5

REJECTION OR PRAGMATIC CHANGE? The notable religious sites on the east bank at Luxor provide a vivid case study of the processes of change underway in the Coptic period as a monumental present was built. Until the recent past these iconic sites had become a location for dense residential settlement.2 Lucie Duff Gordon, a British traveller of the 19th century, could live in house in Luxor temple, whose pharaonic ‘splendour’ was largely lost amidst the clutter of tightly packed houses. The religious needs of those who lived in the houses were served by the mosque of Abou Haggag. This is now the sole living survivor of this intense occupation. Luxor and Karnak temples now stand as tidied up pharaonic sites whose long-term use as residential settings has been interrupted. Yet in the Coptic period, both Luxor and Karnak temples provided a location for intensive occupation by both monastic and non-monastic individuals, whose use of the site was so similar that it is hard to discern monastic living space from non-monastic.3 Their personal identity was so bound up with their communal identity, that, either through choice or compulsion, they altered their built environment, creating a series of religious complexes suited to their current needs. Monumental settings were created alongside residential areas. For us now, it would appear that the most challenging aspect of Luxor temple needing re-orientation would have been the shrine to Diocletian in its midst. Diocletian was one of the Roman emperors responsible for the persecution of the Christians, and the Coptic calendar commences from his reign, in order to commemorate the era of Martyrs. Diocletian imposed his authority following the Upper Egyptian revolt in 297 CE by building a shrine dedicated to the imperial cult and by converting the temple complex into a castrum.4 Yet, ironically, the very existence of the

This church was the first of many to be built in and around Luxor temple.6 The area to the north of the temple and stretching into the avenue of the sphinxes saw residential occupation, with Coptic period mudbrick houses. The proximity of these residential and nonresidential settings implies religious beliefs were a potent focus for communal identity. Some of these houses may indeed have been elements to monastic complexes, and the church built just to the east of the avenue of sphinxes may have been part of these complexes.7 The avenue of the sphinxes had been an integral element to the pharaonic landscape, at some point the heads of the sphinxes had been sliced off, perhaps during the Coptic period.8 Immediately south of this, but within the temple proper, is the best preserved church, directly underneath the Abou Haggag mosque. This is on the east side of the temple, within the northeast section of the court of Ramesses II. The walls on the south and west sides survive to a considerable height, almost to the top of the Ramesside columns, with a row of small rectangular windows near to the top of the walls.9 These three churches on the east side of the temple seem to have been broadly aligned with one another, and the remaining two churches to have been excavated are on the west side of the temple, and were also closely related.10 The size of these two churches implies a dedicated and wealthy community served by them. This perception is heightened by the excavation of luxurious church equipment in the first church. This includes a silver binding to hold the

1 Hahn, Emmel, and Gotter 2008, 1-22, argue against simple ideological oppositions between Christian and non-Christian, with religion not the sole factor in the development of sacred landscapes. Minnen 2006, 89 argues that ‘we need to resist making the past more charismatic than it was’, and reveals the possibilities of a far more natural change from pagan to Christian than anticipated in some texts and in many modern academic interpretations such as Frankfurter 2008. Note in particular their differing interpretations of the destruction of the Serapeum. 2 Johnson and Whitcomb 1989, 135. 3 See Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 142 on problems discerning different types of communities in western Thebes. 4 Baines and Malek 1992, 86-7; Grossmann 1991, 1485; early travellers mistook Diocletian’s shrine for a Christian church, deceived by the wall paintings depicting the emperor and his co-

regents – see Daressy 1920, 162-3; Meinardus 1977, 430-1; Török 2005, 139-48 asserts that it was simply for ideological reasons that Diocletian built his castrum here. 5 Abdul-Qader 1968, 244-53, plates XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, CV, CVI; Riad 1968, 294-5; Grossmann 1986, 79-80; Grossmann and Whitcomb 1993, 27-30. 6 Grossmann 1973, plan 1; see also Brooks Hedström 2007. 7 Abdul-Qader 1968, 230-2; Grossmann 1986. 8 Abdul-Qader 1968, 232 who sees this act as ideologically motivated. 9 Abdul-Qader 1968, 260-1, plates LXVIII; Grossmann 2002, 452-3; for the date of the church see Grossmann 1991, 1485 who states that it could be from the period after the Muslim conquest and Wilkinson 2000, 167 who states that it was a sixth century church. 10 Daressy 1920, 172-3; Grossmann 1986, 80.

94

Living in Coptic Period Thebes gospels with the name of Bishop Abraham of Armant inscribed on it.1

was located on this site.5 The surfaces of these columns were covered with brightly coloured pictures, depicting saints from the Nile Valley. These paintings were large, about 1.5 metres high, with decorative borders as well, and each saint had a particular resonance to an Egyptian Christian.6 An inscription on one of the columns of the temple lists the names of the archimandrites, beginning with Shenoute.7 A coherent and distinctly Coptic communal identity created this church. In the process, pharaonic structures provided an ideal location for a monumental church. And so the pharaonic past was overlaid with motifs more central to this communal identity. There are also more minimal traces of Coptic period presence in Karnak, in the temple of Opet and the temple of Khonsu, with Coptic graffiti and a possible hermitage in the Temple of Opet.8

No more than five minutes’ walk separates these churches from one another today, although in Coptic times the density of occupation would have meant a longer walk; narrow streets had to be negotiated, monasteries walked round. These churches may not have seen a simultaneous intensity of use, but it is in wandering around the perimeters of the temple that the scale of Coptic period alteration to the site can be appreciated. Lintels, shell niches, capitals and much more fragmentary pieces provide evidence of Coptic monumental architecture within and around Luxor temple. The images on these pieces frequently include a cross worked into a motif, such as a vine, and the cross is often surrounded by a circle, in raised or sunk relief. Many of the provenanced objects in the Coptic Museum in Cairo come from Luxor temple, indicating the investment into a material culture seen across Egypt and beyond at this period.2 For excavators who discovered a sculpted head of Tuthmosis III in a sixth/seventh century CE residential context, in an area to the north of the temple, this was evidence of an ‘ongoing relationship of this town and religious centre with its past’.3

Domestic and religious spaces were created pragmatically in the pre-existing structures of Luxor and Karnak. Monasteries may have been located right next to nonmonastic communities and the churches could have served both sets of people, who would not have been entirely distinct categories. These settlements continued through the Islamic period. A Christian element in the population remained to such an extent that a bishopric was established there in the eleventh century. This is a pattern seen elsewhere in the Nile Valley, for example at Akhmim.9 The effort put into christianising these areas demonstrate the impact of individual and communal identities on the built environment. There are also hints of a wider perception of Christianity which may have involved more than the simple rejection of the past. For example, in an excavation of a Coptic period residential area just in front of the first pylon at Karnak, near the sphinxes, pharaonic amulets were found in a strata which also contained coins from Constantine’s reign. This has been seen to indicate the fragile nature of christianisation.10 I would prefer to see this evidence not as indicative of a lack of christianisation but rather as indicative of a broader concept of a Christian identity than is often imagined today. Amulets with icons from a pharaonic past may merely have been elements to an understanding of the world which we can now only guess at.

This investment into monumental buildings as Thebans developed Christian focal points in their living environment continues to the site of Karnak. This was linked to Luxor temple in pharaonic times by the avenue of rams and the avenue of sphinxes. The north-south axis of Luxor temple also reinforced this direct linkage with Karnak, especially during the Opet festival when the gods Amun, Mut and Khonsu were taken in their barques from Karnak to Luxor and back again. It is possible that the churches at the Luxor temple end of the avenue of sphinxes were replicated by further churches as the avenue reached Karnak, although there is no evidence for this. Texts discovered in Djeme point to the existence of churches and monasteries in Karnak, from about the eighth to the thirteenth centuries.4 Racy tales of the Coptic rejection and vandalism of the past most frequently echo around the Festal Temple of Tuthmosis III, at the far east end of the main temple complex of Amun, as tourist groups wander in and out. Here on the columns of Tuthmosis III’s temple we see evidence for the church which

These patterns of re-use of what were essentially pharaonic complexes are mirrored in the west bank 5

The church may have been attached to a monastery, Coquin 1972, 170-77 provides a detailed account of the church based upon existing evidence as well as travellers’ reports; see also Munier and Pillet 1929, 87. 6 For example Saint Colluthus who was executed at Antinoe under the emperor Maximian see Munier and Pillet 1929, 64-74; Coquin 1972, 173. 7 Column 18, Coquin 1972; Munier and Pillet 1929, 87. 8 Graffiti include names and a cross, see Coquin 1972, 177-8; Munier and Pillet 1929, 62-4; Jacquet-Gordon 2003 for publication of graffiti at Temple of Khonsu. 9 McNally and Schrunk 1993. 10 Lauffray 1971, 124.

1

Strzgowski 1904, 340-1; Daressy 1920, 172-3. 2 See excavation of Johnson and Whitcomb 1989, 137-8 who found many items of Coptic period material culture when excavating to the north of the temple, including pottery, lamps, and bowls. 3 Johnson and Whitcomb 1989, 141, they cannot avoid speculating that the head of Tuthmosis III may have been displayed in the house of a sixth-seventh century CE ‘collector’. 4 Munier and Pillet 1929, 61; much of the archaeological evidence for the Coptic occupation of Karnak has simply been lost or destroyed see Coquin 1972, 170 and Munier and Pillet 1929, 61 who recorded much which is no longer in existence, including three residential areas which may have been monasteries.

95

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt landscape. The two landscapes were intentionally linked in the pharaonic times, through careful alignment of the monumental structures on either side of the Nile. The east-west axis of Karnak directly linked the temple with Hatshepsut’s valley and funerary temples on the west bank. During the Valley festival, the image of Amun of Karnak could be conveyed from east to west, leaving the port at the temple complex of Karnak, taken across the Nile and on to Hatshepsut’s temple. Luxor’s east-west axis also allowed it to be linked to Medinet Habu, the mortuary temple of Ramesses III on the west bank.1 Coptic period Thebans built monumental structures within and around these pharaonic structures, incorporating a concept of the sanctity of the landscape into their own communal and personal identity.2 Changing the built environment and creating one suitable for their own needs would have been a natural and ongoing process. In this, a high concentration of religious structures, monastic communities and residential areas was achieved in a small area. As far as it is possible to tell, all of the Coptic period residential and religious areas were built in and around earlier structures, many of them pharaonic. Whether this was guided by a desire to overturn and destroy the memory of a non-Christian past,3 or whether it evolved out of a practicality (easily available building material) and a shared awareness of the sacred potential of the physical landscape is hard to assess. Furthermore, the extensive occupation of western Thebes during the pharaonic period and later made it hard to avoid reoccupying an earlier site. I feel that pragmatic reasons were as crucial in the re-use of pharaonic sites at Thebes, drawing a contrast to some past interpretations which seem to revel in the clash of cultures.4 As in the pharaonic times, there were many sacred locations. Monks re-occupying the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut, Deir el Bahri, could gaze directly across the Nile to the temple of Karnak and know that that site too was inhabited by monks. Reassurance and affirmation of their identity was thus all around them.

locations abounded on the west bank, and provided symbolic refuges alongside sacred vistas.5 Other sites were a much more urban location for monasticism, as at Karnak and Luxor, which may actually have been closer to the origins of monasticism in general.6 The hills of western Thebes were crossed by a network of long established paths linking a great number of sites, from centres of monastic activity to solitary hermitages, whose residents may have lived under very different ‘regimes’.7 Our contemporary terminology for these sites is often flexible and inconsistent. For instance, it is all too easy to label essentially similar sites as monasteries or hermitages with no particular basis for when one or the other term is used. That people were prepared to expend a great deal of effort developing such places of habitation and worship may be significant in terms of assessing networks of social power and personal identity. Any patterns of habitation in the west bank were complex as there would have been considerable movement between the monasteries and hermitages.8 For instance, a monk may have spent some of the year living amongst his fellow monks, and then spent part of the year in more solitary surroundings, for example, in one of the rock cut tombs high in the Theban cliffs. Transitory occupation of sites was fundamental to living patterns, whilst at the same time people were associated with particular localities. A particular site may also only have been occupied during the lifetime of the anchorite inhabiting it, but may have continued to attract pilgrims to the site following the anchorite’s death, leading to an accumulation of graffiti. The interplay between pharaonic, pagan and Christian throughout the west bank, as Thebans seem to have engaged with the past is epitomised by the monastic site of Deir el Roumi, in the Valley of the Queens.9 Chronologically it is hard to pinpoint dates of activity in the west bank, but it is certain that pagans and Christians lived alongside each other at different stages of the reoccupation of the west bank.10 In theory, these differing communities should have reacted to the built environment around them in different ways. As an individual made the change from pagan to Christian, so his/her assessment and use of the pharaonic sites of the west bank should, in theory, have adapted and changed along with his/her personal identity. Yet, if the built environment is assessed without any prior knowledge of

A MONASTIC IDENTITY Some of the hermitages and monasteries on the west bank seem to fulfil perfectly the stereotype of early monasticism, whereby the desert was favoured as a residential location purely because of the physical difficulties inherent in living in the desert. Such desert

See Lane 1993, 294-8 for general point about desert providing refuge. 6 See Wipszycka 2000, 78; Goehring 1993, 286-91. 7 Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 144. 8 Lecuyot 2009, 20. 9 Delattre, Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 124-5. 10 See also Westerfield 2003, 11-2 who highlights the similarity in life patterns between Christian and non-Christian, and the incorporation of non-Christian into Christian (for example, Horus on the crocodiles becomes St George and the dragon). She emphasises the continuity between past and present which meant that literary authors had to create difference in their textual presentation of the Christian world. 5

Both Karnak and Luxor temples had two axes, north-south and east-west, see Strudwick and Strudwick 1999, 54, 78-9. 2 See Spek 2007, 179-80 for landscapes as a palimpsest, also for ethnographic study on how the people who actually live in western Thebes today interpret their surroundings. 3 Frankfurter 2007b describes the processes of cleansing a landscape from eg. malevolent non-Christian spirits. 4 See for example Doresse 1960, 30-1; Alston 2002, 293-4; Wipszycka 1994, 3 who wrote ‘choisir un tel terrain pour établir un monastère n’était pas seulement une commodité, mais une acte religieux: la nouvelle religion chassait l’ancienne, on suscitait aux démons des adversaires capables de leur résister’. 1

96

Living in Coptic Period Thebes changing belief systems, the pattern seems to be an ongoing one of rebuilding. A pagan sanctuary was established at Deir el Roumi at some point in the second century CE. This pagan sanctuary was then utilised as building material when a monastery was built directly on top, probably around the fourth century CE.1

pagan sanctuary, the pharaonic tomb, as an annexe. It may also have had a baptistery, indicated by a room to the south east of the church which contained a large jar with a cross in raised relief.5 The monastery seems to have been built in two stages, with the southern section built second, at about the end of the sixth century CE at the earliest. This hints at the success of the site, demonstrating that it continued to attract residents after its initial foundation.

Walking to Deir el-Roumi and its associated cells within the Valley of the Queens from the floodplain and Djeme takes only twenty minutes. The distance feels far greater as the floodplain is left behind and the inhospitable crags and cliffs of the desert hills are approached. The Valley of the Queens is hidden from view until the entrance to the valley is reached, although Deir el Roumi was situated in a highly visible location on the west side of the valley, on the southern slope of the hills right at the opening of the valley.2 To us now, the physical attributes of the valley seem to provide a perfect setting for a monk. The seclusion of the valley, its intense heat, the crags and the ancient tombs all seem now to be suitably physically challenging for a devout monk. Alongside this seclusion, the monastery also provided a visible witness to others living on the floodplain of the Christian life going on around them, and was only twenty minutes away from them.

The activity of the monastery is witnessed by ostraca discovered in the rubbish of the monastery: these were written in Greek and Coptic and document daily concerns.6 The monks and hermits resident in the valley also transformed other tombs around them. They painted over the non-Christian tomb paintings and occupied some of the tombs. Tomb numbers 58 and 60 were occupied until the eighth century. A chapel was built in and round tomb 60 which was the centre of a hermitage, from which domestic objects have been recovered, and images were painted on the tomb walls, for example a cross in room C. A range of other occupations in the three valleys closest to the Valley of the Queens seems also to have been carried out by monks directly associated with Deir el Roumi, for whom Deir el Roumi functioned as a central focus point. For example, a clustering of hermitages was discovered around tombs 98-9 in the valley of Prince Ahmose.7 Hence monks only a short distance from Deir el Roumi could occupy small ‘cavities’ or tombs on a temporary or longer term basis.8

The monastery and its associated buildings were constructed around an unfinished pharaonic tomb, between the hillside and a crag.3 The actual area covered by Deir el Roumi is small, but the impression given is one of dense settlement.4 The excavator divided the monastery into two sections, separated by a ‘long vestibule’. To the south side are four rooms, of unidentified function, and in the largest room there is evidence for an upper floor. It is from this side of the site that a direct view of Djeme can be seen, with the floodplain behind. Whether such a view would have been possible during the occupation of the monastery is unlikely, with its thick mudbrick walls and orientation towards the church, not the floodplain. If however, as was usual in the patterns of use of domestic space, the flat roof of the monastery was utilised by the monks, then there would have been a panoramic view of the floodplain and the west bank. Perhaps more importantly, its careful location within the Valley of the Queens yet not enclosed by the valley, provided a visible witness to the townspeople of Djeme of the religious endeavours being undertaken around them, frequently by those known to them. To the other side of the vestibule, on the north, are the rooms associated with the church, and the church itself. This was a domed construction, with the apse facing into the east side of the hill. The church incorporated the centre of the

The excavators also found what they identify as a family archive, a group of ostraca mainly dating from the sixth to eighth centuries, with a few from the tenth century. These demonstrate well the role of the monastery in religious as well as non-religious life in the locality.9 Perhaps the monastic and non-monastic worlds were so intertwined that unravelling the two in terms of potential impact on personal identity is unnecessary. It does seem likely that monasteries such as these could have had an impact, especially in terms of local power networks, far beyond their immediate, allegedly separate world. The material record of Deir el Roumi indicates that monks were able to proclaim successfully their identity within what had been a non-Christian environment. They created what seems to have been an ideal Christian ascetic landscape, closely mirroring the world as represented in Coptic texts. The religious beliefs of the monks and 5

Lecuyot 1993, 266. Lecuyot 1993, 268 see also Wagner et al 1990, 368-9, pl XXVIII. 7 Leblanc 1983, 41, 49-52, fig 7, pl V; 1985, 68, pl II; 1989, pl CXLVIII, 9-11. 8 Pantalacci 2005, 451; Lecuyot 2009, 18. 9 Pezin and Lecuyot 2007, 777-8. These ostraca also reveal an active engagement with intellectual discourse, for example reference is made to the Acts of the Apostles; Lecuyot and Delattre 2008, 41920. 6

1

Lecuyot 1993, 272 who assessed this as an ‘illustration of the struggle between the last pagans and the first Christians’. 2 Leblanc 1989, fig 9; Lecuyot 1993, 265-6. 3 Lecuyot 1993, plan II; see Pezin and Lecuyot 2007, 780 for more recent plan. 4 Approximately300 metres2.

97

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt hermits who lived in the valley and in its immediate locality were reflected by the built environment which they created around themselves. The lifestyles followed by these individuals are typical of the west bank, as well as of Christian communities across Egypt. Certain features reappear in all the west bank monastic/hermitage sites; mudbrick buildings, of varying size, based around an ancient tomb/temple, evidence for literate activity and large quantities of ceramic evidence. Depending on the size of the site, there may also be a church and outlying cells in further tombs. These monastic sites, replicated across the west bank, present a rigorous assertion of communal identity, demanding the development of distinct living areas. They also point to the influence which one individual could have amongst people in the immediate and the wider environment. Walking across the west bank now, even given the partial survival of the Coptic period built environment, the number of monastic sites is striking. The series of paths connecting the sites makes many of them easy and quick to access nowadays, and the paths have been used from the pharaonic times onwards.

the temple it appears that the names of the monks were written directly above their graves.4 Inside the temple on the left hand side of the entrance are three large crosses, painted in red.5 The church dedicated to Saint Isidorus seems to have been constructed inside the hypostyle hall of the temple.6 On the roof of the temple there are sets of ‘footprints’, the purpose of which is hard to ascertain.7 Two of these sets of feet are adjacent. One set has the name Abraham written inside both the left and the right foot, with a cross underneath, whilst the other set is simpler, lacking toes.8 This practice is seen in the pharaonic and later period Egypt as well, at temples near to Deir el Medina, for example at Medinet Habu and Karnak, as well as further afield, for example at Abydos.9 Had the monks noticed this and consciously decided to appropriate ancient practices in the proclamation of their own identity? When I stood on this temple roof, literally in pictures of the feet of Coptic monks, it was hard not to imagine past individuals standing there, looking out at their own christianised landscape, seeing a reiteration of their beliefs all around them. The close proximity of churches in these Theban sites is striking, creating a forceful statement of belief, and reiterating the same strong sense of personal identity apparently displayed by these feet. Reasons put forward for the number of churches include the fact that they may have been multi-functional, not just for worship but also for communal meals.10 Churches may have provided one of the few internal spaces in which any large scale gathering could take place. Furthermore, when a church became primarily a place sacred as a location for relics of a holy individual, the number of churches could multiply almost irrespective of the size of the local population. For example, in the Judean desert churches were built to commemorate an event or a person (memorial churches) as opposed to churches which were built directly to serve a community of people. Memorial churches could become pilgrimage centres in their own right, and stimulate the later development of a monastery.11 In such a context, the

A short walk from Deir el Roumi, via Djeme, is Deir el Medina. This site had been occupied during the GraecoRoman period right through to the Coptic period, with the sacred possibilities of the area developed.1 Ptolemy IV Philopator and his successors built a temple dedicated to Hathor (of the West), Ma’at, Imhotep and Amenhetep, son of Hapu, having destroyed the temple of Ramesses II which had previously stood on this site. The Coptic period occupation of this site involved converting the temple into a church, building a monastery and converting the tombs into hermit cells. The whole area seems to have been developed into a pilgrimage centre, with the main church functioning as a shrine for the martyred Isidorus from the sixth century to the middle of the eighth century.2 Despite the clearing of Coptic period evidence from the temple in the early twentieth century it still retains many traces of this occupation, most notably the inscriptions and graffiti on the external walls.3 Some of these inscriptions are memorials to deceased monks, and include one for a woman: in the case of the north wall of

4 Winlock and Crum 1926, 8; Bruyère 1952, 3; see also Heurtel 2004, 28-9; Wilfong 2008. 5 Heurtel 2004, 67. 6 Heurtel 2004, 67-8. 7 Heurtel 2004, 76-8. 8 Heurtel 2004, 74-5. 9 Teeter 2002, 3; Chevrier 1939, 556; Caulfield 1902, 11; JacquetGordon 2003 for graffiti on roof of Temple of Khonsu at Karnak. In particular, she interprets the pharaonic placement of footprints on the roof as ‘a substitute for themselves so they would remain forever’, Jacquet-Gordon 2003, 5. Hence it was a crime to erase the footprints. Graffitos 90, 209, 210 are family footprints, in which there are footprints of a parent and children together. Coptic graffiti are intermingled with the pharaonic on this roof, Jacquet –Gordon 2003, 24, 29, 87, 99, 111. 10 See the site of Kellia, for example, Devos in Bridel 1986, 288; see also Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 143 for a brief discussion of presence of churches in western Thebes. 11 Bridel 1986, 288; Hirschfeld 1992, 16.

Montserrat and Meskell 1997. Heurtel 2004, 86-7, 100-101. 3 Baraize 1914 cleared the temple, recording in the process any Coptic period remains; Winlock and Crum 1926, 8 commented that the temple was an ideal location for a church and monastery; the graffiti includes crosses (one in raised relief) and a figure with raised arms and an animal; see Bruyère 1948, 36-8 and 1952, 1920; Heurtel 2004, 89-99 for discussion of the figure with raised arms; artefacts discovered include Coptic ostraca and lamps; see Winlock and Crum 1926, 9-10 for description of the archive which was dispersed in the nineteenth century; see Heurtel 2004 for up to date publication of graffiti and discussion of the area, especially pages 81-3 for discussion of a graffito which is essentially a list of clothes. 1 2

98

Living in Coptic Period Thebes multiplicity of places of worship in Thebes should not be seen as surprising. It was also a feature of New Kingdom Memphis.

whom a monastic community developed.8 Mark wrote letters to Frange, and whoever delivered them (perhaps even Mark himself) did not have to walk far, only twenty minutes at the most, but would have passed other religious communities on the way.

It is at Deir el Medina that this proximity of the different settlements and religious buildings on the west bank can be most appreciated. To one side, on the south east on the brow of a hill is Deir Kurnet Murrai, and on the other side, on the north east is a path linking Deir el Medina with other Coptic period settlements such as site VII, a hermitage. Deir Kurnet Murrai is only a ten minute’s walk from Deir el Medina, up the side of a hill from where there are clear site lines south to Djeme, north west to the Deir el Medina, north to site VII and west to the Qurn. Djeme itself is only thirty minutes’ walk at the most from Deir Kurnet Murrai. Monks sitting on the roof of the temple of Hathor could be reassured by the christianised landscape around them, seeing their fellow monks at work at Deir Kurnet Murrai; one such individual wrote his name on the temple walls, saying that he was Mark the son of Peter the priest of St Mark (at Deir Kurnet Murrai).1

One of those communities was at Site VII. This is on the side of a steep hill and the mudbrick remains of what seems to have been a tower can be seen from a distance. This tower may have been at least ten metres high. Towers such as this one were one of the key features of the Coptic period settlements in the west bank, providing security alongside storage and living space.9 They also provided visually striking points in the landscape, especially when in a setting such as Site VII. From Deir el Medina, the path descends steeply and cuts across the valley floor, and then climbs again up to this small hermitage. Pottery sherds litter the climb up to the site, once the site is reached there is a clear outlook down to the Ramesseum (also occupied in the Coptic period), across to the east bank of the Nile and towards Deir Kurnet Murrai. The effect of this site would have been very imposing, standing as it does on the foothills of the Qurn, with steep slopes on three sides. The settlement was built directly in front of and in a Middle Kingdom pharaonic tomb. The inside of the tomb was integrated into the site with inscriptions left on its walls. Three small rooms were also made in the tomb.10 Substantial quantities of pottery, especially of fragments of amphorae, have been excavated.

The location of Deir Kurnet Murrai was highly visible to those on the floodplain and on the desert behind.2 The church located here was dedicated to St Mark and was built around a pharaonic tomb.3 It seems to have been built in stages, first a chapel then made into a church along the usual apsidal plan. Living space was also extended with time, and included a refectory and a workshop.4 The considerable finds at Deir Kurnet Murrai indicate the active monastic community, with a very large quantity of pottery and ostraca discovered there.5 Numerous sherds litter the site still. It seems that the site was centred around an individual, Mark, whose handwriting has been discerned in about fifteen texts.6 The apparently small area of the site is overshadowed by the extent of material remains. The location of this religious area was once again focused upon a pharaonic tomb, and the site seems to combine both a commanding physical location as well as the reuse of a pharaonic structure. And an inspiring individual stimulated others to visit the site and extend it. The site seemed to be in existence for about 150 years, as people continued to visit after Mark’s death. It is possible that the site was a place for pilgrimage, and the varied and rich range of pottery types distinguishes it from other sites in western Thebes.7 We know from the corpus of texts found in tomb no. 29 in Sheikh Abd el-Qurna that Mark was in touch with Frange, another semi-anchoretic monk around

In particular, the recent textual discoveries at this site demonstrate the care with which we need to interpret the status and identities of those who lived in what seem to have been small sites. A functional living environment was created, in the midst of which individuals played a wider role in economic life, in language learning, and in textual transmission. Such sites seem to have been a location for the reinforcement of one another’s personal identity and for the assertion of localised power. Ostraca were mainly discovered under the tower, one of which mentions Frange, and this site may be identified in particular with an Apa Joseph who is mentioned frequently. Furthermore, in a secondary context again, in a refuse heap, books were found; three apparently literary texts, the Regulations of pseudo-Basil, the Life of Pisenthius and a series of parchment cards with unidentified texts.11 It is hard not to assess the copying and circulation of books such as these between monastic individuals on the west bank as enabling and sustaining their understanding of the world and their place in it.12It is hard not to assess the copying and circulation of books such as these between monastic individuals on the west bank as enabling and sustaining their understanding of the world and their place in it.13

1

Heurtel 2004, 19. Bonomi 1914, 82, no 64 who visited Thebes in 1830 describes Deir Kurnet Murrai ‘the convent on the hill with the temple with brick wall’. 3 Heurtel 2007, 727. 4 Sauneron 1972; 1973; Heurtel 2007, 727. 5 Sauneron 1973, 207, 230; Ballet 2007, 131-6. 6 Boud’hors 2008, 153-4. 7 Ballet 2007, 136 who suggests that there may have been rituals specific to that location, necessitating the use of what he identifies as ‘rich’ objects. 2

8

Heurtel 2007, 736, 743. Winlock and Crum 1926, 10-11; Walters 1974, 79, 86. 10 Winlock and Crum 1926, 11; Antoniak 2008, 145-6. 9

11

Antoniak 2008, 146-8. See Boud’hors 2008 for analysis of the circulation of books. 13 See Boud’hors 2008 for analysis of the circulation of books. 12

99

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt mudbrick structures can still be seen in the forecourts of some of these tombs, which command a view down to the Ramesseum and beyond. It formed an outlying cell to the Monastery of Epiphanius, with similar patterns of use, just on a smaller scale. The centre of settlement at Sheikh Abd el-Qurna radiated from the Monastery of Epiphanius, a short five minute walk from the Monastery of Cyriacus. The Monastery of Epiphanius was located both within, and in the forecourt of, tomb 103, the tomb of Daga. To the north west of Epiphanius’ monastery is Deir el Bahri, with a clear visual link between the two. The Monastery of Epiphanius, with its two towers, one of which was three stories high, containing storage areas, grain bins and living space, provided a highly visible witness to the monastic life going on there. A boundary wall skirted the site and its lands, making it a distinctive community, with associated hermits choosing to live outside the boundary wall.8 As at other sites, development of the Monastery of Epiphanius was in stages, with a dynamic individual, Epiphanius, being the stimulus for the development.9

To the north of Site VII, reached by a path leading along the valley floor from Djeme and Deir el Medina, past Site VII is the hill of Sheikh Abd el-Qurna which is filled with private tombs, most originating in the New Kingdom.1 Another possible route to this hill is through skirting the edge of the floodplain, past the Ramesseum and then turning north west. The second route takes only twenty minutes from Djeme, although some of those travelling both paths in Coptic times would have stopped off at the different habitations and devotional locations en route for social, economic and religious purposes. The private tombs which litter this hill provided ideal settings for monks, who used them for both long and short term occupation. None of these tombs would have been devoid of Coptic period occupation.2 For example, the forecourts of the tombs were used as workshops, where loom-pits were located on which the monks could produce textiles, and the tombs themselves could be lived in.3 The tombs in this hill were not simply settings for anonymous devout individuals with minimal social power, but were also locations for people with considerable local power and influence. For example, it seems likely that an individual, Ananias, who lived for at least some of the time in and around tomb numbers 85 and 87, should be linked with a bishop of the same name.4 Careful tracking of textual sources continues to reveal some of the other individuals who inhabited these locations. For example, Frange lived in the forecourt of tomb no. 29. His links with the rest of Thebes are testified by his letters and by his economic activities: book-binding, rope-making, weaving and leather-work.5 350 Coptic ostraca were found in this tomb, 75 of which mention Frange’s name, and new finds across western Thebes continually reveal more ostraca with his name on.6 He lived in the early eighth century, and was from Petemout, and became, on the evidence of ostraca, intimately linked with life in western Thebes, communicating with people allegedly of ‘toutes catégories sociales.’7

At the centre of the Monastery of Epiphanius was its church, created in the tomb of Daga. This church provides a kind of microcosm of an ideal Coptic world created in a pharaonic setting, in which key texts outline beliefs, and those who fail to follow them are condemned. The texts found on the plastered walls include the Greek festal letter by Athanasius condemning heretics and Syriac texts, such as the Lord’s prayer.10 These suggest a community of primarily Coptic and non-Coptic speakers, united through their shared beliefs. These shared beliefs led to interactions and learning, for instance the Syriac alphabet is written on one ostracon, suggesting that it was being used to teach Syriac to a Coptic speaker.11 Further hints at language learning are provided by ostraca on which Greek verbs were conjugated alongside Coptic verbs.12 This shared endeavour at following the monastic life was such that a vast quantity of written material was generated, demonstrating extensive links with the rest of Thebes and beyond.

The northern and eastern slopes of Sheikh Abd el-Qurna became the nuclei of two monastic establishments, of Epiphanius and of Cyriacus, in which the activities were very similar to those at tomb no. 29. The different types of evidence from the monasteries of Epiphanius and Cyriacus work together to reveal a world in which personal beliefs impacted on lifestyle, on the organisation of living space and on occupation. The monastery of Cyricacus was clustered in and around tomb nos 65-7. Coptic period

8

Winlock and Crum 1926, 32-9, pl VI, fig 3. They highlight the defensive purpose of these towers and the boundary wall. 9 Winlock and Crum 1926, 32; Walters 1974, 10. 10 See previous chapter; the placement of these texts reinforces the symbolism of a monastery as somewhere distinct from its immediate environment, where the correct way of life could be found. See Goehring 2007 on washing of people and buildings following the presence of ideological threats. 11 Winlock and Crum 1926, 140; Crum and White 1926, 148-53. 12 Winlock and Crum 1926, 143, who also mistakenly characterise the use of Greek as something done with great reluctance ‘Greek had remained nothing but a foreign tongue’ see also Calament 2004, 62-70 who publishes writing exercises from western Thebes; Bucking 2007 for his interpretation of the presence of writing exercises at the monastery, which he demonstrates could show private study rather than formal schooling.

1

Heurtel 2003a, 299 emphasises the links between the sites on this hill and Deir el Medina; Behlmer 2007a, 164-9. 2 Heurtel 2002, 29, 32 for overview of Coptic discoveries in other tombs on this hill. 3 See Tefnin 2002, 6. 4 Behlmer 2007a, 164-9 tracks the inhabitants of tombs 85 and 87, with an associated church at tomb number 97. 5 Boud’hors and Heurtel 2002; Heurtel 2003b. 6 Heurtel 2002, 32; Heurtel 2008 for in-depth discussion of Frange; Boud’hors 2008, 156-7. 7 Heurtel 2008, 163.

100

Living in Coptic Period Thebes The non-textual finds at the monastery also indicate a clear identification with patterns of monastic life across Egypt. They created an environment which provided constant reiteration and affirmation of a communal identity. For example, the mud seals on the ribbed amphorae used for wine have images of individuals praying with upraised hands, as well as crosses and the name of Christ.1 Those living as monks followed the accepted occupations, such as textile and shoe making, but the economic impact of the monastery was such that more luxurious items could be obtained from further afield, for example wooden screens and painted pottery.2

metres high.8 The energy put into the creation of this monastery is demonstrated by drums of sandstone columns from the Ramesseum, which were taken to the monastery for use as basins.9 Material finds link the site in with others on the west bank and beyond. For example, drawings on ostraca include motifs recognisable from graffiti, and engraved stones, wooden furniture, pottery, amphorae and painted fragments are all similar to those found at the Monastery of Epiphanius.10. Taking up a monastic identity, or going to live within a monastery and helping to create and affirm its distinctive lifestyle was not simply a matter of personal choice. The realities of social and political power could result in rigid structures in which identities were conferred and implemented with few freedoms. We have seen the possibility of individuals with tangible power and influence living at the heart of monastic communities, but at the monastery of Phoibammon we also see the possibility of non-monastic individuals having to live within a monastic complex. This is suggested by a series of rooms on the lower terrace of the temple. These may have been housing for those who were connected to the monastery, but who were not actually part of it.11 Such people were often those who had been donated to a monastery when children by their families, and who were then used by monasteries to perform a variety of tasks such as agriculture.12 Linking the site once more to its immediate past, it seems that at least some of these children were donated as part of a bargain made by their parents. The monastery had a reputation for healing, as the site had done during the time when the cult of Amenhotep and Imhotep flourished there. Hence, people specifically travelled to the monastery for healing, for holy water and treatment. They promised to donate their child should recovery happen.13

Such is the vibrant nature and confidence with which a monastic life and identity was created at these monasteries, it is somehow not surprising that an equally vibrant community was created less than ten minute’s walk away in Deir el Bahri. No doubt simple power and wealth were as important as individual inspiration in creating the large monastery of Phoibammon in the midst of Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple.3 Residents of Djeme may have donated the land for it in the sixth century, and Abraham who later became bishop of Armant was, at one point, the head of the monastery.4 The site, set against the backdrop of sandstone cliffs in a natural amphitheatre, forms one of the most imposing structures on the west bank. It commands an outlook over the west bank and down to the east bank, making it an ideal site for comprehensive re-occupation. Evidence from graffiti suggests that the organised cult of Amenhotep and Imhotep at Deir el Bahri ceased in the second half of the second century CE, whereas informal worship continued there until the first half of the fourth century, carried out in particular by the ironworkers at Hermonthis.5 Interestingly, and perhaps more than coincidentally, the monastic buildings were built exactly where the cult of Amenhotep and Imhotep had taken place.6

The monastic landscape extended beyond the natural amphitheatre of Hatshepsut’s temple. Immediately above Deir el Bahri individuals cut their names or crosses and drawings into the rocks, with a tomb nearby possibly used as a hermitage by monks from Deir el Bahri.14 Such patterns of use extend from Deir el Bahri to the Monastery of Epiphanius on its southern side, and to the rock cut

The reclamation of Hatshepsut’s temple in the Coptic period was so successful that it took a concerted effort on the part of Egyptologists to remove the monastic buildings. Visible traces of this stage in the life of Hatshepsut’s temple are now limited to graffiti on the walls and perhaps the erasure of representations of deities on the temple reliefs.7 In the late nineteenth century one of the monastery’s mudbrick towers still survived to eight

Mariette 1890, 1; Naville 1894; Winlock 1942, 14. Barwik 1991, 19; see also Wipszycka 2007, 116-8 for description of monastery. 10 Godlewski 1986, 108-14, 119-33. It is also likely that much of the textual material given a general Theban provenance was actually recovered illicitly from this site see Crum and Steindorff 1912; ostraca with letters on continue to be found at the site, see Godlewski 1986, 134-40. 11 Godlewski 1986, 46. 12 Papaconstantinou 2002, between 730-785 there were 26 documents in which 27 children are donated to the monastery of Phoibammon; such people were tied for ever to the land and the monastery. 13 Łatjar 2006, 103; Wilfong 2002, 99-104. 14 Rzepka 2000, 230-1. 8 9

Winlock and Crum 1926, 80. Winlock and Crum 1926, 54, 91-2; see Ockinga 2000 for example of recently discovered Coptic occupation of another tomb, time will continue to reveal more of this type of evidence. 3 It may have been a continuation of the Monastery of Phoibammon in the western valley, ten kilometres away which had ceased functioning in the late sixth century – see Godlewski 1986, 63. 4 Godlewski 1986, 49, 63-4. 5 Łatjar 2006, 101-102. 6 Łatjar 2006, 103. 7 Godlewski 1986, 142-52; Wilkinson 2000, 178. 1 2

101

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt tombs of the eleventh dynasty on its northern side, which were occupied by hermits. Traces of the monastic occupation of these tombs include ostraca, leather sandals and letters addressed to Epiphanius (of the Monastery of Epiphanius).1 From Deir el Bahri a path climbs along this hillside, passing by these tombs and reaching Deir el Medina to the south and the Valley of the Kings to the north west.

for Coptic period occupation.6 Stone cairns in the shape of crosses seem to have established the boundaries of what was a monastery, now known as Deir el Bakhit.7 Much of the Coptic period evidence had been cleared away, but part of the site has recently been re-examined and excavated.8 The monastic complex seems to have formed by far the largest monastic settlement in western Thebes, continuously occupied between the late fifth and early eighth centuries.9 The refectory alone could have seated as many as 72 monks, and the patterns of behaviour here closely link in with other sites in western Thebes.10 Pharaonic period tombs were re-occupied, with classic reuse of ancient Egyptian elements, including hieroglyphic inscriptions which were incorporated into a limestone pavement. The ostraca found during the recent excavations include practice exercises and a Coptic alphabet, suggesting that effort was put into the transmission of knowledge.11 A communal identity, based around the monastic life, was created here.

The walk between Deir el Bahri and the Valley of the Kings only takes twenty minutes, but it is steep, and the Valley of the Kings itself feels much more isolated than Deir el Roumi. In the Coptic period, the tombs of the Valley of the Kings were occupied or visited by a variety of individuals for what seem to have been primarily religious reasons.2 For example, Ramesses IV’s tomb had been much visited before the Coptic period, and in the Coptic period an oven, two granaries and a domestic building were constructed in its forecourt, with amphorae for storing honey beside them. Inside the tomb, visitors to the anchorites left their names and wrote prayers. An image of Apa Ammonios was painted at the entrance to the tomb, which may itself have represented a special location for devotion to this individual, whose sanctity has been tracked in graffiti from across the west bank.3 Few accessible tombs were left without some sort of Coptic graffiti, suggesting individuals were keen either to absorb sanctity from the tombs or to impose their own. Any archaeologist working in the tombs of western Thebes encounters Coptic period occupations. In tomb KV 5, Coptic pottery sherds were discovered throughout the labyrinthine tomb, in every chamber, even in the most apparently impenetrable sections of the tomb.4 It is hard to understand why an individual would penetrate to the very depths of a tomb, using and leaving large quantities of pottery, in an atmosphere which would have been dark, close and full of potential danger. Somehow it seems right that understanding such behaviour in academic terms is always going to remain elusive; instead we remain amazed at the way in which people accessed and settled in what seem to us now to have been inaccessible locations.5

From the summit of this hill there is an extensive outlook over the west and east banks which mirrors the outlook from Deir Kurnet Murrai. This monastic site likewise provides a connection between the valley floor settlements with those in the desert. From Dra’ Abu el Naga it is only about half an hour’s walk north east to a small valley in which stone was quarried from the 26th dynasty to the Roman period. Here, in the quarry individuals reused the underground chambers, built mudbrick walls and created small rooms. They painted crosses on the walls, and wrote up a prayer to the apostles. Above the quarry, on the side of the valley, was a row of houses with Coptic pottery sherds, and the whole site is still covered with sherds. Two preCoptic watchtowers to the north of the quarry, on steep slopes either side of the Farshut road, were reoccupied by monks/anchorites, providing a vantage point over the west bank.12 This quarry settlement does not mark the edge of Theban monastic endeavour, but instead points forward to Thoth Hill, the highest peak on the west bank. This hill can be reached by a steep walk of about two hours from the quarry settlement, and is so steep that pack animals

Deir el Bahri was quite literally surrounded by monastic settlements and hermitages. Approaching it from the valley floor meant passing such settlements on either side. At the southern end of this approach, on the summit of the hill named Dra’ Abu el Naga there is extensive evidence

6

Ockinga 2007, 146-7. Winlock and Crum 1926, 21 surviving to Winlock and Crum’s day was a cemetery of 50-100 graves, pottery, ostraca and some mudbrick walls. See Polz and Eichner 2006; Strudwick and Strudwick 1999, 206. 8 Ockinga 2007; Burkard, Mackensen, and Polz 2003; Eichner and Fauerbach 2005; Grossmann 2006. 9 Polz and Eichner 2006, 302; Behlmer 2007a, 163. 10 Eichner and Fauerbach 2005, 143-6. For example, see Burkard, Mackenson and Polz 2003, 57-9 for pottery finds. 11 Burkard, Mackenson and Polz 2003, 63-4, who suggest that there was a school here; contrast Bucking 2007 for his reinterpretation of the so-called ‘school’ environment. 12 Winlock and Crum 1926, 22-3; Petrie 1909c, plates IV, LIII, LVI. 7

Carter 1912, 22; Winlock and Crum 1926, 20. See Stela BM 409; Lefebvre 1907, 71. There are also Coptic period burials at this site. 3 Davis and Ayrton 1908, 6-8; Winlock and Crum 1926, 18-9; Delattre 2008b; Lecuyot 2009, 20. 4 Winlock and Crum 1926, 19-20; Weeks 1998, 53; Weeks 2000, 119, 125. 5 See tombs in mountains to west of the Valley of the Kings, Quibell 1906, 9; Carter 1917, 107-109. 1 2

102

Living in Coptic Period Thebes cannot walk on it.1 On the summit of the hill are the remains of an early dynastic stone temple dedicated to Horus, on top of which was a Middle Kingdom temple built by Sankhare Mentuhotep.2 In addition a Sed festival palace of Sankhare Mentuhotep was located there, with the further development of Thoth Hill as a site for devotion to Hathor dictated by its position near the expeditionary route from Thebes to Farshut.3 The site was not used again until the Coptic period.

area of settlement either very early in the ninth century or late in the eighth century.7 Following the clearing of the temple in the nineteenth century the only areas of Djeme remaining for excavation were to the south east and the north and west of the mortuary temple.8 As well as simply referring to the actual town, the toponym Djeme was also used to refer to the whole area of western Thebes stretching from Medinet Habu to Deir el-Bahari.9 The population of the town may have been between 1,000 and 2,000 people.10

Thoth Hill, along with the Qurn, dominates the landscape of west and eastern Thebes, the two hills providing focus points. For a Theban, seeking to transform the physical landscape into a visible witness to identity, Thoth Hill seems to be an obvious site for activity. Evidence for such activity includes large quantities of Coptic amphorae, limestone crosses and defaced statues of Thoth.4 This may have been carried out by a group of monks in the fourth and fifth centuries. 5 At a similar date perhaps the most stunning alteration of an inaccessible tomb was carried out on the north side of Thoth Hill. Halfway up a cliff of 35 metres, accessible only to the excavators through the use of ropes of ladders, is a tomb perhaps built for Sankhare Mentuhotep. Thebans had converted this tomb into a chapel, with a brightly coloured life-size painting of Christ Pantocrater, crosses and symbols of the four evangelists as well as numerous Coptic graffiti.6

Crucial to the town were a number of religious buildings. Churches were built within the mortuary temple and in its immediate vicinity. The main church was built in the second court of the mortuary temple. This followed the basilica plan with columns of reused Aswan granite running down either side of the nave, as well as a baptistery and well.11 It represents a considerable investment in terms of finance, labour and time on the part of Djeme residents. Today, a few graffiti and the destroyed Osiride statues of Ramesses III are all that remain after the removal of the church. Incidentally, the building of this church in the second court of the temple has resulted in the high level of preservation of the temple reliefs, their colours preserved under a layer of whitewash, on top of which were wall-paintings. There is also evidence for three other smaller churches in Djeme, though there may well have been more.12 One of these built within the small temple, and its interior was decorated on two walls with paintings of the life of Saint Menas, dedicated by a woman called Elizabeth, who is depicted on the paintings in the attitude of prayer.13 The two other churches linked the mortuary temple area with its immediate environs. One church, a much smaller version of the second court church, was located outside the eastern fortified gate, and the other was in the temple precinct of Eye and Haremhab.14

The material record has left an environment marked by distinct and intense patterns of monastic occupation over a couple of centuries. Would these living patterns have happened without the assumption of a Christian personal identity? What seems clear is that there was a need to incorporate a monumental landscape into the monastic, and that the living or past presence of powerful individuals could stimulate ongoing interest in the area as a specifically Christian location.

Residential areas clustered around and within these temples.15 Both the first and third courts of the mortuary

THE NON-MONASTIC Djeme was the major basically non-monastic settlement area in west bank Thebes, a place in which we can see the close juxtaposition of residential and religious settings. This site, in the mortuary temple of Ramesses III (Medinet Habu), had seen successive occupations following the end of the pharaonic era. By the Coptic period, a town had been built within the outer walls of the temple and within the temple. This reflects the settlement pattern seen in Karnak and Luxor temples. Djeme was abandoned as an

7 See Wilkinson 1835, 45-6; Daressy 1897, iv; Hölscher 1934, 1; Wilfong 2002, 151. 8 Hölscher 1934 for excavation reports of large proportion of this area; see also Horbury 1998 and Wilfong 2002, 155-8 for analysis of this clearing. 9 Boud’hors and Heurtel 2002. 10 Wilfong 2002, 13. 11 Hölscher 1934, plate 32; 1954, 54, plate 45; Wilber 1940, 93; Badawy 1978, 66; Grossmann 2002, 455-7; Daressy 1920, 173; Vliet 2006, 51 comments that ‘monumental temples make odd churches’. 12 Hölscher 1954, 51-7. 13 Wilber 1940, 88, 90-1, 94, fig 11; see Wilfong 2002, 95-8 for detailed discussion of this painting. 14 Hölscher 1954, 55-6, plate 46, 23D; 1934, plates 9-10. 15 Hölscher reconstructs evidence for extensive housing from nineteenth century photographs and from minimal traces left after the exposure of pharaonic remains see Hölscher 1934, plate 32; Teynard 1858, plate 34.

1 Vörös and Pudleiner 1997a, 283; Vörös 1998, 17; Petrie 1909c, 5 emphasises the accessibility of the site. 2 Petrie 1909c, pl V; Vörös and Pudleiner 1997a; 1997b; Vörös 1998 3 Pudleiner 2001, 245. 4 Vörös 2003, 549, 551. 5 Petrie 1909c, 5 reports having been told about Coptic period mudbrick walls on the summit; Vörös and Pudleiner 1997a, 284, 287; Vörös 1998, 35, 61. 6 Vörös 1998, 74.

103

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt temple were extensively built in, thereby almost surrounding the church in the second court. The houses were multi-storied. On the basis of the doorways cut in the north wall of the mortuary temple, it is possible that each floor was lived in by a different set of residents.1 This possibility fits in well with the patterns of house ownership known from Roman papyri from towns such as Oxyrhynchus and with actual archaeological and textual evidence from Djeme itself.2 House 42 outside the mortuary temple provides a classic example of this. It may have originally been two houses, later amalgamated into one as the household increased.3 Similarly, the reverse happened as well, with houses separated into more and more living units as they were redivided amongst family members.4 This process was known in the Roman period, as at Oxyrhynchus, but it is also documented vividly in a family archive from Djeme.5 This covered four generations of one family, who had kept the same house over this period. The re-divisions of the house had constantly changed its internal organisation, as different family members died and space was re-allotted. Unusually for Theban Coptic period residential (nonmonastic) settings, the excavator managed to reconstruct street plans for about one hundred houses located within the mortuary temple. Here, narrow streets wound amongst tightly packed multi-storied houses, some of which led into dead ends.6 The density of occupation of these areas is shown by the width of these streets, which ranged from 1.10 – 1.80 metres.7 Each house had at least two floors, of about two rooms/floor, without an open courtyard.8 The flat roofs of the mudbrick houses would also have been utilised as living space.9 When visiting the site today, it is still possible to see some of these houses in situ. Those on the wall were orientated not outwards to the rest of the west bank, but inwards to Djeme and the security it provided, though with time Djeme extended outside its enclosure walls.10

Proximity to the main church in the second court may have denoted status upon the resident, who could benefit both from the sanctity of the area and the extra security, being further away from the vulnerable outside edges of the town.11 The impression given by the street plans of the town is one of dense settlement, dictated by function with some townspeople wanting to live in a secure location within the enclosure walls. Despite the apparent limitations on space, which resulted in living quarters crammed around narrow streets, there was also a willingness to embellish the houses, to create external features around their entrances. The piles of stone lintels which now lie in a storage area to the east of the mortuary temple demonstrate this well. On these lintels, crosses, doves and rosettes were carved in raised relief, motifs which are repeated in graffiti across the west bank and which are also familiar from the east bank of Thebes. The lintels would have been placed above the doors of houses, setting out the religious identity of the residents.12 Such a practice is familiar from the context of New Kingdom Memphis, where similarly small residential areas could be embellished through the use of stone lintels proclaiming an individual’s names and titles. In terms of the motivations and beliefs of Djeme residents, it seems highly significant that such a large area of the town within the safety of the enclosure walls was given over to religious space. Each of the four churches was a considerable construction, the very reverse of the living quarters. They were spacious, with windows set high in the walls, and using stone, wood and granite as building materials. In the context of such a crowded settlement a church would have created an impression upon the visitor who was able to access it, reaching it from a multitude of dark streets. The churches of Djeme were used not only by Djeme residents, but were also visited by people from across the west bank and possibly beyond. For example, a letter found in the Monastery of Phoibammon records a request from an official of Djeme that the recipient of the letter visit the church in Djeme.13 The enclosed, almost exclusive world depicted in one description of Djeme: ‘if the ordered, colonnaded thoroughfares of the Classical cities bespoke powerful urban administrations, so the intricacies of Kom el-Dikke, of the temple of Chnum and of Jeme [Djeme] represent communities knowable only to the insider’14 needs to be countered by the columned religious buildings at the

The internal organisation of the houses, which can now sometimes be only guessed at, means that it is difficult to identify any kind of residential areas on the basis of the social status of the inhabitants. Across Djeme there are houses of differing sizes, but this does not provide an indication of how many people lived inside each house. Larger houses may have had a greater density of occupation than smaller houses of apparently lower status. A specific status indicator may have been location. Hölscher 1954, 49. Alston 2002, 67-75. 3 Hölscher 1954, 50. 4 Römer 2005, 102; see Wilfong 2002, 47-68 for a vivid reconstruction of patterns of life and ownership in one house. 5 Schiller 1953. 6 Römer 2005, 91. 7 Hölscher 1934, plate 32; 1954, 45; Badawy 1978, 28-9; Alston 2002, 176. 8 Alston 2002, 121 describes them as ‘tiny structures’. 9 Hölscher 1931, 53; 1954, 454-6. 10 Badawy 1978, 105. 1 2

11 Hölscher 1954, 47, 49; see McNally and Shrunk 1993, 8-9 for a fourth century city register from Akhmim which records the occupations of inhabitants as a determining factor in ‘choice’ of residential location. 12 Alston 2002, 119. 13 Crum and White 1926, 210-1; see also Winlock and Crum 1926, 128-9; Boud’hors and Heurtel 2002, 9. 14 Alston 2002, 176.

104

Living in Coptic Period Thebes heart of Djeme which were open to those from outside the town’s immediate confines.

into their midst motifs recognisable from across Egypt.8 A A Djeme resident’s will, that of an individual called Susanna, reveals the type of personal property owned by someone. Her list of belongings includes the sort of essential items which could have been owned by anyone, including a monastic community, across Egypt at that time.9 Personal embellishment also fits into wider practices as well, and includes silver bracelets.10 Female figurines, made from baked clay, immediately bring to mind the patterns of material culture seen in New Kingdom Memphis. Indeed, these figurines in Djeme date from the reign of Ramesses III right up until the ninth century CE. There seems to have been a continuity of need, even if primary uses may have fluctuated over the centuries. Coptic figures showing women praying may well have formed foci for pious devotion.11

Djeme itself was at the heart of west bank life, spilling outside its own enclosure walls in the seventh century. Its inhabitants included people whose personal identity was closely aligned with the religious life in their midst. The inhabitants seem to fit firmly into their cultural and religious context, participating in the dominant forms of self-expression prevalent throughout Thebes. Textual evidence, on ostraca and papyri continually reinforces this impression. Legal documents show monks in western Thebes functioning as administrators and scribes for the townspeople of Djeme, recording financial matters such as taxation.1 Letters demonstrate the interactions between Djeme and the different settlements of the west bank.2 Such documents naturally emphasise the involvement of the religious in the lives of those in Djeme, given their literacy skills. This relationship may have been crystallised by the possibility that the town was part of the lands of the Monastery of Phoibammon.3 Furthermore, the townspeople of Djeme formed the primary agricultural work-force for the monasteries around them.4 Given the integration of the monastic into the life of Djeme, as administrators, employers and as a source of spiritual help, it is not surprising that so many letters from Djeme residents are addressed to monks. At the same time there is a contrast between texts forming monastic archives and those texts which were found in Djeme itself. The latter category are far less concerned with monks and are much more concerned simply with matters of the town.5 So I think we are seeing a much more pragmatic assertion of identity, in which close alignment with religious identities could be expressed in the necessary context.

The extant evidence for Djeme’s population creates an image of a town in which the Christian world impacted to such an extent that the greatest investment was in the places of worship. Any influence of the religious beliefs of the rulers of Egypt did not find material form at this stage. Djeme seems to have been a Christian town, located in an Islamic world, and would have been a wellprotected and visually imposing settlement. The residents dwelt in a variety of locations in and around the pharaonic temple, some of which were more secure than others. The large church in the second court was in one of the most secure locations, surrounded by a maze of streets and within the walls of the great temple. Walking around Medinet Habu now, it is possible to be completely oblivious to the world outside, the structure is so immense. The vistas are obliterated by the high enclosure wall and by the sheer size of the temple itself. Presumably, for a Theban attending church or walking through the streets back home a similar immersion in the immediate environment would have occurred. Nonetheless, on the roofs of some of the houses, especially on those of the enclosure wall, and on the temple roof itself, it would have been possible to look out over the west bank. Almost without trying, they would have been able to glimpse the towers of the solitary hermitages in the slopes and cliffs of the Qurn, at Deir el Roumi, Deir Kurnet Murrai and beyond. These were places which townspeople worked, taking supplies, pilgrims, visiting family and from which monks visited Djeme to attend services, to assist in legal matters and to administer their monastic lands. Finally, the most

There is also a close alignment with cultural patterns seen in monasteries. Material evidence with a firm Djeme context is sparse, and generally cannot be representative of the full spectrum of life for a community which contained a variety of inhabitants.6 Much of the pottery would have been locally manufactured and was minimally embellished. Motifs on clay and stone seals and seal impressions draw upon motifs known elsewhere in western Thebes.7 Evidence, for which we do now have a firm localised context, demonstrates that people were using these products within domestic settings, bringing

1 Crum and Steindorff 1912; Bucking 1997, 15-6, 20; BiedenkopfZiehner 2001. 2 See Stefanski and Lichtheim 1952; Crum and Steindorff 1912 3 Schiller 1932, 4. 4 Wilfong 1999, 219-20. 5 Kahle 1955, 146; Stefanski and Lichtheim 1952, 1. 6 Many Coptic items in collections generally designated as Theban may have actually come from Djeme; inhabitants would have included agricultural workers, carpenters, masons, planners, and traders. 7 Hölscher 1954, 61-2; Wilfong in Teeter 2003.

8 Wilfong in Teeter 2003, see numbers 334, 342, 345; also page 209. 209. 9 See Wilfong 2003, 213 who highlights the gendered aspect of this evidence; Susanna leaves her clothing and cooking vessels to her granddaughters, and her lamps, boxes, buckets and utensils to her grandsons. 10 Hölscher 1954, 64-7. 11 Teeter 2002, 2-3; Wilfong 2002, 114-116, who emphasises the specifically female attributes of these items.

105

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt matters and to administer their monastic lands. Finally, the most obviously visible feature to anyone living in Djeme would have been the Qurn, the hill rising directly behind their settlement and on which there may well have been sites and people of religious significance.

the second court the cartouches of Ramesses II were altered: a cross inserted into the sun disk above which the name of Christ was written. In the great hypostyle hall, a monk has left his name on a column, whilst on others a whole series of crosses were engraved alongside magical symbols. The motifs are similar in style to those seen across the west bank. For example, figures of a monk with upraised hands were scratched into a column, one of the figures was seated on an animal. On the northern side of the entrance to the first hypostyle hall, crosses were engraved in a line, and these now mingle with the graffiti of later travellers such as Belzoni.

BROADLY CHRISTIAN For those living on the west and east banks, whether monks, nuns, anchorites, hermits, agricultural workers or financiers, there seems to have been a broad assumption of what we would now recognise as a Christian identity. The church was the main power-broker, controlling much locally, such as landownership and employment. Individually and communally people engaged with their Christian beliefs, in the organisation of their built environment and in their modes of expression. At the same time, there should be no narrow perception of Christian identity, given the ownership of items such as figurines and amulets which do not appear typically Christian to us today. Likewise, it is worth noting graffiti where there is a juxtaposition of archetypal Christian motifs such as crosses alongside motifs from a magical context. Two sites on the edge of the floodplain well illustrate this, both of which represent classic Coptic period re-occupations of pharaonic sites.

The walk along the valley floor from the Ramesseum towards the Temple of Seti I takes about half an hour and borders two contrasting landscapes, with the monasteries and hermitages on the west side and the floodplain on the east side. In the Coptic period, houses were built within and around the temple buildings, in the first court of the temple, and a church in its northern courtyard.6 Patterns of occupation and use of this site mirror earlier ones, for instance there are Ptolemaic period houses in the same location. Vast quantities of pottery have also been found at the site, suggesting that pottery was manufactured here for use across the west bank.7 The erasure of the faces of deities and the king in the hypostyle hall is possibly attributable to Coptic period activity. On the west of the hypostyle hall, in the sanctuaries (one of which was a chapel of Ramesses I), there are more graffiti, many of which seem to be magical. For example, on the door frame of the chapel of Ramesses I, there is a line of graffiti composed of a cross, a person with upraised hands, a twelve pronged ‘star’ (with circles at the end of each prong) and other more damaged marks. The twelve pronged ‘star’ appears in various permutations in other parts of these sanctuaries to the west of the hypostyle hall. As a motif, it regularly appears in Coptic magical contexts. For example, a papyrus now in the Cairo Museum was found in Thebes, rolled up in a jar and buried under the floor of a monk’s cell.8 This text consists of a number of spells in which recipes were given to achieve certain results (such as cure eye disease, or to impoverish a ruler). At the end of the list of recipes are drawings, two of which are similar in composition to those in Seti I’s temple.

The first, the Ramesseum, the mortuary temple of Ramesses II, had gradually lost importance since its heyday. By the Ptolemaic period it had been used a source of stone to embellish Medinet Habu.1 It is easily accessible, only a ten minute’s walk from Djeme. During the Coptic period the site was altered and adapted, although there does not seem to have been any permanent occupation of the site.2 Rather the site seems to have still been used as a source of building material, with items removed from there to sites such as the Monastery of Phoibammon. Stone was also worked at the site. For instance, a half metre limestone cross was found in a ditch on the north wall of the vestibule, and a font, made out of a capital of a column was found in the foundations of the south wall of the second court.3 An ostracon from the eighth century was found in the ruins of the Third Intermediate period necropolis on the west of the temple.4 One stela, dating to 891, ie after western Thebes was generally abandoned, could be evidence for a female monastic community at the Ramesseum.5

Both the Ramesseum and Seti I’s temple demonstrate the centrality of magical beliefs to the Christian experience.9 Thebes itself may have inspired a particular intensity of magical beliefs as, during the Graeco-Roman period, there seems to have been an unusually high concentration of Theban magical texts.10 Magical texts form an important

Coptic period graffiti is found primarily in the great hypostyle hall and in the second court. On the columns of $1

Wilkinson 2000, 183; Lecuyot 2000, 121. Lecuyot 1994, 26; 2000, 122-8 who states that a church may have been built in the barque shrine. $1 Leblanc 1994, 26, 31, 311, plates A and B. $1 Lecuyot 2000, 127. $1 Wilfong 2002, 106-7, 154; Wilfong 2003, 218-9. It is a funerary stela dedicated to woman named Maria who is also given a monastic title. As argued by Wilfong it will take more evidence before it can be asserted with any confidence that there was a female monastery at the Ramesseum. $1

$1

Stadelmann 1991b, 254; Wilkinson 2000, 174. Myśliwiec 1989, 98-179. $1 No. 45060; Meyer and Smith 1999, 270-3. $1 See also Frankfurter 2005, 164-85. 10 Tait 1995, 181-2. $1

106

Living in Coptic Period Thebes names and place of origin.5 The motivation for pilgrimages and settlement within Thebes seems to have arisen from a desire to see well-known monks and hermits, to benefit from their sanctity, as well as to be in the midst of what had become a religious landscape. Pilgrimage as a religious act was encouraged by religious leaders and the Coptic church, which allowed pilgrimage to churches as an alternative to visiting Jerusalem itself, which had a Coptic speaking community.6 For Egyptian Muslims, Aswan became a place of pilgrimage, a substitute for visiting Mecca.7

category of Coptic textual material, and were written upon ostraca, papyri and bowls. They covered a variety of subjects, including medical matters.1 Often they form the most daunting texts to translate and understand, many remaining basically meaningless to the modern reader, even when a translation has been achieved. Thus with the magical symbols which are seen in these temples, as well as in many other Theban and non-Theban contexts, it is possible only to assert that they were magical in intent. Importantly, they also serve to remind us of that other aspect to religious beliefs in Coptic Egypt, whereby priests and monks could facilitate magic rituals.2

Thebes mirrored monastic and pilgrimage landscapes in other parts of the Middle East, as well as within Egypt.8 In the Judean desert in Palestine, monks and hermits created numerous religious centres between the fourth and seventh centuries. Monasteries and hermitages clustered in close proximity, with Jerusalem only a day’s walk away.9 In the Sinai desert, at the site in which Moses received the ten commandments, a whole pilgrimage landscape was created.10 St Catherine’s monastery at the foot of the mountain, on the site of the ‘burning bush’ was both the start and end point of a climb to the summit of Mount Sinai, a climb which was turned into a religious act. Comparisons can be made with the Qurn, under whose shadow the residents of Djeme lived. This hill with its pyramidal shape forms a backdrop to the west bank, and in height and shape its only rival was Thoth Hill at the other end of the west bank. During pharaonic times, the Qurn was the home of Meretseger, the cobra goddess to whom those in western Thebes addressed their prayers.11 By the Roman period, travellers referred to the Qurn as the ‘holy mountain’.12 By the Coptic period, the phrase the ‘Holy Hill’, was used broadly to refer to all the religious sites on the west bank as well as more specifically to refer to the Qurn itself.13 The use of this phrase may have been directly inspired by biblical locations such as Mount Sinai.14 Climbing the Qurn may have been as religious an experience as climbing Mount Sinai. It is certainly a challenging climb, and pottery sherds lie by the paths up, including the ribbed ware

A PILGRIMAGE LANDSCAPE During the pharaonic period, Thebes had been one of the most populous cities in Egypt, yet, even during its heyday in the New Kingdom it was a city which was dependent on its function as a centre for religious and funerary activities.3 In the Coptic period, Thebes seems once more to have become an area in which intense religious activity was the mainstay of the communities resident there, despite the fact that this was an area which had no links with the biblical past.4 On both sides of the Nile, monastic communities were juxtaposed with non-monastic settlements, and, as in the pharaonic period, there was a wealth of sacred sites, with churches almost adjoining one another in some locations. The literary image presented by the Historia Monachorum seems to have been created in the midst of one of the most famous and visible pharaonic districts – a place once visited for its non-Christian sites. As the population became Christian, they sought to leave their sacred and magical symbols all over Thebes – in ancient buildings, in caves, as well as on the door lintels of their houses. During an era of political change, there was nonetheless a continuity in a religiously-based perception of the world. Thebans invested hugely into the development and maintenance of areas of worship and also supported those who were monks or hermits. It was from non-monastic communities that people came from in order to become monks, with some individuals leaving behind families, wives and children in the more urbanised areas. Thebes also attracted residents from outside its immediate vicinity. Pilgrims from beyond Thebes left graffiti recording their presence in Thebes. In the Valley of the Spanish Pilgrims, for example, people originally from Middle Egypt, from the village of Spania in the Oxyrhynchite nome, left their

$1

See Delattre 2003, 371 for graffiti on path from Deir el Medina to Valley of Kings, including some by an individual called Horseios who states that he has visited a chapel of St Ammonios; for Valley of Spanish Pilgrims see Lecuyot 2007, 291-3; Delattre, Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 127 – they state that these people ‘sans doute venus jusque-là pour des raisons religieuses’. $1 See Walters 1974, 36; Viaud 1979, 1; Basilios 1991, 1324. $1 See Budge 1920, 98. $1 Compare west bank Thebes landscape with Mount of Temptation, Jericho. $1 Patrich 1995, 7-10. $1 Coleman and Elsner 1994. $1 Bruyère 1930. $1 Montserrat and Meskell 1997, 183. $1 Other terms used include the ‘hill of Djeme’ see Winlock and Crum 1926, 218; Kahle 1954, 27-9 compare with Cadell and Rémondon 1967, 344, 347-8; Vandorpe 1995, 222. $1 Winlock and Crum 1926, 127 suggest this.

See Meyer and Smith 1999. Viaud 1978, 22-3; Wilfong 1999, 226; see also Frankfurter 2007 on the ubiquity of protective/malevolent spirits in the environment. $1 Strudwick and Strudwick 1999, 8. $1 See Wilfong 2002, 112-113 for discussion of pilgrimage activities in western Thebes. $1 $1

107

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt which testifies to Coptic period activity. Each stage of the walk opens up a new perspective on the west and east banks revealing vistas of the numerous religious sites. It could have offered inspiration for the pilgrim, a central aspect to a journey to Thebes. Appropriately, there may have been a church on the summit of the Qurn, the culmination to a walk which could have held spiritual significance.1

record the name of an individual and/or a prayer.6 This pattern is reflected across east and west Thebes, where a person’s name, a prayer or a cross with Christ’s name were the most frequent forms of graffiti.7 The vigour with which the ancient Egyptians had traversed the west bank at Thebes, placing graffiti in difficult to access locations was matched in the Coptic period. Coptic period graffiti is regularly seen alongside ancient Egyptian graffiti. This may have resulted from a desire to cancel out the power of the ancient writings, but could also be assessed as the continuation rather than the rejection of ancient practices.8 The area covered by Coptic period graffiti is so wide that it extended to hard to reach locations as far as the Thoth Hill in the north end of western Thebes, and at the other end to the valleys south of Deir el Roumi. Nor is our knowledge of this graffiti stagnant, with constant possibilities for the discovery of new graffiti.9

The close proximity of the monasteries in western Thebes, separated by only short walks even when located in desert settings, meant that they seem to us now to have been easily accessible sites. A pilgrim only had to walk a short distance to encounter holy sites and people. How far the non-monastic of Thebes were allowed access to the monasteries and hermitages is, however, debatable. Boundary walls delineated monastic communities, and monastery towers must have created quite an imposing landscape. In practice, boundaries between monastic and non-monastic space were more fluid.2 There would have been a continual ebb and flow as cells fell into disuse and decline, with no sites seeing a simultaneous level of use. At the Monastery of Epiphanius, for example, over half the community actually lived outside the walls, in outlying cells.3 Yet despite this, actual access to certain renowned religious individuals in Thebes may have been a privilege. The non-monastic of Thebes may have been consigned to a supportive role, bringing food and water to the desert hermits, but otherwise not participating in the religious endeavours of those who surrounded the non-monastic residential locations. The frequent recourse to letter writing in which people of Djeme appealed for help from monks may partly have arisen out of just such an inaccessibility, as well as out of an awareness that following a religious life denoted status. Any such individual had to be approached in a suitable manner, which probably involved the use of writing.

In theory, and especially given the wide range of locations, it should have been possible for anyone with any degree of literacy to write graffiti freely, covering any range of issues and including a whole range of images (for which literacy was not a pre-requisite). Instead, the placement of graffiti seems to have involved a similar degree of restriction, self-imposed or not, as in the New Kingdom.10 At any one time, there was a substantial population base with the potential to leave graffiti of any sort. Yet the number of graffiti covering five centuries of occupation does not seem to be representative of that population base, even given the proviso that any extant graffiti are but a small proportion of the original number. Perhaps the majority of the population did not even dream of wanting to write any type of graffiti on the monuments around them, or perhaps the writing of graffiti was a purely religious experience carried out by the few. Participation in the christianisation of Thebes may have been reserved for those committed to the religious life. It may have been something carried out whilst others laboured in the fields, or got on with making pottery, unconcerned about the christianisation of the desert hills, tombs and temples around them. Indeed, the fact that it is possible at all to track various individuals through graffiti and through ostraca perhaps implies that there was only ever a fairly limited range of individuals involved in this process of christianisation.

Tracking any patterns of access in Coptic Thebes is just as complex as for New Kingdom Memphis. Graffiti, pictorial and written, certainly attest to patterns of movement and to the desire of some individuals to visit religious sites/people or to endow a previously non-Christian site with Christianity. The content of the graffiti always follows certain set themes, with a religious basis, implying that a certain perception of the purpose of graffiti endured.4 Within the domestic context, in the houses of Djeme, individuals wrote their names and a prayer, and also marked some of their possessions.5 Even though this was in a domestic setting, the content was religiously motivated and limited in outlook. Further graffiti written in the temple buildings in Djeme primarily

The most visible amongst the religious communities in western Thebes are men, with the graffiti recording endlessly the names and monks, and with the ostraca similarly dominated by monks, priests or bishops. Yet a not insignificant proportion of texts involved the female voice, with women leaving a few graffiti, and Edgerton 1937. For example at Deir el Bahri, see Godlewski 1986, 28. 8 Sadek 1972; Coque, Debono et al 1972, II. 9 Lecuyot 2006, 379; Lecuyot 2007, 290-3. 10 Wilfong 2008, 207 sees graffiti as having the potential to reveal ‘unmediated expression and assertions of identity’. 6

Winlock and Crum 1926, 15. 2 Wipszycka 2007, 141. 3 Winlock and Crum 1926, 39. 4 Delattre, Lecuyot and Thirard 2008, 127. 5 Edgerton 1934, 127; Hölscher 1954, 47. 1

7

108

Living in Coptic Period Thebes participating in letter-writing.1 Women were just as able as men to write to members of the religious communities. Some letters were written to women, demonstrating the existence of interactions between monks and women.2 Some form of contact could be retained between those monks who left their families behind. For instance, from the archive of letters of Frange, it appears that any biological relations of the anchorite monks could visit at set times such as at Easter, but that access was regulated for both men and women.3 Access for women to the religious communities in Thebes need not have been any harder than it was for men.4 A letter requesting a monk to to go to the Monastery of Phoibammon in order to reprimand a monk who had brought women into the monastery demonstrates both the accessibility of monasteries for women and the disapproval with which this could be met.5 Women could officially live out the religious life as nuns, and, as was seen in the case of Elizabeth in Djeme, donate money for the decoration of religious buildings.6

and importance of the monastic movement across Egypt.10 Once the role of monasteries as major employers, as the arbiters and controllers of rural and urban life could no longer be fulfilled, then inevitably their influence declined. Religious beliefs were not enough to sustain them.11 At a similar date, the Judean desert monasteries declined, not to be revived until the nineteenth century, when the pride of the Greek Orthodox church and the biblical location of the monasteries demanded their restoration.12 It seems extraordinary now, given the lengths the Thebans went to in creating the archetypal Christian landscape in the midst of an archetypal pharaonic landscape, that abandonment was so complete. Eventually religious graffiti in Arabic came to overlay the Coptic graffiti on the west bank, and there seems to have been no religious or political motivation to revive the monastic centres of Thebes, as was the case in the Judean desert and in Wadi Natrun.13 And on the east bank at Thebes, a less challenging place geographically, a Christian identity was to prosper enough for a bishopric to be created there in the eleventh century.

However accessible, or inaccessible the monastic communities were, the close interconnection of the religious and lay communities in western Thebes meant that one did not survive without the other. Djeme was abandoned as a site for settlement in about the late eighth century, perhaps as a result of a revolt.7 Within the next century or so the vast majority of monastic sites in western Thebes had also been abandoned.8 The motivations for this are hard to guess at now, especially given the survival of such communities on the east bank at Thebes. It does suggest, however, that it had taken a very particular intensity of religious motivation and networks of power to transform so much of the west bank into a living, christianised landscape. Such energy is frequently not sustainable in the long term, nor can that particular strength of personal and communal identity persist. At its height, western Thebes as a pilgrim site would have sustained the monastic population, with hermits living in the desert relying on gifts, once that began to wane it may have been harder to survive.9 In the broader context, it is also worth noting that the beneficial taxation system under which monks were exempt from poll tax came to an end in 868, crucially affecting the size

CONCLUSION The religious sanctity granted to the Theban landscape during the pharaonic era created generations of occupants whose purpose was to maintain this religious landscape. Coptic period Thebans tapped into this, creating a distinction with the past but also ensuring a continuum with it, as the ongoing processes of adaptation continued. Even without any background knowledge, it would be possible to discern changing responses to the built environment in Thebes. The evidence for this includes new types of graffiti alongside high density domestic and monumental usage of obscure locations. The intervisibility between the religious sites on the two banks of Thebes established during the pharaonic period was maintained, with Christian buildings constructed in highly visible locations. Many of these locations were associated directly with particular individuals, who inspired others to settle nearby. A firm attachment to a place became part of someone’s self-definition, as a location enabled and supported the enactment of religious beliefs. So, almost irrespective of the pharaonic landscape, a new landscape was created of individuals who bestowed their names on locations and who had found a convenient setting for their own contemporary needs.

See for example Calament 2008. Winlock and Crum 1926, 131-2. 3 Heurtel 2002, 40. 4 Heurtel 2008, 172-3. 5 Winlock and Crum 1926, 134; Bucking 1997, 4.. 6 See Wilfong 1998, 125-6 who also notes the complaints made by monastic communities about nuns; see also Bagnall and Cribiore 2006; Krawiec 2002 for her in-depth discussion of the proximity of nuns in the White Monastery and Shenoute’s techniques for dealing with them; Depauw 2003, 50 for mention of woman entering monastery disguised as a man – she was accepted and simply thought to be a eunuch due to the lack of a beard. 7 See Schiller 1932, 56-63; Wilfong 2002, 152-4. 8 Boutros and Décobert 2000, 94-5. 9 Winlock and Crum 1926, 145. 1 2

The picture created in the Historia Monachorum of a landscape dominated by the monastic could be said to be relevant to Thebes, where the outstanding features of the physical and the built environment, such as Thoth Hill See Cannuyer 1996, 39-40. See Bridel 1986, 327 and Bonnet 1986, 298 who argue that financial and political reasons caused the abandonment of the monastic site of Kellia in the middle of the eighth century. 12 Patrich 1995, 9. 13 See Vörös 1998, 74. 10 11

109

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt and the temple of Karnak, were incorporated into a new world-view. Furthermore, for the residents of Thebes, the main point of reference was frequently the monastic world. Some of this, however, was due not only to a need for spiritual guidance, but also to the role of monasteries as the main landowners and the main power-brokers in the area. It was also a location which attracted nonTheban visitors and residents, where the main concerns were heretical rather than national differences. A strong, locally based identity could be contrasted with a perception of being part of a wider world as well. Hence the non-monastic in Djeme could write their names in their houses alongside a prayer.

Regardless of this replication of material culture, there need not have been universal engagement with the dominant forms of self-expression and perception. Questions persist about patterns of behaviour and the uptake of social norms. Individuals may have remained within certain self-imposed boundaries, unless required otherwise. For example, some residents of Djeme may only rarely have ventured into the desert hills, taking little interest in the christianisation of their landscape. This is only conjectured from the lack of evidence from the nonreligious of Thebes, and from the lack of concern with religious issues as demonstrated by ostraca actually excavated in Djeme. Other boundaries were imposed through the delineation of monastic and non-monastic space, with the building of monastic walls. The crossing of such boundaries may have depended on the status, occupation or motivation of an individual. Personal choice may have played little role in this process, despite the illusion created by the presence of openly stated disagreements in textual discourse.

The multiplicity of religious locations across both west and east banks is reminiscent of New Kingdom Memphis. Both settlements were based in landscapes of historical and visual significance, in the midst of which certain residents found meaning. Either the inspiration to revere and renovate or to adapt and reinterpret. Both contexts provided challenging environments, and in both situations, the transformations achieved are notable. In New Kingdom Memphis this was done against the background of a strong central control, whereas in Coptic Thebes the background was one of more locally based networks, though also with a real undercurrent of power. Likewise, in both contexts there was a pattern of cultural forms and domestic practices with little overt variation even between those of monastic and non-monastic identities. This is despite the fact that, in contrast to New Kingdom Memphis, Coptic Thebes was situated in a world of officially acknowledged differences.

These questions about the level of engagement with what we now see as a Christian identity are reinforced by the gradual rejection of western Thebes as a site for urban and monastic settlement. The confident expressions of selfdefinition seen in a variety of textual sources and in the christianisation of Thebes became instead the beliefs of a not insignificant minority. It is easy to visit the west and east banks at Luxor now and be oblivious of the Coptic period. Instead we can focus on the New Kingdom monuments as conveyors of a distinctive but now essentially past identity for which we nevertheless seem to retain an abiding fascination.

110

Conclusion

theoretical insights might seem to widen our horizons and to fill the gaps in the evidence plausibly.

Entering the worlds of New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt should not result in a contrast between an ‘over-obedient society’1 and a dynamic, Christian environment. Instead, a far more nuanced understanding of personal identity and social power in these two periods is necessary. The imposition of identity was of central relevance to both periods, and inevitably involved compromise, inconsistency and variability.

It is not only the gaps in the ancient evidence which have long troubled Egyptologists, but also the lack of cohesion between different types of sources. Archaeological and written evidence do not need to coincide and apparently contradictory statements can be discerned within source types. Even the limited body of evidence used in this book continually reinforces this point. There is much to emerge still from the material and textual record. For example a wider body of evidence could have the potential to reveal more aspects of personal identity and social power not touched upon here. The lack of clarity and cohesion within the source material, which will surely multiply as our approaches to the past get ever more involved and nuanced, usefully reinforces the complexity of these distant worlds.

It is also crucial to question accepted approaches to the study of ancient self-definition, and to resist attempts to mould Egypt’s past into a model of multi-ethnic life attractive to research funding and modern preoccupations. Instead the primary evidence itself needs to be prioritised in order to question the generalisations which can remain in some Egyptological literature. These generalisations have been all too easily promoted outside the Egyptological domain, and used to ‘prove’ sociological or anthropological models of ancient civilizations. Egypt’s past should not be intentionally manipulated or removed from its context to suit theoretical arguments and political agendas. As has been demonstrated in the preceding chapters, an unexpected world lived alongside the expected, and in discovering this, the evidence was central.

This complexity requires that emphasis is placed upon the inconsistencies which result from any formalised attempts at self-definition by a powerful group, whether in what now appears as a tightly defined unitary world (New Kingdom Egypt) or in a world of fundamentally opposed identities (Coptic Egypt). Studying these two contrasting political contexts alongside each other has brought this issue to the fore. It leads to the question of why those with power continually need to justify their power amongst their own group, when there is a full awareness that such justifications are only partially based in reality, at the very best. In New Kingdom Egypt, an environment of supposedly exceptional continuity, the deceptive clarity of statements by the powerful had limited impact in times of weak political power. Likewise, in Coptic Egypt, an era of apparently intense personal religious experiences, such established expressions of personal identity could not endure as majority beliefs when in overwhelmingly unfavourable contexts. Doubtless, stability and purpose were enhanced through the acceptance of rigid identities, yet this was not, and could not, be enough.

As far as possible, this evidence has been examined on its own terms. For example, the categories of race and ethnicity have been discarded. This has enabled a more rounded, reflective and less loaded idea of personal identity and social power to emerge. It has also exposed the ways in which presumptions have been repeatedly made about ethnicities despite a lack of evidence, as in New Kingdom Memphis. For Coptic Egypt, the necessity of studying source material stemming from a variety of settings, not only the Christian, has been highlighted. This has demonstrated the subjectivity with which Christian as opposed to non-Christian ‘behavioural patterns’ have been identified by later interpreters.

This failure at the heart of a society or a state is reflected in textual sources. These were generated and written by a minority sector of the population, including those who promoted the acceptance of a certain social order. Despite this, any reference points for personal identity and social power were flexible. In New Kingdom Egypt the king could delineate borders between order and disorder, asserting his power, but at the same time acknowledge his dependence upon those from the allegedly disordered world. The contrast between order and disorder could be felt within the borders of New Kingdom Egypt, and form part of a literary tradition. The New Kingdom state as one defined in terms of a rigid hierarchy of deities, king and officials was nonetheless one in which discontent could be expressed. In Coptic Egypt, the concerns of rival religious groups which created opposing senses of self-definition, could then be by-passed in some of the letters discussed

At the same time, some of the New Kingdom and Coptic evidence can seem very modern, making it hard to avoid inward contemporary comparisons. The importance of ‘home’ in creating as vital an aspect to Egyptian identity as broader entities such as the state or religious beliefs seems to relate very closely to present day ideas. This is also the case with the tension caused by movement from home or by the threat posed by outsiders (however defined). Such perceived intersections between past and present may not be meaningful in themselves. It is thus vital to reiterate the point that we can never really know what it meant to be an Egyptian of the New Kingdom or of the Coptic period, even though contemporary

1

Braudel 2001, 86.

111

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt above, where individuals defined themselves more in terms of their social situation, whether it was poverty, widowhood or ill-health. Dogmatic assertions of the correct conduct of life could also be met by reluctance and failure, and the definition of who should be identified as a source of disorder was subjective and fluid. In both New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt, these hints of failure are revealed despite the fact that the sources are, for the most part, derived from those to whom the success of a coherent personal identity should have mattered the most.

is thus only to this minority that many of the activities affirming an Egyptian sense of identity can be securely attributed. Such activities include the dedication of votive offerings or the deposition of graffiti on more ancient monuments. Even in the relatively de-centralised environment of Coptic Egypt, in a christianised setting, it seems to have been those leading a religious life who were most able (or the most motivated) to participate in certain aspects of the christianisation of their landscape. Issues of access were not limited to the more centralised world of New Kingdom Egypt. It was in these limited sectors of New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt that a public self-justification mattered the most. In this, the Egyptian past could be a defining feature, whether as something to be admired or as something to be condemned.

Nevertheless, any interpretation of these worlds must acknowledge the high degree of conformity in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt. Thus, when the New Kingdom Egyptian wrote a letter, she/he drew upon themes current in other forms of text. An individual defined her/himself in a hierarchical framework, with reference points formed by the deities and/or the king. The resulting unity of expression and belief creates a striking image of conformity which is matched in Coptic period letters, although here the unity of expression could cross those of different belief systems.

The contrast resulting from studying these two periods alongside one another can reveal a similarity, not of events but of issues. Modes of expression in the two periods might have been different, the political setting completely distinct, and the international context worlds apart, but at the same time people’s lives inevitably reveal an essence of unity. Perhaps so-called ideologies should be put in the background of any study of how people lived in the past. Instead focus should be placed upon essential normalising features which form a thread across time. These are what help us understand the past.

The overwhelming impact which an elite world-view can have on a more individual level is further suggested by the lived environment of Egypt. In the monumental areas of the New Kingdom urban environment, a vivid witness to the official Egyptian perception of the world was created. Likewise, the Coptic period Christian urban environment affirmed and reiterated a Christian identity, even during a period of non-Christian political control. The level of conformity in the material record with the dominant cultural forms in New Kingdom Egypt is so high that uncovering other forms of cultural expression is a rare event, and thus all too often linked with the action of a non-Egyptian. This silence in the material record need not be reflective of a real situation. Thus an open mind should be retained about what constitutes Egyptian/nonEgyptian behaviour. The inconsistencies which the evidence reveals despite the striking conformity in the material and written record should not be overlooked.

Irrespective of the strength of a state, it is possible to perceive a wealth of similar factors which both constrict and enable people in their assertions of personal identity and social power. These factors are played out in different ways, and result in different lifestyles or patterns of expression, which can then obscure the essential questions inherent to them. For instance, the Coptic period sees the possibility of blatantly expressed disagreement, but this does not necessarily translate into fundamentally different life experiences. So perhaps we should question the illusion of freedom created by the ability to state dissent openly. Both periods serve to illustrate the many contingencies (for example, someone’s status, occupation or religious/political setting) on which personal identity and social power can depend and the caution with which any source material should be approached. Just as New Kingdom Egypt was not solely populated by unthinking individuals who viewed themselves and the world in terms of bland oppositions, neither was Coptic Egypt an environment in which religious dogmatism was allencompassing. Nonetheless, freedom seems to have had its limits, whatever the political setting.

Ultimately, therefore, it cannot simply be presumed that there was a widespread level of engagement with elite modes of thought during the New Kingdom or the Coptic period. This is a question which needs instead to be left open. In a strongly centralised world, such as New Kingdom Egypt, much of the evidence referring to the articulation of self relates only to a privileged minority. It

112

Bibliography1

Allen, T.D. 2009. The Ancient Egyptian Family. Kinship and social structure. Abingdon: Routledge. Allen, T.G. 1974. The Book of the Dead or Going Forth by Day: ideas of the ancient Egyptians concerning the hereafter as expressed in their own terms. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Alston, R. 2002. The City in Roman and Byzantine Egypt. London: Routledge. Althusser, L. 1993. Essays on Ideology. London: Verso. -. 1994. The future lasts a long time. London: Verso. Amélineau, E. 1888. Monuments pour servir à l’histoire de l’Égypte chrétienne aux IV et V siècle. Paris: Ernest Leroux. -. 1894. Histoire des monastères de la basse-Égypte, vies de saints Paul, Antoine, Macaire, Maxime et Domèce, Jean le Nain, &c. Paris: Ernest Leroux. Ammoun, D. 1991. Face aux étrangers. In Thèbes, 1250 av. J-C. Ramsès et le rêve du pouvoir absolu, ed. R-M. Jouret, 75-87. Paris: Editions Autrement. Anderson, B. 1994. Imagined Communities: reflections on the origin and spread of modern nationalism. London: Verso. Anthes, R. 1956. A first season of excavating in Memphis. University Museum Bulletin 20 (1), 2-25. -. 1957. Memphis (Mit Rahineh) in 1956. University Museum Bulletin 21 (2), 3-35. -. 1959. Mit Rahineh 1955. Philadelphia: The University Museum. -. 1965. Mit Rahineh 1956. Philadelphia: The University Museum. Antoniak, I. 2008. Recent discoveries in the Hermitage of Sheikh Abd el-Gurna: Coptic codices and ostraca. In ‘Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages..’ Thèbes et sa région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantin. Actes du colloque tenu à Bruxelles les 2 et 3 décembre 2005, ed. A.Delattre and P.Heilporn, 145-8. Brussels: Association égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Asher-Greve, J.M. and Sweeney, D. 2006. On nakedeness, nudity and gender in Egyptian and Mesopotamian art. In Images and gender: contributions to the hermeneutics of reading, ed. S.Schroer, 125-76. Fribourg: Academic Press. Ashton, S-A. 2001. Ptolemaic Royal Sculpture from Egypt. The interaction between the Greek and Egyptian traditions. BAR International Series 923. Oxford: BAR Publishing. -. 2003a. Petrie’s Ptolemaic and Roman Memphis. London: UCL. -. 2003b. Foreigners at Memphis? Petrie’s racial types. In ‘Never had the like occurred’: Egypt’s view of its past, ed. J.Tait, 187-96. London: UCL. Assmann, A. 1999. The history of the text before the era of literature: three comments. Lingua Aegyptica. Studia Monographica 2, 83-90. Assmann, J. 1989. State and religion in the New Kingdom. In Religion and Philosophy in Ancient Egypt, ed. J. Allen, J. Assmann, A. Lloyd, R. Ritner and D. Silverman, 55-88. New Haven: Yale University Press. -. 1995. Egyptian solar religion in the New Kingdom: Re, Amun and the crisis of polytheism. London: Kegan Paul. -. 1996. Ägypten: Eine Sinngeschichte. München: Carl Hanser.

Abbott, N. 1938. The Kurrah Papyri from Aphrodito in the Oriental Institute. Chicago: University of Chicago. -. 1965. A new papyrus and a review of the administration of ‘Ubaid Allah B. Al-Habhab. In Arabic and Islamic Studies in honor of Hamilton A.R. Gibb, ed. G. Makdisi, 21-31. Leiden: Brill. Abdel Tawab, A.R. 1986. Relations of monks and Moslems in the first century of the Higra: a study on the relation between the Umayyad rulers and the Christian population of Egypt. In Le Site monastique Copte des Kellia, sources historiques et explorations archéologiques. Actes du Colloque de Genève 13 au 15 août 1984, ed. P. Bridel, 323-5. Geneva: Mission suisse d’archéologie copte de l’Université de Genève. Abdul-Qader, M. 1968. Preliminary report on the excavations carried out in the Temple of Luxor: seasons 1958-1959 and 1959-1960. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 60, 227-79. Abu-Lughod, L. 1988. Veiled Sentiments. Honor and poetry in a Bedouin society. Berkeley: University of California Press. Aburish, S, 1998. Children of Bethany: the story of a Palestinian family. London: Bloomsbury. Adams, C. 2007. ‘Travel narrows the mind’: cultural tourism in Graeco-Roman Egypt. In Travel, geography and culture in Ancient Greece, ed. C.Adams and J.Roy, 161-84. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Adams, M.D. 1997. A textual window on the settlement system in ancient Egypt. In Anthropology and Egyptology: a developing dialogue, ed. J. Lustig, 90-105. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Adams, W. Y. 1997. Anthropology and Egyptology: divorce or remarriage? In Anthropology and Egyptology: a developing dialogue, ed. J. Lustig, 25-32. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Alcock, A. 1983. The Life of Samuel of Kalamun by Isaac the Presbyter. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. -. 1999. Historical background. In Cairo, the Coptic Museum and old churches, ed. G. Gabra, 11-36. Cairo: Longman Allam, S. 2006. Der eponyme richterliche Schreiber Beispiele aus Deir el-Medineh. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 133, 1-9. Allen, J.P. 2007. Literature. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 388-98. Abingdon: Routledge. -. 2008. The Egyptian language. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 189-205. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

1 Coptic period textual material is referred to in the book using the abbreviations as laid out in J.F.Oates et al, 2001, Checklist of editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic papyri, ostraca and tablets, fifth edition. The edition of a text is only cited when reference is made to an editor’s interpretation of a text, or when the text does not appear in the above checklist. For the New Kingdom textual material, the edition of a text is referenced, as well as the name of a papyrus, ostracon, or stela (often in abbreviated form) as used in that edition.

113

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -. 1999. Cultural and literary texts. Lingua Aegyptia. Studia Monographica 2, 1-15. -. 2001. The search for God in ancient Egypt. London: Cornell University Press. Aston, D. and Jeffreys, D. 2007. Excavations at Kom Rabia (Site RAT): Post-Ramesside levels and pottery. Survey of Memphis III. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Atallah, M. 2001. Some aspects of relations between the ancient Egyptian language and Arabic. Annales du Service des Anitiquités de l’Égypte 76, 113-24. Atiya, A. A. 1968. A History of Eastern Christianity. London: Methuen & Co. Aufrère, S.H. 1998. Les anciens Egyptiens et leur notion de l’antiquité: une quête archéologique et historiographique du passé. Méditerranées 17, 11-55. -. 1999. La dernière ronde des hiéroglyphes..La mort des écritures égyptiennes traditionelles et l’émergence des premiers signes coptes. In Égyptes..L’Egyptien et le Copte, ed. N.Bosson and S. Aufrère, 27-67. Latte: Musée Archéologique Henri Prades. Auset, B., Priestess. 2009. The Goddess Guide: exploring the attributes and correspondences of the Divine Feminine. Woodbury: Llewellyn. Ayad, B. A. 1989. The continuation of the ancient Egyptian culture through the Coptic immigrants. Coptologia 10, 99-102. Bachrach, B. 1967. Was there feudalism in Byzantine Egypt? Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 6, 163-6. Badawy, A.M. 1943. Die Neue historische stele Amenophis II. Annales du Service des Anitiquités de l’Égypte 42, 1-23. -. 1948. Memphis als zweite Landeshaupstadt im Neuen Reich. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1967. The civic sense of pharaoh and urban development in ancient Egypt. Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 6, 103-109. -. 1978. Coptic Art and Archaeology: the art of the Christian Egyptians from the Late Antique to the Middle Ages. London: MIT Press. Bagnall, R.S. 1993. Egypt in Late Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press. -. 2001. Archaeological work on Hellenistic and Roman Egypt, 1995-2000. American Journal of Archaeology 105, 227-43. -. 2005. Linguistic change and religious change: thinking about the temples of the Fayoum in the Roman period. In Christianity and Monasticism in the Fayoum oasis, ed. G. Gabra, 11-9. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 2008. Models and evidence in the study of religion in Late Roman Egypt. In From Temple to Church: Destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, S.Emmel and U. Gotter, 23-41. Leiden: Brill. -., and Cribiore, R. 2006. Women’s letters from Ancient Egypt: 300 BC – AD 800. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

-., and Worp, K.A. 2004. Chronological systems of Byzantine Egypt. Leiden: Brill. Baines, J. 1976. Introduction. Royal Anthropological Institute News 15, 2-4. -. 1983. Literacy and ancient Egyptian society. Man 18, 572-99. -. 1987. Practical religion and piety. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 73, 79-98. -. 1990. Restricted knowledge, hierarchy and decorum: modern perceptions and ancient institutions. Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 27, 1-24. -. 1991. Society, morality and religious practice. In Religion in ancient Egypt, gods, myths and personal practice, ed. B. Shafer, 123-200. London: Routledge. -. 1995. Kingship, definition of culture and legitimation. In Ancient Egyptian Kingship, ed. D. O’Connor and D. Silverman, 3-47. Leiden: Brill. -. 1996a. On the aims and methods of Black Athena. In Black Athena Revisited, ed. M. Lefkowitz and G. Rogers, 27-48. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. -. 1996b. Contextualising Egyptian representations of society and ethnicity. In The study of the Near East in the Twenty-first century. The William Foxwell Albright Centennial Conference, ed. J. Cooper and G. Schwartz, 339-84. Indiana: Eisenbrauns. -. 1996c. Classicism and modernism in the literature of the New Kingdom. In Ancient Egyptian literature: history and forms, ed. A. Loprieno, 157-74. Leiden: Brill -. 1997. Temples as symbols, guarantors, and participants in Egyptian civilization. In The Temple in Ancient Egypt: new discoveries and recent research, ed. S. Quirke, 216-41. London: British Museum. -. 1999a. Prehistories of literature: performance, fiction, myth. Lingua Aegyptia. Studia Monographica 2, 17-41. -. 1999b. On Wenamun as a literary text. In Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten, ed. J. Assmann and E. Blumenthal, 209-33. Paris: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1999c. Forerunners of narrative biographies. In Studies on ancient Egypt in honour of H. S. Smith, ed. A.Leahy and J. Tait, 23-37. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 1999d. Feuds or vengeance? Rhetoric and social forms. In Gold of Praise: studies on ancient Egypt in honor of Edward F. Wente, ed. E. Teeter and J. A. Larson, 11-20. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. -. 2001. Egyptian letters of the New Kingdom as evidence for religious practice. Journal of Near Eastern Religions 1, 1-31. -. 2003. Research on Egyptian literature: background, definitions, prospects. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 1-26. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 2006. Public ceremonial performance in Ancient Egypt: exclusion and integration. In Archaeology of Performance: theaters of power, community and politics, ed. T.Inomata and L.S.Coben, 261-302. Lanham: AltaMira Press.

114

Bibliography -. 2007a. Visual and written culture in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. -. 2007b. Travel in third and second millennium Egypt. In Travel, geography and culture in Ancient Greece, ed. C.Adams and J.Roy, 5-30. Oxford: Oxbow Books. -., and Eyre, C.J. 1983. Four notes on literacy. Göttinger Miszellen 61, 65-96. -., and Malek, J. 1992. Atlas of Ancient Egypt. New York: Facts on File. -., and Riggs, C. 2001. Archaism and kingship: a late royal statue and its early dynastic model. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 87, 103-18. -., and Yoffee, N. 2000. Order, legitimacy and wealth: setting the terms. In Order, legitmacy and wealth in ancient states, ed. J. Richards and M. van Buren, 13-17. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Baker, F. 1990. Archaeology, Habermas and the pathologies of modernity. In Writing the past in the present, ed. F. Baker and J. Thomas, 54-62. Lampeter: St David’s University College. Bakir, A. 1952. Slavery in Pharaonic Egypt. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1970. Egyptian epistolography from the eighteenth to the twenty-first dynasty. (Bibliotheque d’Etude, 48). Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Bakry, H.S.K. 1972. A family of high-priests of Alexandria and Memphis. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 28, 75-7. Ballet, P. 2007. Le Topos de Saint-Marc et son faciès céramique. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 129-40. Leuven: Peeters. Bammer, A. 1995. Xenophobia, xenophilia, and no place to rest. In Encountering the Other(s): studies in literature, history and culture, ed. G. Brinker-Gabler, 45-62. New York: State University. Banks, M. 1996. Ethnicity: anthropological constructions. London: Routledge. Baraize, E. 1914. Compte-rendu des travaux exécutés à Deir el Médinéh. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 13, 19-42. Bard, K. A. 1996. Ancient Egyptians and the issue of race. In Black Athena Revisited, ed. M. Lefkowitz and G. Rogers, 103-11. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Barns, J.W.B. 1948. Three hieratic papyri in the Duke of Northumberland collection. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 34, 35-46. -. 1964. Shenoute as a historical source. In Actes du Xe Congres International de Papyrologie, Warsaw-Krakow, 3-9 Septembre 1961, ed. J. Wolski, 151-9. Warsaw: Zaklad Narodowy Imienia Ossolinskich Wydawnictwo Polskeij akademii Nauk. -. 1978. Egyptians and Greeks. Brussels: Fondation Egyptologique Reine Elisabeth. -, Browne, G.M. and Shelton, J.C. 1981. Nag Hammadi Codices. Greek and Coptic papyri from the cartonnage of the covers. Leiden: Brill.

Barth, F, 1969. Introduction. In Ethnic groups and boundaries: the social organisation of culture differences, ed. F. Barth, 9-38. Bergen: Universitetsforlaget. Barwik, M. 1991. Fragments of columns from the Ramesseum found at Deir el Bahari. Memnonia 1, 19-24. Basilios, Archbishop. 1991. Jerusalem, Coptic see of. In Coptic Encylopedia, ed. A. Atiya, 1324-9. New York: Macmillan. Baudrillard, J. 1997. The system of objects. London: Verso Bawden, G. 1997. Domestic space and social structure in pre-Columbian northern Peru. In Domestic architecture and the use of space, ed. S. Kent, 153-71. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Beatty, M.H. 2008. Xsy ‘ Wretched’: The anatomy of a foreign relations concept. ANKH, Revue d’égyptologie et des civilisations africaines 17, 30-70. Beauvoir, de, S. 1954. The Second Sex. London: Jonathon Cape. Behlmer, H. 1996. Ancient Egyptian survivals in Coptic literature. In Ancient Egyptian literature: history and forms, ed. A. Loprieno, 567-72. Leiden: Brill. -.1998. Visitors to Shenoute’s monastery. In Pilgrimage and Holy Space in Late Antique Egypt, ed. D. Frankfurter, 34172. Leiden: Brill. -. 2002. The city as metaphor in the works of two Panopolitans: Shenoute and Besa. In Perspectives on Panopolis: an Egyptian town from Alexander the Great to the Arab conquest, ed. A.Egberts, B.P.Muhs and J.van der Vliet, 13-27. Leiden: Brill. -. 2007a. Christian use of pharaonic sacred space in western Thebes: the case of TT85 and 87. In Sacred Space and sacred function in ancient Thebes, ed. P.F.Dorman and B.M.Bryan, 163-75. Chicago: Oriental Institute. -. 2007b. Women and the holy in Coptic hagiography. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 405-16. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2008. ‘Do not believe every word like the fool!’: rhetorical strategies in Shenoute, Canon 6. In Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Volume I, Akhmim and Sohag, ed. G.Gabra and H.N.Takla, 1-12. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Bell, D.N. 1983. The Life of Shenoute by Besa. Kalamazoo: Cistercian. -. 1986. Shenoute the Great: the struggle with Satan. Cisterican Studies 21, 177-85. Bell, H.I. 1917. Greek Papyri in the British Museum. Catalogue with texts. Volume V. London: Oxford University Press. -. 1922. Hellenic Culture in Egypt. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 8, 139-55. -. 1924. Jews and Christians in Egypt. The Jewish troubles in Alexandria and the Athanasian controversy illustrated by texts from Greek papyri in the British Museum with three Coptic texts edited by W.E. Crum. London: Oxford University Press. -. 1926. Two official letters of the Arab period. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 22, 265-8.

115

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Bell, L.D. 1976. Interpreters and Egyptianized Nubians in ancient Egyptian foreign policy: aspects of the history of Egypt and Nubia. Ann Arbor: University Microfilms. Bénazeth, D., Durand, M. et al. 1999. Le rapport de l’objet copte à l’écrit, des textiles aux vêtements liturgiques. In Égyptes..L’Egyptien et le Copte, ed. N. Bosson and S. Aufrère, 145-56. Latte: Musée Archéologique Henri Prades. Berlandini, J. 1984. La Chapelle de Sethi I: nouvelles dècouvertes: les Deèses Tsmt et mn-nfr. Bulletin de la Société française d’Égyptologie 99, 28-52. Bernal, M. 1987. Black Athena: the afroasiatic roots of classical civilization. The fabrication of ancient Greece, 1785-1985. London: Free Association Books -. 1991. Black Athena: the afroasiatic roots of classical civilization. The archaeological and documentary evidence. London: Vintage. -. 1992. The case for massive Egyptian influence in the Aegean. Archaeology September/October, 53-5, 82-6. -. 2001. Black Athena writes back. Martin Bernal responds to his critics (edited by D. C. Moore). Durham: Duke University Press. -. 2003. Afrocentrism and historical models for the foundation of ancient Greece. In Ancient Egypt in Africa, ed D.O’Connor and A.Reid, 23-9. (Encounters with Ancient Egypt). London: UCL. -. 2006. Black Athena: the afroasiatic roots of classical civilization. The linguistic evidence. New Brunswick: Rutgers. -. 2008. Egyptians in the Hellenistic woodpile: were Hekataios of Abdera and Diodorus Sikeliotes right to see Egypt in the origins of Greece? In Ptolemy II Philladelphus and his world, ed. P.McKehnie and P.Guillaume, 120-34. Leiden: Brill. Berr, H. 1927. Foreword, Egyptian civilization and religion. In The Nile and Egyptian civilization, by A.Moret, xix-xxix. London: Kegan Paul. Bhabha, H.K. 1995a. Introduction: narrating the nation. In Nation and Narration, ed. H. Bhabha, 1-7. London: Routledge. -. 1995b. DissemiNation: time, narrative, and the margins of the modern nation. In Nation and Narration, ed. H. Bhabha, 291-322. London: Routledge. Bianchi, R.S. 1992. The cultural transformation of Egypt as suggested by a group of enthroned male figures from the Faiyum. In Life in a multi-cultural society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and beyond, ed. J.H.Johnson, 1539. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Bickel, S. 1998. Commerçants et bateliers au nouvel empire. Mode de vie et statut d’un groupe social. In Le commerce en Égypte ancienne, ed. N.Grimal and B.Menu, 157-72. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Biedenkopf-Ziehner, A. 1983. Untersuchungen zum koptischen Briefformular unter berücksichtigung ägyptischer und griechischer Paralleln. Würzburg: Giesela Zauzich. -. 1996. Motive einiger Formeln und Topoi aus ägyptischen Briefen paganer und christlicher Zeit. Enchoria 23, 8-31.

-. 2001. Koptische Schenkungsurkunden aus der Thebais. Formelen und Topoi der Urkunden, Aussagen der Urkunden, Indices. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Bietak, M. 1979. Urban archaeology and the ‘town problem’ in ancient Egypt. In Egyptology and the social sciences, ed. K. Weeks, 97-144. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 1999. Une citadelle royale à Avaris de la première moitié de la XVIIIe dynastie et ses liens avec la monde minoan. In L’acrobate au taureau: les découvertes de Tell el-Daba (Égypte) et l’archéologie de la Méditerranée orientale (18001400 av.J-C.), ed. A.Caubert, 29-81. Paris: Louvre. -. 2005. The Tuthmoside stronghold of Perunefer. Egyptian Archaeology 26, 13-27. -. 2007. Egypt and the Levant. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 417-48. Abingdon: Routledge. Bingen, J. 2008. Hellenistic Egypt: monarchy, society, economy, culture. Ed. R.S.Bagnall. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Birch, S. 1868. Inscriptions in the hieratic and demotic character, from the collections of the British Museum. London: British Museum. Blackledge, A. 2005. Discourse and Power in a Multilingual World. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Blackman, A.M. 1932. Middle Egyptian Stories. Brussels: Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca. Blackman, W.S. 2000 [1927]. The Fellahin of Upper Egypt. With a new foreward by Salima Ikram. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Bleiberg, E. 2007. State and private enterprise. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 175-84. Abingdon: Routledge. Bomann, A.H., 1991. The private chapel in ancient Egypt: a study of the chapels in the workmen’s village at El-Amarna with special reference to Deir el Medina and other sites. London: Kegan Paul International. Bond, C. and Gilliam, A. 1994. Introduction. In Social Construction of the Past: representation as power, ed. C. Bond and A. Gilliam, 1-22. London: Routledge. Bondi, L. 1996. Locating identity politics. In Place and the Politics of Identity, ed. M. Keith and S. Pile, 84-101. London: Routledge. Bonnet, C. 1986. Possibilités de datation de la période d’abandon des ermitages Kelliotes. In Le Site monastique Copte des Kellia, sources historiques et explorations archéologiques. Actes du Colloque de Genève 13 au 15 août 1984, ed. P. Bridel, 293-8. Geneva: Mission suisse d’archéologie copte de l’Université de Genève. Bonomi, J. 1914. Topographical notes on western Thebes collected in 1830. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 13, 78-86. Booth, C. 2006. People of Ancient Egypt. Stroud: Tempus. Borchardt, L. 1910. Das Grabdenkamal des Königs S’ahure. Band I., Der Bau. Leipzig: J.C.Hinrichs’sche. -. 1934. Statuen und statuetten von Königen und privatleuten im Museum von Kairo. Berlin. Bosson, N. 1999. ‘Langue copte’, une réalité à visages multiples. In Égyptes..L’Egyptien et le Copte, ed.

116

Bibliography N.Bosson and S.Aufrère, 69-87. Latte: Musée Archéologique Henri Prades. Boud’hors, A. 2008. Copie et circulation des livres dans la région thébaine. In ‘Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages..’ Thèbes et sa région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantin. Actes du colloque tenu à Bruxelles les 2 et 3 décembre 2005, ed. A.Delattre and P.Heilporn, 14962. Brussels: Association égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. -., and Heurtel, C. 2002. The Coptic ostraca from the tomb of Amenemope. Egyptian Archaeology 20, 7-9. Bourdieu, P. 1977. Outline of a theory of practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourriau, J.D. 1981a. Umm el-Ga’ab: pottery from the Nile Valley before the Arab conquest. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 1981b. Nubians in Egypt during the Second Intermediate Period: an interpretation based on the Egyptian ceramic evidence. In Studien zur altägyptischen Keramik, ed. D. Arnold, 25-42. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. -. 1982. Three monuments from Memphis in the Fitzwilliam Museum. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 68, 51-9. -. 1990. Canaanite jars from New Kingdom deposits at Memphis, Kom Rabi’a. Eretz Israel 21, 18-26. -., and Quirke, S. 1998. The late Middle Kingdom ceramic repertoire in words and objects. In Lahun Studies, ed. S. Quirke, 60-83. Reigate: SIA Publishing. -., Smith, L.M.V., and Nicholson, P.T. 2000. New Kingdom pottery fabrics: Nile clay and mixed Nile/Marl clay fabrics from Memphis and Amarna. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Boutros, R. and Décobert, Chr. 2000. Les installations chrétiennes entre Ballâs et Armant: implantation et survivance. In Études Coptes VII, ed. N.Bosson, 77-108. Louvain: Peeters. Bowersock, G.W. 1996. Late Antique Alexandria. In Alexandria and Alexandrianism: papers delivered at a symposium organized by the J.Paul Getty Museum and the Getty Centre for the History of Art and the Humanities and held at the museum, April 22-25, 1993, ed. J. Walsh and T.F. Reese, 266-70. Malibu: The J.Paul Getty Museum. Bowman, A.K. 1991. Literacy in the Roman empire: mass and mode. In Literacy in the Roman world, ed. J.Humphrey, 119-32. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. -. 1996a. The Roman imperial army: letters and literacy in the northern frontier. In Literacy and Power in the ancient world, ed. A.K.Bowman and G.Woolf, 109-25. Cambridge: CUP. -. 1996b. Egypt after the Pharaohs from Alexander to the Arab conquest 322 BC – AD 642. London: British Museum. -., et al. 2007. Oxyrhynchus: a city and its texts. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Boyd, H. 1991. African History for Beginners. New York: Writers and Readers.

Brakke, D. 2000. Athanasius. In The Early Christian World, Volumes I and II, ed. P.F.Esler, 1102-1127. London: Routledge. -. 2006. Research and publications in Egyptian monasticism, 2000-2004. In Huitième congrès international d’études coptes (Paris 2004), ed. A.Boud’hors and D.Vaillancourt, 111-26. -. 2007. Shenoute, Weber, and the monastic prophet: ancient and modern articulations of ascetic authority. In Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late Antique Monasticism, ed. A.Camplani and C.Filoramo, 47-74. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2008. From temple to cell, from gods to demons: pagan temples in the monastic topography of fourth century Egypt. In From Temple to Church: Destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J.Hahn, S.Emmel and U.Gotter, 91-112 Leiden: Brill. Brand, P.J. 2007. Veils, votives and marginalia: the use of sacred space at Karnak and Luxor. In Sacred Space and sacred function in ancient Thebes, ed. P.F.Dorman and B.M.Bryan, 51-83. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Braudel, F. 2001. The Mediterranean in the Ancient World. London: Penguin. Breasted, J.H. 1906. Ancient Records of Egypt. Volume III. The Nineteenth Dynasty. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Brewer, D.J. and Teeter, E. 2007. Egypt and the Egyptians. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bridel, P. (ed). 1986. Le Site monastique Copte des Kellia, sources historiques et explorations archéologiques. Actes du Colloque de Genève 13 au 15 août 1984. Geneva: Mission suisse d’archéologie copte de l’Université de Genève. Brooks Hedström, D.L. 2007. Architecture of Coptic Churches. In The Churches of Egypt: from the journey of the Holy Family to the present day, ed. G.Gabra, G.J.M.van Loon, D. L. Brooks Hedström and C. Ludwig, 22-9. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Broze, M. 1996. Les aventures d’Horus et Seth dans le Papyrus Chester Beatty I. Leuven: Peeters. Brune, K-H. 2005. Schooldays in the Fayoum in the first millennium. In Christianity and Monasticism in the Fayoum oasis, ed. G. Gabra, 33-43. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Bruyère, B. 1930. Mert Seger à Deir el Medineh. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1947. Une antique cité artisanale égyptienne, de l’âge des Pharaons à l’époque chrétienne: Deir el Médineh. Orientalia Christiana Periodica 13, 415-24. -. 1948. Rapport sur les fouilles de Deir el Medineh (19351940). Fascicule 1. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1952. Rapport sur les fouilles de Deir el Medineh (19351940) Fascicule 2. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Bryan, B.M. 1985. Evidence for female literacy from Theban tombs of the New Kingdom. Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 6, 17-32. Buchli, V. 2000. An Archaeology of Socialism. Oxford: Berg

117

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Bucking, S. 1997. Three monks from western Thebes: scribes or scribblers? Seminar paper at the Faculty of Classics, University of Cambridge. -. 2007. Scribes or schoolmasters? On contextualizing Coptic and Greek ostraca excavated at the Monastery of Epiphanius. Journal of Coptic Studies 9, 21-47. Budge, E.A.W. 1899. The Book of the Dead. London: British Museum. -. 1913. Coptic Apocrypha in the dialect of Upper Egypt edited with English translations. London: Oxford University Press. -. 1920. By Nile and Tigris. A narrative of journeys in Egypt and Mesopotamia on behalf of the British Museum between the years 1886 and 1913. London: John Murray. Burkard, G., Mackensen, M., and Polz, D. 2003. Die spätantike/koptische Klosteranlage Deir el-Bachit in Dra’ Abu el-Naga. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologisches Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 59, 41-66. Burke, P. 2001. History and Social Theory. Cambridge: Polity. Butcher, E.L. 1897. The Story of the Church in Egypt, being an outline of the history of the Egyptians under their successive masters from the Roman conquest till now. London: Smith, Elder and Co. Butler, A.J. 1884.The Ancient Coptic Churches of Egypt. Volumes 1&2. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Butler, B. 2007. Return to Alexandria: an ethnography of cultural heritage, revivilia and museum memory. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press/UCL. Cabrol, A. 2000. Amenhotep II le magnifique. Monaco: Rocher. Cadell, H. and Rémondon, R. 1967. Sens et emplois de το οRος� dans les documents papyrologiques. Revues des Etudes Grecques 80, 343-49. Calament, F. 2004. Varia Coptica Thebaica. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 104: 39-102. -. 2008. ‘De Maria à Hèlsiaos’ Micro-économie et toponymie en question dans la région thébaine. In ‘Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages..’ Thèbes et sa région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantin. Actes du colloque tenu à Bruxelles les 2 et 3 décembre 2005, ed. A.Delattre and P.Heilporn, 175-82. Brussels: Association égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Cameron, A. 1996. Texts as weapons: polemic in the Byzantine dark ages. In Literacy and power in the ancient world, ed. A.K.Bowman and G.Woolf, 198-215. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 2007. Poets and Pagans in Byzantine Egypt. In Egypt in the Byzantine World, 300-700, ed. R.S.Bagnall, 21-46. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Caminos, R. A. 1954, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies. London: Oxford University Press. -. 1977. A Tale of Woe from a hieratic papyrus in the A.S.Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Cannuyer, C. 1989. Variations sur le thème de la ville, dans les maximes sapientales de l’ancienne Égypte. Chronique d’Égypte 64, 44-54.

-. 1992. Paternité et filiation spirituelles en Égypte pharaonique et copte. In Individu, Société et Spiritualité dans l’Égypte pharaonique et copte, ed. C.Cannuyer and JM Kruchten, 59-86. -. 1996. Les Coptes. Turnhout: Brepols. Capponi, L. 2005. Augustan Egypt: The creation of a Roman province. Abingdon: Routledge. Carter, H. 1912. Excavations in the valley of Deir el Bahri. In Five Years’ Explorations at Thebes, a record of work done 1907-1911, ed. Earl of Carnavon and H. Carter, 22-33. London: Oxford University Press. -. 1917. A tomb prepared for Queen Hatshepsut and other recent discoveries at Thebes. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 4, 107-18. Caulfield, A.S.G. 1902. The Temple of the Kings at Abydos (Sety I). London: Bernard Quartich. Cerny, J. 1936. Une famille de scribes de la nécropole royale de Thèbes. Chronique d’Égypte 11, 247-50. -. 1939. Late Ramesside Letters. Brussels: Édition de la fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. -. 1954. Late Egyptian Miscellanies. London: Oxford University Press. -. 1959. Two King’s Sons of Kush in the twentieth dynasty. Kush 7, 71-5. -. 1973. A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period. Paris: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1978. Papyrus Hieratiques de Deir el Medineh. Tome I. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -., and Gardiner, A.H., 1957. Hieratic Ostraca. Volume 1. Oxford: Griffith Institute. -., and Groll, S.I. 1993. A Late Egyptian Grammar. Rome: Editrice Pontificio Instituto Biblico. Chapa, J. 1998. Letters of condolence in Greek papyri. Florence: Edizio Gonnelli. Chevrier, H. 1939. Rapport sur les travaux de Karnak, 1938-1939. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 39, 553-602. Chitty, D.J. 1999 [1966]. The Desert a City. New York: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Choat, M. 2006. Belief and Cult in Fourth Century Papyri. Turnhout: Brepols. -. 2007. Epistolary formulae in early Coptic letters. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 667-78. Leuven: Peeters. Clackson, S.J. 2001. Review of Coptic Egypt: The Christians of the Nile, by C. Cannuyer. Egyptian Archaeology 19, 43. -. 2004. Papyrology and the utilization of Coptic sources. In Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt, ed. P.M. Sijpesteijn and L.Sundelin, 21-44. Leiden: Brill. -. 2007. Coptic Oxyrhynchus. In Oxyrhynchus: a city and its texts, ed. A.K.Bowman et al, 332-41. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Clark, B.J. and Wilkie, L.A. 2007. The prism of self: gender and personhood. In Identity and Subsistence: gender strategies for archaeology, ed. S.M.Nelson, 1-32. Lanham: AltaMira Press.

118

Bibliography Clarke, J.H. 1989. The historical legacy of Cheikh Anta Diop: his contributions to a new concept of African history. Présence Africaine 149/50, 110-20. Clarysse, W. 1992. Some Greeks in Egypt. In Life in a multi-cultural society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and beyond, ed. J.H. Johnson, 51-6. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Clauss, M. 2003. Alexandria: Schicksale einer antiken Weltstadt. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Clère, J.J. 1968. Deux statues ‘Gardiennes de Porte’ d’Epoque Ramesside. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 54, 135-48. Cline, E.H. and O’Connor, D. 2003. The Mystery of the ‘sea peoples’. In Mysterious Lands, ed. D. O’Connor and S.Quirke, 107-38. (Encounters with Ancient Egypt). London: UCL. Cohen, A.P. 1995. Self Consciousness: an alternative anthropology of identity. London: Routledge. Cohen, R., and Westbrook, R. 2000. Introduction: the Amarna system. In Amarna Diplomacy: the beginnings of international relations, ed. R.Cohen and R.Westbrook, 112. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press. Coleman, J.E. 1992. The case against Martin Bernal’s Black Athena. Archaeology September/October, 48-52, 77-81. Coleman, S. and Elsner, J. 1994. The pilgrim’s progress: art, architecture and ritual movement at Sinai. World Archaeology 26 (1), 73-89. Collart, P. 1926. Les Papyrus Bouriant. Paris: Champion. Cooney, K.M. 2007. The Cost of Death: the social and economic value of Ancient Egyptian funerary art in the Ramesside period. Leiden: Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Coque, R., Debono, F., Desronches-Noblecourt, Ch., Kurz, M., and Said, R., 1972. Graffiti de la montagne Thèbaine. I,3. Cairo: Centre de documentation et d’études sur l’ancienne Égypte. Coquin, R-G. 1972. La christianisation des temples de Karnak. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 72, 169-78. Cornelius, I. 1994. The iconography of the Canaanite gods Reshef and Ba’al. Late Bronze Age and Iron Age I Periods (c.1500-1000 BCE). Fribourg: University Press. Cornell, S., and Hartmann, D., 1998. Ethnicity and Race: making identities in a changing world. London: Pine Forge Press. Cramer, M. 1941. Die Totenklage bei den Kopten. Wien: Hölder. Crawford, K. 1995. The racial identity of ancient Egyptian populations based on the analysis of physical remains. In Egypt, Child of Africa, ed. I.van Sertima, 55-74. London: Transaction. -. 1996. Recasting ancient Egypt in the African context: towards a model curriculum using art and language. New Jersey: Africa World Press. Cribiore, R. 1996. Writing, Teaching and students in GraecoRoman Egypt. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Crocker, P.T. 1985. Status symbols in the architecture of el-Amarna. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 72, 52-65.

Crum, W.E. 1893. Coptic manuscripts brought from the Fayyum by W.M.Flinders Petrie together with a papyrus in the Bodleian library. London: David Nutt. -. 1909. Catalogue of the manuscripts in the collection of the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Manchester: Manchester University Press. -. 1939a. Varia Coptica. Texts, translations, indexes. Aberdeen: The University Press. -. 1939b. A Coptic dictionary compiled with the help of many scholars. Oxford: Oxford University Press. -. 1940. Coptic documents in the Greek script. London: Humphrey Milford. -., and Steindorff, G, 1912. Koptische Rechtsurkunden des Achten Jahrhunderts aus Djeme (Theben). Leipzig: J.C.Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. -., and Bell, H.E. 1922. Wadi Sarga. Coptic and Greek texts from the excavations undertaken by the Byzantine research account. Hauniae: Gyldendalske. -., and White, H.G. 1926. The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes. Part II. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Cruz-Uribe, E. 1986. Notes on the Coptic Cambyses Romance. Enchoria 14, 51-6. Curzon, R. 1955 [1849]. Visits to monasteries in the Levant. London: Arthur Baker. Daressy, M.G. 1897. Notice Explicative des ruines de Medinet Habu. Cairo: Imprimerie Nationale. -. 1902. Le temple de Mit Rahineh. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 3, 22-31. -. 1911. Inscriptions des carrières de Tourah et Mâsarah. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 11, 257-68. -. 1920. Notes sur Louxor de la période Romaine et Copte. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 19, 159-75. -. 1927. Quelques ostraca du Biban el Molouk. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 27, 161-82. Darnall, J. 2007. Deserts. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 29-48. Abingdon: Routledge. Dathorne, O.R. 1989. Africa as ancestor: Diop as unifier. Présence Africaine 149/150, 121-33. David, R. 2002. Religion and Magic in Ancient Egypt. London: Penguin. Davis, T.M. and Ayrton, E.R. 1908. The excavations during the winters of 1905-1906. In The Tomb of Siptah, the Monkey Tomb and the Gold Tomb, ed. T.M.Davis, 6-8. London: Archibald, Constable and Co. Davoli, P. 1998. L’archeologia urbana nel Fayyum di età ellenistica e Romana. Bologna: Generoso Procaccini. Décobert, Ch. 2000. Formes et substances des construits identitaires. In Valeur et distance: identités et sociétés en Égypte, ed. Ch.Décobert, 9-34. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Delacampagne, C. 1991. Le pouvoir des images. In Thèbes, 1250 av. J-C. Ramsès et le rêve du pouvoir absolu, ed. R-M. Jouret, 169-80. Delattre, A. 2003. Graffiti de la montagne thébaine II. Chronique d’Égypte 78, 371-80. -. 2008a. Ordres de paiement bilingues du monastère de Baouit. Chronique d’Égypte 83: 385-92.

119

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -. 2008b. Inscriptions grecques et coptes de la montagne thébaine relatives au culte de saint Ammônios. In ‘Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages..’ Thèbes et sa région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantin. Actes du colloque tenu à Bruxelles les 2 et 3 décembre 2005, ed. A.Delattre and P.Heilporn, 183-8. Brussels: Association égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. -., and Lecuyot, G. 2008. Ermitages de la montagne thebaine. In Travaux de l’Insitut français d’archéologie orientale 2007-2008, ed. L.Pantalacci and S.Denoix. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 108, 419-21. -., Lecuyot, G., and Thirard, C. 2008. L’occupation chrétienne de la montagne thébaine. In Études Coptes X, Douzième Journée d’Études coptes, Lyon, 19-21 mai 2005, ed. A.Boud’hors and C.Louis, 123-33. Paris. Demarée, R.J. 1983. The Ax iqr n Ra stelae: on ancestor worship in ancient Egypt. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. -. 2002. Ramesside Ostraca. London: British Museum Press. Den Henijer, J. 2000. La conquête arabe vue par les historiens coptes. In Valeur et distance: identités et sociétés en Égypte, ed. Ch.Décobert, 227-45. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Depauw, M. 2003. Notes on transgressing gender boundaries in ancient Egypt. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 130, 49-59. Diop, C.A. 1962. The cultural unity of negro Africa: the domains of patriarchy and of matriarchy in classical antiquity. Paris: Présence Africaine. -. 1967. Antériorite des civilizations nègres: mythe ou vérité historique? Paris: Présence Africaine. Diop, C.Y., and Diop C.M. 1997. Les médias et L’Egyptologie. Présence Africaine 155, 198-205. Doorn-Harder, van, P. 1995. Contemporary Coptic Nuns. Columbia: Univeresity of South Carolina Press. Doresse, J. 1960. Des hiéroglyphes à la croix ce que le passe pharaonique à légue au christianisme. Istanbul: Nederlands historisch-archaeologisch instituut. Dorman, P.F. 2008. Epigraphy and recording. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 77-97. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -., and Bryan, B.M. (eds) 2007. Sacred Space and sacred function in ancient Thebes. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Downer, C. 2007. Parthenope revisited: Coptic hagiography and the Hellenistic novel. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 439-52. Leuven: Peeters. Drescher, J. 1945. A widow’s petition. Bulletin de la Société d’Archéologie Copte 10, 91-7. Drioton, E. 1947. Notes diverses. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 45, 53-98. -. 1957. Le nationalisme au temps des Pharaons. In Pages d’Egyptologie, ed. E. Drioton, 375-86. Cairo: Éditions de la revue de Caire. Drower, M.S. 1995. Flinders Petrie: a life in archaeology. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press.

Dunand, F. and Zivie-Coche, C. 2004. Gods and Men in Egypt, 3000 BCE to 395 CE. Ithaca: Cornell. Dunham, D. and Janssen, J.M.A. 1960. Semna-Kumma, Second Cataract forts I. Boston: Fine Museum of Arts. DuQuesne, T. 2008. Power on their own: gender and social roles in provincial New Kingdom Egypt. In Sex and Gender in Ancient Egypt: ‘Don your wig for a joyful hour’, ed. C.Graves-Brown, 47-62. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Dussaud, R. 1926. Review of Henri Gauthier, Dictionnaire des noms géographiques contenus dans les textes hiéroglyphiques. Syria 7, 277-8. Eaton, K. 2007. Types of Cult-Image carried in divine barques and the logistics of performing temple ritual in the New Kingdom. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 134: 15-25. Edgerton, W.F. 1934. Preliminary report on the ancient graffiti at Medinet Habu. The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 50, 116-27. -. 1937. Medinet Habu Graffiti: facsimiles. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. -. 1951. The strikes in Ramses III’s twenty-ninth year. Journal for Near Eastern Studies 10 (3), 137-45. Edwards, I.E.S. 1960. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum. Fourth Series. Oracular amuletic decrees of the Late New Kingdom. London: British Museum. Eichner, I., and Fauerbach, U. 2005. Die spätantike /koptische Klosteranlage Deir el-Bachit in Dra’ Abu el’Naga. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologisches Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 61, 139-52. El-Bialy, M. 2007. Egyptology and the evaluation of the sites of western Thebes. In Sacred Space and sacred function in ancient Thebes, ed. P.F.Dorman and B.M.Bryan, 1-2. Chicago: Oriental Institute. El-Daly, O. 2005. Egyptology: the missing millennium. Ancient Egypt in Medieval Arabic writings. London: UCL. El-Saadawi, N. 1980. The Hidden Face of Eve. London: Zed -. 1998. The Nawal El Saadawi Reader. London: Zed El-Saghir, M., Golvin, J-C., Reddé, M., Hegazy, S., Wagner, G., 1986. Le Camp Romain de Louqsor. Cairo: Institut français. El-Sayed Mahmud A. 1978. A new temple for Hathor at Memphis. Warminster: Aris & Phillips El-Shal, O. 2007a. L’Élite culturelle Égyptienne vis-à-vis quelques sites archéologiques. In Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress on Egyptology, Grenoble 6-12 septembre 2004, ed. J.-C. Goyon and C.Cardin, 613-25. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2007b. Le symbolisme Égyptien dans la vie religieuse Copte. In Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress on Egyptology, Grenoble 6-12 septembre 2004, ed. J.-C. Goyon and C.Cardin, 625-40. Leuven: Peeters. El-Shohoumi, N. 2006. ‘Stay awhile at my grave’: two modern Islamic tomb inscriptions and Ancient Egyptian appeals to the living. In Timelines, studies in honour of Manfred Bietak, volume 3, ed. E.Czerny et al, 351-60. Leuven: Peeters.

120

Bibliography Elanskaya, A.I. 1994. The literary Coptic manuscripts in the A.S.Pushkin Sate Fine Arts Museum in Moscow. Leiden: Brill. Emmel, S. 1998. The historical circumstances of Shenoute’s sermon God is Blessed. In Themelia: Spätantike und koptischen Studien, Peter Grossmann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. M.Krause and S.Schaten, 81-96. Wiesbaden: Reichert. -. 2002. From the other side of the Nile: Shenoute and Panopolis. In Perspectives on Panopolis: an Egyptian town from Alexander the Great to the Arab conquest, ed. A.Egberts, B.P.Muhs and J.van der Vliet, 95-113. Leiden: Brill. -. 2004. Shenoute’s literary corpus (volumes 1 & 2). Louvain: Peeters. -. 2006. A report on the progress on the study of Coptic literature, 1996-2004. In Huitième congrès international d’études coptes (Paris 2004), ed. A.Boud’hors and D.Vaillancourt, 173-204. -. 2008a. Shenoute of Atripe and the Christian destruction of temples in Egypt: rhetoric and reality. In From Temple to Church: Destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, S.Emmel and U. Gotter, 161-99. Leiden: Brill. -. 2008b. Shenoute’s place in the history of monasticism. Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Volume I, Akhmim and Sohag, ed. G.Gabra and H.N.Takla, 31-46. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Engelbach, R. 1915. Riqqeh and Memphis VI. London: Bernard Quartich. Enmarch, R. 2008. A World Upturned: commentary on and analysis of The Dialogue of Ipuwer and the Lord of All. Oxford: OUP (published for the British Academy). Erman, A. 1905. Aus dem Volksleben des neuen Reiches. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 42, 100-106. Evans, R.J. 2000. In Defence of History. London: Granta Exler, F.X.J. 1976. The form of the ancient Greek letter of the epistolary papyri (3rd century BC – 3rd century AD). A study in Greek epistolography. Chicago: Aries. Eyre, C. 1998. The market women of pharaonic Egypt. In Le commerce en Égypte ancienne, ed. N. Grimal and B.Menu, 173-93. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1999a. The village economy in pharaonic Egypt. Proceedings of the British Academy 96, 33-60. -. 1999b. Irony in the story of Wenamun: the politics of religion in the 21st dynasty. In Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten, ed. J.Assmann and E.Blumenthal, 235-52. Paris: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 2000. Pouvoir central et pouvoirs locaux: problèmes historiographiques et méthodologiques. Méditerranées 24, 15-41. -. 2004. How relevant was personal status to the functioning of the rural economy in Pharaonic Egypt? In La dependence rurale dans l’Antiquité égyptienne et

proche-orientale, ed. B.Menu, 157-86. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Fall, A.B. 2000. Cheikh Anta Diop. Nomade, revue culturelle, 22-5. Feldman, M. 2002. Ambiguous identities: the ‘marriage’ vase of Niqmaddu II and the elusive Egyptian princess. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 15, 75-99. Finch, C.S. 1986. The Kemetic concept of Christianity. In Nile Valley Civilizations, proceedings of the Nile Valley Conference Atlanta, September 26-30, 1984, ed. I.van Sertima, 179-200. New Brunswick: Journal of African civilizations. Finley, M.I. 1975. The use and abuse of history. London: Chatto and Windus. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 2003. Representations of the past in New Kingdom literature. In Never had the like occurred: Egypt’s view of its past, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. J.Tait, 119-37. London: UCL. -. 2006. Literature as a mirror of private affairs. In Living and writing in Deir el-Medine: socio-historical embodiment of Deir el-Medine texts, ed. A.Dorn and T.Hoffmann, 8792. (Aegyptica Helvetica 19) Basel: Schwabe. Fisher, C.S. 1917. The Echley B. Coxe Jr Egyptian Expedition. The Museum Journal December, 211-28. -. 1924. Merenptah’s throne room. The Museum Journal 15 (2), 93-100. Fitton, L., Hughes, M., and Quirke, S. 1998. Northerners at Lahun: neutron activation analysis of Minoan and related pottery in the British Museum. In Lahun Studies, ed. S.Quirke, 112-34. Reigate: SIA. Fitzpatrick, S. 1999. Everyday Stalinism: ordinary life in extraordinary times. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fletcher, J. 2001. Review of B.S. Lesko, The remarkable women of ancient Egypt. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 87, 190-3. Foertmeyer, V. 1989. Tourism in Graeco-Roman Egypt. Ann Arbor: University Microfilms International. Foster, J.L. 1984. Oriental Institute Ostracon no. 12074: ‘Menna’s Lament’ or ‘Letter to a Wayward Son’. Journal for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities 14, 88-99. -., and Foster, A.L. 2008. Ancient Egyptian literature. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 206-29. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Förster, H. 2008. Mumifizierung von Christen in ÄgyptenEine religionsgeschichtliche Anfrage. Journal of Coptic Studies 10, 167-82. Foucault, M. 1986. Power/Knowledge: selected interviews and other writings, 1972-1977. Brighton: Harvester Press. -. 1988. Technologies of the self. In Technologies of the Self: a seminar with Michel Foucault, ed. L.Martin, H.Gutman and P.Hutton, 16-49. London: Tavistock. -. 2002. Power, essential works of Foucault 1954-1984, volume 3 (edited by J.D. Faubion). London: Penguin. Fowler, P.J. 1995. The Past in Contemporary Society, Then, Now. London: Routledge. Frandsen, P.J. 1979. Egyptian imperialism. In Power and Propaganda: a symposium on ancient empires, ed. M.Larsen, 167-90. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag.

121

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -. 1990. Editing Reality: The Turin Strike Papyrus. In Studies in Egyptology presented to Miriam Lichtheim. Volume I, ed. S. Israelit-Groll, 166-99. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press. Frank, G. 2000. The Memory of the Eyes: pilgrims to living saints in Christian Late Antiquity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Franke, D. 2001. Graffiti. In The Oxford Encylopedia of Ancient Egypt, ed. D. Redford, 38-41. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Frankfurter, D. 1993. Elijah in Upper Egypt: the Apocalypse of Elijah and early Egyptian Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. -. 1998. Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance. Princeton: Princeton University Press. -. 2005. Curses, blessings and ritual authority: Egyptian magic in comparative perspective. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religion 5, 157-211. -. 2006. Hagiography and the reconstruction of local religion in Late Antique Egypt: memories, inventions and landscapes. Church History and Religious Culture 86, 13-38. -. 2007a. Illuminating the cult of Kothos. In The World of Early Egyptian Christianity: language, literature and social context, ed. J.A.Goehring and J.A.Timbie, 176-88. Washington: Catholic University of America Press. -. 2007b. Demon invocations in the Coptic magical spells. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 453-66. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2008. Iconoclasm and Christianization in Late Antique Egypt: Christian treatments of space and image. In From Temple to Church: Destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, S.Emmel and U. Gotter, 135-59. Leiden: Brill. Freed, R.E. 2008. The art of ancient Egypt. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 123-43. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Frend, W.H.C. 1982. Nationalism as a factor in antiChalcedonian feeling in Egypt. In Religion and National Identity, ed. S. Mews, 18-36. Oxford: Blackwell. Friedman, F.D. 1994. Aspects of domestic life and religion. In Pharaoh’s workers, the villagers of Deir el Medina, ed. L.H.Lesko, 95-117. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Frood, E. 2007. Biographical texts from Ramessid Egypt. Writings from the Ancient World. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Fulco, W.J. 1976. The Canaanite god Resep. New Haven: American Oriental Society. Furedi, F. 1993. Mythical Past, Elusive Future. History and Society in an anxious age. London: Pluto. Gaballa, G.A. 1991. Latest excavations in Memphis: progress report. In Fragments of a Shattered Visage: proceedings of the international symposium on Ramesses the Great, ed. E.Bleiberg and R.Freed, 25-7. Memphis: Memphis State University. Gabel, J. 1997. Ideologies and the corruption of thought. London: Transaction.

Gabra, G. 1999. Cairo, The Coptic Museum and old churches. Cairo: Longman. -., and Takla, H.N. (ed). 2008. Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Volume I, Akhmim and Sohag. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Gahlin, L. 2007. Private religion. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 325-39. Abingdon: Routledge. Galán, J.M. 1995. Victory and Border: terminology related to Egyptian imperialism in the XVIIIth dynasty. Hildesheim: Gersetenberg. -. 2005. Four journeys in Ancient Egyptian literature. Lingua Aegyptia. Studia Monographica 5. Gottingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie. Gänsicke, S. 2008. Artifact conservation and Egyptology. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 163-85. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gardiner, A.H. 1911. Papyrus Anastasi I. Leipzig: Hinrichs. -. 1932. Late Egyptian Stories. Brussels: Édition de la fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. -. 1935. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum. Third Series Chester Beatty Gift. Volume I, Text. London: British Museum. -. 1937. Late Egyptian Miscellanies. Brussels: Édition de la fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. -. 1940. Ramesside Administrative Documents. London: Percy Lund. -. 1941. Ramesside texts relating to the taxation and transportation of corn. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 27, 19-73. -. 1948. The Wilbour Papyrus. Volume 2. The commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. -. 1951. A protest against unjustified tax demands. Revue d’Egyptologie 6, 115-34. Gascoigne, A. 2005. Dislocation and continuity in early Islamic provincial urban centres – the example of Tell Edfu. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologisches Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 61, 153-89. Gauthier, H. 1926. Dictionnaire des nomes géographiques contenus dans les textes hièroglyphiques. Tome 3. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 1929. Dictionnaire des nomes géographiques contenus dans les textes hièroglyphiques. Tome 6. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Giardina, A. 1989. Egitto bizantino o tardoantico? Problemi della terminologia e della periodizzazione. In Egitto e storia antic dall’ ellenismo all’ età araba, ed. L. Criscuolo and G. Geraci, 89-103. Bologna: Clueb. Giddy, L, 1999a. The present state of Egyptian archaeology: 1997 update. In Studies on Ancient Egypt in honour of H.S. Smith, ed. A.Leahy and J.Tait, 109-13. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 1999b. Kom Rabi’a: the New Kingdom and Post-New Kingdom Objects. The Survey of Memphis II. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -., and Jeffreys, D.J. 1992. Memphis 1991. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 78, 1-12. -., and Jeffreys, D.J. 1993. Memphis 1993. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 79, 11-6.

122

Bibliography Gilchrist, R. 2000. Archaeological biographies: realizing human lifecyles, -courses and –histories. World Archaeology 31 (3), 325-8. Giles, F.J. 1997. The Amarna Age: western Asia. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Gilot, F. and Lake, C. 1990. Life with Picasso. London: Virago. Gilroy, P. 1998. Race ends here. Ethnic and Racial Studies 21 (5), 839-47. Giveon, R. 1980. Resheph in Egypt: review article of Fulco, The Canaanite God Resep. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 66, 144-50. Glanville, S.R.K. 1928. The letters of Ahmose of Peniati. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 14, 294-312. -. 1931. Records of a Royal Dockyard at the time of Tuthmosis III: Papyrus British Museum 10056. Part I. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 66, 105-21. -. 1932a. Records of a Royal Dockyard at the time of Tuthmosis III: Papyrus British Museum 10056. Part II. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 68, 7-41. -. 1932b. Studies presented to F.LL. Griffith. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 1933. The Egyptians. London: A&C Black. -. 1942. Introduction. In The Legacy of Egypt, ed. S.R.K. Glanville, xiii-xx. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Glock, A.E. 1999. Cultural bias in archaeology. In Archaeology, History and Culture in Palestine and the Near East: essays in memory of Albert E.Glock, ed. T.Kapitan, 324-42. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Godlewski, W. 1986. Deir el Bahri V. Le monastère de St Phoibammon. Warsaw: Panstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe. Goedicke, H. 1966. An additional note on aA ‘foreigner’. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 52, 172-4. Goehring, J.E. 1993. The enchroaching desert: literary production and ascetic space in Early Christian Egypt. Journal of Early Christian Studies 1, 281-96. -. 1997. Monastic diversity and ideological boundaries in fourth century Christian Egypt. Journal of Early Christian Studies 5, 61-83. -. 2007. Keeping the monastery clean. The World of Early Egyptian Christianity: language, literature and social context, ed. J.A.Goehring and J.A.Timbie, 158-75. Washington: Catholic University of America Press. Goldstone, J.A., and Haldon, J.H. 2009. Ancient states, empires and their exploitation: problems and perspectives. In Ancient States, Empires and their Exploitation, ed. J.A.Goldstone and J.F.Haldon, 3-29. London: Routledge. Gosden, C. 2001. Postcolonial archaeology: issues of culture, identity, and knowledge. In Archaeological Theory Today, ed. I.Hodder, 241-61. Cambridge: Polity. Gotter, U. 2008. Rechtgläubige – Pagane – Häretiker. In From Temple to Church: Destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, S.Emmel and U. Gotter, 44-89. Leiden: Brill.

Goudallier, J-P. 1998. Comment tu tchatches! Dictionnaire du français contemporain des cités. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Goudriaan, K. 1988. Ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt. Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben. -. 2000. Les signes de l’identité ethnique en Égypte ptolémaique. In Valeur et distance: identités et sociétés en Égypte, ed. Ch. Décobert, 39-70. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Grandet, P. 2006. Catalogue des Ostraca hiératiques nonlittéraires de Deir el-Médînéh. Cairo: Institut français d’Archéologie orientale. Graves-Brown, C. 2008. Gender, sex and loss of innocence. In Sex and Gender in Ancient Egypt: ‘Don your wig for a joyful hour’, ed. C.Graves-Brown, ix-xxv. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Green, M. 1986. Book review of Pharaonic Egypt. The Bible and Christianity, ed. S. Israelit-Groll. Bibliotheca Orientalis 43 (5/6), 679-86. Grenfell, B.P., Hunt, A.S. and Bell, H.I., 1924. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Griffiths, J.G. 1991. Egyptian influences on Athanasius. In Atlantis and Egypt with other selected essays, ed. J.G.Griffith, 143-56. Cardiff: University of Wales. Grimal, N. 2000. Cités, villes et Etat de l’Égypte pharaonique. In Mégapoles méditerranéennes: Géographie urbaine rétrospective, ed. C.Nicolet, R.Ilbert, and J-C. Depaule. Paris: Maisonneuve. -. 2003.Response to D.B. Redford. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 2: History and Religion, ed. Z.Hawass, 12-14. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Grossmann, P. 1973. Eine vergessene frühchristliche Kirche beim Luxor-Tempel. Mitteilungen des Deutschen archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 29, 167-81. -. 1980. Elephantine II, Kirche und Spätantike Hausenlagen im Chumtempelhof. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern. -. 1986. Les églises paléochrétiennes. Dossiers Histoire et Archéologie 101, 79-80. -. 1991. Luxor Temples. In The Coptic Encylopedia, ed. A.Atiya, 1484-6. New York, Macmillan. -. 1998. The pilgrimage center of Abû Mînâ. In Pilgrimage and Holy Space in Late Antique Egypt, ed. D. Frankfurter, 281-302. Leiden: Brill. -. 2002. Christliche architektur in Ägypten. Leiden: Brill. -. 2006. Christliche archäologie in Ägypten. In Huitième congrès international d’études coptes (Paris 2004), ed. A.Boud’hors and D.Vaillancourt, 231-50. Paris: De Boccard. -., and Whitcomb, D.S. 1993. Excavation in the sanctuary of the church in front of the Luqsur Temple. Annales du Service des Antiquités Égyptiennes 72, 25-34. -., and Bailey, D. 1994. The South Church at Hermopolis Magna (Ashmunein). A preliminary account. In ‘Churches built in ancient times’: recent studies in early Christian archaeology, ed. K.Painter, 49-71. London: The Society of Antiquaries.

123

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Guksch, H. 1994. ‘Sehnsucht nach der Heimatstadt’: ein ramessidisches Thema? Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 50, 101-106. Gundlach, R. and Klug, A. (ed). 2004. Das ägyptische Köningtum im Spannungsfeld zwischen Iunen-und Auβenpolitik im 2.Jahrtausend v.Chr. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Gunn, B. 1916. The religion of the poor in ancient Egypt. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 3, 81-94. Gutteridge, A. and Machado, C. 2006. Social and political life in Late Antiquity: an introduction. In Social and Political life in Late Antiquity, ed. W.Bowden, A.Gutteridge, C.Machado, xv-xxx. Leiden: Brill. Haarlem, van, W.M.1988. Modern Egypt and its pharaonic heritage. Discussions in Egyptology 11, 99-101. Haarman, U. 1996. Medieval Muslim perceptions of pharaonic Egypt. In Ancient Egyptian Literature, ed. A.Loprieno, 605-27. Leiden: Brill. Haas, A. 1997. Alexandria in Late Antiquity: topography and social conflict. London: John Hopkins University Press. Habachi, L. 1951. Clearance of the area to the east of the Luxor Temple and discovery of some objects (with five plates. Annales du Service des Antiquités Egyptiennes 51, 447-68. -. 1972. The destruction of the temples in Egypt. In Medieval and Middle Eastern Studies in honor of Aziz Suryal Atiya, ed. S. Hanna, 192-8. Leiden: Brill. Hagen, F. 2007. Local identities. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 242-51. Abingdon: Routledge. Hahn, J., Emmel, S., Gotter, U. 2008. ‘From Temple to Church’: analysing a Late Antique phenomenon of transformation. In From Temple to Church: Destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in Late Antiquity, ed. J. Hahn, S.Emmel and U. Gotter, 1-22. Leiden: Brill. Haikal, F, 2003a. Response to J.Baines. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 2932. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 2003b. Egypt’s past regenerated by its own people. In Consuming Ancient Egypt, ed. S.MacDonald and M.Rice, 123-38. (Encounters with Ancient Egypt). London: UCL. Hall, S. 1997. New ethnicities. In The Post-colonial Studies Reader, ed. B.Ashcroft, G. Griffiths and H. Tiffin, 223-7. London: Routledge. Handley, E.W., Ioannidou, H.G., Parsons, P.J., and Whitehorne, J.E.G., 1992. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Volume 59. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Hardy, E.R. 1952. Christian Egypt: church and people, Christianity and nationalism in the Patriarchate of Alexandria. New York: Oxford University Press. Haring, B.J. 1992. Libyans in the late twentieth dyansty. In Village Voices: proceedings of the symposium ‘Texts from Deir el Medina and their interpretation’ Leiden, May 31June 1, 1991, ed. R.J. Demarée and A.Egberts, 71-80. Leiden: Centre of non-western studies. -. 2006. Scribes and scribal activity at Deir el Medina. In Living and writing in Deir el-Medine: socio-historical

embodiment of Deir el-Medine texts, ed. A.Dorn and T.Hoffmann, 107-112. (Aegyptica Helvetica 19) Basel: Schwabe. Harrop, J.H. 1962. A Christian letter of commendation. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 48, 132-40. Hasel, M.G. 1998. Domination and resistance: Egyptian military activity in the southern Levant, ca. 1300 – 1185 BC. Leiden: Brill. Hassan, F.A. 1998. Memorabilia: archaeological materiality and national identity in Egypt. In Archaeology under fire: nationalism, politics and heritage in the eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East, ed. L.Meskell, 200-16. London: Routledge. Hauben, H. 1981. On the Meletians in P.London VI (P.Jews) 1914: the problem of Papas Heraiscus. In Proceedings of the Sixteenth International Congress of Papyrology, New York, 24-31 July 1980, ed. R.S.Bagnall et al, 447-56. Ann Arbor: Scholars Press. -. 1998. The Alexandrian patriarch as pharaoh, from biblical metaphor to scholarly topos. In Egyptian Religion: the last thousand years. Part II. Studies dedicated to the memory of Jan Quaegebeur, ed. W. Clarysse, A.Schoors and H. Willems, 1341-1352. Brussels: Peeters. Hawass, Z. 2003. Site management and conservation. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 48-61. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Helck, W. 1955. Urkunden der 18. Dynastie. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. -. 1962. Die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu vorderasien im 3. und 2. jahrtausend v.Chr. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. -. 1966. Zum Auftreten fremder Götter in Ägypten. Oriens Antiquus 5, 1-14. Herold, A. 1998. Piramesses – the northern capital: chariots, horses and foreign gods. In Capital Cities: urban planning and spiritual dimensions, ed. J.G.Westenholz, 129-46. Jerusalem: Bible Lands Museum. Hertmans, S. 2001. Intercities. London: Reaktion Books. Heurtel, C. 2002. Nouveaux aperçus de la vie anachorétique dans la montagne thébaine: les ostraca coptes de la tombe TT29. Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie 154, 29-45. -. 2003a. Le serment d’un chamlier: O.Gournet Mourrai 242. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 103: 297-306. -. 2003b. Que fait Frange dans la cour de la tombe TT 29? In Etudes Coptes VIII, ed. C.Cannuyer, 177-204. Lille: Association francophone de Coptologie. -. 2004. Les inscriptions coptes et grecques à Deir al-Médîna. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. -. 2007. Marc le prêtre de Saint-Marc. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 727-50. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2008. Le petit monde de Frangé: une microsociété dans la région thébaine au début du VIII siècle. In ‘Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages..’ Thèbes et sa

124

Bibliography région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantin. Actes du colloque tenu à Bruxelles les 2 et 3 décembre 2005, ed. A.Delattre and P.Heilporn, 163-74. Brussels: Association égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Higginbotham, C.R. 2000. Egyptianization and elite emulation in Ramesside Palestine: governance and accommodation on the imperial periphery. Leiden: Brill. Hirschfeld, Y. 1992. The Judean Desert Monasteries in the Byzantine Period. London: Yale University Press. Hodder, I. 1992. Theory and Practice in Archaeology. London: Routledge. -. 1995. Reading the Past: current approaches to interpretation in archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hofmann, T. 2005. Zur sozialen Bedeutung zweier Begriffe für ‘Diener’: bAk und Hm. (Aegyptiaca Helvetica 18). Basel: Schwabe. -. 2006. Arbeitseinsätze und Löhne der sogenannten Sklavinnen von Deir el Medine. In Living and writing in Deir el-Medine: socio-historical embodiment of Deir elMedine texts, ed. A.Dorn and T.Hoffmann, 113-18. (Aegyptica Helvetica 19) Basel: Schwabe. Holden, L.H. 1982. The people’s religion. In Egypt’s Golden Age: the art of living in the New Kingdom, 1558-1058 BC, ed. E.Brovarski, S. Doll and R.E.Freed, 296-8. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Hölscher, U. 1931. The architectural survey 1929/30. In Medinet Habu Reports, ed. H.Nelson and U.Hölscher, 4969. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. -. 1934. The Excavation of Medient Habu, I: General Plans and Views. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. -. 1954. The Excavation of Medinet Habu, V. Post-Ramessid Remains. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hoogendijk, F.A.J. and van Minnen, P. 1991. Papyri, ostraca, parchments and waxed tablets in the Leiden Papyrological Institute (P.L.Bat.25). Leiden: Brill. Hopkins, K. 1991. Conquest by book. In Literacy in the Roman World, ed. J.H.Humphrey, 133-58. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Horbury, M. 1996. Metal objects from the period of state formation in Egypt: a discussion of their significance, with a catalogue of Predynastic metal objects in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. BA dissertation: University of Oxford. -. 1998. Djeme and Coptic western Thebes. MA dissertation: UCL. -. 2002. Egyptian self-definition in the New Kingdom and Coptic Period. PhD thesis: UCL. -. 2003. The British and the Copts. In Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte, ed. D. Jeffreys (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), 153-70. London: UCL Press. Hornung, E. 2006. The New Kingdom. In Ancient Egyptian Chronology, ed. E.Hornung, R.Krauss and D.A.Warburton, 197-216. Leiden: Brill. Humbert, J-M, and Price, C. 2003. Imhotep Today: Egyptianizing architecture. (Encounters with Ancient Egypt). London: UCL.

Ioannidou, H.G. 1986. An edition of unpublished Greek private letters on papyrus. PhD thesis: University of London. Ingold, T. et al. 1998. The past is a foreign country. In Key Debates in Anthropology, ed. T.Ingold, 199-248. London: Routledge. Jacquet, J. 1958. Un bassin de libation du nouvel empire dédié à Ptah. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologisches Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 16, 161-7. Jacquet-Gordon, J. 2003. The Graffiti on the Khonsu Temple Roof at Karnak: a manifestation of personal piety. Oriental Institute Publications vol. 123. Chicago: Oriental Insitute of University of Chicago. Jamieson, R.W. 2000. Domestic architecture and power: the historical archaeology of colonial Ecuador. London: Kluwer Academic/Plenum. Jansen, H.L. 1950. The Coptic story of Cambyses’ Invasion of Egypt. Oslo: Kommisjon hos Jacob Dybwad. Jansen-Winkeln, K. 2004. Lebenslehre und Biographie. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 131, 59-72. Janssen, J.J. 1960. Nine letters from the time of Ramesses II. Leiden: Brill. -. 1975. Commodity prices from the Ramesside period: an economic study of the village of necropolis workment at Thebes. Leiden: Brill. -. 1991. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum VI. Late Ramesside Letters and Communications. London: British Museum. -. 1992. Literacy and Letters at Deir el Medina. In Village Voices: proceedings of the symposium ‘Texts from Deir el Medina and their interpretation’ Leiden, May 31-June 1, 1991, ed. R.J. Demarée and A.Egberts, 81-94. Leiden: Centre of non-western studies. -., Frood, E., and Goecke-Bauer, M. 2003. Woodcutters, potters and doorkeepers: service personnel of the Deir el Medina workmen. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabje Oosten. Janssen, R. and Janssen, J. 2007. Growing up and getting old in ancient Egypt. London: Golden House Publishing. Jeffreys, D. 1985. The Survey of Memphis I. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 1988. Survey of Memphis 1988. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 1996. House, palace and islands at Memphis. In Haus und Palast im alten Ägypten, ed. M.Bietak, 287-94. Vienna: Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. -. 1998. The topography of Heliopolis and Memphis: some cognitive aspects. In Stationen: Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens Rainer Stadelmann Gewidmet, ed. H.Guksch and D.Polz, 63-71. Mainz: Philip von Zabern. -. 1999. Memphis. In The Encylopedia of the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt, ed. K.Bard, 488-90. London: Routledge. -. 2001. Memphis. In The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, ed. D.Redford, 373-6. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

125

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -. (ed). 2003a. Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte. (Encounters with Ancient Egypt). London: UCL. -. 2003b. All in the family? Heirlooms in Ancient Egypt. In Never had the like occurred: Egypt’s view of its past, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. J.Tait, 195-211. London: UCL. -. 2006a. Kom Rabia: The New Kingdom Settlement (Levels IIV). Survey of Memphis V. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 2006b. The future of Egypt’s urban past? Aspects of the 21st century ‘town problem’ at Avaris, Piramesse and Memphis. In Timelines, studies in honour of Manfred Bietak, ed. E.Czerny et al, 163-70. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2006c. Perunefer: at Memphis or Avaris? Egyptian Archaeology 28, 36-7. -. 2007. Nile Valley. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 7-14. Abingdon: Routledge. -., Malek J., and Smith, H.S., 1984. The Survey of Memphis 1982. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 70, 23-32. -., Malek J., and Smith, H.S., 1986. Memphis 1984. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 72, 1-14. -., Malek J., and Smith, H.S., 1987. Memphis 1985. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 73, 11-20. -., and Malek, J. 1988. Memphis 1986, 1987. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 74, 15-30. -., and Smith, H.S. 1988. Memphis and the Nile in the New Kingdom: a preliminary attempt at a historical perspective. In Memphis et ses nécropoles au nouvel empire: nouvelles données, nouvelles questions. Actes du colloque interational CNRS, Paris, 9 au 11 octobre 1986, ed. A.Zivie, 55-66. Paris: CNRS. Johnson, D.W. 1986. Anti-Chalcedonian polemics in Coptic texts, 451-641. In The Roots of Egyptian Christianity, ed. B.A.Pearson and J.E.Goehring, 216-34. Johnson, J.J., and Whitcomb, D. 1989. A Royal Head from Luxor. In Essays in Ancient Civilization presented to Helene J.Kantor, ed. A.Leonard and B.B.Williams, 135-48. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Jones, M. 2008. Monument and site conservation. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 98-122. Cambridge: CUP. Jones, S. 1996. Discourses of identity in the interpretation of the past. In Cultural Identity and Archaeology: the construction of European communities, ed. P.GravesBrown, S.Jones and C.Gamble, 62-80. London: Routledge. -. 1997. An Archaeology of Ethnicity: constructing identities in the past and present. London: Routledge. Jules-Rosette, B. 1998. Black Paris: The African writers’ landscape. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Junge, F. 2001. Late Egyptian Grammar: an introduction. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Kabbani, R. 1989. Letter to Christendom. London: Virago Kaegi, W.E. 1998. Egypt on the eve of the Muslim conquest. In Islamic Egypt, 640-1517, The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume I, ed. C.F.Petry, 34-61. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Kahle, P.E. 1954. Bala’izah. Coptic Texts from Deir elBala’izah in Upper Egypt. Volumes I and II. Oxford: Oxford University Press. -. 1955. Review of Coptic ostraca from Medinet Habu, by E.Stefanski and M.Lichtheim. Journal for Egyptian Archaeology 41, 145-8. Kamil, J. 2007. Labib Habachi: the life and legacy of an Egyptologist. Cairo: American University of Cairo Press. Kamish, M.V. 1985. Foreigners at Memphis in the middle of Dynasty XVIII. Wepwawet 1, 19-21. -. 1986. Problems of toponymy with special reference to Memphis and the royal cult. Wepwawet 2, 31-6. -. 1990. Cults of the God Amun at Memphis: identification, prosopography and toponymy. PhD thesis: University of London. Kamp, K. and Yoffee, N. 1990. Ethnicity in western Asia during the early second millennium BC: archaeological assessments and ethnoarchaeological perspectives. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 237, 85-104. Karlsson, G. 1962. Ideologie et cérémonial dans l’épistolographie byzantine. Uppsala: University Press. Kasser, R. 1966. Dialectes, sous-dialectes, et ‘dialecticules’ dans l’Égypte copte. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 92, 106-15. Kees, H. 1977. Ancient Egypt: a cultural topography. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Keita, S.O.Y. and Kittles, R.A. 1997. The persistence of racial thinking and the myth of racial divergence. American Anthropologist 99 (3), 534-44. Kemp, B.J. 1972. Temple and town in ancient Egypt. In Man, Settlement and Urbanism, ed. P.J.Ucko, R.Tringham and G.W.Dimbleby, 657-80. London: Duckworth. -., 1977a. The city of el-Amarna as a source for the study of urban society in ancient Egypt. World Archaeology 19, 124-39. -. 1977b. The early development of towns in Egypt. Antiquity 51, 193-205. -. 1978. Imperialism and empire in New Kingdom Egypt (c. 1577-1087 BC). In Imperialism in the Ancient World, ed. P.D.A.Garnsey and C.R.Whittaker, 7-57. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 1984. In the shadow of texts: archaeology in Egypt. Archaeological Review from Cambridge 3 (2), 19-28. -. 1986. Amarna Reports III. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 1993. Ancient Egypt: anatomy of a civilization. London: Routledge. -. 1995. How religious were the ancient Egyptians? Cambridge Archaeological Journal 5, 25-54. -. 2000. Soil (including mud-brick architecture). In Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology, ed. P.T.Nicholson and I.Shaw, 78-103. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press -. 2001. Just Like Us? Cambridge Archaeological Journal 11 (1), 123-44. -., and O’Connor, D. 1974. An ancient Nile harbour: University Museum excavations at the ‘Birket Habu’.

126

Bibliography The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology and Underwater Exploration 3 (1), 101-36. -., and Merrillees, R. 1980. Minoan pottery in second millennium Egypt. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. -., and Garfi, S. 1993. A survey of the city of El-‘Amarna. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -., and Vogelsgang-Eastwood 2001. The ancient textile industry at Amarna. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Kennedy, H. 1998. Egypt as province in the Islamic caliphate, 641-868. In Islamic Egypt, 640-1517, The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume I, ed. C.F. Petry, 6285. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kent, S. 1997. Activity areas and architecture: an interdisciplinary view of the relationship between the use of space and domestic built environments. In Domestic architecture and the use of space, ed. S.Kent, 1-8. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kitchen, K.A. 1979. Ramesside Inscriptions Historical and Biographical. Volume II. Oxford: Blackwell. -. 1980. Ramesside Inscriptions Historical and Biographical. Volume III. Oxford: Blackwell. -. 1982. Pharaoh Triumphant: the life and times of Ramesses II, King of Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. -. 1983. Ramesside Inscriptions Historical and Biographical. Volume VI. Oxford: Blackwell. -. 1991. Towards a reconstruction of Ramesside Memphis. In Fragments of a Shattered Visage: proceedings of the international symposium on Ramesses the Great, ed. E.Bleiberg and R.Freed, 87-104. Memphis: Memphis State University. -. 2007. Festivity in Ramesside Thebes and devotion to Amun and his city. In Egyptian Stories, ed. T. Schneider and K. Szpakowska, 149-53. Munster: Ugarit-Verlag. Kleinke, N. 2007. Female spaces: untersuchungen zu Gender und Archäologie im pharaonischen Ägypten. Gottingen: Göttinger Miszellen. Klötz, D. 2008. Domitian at the Contra-Temple of Karnak. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 135, 63-77. Knapp, A.B. 1997. Amarna letters and Hittite texts from the Late Bronze Age. In The Amarna Age: western Asia, ed. F.Giles, 381-446. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Koeffoed-Petersen, O. 1948. Les Stéles Egyptiennes. Copenhagen: La Glyptothèque NY Carlsberg. Koenig, Y. 1987. La Nubie dans les textes magiques. Revue d’Egyptologie 38, 105-10. -. 1994. Magie et Magiciens dans l’Égypte ancienne. Paris: Pygmalion. Koh, A.J. 2006. Locating the xtm n pA xr of the workmen’s village at Deir el Medina. Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 42, 95-102. Kohl, P.L. and Fawcett, C. 1995. Introduction. Archaeology in the service of the state: theoretical considerations. In Nationalism, Politics and the Practice of Archaeology, ed. P.L.Kohl and C.Fawcett, 3-18. London: Routledge.

Koltsida, A. 2007. Social Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Domestic Architecture. BAR International Series 1608. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Kozloff, A.P. 2008. Ancient Egypt in museums today. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 144-62. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Krawiec, R. 2002. Shenoute and the women of the White Monastery. Oxford: OUP. Krause, M. 1981. Das christliche Alexandrien und sein Beziehungen zum koptischen Ägypten. In Alexandrien. Kulturbegegnungen dreier Jahrtausende im Schmelztiegel einer mediterranean Grossstadt, ed. N.Hinske, 53-62. Mainz: Philip von Zabern. -. 1982. Das christliche Theben: neuere arbetien und funde. Bulletin de la Société d’archéologie Copte 24, 21-33. Kubiak, W. 1982. Al Fustat: its foundation and early urban development. Warsaw: Wydawnictwa Universytetu Warszawskiego. Kuhlmann, K.P. 1998. Roman and Byzantine Siwa: developing a latent picture. In Life on the Fringe: living in the southern Egyptian deserts during the Roman and early Byzantine periods, ed. O.E. Kaper, 159-80. Leiden: centre of non-western studies. Kuhn, K.H. 1956. Letters and sermons of Besa. Louvain: Imprimiere Orientaliste. -., and Tait, W.J. 1996. Thirteen Coptic Acrostic Hymns from manuscript M574 of the Pierpont Morgan Library. Oxford: Griffith Institute. La’ada, C.A. 2003. Encounters with Ancient Egypt: the Hellenistic Greek experience. In Ancient perspectives on Egypt, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. R.Matthews and C.Roemer, 157-69. London: UCL. Lacau, J. 1909. Catalogue Général des Antiquités du Musée du Caire. Steles du Nouvel Empire. Cairo: Institut français. Lacovara, P. 1999. The city of Amarna. In Pharaohs of the Sun: Akhenaten: Nefertiti: Tutankhamun, ed. R. Freed et al, 61-71. London: Thames and Hudson. Łajtar, A. 2006. Deir el-Bahri in the Hellenistic and Roman periods: a study of an Egyptian temple based on Greek sources. Warsaw: Insitute of Archaeology, Warsaw University. Landgráfová, R. 2008. Breaches of cooperative rules: metaphors and parody in Ancient Egyptian love songs. In Sex and Gender in Ancient Egypt: ‘Don your wig for a joyful hour’, ed. C.Graves-Brown, 71-82. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Lane, B.C. 1993. Desert Catechesis: the landscape and theology of early Christian monasticism. Anglican Theological Review 75 (3), 292-314. Lane, E. 1842. An account of the manners and customs of the modern Egyptians. London: Charles Knight & Co. Lane, J. 1999. ‘La Bourdieumania fait des ravages dans les médias’. Modern and Contemporary France 7 (1), 105-108. Lane Fox, R. 1996. Literacy and power in early Christianity. In Literacy and power in the ancient world, ed. A.K.Bowman and G. Woolf, 126-48. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

127

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Lapidus, I.M.1972. The conversion of Egypt to Islam. Israel Oriental Studies 2, 248-62. Lauffray, J. 1971. Abords occidentiaux du premier pylône de Karnak le dromos, la tribune et les aménagements portuaires. KEMI 21, 77-144. Le Comité International des Peuples Noirs. 1997. ‘Marche du Siècle’ et Marche de la Vérité historique. Présence Africaine 155, 206-16. Leahy, A. 1995. Ethnic diversity in ancient Egypt. In Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, Volume I, ed. J.M.Sasson, 225-34. New York: Macmillan. Leblanc, C. 1983. Les tombes no. 58 et no. 60 de la vallée des Reines. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 69, 29-52. -. 1985. Les tombes no. 58 et no. 60 de la vallée des Reines – achèvement des dégagements et conclusions. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 70, 51-68. -. 1989. Ta Set Neferou. Une necropole de Thebes-Ouest et son histoire. Cairo: Nubar Printing House. -. 1994. Nouvelles et activites de l’Association pour la sauvegarde du Ramesseum. Memnonia IV-V, 1-32. -. 1999. Reines, princesses et princes étrangers à la cour royale d’Égypte, durant la Nouvel Empire. Dédale 9-10, 497-520. Leclant, J. 1960. Astarté à cheval d’après les représentations égyptiennes. Syria 37, 1-67. Leclère, F. 2008. Les villes de Basse Égypte, au 1er millénaire av.J.-C. Analyse archéologique et historique de la topographie urbaine. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Lecuyot, G. 1993. The Valley of the Queens in the Coptic Period. In Acts of the Fifth International Congress of Coptic Studies, Washington, 12-15 August 1992. Volume 2, 263-76. Rome: CIM. -. 2000. Le Ramesseum à l’époque copte à propos des traces chrétiennes au Ramesseum. In Etudes Coptes VI, Huitième journée d’études, Colmar 29-31 mai 1997, ed. A.Boud’hors, 121-34. Louvain: Peeters. -. 2006. Ermitages de la montagne thébaine. In Travaux de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale en 2005-2006, ed. L.Pantalacci and S.Denoix. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 106, 378-80. -. 2007. Ermitages de la montagne thébaine. In Travaux de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale en 2006-2007, ed. L.Pantalacci and S.Denoix. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 107, 290-93 -. 2009. Coptic occupation of the Theban mountain. Egyptian Archaeology (in press). -., and Thirard, C. 2008. L’occupation chrétienne de la montagne thébaine à travers ses vestiges archéologiques. In ‘Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages..’ Thèbes et sa région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantin. Actes du colloque tenu à Bruxelles les 2 et 3 décembre 2005, ed. A.Delattre and P.Heilporn, 13744. Brussels: Association égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Lefebvre, M.G. 1907. Recueil des inscriptions grécqueschrétiennes d’Égypte. Cairo: Institut français.

Lefkowitz, M. and Rogers, G. (ed). 1996. Black Athena Revisited. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Lefort, L-Th. 1955. S.Athanase. Lettres festales et Pastorales en Copte. Louvain: Imprimerie Orientaliste. Lehner, M.E. 1991. Archaeology of an image: the great sphinx of Giza. PhD thesis: Yale University. Leibovitch, J.1940. Un fragment de stèla dédiée à Rechef. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 40, 489-92. Leipoldt, J. 1903. Shenute von Atripe und die Entstehung des national ägyptischen Christentums. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche. -., and Crum, W. 1906. Sinuthii Archimandritae Vita et Opera Omnia. I. Sinuthii Vita Bohairice. Paris: Carolus Poussielgue. Lephoron, R.J. 2008. Egyptian religious texts. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 230-47. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lesko, L.H. 1990. Some comments on ancient Egyptian literacy and literati. In Studies in Egyptology presented to Miriam Lichtheim (volume 2), ed. S.Israelit-Groll, 656-7. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press. -. 1991. Ancient Egyptian cosmogonies and cosmology. In Religion in Ancient Egypt: gods, myths and personal practice, ed. B.Shafer, 88-122. London: Routledge. -. 1994. Literature, Literacy and Literati. In Pharaoh’s Workers, the villagers of Deir el Medina, ed. L.H.Lesko, 131-44. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Lewis, B. 1998. The Multiple Identities of the Middle East. London: Wiedenfeld & Nicolson. Lewis, N. 1970. ‘Greco-Roman Egypt’: fact or fiction?. In Proceedings of the Twelfth International Congress of Papyrology, ed. D.H.Samuel, 3-14. Toronto: Am Hakkert. -. 1984. Life in Egypt under Roman Rule. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Leyerle, B. 2000. Communication and travel. In The Early Christian World, Volumes I and II, ed. P.F. Esler, 452-74. London: Routledge. Lichtheim, M. 1980a. The praise of cities in the literature of the New Kingdom. In Panhellenica: essays in ancient history and historiography in honor of Truesdell S.Brown, ed. S.Burstein and L.Okin, 15-24. Laurence: Colorado Press. -. 1980b. Ancient Egyptian Literature. Volume III, The Late Period. Berkeley: University of California Press. -. 1984. Ancient Egyptian Literature Volume II, The New Kingdom. Berkeley: University of California Press. -. 1997. Moral values in ancient Egypt. Fribourg: Vandenkoek & Rupprecht. Lilyquist, C. 1998. The use of ivories as interpreters of political history. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 310, 25-34. Liverani, M. 1973. Memorandum on the approach to historiographic texts. Orientalia 42, 178-94. -. 1990. Prestige and Interest: international relations in the Near East ca. 1600-1100 BC. Padua: Sargon. Lloyd, A.B. 1982. Nationalist propaganda in Ptolemaic Egypt. Historia 31, 33-55.

128

Bibliography -. 1992. The Late Period, 664-323 BC. In Ancient Egypt: a social history, by B.Trigger, B.Kemp, D O’Connor and A.Lloyd, 279-348. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 1994. Cambyses in Late Tradition. In The Unbroken Reed: studies in the culture and heritage of ancient Egypt in honour of A.F.Shore, ed. C.Eyre, A.Leahy and C.M. Leahy, 195-204. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -. 2007. Egyptians abroad in the Late Period. In Travel, geography and culture in Ancient Greece, ed. C.Adams and J.Roy, 5-30. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Loprieno, A. 1988. Topos und Mimesis zum Ausländer im der ägyptischen Literatur. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. -. 1996. Defining Egyptian literature and modern literary theory. In The Study of the Near East in the Twenty-First Century. The William Foxwell Albright Centennial Conference, ed. J.Cooper and G.Schwartz, 209-32. Indiana: Eisenbrauns. -. 2003. Travel and fiction in Egyptian literature. In Mysterious lands, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. D. O’Connor and S.Quirke, 31-51. London: UCL. -. 2006. As a conclusion: towards a detailed perspective on Deir el Medina. In Living and writing in Deir el-Medine: socio-historical embodiment of Deir el-Medine texts, ed. A.Dorn and T.Hoffmann, 165-70. (Aegyptica Helvetica 19) Basel: Schwabe. Lowenthal, D. 1994. Conclusion: archaeologists and others. In The Politics of the Past, ed. P.Gathercole and D.Lowenthal, 302-14. London: Routledge. -. 1995. The Past is a Foreign Country. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 1997. The Heritage Crusade and the Spoils of History. London: Viking. Lubomierski, N. 2007. Towards a better understanding of the so-called Vita Sinuthii. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 527-36. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2008. The Coptic Life of Shenoute. In Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Volume I, Akhmim and Sohag, ed. G.Gabra and H.N.Takla, 91-98. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Lustig, J. 1997. Anthropology and Egyptology: a developing dialogue. ed. J.Lustig. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. MacCoull, L.S.B. 1986a. Coptic Documentary Papyri from the Beinecke Library (Yale University). Cairo: Publications de la Societé d’archéologie copte. -. 1986b. Coptic documentary papyri as a historical source for Egyptian Christianity. In The Roots of Egyptian Christianity, ed. B.A. Pearson and J.E.Goehring, 42-50. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. -. 1988. Dioscorus of Aphrodito. His work and his world. Berkeley: University of California Press. -. 1989. Patronage and social order in Coptic Egypt. In Egitto e storia antica dall’ ellenismo all’ età araba, ed. L.Criscuolo and G.Geraci, 497-502. Bologna: Clueb. -. 1991. A Coptic monastic letter to Dioscorus of Aphrodito. Enchoria 18, 23-6.

-. 1992. More missing pieces of the Dioscorus archive. In Actes du IVe Congrès Copte, Louvain-la-Neuve, 5-10 septembre 1988, ed. M.Rassart-Derbergh and J.Ries, 10414. Louvain-la-Neuve: Institut Orientaliste. -. 2007a. More on documentary Coptic from Aphrodito. Chronique d’Égypte 82: 381-90. -. 2007b. Why do we have Coptic documentary papyri before A.D. 641? In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 751-8. Leuven: Peeters. MacDonald, K.C. 2003. Cheikh Anta Diop and Ancient Egypt in Africa. In Ancient Egypt in Africa, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. D. O’Connor and A.Reid, 93105. London: UCL. MacKenzie, J.M. 1995. Orientalism: history, theory and the arts. Manchester: Manchester University Press. MacLennan, H. 1968. Oxyrhynchus. An economic and social study. Amsterdam: A.M.Habkert. MacMullen, R. 1964. Nationalism in Roman Egypt. Aegyptus 44, 179-99. Mahaffy, J.P. 1871. Prolegomena to Ancient History. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Malek, J. 1988. A temple with a noble pylon. Archaeology Today 9 (4), 40-5. -. 1997. The temples at Memphis: problems highlighted by the EES survey. In The Temple in Ancient Egypt: new discoveries and recent research, ed. S.Quirke, 90-101. London: British Museum. Malik, K. 1996. The Meaning of Race: race, history and culture in western society. London: Macmillan. Mallinson, M. 1999. The sacred landscape. In Pharaohs of the Sun: Akhenaten: Nefertiti: Tutankhamun, ed. R. Freed et al, 72-9. London: Thames and Hudson. Malouta, M. 2009. Fatherless and formal identification in Roman Egypt. In Growing up Fatherless in Antiquity, ed. S.R.Hübner and D.M.Ratzen, 120-38. Cambridge: CUP. Manley, B. 1996. The Penguin Historical Atlas of Ancient Egypt. London: Penguin. Maravelia, A-A. 2003. Some aspects of ancient Egyptian social life from the study of the principal love poem ostraca from Deir el-Medina. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 281-8. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Mariette, A. 1872. Monuments divers recueillis en Egypt et en Nubie. Paris: Libraire A.Franck. -. 1890. The monuments of Upper Egypt. Boston: J.H.Mansfield. Martin, G.T. 1992. The hidden tombs of Memphis: new discoveries from the time of Tutankhamun and Ramesses the Great. London: Thames and Hudson. -. 2000. Memphis: the status of a residence city in the eighteenth dynasty. In Abusir and Saqqara in the year 2000, ed. M.Bárta and J.Krejcí, 99-120. Prague: Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic. Martyros, Bishop. 2007. Multi-cultured monks in Wadi alNatrun. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International

129

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 115-20. Leuven: Peeters. Masolo, D.A. 1994. African philosophy in search of an identity. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Mayerson, P. 1979. Anti-black sentiment in the Vitae Patrum. Harvard Theological Review 79, 304-11. McDowell, A. 1990. Jurisdiction in the workmen’s community of Deir el Medina. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. -. 1992. Awareness of the past in Deir el Medina. In Village Voices: proceedings of the symposium ‘Texts from Deir el Medina and their interpretation’ Leiden, May 31-June 1, 1991, ed. R.J. Demarée and A.Egberts, 95-109. Leiden: Centre of non-western studies. -. 1994. Contact with the outside world. In Pharaoh’s workers, the villagers of Deir el Medina, ed.L.H.Lesko, 4159. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. -. 1999. Village Life in Ancient Egypt: laundry lists and love songs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. -. 2000. Teachers and students in Deir el Medina. In Deir el Medina in the Third Millennium AD, a tribute to Jac.J.Janssen, ed. R.J.Demarée and A.Egberts, 217-33. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor Het Nabije Oosten. McGovern, P.E. 2000. The Foreign Relations of the Hyksos: a neutron activation study of Middle Bronze Age pottery from the Eastern Mediterranean. Oxford: BAR Publishing. McLean, N. 1913. Introduction. In Paganism and Christianity in Egypt, ed. P.D.Scott-Moncrieff, v-viii. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McNally, S. and Schrunk, I.D. 1993. Excavations in Akhmim, Egypt. Continuity and change in city life from late antiquity to the present. First report. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Meecham, H.G. 1923. Light from ancient letters. Private correspondence in the non-literary papyri of Oxyryhnchus of the first four centuries and its bearing on New Testament language and thought. London: George Allen & Unwin. Megally, M. 1981. Two visitors’ graffiti from Abûsir. Chronique d’Égypte 56, 219-40. Mégally, S. 2002. Le grand Hymne à Aton. Paris: Samir Mégally. Meinardus, O.1977. Christian Egypt ancient and modern. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Mekhaiel, N. 2008. Shenoute as reflected in the Vita and the Difnar. In Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Volume I, Akhmim and Sohag, ed. G.Gabra and H.N.Takla, 99-106. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Meskell, L.M. 1994. Deir el Medina in hyperreality: seeking the people of pharaonic Egypt. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 7 (2), 193-216. -. 1998. The irresistable body and the seduction of archaeology. In Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings: studies of the human body in antiquity, ed. D.Montserrat, 139-61. London: Routledge. -. 1999. Archaeologies of Social Life. Age, Sex, Class et cetera in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell. -. 2000. Spatial analyses of the Deir el Medina settlement and necropoleis. In Deir el Medina in the Third

Millennium AD, a tribute to Jac.J.Janssen, ed. R.J.Demarée and A.Egberts, 259-73. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor Het Nabije Oosten. -. 2001. Archaeologies of identity. In Archaeological Theory Today, ed. I.Hodder, 187-213. Cambridge: Polity. -. 2002. Private Life in New Kingdom Egypt. Princeton: Princeton University Press. -., and Joyce, R.A. 2003. Embodied Lives: figuring Ancient Mayan and Egyptian experience. London: Routledge. Meyer, E. 1973. Fremdvolkerdarstellungen altägyptischer Denkmaler: Sammlung photographischer Aufnahmen aus den Jahren 1912-1913. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Microfiche. Meyer, M.W. and Smith, R. 1999. Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic texts of ritual power. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Meyer, S. (ed) 2003. Egypt – Temple of the Whole World. Ägypten-Tempel der gesamten Welt. Studies in honour of Jan Assmann. Leiden: Brill. Mieroop, M. van de, 1997. On writing a history of the ancient near east. Bibliotheca Orientalis 54 (3/4), 285-305. Mikhail, M.S., and Vivian, T. 1997. Life of Saint John the Little. An Economium by Zacharias of Sakhâ. Coptic Church Review 18 (1&2), 3-64. Mills, A.J. 2007. Oases. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 49-56. Abingdon: Routledge. Min-ha, T.T. 1997. No master territories. In The PostColonial Studies Reader, ed. B.Ashcroft, G.Griffiths and H.Tiffin, 215-8. London: Routledge. Minnen, van, P. 2006. Saving history? Egyptian hagiography in its space and time. Church History and Religious Culture 86, 57-91. Moeller, N. 2007. Urban life. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 57-72. Abingdon: Routledge. Moers, G. 1999. Travel as narrative in Egyptian Literature. Lingua Aegyptia. Studia Monographica 2, 43-61. -. 2001. Fingierte Welten in der ägyptischen Literatur des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. Grenzüberschreitung, Reisemotivund, Fiktionalität. Leiden: Brill. Moitt, B. 1989. Cheikh Anta Diop and the African Diaspora: historical continuity and soci-cultural symbolism. Présence Africaine 149/50, 347-60. Montserrat, D. 1998. Introduction. In Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings: studies of the human body in antiquity, ed. D.Montserrat, 1-9. London: Routledge. -. 2000. Akhenaten: history, fantasy and ancient Egypt. London: Routledge. -., and Meskell, L. 1997. Mortuary archaeology and religious landscape at Graeco Roman Deir el Medina. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 83, 179-97. Moore-Gilbert, B. 1997. Post-Colonial Theory. Contexts, Practices, Politics. London: Verso. Moran, W.L. 1992. The Amarna Letters. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Morenz, L.D. 2003. Literature as a construction of the past in the Middle Kingdom. In Never had the like occurred: Egypt’s view of its past, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. J.Tait, 101-17. London: UCL.

130

Bibliography Morgan, E.E. 2004. Untersuchungen zu den Ohrenstelen aus Deir el Medine. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Morkot, R. 2005. The Egyptians: an introduction. London: Routledge. Morris, E.F. 2005. The architecture of imperialism: military bases and the evolution of foreign policy in Egypt’s New Kingdom. Leiden: Brill. Morschauser, S. 1997. Approbation or Diaspproval? The conclusion of the letter of Amenophis II to User-Satet, Viceroy of Kush. Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur 24, 203-22. Müller, W.M. 1899. Die Liebespoesie der alten Ägypter. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Mullings, L. 1994. Ethnicity and representation. In Social Construction of the Past: representation as power, ed. G.Bond and A.Gilliam, 25-8. London: Routledge. Munier, H., and Pillet, M. 1929. Les édifices chrétiens de Karnak. Revue de l’Égypte ancienne 2, 58-88. Murnane, W.J. 1995. The kingship of the nineteenth dynasty: a study in the resilience of an institution. In Ancient Egyptian Kingship, ed. D.O’Connor and D.Silverman, 185-215. Leiden: Brill. -. 2003. Response to D.B. Redford. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 2: History and Religion, ed. Z.Hawass, 15-19. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Murray, M. 1963. My First Hundred Years. London: William Kimber and Co. Murray, T. 1993. Communication and the importance of disciplinary communities: who owns the past? In Archaeological Theory: who sets the agenda?, ed. N.Yoffee and A.Sherratt, 105-16. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Musa, S. 1961. The Education of Salama Musa. Leiden: Brill Myśliwiec, K.1987. Keramik und Kleinfunde aus der Grabung im Tempel Sethos I. in Gurna. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. -. 2000. The Twilight of Ancient Egypt, first millennium BCE. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. -. 2003. Response to D.O’Connor. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 1: Archaeology, ed. Z.Hawass, 10-12. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Naldini, M. 1968. Il cristianesimo in Egitto. Lettere private nei papyri dei secoli II-IV. Florence: Le Moninier. Naravatilova, H. 2007. The visitors’ graffiti database. In Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress on Egyptology, Grenoble 6-12 septembre 2004, ed. J.-C. Goyon and C.Cardin, 1371-9. Leuven: Peeters. Nathan, G. 2009. ‘Woe to those making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless’: Christian ideals and the obligations of stepfathers in late antiquity. In Growing up Fatherless in Antiquity, ed. S.R.Hübner and D.M.Ratzen, 273-92. Cambridge: CUP. Naville, E. 1891. Bubastis (1887-1889). London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co.

-. 1894. The Temple of Deir el Bahari: its plan, its founders and its first explorers. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Nevo, J. 1998. Religion and national identity in Saudi Arabia. Middle Eastern Studies 34 (3), 34-53. Niwinskĭ, A. 2003. The necropolis scribes Butehamon in the light of some new material. In Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück. Festschrift für Hartwig Altenmüller zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. N.Kloth, K.Martin and E.Pardy, 295303. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Noguera, A. 1976. How African was Egypt? A comparative study of ancient Egyptian and black African cultures. New York: Vantage Press. Nordström, H-A., and Bourriau, J. 1993. An Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Fascicle 3. Ceramic technology: clays and fabrics. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. North, J.A. 2003. Attributing colour to the ancient Egyptians: reflections onBlack Athena. In Ancient Egypt in Africa, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. D.O’Connor and A.Reid, 1-21. London: UCL. Oates, J.F. et al, 2001. Checklist of editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic papyri, ostraca and tables. Fifth Edition. Exeter: Short Run Press. O’Connor, D. 1972. The geography of settlement in ancient Egypt. In Man, Settlement and Urbanism, ed. P.J.Ucko, R.Tringham and G.W.Dimbleby, 681-98. London: Duckworth. -. 1982. Cities and Towns. In Egypt’s Golden Age: the art of living in the New Kingdom, 1558-1058 BC, ed. E.Brovarski, S.Doll and R.E.Freed, 17-25. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. -. 1991. Mirror of the cosmos: the palace of Merenptah. In Fragments of a Shattered Visage: proceedings of the international symposium on Ramesses the Great, ed. E.Bleiberg and R.Freed, 167-85. Memphis: Memphis State University. -. 1992. New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period. In Ancient Egypt: a social history, by B.Trigger, B.Kemp, D.O’Connor and A.Lloyd, 183-278. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 1995. Beloved of Maat, the horizon of Re: the royal palace in New Kingdom Egypt. In Ancient Egyptian Kingship, ed. D.O’Connor and D.Silverman, 263-300. Leiden: Brill. -. 1996. Egypt and Greece: The Bronze Age evidence. In Black Athena Revisited, ed. M.Lefkowitz and G.Rogers, 49-61. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. -. 2001. The city and the world: worldview and built forms in the reign of Amenhotep III. In Amenhotep II, perspectives on his reign, ed. D O’Connor and E.H.Cline, 125-72. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. -. 2003a. Egyptian archaeology in the twentieth century. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 1 Archaeology, ed. Z.Hawass, 1-9. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press -. 2003b. Egypt’s views of others. In Never had the like occurred: Egypt’s view of its past, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. J.Tait, 155-85. London: UCL.

131

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -., and Quirke, S. 2003. Introduction: mapping the unknown in Ancient Egypt. In Mysterious Lands, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. D.O’Connor and S.Quirke, 1-21. London: UCL. -., and Reid, A. 2003. Introduction. Locating Ancient Egypt in Africa: modern theories and past realities. In Ancient Egypt in Africa, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt) ed. D.O’Connor and A.Reid, 1-21. London: UCL. -., and Silverman, D. 1979. The University Museum in Egypt: the past. Expedition 21 (2), 4-45. Ockinga, B. 2000. Theban Tomb 233 – Saroy regains an identity. Bulletin of the Australian Centre for Egyptology 11, 103-13. -. 2007. Use, reuse and abuse of ‘sacred space’: observations from Dra Abu el-Naga. In Sacred Space and sacred function in ancient Thebes, ed. P.F.Dorman and B.M.Bryan, 139-62. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Okely, J, 1996. Own or other culture. London: Routledge. O’Leary, de L. 1937. The Saints of Egypt. London: SPCK. -. 1938. The destruction of the temples in Egypt. Bulletin de la Société d’archéologie copte 4, 51-7. Orlandi, T. 1982. A catechesis against apocryphal texts by Shenute and the gnostic texts of Nag Hammadi. Harvard Theological Review 75 (1), 85-95. -. 1986. Coptic literature. In The Roots of Egyptian Christianity, ed. B.A.Pearson and J.E.Goehring, 51-81. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. -. 1991. Hagiography, Coptic. In The Coptic Encyclopedia, ed. A.Atiya, 1191-7. New York: Macmillan. -. 1993. Acts of the Fifth International Congress of Coptic Studies, Washington, 12-15 August 1992, ed. T.Orlandi. Rome: CIM. -. 2002. The library of the monastery of Saint Shenoute of Atripe. In Perspectives on Panopolis: an Egyptian town from Alexander the Great to the Arab conquest, ed. A.Egberts, B.P.Muhs and J.van der Vliet, 211-31. Leiden: Brill. -. 2006. The IACS and Coptic studies, a report. In Huitième congrès international d’études coptes (Paris 2004), ed. A.Boud’hors and D.Vaillancourt, 15-36. Osing, J. 1977. Der Tempel Sethos I in Gurna. Die Reliefs und Inscriften. Band I. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Padró, J. 1998. Les relations commerciales entre l’Égypte et le monde Phénico-Punique. In Le commerce en Égypte ancienne, ed. N.Grimal and B.Menu, 41-98. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Papaconstantinou, A. 2002. Notes sur les actes de donation d’enfant au monastère thébain de SaintPhoibammon. Journal of Juristic Papyrology 32, 83-105. Parack, S.H. 2008. Site survey in Egyptology. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 57-76. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Parkinson, R. 1991. The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant. Oxford: Griffith Institute. -. 1998. The Tale of Sinuhe and other Ancient Egyptian Poems, 1940-1640 BC. Oxford: Oxford University Press. -. 1999a. Cracking Codes. The Rosetta Stone and its decipherment. London: British Museum.

-. 1999b. The dream and the knot: contextualizing Middle Kingdom literature. Lingua Aegyptia. Studia Monographia 2, 63-82. -. 2002. Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt: a dark side to perfection. London: Continuum. -. 2009. Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry: among other histories. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Parramore, L. 2008. Reading the Sphinx: ancient Egyptians in nineteenth-century literary culture. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Patrich, J. 1995. Sabas, leader of Palestinian monasticism: a comparative study in Eastern monasticism, fourth to seventh centuries. Washington: Dumbarton Oaks. Pavlova, O.I. 1999. rxyt in the Pyramid Texts: theological idea or political reality. In Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten, ed. J.Assmann and E.Blumenthal, 91-104. Paris: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Peacock, A. 2002. Two Hundred Pharaohs, Five Billion Slaves. London: Ellipsis. Pearson, B.A. 2007. Earliest Christianity in Egypt: further observations. In The World of Early Egyptian Christianity: language, literature and social context, ed. J.A.Goehring and J.A.Timbie, 97-112. Washington: Catholic University of America Press. Peden, A.J. 1994. Egyptian Historical Inscriptions of the Twentieth Dynasty. Jonsered: Paul Aströms. -. 2000. The workmen of Deir el Medina and the decline of textual graffiti at West Thebes in Late Dynasty XX and early Dynasty XXI. In Deir el Medina in the Third Millennium AD, a tribute to Jac.J.Janssen, ed. R.J.Demarée and A.Egberts, 287-90. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor Het Nabije Oosten. -. 2001. The Graffiti of Pharaonic Egypt: scope and roles of informal writings (c.3100-332 BC). Leiden: Brill. Peet, T.E. 1926. Two eighteenth dynasty letters. Papyrus Louvre 3230. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 12, 70-4. -. 1930. The Great Tomb Robberies of the Twentieth Egyptian Dynasty. Oxford: Clarendon Press. -. 1931. A Comparative Study of the Literatures of Egypt, Palestine, and Mesopotamia, Egypt’s contribution to the literature of the ancient world. London: British Academy. Penn, M. 1995. Apa Shenoute: ‘On the Piety of Women’. Coptic Church Review 16 (1), 26-9. Perkins, A. 1949. Archaeological News. The Near East. American Journal of Archaeology 53, 36-57. Perkus, A. 1995. The instincts of ‘Race’ and Text’. In Encountering the Other(s): studies in literature, history and culture, ed. G.Brinker-Gabler, 63-78. New York: State University of New York Press. Pestman, P.W. 1982. Who were the owners of the ‘community of workmen’ of the Chester Beatty Papyri? In Gleanings from Deir el Medina, ed. R.J.Demarée and J.J.Janssen, 155-72. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor Het Nabije Oosten. Petrie, W.M.F. 1891. Ten Years’ Digging in Egypt. London: The Religious Tract Society.

132

Bibliography Pudleiner, R. 2001. Hathor on the Thoth Hill. Mitteilungen der Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 57, 239-45. Quack, J.F. 1994. Die Lehren des Ani: Ein neuägyptischer Weisheitstext in seinem kulturellen. Freiburg: Univ-Verlag. Quibell, J.E. 1906. Report on work done in Upper Egypt during the winter 1904-1905. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 7, 8-10. -. 1932. Loose ends. In Studies presented to F.LL.Griffith, ed. S.R.K.Glanville, 480-4. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Quirke, S. 1998. Preface: word and object, problems of translation. In Lahun Studies, ed. S.Quirke, vi-viii. Reigate: SIA Publishing. Rabinowitz, D. 1997. Overlooking Nazareth: the ethnography of exclusion in Galilee. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Radikal, 2001. Akhenaton: ascension d’un anti-héros. Radikal hors-série collector 1. Ragib, Y. 1981. Lettres nouvelles de Qurra ibn Sarik. Journal for Near Eastern Studies 40, 173-88. Ranger, T. 1994. The invention of tradition in colonial Africa. In The Invention of Tradition, ed. E.Hobsbawm and T.Ranger, 211-62. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rapoport, A. 1982. The Meaning of the Built Environment: a nonverbal communication approach. Beverley Hills: Sage Publications. -. 1997. Systems of activities and systems of writings. In Domestic Architecture and the Use of Space, ed. S.Kent, 920. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rapp, C. 2006. Desert, city and countryside in the early Christian imagination. Church History and Religious Culture 86, 93-112. Rapport, N. and Dawson, A, 1998. Home and Movement: a polemic. In Migrants of Identity: perceptions of home in a world of movement, ed. N.Rapport and A.Dawson, 19-38. Oxford: Berg. Rattansi, A. 1994. ‘Western’ racisms, ethnicities and identities in a ‘postmodern’ frame. In Racism, Modernity and Identity on the Western Front, ed. A.Rattansi and S.Westwood, 15-86. Cambridge: Polity Press. Ray, J. 1992. Jews and other immigrants in Late Period Egypt. In Life in a Multi-Cultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and beyond, ed. J.H.Johnson, 2734. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. -. 1998. The Marquis, the Urchin and the Labyrinth. In Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge 3-9 September 1995, ed. C.Eyre, 1-18. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2001. Reflections of Osiris: lives from ancient Egypt. London: Profile. Rea, J.R. 1978. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Volume 46. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Redford, D.B. 1979. Egyptology and History. In Egyptology and the Social Sciences, ed. K.Weeks, 1-20. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press.

-. 1899. Racial Photographs from Egyptian Monuments. (privately printed). -. 1909a. Memphis I. London: Bernard Quartich. -. 1909b. The Palace of Apries (Memphis II). London: Bernard Quartich. -. 1909c. Qurneh. London: School of Archaeology in Egypt/University College. -. 1910. Meydum and Memphis III. London: Bernard Quartich. -. 1923. Social Life in Ancient Egypt. London: Constable and Company. -. 1932. Forty-five years ago. In Studies presented to F.LL.Griffith, ed. S.R.K.Glanville, 477-9. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -., Wainwright, G.A. and Gardiner, A.H. 1913. Tarkhan I and Memphis V. London: Bernard Quartich. Petry, C.F. 1998. Islamic Egypt, 640-1517, The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume I, ed. C.F.Petry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pezin, M. and Lecuyot, G. 2007. Documents coptes découvertes au Deir er-Roumi, dans la Vallée des Reines et le Ouadi du prince Ahmès. In Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’études Coptes, ed. N.Bosson and A.Boud’hors, 759-86. Leuven: Peeters. Pfeiffer, S. 2008. The god Serapis, his cult and the beginnings of the ruler cult in Ptolemaic Egypt. In Ptolemy II Philladelphus and his world, ed. P.McKehnie and P.Guillaume, 387-408. Leiden: Brill. Pieterse, J. 1996. Varieties of ethnic politics and ethnicity discourse. In The Politics of Difference: ethnic premises in a world of power, ed. E.Wilmsen and P.McAllister, 25-44. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pinch, G. 1983. Childbirth and female figurines at Deir el Medina and el Amarna. Orientalia 52, 405-14. -. 1993. Votive offerings to Hathor. Oxford: Griffith Institute -. 2003. Redefining funerary objects. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 2: History and Religion, ed. Z.Hawass, 443-7. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Pleyte, W. 1869. L’épistolographie Egyptienne, principalement selon les Pap.de Leiden, 348, 349 et 360 à 371. Leiden: Brill Pococke, R. 1743. A Description of the East, and some other countries. Volume the First. Observations on Egypt. London: W.Bowyer. Politi, J. 2001. Gurob – the papyri and the ‘burnt groups’. Göttinger Miszellen 182, 107-11. Polz, D. and Eichner, I. 2006. The necropolis of Dra’ Abu el-Naga at Thebes – a preliminary report of the 14th season 2004-2005 Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 80: 299-310. Porter, B., Moss, R.L.Bl, Burney, E.W., and revised by Malek, J. 1981. Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs and Paintings. Volume 3. Part 2. Memphis, Saqqara to Dahshur. Oxford: Griffith Institute.

133

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -. 1986. Pharaonic king lists, annals and daybooks: a contribution to the Egyptian sense of history. Mississauga: Benben publications. -. 1995. The concept of kingship during the eighteenth dynasty. In Ancient Egyptian Kingship, ed. D.O’Connor and D.Silverman, 157-84. Leiden: Brill. -. 1997a. Observations on the sojourn of the Bene-Israel. In Exodus: the Egyptian evidence, ed. E.Frerichs and L.Lesko, 57-66. Indiana: Eisenbrauns. -. 1997b. The ancient Egyptian ‘city’: figment or reality. In Urbanism in antiquity from Mesopotamia to Crete, ed. W.E.Aufrecht, N.A.Mirau and S.W.Gauley, 210-20. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. -. 2003. The writing of the history of ancient Egypt. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 2: History and Religion, ed. Z.Hawass, 1-11. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 2004. From Slave to Pharaoh: the black experience of ancient Egypt. Baltimore: John Hopkins. -. 2008 History and Egyptology. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 23-35. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reed-Danahay, D. 1996. The Kabyle and the French: occidentalism in Bourdieu’s Theory of Practice. In Occidentalism: Images of the West, ed. J.G.Carrier, 61-84. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rees, B.R. 1964. Papyri from Hermopolis and other documents of the Byzantine Period. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Reid, D.M. 1985. Indigenous Egyptology: the decolonization of a profession. Journal of the American Oriental Society 105, 233-46. Reinhold, M. 1980. Roman attitudes towards Egyptians. The Ancient World 3 (3), 97-103. Rémondon, R. 1952. L’Égypte et la suprème résistance au Christianisme (V-VII siècles). Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 51, 63-78. Revillout, E. 1874. Mémoire sur les Blemmyes à propos d’une inscription copte trouvée à Dendur. Paris: Imprimerie nationale. Reymond, E.A.E. and Barns, J.W.B. 1973. Four Martyrdoms from the Pierpont Morgan Coptic Codices. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Riad, H. 1968. Quelques inscriptions grecques et latines du temple du Louxor. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 60, 281-95. Richardson, S. 1999. Libya Domestica: Libyan trade and society on the eve of the invasions of Egypt. Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 36, 149-64. Richter, T.S. 2004. O.Crum AD.15 and the emergence of Arabic words in Coptic legal documents. In Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt, ed. P.M. Sijpesteijn and L.Sundelin, 97-114. Leiden: Brill. Ritner, R.K. 1992. Implicit models of cross cultural interaction: a question of noses, soap and prejudice. In Life in a multi-cultural society: Egypt from Cambyses to

Constantine and beyond, ed. J.H.Johnson, 283-90. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. -. 1995. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. -. 1998. Egypt under Roman Rule: the legacy of ancient Egypt. In Islamic Egypt, 640-1517, The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume I, 1-33. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 2001. Magic. In The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, ed. D.Redford, 321-6. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Roberts, C.H. and Turner, E.G. (eds), 1952. Catalogue of the Greek and Latin Papyri in the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Volume IV, Documents of the Ptolemaic, Roman and Byzantine Periods (nos 552-717). Manchester: Manchester University Press. Roberts, W.R. 1843. History of Letter Writing from the Earliest Period to the Fifth Century. London: William Pickering. Robins, G. 1993. Women in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum. -. 1999. Hair and the construction of identity in ancient Egypt, c.1480-1350 BC. Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 36, 55-69. -. 2001. Legitimation. In The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, ed. D.Redford, 286-9. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Roccati, A. 1980. Il bilinguismo internon dell’Egitto. Vicino Oriente 3, 77-84. -. 2003. Response to J. Baines. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 38-44. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Roive, A. 1940. Newly identified monuments in the Egyptian Museum showing the deification to the dead together with brief details of similar objects elsewhere. Annales du Service des Antiquités d’Égypte 40, 1-50. Römer, M. 2005. Straβen – Menschen – Haüser. Zur Topographie des koptischen Djeme. Enchoria 29: 79-105. Roth, A.M. 1995a. Building bridges to Afrocentrism: an article to my egyptological colleagues. Newsletter of the American Research Centre in Egypt 167 (1) 14-17. -. 1995b. Building bridges to Afrocentrism: an article to my egyptological colleagues. Newsletter of the American Research Centre in Egypt 168 (1) 12-15. Roussillon, A. 1998. Republican Egypt interpreted: revolution and beyond. In Modern Egypt from 1517 to the end of the Twentieth Century, The Cambridge History of Egypt. Volume Two, ed. M.W.Daly, 334-93. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rousseau, P. 1999. Pachomius, the making of a community in fourth century Egypt. Berkeley: University of California Press. Routledge, C. 2008. Did women ‘do things’ in ancient Egypt? (ca. 2600 – 1050 BCE). In Sex and Gender in Ancient Egypt: ‘Don your wig for a joyful hour’, ed. C.Graves-Brown, 157-77. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales.

134

Bibliography Rowlands, M. 1994. The politics of identity in archaeology. In Social Construction of the Past: representation as power, ed. G.Bond and A.Gilliam, 12943. Rubenson, S. 1992. St Anthony, ‘The First Real Coptic Author?’. In Actes du IV Congrès Copte, Louvain-la-Neuve, 5-10 septembre 1988, ed. M.Rassart-Debergh and J.Ries, 16-27. Louvain-la-Neuve: Université catholique du Louvain. -. 2007. Argument and authority in early monastic correspondence. In Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late Antique Monasticism, ed. A.Camplani and C.Filoramo, 75-87. Leuven: Peeters. Ruffini, G. 2008. Social networks in Byzantine Egypt. Cambridge: CUP. Russell, B. 1985. Authority and the Individual. London: Unwin. Russell, N. 1981. The Lives of the Desert Fathers, The Historia Monachorum in Aegypto. London: Mowbray. Rutherford, I. 2003. Pilgrimage in Greco-Roman Egypt: new perspectives on graffiti from the Memnonian at Abydos. In Ancient perspectives on ancient Egypt, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. R.Matthews and C.Roemer, 172-89. London: UCL. Rzepka, S. 2000. Graffiti survey. Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean 12, 229-34. Sadek, A.I. 1972. Graffiti de la montagne Thébaine III, 4. Cairo: Centre de documentation et d’etudes sur l’ancienne Égypte. -. 1988. Popular Religion in Egypt during the New Kingdom. Hildesheim: Gersienburg. Sahas, D.J. 1990. The art and non-art of Byzantine polemics: patterns of refutation in Byzantine antiIslamic literature. In Conversion and continuity: indigenous Christian communities in Islamic lands, eighth to eighteeth centuries, ed. M.Gervers and R.Bikhazi, 55-73. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies. Said, E. 1994. Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage -. 1995. Orientalism: western conceptions of the orient. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Sandman, M. 1938. Texts from the Time of Akhenaten. Brussels: Édition de la fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Sauneron, S. 1954. La manufacture d’armes de Memphis. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’Archéologie orientale 54, 712. -. 1960. La différenciation des langues d’après la tradition égyptienne. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’Archéologie orientale 60, 315-41. -. 1972. Les travaux de l’Institut français d’Archéologie en 1971-1972. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’Archéologie orientale 72, 189-230. -. 1973. Les travaux de l’Institut français d’Archéologie en 1972-1973. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’Archéologie orientale 73, 217-63. Satoshi, T. 2006. Syriac translation in Egypt: the case of the Life of Saint Macarius the Egyptian. Orientalia 75: 96106.

Säve-Söderbergh, T. 1946. The Navy of the Eighteenth Egyptian Dyansty. Uppsala: A-B Lundequistska Bokhandeln. Sayce, A.H. 1911. Preface. In Copts and Moslems under British Control (Egypt). A collection of facts and a resume of authoritative positions on the Coptic question, by K.Mikhail, vii-xiv. London: Smith, Elder and Co. Schiller, A. 1932. Ten Coptic Legal Texts. New York: The Metropolitan Musem of Art. -. 1953. A family archive from Jeme. In Studi in onore di Vicenzo Arangio-Ruiz. Volume IV, 327-75. Naples: Jovens. Schipper, B.U. 2005. Die Erzählung des Wenamun: Ein Literaturwerk im Spannungsfeld von Politik, Geschichte und Religion. Fribourg: Academic Press. Schulman, A.R. 1963. A cult of Ramesses III at Memphis. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 22, 177-84. -. 1964. The god nHi. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 23, 2759. -. 1967. Ex-votos of the poor. Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 6, 153-6. -. 1988. Memphis 1915-1923. In Memphis et ses nécropoles au nouvel empire: nouvelles données, nouvelles questions. Actes du colloque interational CNRS, Paris, 9 au 11 octobre 1986, ed. A.Zivie, 81-91. Paris: CNRS. Seligman, C.G. 1932. Egyptian influence in negro Africa. In Studies presented to F.LL.Griffith, ed. S.R.K.Glanville, 457-62. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Serpico, M. 1999. New Kingdom Canaanite amphorae fragments from Buhen. In Studies on Ancient Egypt in honour of H.S.Smith, ed. A.Leahy and J.Tait, 267-72. London: Egypt Exploration Society. -., and White, R. 2000. The botanical identity and transport of incense during the Egyptian New Kingdom. Antiquity 74, 884-97. Sethe, K, 1906. Urkunden der 18.Dynastie Erster Band. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’. Shack, W. 1994. The construction of antiquity and the egalitarian principle: social constructions of the past in the present. In Social Construction of the Past: representation as power, ed. G.Bond and A.Gilliam, 113-8. London: Routledge. Shaw, G. 2008. Royal authority in Egypt’s eighteenth dynasty. (BAR International Series 1822). Oxford: BAR Publishing. Shaw, I. 1992. Ideal homes in ancient Egypt: the archaeology of social aspiration. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 2 (2), 148-60. -. 1998. Egyptian patterns of urbanism. In The Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge, 3-9 September 1995, ed. C.Eyre, 1049-59. Leuven: Peeters. Shennan, S. 1994. Introduction: archaeological approaches to cultural identity. In Archaeological approaches to Cultural Identity, ed. S.Shennan, 1-32. London: Routledge. Sheridan, M. 2007. Rhetorical structure in Coptic sermons. In The World of Early Egyptian Christianity: language, literature and social context, ed. J.A.Goehring and J.A.Timbie, 25-48. Washington: Catholic University of America Press.

135

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Shisha-Halevy, A. 2002. An emerging new dialect of Coptic. Orientalia 71: 298-308. -. 2007. Topics in Coptic syntax: structural studies in the Bohairic dialect. Leuven: Peeters. Sidarus, A. 2008. Plurilinguisme en Égypte sous la domination Gréco-Romaine. Journal of Coptic Studies 10, 183-202. Sijpestejn, P.M. 2004. Travel and trade on the river. In Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt, ed. P.M. Sijpesteijn and L.Sundelin, 115-52. Leiden: Brill. Simpson, W.K. 1960. Reshep in Egypt. Orientalia 29, 63-74 -. 1982. Egyptian sculpture and two-dimensional representation as propaganda. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 68, 266-71. -. 2003. Response to J. Baines. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 45-6. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Sirivianou, M.G. 1989. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Volume LVI. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Smith, A.D. 1993. The Ethnic Origins of Nations. Oxford: Blackwell. Smith, E.B. 1938. Egyptian Architecture as Cultural Expression. London: D.Appleton-Century. Smith, G.E. 1923. The Ancient Egyptians and the Origin of Civilization. London: Harper & Brothers. Smith, H.S., Jeffreys, D.G. and Malek, J. 1983. The Survey of Memphis, 1981. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 69, 3042. Smith, M.J. 1974. A Coptic Ostracon from Luxor. Enchoria 4, 61-6. -. 2002. Aspects of the preservation of the transmission of indigenous religious traditions. In Perspectives on Panopolis: an Egyptian town from Alexander the Great to the Arab conquest, ed. A.Egberts, B.P.Muhs and J.van der Vliet, 233-48. Leiden: Brill. -. 2009. Traversing Eternity: texts for the afterlife from Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt. Oxford: OUP. Smith, S., and Gadd, C.J. 1925. A cuneiform vocabulary of Egyptian words. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 11, 2308. Smith, S.T. 1997. State and empire in the Middle and New Kingdoms. In Anthropology and Egyptology: a developing dialogue, ed. J.Lustig, 66-89. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. -. 2003. Wretched Kush: ethnic identities and boundaries in Egypt’s Nubian Empire. London: Routledge. -. 2007. Ethnicity and culture. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 218-41. Abingdon: Routledge. Smolárikova, K. 2003. À propos wynn and their presence in Memphis. In Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück. Festschrift für Hartwig Altenmüller zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. N.Kloth, K.Martin and E.Pardy. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Smyth, F. 1998. Égypte-Canaan: quel commerce? In Le commerce en Égypte ancienne, ed. N.Grimal and B.Menu, 5-18. Cairo: Institut français d’Archéologie orientale.

Snape, S. 2003. The emergence of Libya on the horizon of Egypt. In Mysterious Lands, (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. D.O’Connor and S.Quirke, 93-106. London: UCL. Snowden, F.M. 1996. Bernal’s ‘Blacks’ and the Afrocentrists. In Black Athena Revisited, ed. M.Lefkowitz and G.Rogers, 112-28. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press. Sørensen, J.P. 1992. Native reactions to foreign rule and culture in religious literature. In Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt, ed. P.Bilde, T.Engberg-Pedersen, L.Hannestad and J.Zahle, 164-81. Aardaus: Aardaus University Press. Sourouzian, H. 1989. Les Monuments du roi Merenptah. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Spalinger, A. 2003. New Kingdom eulogies of power: a preliminary analysis. In Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück. Festschrift für Hartwig Altenmüller zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. N.Kloth, K.Martin and E.Pardy, 416-28. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Spek, van der, K. 2007. Feasts, fertility, and fear: Qurnawi spirituality in the ancient Theban landscape. In Sacred Space and sacred function in ancient Thebes, ed. P.F.Dorman and B.M.Bryan, 177-92. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Spencer, H. 1925. Descriptive sociology; or groups of sociological facts. Ancient Egyptians, compiled and abstracted upon the plan organized by Herbert Spencer by Professor Sir W.Flinders Petrie. London: Williams and Norgate. Spens, de, R. 1998. Droit international et commerce au début de la XXIe Dynastie. Analyse Juridique du Rapport d’Ounamon. In Le commerce en Égypte ancienne, ed. N.Grimal and B.Menu, 105-26. Cairo: Institut français d’Archéologie orientale. Stadelmann, R. 1967. Syrisch-Palästinensische Gottheiten in Ägypten. Leiden: Brill. -. 1991a. Les grandes fêtes de Thèbes. In Thèbes, 1250 av.JC. Ramsès et le rêve du pouvoir absolu, ed. R-M.Jouret, 14053. Paris: Editions Autrement. -. 1991b. The mortuary temple of Seti I at Gurna: excavation and restoration. In Fragments of a Shattered Visage: proceedings of the international symposium on Ramesses the Great, ed. E.Bleiberg and R.Freed, 251-4. Memphis: Memphis State University. -. 2003. Response to D.O’Connor. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 1: Archaeology, ed. Z.Hawass, 13-14. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Starr, P.D. 1978. The October War and Arab students’ self conceptions. Middle East Journal 32, 444-56. Stefanski, E., and Lichtheim, M. 1952. Coptic Ostraca from Medinet Habu. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Stein, J. 1989. Defining the race, 1890-1930. In The Invention of Ethnicity, ed. W.Sollors, 77-104. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

136

Bibliography Steindorff, G. 1899. Die Apokalypse des Elias eine unbekannte Apokalypse und Bruchstücke der Sophonias-Apokalypse. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’. Steinemann, F. 1974. Die Schreibkenntnisse der Kopten nach den Aussagen der Djeme-Urkunden. In Studia Coptica, ed. P.Nagel, 101-10. Berlin: Akademie. Stevens, A. 2006. Private Religion at Amarna. The material evidence. BAR International Series 1587. Oxford: BAR Publishing. -., and Eccleston, M. 2007. Craft production and technology. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 14659. Abingdon: Routledge. Stewart, H.M. 1976. Egyptian stelae, reliefs and paintings from the Petrie Collection. Part One: The New Kingdom. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Stewart, R. 1991. Luxor. In The Coptic Encyclopedia, ed. A.Atiya, 1484. New York: Macmillan. Stillmann, N.A. 1998. The non-Muslim communities: the Jewish community. In Islamic Egypt, 640-1517, The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume I, ed. C.F.Petry, 198210. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stirewalt, M.L. 1993. Studies in Greek Epistolography. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Storrs, R. 1943. Orientations. London: Nicholson and Watson. Stroumsa, G. 1996. Philosophy of the barbarians: on early Christian ethnological representations. In Geschichte – Tradition – Reflexion. Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70 Geburtstag, ed. H.Cancik, H.Lichtenberger and P.Schafer, 339-68. Tübingen: J.C.B. Möhr Siebeck. Strudwick, N. 1995. The population of Thebes in the New Kingdom: some preliminary thoughts. In Thebanische Beamtennekropolen: Neue Perspektiven archäologischer Forschung Internationales Symposium Heidelberg 913.6.1993, ed. J.Assmann, E.Dziobek, H.Guksch and F.Kampp, 97-105. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. -., and Strudwick, H. 1999. Thebes in Egypt. A Guide to the Tombs and Temples of Ancient Luxor. London: British Museum Press. Strzygowski, J. 1904. Koptische Kunst. Catalogue Général des Antiquités Egyptiennes du Musée du Caire. Vienna: A.Holzhausen. Suys, E. 1935. La sagesse d’Ani: texte traduction et commentaire. Analecta Orientalia 11. Sweeney, D. 1998. Women and language in the Ramesside Period. In Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge 3-9 September 1995, ed. C.Eyre, 1109-1117. Leuven: Peeters. -. 2001. Correspondence and Dialogue: pragmatic factors in Late Ramesside letter writing. Wiesbaden: Harassowitz. -. 2003a. Review of Private Life in New Kingdom Egypt by Lynn Meskell. Journal of Gender Studies in Antiquity 4, 147-58. -. 2003b. Review of Archaeologies of Social Life, age, sex, class et cetera in Ancient Egypt by Lynn Meskell, 159-68. Journal of Gender Studies in Antiquity 4, 159-68.

-. 2006. Women growing older in Deir el Medina. In Living and writing in Deir el-Medine: socio-historical embodiment of Deir el-Medine texts, ed. A.Dorn and T.Hoffmann, 13553. (Aegyptica Helvetica 19) Basel: Schwabe. -. 2008a. Gender and oracular practice in Deir el Medina. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 135: 154-64. -. 2008b. Gender and requests in New Kingdom literature. In Sex and Gender in Ancient Egypt: ‘Don your wig for a joyful hour’, ed. C.Graves-Brown, 191-214. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Szpakowska, K. 2008. Daily Life in Ancient Egypt: recreating Lahun. Oxford: Blackwell. Tacoma, L.E. 2006. Fragile Hierarchies: The urban elites of third-century Roman Egypt. Leiden: Brill. Tait, W.J. 1995. Theban magic. In Hundred Gated Thebes: Acts of a Colloquium on Thebes and the Theban area in the Graeco-Roman Period, ed. S.Vleeming, 169-82. Leiden: Brill. -. 2001. Exuberance and accessibility: notes on written demotic and the Egyptian scribal tradition. In Essays and texts in honour of J.David Thomas, ed. T.Gagos and R.S.Bagnall, 31-40. American Society of Papyrologists XLII. Tassie, G.J. 2007. Have we dug ourselves into a hole? Reappraising excavation methodology and approaches in Egyptian archaeology (part 2). Kafr Hassan Dawood; a case study. In Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress on Egyptology, Grenoble 6-12 septembre 2004, ed. J.-C. Goyon and C.Cardin, 1769-1782. Leuven: Peeters. Teeter, E. 2002. Piety at Medinet Habu. The Oriental Institute News and Notes 173, 1-6. -. 2003. Scarabs, scaraboids, seals and seal impressions from Medinet Habu, with post-pharaonic stamp seals and seal impressions by T.G.Wilfong. Chicago: Oriental Institute. -. 2007. Temple cults. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 310-24. Abingdon: Routledge. Tefnin, R. 2002. A Coptic workshop in a pharaonic tomb. Egyptian Archaeology 20, 6. Teynard, F. 1858. Égypte et Nubie, sites et monuments les plus intéressants pour l’étude de l’art et l’histoire. Paris: Goupil. Thijs, A. 2000. ‘Please tell Amon to bring me back from Yar’ Dhutmose’s visits to Nubia. Göttinger Miszellen 177, 63-70. Thomas, J. 1990. Same, other, analogue: writing the past. In Writing the Past in the Present, ed. F.Baker and J.Thomas, 18-23. Lampeter: St David’s University College. Thomas, M., and Youssef, A.A., et al. 2006. Copts in Egypt: a Christian minority under siege. Zurich: G2W-Verlag Thomas, T.K. 2000. Late Antique Egyptian Funerary Sculpture: images for this world and the next. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Thomassen, E. 1999. Is magic a subclass of ritual? In The World of Ancient Magic: papers from the first Internatinoal Samson Eitrem seminar at the Norwegian Institute at Athens, 4-8 May 1997, ed. D.R.Jordan,

137

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt -. 2003. Foreword, Encounters with Ancient Egypt series. London: UCL -., and Champion, T. 2003. The Wisdom of Egypt: changing visions through the ages. (Encounters with Ancient Egypt). London: UCL. Valbelle, D. 1990. Les neuf arcs: L’Egyptien et les étrangers de la préhistoire à la conquête d’Alexandre. Paris: Librairie Armand Colin. -. 2003. Response to D.B.Redford. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 2: History and Religion, ed. Z.Hawass, 20-2. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Vandorpe, K. 1995. City of many a gate, harbour for many a rebel: historical and topographical outline of GrecoRoman Thebes. In Hundred Gated Thebes: Acts of a Colloquium on Thebes and the Theban area in the GraecoRoman Period, ed. S.Vleeming, 203-39. Leiden: Brill. Ventura, R. 1986. Living in a city of the dead: a selection of topographical and administrative terms in the documents of the Theban necropolis. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Vercoutter, J. 1978. The peopling of ancient Egypt. In The Peopling of ancient Egypt and the deciphering of Meroitic script: Proceedings of the symposium held in Cairo, ed. UNESCO, 15-36. Paris: UNESCO. Vernus, P. 1995. Essai sur la conscience de l’Histoire dans l’Égypte pharaonique. Paris: Libraire Honoré Champion. -. 2003a. La piété personelle à Deir el Médineh: la construction du l’idée de pardon. In Deir el-Médineh et la Vallée des Rois. La vie en Égypte au temps des pharaons du Nouvel Empire. Actes du colloque organisé par le musée du Louvre les 3 et 4 mai 2002, ed G.Andreu, 309-47. Paris: Musée du Louvre. -. 2003b. Affairs and Scandals in ancient Egypt. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Viaud, G. 1978. Magie et coutumes populaires chez les Coptes d’Égypte. Sisteron: Editions Présence. -. 1979. Les Pèlerinages coptes en Égypte d’après les notes au Zommos Jacob Muyser. Cairo: Insitut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire. Vliet, van der, J. 2006. Bringing home the homeless: landscape and history in Egyptian hagiography. Church History and Religious Culture 86, 39-55. Volokhine, Y. 1998. Les déplacements pieux en Égypte pharaonique: sites et pratiques culturelles. In Pilgrimage and space in Late Antique Egypt, ed. D.Frankfurter, 51-97. Leiden: Brill. Vörös, G. 1998. Temple on the Pyramid of Thebes. Budapest: Nyomda. -. 2003. The ancient nest of Horus above Thebes: Hungarian excavations on Thoth Hill at the temple of King Sankhkare Montuhotep III (1995-1998). In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 1: Archaeology, ed. Z.Hawass, 547-56. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -., and Pudleiner, R. 1997a. Preliminary report of the excvavations on Thoth Hill, Thebes. Mitteilungen des

H.Montgomery and E.Thomassen, 55-66. Bergen: Norwegian Institute. Thompson, D.J. 1988. Memphis under the Ptolemies. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Thompson, E.P. 1978. The Poverty of Theory and Other Essays. London: Merlin Press. Thompson, H. 1913. Coptic Texts. In Theban Ostraca edited from originals now mainly in the Royal Ontario Museum of Archaeology, Toronto and the Bodleian Library, Oxford, ed. A.H.Gardiner et al, 177-214. London: Oxford University Press. Thompson, R.H. 1989. Theories of Ethnicity: a critical appraisal. New York: Greenwood Press. Tiele, C.P. 2000 [1882]. Comparative History of the Egyptian and Mesopotamian religions: History of Egyptian religion. London: Routledge. Till, W.C. 1960. Die koptischen ostraka der Papyrussamlung der österreichischen Nationalbibliothek. Texte, Ubersetzungen, Indices. Wien: Hermann Böhlaus. Timm, S. 1984. Das christlich-koptische Ägypten in arabischer Zeit. Teil 1. Wiesbaden: Reichart. Toivari-Viitala, J. 2001. Women at Deir el Medina: a study of the status and roles of the female inhabitants in the workmen’s community during the Ramesside period. Leiden: Instituut voor het Nabje Oosten. -. 2006. Absence from work at Deir el Medina. In Living and writing in Deir el-Medine: socio-historical embodiment of Deir el-Medine texts, ed. A.Dorn and T.Hoffmann, 1559. (Aegyptica Helvetica 19) Basel: Schwabe. Török, L. 2005. Transfigurations of Hellenism: aspects of Late Antique art in Egypt, AD 250-700. Leiden: Brill. Tovar, S.T. 2004. Egyptian lexical interference in the Greek of Byzantine and Early Islamic Egypt. In Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt, ed. P.M. Sijpesteijn and L.Sundelin, 164-98. Leiden: Brill. Traunecker, D. 1988. Thèbes-Memphis: quelques observations. In Memphis et ses nécropoles au nouvel empire: nouvelles données, nouvelles questions. Actes du colloque interational CNRS, Paris, 9 au 11 octobre 1986, ed. A.Zivie, 97-102. Paris: CNRS. Tresson, P. 1922. La Stèle de Kouban. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire. Trevor-Roper, H. 1994. The invention of tradition: the Highland tradition of Scotland. In The Invention of Tradition, ed. E.Hobsbawm and T.Ranger, 15-41. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Trigger, B. 1995. Early Civilizations: ancient Egypt in context. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press. Trombley, F.R. 2004. Sawīrus Ibn Al-Muqaffa’ and the Christians of Umayyad Egypt: War and Society. In Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt, ed. P.M. Sijpesteijn and L.Sundelin, 199-226. Leiden: Brill. Turner, B.S. 1994. Orientalism, Postmodernism and Globalism. London: Routledge. Ucko, P.J. 1968. Anthropomorphic figurines of predynastic Egypt and neolithic Crete with comparative material from the prehistoric near east and mainland Greece. London: Andrew Szmidla.

138

Bibliography Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 53, 283-87. -., and Pudleiner, R. 1997b. The Crown of Thebes. Egyptian Archaeology 11, 37-9. Wada, K. 2007. Provincial society and cemetery organisation in the New Kingdom. Studien zur Aegyptische Sprache 36: 348-89. Wagner, G. et al. 1990. Documents grecs découverts dans la vallée des Reines. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 90, 365-80. Wallerstein, I. 1993. The construction of peoplehood: racism, nationalism, ethnicity. In Race, Nation, Class. Ambiguous Identities, ed. E.Balibar and I.Wallerstein, 7185. London: Verso. Wall-Gordon, H. 1958. A New Kingdom Libation basin dedicated to Ptah. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 16, 168-75. Wallman, S. 1983. Identity options. In Minorities: community and identity, ed. C.Fried, 69-78. Berlin: Springer. Walters, C. 1974. Monastic Archaeology in Egypt. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Warburton, D. 2001. Egypt and the Near East: politics in the Bronze Age. Paris: Neuchâtel. Watterson, B. 1988. Coptic Egypt. Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press. Weatherhead, F. and Kemp, B.J. 2007. The main chapel at the Amarna Workmen’s village and its wallpaintings. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Weeks, K. 1979. Egyptology and the Social Sciences (ed. K.Weeks). Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 1998. The Lost Tomb: the greatest discovery at the Valley of the Kings since Tutankhamun. London: Wiedenfeld and Nicholson. -. 2000. KV5. A Preliminary Report on the excavation of the Tomb of the sons of Ramesses II in the Valley of the Kings. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 2003. Response to Z.Hawass. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century: proceedings of the eighth international congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. Volume 3: Language, conservation, museology, ed. Z.Hawass, 71-2. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. -. 2008. Archaeology and Egyptology. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 7-22. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wente, E.F. 1961. A letter of complaint to the vizier To. Ostracon no. 16991. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 20 (4), 252-7. -. 1967. Late Ramesside Letters. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. -. 1990. Letters from Ancient Egypt. Atlanta: Scholars Press. -. 1995. The scribes of ancient Egypt. In Civilizations of the Ancient Near East Volume IV. ed. J.M.Sasson, 2211-2222. New York: Macmillan. Wesselzky, V, 1992. Remarks on the character of the Coptic view of history. In The intellectual heritage of Egypt. Studies presented to Laszlo Kakosy by friends and

colleagues on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, ed. U.Luft, 616-9. Budapest: Studia Aegyptica XIV. Westerfield, J.T. 2003. Christian perspectives on Pharaonic Religion: the representation of paganism in Coptic literature. Journal of the Amercian Research Centre in Egypt 40: 5-12. White, J.L. 1981. The Greek documentary letter tradition, third century BCE to third century CE. In Studies in ancient letter writing, ed. J.L.White, 89-106. Chicago: Scholars Press. Whitehouse, R. 1998. Feminism and archaeology: an awkward relationship. Papers from the Institute of Archaeology 9, 1-7. Wilber, D. 1940. The Coptic frescoes of Saint Menas at Medinet Habu. The Art Bulletin 22 (2), 86-103. Wild, H. 1979. Une stèle memphite du règne d’Amenophis III à Lausanne. In Hommages à Serge Sauneron. Volume I, ed. J.Vercoutter, 305-8. Cairo: Institut d’archéologie orientale. Wilfong, T. 1989. Western Thebes in the seventh and eighth centuries. Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 26 (1-2), 89-145. -. 1998a. Reading the disjointed body in Coptic: from physical modification to textual fragmentation. In Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings: studies on the human body in antiquity, ed. D.Montserrat, 116-36. London: Routledge. -. 1998b. The non-Muslim communities: the Christians. In Islamic Egypt, 640-1517, The Cambridge History of Egypt, volume I, ed. C.F.Petry, 175-97. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. -. 1999. Agriculture among the Christian population of early Islamic Egypt: practice and theory. Proceedings of the British Academy 96, 217-35. -. 2002. Women of Jeme: lives in a Coptic town in Late Antique Egypt. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. -. 2003. Women’s things and men’s things: notes on gender and property at Jeme. Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 40, 213-21. -. 2006. Coptic papyrology, 2000-2004. In Huitième congrès international d’études coptes (Paris 2004), ed. A.Boud’hors and D.Vaillancourt, 321-26. Paris: De Boccard. -. 2007. Gender and sexuality. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 205-17. Abingdon: Routledge. -. 2008. Review of Les inscriptions coptes et grecques du temple d’Hathor à Deir el Medina by Chantal Heurtel. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 67: 207-208. Wilkinson, I. 1835. Topography of Thebes, and general view of Egypt. London: John Murray. Wilkinson, J.G. 1854. A Popular account of the ancient Egyptians (Volume I). London: John Murray. -. 1857. The Egyptians in the Time of the Pharaohs. London: Bradbury and Evans. Wilkinson, R.H. 2000. The Complete Temples of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames and Hudson. -. 2008a. Introduction. The past in the present: Egyptology today. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 1-4. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

139

Personal Identity and Social Power in New Kingdom and Coptic Egypt Michigan Collection, ed. W.H.Worrell, 217-51. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. -., and Husselman, E.M. 1942. Letters and documents on papyrus. In Coptic Texts in the University of Michigan Collection, ed. W.H.Worrell, 169-214. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Yadin, Y. 1967. Hazor. In Archaeology and Old Testament Study: Jubliee volume for Old Testament Study 1917-1967, ed. D.W. Thomas, 245-63. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Yanney, R. 1992. About this issue. Coptic Church Review 13 (4), 98. Yekutieli, Y. 2006. Is somebody watching you? Ancient surveillance systems in the southern Judean desert. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 19, 65-89. Ye’or, B. 1996. The decline of Eastern Christianity under Islam. From Jihad to Dhimmitude. London: Associated University Presses. Youssef, Abdel-Hamid, A. 2003. From Pharaoh’s Lips: ancient Egyptian language in the Arabic of today. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Young, D.W. 1981. A monastic invective against Egyptian hieroglyphs. In Studies presented to Hans Jakob Polotsky, ed. D.Young, 348-60. Beacon Hill: Pirtle and Polson. -. 1993. Coptic manuscripts from the White Monastery: works of Shenute. Vienna: Brüder Hollinek. Young, R. 1994. Egypt in America: Black Athena, racism and colonial discourse. In Racism, Modernity and Identity on the Western Front, ed. A.Rattansi and S.Westwood, 150-70. Cambridge: Polity Press. Youtie, H.C. 1971. bqadeyr cqavym: Between literacy and illiteracy. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 12 (2), 23961. Yoyotte, J. 1960. Les pèlerinages dans l’Égypte ancienne. Sources Orientales 3, 18-74. -. 2003. À propos de quelques idées reçues: Méreseger, la Butte et les cobras. In Deir el-Médineh et la Vallée des Rois. La vie en Égypte au temps des pharaons du Nouvel Empire. Actes du colloque organisé par le musée du Louvre les 3 et 4 mai 2002, ed G.Andreu, 281-307. Paris: Musée du Louvre. Yurco, F.J. 1996. Black Athena: an egyptological review. In Black Athena Revisited, ed. M.Lefkowitz and G.Rogers, 62-100. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. -. 1997. Merenptah’s campaign and Israel’s origins. In Exodus: the Egyptian evidence, ed. E.Frerichs and L.Lesko, 27-55. Indiana: Eisenbraums. Zaborowski, J.R. 2005. The Coptic martyrdom of John of Phanjōit: assimilation and conversion to Islam in thirteenth century Egypt. Leiden: Brill. Zandee, J. 1971. Traditions pharaoniques et influences extérieures dans légendes coptes. Chronique d’Égypte 46, 211-9. Zibelius-Chen, K. 2007. Die Medja in altägyptischen Quellen. Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur 36: 391-405. Zingarelli, A.P. 2003. Local exchange in New Kingdom Egypt. In Egyptology at the dawn of the 21st century:

-. 2008b. Afterword. The past in the future: Egyptology tomorrow. In Egyptology Today, ed. R.H. Wilkinson, 2489. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilkinson, T. 2007. Introduction. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 1-3. Abingdon: Routledge. Wilson, J. 1960. Egypt through the New Kingdom, a civilization without cities. In City Invincible, ed. C.Kraeling and R.McAdams, 124-36, 149-50, 162-4. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wilson, P. 2007. Delta. In The Egyptian World, ed. T.Wilkinson, 15-28. Abingdon: Routledge. Wimmer, S. 1990. Egyptian temples in Canaan and Sinai. In Studies in Egyptology presented to Miriam Lichtheim (volume 2), ed. S. Israelit-Groll, 1065-1106. Jerusalem: Magnes Press. Winlock, H. 1942. Excavations at Deir el Bahri 1911-31. New York: Macmillan. -., and Crum, W. 1926. The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes. Part I: the archaeological material, the literary material. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Winter, J.G. 1933. Life and Letters in the papyri. Ann Arbor: Unversity of Michigan Press. Wipszycka, E. 1970. Les confreries dans la vue religieuse de l’Égypte chrétienne. In Proceedings of the Twelth International Congress of Papyrology, ed. D.H.Samuel, 51125. Toronto, A.M. Hakkert. -. 1972. Les ressources et les activités économiques des églises en Égypte du IVe au VIIIe siècle. Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. -. 1984. Le degré d’alphabétisation en Égypte byzantine. Revue des Études Augustiniennes 30, 279-96 -. 1988. La christianisation de l’Égypte aux IV-VI siècles. Aspects sociaux et ethniques. Aegyptus 68, 117-65. -. 1994. Le monachisme egyptien et les villes. Travaux et Mémoires 12, 1-44. -. 2000. Les communautés monastiques dans l’Égypte byzantine. In Valeur et distance: identités et sociétés en Égypte, ed. Ch.Décobert, 71-82. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. -. 2007. Les formes institutionnelles et les formes d’activité économique du monachisme égyptien. In Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late Antique Monasticism, ed. A.Camplani and C.Filoramo, 109-56. Leuven: Peeters Wood, M. 1998. The use of the pharaonic past in Egyptian nationalism. Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 35, 179-96. Wolf, W. 1930. Papyrus Bologna 1086. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterumskunde 1, 89-97. Worp, K.A. 2004. Town Quarters in Greek, Roman, Byzantine and early Arab Egypt. In Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt, ed. P.M. Sijpesteijn and L.Sundelin, 227-48. Leiden: Brill. Worrell, W.H. 1942. Letters and documents on ostraca or fragments of limestone. In Coptic Texts in the University of 140

Bibliography Zivie, A. 2001, Recherches et decouverts recentes dans les tombes rupestres du nouvel empire à Saqqara. Lecture at Centre Universitaire Méditerranéen, Nice 5 December. -. 2003. Un détour par Saqqara Deir el-Médineh et la nécropole Memphite. In Deir el-Médineh et la Vallée des Rois. La vie en Égypte au temps des pharaons du Nouvel Empire. Actes du colloque organisé par le musée du Louvre les 3 et 4 mai 2002, ed G.Andreu, 67-82 Paris: Musée du Louvre. Zivie, C. 1976. Giza au deuxième millénaire. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire.

-. 1982. Memphis. Lexikon der Ägyptologie, 24-41 - (now Zivie-Coche), 1988. Aux marges de Memphis: Giza. In Memphis et ses nécropoles au nouvel empire: nouvelles données, nouvelles questions. Actes du colloque interational CNRS, Paris, 9 au 11 octobre 1986, ed. A.Zivie, 113-22. Paris: CNRS. -. 1997. Sphinx! Le Père la terreur. Paris: Editions Noêsis. Zuckerman, S. 2007. Anatomy of a destruction: crisis architecture, termination rituals and the fall of Canaanite Hazor. Journal for Mediterrean Archaeology 20, 3-32.

141

142

Plates

Plate 1.Detail of Ramesses III subduing non-Egyptians. First court of mortuary temple of Ramesses III, Medinet Habu, Thebes.

Plate 4.18th dynasty alabaster sphinx, re-used in Ramesside period Memphis, now in its contemporary setting of the open air museum, Memphis.

Plate 2. Butehamon’s house, within temple enclosure of mortuary temple of Ramesses III, Medinet Habu, Thebes. Houses of Coptic Djeme visible on enclosure wall behind.

Plate 5. Terrain of Memphite area today: a snapshot near Mit Rahina (Memphis).

Plate 3. View of Deir el Medina from slopes of the Qurn. Ptolemaic Temple to Hathor (re-occupied in the Coptic period) visible on the left of picture, floodplain behind.

Plate 6. More layers of history. Abou Haggag mosque on top of Coptic church in the east side of the court of Ramesses II, Luxor temple. Pylon of Ramesses II also visible on left of picture.

143

Plates

Plate 7.On the slopes of the Qurn, one of the two pyramidal summits in west bank Thebes, looking south west. Walking on ancient paths between pharaonic and Coptic period sites.

Plate 8. View of Thoth Hill, the other pyramidal summit in west bank Thebes. View of quarry settlement in foreground. Both sites were used in the pharaonic and Coptic periods.

144

Plates

Plate 9. Climbing the slopes of the Qurn. Looking south east towards the floodplain, mortuary temple of Ramesses III (Medinet Habu) and Coptic period Djeme, visible on edge of floodplain. Nile and east bank of Thebes visible in the distance.

Plate 10. In Deir el Roumi, Coptic period monastery in the Valley of the Queens. Looking towards the floodplain.

Plate 11. In Deir Kurnet Murrai, Coptic period monastery and church of St Mark. Looking towards the floodplain, mortuary temple of Ramesses III visible in the distance.

145

Plates

Plate 12. In Site VII, Coptic period hermitage, west bank Thebes. Base of mudbrick tower visible in the foreground. Paths down towards Ramesseum (also occupied in the Coptic period) on the floodplain.

Plate 15. In mudbrick tower in forecourt of pharaonic period tomb of Daga, Coptic period Monastery of Epiphanius. Looking towards Deir el Bahri, mortuary temple of Hatshepsut and site of Coptic period Monastery of Phoibammon, west bank Thebes.

Plate 13. Site VII. Pharaonic period tomb in and around which Coptic occupation and use of site clustered.

Plate 16. Pasts stacked together in the present. Stone blocks from pharaonic and Coptic periods stored together in the grounds of Luxor Temple.

Plate 14. On path to Ramesseum from Djeme, looking west to the Qurn. Site VII visible on slopes of Qurn.

Plate 17.Layered landscapes: cables and a typical Egyptian floodplain sunset.

146