THE SINGLE LIFE IN THE ROMAN

AND LATER ROMAN WORLD

Using a variety of historical sources and methodological approaches,

this book presents the first large-scale study of single men and women
in the Roman world, from the Roman Republic to Late Antiquity,
and covering virtually all periods of the ancient Mediterranean. It
asks how singleness was defined and for what reasons people might
find themselves unmarried. While marriage was generally favoured by
philosophers and legislators, with the arguments against it largely
confined to genres like satire and comedy, the advent of Christianity
brought about a more complex range of thinking regarding its
desirability. Demographic, archaeological and socioeconomic per-
spectives are considered, and in particular the relationship of single-
ness to Roman household and family structures. The volume
concludes by introducing a number of comparative perspectives,
drawn from the early Islamic world and from other parts of Europe
down to and including the nineteenth century, in order to highlight
possibilities for the Roman world.

 .  is Professor of Ancient History at the Univer-

sity of Basel in Switzerland. Her research focuses on the everyday
lives of the common people in Antiquity. Among many other titles,
she has published The Family in Roman Egypt (Cambridge ) and
Papyri and the Social World of the New Testament (Cambridge ).
She is currently leading two large-scale projects on Roman Egypt
funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation at the University
of Basel.
  is Professor of Ancient History at the University of
Manchester in the United Kingdom and Professor of Ancient History
and Latin at the University of Antwerp in Belgium. He studies the
social and cultural history of Roman and Late Antiquity, paying
particular attention to the human life-course: childhood, youth,
family, sexuality and disabilities. His books include Children in the
Roman Empire: Outsiders Within (Cambridge ), Youth in the
Roman Empire: The Young and the Restless Years? (with Johan Strubbe;
Cambridge ) and Disabilities and the Disabled in the Roman
World: A Social and Cultural History (Cambridge ).
THE SINGLE LIFE IN THE
ROMAN AND LATER
ROMAN WORLD

     
SABINE R. HUEBNER
University of Basel, Switzerland

CHRISTIAN LAES
University of Antwerp, Belgium
University of Manchester, United Kingdom
 University Printing House, Cambridge  , United Kingdom
One Liberty Plaza, th Floor, New York,  , USA
 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne,  , Australia
–, rd Floor, Plot , Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – , India
 Anson Road, #–/, Singapore 

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of
education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence.

www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/
: ./
© Cambridge University Press 
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception
and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without the written
permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 
Printed in the United Kingdom by TJ International Ltd. Padstow Cornwall
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library.
 ---- Hardback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy
of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
 Contents

List of Contributors page viii

Acknowledgements x

 
 What’s in a Single? Roman Antiquity and a Comparative
World Approach 
Christian Laes

,  

  
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society: The Case of
Roman Egypt 
Sabine R. Huebner
 Looking for Singles in the Archaeological Record
of Roman Egypt 
Anna Lucille Boozer
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? The Impact of
Occupations and Economic Interests on the Relational Status
of Slaves and Freedmen 
Wim Broekaert

      

 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
Judith Evans Grubbs
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
Harri Kiiskinen
v
vi Contents
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
Elina Pyy
 Single as a Lena: The Depiction of Procuresses in Augustan
Literature 
Mina Petrova

   

 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
John W. Martens
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple: James, Nazirite Vows
and Celibacy 
Kevin Funderburk

  :     

   
 Singles and Singleness in the Christian Epigraphic
Evidence from Rome (c. – CE) 
Thomas Goessens
 Different Ways of Life: Being Single in the Fourth
Century CE 
Raffaella Cribiore
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? Virgins between the Earthly
and the Heavenly Family 
Ville Vuolanto
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity: Desire and Social Norms
in the Experience of Augustine 
Geoffrey Nathan
 Single People in Early Byzantine Literature 
Stephanos Efthymiadis
 “Listen to My Mistreatment”: Support Networks for
Widows and Divorcées in the Coptic Record 
Jennifer Cromwell
 Contents vii
  
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
Mohammed Hocine Benkheira
 To Marry or Not to Marry in Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-century
Cities, with Antwerp and Bruges as Case Studies 
Julie De Groot
 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy: Permanent Celibacy
and Solitariness between Coercion and Free Choice 
Matteo Manfredini

Bibliography 
General Index 
Index Locorum 
 Contributors

Mohammed Hocine Benkheira is Directeur d’Études at the École Pratique

des Hautes Études, Section des Sciences religieuses.
Anna Lucille Boozer is an Associate Professor of Roman Mediterranean
Archaeology at Baruch College City University, New York.
Wim Broekaert is a Postdoctoral Researcher of Ancient History at the
University of Ghent.
Raffaella Cribiore is a Professor of Classics at New York University.
Jennifer Cromwell is Lecturer in Ancient History at Manchester Metro-
politan University.
Julie De Groot is a Researcher of History at the University of Antwerp.
Stephanos Efthymiadis is Professor of the Programme of Studies of
Hellenic Culture at the Open University of Cyprus.
Judith Evans Grubbs is Betty Gage Holland Professor of Roman History
at Emory University.
Kevin Funderburk is an independent scholar.
Thomas Goessens is an independent scholar.
Sabine R. Huebner is Professor of Ancient History at the University
of Basel.
Harri Kiiskinen is a Postdoctoral Researcher of History at the University
of Turku.
Christian Laes is Professor of Ancient History at the University of Man-
chester and Professor of Ancient History and Latin at the University of
Antwerp.

viii
 Contributors ix
Matteo Manfredini is a Professor of the Department of Chemical Sciences,
Life and Environmental Sustainability at the University of Parma.
John W. Martens is a Professor in the Faculty of Theology at the Univer-
sity of St Thomas, St Paul.
Geoffrey Nathan is an Adjunct Professor of History at San Diego State
University and Honorary Senior Lecturer at the University of New
South Wales.
Mina Petrova teaches Latin Terminology at the Medical University
of Sofia.
Elina Pyy is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the University of Helsinki.
Ville Vuolanto is a Lecturer in History at the University of Tampere.
 Acknowledgements

The idea of having a conference on The Single Life in the Roman and Later
Roman World first came to mind because hardly anything had been said
before on this quite fashionable modern concept.
It took networking, communication between friends and colleagues,
and fundraising to give shape to the initial idea. Surely it was worth
making the effort, since the conference held at the Academia Belgica in
Rome (– May ) has stuck in the minds of its participants as a
most interesting event, full of engaging exchange and scholarly discussions.
We are most grateful to the many institutions which made this confer-
ence happen. To the various academies, for providing lodging to the
participants: Academia Belgica, Istituto Svizzero di Roma, Institutum
Romanum Finlandiae and the Royal Netherlands Institute. To the Uni-
versity of Antwerp, Department of History, to the Roman Society
Research Centre (University of Ghent) and to the Institute of Ancient
History at the University of Basel for generous funding.
The anonymous readers of Cambridge University Press provided both
the editors and the contributors with challenging comments, which very
much helped to improve the volume. Michael Sharp and the editorial team
of CUP were indispensable for the succesful production of the book. We
owe them many thanks.
During the conference, Ilse Mueller presented her paper. She had been
invited because her  article on Single Women in Funerary Inscriptions
was seminal for the topic of the conference. Ilse passed away on  October
. With great sadness, we acknowledge the death of a respected
scholar, whose area of research was on marginalized groups in the
ancient world.

Antwerp, Basel, Manchester,

October .

x
Introduction
  

What’s in a Single? Roman Antiquity and

a Comparative World Approach*
Christian Laes

 A ‘Marriage’ between Philology and Social History

Raised in the rich and established tradition of Altertumswissenschaft,
classicists and ancient historians are used to working with concepts and
terms, the exact definition of which can be traced down by means of
encyclopaedias, lexica and dictionaries. Rem tene, verba sequentur. Only
after having searched for accurate definitions can one safely proceed with
the research topic. In such a context, the very first thing to do in a volume
on The Single Life in the Roman and Later Roman World would be to look
for what is meant precisely when we use the word ‘single’, then to search
for Greek and Latin terms matching this definition (and in a comparative
perspective also words in other well attested languages of the ancient
Mediterranean such as Hebrew, Aramaic and Arabic), and finally to
carefully study the text fragments where such words show up. Though
this task may appear both manageable and straightforward, things are not
as simple as they appear at first sight.
First, the present-day concept. There is at least a certain ambiguity in
the use of terms. Derived from the Old French sengle, which in its turn
stems from the Latin singuli, the word ‘single’ refers to a person not
married, or not having an exclusive relationship with someone. Now-
adays, most Germanic languages have taken over the English term, while
words such as alleinstehend (German) or alleenstaand (Dutch) connote the
condition of living alone or even loneliness. Indeed, the word ‘single’ has
become increasingly popular as an untranslated term in many languages.

* I am most grateful to John Martens (University of St Thomas – Minnesota) for his careful reading
and improving of my English text.

It would make little sense to encumber this chapter with references to dictionaries for each language
concerned. Suffice it to notice that I have made use of well-established dictionaries for each language
concerned. For Arabic, Aramaic and Hebrew, I kindly acknowledge the help of Malika Dekkiche
(University of Antwerp) and Hagith Sivan (University of Kansas).


  
Romance languages etymologically either stress the aspect of not being
married, as célibataire in French or celibe in Italian, or the aspect of
loneliness, as in Spanish soltero and solteiro in Portuguese. In the Slavic
tradition, Russian emphasises not being married, and distinguishes
between men (nezhenatuy/неженатый “without wife”) and women
(nezamuzhnaja/незамужняя “not connected to a husband”). Here the
gendered aspect comes in. The very same tradition now exists in Greek,
which has agamos/άγαμος for men and anypantros/ανύπαντρος for
women. Arabic ‫( ﺃ ْﻋ َﺰﺏ‬Ɛazbā) again stresses the aspect of not entering
marriage (but also refers to being isolated or alone), as does Hebrew ‫רוק‬
(ravak). Both have a masculine and a feminine form, as for instance ravak
and ravaka in Hebrew. Moreover, in a globalising context which is
strongly influenced by the internet, it seems that the word ‘single’ has
become an almost international term to denote a free and unbound
lifestyle, while negatively loaded words which mostly concerned unmarried
women (cf. the ‘spinster’) are fading away as obsolete or depreciatory.
Looking for terminology in present-day languages does not therefore
provide us with the methodological clarity one would have hoped for. On
the contrary, the different terms point to at least three different aspects of
‘the single life’, all of which can but need not merge within one another:
the legal fact of not being married or not being in an exclusive relationship
with another person; living alone and the possible economic or emotional
consequences of this loneliness; and a happy-go-lucky lifestyle mostly
associated with youth. Moreover, in different cultural traditions, the single
life might be considered as a transitory period for those searching for a
partner with whom to form an exclusive relationship, or it might evolve
into a more permanent state, in which celibacy is considered as a vocation,
be it personal or religious. As such, both contemporary Israeli and Arabic
culture (with traditions firmly rooted in Antiquity) present a fascinating
text case for the conflict between tradition and modernity, with familial
pressures on single women to marry and to produce (grand)children, but
more and more educated young women who delay marriage because of
their studies or even refuse to be married to a husband with lower
education.


As in Finnish, the loan word sinkku matches the term ‘single’. While naimaton is a neutral word to
denote being not married, the female word vanhapiika is only used in a negative way, as a spinster.
I thank Ville Vuolanto for this information, and I happily include one Finnish-Ugrian example to
complete the list of language families in Europe.

See El Feki  for a lively and fascinating account which gained much media attention.
 What’s in a Single? 
Imagine a social historian in a far away future studying the single life in
the beginning of the twenty-first century. He/she should be very much
aware that the context is of crucial importance to understand what is
exactly meant in the textual evidence. Here, one may think of application
forms in European countries nowadays where the candidate has to fill in
whether he/she is single, married, divorced or widowed, and in which he/
she is expected only to fill in one box. Apparently, being married at the
moment of filling in the form acts as the sole criterion. Though it is
obviously possible to be both single and divorced or widowed (even the
three at the same time), the widower or the divorcée who is again married
at the time of filling in the questionnaire is not expected to put this aspect
of his past in the foreground. The possibility of being in an exclusive
relationship without being married is not even mentioned in such a
document. The latter is all the more remarkable, since recent demographic
data show that the number of marriages per , inhabitants has
decreased within the twenty-eight countries in the European Union in
recent decades. In fact, the crude marriage rate declined from . marriages
per , inhabitants in  to . marriages per , inhabitants by
. Since divorce rates increase at the same time, never before have so
many children in the European Union been born to unmarried mothers.
Moreover, modern sociologists agree that in the cities of the United States
and Western Europe solo living has expanded as never before, with
globally  million people opting for this living arrangement.
Given the difficulties when looking at present-day usage of the term,
one can easily imagine the problems which show up when one envisages to
tackle the subject from the ancient historian’s point of view.
) Throughout the monogamous Graeco-Roman tradition, marriages
were not state-registered, nor connected with religious duty. At least
from the male point of view, marriage was not necessarily subject to
moral expectations of mutual exclusivity (while polygamy did not
exist, polygyny thrived). The ideal of exclusivity only became strong
in the period of the so-called Christianisation of marriage, though the
univira, the widow who never remarried, was an ideal we find from


Statistics and explanations are to be found on the European Commission, Eurostats website: http://ec
.europa.eu/eurostat/statistics-explained/index.php/Marriage_and_divorce_statistics (Data extracted in
June ). For solo living on a global scale and sociological explanations of the phenomenon, see
Cribiore, in this volume, p. .

Standard reference works on Roman marriage include Treggiari b; Fayer  and .

Scheidel  and ; Laes .
  
the Roman Republic on. Marriages were easily entered into, and
divorce was a simple matter from the juridic point of view. All this
does not mean that marriage was an institution without consequences
or obligations. Marital laws put considerable pressure on at least the
aristocratic class to enter marriage and to remain in the marital state
for the most part of their lives. Financial transactions like a dowry
were part and parcel of it; both inheritance and citizens’ rights largely
depended on marriage. But at least, one might speculate on the
consequences of the juridic ‘easiness’ of marriage and divorce for
those who did not enter the marital state. Such a question eminently
counts for the lower classes, which are very much underrepresented in
the sources. As Roman marriage was largely de facto, based on mutual
consent and social rules and restrictions (“If you lived together as man
and wife, man and wife you were”), would neighbours in the slums
of Rome or in a small village in the countryside really have cared
whether the man and woman living next door in a small one room
apartment were legally married or rather considered themselves, for
social reasons, to live in a form of concubinage (compare the absence
of any indication of marital status in the Roman Egyptian census, as
noted by Huebner, in this volume, p. )? Would they have viewed
the couple living next door as ‘different’, depending on whether or not
they had Roman citizenship? Both legal marriages and concubinate
union could easily and almost instantaneously be dissolved. Also, local
traditions might have been prevailing, making people hardly aware of
or concerned about the Roman law on marriage. Surely the late
antique sources reveal that people distinguished between legal mar-
riage and concubinage, but such testimonies already belong to the
Christian sphere and foretell the Christianisation of the institution of
marriage. To the question, “Roman marriage and divorce: how easy
and how frequent was it?”, one could rightly add, how easy and even
frequent it was not to enter into the marital state at all?
) While loneliness is a basic experience of human life, it can be
understood in different ways and it surely escapes an archetypal
definition for different times and cultures. It has been suggested that


Cooper . On the univira, see Evans Grubbs :  and Humbert : –.
  
Evans Grubbs, in this volume. Kajanto . Crook : .

The example of Saint Augustine’s concubine, the name of whom we never learn, immediately
comes to mind. See August. Conf. .. and Nathan, in this volume.

Question raised by Treggiari a, in a volume which contains other valuable contributions on the
issue of remarriage (e.g. Bradley b).
 What’s in a Single? 
the lonely single is a product of the anonymity of life in modern big
cities, while traditional societies were much more concerned about
solidarity of life in a broader community. From an historical point
of view, it is worth looking at whether people relate the feeling of
loneliness with the fact of not being married or not having a partner,
or rather with the financial difficulties of having to take care of
themselves without the support of relatives or friends. The question
eminently comes in when Christianity promotes asceticism. Did this
asceticism imply abstinence from (exclusive) sexual relations, or did it
encourage people to go and live on their own?
) There is a large consensus that men in the Roman empire entered
marriage somewhere in their mid-twenties. Surely in the higher
classes, this leaves the possibility of a transitory period with a consider-
able amount of free time, the more so since political duties at that age
were not enormously time-consuming and the necessity to work not
pressing. Possibly, there was room for the celebrating of a specific
lifestyle: being young, and not yet worried by the obligations of
marriage. Such celebrations may show up in folkloristic or institu-
tional evidence (for instance with youth organisations which included
a large amount of bachelors), or in explicit literary testimonies in
which people take pride in their unmarried lifestyle. However, the
connection with youth should not be taken for granted. Older
bachelors might mention their status, and even consider the unmar-
ried state as a vocation or at least the best option for life. For them, it
is interesting to see whether they were viewed as complying with the
rules or rather behaving in an ‘asocial’ or ‘inappropriate’ way. At least
in Late Antiquity, Libanius considered the unmarried life as his
‘vocation’ (cf. Cribiore, in this volume, p. ). Even in the case of
young unmarried men, some Roman poets have uttered the hopes
of remaining in the bachelors’ state: a godly and happy status indeed,


However, Morley :  has pointed to the alienation and anonymity in the lives of the excluded
poor without shelter in big cities in the Roman Empire.
 
Scheidel  has aptly summarised the discussion. Laes and Strubbe : –.

Laes and Strubbe : –, though admittedly little evidence on ancient associations of
adolescent youth explicitly mentions the members as being unmarried.

Eyben : – and : – has extensively described Catullus and the elegiac poets
like Tibullus, Propertius and Ovid as rebels, criticising the prevailing norms and provoking the
respectable classes. These poets at least represented themselves as singles, opposing marriage. See
Laes and Strubbe : – summarising the discussion and criticising Eyben’s theses.

Although marriage was often considered as the end of youth for young males. See Eyben :
– and Laes and Strubbe : –.
  
as it was expressed in the proverbial caelibes caelites. In this context,
those inclined to same-sex relations who preferred to remain unmar-
ried for this very reason should also be mentioned (cf. Efthymiadis, in
this volume, p. ).
To these three different fields, the gendered aspect must be taken into
consideration.
To a woman, the fact of not being married before a certain age might
have marked her as a femme manquée. Surely, demographic factors such as
female infanticide may have caused a shortage of women, so that never
entering marriage became a less likely possibility for females, surely in the
so-called Mediterranean marriage pattern to which Roman society
belonged. Such a demographic pattern could also imply that young men
might have encountered obstacles in winning a bride on the marriage
market. But also later events in life such as divorce, the husband’s death
or the necessity of taking care of relatives may have caused women to stay
unmarried for long periods of their life. In such cases, motherhood could
seriously have altered the way they lived or the way their being unmarried
was viewed.
Secondly, loneliness, vulnerability and poverty due to the impossibility
of economically taking care of oneself could be matters which were
aggravated by being a woman. In the rare autobiographical testimonies
we possess, it is worth looking at how ‘single’ women exploited the
argument of belonging to the ‘weaker sex’ in order to obtain what they
requested in petitions.
Thirdly, the celebration of being unmarried as a lifestyle might be
strongly altered by the fact of belonging to the male or the female sex.
English clearly distinguishes between spinsters and bachelors, the former
more negatively connotated than the latter. The Graeco-Roman world was
characterised by a late teenage marriage pattern for girls: the time between
coming of age and entering marriage was anyway short for them
(and perhaps even shorter for girls of the elites, who sometimes married
at an even younger age). In the non-Christian tradition, testimonies on the
joy and happiness of unmarried life for women are virtually absent, though
based on cross-cultural anthropological evidence we might suspect
the possibility of a youthful subculture with women. It is only in the
Christian sources that female virginity, chastity and the renunciation of

 
Cf. infra note . Bagnall and Frier : ; Scheidel .
 
See Cromwell, in this volume. Laes and Strubbe : –.
 What’s in a Single? 
sex and marriage are emphatically represented in a way which was
utterly unknown before.

 The Ancients Had Some Words for It

Coping with all these different meanings and connotations requires a
thorough insight into many aspects of the sociocultural history of the
Roman Empire. But, to come back to the first paragraph, such investi-
gation can be well served by ‘traditional’ philological research, starting
from Latin or Greek terminology.
It might be tempting to look for ancient equivalents for “Mrs.” and
“Miss”, as well as “Ms.” (generally used for ‘older’ singles), but the rare
explicit testimonies on such issues rather point to biological signs of girls
becoming marriageable with the coming of age than to the actual fact of
being (un)married. According to Epictetus, women are considered “ladies”
(kyriai/κύριαι) by men when they reach age fourteen: “Therefore, when
they see that there is nothing else for them besides sharing a bed with men,
they start to adorn themselves and in this they place all their hopes.”
Democritus addressed a young girl with the words “Greetings, girl” (chaire
kore/χαῖρε κόρη), while the next day (i.e. after the night of defloration) he
used the sentence “Greetings, lady” (chaire gynai/χαῖρε γύναι). Matrona
explicitly denotes a married lady, with or without children. Latin puella
seems to have been primarily used for girls before the age of marriage and
subsequent sexual initiation, as were the terms virgo or parthenos/
παρθένος. In the early Christian usage, these words denoted both male
and female virgins, while there also was a specific Christian term for males,
namely virgineus. At first sight, one would expect these men to be unmar-
ried, though the institution of ‘celibate’ married partners living together as
brother and sister proves that this did not always need to be the case.
The words which come closest to ‘single’ in the sense of not married are
anandros/ἄνανδρος, agamos/ἄγαμος and eïtheos/ἠΐθεος for Greek, caelebs


Cooper ; Harper  and Vuolanto  are outstanding examples of scholarship on
asceticism. The scholarly literature is obviously vast.

Epict. ench. ; Diog. Laert. vita et doctr. philos. ..–. See Caldwell : .

Gell. ..–; Isid. orig. (etym.) ...

Watson ; Laes :  for the epigraphical usage of the terms. Also for males, the distinction
between puer and adulescens/iuvenis was not related with the fact of being married. On παρθένος,
see also Huebner, in this volume, pp. –.

Alwis  (celibate marriage); Laes  (male virgins); Vuolanto :  for many entries on
chaste marriage.
  
for Latin. Surprisingly, these terms largely fit the different meanings and
connotations as they appear in the modern languages.

. Not Being Married

Greek agamia/ἀγαμία primarily refers to the unmarried (and childless)
state of a man, as when Plutarch states that one should encourage his
brother to marry and consequently honour his sister-in-law when she gets
children. Though there is a specific gendered term anandros/ἄνανδρος to
describe unmarried women, agamos/ἄγαμος may also refer to females.
The Greek eïtheos/ἠΐθεος seems very much age-specific, since it refers to
unmarried male youth. Rare instances of references to unmarried girls
occur. The LSJ lexicon suggests that agamos/ἄγαμος also connotes
widowers, though it is hard to find an unambiguous example of this
usage. Part of the problem is that Ancient Greek did not have a proper
term to denote widowers. The gendered anandros/ἄνανδρος or “husband-
less” is used for both virgins and widows, though for widows the specific
term chera/χήρα was much more common.
In the Latin tradition, several definitions by grammarians and authors
with an interest in etymological matters, as well as statements in literary
works, confirm that caelebs primarily refers to not being married. If Livia
had not existed, the emperor Augustus would have opted for the single life
(caelebs vita) – since there was simply no other woman to whom he might
have been a husband. The use of the term caelebs predominantly applies


Also for sociocultural historians, Burger – is an essential starting point for further
research. The first attestation of monachos appears in a petition from Karanis in the year 
(P.Col. VII..), where a diakon and a monachos are mentioned. See Huebner, in this volume.

Plut. de frat. am. e (ἀγαμίαν δ’ ἀδελφοῦ καὶ ἀπαιδίαν). The combination of unmarried and
childness already appears in Hom. Il. .. See also Xen. symp. .. Obviously, the usage of the
word may also imply absence of sexual experience leading to procreation.

See e.g. A. Supp. ; Soph. OT ; Eur. Or. .

Plat. leg. e stresses the meaning “unmarried” (ἠΐθεον δὲ ἢ καὶ γεγαμηκότα ἄπαιδα τελευτῆσαι).
Clearly referring to young unmarried males: Hdt. .; Plut. Thes.  and . Young females: AP
. (Antip.); Eup. ; Olymp. Phil., In Platonis Alcibiadem commentarii , line  (κόρη
ἠΐθεος).

 Cor. : mentions τοῖς ἀγάμοις καὶ ταῖς χήραις and continues by saying that it is better for them
to stay unmarried like Paul himself (καλὸν αὐτοῖς ἐὰν μείνωσιν ὡς κἀγώ). The passage rather seems
to refer to all unmarried, as it is understood in the Vulgata Latina (non nuptis) though the
combination with ταῖς χήραις might point to widowers too.

See e.g. Isid. orig. . (caelebs conubii expers); Ovid. met. . (sine coniuge caelebs vivebat) on
Pygmalion; Sen. epist. . (hoc viro, hoc feminae, hoc marito, hoc caelibi convenit); Quin. inst.
.. (maritus an caelebs); Gell. .. (deberetne uxorem ducere an vitam vivere caelibem).

Ov. trist. .: quae si non esset, caelebs te vita deceret, / nullaque, cui posses esse maritus, erat.
 What’s in a Single? 
to males, though some grammarians suggest it was also in use for
females. ‘Not married’ might also apply to the case of widows and
widowers. For the latter, caelebs was in use, while for widows vidua was
the appropriate term. Caelibatus could also refer to the state of not being
married after divorce. In the ecclesiastic usage, caelebs became the appro-
priate term to denote celibacy by monks or priests.
In the Augustan legislation on marriage (cf. Evans Grubbs, in this
volume), the terms caelebs and caelibatus are most frequent. The Emperor
Claudius is also said to have directed legal inquiries against those who
remained unmarried (quibuscumque caelibatum . . . obiceret), while the
Institutes by Gaius mention the possibility that on the grounds of the
Lex Iulia somebody is excluded from inheritance because he was not
married (aut propter caelibatum ex lege Iulia summotus). The same terms
show up in Late Antiquity, when the Augustan legislation was abandoned
and criticised.

. Loneliness
Connotations of loneliness show up with the same Greek and Latin terms.
Almost all attestations date from Late Antiquity, which raises the question
whether this state of loneliness became more of an issue when asceticism
was promoted more strongly (cf. Vuolanto, in this volume, p. ).


Prisc. gramm. .. (hic et haec et hoc caelebs, huius caelibis); Aug. gramm. .. (caelebs dicitur
qui non habet uxorem vel quae non habet maritum).

Suet. Galba  (maritum . . . necdum caelibem Galbam) on Emperor Galba before he became a
widower; Suet. Galba  (remansit in caelibatu) on Galba not remarrying after the death of his wife;
Suet. Claud.  (permansurum se in caelibatu) after the death of Claudius’ third wife, Messalina;
Gramm. suppl. . (quod nomen significat sive eum qui numquam uxorem habuit sive qui eam
amisit) on the word caelebs; Consent. gramm. .. (ut marem caelibem, feminam viduam
appellaret) on distinctions made by the ars grammatica; Cod. Iust. ... (quando ad caelibatum
pervenerint, ut permaneant vel feminae in viduitate vel masculi in caelibatu). Note that sometimes,
caelibatus and viduitas seem to be set apart, cf. infra note .

Cod. Theod. ... (perpetuo caelibatu insolentis divortii poenam de solitudinis maerore sustinent).

Zacch. .. p. D (caelibes vivunt monachi); Paul. Med. vita Ambr.  (caelibes sacerdotes). For
ascetic women, the term virginitas is used, again pointing to the predominantly male meaning of the
term caelebs. Cf. Fulg. serm. ant. : caelibatum dici voluerunt virginitatis abstinentiam (offering a
definition of caelibatus).

Suet. Claud. ; Gai. inst. . and similarly inst. .. Other examples include Cic. leg. .
(censores caelibes esse prohibento); Sen. fr.  (leges quae contra caelibes latae sunt).

Cod. Theod. ...pr. = Cod. Iust. .().  pr. (qui iure veteri caelibes habebantur) from the year
; Ambr. vid. . (illi qui deorum suorum adulteria et probra venerantur, caelibatus et viduitatis
statuere poenas) offering forceful critiques on the hypocrisy of the Augustan laws.
  
In sermons reflecting upon the various states of life, loneliness is
sometimes mentioned together with agamia/ἀγαμία. When the fifth-
century grammarian Consentius distinguishes between caelebs for males
and vidua for females, he goes on to say that “the distinction between the
nouns makes clear the different degrees of loneliness.” In the year ,
an imperial edict marked “eternal celibacy” as the right punishment after
divorce: the sadness of being alone was considered the appropriate way to
endure punishment for the act of divorce, which was strongly condemned
in the Christian legislation. Bachelors and childless people were con-
sidered an easy prey for testament hunters. After the death of his wife,
the aristocrat Vectius is said to have raised his only little daughter with “the
tenderness of a grandfather, the diligence of a mother, the kindness of a
father”. By doing so, he found consolation for his being single. After the
death of both Phaedra and Hippolytus, Theseus mourns having returned
only to find himself in great despair: “Wifeless and childless, I might with
one torch light the funeral pyres of son and wife?”

. A Deliberate Choice and Lifestyle

Already in the Greek comical and tragic tradition, the emotional advan-
tages of the single life are put to the fore, though admittedly in a somewhat
ironic or tragic way. “I live the life of Timon – unmarried, slaveless” says
the title character Monotropos in Phrynichus’ play, but the same character
is depicted as unapproachable and unconversing. Caelibes caelites: bach-
elors are like the inhabitants of heaven, like the gods. This proverbial
phrase was uttered on the grounds that bachelors are free from a heavy load
of care. The word play with reference to etymology was especially popular
with grammarians, though Quintilian is rather ironic about it, also men-
tioning another grammarian’s explanation by stating that caelibes are so
called because Saturn cut off the genitals of Caelus. But other explicit


Greg. Nyss. In Ecclesiasten (homil. ) (τῆς ἀγαμίας τὸ ἔρημον).

Consent. gramm. .. (ut discretio ipsa nominum ostenderet solitudinis disparem qualitatem). Cf.
supra note .
 
Cod. Theod. .... Cf. supra note . Amm. .. (orbos vel caelibes).

Sidon. epist. .. (filiam unicam parvam post obitum uxoris relictam solacio caelibatus alit avita
teneritudine, materna diligentia, paterna benignitate).

Sen. Phaedr.  (caelebs et orbus).

Phryn. Com.  (ζῶ δὲ Τίμωνος βίον, ἄγαμον, ἄδουλον); Eur. Alc.  (ζηλῶ δ’ ἀγάμους ἀτέκνους
τε βροτῶν) in a tragic context.

Quint. inst. ... The phrase is mentioned and explained by Paul. Fest. p. ; Don. Ter. Ad. ;
Isid. orig. .; Gramm. suppl. .; Aug. gramm. ... See also Orient. comm. . for a
link with deus.
 What’s in a Single? 
celebrations of the celibate lifestyle exist. “Nothing is better than the single
life” as Horace emphatically put it. False etymologies between eïtheos/
ἠΐθεος and theos/θεός (god) might have encouraged Latin writers to develop
the idea of the godlike status of bachelors – Quintilian mentions the
etymology with due irony. In the Greek tradition eïtheos/ἠΐθεος and
isotheos/ἰσόθεος (“godlike”) was obvious material for a play on words.
Obviously, all these examples point to a misogynist refusal of marriage –
they do not necessarily imply refusal of sexual relations as such.
To marry or not to marry? To the philosopher Bias and to Favorinus of
Arles, this life choice became a matter of play with syllogisms – at least the
whole context of the story presupposes that some speculated on which
option was the best for life, with Bias choosing the unmarried life (vitam
vivere caelibem). Mythology reports on young men who embraced the
single life and even refused exclusive relationships: Pygmalion and Hip-
polytus come to mind as unreachable young people. To the Greek and
Roman mind, men who deliberately chose the unmarried life must have
existed from the old days. Thus, Valerius Maximus reports on fines
imposed by Camillus on those who reached old age without ever marrying,
since they had forsaken their civic duties. It is by no means an exclusively
Roman tradition that obstinate celibates should be prosecuted. In his Life
of Lysander, Plutarch mentions a penalty at Sparta for not marrying at all,
for a late marriage, but also for a bad marriage. The Stoic philosopher
Aristo of Chios (third century BCE) refers to a fine for not being married
(agamiou zemia/ἀγαμίου ζημία). Such statements obviously belong to a
utopian tradition, in which various ‘ideal’ regulations were ascribed to
Sparta.
To an emperor, remaining unmarried throughout his whole life appar-
ently was not considered an option. Claudius had thought about it after


Hor. epist. .. (melius nil caelibe vita). See also Hor. carm. .. (Martiis caelebs quid agam
kalendis).

Quint. inst. .. (ingenioseque visus est Gavius “caelibes” dicere veluti “caelites”, quod onere
gravissimo vacent, idque Graeco argumento iuvit: enim eadem de causa dici adfirmat).

Lexicon artis grammaticae (cod. Coislin. ) , line ; Scholia Il. (scholia vetera) .,
scholion .

Gell. ..

Ov. met. . on Pygmalion (cf. supra note ); Sen. Phaedr.  (caelibem vitam probet sterilis
iuventus) the nurse persuades Hippolytus not to be a sterile youth, but to enjoy life.

Val. Max. .. (qui ad senectutem caelibes pervenerant).

Plut. Lys. ; Aristo Stoic. .. This Spartan custom is also mentioned in the lexicographical
tradition: Poll. .; Hes. alpha  line . Plut. de amore prol. e suggests that the Athenian
statesman Solon had devised regulations against celibacy or late wedlock, though already Stob. flor.
.. (Hense) suggests that such an Athenian regulation actually never existed in Athens.
  
the death of his third wife. Tacitus poignantly remarks that he was not
able to bear the celibate life, and that he therefore was prone to being ruled
by his successive wives. Galba remained unmarried after the death of his
wife, and again the word caelibatus is used to refer to his state of life.
One has to wait until the Byzantine emperor Basilius II (–)
to find an emperor who never married. To the Christians, celibacy
became regarded as the marker of a ‘good’ and fruitful life, enabling
the single to offer a helping hand to others – here, the abstinence from
sex is surely considered more important than just the mere refusal of
marriage.

 Antigamous and Pro-marriage Advice in Literature

Already a word search of a handful of Greek and Latin terms has revealed
that ancient authors discussed various conditions which were connected to
the ‘single life’ with different meanings than the word has nowadays. Some
even were engaged in extended theoretical discussions on whether it was
preferable to marry or not. Such advice runs from the writing of the early
Greek misogynists (Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women) to Roman literature to
the High Middle Ages and beyond. Quite unsurprisingly, various
authors randomly seek arguments in favour of or against marriage from a
wide array of thoughts and ideas. It is tempting for scholars to simply trace
down and anthologise the different arguments, though elements such as
satirical technique, literary genre and shifting audiences are absolutely
crucial to come to an understanding of the discussion. Obviously, the
question also belongs to a broader framework of thoughts on sexuality,
reproduction and subsequent moral duties towards society. Given the fact
that in census records from pre-Christian times marital status was not
considered very important (cf. Huebner, in this volume), one might ask
how far the ‘philosophical’ reflections were paramount to society, or rather
testify to the peculiar concerns of a certain elite.


Suet. Claud.  (permansurum se in caelibatu); Tac. ann. . (Claudio caelibis vitae intoleranti et
coniugum imperio obnoxio); Suet. Galba  (remansit in caelibatu). Cf. supra note .

Hier. Eph. . (si quis in caelibatu beatam transigens vitam alium qui et uxorem habet et liberos et se
ipsum vix potest pascere, adiuverit).

See Smith a on the anti-marriage tradition in satire – readers of this volume would do well to
read the thoughtful review by Roggen .

Useful surveys which nevertheless suffer from the tendency to anthologise include Raepsaet ;
Gaiser  and Eyben .
 What’s in a Single? 

. Antigamous Arguments

Roman antigamous devices generally derive from the genres of satire and
comedy. Greek literature was also influential here: Greek epic and drama
supplied arguments, as well as rhetorical and philosophical thought on
the state of marriage or the evil nature of women. At least three Roman
comedies, Plautus’ Amphitryo and Menaechmi and Terence’s Hecyra have
adultery and divorce as central themes. Lucretius interconnects love
with other destructive powers that assault our minds and bodies.
Ovid’s attitudes towards marriage and free affairs are in sharp contrast
with the Augustan legislation on the matter. The poet even went as far as
to dedicate book  of his Ars Amatoria to women. His understanding of
both men’s and women’s gender and character traits contributes to his
thoughts on the difficulty of marriage. When a Sicilian heard from a
friend that his wife had hanged herself from a fig tree, he replied that he
would like to have some shoots from that tree to plant. This is just one of
the many stock jokes on marriage. An amalgam of such puns and anti-
marital remarks can be found in Horace’s Sermones . and Juvenal’s
Satire . Of course, a great deal of this satirical humour needs to be
understood under the motto “Physician, heal thyself” – the contradiction
between what the satirical narrator says and his own message. Only by
keeping the right balance between attack, entertainment and preaching
could good satirists manage their work to gain success with the audience.
After all, most of their public would be married. Roman novelists
balanced between presenting women as chaste heroines or wives
as ordinary folks, who degrade the institution of marrriage. In the
Christian context, Jerome’s crude attacks on the marital state are full of
techniques which derive from satire and invective. What is important
here is the shift of audience, with women becoming addressees of the
anti-marriage propaganda. Also, part of the Christian argumentation was


Hawley . The main texts include Aristot. pol. a– and the many Greek authors
anthologised in Stob. flor. . (Hense).

Braund , though Roggen :  rightly asks whether one can understand such plays as
“experimental”, given the fact that so many Greek New Comedies have not survived.

Smith d dealing with Lucr. .–; .–; .–; .–.

Pollmann  dealing with Ov. ars .–, –; .–; rem. –.

Smith b; Roggen : – on the right balance. The marital joke in Cic. de orat. ..

May , dealing with Petron. – (faithful widow of Ephesus) and – (bad women);
Apul. met. .–.
  
based on the fact that virginity is preferable to marriage; not on the basis
that women were evil. Here, misogamy takes the lead from misogyny.
Apart from the satirical traditions, most of the antigamous philosophical
arguments are known for the reason that they are countered by the
philosophers – though their insisting on the matter raises the suspicion
that at least in the higher classes men tried to escape the burden of
marriage. Some considered that marriage produced a financial burden.
To those who viewed marriage as a waste of time or energy, Hierocles
pointed to the relief which was brought by a caring wife. Epictetus is a
noticeable exception in his refusal of marriage, but his discourse and
somewhat curious logic need to be understood in a very specific context.
He seeks an answer for the question whether the Cynic, like other men,
should view marriage as a ‘preferred indifferent’. In order to prove that a
Cynic actually cannot, he goes on with describing conditions which hold
true for the common man, but are wrong for the Cynic. Indeed, the
practical duties entailed by the married life distract the wise man from
practicing philosophy: taking care of the wife, children, managing of the
houses, even attending the little baby are mentioned as typical duties,
which are hardly to be escaped if one opts for married life. Instead of such
burdens, the celibate philosopher is represented as a spiritual father, who in
fact has many children among human mankind (an argument which is
taken up by the Christian promotors of asceticism, cf. Vuolanto, in this
volume). Under ‘usual circumstances’ a Cynic cannot view marriage as a
‘preferred indifferent’. He simply has another mission.

. Arguments in Favour of Marriage

Most of the pro-marriage material for the Roman period is written in
Greek and coloured by Stoic thought. The philosophers’ statements on
marriage, household and family are preserved through the Florilegium, a
fifth-century anthology compiled by Johannes Stobaeus. Antipater of
Tarsus was in charge of the Stoic school in the second century BCE;


Clark  on satirical elements in Hier. virg. Mar.  and Adv. Iovin.  (but see Roggen :
 for justified criticism); Feichtinger  on the Christian shift of audience and argument.

Only when one is really not capable of paying for it, he is dissuaded from contracting a marriage by
Nicostratus in Stob. .. (Hense).

Hierocles in Stob. .. (Hense).

Epict. diss. ..–. Obviously, one must take into account a certain exaggeration typical of the
genre of the diatribe. It would also be wrong to take the text to be normative for Epictetus’ Stoic
views. See Deming : –.
 What’s in a Single? 
Musonius Rufus and Epictetus were among the prominent Stoics of the
first century CE, while Hierocles was one of the most important Stoic
philosophers of the second century CE. Needless to say, we should keep
in mind that the fragments we are reading only survived thanks to the
selection and the choices made by Stobaeus – a certain bias in the
selection cannot be excluded. Again, Stobaeus’ interest in the matter
may point to the fact that celibacy and not marrying became much more
of an issue in Late Antiquity.
In general, the philosophers’ views can be characterised as much in
favour of marriage, which is considered the only valuable institution for
having legal offspring and for promoting the wellbeing of the husband.
Fully engaging with the Stoic tradition, these philosophers resort to the
nature argument to defend marriage as the best possible state. Humans are
born to a life as husband and wife and are therefore attracted towards each
other; only in marriage do human beings reach their completion; man and
wife supplement each other, as every ruler needs someone to rule. Also, a
wife is considered as the most sympathetic of all relatives to the husband,
and the closest in proximity towards the children.
Children – in this case legitimate offspring are obviously meant – are
represented as the logical consequence of marriage and as an important
incentive for it. Only by having progeny do parents reach full completion:
they live on in their children and grandchildren. In such discourse,
children are represented as useful for the state: in times of peace, they
make agriculture, arts and trades flourish; during war they are there to
defend their country. The ‘usefulness’ and worth of children, both in


For Antipater, we are not entirely sure whether the fragments are indeed by Antipater of Tarsus, or
by Antipater of Tyre (first century BCE). See Gaca : – for these philosophers’ views on
marriage, reproduction and sexuality.

Stobaeus organised his fragments as follows: flor. .: ) on the preferability of marriage ) it is
better not to marry ) to some it is good to marry, to others the institution did not bring happiness
) on wooing and courtship ) consideration on the age of marriage ) character is important to
marriage, not wealth or noble birth ) blamable faults of women; flor. .: instructions for a good
marriage; flor. .: ) on the preferability of having children ) on the inconvenience of having
children, the fact that you do not know whether they are really yours, and on not exposing children;
flor. .: children need to honour their parents and to obey them in all circumstances; flor. .:
on how fathers should behave towards their children and on the natural tie that binds fathers and
children; flor. .: on the beauty and the necessity of brotherly love and love for one’s relatives. In
all, the anthology by Stobaeus on marriage amounts to  pages of Greek text (Hense .–).

Hierocles in Stob. .. (Hense) and .. (Hense); Muson. fr.  (strongly emphasising the
nature argument). See already Aristot. eth. Nic. a and also Plut. qu.R. d for similar
thoughts.

Hierocles in Stob. .. (Hense).
 
Hierocles in Stob. .. (Hense). See also Clem. Al. strom. .. Cass. Dio ...
  
economic and emotional ways, are also stressed as a “divine fruit” of
marriage. Both the emotional and psychological relief of experiencing
the joy of having young (grand)children around in old age and the pride of
seeing a ‘living portrait’ of oneself are mentioned as important incentives
for marriage. Quite contrary to the demographic conditions of his time,
Musonius Rufus states that couples with many children are more
honoured than those with few or no children. Most of these philoso-
phers’ arguments must have had their ground in a sort of communis opinio,
at least among the elite classes. When Cicero in his defence of Cluentius
mentions the importance of legal offspring, he almost summarises the
arguments which are expressed in the moralistic writings.
As for wives, the male authors very much stress the support they offer to
their husbands. Wives are represented as ‘useful’: they manage the house-
hold and supervise the house slaves, they take care of the children and the
education of the young ones, they are of help when their husband is ill.
As such, they provide their husbands with free time, but also they are
helpful for emotional matters. Some philosophers even go as far as to
present the husband-wife relationship as the perfect and total union, a
friendship on an almost equal basis. Only in the absolute union of
marriage do the partners have everything in common, including their soul
and body. The offspring which is the result of such absolute longing for
each other is the more wonderful and beautiful, since also unmarried
couples and animals procreate. In similarly strong terms and referring
to the statements by Antipater of Tarsus, Plutarch has defended the true
eros of marital life. While some have pointed to the almost ‘modern’ idea
of equality between men and women as it appears in such fragments, it
should be noticed that Musonius Rufus’ ideal wife is the more perfect as
she approximates the man. Moreover, the same Musonius Rufus strongly
defends the ideal of asceticism in marriage. To him, procreation is the sole


Hierocles in Stob. .. (Hense). Children are also mentioned as ‘useful’ to their grandparents by
Hierocles in Stob. .. (Hense). For the idea of the portrait of the self, and living on through
one’s offspring, see also Cass. Dio ..–.
 
Ps.-Dion. Hal. rhet. .. Muson. fr. .

Cic. Cluent. . quae spem parentis, memoriam nominis, subsidium generis, heredem familiae,
designatum rei publicae civem sustulisset (on a woman who was bribed by heirs to have an
abortion).

Cass. Dio .. (material and emotional help); Antipater in Stob. .. (Hense) (those who
want to be free should marry, since they have somebody taking care of the household); Hierocles in
Stob. .. (Hense) (practical help in the household and emotional support).

The strongest defences of marriage on such a basis are Antipater in Stob. .. (Hense) and
Muson. fr. a.

Plut. am. .
 What’s in a Single? 
and only aim of marriage. Even within marriage, having sex for the sake of
pleasure is strongly condemned.
In his account of the marital laws introduced by Emperor Augustus, Dio
Cassius offers an entirely fictitious oration delivered by the emperor in
order to defend these laws. We learn that in the year  CE Augustus
convoked the Roman citizens in the forum, and set apart the married and
the unmarried. The former are praised by making use of many of the
arguments we encountered with the philosophers. Then follows a remark-
ably harsh tirade against the latter. They cannot be called men nor citizens,
since they forsake an essential duty. The city of Rome, and even the entire
world, would disappear if all would follow their example, which is nothing
less than a crime against nature and against the gods. It is even compared to
murder. Moreover, their refusal of marriage does not mean that they are
abstinent of sexual relationships with women. By acting in this way and
living their happy-go-lucky lives, these singles actually live as animals.
Only at the end of his speech does Augustus as depicted by Cassius Dio
show some understanding. He admits that marriage and having children
involve some problems and difficulties. But he immediately adds that
these are largely superseded by the many advantages of it – for only a
fraction of these advantages, many ‘normal’ men are prepared to die.

. The Christian Arguments

Apart from Musonius Rufus’ commendation of abstinence in marriage, we
are still far away from the praising of the single as a celibate practicing
sexual abstinence. Moreover, no religious motivations to impose marriage
or to dissuade from it were adduced. Here, Christian ethics made a
significant change. Obviously, Christianity did not ban the institution of
marriage. Had not Jesus himself pointed to the indissolubility of marriage
(Mt. :)? Though Paul prided himself on his chastity, he emphasised
that others had received other endowments from the Holy Spirit. In the
end, it was better to marry than to burn: marriage served as a tool for the
curbing of lust and passion. While Tertullian must have shocked many


Muson. fr. . See Nussbaum . An idealising view, referring to equality between husband and
wife, in Eyben and Wouters .
 
Cass. Dio .. Cass. Dio .–.

Clark  and ; Cooper  and ; Nathan ; Hunter ; Laes ; Vuolanto
 are just some examples out of the vast scholarly literature on ancient Christianity and
marriage.

 Cor. :–.
  
of his peers by his fierce attacks on extramarital sex, marriages with non-
Christians and even procreation, he also extols true Christian marriage,
where man and wife live together in perfect concordia, praying together and
practicing charity together. To Augustine the state of the married was
inferior to celibacy or widowhood, but he nevertheless considered the
bond between men and women as testimony to the most natural affinity
in human society. However, the unrelenting tirades against marriage and
sexuality by Jerome or John Chrysostom must have struck their audience’s
ears as much as they strike the ears of modern readers. In their attacks on
marriage, they mostly focus on the female side of it: the uncertain period of
betrothal, with parents changing their minds over possible candidates for
marriage, the nasty character of the bridegroom, the dangers of pregnancy,
the problem of fertility, the burden of raising children, ubiquitous mortal-
ity, and marital violence. However, ‘male problems’ are not forgotten:
deception after marrying a most beautiful woman or a very ugly one, or
problems with the dowry. It was also emphasised that those ascetics who
refused marriage had abundant spiritual progeny. Here, the argument of
spiritual fatherhood turns up again. It became a major tool for the
promotion of asceticism and the refusal of marriage. All this is surely a
remarkable achievement of the early Church. For the first time in the
ancient world, in a regime which was marked by the demographical
pressure of producing enough offspring, the ascetic movement became
strong and influential and caused many to consciously opt for the single
life by renouncing exclusive marital relationships. In Christian epigraphy,
being a virgin was considered a most praiseworthy achievement, both for
men and for women. One could hardly think of a sharper clash with the
ideals prevailing some centuries before.

 A Sociocultural and Comparative Approach

So far, we have noticed how the ancient authors discussed being
(un)married, loneliness or the deliberate choice for a bachelor’s life. They


Tert. ad ux. ..–. See also Ioh. Chrys. In epist. I ad Corinthios . on harmony and mutual
understanding in Christian marriage.

Aug. de sanct. virg.  (inferior to celibacy); bon. coniug.  and  (natural affinity); civ. .; de gen.
ad litt.  (marriage and sexual lust).

Hier. epist. .; . and ; Ioh. Chrys. de virg.  are telling texts on the disadvantages of
marriage. See Schroeder  on marital violence.

One of the central themes of Vuolanto . See e.g. Eus. Dem. Ev. .; Greg. Nyss. virg. ; Aug.
bon. coniug.  and ; nupt. et concup. .; epist. ..

Laes .
 What’s in a Single? 
did so in asides which one finds throughout their literary works, but they
also made the issue a central theme in novels, love poetry, comedy, satire
or moral treatises. There were specific Greek and Latin terms to denote the
condition of being single or at least unmarried – words which come
close to our present-day concepts. Late Stoicism extensively elaborated
upon the question of (ideal) marriage, while only in Christianity did being
single became closely connected to sexual abstinence and a life of celibacy.
To the social historian who studies the single life in other periods, this
evidence must appear meagre, not to say disappointing. The sources are
heavily skewed towards the higher classes, and even with them it is
questionable as to how far the opinions of the moral philosophers actually
weighed on the matter. There is hardly any room for regional diversifi-
cation of the source material. Much of it draws on the city of Rome, on
debates in the tiny little upper class and on emperors developing marital
laws because they were in need of enough aristocrats for the governing of
the Empire. So far, little or nothing has been said about the other cultural
traditions which existed in the astonishingly multicultural Roman Empire.
To put it more directly: sociocultural research on the single life in the
Roman Empire has been virtually absent so far, and this volume is the first
to remedy the situation. There is only one predecessor, the merits of which
cannot be overemphasised. In a well-referenced and most erudite four-
volume work, Jens-Uwe Krause has sketched a thorough picture of
orphans and widowhood in Roman and Late Antiquity, fully integrating
sources as diverse as legislation, the papyri and the patristic writers. But
obviously, widowhood is just one aspect of the single life, and widows
could move on to not being single after a certain period.

. Demographic, Archaeological and Socioeconomic Aspects

The part on demographic, archaeological and socioeconomic aspects of
the single life logically starts with a contribution by Sabine Huebner on the
Egyptian census. Indeed, the census documents preserved on papyri
and documented at intervals of fourteen years from the period  BCE to
/ CE offer “the best available demographic source for any popula-
tion prior to the Renaissance.” Huebner starts from an age criterion,
defining as ‘single’ those fifteen and older who do not have a spouse living


Krause –.

While the starting year has traditionally been set in / CE, there now is evidence that dates the
first census to  BCE. See Claytor and Bagnall . The quote is from Bagnall and Frier : .
  
with them. Individuals aged fifteen years and older without a spouse living
with them are found in nearly every single household.
There was no specific term or stock description to denote their status.
They were younger or older, living with their parents, with married
brothers or sisters, with friends or other relatives, or with their own
children. Huebner reckons that at certain moments up to % of the
individuals in the census were unmarried singles, though their singleness
might very well have been temporary. Like all sources, the census docu-
ments have their limitations: there might have been changes in people’s
personal lives in the time span of fourteen years which escaped the census
declaration, and of course some couples might have been in a relationship
in the close vicinity, though without cohabitation. Be this as it may, the
documentation persuasively suggests that although marriage might very
well have been considered the ideal situation, a considerable part of the
population did not live according to this standard. As such, Huebner also
deals with gendered aspects of singleness, as for instance older women
living on their own, and being supported by slaves.
The archaeological record for residence and cohabitation is notoriously
difficult and sparse: the adage that the spade cannot lie, since it cannot tell
us anything significant surely is a truism which needs to be kept in mind
here. Yet, there exists a pressing need to combine the quantitative research
of archaeology with qualitative, in-depth studies of families and the family
experience. Hence, Anna Boozer’s contribution is nothing less than a tour
de force, since it offers access to the so-called ‘people without history’.
Looking at excavations across the Meditarranean, she strives to identify
rooms and places which might have been designated for single habitation:
apartments in the insulae, outposts for soldiers, fieldhouses which were
temporarily inhabited in times of harvest, signs of internal security in
houses (suggesting apprentices or servants living in a separate part of the
home). By making use of comparative anthropological evidence, Boozer
shows how we can provide best-guess scenarios for the lives of people
(temporarily) living alone in the rural communities, villages and cities of
the Imperium Romanum.
Though figures surely were different among the provinces, the socio-
economic necessity of dealing with slavery was a reality throughout the
Empire. In his paper, Wim Broekaert argues that the organisation of
the Roman economy, with its reliance on slave and freedman labour and
the social control exerted by masters and patrons, seriously complicated the
establishment of a harmonious family life for their social inferiors. Making
use of legal, literary and epigraphical evidence, Broekaert firstly focuses on
 What’s in a Single? 
the effects of slave labour on relationships within and outside the family.
Jobs created both opportunities and restrictions for the establishing of
(exclusive) relationships: those working inside the house were in a more
favourable position than itinerant merchants, seamen or slaves working the
land in the big latifundia. The second part of Broekaert’s chapter analyses
the economic value of slaves within the household and the importance of
slave-breeding. In a final section, Broekaert discusses the consequences of
manumission on previous relationships. How strong was a patron’s inclin-
ation to financially profit from his previous slaves, if this entailed the
disruption of family relationships? Roman law made a close connection
between profits to be expected by patrons and the family life of their
freedmen. If a Roman master first allowed relationships between house-
hold slaves to develop, and then decided to only manumit the male partner
before the age of thirty as a Junian Latin, he profited from both the child-
bearing capacity of his female slave and the use of his male slave as a
commercial agent. To secure his Roman citizenship by presenting a one-
year-old child born in marriage, it was then up to the freedman to make
heartbreaking decisions. He could either start a new relationship with a
free or freed woman who could bear him children, or he could wait until
his female slave partner was freed, with the risk that she had passed her
child-bearing years. Broekaert concludes that apart from all legal, social
and economic limitations inherent to the status of slave and freedman, the
difficulty of establishing satisfactory stable relationships was an additional
stumbling block on the way to emotional wellbeing.

. The Roman World

The second part focuses on the Roman non-Christian world. The scholarly
literature on Augustus’ marriage legislation is vast, but up to now many
aspects have not been highlighted sufficiently. It remains a big question
whether and how Augustus and his successors actually managed to pros-
ecute and penalise celibacy or childlessness. While the legal texts refer to
the “threatening terror of the laws” (Cod. Theod. ..), we know of
emperors and aristocrats being unmarried for a long period in their lives. In
the epigraphical Laudatio Turiae a husband praises his wife, who neverthe-
less never gave him children. Pliny’s correspondence was obviously a
publicity document par excellence – but this leading aristocrat also did


Broekaert offers possible scenarios. See Brooten  for an imaginative and empathical approach,
trying to sketch the disrupted family life of a late ancient child slave.
  
not comply with the Augustan legislation on marriage and children.
Drawing on her previous groundbreaking work on family and Roman
legislation, Judith Evans Grubbs explains the imperial marriage legislation
in the context of informers and prosecutors (delatores) in an aristocratic
milieu where reputation was always at stake, and blaming a political
opponent was very much part and parcel of everyday life. To Evans
Grubbs, the Augustan legislation was not a law penalising singles. It was
a law regulating marriage between the social orders and was part of a larger
body of ‘morals’ legislation that also targeted adultery. The law mandated
childbearing within legitimate marriage for citizens between certain ages. It
affected married couples and those living in concubinage just as much as
those living in celibacy or without a regular partner. The restrictions on
inheritance were not severe – those not married couldn’t inherit from
anyone outside of the sixth degree of kinship, and couples without
children could inherit only % of the other’s property. It did not affect
most family inheritance at all, since you could still inherit from your
parents, siblings, grandparents, and first and second cousins. Only the
senatorial elite who gave and received legacies beyond the sixth degree, and
others who for some reason might expect to inherit from a non-relative,
would be affected. The reason the law was so hated was that it ()
interfered with a Roman’s right to leave his property to whomever he
wanted; and () interfered with the private life of the upper class. In other
words, it interfered with the paterfamilias ’ right to manage his family and
his property. The fact that the inheritance rights of (some) unmarried
people were adversely affected was less significant at the time; it was only
later, with the emphasis on celibacy and widowhood found among Chris-
tians, that that aspect appeared particularly burdensome.
Literature obviously reflected the life and mentality of at least the urban
middle class and the higher classes in the Empire, and could even be
constitutive for it. This evidence should thus not be dismissed as merely
‘literary games’. As such, the study of some of the great ‘classical’ authors
forms an essential component of this volume.
Harri Kiiskinen points to ‘a surprisingly modern’ concept of singleness
in the Late Republic, as it can be gleaned from the poems by Catullus and
the speeches by Cicero. A subgroup of the Catullan poetry corpus
addresses persons who combine individual social agency with a non-
marital status. More often than not, these people are depicted as living a
youthful phase of their lives. However, their acts and behaviour are not
depicted as a happy-go-lucky lifestyle. On the contrary, their ‘living-and-
acting-alone’ is often presented as a lack of control. The poems call for
 What’s in a Single? 
the person, who is presented as having lost a sense of him/herself, to take
responsibility – and this seems to apply to persons of both genders.
A similar kind of decency-related argument is present in some of the
speeches by Cicero, where the person living alone is also suspect in
his morals.
Unmarried women are particularly noticeably in Virgil’s Aeneid. Dido is
the classical archetype of the univira, as a young widowed woman who
decided to stay unmarried, despite prospective marriage proposals. On the
one hand, she appears as an admirable moral exemplum: an educated,
civilised matron who was born and raised in the sphere of Greek culture.
On the other hand, she is depicted as wasting her fertile years in solitude.
Her reputation and the loss of it seems to have been constantly at stake:
she becomes an example of an unmarried widow who has an illegitimate
extramarital relationship. The warrior-maiden Camilla, for her part, is a
virgin by principle. Devoted to Diana as a child, she represents a religion-
based choice of celibacy, a rare instance in the pagan world. Elina Pyy’s
analysis of the figures of Dido and Camilla in a masterpiece of Augustan
literature views the Aeneid as a unique source for the Roman value
system and the understanding of female singleness in respect of the
Augustan legislation. Roman appreciation of and fascination with the
single woman balanced between interpretations of her as an example of
virtuous pudicitia or as a waste of the community’s resources – almost an
aberration from common standards.
Gender and literature is also the focus of another chapter, which deals
with ‘exceptional’ single women. Indeed, procuresses or brothel-keepsters
were ‘exceptional women’, even outsiders in the world of the Roman
aristocracy. Making use of both the literary evidence (mainly comedy,
satire and love elegy) and the legal sources, Mina Petrova sketches a vivid
picture of the complex cultural attitudes about lenae as they existed in
Roman society, as well as about the agency of these women who all seem to
have shared singleness as an attribute. Independence was a strong and
marked feature of such lenae: they were often older women for whom no
husband, children or any figure having control over them is mentioned.
Roman law often treated prostitutes and procuresses in the same fashion.
It was believed that a prostitute or a procuress never ceased to act as one, so
it was appropriate for such women to stay unmarried. In the literary
depiction of satire and elegy, such women are linked to witchcraft, ani-
mality, alcoholism, old age, bad health, hunger, poverty and repulsive
appearance. Petrova explains the ‘singleness’ of the lenae as the defensive
reaction of a society struggling to strenghten its own ‘immune system’.
  

. The Jewish World

Next to the Graeco-Roman tradition, the Jewish sources offer rich material
for discussions on marriage, procreation and the single life. Not only was
Jewish culture an integral part of the Roman Empire, it is also a condicio
sine qua non for understanding Christianity’s views on matters of marriage
and sexuality. Two contributions by scholars well-versed in the Hebrew
and Aramaic languages, as well as in the classical tradition, are one of the
great assets of this volume.
Given the strong emphasis on marriage and fertility which marked
Jewish culture, one wonders how Jews would have viewed the celibacy of
Jesus, the most famous rabbi in history. In his contribution, John Martens
examines the New Testament to determine what sort of evidence exists
there for Jesus’ singleness, especially concerning Jesus’ statements on the
purpose of sex and marriage and their relationship to the age to come, that
is, the eschatological expectation of the end of times. In addition, Martens
explores the reasons why a Jewish male in Antiquity might have remained
single and the precedents for such a choice within Judaism. Also, he
considers whether the singleness of Jesus might be seen in the context of
a turn to celibacy and asceticism at the edge of Antiquity in the broader
Roman Empire, examining some of the Roman laws promulgated at this
time and some of the works attributed to Musonius Rufus. Finally, if Jesus
was single, dedicated to the celibate life, what can we conclude reasonably
about the reasons and purposes for such a decision in Judaism and the
Roman Empire in his lifetime?
Obviously, Jewish culture did know examples of ascetic renunciation:
the Essenes, Qumran, some prophets, John the Baptist, or the pious
elderly and widowed figures of the Gospel birth narratives. Focusing on
the first generations of Jesus’ followers, in particular James the brother of
Jesus, Kevin Funderburk explains how they used celibacy and renunciation
to contest the high priestly families and the Pharisees for legitimacy within
the larger Jewish world. Based on Davidic priestly prerogatives and ten-
dency to inclusivity, this Jesus movement conceived of its purity as
broader, infectious and available to all who were willing to submit to
communal standards. That they did so in an urban milieu was unseen
before. Funderburk also explains how later Christians, particularly Tatian
and those of the Syriac tradition, partially remembered and substantially
reinterpreted those ascetic practices for different purposes in the following
centuries.
 What’s in a Single? 

. Late Antiquity

Moving to Late Antiquity, it seems as if the source material on the single
life steadily increases. Indeed, the anecdotal tradition, private correspond-
ence and autobiographical narratives of private life – genres which flour-
ished in this period – reveal many details on the choices and motivations of
those who embraced the unmarried single life.
Apart from the literary evidence, Christian culture also had a flourishing
epigraphic culture, at least in the city of Rome. So far, epigraphists have
rarely focused on mentions of single life in the inscriptions. Dedicatees being
explicitly mentioned as ἄγαμος or caelebs are subjects that first come to
mind, as well as those inscriptions in which persons are praised for being
virgins. However, such epigraphical mentions are rather scarce. In his
chapter, Thomas Goessens took on the challenge of looking for ‘singles’ in
the Christian epitaphs of Rome. He uses the term ‘single’ for someone who
was never in an exclusive relationship from a marriageable age to the time of
death. The inscriptions may have direct indications for such a state of life:
the lack of mention of commemorative relationships, the presence of self-
commemoration or the use of specific terminology. However, such a ‘direct
approach’ is not always the best way to identify singles. Instead, the combin-
ation of different elements might refine the search for singles in the epi-
graphical record: absence of any reference to a marital state, the age at death
and the presence of other commemorative relationships are the three pivotal
factors in such a methodological approach. In all, singleness does not seem to
have been the preferred pattern: the vast majority of both men and women
above the mean age of first marriage were not commemorated as singles.
Rather than studying a large variety of texts, Raffaella Cribiore takes the
opportunity to focus on three persons, whose single life and motivations
for it are depicted in quite vivid details: the emperor Julian, who was forced
into a political union and never bothered to marry again after the death of
his wife in childbirth; the rhetor Libanius, who never went past the
betrothal to a cousin who died at a young age; and the Christian
Olympius, who was strongly attached to his mother, and who after her
death began to live with a group of women, supposedly virgins, who kept
house for him, and adopted two little girls. Both Olympius’ and Julian’s


Boyaval  collects inscriptions from Graeco-Roman Egypt in which dedicatees are mentioned as
ἄγαμος and ἄτεκνος (mostly Jewish inscriptions); Laes : – on virgins in the pagan
inscriptions of Rome.
  
abstinence from sex needs to be understood in their striving for asceticism
in many aspects of life. To Libanius, devotion to his art and profession was
the main motive for not entering into marriage. Tellingly, all three
somehow aspired to fatherhood. Libanius claimed that his students were
his actual children, and he had a son named Cimon by a woman from the
lower class; Julian’s lawful wife got pregnant, and Olympius’ household
included two little girls.
Drawing on a wide variety of late ancient sources, Ville Vuolanto has
scrutinised the interplay between family, children and asceticism in the rise
of Christianity in his recent book. Apparently, the ascetics were very keen
to present themselves as spiritual fathers or mothers. For his contribution,
Vuolanto has reexamined the material to focus on those texts which
explicitly mention the ascetic option to withdraw from marriage. In such
texts, divergent voices on the single life appear. It made a difference
whether one opted for the single life in an organised community, for an
ascetic life as a hermit in the desert or for asceticism at home. The latter
was undoubtedly the most chosen option. In most cases, the decision to
remain single and choose asceticism was not an individual decision, but a
family issue. In the case of women without a husband, living alone was not
an option, even if it were for ascetic reasons. Monastic communities were
represented as new households, and childless couples were encouraged to
adopt ascetics as family members. As such, ascetic communities in the East
before the end of the fourth century often ended up by including people of
both sexes. All such ascetic endeavours were somehow unified by their
desire to show how even the radical option for celibacy contributed to
society by producing spiritual offspring. Living as a single was translated
into the traditional terminology of family and marriage. Vuolanto aptly
concludes that Christianity did not advocate elite singleness in the sense of
living alone, rather it held unmarriedness in the sense of abstinence from
sex in high regard.
For the Latin world, Saint Augustine is the most famous instance of an
author giving extended motivations for his choice of the single life. The
Confessiones offer a detailed account of Augustine’s bachelorhood.
Throughout his twenties, he seems to have followed a trajectory similar
to most men in the Roman world. Living with concubines, having a child
by one of them and eventually contracting a betrothal to a girl who would
be twenty years his junior at marriage all collectively parallel broader
normative male patterns of delaying marriage until it became expedient
or necessary. But Augustine’s resistance to the married state transcended
such customary practices, his own sexual urges and even his decision to be
 What’s in a Single? 
baptised in the orthodox faith. His acceptance of Christianity and his
desire to retire from the world should therefore not be seen as a break with
his former life in this context, but rather as a continuation and a reinter-
pretation of the choice to remain unmarried. Geoffrey Nathan’s chapter
takes Augustine’s celibacy as a key issue to determine how we might
reconcile Augustine’s earlier life with his subsequent decision to retreat
from societal expectations, while in both cases remaining single.
Concluding the section on Late Antiquity, two contributions deal with
the transitory period announcing the Middle Ages. Stephanos Efthymiadis
takes the subject of singleness into the early Byzantine period. The material
is rich. On the one hand, both men and women could now refer to
singleness as their own choice and even as a holy purpose – an option or
engagement due to holy pressure, which became more and more accept-
able to the broader society without ever becoming a lifestyle or a proper
identity. On the other hand, some Byzantine hagiographical texts depict
the loneliness of a single’s life in the city of Constantinople in unusually
and surprisingly modern vivid detail. Also the fragility and vulnerability
of single women (travellers and prostitutes) are highlighted in picturesque
detail in the early Byzantine sources
Jennifer Cromwell’s chapter takes us from sixth- to eighth-century life
in Egyptian villages. Coptic papyri provide glimpses into the lives of
women who were either widows or divorcées and having to provide care
for their children. This small group of texts shows the economic difficulties
that they faced: some women, abandoned by their husbands, petitioned for
unpaid alimony; others sought mediation from Arab officials over unhon-
oured contracts or were supported by a local monastic community; mean-
while, other women were brought in front of local officials for theft. It
appears that in the documents two portraits of women were created. Some
acted independently as moneylenders or donators of children, but their
single or married state is not clear. Others were certainly alone and
explicitly mentioned this status to explain the severe problems they experi-
enced. At times, singleness proved a good argument for obtaining neces-
sary support.

. The Comparative Perspective

The comparative world approach seeks to explore how the Roman and the
late Roman world fit in the context of world history. For this, there is little

See already Efthymiadis .
  
use in mere juxtaposition, offering chapters on celibacy and singleness in
other periods of history, or in cultures and regions which are somehow
contemporary to the Roman period. Instead, three scholars dealing with
the single life in the past delivered comparative chapters. Their remarks
and responses question the ancient world from other perspectives, thereby
enabling dialogue and clarifying significant differences.
Rising in the Mediterranean world, early Islam was very much obsessed
with fertility and the reproduction of offspring, a feature it shared with
mainstream Semitic culture. Contrary to the Roman legislative tradition
which emphasised mutual consent in contracting the marriage, sexual
intercourse defined Islamic marriage. Moreover, the obligation to con-
tract a marriage became religiously sanctioned: marriage was the only way
to secure chastity, as all sexual practices outside of it were considered
unchaste. In the same way, procreation was imposed on a religious basis.
While Islam never had a tradition of monasticism with permanently
sexually abstinent holy men or women, there are some rare examples of
ascetic men or women abstaining from meat, wine and sex. As a specialist
in early Islam, Mohammed Hocine Benkheira points to both the similar-
ities and the differences between Islam and the late ancient world as
regards the valuation of singleness. Indeed, from the ninth and tenth
centuries on, a certain tradition of promoting singleness seems to have
existed even in Islam: to be able to exercise authority over others, ascetics
needed to be able to master themselves.
A recent volume for the first time explored the status of single men and
women in Northwestern European towns from the Late Middle Ages up
to . The so-called West European Marriage Pattern, characterised by
a relatively late age at first marriage, a relatively small age gap between
spouses and a large group of people who never married, seems to have
existed already in the late medieval period, especially in cities. From a legal
point of view, marital status was crucial for understanding issues of
performance and status for women. De facto, things turned out to be
different. While married women were legally under the coverture of their
husband, in real life they had more legal capability and a less limited legal
identity than one would assume. Also, widows were sometimes very
engaged actors on the property market, and they acted on their own
without a guardian. Moreover, due to the vagueness of the classical canon
law on marriage, women could be considered unmarried, while in reality


Cf. canonical law which takes the sexual consummation of marriage as constitutive for whether or
not the marriage has been contracted.
 What’s in a Single? 
they shared their lives with a male partner. Working alone in a late
medieval or early modern city was often not a profitable option in the
case of women, and in order to make ends meet, such singles often lived
together in the same dwelling. Making use of concrete cases, Julie De
Groot makes clear that the social and economic repercussions of being
single in late medieval society were no more straightforwaard than the
concept itself. Her careful distinction between ideals, legal thinking and
reality gives ample food for thought for ancient historians, for whom such
rich material is simply not available.
Finally, the chapter by Matteo Manfredini on the nineteenth-century
Status Animarum also serves as a caveat for ancient historians, who inevit-
ably have to paint with broad-brush strokes covering considerable time
spans and different regions. In the books kept by Italian parish priests,
local variety was strongly pronounced. Manfredini distinguishes between
unmarried people living with kin, persons living alone, unmarried servants
living in the home of their masters and unmarried people living together
with non-kin. In rural communities and mountain villages, there seems to
have been no significantly changing pattern of living alone. Apparently,
this was mostly a rare and temporary option, sometimes even a stigma in
mid-nineteenth-century Catholic Italian society. Urban environments on
the contrary seem to have had increasingly more people living on their
own. Celibacy was accepted and supported in various environments as a
sort of sacrifice in the name of family wellbeing: to avoid the dispersion
of land through inheritance in the case of aristocrats, to support an elderly
or sick family member, to control fertility in order to keep a balance
between scarce resources and population size in mountain communities,
or to ensure male control in sharecropping societies. On the eve of
Italian unification embedded in the principles of liberalism, unmarried
individuals in the cities were seen as a sort of threat to the new social and
political stability.

 Conclusions and Further Directions

The comparative material of the last three chapters reminds us of what
might have existed in the Roman world, but remains unknown to us.
For this, ethnographic parallels can also be useful. In some traditional
Serbian communities in the Mount Kopaonik region, adults who
remained unmarried for longer than deemed appropriate – note that no
exact age is mentioned – were re-swaddled using horse equipment or the
swaddling clothes of a first-born of the same sex. This custom expresses the
  
belief that the original swaddling had not secured a happy, that is, married
future. In the Roman world, a bed to the gods Pilumnus and Picumnus
was made in the house in the period between the birth and the naming day
of the baby. This could be a thanksgiving for the prosperous and fertile
marriage of the new parents, but it might also concern the future socialisa-
tion of the child, expressing the hope that it would marry and produce
offspring itself. However, no indications of a stigmatisation of the unmar-
ried and consequent ceremonies to improve their conditions are found in
the ancient material.
Other possible research paths come to mind. The Renaissance period
knew the tormented, solitary and melancholic intellectual, whose devotion
to books and study took away his desire to marry. Would such celibate
bookworms have had their predecessors in ancient times? The chapters by
Cribiore, Efthymiadis and Benkheira at least suggest a link, as does the
contribution by Martens, who mentions the Rabbi who would rather
study Torah than marry.
For more than one reason, this volume on singleness in the ancient
world is a child of its own time. First, the attention for the topic is very
much related to the rise of individualism and the ever-increasing financial
independence for both young males and females in the Western world
after the rise of industrialisation. These factors have made possible the
emergence of a singles’ identity – singleness becoming a deliberate choice
and a lifestyle, which does not need to be supported anymore by adducing
religious motivations. For demographic and economic reasons, such an
option remains a strange and almost impossible one for a large part of the
current world population.
Second, in the wake of Roman family studies, recent attention has been
given to the variety and multiplicity of family experiences. It has been
claimed that it is perhaps better to speak about Roman ‘families’, that
individual family members should be given due attention, and that ‘other’
forms of families need to be studied.


Vukanovic : – on the Serbian case; Graham :  for the possible parallel in the
Roman world.

Van Houdt  offers a vivid and extended account on humanist bookworms. For late ancient
philosophers, see Clark .

Witness such popular recent bestsellers as Heine () Single, Carefree, Mellow: Stories and Bolick
() Spinster. Making a Life of One’s Own.

Laes, Mustakallio and Vuolanto  on diversified Roman families; Laes and Vuolanto b on
children’s experience; Huebner and Nathan  on fatherlessness.
 What’s in a Single? 
In the end, the term ‘single’ has turned out to be as multi-layered as the
evidence which we used. Archaeological material and documentary census
lists may be revealing for such topics as cohabitation versus solitary
existence. Legal and philosophical/theological texts often concentrate on
the matter of whether or not to marry. Petitions highlight the economic
conditions of the single life. And the literary records inform us on emo-
tions such as solitude or loneliness, and the praising or loathing of people
who decide to opt for singleness.
“One uses what one has, and there is work to be done”. True, when
Sir Ronald Syme (–) uttered these words, he was candid in
admitting that he was not much interested in comparative methodological
studies. Also, Syme’s interest was more political and institutional. How-
ever, it is my and all the contributors’ hope to show with this book that
Syme’s claim counts as well for sociocultural history. Much of the material
on the single life is fragmented, dispersed and somewhat confused, but the
little we have is worth exploring and offers fascinating glances on both the
practicalities and the ideals of family life in a past which has in more than
one way shaped our present world.
Demographic, Archaeological and
Socioeconomic Approaches
  

Single Men and Women in Pagan Society:

The Case of Roman Egypt
Sabine R. Huebner

In every house of Christians it is needful that there be a virgin,

For the salvation of the house is this one virgin.
(Ps.-Athanasius, can. )

 Singlehood in Roman Egypt in a Comparative Perspective

Having a never-married adult family member living in the household is
usually considered to be a phenomenon that surfaced with the rise of
Christianity. Athanasius of Alexandria, for instance, ordered in the third
quarter of the fourth century CE that every paterfamilias should keep one
of his daughters unmarried at home in order to bring a blessing on his
house. And Egyptian patresfamilias seem to have followed his admon-
ition. The Historia monachorum in Aegypto, written at the end of the
fourth century, says of Oxyrhynchus: “We were told by the holy bishop
of that place that it contained , virgins and , monks.” Even
if these numbers are surely exaggerated, we do find several holy virgins in
our late antique papyri described as monachai (nuns), aeiparthenoi
(lifelong virgins) and monachai apotaktikai (nuns living in seclusion).
Most of these unmarried women – as far as we are informed – lived with
their natal families, with parents, brothers or sisters, and not, as we would
imagine, in a monastery. The first man denoted as “single” (monachos)
appears together with a deacon in a petition from the Egyptian village of
Karanis in the Arsinoite nome dating to the year  (P.Col. VII.:
“And if I had not happened to get help from Antoninus, diakon and

 
Riedel and Crum : . Elm :  n. ; Rapp : .
 
Historia monachorum in Aegypto .–. PSI . from / CE.

P.Lips. I. from earlier than  CE; P.Lips. I. from  CE.

P.Oxy. XLIV. from  CE.


  . 
Isaac, monachos, who came along, they would quickly have finished me
off completely”). Egyptian monasticism probably began several decades
before Anthony the Great first retreated to the desert around , and
the movement of monasticism seems to have been well established in the
early fourth century, so that Isidorus could refer in this official document
to the monk without any accompanying explanation for his title. Monks
were apparently widely recognized within their town or village also
among non-Christians, as Isidorus, the author of the petition, and
Dioscorus, the praepositus pagi, most probably were pagans, and the
deacon and monk appear to have been authoritative witnesses that could
be called upon.
However, were those unmarried men and women living in sexual
abstinence despite their marriageable age really a novelty? Had there
been basically no never-married men and women in pre-Christian
Roman times? When reading Roman literary or legal sources, we gain
the impression that apart from the Vestal Virgins and eunuch priests of
Cybele there were hardly any single women or men in Roman society – if
we equate single with sexually abstinent. Roman daughters were married
as soon as they reached puberty, and young widows or divorcées were
remarried swiftly. Every Roman man was also expected to marry – even if
he could take his time – to eventually produce legitimate offspring.
Augustan marriage law (lex Iulia et Papia Poppaea) encouraged singles
to marry and barred singles from inheriting if they were not willing to
marry within a -day period (Ulp. Frag. .). Those widowers and
widows who would have preferred to remain single after the first spouse’s
death were given a two-year ultimatum to find a new partner; divorcées
had just one and a half years to find a new spouse (Ulp. Frag. ). Only
after the age of  for women and  for men could divorcées or
widowers remain unmarried if they wished to do so without incurring
penalties under the law (Ulp. Frag. ). Extant copies of the Gnomon of
the Idios Logos, a handbook for the Roman official of the ‘private


P.Col. VII. = P.Coll.Youtie II., ll. –: καὶ εἰ μὴ βοηθείας ἔ̣τυχο(ν) ὑπὸ τῶν παραγενομένων
Ἀντωνίνου διάκονος καὶ Ἰσὰκ μοναχοῦ τάχα ἂν τέλεόν με ἀπώλεσαν. Cf. Choat : –; Judge
: –; Morard : –; Wipszycka : –.

If we include among the Roman singles in pre-Christian times also those that did not enter formal
marriages but surely had sexual encounters, we have to mention members of the Roman military and
their companions, male and female prostitutes, and slaves, who were barred per se from entering into
a legal marriage.

On Augustan marriage law see Evans Grubbs, in this volume.
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
account’ (idios logos), show that Augustan marriage laws were also applied
to Roman citizens in Egypt.
Let us consider the Roman marriage pattern from a comparative per-
spective: I concluded elsewhere that Roman Egyptian society belongs
to the Mediterranean marriage pattern rather than the Northwestern
European one. The so-called Mediterranean marriage pattern was shaped
by early age at marriage for women, nearly universal marriage, a consider-
able age gap between spouses, high fertility and high mortality, patrivir-
ilocal residence for newlywed couples (versus neolocal patterns in
Northwestern Europe) and no life-cycle service for young females in the
Mediterranean. This led in the Mediterranean countries in the early
modern period to a very low percentage of single women, whereas the
proportion of unmarried women in Northwestern Europe accounted for
about % of the adult female population. This divergence between
Northwestern Europe and the Mediterranean has been explained by
demographers and anthropologists according to various factors: different
patterns of inheritance systems, greater infant mortality in the South and
therefore the need to exploit women’s fertile years to the maximum,
and the importance of female chastity for family honor in the Mediterra-
nean and therefore the need to marry daughters as early as possible.
My main sources for studying the demographic background of single-
ness in Antiquity will be the census returns that have survived on papyri
from the Roman province of Egypt. The census returns embrace a time
range of about  years from the reign of Augustus to the mid-third
century, and they provide us with the only demographic evidence that
allows us to draw conclusions with some reliability about frequency of
marriage and age at first marriage, and therefore proportions of single men
and women in Antiquity. The census returns from Roman Egypt offer the
best available source for studying the proportion of singles in ancient
society or any other population prior to the Renaissance. Nearly
 documents dating from / BCE to / CE have survived on


The Gnomon prescribed that “inheritances left to Roman women possessing , sestertii, if
unmarried and childless, are confiscated” (chap. ) and that “Romans possessing more than ,
sestertii, if unmarried and childless, do not inherit, but those who have less, inherit” (chap. )
(Capponi : ).

Huebner : , .

In early modern Northwestern societies, young unmarried people sought employment in other
people’s households as servants for a period of five to ten years before they married, as a means to
save money to establish an independent household with their future spouse. Cf. Kowaleski :
–.
  
Kowaleski : –. Kowaleski : –. Cf. Bagnall and Frier : .
  . 
papyrus and are now held in collections all over the world. Most of these
documents originate from the second century CE and come from Middle
Egypt, where papyri had a better chance of surviving in the dry desert
sands. In those nearly  census returns more than  households,
almost , individuals, are recorded.
While Roman lawgivers dealing with marriage and succession were mainly
concerned with the Roman elite and their propensity for marriage, we know
hardly anything about the proportion of single men and women among the
middle and lower strata of the population. All the more important in this
regard are thus the census returns from Roman Egypt. Most of the women
and men who registered in the census were of humble origin and belonged to
the lower and middle social strata of their community. We have many
artisans, small traders and peasant farmers. The rest were landowners who
were able to live off the revenue from their land, and only a few profession-
als. Slaves accounted for % of all the persons registered in the census
lists. Villages are underrepresented: returns from the metropoleis account
for roughly % of all our data, though their population constituted prob-
ably only one-third to one-half of those of the surrounding villages.
Every fourteen years the head of each household, normally the eldest
male, had to file such a census return to facilitate future taxation. He had to
declare his property and the persons who lived in his household, that is, not
only his immediate family, but also lodgers and slaves. The census thus
recorded all members of every household, including their names, filiations,
ages, physical characteristics (such as a scar on the forehead), relation to
the respective head of household and sometimes also their occupations.

 What Difference Does a Husband Make?

One issue, however, thwarts our desire to learn more about singles in
Roman Egyptian society: the absence of any indication of marital status.


For the beginning of the census see Bagnall  and now Claytor and Bagnall .

According to Bagnall and Frier , the returns of  households contained useful information
on at least one or more residents (p. ), with those of another  households containing
information on at least one or more residents in their addenda not taken into account in the
main book (pp. –).

Cf. Goessens, in this volume for a study of the epigraphic evidence on singles from the city
of Rome.

Cf. Tacoma : . However, the town councils, instituted in , only overlapped with the
census by fifty years.
 
Bagnall and Frier : –. Bagnall and Frier : .

Bagnall and Frier : ; –. Cf. for the fourth century Bagnall : –.
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
Marital status is not given in the census or in hardly any other documen-
tary evidence. We only know that an individual was married when he or
she was co-residing with his or her spouse; an existing marriage where
spouses were living in different households or a previous marriage that had
ended can only be recognized by the presence of children in the same
household. Divorce was easy to obtain in Roman Egypt. As informally as a
marriage was entered into, as easily it could be severed. It was probably
already enough if the couple ceased living together in the same household.
Either partner could ask for a divorce, and not infertility but rather
incompatibility seems to have been the most common reason for
divorce. Divorce agreements merely stipulated the return of the dowry
and settled any remaining conflicts and reasons for litigation for good.
A widow or divorcée without children, for instance, who had returned to
her parents’ household would be impossible to distinguish from a never-
married woman. The same applies to a widower or divorcé without
children living in his paternal household. I have searched in vain not only
in the census returns but also among the vast corpus of Greco-Roman
papyri for mentions of marital status such as unmarried, divorced,
widowed, in a domestic partnership and so on. There was no term for
being single: women were defined as daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts,
nieces, wives or widows; men as sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, nephews,
husbands or widowers. There was no term for either ‘old maid’ or
‘confirmed bachelor’. Moreover, the ancient Greek word for adult female
that we find in the papyri (gyne/γυνή) was the same as for wife, and the
word for adult male (aner/ἀνήρ) was the same as for husband. Being adult
and being married was therefore literally synonymous.
We do occasionally come across the term parthenos for an unmarried
young woman, but its occurrence is rare – and does not necessarily imply
that the girl was a virgin in the modern sense of the word. The latter point
is very well illustrated by a text from the archive of Ptolemaios, a katochos at


For the same situation in sixth- to eighth-century Egypt cf. Cromwell, in this volume.

Bagnall and Frier : ; Montserrat : –. For Byzantine Egypt see Cromwell, in this
volume.

Montserrat : .

While the English language has several alternative terms for unmarried men and women depending
on their age and status (confirmed bachelor for unmarried men; virgins for young and never-
married women; spinsters or old maids for never-married women of advanced age; widow(er)s or
divorcé(e)s in case of a previous marriage), we have searched unsuccessfully for most of these terms
in the papyri.

We find the same phenomenon also in some modern languages such as French (femme for woman
and wife) and German (Frau/Mann for woman/man and wife/husband).
  . 
the Serapeion near Memphis from the second century : “I am going
along the avenue of the Serapeum with a woman called Tages, a virgin
(parthenos). I am talking to her, saying: ‘Tages, is your heart weary because
of the sex I had with you?’ She said: ‘She will be hard against me, my sister
Thotortais [. . .].’” Apparently, premarital sex did not change her status
as “virgin” – parthenos.
Furthermore, the fact that a young woman named Zenarion from the
second century  is called a parthenos in her marriage contract does not
necessarily mean that women in Roman Egypt were generally expected to
be virgins when they first married. In this case, things might be different,
though. In this marriage contract, drawn up by the young woman’s father
and her future husband, a Roman citizen named M. Petronius Servillius,
parthenos may stress the physically “intact” never-married young woman,
as Roman legal sources and elite authors expect an upper-class paterfamilias
to watch over his unmarried daughters’ sexual purity and restrain them
from premarital sexual transgressions. Montserrat even argued that
Zenarion’s virginity is an integral part of this marriage arrangement –
an exceptional case, however, as several other known marriage contracts
from the Greco-Roman period regulate a married wife’s sexual conduct
during her marriage but not whether she entered the marriage as a virgin.
Nowhere else to my knowledge is premarital chastity, a girl’s intact
virginity, or the seduction or the rape of a virgin discussed among the
Greco-Roman pre-Christian papyri.
This changes, however, from the fourth century on, when Christianity
conquered Egypt. A father warned his son to desert his bride when the son
detected during the wedding night that her virginity was not intact: “As for
the eldest son, Paphnute, he took a wife against my wishes. I was very
grieved about this, for his life did not run smoothly from the time that he
married her, quarrels and disturbances happening in his affairs. They came
south to me and told me the reason: her virginity had not been intact
(at marriage).”
The concept of an aeiparthenos, a woman who led a chaste life and had
never been married, was a purely Christian concept that has not been
found in the papyri of previous times. Indubitably there did exist
concerns about the legal and economic independence of unmarried


P.Dem.Bologna ; Bresciani et al. : –; trans. Rowlandson : .
 
P.Mich. VII.. Laes : –, nn.  and ; Caldwell .

Montserrat : –.

P.KRU .– from the eighth century; trans. Rowlandson : .

Cf. e.g. P.Lips. I. from the fourth century.
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
women, and their sexual activity or chastity for the sake of begetting
legitimate children – but the sources for Roman Egypt remain silent
on this issue. Rape or illegitimate sexual intercourse is basically never
mentioned in the papyri of Greco-Roman times. This lack of concern
whether a bride was a virgin or had been married before seems to have
been peculiar to Greco-Roman Egypt. Jewish marriage contracts of
the same period stress a bride’s virginity at the wedding. The Jewish “bride
gift” paid by the groom was thus set twice as high for a virgin than for a
divorcée or widow.
The instances where marital status is discussed in the documentary
papyri are rare: widows (cherai/χῆραι) use their former marital status to
their advantage when appealing to officials, stressing the defenselessness
and vulnerability of widowed women and their orphan children in order to
gain support. Never-married women or divorcées (unless we take cherai/
χῆραι to designate both widows and divorcées) did not use their marital
status, which probably at least occasionally brought them into precarious
situations, to their advantage when appealing to officials.
This apparent lack of interest in marital status might be connected to
the informality of marriage in and of itself. In Roman Egypt, marriages
were formed essentially by cohabitation; there were no legal formalities
around getting married. The dinner, as we can see in invitations to
wedding parties, was the central part of the ceremony. Drawing up a
marriage contract was an option, but it was not essential for the validity of
the union. The state was not involved in these private matters and
considered them probably what they were – private.
We do not have private letters discussing either that it would be time for
so-and-so to get married, that it was shameful that the widow so-and-so
got married again so quickly, or that widower so-and-so was already
marrying his fifth wife. Even so, individuals asked oracles whether it was
granted to them to marry or, more precisely, to marry a specific person.
Asklepiades from the village of Soknopaious Nesos, for instance, asked the


Harlow and Laurence (: ) and Hersch (: ) both stress the importance that was paid to
bridal virginity in Roman society.

Cf. Montserrat : –.

Bryen : . This changes later in Byzantine times when we hear of monks raping women
(Montserrat : ; Rousselle : –).

P.Yadin. I. from  CE, Petra.

Cf. Cromwell, in this volume for widows in Byzantine Egypt.

Cf. Rowlandson : , .

P.Oxy. III. (second century CE); P.Oxy. I. (third century CE); cf. Winter : .

P.Oxy. IX. (second century CE); Winter : –.
  . 
god whether it was granted to him to marry Tapetheus, the former wife of
Horion, or whether she would marry someone else. The fact that
Tapetheus was a divorcée apparently did not lessen her attraction for
Asklepiades nor her general chances on the marriage market. Women once
married were, however, expected to be faithful to their husbands, while
husbands were merely not allowed to bring another woman into the
household or have children with another woman. Husbands’ extramarital
affairs seem to have been socially condoned.
Furthermore, the sexual conduct of widows or divorcées is never dis-
cussed in the papyri. Were those women supposed to live a chaste life? We
know that widows and divorced women from the age of  rarely remar-
ried, but did this also mean that they refrained from sexual relationships?
We do have quite a number of single women heading their own household
in which they lived with their children and/or slaves. A certain -year-old
Tatybynchis from Philadelphia in the Arsinoite nome was the owner of the
house in which she lived with her -year-old daughter. She most likely
did have the autonomy to lead her life as she wished, at least inside her
home. If she had a lover, what her family or her village community would
have thought about this we will never know. The papyri remain strangely
silent about these issues.
Other single women even lived with men they were not related to.
Aurelia Syra, a -year-old widow from the metropolis of Arsinoe, lived
with her three sons (,  and  years old) in her own house. She had
taken in her -year-old deceased husband’s brother together with the
latter’s son. The wife of her brother-in-law was also dead, and so the two
widowed thirty-somethings lived together under one roof – unmarried but
probably still as a couple.
Young divorcées or widows who did not command their own house-
holds usually returned to live with their parents or brothers; their sexual
life was then probably under much more scrutiny than if they lived on
their own.
The papyri also remain silent about the sexual outlets of young life-cycle
singles, that is, young men between maybe  and  and girls in their
teenage years before they got married, but also young divorced or widowed


Chrest.Wilck.  from  CE.

P.Tebt. I. from  BCE and BGU . from  BCE; cf. Peterman : –. The
reason for divorce often seems to have been the fact that one of the partners wanted to contract a
marriage with someone else.

Bagnall and Frier : -Ar-.
 
Bagnall and Frier : -Ar- (BGU .), from / CE. Cf. Montserrat : .
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
men and women. Were there any restrictions about their sexual life, and
was extramarital consensual intercourse between unmarried individuals
socially condoned?
It also becomes clear that not all parents were eager to see their children
marrying. The old beer-seller from third-century  Philadelphia was
devastated when her daughter left her to live with a man instead of staying
with her mother and helping with her business: “She was managing the
store (with me) and supported me, since I am old. Now, therefore,
I sustain loss since she is gone, and I myself do not have the necessities.”
While younger single women still found male support from fathers, uncles
and brothers, older single women who had no children had lost this
support and had no men at all to rely on. Here even a daughter became
paramount to one’s survival in old age.

 Looking for Singles in the Roman Census

If we want to look for singles in the Roman Egyptian census returns and
these singles are not denoted as such, we first define those whom we want
to consider being single. Someone who was living alone – regardless of
whether he or she was in a stable non-cohabiting sexual relationship?
Someone who never married? Someone who was divorced or widowed
and chose not to or was unable to remarry? Someone who was apparently
co-residing with his or her life partner but was not formally married to him
or her? In Roman Egypt this would be for instance the case for slaves, who
were unable to marry, and the consorts of Roman soldiers, who could only
enter into informal unions during their partners’ active service.
Furthermore, as regards the definition of a single, where do we want to
draw the line as regards age? Legal adulthood started in Roman Egypt for
girls at age  and for boys at age . Girls started getting married around
the age of obtaining legal adulthood, and by their late twenties virtually all
women seem to have been married at least once. Young men, on the
other hand, enjoyed their youth and single life for about five to ten more
years before they started getting married in their late teens; many married
in their early twenties. However, only by their early fifties do most men
seem to have been married at least once, marking a pronounced difference


Montserrat : : “The whole question hinges on how much access people had to each other,
which is not easy to reconstruct.”

P.Lond. VII. from  BCE; trans. Bagnall and Cribiore : .
 
Bennett and Froide : . Bagnall and Frier : –.
  . 
between male and female marriage patterns in Roman Egypt. If the usual
age of first marriage for women was in their mid-teens, was every woman
above the age of  who was currently not married to be considered a
single? Likewise, if on average all men were married by the age of , was
every unmarried man above that age a single? Or should we also count all
unmarried men in their late teens and twenties as single? For even if it was
common that a man in his twenties was not yet married, he was single
nonetheless, a so-called life-cycle single who most likely married a few
years later.
I thus decided to choose as a benchmark the age of , not because that
age marked a certain turning point in an ancient life, but to allow for
comparisons with modern census data. The modern census usually takes
the age of  as a marker of having reached reproductive age and as a
benchmark for calculating the percentage of singles in a population.
In the following, I distinguish between life-cycle singles, that is, singles
who remained unmarried for a certain number of years before they eventu-
ally married, and lifelong singles, who never married at all. The years
between age  and the mean age of marriage thus constitute the mean
years of life-cycle singlehood young people experienced. Bagnall and Frier
established for Roman Egypt a mean age at marriage for women of  years
and for men of  years. This would mean that young women in Roman
Egypt experienced on average three years of singlehood before marriage,
while young men had ten years as singles before marrying. Only for
young men there thus existed this extended transitional stage of being single
preceding the ultimate destiny of marriage.
Having decided to keep it simple when analyzing the Roman Egyptian
census returns with a view to finding out more about singles in Antiquity,
I counted everyone at and above the age of  who was currently not
married, judging by the absence of a co-residing spouse, regardless of
whether he or she already had children, or whether she or he was living
alone or with other people in one household. That means the only two
factors under consideration are age and co-residence, but not the absence
or presence of children and respective household composition.
We have to be aware that, when analyzing these unmarried individuals,
we are dealing with a widely diverse group – females, males, young, old,
wealthy and poor, healthy and sick or disabled – that shared one common
condition, namely that they were living outside the mainstream ideal of

  
Bagnall and Frier : . Kowaleski : –. Cf. Kowaleski : –.

Cf. on Roman mean age at marriage for women: Scheidel : .
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
marriage. Singleness could have been marked by a wide range of diverse
situations in which a person might find him- or herself unmarried: by
choice if they deliberately chose not to (re)marry for personal reasons
(homosexuality, religious faith), by chance (the right person never came
along), by necessity (young children from a first marriage, ailing parents
who needed care) or because of adverse fate (war, sickness or death of a
suitor). Most of the time the sources remain silent about the reasons for
someone’s singleness.

 The Demographic Background for Singles in Roman Egypt

We have in total , personal entries of individuals among the surviving
Roman Egyptian census return that can be reconstructed more or less
completely. Of those , persons,  were above the age of , that
is, basically half of the population (.%). In Germany in  the
proportion of people above the age of  encompassed an impressive
% of the population. A proportion similar to that of Roman Egypt
exists in present-day Niger, with just % of the population being  years
and older, and to a slightly lesser degree in many other contemporary
central African countries.
For Roman Egypt, we find  persons of the adult population
(N=) over the age of  who were single, a striking %. That a
considerable proportion of the adult population was not married at
any point can thus hardly be considered a modern phenomenon of the
twenty-first century but in Roman Antiquity a very common way of
life for many people. In the following we want to look at the details
of this phenomenon.
I excluded slaves from the calculations because slaves were single by
definition. It was legally impossible for them to contract a valid marriage
either with another slave or with a freed person or free person. Further-
more, informal companions are difficult to detect in the census returns,
and always a matter of speculation. Moreover, any children borne by a
slave woman were slaves themselves, with the status of the mother passed
to the child regardless of whether the father was a slave or free(d) person.
The majority of the slaves found in the census returns of Roman Egypt


Bagnall and Frier  speak of , individuals (p. ), but I subtracted  slaves (p. ) and
added another  individuals recorded in the census returns that only became available after Bagnall
and Frier’s book was in print (pp. –).

Cf. Population Reference Bureau .
  . 
were female, supplying domestic labor to the more affluent households of
the towns and villages of Middle Egypt, and many of them had children
living with them. These slaves were forced to remain single even if many of
them might have lived in steady partnerships. Only if manumitted could
they contract a legal marriage.
Domestic servants, similar to the life-cycle servants of early modern
Northwestern Europe, do not seem to have existed in Roman Egypt as
such, unless we interpret lodgers – often living as a family unit and
registered with the head of household’s family – as servants of the family.
The  singles mentioned above lived in  different households,
some of which contained more than one single. In total we have sufficient
data for  different households. That means that we would have found a
single in more than every other household, and that on average every
household with singles contained . singles.
Let us split up the singles by sex: of a total of  females over the age of
, of them were not married. That means nearly half, %, of the
female adult population over  was unmarried. In early Renaissance
Tuscany the percentage of single women accounted for around % of
the female population; the percentage in Roman Egypt was therefore
basically ½ times higher.
Distinguishing between those single women with and without children,
we find just over a fifth (/ = .%) of the adult females were
unmarried but had children living with them, and therefore most of them
had certainly been married before. However,  of those  females over
the age of  were living without children of their own, that is, .% of
the female adult population. There is no way to tell whether these women
had never been married or had left their children behind in the latter’s
paternal household. Some of these women might even have been married,
but their marriage had remained childless or any children had died early.
Renaissance Tuscany is often compared to Roman Egypt because of the
similarities in its demographic background. Here, however, the proportion
of lifelong single women accounted for just –% in urban areas and less
than % in rural regions.
Finally, in Roman Egypt there was a fundamental difference between
never-married women and widows without children, on one side, and
widows with children, on the other. Whereas the former remained for all
their life in a dependent position as daughter, sister, niece or aunt of the
head of household, we find the latter often herself as head of household,

Kowaleski : .
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
managing her late husband’s estate and rearing their joint children inde-
pendently. If such a widow had borne three or more children, she did
not even need a tutor anymore for her business actions. Single as a
common term for these women, defining them merely by their status as
currently not-being-married, is therefore surely not sufficient to assign
them to one group.
More reliable indicators of the actual proportions of never-married or
widowed or divorced proportions of the populations are probably the
numbers for the adult male population, since children in cases of divorce
or death of one parent usually remained living with their father or father’s
family. Since ever-married status is only discernible by the presence of
children in the household and children usually remained in their father’s
household, they thereby serve as an indicator of their father’s ever-married
status. Age at first marriage for men was on average five to ten years later
than for women. Let us look again at the numbers: of the total of  adult
males over the age of  recorded in the census returns,  of them
were currently not married. That is .% of the adult male population,
about % less than the single adult female population. Furthermore, many
of these men we find in the Roman Egyptian census returns should
probably be characterized as ‘life-cycle singles’ rather than as lifelong
singles, individuals who remained unmarried for a period of one, five, or
even ten years and then married or remarried.
On average, women in Roman Egypt were married to men who were
about five to ten years their elder, and so younger wives married to
considerably older men had a good chance of outliving their husbands.
Because widowed women, however, regularly chose not to remarry once
they were over the age of  (age per se mattered probably less here than
living circumstances, household composition and the number of children
borne by this age), the age gap between spouses became smaller in surviv-
ing marriages. The opposite is true for men – the younger they got
married, the smaller was the age gap with their spouse: in their twenties,
their wives were on average four years younger than them; in their fifties,
however, they had wives on average more than ten years younger than
them. This correlates with the pattern of men remarrying regularly even in
their forties and fifties.
Taking into account the age gap, Bagnall and Frier have found that
young men on the marriage market in Roman Egypt might have encoun-
tered serious obstacles to winning a bride. Not only did young men in
 
Cf. Froide : . Cf. Bagnall and Frier : ; Huebner : –.
  . 
their twenties outnumber young women in their mid-teens, but young
men also competed for a wife with older men who were looking to
remarry. Since widows did not reenter the marriage market from about
age , some men necessarily must have stayed single or were not able to
remarry even if they wished to do so.
Of the  adult males,  were living without wives and children. This
means that about .% of the male adult population had therefore
apparently never been married or had been married but did not produce
offspring, or had been married and the children had died. That also means
that the vast majority of unmarried men (.%) did not have children.
Of the  adult males,  (.%) were single with children, or  of 
unmarried men (.%).

 Old Maids and Confirmed Bachelors in the Roman Census?

What is important to recognize is that the pressure of being married surely
varied according to the individual’s stage in life. Whereas the majority of
the female and male population was still single around puberty, it seems to
have been expected that women married before the age of . Men could
delay getting married for a considerably longer period until their late
twenties or even early thirties before they would have experienced the
pressure of their families and peers. In early and mid-adulthood, being
married was clearly the normative and expected social role; men and
women who refused to succumb to societal expectations were probably
severely criticized for their lifestyle choice. This prejudice, however, just
applied to the never-married singles. For widows who already had children
from their first union, the expectation of their remarrying was less strong
and with advancing age diminished probably to zero.
Most men and women in the Roman Egyptian census probably con-
sidered married life as the ideal living circumstance in adulthood, but the
high numbers of singles in Roman Egyptian society imply that singlehood


Bagnall and Frier : . For the sex ratio in Roman Egypt, see Bagnall and Frier : –.

Bagnall and Frier (: –) state that around the age of , half of all men were married and
around three-fifths of women were married. Bagnall and Frier then claim that around age  nearly
all men were married or seem to have been married. Men according to them thus needed a much
longer time span to get married than women, for whom nearly universal marriage is claimed at the
age of . However, twenty-nine men age  and older seem never to have been married, versus
fifty-six men age  to . That means of all unmarried men whose age can be ascertained, %
were  years and older, and  men or % were older than .
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
did not come with a social stigma. Being single likewise did not automatic-
ally go hand in hand with poverty or loneliness.
Inheritance in Roman Egypt was partible: daughters inherited as much
as their brothers, and children inherited from both of their parents,
father and mother; spouses, on the other hand, did not inherit from each
other. That means that a widowed or divorced woman was not automatic-
ally better off than a never-married woman.
Moreover, the most common form of residence for the majority of the
population was the joint family household consisting of several married
couples related via the male line, together with their offspring. Daughters
left their father’s household upon marriage to move into their bride-
groom’s household; sons, however, remained in the paternal household,
bringing their young brides into an already established household consist-
ing of their parents and siblings, and potentially even uncles and aunts,
cousins and even grandparents. When women divorced or became widows,
they usually returned to their paternal home.
According to the household life cycle prevalent in Roman Egypt, an
unmarried man or woman would have therefore lived with parents, if still
alive, with unmarried or married brothers and the latter’s wives and
children, and with any unmarried sisters. As son or daughter of the head
of household, one was lacking neither standing nor financial security.
However, once the parent generation was dead, living with sisters-in-law
arguing over the division of work, authority and resources would seem
much less desirable.
We can in fact observe in the census returns the tendency that young
women who still had two living parents and younger siblings seem to have
had towards delaying marriage into their mid-twenties, while women
whose parents had died early, or whose older brothers were already married
and were living with their wives and children in the household, married in
their early teens.

 The Age Gap between Spouses, and Life-cycle Singleness

In Roman Egypt, women started marrying around the age of , three-
fifths of all women were married by age , and virtually all women had
married by their late twenties – at least according to Bagnall and Frier.
Bagnall and Frier attribute the substantial number of women in their


The eldest son often received a double share, though (Huebner : –).

Bagnall and Frier : .
  . 
mid-twenties who seem to have never been married to a statistical fluke,
since slightly fewer women are attested for this age range, from  to 
years, than for the age ranges from  to  and  to  years. However,
should we not rather believe that we are dealing here with divorcées and
widows who were either still childless or who had returned to their paternal
home, leaving their children behind in the latter’s paternal home?
Assuming from this meager evidence that all of the many women in
their twenties, thirties or forties in the census who did not have a husband
or children living with them had been married before does not rest on a
solid basis. Of the  apparently never-married women in the census
returns whose age we can ascertain,  women, or more than %, were
 years or older.
But there might be further reasons why some men and women delayed
marriage for so many years, while their coevals jumped into marriage right
away. Here demographic factors and the traditional age gap between
spouses come into play. The explanation is simple: as in many other
premodern societies, dowering a daughter might have been paramount
to contracting a legal marriage. Since there was no civil wedding or
religious ceremony, but marriage just consisted of an unwritten or written
private contract between two parties, the relocation of the bride to her
groom’s household and the transfer of the dowry probably constituted the
commonly recognized critical elements of a marriage.
Botticini has shown for fifteenth-century Tuscany that the younger the
bride was at her wedding, the smaller the dowry was that parents had to
give to the groom’s family. An older bride had to bring a larger dowry –
apparently because she would have fewer years left to contribute children
and labor to her husband’s household, and this disadvantage needed to be
offset by a larger contribution in assets. Parents in Renaissance Tuscany
therefore hurried to sell their daughters into marriage as early as possible.
It has been argued that young women who received their share of their
parents’ property at their wedding in the form of a dowry were eager to get
married as soon as possible, whereas in societies where inheritance was


However, comparative evidence from other premodern societies of the Mediterranean does suggest
that marriage was nearly universal for women. I have suggested elsewhere that young widows were
urged to remarry when they were still childless, or when the couple had lived with the husband’s
family and their children remained with their father’s family where there was no place for an
unattached widow (Huebner : –). Yet when the couple had lived on their own and the
widow was able to take over headship of the household from her late husband, she could remain in
the family home, raising her children alone, and choose not to remarry. The latter case was more
common for widows over the age of .

Botticini : –; cf. Van Zanden : .
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
partible among all children, and daughters also inherited at their parents’
death, there was no incentive to get married as early as possible.
In Roman Egypt we now have a combination of these two different kinds
of inheritance patterns. Daughters did receive a dowry as inter vivos
transfers. However, at their parents’ death the value of their dowry was
set in relation to their brothers’ share and, in case it was smaller, comple-
mented with additional means.
It seems to have been the rule that brides received a dowry from their
father. The dowry could be administered on a daily basis by the husband as
long as the marriage persisted, but was legally owned by the wife. In case of
death of the husband or divorce, the dowry fell to the wife and served as
her main old age security, since she would not inherit from her husband.
If her parents had already died when a girl reached marriageable age, a
brother, uncle, grandfather or cousin – whoever was managing her
inherited property – was supposed to provide her with a dowry.

 The Forty-year-old Virgin? Case Studies of Singles in the

Roman Egyptian Census
We discussed earlier that most of the women in their twenties who seem
never to have been married were still living with their parents and younger
siblings – or if they had been married, had returned to their natal home.
Senosiris ( years old) is an example for this most prevalent household
composition for apparently never-married women. She lived with her
parents, her -year-old younger sister and her -year-old brother, who
had brought his -year-old wife into his father’s household. The couple
already had two babies (one a year old and the other younger); at her
wedding, the brother’s wife thus cannot have been older than  years.
We might wonder whether -year-old Tereus, a woman from the
village of Alabanthis in the Hermopolite nome, had ever been married.
She lived with her parents and her -year-old brother in her father’s house.
A rather unusual household of three unmarried adults was formed by
-year-old Athas and his two sisters, Therobastis,  years old, and
Therothbechis,  years old. None of the siblings seems to have been
married or to have had children. The siblings lived in the village of
Thebonthon Siphtha in the Prosopite nome in the latter part of the second
century. A census return dating to the fourth or fifth century would have

 
Van Zanden : –. Bagnall and Frier : -Ap-.
 
Bagnall and Frier : -Hm-. Bagnall and Frier : -Pr-.
  . 
made us think immediately of a household of an apotactic monk and nuns,
but here we have simply siblings who did not get married – by choice or
because of other reasons unknown to us. Interestingly, not the elder
brother but the two sisters sign as owners of the house. The household
was not without means, because it possessed two adult male slaves.
And we have another example of a household formed by adult unmar-
ried siblings: -year-old Teteuris and her -year-old sister seem to have
been orphans. They were living alone in a house in Oxyrhynchus in the
late second century. However, since it was their own house, they must
have been regarded as attractive marriage partners.
Now let’s consider some examples for unmarried men. The -year-old
Papontos from Oxyrhynchus resided with his married sister in his brother-
in-law’s household, which may have been quite an uncomfortable situ-
ation. Papontos was seemingly unmarried and childless, and when the
census return was drawn up was temporarily absent. His sister and her
-year-old husband had a -year-old son, who likewise had not married
yet. And another unmarried young man, -year-old Apollonides, was
living with the family. From his affiliation given with many details we
know for sure that he was not the son of -year-old Petosiris, -year-old
Ti-s or -year-old Papontos. He might have been a nephew of one of the
men. All men of the household worked as stonecutters, potentially the
reason why they kept living under one roof.
As our last example, we want to look at a family that we can follow over
a period of twenty-eight years, thanks to three consecutive census returns
that survived from their household. The family consisted of three brothers
living in the village of Bacchias in the Arsinoite nome. Their parents
had already died, and Peteuris, the eldest brother, was acting as head of
household. In the first record of the household, dating to  CE,
-year-old Peteuris is married to a -year-old woman named Tapeine.
The second eldest brother, named Horos, then  years old, was not yet
married, and the youngest brother, Horion, was  years old.
Fourteen years later the situation had changed: -year-old Peteuris was
not married anymore, nor did he have any children. Had we had only
this one census return for the household, we probably would have assumed
that Peteuris had never been married since he did not have any children
living with him to prove it. In any case, Peteuris continued living together

 
Bagnall and Frier : -Ox-. Bagnall and Frier : -Ox-.

Bagnall and Frier : -Ar-. See also P.Mich. III, p.  for a stemma of the family.

Bagnall and Frier : -Ar-.
 Single Men and Women in Pagan Society 
with his two younger brothers, the -year-old Horos, who apparently still
had not married, and the -year-old Horion. Now only this youngest of
the brothers was married, to a woman four years his senior, but he did not
have any children yet.
Yet another fourteen years later, the eldest brother, Peteuris, had appar-
ently died (between the age of  and ). Now the middle one, -year-
old Horos, was acting as head of household, and he had finally married.
He and his wife had two sons; the ages are lost, but they both would have
been below the age of  because Horos had not been married yet in the
census fourteen years earlier. The youngest brother, Horion, now , was
still married to his older wife, and the couple now had a year-old son.
Older children had probably died, since at that point the couple had
already been married for more than fourteen years.

 Conclusion
In Roman Egypt, men and women were certainly raised to believe
that their most important role in society was to marry and have
children. Nonetheless, a considerable percentage of the adult population
never married at all or never remarried after a divorce or death of a first
spouse.
Specific contexts, such as social and economic status and household
composition, surely affected the propensity, desire and ability to refrain
from marriage, yet we lack any discussion of these issues in our sources.
It seems that in pre-Christian times marital status was not considered very
important. Not even the Roman census officials were interested in marital
status; they merely paid attention to the relations of household members to
each other but did not record marital status per se.
It comes as a surprise that, according to the definition for a single set out
earlier, we discover a single man or woman in more than every other
household. While marriage for Roman Egyptian society has usually
been seen as universal, virtually every household contained a man or
woman above the age of  who was currently not married. In fact, more
than two-fifths of the adult population in pre-Christian Roman Egypt was
not married at any given point. And because  sounds to us such a low
age to be married, looking for unmarried individuals of age  and older,


Bagnall and Frier : -Ar-.
  . 
we find that almost % of all of the singles recorded were in fact in that
age group.
For all we can say about living circumstances and the household
composition of individual singles in Roman Egypt, the papyri remain
silent about informal extramarital relations beyond the household walls
and potential sexual liaisons these singles might have had.
The census documents from first- to third-century Egypt thus show us
that unmarried young or middle-aged adults living with their family were
already far from being the exception in pre-Christian times. While it is
usually claimed that marriage was early and universal for men and women
in Roman Egypt, the high number of singletons – life cycle or never-
married singles, we often cannot tell – actually speaks against it. Therefore,
even in a pagan society there was room for an alternative way of life, for the
deliberate choice of not getting married but staying with one’s parents in
one’s natal household far into adulthood. Yet this alternative way of life is
discussed nowhere in the letters or other documents. However, in pagan
times some of these single men and women might have been married
before or might have been about to marry (again), singleness thus being an
intermediate status, while in Christian times for those holy men and
women who pursued the ascetic way of life their marital status was
permanent.
In sum, we can conclude that a significant minority of the population of
Roman Egypt – and probably of ancient societies in general – remained
single. How lifelong singles were viewed surely varied from society to
society; in early imperial Roman law, for instance, social and economic
sanctions were placed upon women and men who did not marry. With
the rise of Christianity and the ideal of the monastic life becoming more
prevalent, however, singlehood became a respectable alternative to mar-
riage for men and women.
We might wonder even whether the entire proportion of unmarried
men and women, which constituted basically half of the entire adult
population, can have really increased over the course of the fourth century
with the rise of Christianity, without severely endangering the delicate
balance between fertility and mortality in any premodern society.


A total of  women and  men over the age of  were singles,  of the total  singles above
the age of .
  

Looking for Singles in the Archaeological Record

of Roman Egypt
Anna Lucille Boozer

 Archaeology and Singles

While literary and documentary source material have long been used for
family and demographic studies of the ancient world, the surviving mater-
ial culture continues to be perceived as too epistemologically ambiguous
for shedding light on the ancient family. In spite of such skepticism, both
the abundance and the variety of archaeological material make it indis-
pensible for studies of the ancient family, and in this case, the ancient
single life. In contextualizing distinct temporal and geographical loci,
archaeology serves not only to reconstruct a broad pattern of household
materialities, but also to discern what factors led to particular household
formations. This ability to provide both breadth and detail demonstrates
how archaeology might contribute to ongoing discussions of singles in
Antiquity.
This article looks for singles in the archaeological record of Roman
Egypt. In doing so, there are four important considerations to keep in
mind. First, identifying singles purely on the basis of material evidence
and without any sort of written testimony is, to put it simply, not possible.
The most critical issue with the archaeological data is ambiguity; what
archaeological signatures suggest a single person? Even among documen-
tary sources, questions of defining singleness are fraught issues, particu-
larly given the flux evident in all family forms. This issue is even more
difficult for archaeologists, who often struggle to define single event
horizons in the archaeological record, much less distinguish individual
persons. Additional problems plague archaeological interpretations of the
single life. Disparate qualities of data collection can significantly impact


Nevett :–. See also Jameson .

See Laes, in this volume. See also DePaulo and Morris a, b.


   
our ability to reconstruct and compare archaeological material within and
across sites. Moreover, all too often, archaeological data is poorly published
or physically inaccessible to researchers. And, finally, data often is not
interpreted in a way that allows for broad social questions to be asked of it;
a complete re-evaluation of the material would be required before theoret-
ical interpretations could be advanced.
Even when archaeology provides a mute or uncertain response to a
question, basic reasoning about the possibilities is essential. For example,
women and children were long ignored for their role in producing and
using a substantial portion of the archaeological record. Recent research
has demonstrated the value in considering age groups and genders beyond
men in their prime of life when interpreting archaeological evidence.
Although we must remain cautious in how we interpret data, we do real
conceptual harm to archaeological interpretation by ignoring a group that
may have contributed to a substantial proportion of the material culture
left behind.
In order to answer this call to include archaeological approaches in the
study of singles in Antiquity, I first review Laslett’s household classifica-
tion system, which was published in . In doing so, I underscore
where we might find singles among these household forms and, in turn,
identify where these household forms might appear in the archaeological
record. A necessary corollary to any current review of Laslett is the
critiques that have come about in recent years. These critiques also
provide direction for ways in which archaeology can further develop-
ments in household studies that grow out of Laslett’s model. This article
provides four case studies of Romano-Egyptian archaeological material
that speak directly to Laslett’s classification system, namely apartments,
praesidia (remote garrisons), field houses and houses. These four case
studies demonstrate both the particular circumstances of singleness,
including short-term singleness, as well as the material conditions in
which long-term or life-long singles resided. Finally, I conclude this
article with a discussion of how archaeology can continue to contribute
to our understanding of singles in Antiquity.


On the archaeology of children, see Baxter ; Johnson ; Kemp ; Sofaer Derevenski
, a, b. On the archaeology of women, see Claassen ; Dommasnes ; Gero
and Conkey ; Gilchrist ; Hendon ; Joyce . For an application of these theories
and perspectives in a Roman-Egyptian house, see Boozer .
 Looking for Singles 

 Household Classifications: Laslett

The classic Cambridge household classification system, developed by
Laslett in , distinguished between at least five different types of
households:
() Solitary households (one individual)
() No-family households (roommates)
() Simple or nuclear family households (conjugal couple residing with/
without children; single-parent families)
() Nuclear families with an elderly parent
() Multiple family households (more than one conjugal couple residing
together)
Rather than serving as stagnant categories, these five household types
should be viewed as fluctuating over the years. These different forms of
family composition should be understood as stages in a categorical model
of household progression. Indeed, a single individual might experience all
five of these household options during the life course.
For the purposes of this paper, it is notable that singles could be found
in types , , ,  and . In other words, singles can be found in each
and every type of household in Laslett’s system. Singles turn out to be a
dominant category to consider when employing the Laslett system for
analyzing household structures.

 Critiques of Laslett
It is undeniable that the Laslett household classification system has con-
ceptual flaws and numerous scholars have critiqued Laslett’s model over
the years. A particularly common thread of criticism is that Laslett’s system
smooths over the considerable variety found among regional household
forms in the Mediterranean. These local variations range from almost
exclusively nuclear households to a system with a high percentage of
complex family households. These variations would impact where we
might look for singles.


Laslett and Wall . See also Laslett .

In the recent past these “no-family households” typically consisted of unmarried siblings residing
together, but it also could be people living in apartments above work spaces (an ancient example is
Kom el Dikka, see below). Today these no-family households would be seen more frequently as
apartment shares in expensive, large cities, such as New York, London or Tokyo.

Sacchi and Viazzo : .
   
How can archaeological data help to mitigate critiques of Laslett’s
model? Let us look more closely at three major categories of critiques
leveled against his model.
First, critics urge scholars to remain mindful that real households were
always a process rather than a category. Household boundaries are fluid,
defined by the everyday practices and relationships of its members. These
household forms can be shaped by marriage patterns, fertility and mortal-
ity rates. The family evolves over time through cycles of birth, marriage,
death and divorce. Researchers have called this process “the family life
cycle”. The order, contours and timing of these events are particular to
individual families, although quantitative detail can be informative as well.
The call for more emphasis upon the family life cycle is valid, but an
archaeological contribution to understanding singles as part of this process
is limited. It is difficult for archaeology to differentiate fine-grained, short-
term changes on the basis of the current data that we have available to us in
most regions and time periods. Archaeologists require exceptionally well-
preserved and well-defined contexts in order to sort out short-term house-
hold changes. Some scholars argue that even household-level change is
beyond the ability of archaeologists to detect. This area of work should
not be ignored, however, as there are ways around this issue. For example,
we can consider various contexts for their physical role within different
phases of a single life course even if we cannot follow the life course of a
single individual from birth to death.
Second, there is considerable regional and local variety in families,
which critics would like to see addressed more thoroughly. Archaeology
can contribute enormously to addressing this issue. Although census
data, and particularly the Roman census in Egypt, is an incredible
resource for ancient demographic studies, this data is highly geographic-
ally and temporally circumscribed. Archaeology can provide additional
regional texture to the data that we gain from census documents (among
others).
Third, there is a pressing need to combine categorical, quantitative
research with qualitative, in-depth studies of families. For example,
Sacchi and Viazzo have suggested turning to qualitative sources where
epigraphic and papyrological evidence does not exist. It is notable,


Hammel : ; Wilk ; Wilk and Netting : . For Roman Egypt, see Huebner .

Heinz, Huinink and Weymann ; Mayer . For recent archaeological approaches to the life
course, see Gilchrist , .
 
Nevett . See Huebner, in this volume.
 Looking for Singles 
however, that they do not consider (or even mention) the potential of
material evidence for facilitating qualitative study of households. The
urge for qualitative rather than quantitative studies of the family is
noteworthy, although statistical analysis cannot and should not be dis-
carded. Archaeological research can contribute substantially to
gathering qualitative data on ancient families because we can provide
access to the so-called ‘people without history’ whose lives went largely
unrecorded in Antiquity.

 Data and Analysis: Methods for Looking for Singles

This section introduces the methodology for finding singles in the arch-
aeological record to determine how we should look for them and where
they may have been located physically.
In the next section, I examine four different options for the physical
location of singles in Roman Egypt: apartments (insulae) at Kom el-Dikka
(Mediterranean coast), praesidia in the Eastern Desert, possible field
houses in the Dakhleh Oasis (Western Desert) and houses in the Western
Desert and the Fayum. The wide range in geographic locations is intended
to mitigate against the bias of the Roman census data, which concentrates
upon other locales in Roman Egypt.
For each case study I present a table summarizing the data sets
employed as well as the assumptions I make. I also describe the Laslett
category that the example addresses. In this way, I suggest viable contexts
in which different types of singles may be found. These physical locales
provide texture and depth to literary and documentary evidence.
My methods for finding singles are heavily dependent upon texts and
cross-cultural comparisons. I have focused on archaeological contexts that
documentary texts suggest would be likely locales for singles (apartments,
praesidia, houses) or that cross-cultural comparisons reveal as a context
deserving of further exploration in Roman Egypt (field houses). Rather
than signaling a weakness, this cross-disciplinary work demonstrates the
considerable gains scholars can make when employing a diverse range of
evidence for answering nuanced research questions.


Sacchi and Viazzo : , –.

On this critique, see Sacchi and Viazzo . On the need for statistics, see Bowersock .

Wolf focused upon globalization and its impact upon both “civilized” and “uncivilized” people in
his well-known book (Wolf ). The term “people without history” has been used beyond this
period and framework to include others who have been ignored in traditional macro-histories.
   

 Case Studies of Singles in the Archaeological Record

() Apartments
The term insula (pl. insulae, literally ‘island’) denoted a city block and also a
multistoried apartment building. This form of housing was essential in the
urban areas of the Roman Empire due to population increases and the rising
costs of land in densely occupied areas. Survivals of apartment buildings have
been poor in major cities such as Rome, where they are presumed to have
been the dominant housing form. Ostia, located at the mouth of the Tiber
River and the major port for Rome, provides our best examples of apartment
houses. These Ostian apartments could have multiples entrances into the
building. Central courts helped to provide air and light into the individual
apartments. The exterior could include shops at street level.
A number of urban apartment blocks have been discovered in Egypt, of
which the complex at Kom el-Dikka is the prime example. Given that
most of Alexandria has remained unexcavated, the ratio of public build-
ings, palaces and parks to shops and housing, both apartment housing and
houses, remains unknown. Moreover, the proportion and distribution of
these various types of structures would have changed over time and these
diachronic shifts are not well understood.
Kom el-Dikka has undergone excavation since the s by Polish
archaeologists, and excavations continue to this day. This site is the most

Table .. Kom el-Dikka Apartments

Who Primarily young and male; older males also possible

Duration Short- and long-term occupancy
Why Artisans and apprentices
How Suites of data (archaeological and papyrological);
comparisons


Boozer ; Gates : .

Rodziewicz : –, pl. III. Also on Kom el-Dikka, see Rodziewicz , . Some apartment
blocks consisting mostly of two-room flats, with a similar arrangement, have been excavated at Abu
Mina, by the DAI since , in the northwestern region of the site, beside the North Bath (Grossmann
and Pfeiffer : –, fig. ). These blocks appear to have been rest houses for pilgrims and travelers.
See also al-Taher, Abd al-Hafiz and Grossmann : fig. ; Grossmann et al. ; Grossmann :
. This site also could be explored for the study of singles.

Delia : .
 Looking for Singles 

Figure . Map of Egypt.

Drawn by M. Matthews after a commission by A. Boozer (CC-BY).

extensively and intensively studied site within ancient Alexandria. In the

early Roman Period, Kom el-Dikka had luxurious urban residences that
were damaged or destroyed and subsequently abandoned by the mid-
fourth century CE. At this stage, the entire area was rebuilt with new
structures. These structures include a small theater (or odeion), a bath


Majcherek , , , , .
   

Figure . General plan of Kom el-Dikka.

Courtesy of the Polish Center of Mediterranean Archaeology.

complex and a set of auditoria, which probably belonged to an educational

institution. This area may have included a gymnasium complex.
The Kom el-Dikka apartment building is located near the baths. There
is an earlier brick structure (third–fourth century CE) and a later, larger
brick-and-block construction (fifth century CE) with apartments or shops
to the west. The apartment building at Kom el-Dikka appears to date from
the early fourth to the mid-seventh centuries CE. It is a two-, possibly
three-story building with a number of one- or two-room apartments
surrounding a narrow central court. There must have been a balcony


For a summary of the visible evidence, see Bagnall and Rathbone : –.
 Looking for Singles 

Figure . General view of Kom el-Dikka.

Photo: Institute for the Study of the Ancient World. ©  Iris Fernandez
(used with permission).

running around the court that could have been used to access the apart-
ments upstairs since there is no portico. A stairway opposite the entrance
on its east, narrow, side, provided access to these apartments. There is a
common latrine next to the stairs.
Evidence for ivory working, as found in various dumps, as well as
glassmaking, as found in dumps and in kilns, suggests that this complex
is associated with craft production. Parallels to the association between
artisanal and domestic space can best be found in Rome and Ostia. This
craft production, and particularly the ivory carving, appears to have been
on an industrial scale.
The apartment complex at Kom el-Dikka has not been published fully
yet, but a viable hypothesis for its use must connect it to the craft
production areas. As such, it is likely that at least some of the apartments
in this complex housed artisans and their apprentices who were learning


St. Clair : .
   
the crafts produced here, namely glassmaking and ivory working. These
apprentices were almost certainly singles.
According to recent research, the circulation of children and young
adults to learn various trades appears to have occurred in the ancient
Mediterranean. Dixon has described the mobility of children between
families in the Roman world. The institution of apprenticeship of
adolescents that we know best for Roman Egypt, thanks to the papyro-
logical evidence, can also be regarded as life-cycle service. Farmers and
artisans sent their own children to other peasants or artisans to help them
out or let them learn a trade. In turn, these families might host the children
of other families in their own household, while providing them with
training. These apprentices would live with the family and be fed and
clothed. After a few years they would return home with the new skills they
had acquired.
The juxtaposition of the Kom el-Dikka apartment complex with inten-
sive craft production suggests a possible urban solution to housing craft
workers and apprentices. Rather than incorporating apprentices into
houses, it is possible that crafts people and apprentices resided in these
small apartments. In Laslett’s system, these arrangements would be termed
‘no-family households’ and the singles found here were most likely male
and young.

() Praesidia
All Roman soldiers were banned from contracting legal marital unions,
probably from the time of Augustus until  CE, when the marriage ban
was lifted. Despite this ban, we have ample papyrological data suggesting
that soldiers and veterans produced large households. Illegitimacy obvi-
ously led to some complications for inheritance, and accounts of these legal
issues can be found in documentary sources. The legally required single


Alston and Alston : . It was not uncommon to find singles in cities in Roman Egypt.
Alston and Alston also note the concentration of craft areas in cities, which would promote the
movement of singles into urban areas.

Dixon . On the Greek world, see Bremmer .
 
Bradley ; Brewster ; Herrmann ; Westermann . Bradley .

Van Minnen argues that we find only very few freeborn females among the apprentices because
parents of freeborn females of marriageable age kept them at home to ensure their virginity (Van
Minnen : ). Cases in which female apprentices are found (n= in Van Minnen’s study)
show them living with women (n=) or a married couple (n=). This does not mean that freeborn
women did not learn or practice a trade; they just learned it at home (Bradley ).
 
Van Minnen . Alston : –; Campbell ; Phang : .

Phang : –, .
 Looking for Singles 
Table .. Praesidia

Who Adult males

Duration Medium-term occupation
Why Soldiers garrisoned in a remote locale
How Suites of data (archaeological and documentary);
comparisons

Wadi Abū Sha'ar al-Qibli

Mons Porphyrites Belih
Abū Sha'ar
Riv

Domitianè/Kaine Latomia Bādīya

er

Dayr al-Atrash Abū Qurayya

Ni

Bāb al-Mukhayniq Qattār

le

Al-Sāqiya
Al-Hâyita Abū Zawal Wádi Safaga
Qarya Mons Claudianus
Al-'Aras Tiberiane
Samna

R
Kainè Quway
(Qina) Al-Matūla Krokodilô Bi'r Sayyēis Myos Hormos

e
Qusūr Persou
al-Banât Dawwi (Qusayr al-Qadim)
Koptos Al-Hamrā

d
Phoinikôn Maximianon
Dios polis Didymoi Bi'r al-Hammâmât
Aphrodites
Paneion of orous

S
the Wadi Menih
VIA H

e
Kompasi
Latôn polis Dios
AD

a
(Isna)
RIA

Bi'r Bayza
NA

Barrāmīya
Apollōnos polis Xéron
Al-Kanāïs Pelagos
hè megalé (Idfu) Mersa Makari
Bi'r Samūt
Phalakron Mons Smaragdus
Ancient settlement
Apollōnos Hydreuma
Ancient Fort
Ancient road or route Cabalsi?
Kainon Hydreuma
0 25 50 75 100 km
Vetus Hydreuma?
0 25 50 miles Syènè Bereniké

Figure . Map of Eastern Desert Roman roads with Dios indicated.
After J.-P. Brun; reproduced with the permission of Brun and the IFAO (Hélène Cuvigny, Jean-Pierre
Brun, Adam Bülow-Jacobsen, Dominique Cardon, Jean-Luc Fournet et al., La route de Myos Hormos,
L’armée romaine dans le désert Oriental d’Egypte (Praesidia du désert de Bérénice I). Le Caire, ,
Fouilles de l’IFAO /–).

status of a Roman soldier should not, therefore, be taken a priori as

evidence of soldiers not forming families.
All locales, however, did not equally allow for Roman soldiers to develop
family entanglements, be they legal or not. For example, soldiers stationed
at well-fortified garrisons (praesidia) in remote areas would have had fewer
opportunities for forming family ties. There were simply fewer people with
whom they could form relationships. One such locale to consider is
Egypt’s Eastern Desert. In this remote locale, garrisons can be found on
   

Figure . Plan of Dios.

After J.-P. Brun; reproduced with the permission of Brun and the IFAO (Hélène Cuvigny, Jean-Pierre
Brun, Adam Bülow-Jacobsen, Dominique Cardon, Jean-Luc Fournet et al., La route de Myos
Hormos, L’armée romaine dans le désert Oriental d’Egypte (Praesidia du désert de Bérénice I). Le Caire,
, Fouilles de l’IFAO /–).

the road from Koptos to Myos Hormos and the Red Sea, and in the
quarries of Mons Claudianus, Didymoi, Aphrodites Orous, Kompasi,
Dios and Xeron. The building of the praesidia along the recently
constructed stretch of road from Phoinikon (Laqeita) to Phalakro was
new under Roman rule and seems to have happened under Vespasian,
probably around – CE. Desert products (e.g. porphyry) and trade
items from the Red Sea were important to Egypt’s Roman rulers. More-
over, the Eastern Desert was important for military control of the desert

 
Sidebotham, Hense, and Nouwens : . Bagnall, Bülow-Jacobsen, and Cuvigny .
 Looking for Singles 

Figure . Dios.

Photo: J.-P. Brun; reproduced with the permission of Brun and the IFAO (Hélène Cuvigny,
Jean-Pierre Brun, Adam Bülow-Jacobsen, Dominique Cardon, Jean-Luc Fournet et al., La route
de Myos Hormos, L’armée romaine dans le désert Oriental d’Egypte (Praesidia du désert de Bérénice I).
Le Caire, , Fouilles de l’IFAO /–).

and guarding against marauders. The praesidia served to maintain

boundaries and to control and guard trade goods. Each garrison would
have contained approximately  men.
The praesidia themselves are small structures that resemble miniature
Roman army camps. There were pragmatic and ideological consider-
ations for this resemblance; the construction was familiar and easy to
replicate while also signaling a perpetual Roman presence, even in the
barren desert. Most of the praesidia are rectilinear and were constructed
with materials found at hand, such as cobbles and small boulders that
were laid without mortar. Defensive towers often are placed on the
corners and surrounding the primary entrance gate. Many of these
praesidia had protective deities and shrines associated with them.
A large well (hydroema) can be found in the center of most of these
garrisons. Abutting the interior walls of the structure were storage rooms

  
Maxfield . Bagnall . Bülow-Jacobsen : .

Sidebotham, Hense, and Nouwens : .
   
and the rooms of the individual soldiers stationed there. Some of these
structures had a small intramural bath.
Records of communication along the roads and between these praesidia
preserve concerns expressing both professional and personal circum-
stances. Ostraka found in excavations of the praesidia provide ample
details about the daily life of soldiers stationed here. From these records,
we learn that the soldiers were charged with protecting the roads and
aiding with quarrying duties as their official roles. They also seem to have
felt the need to frequent prostitutes. For example, O.Dios. inv. 
provides one such account:
. . . Herakles, the horseman, took the letters, but did not leave until the
tenth hour of the night (c. : a.m.), which you can verify, (in margin: ‘I
found it’) because he was lying with a woman.
Prostitutes were transported between the praesidia, from one contract
to the next, by donkey.
The need for prostitutes may indicate the single status of these soldiers
and their need to find some respite from their singleness in this barren
desert. These prostitutes also could be explored as another group of singles
in Antiquity.
As it seems that there was local recruitment of Egyptian legions, it is
possible that some of these praesidia soldiers had prior family arrange-
ments in other areas of Egypt. For example, O.Florida  and  show
families of soldiers trying to obtain food for them while they are posted
to the Eastern Desert. The loneliness, disconnection and even ennui
found among the soldiers also is attested. Even so, the most viable
interpretation of these praesidia soldiers’ family situation is that they
were single for at least the duration of the time that they occupied these
structures.
Locating singles within these praesidia required ample use of documen-
tary and comparative source material, but the environment as well as the
archaeology itself contributes to interpretations of singles living in these
structures. Once again, this case study provides an example of Laslett’s
‘no-family households’.

  
Sidebotham : –. Bülow-Jacobsen : . Cuvigny , .

Bülow-Jacobsen : . H. Cuvigny published this ostrakon as P.Worp .
 
Cuvigny : –. Haensch : , ILS . See also Bagnall : .

Bagnall : .
 Looking for Singles 

() Field Houses

Field houses are very small, seasonally occupied structures. They are best
known from the American Southwest, but they also can be found else-
where. These structures helped farmers to cope with the inconvenient
distances between residences and agricultural areas. Cross-culturally,
inhabitants of field houses were single or temporarily without a family
while they occupied these structures.
The catalyst for developing field houses centers upon the need to
minimize transportation costs. Some scholars have thought that field
houses represent both the effects of shifting cultivation and the beginnings
of its demise. Preucel, for his part, considers the field house strategy as a
form of agricultural intensification. This intensification develops in
response to escalating competition over arable land as a result of popula-
tion growth and the clustering of people into larger settlements or cities.
Field houses, he argues, develop in order to minimize the costs of trans-
portation to and from distant villages.
Preucel’s observations find particular relevance in the harsh conditions
of the Saharan desert. These unforgiving desert conditions constrain
the development of larger nucleated settlements. Many Saharan oases
have multiple small villages spread through the palm groves in order to
reduce the travel distance between dwellings and gardens. Urbanism has
been a rare and episodic phenomenon in the Sahara as a result of these
environmental constraints. Given Preucel’s reasoning concerning the

Table .. Field Houses

Who Male (?); broad age range but very young and very old persons unlikely
Duration Episodic; periods of intense agricultural activity (temporarily single)
Why Increasing competition over arable land due to population growth and
aggregation, which is intensified in oases
How Cross-cultural comparisons


Kohler . See also Kolb and Snead ; Kolb .
 
See Laes, in this volume, for definitions of singleness. Wilcox : .

Preucel : .

See Fletcher  for a link between maximum settlement area and communication range and
travel capacity.

See papers in the forthcoming Mattingly and Sterry volume Urbanism and State Formation.
   

Figure . Sketch map indicating the location of the columbarium farmhouses in
Western Dakhleh, made in .
From H. E. Winlock, ed., Dākhleh Oasis: Journal of a Camel Trip made in . New York, ,
plate XV; reproduced with the permission of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
 Looking for Singles 

Figure . Plans of columbarium farmhouses drawn in .

From H. E. Winlock, ed., Dākhleh Oasis: Journal of a Camel Trip made in . New York, ,
plate XII; reproduced with the permission of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
   

Figure . Photos of the Dakhleh Oasis columbarium farmhouse, taken in .
From H. E. Winlock, ed., Dākhleh Oasis: Journal of a Camel Trip made in . New York, ,
plate XVI; reproduced with the permission of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
 Looking for Singles 

Figure . Plan of columbarium farmhouse /-H– or “House VII”.

From A. J. Mills, “The Dakhleh oasis columbarium farmhouse.” Bulletin de la Société archéologique
d’Alexandrie  (): –; reproduced with the permission of A. J. Mills.
   
conditions required for field houses to develop, it would seem logical
to expect these structures during periods of incipient and full-blown
urbanism.
As far as I am aware, no one working in Roman Egypt has identified
field houses yet. This lack is surprising since these structures could
mitigate against the harsh desert conditions found in the Eastern and
Western Deserts. Given the intensification of urbanism in the Western
Desert under Roman rule, this region offers a prime locale to look for
these structures. I suggest that the so-called ‘columbarium farm houses’
of the Dakhleh Oasis might be candidates for field houses. Even if these
particular structures later prove not to be field houses, the search for field
houses in Roman Egypt should be pursued. The environmental and
urban developmental pressures that would create the need for these
structures are in place. Moreover, the spatial distribution and architectural
features of these structures reinforce the impression that they were
employed to reduce transportation expenditures within an urbanized,
harsh environment.
The so-called ‘columbarium farm house’ occurs singly, in pairs or (less
often) as part of a larger grouping. The name ‘columbarium’ was
introduced in Herbert E. Winlock’s  publication of his research visit
to the Dakhleh Oasis in . The name derives from the incorporation
of a pigeon loft into the structure of each of these houses. The distribution
of this house is oasis-wide, although they seem to occur more frequently in
the western half of the oasis. Some well-preserved examples can be found
near Amheida on the road leading out to the Qârat el-Muzzawaqa burial
ground. The sizes of these farm houses are variable, but they are typically
square in plan view and their dimensions tend to vary from  x  m to  x
 m. These dimensions are tentative at this time since only one columbar-
ium farmhouse has been excavated (see below).
Winlock describes the structures that he saw in the vicinity of Deir
el-Haggar as small structures standing to two stories. Most had two vaulted


Ignoring the debates and attention surrounding male-male relationships in Siwa, the long-term
practice of young men living and working outside of the walls of Shali (Fakhry : –) would
be worth exploring from the standpoint of field houses.

The village of Ain el-Gedida in Dakhleh may have been an epoikion (a small agricultural settlement
associated with the management of a large estate) (Bagnall et al. ). Several features found at Ain
el-Gedida, such as at least two large bakeries, storage areas for cereals and grains, a ceramic
workshop and a dovecot suggest that Ain el-Gedida was an agriculturally oriented site
(Aravecchia forthcoming).

On the urbanization of Egypt’s Western Desert, see Boozer forthcoming-a.
  
Mills : . Winlock : . Mills .
 Looking for Singles 
rooms on the ground floor, but one of them (Winlock Building C) had six.
Access to the second floor, where the pigeons were housed, was by means
of a ladder. Another columbarium has an open court in the center, which
measured about  m square.
The only columbarium to be examined in any detail is one known as
House VII at site /-H–, which is located in western Dakhleh.
The walls stand nearly four meters high. As is typical of these structures in
Dakhleh, it is remarkably well preserved. This house belongs to a widely
dispersed group of eleven buildings. This village is situated on a flat area of
sandstone bedrock. The use of such natural “turtle backs” for habitation is
common in Egypt as good agricultural land was in great demand and was
protected from construction. North of this bedrock, good arable land can
be found. This farm house group is closer to the escarpment foothills than
to the southern perimeter of the oasis and is . km northeast from Deir
el-Haggar. Given its location, Trimithis (Roman Period Amheida)
would have been the closest city.
The outer perimeter wall of House VII encloses a space of about  m x
 m. There is a single entrance on the east side, which provides access to
an open space that is the northern half of the whole enclosed area. The
living space and the actual columbarium building occupy the southern half
of the enclosure.
The northern half of the courtyard was open to the sky and contained a
single room (no. ) in the northwest corner. This rectangular room,
approximately . x . m, is entered from the east side and utilizes
the outer wall for two of its own. The floor of this chamber was bare
bedrock and the fill consisted solely of a  cm compacted layer of animal
droppings and straw. The stable, for a small flock of domestic animals, is a
typical component of Egyptian farmhouses. Apart from this shed, the
northern half of the courtyard is featureless. The southern half contained
the living quarters. There are two parallel, rectangular rooms (nos.  and
), each  x . m in size. The entrance to each is through an arched
doorway in the north wall, and there is a connecting doorway between
them that was cut through after the building was completed.
Mills found only one floor level in his excavation of the House VII
ground floor. There was little occupational debris, suggesting a short
occupation and planned departure. Adobe floors wear easily and require

  
Winlock : –. Winlock : . Mills : , plate XVII.
   
Mills : –. Mills : –. Mills : –. Mills .
   
numerous episodes of repair and replastering to maintain them. Low
artifact densities suggest that individuals had time to plan the removal of
their belongings.
Full reports of the architectural features, ceramics and small finds are
not available, but the preliminary reports are already informative. For
example, a pair of small domestic ovens (no. ) were found. Special jars
used for the pigeon nests confirm the use of the columbarium for housing
these birds.
The most likely inhabitants of field houses would be men, possibly from
the same family, who were temporarily single. These men could be
considered to be living in ‘no-family households’ because they were not
a conjugal pair. It is also possible, but unlikely, that a single person lived
alone in a field house, thereby occupying Laslett’s first category of a single
person living alone. In either case, it seems likely that the occupants were
temporarily single, having a family living in a city or large settlement in
reasonably close proximity, but visited infrequently during the heavy labor
periods of the agricultural season.

() Houses
A house can be understood as a physical structure, while a household
defines a group of individuals sharing a common dwelling, usually family
members and possibly some biologically unrelated members. The physical
houses of ordinary Romano-Egyptians were modest, consisting of two or
more rooms. They were rectangular, square or sometimes more compli-
cated in their footprints. The majority of Karanis houses found in the
center of the settlement were about  m square in their footprint.

Table .. Houses

Who Family members, domestic or agricultural servants, slaves, lodgers or

apprentices; male or female; broad age range
Duration Short-term, medium-term, long-term, and temporarily single
Why Singles ubiquitous despite being ‘invisible’
How Documentary sources; archaeology will be mute

 
Boozer : –. Boozer : ; LaMotta and Schiffer ; Schiffer .
  
Mills : –. Hope : – and plate XIX.. Depraetere .
 Looking for Singles 

Figure . Plan of House B, Dakhleh Oasis.

Drawn by N. Warner after a commission by A. Boozer (CC-BY).

They were multistoried, and so the total square footage of the structure
would have been larger, depending on the number of floors. Small houses,
of about  m square or so for their footprints, were found at the edges of
the town.


Given the potential of field houses, these houses should be fully re-examined. Unfortunately, little
can be found about them in the published reports.
   

Figure . Reconstruction of House B, Dakhleh Oasis.

Drawn by N. Warner after a commission by A. Boozer (CC-BY).

Singles residing with families either could be relatives or they could be

from the non-family category of household members. These singles could
reside with families for anything from a few weeks to a couple of years, or
even a lifetime. Singles residing with their extended families should be
 Looking for Singles 
expected in Roman Egypt. One of the signature characteristics of the
Mediterranean family model is the importance of extended kin who might
live with the so-called immediate family.
The number of family members in the Romano-Egyptian household
ideally increased as the parents entered old age. Culturally, the elderly were
respected and valued household members. The continuously evolving roles
and standings of its members naturally created individual changes, but
elders were not physically and socially isolated in the manner we have
come to expect of most modern nuclear families. Both daughters and
sons were involved in the support of their elderly parents, even if to
different degrees and functions. It is certain that some of these elderly
persons were single as single status becomes more demographically signifi-
cant in old age.
Non-familial singles might include domestic or agricultural servants,
slaves, lodgers or apprentices. Slaves seem to have played a rather negligible
role in households below the social elite in the Roman world. While the
Roman elite household of Rome, Herculaneum or the great Roman
landowners’ estates required a large slave population, households of the
standard Romano-Egyptian type seem to have owned at most one or two,
and then mainly female, slaves.
As a result, the singles we might expect within the Romano-Egyptian
household likely will be family members, servants, lodgers or the afore-
mentioned apprentices. Archaeology will be mute for most of these pos-
sible categories of singles. This ambiguity is normal when considering
individual household members. It is difficult, if not impossible, to attribute
objects to specific household members, although one can make logical
hypotheses when a contextual analysis is employed.
There are additional issues that make identifying singles in Romano-
Egyptian houses more difficult than identifying specific genders or age
groups. First, the single person may be kin and there are no specific
material correlates to this status that would materially distinguish this
individual from the rest of the family. Second, apprentices are usually


The significance of the extended, often multigenerational kin groups is a topic of some controversy.
Richard Saller and Brent Shaw minimized the significance of this group in epithets (Shaw and Saller
), which others, notably Huebner, have argued against (Huebner ).

Rupprecht .

Bagnall and Frier . See also Culbertson  on the Roman East more broadly.

I attempted to attribute some artifact assemblages and frequency of room usage to specific gender
and age groups in my excavation report for House B from Trimithis (Roman Amheida) in the
Dakhleh Oasis (Boozer forthcoming-a). This analysis was possible due to the preservation of the
structure and the way in which specialists analyzed the material.
   
treated like family members, and therefore also are invisible archaeologic-
ally. Third, domestic furniture was modest and preserves poorly so we
cannot attempt to identify singles and additions to houses through beds
and other items. Fourth, houses of most families were small and the ways
in which they used space changed throughout the time of day and year,
which leaves behind confusing and even conflicting material signatures.
For example, areas for accounting become areas for spinning linen, and
then become areas for sleeping. The genders, age groups and (for our
purposes here) marital status of the people using this area become inter-
twined and may be impossible for archaeologists to disentangle.
Despite these caveats, we would do a conceptual disservice to our
understanding of domestic life if we did not admit to the possibility and,
indeed, likelihood, that singles occupied houses. We also may devise
logical strategies for surmising the presence of singles in houses if we retain
a strong element of caution. First, the houses of Roman Egypt were easily
modified to accommodate changing circumstances because they were
made predominantly of mud brick. If houses are excavated and analyzed
closely, we can discern physical modifications to the structures to allow for
a greater number of people. In particular, additions that are not clustered
with the rest of the rooms of the structure might reveal non-familial
household additions.
Second, concerns for security within the house can be discerned in
papyrological and archaeological evidence. Some families would lock
internal doors in houses to protect individuals and possessions from non-
family members. We could look at house plans and at door construction to
discern door bolts that would have been used for this construction.
Additionally, the presence of locks on boxes and the like may provide
additional clues that security was a concern. As is usual in archaeology, the
confluence of multiple material signatures will be more persuasive than an
isolated signature suggesting singleness.
The houses that included singles would most likely be Laslett’s “simple
or nuclear family household”, “nuclear family with elderly parent house-
hold”, or a “multiple family household”.

 Conclusion
Even if Laslett’s  model is now dated, it provides a useful comparative
tool and illustrative device. For the purposes of this paper, Laslett’s model
 
Bradley . Boozer forthcoming-a.
 Looking for Singles 
reminds us that singles can be found across all of his categories. Indeed,
I have explored examples for each of Laslett’s five categories in the four case
studies provided. At this stage it is useful to re-examine the possibility of
‘finding’ singles in the archaeological record of Roman Egypt as well as
considering how they might be located archaeologically in other regions
and time periods.
Most fundamentally, it must be made clear that singles cannot be
identified securely in the archaeological record. Despite this negative
statement, I argue that there is conceptual harm in ignoring singles. Singles
were a known group of people who produced and used a significant
proportion of the material record. Ignoring this category of individuals is
conceptually erroneous.
Moreover, this article has suggested that we can provide best-guess
scenarios for the physical location of singles by using a holistic approach
to the data as well as employing cross-cultural comparisons. The four case
studies employed demonstrate how we might approach the material signa-
tures associated with singles. These case studies may help to illustrate the
potential for future work to incorporate singles into our conceptions of
craft production, the military, agricultural production and domestic life.
Moreover, I suggest that archaeology can contribute substantially to
redressing critiques of Laslett’s model. The four case studies have demon-
strated some possibilities for answering these critiques, but additional
research could do substantially more to further such objectives.
First, critics wish to see more emphasis upon the family as process. Sites
such as Karanis (among others) could contribute substantially to our
understanding of diachronic household changes if re-analyzed context-
ually. Karanis has deep stratigraphy with houses superimposed upon one
another. Analyzing these houses using the method suggested here could
produce diachronic data on changing family structures as well as under-
scoring viable hypotheses for the presence of singles in specific locales.
Second, critics point out that families experience great regional and local
variety. Although documentary and literary sources provide remarkable
details on family life in Antiquity, as other papers in this volume amply
demonstrate, they often subject researchers to a particular region, gender
and class perspective. In the case of Roman Egypt, the Roman census
provides a narrow chronological and regional perspective of demographic
conditions. Archaeology can provide considerable regional and local variety
that can complement or enhance the documentary and literary record. For
example, we have informative archaeological remains from the Eastern
Desert, the Western Desert, Alexandria and the Fayum to contribute to
   
our understanding of these regions. All of these regions were missing from
the Roman census, and therefore there are great gains to be envisioned by
looking to other categories of material.
Third, critics of Laslett have urged that scholars should contribute more
qualitative rather than quantitative studies of the family. Due to the
uncertainties involved, archaeological studies cannot provide secure quan-
titative data on singles, but they can provide instructive qualitative data. In
the present article, I discussed groups such as the military, artisans, farmers
and families. Archaeologists can study the possibility of singles among
additional groups of people, particularly when they pair archaeological data
with documentary and literary sources. A few examples of these groups
might include monastic, pilgrimage, migrant, work (such as miners) and
even prison communities.
An archaeological study of singles may initially appear to be an impos-
sible task, but this article suggests potential ways forward through the
inherent uncertainties. It is hoped that additional, future studies, possibly
as outlined above, will reveal more data about this enigmatic but pervasive
group in Antiquity.


Sacchi and Viazzo .
  

Between Coercion and Compulsion? The Impact

of Occupations and Economic Interests on the
Relational Status of Slaves and Freedmen
Wim Broekaert

 Introduction
Romans were supposed to marry and have children. In this respect, the
Augustan marriage laws only confirmed and strengthened social expect-
ations. Nevertheless, deciding between marriage and single life assumes
some level of free choice and the right to enter into a stable relation-
ship. Yet, in a slave society such as Imperial Italy, independence and
the right to marry were not equally available to everyone. This paper
will argue that the organization of the Roman economy, with its
reliance on slave and freedman labour and the social control exerted
by masters and patrons, seriously complicated the establishment of
harmonious family life for their social inferiors. The first part will focus
on the effects of slave and freedman labour on relationships within and
outside the family. I will explore how different professions and the
master’s decision-making created various opportunities and restrictions
to start relationships or even a ‘family’. The second part analyses the
economic value of slaves within the household and the effects of slave-
breeding. A final section discusses the rationale of manumission and its
consequences for previously established relationships. Did a freedman
have sufficient economic power to reconstruct his family, in case he
alone was freed? Did he continue his profession, thus maintaining
strong connections to his patron’s family? How strong was a patron’s
inclination to financially profit from his previous slaves, if this entailed
the disruption of family relationships? The conclusion must be that
apart from all legal, social and economic limitations inherent to the
status of slave and freedman, the difficulty of establishing satisfactory
stable relationships was an additional stumbling block on the way to
emotional wellbeing.


  

 Agency, Occupation and Relationships

There is abundant evidence, both literary and inscriptional, for the pres-
ence of slaves and freedmen in virtually every sector of the Roman
economy. They acted as trusted agents on behalf of masters and patrons
and often held positions of considerable responsibility. Yet, occupational
choice was not so much affected by personal preferences as by the decision-
making of masters and patrons. Slaves received training on the job or by
apprenticeship, sometimes in accordance with perceived abilities, but
always in view of the economic strategies of their owners. Freedmen often
continued to work for their patron and his family, perhaps in a position of
greater freedom of action and commanding more resources, but still in a
profession defined by previous training and experience gained during
slavery. As occupational demands evidently affect one’s possibilities to
enjoy stable relationships, the training and profession imposed on them
thus was a crucial factor for slaves and freedmen in establishing affective
ties and family life. I will first consider the impact of a number of broad
occupational categories on relational status.
Slaves working in their master’s house as assistants obviously had the
best chances of finding a partner and engaging in a more durable relation-
ship. Much evidently depended on two closely related variables, viz. the
sex ratio of the domestic slaves and scale of the household. There is
little evidence that in large (that is, elite) households the sex ratio would
have been skewed in favour of either gender. It is true that epigraphy is
a notoriously unreliable source in this respect, for commemoration prac-
tices of slaves and freedmen tend to stress the presence of skilled male
slaves and underrepresent women, but it seems likely that a considerable
part of the household slaves had at least the opportunity to start a
relationship within the household. Whether or not this possibility gave
rise to stable and emotionally rewarding relationships, will be discussed
below. The second variable, scale, is far more important. Opportunities for
slave relationships increase in proportion to the number of slaves in the
family. Small households with little money to invest may have preferred to
purchase male skilled slaves to make some profit, rather than to invest in a
female domestic servant, which might have resulted in unbalanced sex
ratios. Slaves living in these families probably had to seek a partner outside
the household. This could have been a challenge, especially for slaves

 
Bodel . Mouritsen b: –; Broekaert .
 
Scheidel ; Mouritsen . Edmondson ; Mouritsen b: –.
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
whose profession did not require them to leave their master’s home and
spent most of their life indoors.
Equally good opportunities to find a partner were available to those
slaves and freedmen working in a stable environment separated from, but
in the near vicinity of the household, viz. as managers and artisans in a
shop or workshop on the property of their owners. The cities of Pompeii
and Herculaneum offer first-rate evidence for the frequent integration of
commercial and productive infrastructure into residential dwellings
and the use of dependent and semi-dependent labour in these premises.
Some of these relationships between members of the same household may
have been the result of the training given to male and female slaves of the
family, their shared working environment and deliberate encouragement
by the slave owners. I have argued elsewhere that it was in the interest of
the master–patron to encourage relationships between slaves and freedmen
of different gender but with similar occupational specialisation to enter a
stable relationship within the family. In this case stable relationships
supported prolonged cooperation between principal and agents.
A completely different picture emerges once we leave the urban setting
of the stable household. Large-scale agricultural slavery for instance was
less accommodating to long-term relationships. The labour on agricultural
estates has been characterised as predominantly “male and celibate in
nature”, with an exception made for the estate’s bailiff, who was allowed
(or even encouraged) to take a wife. Varro advised to also permit overseers
to take a partner, but does not mention regular slaves being allowed to
engage in stable relations. Recent research however has suggested that
Roman treatises on estate management might have overemphasised the
predominance of male slave labour and perhaps obscured the presence of
female slaves and the possibility of establishing slave families, but support-
ing evidence is limited. Moreover, the presence of women on large farms
does not necessarily result in many slave relationships, let alone marriages:
consent by the owner was required and may not easily have been obtained
by one of the anonymous agricultural workers with little access to the villa
and its owner. On small-scale estates, on the other hand, slave families


Mouritsen ; Flohr  and .

Broekaert  with further references and case studies.
 
Hopkins : . For bailiffs and their family, see Carlsen . Varro, rust. ...

Roth  and .

See Edmondson  and Mouritsen b:  for the contrast between rural and urban slaves
and the advantages of the latter’s proximity to the master.
  
had better opportunities to develop, predominantly due to the absenteeism
of the landowner and less rigid control.
Another economic sector equally unfavourable to family life was mari-
time commerce. Slaves had been used as captains and sailors from the
days of the Mediterranean conquest onwards, and Roman law quickly
recognized their position as commercial agents with the introduction of
the actio exercitoria. To accommodate for the increasing use of freedmen in
maritime trade, lawgivers decided to broaden the scope of the actio
exercitoria to include free(d) agents (sui iuris). Ancient sources again
provide insufficient data to enable us to quantify the impact of a life
on board a commercial vessel, as slaves working as oarsmen, sailors and
ship captains are largely invisible in the epigraphic records, though not
completely absent. Comparative studies on the life of seamen however
offer far more convincing evidence for the proverbial image of bachelor
‘Jack Tar’. Sailors in Early Modern times were renowned for making
the most of their stay in the harbour, a notorious behaviour frequently
resulting in heavy drinking, fighting and spending their wages in brothels.
They often ended up in debt, unable to gain sufficient spending power to
marry and start a family. Latin literature presents a very similar picture
of sailors frequenting bars of questionable repute in the company of
prostitutes. Apparently only twenty to twenty-five per cent of the seamen
in Early Modern Europe eventually married, but usually only older mari-
ners and shipmasters managed to find a life partner, not the young crew.
In addition, the grim demographic regime and hard life in shipping limited
the possibilities for young sailors to establish durable bonds. If the same
distinction between a large majority of young bachelor sailors and a small
number of older, better-to-do shipmasters able to maintain a family could
be transferred to Antiquity, one would expect slaves in the position of
bachelor seamen and more experienced freedmen acting as shipmasters
with a family life. This picture would fit the available epigraphic records
quite well. Slaves and freedmen working as commercial agents also
frequently settled (sometimes for life) in distant ports and distribution


Apul. met. .–; Bradley  and Laes .

Kirschenbaum ; Aubert ; De Ligt ; Aubert ; Broekaert .

CIL ., CIL . and IG .. For what it is worth, none of this small sample of
inscriptions mentions any family relationships.

Fury ; Vickers and Walsh ; Linebaugh and Rediker ; Magra .

Hor. epod. .; carm. ..–.

For the predominance of freedmen among Mediterranean shippers (navicularii) and their family
life, see Broekaert , nrr. –.
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
centres to facilitate the exchange of goods supplied by other members of
the household. One can imagine they will have found it difficult to
immediately establish a family in their new home town and started their
residence as single men. The best example must be the isle of Delos, one of
the most important commercial nodes during the Republic, where a large
community of Italian slaves and freedmen settled to engage in the
slave trade. The virtual absence of family ties in the inscriptions dedicated
by the Italian slaves and freedmen has not gone unnoticed by scholars.
Finally, and similar to the restraints on family life caused by maritime
trade, the constant travels and long absence of itinerant merchants may
have complicated harmonious family life, or at least resulted in relational
stress and broken relationships. Apuleius for instance relates how a mer-
chant from Aegina had left the isle to do business in Thessaly, Boeotia and
Aetolia and encountered one of his colleagues in a state of acute poverty
and distress. The man described how he had travelled to Macedonia for
business and had been away for ten months. Meanwhile, in his home city,
he had been given up dead, his children had been awarded legal guardians
and his wife was urged by her parents to remarry. A Roman epitaph evokes
very similar relational problems: a husband laments that he had only been
married two years and four months to his late wife, but they had only
spent six months together because he had constantly been travelling
(propter causas peregrinationis).
In conclusion, the profession chosen by a master-patron for his slaves
and freedmen already sets the limits for their ability to find a partner and
maintain long-term relationships. However, it was not only the trade itself
that would determine the nature of relational status, but also, on the one
hand, the intrinsic value of the slave, and on the other, the property he had
acquired after manumission. These two factors will be discussed below.

 The Economic Value of a Slave: Slave-breeding

and Family Life
In this section I explore how a slave’s value could influence his relation-
ships within and outside his master’s household. Did masters frequently
move slaves around between different properties, thus making the estab-
lishment of slave families more difficult? Were slave families often broken
up through sale and donations? Did masters value the slave’s emotional

  
Broekaert  with case studies. Fabre :  (n. ). Apul. met. .–.

ICUR .
  
wellbeing and attachment to his slave family over economic profits?
This subject obviously is closely related to the question of how important
slave-breeding and the concept of stable slave families for this purpose were
in Roman society.
The sources of the Roman slave supply, especially during the Empire
when mass enslavement after conquest had become less important, have
been much debated in recent years. The use of various demographic
models in particular has proven extremely useful for approaching natural
reproduction as a vital factor in maintaining the slave system. As a
consequence, the practice of slave-breeding not only affected the value
(and price) of female slaves of child-bearing age, but also their
manumission rate. Although it has long been argued, on the basis of
both epigraphic records and comparative evidence, that slave women were
freed more often than men and at a younger age, more recent research has
pointed out that inscriptions alone can never form a demographic database
appropriate to reconstruct frequency and age of manumission, and that
there is no compelling evidence to prove that fertile women were freed on a
regular basis. On the contrary, the demographic logic of the slave supply
system would require young slave women to remain in the power of their
master until their late thirties. The concern to partially sustain the slave
population through reproduction can perhaps be one of the reasons why
Augustus decided to set the minimum age for formal manumission at
exactly thirty years. The presence of freedwomen younger than thirty in
the epigraphic records does not necessarily invalidate this model, because
manumission below the legally required age could have taken place for
many reasons, including testamentary manumission, personal affection
and manumission of seriously ill slaves (so they could die a free person).
If this reconstruction holds true, the implications for relationships among
slaves and freedmen are considerable.
First, if slave-breeding was an important motive to keep female slaves in
the household, it does not follow that the master would be required to
invest in an equal number of male slaves. Conceiving does not demand


Scheidel  and . For a different model, see Harris . Hezser  collects evidence
from the rabbinic texts for slave-breeding.

Scheidel ; Bagnall  and more recently McKeown : – and Harper .

Scheidel  and Mouritsen b: –, both with references to earlier studies. Contra Fabre
: –, but with too much faith in epigraphic and literary sources. For the methodological
problems of using epigraphy in studies of the Roman family, see Scheidel  and Mouritsen
b: .

Gai. inst. ..
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
monogamous, stable relationships. Cato famously organized a form of
prostitution among his slaves, presumably to release sexual tension, but
the consequence was at any rate an increase of home-born slaves without
the need to allow stable relationships. Slaves always ran the risk of sexual
abuse by the master and the members of his household, a prerogative that
was never questioned but even considered a fundamental part (necessitas) of
a slave’s existence; this condition probably extended to freed persons, for
whom being sexually available for the patron was considered a (legally
unenforceable but socially expected) duty (officium). That female slaves
were supposed to be constantly available to the master and his relatives
must also be responsible for the recurring image of freedwomen as being
promiscuous, easy to seduce and unfit for durable relationships. One of
the reasons for frequent sexual relationships with slave women by the
master and his relatives was not only the relationship of power between
owner and slave, but also the difference in age at marriage between men
(late twenties, early thirties) and women (late teens, early twenties). The
age difference resulted in a need for extramarital sexual activity and the
presence of female slaves may have offered a solution. Also, male family
members wishing to restrict the number of children (and thus legitimate
heirs) may have turned to their slaves. The demand for slaves would thus,
for a variety of reasons, have been partially answered by impregnation of
slave women in the household. Paternity of these children was never an
issue, as the child would always belong to the mother’s owner. That
Roman slave owners frequently showed considerable care in the upbringing
of home-born slaves and even hired wet-nurses for these children, might
not only have been motivated by the wish to have the mothers return back
to work quickly, but also because they after all were his own natural
children. Martial famously jokes about a certain Quirinalis having sex
only with his female slaves in order to fill his house and estates with slaves.
While obviously exaggerating for comic effect, the text suggests that Roman
masters clearly understood that relationships between master and slave
women contributed to the supply of cheap labour. The philosopher Muso-
nius Rufus describes how Roman society considered it quite normal for a
master to have relationships with his slave-maiden (although he himself


Plut. Cat. mai. ..

Sen. contr.  pr. : “For a freeborn person, losing one’s virtue is a crime, but for a slave a necessity
(necessitas) and for a freed person a duty (officium).” See also Hor. carm. ..–; Fabre :
– and Mouritsen b: .
  
Fabre : – with references. Saller . Bradley .

Mart. ep. ..
  
questioned the moral rightfulness), particularly if she was not married to
somebody else. Although this text might suggest some consideration from
the master’s side for relationships already existing between slave partners, it
leaves little doubt as to the common practice of sexually abusing slave
women. How frequently masters and their relatives were themselves respon-
sible for the supply of home-born slaves by having intercourse with slave
women, is impossible to quantify. The fact that slave offspring begotten by
the master (filii naturales) only rarely occur in epigraphy, carries little value,
as commemoration practices may have obscured this kind of information.
Anyhow, sexual abuse by social superiors evidently caused psychological
damage to the victims and complicated the establishment of stable, satisfy-
ing relationships among slaves in the household.
In addition to abuse by male members of the household, slaves were
always threatened by the danger of losing a partner or a child in response to
the master’s decision-making. Roman law only considered food, clothing
and shelter as basic necessities to be provided by the slave owner; family
ties and emotional wellbeing did not figure on the list. Slaves were
sometimes allowed to form marriages with the master’s consent, probably
in the first place to promote procreation and increase control, but it is
impossible to tell how frequently masters rewarded their slaves with this
privilege. Inscriptions predominantly show relational ties between freed-
men, but are generally silent about the moment these relationships had
started (i.e. during slavery or only after manumission). Some scholars have
argued that only a small minority of slaves ever had the prospect of
forming familial bonds, while others maintained that slave marriages were
necessary for reproduction and the sustainability of slavery itself. None
of these models will ever find sufficient substantiation in the sources. Some
masters will have reasoned that slave marriages could be used as a powerful
incentive, others that reproduction only required impregnation, not stable
relationships. Yet, even slaves enjoying the comfort of family relationships
were never certain how long their master’s goodwill would allow these
bonds to last. The danger of becoming single again always loomed in the
background. A major threat to the slave family was the property division
after the death of a household member. Roman law clearly stated that

  
Muson. fr. . Herrmann-Otto : – and –. Bradley : –.

Dig. ...

Fabre : –. Low frequency: Harris . High frequency: Treggiari a (a rather
optimistic approach to the inscriptional data) and Scheidel . For an introduction to the debate,
see Mouritsen a.

Dig. .... Dumont : –; Rawson  and .
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
relationships could and should be ended when demanded as such in the
will. Slaves could also be obliged to circulate between different properties
of their master, either as part of the services they provided or as punish-
ment, or they changed households as a consequence of gifts, loans, debt
settlements or the divorce of master and mistress. Martial for instance asks
a slave owner for a pretty girl to love and inspire him, suggesting that the
temporary exchange of slaves for sexual reasons was not unheard of.
Epigraphy and papyrology also regularly testify to the sale of slave partners
and children to different households, but how frequently masters disre-
garded family ties is impossible to establish. The fact however that sales
never concern slave partners or families strongly argues in favour of frequent
family disruption. In addition, papyri also show that female slaves of child-
bearing age were being sold to new owners, suggesting that the former
owners may have acquired sufficient home-born slaves and decided to sell
the women to other households in need of slaves. The family relation-
ships started in the first households were then inevitably broken. Neverthe-
less, there seems to be a tendency in Roman law to try and prevent outright
separation, but it was not until the reign of Constantine that the separation
of slave families became prohibited.
This ever-present risk could easily have demoralized slaves and made
them averse to becoming too emotionally attached to other members of
the household or different families. Similarly, slaves who had managed to
establish a stable relationship but had experienced loss and separation,
might have decided not to start any new relationship again as long as they
remained under a master’s control. It has indeed been argued that freed-
men tended to remember only the children born after manumission, not
those born as a result of brief liaisons during slavery. Ancient historians


Dig. ....

Mouritsen a. Circulation: Rawson  and Juv. .–, for the transfer of a child, born
to slave parents, from a rural estate to the city. Punishment: Petron. . and .. Roth , on
the other hand, argues that the fragment does not necessarily suggest a movement to the
countryside, only an occupational demotion. Property transfer: Apul. met. .–; . and
.–, describing how slaves decided to flee together, fearing that the new owner might split
slave families in a single instant.
 
Mart. ep. .. Epigraphy: Rawson . Papyri: Straus .

Bradley : –.

Law discouraging separation: Dig. ... and .... Constantine: CTh ..; CI ...
See Solazzi .

In comedy, slaves frequently seek the company of prostitutes, suggesting sexual relationships within
the household were not always available or desirable. See Dumont : –.

Treggiari : –. See also Bradley : – on the psychological damage caused by
slavery and the disruption of family bonds.
  
will never be able to penetrate into a slave’s mind to know how they tried
to cope emotionally with this threat, but here again comparative evidence
can help, or at least present some better documented personal experiences
of slaves confronted with disruptive relationships and the emotional con-
sequences. In the antebellum US South, nearly one in three marriages was
ended by forced separation and approximately half of the children became
separated from at least one of their parents. The disruption of family life
often resulted in singleness, unwed motherhood, self-determined abstin-
ence, adultery and a predominance of temporary relationships. Whether
Roman slaves experienced comparable feelings will remain uncertain, but
we do know that slave families were exposed to very similar conditions of
separation and loss.
It does not come as a surprise then that many slaves found it difficult to
establish and maintain long-term family relationships. However, slaves
with access to a substantial peculium (a considerable asset for slaves, but
evidently limited to those belonging to the more affluent households)
could hope to limit the masters’ control over their family life. One option
involved procuring his partner as under-slave (vicaria). Although the
slave probably still needed explicit permission to make the purchase and
the under-slave legally remained his master’s property, it seems likely that
the connections between master and vicaria were not as tight as between
master and slave. The master could even use his permission (or refusal) to
buy a vicaria for affectionate (instead of purely economic) reasons as an
incentive for his male slaves. Because the peculium remained with the slave
after manumission, he effectively gained control over his partner and was
able to free her and start a family. In this case, the slave’s family life
would not only be better protected against arbitrary interventions by the
master, but would also continue without interruption after manumission.
Nevertheless, the slave could never be sure about the fate of his partner and
their children. Matthew’s Gospel describes how a slave owed a debt to his
master (presumably caused by mismanagement of the peculium) and was
threatened with the sale of his wife and offspring. Another possibility,
again only available to the better-to-do slaves, was to await manumission,
purchase his slave partner and instantly manumit her. Here he had to take

 
Kolchin ; Williams . Treggiari .

For the peculium being handed over to the slave upon manumission, see Mouritsen b: –,
arguing against the use of the peculium to purchase freedom.

Mt. .–. The text does not offer much details on the slave’s family life, but because the master
threatens to sell the slave’s family and possessions, it seems likely he is referring to the peculium and
everything and everyone in it.
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
into account a possible delay between manumission and family reunion,
because the slave’s owner was never compelled to agree with his offer to
purchase her (see below). There is evidence that some freedmen were
forced to wait for their patrons’ death to eventually inherit their partners
and children, and some no doubt would have been waiting in vain.
Both scenarios result in the man being both patron and husband of his
wife, a situation reflected in the phrasing of several funerary dedications
(coniugi et patrono or viro et patrono). Inscriptions however do not always
elaborate on the exact relationships between the individuals mentioned,
and it is possible that many other epitaphs in which both partners share the
gentilicium, rather than documenting a marriage between two fellow-
freedmen manumitted by the same master, in fact hide a marriage between
a former slave and his under-slave, or between two partners one of whom
had been purchased by the other.
Many stumbling blocks thus prevented slaves from enjoying a stable and
rewarding family life. They must have longed for manumission, hoping
that freedom would finally improve their chances of having a proper
family. After all, once manumitted they would be free to choose their
partner, engage in a lawful marriage and have legitimate children. Things
however were a little more complicated than that.

 The Fate of the Freedman: The Entanglement

of Possessions and Family Life
This final section discusses the consequences of the precarious nature of
slave families for those who received manumission, and the impact of the
Augustan body of laws concerning freedmen on their family life.
One of the major reforms initiated by Augustus involved the creation of
a new category of freedmen, the Junian Latins. This is not the place to
delve too deeply into the legal intricacies of this new status; suffice it to say
that when a slave had not been formally manumitted, he did not receive
Roman citizenship but became a Junian Latin instead. One of the condi-
tions for lawful manumission was that the slave would not be set free


Evans Grubbs ; Mouritsen b: – with further references.

See e.g. CIL .; .; .; .; . and .. In a similar way, parents
sometimes tried to reconstruct their family life by purchasing and manumitting children born to
them while still being slaves. See CIL . (matri et patronae) and Rawson a.

The literature on the legal status of the Junian Latins is vast, but the history of their social and
economic life remains to be written. I here only cite Sirks  and ; Weaver  and ;
López Barja de Quiroga ; Rawson ; Emmerson  and Koops .
  
before the age of thirty years, as defined by the lex Aelia Sentia. Junian
Latins were thus considered free, but they did not have access to all the
legal rights entailed by Roman citizenship. For instance, they did possess
the right to engage in legal business contracts (the ius commercii), but had
no right to make a testament. When they died, their property returned to
the patron or his family and could not be transferred to his relatives. It was
not an attractive prospect for the freedman and his partner, to realize that
he would not be able to pass on any property to their children. One can
imagine that partners could sometimes have hesitated to start a family, or
even a long-term relationship, in these difficult circumstances. Yet, various
procedures gave Junian Latins the opportunity to become a Roman citizen,
including the presentation of a one-year-old child born in marriage (the
so-called anniculi causae probatio). It is this particular clause in Roman law
that is most important for the subject of this paper.
I argued in the previous section that a master had little to gain from
freeing his female slaves as long as they were able to give birth. If
procreation was indeed an important part of being a slave woman, we
would expect only a minority of female slaves to acquire the status of
Junian Latin (with exception of those manumitted for particular reasons
mentioned above). For male slaves, on the other hand, the situation was
completely different. The household did not require an equal sex ratio to
ensure procreation, so unless the master was using the possibility of slave
marriages as an incentive to stimulate diligence and loyalty, slave-breeding
in itself was no reason to keep male slaves under a master’s power until the
age of thirty. On the contrary: because Junian Latins had the ius commercii,
they were perfectly suited to be used as commercial agents. Slave agents
had the considerable disadvantage that the master was, to some extent,
liable for the contracts his slave representative had concluded, because the
actiones adiecticiae qualitatis protected third parties when dealing with
dependent agents. Freed agents, on the other hand, could be provided
with capital goods and money to invest, perhaps in return for a share of the
profits, without the actiones for dependent agents ever being applicable
(the patron could now only be sued under the actio institoria and
exercitoria, provided his agent was working on the basis of an appoint-
ment). Moreover, precisely because a Junian Latin was not allowed to
transfer any property to his children, he was the ideal tool to make
investments: any profits realized when acting as his patron’s agent would


I will not go into any detail here, but refer to the literature cited above (n. ) for the actio de
peculio, the actio de in rem verso and the actio quod iussu.
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
accrue to his property and hence be indirectly added to the patrimony of
the patron and his family. It has therefore been argued, and with good
reason, that masters probably felt little incentive to grant their slaves formal
manumission, when they had more to gain from first promoting their
slaves to the status of Junian Latins, without access to Roman citizenship,
and perhaps later, when they had proven themselves to be respectful and
trustworthy freedmen, awarding them with full citizenship. It was thus
in the interest of the patron that his Junian Latins themselves would not be
able to qualify for full citizenship. In other words, by limiting their
opportunities to start the anniculi causae probatio, i.e. by reducing their
chances to start a family, the patron would have easy access to his freed-
men’s possessions.
But Augustan legislation affected not only the family life of Junian
Latins. Another law, the lex Papia Poppaea, ruled that rich freedmen who
possessed Roman citizenship (i.e. those who had never been or no longer
were Junian Latins) and whose inheritance was valued at , sesterces
or more, could only exclude the patron from claiming an equal share by
having at least three children. Once again, Roman law made a close
connection between the profits to be expected by patrons and the family
life of their freedmen. The consequence of this law was that freedmen now
had to choose between trying to have sufficient children, with the result
that each received a smaller share, or to limit family size and provide one
child with half of the family’s possessions. We can only guess at the
psychological effects of this difficult situation, but one can imagine freed-
men wondering what the purpose of family life would be, if his children’s
economic interests would almost as a rule be harmed by his patron’s claim.
Some freedmen even tried to reduce their property to a sum below ,
sesterces, so as to escape the patron’s claim, but Roman law was quick to act
against this practice and protect the patron’s share.
If a master wished to anticipate his freedman’s attempt to exclude him
from the future inheritance, he could allow relationships between
household slaves to develop and then only manumit the male partner of
the relationship, if possible before the age of thirty. This way he could, on
the one hand, profit from the child-bearing capacity of the female slave,
and, on the other hand, continue to use his male slave as commercial
agent. If his freedman would aspire to obtain Roman citizenship (if he was
a Junian Latin) or have three surviving children (in case he already had
Roman citizenship), he would either be forced to start a new relationship
  
Weaver ; López Barja de Quiroga . Gai. inst. .. Mentxaka .
  
with a free or freed woman, young enough to bear children, or to wait
until his partner would be freed, accepting the risk of seeing his compan-
ion being freed at an age when child-bearing would have become more
difficult. Considering the grim demographic profile of Roman Antiquity,
in which nearly one in three children died during the first year, Junian
Latins and freedmen with Roman citizenship alike were forced to hesitate
between a new relationship with chances for social and economic improve-
ment, or remaining faithful to their slave partner and seeing their chances
dwindle to either join the ranks of ordinary freedmen or to transfer
property to their children. Roman law was even sufficiently clever to close
a loophole to freedmen who tried to adopt members of other families or
who had biological children from their time as slaves and tried to purchase,
manumit and adopt them, so as to meet the legal requirements: adopted
children did not count in Roman law. The constant emotional stress and
sorrow of having lost children at a young age and the awareness that
chances for success were limited, may have made older couples of freed
people reluctant to conceive again. It is therefore possible that many
freedmen, especially those whose partner had not yet been manumitted,
simply did not attempt to answer to the legal conditions and decided to
continue to live in concubinage and raise illegitimate children. That
concubinage and, in the words of Rawson, other ‘de facto’ marriages
occurred quite frequently in Roman society, perhaps reflects the problems
of many freedmen to start a family. Freedwomen manumitted after
child-bearing age who had either witnessed their former partner start a
relationship with a younger woman or who had been living without a slave
partner suffered an even worse fate: they probably had little chances of
finding a (new) husband. These women most likely remained completely
invisible in epigraphy, but papyri offer good evidence for the close rela-
tionship between the ability to reproduce and the opportunities to find a
partner. As the prospect of women to find a partner decreased in
proportion to their child-bearing capacity, many middle-aged freedwomen
were probably condemned to live their life in solitude.
Evidence for the severe situation freedmen could be confronted with is
offered by the dossier of one of the few Junian Latins known to us,
L. Venidius Ennychus. Several tablets discovered in Herculaneum discuss
the challenge of Ennychus’ bid for an unknown office under the suspicion

 
See Gardner ; Gai. inst. .– and Tac. ann. .. Carroll .

Rawson ; Evans Grubbs ; López Barja de Quiroga .

Krause –: –; Pudsey .
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
that he did not possess full citizenship and his attempts to prove he actually
did qualify, as he had successfully followed the procedure of the anniculi
causae probatio. What is most interesting in the dossier, is that Ennychus
made his first appearance in the tablets in – AD, but only initiated the
legal procedure in – AD. He apparently did not manage to change his
status of Junian Latin for at least twenty years. How this long delay should
be explained, is not exactly clear. Had Ennychus, unlike his slave partner
Livia Acte, been freed and decided to wait for her, until they were able to
reunite and start a family? Did he try to buy her freedom, but failed to
receive permission? Did the couple experience difficulties in conceiving
and bringing up a child, especially considering the probably rather
advanced age of his partner and the high infant mortality? Or had Enny-
chus initially decided to await his partner’s freedom (a partner unknown to
us), eventually given up and married a younger partner (Livia Acte)?
Whatever the story of his life, it seems likely that after his manumission
Ennychus failed to start a family right away and probably remained single
for quite a while.
We also find evidence of a second approach followed by slave masters, to
reduce the chances of their freedmen having children and trying to limit
access to their inheritance. Roman law offers evidence for patrons and their
sons having freedmen and freedwomen swear an oath not to marry nor to
have children as a necessary condition for manumission. Although
condemned by jurists, the fact that it was deemed necessary to discuss this
possibility clearly indicates that patrons sometimes deliberately tried to
limit family life and procreation by former slaves by demanding such a
promise. Additionally, we must also ask ourselves whether freedmen and
freedwomen would be aware of the fact that these oaths were legally void
and unenforceable and whether they would have showed the courage to
refuse, particularly in view of the patron’s power to deny manumission
after all. And even if this strategy had failed, the patron could still hope to
influence the family life of his manumitted slaves in another way, because
Roman law obliged freedwomen to gain the patron’s consent in order
to marry. Suppose a freedman and freedwoman belonging to the same
household intended to get married and have legitimate children. A patron


Arangio Ruiz ; Camodeca  and ; Andreau .

Dig. ...; .. pr.–; ..; ..– pr.; Fabre : ; Gardner : –.
The concept of the patron’s power over a freedwoman’s personal life is also illustrated by Ulpian’s
statement that it is more honourable for a freedwoman to be the concubine of her patron than to
start a family of her own (Dig. ..).

Fabre : – with references.
  
would recognize that this familial bond could reduce his claim on the
freedman’s property and might have been motivated to deny or postpone
his consent, so the couple would experience difficulties in rearing the
required number of children. Only when the freed couple belonged to
different households would the patron find less incentive to refuse mar-
riage. Yet, one could even imagine the patron of the freedman asking the
patron of the freedwoman to deny his consent in order to prevent the
marriage, but this scenario, while legally perfectly plausible, sounds per-
haps too devious to occur in real practice.
But perhaps a patron did not even need to go to such great lengths in
order to limit his freedman’s chances of procreation. If slave women were
on average manumitted at a more advanced age than male slaves, the sex
ratio of freed persons might have been skewed towards males. In add-
ition, we also need to take into account the consequences of the Roman
demographic regime, in which many female slaves, subject to frequent
pregnancy and child-birth, might not even have reached the age of thirty,
again resulting in a probable shortage of female marriage partners. As
manumitted slaves predominantly married within the same social cohort
(i.e. to other freed persons), some freedmen must have experienced diffi-
culties in finding a suitable partner. Again, epigraphy will never provide
conclusive evidence for such claims, but one cannot help but notice the
frequency with which freedmen were being commemorated by fellow-
freedmen, and not by family members. It appears that for some freedmen,
the word colibertus started to resemble a kinship term. The affectionate
terms freedmen sometimes used to commemorate each other clearly
suggest very intimate relationships that did not end after manumission.
It is also in the company of his fellow-freedmen that Trimalchio is staging
his own funeral, probably because he only expected them (and not family
members) to attend to the rites and commemorate him. Oddly, very few of
Trimalchio’s guests ever mention children. The setting of a dinner party
can perhaps account for their absence, but the fact remains that the guests,
who are mostly freedmen, seem to indulge in the company of slaves
and other freedmen, rather than in that of family members. One of the
reasons for this apparent predilection might be that those freedmen
who had troubles establishing a proper family started to consider their


Scheidel .

Rawson ; Treggiari : –; Brunt : ; Boulvert : –; Flory ;
Los .
 
CIL .a. Andreau .
 Between Coercion and Compulsion? 
fellow-freedmen, with whom they had shared slavery and service in the
same household, as a surrogate family. Even freedmen who did manage
to start a family of their own within or outside their patron’s household,
continued to feel emotionally connected to their fellow-freedmen, some-
times even awarding them a place in the funerary monument destined for
the nuclear family. Some more fortunate (and above all wealthy) freed-
men managed to marry a freeborn partner (or even their patron’s daugh-
ter), an achievement which has generally been considered an indication of
upward social mobility, of freedmen’s wealth purchasing a ticket to a more
respectable status. We might wonder to what extent demographic con-
straints also encouraged freedmen to look for a partner beyond their own
group of social peers.
In conclusion, the legal changes made during the Augustan age not only
strengthened the power of the patron over his freedmen, but also resulted
in a number of subtle strategies available to patrons and their families to
reduce their former slaves’ chances for having a family of their own. It is
somehow ironic that the economic logic of the status of Junian Latins and
the patron’s claim over his freedmen’s inheritance runs counter to Augus-
tus’ wish to stimulate procreation within lawful marriage.

 Conclusion
Together all demographic, legal and social constraints seriously compli-
cated the development of a harmonious family life for slaves and freedmen.
The power relationships between masters and slaves or patrons and freed-
men in themselves entailed considerable authority over the relationships
and family life of the social inferiors. Yet, we also have to take into account
the interaction between slave-breeding, manumission and the Junian Latin
status, probably resulting in a shortage of young marriageable women of
child-bearing age and a surplus of freedmen in the same age cohort.
A major consequence, for freedmen and freedwomen alike, was the
limited opportunity to acquire the attractive legal privileges contingent
on the number of surviving children born in marriage. It appears they
had little hope of ever excluding patrons and their heirs from guardianship
over freedwomen or from a share in the freedmen’s property. We should

 
See e.g. CIL .. Treggiari : –; CIL . and .

Bürge ; Los . See however Mouritsen b: – for the possible underrepresentation
of marriages between freedmen and freeborn women.

Gai. inst. .–.
  
not be surprised then to see that those freedmen who eventually did
manage to establish a legitimate family proudly advertised their accom-
plishment in inscriptions and funerary art. The centrality of the family
motive in epitaphs and relief portraits of freedmen has indeed often been
noticed. I will not argue that the freedman community and their social
relationships clearly stood out from the rest of the Roman population or
developed a different system of family values, but the consequences of their
former status as slaves and the power patrons continued to wield over them
and their family unmistakeably had an impact on the opportunities for
freedmen to find (and keep) a partner and to have a proper family. For
this reason alone, their family relationships deserve separate and more
detailed analysis.


Treggiari : –; Fabre : –; George ; Borg .

Contra Saller and Shaw : , who considered it futile to distinguish the family life of slaves
and freedmen from that of the freeborn population.
Being Single in the Roman World
  

Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan

Marriage Legislation
Judith Evans Grubbs

The marriage legislation of the first emperor Augustus has been a topic of
discussion and debate among both Roman social historians and Romanist
legal scholars for decades. The princeps was motivated by demographic,
moral and ideological concerns (not necessarily in that order) and was
interested mainly in the behavior of elite men and women and, as we shall
see, their former slaves. Overall, the legislation was “a massive and deliber-
ate appropriation by the state of a new regulatory sphere: marriage, divorce
and sexuality.” “Singles,” at least those of elite status, were certainly
affected, but we should not overestimate the impact the laws had on
unmarried men (women were another matter), nor assume that celibacy
was their only target.

 The Content of the Augustan Legislation

There is much we do not know about Augustus’ marriage legislation,
although it was the subject of commentaries by several distinguished jurists
in the centuries following its enactment. Our knowledge of Roman law in
the first three centuries of the Empire largely depends on the sixth-century
Corpus Iuris Civilis of Justinian, particularly the Digest and the Code of
Justinian. The Digest is essentially a sourcebook of excerpts from the
writings of legal experts (jurists) of the classical period of Roman jurispru-
dence (c.  BCE– CE), compiled centuries after the time of the
authorities it collects. Like all sourcebooks, it contains only a very, very


Cohen : . There has been extensive scholarship on the laws; I am citing only that of the past
thirty-five years. Most useful are Dixon : –; Treggiari b: – and –; Wallace-
Hadrill ; Treggiari ; Astolfi ; McGinn : –; Severy : – and
–; Spagnuolo Vigorita . See also Evans Grubbs : –.

Crawford : – gives the extant quotations from the two marriage laws along with a
tentative reconstruction and translation; see also – for the adultery law. Spagnuolo Vigorita
: – provides all the literary sources along with extensive discussion.


   
small sample of what was originally written, and the bulk of juristic
writings that it does include mostly date to almost  years after the
reign of Augustus. Most of the selections in the Digest are from jurists of
the late second and early third centuries, especially Papinian, Ulpian, Paul
and Modestinus, all active under the Severan emperors. Little remains
from the reign of Augustus himself. In , Constantine repealed the
Augustan penalties on caelibes (the unmarried) and orbi (the married but
childless), leaving only the restrictions on inheritance between childless
couples. By Justinian’s day nothing remained of the restrictions on the
unmarried and childess; therefore, little trace of them appears in his
corpus. The Institutes of Gaius, a second-century legal handbook that
survives independently of the Justinianic codification, does mention the
marriage laws on more than one occasion. They are also referred to
in several late third- or early fourth-century legal sources, especially the
so-called “Rules of Ulpian” (Regulae Ulpiani; also known as the Tituli ex
corpore Ulpiani). However, even though the inheritance restrictions no
longer applied in Justinian’s day, some aspects of the legislation were still
relevant, and so the Digest also includes some excerpts from juristic
commentaries of the second and third centuries on the legislation. More
sources survive on the adultery law, since it was still in effect under
Justinian, although there too Constantine had introduced modifications
(see below).
The Augustan marriage legislation actually comprised three separate
laws, all engineered by Augustus but presented as leges, that is, acts of
the Concilium Plebis. Two were marriage laws and one was a law on
adultery and other illicit sexual activity. The first law on marriage, enacted
in  BCE, was the lex Julia de maritandis ordinibus (“Julian Law on the
Marrying of the Social Orders”). Twenty-seven years later a second law,
the lex Papia et Poppaea, reinforced the lex Julia but also mitigated certain


Cod. Theod. ... The restrictions on the right of childless married couples to inherit from each
other were removed almost a century later.

Gai. inst. .; .; .; .; .–a; .–.

For instance, the fourth-century Western collection known as the Fragmenta Vaticana: Vat ;
–, ; cf.  and  (all having to do with excuses from performing munera like serving as
a guardian). Also the Paul. sent. .., compiled probably either just before or early in the reign of
Constantine (r. – CE). The Regulae Ulpiani (= Ulp. (reg.)) XIII-XIX provide the most
information and evidently represent the state of the marriage laws just before Constantine’s repeal.
These pre-Justinianic collections are most conveniently accessed in FIRA II; note that the Paul. sent.
and Regulae Ulpiani are not by the renowned jurists Paul and Ulpian but later pseudonymous
compilations.

Dig. ..– are all from treatises on the Augustan laws, elucidating the meaning of terms
taken from or relevant to the law. Other examples are given in notes below.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
provisions. Whereas the first law had been proposed by Augustus himself
(using his tribunician potestas), the second was passed by the two consuls
for the year, M. Papius Mutilus and Q. Poppaeus Secundus (both them-
selves unmarried and childless), but undoubtedly Augustus was behind it
also. In later legal sources, these two laws are referred to collectively as the
lex Julia et Papia, so it is difficult to know which law was responsible for
particular measures.
Together, the laws decreed that women between  and , and men
between  and , were to be married and having children. Caelibes,
those who were not married (or at least betrothed) were not allowed to
receive an inheritance or legacy from someone who was not related to them
within the sixth degree of kinship. Orbi, the married but childless, could
receive only half of what they were left by those beyond the sixth degree of
kinship, and could receive only ten percent of their spouse’s property by
will. Under the lex Julia of  BCE, widows were allowed a grace period
of only a year before they had to remarry, and divorcées were allowed just
six months; the lex Papia et Poppaea extended this to two years for widows
and eighteen months for divorcées. Anything left to those who were
ineligible to receive them because they were not married was termed
caduca and went to the testator’s other heirs, assuming they qualified
under the Augustan laws; if there were no heirs, the caduca went to the
public treasury (aerarium). By the third century, caduca were going
to the imperial fiscus rather than the aerarium, and Caracalla decided that
the fiscus would claim all legacies left to ineligible recipients, unless the
deceased had parents or legitimate children. Informers (delatores) who
reported to the fiscus that childless or unmarried people had received illegal
legacies were rewarded with part of the confiscated property. Those who
voluntarily denounced themselves (by declaring that they had been left
property which they were not eligible to receive) could receive half of the
property in question, with the other half going to the fiscus.


On these age limits and the fluctuating legal attitude toward marriages of those beyond them, see
Parkin .

In Roman terms, the sixth degree of kinship included great-uncles and great-aunts, great-nieces and
great-nephews, and second cousins.

Ulp. (reg.) XV.; they could take an additional tenth for every child they had. They could receive
nothing from each other without a will (unless the woman was married cum manu or they were
related within six degrees).
 
Ulp. (reg.) XIV (lex Papia granted longer grace periods); cf. Suet. Aug. . Ulp. (reg.) XVII.

Dig. .. (Paul.) and Dig. ... (Julius Mauricianus), citing rulings by Trajan and
Hadrian.
   
It should be stressed that these rules applied only to unmarried or
childless persons who received a legacy or inheritance from someone not
related to them within six degrees. Those who inherited from their parents
or grandparents, or aunts, uncles, cousins or even second cousins, had
nothing to worry about even if they remained single all their life. In other
words, intrusive though it was into Roman elite practices of property
transmission, the Augustan marriage law did not prevent anyone – certainly
not any man – from pursuing a “single” lifestyle. (The right of unmarried
women of respectable status to live as “singles” was subject to much more
regulation, as we shall see.) It simply restricted their inheritance rights in
regard to friends, lovers or clients.
Evidence for the age of marriage for Romans is problematic, even
among the elite whose lives are best known to us. However, it appears
that elite females were likely to be married by age twenty; men, who were
on average about ten years older than their wives, seem to have been
married by age thirty. Therefore the requirement that women be married
and producing children by age twenty was in conformity with societal
expectations, and probably caused little upset to family arrangements.
Young men, however, might find their time of premarital pleasure cut
short, since they were supposed to be married by twenty-five. Augustus’
law may well have prompted some men of senatorial status to marry earlier
in order to avoid the restrictions on inheritance from non-kin, and to reap
the benefits granted to those who did obey the law.
For indeed, Augustus’ legislation offered benefits as well as penalties.
Men and women who had three or more children were rewarded under the
laws. Men were given preferment in holding office and other perks like
exemption from having to serve as a guardian and good seats at the theatre.
Women were released from the need for a tutor mulierum and so had the
freedom to dispose of their property and act legally. The grant of such
privileges was called the ius [trium] liberorum, the “right of [three] chil-
dren.” The ius liberorum was also granted (originally by the Senate, later by
the emperor) to some men and women who did not have children; thus
the ius not only bestowed privileges, but was a mark of honor and imperial
esteem. Freedwomen who married and had four (not three) legitimate
children after manumission could also receive the ius liberorum; given that


Scheidel , modifying somewhat Saller : –. Lelis et al.  propose earlier ages for
first marriage for males as well as females, which would make the Augustan law’s expectations more
reasonable.

Treggiari b: .
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
full manumission usually came only at age thirty and women would be
past their peak child-bearing years by then, it is unlikely that many freed-
women qualified.
The adultery law, known as the lex Julia de adulteriis coercendis (“Julian
law concerning the repression of adultery”) dates to shortly after the
marriage law of  BCE and was evidently part of the same legal “package”
as the law on the marrying of the social ranks. But whereas failing to
marry or procreate according to the lex Julia de maritandis ordinibus merely
incurred restrictions on one’s right to inherit from non-kin, the adultery
law carried severe penalties. Sexual relations between a married woman and
anyone except her husband became a public crime, to be tried in a newly
created standing court (quaestio perpetua). Stuprum, illicit sex with an
unmarried woman or a boy or youth of good social class and reputation,
fell under the same law. Men and women who were convicted under the
adultery law were relegated to (different) islands; men had half their
property confiscated, and women had half their dowry and a third of their
other property confiscated. A woman convicted of adultery could not
make a legal marriage again; having lost her honor and become infamous
(infamis), she also lost the right to have an honorable union. These were
serious criminal penalties, much more unpleasant than the inability to
receive a legacy from a friend or grateful client.
Just as enforcement of the marriage laws depended on delatores to report
recipients of illicit legacies, the adultery law also required a third party
to bring charges against adulterous wives and their lovers; there was no
public prosecutor in classical Rome, so citizens were expected to regulate
and repress the behavior of other citizens. As with the marriage laws,
those who exposed others’ offenses were rewarded by receiving a part of
the condemned person’s property. The law allowed sixty days after the
commission of adultery for either the woman’s husband or father to
prosecute. Those men, whose own reputation was most affected by the
sexual misconduct of an adulteress, were supposed to channel their anger
through the courts, not take personal revenge. In fact Augustus specifically


Dixon : –. See Cass. Dio ..– on grants to those (including Livia) who did not have
the requisite number of children. See Broekaert, in this volume.

Most scholars date it to  BCE also, but Spagnuolo Vigorita :  puts it at between June
 BCE and June  BCE.

Cf. Dig. .. (Modestinus) on stuprum and the lex Julia.

See Richlin ; Cantarella ; Cohen ; Treggiari b: –; Edwards : –;
McGinn : –.

In effect, she was lowered to the social and legal level of a prostitute or a lena (procuress). See
Petrova, in this volume on the lena.
   
prohibited a cuckolded husband from killing his wife, even if he caught her
in the act (though men who did kill their wives in a fit of passion could
receive imperial leniency); fathers could kill their daughters only under
specific, restrictive circumstances. If both husband and father failed to
prosecute, then the right of accusation was thrown open to any adult male
citizen. Women were not able to bring an adultery accusation, even against
their own husband, as the emperors Septimius Severus and Caracalla told
an aggrieved wife.
Thus one of the traditional prerogatives of the Roman paterfamilias, the
right to investigate and punish infractions of morality by the women of his
family (after consulting with a consilium of relatives), was curtailed: dirty
laundry had to be washed in public. Moreover, a husband who knew about
his wife’s adultery and did not divorce her could actually be charged with
lenocinium, acting as her pimp, on the assumption that he would only be
allowing such an offense to his honor if he were somehow profiting from
it. This is really quite astounding: not only did Augustus encourage the
public prosecution and punishment of respectable women who had mis-
behaved in the bedroom – a matter which heretofore had been in the
hands of her family – he punished the husband who did not want to break
up his own marriage. Pliny the Younger wrote of his experience serving on
Trajan’s consilium when the emperor judged an adultery case. A woman,
Gallitta, married to a military tribune (of senatorial status), had, in Pliny’s
words, “stained her own and her husband’s honor by her love for a
centurion.” The wife’s infidelity was here compounded by the fact that
her lover was of significantly lower status than her husband, increasing his
shame. Her husband had complained to his provincial governor, who
passed the case on to Trajan. Trajan investigated and sentenced the
centurion (who was also dismissed from his rank) to relegation. But the
tribune, satisfied with his rival’s removal from the scene, did not wish to
see his wife punished. He was still keeping her “at home,” not divorcing
her as the Augustan law required. Advised by Trajan to complete the
adultery proceedings by accusing his wife, the man did so unwillingly, and
she too was banished and deprived of part of her property, and could never
make another legal marriage again. The husband had evidently not
realized that once he had exposed his wife’s affair, he could not remain

 
See Cantarella  on this aspect of the law. Cod. Iust. .. to Cassia ( CE).

Dig. ...– (Ulpian); .. pr. (Ulpian); McGinn : –.

Plin. epist. ..–.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
married to her without being seen as her leno (pimp), an offense that
would have resulted in his own disgrace.

 Reaction against the Augustan Legislation

The marriage legislation met with a great deal of objection from the
Roman elite. During celebratory games in Rome, a group of equestrians
urged Augustus to repeal the penalties on the unmarried and childless. In
response, Suetonius says, Augustus “summoned the children of Germani-
cus and held them up as an example, receiving some in his own lap and
some in their father’s lap, showing with his hand and face that they should
not regard it as a burden to imitate the young man’s example.”
According to Cassius Dio, after another protest by the equites, the princeps
even “gathered together into the forum in separate groups those of them
without wives on the one hand, and those who had married and had
children on the other. And seeing that the latter were much fewer than the
former, he grieved and lectured to them . . .” Dio then relates two
speeches, purportedly of Augustus but, as was customarily the case for
ancient historians, actually the words of Dio himself. The first, directed to
those with wives and children, was in effect a panegyric on marriage,
employing all the tropes of the epithalamic genre. Next the emperor
turned to the (much larger) group of unmarried men and scolded them
roundly for refusing their duty to their ancestors and the state and
preferring a life of pleasure (not solitariness, for these “celibates” had not
given up sex, according to Augustus) to the responsibilities – and burdens –
of married life. Dio’s rendition tells us more about the continued
importance of the marriage laws and the Roman ideology of marriage
and family in the early third century than about what Augustus actually
said. It is clear, however, that Augustus spoke out publicly, on more than
one occasion, regarding the need for his citizens to marry and have
children. Suetonius notes that the emperor enjoyed reading out edicts to
the populace, including orations like Quintus Metellus’ De prole augenda


Suet. Aug.  (my translation). Spagnuolo Vigorita :  dates this episode to late  or  CE,
because of the presence of Germanicus in Rome. In that case, the equites would be protesting the lex
Papia Poppaea.

Cass. Dio . (trans. Evans Grubbs a: ). Spagnuolo Vigorita : – dates this to
early  CE, thus before the lex Papia Poppaea. He thinks the equites were protesting an (otherwise
unmentioned) law enacted between  BCE and  CE, which he identifies as the lex Aelia Sentia of
 CE (on which see below). He believes the lex Julia of  BCE penalized only caelibes (because
Cassius Dio does not mention orbi) and the law of  CE then added penalties for orbi.

Cass. Dio .–. See Kemezis  and Laes, in this volume.
   
(“On Increasing Offspring”). If this was the same speech as the one that
Aulus Gellius says was given by the second-century BCE censor Metellus
Numidicus, De ducendis uxoribus (“On Taking a Wife”), it apparently gave
all too much attention to the burdens of marriage and not enough to the
rewards. In any case, in  CE the lex Papia et Poppaea was passed to
supplement (and at least partly mitigate) the earlier legislation, in response
to the protests by equestrians. These equites included not only permanent
members of equestrian rank, but also sons of senators who were being
groomed for senatorial positions; they thus represented elite youth
unhappy with restrictions on their lifestyle.
What exactly was the cause of all this tumultus recusantium, “uproar of
those refusing” the Augustan legislation? It was not the requirement that
Romans get married: virtually all women and most men, even those whose
sexual preference was for members of their own sex, would marry at least
once. Marriage and procreation were almost universally considered good
things by Romans (even philosophers), necessary for perpetuation of the
family and of the state: “For this reason we conceive and give birth to sons
and daughters, so that from their offspring we may leave for ourselves a
lasting memorial for all time,” as the Severan jurist Callistratus put it.
There was, as Metellus’ speech suggests, a perception that marriage and
(especially) the rearing of children entailed care and trouble and, due to
high child mortality, usually grief. But even those who practiced “alter-
native lifestyles” and celebrated the single life, as the Augustan poets did,
knew that their duty as Romans was eventually to make proper marriages
and have legitimate children; they just did not like legal pressure on them


Aug. .. Cf. also the Periochae of Livy , which says that the censor Quintus Metellus “censuit ut
cogerentur omnes ducere uxores liberorum creandorum causa ” (“decreed that everyone should be
forced to marry for the sake of creating offspring”), a speech that Augustus recited in the Senate
when “de maritandis ordinibus ageret ” – which would refer to the original law of  BCE. See
Kemezis : .

Aulus Gellius Noctes Atticae .. Metellus was criticized for saying that if it were possible to live
without a wife, everyone (i.e., every male) would – an early example of the “Women! You can’t live
with them, you can’t live without them” topos. Osgood :  says Numidicus was Quintus
Metellus’ nephew. On the burdens of marriage, see Laes, in this volume.

Spagnuolo Vigorita : –.

Aug. : prae tumultu recusantium, Augustus had to mitigate the original provisions of the law. It’s
unclear if the modifications Suetonius refers to are those of the lex Papia Poppaea or if changes were
also made between  BCE and  CE; see note .

Dig. ... (Callistratus): Etenim idcirco filios filiasve concipimus et edimus, ut ex prole eorum
earumve diuturnitatis nobis memoriam in aevum relinquamus. Callistratus was discussing the
definition of liberi, “children,” and he stresses that they included grandchildren as well – the
original context of his comment may have been an inquiry about eligibility under the Augustan law.

Parkin : –.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
to do this. Propertius, rejoicing after the failure of an earlier attempt by
Augustus to impose marriage on Roman citizens, declares to his beloved
(and evidently unmarriageable) Cynthia that, “More swiftly I’d suffer this
head to leave my neck, than waste torches at a bride’s whim, or parade past
your closed door, a husband (maritus), turning damp eyes back toward my
betrayal.” He professes to prefer to serve in love’s army rather than the
emperor’s: “Why should sons of mine feed my country’s triumphs? None
of my blood will be a soldier.” Yet his final poem channels the voice of
the virtuous and fertile Cornelia, daughter of Augustus’ first wife, Scribo-
nia (and half-sister to the less virtuous but even more fertile Julia), who
remained married to one man until her death and perfectly exemplified the
Augustan ideal. Similarly, Propertius’ contemporary Horace sang of the
pleasures of the single life and never married himself. But in his Carmen
Saeculare, performed by a choir of virginal girls and boys at Augustus’ Ludi
Saeculares in  BCE (a year after the passage of the lex Julia de maritandis
ordinibus and the lex Julia de adulteriis coercendis) he extolled the recent
“decrees concerning the marrying (lit., “yoking”) of women and the marriage
law, fruitful in new offspring” and beseeched the goddess Diana, in her role as
protector of women in childbirth, to bring them to fruition. The poets knew
when to get with the Augustan program – except for poor Ovid, who learned
too late just how serious Augustus was.
The reference to “yoking” of women, a play on the word for marriage,
coniugium, reveals the double standard held by Horace, Augustus and
virtually all Romans apart from a few philosophers: the laws were intended
primarily for freeborn women, especially those of the senatorial and
equestrian classes. It was women’s sexual behavior that was to be regu-
lated, not men’s. In an earlier, less edifying poem, Horace mocked men
whose tastes ran to married women, who were willing to endure difficulties
in reaching their lovers, humiliation and even physical mutilation by angry
husbands, when they could enjoy risk-free sex with male or female slaves or


Prop. ., trans. H. Deutsch in Rayor and Batstone : . There has been much debate about
what law (or proposed law) Propertius is referring to: see most recently Spagnuolo Vigorita :
–; Osgood : –. On the vexed question of Cynthia’s status, see Osgood : –.

Prop. .; Osgood : –.

Carm. saec. –: diva, producas subolem patrumque prosperes decreta super iugandis feminis prolisque
novae feraci lege marita. On Horace’s praise of the caelebs vita, see Laes, in this volume.

On the poets and the single life, see Kiiskinen, in this volume. For the fate of Ovid, see Spagnuolo
Vigorita : – and –.

I understand iugandis as referring to marriage; however Spagnuolo Vigorita :  suggests
Horace was referring to repressing women’s adultery, something the Senate evidently had also called
for (Cass. Dio ..) and the subject of the lex Julia de adulteriis.
   
with freedwomen. The Augustan adultery law ratified this status/gender
calculus: freeborn women of respectable status were liable under the law if
they had sex with any man other than their husband, whereas men were
liable only if their alleged partner was herself a respectable woman. Slaves,
prostitutes and other women of low birth and occupation, such as
actresses, could be had with impunity. Women who disregarded this rule
received nothing but opprobrium and criminal prosecution – like Vistilia,
a woman of high rank who registered as a prostitute in order to evade the
adultery law and thereby triggered a senatorial decree in  CE.
Women who followed the rules and married, only to lose their husband
through death or, less respectably, divorce, were required by the law to
remarry or face the inheritance restrictions of the law unless they had
already had at least one child. Widows would have justifiably been upset
that the original law of  BCE allowed only a year after a husband’s death
before remarrying, since it was unseemly to take another husband when
the traditional ten-month mourning period had barely passed. However,
the Papian-Poppaean law of  CE extended the grace period after widow-
hood to at least two years. It is likely that the change was in response to
petitions and discreet pressure from widows and their families rather than
the complaints of the obstreperous equestrians who confronted Augustus
in public. Even without the laws, young women of child-bearing age who
were widowed or divorced before they had children would probably have
remarried anyway – at least among the Roman senatorial and equestrian
classes at whom the laws were especially aimed. Despite the images
created by ancient Christian writers and some modern scholars, few
widows were compelled to remarry when they really wanted to honor
the memory of their one and only husband as univirae. In the era of
Augustus, the univira (“one-man woman”) was usually not the woman
who survived her husband in years of chaste widowhood, but the wife who
remained faithful during her marriage and was then fortunate enough to
predecease her husband without suffering bereavement through death or


Hor. sat. .; written before the Julian law on adultery (otherwise Horace could have added the
legal repercussions of adulterous affairs to the physical risks).

Tac. ann. .; cf. Suet. Tib. ; Dig. ... (Papinian). See McGinn : –. On
registering as a prostitute, see Petrova, in this volume.

Ulp. (reg.) XIV. Suetonius (Aug. ) says the period was increased to three years.

Humbert : –; Parkin : –. In Egypt census returns indicate cases of remarriage
of women still in their child-bearing years (up to thirty-five) but not afterwards; on the other hand,
older widowed or divorced men were likely to remarry: see Bagnall and Frier : –. Below
the elite, widows past their mid-thirties were unlikely to remarry.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
divorce – women like the Cornelia whose story Propertius told, or “Turia,”
praised by her husband of more than forty years.
Most men and women who had been married for more than a few years
would probably have had at least one child, if not three, and so would
escape the penalties of the inheritance law. True, children could, and
often did predecease their parents; would a child’s death automatically
push its parents back into the ranks of the legally disadvantaged? The
Regulae Ulpiani sets out in detail (perhaps in response to questions from
anxious couples) the ages to which a child would have to survive in order
to “count” for spouses to be able to inherit from each other: a male child
surviving to age fourteen or a female to age twelve (i.e., the age of puberty
for each); two children (of either sex) living until at least age three; or three
surviving until their naming-day. Jurists also debated whether disabled
children would count for the purposes of the law; there seems to have been
some difference of opinion on this matter. Surely the question was raised
by men and women anxious to know whether they qualified for the ius
liberorum or were able to inherit from each other.
But those who did not remarry (or marry at all) would still be able to
inherit from their family within the sixth degree of kinship. These very
broad exemptions to the inheritance restrictions would have had the effect
of keeping wealth within families, including even those members who were
themselves childless. We should not overestimate the numbers of caelibes
and orbi whose hopes of a legacy were dashed by the lex Julia. Apart from
the wealthy elite for whom giving and receiving legacies from friends and
clients was an established tradition, most freeborn Romans would be
unlikely to inherit from anyone beyond this extended family and so were


On the univira, see Humbert : – and Treggiari b: –. Christian adaptation of
the ideal: Lightman and Zeisel . Turia: see below.

Arjava : – believes that most women could have earned the ius liberorum. Note, however,
that on average twenty percent of marriages would have produced no children; in such cases, a
surviving spouse would need to remarry in order to inherit fully from those beyond the sixth degree
of kinship. On orbi couples, see below.

Ulp. (reg.) XVI.a. This title is on the capacity of spouses to inherit from each other, but
presumably applies to inheritance by orbi from non-kin in general. See Wallace-Hadrill :
–. Cf. Dig. .. and  (Paul.), regarding when a child can be said to be anniculus (one
year old); clearly this is in response to questions regarding eligibility under the law. The bar was
higher when it came to claiming the ius liberorum: see Parkin : –.

Dig. .. (Ulpian); cf. Dig. .. (= Paul. sent. ..–). See Allély : – for the
context. Note also Dig. .. (Paul.): stillborn children do not count. On disabled children,
see Laes, Beperkt? Gehandicapten in het Romeinse rijk (Leuven, ): –.

Gardner : –.
   
not affected by the laws. Of course it was precisely the elite, both
senators and equestrians, who were complaining about the laws, and for
a reason. As Andrew Wallace-Hadrill pointed out thirty-five years ago,
there was a practice among wealthier Romans of leaving sizeable legacies to
non-kin, as tokens of esteem or gratitude for patronage or support; this
went back well before the time of Augustus. This custom was so
important to, and so ingrained in, the propertied classes, that penalizing
the recipients of such bequests just because they were single or childless
was perceived as harsh. Augustus’ legislation promoting marriage and
child-bearing cut into this tradition and affronted those who practiced it.
Freedom of testation, both giving and receiving by will, was almost as
much a part of Roman tradition as marriage.
This, rather than any real reluctance to marry and procreate, was the real
root of elite resistance to Augustus’ laws. It was particularly offensive that
one man, who had only one child (and none in common with his second
wife, Livia) and had benefited enormously from inheritance himself, would
place such restrictions on those from families at least as illustrious as his.
And to increase the indignity, Romans were encouraged to inform against
their peers, or even their social betters, in order to enforce the law; the
penalties only came into play if a third party revealed that someone
ineligible under the law had benefited from the will of a non-relative.
Worst of all was the fact that adultery could no longer be handled
discreetly within the household by the paterfamilias and his consilium;
instead, it was possible for a third party to bring an adultery accusation
and damage the reputation of all involved – including the cuckolded
husband, who would be forced to divorce his wife rather than be branded
with infamia as her pimp.
The official encouragement to denounce fellow citizens really rankled.
That is why Tacitus, in his digression on the deleterious evolution of law,
blames the laws that had come into effect under “peace and princeps ” for
the rise of the notorious blight on Roman elite society, the delatores:
Harsher bonds (arose) from this, guards were imposed and induced by the
rewards of the Papian-Poppaean law such that, if there was any default from


Champlin : – notes that family members within the sixth degree, especially children,
were by far the most common heirs and legatees.

Wallace-Hadrill ; Hopkins : –; Champlin : –, who notes (–),
“The roughly one-fifth of Roman testators who in the course of nature would be childless seem to
have looked for heirs among their friends rather than their kin.”

Cf. Champlin : – on the amount Augustus inherited.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
the privileges of parents, then the people (i.e. the aerarium), as if the
parent of all, would keep the ownerless properties. But they (informers)
penetrated deeper and seized hold of the city and Italy and wherever there
were citizens, and the positions of many were destroyed.
Looking back, Tacitus saw that Augustus’ laws had encouraged Romans
to denounce each other over illegally acquired inheritances. His account of
the trials in the Senate for treason, magic (or poisoning) and – not
coincidentally – adultery, demonstrates how ready elite Romans were to
use the laws to attack each other if it was to their own advantage.
Moreover, in addition to the loss of legacies or criminal penalties for
adultery, the laws also added a layer of public shaming, not only to sexual
misconduct within the household but also to what had always been
considered a great misfortune: childlessness. On average, twenty percent
of all marriages will not result in children, and given high neonate
mortality and the risk of miscarriage, especially for women marrying in
their teens, we can assume that even more than twenty percent of Roman
couples would be officially orbi. Two famous examples illustrate the
additional pressure and anxiety the Augustan marriage legislation put on
already worried childless couples. The first is an inscription from the
time of Augustus set up for the wife known today as “Turia” which records
her husband’s funeral oration for her. The bereaved husband says that
after many years of childlessness his wife, grieving at his orbitas, offered
him a divorce, and even proposed to find him a more fertile wife and
continue in a more sisterly relationship with him. He was, he tells us,
absolutely shocked that she would think of such a thing, and hotly refused
to put aside the wife who had saved his life during the proscriptions of the
Second Triumvirate. To a modern reader it may appear a little odd, and
more than a little tasteless, that a husband would talk about his wife’s
fertility problems at her funeral. Who wanted to know all this? Presumably
the husband’s peers and friends and enemies, and also Augustus, who may
even have attended the funeral; the laudatio’s language shows the husband
to have been a supporter of the new regime, although he could not agree
with it in this one respect.


In other words, if someone who did not have children received a legacy.

Tac. ann. ., translation from Evans Grubbs a: . Spagnuolo Vigorita : .

Tac. ann. .; .; .; .; .; .–; Marshall .

See further at Evans Grubbs : –.

CIL VI.. Latin text in Wistrand ; discussion in Horsfall ; Lindsay ; and esp.
Osgood . The identity of the woman and her husband are still debated.

Lindsay  on the husband as supporter of Augustus’ program of reform.
   
Similarly, Pliny the Younger in a pair of letters, one to his teenage wife’s
grandfather and one to her aunt, informs them that most regrettably,
Calpurnia didn’t realize she was pregnant and did things she shouldn’t
have and consequently, she miscarried. Again, these letters were intended
for public consumption; Pliny had them published in his lifetime. He
wanted not only his grandfather-in-law to know that they were actively
trying to have children, but also his elite readers and, of course, the
emperor. Trajan did in fact grant Pliny the ius liberorum, and in his letter
of thanks Pliny assured the emperor that he truly did want children, as was
clear from the fact that he has married more than once. Some time later,
Pliny respectfully asked Trajan to grant the same boon to Pliny’s friend
and protégé, the biographer Suetonius who, Pliny says, had not been
“fortunate” in his marriage. Thus Pliny did not have to worry about
inheritance restrictions, which was fortunate for him because he actually
received, and gave, quite a lot of money through bequests. Those who
did not have Pliny’s connections and also did not have children would not
only be unable to take legacies from clients and friends, but would feel the
sting of public reproach – because whatever Roman satirists and moralists
might say, elite Romans did want children. However, they did not want to
be dictated to or to be told that their testamentary rights would be
curtailed if they did not marry and reproduce.
The Augustan marriage laws remained in force for more than  years,
not necessarily because they increased the citizen population or
strengthened elite families but because they reenforced imperial ideology
(and imperial coffers). Until  CE, when the Edict of Caracalla granted
Roman citizenship to virtually all free inhabitants of the Empire, only
Roman citizens were affected by the Augustan laws, and most of them
were in Italy or the more “romanized” western provinces. But we know
from the Gnomon of the Idios Logos, the handbook of the official in
charge of imperial accounts in Egypt, that the laws were applied in Egypt
in the second century. Marriage contracts of Roman citizens in Egypt
referred to the lex Julia quae de maritandis ordinibus lata est liberorum
procreandorum causa (“Julian law which was passed concerning the social


Epist. . and ..

Plin. epist. . (his own grant of the ius liberorum); epist. .– (Suet.). Trajan grumbled a bit
at the request for Suetonius, because he had already told the senators that he was going to restrict
the number of grants of the ius liberorum, but he did give it to Suetonius.

Duncan-Jones : – on Pliny’s legacies.

However, the rules as given in the Gnomon differ somewhat from what we know from Roman legal
and literary sources: see Besnier ; Treggiari b: –.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
orders for the sake of procreating children”). The cosmopolitan North
African writer Apuleius inserted references to the Augustan laws on mar-
riage and adultery in his Metamorphoses, knowing that his educated readers
would get the jokes. The Christian apologist Tertullian in early third-
century Carthage refers to the laws as vanissimae, implying that they were
ineffective and annoying. The adultery law also remained in force and
continued to be used and abused: Cassius Dio says that when he was
consul (under Septimius Severus), he found , adultery cases pending,
but few accusers bothered to complete a prosecution. This suggests that
the possibility of prosecution was used to blackmail a woman or her lover
(or her complacent husband).
In  CE, an edict of Constantine “to the people” of Rome abolished
the Augustan penalties on the unmarried and childless. The emperor
freed caelibes from the “threatening terrors of the law” and decreed that
henceforth no one should be considered orbus; women were to be freed
from the “yokes” placed on their necks by the demands of the laws, an
etymological reference to a wife’s role as coniunx (“yoke-mate”) and
perhaps also an echo of Horace’s Carmen Saeculare. Ironically, only
thirteen years earlier, on the occasion of his marriage to the young Fausta,
Constantine himself had been lauded by a panegyricist as an outstanding
representative of the marriage laws, a youth who readily took on his duty
to family and state.
Although the repeal of the Augustan penalties is the best-known part of
Constantine’s law of , it was not its sole purpose. Several other pieces of
the original edict survive, scattered throughout books of the Codex Theo-
dosianus and the Codex Justinianus, and when they are considered as a
whole, it appears that the intention was to foster Romans’ testamentary
rights and free them from various legal constraints. In other words, like
Augustus’ original legislation, Constantine’s repeal was essentially about
inheritance, not celibacy. No doubt Constantine’s decision was pleasing to
the senatorial aristocracy of Rome, whose favor he wished to keep. Indeed,


P.Mich. VII. + P.Ryl. IV. (early nd c.); trans. Evans Grubbs a: –. Cf. P.Vind.
Bosw.  (from Hermopolis,  CE), referring to the “Papian-Pappaion [sic] law.” See Evans
Grubbs  on marriage contracts.
  
Osgood . Tert. Apol. .. Cass. Dio ...

Cod. Theod. .. (, ad populum). See Evans Grubbs : –.

Childless couples still could not inherit from each other; this did not change for over seventy-five
years, when the emperors Arcadius and Honorius abolished the need to apply for the ius liberorum:
Cod. Theod. .. (Arcadius, ) and ..– (Honorius, ).

Panegyric  (Mynors); see Evans Grubbs :  for quotation.

Evans Grubbs : –.
   
the grumbling of rich elites about the restrictions on their testamentary
freedom was probably at least as much a factor in Constantine’s repeal of
the Augustan penalties as any desire to support Christian celibates (of
whom there were very few in the territories Constantine then ruled).
Moreover, Constantine, like his predecessor Trajan, hated the delatores
who informed against their fellow citizens, and the emperor frequently
raved about the exploitation of his subjects by imperial officials, including
those of the fiscus. Six years after his repeal of the penalties on caelibes and
orbi, Constantine also significantly modified the Augustan adultery law
(though he did not abolish it) by restricting the right to prosecute an
adulterous wife to her male family members. Thus the most irksome and
terrifying aspect of Augustus’ legislation – the encouragement of denunci-
ation by outsiders and intrusion into the private domain of the family –
was ended.

 Augustus the Social Engineer

There was another part of the marriage legislation, however – in fact the
only part for which the text of the law is preserved in the Digest. For
Augustus and later emperors, just as important as being married was being
married to a person of the suitable social class. The third-century jurist
Paul quotes a fragment of the lex Julia de maritandis ordinibus in a
commentary on the Augustan marriage laws:
Whoever is a senator, or whoever is or will be his son, or a grandson from a
son, or a great-grandson born from a son, shall not knowingly or deceitfully
have as fiancée or wife a freedwoman or a woman who herself or whose
mother or fathers leads or has led a career on the stage. Nor shall the
daughter of a senator, nor a granddaughter born from a son, nor a great-
granddaughter born from a grandson born from a son, knowingly and
deceitfully be a fiancée or wife to a freedman or to a man who himself or
whose father or mother leads or has led a career on the stage, nor shall any
of those men deceitfully and knowingly have her as a fiancée or a wife.
The law of  BCE forbade marriage between men or women of
senatorial status and former slaves or actors. Moreover, no freeborn person
(including of course those of senatorial status) could have legal marriage


Spagnuolo Vigorita ; Evans Grubbs : –.

Constantine (Cod. Theod. ..,  CE) limited the right to accuse a married woman of adultery
to her husband and male family members, whereas Augustus had opened up the ius accusandi to all
male adult citizens after a period of sixty days.

Dig. .. pr. (Paul.); translation in Evans Grubbs a: .
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
with a prostitute or pimp or a woman convicted of adultery. These
restrictions remained even after Constantine abolished the penalties on
celibacy; in fact, Constantine significantly expanded the restrictions on
marriage between the social orders. The ban on marriage between
senators and actresses was not removed until the early sixth century by
the emperor Justin (supposedly at the urging of his nephew Justinian, so
that Justinian could marry the former show-girl Theodora). Ultimately,
after the publication of the Digest and the Codex Justinianus, Justinian
allowed men of high rank to marry former slaves, as long as they had
documentation that the relationship was marriage and not concubinage.
Until Justinian’s repeal, however, any man of senatorial status who
wished to enter a monogamous relationship with a former slave would
have to have her as a concubine, not a legal wife – unless he could get
permission from the emperor to marry her. In fact, the perhaps unin-
tended consequence of Augustus’ legislation was to give concubinatus a
recognized role as a quasi-marital, monogamous relationship for those
whose status was so disparate that marriage was either prohibited by law
or strongly discouraged by social mores. Adultery, that is, sexual relations
with someone else’s wife or with a single woman of good status, was a
crime, but concubinatus, a steady monogamous relationship with a woman
of lesser status, was not. Neither the concubine nor her higher-ranking
partner would be in compliance with the marriage laws, so they were
subject to all the inheritance restrictions that “single” people were.
Moreover, any children they had together would be illegitimate and unable
to inherit from their father unless he left them something in his will – and
that would be open to challenge by his relatives.
On the other hand, the law of  CE explicitly allowed freeborn men
other than senators and members of their families to marry freedwomen.
According to the Greek historian Cassius Dio (writing more than two
centuries later), because of a relative shortage of marriageable women of


Evans Grubbs : –; McGinn a; Evans Grubbs . On marriage with a pimp, see
Petrova, in this volume.
 
Cod. Iust. .. pr. (– CE); Procopius, Anecdota .–. Novel. ..

Dig. .. (Ulp.). On concubinatus, see Treggiari b; McGinn ; Evans Grubbs .

See McGinn : –.

There were ambiguous cases: the union between a senator and a freedwoman would probably be
construed as concubinatus, but if the woman were freeborn questions as to its propriety (and legality)
might arise: see Dig. ... (Papin.), discussed by McGinn : –; Gardner :
–; Evans Grubbs : –.

Ulp. (reg.) XVI.. Gifts to a concubine (during one’s lifetime) were allowable, however (unlike gifts
to a wife).

Dig. .. (Cels.).
   
good birth, Augustus allowed freeborn men other than those of senatorial
rank to marry freedwomen and have legitimate children with them. If a
man below the senatorial elite did want to marry his slavewoman, he could
free her for the purpose of marriage, and epigraphic evidence shows that
many men did marry their own freedwomen. This continued to be the
case until legislation of Constantine extended the ban on marriage with
freedwomen beyond the senatorial elite to cover also provincial officials
and the highest ranks of decurions, and also expanded the definition of
unmarriageable women to include not only freedwomen and actresses but
also other “humble and lowly” women such as tavern-keepers and women
who sold goods in public. Constantine also went further than Augustus in
prohibiting any attempt to transfer any property to such women or their
children, under penalty of infamia and deprivation of citizen status for the
high-ranking man.
Marriage between free women and former slaves did not receive the
same encouragement from Augustus or Roman society as a whole. Jurists
reluctantly conceded that a freedwoman could marry her former partner in
slavery after freeing him, but freeborn women who stooped to marriage
with their ex-slaves were subject to social, literary and eventually legal
sanctions. Here too Constantine went beyond the original measures of
Augustus.
Thus the lex Julia de maritandis ordinibus, in addition to mandating
marriage and child-bearing, was also a law regulating status and should be
considered in the larger context of Augustan social legislation, including
laws on manumission and on patron/freedman relationships. Under the lex
Fufia Caninia ( BCE), slaveowners could free only a certain proportion of
their slaves in their will, on a sliding scale, depending on the number of
slaves in the household. Someone with ten or fewer slaves could free no
more than half of them, whereas someone with between  and 
slaves could free no more than one fifth of them by will. The lex Aelia
Sentia of  CE said that a slave could not be fully manumitted until he or


Cass. Dio ..–, who speaks of a shortage of eugeneis women (lit. “well-born,” but possibly
synonymous with Latin ingenuae, “freeborn”). Whether there really was such a gender disparity
among the elite is debatable: McGinn : – believes there was, but cf. Parkin : –;
Treggiari : . However, Augustus’ policy can be seen as encouraging “marrying down”
among males below senatorial status: McGinn . See below on patronus–liberta marriage.

Cod. Theod. .. (); this law was enacted sixteen years after Constantine repealed the Augustan
penalties for caelibes and orbi. See Evans Grubbs : – and ; McGinn a.

See Evans Grubbs ; disapproval of the “slumming” behavior of elite women and their slaves
discussed by Richlin  and Edwards . See further Mueller, in this volume.

Gai. inst. .–.
 Singles, Sex and Status in the Augustan Marriage Legislation 
she reached the age of thirty; the manumittor had to be at least twenty. An
exception was made in the case of a woman freed in order to marry her
patron. If a freedman had three children (in legitimate marriage and
therefore after fully legal manumission), they would be able to inherit his
whole estate, whereas otherwise the patron could take all (if the freedman
was childless) or part (if the freedman had fewer than three children).
The consequences of the Augustan laws on marriage for freedpeople
were much more significant than for wealthy freeborn caelibes and orbi.
Consider, for instance, the uxor liberta (freedwoman wife), manumitted for
the purpose of marrying her master. Such a marriage was encouraged by
several measures of Augustus, including exemption from the requirement
under the lex Aelia Sentia that a slave be at least thirty for full manumis-
sion. This exemption was for the convenience of the master, so that he
could have legitimate children from his freedwoman wife while she was
still young and fertile; the slave was supposed to consent to the marriage,
but “consent” in such a situation is pretty meaningless. Moreover, the
Augustan marriage law said that a woman whose master had freed her for
the purpose of marriage could not divorce him and marry another without
her patron husband’s consent. So whereas other free women were
supposed to remarry after divorce if they had no children, a freedwoman
married to her patron, even if she divorced him, could not make another
legal marriage against his will. As the emperor Alexander Severus replied to
a petitioner named Amphigenes, “Your freedwomen, who is also your wife,
if she has left you when you were unwilling, does not have the right to
marry another man as long as you want to have her as your wife.”
Justinian, who ultimately repealed all the restrictions on marriage between
high-ranking men and lowborn women, not only retained this rescript for
his Code but strongly endorsed it in his later nd Novel on remarriage.
This “new law,” in Greek, refers to the hubris of a freedwoman wife in
leaving the man who gave her freedom and says that any union she later
enters into is not marriage, but “fornication (porneia) and corruption.”
The freedwoman married to her patron may seem to be an extreme case,
but such marriages occurred regularly, and are often commemorated on
tombstones. But if a patronus–liberta marriage was unhappy, the wife had


Gai. inst. .– on the lex Aelia Sentia.

On these laws, see Gardner ; Treggiari : –; Mouritsen b: –.

Dig. .. (Ulp.), citing the words of the law; cf. Dig. .. (Licinius Rufus) and Dig. ..
(Mod.).
 
Cod. Iust. ... Novel. . ( or ).
   
no legal means of escape and the consequences could be dreadful.
Moreover, her case points up a key aspect of Augustus’ marriage legislation
that is obscured if we see it only as a law penalizing “singleness” and
childlessness. Yes, caelibes, male and female, did suffer restrictions on their
inheritance rights when they did not marry in accordance with the law, but
this penalty was mild compared to what would happen to freedwomen in
an unhappy marriage to their patron, or freeborn women in an unhappy
marriage who took a lover.
Too often we forget that the full title of Augustus’ law was the lex Julia
de maritandis ordinibus – the Julian law on the marrying of the social orders.
In other words, the law’s purpose was not simply to get as many people as
possible married and producing children; rather, it was to regulate legitim-
ate marriage, and especially the passing on of family property, so that only
those whose legal and social standing made them suitable could contract
marriage with others, either of higher or lower status. It was also intended
to control the use of the privilege and wealth of the Roman elite, an elite
that Augustus was reshaping to his own ends. The same was true of the
laws regulating how many slaves a Roman could free in his or her will, and
at what age they could receive full manumission. This aspect of social
engineering, that is, the regulation of status distinctions and the channel-
ing of legitimate marriage and inheritance, long outlasted Constantine’s
repeal of the penalties on caelibes, and was not finally dismantled until the
reign of Justinian, five and a half centuries after Augustus.


Commemoration: Davies . Dreadful: see Evans Grubbs b for an example.

Treggiari  and .
  

‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus

Harri Kiiskinen

 Introduction
Studying ‘singleness’ in the context of an ancient culture is bound to entail
problems of definition. Is ‘singleness’ defined as the binary opposite of the
social category of married, or should we see ‘singleness’ as a set of cultural
norms and meanings resulting in a defined set of behavioral patterns? As
Laes’ introduction to this volume shows, ‘singleness’ understood as the
social status opposed to ‘married’ includes people of all ages and of every
status. The purpose of this chapter is to investigate the second option:
‘singleness’ as a certain set of cultural norms and behavioral patterns. Now,
the question of ‘singleness’ is comparable with the question of whether a
specific youth culture existed in Rome or not. In a recent book, Laes and
Strubbe suggest that there probably was a youth culture, but that it was
limited to scions of families with appropriate financial resources and a
certain social standing. In addition to being an urban phenomenon, this
youth culture was also limited to young men, as girls in well-to-do families
were not allowed to sully their reputations before marriage.
In this chapter, I look at how three different themes related to singleness
appear in Late Republican literature. I will begin with the assumption that
these themes are especially relevant in the case of young men, but I will
develop my analysis further by looking at evidence concerning older men
as well as women of all ages. I will show that the descriptions do not form a
coherent system of meanings and suggest that this incoherence might be a
symptom of the ongoing process of the cultural renegotiation of the
Roman value system. An argument of this size cannot be treated fully,
but I hope the proposed readings of the selected texts will provide food for
thought and offer further insights into understanding the ongoing moral
discussions of the Late Roman Republic.


Laes and Strubbe : for marriage age, –; for a summary of their argument, –.


  
The main sources used are the poetry collection of Catullus and Cicero’s
speech pro Caelio. These texts are often read together, and for good
reason. They date from the same time, the early s BC, and the characters
belong to the same social circles within the elites of the city. The same
characters appear in both texts, the most well-known shared personae
being Marcus Caelius Rufus and Clodia Metelli (and Cicero himself, of
course, in Catullus ). M. Caelius Rufus, the young man Cicero is
defending in his speech, is usually identified as identical with the Rufus
who appears in Catullus’ poem as having taken Lesbia from him. Lesbia
herself is often identified as the same woman Caelius had had an affair
with, the infamous Clodia Metelli, the widow of Quintus Metellus Celer,
and the subject of so much vitriol in Cicero’s speech. This identification is,
however, far from certain. It is unlikely that a definitive conclusion to the
matter can be found, but in this context, the exact identity of these persons
is irrelevant.
Marilyn Skinner has warned, and rightly so, against reading these two
texts with the expectation that they can tell us anything about the real
person called Clodia: “There is a good prima facie case, then, for regarding
the ‘Clodia’ of the pro Caelio as a literary construct similar to ‘Lesbia,’ a
fiction designed to conform to cultural expectations and play upon stand-
ard prejudices.” I consider that the same warning should be applied to all
persons present in these particular texts. As it happens, this warning by
Skinner summarizes perfectly why these texts are so useful to us: as they
conform to cultural expectations and play upon standard prejudices,
they therefore allow me to address the use of these cultural meanings.
My readings embark from the Foucauldian view that truth is not an
external reality to be grasped, but a rhetorical trope that is used in
discourse for the greatest possible effect.
In the context of this study, all characters are assumed to be fictional in
the sense that the correspondence of named characters to real persons of
the same names is not considered relevant. These texts were written using
available cultural meanings to obtain particular results; what is significant
are the uses made of particular concepts and the characters created in these
texts. In the case of Cicero’s pro Caelio, for example, the purpose of the
speech was not to present a truthful description of Caelius’ character, but


The editions and translations of these texts used are Gardner  and Goold .

Catull. .

Cranstoun ; Wiseman : –; Blázquez Martínez : ; Skinner : –.
 
Skinner : –. Ormand : .
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
to ensure that he was not convicted in court. Cicero naturally had to stay
within certain limits in constructing his defense, but these limits could be
bent, and bend them he did, for example by trying to make the courtroom
audience see the whole case as a comedy.

 Living Alone
You reproached him for living apart from his father. This cannot now be
made a matter of reproach to him at his time of life. He had just won, in a
political case, a victory that was annoying to me yet glorious to himself, and,
besides, his age allowed him to aspire to public offices; then, not only with
the permission of his father, but even with his advice, he separated from
him, and since his father’s house was a long way from the Forum, in order
to be able to visit our houses more easily, and to keep in touch with his own
friends, he took a house on the Palatine at a moderate rent.
Cicero says that Caelius has been reproached because he was living apart
from his father, thereby acknowledging that this was in itself seen as
reprehensible. In his counter-argument, Cicero emphasizes how Caelius
was actually filling the role of an adult, independent man, working actively
and productively in society. He points out Caelius’ professional qualities,
his legal status as a possible candidate for offices, his need to visit his
patrons Cicero and Crassus, and his need to entertain his own people. In
addition, Cicero argues that since Caelius’ father’s house was not centrally
located nor well suited for these activities, Caelius was acting with his
father’s blessings when he rented himself a modestly priced (non magno)
house on the Palatium.
Furius, you who have neither a slave, nor a money-box, nor a bug, nor a
spider, nor a fire, but who have a father and a stepmother too, whose teeth
can chew even a flintstone, you lead a merry life with your father and that
dry stick, your father’s wife.


Leigh ; Geffcken .

Cic. Cael. : Reprehendistis, a patre quod semigrarit. Quod quidem iam in hac aetate minime
reprehendendum est. Qui cum et ex publica causa iam esset mihi quidem molestam, sibi tamen
gloriosam victoriam consecutus et per aetatem magistratus petere posset, non modo permittente patre,
sed etiam suadente ab eo semigravit et, cum domus patris a foro longe abesset, quo facilius et nostras
domus obire et ipse a suis coli posset, conduxit in Palatio non magno domum.

Gardner has translated this as ‘friends,’ but I suspect another word might be better for this; perhaps
‘political connections’ would be closer to the intended message.

Catull. .–: Furi, cui neque servus est neque arca / nec cimex neque araneus neque ignis, / verumst et
pater et noverca, quorum / dentes vel silicem comesse possunt, / est pulcre tibi cum tuo parente / et cum
coniuge lignea parentis.
  
Furius obviously belongs to Catullus’ social circles, but the poem is not
particularly friendly. The taunt in the poem is aimed at Furius for living
with his father and his stepmother. Because he is still living in his father’s
house, his life is so easy that he should not complain about minor things
like , sesterces. Furius is obviously also ‘single’ in the sense of not
being married, and the whole attitude of the poem suggests that Furius was
ridiculed just because he was still living under his father’s roof. But was he
really living with his father? There is an accepted interpretative tradition
that identifies this Furius as A. Furius Bibaculus from Cremona in Cis-
alpine Gaul, and therefore as somebody who shared a possible common
background identity with Catullus as a provincial outsider in Rome. The
problem in this context is that either we have Furius’ father also move to
Rome at some point in order for Furius to be able to live in his house, or
Furius is still living in his father’s house in Cremona. In order for Furius to
be able to act as a messenger to Catullus’ girl, and if this girl really is
Lesbia, one would expect that Furius would have to be part of Roman
social circles and not a local poet in Cremona. Luckily, the exact identity of
Furius is not of the utmost importance here, and we can focus on the
important part, the taunting of Furius for living with his father.
The comparison between the two texts shows two cultural stereotypes
that could productively be used in the literary and public context of the
Late Republic: the young man living alone and leading a frivolous and
immoral life; and the young man still living with his parents, carefree but
easily ridiculed because he is still living at home and perhaps not really a
man yet.
You shall have a good dinner at my house, Fabullus, in a few days, please
the gods, if you bring with you a good dinner and plenty of it, not
forgetting a pretty girl and wine and wit and all kinds of laughter. If,
I say, you bring all this, my charming friend, you shall have a good dinner;
for the purse of your Catullus is full of cobwebs.
Unlike Furius, Catullus has a house and a home into which he often
invites people to spend time with him or to dine. On some occasions, this
entertainment of friends has unforeseen consequences, like the time when
Asinius Marrucinus steals one of Catullus’ napkins, which in itself is not


This argument was first presented by Heidel ; it is further supported by the textual analysis in
Hawkins .

Catull. .–: Cenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud me / paucis, si tibi di favent, diebus, / si tecum attuleris
bonam atque magnam / cenam, non sine candida puella / et vino et sale et omnibus cachinnis. / haec si,
inquam, attuleris, venuste noster, / cenabis bene: nam tui Catulli / plenus sacculus est aranearum.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
valuable, but was a present from Catullus’ friends Fabullus and Veranius, a
Saetaban cloth from Spain. A practical joke, perhaps:
Asinius Marrucinus, you do not make a pretty use of your left hand when
we are laughing and drinking; you take away the napkins of people who are
off their guard. [. . .] which does not concern me for what it is worth, but
because it is a keepsake from my old friend; for Fabullus and Veranius sent
me some Saetaban napkins as a present from Spain. How can I help being
fond of these, as I am of my dear Veranius and Fabullus?
Since Catullus here resorts to the use of aestimatio in defining the value
of the napkin (quod non me movet aestimatione, verumst mnemosynum mei
sodalis), this quotation implies that had the cloth been a valuable item in
itself, such a prank would have worked; but since the value of the cloth is
personal (mnemosynum mei sodalis), the action is seen by Catullus as a
personal insult.
Since this was not the only case where something like this happens in
the poems, it seems that such practical jokes as stealing things from the
host’s table were usual among these young men. Another, similar case
appears in Catullus :
Effeminate Thallus, softer than rabbit’s fur [. . .] send me back my cloak
which you pounced upon, and my Saetaban napkin and Bithynian tablets,
you silly fellow, which you keep by you and make a show of them, as if they
were heirlooms. [. . .]
The effeminate Thallus is exhorted to return the cloak, the napkins and
the writing tablets he has stolen. Much as in the case of Asinius, the
napkins were from Saetaban fabric, and the tablets from Bithynia, which
might suggest that they were Catullus’ personal memorabilia from his
service there. This poem supports the interpretation of the last poem with
the emphasis on aestimatio, since in this case the stolen items were clearly
presented as valuable ‘trophies’: Thallus shows them off like heirlooms
(avita).
It is perhaps not implausible to assume that the young men could well
have had a social ‘game’ where the intention was to steal items from


Catull. .– and –: Marrucine Asini, manu sinistra / non belle uteris in ioco atque vino: / tollis
lintea neglegentiorum. / [. . .] / quod me non movet aestimatione, / verumst mnemosynum mei sodalis. /
nam sudaria Saetaba ex Hiberis / miserunt mihi muneri Fabullus / et Veranius: haec amem necessest / ut
Veraniolum meum et Fabullum.

Catull. . and –: Cinaede Thalle, mollior cuniculi capillo / [. . .] / remitte pallium mihi meum,
quod inviolasti, / sudariumque Saetabum catagraphosque Thynos, / inepte, quae palam soles habere
tamquam avita. / [. . .]
  
friends’ houses. Such social play where esteem is gained by stealing items at
parties is reminiscent of Kaster’s view of Roman elite culture as a show of
behaviors where status was lost and gained in intricate social displays of
honor and pride.
The various references to parties and visits also describe a habit that may
have been common among the young men – the need to entertain friends
and acquaintances to maintain social networks. The statement by Cicero,
with its emphasis on paternal support for Caelius living independently,
strongly suggests that this kind of entertainment would not be possible
within the paternal home. This interpretation is supported by what we
know about the forms of the Roman Republican upper-class houses.
In these houses, the internal spaces formed a spatially contiguous whole,
without any separating walls that could have acted as soundproofing. It is
hard to imagine a young man entertaining friends in a triclinium opening
onto the peristyle while at the same time his father tries to spend a quiet
evening somewhere else in the house. Also, the role of the domus as the
focus of a man’s public role and identity made it first and foremost the
house of the paterfamilias, and any role a son would wish to have could not
be performed in the same place.
In addition to these young men, women that seem to be living alone
also appear in both texts. Often these characters are identified as prosti-
tutes. It is, however, possible to challenge this identification through more
nuanced readings, for example by considering the texts from a spatial
perspective which takes their settings into account.
In general, the persons in Catullan poetry appear without any situ-
ational or spatial context, but in some cases, there are quite specific
descriptions of the loci where the poems are situated. One such description
is in poem : “My dear Varus had taken me from the Forum, where I was
idling, to pay a visit to his mistress.”
Here Varus takes Catullus from the Forum to meet his love (ad suos
amores). There is no explicit mention of the living conditions of this amore,
but from the description that follows, it is evident that there is enough
space for the three to spend time and talk at leisure. A common interpret-
ation is that Varus’ amore was a prostitute, but in fact the poem does not
require such a conclusion – Catullus’ use of scortillum at verse  in


Kaster .

For the role of the household for the image of a man, see e.g. Cooper  and Treggiari .
Studies of the Roman domus abound; for a recent overview, see Clarke .

Catull. .–: Varus me meus ad suos amores / visum duxerat e foro otiosum.

E.g. Blázquez Martínez : –.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
describing a member of the opposite sex can hardly be quoted as conclu-
sive evidence for the social status of that particular individual. Although
the interpretation of scortum as a prostitute can hardly be denied, this is
the only known occurrence of scortillum, a diminutive, and in the context
of Catullus’ use of vocabulary, perhaps it should not be taken as prima facie
evidence for the professional status of the girl, especially since it is obvious
that the relationship Varus has with her is about much more than sex.
The nature of the discussion that takes place in the poem is such that this
can be no ordinary prostitute, since the poem makes fun of Catullus
himself by describing how the girl, amidst their banter, catches
Catullus out as he brags about something which is not quite true and
triggers an exasperated comment from him.
I entreat you, my sweet Ipsitilla, my darling, my charmer, bid me come and
spend the afternoon with you. And if you do bid me, grant me this kindness
too, that no one may bar the panel of your threshold, nor you yourself have
a fancy to go away, but stay at home and have ready for me nine consecutive
copulations. And bid me come at once if you are going to at all: for I’m on
my bed after lunch, thrusting through tunic and cloak.
Here Catullus addresses his own sweetheart Ipsitilla, and begs for an
invitation, since he would like to meet for an explicitly stated purpose. He
entreats her to stay at home and to open her door to him. Catullus asks
that she should send the invitation at once, since he is quite ready to come.
There is an explicit use of the word domus in reference to Ipsitilla’s abode.
Ipsitilla is “at home,” and that is where Catullus would like to be, too.
In this case, as well, a traditional interpretation is that Ipsitilla is a
prostitute, but again, the poem itself does not require such an interpret-
ation, even if it is admittedly possible. One has to think here also about the
significance of the word domus as a house and a home. “Mistress” might be
a better translation in the traditional style of classical studies; the modern
term “fuck-buddy” could also be applicable.
In connection with this theme, poem , which deals with the unnamed
former love who is usually assumed to be Lesbia, is also relevant: “You
regulars of the whore-house tavern, nine doors from the temple of the


Adams .

Catull. : Amabo, mea dulcis Ipsitilla, / meae deliciae, mei lepores, / iube ad te veniam meridiatum. / et
si iusseris, illud adiuvato, / nequis liminis obseret tabellam, / neu tibi lubeat foras abire. / sed domi
maneas paresque nobis / novem continuas fututiones. / verum, siquid ages, statim iubeto: / nam pransus
iaceo, et satur supinus / pertundo tunicamque palliumque.

E.g. Blázquez Martínez : .
  
Capped brothers, [. . .].” In the context of this poem, there is no doubt
that Catullus is calling the “girl who has left his embrace” a prostitute and
her haunt a salax taberna. A common interpretation is that Catullus is
accusing Lesbia of having turned her home into a bordello. In this
context, it is important that even if this interpretation is correct, the place
is not called a “home” anymore, but a taberna – and this contrasts very
strongly with the examples above where no such term is ever present.
A spurned lover’s testimony on the moral qualities of his former mistress
should perhaps be taken with a grain of salt, but one does get a sense that
there might be an oblique reference not only to prostitution but also to
procuring here.
This amount of evidence hardly allows us to draw any strong conclu-
sions about the relationships domus/taberna and prostitute/mistress, but it
seems that this might be a question that could be examined further,
especially since the spurned lover could be expected to use the kind of
language where the former domus has been turned into a prostitute’s
taberna visited by many men.
Whether Lesbia ever lives alone or not is difficult to figure out based on
the Catullan evidence. The poems in the beginning suggest a level of
intimacy and privacy which it is difficult to reconcile with the idea of a
married woman living with her husband. As such, they are comparable to
the examples of Varus’ girlfriend and Ipsitilla. It is interesting how close
Cicero’s Clodia is in tone to Catullus’ Lesbia.
If a woman without a husband opens her house to all men’s desires, and
publicly leads the life of a courtesan; if she is in the habit of attending
dinner-parties with men who are perfect strangers; if she does this in the
city, in her park, amid all those crowds at Baiae; if, in fact, she so behaves
that not only her bearing but her dress and her companions, not only the
ardour of her looks and the licentiousness of her gossip but also her
embraces and caresses, her beach-parties, her water-parties, her dinner-
parties, proclaim her to be not only a courtesan, but also a shameless and
wanton courtesan; if a young man should happen to be found with this
woman, would you, Lucius Herennius, consider him to be an adulterer or a
lover? Would you think that he desired to ravage her chastity, or only to
satisfy his passion?


Catull. .–: Salax taberna vosque contubernales / a pilleatis nona fratribus pila / [. . .]
 
E.g. Blázquez Martínez : . See Petrova, in this volume.

Cic. Cael. : Si quae non nupta mulier domum suam patefecerit omnium cupiditati palamque sese in
meretricia vita collocarit, virorum alienissimorum conviviis uti instituerit, si hoc in urbe, si hoc in hortis,
si in Baiarum illa celebritate faciat, si denique ita sese gerat non ingessu solum, sed ornatu atque
comitatu, non flagrantia oculorum, non libertate sermonum, sed etiam complexu, osculatione, actis,
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
For Cicero, Clodia is obviously a meretrix if she behaves like this, and
Caelius’ defense is based on the fact that for him, having sex with a woman
behaving like Clodia allegedly has surely should not count as adultery, but
as natural sexual intercourse with a prostitute – the intent being not to
“ravage her chastity,” but to “satisfy his passion.”
But another possible interpretation of this description of Clodia is of
more interest here. If we disregard the moral judgement of her behavior
and concentrate simply on the activities Cicero seizes upon at the begin-
ning of his accusations, we are left with ‘an unmarried woman that opens
her domus.’ Had this definition been a self-evident description of a harlot
or a prostitute, as is often suggested, there would hardly have been any
need for the vehemence in Cicero’s description; one has to remember that
Augustan adultery legislation was still in the future at this point. In the
light of that later legislation, there would have been no need to describe
how improper the woman actually was: for the state, it would have sufficed
to establish that a man found with an unmarried woman was an adulterer
and lover. Obviously, this was not yet the case.
Caelius’ relationship is turned from adulterium to amor not on the basis
of the fact that the unmarried woman is living alone, but because of her
behavior, which is seen as meriting the description meretrix. This inter-
pretation of Clodia fits well with Skinner’s reading of the persona of
Clodia. She bases her reconstruction of the character of Clodia Metelli
on a close reading of Cicero’s letters and disregards both the speech pro
Caelio and the Catullan poetry as unreliable sources for the character of
Clodia because of their use of cultural prejudices to entertain and convince
their intended audiences. The image of Clodia that emerges from the
letters is very different from the ‘Palatine Medea’ of the pro Caelio.
Skinner’s reading of the letters shows how Cicero wrote about this woman
who was wealthy, independent, resourceful and had social dexterity on
many occasions over decades. Clodia was a politically active person who
promoted her brother P. Clodius Pulcher’s political career, managed her
own properties, remained single after the death of her husband in  BC
and was in a secure position in which she retained control over her affairs
also in her later years.

navigatione, conviviis, ut non solum meretrix, sed etiam proterva meretrix procaxque videatur: cum hac
si qui adulescens forte fuerit, utrum hic tibi, L. Herenni, adulter an amator, expugnare pudicitiam an
explere libidinem voluisse videatur?

See Evans Grubbs, in this volume.

Skinner : ; Skinner : esp. –, where Skinner summarizes the argument of the
whole book.
  
The key to the whole issue of Clodia’s character is the fact that she was
married (at first) and later on widowed. In the context of an article about
‘singleness,’ Clodia might be a surprising person to bring up, but in a way,
the character of Clodia epitomizes the characteristic most strongly associ-
ated with the concept of ‘singleness’ in today’s world: independence.
Whereas in the modern day, unmarried young professionals are independ-
ent in their means and ways, and marriage signals the assuming of
responsibility in the role of the married person, marriage in the Late
Republic seems to have opened up paths towards independence, at least
for the women of the upper classes.
Consequently, in the social circles of Cicero and his peers, it was
perfectly acceptable for a woman to live in a domus of her own. Even in
the cases when they were actual harlots, they were still living alone. It is
their conduct that makes the women ‘immoral,’ not the fact of living alone
in and of itself.
As Hopkins has convincingly suggested, men who were older at the time
of marriage were often also the ones who died earlier, leaving widows
behind. Based on Hopkins’ data, women were, on average, nine years
younger at the time of marriage, which of course directly correlates to the
age difference between deceased men and their widows. An important
side note to this discussion, although of a somewhat later date, can be
brought up in this context. At the death of Augustus, discussion broke out
in Rome over whether his surviving wife Livia should be given a) an
honorary title as the ‘mother of the country’ and b) whether she should
be given a position of actual superiority to Tiberius. It seems that Livia
herself was of the opinion that she should be respected more than Tiberius
and that Tiberius should be thankful to her for becoming what he had
become in the first place. Tacitus and Cassius Dio, our sources on this
matter, report that Tiberius refused her these honors; Tacitus personally
thought that they would be “excessive.”
Concerning the aims of this article, this section allows us to draw certain
interesting conclusions. At first, the moral acceptability of young men
living alone was not obvious; Cicero’s defense of Caelius had to take into
account the fact that Caelius was living separately from his father could be
and was used as an argument against his morals. Therefore, this choice had


Hopkins : esp. –.

Hemelrijk : –. In the second half of the second century AD, the metaphor of
motherhood became a more common way to assign authority and position to significant
members of local communities and associations.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
to be defended using arguments that made it less morally suspect: paternal
acceptance, and the social needs of a political aspirant. On the other hand,
we can note that we have examples of women living alone and that this, in
and of itself, was not necessarily any more suspect than Caelius living
alone. Living alone was not necessarily a constituent component of
youth culture, since we also see women of different ages living alone,
perhaps but not necessarily in combination with lifestyles resembling those
of young men.

 Young and Emotional

Catullus and Cicero employ very different types of language to describe
their main characters’ emotions. Catullus is very open, and bares the souls
of his protagonists, whereas in Cicero’s usage, the language of emotions is
subdued, almost to the point of leaving them implied.
While Catullus describes emotions openly, he does not present the
character ‘Catullus’ as their slave. Cicero, on the other hand, presents
Caelius superficially as a rational young man, a man formed according to
Cicero’s own ideals. A closer reading of the text reveals, however, that
instead of reason, it is emotions that are given as explanations for the
young man’s conduct. Cicero tries to present these emotions as natural,
but that does not diminish their effect; it merely provides a rational
explanation for them. Cicero’s Caelius is a young man who is subject to
his emotions, in effect a slave of them, and susceptible to stupid behavior
as young men are sometimes wont to be. Where possible, Cicero rational-
izes Caelius’ actions, and where this is not possible, he ascribes them to his
youthfulness, arguing that Caelius behaves as one would expect for a man
of his age, so it is not his character that is corrupt: he is simply too young
to be able to behave properly.
The emotional vulnerability of young men is key to understanding how
Cicero uses the concept of cupiditas in the context of pro Caelio. The many
appearances of this concept in the speech can be divided in two groups
according to the context in which they are used. This allow us to recognize
that Cicero actually draws on two distinct concepts: cupiditas, which is
always a negative attribute; and cupiditas adulescentiae, which is portrayed
as a positive and natural quality that should be present in young men.
These two separate types of cupiditas do not appear at random, and in fact
Cicero – as a part of his general argument – explains the binary nature of
cupiditas. Since this explanation illustrates well what kind of behavior
was expected of men of different ages and social positions, Cicero’s
  
order of presentation is worth tracing. One can see that in previous
translations, different words have been used to translate the concept
into English, suggesting that it is not directly translatable to contemporary
English usage.
The first time cupiditas appears in the speech is when Cicero uses it to
describe Catiline: “No, I do not believe that there has ever existed on earth
so strange a portent, such a fusion of natural tastes and desires that were
contradictory, divergent, and at war amongst themselves.”
Catiline is an important character in the speech, since Caelius had
attached himself to Catiline at his second candidature and therefore was
also somewhat suspect in the eyes of the public. In this quotation, Catiline
is the unnatural monstrum in which the completely opposed natures of
studium and cupiditas merge. Catiline was a married man, and thus
perhaps not allowed to succumb to cupiditas, and his morals are what
condemn him in Cicero’s works.
If, among people of this class, there may be some who have by chance
pushed themselves into this trial, do you, gentlemen, shut out their greed
by your wisdom, that you may show yourselves to have had a careful regard
at one and the same time for the welfare of my client, for your conscience,
and for the security of all citizens against dangerous and powerful
individuals.
Here cupiditas is used to question the motives of the men present at the
trial. Cicero suggests that some of those present might have been tempted
to appear by their greed, thus implying that their judgement may be
affected by promises made to men of power and influence. Consequently,
Cicero urges the others to shut out that greed (cupiditas) by their own
wisdom (sapientia). In this context, cupiditas is something that motivates
people to disregard their morals and be led by their hunger for material
wealth.
In both cases, the concept is used to describe the immorality of men
who put their personal interest ahead of the common good – in the first
case, Catiline was characterized in this way, and in the second case, the
men criticized have appeared at the trial, but not in order to uphold justice
or the public good. The implication is that they were present only to


Cic. Cael. : Neque ego umquam fuisse tale monstrum in terris ullum puto, tam ex contrariis
diversisque et inter se pugnantibus naturae studiis cupiditatibusque conflatum.

Cic. Cael. : Hoc ex genere si qui se in hoc iudicium forte proiecerint, excluditote eorum cupiditatem,
iudices, sapientia vestra, ut eodem tempore et huius saluti et religioni vestrae et contra periculosas
hominum potentias condicioni omnium civium providisse videamini.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
support the accusations against Caelius because they were either paid to do
so, or expected to be paid if the desired resolution was obtained.
After that, the discussion turns towards the youthful nature of Caelius.
In this context, the word cupiditas appears again, this time modified by
adulescentiae: “For by common consent a young man is allowed some
dalliance, and nature herself is prodigal of youthful passions.” This is
followed by a moral statement that youthful desires should be tolerated as
long as they do not lead to young men ruining other people’s lives or
shattering their homes.
Up to this point in the speech, Cicero argues that traditional values have
lost their standing and concludes that it would be impossible to base
common moral standards on values and models which are lost in the past,
since no man is able to abide by them these days. At this point, in the
middle of the speech, Cicero constructs a ‘moral program’ suitable for his
own age. He proposes a new ‘guideline’ that allows young men some
liberty within certain limits.
Let us therefore forsake this abandoned and neglected track now blocked by
branches and undergrowth; let some allowance be made to age; let youth be
allowed greater freedom; let not pleasures be always forbidden; let not that
upright and unbending reason always prevail; let desire and pleasure some-
times triumph over reason, provided that in such matters the following rule
and limitation is observed: let a young man be mindful of his own repute
and not a despoiler of another’s; let him not squander his patrimony; nor be
crippled by usury; nor attack the home and reputation of another; nor bring
shame upon the chaste, taint upon the virtuous, disgrace upon the upright;
let him frighten none by violence, quit conspiracy, keep clear of crime.
Lastly, when he has listened to the voice of pleasure and given some time to
love-affairs and these empty desires of youth, let him at length turn to the
interests of home life, to activity at the bar and in public affairs, so that all
those pursuits the vanity of which reason had previously failed to reveal, he
may show that he has abandoned from satiety and found contemptible
through experience.


Cic. Cael. : Datur enim concessu omnium huic aliqui ludus aetati, et ipsa natura profundit
adulescentiae cupiditates.

Cic. Cael. : Ergo haec deserta via et inculta atque interclusa iam frondibus et virgultis relinquatur;
detur aliquid aetati; sit adulescentia liberior; non omnia voluptatibus denegentur; non semper superet
vera illa et decreta ratio; vincat aliquando cupiditas voluptasque rationem, dum modo illa in hoc genere
praescriptio moderatioque teneatur: parcat iuventus pudicitiae suae, ne spoliet alienam, ne effundat
patrimonium, ne faenore trucidetur, ne incurrat in alterius domum atque famam, ne probrum castis,
labem integris, infamiam bonis inferat, scelere careat; postremo, cum paruerit voluptatibus, dederit
aliquid temporis ad ludum aetatis atque inanes hasce adulescentiae cupiditates, revocet se aliquando ad
curam rei domesticae, rei forensis reique publicae, ut ea, quae ratione antea non perspexerat, satietate
abiecisse, experiendo contempsisse videatur.
  
In this context, cupiditas adulescentiae appears again, this time signifying
a phenomenon natural to young men, and one which, according to
Cicero’s moral program, young men should be allowed to succumb to as
long as they kept within certain limits of social acceptability. This is typical
of Cicero’s technique, and as Braun has demonstrated, Cicero used moral
concepts either as very loaded and effective concepts or as more or less
empty catch works, whichever best suited his purpose. This interpret-
ation by Braun makes reading Cicero even more fruitful, as it supports a
reading where the moral propositions Cicero uses need not be analyzed
against Cicero’s personality, as they would have to be if we believed that
Cicero was trying to present a coherent argument about morals. At least in
the court speeches, quite the opposite probably applies: the moral state-
ments which appear can all be read as useful tools in the battle for the
judgement of the jury. In that sense, this quote from Cicero nominally
showing his own reformulation of the ‘Roman ideal’ in a form suitable for
his times should rather be read as his own view of what the commonly
accepted social ideal of his own day was. Cicero formulates this social ideal
explicitly in order to counter any attacks against Caelius’ morality based on
Roman values.
And, gentlemen, both in our own days and within the memory of our
fathers and ancestors, there have been many great men and illustrious
citizens who, after the passions of youth had simmered down, have in their
maturer years been eminently conspicuous for their virtues.
Cicero creates with few words a cultural narrative featuring ‘young men
who behaved badly but who – perhaps even because they behaved badly –
become important members of society’. Decent men, he argues, grow out
of those who succumbed to adulescentiae cupiditas in their youth. Between
the lines, Cicero even implies that suffering from the ‘passions of youth’ be
seen almost as a requirement for a good man. Cicero continues: “And yet
be assured, gentlemen, that those excesses with which Caelius is
reproached, and these pursuits which I am discussing, cannot easily be
found in the same man.” Cicero implies that the accusations against
Caelius are based on the wrong cupiditas, the one that brings a permanent


Braun .

Cic. Cael. : Ac multi et nostra et patrum maiorumque memoria, iudices, summi homines et clarissimi
cives fuerunt, quorum cum adulescentiae cupiditates defervissent, eximiae virtutes firmata iam aetate
exstiterunt.

Cic. Cael. : Atqui scitote, iudices, eas cupiditates, quae obiciuntur Caelio, atque haec studia, de quibus
disputo, non facile in eodem homine esse posse.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
blemish on a man’s character. In the case of Caelius, this is impossible,
since this kind of cupiditas is not compatible with the presence of studium –
except in the case of Catiline, as Cicero said earlier in his speech but
understandably omits here, even though cupiditas is used in the same sense
as in the Catiline example, as opposed to studium. Cicero then continues
on the same theme, contrasting cupiditas with studium:
For it is impossible that a mind given up to the allurements of passion,
hampered by love, longing, desire, often by excessive wealth, sometimes
also by the lack of it, can sustain the efforts, whatever they may be, which
we make in speaking, in whatever way we make them, not only the bodily
exertion but also the mental labour.
Cicero defends Caelius by stating that the vices Caelius is accused of are
not compatible with the physical and mental demands of speaking, a skill
Caelius is already known for. A mind hampered by amor, desiderium and
cupiditas cannot achieve this. Caelius might be suffering from cupiditas
adulescentiae, but he does not suffer from cupiditas.
Much later on in the speech, cupiditas appears again with negative
connotations: “I could wish that his passion for glory had rather taken
him in another direction; but the time for such a lament is past.” This
complaint begins a list of Caelius’ misdeeds as seen from the point of view
of Cicero. He explains how Caelius, guided by his ardent desire for glory,
ended up doing things that were perhaps not wise, and definitively against
the wishes of Cicero. Caelius therefore was guided by cupiditas. This
seemingly judgmental description ends on a different note, however,
when Cicero once again sees Caelius’ cupiditas as tempered by adulescentia:
But I am not speaking about good sense, a quality which does not belong to
his years; I am speaking about his impetuosity, his eagerness to win, his
ardent desire for glory. Such passions, in men who have reached our time of
life, ought to be somewhat restrained, but in youth, as with plants, they give
promise of what virtue in its ripeness and how great the fruits of industry
will some day be.


Cic. Cael. : Fieri enim non potest, ut animus libidini deditus, amore, desiderio, cupiditate, saepe
nimia copia, inopia etiam non numquam impeditus hoc, quicquid est, quod nos facimus in dicendo,
quoquo modo facimus non modo agendo, verum etiam cogitando possit sustinere.

Cic. Cael. : Vellem alio potius eum cupiditas gloriae detulisset; sed abiit huius tempus querellae.

Cic. Cael. : Sed ego non loquor de sapientia, quae non cadit in hanc aetatem; de impetu animi loquor,
de cupiditate vincendi, de ardore mentis ad gloriam; quae studia in his iam aetatibus nostris contractiora
esse debent, in adulescentia vero tamquam in herbis significant, quae virtutis maturitas et quantae fruges
industriae sint futurae.
  
The tempering of cupiditas with adulescentia contains the implicit
subtext that although Caelius is somewhat too eager to win and desirous
of glory, this is age-appropriate and, indeed, shows promise of the great-
ness that may await him in the future. The same eagerness in men of
Cicero’s age, thus forming a coeval alliance with the men taking part in the
trial, would not be acceptable. This is the great culmination of Cicero’s
argument concerning the moral qualities expected of young men.
In a young man, cupiditas was not a negative but a positive character-
istic, an expression of natural youthful energy. A certain susceptibility to
emotions was, Cicero argues, simply part and parcel of a young man’s
nature. The apologetic nature of Cicero’s definition is also of interest:
young men behave foolishly by nature, and this ought to be counted not
as their ‘fault’ but as an expression of the natural ‘life-force’ they embody,
and therefore, if not a prerequisite, then at least as an indicator of
potential greatness. What is appropriate for young men does not befit
older (married?) men, as the interplay between cupiditas and cupiditas
adulescentiae in Cicero’s speech wonderfully demonstrates. Cicero
defends Caelius against accusations of immoral conduct by emphasizing
how he personally has known many men who devoted their youth
to pursuing sensuality, but nevertheless grew up to become respectable
members of society after learning to behave with the gravitas expected
of adult men. To support his personal observations, Cicero presents
examples that he obviously expects his hearers to recognize. The defense
of Caelius at this point is based on the comparison of Caelius with
these examples from the Roman past and present of men who turned
out to be decent and respectable in spite of having spent their youth
licentiously.
It is natural to interpret this as a statement of the general values of
Roman culture. However, the need for Cicero to present this argument
means that the interpretation he steers towards is not necessarily one which
was widely held to be self-evident. Cicero presents the listeners with a
possible interpretation that allows for the presence of a ‘decent Caelius’ in
spite of all the rumors and accusations surrounding Caelius, but this is not
the only interpretation of Caelius’ behavior which was possible according
to Roman social norms. Based on this statement, we should not assume
that the Roman upper class looked favorably on this behavior of young
men driven by the pursuit of sensual pleasures. While it may have been
tolerated, Cicero’s description certainly does not mean that it was seen as
desirable. It was likely seen as a vice that some men are able to outgrow –
which, the necessary subtext implies, not all men can do.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
For women, immorality was also defined in terms of their actions and
activity. Although Skinner, as noted earlier, was able to find a decent,
active Clodia in Cicero’s letters, she strongly emphasizes the fact that the
‘general image’ of active women was easily used to turn public opinion
against them. As we have already seen, Cicero was able to accomplish
this with little difficulty in pro Caelio. The same kind of phenomenon is
apparent in Sallust’s description of Sempronia, a supposed member of the
Catiline conspiracy. Boyd writes:
It is in part the very fact of Sempronia’s high social status that makes
Sallust’s portrait of her so striking: instead of a catalogue of the typical
virtues of a Roman matron, we find a woman whose education and
aggressiveness are characteristic either of a prostitute or of an urbane man.
This is all remarkably interesting, because here, once again, we find the
potential connection between a woman’s active behavior and the status of
a prostitute – although again in an interpretation by a modern scholar
reading between the lines and not as an explicit statement in the sources.
The key to the comparison between Clodia and Sempronia is the following
sentence: “Now among those women was Sempronia, who had often
perpetrated many deeds of masculine daring.” It is this active conduct
which makes Sempronia morally suspect, although Sallust praises her other
qualities in precisely the same passage.
The main comparison in this section was between Cicero’s description
of young men’s cupiditas adulescentiae versus older men’s cupiditas, or
cupiditas in general. Although the concept of ‘active women’ may not be
fully comparable with this discussion, I think in general Cicero’s argument
for leniency in the case of Caelius’ supposedly uncontrolled or immature
behavior was based on an expectation that forms of action that were not
fully thought out and planned in advance were more acceptable for young
men than for others. The case of adult women is somewhat different, but
not perhaps entirely out of place here, since aggressive, ‘manly’ behavior
rendered their morals particularly suspect – although not unacceptable at
the time, other than, perhaps, in the literary descriptions of these women.
In light of this discussion, it seems that a view that certain kinds of
behavior and a certain range of behaviors were more acceptable for young
men than for other people did in fact exist. Whether this constitutes a
youth culture in itself is still a debatable point, but a certain acceptance for

 
Skinner :  and : . Boyd : .

Sall. Catil. : Sed in eis erat Sempronia, quae multa saepe virilis audaciae facinora conmiserat.
  
the special group of young men was at least conceivable – and based on
certain quotes from Cicero above, perhaps even expected.

 Unmarried and Free

Modern concepts of singleness come with connotations of a free and wild
life. DiCicco has emphasized this association in her study of the imagery
associated with modern young single females. This association also seems
to hold in the cases presented above. Pro Caelio is about single persons,
since neither Caelius nor Clodia is presumed to have been married at the
time of the court sessions. Catullus deals with the same constellations: the
personas we encounter in the poems mostly seem to be unmarried. Some
friends in the poems are described as couples, and in these cases the
importance of relationships and the obligations they impose are
emphasized.
In the cases described in this chapter, judgement is cast on several
persons whose conduct is perceived as improper. In each one, the persons
are generally considered to have been unmarried at the time, i.e. singles.
However, in the moral judgements aimed at them, this argument is not
used. Even though these people behaved improperly, it was not because
they were not married at the time, it was seemingly either because they
were either of bad character or young. Singleness was not used as a stick to
beat them with or as an explanation for their behavior. It simply does not
appear.
It may be appropriate at this juncture to recall that marriage at the time
may not have been the ultimate tool of identity construction that it
became in later history. In the world of the Roman upper classes, marriage
was about properties and alliances more than it was about any emotion
called ‘love’ or a search for self-fulfillment. That marriage could and
perhaps even should be seen more in terms of a companionable alliance for
the advancement of a common project is suggested also by Jeppesen-
Wigelsworth’s analysis of the language of marriage and friendship in
Cicero’s letters. He comes to the conclusion that the letters Cicero writes
to his friends and the letters he writes to his spouse do not differ from each
other in any significant way. Cicero writes to his wife in the same register
he uses to write to his friends. Also, as Masterson so aptly notes, the fact
that a Roman man was under his father’s patria potestas until his father’s

  
DiCicco . E.g. Septimius and Acme in Catull. . Eyben : –.

Jeppesen-Wigelsworth .
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
death and lacked autonomy as a result meant that “family and civilian life
were not places where manly self-assertion could occur, even for men of
considerable maturity.”
In comparison to the ‘sensible marriage’ approach present in these
interpretations of Roman marriage, the Catullan marriage poems are
celebrations of the emotions of married couples and the new phase of life
they were entering. Although these poems celebrate marriage, they also
come across as poems suitable for wedding festivities, and as such, they
should not be seen as celebrations of the institution of marriage per se.
Catullus uses a completely different register in most of his marriage
poems. Whereas the ‘single’ poems are often satirical and full of irony,
these celebrations of marriage take on comic aspects. A good example of
these is Catullus’ poem on the consequences of marriage for the favorite
(slave) boy of the newly wedded husband:
[L]et the favourite boy give away nuts to the slaves, when he hears how his
lord has left his love. Give nuts to the slaves, favourite: your time is past:
you have played with nuts long enough: you must now be the servant of
Talassius. Give nuts, beloved slave. Today and yesterday you disdained the
country wives: now the barber shaves your cheeks. Wretched, ah! wretched
lover, throw the nuts!
So no room for ‘dalliance’ existed any more for the married man who
has to say goodbye not only to children’s games but also to the slave boy’s
nuts, an obvious reference to certain pre-nuptial licenses the man had
enjoyed.
In this context it is not possible to go further into marriage in Catullus’
poetry, but what would merit further investigation is how much the
vocabulary Catullus uses changes in the marriage poems. In poem ,
for example, words such as virgo, puellula, nupta, maritus, uxor, and
coniunx appear; all these are from a different register than the words used
in the other poetry, and perhaps are more suitable for describing the moral
world of married people.
Catullus’ poems are full of visions of emotional self-fulfillment which
are at odds with the views of Roman marriage often presented in research.
Perhaps we can discern in them faint echoes of the presence of more than


Masterson : .

Catull. .–: nec nuces pueris neget / desertum domini audiens / concubinus amorem. // da nuces
pueris, iners / concubine: satis diu / lusisti nucibus: lubet / iam servire Talasio. / concubine, nuces da. //
sordebant tibi vilicae, / concubine, hodie atque heri: / nunc tuum cinerarius / tondet os. miser a miser /
concubine, nuces da.
  
one ‘emotional community’ in Rome at the time. The concept of
‘emotional community’ has been coined by the historian of emotions
Barbara Rosenwein to explain the presence of contradictory emotional
systems of meaning and practice in medieval France. With this concept,
it might be possible to make sense of the seemingly contradictory inter-
pretations of the position occupied by marriage in Late Roman culture:
one could easily imagine that the culture within the elite could be different
from the public view of Roman culture, with the two forming distinctive
but partially overlapping emotional communities. In this case, the Catul-
lan poetry would belong to the emotional community formed by a certain
portion of the cultural and social elites; and our traditional interpretation
of the position of marriage could still be valid for the other emotional
community, the one of traditional Roman culture which Cicero and his
wife perhaps were also part of.

 Conclusion
Both authors should be read in the context of their relative positions
within the cultural order of the Late Roman Republic. Neither originally
belonged to the Roman elite. Their literary activities must be read through
their position as homines novi, not as established members of the cultural
and social elites of the capital. They both aspired to establish their own
positions within this elite. Catullus, for example, linked poems to the long
tradition of Latin literature in order to enlist the support which this
tradition provided in promoting his texts, and perhaps also in order to
convince readers that the author was well versed in the Roman tradition
and that his literary endeavors were worth taking seriously even though he
came from an outsider family in Verona. And in many ways, Catullus’
poems are a description of the life of a man suffering from cupiditas
adulescentiae; a desire for sex, love and success. They can therefore easily
be read as promoting this kind of life. As Blázquez Martínez emphasizes,
the Lesbia poems of Catullus describe love between two adult persons
belonging to high Roman society without ever touching on marriage
(though poem  is an exception). In most cases, the relationship is based
on desire. The poetry of Catullus sounds raucous to modern ears, but
that is only superficial. Beneath the surface, I would propose, the poems


Rosenwein ; Rosenwein ; and Plamper : – for an overview of Rosenwein’s
thinking.
 
Habinek : –. Blázquez Martínez : –.
 ‘Singleness’ in Cicero and Catullus 
are often surprisingly conservative. The superficially romantic texts conceal
satirical representations of the moral qualities lacking in society at the time.
A good example of this is found in poem . Here Lesbia (Clodia)
prefers Lesbius (Clodius) to Catullus. In Skinner’s reading, the poem
deplores the behavior of Lesbia as an example of placing personal relation-
ships second and the political interests of the family first, in this case
expressed in Lesbia’s greater love for (her brother) Lesbius than for her
lover Catullus. This reading would support a view of Catullus as an
advocate of emotional, personal experience. Butrica’s close reading of the
poem, however, analyzes the innuendos in the poem that play on Clodius’
sexual reputation, thus characterizing him as immoral. At the same time,
the comparison between the worth of the whole family of Catullus and
Clodius is resolved in Clodius’ favor, thus pointing to the social inferiority
of Catullus. Through these readings, one could perhaps conclude that
what Catullus is complaining about here is that no matter how much a
proper man he ever is, in comparison to Clodius/Lesbius it will be of no
import, since Clodius belongs to the gens of the Clodii, Lesbia will decide
to prefer him anyway. I would suggest that Catullus feels Lesbia should
choose him over that immoral brother of hers since he would make a
suitable husband, which in turn – and this is important – would also make
her a ‘decent’ woman. One cannot overlook the connections here to Pyy’s
argument in this volume.
In light of these two texts and in the social context of the upper classes at
the time Catullus and Cicero were writing, two groups with more liberty
than others to behave as they choose seem to be identifiable: young men
and older women, i.e., women that have already been married at some
point. In light of Catullus’s poems, it does not seem impossible that some
younger women could also have been living on their own, although their
social status is difficult to pin down. What should be noted, however, is
the difference from the Augustan world as depicted in Pyy’s chapter. What
appears as disreputable behavior in these sources is deemed to be actually
illegal merely decades later. As Pyy notes on page , social change had
made the categorization of women difficult.
Of the themes discussed in this article – living alone, being susceptible
to one’s emotions and being unmarried – only one issue, indulging one’s
emotions, seems to have been something that was both an accepted and
expected part of the behavior of young, single men. Living alone and being

 
Skinner : –. Butrica .
  
unmarried do not seem to have had the kind of connotations that a
modern-day view of a ‘singles’ culture would have, but this also depends
on the view of marriage we adopt. Therefore, we can conclude that a youth
culture of sorts did exist, at least for single young men. This result
conforms to the Laes–Strubbe model discussed at the outset of this
chapter, but especially the discussion of the marriage poems suggests that
the presence of several of Rosenwein’s ‘emotional communities’ should
also not be ruled out. Based on the evidence from Catullus and Cicero’s
pro Caelio, it was not only young and unmarried men who were known to
live a life contrary to Roman traditional values, and it seems that the
‘behavioral differences’ cannot be explained solely by class or gender.
It is very important to put these texts in their proper temporal context.
The setting for all of these texts is the Late Roman Republic, before the
civil wars, the dictatorship of Caesar, the Second Triumvirate and the
Augustan peace. Given the devastation these events subsequently wreaked
on the elites of Rome, there is no reason to assume a simple continuation
of the value system of this period into later Augustan times. Whatever
renegotiations of the Roman value system Catullus and Cicero were taking
part in, a completely different Rome was on its way – a Rome that under
Augustus’ aegis was to take a different route towards defining its values.
  

Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness:

Virgil’s Aeneid
Elina Pyy

 Introduction
When discussing the concept of ‘singleness’ in the classical Roman world, it
is necessary to acknowledge and consider the gender aspects of the phe-
nomenon. In Roman society, women were defined by their relationships
to men, and their value to the community was largely – although not
exclusively – measured by their fertility and fecundity. For these reasons,
being or remaining unmarried naturally meant different things to men and
to women.
That the Romans understood marriage, sexuality and reproduction in
strongly gendered terms can be observed in Augustus’ famous marriage
laws. The lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus introduced in  BC (and
supplemented by the lex Papia Poppaea in AD ) was designed to promote
marriage among the Roman elite. The edict encouraged both men and
women to marry, using various economic and legal incentives. For men,
two of the greatest incentives to marry – and to marry at a young age –
were earlier candidacy for political office and the prestige in public life
associated with being married. Women, for their part, were freed from
tutela after giving birth to three children – moreover, motherhood could
exempt them from the inheritance restrictions of the Republican lex
Voconia.
The double standard becomes obvious, however, when we examine
the other law introduced in  BC, the lex Iulia de adulteriis. In this
Augustan edict, the Roman ideal of female pudicitia can be particularly


See e.g. Hallett : –, –, –; Crook : –; Gardner : –; Dixon
: –; Evans Grubbs a: –.
  
Laes, in this volume, pp. –. See Evans Grubbs a: –. Dixon : .
 
Dixon : –; see e.g. Cass. Dio .. Rawson b: –.


  
well observed. As long as they refrained from sexual relations with
freeborn virgins, widows or married women, Roman men enjoyed relative
freedom to satisfy their sexual desires with slaves or courtesans. For
freeborn women, the situation was quite different. The Julian Law defined
any sexual relations of an unmarried woman, whether she was a virgin, a
widow or a divorcée, as stuprum – a crime of ‘promiscuity’ or ‘fornication’
(a curious exception, as Petrova points out, seem to have been the
procuresses who were exempt from prosecution for adultery and expected
to continue their corporeal business instead of marrying). On the other
hand, if a married woman had sexual relations with a man other than her
husband, her sexual partner was considered guilty of adulterium, a crime
clearly defined and punishable under the Julian Law. Augustus’ moral
legislation, therefore, transformed the age-old ideal of pudicitia into the
letter of the law, making private family matters public and confining
female sexuality to within the limits of marriage.
In summary, the Augustan marriage laws appear to have had two main
aims at the level of ideology: first of all, to encourage marriage and
reproduction and, secondly, to restrict the sexual promiscuity of the elite
and promote the ideal of pudicitia. However, it is incontrovertible that
when taken to extremes, these two ideals could sometimes clash. This
conflict can be observed in Augustan literature, particularly in poetry.
In this paper, I briefly examine the representation of unmarried women in
the Aeneid, the epic masterpiece of the Augustan period and the corner-
stone of Roman identity. The poem is, of course, not a reliable source for
the study of Roman social history and will not be examined as such in this
paper. Nevertheless, the significance of the Aeneid for the ethos and the
ideological atmosphere of the early Principate was so immense that it can


Pudicitia, a virtue associated in particular with married women, was a crucial part of Roman moral
thinking; as Langlands points out, it is too complex and multifaceted to be translated simply as
“modesty”, “chastity” or “continence”; it is a more overarching concept that also includes many
non-sexual aspects. See e.g. Val. Max. ..; Tac. ann. ..; Pompon. .. Besides being an
abstract virtue, Pudicitia was also a goddess whose cult was a crucial part of the Roman religious
system in the Republican period. See Langlands : –.

See Csillag ; Treggiari b; Petrova, in this volume.

For a more focused and detailed analysis of Augustus’ marriage laws, see Evans Grubbs, in this
volume.

It has, however, been questioned whether these really were the primary aims of the Julian laws.
Wallace-Hadrill, for one, has argued that the actual practical purpose of Augustus’ marriage laws
was to stabilize the transmission of property and social status from generation to generation among
the Roman well-to-do families. Wallace-Hadrill .

See Kiefer’s detailed list of passages regarding sexuality and sexual morals in Augustan poetry: Kiefer
: –.
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
be considered a unique source for the study of the Roman value system –
including its ideas concerning marriage and sexuality. As a poem that
both reflected the values of its time and deliberately aimed at constructing
them, it offers us a window onto this crucial period of transformation in
Roman culture and society – the turn from the political turmoil of the late
Republic towards the cultural revolution of the Augustan era.

 The One-man Woman – Ideal, Fantasy or Rhetorical Weapon?

In the Aeneid, the best example of a situation where the themes of
marriage, sexuality and ‘singleness’ are present is naturally the story of
Dido and Aeneas. The tale has all the elements necessary for a full-scale
discussion of values and ideals regarding pudicitia and sexual mores. Unsur-
prisingly, the female protagonist, in particular, is depicted and assessed
throughout the story in terms of her marital status and her sexual conduct.
When the Trojan refugees land in Carthage, it is immediately made clear
to the reader that their new hostess, Queen Dido, is a widow. She escaped
her native Tyre after the violent death of her beloved husband, Sychaeus.
After landing in Libyan territory with her band of fugitives, she founded a
new city there. As queen of Carthage, Dido cherishes the memory of her
late husband and has remained a widow. This makes her an archetypal
literary univira – a one-man woman who has only been married once. In
Roman culture, this was traditionally considered to be among the highest
levels of female pudicitia. And at least in theory, it was presented as a
pursuable, model way of life for young brides – this can be observed in the
tradition that originally, only univirae could act as pronubae at weddings.


The unique position of the Aeneid as a work that both reflects and constructs the Roman ideology,
identity and ethos of the Augustan period has been discussed, for instance, in Hardie ; Toll
; Putnam ; Toll ; Adler ; Syed ; Reed .

Virg. Aen. .–.

See Humbert : –; also Gardner : –; Treggiari b: –; Dixon :
–, , ; Evans Grubbs a: , .

Traditionally, the cult of Pudicitia, popular in the Republican period, excluded all women who
were, for whatever reason, not univirae. As Langlands states, this prohibition seems to derive from
religious considerations rather than ethical ones: a woman who had had sex with more than one
man was considered impure, or ‘stained’ – even if this might not have affected her social status, the
circumstances excluded her from the cult practice. Langlands : –. For further discussion
on the tension between practice and ideal in matters concerning marriage and reproduction, see
Huebner, in this volume.

Lightman and Zeisel : – (see Tert. de exhortatione castitatis ; de monogamia .). See
also Humbert : . As Dixon points out, not only was there a conflict between the ideal and
practice, but there most probably was a causal relation between the two: it was because widows and
  
Before proceeding with the literary analysis, it is necessary to point out a
few methodological issues and idiosyncrasies connected to the concept of
the univira in Roman culture. As presented in literary sources, this ideal is
extremely vague and difficult to grasp – it is particularly difficult to show to
what extent it formed part of religious thinking and Roman philosophy in
the classical period, and how drastically it was subsequently shaped by the
Christian church fathers. Doubtlessly, the emphasis put on this ideal,
as well as many of the moral and religious aspects associated with it in
the Christian period, have influenced modern scholars’ understanding
of the concept.
When examining the ideal of the univira in the specific context of
classical pagan culture, it is crucial to note that the concept of the one-
man woman apparently did not originally refer to a widow – instead, it was
applied to a woman who had come into her husband’s household as a
virgin bride and had died before her husband. Dixon suggests that it was
only from the late Republic onwards that the term was associated with
widows who chose not to remarry, out of loyalty to their late husbands, or
in order to protect their children’s financial interests. This interpret-
ation – like most of our information about Roman univirae – is based on
epigraphic material from the imperial period. In the Corpus Inscriptionum
Latinarum, over thirty Latin funerary inscriptions that commemorate
virtuous univirae can be found.
However, even if the term itself does not appear in Roman literature
dating from the classical period, several literary passages attest to the
existence of the ideal. The praise and the glorification of women who only
married once and decided to remain widows after the deaths of their
husbands is not an uncommon feature in imperial Roman prose – Seneca,
Tacitus and Valerius Maximus are our most useful sources for this sort of
rhetoric. In the field of poetry, in turn, the best-known and the most
memorable univira in the Roman literary tradition is certainly Dido in the
Aeneid – and this brings us back to the literary analysis of Virgil’s poem.
In book four of the Aeneid, Virgil makes it clear that Dido takes her oath to
remain unmarried quite seriously at the beginning of her story. She states
that mihi . . . animo fixum immotumque sederet/ne cui me vinclo vellem

divorcées normally remarried that society continued to idealize the woman who married only once.
Dixon : –; see also .
 
Dixon : , . See e.g. CIL .; .; .; ., ; ., .

See e.g. Val. Max. .., ..; Tac. ann. ., Germ. .; Sen. de mat. –. For further
discussion, see Csillag : –; Humbert : –; Langlands : –.
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
sociare iugali. Her devotion can also be observed in her anxious
outburst to her sister Anna:
. . . rather, I would pray, may earth yawn for me to its depths, or may the
Almighty Father hurl me with his bolt to the shades – the pale shades and
abysmal night in Erebus – before, Shame, I violate you or break your laws!
He who first linked me to himself has taken away my heart; may he keep it
with him, and guard it in the grave!
In effect, the poet tells us that the queen has received plenty of marriage
proposals from the princes of neighboring cities, but has systematically
turned them all down. Anna reminds Dido that
. . . no wooers moved your sorrow, not in Libya, nor before them in Tyre;
that Iarbas was slighted, and other lords whom the African land, rich in
triumphs, rears.
Naturally, there are a number of methodological issues that must be taken
into account when examining the character of Dido as an exemplum of
univira. First of all, she is a fictitious character, and secondly, she is not
Roman but a foreign queen whose character, therefore, does not merely
reflect the Roman value system and the ideals of the time, but also many of
the cultural prejudices and stereotypes concerning the ‘Other’ which
prevailed in the early Augustan period. It has been convincingly shown
that Virgil utilizes an extensive repertoire of narratological tools in the


Virg. Aen. .–. These passages can, naturally, also be interpreted in another way, if we assume
that Dido is feigning her devotion towards her late husband – the fact that she is quickly and easily
persuaded by Anna to pursue a union with Aeneas would support this reading. I have analyzed this
matter further in my previous article (Pyy ).

. . . mihi vel tellus optem prius ima dehiscat/vel pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras,/pallentis
umbras Erebo noctemque profundam/ante, pudor, quam te violo aut tua iura resolvo. Virg. Aen.
.–. English translation of the Aeneid by H.R. Fairclough, LCL.

. . . aegram nulli quondam flexere mariti,/non Libyae, non ante Tyro; despectus Iarbas/ductoresque alii,
quos Africa terra triumphis/dives alit. Virg. Aen. .–.

For a more detailed analysis of Dido’s ‘Otherness’ in the Roman epic tradition, see Keith ;
Syed ; Keith . The obvious and deliberate association between Dido and Cleopatra has
been analyzed over and over again (see e.g. Benario ; Horsfall –; Nadeau :
–; Keith , –; Syed : –). Arguably, this association alone is enough to
emphasize Dido’s Otherness and to represent her as alien to the Roman value system and the moral
decorum of the time – and even as a threat to them. It has been convincingly argued that due to the
political circumstances of the time, the Augustan authors needed to reconstruct Cleopatra’s public
image, representing her as the Other and associating her with the most strange and exotic features of
Egyptian culture (see e.g. Virg. Aen. ., .–; Prop. ..–; Hor. carm. ..–;
Ov. met. .). As Gruen puts it, the portrait of Cleopatra as the Other was “tied most closely to
a particular time and purpose.” Gruen : –. See also Galinsky : –; Maehler
: –; Syed : –. The archetype of the exotic foreign queen, strongly present in
the literary discourse of the Augustan period, was thus strengthened by the character of Dido in the
Aeneid. And whereas the association with Dido helped to represent Cleopatra as the exotic Other,
  
Aeneid in order to stimulate the emotions of his Roman audience and to
encourage them to identify with certain characters – and to distance
themselves from others. Dido is often considered to belong to the latter
category – Syed, for one, has argued that throughout Dido’s story, the poet
depicts her as the exotic Other, who is distanced from the reader by means
of gaze, voice and emotions. According to this reading, it would have
been particularly difficult for a Roman reader to relate to Dido, or to
consider her as a representative of his or her own culture and value system.
This interpretation, however, is not completely convincing when we
examine Dido’s character from the viewpoint of Roman sexual morals and
the ideals of the time. Dido’s obsession with her vows of chastity, her
strong commitment to the ideals of monogamy, and her distress about not
being able to give children to her husband and her country are all
significant details that show how strongly she has been imbued with the
paradigms and the value system of the patriarchal society. It is crucial to
remember that despite having become an exotic Carthaginian dux femina,
Virgil’s Dido is also an educated, civilized matron who was born and raised
in the sphere of influence of Greek culture. Therefore, we have plenty of
reasons to assume that the Roman audience – the female audience, in
particular – could, and was expected to, identify with Dido. Moreover,
this gives us reason to believe that readers were expected to assess her sexual
conduct as if she were an upper-class Roman matron.
Dido’s resolution to remain unmarried is the first occasion in the Aeneid
where the reader can observe the aforementioned conflict between the
ideals of chastity and of reproduction. It is evident that Dido’s decision to
remain unmarried brings her kudos and glory, making her the embodi-
ment of pudicitia. On the other hand, however, it is implied that it is not
the wisest possible choice for her, considering her position as the sole ruler
of a newly established city. Without an heir to the throne, Carthage is

the same effect worked the other way around – the Roman audience’s familiarity with the Cleopatra
lore doubtless made Dido instantly appear to them as an exotic and dangerous foreign queen.

Syed : –. For further analysis on the techniques of identification in Roman literature, see
also Konstan ; Nugent ; Skinner : ; Keith : . Classical narratology has
not been widely applied to the study of Roman epic; when it comes to Homeric epic, instead, there
is a strong research tradition in the field of narratological analysis – these methods are very suitable
and applicable for the study of Virgilian epic as well. See, in particular, De Jong, Nünlist and Bowie
; De Jong and Nünlist ; Bakker .

Syed : –.

This idea is supported by a passage in Juvenal’s Satires where the author blames an imaginary elite
matron for doing so: Illa tamen gravior, quae cum discumbere coepit,/laudat Vergilium, periturae
ignoscit Elissae,/committit vates et comparat, inde Maronem/atque alia parte in trutina suspendit
Homerum. Juv. .–.
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
bound to become politically unstable in a few decades’ time. Since the
queen has no children by her former husband, a new marriage would
certainly strengthen the political status of the city as well as ensure the
continuance of Dido’s own royal line.
The situation appears to reflect the discussion concerning unmarried
widows and their social status in the Roman Principate. Their praise of
univirae and the ideal of female chastity notwithstanding, the Julian
marriage laws incentivized widows to remarry as soon as possible. We
can find an echo of this in Ulpian, who states that feminis lex Iulia a morte
viri anni tribuit vacationem, a divortio sex mensum, lex autem Papia a morte
viri biennii, a repudio anni et sex mensum. However, in this matter, as in
many others, having children guaranteed more freedom of choice to
women. If a widowed woman had already given birth, she could decline
a new marriage, even if she was still of child-bearing age. This, however,
is not the case with Dido. The fact that she is once widowed and still
without children makes her position ambiguous and insecure. This is
clearly expressed in the words of Anna when she tries to persuade her
sister to consider remarrying:
. . . are you, lonely and sad, going to pine away all your youth long, and
know not sweet children or love’s rewards? Do you think that dust or
buried shades give heed to that?
Unsurprisingly, Dido is quite willing to accept Anna’s advice, and eager to
yield herself to love again. She burns with passion for Aeneas, stating that
. . . since the death of my hapless lord Sychaeus, and the shattering of our
home by a brother’s murder, he alone has swayed my will and overthrown
my tottering soul. I feel again a spark of that former flame.


In the Republican period, the widow was expected to go into mourning for a period of ten months;
see Ov. fast. .–; Paul. sent. ..–. Remarriage during the mourning period was
penalized by the praetor’s edict (the punishment being the loss of legal privileges). Apparently,
the practical reason for this was to prevent any doubt about a posthumous child’s paternity. For
further discussion, see Treggiari b: –; Rawson a: ; Gardner : –. See also
Evans Grubbs a: –; Dixon : .

Ulp. (reg.) .; see also Suet. Aug. .

Rawson a: –. A good example of a situation like this is the case of Antonia, daughter of
Mark Antony. She lost her husband, Drusus, when she was under thirty years of age; however,
having already given birth to three children, she was able to have her way and remain a widow. Val.
Max. ...

solane perpetua maerens carpere iuventa/nec dulcis natos Veneris nec praemia noris?/id cinerem aut
manis credis curare sepultos? Virg. Aen. .–.

miseri post fata Sychaei/coniugis et sparsos fraterna caede penatis/solus hic inflexit sensus animumque
labantem/impulit. agnosco veteris vestigia flammae. Virg. Aen. .–.
  
Therefore, it is out of her infatuation with Aeneas, rather than because of
Anna’s reasoning, that Dido starts a liaison with the Trojan refugee.
Although she takes her vows of chastity quite seriously, the allure of love
and companionship is too strong. Dido appears to the audience as a
univira who cherishes her prestigious status – but only until she gets an
offer that is attractive enough, until the option of a new marriage
appears more beneficial than the honor gained by abstinence. It is impos-
sible to tell whether or not Virgil utilized Dido’s character to comment on
phenomena that were topical in his contemporary society – but it is likely
that his Roman audience recognized the behavioral pattern represented by
Dido and, most probably, assessed her conduct by the standards of their
own time.

 Young Widows, Shame and Sexual Morals

It is, however, crucial to note that Dido is never quite ready to let go of her
cherished pudicitia – she goes to a great deal of trouble to justify her
actions, and when she starts a relationship with Aeneas, she considers it a
legitimate marriage.
This is yet another of the ambiguities in the story of Dido and Aeneas.
The question of why Virgil so extensively utilizes imagery and vocabulary
associated with marriage when depicting their liaison is intriguing:
the incoherent details and the deliberately misleading narrating
voice have been widely noticed by scholars before. It is incontrovertible
that the poet depicts the consummation of Dido and Aeneas’ relationship
as a marriage ritual guarded by Juno herself. The queen of the gods states:
I will be there and, if I can be sure of your good will, will link them in sure
wedlock, sealing her for his own; this shall be their bridal!
Moreover, the poet describes the episode in the same terms:
Primal Earth and nuptial Juno gave the sign; fires flashed in heaven, the
witness to their bridal, and on the mountaintop screamed the Nymphs.


See e.g. Perkell ; Skinner ; Dietrich .

adero et, tua si mihi certa voluntas,/conubio iungam stabili propriamque dicabo./hic hymenaeus erit.
Virg. Aen. .–.

prima et Tellus et pronuba Iuno/dant signum; fulsere ignes et conscius aether/conubiis summoque
ulularunt vertice Nymphae. Virg. Aen. .–.
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
Even Mercury, when he addresses Aeneas, speaks of Dido as his uxor.
These passages appear to be deliberately misleading – most probably, their
purpose is to emphasize the confusion around the whole relationship, and
to explain why Dido has reason to believe that she is Aeneas’ lawful wife.
Examined against this background, it does not come as a surprise that
when Dido addresses Aeneas upon his departure, she speaks of data
dextera, and pleads to him per conubia nostra, per inceptos hymenaeos.
However, Aeneas’ immovable answer makes it evident that, at least in
his mind, no official agreement ever took place. He claims that “I never
held out a bridegroom’s torch or entered such a compact.” Ultimately,
the poet implies that on an unconscious level, Dido herself was aware all
along of the nature of their relationship. After all, it is noteworthy that
when Virgil depicted Dido’s thoughts and feelings in the beginning of the
affair, he had mentioned that
. . . no more is Dido swayed by fair show or fair fame, no more does she
dream of a secret love: she calls it marriage and with that name veils her
sin.
Thus, it is subtly implied that in effect, Dido has been telling herself what
she wanted to believe – what she needed to believe in order to maintain at
least a shred of the precious pudicitia that she sacrificed when uniting
herself with a man again. Now, however, as the relationship is coming to
an end, she is forced to admit that there never was a marriage: infelix Dido,
nunc te facta impia tangunt? (“Unhappy Dido, do your sinful deeds come
home to you only now?”), she chides herself.
Therefore, it must be concluded that the relationship between Dido and
Aeneas is not a legitimate conubium – according to the first chapter of lex
Iulia de adulteriis, it is a stuprum, fornication with a widowed woman. This
is where we come back to the social and historical background of the
poem – it would appear that in stressing the confusion and the distress
caused by Dido and Aeneas’ illegitimate union, Virgil is reflecting the
ideological atmosphere of his own day. Notably, in the Rome of the late
Republic or the early Principate, it was not a situation completely unheard
of that after being married several times, some of the widowed elite


tu nunc Karthaginis altae/fundamenta locas pulchramque uxorius urbem/extruis? Virg. Aen. .–.

Virg. Aen. ., ..

nec coniugis umquam/praetendi taedas aut haec in foedera veni. Virg. Aen. .–.

. . . neque enim specie famave movetur/nec iam furtivum Dido meditatur amorem/coniugium vocat, hoc
praetexit nomine culpam. Virg. Aen. .–.

Virg. Aen. ..
  
matrons might have preferred to stay unmarried at least for a while and
enjoy their autonomy. And during such phases, they might have taken
lovers. From the point of view of pudicitia, this sort of lifestyle was
naturally highly questionable. Furthermore, from a more practical point
of view, it endangered the woman’s chances of producing legitimate
children – young widows who refused to remarry not only wasted
their fertile years in solitude, but also risked having spurious offspring by
their lovers.
A famous example of a situation like this can be found in Cicero’s Pro
Caelio, his literary account of the lawsuit that took place in  BC – some
thirty years before Virgil wrote the Aeneid. In his notoriously malevolent
speech, Cicero scorns Clodia Metelli for degrading herself to the level of a
meretrix when she remained unmarried after the death of her husband in
 BC and – allegedly – had sexual relations with other men. Cicero
represents Clodia as a merciless man-eater who preys on young, financially
strapped elite men. He appeals to the jury’s sense of decency, asking them
not to let M. Caelius be “sacrificed to female lust.” In Cael. , he
elaborately describes Clodia’s carefree lifestyle, depicting her as an impu-
dent harlot:
If a woman without a husband opens her house to all men’s desires, and
publicly leads the life of a courtesan . . . if, in fact, she so behaves that not
only her bearing but her dress and her companions, not only the ardour of
her looks and the licentiousness of her gossip but also her embraces and
caresses, her beach-parties, her water-parties, her dinner-parties, proclaim
her to be not only a courtesan, but also a shameless and wanton courtesan;
if a young man should happen to be found with this woman, would you,
Lucius Herennius, consider him to be an adulterer or a lover?
Cicero emphasizes the idea that being unmarried, Clodia sets no limit
whatsoever to her sexual desires. He repetitively suggests that an incestuous
relationship exists between Clodia and her brother (and his mortal enemy)


For women in their fertile years, prompt remarriage after a divorce was, of course, a more common
option; see e.g. Bradley : –.

Caelium libidini muliebri condonatum, Cic. Cael. .

Si quae non nupta mulier domum suam patefecerit omnium cupiditati palamque sese in meretricia vita
collocarit . . . si denique ita sese gerat non incessu solum, sed ornatu atque comitatu, non flagrantia
oculorum, non libertate sermonum, sed etiam complexu, osculatione, actis, navigatione, conviviis, ut non
solum meretrix, sed etiam proterva meretrix procaxque videatur: cum hac si qui adulescens forte fuerit,
utrum hic tibi, L. Herenni, adulter an amator . . . videatur? Cic. Cael. . English translation of Pro
Caelio by R. Gardner, LCL. For the full quotation and a more elaborate analysis of this passage, see
Kiiskinen, in this volume.
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
P. Clodius Pulcher. Moreover, he scorns Clodia for her many other
alleged love affairs, stating:
You have grounds by the Tiber purposely procured just at the place where
all the young men come to bathe; from there you may pick up marriage
proposals any day.
Naturally, there is no evidence whatsoever that Clodia – or other young
widows of the time – indulged in sexual adventures of the kind described
by Cicero. As Skinner points out, Cicero’s malevolent comments about
Clodia’s personal life cannot be considered anything but “wild fabrica-
tions” conceived with political interest in mind. However, the mere
existence of this sort of comments shows the suspicion and the reproaches
reserved for young widows who refused to remarry. Naturally, Cicero’s
goals were first and foremost political, and to him, Clodia was a mere pawn
in his long-standing feud against her brother. Nevertheless, as Griffith
points out, what made it so easy for Cicero to reproach Clodia for her
alleged sexual conduct was the age-old ideal that a widow should remain
chaste and cherish the memory of her late husband. With her relation-
ships with alienissimi viri, Clodia obviously betrayed this ideal and made
herself an easy target for moralists.
Obviously, the whole situation is based on a striking paradox – while
the ideal of univira existed and was used to assess Clodia’s behavior,
remarrying was the only way she could have protected herself against
vicious rumors targeted at her chastity. It does not seem far-fetched to
claim that in the political turmoil of the late Republic, the ideal of a one-
man woman was little more than a weapon for moralists, misogynists and
political opportunists. As Petrova, in this volume also points out, patri-
archal society needed to define women either as virgins (under the control
of their fathers), or as matrons (under the control of their husbands). The
social changes that took place in the course of the Republic – the stark
decline of the manus marriage and the increasing wealth and social power
of elite women – made it increasingly difficult to place some women in the
late Republic in either of these categories.
It is naturally problematic to compare two texts from such different
genres and with such different agendas as the Pro Caelio and the Aeneid.


Cic. Cael. , . See also Cic. Sest. ; Cic. Pis. . For further discussion on this aspect of Cicero’s
inflammatory rhetoric, see Butrica .

Habes hortos ad Tiberim ac diligenter eo loco paratos, quo omnis iuventus natandi causa venit; hinc licet
condiciones cotidie legas . . . Cic. Cael. .
  
Skinner : . Griffith : . Griffith : –.
  
However, in their own way, both of these works reflect Roman ideas
concerning unmarried widows and female sexuality – as well as the
anxieties that Roman society experienced when it came to the sexual
morals and the autonomy of Roman elite matrons. Due to his different
aims, Virgil’s tone in discussing these matters is much more humane and
understanding than Cicero’s. He treats Dido in a gentle and empathetic
manner – nevertheless, it is made evident that by making a number of poor
choices, she has weakened her social position. Dido herself, furious with
Aeneas, acknowledges this when she claims that “because of you and you
alone my shame has been extinguished and, wherever I go, my ill repute
goes before me.” A little later, she desperately calculates the paths open
to her now that her cherished status as a univira has been lost:
Shall I once more make trial of my old wooers, only to be mocked, and shall
I humbly sue for marriage with Numidians, whom I have scorned so often
as husbands? . . . But who – suppose that I wished it – will suffer me, or take
one so hated on those haughty ships?
Evidently, Dido’s situation has gone from bad to worse: she has lost her
cherished pudicitia, but also all prospects of marriage. It appears that all the
roles in which it is possible to perform womanhood in a respectable and
socially approved way – virgin, wife, mother, widow – have now been
denied her. As a result, she is confused and frustrated, and she bitterly
regrets her sexual transgressions.
At this point, the poet returns to a theme brought up at the beginning
of Dido’s story, the issue of hypothetical motherhood. It is intriguing that
Dido, deeply in love with Aeneas, does not only grieve the end of their
relationship – she also grieves that the affair did not leave her with a child.
She tells Aeneas:
At least, if before your flight a child of yours had been born to me, if in my
hall a baby Aeneas were playing, whose face, in spite of all, would bring
back yours, I should not think myself utterly vanquished and forlorn.
It would appear that Dido has already accepted the fact that their union
was illegitimate at this point – it is evident that a child born of it would not
be legally acknowledged by Aeneas. Dido nevertheless wishes that there


te propter eundem/exstinctus pudor et, qua sola sidera adibam,/fama prior. Virg. Aen. .–.

rursusne procos inrisa priores/experiar, Nomadumque petam conubia supplex,/quos ego sim totiens iam
dedignata maritos? . . . quis me autem, fac velle, sinet ratibusve superbis/invisam accipiet? Virg. Aen.
.–, .–.

saltem si qua mihi de te suscepta fuisset/ante fugam suboles, si quis mihi parvulus aula/luderet Aeneas, qui
te tamen ore referret,/non equidem omnino capta ac deserta viderer. Virg. Aen. .–.
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
was a child, if only to remind her of Aeneas. Most probably, this passage is
supposed to be read in the context of the episodes that stress Dido’s
desperate situation and her defiled reputation after Aeneas’ departure. As
she now has such slight chances of ever receiving a marriage proposal again,
she might as well remain a widow for the rest of her days and raise her
illegitimate child as her heir. In effect, this might have been a way out of
the otherwise unbearable situation – not a respectable one, but at least
something to cling to, and a promise of better times to come. Dido’s cup
of anxiety pours over when she realizes that even this option is out of the
question since there is no child. At the end, the relationship with Aeneas
leaves Dido empty-handed, stripped of her honor and of her high hopes
for her city.
Virgil, therefore, represents Dido as an example of an unmarried widow
who has an illegitimate extramarital relationship – and has to pay for her
mistake. At the end, she is deprived of the protection of a husband and the
joys of motherhood, and she has no legal protection at the moment of the
break-up. Therefore, it is certainly possible to interpret the story of Dido
and Aeneas as a pro-marriage story, perhaps even as a reaction against the
sexual freedom and ‘immorality’ of the late Republic. However, I suggest
that this sort of interpretation could be mistaken. It is most intriguing that
ultimately moralistic overtones and pro-marriage propaganda are com-
pletely absent from the end of the story of Dido and Aeneas. At the end
of book four, right before her suicide, Dido looks back on her life and
reminisces about her union with Sychaeus and her relationship with
Aeneas – and at the end, she wishes she had never married at all. One of
her last statements is that
Ah, that I could not spend my life apart from wedlock, a blameless life, like
some wild creature, and not know such cares!
Here Virgil recalls the fascination of a single life – the fascination that
obviously was well known in his contemporary society – and stresses the
pain that love (in or outside of marriage) can cause to a human being. At
the end, Virgil’s Dido is not a classic exemplum of easy virtue and a


In Roman society, marriage was a contract that aimed at the economic wellbeing of both parties; in
the case of divorce, the rights of the wife were protected and the dowry was returned (under the
condition that no adulterous behaviour on the part of the wife could be proven). Gardner :
–; Rawson a: –; Dixon : –; Evans Grubbs a: , .

non licuit thalami expertem sine crimine vitam/degere more ferae, talis nec tangere curas. Virg. Aen.
.–.

See e.g. Hor. epist. .., carm. ...
  
tarnished reputation. She is a human being who has been conquered by
powers greater than herself – a victim of two brilliant and conniving
goddesses, a victim of patriarchal society’s unrealistic expectations and,
first and foremost, a victim of love that omnia vincit. In this poem, it is
not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

 Futile or Virtuous Virginity? The Case of Camilla

The themes of marriage, singleness and sexual morality are also briefly
discussed in another story in the latter part of the Aeneid. In the final lines
of book seven, Virgil introduces another of his captivating female charac-
ters – the Volscian warrior maiden Camilla. Camilla’s character is Virgil’s
invention, and mostly based on the Amazon imagery of Greek literature.
As a young, unmarried woman, Camilla can be examined as an intriguing
comparative case to Virgil’s Dido. While Dido is a devoted univira,
Camilla is a virgin as a matter of principle. In book eleven, the poet relates
the story of the warrior maiden, explaining how her father, Metabus, an
exiled tyrant of the Volsci, devoted his daughter to Diana as a baby and
brought her up alone in the woodlands. Camilla, therefore, is an example
of virginity embedded in religion and cult practice – the type of celibacy
that was well established in Roman society in the classical pagan period.
Measured in numbers, however, this sort of lifestyle was uncommon
compared to the popularity of the phenomenon in Christian Late
Antiquity.
In the Aeneid, Virgil plays with this tradition, creating an intriguing
hybrid of a maiden priestess of Diana and a warlike Amazon. In no part of
the epic is it explicitly stated how Camilla serves Diana, but it seems that
she is at least a devotee, and possibly a priestess, of some sort of sylvan cult.
It is said that Camilla worships Diana alone in the woodlands. In battle,
she wears arcus et arma Dianae (“the bow and armour of Diana”), and the
goddess herself describes the warrior maiden as cara mihi ante alias (“whom
I love as none besides”). Therefore, Virgil depicts Camilla as an outsider


Virg. ecl. ..

See e.g. Schönberger : –; Köves-Zulauf : –; Arrigoni : –, –;
Horsfall : –; Horsfall : –; Pyy : –.

During his flight, Metabus arrived at the river Amasenus and, being unable to swim across with the
child in his arms, tied the baby onto his spear and hurled her over. Before doing this, he prayed
Diana to protect the child and, should she survive, promised to devote her to the goddess. Virg.
Aen. .–.

Virg. Aen. ., .. See Arrigoni : –; Horsfall : .
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
to the human community and to its norms concerning marriage, in
particular – in effect, Camilla appears to actually live the blameless life of
a wild creature that Dido could only dream of.
In Camilla’s story, too, the conflict between the ideal of pudicitia and
practical questions regarding marriage and reproduction is evident. Even
though Camilla herself has not chosen her virginity – the choice was made
by her father – it is made clear that she is happy with the situation and
proud. She has no wish whatsoever to marry – but her decision to remain
unmarried needs to be constantly affirmed and explained to the society
surrounding her. In book eleven, it is narrated that
many a mother in Tyrrhene towers longed in vain for her as daughter;
content with Diana alone, she cherishes unsullied a lifelong love for her
weapons and her maidenhood.
Furthermore, when Camilla rides out to war, she is apparently not without
admirers:
all the youth, streaming from house and field, and thronging matrons
marvel, and gaze at her as she goes, agape with wonder . . .
That it is namely the youths and matrons that admire Camilla is telling,
and again hints at the prospect of marriage. Thus, both implicitly and
explicitly, the poet tells us that, despite her unconventional lifestyle,
Camilla is coveted as a bride and as a daughter-in-law. However, she
deliberately rejects the possibility of family life. Camilla’s rejection of the
normative lifestyle is emphasized when Virgil describes her as
. . . a warrior maid, never having trained her woman’s hands to Minerva’s
distaff or basket of wool, but hardy to bear the brunt of battle and in speed
of foot to outstrip the winds.
The emphasis put on spinning and weaving seems highly significant. By
forsaking a life spent on these feminine tasks, Camilla is rejecting
womanhood altogether. By stressing this, Virgil subtly places the maiden
in another category, that of the heroes and the warriors. In effect, it
would appear that Camilla’s role as an exemplum of male epic heroism is


multae illam frustra Tyrrhena per oppida matres/optavere nurum; sola contenta Diana/aeternum
telorum et virginitatis amorem/intemerata colit. Virg. Aen. .–.

illam omnis tectis agrisque effusa iuventus/turbaque miratur matrum et prospectat euntem,/attonitis
inhians animis . . . Virg. Aen. .–.

. . . bellatrix, non illa colo calathisve Minervae/femineas adsueta manus, sed proelia virgo/dura pati
cursuque pedum praevertere ventos. Virg. Aen. .–.
  
strongly built on her virginal status – a quality that the poet stresses
throughout her story.
Furthermore, aeternum telorum et virginitatis amorem makes evident that
Camilla’s virginity is of a peculiar kind in the sense that it is permanent.
Contrary to the idea of maidenhood as a stage that precedes matrimony,
Camilla’s virginity is constant. This very characteristic makes it very
difficult for us to compare her to the other women of the Aeneid. Certainly
there have been attempts – most often she has been contrasted with the
character of Dido, who is a woman but not a virgin, and a female leader,
but not a militant one. Comparisons with the virgin Lavinia have also
been made. Rosenmeyer, for instance, considers the warrior maiden as
“loosely sandwiched between a concentrated dose of pathetic Dido and the
insubstantial expectation of Lavinia.”
Nevertheless, it would appear that all attempts to categorize Camilla in
relation to the other female characters of the Aeneid are bound to fail, since
the warrior maiden falls outside all of the available categories. She is a
young woman but not a bride-to-be; she is permanently a virgin, but not a
proper priestess; she is a valiant warrior, but not a man. Instead of
comparing her to the other mortal women of the Aeneid, we might
understand her character better if we perceived her as a reflection of the
virginal warrior goddess Minerva. Like Minerva, Camilla clearly and
indisputably belongs to the female sex, but has rejected the social role of
a woman. Instead, she adopts the role of a man and a warrior, and she is
remarkably consistent and successful in her male behavior. This irrecon-
cilable ambivalence about her is, at the end, what enables Camilla to act in
the way she does. She astonishes men and women alike, a fact which is
clearly expressed in her first appearance. As Latin mothers and youths
gather to marvel at Camilla, Virgil applies the word miratur to describe
their amazement – a word that carries with it strong implications of
something marvelous and supernatural.

  
See Becker : –. See e.g. Vinchesi : . Rosenmeyer : .

Note, however, that some scholars perceive Camilla as failing in her male role at the end of her
story, when she is distracted from the battle by desire for spoils (Virg. Aen. .–). See Becker
: ; Rosenmeyer : ; West : –; Pyy : –.

Becker and Quinn have both stressed the idea that the internal audience considers Camilla as
different from mortal women. Becker : –; Quinn : . Horsfall, likewise, states that
“the choice of verb . . . is expressive both of C.’s character as a thauma/θαῦμα in the
ethnographic . . . sense and of the beholder/reader’s reaction to the spectacle/ecphrasis.” Horsfall
: . OLD () defines an object of the verb as “cause of wonder, marvelous, remarkable,
extraordinary.”
 Tracing Roman Ideas on Female Singleness: Virgil’s Aeneid 
I suggest that with the help of these associations, Virgil represents his
warrior queen as a character who is biologically a woman but socially a
man – a manly maiden who falls outside the boundaries set by the real
world. In short, Camilla does not question the conventional gender system
because she does not take part in it. What seems to be important is that it
is specifically her status as an unmarried virgin that allows her to act in the
way she does and to stretch the limits of the Roman imagination.
While her chastity is portrayed positively as admirable, it is implied that
it is also, in a sense, a terrible waste. Camilla is a daughter of a former ruler
of the Volsci – and in addition to her royal bloodline, she is clearly
beautiful, apparently wealthy and probably chaste. Moreover, she is at an
ideal age for child-bearing. In this context, her choice of lifestyle appears,
in a sense, as an aberration. The poet implies that Camilla is wasting her
fertile years in worship and in war just as Dido wasted hers in solitude and
in grief. While this is never explicitly stated in the Aeneid, it is subtly
hinted at in the episode that depicts Camilla’s death. The description of
the manner of her death in battle includes some fairly erotic overtones.
Virgil narrates that
. . . the spear, borne home, found lodging beneath the bare breast and,
driven deep, drank her maiden blood. . . . She tugs at the weapon with
dying hand but in the deep wound the iron point stands fast between the
bones, close to the ribs. Bloodless she sinks; her eyes sink, chill with death;
the once radiant hue has left her face.
Apart from the obvious erotic imagery implying penetration and deflor-
ation, there is a mention of the spear “drinking” Camilla’s blood from her
breast. As Fowler points out, this seems to be a clear allusion to nursing –
something that Camilla, along with so much else, never experiences. In
his perceptive analysis of Camilla’s death scene, Fowler convincingly
argues that the allusions to defloration, marriage and motherhood are
designed to draw attention to Camilla’s unusual way of life – “her death
shows the abnormality of her life.” However, as he also points out, the
poet’s tone in discussing these issues is not moralistic or reproaching but
rather sad and melancholic. Virgil does not blame Camilla for her choice
of lifestyle, but laments the wasted potential and the lost opportunities that
Camilla comes to represent. Certainly, she is a virtuous and pious


. . . hasta sub exsertam donec perlata papillam/haesit virgineumque alte bibit acta cruorem. . . . illa manu
moriens telum trahit, ossa sed inter/ferreus ad costas alto stat vulnere mucro./labitur exsanguis, labuntur
frigida leto/lumina, purpureus quondam color ora reliquit. Virg. Aen. .–, .–.
  
See e.g. Heuzé : ; Fowler : . Fowler : . Fowler : .
  
exemplum of pudicitia, but due to this choice, she is left without the joys of
a marriage and the sweetness of children – just as Anna warns Dido in
book one. Moreover, it is not only Camilla herself that suffers from her
choice, but also the society that she is a part of. By her resolute virginity
and her premature death, the warrior maiden deprives the community of
her potential offspring.

 Conclusion
In the stories of Dido and Camilla, we can observe reflections of issues
around marriage, sexuality and ‘family planning’ that were highly topical
in the late Republic and at the very beginning of the Principate. In
particular, these two stories from the Aeneid make visible the conflicts
between ideals and practice which arose in connection with unmarried
women in Roman society and the Roman value system. On the one hand,
Virgil represents these female characters who decide to remain virgins or
widows as laudable embodiments of pudicitia, the most glorious expression
of female chastity. On the other, he lingers over the issue of years and
opportunities wasted, of children left unconceived. However, no final
synthesis of these two approaches is arrived at.
It would be a crude violation of Virgil’s work to read his poetry as
‘pro-’or ‘anti-Augustan’, or as a reflection of the princeps’ marriage laws
that were yet to be enacted at the point in time when the Aeneid was
released. At the end, what we can say is that the same issues that seem to
have troubled Augustus clearly also troubled Virgil, and probably many of
the other members of the Roman elite in their day. The Aeneid raises the
issue of waning interest in married life among the Roman elite and
thematizes it in the context of the conflicting needs of individuals
and the community. What is intriguing is that Virgil appears to focus on
the gender aspect of the phenomenon, revealing and examining the double
standard that was intrinsic to Roman sexual ethics. Without pointing
fingers or offering solutions, he shows that in Roman society, the decision
to stay unmarried was never exclusively a woman’s own choice. It was the
business of the whole community and, in the Augustan period, it was
a politically acute and potentially sensitive issue. Moreover, as these stories
from the Aeneid demonstrate, it was an area that needed to be continu-
ously argued, explained and reconsidered.
  

Single as a Lena: The Depiction of Procuresses

in Augustan Literature
Mina Petrova

 Introduction
Various literary sources portray the figure of the lena as a traditionally
established literary theme. Since the supposed prototypes for the lena
were introduced in the generally lost comedies of Menander, her literary
transition emerges in subsequent genres, influenced by New Comedy.
Particularly representative examples include Lucian’s Dialogues of the
Courtesans and the comedies of Plautus, where the bawd, already an
assimilated stock character, functions as an erotodidactic expert. Contem-
porary readers of Augustan elegy must frequently have encountered the
figure of the bawd with her peculiar personality of the old drunkard skilled
in the art of seduction, and her stage appearances were rather predictable.
Augustan elegy reestablishes the lena theme by drawing on many of her
conventional characteristics to create tension in the elegiac world. As a
result, we have a few elegies centered on the multidimensional opposition
between the elegiac poet and the bawd. The literary roles of the elegiac
lena have been the subject of various prominent articles and studies of
Roman love elegy. Myers notes that all elegiac poets share a common
interest in contrasting their positions as both lovers and poets with the
activities of the lena. As James observes, the lena in an elegy is an advisor;


The word lena could be rendered in English as: “bawd, procuress, go-between, madam, brothel-
keeper; it denotes a woman who for her own profit arranges introductions between girls and men,
and covers a wide range of operations, from those of the professional brothel-keeper employing a
large establishment to those of the old nurse arranging liaisons for a particular client” (Barsby
: ).

An extant source supporting this statement could be Ov. am. ..; Rabe : .

The common theme of erotodidaxis or “love instruction, practiced by experienced, old women” is
extant both in Augustan elegy and later Greek literature; for more see Wheeler ; Day .

For more on the lena in Roman comedy, see Plaut. Asin., Cist., Most., Truc.

The primary sources for the lena in Augustan elegy are Tib. ..–, ..–; Prop. .; Ov.
am. ..
 
Chiefly Kratins ; Gross ; Myers ; O’Neill ; James . Myers : .


  
her primary function is to provide countervailing rhetoric, while her social
status is a lesser issue. She can be an old maid (Scapha in Mostellaria) or,
as Rosivach observes, pseudo nutrix, “an overaged party-girl who now acts
as guardian or procuress for a younger girl, perhaps her daughter” (Delia’s
mother in the elegies of Tibullus and Dipsas in Ov. am. .).
Regardless of the genre they occupy, all these lenae share the common
identity of old women who live and survive independently of men – with
no husbands, fathers or pimps – but are highly dependent on women, the
younger prostitutes under their guidance. Very often there is no mention
of a husband, children or any figure having control over them. At the same
time, these literary bawds consciously manipulate the decisions of their
younger counterparts to escape loneliness, financial insecurity and even
death. In a way, they fit into the modern concept of the ‘single life’ in the
sense of “living alone and with the possible economic or emotional conse-
quences of this loneliness.”
But what can be said about the social roles and the reality corresponding
to the literary depictions of lenae? Apart from her existence as a fictive
literary persona, the lena also existed in reality. It is beyond question that
the profession of procuress existed in Rome by the time of Augustus and
Ovid; the Digest contains some excerpts of juristic commentaries on
lenae. This does not necessarily mean that the literary lena of elegy has
much to do with the real-life practitioner mentioned in the legal litera-
ture. When discussing such complex social phenomena as the ‘single life’
in an ancient context, both legal and literary sources could be helpful.
I will make use of both for the purpose of the present study, which I will
divide into two parts.
I shall begin this chapter firstly by focusing on ‘singleness’ in its aspect
of “the legal fact of not being married or not being in an exclusive
relationship with another person.” In this section, I will focus on the
social status and especially the marriage prospects of real-life procuresses in
the Roman world. For the sake of this discussion, I will use mainly, but not
exclusively legal sources that explicitly or implicitly shed light on the social
standing of the procuress in relation to the institution of Roman marriage.
Secondly, I shall consider ‘singleness’ in a broader sense of human experi-
ence and investigate its relationship to the literary character of the lena.

 
James : . Rosivach : .

On old women, see Oliensis ; Richlin  (especially on invective); and Richlin :
– et passim; Rosivach ; Cokayne : –.
 
See Laes in the introductory chapter of this volume. Such as Dig. ...
 
Barsby : . Laes in this volume, p. .
 Single as a Lena 
My primary sources are two elegies of Propertius and Ovid where procur-
esses appear as antagonists seeking to dethrone the elegiac vates from his
position of poet-lover. The outcome of this fruitful opposition, the
numerous curses heaped upon elegiac bawds, their dehumanization and
their depiction as monsters, will be subsumed, for the sake of my research,
under the idea of ‘singleness’. I will fragmentize these negative representa-
tions into several microthemes and use them to illustrate how ‘singleness’
reflects on these elderly, marginalized female figures– the lenae.

 Single as a Lena – the Social Perspective

Although scarce, the legal sources recognize the existence of procuress as a
profession for women. We can find a concise legal definition in the
Iustiniani Digesta:
() To practice the profession of a procuress/pimp is nothing less than to
earn money through the sale of sexual services. () Furthermore, we
describe those who prostitute women for money as “procuresses.” ()
We will understand “procuress” to include even the woman who practices
this way of making a living under another name. () If any woman
operating an inn should have prostitutes working there (as many are
accustomed to do on the pretext that they are part of the service staff ), it
must be said that she too is classified as a “procuress.”
The legal concept here uncovers two types of lenae: procuresses who
were open about the true nature of their activity, and others who seemed
to conceal the act of procuring under the name of another business. The
latter group is even extended into a possible reference (“as many are
accustomed to do”) to the existing practice of masking prostitution with


As the lena Dipsas in Ov. am. .. alone calls him (Ecce, quid iste tuus praeter nova carmina vates
donat?).

See note  above.

For most of the passages drawn from the Digesta, I rely on Mommsen and Krueger  for the
Latin text, and Scott  for the English translation. However for the passage mentioned here,
I rely on McGinn’s translation (McGinn : –) since it renders better the proper meaning
of the legal terms.

Dig. ..: . Lenocinium facere non minus est quam corpore quaestum exercere. . Lenas autem eas
dicimus, quae mulieres quaestuarias prostituunt. . Lenam accipiemus et eam, quae alterius nomine hoc
vitae genus exercet. . Si qua cauponam exercens in ea corpora quaestuaria habeat (ut multae adsolent
sub praetextu instrumenti cauponii prostitutas mulieres habere), dicendum hanc quoque lenae
appellatione contineri.

For further explanation of possible motives, see McGinn : .
  
scenery (the inn) other than that of the common brothel. In both cases
that same “legal” identity extends the notion of an apparently existing
nexus between procuring and prostitution, in spite of its scenery. More-
over, McGinn suggests that the moral zoning of prostitution in Roman
cities was quite probably a Christianizing policy: “you do not need a
brothel to sell sex.”
In addition, Roman law often treats prostitutes and procuresses in the
same fashion. They are both described as infamis, and turpitudo is imposed
on them as a moral stigma, regardless of their present status. “The law
brands with infamy not only a woman who practices prostitution, but also
one who has formerly done so, even though she has ceased to act in this
manner; for the disgrace is not removed even if the practice is subsequently
discontinued.” That is indeed not surprising, given that most lenae were
actually ex-prostitutes, which is also the reality of the literary persona. In
a fragment of the Mostellaria, a procuress, instructing her young protégé,
reveals her past as a meretrix: “Things which you don’t hope happen more
frequently than things which you do hope. In fine, if you cannot be
persuaded by words to believe this to be the truth, judge of my words
from facts; consider this instance, who I now am, and who I once was.”
If a procuress was normally an ex-prostitute, what were her civil rights,
and where did she stand in the social hierarchy? Was she typically a female
slave – ancilla or freeborn – ingenua, engaged in the activities of a lena, i.e.
the lenocinium, or more likely a freedwoman – libertina? I believe the
answer to the last question should be negative. The argument in favor of
that assumption should be the fact that the Digesta describes a procuress as
actively performing her occupation (“those who prostitute women”), even
as a manager of slave prostitutes. As noted by McGinn, the choice of the
word instrumentum in the description of the prostitutes as service staff in
an inn suggests a slave status.


See Dig. ...pr.; Dig. ..(). for the same reference; Dig. .. for reference to similar
practice by male practitioners.

McGinn in Faraone and McClure : .

See Muirhead : : “The constant reference in the pages of both the lay and professional
writers to infamia, ignominia, turpitudo, improbitas, as imposing disqualifications, shows how much
store continued to be set, theoretically at least, on integrity of character.”

Dig. ...: Non solum autem ea quae facit, verum ea quoque quae fecit, etsi facere desiit, lege
notatur: neque enim aboletur turpitudo, quae postea intermissa est.

This is suggested both by literary evidence and by their treatment by the law. See McGinn :
; for procuresses as former prostitutes in Ancient Greece, see also Glazebrook : .

Plaut. most. ..–. For the English transl. see Riley .

Instrumentum used as denoting some kind of personality, chattels or stock of a farm, business, trade,
etc.: Paul. sent. .., , ; Dig. ..., etc.
 Single as a Lena 
The second option – seeing the procuresses as ingenuae, or freeborn
women, would in turn raise questions about what motivated them to
choose a profession which automatically and instantly lowered their status
in the Roman social structure. At the very least, it is certain that by
procuring, a freeborn Roman woman would deprive herself of many
options such as the chance of a favorable marriage or even any marriage
recognized as legitimate, as is suggested in Dig. ..: “Where a man
lives with a free woman, it is not considered concubinage but genuine
matrimony, if she does not acquire gain by means of her body.” As an ex-
prostitute, however, a procuress would most likely have lost these options
already. Along with these consequences, lenocinium implied a loss of honor
for both its male and female practitioners. Augustan laws charged all
persons suspected of assisting in the act of adultery with lenocinium. What
happened particularly to ingenuae caught in adultery under the lex Iulia de
adulteriis coercendis is well known: they were forbidden to marry freeborn
persons, as well as to remarry, and moreover, part of their dowry was
confiscated.
Furthermore, if a chaste woman had chosen to play a role despised by
society, she would have been literally undressed of her highborn female
status as mater familias. Women not meeting these moral requirements
were expected to adopt all the attributes of a prostitute, for instance
wearing the toga rather than the stola – an idolized and long cherished
item – the dress of a matron, i.e. a marker for women ‘wearing’ all the
respectable ornaments. The loss of this honor implied sinking into the
‘underground’ world of illegitimate forms of marriage that rendered
women unprotected, vulnerable and in a sense even single. It is possible
to assume that the Augustan regime was not the proper time for an ingenua
to engage in any disreputable business. Apart from poverty, only one factor
could explain or excuse such a decision. In the Annales, Tacitus refers to a
certain highborn woman named Vistilia who made a public profession of
prostitution before the aediles in order to escape liability under Augustan
adultery law. In addition to this, other sources of a more explicit
character indicate that prostitutes were not among the women who could
be held liable for adultery. The foregoing discussion implies that


See Ulp. Dig. ...–; Ulp. Dig. ..(). and Evans Grubbs, in this volume, p. .

Dig. ....

Fest. L (matronas appellabant eas fere, quibus stolas habendi ius erat). For remarkably detailed
information on the opposition stola–toga, see McGinn :–, also Olson in Faraone and
McClure :–.

Tac. ann. ..–; cf. Suet. Tib.  and Evans Grubbs, in this volume, p. .
  
procuresses were possibly equated with prostitutes both morally and
legally, so they were likely also among the exempted categories of women.
Another fragment in Suetonius supports this view and suggests an escape
clause existed. It is indeed curious to think of prostitution and procuring
as the lesser evil for women of high social rank, such as Vistilia, but the
legal sources support that assumption.
Let us go back to the question of a procuress’s civil status and discuss the
third option– a procuress being typically a freedwoman – libertina. This is
the most probable of all hypotheses, judging by some of the literary
evidence. A section from Cistellaria is of special interest here. The first
scene in this comedy presents a kind of ancient ‘girls’ night out’: three
female characters are engaged in loquacious talk – Selenium, acting as bona
meretrix, another girl called Gymnasium and her mother Syra, the bawd.
In Syra’s speech, she gives a down-to-earth description of her situation as a
libertina. What follows is a short account of the precarious lifestyle of
freedwomen, expressed as a protest against highborn matrons. She also
summarizes her opponents’ viewpoint: “They declare that we are in the
habit of having commerce with their husbands; they say that we are their
supplanters; they attempt to crush us.” The bawd claims that the legal
wives (matronae) classify her together with her female companions as
paelices (“supplanters”). The use of the word pellex is actually evidence
for their marital status. According to an old definition, an unmarried
woman who cohabited with a man was originally called pellex, but later
the more respectable appellation of concubina was used. In the same play,
the procuress Syra identifies both herself and the other lena in the play as
“freedwomen, former prostitutes,” apparently single mothers with illegit-
imate children, since the fathers were “random men they had intercourse
with.” Syra decided to procure her daughter “out of poverty” and not
“out of arrogance.” In other words, the Plautine bawds here are describ-
ing themselves as freedwomen and possibly concubinae.


See above.

Pap. Dig. ..() “A woman who gratuitously acts as a bawd for the purpose of avoiding the
penalty for adultery, or hires her services to appear in the theatre, can be accused and convicted of
aultery under the Decree of the Senate.”

See Plaut. Cist. ..–.

viris cum suis praedicant nos solere, suas paelices esse aiunt, eunt depressum; Engl. transl. Riley .

See Gel. . and Dig. .., which stress the vulgar meaning of ‘pellex’ versus the more
respectable ‘concubina’.

According to Tituli .: children whose father is uncertain spurii appellantur.

Plaut. Cist. .. –: quia nos libertinae sumus, et ego et tua mater, ambae/meretrices fuimus: illa te,
ego hanc mihi educavi/ ex patribus conventiciis. neque ego hanc superbiai/causa pepuli ad meretricium
quaestum, nisi ut ne esurirem.
 Single as a Lena 
Freedwomen were eligible for concubinae; the most honorable position
for a freedwoman was that of the concubine of a patron, and it was not
considered appropriate for her to marry without her patron’s consent and
act as mater familias. This is not a surprising opposition; Plautine ladies
of low origin often stress the distinction between their class and the
matrons. Sometimes this is expressed as part of an instruction to a young
ward: “That is more suitable to a married woman, my dear Silenium, to
love but one, and with him to pass her life, to whom she has once been
married; but, indeed, a Courtesan is most like a flourishing city; she cannot
alone increase her fortunes without a multitude of men.” This proverbial
remark emphasizes the duty of a meretrix, reminding her not to behave like
a matrona, i.e. not to have high expectations of a just marriage. Legal
sources support this assertion. Roman law considered concubinage as the
most fitting union for an unmarried man and a woman of low social rank
such as our comic characters here.
Moreover, it is necessary to take into account what the Augustan laws
say or do not say about such women, about their eligibility for marriage
and their possibilities. Legal sources demonstrate that eligibility for
marriage among citizens was highly dependent on the status of women.
A procuress should logically fit into one of three status categories:
ancilla, ingenua or libertina. Each of these categories involved different
marital possibilities. Firstly, as an ancilla, a woman was capable of living
in contubernium, the only recognized form of cohabitation for slaves,
considered matrimonium iniustum as opposed to the civil law marriage
conubium possessed generally only by Roman citizens. As previously
noted, the law did not treat procuresses as victims, but as practitioners of
prostitution, and therefore procuresses most likely fitted into the other
categories. Secondly, as an ingenua, a woman engaged in prostitution was
eligible for concubinage but not genuine matrimony because of her moral
disgrace. Thirdly, a procuress with the status of libertina could live in

 
Dig. ... Plaut. Cist. ..–.

This view is also supported by Treggiari : (“A slave mistress might be freed and the liaison
continued. As for the second category, in classical law, if a slave prostitute was manumitted she
could not be compelled to continue in the trade, but undoubtedly there were in all periods many
who were unable or unwilling to change. So the common streetwalker was probably most often of
slave or freed status.”)

Dig. .. pr. “. . . this is especially the case where she is of a low origin, or has lived by
prostitution . . .”

For general and detailed explanations of Augustan legislation, see Evans Grubbs, in this volume.

See Tituli .: Cum servis nullum est conubium. See for contubernium: Col. .., .; Petron. .;
Tac. hist. ., .; Dig. ...
  
concubinage (like the aforementioned Syra). Concubinae as semi-legal part-
ners were deprived of some of the rights and benefits associated with lawful
marriage; children born in a union other than conubium were considered
illegitimate and usually took the mother’s status. As Rawson has demon-
strated, there is a high probability of the partners in such unions being
either slaves and thus ineligible for legal marriage, or freed persons: “It was
status that precluded many couples from legal marriage.”
In addition, the lex Papia guarded against the occurrence of unions
between members of the senatorial order and freed persons. For Roman
women, freed status was itself an opportunity to fulfill the role of lawful
wife, by marrying any free Roman except senators and their relatives. But
in the case of lawful marriage, the jurists provided for the interests of
female partners who were not socially degraded like prostitutes were. As
McGinn has noted, the phrase “if she does not acquire gain by means of
her body” quite possibly emphasizes sexual disgrace in general and not the
profession of a prostitute in particular. Consequently we could assume that
procuresses were embraced under the same moral ban, but simply not
mentioned. Finally, and sticking with the hypothesis that procuresses
were most likely freeborn or freed, they were disqualified from legal
marriage by means of two social marks: low status and base morals.
As we have seen, a procuress had two options: she could marry a
freeborn or freed man, or she could cohabit with a man as concubina,
contubernalis. But even in the first case, she could not benefit from the
marriage; too many restrictions were carefully designed to present obs-
tacles. For example the rights of testation, property or bequests – these
were all legally tied to the rights of children (ius liberorum) introduced in
the lex Papia. The law forbade childless partners from having more than
a tenth of each other’s estates. What happened, then, when a marriage
contravened Augustan law? A legal passage says: “Under certain circum-
stances [spouses] receive nothing from each other, that is, if they have
married contrary to the terms of the lex Iulia et Papia Poppaea, for example,
if someone [i.e., an ingenuus] marries a woman stigmatized by the statute,
or a senator marries a freedwoman.” In the legal texts “a woman


Dig. .. benefits such as dos; donatio propter nuptias; donatio inter virum et uxorem.
   
Rawson : , note . Ibid.: . Dig. ... McGinn : .

See Tituli . – there is a major dispute over the authorship and the dating of this text; for more
see McGinn : .

Tituli .a.

Tituli .: Aliquando nihil inter se capiunt: id est, si contra legem Iuliam Papiamque Poppaeam
contraxerint matrimonium, verbi gratia si famosam quis uxorem duxerit, aut libertinam senator.
 Single as a Lena 
stigmatized by the statute” (famosa) was often used as an epithet for a
woman of ill repute, which could positively be a characteristic of a lena.
Thus, if a lack of obedience was identified in a woman, she would be
prevented from receiving anything from her husband.
In sum, if married legally, a lena could feasibly have met all the
requirements for children, age and status set out in the Augustan legisla-
tion. Otherwise, she had the right to inherit only one tenth, or even
nothing at all, if her marriage contravened the lex Papia. As a third,
additional option here, I would add her option of not marrying under
Augustan laws. McGinn discusses an interesting case, drawn from Quinti-
lianus, where a prostitute named Spatale received a quarta upon the death
of her lover. The actual meaning of quarta is uncertain, but McGinn
suggests that the situation concerned an unmarried prostitute, who had the
right to claim one-fourth of the patrimony, in contrast with childless wives
of freedmen, who were entitled only to one tenth. Such a measure could be
interpreted as an encouragement for prostitutes not to marry.
As a former prostitute, then, a procuress could have secured her situ-
ation by gaining financial support from a generous lover. However, this
could have been engineered only by unmarried procuresses, and this may
have reduced their desire to enter into legal marriages accordingly. We can
assume that disreputable women in Rome were granted minor benefits by
the law. They were exempted under the adultery regime, and they had the
opportunity to be financially secure as unmarried women. Overall, society
did not have high expectations of them; they were not encouraged to
merge into the class of Roman matrons and to adopt new morals. It was
believed that a prostitute or procuress never ceased to act as one, so that it
was more appropriate for her to stay ‘single’ and not to cross social barriers.
If a desire for marriage emerged, she was seen as a simulacrum of a
respectable woman.

 Single as a Lena – the Literary Perspective

There is one (whoever wants to learn about the bawd, let him
hear) . . .
Ovid, Amores ..

Augustan elegy reintroduces procuresses as more complex and poeticized

literary creatures. The lena appears as an undeveloped character for the first

Suet. Tib. .; see also McGinn –.
 
Quint. inst. ..: . . . decimas uxoribus dari, quartas meretricibus? McGinn : .
  
time in Tibullus ., . and soon afterwards in Propertius . and Ovid,
Amores ., which are believed to be closely related. The lenae in all of
these elegies share common characteristics attributed to procuresses; these
include witchcraft, animality, dipsomania, old age, a repulsive appearance,
and cynical and corrupting speech.
Both Propertius and Ovid extend the female expertise of lena to encom-
pass an intense magical component. Witchcraft is depicted conventionally,
following traditional magical ideas: both the Ovidian Dipsas and the
Propertian bawd Acanthis exert control over water, plants and animals.
Elegiac bawds are animals themselves, especially at night: Acanthis
“conceals her back in the shape of a nocturnal wolf.” Her transformation
into a she-wolf is not surprising. We know that lupa is just one of
numerous euphemisms for prostitute in Latin and also in the Romance
languages. More interestingly, Ovid envisions his Dipsas as a bird of an
uncertain kind. He even imagines her as a violent creature in action as
the presence of verbs and v-alliteration here suggest.
In the extended metaphor from the third line, Ovid focuses on her thirst
for alcohol, claiming – “she has never seen sober the mother of black
Memnon on her rose-coloured horses.” The Ovidian description of the
lena is closely related to the common Hellenistic representations and
sculptures of anus ebria, mostly represented as a bare-breasted old drunk-
ard, a follower of Bacchus affectionately cradling an immense wine jar.
All these negative characteristics of the elegiac bawds accord with the
Roman literary representation of old women as especially susceptible to
alcoholism and a whole assortment of deviant practices. The literary
depictions of bawds encompass the negative Roman anus stereotype,
which may be reinforced by the assumption that these characters are
generally depicted as single. Ancient literary conventions tend to depict


On the chronological order of these elegies, see Williams ; Courtney ; McKeown ;
Myers ; for parallels between Propertius and Ovid, see the commentary of McKeown .

For more on the magical attributes and their canonical representation in ancient literature, see
McKeown : –.

Prop. ..: sua nocturno fallere terga lupo. All translations of elegiac fragments used in this chapter
are mine.

For indeed intriguing discussion on the figurative use of lupa, see Adams :  (lupa would
have stressed the predatory character of prostitutes).

Ov. am. ..–: hanc ego nocturnas versam volitare per umbras / suspicor et pluma corpus anile tegi.

For v-alliteration cf. Virg. Aen. .: continuo venti volvunt mare.

Ov. am. ..–: nigri non illa parentem / Memnonis in roseis sobria vidit equis.

See NH .; cf. Smith : –.

On old women, see note  above; on old women (including lenae) and magic (especially love
magic) see Dickson ; O’Neill ; Faraone  and Dickie .
 Single as a Lena 
old women of uncertain social and marital status in an unsympathetic
manner. Each of the attributes mentioned above – femininity, old age,
singleness, low social status – ‘paralyzes’ their real body ‘limb by limb’ until
they suffer textual metamorphosis and eventually a statue of the lena
appears – her literary simulacrum.
Both the comic and elegiac lenae include the motif of fleeting youth as
an admonition in their instructions to the young meretrix. In the Mostel-
laria, Scapha illustrates this important advice with an example from her
past: “Consider this instance, who I now am, and who I once was. No less
than you are now, was I once beloved, and I devoted myself to one, who,
faith, when with age this head changed its hue, forsook and deserted me.
Depend on it, the same will happen to yourself.” The nostalgic remark
here summarizes the general mistrust of men and misfortune in love of the
lenae, who often portray themselves as disillusioned women. Their arro-
gance comes as a consequence of some life catastrophe, and they thus seek
by all means to prevent its repetition.
Elegiac lenae are also preoccupied with this ‘carpe diem’ motto. In
Prop. ., the procuress Acanthis puts an end to her monologue with
the crème de la crème sententious remark: “I saw the rose-gardens of
fragrant Paestum, that should have lived, lying withered away in the
morning by the South wind.” “I saw” adds more drama to her statement
and suggests her own experience. Apart from being a commonplace
argument in the speech of procuresses, the repetitive motif of lost youth
serves also to highlight their own present state. Their preoccupation with
time and age reveals much about them. Since the lena has already lost her
youth and her beauty, and her professional success lies in tatters, we could
interpret her ‘carpe diem’ mania as symptomatic of her present state.
As Dipsas observes, her personal fortune is tied to the successful exploit-
ation of her confidante’s beauty: “I wish you were as wealthy as you are
gorgeous: I will not be poor, if you get rich.” She is eager to manipulate
the decisions of the elegiac puella, sculpting her future as a prosperous
prostitute. Otherwise fleeting time condemns this single, old woman to
the most terrible death. In the ancient context, that would mean dying
lonely and in extreme poverty.


Plaut. most. ..–: vides quae sim; et quae fui ante. nihilo ego quam nunc tu . . . amata sum; atque
uni modo gessi morem: qui pol me, ubi aetate hoc caput colorem commutavit, reliquit deseruitque me.
tibi idem futurum credo; transl. Riley .

Prop. ..–: vidi ego odorati victura rosaria Paesti sub matutino cocta iacere Noto.

Ov. am. ..–: Tam felix esses quam formosissima vellem: / Non ego te facta divite pauper ero.
  
We can find these fears projected onto the speech of procuresses, who
often conclude their rhetorically polished erotodidaxis with images of
graves, tombs and commemoration. The Ovidian lena Dipsas hopes to
be admired while alive and commemorated after death for her loyal service:
“If you stick to these instructions, known to me because of long experi-
ence, / if the wind and air do not blow away my words, / you will always
speak of me well, while I am alive and always pray / when I have died to
rest in peace.”
Unlike Dipsas, Acanthis does not pray for any honor; instead of
commemoration, she suffers especially violent cursing upon her grave,
expressed as magic formulae by the elegiac poet who condemns her to
die in utter misery. We could use the same curse as a model of the worst
possible death in the Roman imagination. Papanghelis links the realistic
content of this passage to modern conceptions of realism. Indeed the
scene of Acanthis’ death abounds with lurid images of suffering, poverty
and desolation. In the very beginning, the poet summons her death by a
vivid description of its causa: “. . . I saw the cough, congealing in her
wrinkled throat / and bloody spittle running through her rotten
teeth . . .”
We instantly grasp the naturalistic synecdoches of her extreme ugliness
and old age, such as “wrinkled throat” and “rotten teeth.” These strong
epithets are mixed with noticeable medical imagery. A congealing cough
could apparently be a disease symptom, along with “bloody spittle.”
As Susan Sontag argues: “In the premodern view of disease, the role of
character was confined to one’s behavior after its onset.” In the next
lines, Propertius continues his violent description with an image of the
lena ’s actual death. All of the features highlighted above are present: her
home turns out to be pergula, which was supposedly an ancient version of
booths used for all kinds of sales and even for prostitution. Acanthis is
depicted as passing away “on the mats which belonged to her father.”
The poet deprives her even of the privilege of dying in her own bed: she
has not had any other property but her father’s. She never had the right to


Ibid. –: haec si praestiteris usu mihi cognita longo/nec tulerint voces ventus et aura meas/ saepe
mihi dices vivae bene, saepe rogabis/ut mea defunctae molliter ossa cubent.

For a reading of Prop. . in terms of magic ritual, see O’Neill .

Papanghelis : .

Prop. ..–: vidi ego rugoso tussim concrescere collo, / sputaque per dentis ire cruenta cavos.

According to the medical author Celsus, both could be interpreted as signs of tuberculosis: see
Cels. ...
 
Sontag : ; ibid.: . Cf. Plaut. Pseud. ..

Prop. ..: atque animam in tegetes putrem exspirare paternas.
 Single as a Lena 
a nuptial bed or to a domestic space she could be a guardian of. The phrase
exspirare animam putrem is essential for the whole passage. It represents the
same disease–character dichotomy explained by Sontag. Acanthis is dying,
“exhaling not just her bad, putrid breath” but also her “rotten soul.”
The next lines are taken up with the depiction of her funeral. She is
wearing only the leftovers of her miserable life: “stolen hair-bindings” and
a “worn-out turban,” and her funeral procession consists of a dog. As a
receptacle for her rotten body and soul, she should have an “old wine jar
with a broken neck.” The dog accompanying her in death is an allusion
to mythological representations of Hecate, commonly attended by dogs,
and thus harmonizes with the morbid mise-en-scène in this passage. The
same aggressive tone is visible in Tib. ., where the poet curses the lena
with frenzy and doglike behavior. The callida lena of Tibullus . is
transformed into a creature of Hecate, her behavior characterized both by
the fury of a wild animal and by inhumanity. Doomed to extreme poverty
and hunger, the poet considers that she should subsist on the leftovers of
the prostitutes she manages (lupis).
Apart from being a mythological symbol, dogs have often been associ-
ated in elegiac poetry with solitude, abandoned places and forsaken
women. Just two poems before introducing his lena character, Propertius
depicts the domestic solitude of Arethusa, whose only companion in bed is
her pet dog, Graugis. It is evident that the poetic use of dog imagery
varies according to the subject of poetry. When ‘singleness’ in terms of
solitude is attributed to female figures such as the young and beautiful
Arethusa, all its aspects serve to induce sympathy. But when attached to
the repulsive appearance of a wicked old procuress, ‘singleness’ itself
becomes revolting. Being depicted as single, women become vulnerable.
But it is their specific reflection of ‘singleness’ and not ‘singleness’ in and of
itself that creates the vast distance between these stereotypical figures. In
comparison with the idealized and cherished figures adored by the elegiac


Ibid. –: . . . exsequiae fuerint rari furtiva capilli / vincula et immundo pallida mitra situ, / et canis,
in nostros nimis experrecta dolores, / cum fallenda meo pollice clatra forent. / sit tumulus lenae curto vetus
amphora collo . . .

See Hopkins : (“poor Romans were sometimes buried in giant wine jars split in half to
form a cheap container and cover for the corpse; smaller wine jars were also used as receptacles for
ashes, their necks projecting above the ground both to mark the grave and serve as a funnel, down
which the bereaved could poor libations for the dead”).

Tib. ..–: “May she sack, enraged by hunger, the tombs for plants/and bones, left by savage
wolves, and run through towns with bare loins and howl,/followed by a cruel pack of crossroad-dogs
behind.”

For lupis here is ambiguous and we could understand it again as “prostitute.” See note  above.

Prop. ..– Craugidos et catulae vox est mihi grata querentis: / illa tui partem vindicat una tori.
  
lovers, elegiac bawds are portrayed “with bare groins,” divested of all the
moral vestimenta reserved exclusively for highborn singles.
Legal texts place procuresses at the margins of Roman society by
stripping them of crucial rights and by not admitting such practitioners
to perform actively a female social role. Under Augustan legislation, they
enjoyed sexual freedom to some extent; they were exempt from being
prosecuted for adultery and even expected to continue their corporeal
business instead of marrying. Despite the fact that in many legal fragments
prostitutes and procuresses are treated by the law in the same manner, we
can scarcely claim that the two professions were equated in moral terms.
Roman society, with its hypersensitivity towards moral degradation, stig-
matized procurers and procuresses more harshly than those who were
procured. The former were perceived as actively performing their occupa-
tion, while the latter were seen as objects of exploitation. Even if the law,
serving as an instrument of certain propaganda or politics, could legally
define procuresses and thus admit of their existence, society was not
obliged to condone socially what was condoned in law. The extent of this
social stigma is evident in the literary sources. The negative concept is
especially striking in the Augustan elegy, where the lena functions predom-
inantly as a literary creation, a ‘Frankenstein’ creature, composed of
numerous negative characteristics associated with old women. The lena is
found wanting in all the roles attached to the respectable Roman woman.
Because of her social disgrace, the procuress is a priori an unsuccessful
woman, mother and wife, and thus she embodies the worst fears of Roman
society. Her singleness in terms of her marital status, along with her
experience of ‘single life,’ shows the defensive reaction of an ancient society
struggling to strengthen its ‘immunity’ by constant rejection of the Other.


See Dion Chrys. ., moralizing on the mere existence of such professions; also Cic. Verr. ..,
where Cicero address Verres as leno.
Singles in Judaism
  

(Why) Was Jesus Single?

John W. Martens

 Introduction
The question of whether Jesus was single continues to be contested by
scholars because the answer has a relevant force for the understanding and
interpretation of Christianity even today. For some, Jesus’ singleness and
celibacy are a model for celibate Christians and the ground for their
Church’s teaching. Others are certain that Jesus was single, but not
necessarily celibate, though his sexual life is nowhere described in any
source, even those which popular culture would hold up as examples, such
as the third-century Gospel of Philip. While the authenticity of the
so-called “Gospel of Jesus’ Wife” fragment seems to have been settled,
with the majority of scholars considering it a forgery, this document was
not the origin of academic speculation as to whether Jesus was married.
Historically, the most common understanding of Jesus’ marital state was
that he was single and celibate. It is still the most compelling reading of the
evidence, but the problem for any hypothesis is that the evidence is scant.
No wife is mentioned, no children are named, but neither is there a
straightforward claim that Jesus chose a life of celibacy and singleness.
What we have in the Synoptic Gospels are a series of statements regarding
marriage, celibacy, family, children and sexuality which, taken as a whole,
point in the direction of the singleness of Jesus.
Even more compelling is the question of why Jesus was single. Some
scholars argue that there is little evidence for the practice of celibacy in
Judaism, while others state that there is data which clearly defines the
practice of singleness and celibacy in Judaism. After examining relevant
Jewish texts, from the Hebrew Bible to the rabbinic corpus, to determine


King .

King . Six articles in New Testament Studies (), July , –, were dedicated to
proving that the “Gospel of Jesus’ Wife” fragment was a forgery. I will not enter into that debate in
this paper.


  . 
whether there are historical and theological precursors for singleness and
celibacy in the Jewish tradition, we will study the Synoptic Gospels and a
few early Christian agrapha to evaluate the evidence for Jesus’ singleness,
and then propose an answer as to why Jesus was single.

 The Practice of Celibacy in Judaism

There are accounts of Jews, found in the Hebrew Bible and elsewhere, who
chose celibacy and singleness, at least for prescribed periods of time, and a
number of reports of Jews, both individuals and groups, who were celibate
around the time of Jesus. The question is, What reasons do these texts
offer for the choice for singleness, and do they help us understand Jesus’
singleness? The following six examples are precursors or concurrent
examples of Jewish people or groups who chose singleness:
(a) Moses and Israelite males
(b) Prophets
(c) Essenes/Qumran covenanters
(d) Therapeutae
(e) Jubilees
(f ) Rabbi Ben Azzai
(a) The Hebrew Bible offers a passage regarding Moses and the men of
Israel abstaining from sex. In Exodus :–, “Moses went down from
the mountain to the people. He consecrated the people, and they washed
their clothes. And he said to the people, ‘Prepare for the third day; do not
go near a woman.’” This passage connects holiness, purity and the
avoidance of sex. William Loader interprets Moses’ abstinence from sex
specifically as an issue of purity, related to similar regulations regarding
sexuality at the Temple or other holy places. The regulations regarding
Moses and the people of Israel are temporary, as are the sexual regulations
for the Temple, but they are in place because of the pronounced sense of
holiness regarding these places or states of being. Even if these practices are
temporary, a connection between holiness and the impurity of sex is at the
heart of sexuality in Judaism. Such temporary celibacy is not opposed to
marriage, and happens in the context of marriage, but Moses’ celibacy in


Harper :  points to a “tectonic shift” in sexual ethics in Judaism centuries prior to the rise of
Christianity particularly concerned with “the moral regulation of male sexuality.” It is possible that
singleness and celibacy fit within these broader issues of male sexuality in the Hellenistic period.

All biblical citations are from the New Revised Standard Version unless stated otherwise.
 
Loader : –; Van der Horst : . Koltun-Fromm : –, –.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
the rabbinic writings, due to his own holiness, leaves his wife Zipporah
bemoaning the lack of sex in her marriage and hoping other women do not
share her marital experience.
Another example from the Hebrew Bible which leads to temporary
celibacy is preparation for participation in war. In two passages,  Samuel
:– and  Samuel :, abstinence from sex in order to be in a state of
holiness is connected with proper preparation for war.  Samuel :–
allows that David’s men can eat consecrated food, “provided that the
young men have kept themselves from women.” David states that they
have been pure for three days. But holiness in preparation for war is
similar to the sexual abstinence which is demanded of priests at the
Temple. In Leviticus :, we are told that “Whoever touches anything
made unclean by a corpse or a man who has had an emission of semen . . .” is
in a state of impurity. The impurity by virtue of an emission of semen is
temporary, but it once again connects holiness and purity with abstinence
from sex. This is not a direct call for singleness, but a management of
sexual behavior which relates sex to the impure in certain locales and
situations.
(b) The Hebrew Bible also contains a general call to celibacy and
singleness for prophets, though some prophets, such as Isaiah and Hosea,
are definitely married. Jeremiah : states God’s command to Jeremiah,
“You shall not take a wife, nor shall you have sons or daughters in this
place.” With respect to Elijah and Elisha, we hear of no wives and, indeed,
the context for their calls and their relationship makes it clear they were
without families ( Kings :–). Elisha wants to “kiss my father and
my mother, and then I will follow you.” Elijah rejects his request, leading
Elisha to destroy his former life and livelihood by burning his plow and
cooking his slaughtered oxen over the fire. When Elisha wants to return to
say goodbye, it is only to his father and mother, not wife and children, and
Elisha is later seen as Elijah’s son in this prophetic relationship.
(c) At the time of Jesus, a number of near contemporaries report the
practice of celibacy among the Essenes, including Josephus (Jewish War
..–; Antiquities ..), Philo (Every Good Man is Free –;
Hypothetica .–) and Pliny the Elder (Natural History ..).
Scholars have questioned whether the reports of celibacy are accurate,


Sifre on Numbers .(); Phil. Mos. .–; Boyarin : –; Koltun-Fromm :
–.
  
Koltun-Fromm : –. Klawans : –. Vermes : –.
  . 
and it seems that not all of the sectarians associated with Qumran and the
Dead Sea Scrolls were celibate, but that some Qumran sectarians were
celibate is a reality which cannot be denied.
Some Qumran texts speak of preparation for eschatological battle as a
reason to remain celibate, in which only purified men are allowed in the
camp (QM :–). Other texts report that God’s holiness is present in
the community as if it were the Temple, and so a person “shall not enter
my Temple with their soiled impurity to defile it” (QTemple
:–). Since God dwells among the members of the community,
sex is eschewed because they must “keep apart from every uncleanness . . .
in perfect holiness” (CD :–; :–). Q/QSD  ii – says,
“And every father who is in it will be holy.” Reports that the community
chose celibacy due to misogyny (as reported in Philo and Josephus) are not
backed up by the DSS themselves.
(d) Philo also reports on another celibate group in De Vita Contempla-
tiva, the Therapeutae, and this community seems entirely celibate, with
the women described as aged virgins and the men likely widowers who
have renounced their families. The Therapeutae are made up of men and
women who live separately in male and female communities, and within
these groups they live alone. They come together to worship, and,
according to Philo, one of the main reasons they remain celibate is to
focus on study of the Torah, God’s creation and worship. Troels Engberg-
Pederson and Doron Mendels have questioned whether the Therapeutae
are a product of the philosopher’s imagination. There is no reason to
think this is the case, but even more, if they are an ideal, why were they
being imagined by Philo at this time? Why was the celibate ideal current,
as in early Christianity, at this time and place for Philo? It seems that for a
number of Jews at this time celibacy and singleness were considered a part
of the ideal life. It does not seem likely that all of the Therapeutae were
living celibate lives since childhood, however, but that many of them made
this choice in their older age, specifically to focus on worship and study.


Vanderkam : –; Van der Horst : –; Baumgarten : –.

Garcia : ; Van der Horst : ; Dykas : .
  
Garcia : ; Van der Horst : . Garcia : . Garcia : .

Collins : –, –; Van der Horst : .

Engberg-Pedersen : –; Mendels : –.

Beavis : –; Van der Horst : .
 
Collins : ; Van der Horst : –. Baumgarten : –.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
(e) Jubilees also gives us another model of celibacy, one which looks to
the Urzeit, the time of primal innocence, but with a focus on the Endzeit,
the coming eschaton. William Loader states that Jubilees : “describes
the garden as the holiest place on earth.” Indeed, the Garden of Eden in
Jubilees : is the “holy of holies and the residence of the Lord.” Adam
and Eve “during their time in the garden-temple . . . are chaste.” They
remain in a state of purity, in fact, “in Jubilees’ innovative account, the
man knew the woman, that is, had sexual intercourse with the woman,
already at her formation on the sixth day in the creation (:), but outside
the garden.” In the Garden of Eden, sex is not allowed. Only after they
leave the garden do they resume sexual intercourse, and only then did Eve
give birth to Cain and Abel. In Jubilees we are dealing with an instance of
celibacy in “the right place and the right time. In holy place and, for the
author, holy time, sex was out of place. In ordinary time and place sex
belongs and is affirmed as a normal part of life.” In Jubilees, however,
the time of the end returns humanity to the Garden of Eden, when there
would no longer be a right place and a right time for sex since in the
Endzeit one could not leave the garden.
Jubilees also writes of people in the future returning to childhood when
the Garden of Eden is restored, “And there (will be) no old men and none
who is full of days, because all of them will be infants and children”
(Jubilees :). As Loader says, “the notion of all being infants and
children . . . may suggest the possibility of a sex free society” and may give
us a clue to understanding Jesus’ own teaching about becoming “like
children.”
All of these passages in Jubilees, including the many which see the
present era as a time rife with sexual immorality and adultery, are pointing
us to a time in the future when sex itself will come to an end. In addition,
the Garden of Eden as Temple is also envisaged by the Qumran docu-
ments, and the Garden of Eden is described there as a place of holiness
(Q/QSD  ii –) in which sex would not be present.
(f ) Finally, there is the well-known story of Rabbi Ben Azzai who did
not marry and spent all his time in Torah study, claiming that others could
continue the world without his help. Tosefta Yevamot : says, in part,
“Rabbi El’azar ben Azariah said to him, ‘Ben-Azzai, words are fine when

  
Loader : . Loader : . Loader : .
 
Wintermute : –. Loader : ; Loader : .

Baumgarten : –; Doering : –.
  . 
accompanied by practice. There are those who interpret well and behave
well but do not interpret well. You interpret well, but do not behave well.’
Ben-Azzai said to them, ‘What shall I do? My soul desires Torah. Let the
world continue by the efforts of others!’” Ben Azzai represents an oddity
among the rabbis, but his reason for remaining celibate and single, Torah
study, was one that the rabbis did debate. The question came up most
often with respect to when rabbinic students should marry, that is,
whether marriage was a hindrance to or benefit for study, and how long
students could stay away from their wives while studying (cf. b. Kid b;
m. Keth :; b. Keth a–b).
The examples offered above propose a variety of reasons for singleness
and celibacy, sometimes for a set period, set place or set purpose, some-
times for the eschatological future, sometimes due to vocation and some-
times for study. We can break the variety of reasons down into a list:
(a) Study of Torah (t. Yeb :; Philo, De Vita Contemplativa);
(b) To preserve purity (Exodus :–; Leviticus :–; Sifre on
Numbers .(); Philo, Mos. .–; Every Good Man is Free
–; Hypothetica .–; Josephus, Jewish War ..–);
(c) To preserve God’s holiness, as at the Temple ( Sam :–; Lev
:; CD :–);
(d) To prepare for battle in this world ( Sam :–;  Sam :);
(e) To prepare for eschatological battle (QM :–; QTemple
:–; CD :–; :–; Q/QSD  ii –);
(f ) Eschatological return to Eden (Jubilees :–; :; :–);
(g) Eschatological transformation to childhood (Jubilees :);
(h) Vocation of prophecy (Jeremiah :;  Kings :–);
(i) Misogyny (Philo, Hypothetica .; Josephus, Jewish War ..;
Pliny, Natural History ..).
None of these examples, perhaps, presents an identical situation or teach-
ing to those of Jesus, but with these examples in mind, we ought to be able
to study the evidence of the Gospels and piece together a reason or reasons
as to why Jesus remained single. There are a few things we should pay
attention to in our study in addition as we compare these texts to those of
early Christianity: Is celibacy in the Gospels seen as a communal
or individual activity? Is celibacy or singleness understood as a temporary


b. Yeb. b; b. Shab. a.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
or lifelong commitment? Is celibacy or singleness understood as a future,
eschatological activity or one presently viable and necessary?

 Jesus’ Teachings on Marriage, Divorce, Celibacy, Family,

Children and Sexuality from the Gospels: Was Jesus Single?
In the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus is not single in the sense of aloneness, since
he is always surrounded by disciples and crowds. Jesus is with people he
considers an eschatological family, which takes priority over his natal
family. Something else becomes clear when gathering up the Gospel
passages considering marriage, divorce, celibacy, family, children and
sexuality: rarely does one Gospel passage deal with only one of these
topics. Rather, most often two, sometimes three of these topics are covered
in a particular passage. These themes are intertwined and they coalesce to
form a coherent picture. The picture that forms presents a negative view of
marriage, divorce, family and sexuality; the only positive part of the picture
is that of children or adults becoming like children.

() Relevant Gospel Passages on Marriage

Jesus’ first teaching on marriage is embedded in his divorce sayings, in
which the Pharisees “test” Jesus on whether it is “lawful for a man to
divorce his wife” (Mk :; cf. Mt :). In Mark :–, Jesus answers,
“From the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For
this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his
wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but
one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
Matthew :– offers a similar response from Jesus, adding, however, in
: that divorce was only allowed due to hardness of heart, but “from the
beginning it was not so.”
As numerous commentators note, Jesus’ answer takes us “back to the
beginning,” that is, to Genesis : and : and the creation of male and
female. Marriage for Jesus is seen as a fulfillment of the Edenic realities of
sexual differentiation and the unity of the male and the female prior to the
primal disobedience. Yet, Jesus’ teaching suggests that something has
changed for humanity which allows them to return to the pre-lapsarian
ideal now so that divorce is no longer necessary. What has softened the
“hardness of heart” that necessitated divorce?

Loader : –; Martin : –.
  . 
Ben F. Meyer has said that Jesus’ moral teaching in Matthew is a
characteristic of “high, eschatological idealism,” in which a lustful thought
can be equated with act of adultery. For Jesus, the situation is not
normal, as he understands the Torah “at this moment being made
new . . . appointed and reserved for the end-time,” radicalizing even a
foundational institution like marriage. Underlying Jesus’ radicalizing of
marriage is that as Messiah, he will bring about the eschaton which will
create the human perfection necessary to follow this new Torah.
The eschaton is the context in which we must understand Jesus’
teaching on marriage, but this is also the context for understanding “the
beginning.” In the two versions of the marriage saying, Jesus brings us
back to the beginning three times: “from the beginning of creation;” “the
one who made them at the beginning;” and “from the beginning it was not
so.” Primal origins, however, are also about the end: Urzeit ist Endzeit, as
we saw in Jubilees. Jesus proclaims the end of divorce because God’s
kingdom is on the verge of breaking through and will soon be here. The
eschatological orientation makes sense of the teaching on marriage in large
part because marriage itself will soon come to an end.
For Jesus also says that there is no marriage in the Endzeit
(Mk :–; Mt :–; Lk :–). In reply to a question from
the Sadducees regarding Levirate marriage in the world to come, Jesus
rebuffs his questioners: “For when they rise from the dead, they neither
marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (Mk :;
cf. Mt :). This would seem to be the earliest stratum of the Jesus
logion, and the import of it is that in God’s kingdom marriage is not
required since human beings are asexual and do not reproduce. Since
people live eternally, the need for procreation, the prime purpose of
marriage, has come to an end. And since the question concerns those
who have been married to each other, it also indicates that marriages which
were contracted here on earth have also come to an end. Why bring a
marriage to an end through divorce when the eschaton will soon bring
marriage itself to an end?
The Lukan version of this pericope is even more intriguing. Luke’s
version indicates that marriage is for people tied to this world, not the
world to come, for “those who belong to this age marry and are given in
marriage, but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in
the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage”
(Lk :–). It is possible to read v.  as arguing that marriage is only
  
Meyer : . Meyer : . Loader : –; Martin : –.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
for those of this world, though it is not clear if v.  means that those who
marry now will not share in the world to come, or simply have to give up
marriage in the kingdom of God. Luke : stresses the reason for the
end of marriage, since “they are like angels and are children of God, being
children of the resurrection.” The twofold use of children in this verse
might also indicate the goal for which humanity is intended, namely,
permanent childhood. Childlikeness is put forward as a criterion for a
follower of Jesus to enter the kingdom (cf. Mt :), and it is possible that
the eschewal of marriage fits with the childlike and eternal nature of Jesus’
heavenly disciples.
The only other relevant passage that mentions marriage does so in the
context of a parable on the Messianic banquet. And, again, the state of
marriage is found to be a hindrance to those invited to participate in
the eschatological life, for when invited to the banquet the invitee says,
“I have just been married, and therefore I cannot come” (Lk :). It is a
simple statement on its own, but the parable also contains a number of
verses which devalue or diminish the role of the blood family – “do not
invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in
case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when
you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind”
(Lk :–) – and coupled with other sayings which relativize the role
of marriage, the passage is a blunt reminder that marriage is a distraction
from the kingdom of God.
These passages are basically all we have regarding Jesus’ teaching on
marriage and they are not straightforwardly positive regarding marriage. As
to Jesus himself, the most they offer is circumstantial evidence regarding
his own marital state, but we can say that Jesus’ teaching does seem to be
directed to his communal family as a whole, not certain individuals alone,
and that the single and celibate state, while clearly the eschatological ideal,
has an impact on how Jesus’ followers ought to live now.

() Relevant Gospel Passages on Celibacy

One of the passages just noted, Matthew :–, also has an important
reference to celibacy. In response to Jesus’ claim that divorce is not possible
in marriage, except in tightly prescribed situations, Jesus’ disciples say,
“If such is the case of a man with his wife, it is better not to marry”
(Mt :). Jesus’ response to the disciples offers an enigmatic saying on

Martin : –.
  . 
eunuchs: “Not everyone can accept this teaching, but only those to whom
it is given. For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there
are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by others, and there are
eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom
of heaven. Let anyone accept this who can” (Mt :–). On the indices
of embarrassment, difficulty and discontinuity, this is an actual saying of
Jesus, although the original form is difficult to determine.
The original form is difficult to reconstruct because the first sentence,
“Not everyone can accept this teaching, but only those to whom it is
given,” could possibly be an addition to mute the severity of Jesus’
teaching. If it is original to Jesus, what does it mean that “not everyone
can accept this teaching”? Does it mean there is a choice among Jesus’
followers to accept or reject the teaching? Does it mean that only those
who can accept it can be Jesus’ followers? The second clause, “but only
those to whom it is given,” might indicate that only some followers of
Jesus can accept the teaching regarding marriage and divorce or that only
those who have had this insight given to them – by God? – are fit to be
Jesus’ followers. It is unclear whether all of Jesus’ disciples should be single
or if some have a choice to be married.
The eunuch saying tends to the side of singleness and celibacy, but as we
will see, this, too, is complicated. Jesus describes two categories of eunuchs
at first, those from birth and those made so by others, and both of these
categories are found in the Mishnah. Only after describing these does Jesus
describe another category, not found in the rabbinic literature, and that is
those “who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of
heaven.” One of the misreadings of the third category, the eunuchs who
make themselves so for the kingdom of heaven, is due to the fact that the
first two types of eunuchs are often not differentiated.
Most commentators simply group the first two types of eunuchs into
the category of those who are made so by others, boys or men, often slaves
or prisoners of war, whose testicles have been crushed or whose penis has
been cut off. There are regulations regarding such eunuchs in Deuteron-
omy :, where it states that “no one whose testicles are crushed or whose
penis is cut off shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord.” But these
are not the only sort of eunuchs Jesus describes. The other category of
eunuchs, those born eunuchs, did not have the same limitations imposed
on them by the Torah, and those born eunuchs could marry.

 
Loader : –; Collins : –. Loader : –.

Collins : –, .
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
Mishnah Yebamoth : discusses the eunuch (saris) in the context of
marriage and whether a born eunuch (saris chamah), literally a “sun
eunuch,” can marry.
If a priest were a born eunuch (saris chamah) and he married the daughter of
an Israelite, he renders her eligible to eat the priest’s-due. R. Jose and
R. Simon say, if an hermaphrodite (androgonos) priest wed the daughter
of an Israelite, he endows her with the right to eat of priest’s-due. R. Judah
says, if one whose sex were indeterminate were operated on and was found
to be a male, he must not submit to chalitzah because he is considered as a
eunuch (saris). An hermaphrodite (androgonos) may marry but he may not
be married. R. Eliezer says, an hermaphrodite (androgonos), one (a male)
incurs because of him the penalty of stoning as with a male.
The mishnah distinguishes as does Jesus in Matthew : between two
sorts of eunuchs, those born eunuchs (saris chamah), and those made so by
human beings, such as castrated males. This is important for Jesus’
teaching in Matthew, as a saris chamah in Yebamoth can marry in certain
situations. I will not discuss all of the issues that arise from m. Yeb. :,
beyond the fact of possible marriage of the saris chamah and the similarity
of an androgonos with, in some cases, a born eunuch. A born eunuch is one
who has not developed sexually, for the rabbis by the age of twenty, or
one whose genitalia is both male and female. Such a eunuch, an androgo-
nos, may marry a woman as a man, but not be married as a female by
another man.
This problematizes Jesus’ saying, for his use of eunuch is often aligned
only with those males who were castrated, and so describes males incapable
of marriage, but the assumption that born eunuchs could not marry is
untrue. These males may not have been able to engage in sexual relations,
at least in many cases, but they could marry in some instances.
Does Jesus’ statement in Matthew accept or acknowledge this reality of
marriage for the born eunuch? Jesus’ saying might assume that such a
eunuch could marry, and may or may not have been able to have sexual
intercourse, but then what would the expectation be for his third group,
“eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom
of heaven”? Does Jesus think that eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven
should not marry and should not have sex like a eunuch made so by
human beings? Or does he believe that they may marry, but may not have
sexual intercourse like a born eunuch? Or does he believe both marriage

 
Blackman : . b. Kid. b.
  . 
and sexual intercourse should be given up by “eunuchs who have made
themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven”?
Jesus’ third grouping must indicate a category of those who have
willingly rejected sexual intercourse, or why even categorize them as
“eunuchs”? But even if Jesus thinks they can marry, he discusses them in
the context of those who have chosen willingly to forego sex, a view of
marriage unique in Judaism in that these eunuchs have chosen this path
and have not had it forced upon them by nature or other human beings.
If the saying does foresee marriage, it must be celibate marriages; if it does
not foresee marriage, it simply proposes a life of singleness. And if Jesus
proposes this as a teaching which “not everyone can accept . . . but only
those to whom it is given,” can we truly expect that Jesus himself would
not count himself among the group “to whom it is given”? This is strong
circumstantial evidence regarding Jesus’ own marital state and, again, it
does seem to be directed at all of his disciples, at least “those to whom it is
given,” which could be all of them. The linking of the eunuchs to the
kingdom of heaven indicates the eschatological ideal of the single and
celibate state enacted now.
Other passages which might also fit with a focus on celibacy are found
in a variety of contexts. Luke , for instance, contains the Lukan version
of the Beelzebub controversy, which alone has a woman in the crowd call
out to Jesus, “‘Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that
nursed you!’ But he said, ‘Blessed rather are those who hear the word of
God and obey it!’” (Lk :–). In this minimization of motherhood,
including that of his own mother, we might say that the issue is more
precisely family than celibacy, yet the rejection of the womb that bore him
and the breasts that nursed him is also a rejection of the sexual act which
produces children.
And it is not this passage alone that speaks to this issue. All three of the
Synoptic apocalyptic passages (Mk :; Mt :; Lk :) contain
identical versions of a Jesus logion which warns mothers of eschatological
distress: “Woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing
infants in those days!” Given the imminence of the Endzeit in Jesus’
teaching, it would seem that a fuller argument against sexuality is being
made here than is often realized.


I do not believe that Jesus refers to actual castration or cutting off of the penis in this passage, cf.
Loader : ; Heid : .

Pitre : –.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 

() Relevant Gospel Passages on Divorce

The eschatological context is also the proper context for understanding
Jesus’ teaching on divorce. Jesus’ teaching on divorce is far more stringent
than that of the rabbis, in which divorce was possible in most, even trivial,
situations. Jesus counters conservative Jewish teaching with a radical
proposal, intended to promote sexual asceticism, a form of “self-control
in imminent expectation of the kingdom of God.”
Jesus’ teaching is that marriage ought not to be contracted more than
once and divorce is not allowed, a form of the intensification of the
Torah due to its Messianic fulfillment and eschatological asceticism
(Mk :–; Mt :–, :–; Lk :). Matthew’s pericope,
however, offers an exception clause, in which divorce is allowed if the wife
commits porneia. I believe this exception clause concerns marriages which
ought not to have been contracted due to degrees of consanguinity
outlawed by Leviticus and maintained later by the rabbis and does not
concern adultery. This clause is not original to Jesus’ saying, and the
basic outlines of Jesus’ teaching is modified: Jesus would prefer new
marriages not be contracted, and existing marriages ought not to be ended,
unless they were not truly marriages to begin with. Dale Martin under-
stands the exception clause in this way: “If Matthew : and : are read
as I suggest – that divorce is absolutely forbidden, but that remarriage may
not constitute a second sin if the divorce is due to porneia – there is no
contradiction: Jesus in Matthew then would be forbidding divorce in all
cases, and teaching that a second sin is committed by remarrying unless the
divorce was due to porneia.”
A large part of the issue regarding divorce, as Martin discerns, has to do
with remarriage, which was an expectation for ancient Jews after divorce.
In fact, Martin argues that Luke : actually prohibits divorce with
remarriage, not divorce alone. “The solidarity of the married couple
represents the old, self-serving order of the traditional family and familial
solidarity, with its concerns for economic stability, inheritance, and
continuity.” Indeed all of the divorce passages point to adultery as the
result of divorce with remarriage, and  Corinthians : simply instructs
a separated woman not to remarry but to remain single. It is the focus on

  
Martin : –. Loader : –. Martin : .
  
Doering : –. Martin : , . Martin : .

Harper : –. Harper sees as Paul’s goal to “steer a middle course” between sexual
libertinism and “another group who espoused strict continence as an urgent ideal” in Corinth. It
is not clear that the middle course is found in Jesus’ own teaching.
  . 
adultery which brings up the point of laws regarding divorce: on the verge
of the eschaton, divorce can only lead to adultery in remarriage, and there
is no point in remarriage, sexual activity or children now. The movement
away from marriage seems not just to reflect Jesus’ attitude, but his own
practice.

() Relevant Gospel Passages on Family

All of these passages point us to the diminution of the natal family as an
important or necessary institution. In the Beelzebul passages (Mk :–;
Mt :–; Lk :–), Jesus rejects his blood family for the spiritual
family. Mark :– ends the scene as follows: “‘Your mother and your
brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.’ And he replied, ‘Who are
my mother and my brothers?’ And looking at those who sat around him,
he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of
God is my brother and sister and mother.’” Jesus is constructing a spiritual
family made up of those who follow God’s will.
We see the devaluation of the earthly family in Luke : when a man
decides to follow Jesus but asks to return to bury his father. Jesus responds,
“Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the
kingdom of God.” Another person asks to say farewell to his family, but
“Jesus said to him, ‘No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is
fit for the kingdom of God’” (Lk :). Jesus’ responses in Luke focus on
replacing one’s family of origin with the eschatological family. These
sayings, whether authentic to Jesus, clearly depend upon Elijah’s prophetic
call of Elisha in  Kings :–, which led him to leave his family, just
as Jesus called on his followers to cut their family ties.
In Luke :–, the Messianic banquet passage mentioned earlier,
the invitees are called on not to invite family members, but the marginal-
ized in society to enter the Messianic kingdom. The continuation of the
passage contains an even more searing indictment of the family by Jesus,
who says, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother,
wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be
my disciple” (Lk :; cf. Mt :; Gospel of Thomas ). In the same
context Matthew includes a saying about the division which Jesus will
bring to families, bluntly stating, “Do not think that I have come to bring
peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have
come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be
members of one’s own household” (Mt :–; cf. Lk :–). Mark’s
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
version has Jesus say, “Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his
child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death”
(Mk :; cf. Mt :). The setting for all of these passages is the chaos
that marks the eschaton.
The call to discipleship with Jesus is a call to sever family ties. In
response to the rich young man, Jesus in Mark :– (cf. Mt
:–; Lk :–) tells him to sell everything, which grieves the
man but also astounds the apostles, especially Peter. He responds, in Mark
: (cf. Mt :; Lk :), “Look, we have left everything and
followed you.” Jesus tells his disciples that “there is no one who has left
house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my
sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold
now in this age – houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and
fields, with persecutions – and in the age to come in eternal life”
(Mk :–; cf. Mt :). Jesus asks that his followers turn their backs
on the natal family.

() Relevant Gospel Passages on Children

The Gospels also preserve a series of sayings which hold up children as
models for the kingdom, but these sayings need not be at odds with the
rejection of marriage and the natal family. Children naturally were every-
where in Antiquity, regardless of Jesus’ stance on marriage, and children
modeled the proper acceptance of the Endzeit at the heart of Jesus’
teachings. All of these sayings, which are found in all three Synoptic
Gospels, in one form or another go back to Jesus’ own teachings. There
are two basic forms of Jesus’ teaching regarding children, one in which
the disciples are “Welcoming a Child in Jesus’ Name” and another in
which people are “Bringing Children to Jesus.” What is found below are
probable reconstructions of the original forms of the teaching as they were
brought into the Gospel tradition.
(i) Welcoming a Child in Jesus’ Name
(A) If you welcome a child in my name, you welcome me
(Mk :; Mt :; Lk :);

 
Horn and Martens : –, –. Horn and Martens : .

Horn and Martens : –.
  . 
(B) Whoever causes one of these little ones to sin, it would be
better to be thrown into the sea with a millstone (Mk :;
Mt :; cf. Lk :);
(C) See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for their
angels always behold the face of my Father (Mt :);
(D) Whoever gives a cup of water to one of these little ones, he will
not lose his reward (Mt :; cf. Mk :).
(ii) Bringing Children to Jesus
(A) They were bringing children to Jesus, but the disciples rebuked
them (Mk :; Mt :; Lk :);
(B) Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, do not stop them;
for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these” (Mk :;
Mt :; Lk :);
(C) Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will
not enter it (Mk :; Lk :; cf. Mt :);
(D) He laid his hands on the children and blessed them
(Mk :; Mt :).
The importance of the sayings in (i) is found in the acceptance of children
as children and the welcome of children as one would welcome Jesus.
Combined with this is Jesus’ plea to safeguard and not harm children. In
(ii) the focus is more precisely on becoming like children in order to enter
the kingdom of God. The overall sense in these passages is that children are
model disciples and models for the disciples. But what makes children
models?
There are numerous possibilities, such as vulnerability, innocence or
dependence on God, but Jesus indicates that it is the child as child which
denotes the model disciple. One of the key aspects of childhood is
asexuality. A child neither marries nor is an active sexual being. Both of
these claims may be disputed depending upon one’s view of childhood,
especially in Antiquity when girls (and sometimes boys) married early, and
pederasty was an aspect of Greco-Roman life for many boys. Yet, an ideal
aspect of childhood is that it is prior to sex, however one defines the
cessation of childhood.
When we look at this factor, it is possible to read the issues at stake in
(i) B and C, “whoever causes one of these little ones to sin” and “see that
you do not despise one of these little ones,” in light of Will Deming’s and
Raymond F. Collins’ claims that these are prohibitions against sexual use


Horn and Martens : –, –.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
of children. In (ii) C, “whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like
a child will not enter it,” brings up the question of how one does become
“like a child.” One of the elements of childhood is singleness and celibacy.
And the Gospel authors often align teachings on children with teaching on
marriage, divorce and celibacy.
Mark’s passage on marriage has Jesus state that his teaching is bringing
us back to “the beginning of creation” (Mk :), prior to marriage and
sexuality, before ending with the passage on receiving the kingdom as a
child (Mk :). Matthew :– adds the saying on eunuchs and then
appends the teaching on receiving the kingdom as a child. Luke’s equiva-
lent passage on children in :– does not come after the teaching on
marriage and divorce, but following it is the account of a “certain ruler”
who is asked to give up all that he has in order to “inherit eternal life,” a
task he is not able to perform (:–). It is at that point that Peter says,
“Look, we have left our homes and followed you.” Here Jesus reminds
Peter that those who have left their families behind will receive much more
in this world, including the spiritual family, and “in the age to come in
eternal life” (:–). Children are the model disciples, because they
model what disciples will be in the world to come, where there is no
marriage, but even in this world, in which the new family is the family of
God, and life without the constraints of marriage is the best path.
A logion outside of the canonical Gospels makes the connection between
childhood and asexuality more complete. This logion might not be
dependent upon the Synoptic Gospels, but an authentic agraphon of
Jesus. What points to the authenticity of this passage, which proposes
a future innocence for Jesus’ disciples, is its occurrence in a number
of forms, such as Gospel of Thomas .; Clement :– and Clement
of Alexandria, Strom. .–., Gospel of the Egyptians. Gospel of
Thomas , which resembles ii) “Bringing Children to Jesus” from the
Synoptic Gospels, states:
Jesus saw some little ones nursing. He said to his disciples, “These little
ones who are nursing resemble those who enter the kingdom.” They said to
him, “So shall we enter the kingdom by being little ones?” Jesus said
to them, “When you (plur.) make the two one and make the inside like
the outside and the outside like the inside and the above like the below, and
that you might make the male and the female be one and the same, so that


Deming : –; Collins : –.

Ehrman and Pleše : ; Van der Horst : , n. .

Gospel of Thomas texts are available in Layton : , . The other texts can be found in
Ehrman and Pleše : –, .
  . 
the male might not be male nor the female be female, when you make eyes
in place of an eye and a hand in place of a hand and a foot in place of a foot,
an image in place of an image – then you will enter [the kingdom].”
Jesus proposes a return to the primeval state of the Garden prior to gender
or sex – “that you might make the male and the female be one and the
same.” To become children points to a spiritual and eschatological trans-
formation beyond sexual division. It is a transformative spiritual state
intended for all of Jesus’ disciples.

() Relevant Gospel Passages on Sexuality

The final passages have to do with sexuality among Jesus’ disciples. They
fall into two categories: those concerned with adultery by virtue of divorce
(Mk :; Mt :, :; Lk :); and those which warn against lust,
adultery and porneia in general (Mk :; Mt :–, :, :; Lk
:). There is no clear statement of the goodness of sexuality, such as
can be found in the Hebrew Bible or the rabbinic documents, but
warnings about its downfalls. Certainly, it is possible to see the “one flesh”
passages (Mk :–; Mt :–) as presenting a positive view of sexuality
within marriage, even with the provisos discussed above, but nowhere can
a discussion be found of the first commandment in the Bible from Genesis
:, “Be fruitful and multiply,” from the lips of Jesus or for that matter
within the whole New Testament.
While the evidence is circumstantial, there are two significant factors
weighing in favor of Jesus’ singleness on the basis of the Gospel evidence:
virtually all of the evidence speaks against a positive view of marriage,
family or sexuality; and though there is no mention of whether Jesus had a
wife or children, silence makes sense when there is no wife or family to
mention. One or two scholars, most prominently William Phipps, have
argued for the marriage of Jesus, but the reasoning takes this unconvincing
tack: Jewish males married and it would be abnormal for Jesus as a Jewish
male not to marry. Many people in Antiquity, like today, do abnormal
things, but we also have examples of Jewish males, and some females, who
did choose singleness and celibacy for various reasons. Yet, the fact that
“there is a complete silence in the Gospels concerning the marital status of
Jesus” and that “no wife accompanies him in his public career, or, for that

 
Layton : . Phipps : –; Dykas : .
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
matter, stays at home,” says Geza Vermes, “is sufficiently unusual in
ancient Jewry to prompt further enquiry.”
Vermes agrees that Jesus’ “voluntary embrace of celibacy . . . becomes
historically meaningful,” but is concerned that “due to a total lack of
evidence, his sexual situation before his baptism by John, and the signifi-
cance of a possible perpetual celibacy, must remain outside the realm of
historical research proper.” Nevertheless, how can one not ask, why was
Jesus single?

 Why Was Jesus Single?

Let’s begin with another question: Would Jesus have been in favor of the
commandment “be fruitful and multiply” because of his respect for the
Torah? The Rabbis stated that nobody could abstain from keeping
the law to “be fruitful and multiply” (m. Yeb. :). Jesus does indicate a
desire to return marriage to its pristine state in the Urzeit, which he saw
partly fulfilled through marriage without divorce, but this is because he
saw the coming apocalyptic Endzeit as the time that marriage would be
banished (cf. Mk :). Jesus’ eyes are not surveying “the way things are”
and accommodating laws for the many necessary legal compromises,
including divorce, that are essential to ongoing life, but he surveys “the
way things will be,” which means marriage, sexuality and family life play a
distant second to the world to come. “Be fruitful and multiply” has no role
in the Endzeit scenario. Jesus’ teachings and behavior with respect to
marriage and sexuality should be seen within the context of the imminence
of the end, which is our first clue when we ask why Jesus was single and
why he desired his disciples to be single.
There were a number of reasons listed in section () as to why Jews
might have opted for celibacy and singleness and we should begin by
sorting out which ones do not apply to Jesus’ own life and teaching. While
(i) misogyny may be a reason for a particular individual’s rejection of
marriage and choice for singleness, it makes no sense of a community’s
choice for celibacy, such as the Essenes, who had family groups and
women living among some of their communities. Josephus, Philo and
Pliny simply get it wrong about the Essenes, whose own documents give us
no evidence for misogyny in their midst. As to Jesus’ own singleness, it
makes no sense, as he often has women with him, and Luke tells us that
women are a regular and supportive element of his entourage (Lk :–).
  
Vermes : . Vermes : . Collins : –.
  . 
Prophetic celibacy or (h) the vocation of prophecy is more promising as
a possibility to explain Jesus’ singleness, as there are examples of celibate
prophets in the Hebrew Bible and in Jesus’ own day, if we allow the
example of John the Baptist, who has no wife as far as the evidence shows
and who was killed for criticizing the marital practice of Herod Antipas.
The examples from the Hebrew Bible concern individual prophets, how-
ever, not prophets as a community. Though most prophets had disciples, it
is not known whether all such disciples of prophets were also called to
maintain singleness and celibacy. John the Baptist himself had disciples,
and we have no evidence that he also called them to the single life.
It is certainly the case that a number of categories coalesce in some ways
with the prophetic model, in that they are focused on singleness as a way to
prepare to come into the presence of God or fulfill God’s call, either for an
entire life or for a short period of time. For instance, Moses’ turn to
celibacy, (b) to preserve purity, came when he prepared to be in the
presence of God. And though focused on Moses itself, Exodus : is a
time-limited directive for all of the men of Israel, and so a communal
command. In particular places and times, sex in general is seen as some-
thing which defiles and ought not to be in God’s presence.
Desire for purity apart from the defilement of sex drives much of this
thinking and leads to directives for abstinence from sex for Temple service,
(c) to preserve God’s holiness, which applies to all priests, but is also time-
limited (Lev :–, :). Since God’s holiness permeates the com-
munity life, as at the Temple, it leads the Qumran sectarians to avoid
sexual intercourse (CD :–). Yet, (a) study of Torah also led Ben Azzai
to forego marriage and to remain single, even though there was no
communal aspect to this or rabbinic support for his ongoing choice
(b. Yeb. b). On the other hand, Torah study, worship and prayer were
at the heart of the Therapeutae, and they lived a communal life. Finally,
(d) to prepare for battle in this world would lead consecrated warriors to
forego sex, which had a communal aspect, but was also temporally limited
by the time of war.
What we do find in some Jewish texts is a combination of the commu-
nal and eschatological directives we find in the Gospels. In the DSS,
celibacy is desired (e) to prepare for eschatological battle, so only men
can be present prior to and during the time of battle (QM :–). It is not
clear if this single, celibate state will survive this world, but singleness is
seen as the necessary preparation for the battle. This, it seems to me, is a

Van der Horst : –.
 (Why) Was Jesus Single? 
possibility for understanding the teaching of Jesus for his disciples: they are
in preparation for the eschatological battle which will usher in God’s
kingdom.
Jubilees does not seem to require celibacy in this world, but does
indicate that (f ) the eschatological return to Eden will result in the end
of sex, due to the holiness of the Garden as the Temple, indeed, the
equivalent of the Holy of Holies, and the reality of God’s continuous
presence. In fact, as Loader argues, Jubilees sees the return to Eden as the
(g) eschatological transformation to childhood. This might also be a key
for understanding Jesus’ call for his disciples to become like children or to
become like eunuchs.
These last three reasons charted above, (e)-(g), found specifically in the
DSS and Jubilees, offer reasons similar to what is found in Jesus’ own
teaching, but they do not explain all of what we find in the early Christian
texts. What Jesus suggests that can be found nowhere else in complete
form is that celibacy in this world is preparation for the world to come
where no one marries, though Jubilees and the DSS imply it. Also,
although there are hints of this in Jubilees, Jesus’ teaching that his disciples
should become like children has major connections with the turn to
celibacy and singleness and the transformation essential to welcome the
Endzeit. The other major difference is that Jesus proposes the disciples as
the new family of God who turn away from their natal families to create a
new eschatological family.
It is difficult ultimately to propose one definitive answer for Jesus’ single
and celibate behavior in a culture that affirmed the goodness of marriage
and that took seriously the command to “be fruitful and multiply.” But an
answer must take account of the communal nature of Jesus’ teaching and
its eschatological context. The present-day element of Jesus’ teaching
might have characteristics of prophetic celibacy and Temple purity, and so
might be considered time-limited in that sense, but the eschatological
dimension makes it clear that Jesus is engaging in this heightened sense
of preparation and purity to ready himself and his followers for the battle
to come, as in Qumran, and the eschaton gives the context for many of his
sayings about marriage. It is also preparation for the life in the world to
come, in that marriage will no longer be necessary, as Jesus himself says,
and his followers will become like children. Indeed, I see parallels here with
Jubilees, although Jesus develops this connection between the perfection of


Van der Horst : –.
  . 
the age to come, celibacy and childhood in an even more pronounced way
than other Jewish texts.
The dimension of the answer that emerges as most significant for me has to
do with a complex of views regarding the preparation for the eschaton.
While celibacy or singleness might play into views of sexuality and marriage
from the point of view of purity and impurity, there is something profoundly
different about Jesus’ view, as it is all about the preparation of a community for
the coming end and the establishment of God’s kingdom. We might chart the
confluence of reasons for singleness and celibacy in Jesus’ teaching as follows:
(a) To prepare for eschatological battle;
(b) Eschatological return to Eden;
(c) Eschatological transformation to childhood;
(d) To prepare for the world to come where no one marries;
(e) To create Jesus’ disciples as the new family of God.
These reasons ultimately coalesce into two eschatological views that
explain most fully Jesus’ teaching regarding marriage and celibacy: Jesus
is preparing for the final battle with the forces of evil and purity demands
the renunciation of sex; and the eschatological kingdom of God does not
require marriage, so one should begin the return to Eden now by becom-
ing like children.
Although we have no exact parallel for Jesus’ teachings in Judaism, we
have hints of such teaching in different strands of Judaism which cannot be
discounted. Pronounced strains of celibacy and singleness begin to take
hold in the Christian communities founded in the wake of Jesus’ own
teaching. This leads to broader questions, such as, Why did celibacy begin
to emerge so forcefully at this time? What were the issues that led people to
consider singleness and reject the way of the family? Did the communal
aspect of the new family of God forge a countercultural and counter-
intuitive family that allowed people to leave behind old family structures?
Without understanding the eschatological perspective in Judaism, it is
impossible to understand the move to celibacy and singleness as preparation
for the world to come, but why did so many Gentiles find this compelling
in the decades and centuries after Jesus? This remains an unanswered
conundrum in the midst of perhaps an unanswerable set of questions.


Dykas : .

For a magisterial attempt to answer these questions more broadly in Late Antiquity, see Harper
, especially chapter  and, within chapter , pp. –; see also – and –. Missing
from these discussions, though, is a discussion about the role that eschatological fervor played in the
initial move to sexual renunciation.
  

Contesting the Jerusalem Temple: James,

Nazirite Vows and Celibacy
Kevin Funderburk

 Introduction: Apostolic Celibacy and Its Purposes

As a rule, committed celibacy and the resultant childlessness create serious
problems of mutual support throughout the course of one’s life, especially
in ancient social contexts. Before the late modern era there were fewer
incentives for delaying or foregoing marriage and childbirth, particularly
in view of the primacy of families and households for supporting the
bereaved, the elderly, the orphaned, the divorced and persons otherwise
disappointed or abandoned. Since the early Jesus movement claimed
among its most prominent members a number of celibates such as Paul
and James the brother of Jesus, it is worth inquiring as to how ancient
renunciants addressed the resulting problems of mutual support, as well as
how their renunciation contributed to the purposes and reproductive
power of their movement. This essay therefore examines early literary
witnesses to James’ rule of life within the context of the late Second
Temple purity debates so as to understand the political utility of primitive
Christian celibacy in Jerusalem. I argue that James practiced lifelong
celibacy as part of a modified Nazirite ascetic regime in order to attain a
priestly level of purity and authority. This allowed early Jesus followers
both to garner popular support and strengthen a cross-party religious
coalition whose goal was to reform the Jerusalem priesthood by sup-
planting the Temple’s ruling families. To accomplish this goal, the apostles

Cf. Winter and Teitelbaum  on modern calculations of procreative risk and political responses;
on modern pressures to improvise in defining relationships, as well as general postmodern social
alienation and confusion among youths regarding marital obligations and relationships, cf. Archer
,  and Smith .

See Laes, in this volume.

Cf. Bauckham , Painter  and Mimouni  for biographical treatments. Cf. I Cor
:–, : on Paul’s celibacy versus the marriages of “the brothers of the Lord” and couples such
as Prisc(ill)a and Aquila – cf. Lk :; Rom :; I Cor :; II Tim :; Acts :–, –; cf.
also Bauckham : – on the missionary work of other, married brothers of Jesus, using Julius
Africanus apud Eus. HE ...


  
and James’ council of elders developed a redistributive economy that
provided better support for singles and solitaries than that offered by the
Temple priesthood in the Roman period. They also developed ethnically
inclusive biblical hermeneutics that framed this economy as both a restor-
ation of First Temple practices and a rediscovery of primordial divine
intent regarding human sexual relations and purity. To fund this effort
within Jerusalem’s temple economy, traveling apostles such as Paul and
Barnabas gathered tithes and special offerings from diverse and sympa-
thetic persons associated with the Jewish diaspora.
The following section provides context for these ascetic behaviors by
outlining the complicated purity discourse and attendant factional strife
that marked the entire Second Temple period. The next section interro-
gates biblical sources to show how the apostles sought to intervene in these
debates with new hermeneutic strategies. The following section focuses on
the evidence regarding James’ life, activity in Jerusalem, Nazirite commit-
ments and judicial killing. I then synthesize the foregoing to argue how
and why James and the apostles sought to contest priestly authority during
the turbulent last years of the Second Temple. I conclude with a brief
meditation on how elements of this apostolic ascetic program were
accessed and modified by a wide variety of competing Christian sects in
later centuries. By way of a coda, I offer some thoughts on how a fresh
social historical focus on ancient ascetic regimes could be helpful for
present-day movements concerned with inculcating monastic types of
discipline in both celibate and married Christians.

 Second Temple Politics: Legitimacy, Purity and Faction

Serious disputes regarding priestly purity in the service of Israel’s God
arose shortly after the return of a small portion of Judah’s exiles from
Babylonian territory in the late sixth century BC. The Persian era biblical
books of Ezra (–) and Nehemiah (:–, :–) claim that a
number of returning laymen, Levites, priests and even chief priests were
forcibly disqualified from participating in the Second Temple due to their
marriages with foreign women. Nehemiah condemned the marital
connection contracted by the chief priest J(eh)oiada son of Eliashib with
the daughter of Sanballat, a powerful figure in the region’s chief city, the
old northern Israelite capital of Samaria. Although the people of Samaria


Cf. Regev b on the historical reliability of NT sources regarding high priestly prosecutions of
the apostles.
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
could and did claim Israelite descent, Nehemiah and others among the
Jerusalem returnees viewed the population of the northern territories,
conquered and resettled in accordance with Assyrian policy in the late
eighth century BC, as compromised both in cult and heritage, a view
comparable in some ways to how many ancient Greeks saw Macedonians
in the time of Philip II. The priestly scribe Ezra (:–) thus refused to
allow a group of such persons to have any part in rebuilding the Temple
or funding its sacrifices. The prophet Malachi (:–) also extended
Nehemiah’s criticism of priestly sexual malfeasance to include lay returnees
who had divorced their first wives and married local foreigners. On a
related matter, Nehemiah had previously condemned Jehoiada’s father for
allowing Tobiah the Ammonite, a non-priestly and possibly mixed-descent
local dynast, to act as steward over the Temple treasury and its disburse-
ment system; this power he allegedly abused by embezzling rations of
grain, wine and olive oil due to the Temple’s Levites and musicians (Neh
:–; cf. Mal :–). As a result of these tightened social regulations,
Jehoiada and his retinue abandoned Jerusalem and sought Sanballat’s
patronage instead, a move that was occasionally reenacted in later gener-
ations by other disaffected priests. Jehoiada’s exodus thus offered a new
way for Samarians and their confederates to assert a competing Israelite
identity, participate in traditional cult and bolster their position in Achae-
menid politics against the hostile returnees of Judah.
Sanballat’s favors were not insubstantial, it seems. Recent archaeological
work has confirmed that a temple was subsequently constructed on the


Fried  compares the situation in post-exilic Judah with the increasingly tight definitions of
Athenian citizenship in the sixth and fifth centuries BC, which culminated in Pericles’ citizenship
law (– BC) requiring that both parents be Athenian citizens in order to claim citizenship for
their children, noting also the characteristically broad enfranchisement of defeated enemies and
foreigners in Assyrian, Babylonian and Achaemenid Mespotamia; cf. Ath. pol. ., ; .;
Thuk. .., . and Demosth. .,  on Athenian anti-exogamy laws.

Cf. Neh :, :–, probably accessing Lev :– on priestly taboos against marrying
foreign or divorced women, with Jos. AJ .–; Knoppers : – examines Nehemiah’s
fraught interactions with neighboring dynasts; cf. also Wardle : – on Samaritans and Jos.
AJ . on priests and Levites seceding from Jerusalem over kosher rules, marriages to
unacceptable women or Sabbath commerce.

Nehemiah and Ezra delimited Israelite identity by tightening earlier regulations of intermarriage in
Mosaic Law and put into practice a concept of “holy seed” that could be adulterated by marital
impropriety; cf. Knoppers  on Nehemiah’s controversial reforms and the Israelite identity of
Samaritans; cf. Hayes : – and Koltun-Fromm : –, with Hier. : and Ezra : on
the concept of “holy seed.” Earlier Mosaic bans on intermarriage had applied only to Canaanites and
a few other peoples (Deut :–, :–; Num :–), although royal marriage alliances
received harsh criticism, e.g., I Kings :.
  
slopes of Mt. Gerizim in Samarian territory in the late fifth century BC
and refurbished significantly at some point in the late fourth century.
Inscriptions dating from the late third to mid-second centuries from Delos
confirm that worshipers belonging to this alternative cultic community
sent substantial tithes and freewill donations. Relations between Jews and
Samaritans, as they were later termed, from this point onward oscillated
between close collaboration and violent conflict. After the Jewish high
priest and commander John Hyrcanus I destroyed Samaria, Shechem and
the Gerizim temple between  and  BC, however, relations never
recovered – witness Josephus’ story about Samaritans strewing the
Temple’s portico with defiling bones during the prefecture of Coponius
(r. AD –; Jos. BJ .), or about a rural vigilante war between Galilean
Jews and Samaritans in the days of Cumanus (r. AD –; cf. Jos.
BJ .–; AJ .). These violent episodes indicate how important
were the cultic concerns that continued to develop long after the return
from Babylon, a knot of problems involving priestly authority, sexual
purity and embezzlement.
Like Sanballat, Nehemiah’s other nemesis Tobiah the Ammonite may
have had a further role to play in Hellenistic Jewish politics, if he was in
fact the progenitor of a dynasty of royal officials who served both
the Ptolemaic and the Seleucid dynasties in the third and second
centuries BC. Whether or not they were his descendants, the Tobiad
family, after achieving intermarriage and alliance with the Oniad clan of
chief priests in Jerusalem, supported Antiochus III against Ptolemaic forces
in  BC and so transferred Judea to Seleucid control. The Tobiads later
supported the efforts of Hellenizing Jerusalem chief priests such as Simon
II and Jason, the latter of whom received the chief priesthood as a gift from


Magen .

Knoppers :  notes the Samaritan temple’s loss of tax-exempt status under the Seleucids
after  BC in I Macc :, Jos. AJ .–; cf. Wardle : –, esp.  with AJ
.–, .– on disputes among Israelites in Egypt as to which sanctuary they should
contribute sacrifices, and II Macc : on Antiochus IV attempting to convert both the Samarian
and Jerusalem temples into Zeus cults.

Knoppers : – argues for collaboration between these two temple communities from
internal textual evidence from the Samaritan Pentateuch, Dead Sea Scrolls and Old Greek
manuscripts.

Knoppers : –.

The Zenon archive (cf. CPJ , , ) attests to the existence of a Tobias as an early Ptolemaic
cleruchic cavalry commander based at Amman, a city near the family’s ancestral Hyrcanus fortress at
Tyre; this man married the sister of Onias II, a high priest of Jerusalem, and his son Joseph gained
high tax office (prostasia) in Palestine under Ptolemy III (r. – BC), having defeated an Oniad
high priest for the office, possibly due to the latter’s Seleucid sympathies. Thanks are due to
Dr. Julia Wilker for comments throughout this section.
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
Antiochus IV Epiphanes in return for conspiring in the deposition and
later assassination of his brother Onias III (/ and  BC). This
murder sparked an explosive series of violent disputes culminating in the
famous Maccabean Revolt (cf. I and II Macc; Jos. AJ .–.).
The Hasmonean family rose to power in  BC as the leaders of the
revolt and claimed chief priestly authority by virtue of conquest, thereby
ending a long series of disputes over the office between leading Judean
families and Seleucid officials. This new dynasty eventually claimed sole
rights to the chief priesthood and to Israelite kingship after the reign of
Arisobulus I (– BC), despite the fact that their founders do not
seem to have claimed descent from either David or Aaron, and hailed from
an unremarkable village in the Judean hills named Modiin. Theirs was
not necessarily an unpopular move, but it was innovative, and it signaled
how contestable claims to priestly and royal authority could be in a context
of intramural strife and foreign domination.
Only after the Maccabean Revolt does any direct evidence surface
regarding the Pharisees, Sadducees and Essenes, the three purity factions
involved in disputes over control of the Jerusalem cult in the later Second
Temple Period. Broadly speaking, the Pharisees were populists operating
in Judea and Galilee who were seeking to gain legitimacy as interpreters of
Torah; to do so, they proposed a modified code of moral and ritual
regulations applicable to all Jews and derived from oral traditions of
Mosaic intent (AJ ., ). Jesus in the canonical Gospels seems
to have expected similar Torah obedience from ordinary Jews, although he
often targeted Pharisees for inconsistent precision and condemned their

VanderKam : –; Wardle : –; note also Jos. AJ .– on the chief priest
Onias IV as fleeing Jerusalem and constructing another rival sanctuary at Leontopolis in Egypt.

VanderKam : – describes the struggles for chief priestly legitimacy during the
intersacerdotium of – BC as involving competing high priests, Hasmonean and Oniad.

Wardle : ,  n.  and Klawans  note the silence of ancient sources regarding
Aaronide-Zadokite lineage for the Hasmoneans, contra VanderKam : , n.  on I Chr
:–, Schofield and VanderKam  and Regev : –; both Regev and Klawans
rightly point out the lack of evidence for popular reactions against the overthrow of the Oniads.

Jos. BJ .–; AJ .–, .–; cf. Wardle : – with references to the prehistory
of the sects and possible relation to Hasidic or Enochic circles in Judea and the Hellenistic Diaspora.
As a rough scale of factional influence, Josephus (c. Ap. ., .) mentions some ,
Jerusalem priests and elsewhere (AJ ., ., ) estimates about , Essenes, over ,
Pharisees and only a few Sadducees, not all of whom were necessarily priests; cf. Phil. prob. ;
Hypoth. ., with Taylor : . The unaffiliated among the priestly courses, not to mention
those among the populations of Judea, Galilee and the Diaspora, were thus numerous.

Sanders : –; Neusner and Chilton ; Wardle : –; cf. also Himmelfarb
 on broader conceptions of Israelite priesthood in Hellenistic Jewish and rabbinic literature;
cf. Jos. AJ .– on the violent dispute between Pharisees and Sadducees regarding John
Hyrcanus I’s priestly qualification and descent.
  
scribes and legal experts for not helping common people meet the
demands of the rulings and requirements they proposed (cf. Mt
:–; Lk :–). His criticisms focused on pharisaic laxity
regarding inner self-control (Mt : on lust), neglect of filial piety
(Mk : on korban and parental support) and support for serial monog-
amy (Mk :– and Mt  on divorce and remarriage).
The smaller amount of evidence for the Sadducees suggests that they
originated either as opposition to the Hellenizing push under the Seleucids
or as followers of an influential chief priest named Zadok. Josephus tells
us that they laid claim to wisdom traditions, and denied the existence of
angels, the validity of pharisaic oral traditions and the immortality of the
soul; they also lacked popularity for some reason and were forced to follow
pharisaic procedure when inaugurating their priests (AJ .–). The
Sadducees nonetheless gained a tight hold on the chief priestly offices in
the Hasmonean period and kept that hold into the Roman period, all the
while insisting upon strict codes of purity, sacrificial protocol and moral
behavior, but only for priestly families.
Certain disaffected members of this group appear to have joined Essene
communities like that of Khirbet Qumran near the western shore of the
Dead Sea. Essenes differed in that they proposed that their members
should also undertake a number of strictures beyond the basic rites of
purity required for Temple participation, strictures that were generally
more rigorous than those of the Pharisees (cf. Jos. AJ .–, .;
Mt :). Much of the fragmentary literature recovered from the settle-
ment’s nearby caves regulates communities, located both in cities of the
Levant and in the Judean desert, designed to worship God in voluntary


The book of Jubilees attests to similar and growing discomfort with sexual practices in the
Hellenistic period, although the precise nature of any social changes since the Persian period is
unclear. Note also the beheading of John the Baptist in the gospels, attributed to his public rebuke
of Herod Antipas for his second marriage to his half-brother’s first wife. Herodias in Mt :–,
Mk :–, Lk :–, with Martens, in this volume.

Klawans  notes that Sadducees are nowhere attested as having connections to traditional chief
priestly families descended from the Zadok who officiated in the time of Solomon.

Lange  traces links between Qumran and earlier Jewish wisdom sects that may have disputed
the Hasmonean and Sadducean appropriations of that genre.

The Pesher Habakkuk and certain other DSS reveal close ideological and personal links between
Essene communities and hardliner priests who may have been part of either the Sadducee or Pharisee
camps; cf. Wardle :  on “sons of Zadok” dwelling in the communities described in the
Qumran scrolls, noting QS ., ; .; QSa .; QSb .; CD .; QFlor .; Schiffman
: –; Regev ; Levine : –; Sanders : –; cf. VanderKam :
– on various proposed identities of the Teacher of Righteousness and his nemesis, the Wicked
Priest; on affinities with other factions, cf. Newman : – on AJ .; on affirming the
linkage between the scrolls, Qumran and the Essene community, cf. Taylor : –.
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
exile from Jerusalem and in protest against the Hasmonean system (cf. Is
:; QS .). These texts portray such covenanted communities as
composing a quasi-temple whose members all counted as priests in some
fashion. The membership through the rigors of their discipline absolved
themselves of blame for involving themselves in what they termed the
“three nets of Belial.” These nets were charges against the Hasmoneans
that encoded condemnation for lax sacrificial protocols, fornication
(including incest, polygamy and possibly remarriage) and ill-gotten wealth;
the term thus neatly encapsulated certain developments of cultic problems
identified already in the Persian period. To avoid sharing in such guilt, the
Essenes insisted on strict codes of behavior and set a high bar for initiation
into their purified society. Many of these renunciants, according to
classical literary sources, were vowed celibates, and all swore to forego
certain private property rights, to donate a substantial portion of their
income to a common fund for the support of poorer members and to keep
a shared sacred meal.
Essenes did not, however, necessarily believe that the Temple irrevoc-
ably profaned, nor did they utterly abandon Temple worship or the
debates over purity and control of the Temple’s economy. On the con-
trary, certain scrolls offer protocols for visiting Jerusalem, for presenting
sacrifices and for joining in other Temple worship activities. Josephus in
fact reports that Essenes had their own cadre of priests working within the
Temple courts according to their own distinctive purity regulations and
sacrificial protocols. The Essenes therefore offered a multipronged solu-
tion to Jerusalem’s knotty problems through their stringent sexual


Like Paul in I and II Corinthians, certain passages in the scrolls (e.g., CD .) redefined the word
“temple” figuratively as a federation of true, purified Israelites. Cf. QS .c–a; Jos. BJ .; Phil.
quod omnis  and Eus. PE .– on Essene urban and village presence. Taylor : –
identifies medicine production as a primary industry at both Qumran and the similar settlement of
Ain-Feshka to the south, which may well have helped finance Essene priestly activity in Jerusalem.

CD .–. with Wardle : –, –; note the intensive procedure for initiation
conducted by the overseer (mebaqqer) of the community. CD .–. forbids community
members from marrying a second wife while the first is still alive, which may either prohibit
serial monogamy or may only limit the prohibition to polygamy practiced according to Davidic
precedent; in the latter case, however, the contemporary target of the author’s criticism is unclear;
cf. Ilan : – for an overview of the question.

On the sacred meal, cf. QS .–; cf. Taylor  for classical sources on Essene celibacy,
including Philo and Josephus; Regev  notes that celibacy is not clearly mentioned the DSS
but ignores other literary sources in favor of comparative ethnographic evidence of questionable
relevance; Klawans  provides an overview of DSS purity regulations.

Wardle : ; cf. CD .–., .; also .– on Sabbath altar offerings; on Essenes
priestly shares, Jos. AJ .–; on separate Essene courts, cf. BJ .–, and . on Essene
priestly procedures.
  
discipline and economic system. They combined this with an alternative,
reconceived priesthood that could function both inside and outside
the Jerusalem establishment and also maintain a network of renunciant
colonies in urban and rural contexts.
The nature of these factional disputes underwent key changes after the
fall of the Hasmonean dynasty, which occurred due to family discord that
had been amplified by Pompey’s conquest of the Eastern Mediterranean in
 BC. After a convoluted series of factional maneuvers and switches of
allegiance by his father, Antipater, and himself, Herod the Great gained
the favor of Octavian after the defeat of Antony and Cleopatra and so
became the king of Judea. In the course of his rise, Herod absorbed many
Hasmoneans by marriage alliances or eliminated them in court intrigues,
and introduced a few important cultic innovations. Since Herod could not
plausibly claim the high priesthood due to his Arabian maternal and
Idumean paternal heritage, and since other aristocratic priestly families of
the city represented a potential threat, he invited other families from
Babylon and Egypt to replace the last Hasmonean chief priest, who was
drowned at Herod’s orders in  BC. The chief priesthood as a result
became an appointed office, although preferment was not based primarily
on dynastic claims, as it had been under the Achaemenids, Ptolemies and
Seleucids. Instead, the chief priesthood became a rotating magistracy
available only to a small set of families who were dependent upon Her-
odian favor, families who could not establish any clear traditional claims to
the office, families who had few social connections in Jerusalem. These
disadvantages – compounded by accusations from Essenes, by the greater
populist appeal of Pharisees, by the rise of new factions such as the Jesus
movement and zealot revolutionaries of the Roman period – seriously
compromised the authority of the Sadducee chief priests in the eyes of
many lower-ranking priests and common Jews in the final century of the
Second Temple’s existence.


On the assassination of Aristobulus III, cf. Jos. BJ . and AJ .–; cf. AJ . on Herod’s
lack of priestly authority to enter the rebuilt Temple precincts; Rocca : – on Herod’s
dynastic claims; Regev a on Herod’s self-presentation as an observant Jew; VanderKam :
– and Goodman  on the appointees’ social positions (Jos. AJ .– and .).
Herod’s subsidy of the Essenes may also have functioned to divide priestly power – cf. Taylor :
– on “Herodians” and Jos. AJ .– on Menahem the prophet.

On Jewish revolutionary ideology, cf. Hengel ; on revolutionary priests, cf. Price : –,
with Jos. AJ .. The commissioning of Paul to arrest Jesus followers in Damascus (Acts ) as well
as the difficulties he and his friends suffered during their missionary journeys (e.g., at Thess :–)
suggest that popular support for the chief priestly families may have been greater in certain regions
of the Diaspora than in Judea or Galilee.
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
By way of raising the stakes still higher, Herod initiated a construction
program of palaces, fortresses and urban foundations, the crown jewel of
which was the renovated Temple itself. The revenues of the Temple rose
by an order of magnitude as Diaspora Jews sent larger voluntary contribu-
tions along with their usual tithes and payment of the Temple poll tax.
As a consequence, the pilgrimage economy established under the
Hasmoneans expanded to include hundreds of thousands of visitors to
Jerusalem for each of the three annual Mosaic feasts of Passover, Pentecost
and Tabernacles. To give some idea of the size and importance of these
transfers of money, the twin cities of Nisibis and Nehardea on the
Euphrates housed a number of banks into which Mesopotamian Jews
deposited their offerings for armed transport at Passover. The deposits
thus conveyed to Jerusalem were sizeable enough to attract Parthian raiders
who jeopardized the convoy on a number of occasions, and so Herod’s
military engineers built caravan outposts and fortified a midway point
near Trachonitis to ensure safe transport (Jos. AJ ., –). Cicero
(Pro Flacco –) and Tacitus (Hist. ..) bear further witness to the
importance of this revenue by noting occasional proconsular confiscations
of hundreds of pounds of gold earmarked for delivery from Apamea,
Laodicea and Hadramyttium. Huge flows of wealth therefore washed
into the Temple’s treasuries each year, sieved through the hands of the
chief priests. This increased investment unfortunately seems to have
worsened the long-standing problems created by the returnees from
the Babylonian Exile, and so we should now turn to consider how the
early Christian community attempted to solve them.

 Apostolic Responses and Concepts

The early Jesus movement proposed three interrelated concepts as part of
their intervention in late Second Temple discourse. These concepts helped
them create a coalition from members of the various Hellenistic purity
factions that could make a serious bid for broad popular support and


Goodman a, b.

Levine : –; Rocca : –; cf. Regev : – on the Temple tax and
pilgrimage economy in the Hasmonean period.

Jos. AJ .– notes monies sent by Jews of Asia Minor for safekeeping to Cos due to fear of
Mithridates in  BC; cf. AJ .– for Roman decrees regarding the Temple tax and tithes.

The two-drachma Temple tax paid the overhead costs for public sacrifices and maintenance; tithes
supported the service of priests, Levites and their dependents when converted into sacrificial
portions and stipends; cf. Sanders : –; cf. Jim : – on similar tithes as
marking identity and loyalty in Greek temples.
  
control of the Jerusalem Temple in its last decades. The first concept
addresses long-standing concerns of tithes and embezzlement by proposing
a voluntary redistributive economy to support committed members, a
scheme already employed on a small scale during Jesus’ itinerant ministry
and later augmented to support his increasing following in Jerusalem (Acts
:–, :–, :–). This paralleled the system of redistributing
tithes, freewill offerings and alms already established in the Jerusalem
Temple, especially the “poor tithe” in which each third and sixth year’s
tithe revenue in a seven-year cycle was to be kept back from the Temple
coffers and instead distributed locally to landless Levites, foreigners,
widows and orphans (Deut :–, :). We may read these
certain Gospel passages as suggesting a need for a reformed redistribution
system, as when Jesus during his final Passover week expatiated on the
generosity of a poor widow who donated her two bits to the Temple
treasury. This vignette encodes a harsh and ironic criticism of the chief
priests, since that widow should have been receiving a share of the poor
tithe, not giving her whole substance toward that fund (cf. Mk :–;
Lk :–). The apostolic economy was also likely established with an eye
to Qumran and the Essenes since the latter also supported a common
purse and distributed monies gathered from a minimum monthly contri-
bution of two days’ wages to needy members. Such a redistributive
economy thus allowed the apostles to surpass the Pharisees in rigor since
they could propose tough standards of moral, and especially sexual, purity
while also offering an economic support system to accommodate members
potentially disadvantaged by such strictures. Those strictures, as Jesus
taught in his Sermon on the Mount and elsewhere, put divorce in a dim
light and forbad remarriage after divorce among his followers as contrary to


Note also the criticisms of the Temple economy implied by Jesus’ overturning of the Temple’s
tables and dove cages (Mt :–; Mk :–; Lk :–; Jn :–) and the tight
linkage of malfeasance in Christian donation to improper Temple sacrifice implied in the story of
Ananias and Sapphira of Acts ; cf. Buth and Kvasnica  on Jesus’ criticism of the Temple in the
Parable of the Vineyard and the wicked tenants (Mt :–; Mk :–; Lk :–; cf. also
Mt :–).

Anderson : –; Sanders : –; cf. Gardner : – on this and other biblical
redistributive ventures as reconceived in rabbinic sources, esp. m. Pe’ah :– and t. Pe’ah :–.
Jesus’ teaching against divorce and remarriage may have been intended in part to stabilize unions
within the community and so reduce costs within this redistributive system; note also I Tim : and
:– against prohibiting young widows to remarry.

CD .–. There is no clear, direct link between the Essene communities and the early
Christians, although the desert sojourns and ascetic practices of John the Baptist, as well as Paul’s
two-year desert sojourn after his conversion and escape from Jerusalem (Gal :) suggest affinities
of theology and praxis; cf. Frey : I:–; Taylor : –, –.
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
primordial design and divine intent (cf. Gen :–). This parallel
sacred economy could therefore benefit especially the bereaved, the
orphaned, the abandoned, the divorced if somehow their relationships
with family, synagogue or Temple were compromised, and all without
engaging in the serial monogamy typically allowed by Jewish, Egyptian
and Roman legal systems.
A second apostolic concept took up certain traditional ideas of Israel as
a royal priesthood (Ex :; cf. I Pet :–) and introduced a couple of
new features. The first feature is a hermeneutic operative in a number of
Gospel texts that subordinate the Levitical priesthood to monarchical
authority. Matthew and Luke famously claimed Davidic lineage for Jesus
in their genealogical lists and birth narratives, and early speeches in the
book of Acts attributed to Peter attest a way of reading certain Psalms
that presents the resurrected Jesus as greater than his progenitor.
Building on that theme, the letter to the Hebrews elevated Jesus above
his progenitor by using the Psalms to link him, by right of conquest, to
the shadowy figure of Melchizedek, king of (Jeru)salem, priest of the
Most High God, coeval of the patriarch Abraham (cf. Gen :–; Ps
:; Hebr –). In addition, Jesus himself accessed one of many
examples in the biblical historical books of David acting as chief priest
or governor of Israelite cult in order to claim that same authority and
thereby to answer pharisaic questions regarding the propriety of plucking
grain on the Sabbath for food. We could label this as the First Temple
or monarchical hermeneutic principle, one that accessed earlier royal


Mt :, :–; Mk :–; Lk :; I Cor ; I Tim :, ; cf. also Jn :– on the
Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well near Sychar as an example of a serial monogamist seeking
purification and support through association with Jesus; on the primary importance of combating
fornication (porneia, zenuta) in both primitive and patristic Christian teaching, cf. Hayes  and
Harper b. See also Martens, in this volume, p.  on Jesus’ usage of Genesis in regard to this
issue, and Evans Grubbs, in this volume, pp. – on the lex Julia de adulteriis coercendis
regarding charges of lenocinium. I suspect similar concerns of pimping wives to new husbands
underlies the ruling of Deut :–, and that the word porneia in the exception clauses of Mt :
and : refers primarily to fraud and wife-trading and by extension to other Levitical restrictions,
e.g., consanguinity; cf. Martens, in this volume, p. .

See Huebner, in this volume, p.  for references on the permissive divorce regime of Roman
Egypt, and ibid., p. , calculating from the census returns on papyrus that two out of five adults
were single at any given point in Roman Egypt.

Ps :– and :, with II Sam :–; cf. Peter’s speech in Acts :–, with Mt :; Mk
:; Lk :–; Hebr :. The poetic puzzles seem to have arisen in part from assumptions
that David had authored each of these psalms and had written them wholly in the voice of narrator.

Mt :–; Mk :–; Lk :–; cf. I Sam :– and Lev :,  on the priestly use of
shewbread.
  
practices and systems of cultic organization in order to solve Second
Temple problems of priestly authority.
The NT writers also accessed Israelite monarchical precedent to propose
that an important kind of purity, one resembling Levitical purity but
deriving from royal and military association, could be bestowed on gentiles
willing to submit to strictures of moral purity. This purity theme
intertwines closely with the first and can also be traced back to the Hebrew
Bible’s historical books. I Samuel :–, for instance, speaks of Saul as
hosting new moon festivals for ritually purified courtiers. The shewbread
episode that Jesus accessed when arguing about Sabbath observance also
contains a sidenote concerning an Edomite named Doeg, as a chief
shepherd, as some sort of detainee within the Tabernacle’s precincts, as
an informant against priests loyal to David and as a warrior in Saul’s
retinue (I Sam , ; Ps ). More famously, Uriah the Hittite was
one of many foreign retainers numbered among David’s elite forces who
guarded their ritual purity while on campaign. It was for this reason that
Uriah, acting as courier and herald for his king, avoided even entering his
own house or visiting his wife, Bathsheba, while in Jerusalem so as to be fit
to rejoin the army camp and the Tabernacle that accompanied the army
and housed the ark of the Covenant (II Sam :–). Uriah’s punctili-
ous observance led to his destruction at David’s orders, of course, but that
only serves to highlight the moral purity of the gentile in contrast to an
adulterous Israelite couple. Jesus’ willingness to enter the houses of


Similarly, the gospels and Acts frequently lay claim to the prophets as inspiration for apostolic
practice and may thereby refer implicitly to itinerant groups of prophets such as those encountered
by Saul, Elijah and Elisha; see Martens, in this volume, p. .

Note also the acceptance of Gibeonites as a servile class after the conquest of Canaan in Josh –,
with II Sam :– on David favoring their suit for vengeance against Saul; cf. Edelman  with
I Chr  and  on Saul’s genealogy and close relationship to Gibeon; I Kgs  and II Chr :– even
locate the Tabernacle in their city.

I suspect these strictures were designed to counteract problems of loyalty similar to those addressed
by institutions such as the Spartan agoge, the Theban Sacred Band or the Augustan ‘marriage ban’;
see also Martens, in this volume. For gentiles as part of Temple worship, note the repeated refrain of
the people of Israel, the house of Aaron, and “those who fear the LORD” in Ps :–, :–
and :.

Cf. II Sam : (MT) listing David’s sons as priests and an Aaronic priest, Benaiah son of Jehoiada,
as chief of the Kerethites and Pelethites, probably mercenary bodyguards from Crete and Philistia
(cf. :); note also David dancing before the ark as a priestly action, an action likely paralleled by
John the Baptist’s leaping in the womb at the presence of pregnant Mary; cf. II Sam :; I Chr
:; Lk :.

Cf. James’ response to Paul, Barnabas and Peter regarding their testimony to the loyalty of many
gentiles to Christ, where he accessed prophecy (Amos :–; Acts :–) to propose that the
ingathering of gentiles somehow reestablished “the fallen tent of David” that was itself destroyed in
large part by poor sexual behavior.
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
Roman officers, to touch dead bodies and diseased menstruants, to enter
graveyards and confront the devil-possessed, to heal Romans slaves and
foreign children, to cleanse Samaritan lepers, to laud the good faith of
gentiles and to eat with tax collectors, indicates that he held a similar
conception of purity. Certain appropriations of these texts in the New
Testament suggest that the Jesus movement not only appreciated Davidic
priestly prerogatives and tendency toward inclusivity, but also conceived of
their purity as broader, infectious and available to all who were willing to
submit to their communal standards.
Like the Pharisees and Essenes, then, the early Jesus movement pro-
posed a priestly level of moral purity that should be obtained by all its
members and, in order to lend credibility to this idea, construed earlier
biblical concepts of military purity as applicable to loyal gentiles generally.
Their tightened strictures of sexual purity provided a way of escape from
the first net of Belial, i.e., certain priestly marital habits condemned as acts
of fornication. As we have seen, this was an old and contentious problem,
one that involved not only post-exilic Judahites and Samaritans but latter-
day Jewish sages such as Hillel and Shammai; these two famously argued
over legitimate reasons for divorce and remarriage with reference to the
Mosaic procedure for granting divorce certificates tersely related in Deut
:–, a debate which framed some of the dominical sayings on the
subject already noted. The apostolic redistributive economy also disen-
tangled the faithful from the second net of corrupt wealth, while their
messianic hermeneutic allowed for a royal arbiter to address problems of


Cf. Mt :– and Lk :– on the Roman centurion’s servant; Mt :– and Mk :– on
the diseased menstruant and the daughter of Jairus; Lk :– on the Samaritan leper; :–
on Elijah and Elisha as preferring to bless gentiles instead of Israelites; Mt :–; Mk :–; Lk
:– on the Gadarene demoniac(s); Mt :– on Levi-Matthew and Lk :– on
Zacchaeus as penitent tax collectors; cf. also Peter’s dream and Cornelius in Acts :–: on
food impurity laws as ethnically limited and Mk :– for impurity by kosher transgression as
inherently temporary and not necessarily equivalent to moral impurity.

The parable likening the Kingdom of God to leaven spreading through three measures of flour in
Mt :– chimes with the idea of contagious purity and is further contrasted in its multiplying
effect in the feeding of the crowds of , and , with the leaven of the Pharisees and
Sadducees in Mt :–. Similarly, note Hayes : – and Hodges : , nn. –
examining Paul’s ruling in I Cor :– that recent converts stay with their unbelieving spouses
since their fidelity sanctifies the couple’s children; cf. also I Cor :– condemning social contact
with immoral believers (also Mt :–; Hebr :–; I Cor :) but affirming contact with
pagans, implying that transferable impurity requires complicity, not physical intimacy.

Note the ongoing apostolic concern for integration of Samaritans displayed in the confrontation
between Peter and Simon Magus in Acts :–; Simon was a Samaritan who was baptized but later
sought to purchase control of the Holy Spirit from Peter and gain apostolic authority (cf. Acts :),
and so was rebuked for harboring a defiling bitterness and cupidity; cf. also Lk :– on the
Good Samaritan and : on the Samaritan leper.
  
priestly legitimacy by including many disenfranchised persons, even
gentiles, within a larger royal priesthood reconceived along First Temple
lines. With this in mind, we can now investigate how celibates generally,
and James particularly, contributed to the larger apostolic project in the
Roman period.

 James and Jerusalem

Aside from the birth narratives and a few encounters recounted in the
Gospels during his Galilean ministry, we first encounter the family of Jesus
alongside the disciples just before Pentecost (Acts :–). After estab-
lishing an early version of their communal redistribution system, the
community as a whole by some unknown process selected deacons to
distribute the sales proceeds donated to the common purse by wealthier
members (Acts :–). Some years later, persecution by chief priests and
Pharisees, such as Saul alias Paul of Tarsus, scattered the many thousands
of adherents won up to that point. This dispersion did little to stamp out
the movement, it seems, and even pushed the apostles remaining in the
city to make circuit visits to their scattered followers and thus evangelize
locales such as Lydda, Caesarea Maritima, Samaria, Cyprus and Antioch
(Acts –). James at some unknown point around this time became the
chief “pillar” of the Jerusalem community (Gal :), and so probably
oversaw the distribution of Judean relief funds that Paul and Barnabas
collected from Antioch in response to prophetic warning of a famine in the
reign of Claudius (Acts :–). Years later, according to Acts ,
James hosted the first council to address disputes regarding circumcision
and purity regulations for those gentile followers who had joined in
numbers since the dispersion caused by Stephen’s stoning. James gave
the final word of this council and crafted four purity prohibitions applic-
able to gentile believers, prohibitions which renewed two commandments
regarding food originally delivered to Noah, one derived from Leviticus,
and a particular commandment forbidding porneia, or sexual impurity
(:–; cf. Gen :; Lev :, :–). James last appeared in
Luke’s narrative during the feast of Pentecost in Jerusalem as a recipient
of the money collected and delivered by Paul and his retinue, monies


Cf. Painter : – on familial support for Jesus and on James’ early leadership in the
movement.

Additionally, Peter ordered John Mark’s household to inform James of his flight from Jerusalem
once he had escaped from the prison of Herod the Tetrarch of Galilee (Acts :–).
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
designated to support some thousands of Torah-observant Jewish believers
about three decades after Jesus’ crucifixion (:; ).
In this final episode, James and his council of elders advised Paul to join
four other Jews who had sworn to fulfill the ascetic rigors of Nazirite vows
so as to prove that Paul, by paying the costs of the necessary sacrifices, also
honored Moses and did not preach that Jews abandon Torah (Acts
:–). Nazirites in Mosaic law were persons who desired to under-
take temporary vows to abstain from alcohol, contact with the dead and
adorning their hair (Num :–). By the Second Temple period, the
term covered a range of vowed ascetic practices and purifications under-
taken for a minimum of thirty days, often by poorer Jews. Those so
engaged would typically then fulfill their vows in the Temple by incuba-
tion over a few nights and by presentation of eight separate animal
sacrifices. The biblical stories of Samson and Samuel add to this picture
somewhat by portraying Israelite parents as offering children as a kind of
first fruits sacrifice, after which the children became lifelong devotees
and even gained peculiar powers and special divine access in return.
Of particular note is the fact that, in Samuel’s case, this ascetical regimen
qualified a mere devotee to succeed his patron as chief priest of the
Tabernacle of the LORD at Shiloh despite his lack of Aaronic descent.
Likewise Philo of Alexandria and certain rabbinic sources equate Naziritic
discipline with priestly regimes and assert that such practices could make


I Cor :–; II Cor ; Rm :–; Gal :. Georgi : – notes previous work that
likened the Pauline collection to the Temple taxes and tithes but pursues the idea no further;
Downs : –, – seeks to dissociate the Pentecost visit from delivery of the collection due
to the lack of direct reference in Acts and unease with synthesizing Acts with Paul’s letters, but
neglects the possibility of political motives for the collection and the difficulties of surviving in
Jerusalem outside of the Temple’s economy. Longenecker : – seeks to sever the link
between the Jerusalem “poor” and the collection in Gal : but argues purely from silence in
commentaries by Clement, Tertullian and Origen regarding the connection.

Chepey ; cf. Eus. HE ..–, ..– and Epiphanius Pan. .– with Bauckham :
– and Painter :  on James’ council of elders as resembling a chief priestly council and
that of the Damascus Document. On the tenability of Luke’s portrayal of apostolic unity, note
Dunn and Charlesworth  as a recent reconsideration of the relationship between works of the
law and pistis in primitive Christian thought.

This does not include the purifying sacrifices required if a Nazirite should come into contact with
the dead during the time in which the vows are effective; cf. Num :–, which requires eight
days of purification, two doves and a lamb.

Chepey : – examines I Sam :,  (LXX) to propose Samuel as generally understood
as a Nazirite in Second Temple biblical criticism; note also Ps : which groups Samuel with
Moses and Aaron as one who called on the name of the LORD, but specifies that he was not a
priest; cf. also Judg :, : on Samson as a lifelong Nazirite devotee but not an inmate of the
Tabernacle.
  
ordinary Jews equal to priests. Eusebius (HE ..–) preserves a
fragment from the second-century church historian named Hegesippus
on James suggestive of how certain additional practices could further
amplify this practice’s generally sanctifying force:
James, the brother of the Lord, the one named “the Just” by everybody
since the years of our Lord and up till our own time (since many are called
“James”), succeeded to (control of ) the assembly along with the apostles –
and he was holy from his mother’s womb: he did not drink wine or liquor
nor did he eat animate flesh, a razor never shaved his head, he did not
anoint himself with oil, and he never used a bath house. To him alone it
was permitted to enter the holy precinct since he wore no woolen garments
but only linen; he alone entered the Temple and could be found on his
knees begging remission (of sins) on the people’s behalf such that his knees
grew calloused like a camel’s due to his kneeling in obeisance to God and
begging remission (of sins) for the people. He was in fact named “the Just”
and “Oblias” – which in Greek translates to “bulwark of the people” and
“righteousness” – on account of his superfluity of righteousness, as the
prophets declare concerning him. (Tr. Painter : , adapted)
Epiphanius of Salamis later in the fourth century specified these behaviors as
Naziritic (Pan. ..–.) and specifically claimed that James was of
priestly rank, that he was a dedicated celibate from his birth (“holy from
the womb”) and even that he mimicked Elijah by effectually praying for rain
during a drought (Pan. ..–; cf. Jm :–). James was therefore
remembered in early Christian historiographical tradition as going above and
beyond the renunciations normally expected of Nazirites through his


Phil. leg. spec. .–; cf. generally Chepey .

Διαδέχεται τὴν ἐκκλησίαν μετὰ τῶν ἀποστόλων ὁ ἀδελφὸς τοῦ κυρίου Ἰάκωβος, ὁ ὀνομασθεὶς ὑπὸ
πάντων δίκαιος ἀπὸ τῶν τοῦ κυρίου χρόνων μέχρι καὶ ἡμῶν, ἐπεὶ πολλοὶ Ἰάκωβοι ἐκαλοῦντο,
οὗτος δὲ ἐκ κοιλίας μητρὸς αὐτοῦ ἅγιος ἦν, οἶνον καὶ σίκερα οὐκ ἔπιεν οὐδὲ ἔμψυχον ἔφαγεν, ξυρὸν
ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἀνέβη, ἔλαιον οὐκ ἠλείψατο, καὶ βαλανείῳ οὐκ ἐχρήσατο. τούτῳ μόνῳ
ἐξῆν εἰς τὰ ἅγια εἰσιέναι: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐρεοῦν ἐφόρει, ἀλλὰ σινδόνας. καὶ μόνος εἰσήρχετο εἰς τὸν ναὸν
ηὑρίσκετό τε κείμενος ἐπὶ τοῖς γόνασιν καὶ αἰτούμενος ὑπὲρ τοῦ λαοῦ ἄφεσιν, ὡς ἀπεσκληκέναι τὰ
γόνατα αὐτοῦ δίκην καμήλου, διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ κάμπτειν ἐπὶ γόνυ προσκυνοῦντα τῷ θεῷ καὶ αἰτεῖσθαι
ἄφεσιν τῷ λαῷ. διά γέ τοι τὴν ὑπερβολὴν τῆς δικαιοσύνης αὐτοῦ ἐκαλεῖτο ὁ δίκαιος καὶ ὠβλίας, ὅ
ἐστιν Ἑλληνιστὶ περιοχὴ τοῦ λαοῦ, καὶ δικαιοσύνη, ὡς οἱ προφῆται δηλοῦσιν περὶ αὐτοῦ. Chepey
: – qualifies Hegesippus in that he believes this passage describes popular practice in the
apostolic generation, but doubts that James could enter the Temple alone and pray as high priest.
This position, however, does not explain alternative Samaritan, Oniad and especially Essene
priesthoods; cf. also Painter : –.

Cf. Painter : –; Neusner : ; cf. also Taylor : , n.  on John the Baptist
and Bannos as Nazirites (Jos. AJ .; vita ).
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
abstention from meat, olive oil, bathing and all sexual relations, an amplified
purity regimen that had become closely linked to claims of priestly
authority.
If we accept that members of the apostolic community like James and
his fellow Nazirites presented themselves as an alternative priesthood to the
Roman period’s establishment, we should ask how they supported them-
selves and their claims against the chief priests. From both literary and
archaeological evidence it seems that practically the whole of Jerusalem’s
production was devoted to the service of the Temple cult, and so long-
term residents in Jerusalem either had to tap into or bypass that sacred
economy in order to maintain residence. Alternatives probably had to
be found very quickly since the earliest Jesus believers included many
Galileans and others from the Jewish diaspora, some of whom spent much
of their substance in donations, as when Barnabas of Cyprus sold a parcel
of his own real estate for the apostles’ common purse (Acts :–).
Then again, if we take seriously the description of the origins of Peter’s first
audiences (Acts :–, ; :), most of those few thousand people who
joined the apostles before the deacon Stephen’s martyrdom were perman-
ent residents elsewhere and probably did not have sufficient income to
support another residence. Much the same would have gone for the several
thousands of Torah-observant Jewish believers whom James claimed
among his number in Jerusalem at the time of Paul’s fateful Pentecost
visit in Acts . We should also recall Luke’s statement that a large number
of Jerusalem priests joined the Jesus movement after the election of the
seven deacons, who were themselves charged with distributing donations
among the apostolic needy after a dispute arose between advocates for the


We might even take the gospel’s storyline of John the Baptist as proposing the subjection of
Aaronide chief priestly claims to Davidic prerogative; cf. Lk :– on Mary attending as
accoucheur for her cousin Elizabeth, a “daughter of Aaron,” wife of a priest named Zechariah,
and mother of John the Baptist. Note also that the second-century Protevangelium of James (esp.
–) still more clearly characterizes Zechariah as a chief priest. Similarly, cf. Fonrobert  on
how the structure and didactic qualities of the letter of James in the New Testament function like
the ruling in Acts  as a series of reflections and rulings that could function as a mishnaic manual
of teaching and practice, a genre known from the DSS as produced by priests for scattered adherents
to their traditions; cf. also Bauckham  with Klawans  on authorship of the NT letter of
James and its use of priestly wisdom literature, especially the Wisdom of Ben Sira.

Cf. Levine : –; Sanders : –; Jeremias : – notes the low export
profile of Jerusalem and the apparent direction of all Judean manufacture and commercial
development to Temple service; cf. Jos. AJ .– on the , workers employed for
Herod’s renovations, as well as AJ . on the need to continue employment for those people ca.
AD – through a street paving scheme funded by the Temple treasury; cf. QpHab .–,
QM .–; Q .–, . on Essenes also as “the poor,” with Bauckham  on later
sectarian usage of similar titles.
  
Hebrew- and Greek-speaking widows (Acts :–). Since lower-order
priests typically depended in part on stipends derived from the Temple’s
tithes, it seems only reasonable that they would depend to a significant
extent on the new primitive Christian economy.
It therefore seems probable, or even necessary, that James and his
council of elders used collections like Paul’s to maintain solitary, displaced
and otherwise disadvantaged urban followers, to afford a public presence
through sacrifices, and to offer alternative support to celibates, Nazirites
and lesser priests in Jerusalem. The importance of this project in the view
of competing Jewish factions may be measured from the violence and
multiple trials and transfers resulting from Paul’s visit to the Temple after
delivering collected monies to James. In this scene, which determines the
storyline for the last third of the book of Acts, Paul conducted the sacrifices
required for four Nazirites who belonged to James’ community, but was
arrested in connection with a violent riot that broke out due to rumors
that he had brought a gentile friend of his into the Temple precincts (Acts
:–). The chief priest Ananias (r. –) and a certain zealot faction
were determined that Paul should be killed, whether judicially or other-
wise, although interference from pharisaic priests within the Temple’s
ruling council (Sanhedrin, cf. :–) and from Roman magistrates
and army units prevented them from succeeding (:–). Similar chief
priestly resentment was evident in the story Josephus tells about the
judicial killing of James in the year . From its placement in the larger
narrative, and because of the shared mention of Ananias, there is good
reason to believe that conflicts between lower-order priests and chief
priests were a critical factor in both the arrest of Paul and of the murder
of James. As Josephus reports (AJ .–):
Now the high priest Ananias daily advanced greatly in reputation and was
splendidly rewarded by the goodwill and esteem of the citizens, for he was
able to supply them with money – at any rate, he daily paid court to (the
procurator) Albinus and the (current) high priest with gifts. But Ananias
had slaves, utter rascals, who, combining operations with the most reckless
men, would go to the threshing floors and take by force the tithes of the
priests; nor did they refrain from beating those who refused to give.
The high priests were guilty of the same practices as Ananias’ slaves, and
no one could stop them. So it happened at that time that those of the priests
who in olden days were maintained by the tithes now starved to death.
(Tr. Feldman , adapted)


ὁ δὲ ἀρχιερεὺς Ἀνανίας καθ᾽ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν ἐπὶ μέγα προύκοπτε δόξης καὶ τῆς παρὰ τῶν πολιτῶν
εὐνοίας τε καὶ τιμῆς ἠξιοῦτο λαμπρῶς: ἦν γὰρ χρημάτων ποριστικός: καθ᾽ ἡμέραν γοῦν τὸν
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
This text mirrors a slightly earlier passage (AJ .–) and brackets a
number of stories of intramural Jewish strife that arose during the inter-
regnum between two Roman prefects. The last and longest story within
this unit relates the execution of James at the hands of a brash young chief
priest. This chief priest, named Ananus, took advantage of this political
interruption to convene a kangaroo court that condemned and executed
James for having broken Mosaic Law, even though strict members of the
other purity factions vehemently opposed this maneuver and quickly
deposed him. The position of this account between two notices of high
priestly embezzlement, the opportunism, the reputation of James’ com-
munity as strictly Torah-observant, and the New Testament evidence for
the apostles sending money to Judea on multiple occasions, indicate that
Ananus succeeded where Ananias failed: that is, he succeeded in killing
James, and thereby destroyed a chief member of a rival purity coalition and
compromised the flow of donations diverted away from the Temple’s
treasuries. This program, thanks to the fund-raising efforts of mobile
apostles such as Paul, connected Diaspora believers with others who were
attracted to Jesus’ following, people belonging to the whole range of
Second Temple factions. This broad appeal was based on a modified
sacred economy that was funded by a growing network of adherents
among the constituency traditionally associated with the Jerusalem
Temple, and also on a shared discipline of life outlined by a set of
scriptural hermeneutics that involved an innovative usage of Israelite royal
traditions. These qualities, when combined with the ascetic regimes prac-
ticed by James and certain other early Christians, allowed this purity
coalition to challenge the chief priestly establishment in Jerusalem with
some appreciable success for at least a few decades.

Ἀλβῖνον καὶ τὸν ἀρχιερέα δώροις ἐθεράπευεν. εἶχεν δ’ οἰκέτας πάνυ μοχθηρούς, οἳ
συναναστρεφόμενοι τοῖς θρασυτάτοις ἐπὶ τὰς ἅλωνας πορευόμενοι τὰς τῶν ἱερέων δεκάτας
ἐλάμβανον βιαζόμενοι καὶ τοὺς μὴ διδόντας οὐκ ἀπείχοντο τύπτειν, οἵ τε ἀρχιερεῖς ὅμοια τοῖς
ἐκείνου δούλοις ἔπρασσον μηδενὸς κωλύειν δυναμένου. καὶ τῶν ἱερέων τοὺς πάλαι ταῖς δεκάταις
τρεφομένους τότε συνέβαινε θνήσκειν τροφῆς ἀπορίᾳ. Cf. Painter : –; for similar
factional disputes, cf. Jos. AJ .–, –, also Begg  and Cook  on earlier
Levitical protests against Aaronide dominance.

Painter : – also examines the different martyrdom narrative in Hegesippus apud Eus. HE
..– (cp. Epiphanius Pan. ..–), in which Pharisees and scribes, and not the chief
priests, orchestrated a three-stage execution of James in retaliation for his response to their public
query concerning “the door of Jesus.” In connection with the theme of persons qualifying for the
priesthood despite their lineage, note that in this episode a Rechabite protested and identified James
as “the Just”; cf. Jeremiah  on Rechabites as men of the tribe of Benjamin who had apparently
been included within the Aaronide priestly ranks by virtue of their vow to abstain from alcohol.
  

 James Remembered, or The Uses of Discipline

Unfortunately, the violent deaths of Paul, James and Peter all occurred in
quick succession and were themselves soon followed by the destruction of
the Temple by Titus in the course of the First Jewish Revolt (AD
–/). A second revolt that occurred during Trajan’s Parthian cam-
paign (ca. –) seems to have seriously depleted the Jewish popula-
tions of Egypt, Cyprus and Cyrenaica. Later, the Bar Kokhba revolt
(–/) similarly depopulated Judea of Jewish inhabitants and put an
end to the line of Jewish Christian bishops in Jerusalem, an event which
must have compromised, if not severed, lines of tradition regarding apos-
tolic intentions within the factional discourse of their day. We should
therefore consider the practices of celibacy of judaizing sects such as the
Ebionites and also of gnostic or anti-Jewish sects such as the Marcionites as
the result of partial memory loss, as instances of misremembering the
political utility of primitive Christian celibacy as a weapon in a particular
kind of discursive warfare. Prohibitions against marriage of varying
intensity may also be found among encratites – in whose ranks Eusebius
and Jerome (Chron. ad annum ) included Tatian, author of a Syriac
Gospel harmonization – or among Montanists such as Tertuallian of
Carthage (Epistula ad Uxorem .; cf. I Tim :,  against :,
:–). We can also discern discomfort with Christian sexual relations
in the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas, in which novelette the apostle dis-
rupted many marriages and betrothals and converted the women of these
unions to committed celibacy as a necessary element of conversion.
We might similarly characterize the pre-monastic Syrian traditions of
angel-like wandering desert ascetics and the sworn celibate groups who
served as the beating heart of urban Christian congregations in Edessa and
elsewhere, although these persons are not known to have rejected certain
apostolic writing, nor did they reckon that Jesus and the apostles were
divided into irreconcilable theological camps, as Marcion did. Much the
same could be said for later Egyptian anchorites and cenobites such as
Anthony and Pachomius, as well as Western admirers such as John Cassian


See Horbury  for a recent treatment of both this and the Hadrianic revolt.

Cf. Eus. HE . on the change from Jewish to gentile bishops after Hadrian; cf. also Eck  and
Geiger .

Note for example the exalted characterizations of James as dominant over Peter and opposed to Paul
in Gospel of the Hebrews, the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions and Nag Hammadi texts – cf.
generally Painter .

Cf. Ashbrook Harvey ; Brock .
 Contesting the Jerusalem Temple 
and Benedict of Nursia, although these persons may have resembled
apostolic practice more closely in their communal economic
organization. In other words, we should understand later Christian groups
as partially remembering and variously repurposing elements of apostolic
practice with more or less accuracy. These practices, then, after their
developers such as James became obscure figures and precise knowledge
of their original competitive goals and discursive context faded, became
“free radicals,” unstable particles that could react and combine with a
great number of conflicting sectarian claims and purposes for centuries
to come. An important difference among these groups, however, was
whether they would formulate their ascetic concepts through harmonizing
possibly contradictory texts reckoned as genuinely apostolic (hence katho-
likos, “according to the whole”), or whether they would choose favored
authors and ideas among those texts (hence haeresis, “choice”), as if the
earliest Christians belonged to miniature internal factions more than to a
coalition.
In considering the larger comparative prospects of this volume, I submit
that intensified scholarly focus on the kinds of mutual support and
political utility offered by various types of premodern celibates would
present useful contrasts to our late modern stories and trends of solitari-
ness, childlessness, sexual dis-orientation and social alienation. Such a
focus seems all the more potentially fruitful in view of the growing
popularity among many traditional Christians in the US of ideas such as
the one termed “The Benedict Option.” This term in fact expresses not
so much a choice but an imperative that pushes traditional Christian
laypersons toward setting aside American middle-class norms and reinte-
grating married and celibate living through shared disciplines of life
derived from writings such as Benedict’s famous Rule. In this model, a
parish’s life would properly be centered on a monastic establishment that
would act as the hub of a congregation’s daily activity and that would be
anchored by a small circle of vowed celibates. All members of such parishes
or congregations, whether single or not, would also make large and
significant common investments in commensality, hospitality, shared
housing and transportation, medicine, education and engagement in small
politics, all at the local level. There are a number of reasons why such a
renewal and extension of monastic discipline makes good sense – consider,
for example, the rise of modern sex trafficking to public visibility since the
late s. As Kyle Harper (, , ) has recently argued, early

A term coined in Dreher ; cf. more particularly Dreher .
  
Christian opposition toward porneia broadly defined was critical toward
the downfall of the late ancient Mediterranean slave trade, of which trade
both master–slave sexual relations and prostitution were crucial compon-
ents. Perhaps such a renewal could again disrupt such commerce, and
possibly also work to solve certain problems of alienation, familial break-
down, overtaxed social welfare programs and failures of basic mutual
support that mark many populations even in our postindustrial world.
I would like to think that scholars of premodern ascetic practice could
make some fitting contribution to, or evaluation of, such efforts. If nothing
else, we could help interested people count the problems and costs
involved in such present-day renunciation.
Late Antique Christianity: The Rise of the
Ideal of Being Single
  

Singles and Singleness in the Christian Epigraphic

Evidence from Rome (c. – CE)*
Thomas Goessens

 Introduction
Being single is not a modern invention, it is a historical phenomenon worthy
of study alongside the situation of being married or the institution of marriage.
Today, at least in Western society, a single lifestyle is considered a viable
alternative to married life. Until recently, however, the acceptance of not being
in a spousal relationship had been heavily undermined by social and cultural
traditions, as well as economic and legal disadvantages. In many cultures, there
was one particular exception for which a single lifestyle was not only generally
accepted, but in many cases even required: religious celibacy and asceticism.
Thus, singleness as a social situation or identity can be broken down into a
voluntary and involuntary choice. The former is often religiously motivated,
whereas the latter is in most cases caused by forms of social exclusion.
Voluntary singleness in the Graeco-Roman world is documented in the
surviving literary evidence, and it has been extensively studied by modern
scholars working on the pagan and the Judaeo-Christian traditions.
Involuntary singleness, on the other hand, is underrepresented both in
literary texts from Antiquity and in the modern study of this period.

* I am grateful to Ray Laurence and Anne Alwis for their recommendations on an earlier draft of this
chapter and for improving the English text. I would also like to thank the two anonymous referees
for their constructive comments, which greatly contributed to improving this chapter. Naturally, all
remaining errors are my responsibility. Most importantly, I would like to acknowledge the
groundbreaking work by the late Ilse Mueller, which paved the way for the use of epigraphic
documents as a source for assessing singles in the Roman world.

Brown  is still standard literature on the matter of asceticism in the ancient world. More recent
studies include Finn  and Vuolanto . On the history of celibacy, see Abbott  and
Hunter .

Notable for their primary focus on epigraphic documents are Janssens  and Mueller . The
former’s focus is on the Christian inscriptions from Rome (ICUR volumes I–VII). Although Janssens
excludes singles as a specific category, his work still remains standard literature on the Christian
family, and it highlights groups of potential singles. Mueller’s study is based on a large sample from
CIL VI and analyses the commemorative patterns of women below the senatorial and
equestrian ranks.


  
Within the extensive epigraphic evidence from Antiquity, there lies an
untapped resource for the study of singleness – voluntary or involuntary.
The focus of this chapter is upon the early Christian funerary inscriptions
from the city of Rome, with a view to recovering the time-depth of
singleness. The number of inscriptions allows for a quantitative and
statistical study of ‘singles’ within the context of a wider study of familial
commemoration in early Christian Rome.

 The Christian Epigraphic Evidence from Rome

The early Christian inscriptions from the city of Rome constitute a unique
archive of epigraphic documents. It is the major underlying source of
evidence in a number of groundbreaking studies. Over , inscriptions
survive – either integrally or fragmentarily – through which Rome’s social,
cultural and political history during the transition from the pagan intellec-
tual centre to the heart of the Christian West is reflected. The vast majority
of this epigraphic evidence consists of funerary inscriptions, dedicated to one
or more individuals. In almost , epitaphs, in addition to the name of
the deceased, it is possible to identify biometric indications (age at death,
length of marriage), and/or chronological indications (date of death, date of
birth), and/or relational indications (commemorator, other family
members). The presence of these details allows for a reconstruction, at least
partially, of an individual’s familial status at the time of death and can be
extended to identify the key features of singleness.


This chapter represents an extension and application to the copious surviving Christian epigraphic
evidence of Laes’s terminological study in this volume. At the same time, it provides a parallel
demographic analysis to Huebner’s research on the Roman census papyri.

For demographic studies using the large ICUR sample, see Nordberg  and Carletti  (age at
marriage), Janssens  (family structures and religious life) and Harper  (seasonality
of death).

All the Christian inscriptions of Rome have been edited in the Inscriptiones Christianae Urbis Romae
Septimo Saeculo Anteriores: Nova Series (ICUR). A first series of Christian inscriptions from Rome was
edited under the same title by Giovanni Battista de Rossi in two volumes between  and 
with a supplement edited by Giuseppe Gatti in . The nova series was edited between  and
, and is organised geographically according to the ancient roads leading to Rome. Volumes
I () and II () were edited by Angelo Silvagni, volume III () by Silvagni and Antonio
Ferrua, volumes IV to VIII (, , ,  and  respectively) by Ferrua, volume IX
() by Ferrua and Danilo Mazzoleni and volume X () by Mazzoleni and Carlo Carletti.
A number of Christian inscriptions have also been edited in the sixth volume of CIL, yet they were
subsequently included in the nova series. This is also the case for inscriptions originating from Rome
in Diehl’s Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres (ILCV).

The following data has been obtained through the analysis of a custom-built database. It contains all
the relevant Christian inscriptions from Rome which have at least one of the following elements: the
 Singles and Singleness 
The provenance of these inscriptions is almost exclusively from the
numerous catacombs located along the major roads leading to the city.
The fact that these burial complexes were mostly underground and were at
a later stage turned into places of worship, often accompanied by the
construction of churches, has contributed considerably to their survival in
such large quantities. As a result, this epigraphic sample offers an insight
into the commemorative patterns and family structures of Rome’s early
Christian communities. Chronologically, the inscriptions range from the
beginning of the third to the middle of the seventh century CE. The vast
majority, however, can be dated to a rather limited period, from the death
of Constantine the Great to the first decades of the fifth century. As a
result, it is possible to observe changes in family structures in the Late
Antique metropolis, and at the same time reconstruct the social dynamics
of the Christian communities during this period. Finally, and most
importantly, the age of the deceased at the time of death is more frequently
present in Christian inscriptions than in their non-Christian counterparts.
Combining these biometric indications with the commemorative relation-
ships enables us to reconstruct not only family structures but also at the
same time the life course of both individuals and communities alike. This
is vital with regard to the identification of singles in the epigraphic record,
for the reconstruction of an ‘average’ life course allows for some cases that
do not conform to the general pattern to be highlighted.
There are, on the other hand, two important caveats that need to be
considered in terms of the quantity and quality of the surviving epigraphic
evidence. Looking at the numbers, though impressive at first glance, it is
difficult to determine how representative this sample is for the city’s
population, as it only reflects a fraction of the total epigraphic production
from that period. The members of the social elite, who often opted for a

age at death, a commemorative relationship or the date of death. These are the three most common
indications found in the Christian funerary evidence from Rome, besides the deceased’s name. If an
inscription contains only the name of the deceased – whether or not with indications other than the
three mentioned – it has been disregarded.
The dataset itself contains , Latin, Greek and bilingual inscriptions. In total ,
individuals can be singled out in the surviving Christian funerary inscriptions from the city of
Rome about whom at least one of the three elements – age, date of death, commemorative
relationship – has survived. The vast majority of the inscriptions are in Latin (, = .%),
a small number are in Greek (, = .%) and a handful are bilingual ( = .%).

See Chart . The dramatic drop in numbers from  CE onwards is caused by the fact that
catacombs were gradually abandoned. The traumatic Visigoth siege revealed that their location
outside the Aurelian Walls was unsafe. Furthermore, there were more aboveground burials as a result
of which the epitaphs were more prone to reuse and destruction in later times. See Mazzoleni
: .
  
private burial location rather than inside the catacombs, are under-
represented. Slaves and freedmen are invisible due to the new Christian
epigraphic habit, which would not emphasise the social status of the
deceased. This difficulty of ascertaining the deceased’s social status is
further hampered by the changes in onomastic habit, with many of the
deceased having only one name instead of the tria nomina. In other
words, except for those epitaphs that explicitly mention social status, the
only possible deduction is that the commemorators were able to pay for
both a burial place (loculus) and an epitaph (titulus).
The second and perhaps most important point of attention is that
funerary inscriptions should always be approached in terms of their pri-
mary function as a commemoration of the deceased. They contain only the
specific information which the commemorator wanted to be remembered.
They are snapshots of people’s lives at the precise moment of their deaths,
which at best only allows for a partial reconstruction of the deceased’s life
course and family structure. ‘Private’ epitaphs will thus never be on the
same level as ‘official’ census documents. Ultimately, it was the privilege
of the commemorator to include whatever information was deemed
worthy of being inscribed and thus being eternalised.
Finally, as a result of the nature of the epigraphic evidence, it is necessary
that the terms ‘single’ and ‘singleness’, as intended in this chapter, are
properly defined. Their usage is limited to those individuals of a marriage-
able age or older who were not in a spousal relationship at the time of their
deaths, regardless of the state of singleness being voluntary or involuntary.
The reason for this specific definition lies in the nature of funerary epig-
raphy. The relatively limited information contained within inscriptions
means that certain categories of ‘singles’, such as divorcées, are virtually
undetectable. This is due to the clear emphasis on marriage and a striking
absence of indications about separation, divorce and remarriage. It should
also be mentioned that in all but a few rare instances, it is impossible to
ascertain the reason behind an individual’s state of singleness. Therefore, the
focus will concentrate on people who deliberately, or for reasons beyond
their control, were unmarried at the time of death.


The only exceptions are inscriptions in which the deceased is styled as vir clarissimus, used to
designate men of senatorial rank. Related forms were also bestowed upon their family members (e.g.
clarissima femina). On the usage of the title, see Löhken  and Groß-Albenhausen .

Kajanto . The gradual disappearance of the tria nomina in favour of an ‘einnamig’ onomastic
formula had begun in the third century CE and was by no means a Christian novelty. See also
Mazzoleni : –.

See Huebner, in this volume.
 Singles and Singleness 

 Identifying Epigraphic Singles

. Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia

As a starting point for the analysis of singles present in the early Christian
funerary inscriptions of Rome, it is worthwhile looking at three specific
examples. The inscriptions of Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia reveal
that all three women nowadays qualify as ‘singles’. This is evident from the
details about their respective lives, recorded in their epitaphs. As a result,
we are able to reconstruct the structure of their families and their life
course, as well as to positively identify them as singles. A closer look at the
inscriptions reveals the elements within their epitaphs that make such an
assumption compelling.
Maximilla’s tomb was located in the Catacomb of Saint Sebastian and
can be dated to the year . The accompanying epitaph contains the
eulogy for the fifty-year-old woman. She was Pannonian by birth and the
daughter of a diaconus. Her commemorator, Lucceia, styled herself as
the daughter of Viventius, a man of senatorial rank, former urban prefect
in Rome and praetorian prefect of Gaul. Lucceia could also claim Panno-
nian origin through her father. Out of friendship and admiration for the
deceased, she took it upon herself to bury Maximilla along with her
mother, Nunita, who had passed away at the age of seventy. Maximilla
is described as a ‘virgo’ and an ‘ancilla Dei’. In the inscription, she is also
remembered for having professed an extraordinary faith in God and for
having led an exemplary Christian lifestyle. Both these indications and
the absence of a spousal commemorative relationship allow us to deduce


CIL VI,  = ICUR V, : Maximilla poten[s servare federa C]˹rh˺isti propositumque fidem
mors abstulit omnia vitae sed melius vivit vitam Cristi qui sperat eternam si animo recolat fidem / datam
omn[ibus] unam tunc poterit mors ipsa mori cum tempore toto vita perennis eri˹t˺ veniam dabit omnibus
unam sed meritis / [ve]˹c˺etans su[per h]anc Lucceia fecisti nam m˹e˺mor ipsa tui cum reddis vota sepulcri
ostendes mentem religiosa vita repleta mirae fide / et innocentiae optimique propositi Maximilla virgo
ancilla dei civis Pannonia que / vixit annis n(umero) L huic sepulturae condita est a {L} Lucceia c
(larissima) f(emina) filia Viventi c(larissimae) r(ecordationis) v(iri) ex praefecto / pretorio et urbis
aeternae prop˹te˺r amicitiam sibi coniuntam que diem clusit una cum matre / sua pariter Nunita que
fuit matrona diaconis et vixit annis n(umero) LXX die IIII Non(as) Octobr(es) FFll(aviis) / Timasio et
Promoto vv(viris) cc(larissimis) conss(ulibus).

PLRE I s.v. Viventius.

Brown : – as an example of a consecrated virgin known to us solely through the
epigraphic evidence. Note that Brown has the name of the commemorator incorrectly rendered
as Ucceia and refers to her wrongfully as the wife of Viventius; Borg :  on the so-called
Mausoleum of Viventius; Sághy : – on the existence of a Pannonian cemetery in the
Catacomb of Saint Sebastian.
  
that she had never married during her life, but instead had opted for a life
of consecrated virginity.
The example of Sophrosyne and Vindicia is less well known, yet it
reveals two singles within the same family. Originally located in the
Catacomb of Praetextatus, the epitaph can be dated to the year . It
contains, in the form of a metrical inscription, a commemoration by Cassia
Vindicia, the daughter of Cassius Vindicius. She fulfilled the last wishes of
her aunt, Cassia Sophrosyne, to bury her remains next to those of her
brother, Vindicius. Her aunt wanted this because she deeply admired her
brother’s conduct in life. Vindicia styled herself as a ‘virgo Deo dedicata’,
her aunt as a ‘virgo sacra’ and respectable for her abstinence. Although
there is no indication regarding the age of the deceased, it seems probable
that Sophrosyne was already past the age at which she would have been
sought-after as a bride. As it appears, both Sophrosyne and her niece,
Vindicia, had voluntarily opted for a life of consecrated virginity in the
service of God.
These three cases of single individuals are, without any doubt, invalu-
able. They offer us insights into the lives of three single women living in
the city of Rome at the end of the fourth and the beginning of the fifth
century CE. Unfortunately, these examples of detailed funerary inscrip-
tions are exceedingly rare, even in this vast epigraphic sample. Further-
more, all three are distinctly similar to one another, but also to the more
illustrious single women mentioned in the literary tradition. We are clearly
dealing with single females whose choice of being single appears to have
been largely based upon religious motivations. In addition, all three were
members of the social and economic elite. In a way, Maximilla, Sophro-
syne and Vindicia were not that different from Paula, Marcella or Deme-
trias, yet they had ‘no Jerome to make [them] famous’. It seems almost
unfair that their absence from the latter’s ascetic propaganda has denied
them a place in history.
The cases of Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia reveal that the most
visible examples of singles in the Christian epigraphic evidence are


ICUR V, : Hoc tumulo continetur religiosa germa/nitas Cassiorum Vindici vite probabilis / et
Sofrosynes sacre virgines venerabilis / continentia deniq(ue) vix frater ad ma/turitatem veniens annos
institu/to superavit adeo ut suos cinere/s soror laude precepua sepulcro / eius poscere adgregari quod san/
ctum et spiritale desiderium post obi/tum utriusque parilis propositi deo dica/ta virgo Vindicia patris et
amite procu/ravit die pr(idie) Idus Aprilis dd(ominis) nn(ostris) Arcadio V / et Ho(no)rio V.
 
Janssens : . Brown : .

Kurdock . This was the case with Anicia Demetrias, whose mother and grandmother sought
the advice of both Jerome and Pelagius on the practical aspects of becoming and being a virgin
dedicated to God. Similarly, Katz  on the education of the young Paula.
 Singles and Singleness 
consecrated virgins belonging the social elite. It proves, however, impos-
sible to generalise about this particular form of single life among the other
social strata of Rome’s population in the fourth and fifth century CE.
On the other hand, their scarcity and apparent homogeneity notwith-
standing, these examples are of paramount importance for illustrating
how singles or potential singles can be identified in the epigraphic
evidence. In all three cases, a number of words or indications are
found that are undeniably associated with single life. Furthermore,
any reference to a spousal relationship is absent. The level of detail
present in both inscriptions suggests that if Maximilla, Sophrosyne
and Vindicia were married, there would be an indication of their marital
status, either implicit or explicit. Therefore, if we want to ascertain the
presence of other single individuals in the epigraphic evidence originating
from the Roman catacombs, both these elements need to be analysed in
detail.

. Less Is More: Epigraphic Brevity and Self-commemoration

The fact that an individual was single can be mentioned both explicitly,
through the use of specific terminology, and implicitly, through the
absence of a spousal relationship. The latter is by far the more numerous.
Many epitaphs contain only the name of the deceased, and thus implicitly
also their gender, along with other funerary terminology or formulaic
expressions. The majority lack an explicit indication of the relationship
between deceased and commemorator or other individuals. The premise
that this absence of commemorative relationship indicates that the
deceased was single at the time of death is, of course, unsustainable. It
rather implies that the commemorator considered additional information
irrelevant and not worthy of mentioning. Although it cannot be excluded
that among these inscriptions there are actual singles, the impossibility of
ascertaining the marital status of the deceased due to the lack of additional
indications renders these cases unsuitable for the present study.
An interesting group of inscriptions reveals that the deceased could have
made arrangements for their own commemoration. These self-
commemorations are indicated by the presence of sibi and/or se vivus/a.
These arrangements could sometimes also include one or more relatives of


ICUR I,  (= ICUR VI,  = ILCV ) Possibly ICUR V,  and e, although in
both inscriptions the age has not been preserved.
  
the self-commemorating individual. In most cases, however, there is no
trace of other individuals and their relationship to the deceased, nor of
their involvement in these funerary arrangements. In the Christian epi-
graphic evidence from Rome, there are eighty-eight such cases of male and
sixty-five cases of female self-commemoration. It would, of course, be
tempting to identify these individuals as singles.
The question whether this is the case is problematic due to the lack of
additional information. Most importantly, the age at death is hardly ever
mentioned in these inscriptions. This should not come as a surprise, as
these inscriptions were made before the deaths of these self-
commemorating individuals. Planning one’s own funeral and burial
implies that one had reached the age at which such arrangements could
be personally made. Furthermore, it is conceivable that the self-
commemoration was driven by the fact that there was no one else to
perform these arrangements. One of the possible reasons for this is that the
deceased was single at the time of death. However, without any certainty
regarding the true motive for taking matters into one’s own hands, these
cases ought to be considered with the greatest caution. The presence of
singles in these cases of individual self-commemoration can neither be
excluded nor confirmed.

. Terminological Approach

The search for implicit singles has thus far proved rather disappointing.
The examples of Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia illustrate that there
is an alternative approach. Specific terminology which is either intrinsically
associated with or which can hint at the individual being single could
potentially reveal a number of single individuals. The difficulty of this
method lies in determining what terms indicate a ‘single’ person. If a
commemorator wanted to highlight that the deceased was single, what
terminology would have been available to express this social situation?
The most obvious choice, to begin with, is the use of the word caelebs.
Although it is frequently encountered in legal sources, its use in non-
Christian inscriptions is almost exclusively limited to military diplomas.
Among the privileges granted to veterans, it appears in the formula


An example of this habit is ICUR V, . In this particular instance the dedicator, Aurelius
Sosibius, made the monument for himself, his wife and his daughter.

As has been convincingly evidenced by Laes in his introduction to this volume.

On the definition and use of caelebs by ancient authors, see Laes, in this volume, pp. –.
 Singles and Singleness 
conubium cum uxoribus quas tunc habuissent cum est civitas iis data aut si qui
caelibes essent cum iis quas postea duxissent. In the surviving Latin Christian
inscriptions, it only appears twice: in a dedicatory inscription from Spain
from the mid-sixth century in which the bishop Justinianus is described as
being ‘caelebs’, and in a funerary inscription from Southern Gaul, for a
young woman named Celsa, dated to  CE. There are, however, no
occurrences of this term among the Christian funerary inscriptions from
Rome, which seems to suggest that caelebs was not a term utilised in funerary
epigraphy from Rome. This absence is duplicated in the use of the Greek
equivalents, agamos/ἄγαμος, anandros/ἄνανδρος and eïtheos/ἠίθεος.
The feminine vidua can also be used in order to denote an unmarried
woman, as is clear from passages in Livy and Seneca, and from the Digest.
In Christian epigraphy, it is nearly impossible to assess whether vidua is to
be interpreted in the particular sense of ‘unmarried’. Of the thirty-six
viduae present in the surviving evidence, there are eleven women whose
age is mentioned, ranging from  to . In most cases, the viduae are over
 years old. For over a third of the viduae, there is a reference to a spousal
relationship in the form of the length of marriage, the use of univir(i)a,
or the relationship between deceased and commemorator, e.g. children
commemorating their deceased widowed mother. For the other ‘widows’,
a marriage reference is either lacking, or the inscriptions have survived
in a fragmentary state. There is only one case where a vidua might
be single. This leads us to conclude that the term reflects the fact that
the women in question lived to a considerable age and suggests, either
explicitly or implicitly, that these widows would not remarry. The legal

Phang , for a detailed study on the military diplomas and the implications of the status of
caelebs. In Greek diplomas, the term agamos/ἄγαμος is used.

CIL II/,  = ILCV  = CLEHisp : . . . Iustinianus caelebs pontifex sacer[dos] . . .

CLE  = ILCV : . . . nomine Celsa hic / corpus caelebem nam / spiritum caelo refudit / almo . . .

Liv. ..: se rectius viduam et illum caelibem futurum fuisse contendere quam cum impari iungi; Sen.
Her. Fur. –: non vicit illum caelibis semper tori / regina gentis vidua Thermodontiae. From these
passages it seems that vidua would be the female equivalent of (the masculine) caelebs; Dig.
...: (Labeo): “viduam” non solum eam, quae aliquando nupta fuisset, sed eam quoque
mulierem, quae virum non habuisset, appellari ait Labeo: quia vidua sic dicta est quasi vecors,
vesanus, qui sine corde aut sanitate esset: similiter viduam dictam esse sine duitate.

See Table .

There are only four examples of younger widows who are styled as such (ICUR I, ; ICUR II,
; ICUR V,  and ICUR VII, , aged , ,  and  respectively). Of these four
examples, two were married, whereas for the other two any implicit or explicit indication is missing.

ICUR I, : The deceased is styled as a vidua Dei; however, due to the destitute content of the
epitaph it is unclear whether this should be interpreted as ‘having been married, but dedicated her
life to God after having been widowed’ or as ‘never married, thus “single” and dedicated to God’.
Furthermore, this inscription is the only known occurrence of a vidua Dei, and it is therefore even
more problematic to unravel its true nature.
  
sense of vidua as the feminine equivalent of caelebs is unattested in the
Christian epigraphic evidence. It should be noted that the Greek equivalent
chera/χήρα has only one occurrence in the ICUR and refers to an actual
widow commemorated by her daughter. Finally, it is worth pointing out
that the masculine form is found if rarely, but relates only to men ‘bereft of
their spouse’ (i.e. a widower). Thus, this term in epitaphs refers to singles
who had been married, but whose spouse died before them – a usage rather
different from that found in the literary texts, which use this word to refer
to a caelebs.
Since there is no one-to-one accordance of a specific term with the
notion of ‘single’, other terminology needs to be considered. It is necessary
to broaden the search by looking at concepts that are closely related to that
of singleness. One of these concepts intrinsically associated with single life
is that of virginity. The Latin virgo often appears in the Christian evidence,
mostly for women but also for a small number of men. Its Greek
counterpart parthenos/παρθένος, on the other hand, is only attested for
women.
In the epigraphic record, virgo occurs as a qualification for girls and
young women up to the age of , with a few notable exceptions. In total,
there are seventy-two female virgines, of whom only three can be ascer-
tained to have been married. If both age at death and the commemora-
tive relationship are combined, it is possible to identify a number of cases
in which these virgins are almost certainly singles. The number of male
virgines totals eight, and they are aged between  and . One of them
was married. These figures suggest that in most cases the virgines are

ICUR IX, : [Φλαβί]α ᾿Αρκὰς χήρα ἥτις / [ἔζησε]ν αἴτη πε´ μετρὶ / [γλυκυ]τάτῃ Φλαβία
Θεοφίλα θυγάτηρ ἐποίησεν.

In fact, there is only one widower attested (ICUR IV, ) in the Christian inscriptions
from Rome.

It is much less frequently found in non-Christian Latin inscriptions. On the semantic evolution of
virgo in Classical Latin prose and poetry, see Watson .

See Table .

ILCV ; ICUR II,  and ICUR V,   (the virgines are aged ,  and  respectively).

The most remarkable is ICUR II,  = ICUR VI, , which contains a commemoration for
the -year old Victoria by her parents. She is styled both as virgo and sanctissima filia. It seems very
likely that Victoria was in fact single at the time of her death. For the other remaining older virgines
(ICUR III, a (aged ); ICUR IX,  (aged ); ICUR VIII,  (aged ) and ICUR
VII,  (aged )), with the exception of Maximilla, there is no commemorative relationship
mentioned in the inscription. Therefore, it is impossible to determine whether virgo should be
interpreted as ‘single’ in these cases.

ICUR IV, : Dilectissimo marito anime dulcissime Alexio lectori / de Fullonices qui vixit mecum
ann(os) XV iunctus mihi ann(orum) XVI / virgo ad virgine cuius nunquam amartudinem h(a)bui / cesce
in pace cum sanctis cum quos mereris / dep(ositus) VIIIX Kal(endas) Ianu(arias). Note that the widow
describes herself also as a virgo.
 Singles and Singleness 
indeed singles and that their denomination as ‘virgins’ highlight the fact
that they never were in any form of relationship. Yet, given the presence of
married virgines, it cannot be excluded that this term could also be used as
an epithet underlining the chaste, albeit married, lifestyle of the deceased.
Closely related to virgo are the Latin terms virginius and its feminine
counterpart, virginia. Both, however, refer almost exclusively to married
people. Their use is very rare in pagan inscriptions, and both terms seem to
be a novelty introduced into the epigraphic tradition by Christian com-
munities. The term virginius/a is used as a synonym for coniunx, compar,
maritus and uxor, which seems to stress, or at least clearify, that the
deceased or commemorator had been a virgin at the time of marriage. In
other words, for the deceased or the commemorator, it was the first
marriage. The same also applies to the Greek parthenikos/παρθενικός
and parthenike/παρθενική.
A specific category are the virgins dedicated to God, the so-called
virgines Dei. This group consists exclusively of women who dedicated their
lives to God, whilst abstaining from any other relationship. The examples
of Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia fall in this category. They are not
styled as mere virgines, but as a virgo Dei, virgo Dei dedicata and virgo sacra
respectively. Yet, unlike the ‘ordinary’ virgines, those explicitly committed
to God are relatively rare. Besides the already mentioned examples of
Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia, there are only five other identifiable
consecrated virgins whose age at death is known. Perhaps the most
interesting among these is the epitaph of Lucilla. Though only fragmen-
tarily preserved, it reveals a virgo Dei who died at the age of  and is
described as an unica parens pauperum. In other words, she was not only
unmarried, but she cared as a mother for the poor. The inscription is
remarkable in that Lucilla as virgo Dei rejected traditional family life, yet at
the same time, she fulfilled the role of parens for the poor, renouncing the
riches of this world.
Although the evidence suggests that the dedicated virgins were styled as
such only after they had reached a certain age, the example of Capitolina
Concordia seems to contradict this notion. Her age is not recorded, but
she is described as both a totius innocentiae puella and a virgo Dei, which


See Janssens : –.

Laes  offers a detailed studied of the presence of male virgins in the surviving epigraphic
evidence.

See Table .

ICUR VII,  = ICUR VII, : benemerenti Lucilla[e virgi]/ni dei quae fuit in corp[ore suo] /
ann(is) XXXVIIII unica par[ens paupe]/rum et [—] / [—]
  
possibly reveals a more affectionate usage of the latter. Perhaps the most
astonishing inscription is that of Ioviniana, who is described as a virgo
sanctae memoriae, but at the same time was a mother and a wife. Both
these cases suggest that although the majority of dedicated virgins were
indeed singles, there is in some cases a less strict definition of a virgo Dei.
Similar to the ‘virgins of God’ are the deceased styled as servi or ancillae
Dei or Christi. The evidence, however, suggests that this epithet is referring
to the religious devotion of the deceased, rather than to the conscious
ascetic lifestyle associated with the virgines Dei. This is noticeable in an
inscription by Pope Damasus in which he styles himself a servus Dei when
piously remembering a group of martyrs. Of the twenty-one servi Dei
present in the ICUR, the age has been preserved for three of them. Only
one of these three can be ascertained to have been married. For the other
seventeen individuals, it cannot be established whether these cases should
be considered as potential singles, or if the indication servus Dei is a purely
commemorative epithet, with no reference whatsoever to the deceased’s
marital status. The occurrences of the feminine ancilla Dei are more
revealing in that in three of the thirty-six cases the deceased women are
actually married. Furthermore, in twelve instances the age of death is
mentioned, telling us that the term was used almost exclusively for an adult

ICUR III, : Capitolina Con/cordia totius / innocentiae / puella virgo d(ei).

ICUR V,  = ILCV  = AE , : [Redem]pto(?) fil(io) q(ui) vix(it) an(nos) p(lus) m
(inus) XI d(epositus) in p(ace) / [co]ns(ulatu) Marcellini et Probini item Io/[viniana sanctae m](e)m
(oriae) virgo que vix(it) an(nos) p(lus) m(inus) XLI fuit mihi / in con[ducto an(nos)] p(lus) m(inus)
XXIIII d(eposita) in p(ace) d(ie) VI Kal(endas) Mart(ias) cons(ulatu) / Aman[ti et Al]bini. It should,
however, be noted that the epithet sanctae memoriae is usually reserved for priests (presbyteri) and
bishops (episcopi).

ICUR IX,  = ILCV a: [Beatissi]morum martyrum cultor / [inc]ola nunc Christi fuerat
Carthaginis an[te] / tempore quo gladius secuit pia viscera matris / sanguine mutavit patriam nomenq
(ue) genusq(ue) / Romanum civem sanctorum fecit origo / mira fides rerum docuit post exitus ingens / cum
lacerat pia membra fremit Gratianus ut hostis / postea quam fellis vomuit concepta venena / cogere non
potuit Chr(istu)m te sancte negare / ipse tuis precibus meruit confessus abire / supplicis haec Damasi vox
est venerare sepulcrum / solvere vota licet castasq(ue) effundere preces / sancti Saturnini tumulus quia
martyris hic est / Saturnine tibi martyr mea vota rependo / Damasus episcopus servus dei.

ICUR II, ; ICUR II,  and ICUR VIII, . The first two examples are infants (aged one
and two respectively), whereas the third one is a twenty-four-year-old, commemorated by his father
without any mention of marriage in the epitaph. Therefore, it is impossible to ascertain whether this
individual was single or not.

ICUR II, : the inscription contains a reference to the deceased coniux.

The indication servus Dei is sometimes used in inscriptions left by late antique and early medieval
worshippers. In these cases, of course, this concept refers to a purely devotional relationship and
does not allude to a single state of the individual.

ICUR II, ; ICUR I,  (= ICUR VI, ) and ICUR I,  (= ILCV  = CLE ).
For the first two cases, the age at death has been preserved ( and  respectively), as well an
indication of their marital status. The third example can only be identified as having been married
(or at least not having been single), as there is a mention of a child whom she is leaving behind.
 Singles and Singleness 
woman aged  or older. The lack of other indications regarding the
marital status of the majority of these servants of God makes it difficult
to identify these woman as singles. The sole exception seems to be
Maximilla, described as both a virgo and an ancilla Dei. The occurrences
of the Greek doulos theou/δοῦλος θεοῦ and doule theou/δούλη θεοῦ are rare,
but they confirm the religious connotation of the concept, rather than
hinting at the marital status of the deceased.
Similar to the ‘servants of God’ is the concept of clerical celibacy. A life
dedicated to serving God within the framework of the Church could imply
that one had to abstain from marriage and from having one’s own family,
and is, therefore, to be considered single. The present-day concept of
celibacy is based on the assumption that a cleric never engages in a (sexual)
relationship. In the fourth and fifth centuries, the situation was rather
more complex. In Rome and Italy in general, marriage was not formally
prohibited for members of the clergy. Celibacy, intended as sexual
continence for both married and unmarried clergymen, was promoted
through the works of many Christian authors of the time. However, at
no point in time during this period was there any attempt to ban marriage
for all members of the clergy. This picture also emerges from the surviving
inscriptions from Rome. A number of clergymen are indeed commemor-
ating their deceased wives or children, but for the majority of the
presbyteri and diaconi known through the epigraphic record, no such
indications were included or survived. Their absence, however, does not
necessarily imply that they were single. There is no indication whatsoever
in a number of surviving cases that the commemorative pattern for
clergymen was substantially different from the other social groups living
in Rome at that time. As a result, the fact that the deceased served as a
member of the clergy cannot help to identify singles present among the
Christian inscriptions from Rome.
If we move away from the religiously motivated forms of singleness,
evidenced in the epigraphic documents, it becomes apparent that other
terminology also needs to be considered. One concept that is regularly
opposed to married adult life is that of innocent youthfulness. There are


Seven men (ICUR III, ; ICUR IV, ; ICUR V, ; ICUR IX, ; ICUR VII,
 and ICUR X, ), of whom one was married (ICUR IV,  (=ICUR IV, )), and
three women (ICUR I, ; ICUR I,  and ICUR IV, ).
 
Brown  and Abbott . Hunter  offers an excellent overview on the matter.

See Table . Note that in most instances it is the commemorator who styles himself as a member of
the clergy whilst remembering the deceased member(s) of his family.
  
quite a few inscriptions in which the deceased is described as puer or puella,
and to a lesser extent as iuvenis. In most cases, it appears as an epithet for
children commemorated by their parents. There are, however, instances in
which the terminology is used for adults. In the ICUR there are sixty-seven
pueri with a recorded age at death, of whom fifteen are over  years old.
The eldest is  years old and, interestingly, is the only case of a married
puer. Of the fifty-six puellae with recorded ages, almost half are older than
 years of age and a third older than . The oldest was  years old at the
time of her death. There are six cases of married puellae. These figures
suggest that puer was limited to young boys, save a few exceptions, whereas
the use of puella could also be extended as an affectionate epithet for young
women, either married or single. The occurrences of iuvenis and the concept
of iuventus in the Christian inscriptions are rare and limited to men. There
are only six instances where the age at death has been recorded, yet it is
uncertain whether these individuals were married. In four instances iuvenis is
used for young men aged between  and . The other two cases are
striking in that the term appears for mature adult men, aged  and 
respectively. The former is being commemorated by his parents, and it thus
seems plausible that he was actually single.
In Greek inscriptions, epithets referring to children are, with the excep-
tion of teknon/τέκνον, relatively rare. Pais/παῖς, the equivalent of the Latin
puer / puella, is only attested once with age at death for a one-year-old
girl. Furthermore, there are no occurrences of neanias/νεανίας among the
Greek inscriptions. The analysis, however, of the tekna/τέκνα with
recorded age at death reveals that this term was not exclusively used for
young children, but in some cases also for young adults. In all, there are
five such cases of older ‘children’, aged between  and . All seem to

 
Laes and Strubbe . On the semantics of puella, see Watson . Laes .

See Tables  (pueri) and  (puellae).

ICUR VII, : Flaviis Lupicino et Iobi/no conss(ulibus) VII Idus Iunias / decesset de seculum / puer
Victorinus qui / bixit annus XXXVII m(enses) X / d(ies) X et cum uxsore / fecit anus II m(enses) III / d(e)p
(ositus) V Idus Iunias vene/merenti in pace.

ICUR I, : puella Porfyria que vixit / annos XXXIII menses VI / dies XXVI quiescit in pace.
Unfortunately, no commemorative relationship or other details have been recorded in order to
determine Porfyria’s marital status.

ICUR I,  (aged ); ICUR V,  (aged ); ICUR III,  (aged ); ICUR II, 
(aged ); ICUR I,  (aged ) and ICUR V,  (age not preserved).
 
See Table . ICUR III,  and ICUR III, .

ICUR V, : Συνφέρουσ[α παῖς] / ἐνιαυσία γεν[ομένη] / κ<α>(ὶ) εἰ<δ>οῖς αὐγ[ούστ(αις)] /
ἀπέδωκεν [γ]λυκυ/τάτη μου. It should be noted, however, that no evidence is provided for the
supplemented text.

See Table .
 Singles and Singleness 
be commemorated by their parents, and one teknon/τέκνον is actually
married. The presence of this married child suggests that the use of the
term can have an affectionate connotation, rather than implying that the
deceased is single.
This terminological search has offered some promising results, but at the
same time has revealed the limitation of such an approach. We are
unfortunately at the mercy of the commemorator’s ‘goodwill’. Only a
specific reference by the latter, whether deliberate or not, enables us to
identify the deceased as a (potential) single. Yet in most cases, the termin-
ology is vague and ambiguous. Apart from a mere handful of other
examples, it illustrates that consecrated virgins, elderly women styled as
virgins, and widows are the only single individuals discernible in the
epigraphic evidence. These findings are in line with the above-mentioned
examples of Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia. Given the rather modest
number of identifiable singles – almost exclusively women – it is clear that
this can only represent a fraction of the total number of singles that are
present, yet hidden in the epigraphic evidence. If better results are to be
obtained, a different method needs to be considered in order to establish
the presence of groups of individuals that were likely or almost certainly
singles at the time of their deaths.

. Demographic Approach

The previous paragraphs have revealed that singles are either referred to
obliquely, or remain hidden among the surviving inscriptions. There is
another angle to approach the question of how singles can be identified in
the epigraphic evidence. Rather than searching for the presence of specific
terminology, we should focus our attention to the commemoration of
married individuals. Familial relationships of the deceased and biometric
indications are both commonly present in early Christian funerary inscrip-
tions. Based on a quantitative study of all the Christian inscriptions from
Rome containing both these elements, the average life course of both
married men and women can be reconstructed. Once these patterns have
been established, it will be possible to apply this to all inscriptions


ICUR IV, : Χρυσάνθη τέκνον / γλυκύτατον / ἐτῶν κβ´ καὶ μη/νῶν ε´ / [ἐ]ποίησαν γον[εῖς] /
[κα]ὶ σύμβιος. As is clear from the inscription, Chrysanthe was commemorated both by her parents
and her widowed husband.

In the data set used for this study, the age at death has been preserved in the funerary inscriptions of
, individuals, whilst the commemorative relationship appears in , cases. The presence of
both these elements is attested for , individuals.
  
containing at least one of these elements. It will allow us to determine the
likelihood of having been either married or single, based on the fact
whether an individual or group of individuals meet specific criteria. This
can be achieved by taking the definition of singleness, intended in this
chapter as ‘not being in a spousal relationship at the time of death’, as the
starting point. From this definition two necessary requirements can be
deduced which potential singles need to meet: (a) having reached or passed
the marriageable age at the time of death, and (b) not being in a spousal
relationship at that time. Thus, the chances that an individual is likely to
have been single at the time of death increase considerably if the latter’s
funerary inscription (a) lacks any reference to a spousal relationship, (b)
contains a biometric element evidencing the fact that the marriageable age
has been reached or passed, and (c) preferably contains other non-spousal
relationships to the commemorators.
In terms of identifying potential singles, it is necessary to define the at-
first-glance vague concept of ‘marriageable age’. In other words, it needs to
be established from what age an individual is more likely to have been
‘(un)happily single’, rather than ‘not having found the right person yet’. In
order to achieve the reconstruction of the average life course, it is necessary
to determine the ages between which marriage would usually take place for
both men and women.
The starting point of this approach is the mean age at marriage for both
men and women in the Roman world. Much ink has been spilt in the
scholarly debate on this subject matter. Keith Hopkins’s groundbreaking
study proposed a very young age for the first marriage for girls, very close
to the minimum legal age of twelve, as described in Roman law. On the
other hand, a later age has been suggested, since the epigraphic evidence
reveals that marriage did not always occur at these early ages. Saller was
the first one to claim – using a large epigraphic sample from Rome – that
for men it occurred later in life than had previously been assumed. The
social status of the bride and groom played a major role, as a younger age
was more common among the elite, whereas marriage occurred at a later
age in the lower social classes. In recent years, however, the methodology
of such demographic studies has been criticised, and a younger age has


With regard to early Christian Rome, the debate has focused both on the surviving legal sources
(Evans Grubbs  and Nathan ) and on the epigraphic evidence.
 
Hopkins . Shaw ; Treggiari b; Harlow and Laurence .

Saller .
 Singles and Singleness 
again been proposed for both men and women. The debate, however, is
by no means settled.
With regard to the Christian inscriptions from Rome, the study by
Carletti is still the standard. It is suggested that for women, marriage would
take place between the ages of  and , and for men between the ages of
 and . Carletti’s study predates the publication of four ICUR
volumes (VII to X). If all volumes are included, the analysis of all the
inscriptions in which both the age of death and the length of marriage are
mentioned (excluding those inscriptions in which one or both of these
biometrical indications have been partially preserved) offers the following
results. The mean age at which women were married was . years
(Carletti: . years), whereas men got married at . years (Carletti:
. years). If the mode is taken into account, half of all women in the
sample were married before the age of , whereas for half of all men this
would be the case by the age of .
If only those inscriptions with both age at death and length of marriage
are considered, the numbers for both women and men are rather low.
This scarcity reduces the statistical value of these inscriptions considerably.
One of the consequences is that the rounding of numbers, frequently
found in biometric indications, to multiples of five and ten has a major
impact. In order to reduce this effect, a curve denoting the floating average
can render the spread more evenly. The data thus reveals that women
would, in general, marry between the ages of  and . Almost nine out
of every ten married women would have done so by this age. For men, the
time span is situated between the ages of  and . Almost % of
married men would be married by that age. From these figures, it is clear
that the ‘window of opportunity’ for men and women would have been a

 
Lelis et al. . Scheidel  provides an excellent discussion on the matter.

Carletti . It should be mentioned that this study is restricted to the Christian inscriptions from
Rome. For his study Carletti has used the first six volumes of the Inscriptiones Christianae Urbis
Romae nova series (ICUR ns), E. Diehl’s Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres (ILCV), including
the supplement by J. Moreau and H. I. Marrou, and the Sylloge Inscriptionum Christianarum
Veterum Musei Vaticani by H. Zilliacus. An earlier study by Nordberg (), using the inscriptions
from the first three ICUR ns volumes, has generated the same results. One major drawback in
Carletti’s contribution is the lack of any selection criteria for the inscriptions that have been
included in the data set.

There are  inscriptions for women and  for men based on these criteria. These numbers are
actually lower than Carletti’s totals (women T=, men T=), even though his sample is smaller
than the one used for the current study. As already mentioned, Carletti did not explain on what
basis an inscription was included in the data set. The fact that the complete list of inscriptions is not
included in his contribution makes it impossible to ascertain which criteria have been adopted by
Carletti.

See Chart .
  
period of about fifteen years. Furthermore, it also reveals that on average
there would have been an average age difference of about seven years in
most marriages.
The figures obtained through the analysis of this small sample of
inscriptions do not include those cases in which only the age at death of
married individuals is mentioned. These inscriptions are, of course, far
more numerous than the ones with both length of marriage and the age at
death. It is possible to analyse the proportion between commemoration by
one or both of the parents and commemoration by the surviving husband
or wife. The pattern shifts towards a majority of spousal commemoration
for women by the age of , which is two years earlier than the mean age of
marriage. For men, this transition would occur by the age of , which
coincides with the mean age of marriage. The shift towards an almost
exclusive spousal commemoration takes place more quickly for women
than it does for men. There is an important caveat which concerns the shift
in commemorative patterns. Husbands who died in their late teens and
early twenties were more likely to be commemorated by their parents (or
another relative) given the probability that their wives would have been
very young. A number of young men could, as a result, be wrongly
considered to be singles. This phenomenon would have been rare for
young wives because their husband was older and more likely to have
been well placed to create a tomb or epitaph.
The question remains, however, whether this data means that the mean
age of marriage should be lowered to  for women whilst being main-
tained at  for men. The problem is that those inscriptions with only the
age at death are not to be interpreted as ‘married at that age’ but as
‘married by that age’. It is thus impossible to assess whether, for example,
a husband who passed away at the age of  had been married for one year
or for ten years. This, of course, means that the mean age of marriage, or
what was socially regarded as the appropriate age for marriage, must have
been lower than that derived from the analysis of those inscriptions with
both the age at death and the date of marriage.
A final step that allows us to reach the mean age at marriage of women
and men as closely as possible is to calculate how many years, on average,
people were married around the age at which the aforementioned


See Chart . The major shift starts at the age of  and tends to stagnate at . This seems to suggest
that the window of opportunity was a period of ten years. See also Chart .

See Chart . The data suggests that the most likely age to get married was between  and . In
other words, men seem to have had more time to commit themselves. See also Chart .
 Singles and Singleness 
commemorative shift appears. For women, the data suggests that the
deceased - to -year-old spouses had been married on average for one
and a half years. Therefore, the mean age for women would have been
 to . For men, the amount of data for the - to -year-old is too
insignificant for any solid claim, but it should be assumed that it was at
least as high as the one and half years for girls, thus putting the mean age of
marriage at  to , but possibly earlier.
From the above-mentioned data, however, it can with a fair amount of
certainty be assumed that girls married in their mid- to late teens, whereas
boys would marry in their early to mid-twenties. However, a specific age is
needed in order to determine which individuals whose epitaph has sur-
vived are likely to have been single, or at least for whom the probability
would have been relatively high. The three methodological approaches
(age at marriage, shift in commemorative pattern and length of marriage at
death) described above have each resulted in different mean ages of
marriage, as well as a lower and an upper limit. It is necessary to look at
the lowest estimated mean age of marriage, based upon the largest number
of inscriptions (age  for women, age  for men). Then, the mean age at
marriage as derived from those inscriptions with both the age at death and
the length of marriage should be considered (age  for women, age  for
men). Finally, the upper limit denoting the age at which the vast majority
of individuals should have been married needs to be looked at more closely
(age  for women, age  for men). If these ages are applied to the
commemorative pattern mentioned in the epitaphs, a number of potential
singles can be identified if (a) they are older than the mean age of marriage,
and (b) they are commemorated in a non-spousal relationship, i.e. by
anyone other than their spouses or direct descendants.
The data suggest that for the lower estimate (women aged over  and
men aged over ) almost two out of every ten women and nearly three
out of every ten men could have been single at the time of death. The
middle and upper figures result, of course, in lower percentages. For a
mean age at marriage of  years for women and  for men, one out every
seven women and one out of every four men were commemorated in a
non-spousal relationship and were therefore more likely to have been
single at the time of death. Finally, if the conservative upper limit of age
 for women and age  for men is considered, one in ten women and
one in seven men was commemorated by someone other than their spouse
or direct descendants.

See Tables  and .
  
In the case of singles, we can disregard the numbers for the lower and
middle estimates. Not having been married by the mean age of marriage
does not equate with being single. The focus should be on those men and
women who were not married by the age at which most of their peers
would have been in a spousal relationship. Among the % of women and
% of men in a non-spousal commemorative relationship, there will have
been, without any doubt, a number of singles. Some never got married,
others were divorced and did not remarry. There are most certainly also
widows and widowers not described as such in their funerary inscriptions.
It is, however, clear that a number of singles will remain ‘hidden’ among
the thousands of surviving inscriptions, since most are lacking the neces-
sary information in order to determine the deceased’s marital status.
On the other hand, in this group of individuals with a non-spousal
commemorative relationship above the upper age limit of marriage, there
will be some married individuals who were being commemorated by
someone other than their spouses or direct descendants. Unfortunately,
when trying to determine how large that number might have been, we hit
the limitations of the epigraphic record. The main aim of a funerary
inscription was not to inform relatives or occasional passers-by of the
marital status of the deceased, unlike census returns. Therefore, we can
only make assumptions about the deceased’s lives, with the odd exceptions
of Maximilla, Sophrosyne and Vindicia, and the other specific examples
discussed in this chapter. The absence of surviving census-related docu-
ments for Rome makes epigraphy ‘the next best thing’, despite its
limitations.

 Conclusion
This chapter has tried to identify singles present within the surviving
Christian epigraphic evidence from Rome. A number of different
approaches have been applied to this large sample, with varying success.
The lack of spousal commemoration by itself and instances of self-
commemoration, even when combined with biometric indications, are
by no means a condicio sine qua non for classifying an individual as
‘single’. Though more promising from the onset and more successful, a
specific keyword-based search in order to achieve the identification of
singles has similarly proven to be unsatisfactory. This is due to the lack
of proper terminology covering the concept of a ‘single’ as a man or
woman at a marriageable age or older, yet unmarried at the time of death.
Only the analysis of the virgines and ancillae Dei, the elderly virgines and
 Singles and Singleness 
widows within the epigraphic record has revealed, with a reasonable
amount of certainty, the presence of a number of female consecrated
virgins living as singles within the city of Rome. These individual cases
supplement other similar examples that have been handed down through
literary traditions. It would, however, be a step too far to generalise this
form of singleness as the only viable alternative to married life in early
Christian Rome.
An alternative demographic approach has been proposed and explored
in this chapter. Its starting point is the reconstruction of the normal life
course from youth into adulthood, with marriage being the point of no
return. A statistical analysis of inscriptions containing the age at death and
the length of marriage has made it possible to determine an accurate
estimate of the average age at marriage for both men and women in the
city of Rome during the fourth and fifth century CE. As a result, it has
been possible to highlight those records that do not seem to fit the general
pattern. These are individuals in a non-spousal commemorative relation-
ship past the average age at marriage. This leads to the creation of a pool of
potential and likely singles. Even though it is impossible to ascertain for
each individual whether they were, in fact, single, this demographic
approach has outlined the biometric and commemorative profile of
deceased individuals with a high probability of having been single at the
time of death. The presence of other singles is thus evidenced, and
therefore offers a new view on singleness among Rome’s populace at that
time.
 Appendix

a) Charts

Chronological Distribution of Dated Inscriptions

35

30

25

20
Frequency

15

10

0
250 260 270 280 290 300 310 320 330 340 350 360 370 380 390 400 410 420 430 440 450 460 470 480 490 500 510 520 530 540 550 560 570 580 590 600 610 620
Year

Absolute Numbers Moving Average per Decade

Chart  Chronological distribution of dated inscriptions


 Singles and Singleness 
Age at Marriage
18
Age at Marriage - Female
16 n = 82
Mean = 19.82 years
Median = 17 years
14
Mode = 17 years
SD = 7.07 years
12
Age at Marriage - Male
n = 50
10
Percentage

Mean = 26.16 years

Median = 25 years
8 Mode = 23 years
SD = 7 .96 years
6

0
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Age at marriage

Female - Absolute Figures Male - Absolute Figures Female - Floating Average Male - Floating Average

Chart  Age at marriage in Christian funerary inscriptions from Rome

Parental vs Spousal Commemoration - Females

100%

90%

80%

70%

60%
Percentage

50%

40%

30%

20%

10%

0%
0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40
Age

Parental Spousal

Chart  Females – parental vs spousal commemoration

  
Parental vs Spousal Commemoration - Males
100%

90%

80%

70%

60%
Percentage

50%

40%

30%

20%

10%

0%
0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40
Age
Parental Spousal

Chart  Males – parental vs spousal commemoration

Commemorative Patterns - Females

60%

50%

40%

30%

20%

10%

0%
Female over 16 Female over 20 Female over 27

Spouse / Parent Other Unknown / Self

Chart  Female commemorative patterns

 Singles and Singleness 
Commemorative Patterns - Males
70%

60%

50%

40%

30%

20%

10%

0%
Male over 24 Male over 26 Male over 34

Spouse / Parent Other Unknown / Self

Chart  Male commemorative patterns

b) Tables

Table . List of viduae

R M A T

ICUR I,  Y U 

ICUR I,  Y U 
ICUR I,  N? U  D
ICUR I,  U U 
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR I,  Y U 
ICUR II,  Y  
ICUR II,  U U 
ICUR II,  U U 
ICUR II,  Y  
ICUR II,  Y U 
ICUR II,  Y  
ICUR III,  U U 
ICUR IV,  U U 
ICUR IV,  Y + 
ICUR IV,  Y U 
ICUR V,  Y U 
ICUR V,  U U 
  
Table . (cont.)
R M A T

ICUR V,  Y  

ICUR V,  U U 
ICUR VI,  U  
ICUR VI,  U U 
ICUR VII,  Y  
ICUR VII,  U U 
ICUR VII,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U U 
ICUR VIII,  U U 
ICUR VIII,  U U 
ICUR IX,  Y  
ICUR IX,  U U 
ICUR IX,  U U 
ICUR X,  U U 
ICUR X,  Y U 
ICUR X,  U U 
ICUR X,  U  
ICUR X,  Y U 

Table . List of virgines with known age at death

R T A G R

ICUR I,    F U

ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR VI,    F D
ICUR V,    F U
ICUR I,    F D
ICUR I,    F U
ICUR II,    F D
ICUR IV,    F U
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR VIII,    F U
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR VI,    F U
ICUR V,    F U
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR VI,    F U
ICUR VI,    F D
ILCV    F W
ICUR I,    F U
 Singles and Singleness 
Table . (cont.)
R T A G R

ICUR V,    F U

ICUR IV,    F U
ICUR II,    F U
ICUR II,  = ICUR   F D
III, 
ICUR VIII,    F D
ICUR I,    F U
ICUR V,    F U
ICUR VI,    F U
ICUR I,  = ICUR   F U
VII, 
ICUR VII,    F D
ICUR II,    F U
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR VIII,    F U
ICUR III,    F D
ICUR X,    F D
ICUR IV,    F D
ICUR IV,    F U
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR IV,    F D
ICUR VIII,    F D
ICUR VII,    F D
ICUR I,    F U
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR II,    F W;
D
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR I,    F D
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR II,    F U
ICUR II,    F U
ICUR IV,    F D
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR IV,    F S
ICUR VIII,    F U
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR II,    F U
ICUR IV,    F U
ICUR IV,    F U
ICUR I,  = ICUR   F U
VII, 
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR III,    F U
  
Table . (cont.)
R T A G R

ICUR IX,    F D

ICUR X,    F D
ICUR X,  = ICUR   F D
X, 
ICUR II,    F U
ICUR IX,    F U
ICUR III,    F D
ICUR II,  = ICUR   F D
VI, 
ICUR I,   D  F U
ICUR III,    F U
ICUR IX,    F U
ICUR IX,     F U
ICUR VIII,    F U
ICUR VII,   D  F U
ICUR I,  = ICUR  D  F U
IV, 
ICUR VII,    F U
ICUR V,     F W

ICUR V,    F F
ICUR VIII,    M S
ICUR IX,    M S
ICUR I, ; ICUR   M S
VII, 
ICUR II,    M U
ICUR IV,    M U
ICUR I,  = ICUR   M S
IV, 
ICUR IV,    M H
ICUR I,    M U
ICUR III,  ΠΑΡΘEΝΟΣ  F U
ICUR I,  ΠΑΡΘEΝΟΣ  F U
ICUR VII,  ΠΑΡΘEΝΟΣ  F D
ICUR VI,  ΠΑΡΘEΝΟΣ  F U

Table . List of “servants of God” with recorded age at death

R M A T

ICUR VI,  N   D

ICUR IV,  U   D
 Singles and Singleness 
Table . (cont.)
R M A T

ICUR VII,  U   D

ICUR VIII,  U   D
ICUR I,  = ICUR VI,  Y   C
ICUR II,  U   D
ICUR II,  Y   D
ICUR II,  U   D
ICUR X,  U   D
ICUR IV,  U   D
ICUR V,  U   D
ICUR VII,  U   D
ICUR II,  N   D
ICUR II,  N   D
ICUR VIII,  U   D

Table . List of married members of the clergy

R D C

ICUR II,  S  S 

ICUR II,  S  S 
ICUR III,  D 
ICUR IV,   S
ICUR IV,   S
ICUR V,  D 
ICUR VII,  D 
ICUR VII, - S  R 
ICUR VIII,  S 
ICUR VIII, ? S 
ICUR VIII,  S 
ICUR II,  S ΠΡΕΣΒΎΤΕΡΟΣ
ICUR III,  S  S ΠΡΕΣΒΎΤΕΡΟΣ
ICUR IX,  S, S  S ΠΡΕΣΒΎΤΕΡΟΣ

Table . List of pueri with recorded age at death ( years of age or older)

R M A T

ICUR IV,  U  

ICUR IV,  U  
  
Table . (cont.)
R M A T

ICUR VII,  U  

ICUR I,  U  
AE , ; AE ,  U  
ICUR III,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U + 
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR III,  U  
ICUR I,  = ICUR X,  U  
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR II,  U + 
ICUR IV,  U  
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR VII,  Y  

Table . List of puellae with recorded age at death ( years of age or older)

R M A T

ICUR VII,  U  

ICUR IV,  U  
ICUR VII,  U  
ICUR IX,  U  
ICUR I,  U + 
ICUR IV,  U  
ICUR I,  Y  
ICUR VII,  U  
ICUR II,  U  
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U  
ICUR VII,  U  
ICUR IV,  U  
ICUR VII,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U  
ICUR V,  Y  
ICUR II,  U  
ICUR III,  Y  
ICUR IV,  U  
ICUR VII,  U  
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR II,  Y  
 Singles and Singleness 
Table . (cont.)
R M A T

ICUR VII,  U  

ICUR II,  U  
ICUR VIII,  U  
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR III,  U  
ICUR I,  Y  
ICUR III,  U  
ICUR I,  U  
ICUR V,  Y U 

Table . List of iuvenes with recorded age at death

R M A T

ICUR III,  U  

ICUR I,  = ICUR X,  U  
ICUR III,  U  
ICUR IV,  U  
ICUR III,  U  
ICUR III,  U  

Table . List of tekna/τέκνα aged over 

R G A C

ICUR III,  M  P

ICUR VIII,  M  P
ICUR VI,  M  P?
ICUR IV,  F  P / H
ICUR I,  M  M?

Table . Commemorative Patterns Females: Spousal vs Non-Spousal

>  >  >  >  >  > 

Total % Total % Total %

Spouse / Parent  .%  .%  .%

Other  .%  .%  .%
  
Table . Commemorative Patterns Males: Spousal vs Non-Spousal

>  >  >  >  >  > 

Total % Total % Total %

Spouse / Parent  .%  .%  .%

Other  .%  .%  .%
  

Different Ways of Life: Being Single in the

Fourth Century CE
Raffaella Cribiore

 Introduction
The startling increase in the number of adults living alone is a fascinating
contemporary social trend. As a rule, these individuals are not withdrawing
from society nor are they inspired by a reclusive desire to commune with
Nature or God. On the contrary, they reach out, rely on easy access to
social media, trust large networks of friends and apparently have full lives.
This explosion of solo living stems from different causes and displays a
different gender breakdown than earlier patterns of solitary life. For young
people in cities, living alone has become a frequent rite of passage. When
education is over, after dwelling initially with roommates, young males and
females sign their first lease. Moreover, a good number of elders choose to
live alone and not to remarry after the death of a spouse. Sixty years ago the
typical single was a migrant male laborer out West, but now there is great
diversity. Modern sociologists agree that this trend is less stigmatized
today than in the past and suggest that it is a privilege that also derives
from soaring divorce rates and from modern tendencies to embrace alter-
native living arrangements. If we take a step back into the nineteenth
century, most often people then met their personal needs in the family.
In the countryside, reasons for traditional cohabitations were compelling,
and exceptions were usually due to the demise of a partner. Yet in cities,
economic conditions caused trends that already suggested a transition from
traditional to more modern families. Industrialization led to an increase of


Henry David Thoreau in  built his cabin on Walden Pond to enjoy solitude and nature.

These are the conclusions of Klinenberg  who interviewed young professionals, divorced middle
agers and independent seniors. This professor of sociology at NYU argued that it is important to
make a distinction between living alone and being alone. He also stated that the majority of singles
are women, but this imbalance may be due in part to women’s longevity.

So some people start living together with a partner, decide to live alone, then meet another partner
and so on.

See Burr Lichfield . See also Hajnal .


  
later marriages and of the numbers of both men and women living
alone and independently employed.
Of course such conditions of living and working were not known in
Late Antiquity, but it is interesting to identify causes and patterns of living
alone, to see how general stigmatization was and if there were repercus-
sions for children born out of wedlock and condemnation of a lack of
children. In a period when Christians were on the attack and pagans were
licking their wounds, it will be interesting to try to identify religious
influences upon and religious condemnations of such living arrangements.
Following Darwin, I have only relative faith in anything short of actual
measurement. I am aware that attempts to extrapolate sound information
from literary evidence are risky. It is difficult to reconstruct what we do not
know from individual test cases in Antiquity and to glimpse the larger
picture thereby. Yet, in this paper I will mostly investigate the patterns of
singleness of three male figures, living in different environments and of
completely different social status. Whether one can safely generalize from
these cases must remain uncertain. Libanius was a leading professor of
rhetoric in Antioch; Julian was Roman emperor from  to , the year
when he died; and Olympius  (PLRE I) was a very dear friend of Libanius
who also resided in Antioch. In addition and in a brief compass, I will
focus on a few women who appear in the writings of Libanius. They were
mothers of his students, and it is in his capacity as professor of rhetoric
that he met them as they had to cope with the disadvantages of single life.
It will be interesting to verify, even though only from these few cases,
whether society treated single men and women who belonged to the upper
class in an identical way. It will be mostly through Libanius’ eyes, there-
fore, that we will look at very different living arrangements, his own and
those of others.

Libanius
In his Autobiography Libanius, who was born in , discloses that after
completing his education in Athens he lived and taught in Constantinople.
There his close friend Crispinus regaled him with many much-desired
books and the offer to marry Crispinus’ only daughter. The sophist was
elated about the books but refused the marriage proposal saying firmly,
‘my bride is my art’. Libanius redacted the first part of the narrative of his


“I have no faith in anything short of actual measurement,” letter to W. D. Fox ().

Or. .. All translations are my own unless otherwise noted.
 Different Ways of Life 
life many years later, in . He may not have uttered the words proclaim-
ing his passion for his discipline upon the occasion itself, but certainly he
became very soon a devotee of rhetoric. The refusal of a bride, moreover,
was also dictated by the fact that there had been some negotiations to have
him marry the daughter of his uncle Phasganius, and in , when he was
allowed to go back to Antioch for a short period, he was formally betrothed
to his cousin. As he was making preparations for another temporary return,
however, he received the grievous news that the young woman had died, so
that he lost any desire to go back. He declared: ‘Despite my wishes I could
not live in the city where I was going to see the tomb of this woman
instead of herself.’ After much pressure from his uncle, he returned to
Antioch but ‘full of dejection and sadness’. It remains uncertain whether
this was the truth. In the narrative of his life, Libanius was susceptible to
many influences and attempted to construct his version of the image of a
‘holy man’, who encountered many obstacles but preserved his virtue.
We cannot rule out that this public and late manifestation of desperation
at being alone served some purpose. The loss of his bride-to-be shielded
him somewhat from criticism that he had decided not to marry again.
It was probably easier to pass as an inconsolable lover who did not search
for another stable companion of the same social status than as someone
who deliberately refused the married status. The social and cultural
expectations for privileged males in Late Antiquity included marriage even
though remaining celibate started to be an option.
And yet Libanius was not alone. He had a relationship with a woman of
low origin who lived in his household and bore him a son, Cimon,
otherwise called Arrabius. The fact that the identity of this woman
(a servant and originally a slave) is obscure confirms her negligible social
status and Libanius’ desire to obfuscate this liaison. He mentioned her in
Or.  only after her death by calling her ‘a good mother’ and ‘worthy of
many a servant’. He affirmed that her death after a long illness brought
him pain but immediately disclosed his personal discomfort: now he had
to call in need upon another servant, while before she always ran spontan-
eously to his side. The letters as usual give a more intimate and less
guarded version. Recommending his son to a governor, he said that the

 
He was able to go back to Antioch permanently in . Or. ..
 
Cribiore : –. Cf. Vuolanto, in this volume, pp. –.

He says in epist. ., Norman , letter no. , that she was not of free status.

See or. ..

On the generic difference between letters and orations in Libanius, cf. Cribiore : – and
passim.
  
young man was born of a woman ‘of such character that I esteemed little
the wealth of many fathers with marriageable daughters’. And yet his
words speak more of his desire to present his son in the best light than of
authentic disregard for this woman’s low origin.
Libanius strove at all times to strengthen the status of his illegitimate
son. From the moment of his birth, Cimon’s position was ambiguous, but
Libanius did not spare any energy to educate him well, to help him obtain
a position in life and to make him fit to receive his inheritance. His
efforts are noteworthy, but were ultimately in vain. After receiving an
elementary education at the hands of his father and of Calliopius, an
assistant teacher of Libanius, Cimon learned rhetoric at the school.
The sophist then enrolled him among the advocates, and he was attached
to the court of the consularis in , when Icarius occupied that position.
In an oration against Icarius, Libanius says that his son was blamed for not
intervening promptly in a situation so that he may not have been very
effective in that position. In a letter to a governor he declared that he had
always wanted for Cimon to become an orator because he had ‘the gift of
eloquence’ and because of that he later won lots of praise even from those
who were his opponents. In a later letter concerning the athletes for the
Olympic games, he gave some personal and affectionate details about
his son: ‘I, too, have a youngster who is good at running and speaking
and deserves both the victor’s crown and the scholar’s gown.’ As in the
case of Cimon’s mother, the most touching testimonials of Libanius’ love
for his son came after the young man had died – without ever obtaining an
official position.
The image of father-teacher and teacher-father defining pedagogic rela-
tionships often appears in Late Antiquity to illustrate the closeness of a
student to his teacher and mutual feelings of affection. The letters
disclose that Libanius was joyful at his students’ successes, helped arrange
their marriages and tried to enroll their children. In a letter to a former
governor who had previously helped a ‘child’ of his, that is, a student, he
expected the man to support Cimon ‘since he too is my child, and even


Epist. ., Norman , letter no. .

He finally did, but to his and his father’s chagrin was barred from the Senate. On the reactions to
the law of Constantine on children born from lowborn or disreputable women, see Evans Grubbs
, particularly pp. – on Cimon’s status.

Calliopius , PLRE I.

Icarius  in PLRE I. This rank applied to governors of the most important provinces.
 
See or. .. See epist. , Norman , letter no. .

See Kaster : –. Himerius or. . and .. Them. or. c and a. The image
continued to be used in Christian times. Cf. Cribiore : –.
 Different Ways of Life 
more than Eusebius, for he is connected by eloquence too but there is no
blood connection with Eusebius’. And yet, Cimon’s status prevented
Libanius from considering him to be entirely or truly his son. In a late
letter from  to the father of a student from Pamphylia, Libanius
disclosed his admiration for that young man’s qualities by saying that after
accepting him he felt like accusing the gods who had deprived him of
children. He was aware that he would have them if he had not failed to
marry and thus offended Aphrodite. This was a harsh statement that
erased Cimon at a stroke. In a previous oration, Libanius had written
that ‘the passion of Aphrodite only existed in order to have children’.
The goddess had punished him for going through life without a lawful
companion and had deprived him of an heir: children born out of wedlock
did not enjoy the same status as legitimate offspring. Yet, of course,
Libanius was ambivalent. When Cimon died later that year, in fact, he
protested his love for his son, saying that the mother he had did not
prevent him from being related to him by blood.

 Julian the Apostate

Accusations of and recriminations for someone’s refusal to marry and
failing to produce a legitimate heir were most justified when that man
was the ruler of the Roman empire. And yet the emperor Julian, after
submitting to his marital duty initially, refused to marry again after the
death of his wife and spent the rest of his few years as a single man.
In  when he became Caesar, he had married his Christian cousin
Helena, the daughter of Constantine I and Fausta. It was a marriage
of political convenience in which personal feelings were not involved. The
fact that Julian wrote to his uncle saying that all the letters he sent to
Helena were such that they could be broadcast to the world seems to be
evidence of their lack of emotional attachment. When married, Julian
had tried to be a dutiful husband by impregnating his wife. Ammianus
revealed all the machinations of the empress Eusebia, who was childless, to
prevent Helena from producing an heir. A midwife was bribed so that


See epist. , Norman , letter no. . He wrote several letters for Eusebius  to help him in
an obscure affair.

Aphrodite, that is, not love but a proper union. See epist. , Cribiore , letter no. ; see
also no. .
 
Or. ., Hymn to Artemis. Epist. .: Cimon was born from him, and so had his blood.
 
Helena , PLRE I. Epist.  Bidez.

Amm. ..–. One cannot tell if instead the miscarriages occurred spontaneously.
  
she cut the umbilical cord of a baby born in Gaul in such a way that it
was killed, and later Helena was given a potion to induce miscarriages.
She never bore an heir.
After Helena died in Paris in , Julian never remarried and lived in
total chastity (inviolata castitas). Ammianus commented that Julian kept in
mind what he read in Plato’s Republic about Sophocles, who in his old
age was glad to have escaped from cruel and mad passion for women.
The whole passage in Plato concerns the contentment of old age. Julian,
however, was in his early thirties and yet imposed on himself a sexual
abstinence that went together with a frugal life devoid of any luxury, with
scanty food, little sleep and incessant work. In the Epitaph for the emperor,
Libanius commented that in the long winter nights when people con-
cerned themselves with Aphrodite, Julian devoted himself to books.
He never enquired if any man had a suitable and beautiful daughter but
maintained a solitary life. ‘If the goddess Hera had not bound him in the
rites of marriage’ – Libanius wrote – ‘he would have ended his days
knowing only from others what sexual intercourse was.’ Julian never had
another woman before or after his wife.
The comment of Ammianus that Julian avoided sexual relations to the
extent that not even one of his closest attendants could (as sometimes
happens) reveal ‘any suspicion of lustfulness’ seems credible and confirms
this reading of the situation. All sources agree on this point. Libanius’
explanation was that the emperor had a natural predisposition to contin-
ence. The polarity of the ancient sources (Christians and pagans) and the
fact that Julian died so young on an expedition against Persia in  make
him elusive and render his reasons difficult to grasp. Claudius Mamertinus,
who was made consul by Julian in , pronounced a panegyric of the
emperor at the New Year in which he focused on his qualities as a
statesman. He lauded Julian’s abstinence from the pleasurable life and
the fact ‘that his bed was free even from legitimate and permissible
pleasures, being chaster than the couches of the Vestals’. Mamertinus
explained the emperor’s avoidance of sexual activities as ‘his desire to offer
violence to none and not to harm the reputation of any maiden’. Of course

 
Amm. ... Amm. .–. Plat. rep. .b-c.

Lib. or. .. If we judge from or. .–, which he wrote to defend his friend Aristophanes
who had fallen in disgrace, Libanius would have easily justified a sexual liaison for Julian with an
actress or a prostitute. He wrote to the emperor that Aristophanes was young, and therefore his
sexual desires were rampant, but he never had any relation with a married woman. He relieved his
desire ‘with women devoted to Aphrodite’.
  
Cf. or. .. Amm. .. Mamertinus Panegyric ; see Lieu : .
 Different Ways of Life 
sexual activity does not necessarily consist of rape or clandestine liaisons,
and a new legitimate relationship would have been presumably free of
such coercion.
The repercussions of Julian’s solitary and chaste life were not only
personal. He was the last scion of the house of Constantine, and that line
ended with him because he did not leave an heir. In his Address to Julian
as consul, Libanius naturally wished for progeny worthy of the emperor:
‘May your children, your children’s children and those who come from
them for ever be your rivals and your heir.’ In a letter addressed to the
emperor in , he said that he prayed for this without telling Julian,
because he was afraid that he would do the opposite – a statement difficult
to interpret. In his Monody over Julian, the sophist lamented that the
emperor had died still young without being a father. Other heroes had
died a violent death but at least ‘Cyrus had sons to succeed him’. In his
Funeral Oration written a little later in , Libanius looked for some
explanation and mentioned not only Julian’s natural continence but also
his preoccupation with soothsaying:
In this he spent his time using the best soothsayers, and being second to
none in this art so that the soothsayers could never mislead him because his
eyes too scrutinized the omens. At times he surpassed specialists in
this subject so wide and all bearing was the intellect of our emperor and
he discovered some things with his own intellect and others through his
communion with the gods.
The emperor apparently was constantly occupied with soothsaying and
had reached a notable expertise that allowed him to interrogate the gods.
Did Julian see something in the omens that prevented him from getting
married? The sophist did not say so explicitly, but I think that his wording
before and after this passage hints strongly that the emperor was afraid.
Before this passage Libanius had mentioned that Julian went into
mourning for his wife and after that never touched another woman also


Amm. .. mentioned that in Mesopotamia Julian handed his purple mantle to his relative
Procopius  with the injunction to assume the role of ruler if he heard that Julian had died.
Procopius was executed in  under Valentinian and Valens. On Julian nominating him, see
Wiemer : –.
  
Or. .. Lib. epist. ., Norman , letter no. , written in . Or. ..

Or. ..

Libanius used astrologers himself but showed an ambivalent attitude toward them in or. . He
accused his friend Polycles who asked from the stars assistance in fundamental matters such as
marriage and offices. The sophist was more moderate and called astrologers ‘men who in the
daytime lie asleep for the ruin of many but at night think fit to give orders to divinities’ (.).
  
‘because of his preoccupations with soothsaying’. In the next paragraph
(.) he maintained that
his close friends tried to persuade him to beget children who could succeed
to the throne but he replied that he was afraid to do that lest his children, if
degenerate, becoming legal heir to the empire would ruin it suffering the
fate of Phaeton. So he judged that his own childlessness was easier to bear
than ruin to the cities.
Libanius’ general comment that Julian thought first of the welfare of the
empire suggested that the emperor missed not having children, but this
may have been the sophist’s supposition. The reasons for the emperor’s
sexual abstinence and choices were personal, concealed and are hard to
fathom. Homosexuality is probably not the answer, because there is
absolutely no trace of it in all his writings, orations and letters.
That a Roman emperor should choose to live a single life with no issue
was bound to be stigmatized. Libanius’ Oration  reveals that after
Julian’s death rumors were circulating that he had poisoned his wife.
Two men maintained that Julian gave the court doctor a jewel that had
belonged to his mother, Basilina. The accusation does not find an echo in
other sources. Libanius couched this oration as an invective against the
men who made it. He also considered the accusation rationally. Constan-
tius would never have tolerated such a deed against his sister and would
have deprived Julian of power. Julian himself, who was so devoted to the
divine, would have never plotted against the gods of marriage. The extreme
slander against the emperor must have derived from those defamatory
Christian claims that circulated after Julian’s death, that people were
immolated for the purpose of divination and that some boys, girls and
infants were cut to pieces and sacrificed. Thus the pagan Julian, childless
and single, had ‘sacrificed’ his Christian wife in order to live his life
without the burden of marriage.

 Olympius
The third figure I will consider emerges from Libanius’ letters, his
Autobiography, Or. .– and especially from Oration , which was

To my knowledge, no one has interpreted Julian’s reticence in this way. Libanius does not make a
very close connection between his two statements, but he seems to hint that Julian had received
some divine revelation.
 
Bringmann :  rules out homosexuality. Cribiore .

Socr. Hist. eccl. ..–; Greg. Naz. or. ..–; Ioh. Chrys. Homily on St. Babylas  and Theod.
Hist. eccl. .–.
 Different Ways of Life 
essentially unknown until I studied it in my last book, Libanius the Sophist:
Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century. Olympius  was a
childhood friend of the sophist who made Libanius his heir. Because of
this, scholars always assumed that Olympius was a pagan, but a close
inspection of Oration  revealed that not only was he Christian but his
younger brother, Evagrius, was briefly bishop of Antioch. Libanius wrote
Oration  to defend the memory of his friend and to show that the
naming of himself as Olympius’ heir was no injustice. It appears in fact
that the trial, which presumably resulted when Evagrius contested the
inheritance, was a major event in the city, and in the end Libanius declared
that he had not gained anything but actually had lost money to hire
lawyers.
What concerns us at present is Olympius’ unusual living arrangements.
He had never married and was much closer to his mother than his two
brothers, the older Miccalus, who was married, had children and died
before Olympius, and the younger Evagrius, who had a family and then
became a priest. Letters reveal that Olympius always worried about his
mother and did not want to leave Antioch because of her. This strong
mother–son attachment was the origin of much trouble. ‘The mother’ –
said Libanius – ‘finding that Olympius buttressed the household while
Miccalus did not – it is enough to say as much – gave more to the one and
less to the other without adding any clause to the legacy and without
offending the heir [Miccalus] by this but leaving him free to use the gift as
he wished.’ The clause ‘it is enough to say as much’ may refer not only to
Miccalus’ financial inability but also to family discord. Libanius’ interpret-
ation of the relationship between the two brothers is not entirely reliable.
He says that Olympius treated his brother like a son, a paternalistic
attitude that probably did not please the older Miccalus, who was full of
resentment, beat Olympius repeatedly and provoked his anger with words.
Yet the sophist also admitted that Olympius had mistreated his
brother too.
Besides the matter of the unfair inheritance, Olympius’ unusual living
arrangements widened the brotherly rift. Miccalus could not tolerate the
fact that Olympius employed in his household, instead of male servants,
some ‘women who were inexperienced in Aphrodite’, that is, virgins and


Evagrius . Probably a student of Libanius, he became governor but was dismissed. He became a
priest after that and was close to Jerome. In the schism of Antioch, he was elected bishop when
Paulinus died, but he also died soon after that.
 
His literary rhetoric was not very useful in court. Cf. Epist.  = N,  = N.

See epist.  = N and  = B.
  
not prostitutes. He claimed that these women ‘indulged in shameful
pleasures, potions, and all-powerful incantations’. Miccalus was not the
only one to oppose the arrangement called ‘spiritual marriage,’ which was
criticized by both Christians and pagans. These women were called
subintroductae or syneisaktoi or agapetae and lived in chaste cohabitation
with one or more men (not only clerics). Although at least six church
councils of the fourth century banned this practice, it lasted until the
Middle Ages. Some people reacted strongly to this way of life because of its
supposed immorality, and Jerome for example (Epist. ) condemned
these women as lustful harlots. This custom, however, was intended to
help widows or young women who were not supported by their families.
But Olympius was even guiltier in Miccalus’ eyes. According to Libanius,
this single man missed children and so adopted two little girls who may
have been the daughters of servants or of women in his household who
perhaps had been abandoned. This apparently increased Miccalus’ fury,
and he launched every kind of threat against the girls. He menaced them
with ‘prison, pain and torture,’ things that would happen immediately
after Olympius died. Why was Miccalus so distressed? The two girls
were not legitimate daughters of Olympius, but Miccalus might have
feared that his brother would diminish his patrimony by leaving money
to them. Though he ended up dying before his brother, he was probably
hoping that upon Olympius’ death the family money would revert to his
own children. Olympius was a wealthy man who could administer his
finances well, was the bosom friend of the influential Libanius and was
part of his circle of pagan and Christian friends, to which belonged such
powerful men as the philosopher Themistius, who had much influence in
Constantinople, and the governors Domitius Modestus  and Datianus .
With the help of Olympius and a prefect, Miccalus had obtained two
offices but had quickly forgotten his debt of gratitude. He knew full
well that Olympius was a man who dared to challenge custom, and thus
he was afraid.


Cf. John Chrysostom’s two treatises on the subintroductae: Contra eos qui subintroductas habent
virgines (‘Against those men who have virgins brought into their homes’) and Quod regulares feminae
viris cohabitare non debeant (‘That women under ascetic rule ought not to cohabit with men’). See
Dumortier ; Leyerle  and Alwis . See also Jerome. The indictments of this custom
centered on the possible immorality of these cohabitations. The accusation of magic uttered by
Miccalus was a commonplace with regard to ‘seductive’ women, who supposedly manipulated the
sexual behavior of men. John Chrysostom also alluded to pharmaka/φάρμακα. Against the prevalent
opinion, Dickey  argued that in Greek and Roman literature it was not only women who
practiced love magic. Cf. Vuolanto, in this volume.
 Different Ways of Life 
Olympius also looked threatening to the community because of another
issue. People who had expected some money in his will were indignant
that he had left some funds to two “worthless” men. Not much is known
about these individuals who may have been servants or were in any case
men of the lower classes. They lived in Olympius’ household and provided
companionship and help when Olympius fell ill and ultimately died. ‘They
were’ – says Libanius – ‘a haven for Olympius, a refuge, a distraction, a
consolation, an occasion to be cheerful, and a remedy against pain’ ().
He adds () that these men neglected their affairs and devoted their lives
entirely to Olympius, surpassing ‘everything that is expected of parents,
children, brothers, and of his household slaves as well’. They took pleasure
in his joys more than in their own and so Olympius delighted () in their
‘affection, efforts, sleepless nights, and distress’ and did not neglect them in
his will.
The many sections in Or.  (–) that Libanius devotes to these two
men suggest that he considered the issue most important and strove to
defend his friend’s conduct. To be sure, the role, identity and social status
of these men are far from certain. The sophist recognized that they had a
modest subordinate role, one taking care of the household and the other
entirely devoted to Olympius, responding to his calls day and night, and
assisting him in everything. Interestingly the word Libanius uses for their
relationship with Olympius is agapē, a term employed in Christian texts to
mean the reciprocal ‘love’ of God and men, which could also indicate
‘brotherly love’. This might suggest that Olympius, the two men and the
women lived together in a community of spiritual love. The Christian
Olympius seeems to have created in his house a group of religious
observance.
And yet another hypothesis cannot be entirely discarded. Was Olympius
involved in a homosexual relationship with one of the men? The prude
Libanius appears to make every effort to defend his friend’s reputation.
This may have been an issue in the great turmoil in Antioch that followed
the opening of the will when people started to launch insults against the
dead. What might support this idea is that in section  of this speech
Libanius evokes the mythological example of the strong friendship of
Achilles and Patroclus. Though in the Iliad Homer never openly alluded


So for example both St Basil and John Chrysostom employed this word numerous times with both
meanings (Bas. epist.  and ; Ioh. Chrys. ad populum Antiochenum vol. , p. .; see also
I Cor :).

See Hom. Il. .– on the friendship of Achilles and Patroclus. Cf. also Lib. or. .–, where
Patroclus in his close relationship with Achilles is reproaching him for not helping the army.
  
to pederastic love, the later classical tradition (for example Aeschylus, Plato,
Plutarch and Lucian) and then modern scholars have concluded
that Achilles was the lover while Patroclus was the eromenos in the
relationship.

 Single Women in Libanius’ Epistles

Finally, after covering the struggles for acceptance of these upper-class
single males, it is helpful to consider, however briefly, the condition of a
few upper-class women who had lost their husbands and tried to cope
with bringing up their children as single parents. I have already mentioned
women, mostly from the lower classes, who chose to live as singles in
spiritual marriage. The women I am considering now were of comfortable
means and had legitimate sons who studied rhetoric in Antioch. These
examples will show how complete was society’s acceptance of single
widowed women who refused a new marriage. Women called subintro-
ductae attracted the open criticism of all, pagans and Christians, for defying
convention. Single men who chose not to marry and renounced having
legitimate children were often blamed and denounced. These widows,
however, elicited people’s admiration for their loyalty to their former
husbands and their decision to leave the family property intact without
introducing extraneous individuals. The ultimate model of motherhood
and womanly virtue for Libanius was his own mother, who had lost her
husband at a young age. She brought him up with the help of her
brothers, was very attached to him, was in fact ‘everything’ to him
(ta panta) as he remarked. Though she rarely appears in his writing, her
presence can be felt behind the scenes. Most of the widows in Libanius’
epistles conform to this ideal.
The benevolence and even admiration of the sophist for most of the
widowed mothers of his students seems a function of his affection for the
boys attending his school and his fear that they might drop out, aggravat-
ing the crisis of rhetoric. Orphans needed continuous injections of funds
and had to rely on relatives and friends of the family. Fathers usually wrote
letters of introduction for their sons when they began their rhetorical
studies, but if the father had died, male relatives, uncles or grandfathers,


See, e.g., Plat. symp., speech of Phaedrus; Halperin : –, chapter : ‘Heroes and their Pals’.
 
Patroclus did the cooking, and fed and took care of the horses. See Schouler : –.

Cf. Cribiore :  and see or. ..

On Libanius’ care of orphan students, see Cribiore .
 Different Ways of Life 
represented the family by performing this duty. Mothers, however, were
apparently not acceptable recommenders even though some had an edu-
cation and did not receive progress reports. Some officials were also
involved in supporting an orphan child, as in the case of Epist. , which
portrays the exceptional dedication of a widowed mother:
His mother brought Letoius, a young man from Armenia, here and
entrusted her only son to me. I was pleased with him because he was ready
to receive rhetoric—this colt is sharp—but I marveled at the mother who
was not looking for a second marriage, even though she has only one child,
and who went on such a journey. She thought that everything would turn
out better for him if she were there to take care of things at the beginning. It
will be the god’s concern and ours that he belongs to the Greeks, but the
preservation of his household will be the concern of his mother and of
Eusebius too.
Eusebius had been a schoolfellow of Libanius. He lived in Armenia and
was a natural supporter of this student. The journey from the distant
province of Armenia was long and arduous, but this mother cared to
organize her freshman son from the very beginning. Another widowed
mother wished to follow closely her sons’ progress. Living in Cilicia, she
relied upon her brother and another relative, the poet and rhetor Acacius,
in order to communicate with Libanius concerning her son Philoxenus
and his brother. Libanius reassured everyone that Philoxenus had a good
predisposition for his studies and cared for rhetoric. At the end of a letter
that appears a bit exasperated, he wrote to Acacius: ‘Tell the mother of the
two boys that it is summer here too and a moderate wind blows’ (no. ).
This mother was anxious to have her sons back home and must have
alleged that Antioch’s climate was excessively hot. Libanius found the
whole thing ridiculous.
Some mothers naturally continued to concern themselves with the
welfare of their sons after their education was completed. Libanius cher-
ished Albanius of Ancyra because he did not have any other teacher of
rhetoric before or after himself. He did not attend the school for the
number of years the sophist had hoped, because his mother, who was
presumably a widow, had pulled him out with much ‘crying and begging’.


Cribiore : –. Previous teachers of rhetoric might write letters.

Cribiore , letter no. , which was addressed to Maximus , who became governor of
Armenia.

Eusebius x in the prosopography of Seeck .

Cribiore , letter nos. , ,  and . They allow us to follow this student from 
to .
  
Dianius, a ‘poor’ student, was unable financially to undertake a liturgy and
to avoid doing so, he did not want to return to his own country. He was
torn, however, because his mother insisted on reclaiming him. Eusebius
was a beloved student who knew ‘more of the ancients than anyone else
and makes discourses similar to theirs’. Libanius had conceived the hope
that he might become a sophist and educator, but he chose to be a lawyer.
Apparently, his widowed mother and uncle persuaded him to embark on
that career, probably for financial reasons.
Mothers who continued to support their sons emotionally and finan-
cially after the demise of their husbands had a good influence on them.
Libanius’ epistles show that all these young men became successful
members of society, with the exception of one. It is telling that in this
case a disgraceful mother was involved. The dossier of letters concerning
Dionysius informs us of the vicissitudes of this troubled young man.
After robbers murdered his father, Dionysius’ mother had remarried, was
able to deprive the youth of his patrimony and lived ‘luxuriously with her
new husband’ while Dionysius ‘lived in destitution’. Dionysius ran away
from home and obtained the protection of Libanius, who maneuvered
to arrange the equivalent of a scholarship for him. Through his knowledge
of rhetoric, he was able to reclaim his land and in gratitude sent a horse to
the sophist. He then refused to accept a position as an advocate in the
retinue of an official and took refuge in the country choosing ‘his trees and
the birds in them’. His land, however, was almost fatal to him since
‘he had chosen to tend goats rather than practice rhetoric’. He abducted
or raped a girl and this crime of harpagē (raptus) put him at risk of losing
his head. A frantic Libanius was able to arrange his release through a
chain of officials he knew. If we believe the sophist who disliked the
country and strongly preferred an urban atmosphere, the pleasures of
country life corrupted Dionysius, but what seems to have ruined him
was his mother’s betrayal and his emotional distress.


Liturgies (in Latin, munera curialia) were civic services for which the decurions were personally
responsible. They were usually compulsory by the fourth century.

Epist. , Cribiore , letter no. .

Eusebius , PLRE I. Epist. , Cribiore , letter no. . Section  of this letter mentions that
his family was greatly damaged by an obscure affair involving a certain Prophetius and lost a great
amount of money because of it. There is no way of knowing whether this widowed mother had
been somehow involved with this man.
 
See epist. , Cribiore , letter no. . Cribiore : , , – and –.
 
Epist. , Cribiore , letter no. . See epist. , Cribiore , letter no. .

Epist. , Cribiore , letter no. .

On the crime of raptus, cf. Evans Grubbs ; Beaucamp – and Karlin-Hayter .
 Different Ways of Life 

 Some Conclusions
The examples that I have studied in this essay suggest that there was a great
variety in patterns of single living in Antiquity, more or less as there is
today. The individuals I have considered did not withdraw from society
but were fully part of it. Their social and economic status allowed them to
defy convention and to escape from traditional cohabitations. They relied
on a strong network of relatives and friends for support and acceptance.
While the single, virtuous women whom Libanius mentioned elicited
admiration for their steadfast determination not to remarry and for the
sacrifices they made for their offspring, the men I considered could not
escape stigmatization and had to buttress their position. They did so in
various ways, but always eliciting disapproval from others. Libanius used
the death of his fiancée as an excuse for avoiding a legitimate relationship,
but then spent a lifetime trying in vain to shield his illegitimate son. His
desire for legitimate offspring resurfaces sometimes in his writings. In
theory Julian as an emperor was best placed to defend his personal choices,
but had to wait for his wife’s death to live alone and later incurred strong
criticism for not leaving an heir who would uphold the empire. Thus all
his many efforts to establish a strong pagan society were ultimately
nullified, and he could not prevent a series of Christian emperors from
taking the reins of the empire. A suitable station in society, abundant
means of life, reliable friends and a position in the Christian community
allowed Olympius to avoid marriage. It is impossible to know if the violent
criticism of his brother, Miccalus, and probably of his younger brother,
Evagrius, had an equivalent in the Antiochene society at large, but cer-
tainly condemnation was rampant after he died. At that point his relation-
ship with the women and the two men who lived with him and his
adoption of two girls were denounced. While it is impossible to gauge
solely from these examples of male singles the frequency of patterns of solo
living in Late Antiquity, it is clear that stigmatization for not conforming
to traditional models and repercussions for illegitimate offspring were
strong.
Another factor should not be overlooked since it may have been
significant in the decision of these male figures not to establish permanent
legitimate relationships: the strong bonds they had with their deceased
mothers. I have already remarked on the attachment of Libanius to his
mother and on the strong affection of Olympius for his mother that
had conditioned his difficult relationship with his brothers. In addition,
Basilina, the mother of the emperor Julian, had played a strong role in his
  
life. She was a woman of noble birth who died a little after Julian
was born. He idealized her in the Misopogon, remarking about her
knowledge of Homer and Hesiod and showing her implicit influence in
his cultural upbringing through the education he received at the hands of
Mardonius, a eunuch, the same tutor who had brought her up. Julian
named a town, Basilinopolis in Bithynia, after her. Of course it is
extraordinarily difficult to capture the personal motivations and mental
states of figures from Antiquity, but some continuity of human experi-
ence may be claimed here. In modern times, unusual closeness to a mother
appears sometimes at the heart of some men’s difficulties in establishing
durable and strong rapports with female partners.
I mentioned briefly at the beginning how the great increase of solo
living and avoidance of permanent ties in the modern world attract less
stigmatization than in the past and are more accepted in many circles. This
is a dramatic transformation and a major demographic shift. Singles
nowadays are not restricted by the demands and obligations of a family
and theoretically are free to pursue their own interests and choices and to
strengthen individual self-worth. And yet, is this life arrangement a privil-
ege that brings authentic satisfaction, or can we identify issues that still
hamper modern singles? The twenty-first-century urban singles inter-
viewed by Klinenberg had to face some of the issues that plagued people
in Antiquity, lack of permanent relationships, unfulfilled desire for chil-
dren and fear of illness or of dying alone. In addition, those who live alone
not by choice but because of circumstances (the poor, the ill and often the
elderly) do not enjoy at all the positive aspects of single life but have to
confront the painful burden of solitude. Two books on the single life of
young and seemingly privileged males and females were recently published
in New York to great acclaim and confirm that there are challenges
confronting singles. Katherine Heiny in her book of short stories whose
protagonists do not have permanent and positive relationships is pessimis-
tic to a degree. In spite of its title, Single, Carefree, Mellow, her book

 
See Amm. ..; Lib. or. .. Iul. mis.  B.

Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum II . (ed. E. Schwartz).

As Guthrie :  wrote: “The Greeks remain in many respects a remarkably foreign people.” This
observation does not concern only great philosophers. Common people who appear in the sources
are sometimes a mystery to us too.

Heiny .
 Different Ways of Life 
centers on singles who appear far from carefree and neurotically search for
more balanced and meaningful relationships. The point of view of Kate
Bolick in Spinster is somewhat different. In recounting personal circum-
stances, after going through a series of unsatisfactory boyfriends as a single
woman, Bolick retreats into the joys of solitude.


Bolick . See also Traister .
  

Single Life in Late Antiquity? Virgins between

the Earthly and the Heavenly Family
Ville Vuolanto

 Introduction
By the end of the fourth century CE, more and more Christians remained
unmarried. Earlier in the Greco-Roman world, girls, especially the high-
born, would have had no future outside marriage. Virginity was ‘a laudable
state prior to marriage’, but certainly ‘not an end in itself’. Even if
asceticism as such was nothing new in the context of the Christian
traditions, during the fourth century elite families began to promote their
offspring as ascetics. The task in this chapter is to track how far and in
what sense the ascetic lifestyle, especially that adopted by females, can
justifiably be called ‘single life’. What were the practical consequences of
the shift in the ideals and social practices?
The Greco-Roman elites of the late fourth and earliest fifth centuries
shared the common status culture around the Mediterranean, and I use
here material from both the Eastern and the Western parts of the empire.
This time period, the golden age of patristic literature, certainly can furnish
us with plenty of information on family history; but here I will concentrate
on elites, given the paucity of sources concerning the dynamics of asceti-
cism among the common people. I build upon the flourishing literature on
early Christian asceticism; in particular, elite women ascetics have received
much attention in scholarly work. Recently, the research has concentrated
on questions of body and gender, and the secular, political and spiritual
power of the ascetics. Studies by the previous generation of researchers,
who were more interested in the social historical aspects of fourth- and
fifth-century elite women and asceticism, have been more useful for the


Quotation from Nathan : ; see also Arjava : .

On the shared cultural context for late antique elites, see Salzman : –, –.

See Chin and Schroeder , Wilkinson  and Harper , with Finn  and Rousseau
 on earlier studies.


 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
present chapter. However, although earlier scholars have acknowledged,
and even highlighted, the phenomenon of asceticism as offering a possibil-
ity of new lifestyle especially for women, there have not been any studies
that explicitly take singleness as a way of life as their point of departure.
In what follows, I start with the background to ascetic life: what the
function of marriage was in the Roman world, and how the decision to
adopt this lifestyle was made in the elite families. I then analyse the life of
virgins in the context of ascetic communities and households from the
perspective of singleness. I will concentrate on female virgins at the end
of the fourth century and at the turn of the fifth, occasionally referring to
male ascetics in order to offer a comparative perspective. Widows or
couples who assumed their ascetic lifestyle later on in life are not the focus
of my attention here. I am dealing here solely with permanent and
vocational singleness, that is, with people who never married and never
intended to do so.

 Choosing a Single Lifestyle?

The cultural and social significance of getting married in the Roman world
cannot be overestimated. For elite girls in particular, it was marriage
which functioned as the rite of passage to adult life with the new house-
hold. For them, there was nothing similar to the boys’ taking the toga
virilis to mark the end of childhood in the Roman traditional culture,
although there may have been specific occasions to celebrate locally the
emerging new status of a girl who had reached puberty and the marriage-
able age, like the therapeuteria in Roman Oxyrhynchus in Egypt. Roman
elite girls were supposed to be virgins at marriage. Sexual integrity was at
the centre of female virtue, and women were already expected, in the pre-
Christian context, to stay at home and to be modest (pudica) and chaste
(casta) – and this ideology did not change in Late Antiquity. Young men,


See esp. Elm  and Arjava : – for further studies. To these may now be added
Vuolanto  on children, asceticism and family dynamics. All these are much indebted to the
work of Elizabeth A. Clark; see, e.g., the essays in Clark .

On the terminology, see Laes, in this volume, pp. – and –.

For boys and the toga virilis, see McWilliam : – – here too, there were local variations,
like the well attested epikrisis registration and a more obscure mallokouria (probably with the ritual
cutting of a boy’s childhood hair) festivities in Roman Egypt. For therapeuteria, attested only in
Roman Egypt, see P.Oxy.   and ; P.Oxy.Hels. , l.  (all third cent. CE). On these
festivities, see Laes and Strubbe : –, with Montserrat  for especially the Egyptian rites
of passage. Huebner  proposes plausibly but with no specific evidence that therapeuteria were
specifically linked with female circumcision.

Wilkinson : –; Harper : –.
  
in contrast, were expected to be introduced both to public life and to
sexual life well before their marriage. But for men too, marriage was the
predominant cultural expectation in the pre-Christian Roman world – and
even after remaining unmarried became an option in Late Antiquity, this
did not mean that those men who opted for this were sexually inexperi-
enced, as the biographies of men such as Libanius or Augustine show.
The rise of ascetic forms of Christianity did not change the fact that,
especially for the upper echelons of the society, marriage was the central
device in kinship alliance and family strategies. In Late Antiquity, a mar-
riage arranged by the parents was the standard situation, with the head
of the family (the father if he was alive) responsible for the marriage
arrangements. Moreover, legally, his consent was needed for the marriage.
Especially among the elites, marriage constituted a contract between two
families. It would be naïve to think that, as a rule, the unmarried state
would have been chosen freely by the young ascetic recruits themselves:
the decision to remain single and choose asceticism was not an individual
decision, but a family issue. The younger the ascetic recruit was, the more
this would have been the case. At one extreme, children were promised to
God at their birth – or even before that. It was a question of elite families
deciding to abandon conventional family strategies by preferring their
children to link themselves and the whole family with the Church and
the heavenly family of Christ.
The choice to stay ‘single’ had to be made before marriage. At the latest,
the discussions concerning asceticism had to take place in the families at
the same time as the discussions of the married future of the offspring
would have taken place – and with the same possible profits and risks in
mind. For girls of the elite, among whom the age of marriage was at its
lowest, that would mean that they would have been still in their early
teens – if not still nearer to ten. Thus, for these girls, the decision to enter
the ascetic life had to be made already when they were underage –
therefore, children even by Roman standards. For lower-status girls, there
was more time, at least until their late teens. Unfortunately, however,
we have little information about how the decision-making process would
have taken place among the ordinary people – or, indeed, if ordinary girls
or young women chose virginity independently except in very exceptional


Harper : –. Both Libanius and Augustine remained unmarried, but had many
relationships in their youth and one long-lasting relationship from which a son was born. See
Vuolanto :  and Cribiore, in this volume.

Kuefler : –; Nathan : –; see further the articles in Badel and Settipani .

Vuolanto .
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
cases. After all, they would not have been able to merit (and show their
virtue) by abstaining from property, good marriage and exquisite foods.
Its seems that there was a constant tension between practical views (parents
making the decision when it suited them, usually when the girl was
reaching puberty) and more theological or psychological views (stressing
the need of free will on the part of the virgins) on the proper age for taking
the final, binding vows of chastity, with a span from the age of ten
or twelve, or ‘marriageable age’ more generally (Ambrose), to sixteen or
seventeen (Basil of Caesarea) or even forty (Council of Saragossa).
For the sons, to stay single was more of a free option, since the
considerations of marriage started to become relevant only in their very
late teens or early twenties. Even if some senatorial boys married already in
their teens, it was no catastrophe for the family if the marriage had not
taken place in their late twenties. Whereas nearly one half of young men
had lost their fathers (and one in four their mothers) when they had
reached the age of twenty-five and they had to start pondering their
marriage, only one quarter of the elite children had lost their father (and
one fifth their mother) at fifteen, the age when elite girls were entering into
marriages. Thus, when the time came to decide about asceticism, sons
were considerably older than daughters, and it was more probable that the
fathers of the boys (or rather, young men) had died. Because of their
experience, they were more able to defend their position; moreover, as a
rule they seem already to have lived on their own, during their student
years. Nevertheless, there were problems: a case in point is Stagirius, a
rich young man and a friend of John Chrysostom. When he wanted to
begin the monastic life, his father was firmly against the idea. However,
Stagirius moved away from his home, ostensibly to start his studies in
Antioch, but in reality to join an ascetic community. He also made a deal
with his mother to conceal from his father what he had done. Even in
this kind of case, there was to appear no open rebellion against paternal
authority; the primary option was incontestably the preservation of trad-
itional family life and familial hierarchies.


Vuolanto : – with e.g. Hier. epist.  on Asella, who was promised to God before birth.
She took her vow at the age of ten, and began her more rigorous ascetic practices at the age of twelve
(cf. Greg. Nyss. vita Macr. – on Macrina making the decision at the age of twelve to stay
unmarried); Ambr. de virginit. –; Bas. epist. . and reg. fus. tract. ; Council of Saragossa
( CE) canon . See further Undheim : –, also for epigraphical evidence.

See e.g. Nathan :  and Vuolanto :  and , following Saller : – (tables),
 and . For the problems and applicability of model life tables, see e.g. Scheidel .

Ioh. Chrys. ad Stag. .. See also Ioh. Chrys. adv. oppugn. vit. mon. . and ..
  
Despite this, in Late Antiquity there circulated a number of hagio-
graphic stories about children who had opposed the will of their parents
by remaining celibate, with the rhetorical discourse of the independence of
the young ascetic recruits. These would seldom have had any real-life
background. The ideals of spiritual life and free will led to the highlighting
of individuality and the need for children to overcome parental opposition
in their yearning for the ascetic life and dedication to God. There may have
been family conflicts, but these could hardly ever have become public, and
in any case the children had virtually no possibility of successfully oppos-
ing their parents’ will. In a society like the Late Roman Christian world,
where obedience and devotion (in one Latin word: pietas) towards one’s
parents was a value that was unquestionable in principle, remaining
single was necessarily a decision which involved the whole family, and if
the parents were alive, their word would have counted much more than
the opinion of the would-be ascetics themselves.

 Asceticism at Home
In order to be able to assess the nature of the ascetic lifestyle of the young
recruits as the ‘single life’, it is necessary to study what kind of arrange-
ments this would have implied in the late fourth-century context. In
general, three major trends of ascetic practice were emerging: the eremitical
mode of life of the rigorous ascetics who completely rejected society,
ascetics who practiced the ascetic life in the context of their homes and
families, and organized ascetic communities. It seems that by the end of
the fourth century, the majority of elite ascetics did not live in monastic
communities, and certainly not as hermits or anchorites. For young female
virgins in their early teens in particular, the first mentioned alternative was
not an option, and the dividing line between the second and third forms of
asceticism is by no means self-evident. Instead, young virgins lived in close
contact with their families, as a part of the original household structure.
This ‘home-asceticism’ was the dominant form of elite female asceticism,
especially in the Western part of the empire. In the West, there are no

  
Vuolanto . Vuolanto : –. Elm : .

On the importance of home asceticism, especially for women in the fourth-century West, see Clark
: – and Caseau : –. For Egypt and the Middle East, see Wipszycka  with
Elm : –, –, , –. Wipszycka especially downplays the possibility of women
choosing anchoritic monasticism. See, however, Schroeder  on the variety of women’s ascetic
experience in Roman Egypt. Still, it seems the more solitary forms of female asceticism were
restricted to women of rather modest economic background.
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
unambiguous references before the sixth century to little children being
vowed to God, separated from their families and given to the monastic
settlements to be brought up as ascetics. Thus, for elite girls in their early
teens, the ascetic vow seems not to have prompted them to leave home or
the supervision of relatives outside the original household.
Female virgins were expected to cultivate domesticity, modesty and
restricted spatial movement in their way of life. They were expected to
be in public view as little as possible. An elite virgin was virtuous if
she indeed lived with her relatives, secluded in her parents’ home, or at
least took refuge in a community led by an older female relative. In these
early phases of asceticism, the home was outside the world and its perils,
a safe bastion in the battle against earthly passions. The contacts with the
outer world were to be reduced to a minimum – even the maid attendants
should be separated from all worldly associates as carefully as possible.
On the other hand, in the uppermost echelons of the society, this modesty
as such developed into a spectacle. Not only were virgins expected to
receive (but only some and carefully selected) visitors, and to go out to
church, but, as Kate Wilkinson points out, a virgin ‘must outdo the
ordinary noblewoman in her womanly virtue’ and in her ‘superlative
domesticity’. Indeed, paradoxically, they were socially highly visible, and
the fact that they did not frequently appear in public constituted a public
spectacle as such.
To live unmarried under parental supervision was not always easy, even
if our sources often tend rather to highlight the saintly aspects of this kind
of life. Augustine, however mentions a nun, a sanctimonialis, who lived in
the household of her parents. In the middle of the night she woke up a
presbyter who, because of his duties, had stayed overnight at the house.
According to the presbyter, the nun started to complain about her parents,
and continued until he got too upset and left the room, fearing damage to
their reputations. He was right – damage followed.
The position of virgins with regard to their families of origin can also be
seen in the public reactions to them. Fourth- and early fifth-century


See, however, Ger. v. Mel. (Greek) , mentioning a girl given to the monastery by her mother ‘at
the altar’. It may be significant, however, that the surviving Latin (i.e. Western) version of this text
does not mention this case at all.

See e.g. Ambr. de virg. .., inst. virg. .; Greg. Nyss. vita Macr.  and ; Ioh. Chrys. fem. reg. ,
de sac. . with Arjava : –. On the need for the seclusion of elite girls and women: Hier.
epist. .–, ., . (both letters written in  CE),  ( or  CE), .–.

Wilkinson : –, –.

Aug. epist. *: de parentibus suis nescio quas querelas immurmurantem.
  
legislation reacted to the enhanced independence of ascetic women by
trying to regulate their independent economic activity. In , Valentinian
I decreed that clerics or monks were not allowed to visit widows or
fatherless girls (pupillae) or accept any transfers of property from them
(seemingly in fear of legacy-hunting). This, however, is the only law which
mentions girls; all other legislation reflects concern about widows. They
were potentially much more threatening to the family property than were
young virgin daughters, most of whom still had a father to take care of
such issues. Even later in their lives, virgins who resided with their relatives
would not have had the possibility to learn independence.
More distant kinship relations were not necessarily any easier. A woman
who had no parents and no husband could still not live alone, and if she
was not a member of an ascetic community, there was not much choice.
The case of Indicia, as told by Ambrose, depicts a young elite virgin who
has problems due to these circumstances. A man, Renatus, who once had
wanted to marry her but was turned down, accused her of having aban-
doned her new-born child in order to conceal her loss of virginity. Indicia
was living in the household of her sister and brother-in-law. In this
situation, the brother-in-law, Maximus, built a wall separating his and
his wife’s quarters from those of Indicia to avoid shame for the family.
The reaction of Maximus shows the ambivalent attitude towards the
virgin. On the one hand, in the context of the Church, to have a virgin
living in one’s household brought honour and spiritual rewards, but on the
other hand, Maximus was quick to accept the accusations against her
and took measures to protect his and his wife’s reputation by cutting
Indicia out of their fellowship – maybe also to get her property under
his control.
A virgin, like any other upper-status Roman woman, represented her
family, its fame and honour, wherever she went, and whatever she did.
Whether in their homes or in communities, virgins were not completely
secluded: they were to act as examples of a pure life in their commu-
nities. They had a public position, regardless of their original social
background. After the decision for asceticism, the ‘single life’ of these
young household ascetics was far from being as independent – or single
in the sense of living alone – as one might have expected.


Cod. Theod. .., with Arjava : –.
 
Ambr. epist. , with Uhalde : , –. Wilkinson : –.

See also Elm : .
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 

 Young Virgins, Families and Ascetic Communities

The third alternative for female asceticism, ascetic communities, was only
gradually emerging during the late fourth century. As Susanne Elm points
out, the process whereby elite households developed into ascetic house-
holds and finally ascetic communities was a process of gradual transform-
ation of the traditional family structures. The household of Basil the Elder
and Emmelia in Cappadocia is the best-documented case. Their daughter
Macrina was the first to start living in personal poverty with household
work, a specific habit and spiritual exercises; then other household
members, first her mother, Emmelia, followed her example; this was
followed by the widening of the inner circle to include the former house-
hold slaves as equals in principle, and finally, ‘outsiders’ were received as
community members. The same widening circle can be detected, for
example, in the household of Melania the Younger in Rome. In this
process, the household structure may have been transformed almost
beyond recognition, but the household ideology with mother and chil-
dren, brothers and sisters persisted. Similarly, many functional features of
the household remained, such as the shared use of the property, relative
economic independence, specific internal hierarchies and continuity.
A monastic community was to be a new household, oikeia.
For the young people of the elites, this kind of asceticism seems to
have taken two main forms at this early stage. Firstly, there were the
ascetic communities which had as their starting point the activity of the
‘older generation’: these often had grown up around a core of a couple,
sometimes with their children, or around a (widowed) mother with her
daughter. Elite children could end up in this kind of community when
they joined them with their parents or other older relatives who aimed at
starting a new life. These communities may later have expanded further
through relatives and acquaintances with their own children. Well-known
examples of this kind of community are the household of the Anician
widows in Rome, which later included young Demetrias as a virgin;
the household of Paula the Elder; the community which formed around
Paulinus and Therasia in Nola; and, somewhat later, the more


Elm : , –,  and  on Basil of Ancyra, . For Macrina, see Greg. Nyss. vita
Macr.; for Melania the Younger, see Gerontius vita Melaniae (Greek) – and Pall. Laus. .–.

Elm : .

This was especially the case among the elites. It is only in hagiographic stories regarding the
common people that we meet also (widowed) fathers with their sons retiring to a monastic
community. See e.g. Cassian. inst. .; Soz. ..
  
institutionalized community of Lérins in Southern Gaul, which welcomed,
for example, Eucherius of Lyon with his children.
Some other children arrived with their parents, who sought help and
protection, while other children were to be educated in these communities.
In more general terms, bishops, priests and ascetics were supposed to take
care of orphans and foundlings: for example, Basil of Caesarea, in his
monastic rules, not only urged monastic communities to take in orphans
and raise them, but also assumed the continuing presence of children in his
monastic foundations – and this did take place at least on some occa-
sions. But this did not mean that these children would stay in these
circumstances for the rest of their lives. Not all the children in the ascetic
communities were to be counted as dedicated ascetics, as they formed
separate groups to be brought up and educated. Only some of the
children raised in monasteries would have ended up ascetics and thus
remained permanently single.
Another context in which young people or children began the ascetic
life in their households was when they themselves were promised to be
brought up as gifts to God. As pointed out above, this was still a family
decision, taken at the earliest even before their birth. A more common
alternative in this first phase of elite asceticism, however, was for a child’s
vow to be taken only later on, when the children were at marriageable age.
In all of these situations, the virgins would be living with their parents,
often in an otherwise ‘secular’ household, and when the parents had died,
with other relatives. Parents were encouraged to propagate these forms of
asceticism in their households: ‘In every Christian household it is needed
that there is a virgin.’ Asella is an example of a girl promised to God


Demetrias: Hier. epist. ; Aug. epist.  and ; Pelag. ad Demetr.; Paula the Elder and her
daughters: Hier. epist. , ,  and . Nola: see e.g. Paul. Nol. carm.  with Alciati , esp.
– (also on Sulpicius Severus’ Primuliacum); Paul. Nol. epist. .–, on Eucherius and his sons
at Lérins. For other ascetic families with children, see e.g. Hier. epist. ; Pall. Laus. .; Salv. epist.
. See also Pudsey  and Schroeder  on children in the ascetic communities of
Roman Egypt.

On education and security: Ioh. Chrys. hom.  eph. , adv. oppugn. vit. mon. . and ; Aug.
epist. –, epist. *., in which the mother with her boy and his stepfather were seeking help,
not the spiritual life. See also Miller : – with Kalogeras . On orphans and foundlings:
Bas. reg. fus. tract. .; Greg. Nyss. vita Macr. ; Aug. epist. .; Ps.-Athan. can. . See also
Athan. vita Ant. – (–) for Antony giving his orphan sister to a monastery of nuns to be
brought up.

Bas. epist. . and reg. fus. tract. , with Caseau : –. For example the girl referred to
in Augustine’s letters as having lived in his monastic settlement was certainly not a dedicated virgin:
Aug. epist. –. See also Millar : –.

Quotation: Ps.-Athan. can. ; see also can.  and .
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
before her birth. She took her vows at the age of ten, and later joined, with
her sister Marcella, the ascetic household of Albina and her likewise
widowed daughter Marcella in Rome. Indicia, as we have seen above,
was living as a virgin in the household of her sister and brother-in-law. In
Gaul, Ausonius implies that his maternal aunt Aurelia Hilaria, a dedicated
virgin, lived either in the household of her parents, or at least in close
proximity to it, all her life. Ausonius’ paternal aunt, Julia Cataphronia, also
a consecrated virgin, did not live in a monastic community, nor had she
given away her patrimony – and both aunts stayed intimately in contact
with their nephew. In some cases, if other family members too would
take the ascetic habit and recruit ‘outsiders’, the household could develop
into an actual monastic community, as in the case of the household of
Emmelia and Macrina.
The domination of the ascetic discourse by family ideals meant that
various forms of household asceticism, many of which were discouraged by
the mainstream ecclesiastical writers, were still flourishing in the fourth
century. If natural children were lacking, childless people were even
encouraged to adopt ascetics as family members. Jerome, on the other
hand, mentions disapprovingly the possibility of a widow ‘adopting’ a
spiritual son as a family member. As one more logical step forward,
there also developed different forms of asceticism imitating married life,
such as a tiny group of Abeloim near Hippo, who were married but
disapproved of intercourse and thus adopted their children from outside
of the community. A more frequent, and in some places seemingly even
popular, way of arranging the ascetic lifestyle was spiritual marriage. These
syneisaktai, subintroductae or agapetae, as they were called, lived with ascetic
men or clergy in a pseudo-marriage. This practice was strongly criticised by
the mainstream Christian writers. Some, especially Jerome, were worried
about the motivations of the agapetae and their actual sexual purity, with
accusations of making chastity a show, a public performance. Nevertheless,
although their purity was not necessarily a priori suspect, the problem was
that their conduct would be seen as dubious and open to misinterpret-
ation, especially outside of the ascetic Christian circles – and that it was
unacceptable that these women would serve their male companions in


Hier. epist. . and , .. See also Clark :  and Vuolanto : . Another example
of a girl promised to God at birth was Paula the Younger (Hier. epist. ).

Aemilia Hilaria: Auson. parentalia ; Julia Cataphronia: Auson. parentalia , with Laes and
Vuolanto a: –. For widowed mothers with their virgin daughters, see e.g. Aug. epist.
 and Theod. Hist. rel. .
 
Ps.-Athan. can. ; Hier. epist. .. Aug. de haer. , with Vuolanto : .
  
ascetic households, as subintroductae were understood to do. This subor-
dination would endanger their ability to shine as perfect examples of purity
and dedication to the heavenly spouse, Christ, which was expected from
them by these ecclesiastical writers. Moreover, this kind of living was no
longer life in seclusion and modesty, not ‘virginity’ as a certain socially and
culturally defined way of life. Thus, paradoxically, Chrysostom can call
these virgins (whose physical virginity he does not deny) prostitutes.
Marrying in the traditional way, but later taking the ascetic vow by mutual
consent was a way of organizing this in an orthodox manner – even if,
naturally, these people would not be counted as virgins.
In these circumstances, and especially when couples or siblings were the
initiating nucleus of the ascetic community, the family relations would
include wives and husbands, brothers and sisters, or widows with sons.
Thus, quite naturally, the ascetic communities ended up by including
people of both sexes, also in cases where the community as such was
not (or no longer) built around a family or household nucleus. This
was the case especially in the East, before the end of the fourth century.
These communities resembled actual households, and they were also
conceptualized as such: the aristocratic notion of the familia was deeply
embedded in the forms which (female) elite monasticism was taking in this
period.
The many forms of unmarried life show in part the problems women
had in trying to organize their life according to ascetic ideals and standards.
If organized ascetic communities were not available – which must still have
been the predominant situation in most of the Roman world in the fourth
century – living together in spiritual marriage was a practical social and
economic solution for those who could not fulfil their vocation in their
own family contexts, either because they lacked family altogether, or
because the family lacked the economic means or willingness to support


Leyerle : – and Wilkinson : – with Hier. epist. .–, .. See also Elm
: –, , –, –, –, ,  on the frequency in which spiritual
marriage appears in the contemporary (Eastern) texts (esp. by the Cappadocians, Basil of Ancyra
and John Chrysostom). Clark : – is the classic analysis of Chrysostom’s viewpoint.

For living in chaste marriage, see e.g. Vuolanto , – with further references.

For example, Pachomius’ asceticism was initially an enterprise of two brothers, and he had a sister to
run a women’s community – like Basil of Caesarea, too, who followed his brother Naucratios to
asceticism; and their sister Macrina’s community at first included their brother Peter. See also the
ascetic community mentioned in Hier. epist. ; Elm : –, , , –. For ascetic
communities and family metaphors, see Vuolanto : –.
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
such a lifestyle. There was still no place or protection for a single (in the
sense of ‘living alone’) woman outside of the family.

 Non-married Lifestyle as New Family Life

At the metaphorical level, the young people who found their ways to
monasteries and other ascetic communities, never marrying and staying
single all their lives, shared a ‘family life’. The fundamental nature of
the Christian communities constructed as familiae Christi was ideally
manifested in solidarity and mutual charity among all the members.
However, within the household of God, ascetics and ascetic commu-
nities, organized and conceptualized as families, formed a nuclear family
of Christ inside the extended family that consisted of all Christians. In
numerous fourth- and early fifth-century texts, the relationship between
the virgin and Christ is referred to as a betrothal, or even a marriage, in
the family of Christ. Christ is the bridegroom for every single virgin –
even, in some contexts, for male virgins. As Paulinus of Nola, himself
living in a chaste marriage, persuaded his audience: ‘Let us kiss him
whose kiss is chastity. Let us have intercourse with him, to wed whom is
virginity.’ The multiple forms of asceticism would have led to a
situation in which the new female ascetic recruits grew up to become
ascetics in close contact with their parents, and with their other relatives.
Living as a single was translated into the traditional terminology of family
and marriage.
The life situation of the ecclesiastical virgins was ideologically perceived
as a marriage, with all the duties (as well as the gains, like the heavenly
inheritance) this included. Indeed, the propagators of asceticism were
quick to highlight that ascetics would enjoy the same profits as those with
many children, without the inconveniences of marriage but with the
eventual reward in heaven. The parents of the ascetics would not lack
grandchildren, since their children would have continuity and immortality


See also Leyerle : –.

E.g. Ps.-Athan. can. – (Arabic text); Greg. Nyss. virg. .; Ps.-Athan. vita Syncl.  and ;
Ambr. exhort. virg. .–, virg. ..; Hier. epist. . and .–; Aug. bon. viduit.  ().
See Hunter : – on the ‘bridal exegesis’ of Ambrose.

Paul. Nol. epist. . with Kuefler : –, who stresses the significance of male bridehood.
See further Laes  for the terminology for male virgins.

Paul. Nol. epist. .: Illum osculemur, quem osculari castitas est. Illi copulemur, cui nupsisse
virginitas est. See also Hier. epist. ., .–, De laps. virg. cons. .; Greg. Nyss. virg.
.. In Aug. virg.  () and in Ioh. Chrys. reg. fem.  and , Christ is a lover.
  
as their offspring. ‘A virgin gives birth to immortal children through the
Spirit, and virginity has always the offspring of devotion to rejoice in’, as
Gregory of Nyssa claims. In a hagiographic treatise originating from the
Western part of the Mediterranean probably in the fifth century, the virgin
Helia boasts of her heavenly spouse and painless daily childbirth. Her body
is ‘a field’ untouched by mortal men, but ‘sowed by Christ’, and a garden
‘irrigated by the dew of heaven’. She is fruitful beyond imagination, having
‘a multitude of spiritual children’. The ideological background for the
virginal life can also be seen in its conceptualization first and foremost as a
state of mind, not as a state of body – even a raped virgin can be a pure and
undefiled one. This, however, need not have been a universally shared
attitude among the Christian congregations, in view of the frequency with
which the ecclesiastical writers had to repeat this view, and sometimes even
take a stand against the aims of local clergy and parishioners to carry out a
gynecological examination of the virgins whose status was in doubt.
Nevertheless, ascetics had plenty of offspring: their admirers, followers
and disciples. Jerome, for example, is able to boast that his ‘seed is fertile
with hundredfold fruit’. Even the lonely hermits, who did not have a
community to take care of their needs and who actually lived outside of
any family framework, were not alone in their single life. Thus, the lifestyle
of the hermits, which in our eyes would indeed embody single living, was
re-conceptualized as living in connection with families and households,
having relationships similar to a marriage bond and having offspring.
These kinds of ascetics might be leading a single life in the eyes of ignorant
people, but in transcendental reality, they were not. But this lonely lifestyle
was not in the least recommended for the young ascetic elite recruits; they
were to stay at home or to join ascetic communities.
Indeed, the family rhetoric of the early Christian asceticism highlighted
the communality of the enterprise. This was necessary, because remaining
unmarried was a precarious choice in Late Antique society: unmarriedness


Ioh. Chrys. adv. oppugn. vit. mon. .; Ambr. epist. .; Meth. symp. .; Aug. epist. .; Aug.
epist. .

Greg. Nyss. virg. . (quotation),  and .

Vita Heliae .–, –, –, in Burrus and Conti : ,  and . Further on
the fecundity of virgins, and their ‘marriage’ with Christ, see Burrus and Conti : – and
Vuolanto : –.

E.g. Bas. epist. .; Ambr. epist. ; Aug. civ. .–; Leo epist. . and , with Elm :
 on Basil of Ancyra.

Hier. epist. .: nubat et nubatur ille qui in sudore faciei comedit panem suum, cui terra tribulos
generat et spinas, cuius herba sentibus suffocatur: meum semen centena fruge fecundum est. See also
Hier. adv. Iovin. . with Kuefler :  and .
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
and childlessness meant living unprotected and without continuity – but
ascetics would belong to the family of Christ, and they would spiritually
enjoy all the fruits of marriage without its handicaps. Even some social
and ritual practices highlighted the family characteristics of the ascetic
lifestyle. Girls, or young women, acquired the status of virgins in an
ecclesiastical ceremony which imitated secular marriage. The ecclesiastical
punishments for breaking one’s vow of virginity, and the reasons given for
the specific punishments, highlighted the association of the vow and
marriage: if adulterers were punished when they defiled the marriage
bed in ordinary marriage, so too virgins were seen as adulteresses against
God (or his Son).

 Conclusions
In asceticism, Christianity and the Church offered – or at least claimed to
offer – alternatives to many issues that were traditionally dependent only
on progeny: taking care of the widows and orphans, of the old, of the dead
and of transmitting the spiritual traditions and inheritance – and, most
importantly, asceticism ensured the afterlife for its practitioners and their
family members, in renown and commemoration in this world and in
immortality in the next. Ascetics were part of the new family, a heavenly
one, in which they had the same kind of role as they would have had in the
traditional family oriented towards married life; thus, asceticism offered a
new option for elite family strategies. Through the lack of children, elite
families risked dying out and oblivion. This was a serious matter. Trad-
itionally, the fame and honour of the great families, and the immortality of
individual family members, depended on the good name of the family and
the continuity of the lineage. Even among Christians, asceticism remained
a minority option, and it continued to be criticised. After all, most of the
Christian families were untouched by ascetic practices with their radical
requests and new standards of life. All but a few men and women married
and at least tried to have children.
Marriage, or its counterpart, an ascetic vow, was inevitably a family
issue. In the fourth century, virgin women remained as integral parts of
their families, living under the authority of the paterfamilias. Elite female
ascetic recruits grew up in their homes to become ascetics, and in homes


Undheim : –. See also Elm :  on Basil of Ancyra, and Hunter : – on
the ‘parental’ authority of a bishop in veiling virgins.

See Vuolanto : –.
  
they would stay. Their traditional roles in society in general, and in
households in particular, determined the forms their ascetic lives could
take. The models chosen, whether virgin daughters, virgin widows or
virgin wives, were based on the notion of family. For men, the radical
option of life in the desert was much more of a possibility, even if elite
male ascetics also tended rather to organize their new life in connection
with families, biological or spiritual, following the examples of such
figures as Sulpicius Severus (in Primuliacum), of Paulinus (in Nola) or
Augustine (in Cassiciacum). Celibacy did not make elite women free:
especially for younger women, not widows, their future was in the hands
of their fathers, mothers and wider families, under whose legally and
socially sanctioned authority they lived. If we want to find female ascetics
as independent singles in Late Antiquity, it seems we have to turn our
gaze to the lower-status ascetic women in the fringes of the Egyptian
desert.
Therefore, paradoxically, for these elite ascetics ‘singleness’ did not
mean living alone. Nor was it a choice made by the individual – at least
not for the many young women. Thus, by the end of the fourth century,
Christianity as such did not advocate elite singleness (in the sense of living
alone), even if it did hold unmarriedness (in the sense of ‘no sex’) in high
regard. In fact, it is possible to understand all the forms of communal
and household asceticism of the young ascetic recruits as ways to oppose
any association of asceticism with life without family, which would have
meant life without authority, protection and continuity. Virgins were to be
closely guarded in their communities, never left alone, under the authority
of both the materfamilias and paterfamilias (community leaders, bishops
and, on the symbolic level, the Church and Christ). In homes, young
ascetics continued to live in close connection with their parents and kin,
and formed links with the family of Christ in this world (the Church), and
in the other world (God), not only for themselves but also for their
relatives. Living single was organized as a family life, and it was conceptual-
ized by using traditional family terminology.
Christianity, and especially ascetic Christianity, offered new solutions to
the anxieties of dying and living: the heavenly family would make the
believer a sharer in its communion, ensuring the inheritance and


See also Salzman : –, .

Schroeder : –. Even here, our sources are irritatingly scarce and vague.

See also Goessens, in this volume, pp. – on the commemoration of the unmarried, with no
preference or praise for singleness as such.
 Single Life in Late Antiquity? 
continuity beyond death. Having virgins as family members meant renown
and honour for the household and the family name among the Christian
communities. Virgins were protected by their relatives, both spiritual and
biological, in the absence of a husband in this world, and they avoided
oblivion both for themselves and for their close relatives through their
special relationship with the family of Christ.
  

Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity: Desire and Social

Norms in the Experience of Augustine
Geoffrey Nathan

 Introduction
While on a visit to the public baths, a sixteen-year-old Augustine was
mortified when his father, Patricius, observing his son’s sexual develop-
ment, joked about having grandchildren soon. His mother, Monnica, if
anything, was even more shocked to hear of her husband’s crass comments
and begged the adolescent not just to avoid fornication, but specifically not
to sleep with any of the locally married women. Leaving aside for the
moment the Freudian implications of such a statement, the underlying
expectations of both his mother and father were that young men commonly
engaged in sexual activity before marriage and that such behaviour was not
only normal and expected, but might also result in illegitimate offspring.
And indeed, just such an event happened less than two years later. Rejecting
his mother’s admonitions at the time as “womanish” (muliebris), Augustine
fathered Adeodatus – a name that borders on the ironic – and the event was
only unusual perhaps in that he chose to claim the child. Unsurprisingly,
we never learn much about this first concubine who bore his son and
remained his companion for almost fifteen years – not even her name.
So much might be expected, given that her status, whether free or freed,
would have been much lower than Augustine’s own.
Augustine’s anecdote about his father is significant for a number of
reasons. First, it is the only specific story of interaction with Patricius, a
man for whom he had decidedly mixed feelings. Of greater significance,
however: this account of father and son introduced Augustine’s readers to

 
Aug. conf. ... Conf. ...

Brown : – has noted that the modern interest in her name and her identity more generally
would have been an anachronism in Augustine’s time.

Different scholars have offered different thoughts about the nature of Augustine and the unnamed
woman’s relationship. See Power : –.

Although on Augustine’s passivity in this passage, see O’Donnell : ii..


 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
his budding and dangerous sexuality, with which he would struggle until
his conversion and baptism in . His inability to control his impulses,
by his own admission, was the greatest impediment to his full acceptance
of the Christian faith. Third, and relevant to this volume, it raises the
issues of what constituted proper sexual comportment before, during and
after marriage, and under what circumstances celibacy or continence
should be pursued. This last point raises an epistemological issue that
several contributors to this volume have had to address: What is the
relationship between sexual abstinence and the state of being unattached?
As Christian Laes notes in his introductory chapter, understanding what is
meant by singledom in this context is itself a difficult concept, since being
married does not presume sexual activity and being unmarried does not
presume abstinence.
Christianity, Laes continues, complicated the situation by introducing
the concept of exclusivity within marriage and, with it, status for those
who chose to avoid both matrimony and sexual congress altogether.
While the univira (a “one-man” woman) had long been an ideal in the
Roman world, no such equivalent concept applied to men. For those who
were ostensibly Christian, then, the matter of life prior to and during
marriage understandably became theoretically more complicated for young
bachelors and husbands respectively. Leaving aside for the moment how
sexual activity in a iusta nupta ought to be pursued, the life of a single
male – at least for those of means – was in the Roman world a time of
considerable personal freedom. That not only included the freedom to
engage in a number of sexual activities without penalty or even much
reproach, but also the freedom to pursue a number of personal and
professional interests unencumbered by certain familial responsibilities.
In some circumstances, as Raffaella Cribiore concluded in her contribution
here, it might even permit men to avoid marriage altogether – a topic to
which I shall return.
With these issues in mind, Augustine’s life is an important test case for
how and why an adult male might negotiate singledom, and one signifi-
cantly different from many of the cases discussed in this volume that have
focused more on women. First, we are in a unique position to know an
enormous amount about Augustine’s personal life and his experiences as a


Pyy, in this volume; Kiiskinen, in this volume and Vuolanto, in this volume.
 
Laes, in this volume. Vuolanto , passim. Also see Cooper .

On univira and pudicitia, see Lightman and Ziesel ; Nathan : – and –; and
Langlands : –.

Cribiore, in this volume.
  
single, although not celibate man; and second, we possess his thoughts
about sexuality and the married state as a theologian.
To the first point: Augustine most famously wrote the Confessions, a
carefully constructed autobiography chronicling his spiritual odyssey from
(in his own mind) a recalcitrant and helpless sinner to a baptised, orthodox
Christian. Additional details about his life also come from his other works,
although many of those are parenthetical. And of course, we also possess
the vita written by Possidius, a fellow bishop and friend of forty years,
who wrote of Augustine’s life before and (in much greater length) after his
ordination as a priest.
To the second: like many of the patristic writers of the late fourth and
early fifth century, Augustine wrote voluminously of virginity, abstin-
ence, marriage, widowhood, celibacy, concupiscence and other related
topics. He moreover addressed these issues in a variety of circumstances:
sermons delivered to a general audience, public debates, letters both
private and public and formal treatises. His thoughts came amid Jovi-
nian’s challenges to the spiritual worth of virgins, wives and widows;
to the sexual mores of the Manichaeans and later, to Pelagius’ notion on
the natural good of sexual pleasure. To be sure, these writings must be
considered in two specific contexts: the audience for whom they were
intended and the chronology of their publication. But they can in
some circumstances serve as an extension of his reflections on his own
life before conversion and what would eventually become a permanently
unattached state.
The life of the young Augustine thus serves as a useful introduction to
the activities of young men before they entered marriage and, ostensibly,
adulthood. While the impact of marriage patterns on the classical and
postclassical family has been much discussed, considerably less attention
has been paid to the life and nature of male bachelorhood in what might be
interpreted as an extended adolescence. Augustine’s case is especially worth
examining, since his conversion to orthodox Christianity also came
roughly at a time in one’s life when many men chose or were forced to
end their bachelorhood, if they had not done so already. Indeed, as is well
known, the rhetorician was actually waiting for his betrothed to reach the


Possidius notes the length of his association in V. Aug. .

See note  above, but for Late Antiquity see also Clark ; Bagnall : –; Arjava :
–, –; Nathan : –; Kuefler  and ; Osiek  and Evans Grubbs
.
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
legal age of consent – probably somewhere between  and . Just as
marriage ended the life led by the single man, both in terms of certain
sexual and social activities – at least, in theory – so, too, did Augustine craft
his autobiography to imply that his conversion functioned in much the
same way: his old life and his former activities came to an end.

 Augustine’s Bachelorhood to  CE

We must preface this examination by recognizing that the end of August-
ine’s bachelorhood was almost certainly unusual. Leaving aside the
fact that many Christians wed and there are even sufficient examples of
celibate marriages amongst the clergy – to say nothing of the even more
problematic “spiritual marriages” against which both the Church and state
inveighed – most Christian authorities accepted the inherent good of
the institution of marriage. Indeed, Augustine himself wrote de Bono
Coniugiali, in , which actually ends with an admonition to young
men and women choosing chastity to be vigilant and humble; he knew
all too well the challenges of sexual abstinence. Conversely, the celibate life,
for the wellborn at least, was considered somewhat inappropriate. John
Chrysostom, for example, had to comfort the aristocratic Stagirius, whose
parents had found his decision to become a monk beneath their family’s
dignity. This applied to women as well: Melania the Younger’s family was
scandalized (and mystified) at her behaviour for many years. As I have
suggested elsewhere, there were strong economic, social and biological
reasons why this was the case. Augustine’s choice to become a perman-
ently celibate Christian (at least without promise of clerical office), thus
would have been atypical, especially for a man of his career and station.


Conf. ... We know nothing about the girl to whom Augustine was betrothed, other than that
she was an heiress from an important family; his first concubine was clearly a hindrance to his social
advancement (conf. ..). If she were Christian, it is possible the marriage might have been
delayed until she was well into her teens; as Augustine notes, he had to wait two years before the
marriage could be consummated, which suggests a minimum legal age of . See Solignac :
 for dating and age.

See Alwis , for a full treatment on the topic of celibate marriage. See also Hunter :
–.

De bono con. . On the background of this work and the treatise itself, see Clark  and Schmitt
, passim (but esp. pt. , ch. ).

De providentia was dedicated to Stagirius, consoling him on his decision. See Wood : –;
Brown : –; Maxwell : –.

Ger. v. Mel. –. See also Vuolanto : –.

Nathan : –. Cf. Vuolanto , passim and Vuolanto, in this volume.
  
That said, his bachelorhood itself and activities prior to his conversion
were not atypical, in no small part due to the fact that young men often put
off getting married well into their twenties. In contrast, for young women,
menses was the moment that marriage became an imminent, if not imme-
diate reality. Admittedly, as Ville Vuolanto has recently discussed, this is an
increasingly problematic claim, but one that seems at least for the moment
to be tenable as a working hypothesis. There is sufficient anecdotal
evidence in both the literature and the epigraphy to suggest a general age
disparity between men and women in their first marriages. And while
spouses from the senatorial and curial orders might be slightly closer in age
to one another, such as was the case of Quintus Fabius Symmachus and his
unnamed wife, a gap of ten years or more was hardly unknown amongst
elites. This had obvious implications for the nature of child rearing,
domestic life, the family life cycle and inheritance strategies in Antiquity
(things space does not permit us to discuss here). To take one example of its
impact, directly relevant to Augustine’s life: Patricius was many years older
than Monnica, perhaps as much as twenty years. The young man was
unsurprisingly fatherless by the end of his sixteenth year, and at least one of
his siblings, his brother, Navigius, was probably not much older. Nor was
his experience in any way unique; many could expect to be orphans before
they reached the age of majority due to such age disparities. Indeed,
Augustine himself at the time of his betrothal was almost three times the
age of his fiancée. Remaining single for as long as ten or more years after
reaching adolescence was a commonalty for many men.
When we turn to actual events, there were three distinct periods in his
pre-conversion life that likely mirrored approximately the lives of many
young men: adolescence at home, a state of nominally living on one’s own
and finally as an affianced man where a specific time appointed for
marriage was established. Obviously, the relative lengths of these periods,


Vuolanto : –.

Considerable scholarship on this subject includes Hopkins ; Saller ; Shaw ; Morizot
; Bagnall and Frier : –; Saller : –; Aubin ; Lelis, Percy and Verstraete
 and Scheidel . On methodological issues, see Parkin : –.
 
PLRE ii , –. See again Shaw  and Scheidel .

Zaidman : – at .

His parents may have been married as long as nine years before Augustine was born; conf. ...
That he also had a nephew named Patricius, the same as his father, suggests that Navigius was the
elder and followed common Roman onomastic practices of first-born males recycling praenomina
each generation or every other generation; see Salway : –.

Huebner and Ratzan : –; and again Vuolanto : –.

In the case of betrothals, there were significant obligations involved; see Treggiari b: –.
For betrothals in Late Antiquity, see Harper a: –.
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
and indeed the stages themselves, might vary greatly. A betrothal might go
on for many years or a young man might get married while still in
adulescentia. Pinian, for example, was still a teenager when he married
Melania the Younger – the latter being so young that she continued to live
with her parents at home. Perhaps more commonly, the end of adoles-
cence and becoming a husband went hand in hand: Paulinus of Pella
married and became a master of his own estate when he was .
Alternatively, an engagement might extend for many years, as seems
to have been the case of Nichomachus Flavianus the Younger and Galla –
even to the point that such betrothals were made while both were in their
minorities. And of course, imperial dynasties might be even more
complex, as the contemporaneous examples of Honorius and Galla
Placidia can attest. In the case of Augustine, he followed a short period
of adolescence at home with a lengthy bachelorhood, and a betrothal
nearing his thirtieth year.

 Restless Youth (– CE)

Of his early years, Augustine spent much of his autobiography describing
destructive, yet influential experiences – or at least their spiritual impact.
As the son of a local curialis, Augustine was given a formal education, the
best possible after his intellectual talents were discovered. For a time he
was sent away for schooling at Madaurus, perhaps between  and ,
afterwards returning home to wait while his parents gathered sufficient
funds to provide for an advanced education in Carthage. During that
idle time, he got into the sorts of trouble a teenaged young man might,
usually in the company of the sons of Thagaste’s notables. He stole and
committed acts of vandalism, exemplified in the incident of the pears,
for which he apparently was never caught or punished. He was con-
cerned with and indulged in those sexual activities that his mother had


Ger. v. Mel. –.

Euch. ll. –. I make a distinction between adolescence and adulescentia, the former referring
to the modern physiological, psychological and social construct, which begins with the onset of
puberty and the development of a young person from a child into an adult. Adulescentia refers to the
Roman legal definition, defined as the age between / and  (CTh vii.. []). For the
purposes of inheritance, childhood legally ended at : CTh viii.. and ..

Symm. epist. ., .–. See O’Donnell .

Formal education was not universal among Augustine’s social equals; he mentions that two of his
cousins did not have the benefit of the curriculum of grammar and rhetoric; de b. vita ..

Augustine corresponded with an old grammarian from Madaurus, Maximus, who may have been
his teacher; epist.  and . See PLRE I , .

Conf. ...
  
feared. As in the modern world, peer pressure played an important role
in encouraging certain behaviours: Augustine bragged about sins he did
not commit, because he felt competitive with his friends. It is also
important to emphasise that his station allowed him to perpetrate these
acts with a fair degree of impunity. Other elite students elsewhere in the
Empire acted similarly, as the lives of Gregory Nazianzen and Jerome can
attest. But it is equally important not to tie too much of this activity to a
high social status. Misbehaviour was not only the purview of well-off boys;
the racing faction street gangs were a common feature of many large cities
of Late Antiquity. Conversely, the aristocratic Paulinus of Pella may have
had at least one child out of wedlock, like Augustine, but otherwise
enjoyed a quiet and mischief-free youth of hunting, horseback riding
and falconry. Class was an important factor in Augustine’s behaviour,
but not the only one.

 Age of Majority (– CE)

These early, restless teen years prefaced his majority and nominal inde-
pendence. As with Aeneas in the first book of Vergil’s epic poem, August-
ine arrives in Carthage in the third book of the Confessions. Thus began an
extended period of adult bachelorhood dominated by teaching, writing,
public speaking and most famously his not so private spiritual metamor-
phosis. Augustine, having read Cicero’s Hortensius, would begin his quest
for wisdom. While he became well known and respected in Carthage, he
also took these pursuits personally. He “converted” to Manichaeism,
which I will discuss below. He would become successful enough to make
his way to Rome and eventually become a state-supported rhetor in the
imperial capital of Milan.
In these professional, intellectual and spiritual perambulations, August-
ine depended, as he had in his teenaged years, on his social peers. His
closest friends – Nebridius, Alypius, Severus and Evodius – were also all
unmarried. Roughly the same age or slightly younger, they were young
men of like minds: each was either a Christian or in a state of spiritual
confusion leaning towards orthodox Christianity. Each of these bachelors


Conf. .–, .

Conf. ..: Ego, ne vituperarer, vitiosior fiebam . . . (“I even made myself more wicked, so as not to
be scorned . . .”).

Greg. Naz. de sua vita  and ; Hier. comm. in Ez. ., epist. .. Kelly : – argues for a
young Jerome with a healthy libido.
  
Cameron : –. Paul. euch. ll. –. Conf. ...
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
seemed interested in helping one another to achieve something more
serious than the expectations of marriage and family life. There were
similarities beyond marital status and a certain spiritual bent. All of his
closest associates were employed as lawyers or as mid-level government
officials – an approximation of Augustine’s own professional status in life.
Not coincidentally, too, all these men were natives of North Africa, many
from his hometown who, like him, sought to make their fortunes in Italy.
In the cases of Evodius and Severus (both from Thagaste) and possibly
Nebridius (a Carthaginian), Augustine knew these men from childhood.
In Carthage, Rome and Milan, he thus associated most closely with
those who were his social equals and those who shared his spiritual and
intellectual interests. His socialization with all sorts, however, affected his
public life and career in the years before his actual betrothal. To start,
despite occasionally having to deal with affairs in Thagaste, Augustine’s
pre-conversion life seems largely free from too many familial or legal
entanglements (although about his mother, see below). From student
to teacher and public speaker, he also used his status and contacts both to
aid in his own self-enlightenment and to further his own station. The two
were often linked, as is manifest in his experience with Manichaeism. His
conversion to that sect proved to be unfruitful to his spiritual interests,
finding it intellectually flawed, but he feigned continued interest in order
to manipulate the religion’s social network to secure employment and
housing for himself when he went to Italy. It was probably in the house
of the Manichaean Hearer Constantius where he recovered from a serious
illness shortly after arriving in Rome. They were also able to introduce
him to Symmachus, then the urban prefect of the city, who would
recommend his appointment at Milan in .
It was also during this time as an unmarried adult that he lived with one
woman, a concubine – a completely common situation for a man in his


On Nebridius, within the conf., see .; ., , , ; ., ; .; ., . On Alypius, see .,
–, , ; .; ., –, –; ., . On Evodius, ..

As a member of the curiales, Augustine technically would be liable for public service, something he
managed to avoid by going to Carthage and later Italy. In conf. .., there is some suggestion that
he was shirking his responsibilities; see also .. On some of the possible problems facing him, see
Lepelley .

All the more problematic since he continued to use those contacts even after rejecting Manichaean
beliefs; see Lieu : –, esp. –. It is even possible that his somewhat remarkable jump
from a grammaticus in Thagaste to a publicly supported professor of rhetoric in Carthage may have
been due to their influence. See Lane Fox , –.

There was a large community in the capital; conf. ...

Conf. ... Letters of recommendation (typos systatikos) were another purpose for epistolary
publicity. See Ps.-Dem. De eloc. .
  
situation and status. We know nothing of her background or her character;
she certainly was not of an equal station as the young man, as is evidenced
by the social, if not emotional ease with which he sent her packing,
returning to Africa after Augustine’s mother had secured an advantageous
marriage contract. But she had borne him a son in  and accompanied
him from Carthage to Rome and eventually to Milan. She would play an
important role in the Confessions, although one in which her character and
agency were limited almost to nothingness. What is of interest is the degree
to which she served as the enabler for the young man’s lust, at least in his
own mind. For Augustine, there was enormous guilt in the way he felt
beholden to his own carnal desires, desires he would describe in a most
explicit way decades later – suggesting, among other things, his own
continued concupiscence. It was by his own admission that his vagus
ardor, his wandering lust, had created the relationship and kept him
enthralled. He saw his companion of many years as the conduit for that
lust, giving him leave to exercise the evils of concupiscence.
His desire for sexual activity of course reduces the value of this woman
as an individual and within the structure of his narrative, she almost
becomes a rhetorical device. But we must weigh his concerns about his
own sense of uncontrollable desire against what little we know of his actual
behaviour towards her. His description of his partner being ripped from
his side (avulsa a latere meo), as if part of his own body had been torn away,
was clearly and sincerely heartfelt – and one that would linger for a long
time. It is also important to note that Augustine always referred to her as
“una ” (the one), and the strength of his feelings and the language used
suggest that Augustine saw her almost as a wife. Paul in Ephesians :
had argued that marriage made man and woman one flesh (una carne),
a metaphor used repeatedly in the Confessions. He also noted his loyalty to
her, almost as if she were a legal spouse, claiming that he had only this one
woman in his life (at least after he met her) and was faithful to her. This
suggests that the nature of his relationship, which was meant to be
temporary, took on an emotional permanence that, while perhaps not
unusual, would have certainly been unseemly to acknowledge. Indeed, in
some ways, it was more indicative of a relationship appropriate to a
widower and a concubine, where the latter might serve as a surrogate for
a new wife in order to avoid inheritance and other legal issues. As Peter

 
De nuptiis et concupiscentia .–. Conf. ...
 
Conf. ... See O’Donnell : ii.–. Conf. ...

See, for example, Suet. Vesp.  and SHA M. Aur. .
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
Brown noted, “Augustine [in the Confessions] wished to convey a sense of
the sharp contrast between his sexual needs and his longing for clear,
unproblematic relationships.” This must have been as true for his female
relations as for his male ones. Did he “settle” for continence in the fifteen
odd years they were together, as if she were a legitimate spouse? We do not
know, but Augustine certainly took the relationship seriously. The young
man even claimed Adeodatus as his own, something he was neither legally
nor socially obligated to do, and something that might have caused
problems were he to be married. Indeed, the birth of their son may have
given Augustine the impetus to make his union monogamous.
It is also interesting to note that he seems to have taken some Mani-
chaean practices into consideration when it came to his relationship with
this woman. One of the objections many Christians had to Manichaean
practices was the goal of limiting marriage and the production of children.
For a materialistic cosmology that saw the entrapment of the soul in the
existential evil of the physical universe, the wish to avoid such torment
made sense. But to mainstream Christians who viewed sexual activity
only as legitimate for the production of children, artificial means to
prevent pregnancy could only be seen as indulging in intercourse and
sexuality for its own sake. Augustine himself reviled the artificial means
the Manichaeans used to avoid pregnancy not long after his conversion.
Yet it has not gone unnoticed that he had only one child by a woman he
slept with regularly for well over a decade. There can be little doubt that
Augustine took their injunctions seriously enough to apply them in his
own personal circumstances.
But his love for her, despite it being clearly genuine, must be weighed
against two factors: first, we frankly do not know whether Augustine’s
decision to take this woman as a semi-permanent partner was due to or in


Brown : .

Although Augustine’s contemporary, Libanius, also claimed his illegitimate son from a slave
companion, Cimon, as his own; or. ., –, ; epist.  and . It is significant,
however, that Libanius never intended to be married. Also, again, Cribiore, in this volume.

O’Donnell : ii.–.

On Manichaean notions of contraception, see BeDuhn : –. Titus of Bosca is one of the
earliest Christians to address their methods of avoiding pregnancy, con. Man. ..

De moribus Man. .; here he makes specific reference to abortificants and the rhythm method.
In debating with the Manichaean bishop Faustus for ten years, he would answer and enlarge upon
their sexual deviance; Con. Faus. .. Lastly in De bono con.  and much later in De nup. et conc.
, he makes explicit reference to anal sex.

Clark : .

Whether his claim that he did not desire children, conf. .., was because of Manichaean practices
or in spite of them (or a happy confluence of the two) is unclear.
  
spite of her pregnancy; and second, she was quickly replaced by another
concubine until his fiancée reached a marriageable age. (His own later
injunctions against precisely such behaviour was undoubtedly another
belated “Je m’accuse ”). Moreover, the end of the relationship came
naturally with his betrothal precisely because it was meant to be disposable
in such circumstances. As Margaret Miles has observed, Augustine seems to
have had little say in the matter; he was to a large degree a passive agent.
Again, as parents were generally responsible for arranging suitable matches
in the Roman world, it would be surprising were he to have had a hand in
such negotiations while his mother was alive and close by. And August-
ine, after all, was a careerist: “Formal marriage to her [his concubine] would
have obliterated Augustine’s social and vocational aspirations.”

 A Betrothed Bachelor (–)

This serves as a preface for his brief period of betrothal, a match engineered
by his mother. While his concubine had returned to Africa, vowing
chastity (as a proper univira), his inability to remain celibate was a
continuing emotional bugbear. It was during this point in his life (and
narrative) that he famously prayed, “Lord, grant me chastity and contin-
ence, but not yet!” But this was a spiritual concern, not a social one.
Augustine’s personal emotional agony, however real, may have extended to
consideration for his first concubine, but the second not at all. While he
would continue to wrestle with the role of concubines in future years –
most notably in his partial vindication of their status in De Bono
Coniugiali – as a matter of practice the only censure that would fall on
Augustine was his own. And more immediately, the year following his
engagement would eventually lead to an almost complete mental break-
down, saved only by the miracle in the garden.
This short period of betrothal before his baptism in  also brings into
focus the second key woman during his bachelor years. Monnica, inciden-
tally the only woman of his acquaintance he actually mentions by name,

 
Aug. serm. ... Miles : .

On mothers and the arrangement of marriage, see Dixon : –, –.
 
Power : . Conf. ...

Although his emotional state about the second concubine might be inferred, conf. ...
 
De bono con. . See also de fide et operibus ..

We never learn the name of Augustine’s sister, despite the fact that she ran a monastery for women
in Hippo while he was bishop; Poss. V. Aug. . His so-called “rule” was a letter written to that
same institution after she died; epist. .. She is moreover never mentioned in the Confessions.
Nor does he ever name his nieces.
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
figured prominently in his autobiography and apparently in reality.
She was also perhaps key in bringing Augustine’s spiritual crisis to a head
by facilitating his engagement. We get the profound sense from the
point of engagement of a man with his back up against a wall.
We should initially point out that, despite Augustine’s many pro-
nouncements about his mother’s religious devotion and his own
(Christian) filial piety, he unquestionably found her presence invasive.
She admonished him regularly. She apparently had a fine sense of sar-
casm. Monnica even took up residence with him in Carthage, a common
enough arrangement for widowed mothers, but one that must have
proven especially difficult while Augustine was still a Manichaean who
actively converted his friends to his particular sect.
Her presence was uncomfortable enough that he tried to leave her. Just
as Aeneas had to sneak out of Carthage to escape the loving embraces of
Dido and fulfil his destiny, Augustine, too, stealthily escaped his mother,
leaving North Africa to head for the Eternal City. Monnica, not a
woman to give up easily, ended up following her son to Rome and then
to Milan, ostensibly interested in his soul (after accusing him of deceptive
cruelty, of course) – so Augustine tells us in almost every passage where
she makes an appearance. But she actively involved herself in church
activities in the imperial capital, enough to earn the notice of and com-
ment from the bishop of the imperial capital, Ambrose. And consistent
with common maternal topoi, she seemed equally interested in making a
good match for her son in Milan; and apparently to a girl of good
enough family that the official rhetor of the imperial capital might have
expected a sinecure as a civil governor and then retirement amongst the
senatorial elite. It may go too far to suggest that he was the product of a
mother who lived vicariously through her son’s life and accomplishments

 
Lepelley . Conf. ...

See McGinn : –. We may assume that she in part chose Augustine’s residence over that of
his brother, Navigius, since the latter was married and had children. Augustine on the other hand
lacked a (formal) woman of the house.

Thus, two of his early works as a priest, De utilitate credendi and De vera religione, were written and
dedicated to Honoratus and Romanianus respectively, in part because he had personally converted
both to the sect.

Ver. Aen. .–; conf. ... On the comparison, see O’Meara .
 
Conf. ... O’Donnell : ii.–. And not entirely positively: conf. ...

Dixon : –, –.

Conf. ... Both Ausonius and Aurelius Victor, older contemporaries of Augustine, had been
local aristocrats of considerable literary talents who achieved high political office and honours.
Ausonius received the consulship in  and Victor the prefecture of Rome in  (shortly after
Augustine’s exit from Italy). See Kaster : – and Jones : –.
  
(and sought to control him), but she seems a ubiquitous presence until her
death in . He would become reconciled to her completely in that last
year and publicly acknowledge her wisdom. Looking back at his mother
a decade after her death, however, Augustine post-conversion does his best
to reinterpret the delicate balancing act of filial pietas and the constant and
not always welcome presence in his life. But ultimately, it is an exercise
in placing his mother within strict Christian and Roman conventions of
motherhood.
His full conversion to orthodox Christianity and oath of celibacy, as
I suggested, ended his life from before, a year before his impending
wedding. As he recounts in a conversation with his friend Alypius, ironic-
ally just prior to his engagement, marriage forces men to focus on the daily
cares of family life and detracts from the contemplation of higher things.
But it went beyond a personal life decision between marriage and perman-
ent abstinence; he also withdrew from the world and a successful career
that might have eventually taken him further. He did so to free himself
from the constraints of the secular life that he associated with his perceived
previous life of a sinner, and to fully pursue the higher things without the
cares of a public career or – presumably – the sexual duties of marriage.
Perhaps his own dissatisfaction with delivering panegyrics to the emperor
and other elites was another factor, what Robin Lane Fox (paraphrasing
Tolstoy) has called “selling lies for a living.” It is interesting to note that
Possidius draws a direct link between Augustine’s conversion and his
rejection of both fame and family.
But one issue from which he may have had trouble disentangling
himself was his engagement. While in the classical period, there were no
legal ramifications for breaking a marital contract, a repudium after  CE
carried with it significant financial penalties. At some point in the fourth
century, arrhae, or good faith payments, became a formal contribution of
conjugal funds made by both partners (or their families) once a marriage


See Kristo : –.

De ord. ... She also takes an active part in de beata vita as one of the interlocutors.

The emotional intensity of motherly devotion and the rhetoric of motherhood generally is
increasingly a topic of scholarly interest, see McCauley  and .

Nathan : –; Vuolanto : –. Note Augustine’s summation of his mother in
conf. .–.

Conf. ... See Laes, in this volume.

Conf. ... Lepelley  has convincingly argued that the panegyric mentioned here was
addressed to the Western consul for the year , Bauto, and not Valentinian II. See also
O’Donnell : ii.–.
 
Lane Fox : –. Poss. v. Aug. .
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
was contracted. Failure to follow through with a union obligated the
partner breaking the agreement to pay a penalty four times the amount
of the arrha. Of this important technical point, Augustine says nothing,
although it is likely that Monnica would have stood as a surety. But it may
have also been why Augustine left Milan so quickly and wished to return
to Africa with all possible speed. It is also perhaps significant that once he
made it to Thagaste, he quickly liquidated his family’s holdings by donat-
ing the property to the Church, simultaneously impoverishing himself and
also freeing himself from any possible further curial duties. This is
admittedly highly speculative. But the death of Adeodatus in  would
have broken the final link with his previous, single life.
Of course, Augustine’s conversion began a new sort of singledom, but
not that of a traditional bachelor. In some ways, his life did not change.
His close (male) friends and relatives, as well as several others, returned to
Thagaste with Augustine and participated in his lay semi-monastic com-
munity there. Some eventually became priests and then bishops them-
selves. All corresponded with him and continued the spiritual and
intellectual discussions of their younger years. They travelled together
when opportunity permitted – usually at the convocation of local synods
and regional councils. But this was a lifestyle and life course that func-
tioned outside the traditional parameters of the freedoms of the unattached
male youth.

 A Single Man
In describing Augustine as a writer, Christine Mohrmann noted, “On a
l’impression que Saint Augustin n’a pas toujours échappé à la tentation de
se montre un ‘homme de monde’ et ‘intellectual’ devant les représentants
de la culture ancienne.” In his desire to navigate the difficult waters of
understanding and contextualising human sexuality, he was a man keenly


CTh iii..– (). If in fact this law was enacted around the time of his engagement, then the
family of his underage heiress was likely to have been aware of the penalties. See also Evans Grubbs
: – for Constantinian changes to pre-nuptial gifts and Arjava : –.

Again, Poss. v. Aug. , draws a key link between his divestment of wealth and his “freedom” to
pursue an abstinent, ascetic life.

Nebridius had died in , but Evodius became bishop of Uzalis, Alypius of Thagaste, Severus of
Milevus. Moreover, Possidius, a later friend and his hagiographer, served as bishop of Calama.

For Nebridius, epist. –, –; Alypius, epist. , , , , , , , , *-*, *;
Evodius, epist. –, –, ; Severus, epist. –. See Morgenstern  for the
prosopography of all his correspondents.

Morhmann : .
  
aware of the realities (and dangers) of the real world, not the least because
he himself had been fully immersed in them. Augustine in his body of
work drew heavily from his life before conversion. What can we draw
from them?
The first thing we can observe of course is that Augustine’s own
bachelorhood itself fit into broader normative patterns of adult male
behaviour. While his decision to commit to chastity and to interpret his
early years was unusual, his public and private life followed familiar social
trajectories. There is no sense that his life excited comment, let alone
condemnation. Even his very Christian mother felt comfortable enough to
live in a household with a woman who was not her son’s spouse and
to claim an illegitimate grandson. Augustine’s career and public life, too,
illustrated the kind of social mobility possible in the late Roman world,
especially for talented and ambitious young men able to travel. In this
sense, his early life was utterly conventional. His ultimate rejection of a life
course that in most circumstances led to marriage and familial responsi-
bilities – in part because it was the norm – would be a recurring feature in
his future writing, refining his understanding in particular of sexual desire
and its role in human congress. The challenges of the Manichaeans, of
Jovinian and of Pelagius kept his concerns constant for decades, and his
old life remained a rich store of personal experiences.
Second, his life as a single man offers important markers of male
bachelorhood in Late Antiquity and the Roman world more generally.
His attachment to his concubine forces us to re-evaluate the complexities
of these de facto marriages, suggesting tensions between the theoretical
disposability of such unions and the reality of doing so were considerably
greater than tends to be assumed. Augustine’s behaviour towards his
partner probably was not dominated by an unquenchable libido, as he
claims; it is one of a fairly stable partner who shared his bed and private
life. It is true that she did not possess the visibility of a lawful wife, but
even in her removal she was praised rather than scorned.
Moreover, the presence of other family members in the household must
have often been a reality that in part directed the bachelor’s life course.
In the case of children, the significance of their social and legal status,
as well as their material comfort, would have been important factors.


That they were close is suggested by the young man’s distress at Monnica’s passing, conf.
..–. Her objections and brief departure from Augustine’s home had to do with her son’s
Manichaean beliefs and proselytising activities, not that he was living in sin; conf. ..–..

See still Hopkins  for a career particularly relevant to Augustine’s; see also Skinner .
 Being a Bachelor in Late Antiquity 
Libanius, for example, spent considerable personal and political capital in
trying to make his son by a slave partner not just his legitimate son and
heir, but also in ensuring he escaped the onerous duties of service on
Antioch’s town council. With Augustine, it was to personally give
Adeodatus a first-rate education, initially no doubt to have a career not
unlike his father’s. In the case of older family members (typically widowed
mothers), they would likely possess the moral authority and often the
practical experience not only to arrange for the marriage of their children,
but also to have considerable influence in the running of a household.
Monnica’s presence in Cassiciacum seems to have facilitated the accom-
modation of her elder son, Navigius, as well as two of Augustine’s cousins,
Rusticus and Lastidianus. Should a parent possess the financial means
and/or the social status, that degree of control might well flow into a
bachelor’s public life as well. Monnica became active in the struggles
against the Milanese Arians, in part because Augustine’s sponsor and
mentor, Ambrose, favoured her.
Third, from a societal perspective, just as Cribiore concluded in her
contribution about those who chose to remain permanently single,
Augustine’s commitment to remain unwed did not result in retirement
from the world. The contemplative otium for which he had pined – and
half-heartedly tried for at Cassiciacum and later Thagaste – never fully
came to pass. His time away from the world lasted just over three years –
and a period that he himself was largely responsible for ending. He may
have achieved the life of a celibate ascetic, but his contemplative nature
and his past life did not result in divorcing himself from worldly affairs and
a public life – quite the opposite. And even though he returned to Africa,
resolved on establishing a community at his family home in Thagaste,
he soon left it for Hippo Regius and was ordained a priest of that city in
early . A few years later, he was coadjutor and bishop. Augustine’s
public protestations and tears against his ordination notwithstanding, he


De b. vita .. Navigius would have been married and be a father at this point, perhaps suggesting
he might be there as well.

On her support of Ambrose against the Arians, conf. ..; on his generally good impression of
her, conf. ... That Monnica apparently possessed some status and was financially comfortable
can be inferred from her travels to Italy, her quick prominence gained in the Milanese Church and
her ability to broker a marriage contract with a financially and socially prominent family.

The exact reason for his leaving his community and subsequent ordination is not clear. Poss. v. Aug.
 says he came to Hippo Regius in order to speak to an agens in rebus who supposedly wished to
retire from the world. But this has also been interpreted as a desire to set up a monastic community
there; see Lawless .
  
remained a talented, ambitious man. If nothing else, it shows that those
remaining permanently single had considerably more agency in their
acceptance by a broader community.
Finally, Augustine’s life offers a point of comparison for other bachelors
and those who chose, for whatever reason, to remain single. In contrast to
Stephanos Efthymiadis’ contribution, for example, this essay has been
more about the personal dynamics of bachelorhood, rather than the
potential advantages and disadvantages of being and remaining single.
While Augustine was fully aware of the consequences of retiring from the
world personally and vocationally, he offers insights and reflections about
the nature of being single in an experiential sense. His life thus not only
provides context for assessing the psychological and social pressures that
came into play in negotiating bachelorhood, but also coordinates the
unmarried man’s position in Roman society with the directions his life
might take.
Writing some time between  and , Augustine in a sermon
posited the idea that sexual continence was merely part of a higher
form of virtue, where humans ideally acted and spoke properly in all
circumstances. Such continence, he continued, was granted by the Holy
Spirit, but was sometimes withdrawn so that we might understand
how powerless we are without God’s grace. Given the nature of his
bachelor years, Augustine of Hippo no doubt thought such control in all
aspects of his early life would not have been unwelcome.

 
Poss. v. Aug.  and . Efthymiadis, in this volume.
 
De cont. .–. On its date, see Hunter . De cont. .–.
  

Single People in Early Byzantine Literature

Stephanos Efthymiadis

However defined, Early Byzantine literature falls into a chronological

framework (fourth–seventh century CE) and a societal context in which
family ties had loosened and the authority of marriage had been disturbed.
Virginity and the celibate life were held to be a justifiable and justified
choice in life and thus not getting remarried had become a largely accept-
able practice, usually regardless of the existence of children from a previous
marriage. Inscribed as they were in different causes and circumstances,
these alternatives to marriage cannot be subsumed under one category,
and social historians have interpreted their emergence and spread in
various ways. Although we cannot give any exact estimate in quantitative
terms, the overall number of never-married and never-remarried people in
the Roman Empire was definitely on the increase by the year  CE.
Moreover, given that the monastic movement was stronger in the East
than the West, it could be argued that singleness, perceived in its broadest
possible sense encompassing both religious and lay people, must have been
more widespread in the empire of New Rome than in that of Old Rome.
Estrangement from the family, which could, in many instances, lead to
or must have preceded an anchoretic retirement from the world, was a
development that marked late antique society or, to put it more accurately,
its literary representation in theological discourse and the narrative sources
of the period. Moreover, the emergence of a ‘self ’ claiming independence
is among the sociocultural phenomena that shaped the distinctive identity
of Late Antiquity as a period of change and transition. To be specific, the
establishment of virginity and celibacy as acceptable social statuses and
virtues in male and female members of the Christian Church functioned as


Brown : –; Nathan : –; Feichtinger : –; Cooper : – (the
last three drawing exclusively on Western sources).

Cf. Cribiore, in this volume, p. . Also the epigraphic evidence with regard to Latin Christianity
collected by Goessens, in this volume.

On this matter see, inter alios, Chadwick ().


  
a philosophical justification for remaining unmarried and becoming com-
mitted to alternative lines of endeavour as a result. It may even have been
an incitement to do so. In a similar vein, devotion to a religious cause
provided a serious excuse or justification for not remarrying, once
widowed. As a result of the gradual acceptance of these statuses in late
Roman society, after the fourth century marriage was no longer an auto-
matic requirement and, as a result, singleness gradually became a social
category into which individuals drifted, whether or not it was regarded as
deviant by society at large.
Arguably, the promotion of these alternative lifestyles owed a great deal
to the fourth-century Church Fathers, and this is variously reflected in
their theological and other discourse. The figures exemplifying this par-
ticular way of life and the precise phraseology used to describe it merit
some attention. To begin with, we may consider the well-known and
much discussed examples of, on the one hand, the virgin Macrina and,
on the other, the widow and deaconess Olympias, which are paradigmatic
in several respects. At the very beginning of his exposition of the new life
that his sister embraced after the sudden death of her intended husband,
Gregory of Nyssa specifies that she ‘thought it right from then on to
remain by herself’. And this decision, he adds, was more firmly fixed than
one might have expected of a woman of her age. Later on in his narrative,
Gregory dwells, in similar terms, on the solitary life of Naukratios, his and
Macrina’s brother. Naukratios is referred to as having withdrawn to a
location by the river Iris in the Pontos to live kath’ heauton/καθ’ ἑαυτόν,
i.e. by himself (or almost, as he was joined by Chrysaphios, one of his
servants). However, he remained in close proximity to the world since, for
the five years until his untimely death from a hunting accident, he took
care of his elderly mother and some other old people. Macrina too spent
the rest of her life at home, i.e. not detached from her family but practising
askesis, spiritual exercise, within the domestic space. Her celibacy did not
imply a conscious retreat into solitude, the more so given that, together
with her widowed mother, Emmelia, Macrina took on the management of
a large estate. Rather, in her brother Gregory’s eyes, it intersected with an


Vuolanto : – and in this volume. See also the examples cited by Huebner, in this volume.

Letter on the Life of Macrina, ch. , ed. Woods Callahan : ; ed. Maraval : .

Ibid.: chh. –, ed. Woods Callahan : –; ed. Maraval : –. On Naukratios’
detachment from and commitment to the family, see Elm : –; Van Dam : –.

Elm : –.
 Single People in Early Byzantine Literature 
experience of philosophical conversion which transformed her way of
living as ‘celibate within the family’ into a paradigm fit for emulation.
Obviously, by their use of the reflexive pronoun denoting the ‘self’
(heautes/ἑαυτῆς – heauton/ἑαυτόν) in the references to Macrina and Nauk-
ratios deciding to live ‘by themselves’, authors like Gregory of Nyssa betray
their intention of modelling these examples on the ideals of the philosoph-
ical life, part and parcel of which was the pursuit of celibacy. Conversely,
unlike in Gregory of Nyssa’s account, John Chrysostom’s example of the
philosophical life, as incarnated by the young widow Olympias, was much
more enshrined in the public domain and entailed all the social responsi-
bilities that, in his judgement, Christian women should undertake. In one
of the letters John addresses to Olympias, he affirms that sexual abstention
alone does not constitute chastity, which also involves caring about alms-
giving and other acts of philanthropy pleasing to the Lord. For his
favourite lady and personal supporter not remarrying is not merely condu-
cive to virtue but offers a platform for engaging in acts of public
beneficence. Moreover, Chrysostom, moral preacher that he was, could
not ignore the social persona of Olympias, whom he reckoned among the
biotikai gynaikes/βιωτικαὶ γυναῖκες, i.e. women living in the world, whom
he cautioned about their appearances in public. Quoting a relevant passage
from St Paul’s first epistle to Timothy (.), he contends that the tempta-
tion to dress in luxurious garments affected virgins and women living with
men alike.
As illustrated by Macrina and Olympias, practising asceticism while
remaining in the world was not dictated by a desire to live alone but by
a dedication to a holy cause. Things, however, turned out differently for a
man who spoke much of himself in his written legacy and whose work
gives great prominence to the profession and praise of celibacy. This is
Gregory of Nazianzos, who expanded somewhat obsessively on this idea in
his poetry, where he reaffirmed on various occasions that the eremitical
and celibate life was the best choice, since it made it possible to devote
one’s entire self to Christ. His verses in praise of virginity revolve around
the themes of a life freed from the yoke of marriage and the pain associated
with it. In one of his autobiographical poems, Gregory narrates the dream
that induced him to remain celibate and devote himself to God. In it he


Cf. Rousseau ; Vasileiou .

Letter VIII, ed. Malingrey : –. On Olympias: Baur : II –, –, –;
Brown : –; Kelly : –, –; Mayer .

Letter VIII, ed. Malingrey : .
  
was visited by two beautiful female figures representing Chastity and
Moderation who, instead of introducing him to erotic desire leading to
marriage, initiated him into the celibate life.
The recurrence, in his poetic output, of the adjective azyges/ἀζυγής and
its cognates azygos/ἄζυγος and azyx/ἄζυξ (meaning ‘unwedded’) is note-
worthy. His adherence to celibacy as an outward sign of his introversion
is no doubt key to understanding Gregory’s path in life, his friendship with
Basil of Caesarea and his consecutive failures in public ministries. Whether
poetry or prose, his writings both reveal and mask his lifelong attraction to
the single life, his endeavour to break with his family – and especially his
father, who opposed his attempts at independence and emancipation.
It would not be too far-fetched to suggest that his attitude shows similar-
ities to what we might call a determination to live alone, a common
situation in our own times. As far as he is concerned, the pursuit of this
particular way of life cannot be accounted for by his adherence to the
‘system’ of Christian values, which justified opposition to a first or second
marriage (as in the cases of Macrina and Olympias respectively) on the
basis of a commitment to a holy cause. Rather, in the case of the
Nazianzen, it suggests an attachment to an idiosyncratic way of living
per se. As such, it was consistent with the sort of feelings of intellectual
superiority that cause some people to fight for the uniqueness of their
person and their existence. When his long educational tour was com-
pleted and this sense of superiority first ascertained, Gregory had reached
the age of twenty-eight. He suffered from inner doubts, wavering between
two choices, priesthood and monasticism, though he could not be entirely
reconciled to either. To quote his own words from his autobiographical
poem: ‘However much I wanted to be involved with people, I was seized
by a still greater longing for the monastic life, which in my opinion was a
question of interior dispositions, not of physical situation. For the sanctu-
ary I had reverence . . . but while standing at a distance.’ Gregory was
instead inclined to live alone . . .
Singleness is a status or identity that hardly applies to members of
premodern or pre-industrial societies. It was not understood as a social


On this dream, see the poem ‘Lament on the passions of his soul’, PG : –; for an analysis
of the dream, see Messis : –.

See esp. his long poem in praise of virginity, PG : –. Commentary by Sundermann .
Critical edition and discussion of other poems pertaining to the same ideas by Simelidis .

Cf. McLynn .

De vita sua, v. –, ed. of the Greek text in Jungck :  (= PG : ). Tr. in McGuckin
: . On Gregory’s oscillating viewpoint throughout his life, see McGuckin : –.
 Single People in Early Byzantine Literature 
diacritic like, for instance, categories related to gender (man, woman,
eunuch, androgynous, etc.), to age (childhood, youth, maturity, old age)
or to marital status (married–unmarried, widowed). There is no doubt that
the idea – so strongly expounded by the Fathers – that chastity or, more
broadly, abstention from marriage could be practised in the world intro-
duced a ‘modern’ aspect into the whole question in that it curbed the social
pressure that had hitherto determined the lives of young girls and widows
and rivalled the necessity for the cycle of procreation. Taken in this sense,
celibacy could be pursued within marriage as the examples of holy men
and women who decided never to consummate their unions reveal.
Celibate marriage became a literary leitmotiv brought out in a cluster of
edifying stories and hagiographic texts that relate the story of pious couples
who renounced intercourse either immediately after their wedding or the
birth of their children.
All these cases point in one direction. What weighed with the Fathers
and their subjects of praise was not a particular lifestyle, i.e. living alone in
an urban environment, but engagement in a holy purpose. Even at the
beginning of the seventh century, echoing a similar passage in the Life
of St Antony by Athanasios of Alexandria, the hagiographer of the Life of
St Symeon Stylites the Younger states, briefly but with a great deal of
satisfaction, that, once they had seen the saint, listened to his edifying
words and witnessed his miracles, many virgins, though they were already
betrothed, remained virgins for the sake of Christ (ch. ). In fact, he
does not deem it necessary to specify whether they then joined a convent
or stayed at home, simply because what mattered was not living as a single
person but dedication to a holy cause through persistent chastity.
Thus, despite overall theological and philosophical endorsement, it is
hard to understand singleness as a particular social or a literary identity for
the world of Late Antiquity. We shall perhaps be able to fully grasp the
issue if we turn our attention to ‘the dark side of the moon’, i.e. to ways of
life that contrasted sharply with the world of piety, for all that once again
we can only access them through pious accounts. The case of St Maria
of Egypt, the most famous harlot of the period, takes us to the streets of
sixth-century Alexandria, i.e. the cruel world of a big city. Employing
the narrative technique of the ‘story within a story’, her biographer has the
ascetic Maria relate the story of her sinful past. She starts with a brief

 
Cloke : –. Alwis .

Ed. van den Ven : I . The borrowing is from ch.  of the Life of Antony: see ed. Bartelink
: –.
  
reference to her parents, whom she abandoned at the age of twelve to go to
Alexandria where, once deflowered, she lived as a prostitute for more than
seventeen years. In all likelihood Maria’s fully-fledged biography represents
an elaboration on an edifying story about a repentant harlot that must have
already been in circulation for some time and which can be found in the
Pratum Spirituale of John Moschos. On account of the edifying purpose
of the narration, we do not hear much about Maria’s actual life in the big
city other than that she lived in an impoverished condition begging for
trade just as she begged for her daily bread. She spun yarn for a living until,
just before embarking on a ship sailing for Palestine, a voyage that was to
see the peak of her sinful acts and introduce her to a rite de passage leading
to expiation, she abandoned the distaff she had for so long held in her
hands. The partiality of the account notwithstanding, we get a clear
picture of the life of a woman who lived the single life in a big city. She was
not attached to a brothel, nor dependent on a pimp; she supported herself,
and was free to move from place to place. Paradoxically, this aspect of
singleness mirrors her later life as well, that is, the one spent in total
isolation in the Judean desert: in that case once again she lived in freedom
and provided for herself. We should bear in mind, however, that describ-
ing her in such terms is to look at her through modern eyes, projecting our
individualistic mentality onto a world where independence – at least for
common people like the prostitute Maria – was not an option. It is only
for us today that Mary of Egypt is seen as alone or solitary, vulnerable and
unprotected; her own mentality and that of the society in which she was
integrated would not have seen it that way.
The difficulty of treating women such as Maria as single people is
made manifest in the story of a triad of prostitutes, in this case women of
fixed abode. I refer to the mother, the aunt and the grandmother
of Theodore of Sykeon, a sixth-century saint whose lengthy vita is one
of the masterpieces of Byzantine hagiography. The story goes that Theo-
dore was the natural child of another Maria, a most beautiful young
woman who, along with her mother Elpidia and her sister Despoinia,
kept an inn in Galatia in Asia Minor on the royal route to the East.
All three ladies offered special services to men stopping by, and the
youngest of them made no exception for Kosmas, the imperial messenger


Flusin ; and on the implications of the story as in John Moschos’ Pratum, see Llewellyn Ihssen
: –.

PG /, cols. –; English tr., Kouli : –.

On inns and taverns in Byzantium, see Kislinger .
 Single People in Early Byzantine Literature 
(apokrisiarios) who carried Justinian’s imperial correspondence. Theo-
dore was the fruit of this unofficial union and the male descendant who
broke the chain of this ‘female succession’. In contrast to them, and in
line with the prediction made to his mother in a dream on the night of
his conception and the interpretation offered by his progenitor thereafter,
he was to follow the ‘royal way’ of holiness.
The hagiographical smokescreen which covers this story, a rare one
indeed for a saint’s birth, allows enough light through for us to glimpse
certain details that must have had some basis in reality: e.g. that women
could earn a living from prostitution and manage a business by them-
selves. The fact that the hagiographer does not reserve any adverse
comment for Kosmas’ behaviour bears out the assumption that episodes
of this sort in these particular milieus and their consequences evoked no
particular surprise. Children could thus be born in the provinces and be
brought up by a mother and/or a grandmother in the absence of any
father, uncle or other male figure. In our times Maria would have been
styled a single mother and regarded, at least until recently, as a woman
risking disdain and marginalisation, and as such potentially fragile and
vulnerable. Had it been so in the period under discussion, we can safely
assume that St Theodore’s biographer would not have refrained from
highlighting the misfortune of the child and the hard conditions of his
upbringing.
All in all, Byzantine literature shows little interest in depicting families
comprehensively, i.e. giving a full picture of its members and following
each one’s progress from start to finish. The focus is always on the
protagonist of the story, and the light, if any, shed on those surrounding
him or her is dim. Collections of miracles, a treasure trove for the
prosopography of ordinary people and the reconstruction of daily life,
usually focus on the pilgrim–sufferer and the circumstances leading up
to his/her cure. Such texts as the Miracles of Sts Kyros and Ioannes by the
Patriarch Sophronios and the Miracles of Sts Kosmas and Damianos, which
date from the first half of the seventh century, are teeming with people
who figure alone in the narrative with no hint of their family status. A case
that may be of interest to the present discussion can be singled out from
the latter collection.
Far from home and family, Martha practised incubation at the shrine of
Sts Kosmas and Damianos at Kosmidion, a district at the far end of the
Golden Horn in Constantinople. She was a beautiful woman, we are told,
 
Ed. Festugière : I ; French tr., Festugière : II . Efthymiadis : –.
  
hailing from the region of Kyrrhos in Syria, the place where the relics of
these healing saints lay. She had spent her youth in ‘bodily disorder’, as
the hagiographer has it, until she repented and chose the path of piety.
A head injury made her travel to the capital and join the northern part of
the shrine where other women, mostly suffering from demonic possession,
lodged, separated by curtains and awaiting a cure. Being a kind and good-
hearted person, she never missed an opportunity to serve and console those
of her companions who were in pain. In the event, the saints visited her a
few times in her dreams, but, to her disappointment, they granted her
only partial relief, causing her to raise her voice in protest. It was under
these troubled circumstances that a woman who had moved in next to her
fell in love with her. Her name was Christina, and she was a married
woman, the wife of one of the clergy of the Church of St Laurentios.
Oddly enough, her infatuation functions as a catalyst in the story. As she
was about to step into the curtained-off space Martha occupied and set
about seducing her, the saints were forced, as it were, to intervene and offer
Martha a complete cure.
Thanks to this unique – or at least very rare – attestation of (would-be)
lesbian eroticism in Byzantium, we once again gain an insight into the life
of a single woman and the troubles she might have faced because of her
singleness. Martha is indeed portrayed as an independent person, living
and travelling on her own, and as taking initiatives even when with other
women. We suspect that it was on account of this independence that
Christina took advantage of her solitude and that in her case singleness was
experienced, much as it can be today, as exposure to unsolicited immoral
proposals. From another perspective, Martha’s friendship with Christina
can be seen as filling a void created by the dissatisfaction she felt at the
healer saints’ reluctance to let her depart. Their final intercession restores
the previously disrupted relationship, strengthening the sacred ties that
bound Martha to them.
Fragility and vulnerability are the key words in the next two stories,
which take us from the world of women to that of men. They are found in
the Miracles of St Artemios and concern a lonely bachelor who, as I have
argued on a previous occasion, is very likely to have been the author of the


On the miracle collections pertaining to this pair of saints, see Efthymiadis : –; and on
questions concerning their cult, see Booth .

Mir. . Ed. of the Greek text in Deubner : –; French tr. Festugière : –. The
story is not included in the ‘miaphysite’ collection: see ed. Rupprecht .

For the vulnerability of women who did not fulfil the prescribed roles of wife and mother, see
Herrin : –.
 Single People in Early Byzantine Literature 
whole collection. This unnamed bachelor was a cantor at the Church of
St John the Baptist where the relics of St Artemios were kept and
venerated. In the first story he appears as the victim of a burglary in which
someone broke into his home and stole his clothes, whereas in the second
he figures as a patient who had been hospitalized for ten months. While
suffering from various diseases, he developed a hernia in his genitalia. This
called for the intervention of St Artemios, who specialized in curing this
particular disease, a fact highlighted in the collection dedicated to him,
which brings together cases of miraculous healings of this sort narrated in
vivid colour and realistic detail.
As we follow the two accounts of the bachelor–cantor’s sufferings, set in
two different milieus, a petit-bourgeois neighbourhood of Constantinople
and a fully equipped hospital in the same city, we gain an exceptionally
rich insight into the life and psychological disposition of the protagonist.
We learn that he had lived alone for fifty-two years, that he had served the
Church of St John the Baptist since the age of ten and that he was sixty-
two when he spent ten months being treated in hospital. The fact that he
had lived in solitude for so long was seen as an evil and an obvious cause of
trouble, illustrated in the Miracles in two distinctive snapshots. His house
was broken into as there was no other resident to protect it, and the fact
that he had to be taken to hospital as an inpatient was initially prompted
by the absence of relatives who might otherwise have taken care of him.
This kind of personal information is consistent with the narrator’s own
interest in presenting facts and situations emotionally and in pinpointing
the attachment of the bachelor to the healer saint as a patronage relation-
ship involving mutual obligations. When this connection is disrupted, the
patient turns misanthropic (he refuses to have lunch on Christmas Day)
and gives way to an outburst of tears, shouting at his protectors: ‘Indeed,
St John and St Artemios and St Febronia, have I served you thus from the
age of ten right up to the present, that I might become disabled in my old
age? Had I so attended upon any man on earth, I would have been deemed
worthy of support and care and providence. Behold what recompense
I have achieved!’
In presenting the existential issues of their protagonist, the two stories
are unique in exposing the problems of being an urban, unmarried


See Efthymiadis .

See ed. Papadopoulos-Kerameus : –, –; English tr., Crisafulli and Nesbitt :
–, –.

Ed. Papadopoulos-Kerameus : ; English tr.: .
  
layman all one’s life. The same ‘problem’ of remaining unmarried
could have caused a different if equally difficult issue. The final passage
I shall deal with takes us away from the microcosm of the bachelor’s
milieu to the imperial court of Justinian and Theodora. It is in Proko-
pios’ Secret History that we read of Germanos, a cousin of the emperor,
who had a distinguished military and administrative career. By his first
wife he had two sons and a daughter, all old enough to get married.
However, according to Prokopios, Theodora hated him so fiercely that
by her slanders she had managed to ensure that his children remained
unwed. It was thus, by means of this strategic ‘weapon’, that she tried to
seize control of Germanos’ destiny. To overcome this impediment,
we are told, the latter proceeded to establish links with Ioannes, a man
of lower rank. Marriage, after all, involved a public role through which
a man of power and his family are socialized, and thus this course of
action would have had an obvious impact on the ambitions of an
imperial cousin.
This short survey of all possible aspects of singleness and the single
life in Early Byzantine literature has attempted to bring out both the
positive and the negative aspects, and various dimensions, including the
religious and the secular, the literary and the historical. I have, moreover,
tried to view the issue in accordance with the standpoints of contempor-
ary authors and the conventions of various literary genres and present it
both from the point of view of the ‘eloquent’ and theoretical approach
taken by the Church Fathers and in its more down-to-earth and prag-
matic incarnation, i.e. that of the narrative sources, hagiography and
historiography.
There are several common features between this late antique world of
people who abstained from marriage altogether or, rather, remained
unmarried when widowed and our modern world in which marriage has
lost its high-profile status, assuming a more low-key role. We have met
solitary intellectuals, self-sufficient prostitutes, single mothers, urban bach-
elors, the sort of people we are very familiar with today, yet the question
remains: Can singleness be meaningful in a society that believes in God
(or in gods) and establishes ties of patronage with the powerful on earth
and in heaven? It is really hard to answer this with a yes or a no. What can
be said with some certainty is that singleness can exist and has a real


See Prokopios of Caesarea, Historia Arcana I, .–, ed. of the Greek text in Haury : –;
English tr., Kaldellis : –.
 Single People in Early Byzantine Literature 
existence in a world that is more aware of the absence of God than His
presence. It is not fortuitous that the fully fledged literature of novels with
single protagonists would emerge in the last decades of the nineteenth
century and persist to this day. The cases of Huysmans, Proust, Kafka,
Sartre, Camus and more recently Houellebecq and many other modern
writers are extremely telling in this respect.

Special Bibliography
Gregory of Nazianzos, ‘On his own life’: ed. C. Jungck (), Gregor von
Nazianz, De vita sua, Heidelberg.
Letter on the life of Makrina: ed. V. Woods Callahan (), ‘Vita S. Macrinae’, in
Gregorii Nysseni opera ascetica (GNO /), ed. W. Jaeger, J. P. Cavarnos,
V. Woods Callahan, Leiden; older ed.: P. Maraval (), Grégoire de Nysse.
Vie de sainte Macrine, Paris.
John Chrysostom, Letter to Olympias: ed. A.-M. Malingrey (), Jean Chrysos-
tome, Lettres à Olympias, Paris.
Life of St Antony by Athanasios of Alexandria: ed. G. J. M. Bartelink (),
Athanase d’Alexandrie, Vie d’Antoine, Paris.
Life of St Mary of Egypt: Patrologia Graeca /, –; English tr., M. Kouli
(), Holy Women of Byzantium: Ten Saints’ Lives in Translation, ed.
A.-M. Talbot, Washington, DC, –.
Life of St Symeon the Stylite the Younger: ed. and French tr. van den Ven, P.
(), La Vie ancienne de S. Symeon stylite le jeune, vols I–II, Brussels.
Life of St Theodore of Sykeon: ed. and French tr., A.-J. Festugière (), La Vie de
Théodore de Sykéôn, Brussels.
Miracles of St Artemios: ed. A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus (), in Varia Graeca
Sacra, St Petersburg, –; English tr., V. S. Crisafulli, J. W. Nesbitt (),
The Miracles of St. Artemios. A Collection of Miracle Stories by an Anonymous
Author of Seventh-Century Byzantium, Leiden, New York, Cologne.
Miracles of Sts Kosmas and Damian: ed. L. Deubner (), Kosmas und
Damian. Texte und Einleitung, Leipzig and Berlin; French tr. by A.-J.
Festugière (), Saint Thècle, saints Côme et Damien, saints Cyr et Jean
(extraits), Saint Georges, Paris. ‘Miaphysite’ collection: ed. E. Rupprecht
(), Cosmae et Damiani sanctorum medicorum vita et miracula e codice
Londoniensi, Berlin.
Prokopios of Caesarea, Ηistoria Arcana: ed. J. Haury (), Caesariensis opera
omnia, vol. . Leipzig; English tr. A. Kaldellis (), Prokopios. The Secret
History with Related Texts, Indianapolis, Cambridge.
  

“Listen to My Mistreatment”: Support Networks

for Widows and Divorcées in the Coptic Record
Jennifer Cromwell

Singleness in late antique Egypt assumed a range of forms: men and

women who had never married, widows and widowers, divorcées and
divorcés, and those who had chosen a single life in a monastic context,
either alone or as part of a larger community (shared solitary lives). What
follows is a search for single, once-married women and the support
available to them, on the basis of the Coptic non-literary record. Women
form the focus of this discussion not because of a preference for studying
women over men, but because they are easier to find: widowed and
divorced men are more difficult to identify in the record. What evidence
can be found for once-married women shows a variety of support networks
were open to them, based on their social standing, wealth and family
situation.

 The Coptic Non-literary Evidence

The vast bulk of the Coptic non-literary textual evidence dates from the
sixth to eighth centuries. For this period, the volume of published Coptic
texts not only equals, but surpasses the number written in Greek. For our
knowledge of village life in late antique Egypt, the Coptic evidence is


Indeed, even though the scope of this discussion is restricted, this particular aspect of singlehood
dominates the available Coptic evidence. In contrast to the problems of identifying singles in other
situations (as raised in other contributions in this volume), the main cases highlighted here are quite
certainly single, once-married women.

Notable outliers include the Coptic texts from Kellis (Dakhlah Oasis) that record the life of the town’s
fourth-century Manichean community (P.Kellis V and VII), and, at the opposite end of the spectrum,
the eleventh-century archive of Raphael son of Mina from Teshlot/Dashlot (Green ; Richter
). The Kellis material, in particular, offers potential for the study of singles, as well as other
aspects of daily life in the fourth century.

This is based on the figures available via the online papyrological tool Trismegistos (www
.trismegistos.org).


 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
therefore key. The majority of the Coptic material derives from western
Thebes, focused on the village Djeme and its surrounding monastic
settlements, of varying sizes and complexity. The social networks between
these villages and monasteries forms an important part of the following
discussion. This does not mean that other sites in Egypt are not repre-
sented. Hermopolis and Aphrodito in central Egypt and Elephantine in
the south also provide texts relevant to the study of the daily life of single
women. In addition, there is a large amount of unprovenanced material for
which, at best, broad geographical areas can be suggested.
Coptic texts are, of course, not the only textual source for life in Egypt
during these centuries. Kotsifou discusses the contemporary Greek evi-
dence for widows, as part of her discussion on orphans (these two groups
are connected in a biblical context, as is discussed below). Earlier Roman
demographic evidence is also of vital importance. Despite the time differ-
ence between the information contained in the census declarations of the
first and second centuries and the date of the Coptic material, continuity
in major demographic patterns is to be expected.
The range of document types represented among the Coptic evidence is
quite limited. The functional domain of Coptic was restricted to texts of
daily life. Letters provide the most relevant evidence, which is supple-
mented by incidental information from other sources, including legal
documents. The fourth and fifth centuries were witness to imperial legis-
lation concerning divorce, and the question stands how great an impact
this had on life in Egyptian villages up and down the Nile Valley. Bagnall
has demonstrated that the impact was minimal. What we therefore see in


Late antique Egypt is conceived of here as encompassing the fifth to eighth centuries, and I use this
term rather than Byzantine and Islamic Egypt. On this point, see O’Connell a:  n. , with
previous literature.

Wilfong : – provides a concise overview of the village Djeme, while Wilfong  remains
the most convenient survey of western Thebes at this time.

Kotsifou  also touches briefly upon some of the Coptic texts concerning widows, but this is not
the primary aim of her analysis. For the millennium leading up to the period in focus here, Krause’s
 four-volume social history of widows and orphans in the Roman world is the most important
work and must be mentioned in the context of any study on widows, especially concerning
demographics, family structure, social status and the impact of Christianity.

Bagnall and Frier  remains the primary study of the Roman census returns. For the
demographic information as it pertains in particular to married, divorced and widowed women,
see additionally Huebner : – and Pudsey . The majority of Krause  volume one
(Verwitwung und Wiederverheiratung) also concerns the demographics of widowhood.

Bagnall . Evans Grubbs a:  expresses a similar sentiment for Roman Egypt: “Papyri
from late Roman Egypt suggest that imperial law did not make much difference to what people
actually did, at least in that province.”
  
the Coptic sources is how people and families reacted to different events at
a village level, largely unencumbered by wider legal forces and restrictions.

 Identifying ‘Singles’
Throughout Egyptian villages, women are encountered acting independ-
ently in a range of economic transactions: buying and selling property,
entering disputes over property, donating to monasteries and churches,
and acting as debtors and creditors. How is it possible, then, to distinguish
between married and single women among the evidence, that is, between
women acting independently because they could and those who had no
alternative? This is not always an easy task. One of the best-known women
from the village Djeme, in western Thebes, is the moneylender Koloje.
She was married to a man called Manasse, but he is only known from the
documents connected with their son’s moneylending activities. If Koloje’s
documents were taken out of context, it would appear that she was a single
woman; we only know of her family due to the survival of a wider corpus
of documents connected with her. How can it be determined, then,
whether the women appearing in the textual record were in fact single?
The easiest category of single woman to identify is the widow, especially
when she is explicitly designated as such, through the use of chera (ⲭⲏⲣⲁ;
i.e., Greek chera/χήρα). Otherwise, references by women to ‘my late
husband’ also identify widows, and examples of these are discussed below.
It is possible that chera was used more broadly to indicate ‘single-having-
been-married women’, as is the case with Latin viduae, and so could also be
used of divorcées. However, the surviving evidence is insufficient to reach
a conclusion on this point, and the texts in which it occurs, presented
below, do seem to refer only to women whose husbands are dead.
Widows are more common than widowers, which is to be expected,
based on demographic patterns in which men were older than women at
the time of marriage. In fact, widowers are hard to find, not least because
there are no attestations of cheros (χῆρος), ‘widower’, in Coptic texts. In
P.KRU  (from Djeme), Shenetom son of Joseph acts on behalf of his


Wilfong : –. Their son, Pecosh, is identified via each of his parents, but never by them
together: by his father in O.Medin.HabuCopt. , ,  and ; by his mother in P.Medin.
HabuCopt.  and . Neither is described as ‘deceased’ in any of these texts.

McGinn b: . See also Laes, in this volume.

See Huebner, in this volume. Bagnall and Frier : – calculate that the mean average age
gap between husband and wife was . years, and that the age gap in about two-thirds of marriages
would be – years. The largest gap recorded in the census declarations is  years.
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
wife, Rachel. She had taken out a loan that she was unable to repay, and
so her husband sells her house to the creditor in order to pay off the debt.
Rachel is not noted as deceased, and so this may or may not be a case of
Shenetom repaying his wife’s debts after her death: the available evidence is
simply insufficient to determine this fact, and these individuals are not
attested elsewhere. Widowers, however, must have been more numerous
than the available evidence suggests, given the dangers involved in child-
birth in premodern societies.
Despite the lack of demographic resources for these centuries, it is
possible to find information about household composition and single
women. Three papyri dealing with tax evasion from eighth-century Aph-
rodito contain lists that name all members of several families that were
caught fleeing their villages (P.Lond. IV., , ). In each case,
these are the nuclear family unit, comprising parents and their children.
Two families listed in P.Lond. IV. comprise only a mother and two
children: () Tekrompria and her children Antonios and Staurophane; ()
Elisabeth and her children Philotheos and Mary. While no descriptions are
provided of the individual family members, including their ages, it seems
safe to understand these units as comprising parents plus non-adult
children, whom they took with them when they fled. If this is correct,
we see here two simple family units, comprising a single mother – whether
a widow or divorcée is unknown – and her children.


Translation in Till : –.

As Arthur Schiller has noted, while the use of makarios indicates that the person in question is
deceased, in its absence the person may be alive or dead (Schiller :  n. ).

On maternal death, see Huebner, in this volume.

These three Coptic texts provide the neatest evidence of family units among the Aphrodito material.
The Greek material – long accounts and registers (including of tax fugitives, P.Lond. IV  and
) – typically comprise lists of single individuals.

‘Simple family’ is modified from Laslett’s terminology, in which he labels such families ‘single
family households’; Laslett : : “It consists of a married couple, or a married couple with
offspring, or of a widowed person with offspring.” For the applicability of Laslett and the
Cambridge typology to ancient societies, see Bagnall and Frier : –, Huebner  and
Boozer, in this volume. As such families do not necessarily constitute a household (for the
differences between the two terms, see Yanagisako ), I here modify the term to avoid the
use of household. Nevett  provides a convenient and accessible overview of the differences
between the two, combining textual and archaeological evidence, as they pertain to the late Roman
Egyptian sites Karanis (Fayum) and Kellis (Dakhla Oasis). It can also be noted that Coptic legal
documents include lists of family and household members from whom the first party is protected;
e.g., P.KRU .– “me or brother or sister or son-of-one or son-of-two [the meaning of these is
not clear] or near or distant family or son-of-one [repeated] or household member or one on behalf
of my father or on behalf of my mother” (ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ⲥⲟⲛ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ⲥⲱⲛⲉ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ϣⲛⲟⲩⲁ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ | ϣⲛⲥⲛⲁⲩ
ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ϫⲱϩ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ϫⲱϩ ⲛϫⲱϩ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ | ϣⲛⲟⲩⲁ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ⲣⲙⲉⲛⲏⲓ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ϩⲁ ⲡⲁⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲟⲩⲇⲉ | ϩⲁ ⲧⲁⲙⲁⲁⲩ).
The boundary between family and household, i.e., which family members also form part of the
household, is not however clear.
  
In other instances, naming patterns and the choice of family members
with whom women are associated may also indicate that we are
dealing with single women, although not necessarily once-married women.
P.KRU  belongs to a corpus of child-donation documents from western
Thebes dated to the mid- to late eighth century. The woman Tachel
donated her son, Athanasios, to the monastery of Apa Phoibammon at
Deir el-Bahri. She is identified as Tachel daughter of Sophia and acts
together with her sister, Elisabeth. There is no reference to any male
member of her family. In another child-donation, P.KRU , the woman
Calisthene donated her son, mentioning her late husband in passing
(she does not, however, identify herself explicitly as a widow). Without
reference to a husband, it cannot be stated decisively whether Tachel had
ever been married, yet the reference only to her mother and sister suggests
that she was a single mother who had never wed. Different types of
singleness are therefore confronted within the written sources, but deter-
mining the reason for their status is not always a straightforward matter.

 Death, Divorce and Remarriage

The documentary evidence from Egypt, and the seeming ease by which
either partner could initiate divorce, creates the impression of “a long
tradition of liberal attitudes towards divorce.” In contrast to the earlier
Demotic and Greek evidence, there are significantly fewer documents that
deal with divorce – and marriage in general – in Coptic. On this basis,
Richter suggests that, in the times and places for which the record is
predominantly Coptic, marriage was less regularly subject to this written
documentation. Several things may contribute to this. On the one hand,


A succinct overview of the child-donations, which have received considerable attention from
scholars, is available in Wilfong : –, who provides the principle references, to which
can be added Papaconstantinou a and b and Richter . P.KRU  is translated in Till
: –.

For the monastery of Apa Phoibammon, see Godlewski .

P.KRU .–: “I, Tachel the daughter of Sophia from Apé, the nome of the city Hermonthis, with
my sister Elisabeth also acting in this with me” (ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲧⲁⲭⲏⲗ ⲧϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲛⲥⲟⲫⲓⲁ ϩⲛ ⲁⲡⲏ ̣ ⲡⲛⲟⲙⲟⲥ |
ⲛⲧⲡⲟⲗⲓⲥ ⲉⲣⲙⲱⲛⲑ(ⲓⲟⲥ) ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲣⲉⲧⲁⲥⲱⲛⲉ ⲟⲛ ⲉⲗⲓⲥⲁⲃⲉⲧ ⲉⲓⲣⲉ ⲙⲡⲁⲓ ⲛⲙⲙⲁⲓ). For a complete translation,
see Till : –.

P.KRU .–: the donation is made “for the health of my sinful soul and my late husband” (ϩⲁ
ⲡⲟⲩϫⲁⲓ ⲛⲧⲁⲯⲩⲭⲏ ⲛⲣⲉϥⲣⲛⲟⲃⲉ ⲙⲛ ⲡⲁⲙⲁⲕⲁⲣⲓⲟⲥ ⲛϩⲁⲓ). For a complete translation, see Till :
–.

Arjava : . For the informality of marriage in Roman Egypt, see Huebner, in this volume.

Richter : ; he also underscores the striking difference in the amount of relevant material in
Coptic, compared with that in Demotic, Greek and Arabic (over similar chronological ranges).
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
it may be a simple case of the survival and discovery of documentation
from Egyptian villages throughout the Nile Valley, as such a tiny number
of late antique Egyptian villages have been excavated. Literacy levels, access
to scribes in different communities and a general urban versus rural divide
may also come into play. Be that as it may, what survives does point to a
flexible approach to marriage and divorce. It is this very flexibility that
makes it so hard to identify divorcées in the sources.
The terminology for marriage and divorce is not technical. To marry is
to ‘take / bear’ a wife (fi), divorce is to ‘throw / cast out’ a wife (nouje) and
being married is presented as ‘sitting’ (hmoos) with your spouse. This is
the language used in the texts discussed below. However, this lack of legal
formality in the process does not reflect a completely liberal attitude
towards marriage in late antique Egypt. Two factors acted to preserve
marriage, albeit for different reasons: concern over property and inherit-
ance (this was also a concern in cases of remarriage following widowhood),
and Christian attitudes towards divorce.
In a letter from the early seventh century, Apa Abraham, the bishop of
Hermonthis and superior of the monastery of Apa Phoibammon, discusses
divorce.
I have been further informed that some have divorced their wives, without
reasons of adultery. It is written that “Everybody who divorces his wife and
marries another is an adulterer, and he who marries a divorced woman is an
adulterer.”
Adultery (porneia) is the only permissible reason for seeking divorce. Any
man or woman who divorces their partner without such grounds is to be
excluded from festivals, as is anybody who may have been complicit in the
divorce or anybody who supports them, including the person who may
draw up a divorce contract. The involvement of Church Fathers in
preserving marriage is witnessed in a small number of Theban letters.


ϥⲓ (Crum.Dict. a–a); ⲛⲟⲩϫⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ (Crum.Dict. a–a); ϩⲙⲟⲟⲥ (Crum.Dict. a–a).
For the terminology of marriage in Pharaonic Egypt, see Toivari-Viitala : – and  (note that
when a man terminates a marriage, he ‘throws (out)’ a wife, while a woman ‘goes away’, if it is she
who ends the marriage).

For the monastery, see n. .

O.Crum .–: ⲁⲩⲧⲁⲙⲟⲓ ⲟⲛ ϫⲉ ⲟⲩⲛ ̣ | ϩⲟⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲛⲟⲩϫⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲛⲛⲉⲩ|ⲥϩⲓⲙⲉ ϫⲛ ϣⲁϫⲉ ⲙⲡⲟⲣⲛⲓⲁ ⲉϥⲥ ̣ⲏ ̣[ϩ]
| ⲛϯϩⲉ ϫⲉ ⲟⲩⲟⲛ ⲛⲓⲙ ⲉⲧⲛⲁⲛⲉϫⲧⲉϥⲥϩ|ⲓⲙⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲛϥϩⲙⲟⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ ⲕⲉⲉⲓ ⲟⲩⲉⲓ | ⲉϥⲟ ⲛⲛⲟⲉⲓⲕ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲉⲧⲛⲁϩⲙⲟⲥ
| ⲙⲛ ⲟⲩⲉⲉⲓ ⲉⲁⲡⲉⲥϩⲁⲓ ⲛⲟϫⲥ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ | ϥⲟ ⲛⲛⲟⲉⲓⲕ. The Biblical quotation is to Luke :; cf. Matthew
: and :. Similar sentiments are expressed in O.Crum  and O.Crum Ad. .

For the Church Fathers’ condemnation of divorce, and the potential extent of its influence, see
Arjavo : – and Bagnall : –. Evans Grubbs : – more broadly treats
early Christian attitudes to divorce.
  
O.Lips.Copt.  is a letter from one Mark (either a priest or monk; he
does not include a title) to the couple Papnoute and Elisabeth, who are
sheltering a young girl who has left her husband. They are threatened with
excommunication if they do not instruct her on the importance of
returning to her husband, and of being obedient. The girl, who is
unnamed, is referred to only as a young girl, a sheere shem, which may
indicate that she was a particularly young bride, perhaps having only just
reached marriageable age. The more fragmentary O.Crum Ad.  and
P.Mon.Epiph.  both deal with similar topics. In the latter case, the
writer asks for the wife, who left the village itself when she left her
husband, to be excommunicated.
In what divorce documents survive, reasons generally are not provided
for the divorce. A particularly extreme example of this is found in P.Mon.
Epiph. v (also Theban; seventh century).
Shenetom the fisherman, the son of Pcale, in Pashme divorced his wife,
Tegoshe. He married Terêt, the daughter of Comes of Parê. Moreover, he
gave his daughter to her son. Indiction year .
This brief note reads as an announcement of events rather than anything
else. No reasons are given for the dissolution of the marriage. Of note is
that their children are also wed to one another. The most likely reason for
this was to consolidate property concerns, perhaps to ensure that the
children would certainly inherit from Shenetom and Terêt and to prevent
any potential legal wranglings with Shenetom’s first wife, Tegoshe (inherit-
ance complications are discussed below).
Cases of adultery are found, but not specifically in documents concern-
ing divorce. SB Kopt. IV  is a petition (provenance unknown) by a
woman to an official (neither of whom are named) concerning her hus-
band, who left her for another woman after she became pregnant with
their fourth child. This text is discussed at greater length in section .. In
a letter to the bishop Pisentius, who resided in western Thebes following


Sheere shem (ϣⲉⲉⲣⲉ ϣⲏⲙ) is the primary term used to identify young children in Coptic texts; see
Cromwell forthcoming.

Note that the original edition of P.Mon.Epiph.  does not provide a transcription of the Coptic
itself, only a translation of what survives. See Till :  for a translation of O.Crum Ad. .

P.Mon.Epiph. v: ϣⲉⲛⲉⲧⲱⲙ | ⲡⲟⲩⲱϩⲉ | ⲡϣⲉ ⲙ̅ ⲡϭⲁⲗⲉ | ϩ̅ ⲙ̅ ⲡⲁϣⲙⲉ | ⲁϥⲛⲉϫ ⲧⲉϥⲥϩ[ⲓ]|ⲙⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ
ⲉⲧⲉ|ⲧⲉϭⲱϣⲉ ⲧⲉ | ⲁϥϥⲓ ⲧⲉⲣⲏⲧ | ⲧϣⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲕⲟⲙⲉⲥ | ⲙ̅ ⲡⲁⲣⲏ ⲁⲩⲱ | ⲁϥϯ ⲧⲉϥϣⲉ|ⲉⲣⲉ ⲙ̅ ⲡⲉⲥ|ϣⲏⲣⲉ |
ⲓ̈ⲛⲇ(ⲓⲕⲧⲓⲱⲛⲟⲥ) ⲓ̈.

The letter O.CrumVC  does not include terminology specific to marriage, but as it seeks a
decision regarding the division of property between Martha and Leontios – including the dowry – it
seems safe to conclude that the context is one of divorce.
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
the Persian invasion of the s, a scandalous situation is at issue. A man
claims that a woman with whom he was involved gave birth, but only six
months after they first ‘united’. She is not referred to as his wife,
and ‘united’ may refer only to intercourse, rather than marriage. Their
relationship is portrayed as brief and tempestuous, and we can infer that
she claimed that he was the father. As we only have his account,
the veracity of the situation cannot be confirmed, nor the adulterous
nature of the alleged events.
The only surviving Coptic divorce contract, i.e., a legal, signed agree-
ment concerning the terms of the divorce, comes from Hermopolis and
dates to the seventh/eighth century: SB Kopt. II . Dophile daughter
of Antony and NN son of George divorce, and neither party is permitted
to sue the other should they choose to remarry, under threat of financial
punishment. This papyrus preserves the wife’s copy of the settlement,
which Dophile signs, together with two witnesses. No reasons are provided
for the divorce; Dophile simply states that she did not stay with him and
left. Without her husband’s copy, it cannot be determined whether or not
the same reason was recorded in his version, but the agreement does appear
to be unilateral: “We agreed together and separated from each other.”
Following divorce or widowhood, the clergy encouraged women not to
remarry, for reasons of sexual morality. Older widows, in particular, were
encouraged to become nuns. In reality, several practical matters affected
remarriage, notably the financial situation of the woman (see section ),
inheritance concerns of any children from the first marriage (especially
following the death of the husband/father), and the level of familial
support available (notably the age of their children, if they had any; see
section .). Sometimes, the decision of whether to remarry or not was
taken out of the woman’s hands. In his testament, Paul son of Ananias


P.Pisentius .–: “[. . . and] they united. After they were united, they fought and bickered
constantly. [Then] she left him, until now. Yet, look, she gave birth this month and he came to
me, saying ‘The little girl that she gave birth to is not mine! She conceived her, deceiving me, for it
has only been six months since I slept (lit: united) with her’” ([. . .] ⲁⲩϩⲟⲧⲡⲟⲩ ⲙⲛ[ⲛⲥⲁ] ⲧⲣⲉⲩϩⲟⲧⲡⲟⲩ
ⲉⲡⲉⲩ|[ⲉⲣⲏⲩ ⲁⲩⲙⲓϣⲉ ϩ]ⲱⲥⲟⲛ ⲁⲩⲫⲓⲗⲟⲡⲓⲕⲉ ⲙⲛ ⲛⲉⲩⲉⲣⲏⲩ ⲉⲙⲉ ⲱⲥⲕ | [ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛⲧ]ⲁⲥⲉⲓ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲓⲧⲟⲟⲧϥ ϣⲁ
ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ ⲥⲧⲉⲛⲟⲩ ⲉⲓⲥ ϩⲏⲏⲧⲉ ⲟⲛ | ⲁⲥⲙⲓⲭⲉ ⲙⲡⲓⲉⲃⲁⲧ ⲁϥⲉⲓ ⲛⲁⲓ ⲉϥϫⲱ ⲙⲙⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲙⲡⲱⲓ ⲁⲛ ⲡⲉ | ⲧϣⲉⲉⲣⲉ ϣⲏⲙ
ⲛⲧⲁⲥϫⲡⲟⲥ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲛⲧⲁⲥⲱ ⲙⲙⲟⲥ ⲛϫⲓⲟⲩ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ̈ | ⲕⲁⲓ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲥⲟⲟⲩ ⲛⲉⲃⲁⲧ ⲛⲉ ⲛⲁⲓ̈ ϫⲓⲛ ⲙⲡⲛⲁⲩ ⲛⲧⲁⲓϩⲟⲧⲡⲥ.

See also Balogh and Kahle : – (the original edition) and Richter : –.

SB Kopt. II .–: [ⲁⲩ|ⲧⲁⲉⲓⲧ ⲛⲁϥ ⲉⲥⲓⲙⲉ ⲡ ̣ⲓϭⲱ ⲛⲉⲙⲁϥ ⲁⲓ̈ⲙⲏ[. . .]|ⲡⲓⲧ ⲉⲕⲁϥ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲛⲇⲱⲇ ⲙⲛ
ⲛⲉⲣⲏ̣ ̣ⲩ | ⲁⲛⲕⲁⲛⲏⲣⲏⲩ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ.

Evans Grubbs a: – (with previous references) and . On remarriage, contrast the earlier
Augustan marriage law discussed in Huebner, in this volume, which encouraged it.

These are not just issues in late antique (or Christian) Egypt; see also Arjava :  and ;
Huebner : ; Pudsey : ,  and –.
  
makes it explicit that his wife can only inherit from him as long as she does
not remarry (P.KRU ; Djeme).
My wife Sarah will be owner of all that is mine, in everything, until she dies,
as long as she remains with me and does not remarry.
Similar sentiments are also encountered in the earlier Roman evidence.
They reveal concern for the protection of their own family’s property and a
refusal to let it fall into the hands of another.
Remarriage did, however, occur. The case of Elisabeth daughter of
Epiphanius, from Djeme, who married a man originally from Aswan,
Abraham, following the death of her first husband, Loule, has been well
documented. With Loule, she had one son, George, and she had two
other children with her second husband, Isaac and Kyra. Problems
between Elisabeth and George concerning his paternal inheritance are
recorded in P.KRU , a property settlement, and , Elisabeth’s testa-
ment. While George wanted what was rightfully his, for her part,
Elisabeth was adamant that she would protect the rest of her property
from him, both what she inherited from her own family and that of her
second husband: her property was hers to disseminate, as she wished.
About George, whom I had with Loule . . . I paid his tax, the workman that
I hired for him, and all the rest of his troubles . . . God knows that from
today, I have paid him in full on behalf of his late father, Loule, down to a
bronze carot. From that day, God knows that he received another ten
holokottinoi and one tremis from me. . . . God knows that I have done
enough good for him, until he grew up, left me, and left me in debt.


P.KRU .–: ⲉⲧⲣⲉⲥⲁⲣⲣⲁ ⲧⲁⲥϩⲓⲙⲉ ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲥⲟ ⲛϫⲟⲉⲓⲥ ⲉ[ⲡ]ⲉⲧϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲛⲁⲓ ⲧⲏⲣϥ ϩⲛ ϩⲱⲃ ⲛⲓⲙ
ϣⲁⲛⲧⲥⲉⲓ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ ⲥⲱⲙⲁ ⲉⲧⲓ ⲉⲥⲥϩⲙⲟⲟⲥ ⲛϩⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲁⲣⲟⲓ ⲉⲧⲙϩⲙⲟⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ ϩⲁⲓ. The document is translated
in full in MacCoull : – and Till : –.

Arjava : .

The guarantee of the filiation of any children born after the death of the husband was also an
important issue to consider. A ten-month waiting period before remarriage could take place is
therefore attested in certain periods; Arjava : .

The principal treatments are Schiller  and Wilfong : –.

Partial translations and discussion of these texts are available in Wilfong : – (P.KRU )
and – (P.KRU ), which is the most important study of Elisabeth’s family (including her
property disputes with her own niece, Abigaia), superseding Schiller . For complete
translations of each text, see Till : – (P.KRU ) and – (P.KRU ) and
MacCoull : – (P.KRU ) and – (P.KRU ).

The carot was the smallest coin denomination in use at Djeme. There were twenty-four carots to the
holokottinos (the equivalent of the Latin solidus), the principal division of which was the tremis (one-
third of a holokottinos).

P.KRU .–: ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲅⲉⲱⲣⲅⲓⲟⲥ ⲇⲉ ⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁⲓϫⲡⲟϥ ⲙⲛ ⲗⲟⲩⲗⲉ . . . () ⲁⲓϯ ⲛϯⲙⲱⲥⲓⲟⲛ ϩⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲙⲛ
ⲡⲉⲣⲅⲁⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲧⲁⲓⲑⲛⲟϥ ϩⲁⲣⲁϥ ⲙⲛ ⲡϣⲱϫ[ⲡ] | ⲛⲛⲉϥϩⲓⲥⲉ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ . . . ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛ ϫ[ⲉ] | ϫⲉⲛ
ⲙⲡⲉϩⲱⲟⲩ ⲛⲧⲁⲓⲡⲗⲱⲣⲟⲩⲫⲱⲣⲟⲩ ⲙⲙⲟϥ ϩⲁ ⲡⲉϥⲙⲁⲕⲁⲣⲓⲟⲥ ⲛⲓⲱⲧ ⲗⲟⲩⲗ[ⲉ] | ϣⲁ ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲗⲱⲅⲓⲁ
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
Elisabeth makes it clear that she has a duty also to provide for her younger
children. The sum of money mentioned, ten and one-third holokottinoi,
came from her own expenses, and was quite a substantial sum. In the
following year, George had P.KRU  drawn up, in which he confirms
that he has received everything owed him from his paternal inheritance.
On that day, you fulfilled for me the oath (in the Church) of Saint
Cyriacus. After the fulfilment of the oath for me, I received and was satisfied
with you about the issue concerning this entire inheritance of my late
father, Loule, in gold, silver, clothing, bronze, goods, marriage gift, bridal
gift, yearly subsistence, and anything coming to me from my late father.
The affairs of Elisabeth and her son George reveal that remarriage was
possible, but it was not necessarily the answer to a widow’s financial
worries. The existence of any progeny from the first marriage could greatly
affect her future life, for better or for worse.

 The Wealthy Widow

Before moving on to the evidence for the support networks of widows and
divorcées, it should be noted that some women remained unmarried and
were able to support themselves. Testaments of women from Djeme attest
to the ability of wealthy women to live independently, although it is not
always clear if they are single-once-married women, or single-never-
married women. In their respective testaments, Anna daughter of John
and Taham (P.KRU ) and Tbasbes daughter of Apa Victor and
Thabronia (P.KRU ) do not refer to any other member of their family,
including children, the existence of which would suggest that they had at
one time been married. Anna donated all her property to the monastery of
St Paul on Dra Abu el-Naga. This includes the house that she inherited
from her father, her share in her mother’s house, a quarter-share in a

ⲛⲟⲩⲕⲩⲣⲁⲧⲓⲟⲛ ⲛϩⲟⲙⲛⲧ ϫⲉ ⲛⲙⲡⲉϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲙⲙⲱ ⲡⲛ|ⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛ ϫⲉ ⲁϥϫⲱ ⲕⲉⲙⲏⲧ ⲛϩⲱⲗⲟⲕⲟⲧⲓⲛⲟⲥ

ⲉⲣⲟⲓ ⲙⲛ ⲟⲩⲧⲣⲓⲙⲩⲥⲓⲟⲛ . . . () ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛ ϫⲉ ⲁⲓⲣⲡⲣⲱϣⲉ ⲙⲡⲉⲧⲛⲁⲛⲟⲩϥ ⲛⲙⲙⲁϥ
ϣⲁⲛⲧⲉϥⲣϩⲏⲗⲏⲅⲓⲁ | ⲛϥⲉⲓ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲓⲧⲟⲧ ⲛϥⲕⲁⲧ ⲉⲓⲭⲣⲓⲱⲥⲧⲉ.

P.KRU .–: ⲙⲡⲉϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲙ ̣[ⲙⲁⲁⲩ ⲁⲣ]ⲉ ̣ⲡⲗⲏⲣⲟⲫⲟⲣⲉⲓ ̣ | ⲙⲙⲟⲓ ⲙⲡⲁⲛⲁϣ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲙⲡ ̣ϩ ̣ⲁ ̣ⲅⲓⲟⲥ ⲕⲩⲣⲓⲁⲕ|ⲟⲥ
ⲙⲛⲛⲥⲁ ⲧⲉⲡⲗⲏⲣⲟⲫⲟⲣⲉⲓ ⲙⲙⲟⲓ ⲙⲡⲁⲛⲁϣ | ⲁⲓϫⲓ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲓⲡⲱⲗϭ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲛⲙⲙⲏⲧⲛ ϩⲁ ϩⲱⲃ | ⲉϥⲇⲓⲁⲫⲉⲣⲓⲥⲑⲁⲓ
ⲉⲧⲉⲓⲕⲗⲏⲣⲟⲛⲟⲙⲓⲁ ⲧⲏⲣⲥ | ⲙⲡⲁⲙⲁⲕⲁⲣ(ⲓⲟⲥ) ⲛⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲗⲟⲩⲗⲁ ϩⲛ ⲛⲟⲩⲃ ϩⲛ | ϩⲁⲁⲧ ϩⲛ ϩⲟⲓⲧⲉ ϩⲛ ⲃⲁⲣⲱⲧ ϩⲛ
ⲉⲓⲇⲟⲥ ⲛⲓⲙ | ϩⲁ ⲥⲭⲁⲁⲧ ϩⲁ ϣⲉⲗⲉⲉⲧ ϩⲁ ⲣⲟⲙⲡⲉ ⲛⲟⲩⲱⲙ | ϩⲁ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ⲛϩⲱⲃ ⲉϥϫⲓ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ ⲙⲛ
ⲡⲁⲙⲁⲕⲁⲣ(ⲓⲟⲥ) ⲛⲉⲓⲱⲧ.

See MacCoull : –, Till : – and Wilfong : –.

See Till : –.

While this monastery has been known for over a century on the basis of the textual evidence, its
location has only been identified much more recently; see Beckh  (with bibliography).
  
bakery and her share in land jointly owned with one Abraham son of
Athanasius (the nature of this relationship is not stated, and he is not
mentioned again). Tbasbes bequeathed her property, including shares in a
church that she inherited from her father, to the priest Shenoute and his
son, Pesynte, in exchange for their care of her memorial offering.
Susanna daughter of Moses is known from her testament, two copies of
which survive, P.KRU  and , and a wider archive connected with her
grandson Shenoute. The name of her husband is unknown, and we only
know of one child, a son Germanos who predeceased her. She did,
however, have five grandchildren, to whom she bequeathed her property.
This included her share in a church, established by her grandfather
Elisaios, four houses and a quarter of another structure. With her property
portfolio, family support (see section .) and income derived by the lands
owned by the church, Susanna was a financially secure widow who did
not need to remarry. Or, for that matter, refer to her deceased husband in
any capacity.
It is also possible that some women were able to work to support
themselves. The moneylender Koloje has already been mentioned; even
though she was married, she also acted independently in her economic
transactions. There are a couple of work contracts in which women are
hired to train girls. In O.CrumVC , from Elephantine, a priest hires
the woman Djenjhor to train his daughter for two years. Damage to the
ostracon means that the nature of the work is unknown, but it was likely
weaving or basketry, as is the case in SB Kopt. I  (unprovenanced).
Here, one Maria is hired by another woman, Sara, to teach her daughter to
plait (the verb shônt indicates basketry rather than weaving), for two years,
in exchange for three carots. However, it cannot be confirmed that these
women are widows simply because they are working and are not referred to
in terms of their husbands; the limited amount of space on these ostraca
does not allow the inclusion of any additional information about them.


The potential interest of Shenoute in Tbasbes’ property is discussed in Cromwell : .

These documents have received considerable scholarly treatment; see MacCoull : – for
translations and references to earlier studies. The family archive is studied in detail in Cromwell
.

Susanna’s family tree extends from her maternal grandfather to her great-grandchildren; see
Cromwell : .

Cromwell : .

As Germanos predeceased the writing of this entire family archive, he is only referred to in passing,
and his patronymic – through which we would learn the name of Susanna’s husband – is never
recorded. The complete silence surrounding her husband, given the amount of incidental
information contained in these documents, is quite astounding.
 
See Porten :  (E). See Hintze .
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
The paltry level of payment that Maria received certainly was not enough
to sustain her throughout the year. Moreover, if the girls lived with these
women throughout the duration of their training (apprenticeship is per-
haps an inappropriate term), this additional support, with somebody to
help in their daily chores, etc., may have been just as valuable as the
monetary gain.

 To Whom to Turn
Even though some women may have been financially independent, and
able to live alone, this did not mean that they did not at times need
support. In times of sickness and unforeseen situations, single women
needed to turn to other individuals for help. Different options were
available to them, depending on their circumstances, and the nature and
extent of their wider family.

. Family
The woman’s immediate family (parents, siblings, their own grown chil-
dren, etc.) would almost certainly have been her first line of assistance. In
this case, the appeal for aid was unlikely to be written down, and so we
only see glimpses of familial support. Elisabeth daughter of Epiphanius
(discussed already in section ) not only had her own family to worry
about, but, as her testament (P.KRU ) shows, her own elderly mother
lived with her at some point. Of the money that her second husband,
Abraham, received from his own family (almost  holokottinoi, which was
a huge sum), all apart from six holokottinoi were given to her and her
mother, Maria. Elisabeth does not explicitly state that her mother lived
with her, but, even if she did not, she at least was financially supported by
Elisabeth.


The Coptic evidence for apprenticeship contracts is minimal; see Cromwell forthcoming.

The funerary stela of the deacon John, SB Kopt. I , notes that he grew up fatherless (through
reference to his widowed mother) and includes a lament on Death, who tears apart families, ‘the one
who sunders parents from their children and children from their parents’ (ll. –: ⲡⲉⲧⲡⲱⲣϫ
ⲉϩⲉⲛⲉⲓⲟⲧⲉ | ⲉⲛⲉⲩϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲁⲩⲱ ϩⲉⲛϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲉ|ⲛⲉⲩⲉⲓⲟⲧⲉ). It is easy to read this lament as being
particularly directed towards the difficulties he faced growing up in his single-mother household.

P.KRU .– contains the relevant background information, in particular lines –
(ⲙⲡⲉⲕϩⲱⲡ ⲗⲁⲩⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ ⲛϩⲏⲧⲟⲩ ϣⲁ ⲧⲁⲛⲁⲗⲱⲅⲓⲁ ⲛⲟⲩⲧⲣⲓⲙⲏⲥⲓⲟⲛ | ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲁⲛϫⲁⲩ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲉⲣⲁⲛ ⲙⲛ
ⲛⲉⲛⲉⲣⲏⲩ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲛⲙⲙⲁⲕ ⲙⲛ ⲙⲁⲣⲓⲁ ⲧⲁⲙⲁⲩ ϩⲱⲥ ⲁⲥⲣϩⲗⲗⲟⲩ “You kept nothing from me, down to a
tremis, rather, we have received them together, myself, you, and my mother Maria, as she had
become old”). Wilfong : – reconstructs the family’s narrative, based on the rest of the
family’s archive and other such casual details.
  
Susanna daughter of Moses (who is also discussed above in section )
distributes her property between her grandchildren in her testament. She
singles out her grandsons for the care that they provided her in her old age
(P.KRU  states illness rather than old age), since her son, Germanos, had
already passed away. As a result of this care, they receive more in their
inheritance than their sisters. This may not have been an entirely
altruistic endeavour by her grandsons, who certainly had interest in the
property – in church and land – that she owned. Whatever the reason
for their actions, Susanna at least had an extended family to which she
could turn.

. Monastic Elders

Not all widows had the benefit of a wider familial support network. An
unnamed widow from Thebes, the wife of the late Pesynte, writes to
bishop Pisentius about the hardships she faces (SB Kopt. I ). As a
result of the Persian invasion of the s, this woman lost her husband and
one son. She then lived with her other remaining son, but he either also
died or left her, unable to face the difficulty of managing their land alone.
At the time of writing, she had lost all her cattle, some having been taken
by the Persians, the rest used as payment for a moneylender, and she had
no surviving family members. She still had possession of her house and a
field, but found it increasingly difficult to maintain them. She was respon-
sible for the land tax on the field, and she feared the loss of her house,
which she presumably would have had to sell in order to pay her other
expenses. With the loss of her family, she turned to a respected religious
figure in the area, Pisentius (bishop of Coptos, who was resident in western


P.KRU .– (ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲛⲡⲓⲧⲛⲁⲛⲟⲩⲃ | ⲛⲧⲁⲩⲁⲁⲩ ⲛⲙⲙⲁⲓ ϩⲛ ⲧⲁⲙⲛⲧϩⲗⲗⲱ “because of this good thing
that they did for me in my old age”) and .– (ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲙⲡⲉⲧⲛⲁⲛⲟⲩϥ [ⲛⲧⲁ]ⲩⲁⲁⲩ [ⲛⲙⲙⲁⲓ] ⲙⲛ
ⲡϣⲱⲛⲉ ⲛⲧⲁⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ | [ⲉⲛ]ⲧϥ ⲉϫⲱⲓ “because of the good that they did [for me] in the illness that
God brought upon me”).

For the grandsons’ interest in her property, see Cromwell : –.

Original edition and complete translation in Drescher .

Note that the names Pesynte and Pisentius are the same and are written in the same form (ⲡⲉⲥⲛ̅ ⲧⲉ),
but I differentiate them here, mainly to use Pisentius for the bishop, as this is more typically how his
name is written in the scholarly literature.

Altheim-Stiehl  provides a convenient overview of the Persian invasion and control of Egypt,
with substantial bibliography. Note, however, that in reference to this text, Altheim-Stiehl refers to
Pisentius as the bishop of Hermonthis, not of Coptos; for the arguments in support of the latter, see
Drescher : –. As Drescher states of Pisentius of Coptos: “His charity extended far beyond
his own diocese . . . his reputation as a protector of the poor and oppressed was evidently something
quite out of the common.”
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
Thebes during the decade of Persian rule), to intercede on her behalf with
the village officials and to convince them to allow her to stay, unimpeded,
in her home.
I am this suffering wretched one . . . who is hard from sin, grief, and pain,
and defeated because of my husband, who has died, and my s[on, whom
the] Persians beat . . . and my cattle, which the Persians took. Now, I beg of
you, your holy paternity, to send for and bring the lashane of Djeme and
Amos and request them to let me stay in my house, so I do not have to go
elsewhere. For they said to me: “You are responsible for the field.” My other
son felt defeated and died. More, the other cattle that remained following
the Persians, the moneylender came, took it, and sold it for his dues, which
I had taken for the tax. And so, have mercy on me, so I can stay in my
house.
This is part of a larger group of texts, predominantly but not exclusively
from Thebes, in which widows seek support from ecclesiastical and
monastic figures. Thebes, with its density of monastic settlements and
their proximity to the lay population, provided a veritable bounty of such
men to whom those in need could turn, and several more letters record
these situations.
Maria appeals to Panachôra in P.Mon.Epiph.  to send her aid,
following the loss of her husband and son also to the Persians. The
Persian invasion may also be to blame for the death of Thellô’s husband,
Peter son of Plôs (P.Mon.Epiph. ). The widow Thellô writes to a
monastic elder (the name is lost) concerning difficulties with workmen
whom her late husband contracted to sow their field, “before the Persians


It should be noted, though, that at first she lived with her sons following the death of her husband;
it was with the loss of her sons that she had nobody else to whom to turn.

SB Kopt. I : –: ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲧⲉ ϯⲉⲃⲓⲏⲛ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲗⲉⲡⲱⲣⲟⲥ ⲡⲁⲣⲁ | ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲉϥϩⲓϫⲛ̅ ⲡⲕⲁϩ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲧϫⲏⲥ ⲛ̅ ⲁⲃⲉ
| ϩⲓ ⲙ̅ ⲕⲁϩ ⲛ̅ ϩⲏⲧ ϩⲓ ⲗⲩⲡⲏ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲉⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲁⲗ̅ [ⲥ] | ⲛ̅ ϩⲏⲧ ϩⲁ ⲡⲁϩⲁⲓ̈ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁϥⲣ̅ ⲙⲁⲕⲁ|ⲣⲓⲟⲥ ⲙⲛ̅ ⲡⲁϣ[ⲏⲣⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁ
ⲙ̅ ]ⲡⲉ|ⲣⲥⲟⲥ ⲕⲟⲗϩϥ̅ [. . .] | ⲙⲛ̅ ⲛⲁⲧⲃⲛ̅ ⲏⲩⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲣⲥⲟⲥ ϥⲓ|[ⲧⲟⲩ] ⲧⲉⲛⲟⲩ ⲉⲓ̈ⲡⲁⲣⲁⲕⲁⲗⲓ ⲙ̅ ⲙⲟⲕ
ⲛ̅ |ⲧⲉⲕⲙ̅ ̣ⲛ̅ ̣ⲧⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ ⲉⲧⲣⲉⲕϫⲟⲟⲩ | [ⲛ]ⲅ̅ ⲛ̅ ⲡⲗⲁϣⲁⲛⲉ ⲛ̅ ϫⲏⲙⲉ ⲙⲛ̅ ϩ ̣ⲁⲙ ̣ⲱ ̣ⲥ ̣ | ⲛⲅ̅ [ⲡⲁ]ⲣⲁⲕⲁⲗⲉⲓ
ⲙ̅ [ⲙ]ⲟⲟⲩ ⲛ̅ ⲥⲟⲩⲕⲁⲓ̈ |ⲛ̅ ϩⲟ ̣ⲩⲛ ̣ ⲙ̅ ⲡⲁⲏⲓ̈ ⲙⲛ̅ ⲧ ̣ⲁⲕⲱⲧⲉ ϩⲓ ⲡϣⲙ̅ |[ⲙⲟ ·] ⲙ ̣ⲙⲟⲛ ⲡⲉϫⲁⲩ ϫⲉ ⲉⲣⲉϩⲣⲁ ⲉⲫⲁⲓ̈ |
[ⲡⲕ]ⲟⲩ ϣⲏⲣⲉ ⲉⲧⲉ ⲟⲩⲛⲧⲁⲓ̈ϥ ⲁϥⲟⲩⲱ|[ⲗⲥ̅ ⲛ̅ ]ϩⲏⲧ ⲁϥϣⲉ ⲛⲏϥ · ⲁⲩⲱ ⲧⲕⲟⲩ ⲁⲗⲱⲧ | ⲛ̅ ⲧⲃⲛ ̣ⲏ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲥⲥⲏⲡⲉ
ⲉⲛⲡⲉⲣⲥⲟⲥ ⲁⲡ[ⲧⲁ]|ⲛⲓ ̣ⲥ ̣ⲧⲏⲥ ⲉⲓ̈ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲁϥϥⲓⲧⲥ̅ ⲁϥⲧⲁⲁⲥ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ | ϩⲁ ⲡⲉϥⲗⲁⲁⲩⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲓ̈ϫⲓⲧϥ̅ ⲉⲡⲇⲓⲙⲟⲥⲓ[ⲟⲛ] |
ⲁⲩⲱ ⲣ̅ ⲡⲛⲁ̅ ⲛ̅ ⲉⲙⲉⲓ̈ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲥⲙ ̣ⲙ̅ ̣ⲛ̅ ̣ ⲛ̅ ϩⲟⲩ|ⲛ ⲙⲡⲁⲏⲓ̈.

The religious elder as protector of widows and orphans is a common Biblical trope. For the Greek
evidence for late antique Egypt, see Kotsifou  (this focuses primarily on orphans, but widows
are also discussed); the Coptic non-literary evidence for the protection of orphans is discussed in
Cromwell forthcoming.

P.Mon.Epiph. .–: [. . .] ⲁⲛ̅ ⲃⲁⲣⲃⲁⲣⲟⲥ ϥⲓ ⲛⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲁⲩϥⲓ ⲛϣⲏ ̣ⲣ|[ⲉ. . .]. I understand barbaros here
as a reference to the Persians (following both the original editor, Crum, and Bagnall and Cribiore
: ), but it may refer to other groups living in the desert west of Thebes.
  
came south.” However, the workmen had failed to give Thellô any of the
produce of the land, despite her repeated requests. She refers to an
arbitration that had taken place, presumably by the village officials, but
this must have been unsatisfactory, as she still needed support from other
sources (the end of the ostracon is lost and with it Thellô’s actual request).
Without her husband, a monastic authority figure provided the support
that she required in her legal difficulties. As she notes, the elder was
appointed by God in order to serve as an advocate of the poor.
A similar reason for seeking aid is found in a Hermopolite letter, CPR
IV . The widow Sophia daughter of Basilaios writes to the monk Apa
Phoibammon to confirm the receipt of her share in the harvest. This letter
differs from the previous one in that it is not a request for help, but an
acknowledgement of the receipt of one-quarter holokottinos, which she will
receive annually. However, in this particular instance, the recipient Apa
Phoibammon has the title chrusônês, a financial title (the director of the
treasury of the nome; however, it is not impossible that the title was used
in a different capacity in the seventh century). It is unclear in what
capacity Sophia wrote to Phoibammon. She refers to him as Brother Apa
Phoibammon, and it may be in this capacity that she originally addressed
him. Most importantly, her problem was resolved.
Monastic figures were also approached to intercede in difficulties
between widows and their family: the presence of family members did
not mean that they could or would provide support. On the contrary,
family itself could be the problem and, without spousal support, the
widow’s only option was to look for external assistance. O.Crum 
(provenance uncertain; probably Theban) reveals a wider network con-
nected to the deceased husband, the priest John. The writer (the final part
of the ostracon, bearing his name, is lost) was asked to investigate a
problem between John’s widow and her youngest son. The actual problem
is not recorded – after all, both writer and recipient know the details, but
the writer confirms that he has reconciled both parties and nothing can be
demanded from the widow beyond what was already decided by
the Father, Zael, the recipient of the letter. Not only does this letter
provide evidence for support networks, connected to the professional circle


P.Mon.Epiph. .: ⲙ̅ ⲡⲁⲧⲉⲙ̅ ⲡⲉⲣⲥⲟⲥ ⲉⲓ ⲉⲣⲏⲥ. The Persians are not stated as the cause of Peter’s
death, but the timeframe involved makes this a possibility.

P.Mon.Epiph. .: ⲛ̅ ⲧⲟⲕ ⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲧⲓⲕ ⲉⲧⲣⲉⲕϣⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲥⲁ ⲡϩⲱⲃ ⲛ̅ ⲛ̅ ϩⲏⲕⲉ “God has appointed
you to inquire into the business of the poor.”

The early Arab period saw the appropriation of Greek terms for offices and concepts for which they
were not originally intended; see Sijpesteijn : .
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 
of the deceased party, but it also demonstrates (together with the previous
ostracon) that such sought-for aid was provided to those who needed it.

. The Case of Tanope, Widow of Solomon

In two documents from Djeme, we find Tanope daughter of Abraham.
P.KRU  records the resolution of the sale of her share in the courtyard of
her husband, Solomon. The purchasers had initially failed to pay the full
sale price, and Tanope sought arbitration from the local Arab official,
Suleiman, to receive her outstanding money. Solomon is not noted as
deceased in this document, but he surely was, as Tanope was acting
independently. In P.KRU , it is made clear that she is a widow, as she
is identified as “Tanope, the daughter of Abraham, wife of (the) late
Solomon.” This document records the outcome of a settlement between
Tanope and Peter son of Comes, from whose house she was accused of
stealing a considerable volume of goods. A man from the village, Daniel
son of Pachom, supports Tanope in her case. There is no evident family
relationship between Tanope and Daniel, but with his support she is
absolved from having to repay the value of the stolen goods, since the
village authorities are informed she is unable to do so. As a widow, even a
propertied one, Tanope was on hard financial times. Yet, in contrast to
the cases discussed in the previous section, she was able to approach the
highest village officials, and had access to professional scribes and Arab
authorities in her cases. The evidence is that Tanope was among the village
elite and had recourse to a support network and resources at this level.
She did not need to implore religious elders to aid her in difficult times.

. Divorcées
There is considerably less evidence for the support networks of divorcées
than for widows. Several reasons may account for this. The first is the
problem of identifying divorcées, as discussed in section . Secondly, much
of our evidence for widows derives from letters written to monastic figures,
who were duty-bound to support them. As the Church did not support
divorce, except following adultery (section ), religious figures may not


Translation in Till : –.

P.KRU .: ⲧⲁⲛⲱⲡⲏ ⲧϣⲉⲉⲣⲉ ⲛⲁⲃⲣⲁϩⲁⲙ ⲧⲥϩⲓⲙⲉ ⲙⲙⲁⲕ(ⲁⲣⲓⲟⲥ) ⲥⲟⲗⲟⲙ[ⲱⲛ]. The text is translated
in full in Till : –.

Daniel, his archive, and his other philanthropic activities are discussed in detail in Cromwell .
  
have been a viable option for divorcées. Furthermore, as already noted, if
support was provided between family members within the village, such
instances are unlikely to ever have been written down. There is one
exception. In SB Kopt. IV , which was introduced briefly in section
, a woman petitions an official; there is no address (and the indications are
that this document is a draft) and so the identity of neither party is known.
Her petition is written in highly emotive language, in which she
presents her mistreatment (literally ‘violence’) at his hands, and his aban-
donment of her for another woman (literally, ‘threw away’), and the
struggle (Greek machê; ‘battle, combat’) that took place between the two
parties.
May your Lordship listen to my mistreatment by Paul, my husband . . .
I had three children with him before I became ill. God knows that after
I became ill, I had another [child . . .] When he saw me, that God had
brought his illness upon me, he abandoned me and left with another
woman. He left [me . . .] and I was abandoned.
The purpose of the petition is to exact alimony from her ex-husband.
This constitutes barley, oil, wine and items of clothing each year, i.e., the
main staples of life. She notes that he has not provided her anything for a
year, except for a single artaba of barley. In her illness, this support was
essential, as she had no other way to provide for their children: “I am not
asking for anything except the alimony that he established with me,
because I am ill . . . so I can live on it.” The implication is that a divorce
contract was drawn up (the Coptic verb cmine, translated here as ‘estab-
lished’, is the standard verb used to refer to the drawing up of legal
contracts), and that Paul had not complied with its terms. In this situation,
the divorcée had a legal right against her ex-husband: he had committed
adultery and had reneged on the terms of their agreement. Even if she had
further family support (and there is no indication of this in the petition
itself ), she was able to approach a higher authority.


As discussed above (section ), this is the standard vocabulary of divorce in Coptic.

SB Kopt. IV .–: ⲙⲁ ̣ⲣⲉⲧⲉⲕⲙⲛ̅ ⲧϫⲟⲉⲓⲥ ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ⲡⲁϫⲓ ⲛϭⲟⲛ̅ ⲥ ⲙⲛ̅ ⲡⲁⲩⲗⲟⲥ ⲡⲁϩⲁ[ⲓ . . .] | ϫⲉ ⲁⲓ̈ⲙⲓⲥ
ϣⲟⲙⲧ̅ ⲛⲙ̅ ⲙⲁϥ ⲙ̅ ⲡⲁϯⲣ ϭⲱⲃ ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛ ϫⲓⲛⲧⲁⲓⲣ ϭⲱⲃ ⲁⲓ̈ⲙⲓⲥ ⲕⲉⲟⲩⲁ ⲛ ̣.[. . .] | ⲛ̅ ̣ⲧⲉⲣⲉϥⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ̈ ϫⲉ
ⲁⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲡϣⲱⲛⲉ ⲉϫⲱⲓ̈ ⲛ.ⲫ. ⲁϥⲛⲟϫⲧ̅ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲁϥⲃⲱⲕ ⲙⲛ̅ ⲕⲉⲟⲩⲉⲓ. For a complete translation of the
text, see the original edition in Till .

I render Greek analôma (ἀνάλωμα) as ‘alimony’; literally ‘expenses, cost’, etc.

SB Kopt. IV .–: ⲛ̅ ϯϣⲓⲛⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲛ̅ ⲥⲁ ⲗⲁⲩⲉ ⲛ̅ ⲥⲁ | ⲡⲁⲛϩⲁⲗⲱⲙⲁ ⲛⲧⲁ ̣ϥ ̣ⲥⲙⲛ̅ ⲧⲥ ⲛⲙ ̅ ⲙⲁⲓ̈ ϫⲉ ̣ ⲁ ̣ⲓ ̣ⲣ ϭⲱⲃ
ⲛ..ⲟ ̣ϭⲥ ⲛⲧⲁⲱⲛϩ ⲉⲣⲟϥ.
 “Listen to My Mistreatment” 

 Summary
The Coptic evidence is dominated by one location, western Thebes.
Villagers here, not only widows, had easy access to venerated monastic
elders, whose advice and support was sought on a range of matters. This
situation was not, however, unique to this region. Ecclesiastical and
monastic establishments throughout the Nile Valley provided charity to
those in need, including widows. The extent of the information available
for Djeme allows us to see the lives of different widows and divorcées,
sometimes with a fair amount of detail.
In all of this, however, it must be remembered that we only witness the
lives of those who could write or were able to pay somebody else to write
down their affairs and problems, preserving them for posterity. Wealthy
widows, in particular, had access to village and higher officials and profes-
sional scribes. Some women certainly were literate and could have written
their own letters. Although, if a widow or divorcée was especially in
need, her ability to find somebody who could write on her behalf (whether
a letter to a monastic elder or a local authority) may not be a reflection of
her wealth or social standing. For those truly in need, the literate may have
extended their services as part of a wider support system. Single women
who had no access even to this must have had an extremely difficult life,
the details of which we can only imagine.


For example, in P.Mon.Epiph. , the officials of Djeme, representing the entire community, write
to Apa Epiphanius to ask for his intercession on their behalf in a judicial matter with the officials of
another village.

Serfass  covers the papyrological evidence for ecclesiastical support for widows in late antique
Egypt. Wipsyzcka  discusses the charitable activity of bishops, including the bishops resident in
Thebes in the seventh century and discussed above (Abraham and Pisentius). On Christian charity,
see also Crislip : ,  (“Christians targeted for aid those who in some way lacked the normal
family that could provide for them. These included widows, orphans, beggars, shipwreck victims
and travelers, and prisoners”) and – for the scale of charitable actions enabled by the structure
of coenobitic monasticism.

This seems to be the case in P.Mon.Epiph. , mentioned in section .. Her letter is followed by
that of another woman, Susanna, on the same ostracon. As Bagnall and Cribiore :  and 
note, it is unlikely that each woman had a different scribe write their respective missives. With
Coptic letters from women, it is particularly difficult to determine whether the women themselves
wrote the letter, or somebody else, due to the “relative expertise of their hands and the rare
occurrence of unskilled handwriting among them” (Bagnall and Cribiore : ).

It is perhaps of note that the divorcée’s petition, SB Kopt. IV , is not the product of a
professional scribe. It is a somewhat scrappy piece, on reused papyrus, and certainly not an
expensive and finely produced document. The question remains open – and perhaps
unanswerable – as to whether the divorcée wrote this herself, or if it was written for her.
Comparative Voices
  

Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam*

Mohammed Hocine Benkheira

In Muslim communities today, as in the past, marriage is highly valued,

and illicit sexual relations are prohibited or, at a minimum, morally
condemned. An unmarried man or woman merits the evil eye. It is almost
universally agreed that all Muslims must marry and that marriage and
procreation are the only means to a successful life. No man or woman is
self-sufficient. Every man and woman needs a marriage partner in order to
live a full life. Whereas in the modern West, marriage is the business of a
man and a woman, in the Islamic world, it is the business of two families.
When a man marries a woman, he expects not only to establish a family,
but also to acquire new relatives. The Muslim marriage pertains to the
exchange theory, as it has been studied by social anthropology.
In Arabic, ʿuzūba means “bachelorhood,” more forced than voluntary,
as in the case of a shepherd who goes far away from home. In Algerian
Arabic nowadays, an ʿāzib is a young man, sometimes a teenager, who is
“not married”; the feminine form, ʿazba means a virgin and also an
unmarried female, no matter what her age. Another term, tabattul, refers
to a voluntary state of “celibacy” or “sexual abstinence.”
My field of research is Islamic legal thought, especially the formative
period. For many years, I have studied the institution of marriage and the
legal issues related to it. During the course of my research, I have noted
that, beginning in the ninth century CE, the chapter on marriage in the
doctrinal law books usually begins with a response to the following
question: Is it better to be married or to be single? The first jurist to pose
this question – and to answer it – was al-Shāfiʿī (d. ), who said: “If a
man [or a woman] needs to satisfy his [or her] sexual desire and if he
[or she] cannot do that, he [or she] may commit a sin; for this reason, it is

* I wish to thank David S. Powers (Cornell University) for the careful revision of my English text.
Obviously, all shortcomings are my responsibility. On the theme, see also Benkheira .

See Lévi-Strauss  (st edition ), especially pp. –.


   
better for him [or her] to marry – even a slave. However, if a man [or a
woman] has no urge for sexual intercourse and no desire for women [or
men], it is better for him [or her] not to marry.” The marriage contract
implies sexual intercourse. Thus, if a man refuses to have sex with his wife
(or if a woman refuses to have sex with her husband), he [or she] violates
the terms of the contract. Some jurists held that marriage is more praise-
worthy than worship of God and that marriage itself is a religious act. This
is the Hanafi position. But it was the Shāfiʿī position that spread over
much of the Islamic world, where it encountered asceticism (zuhd ) and,
later, Sufism. This raises a question: What did the first Muslims think
about marriage and celibacy? In an effort to answer to this question, I have
consulted many ancient sources (exegesis, hadith, prosopography).

 “Marry and Increase!”

Until the third/ninth century – and even later – Muslim jurists held that
every Muslim should marry and procreate. With only one or two excep-
tions, we do not find any hadith that encourages celibacy in the early
collections.
Several reports emphasize the relationship between marriage and reli-
gion. These reports mention four main issues: () marriage is a divine
commandment; () it is a man’s obligation to produce offspring in order to
fill the earth and to praise God (“natalism”); () children, born dead
or alive, intercede for the salvation of their parents (eschatology); and
() marriage protects from sin (morals).
Muhammad (d. ) is reported to have said: “He who marries pre-
_ of his religion.” To this he added: “Let us fear God with regard
serves half
to the other half.” These two traditions, borrowed from Shīʿī collections,
are combined in a single statement in a Sunnī collection, where we read:
“When a man marries, he completes half of his religion. Let him fear God
with respect to the other half.” On another occasion, the Apostle is
reported to have said: “Whenever a young man marries, his demon will

 
All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. Kulayni (d. ), Kafi, V, , n .

Kulayni, Kafi, V, , n ; Ibn Babuyah (d. ), Kitab man la yahduruh al-faqih, III, , n
, .

Bayhaqi (d. ), Shuʿab al-iman, Dar al-kutub al-ilmiyya, , IV, , n .
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
cry: ‘Woe is he! He has protected two-thirds of his religion! The servant of
God must beware of the remaining third!’”
It is only a short step from the exaltation of marriage to the exaltation of
sexuality in marriage: “‘Each of your sexual intercourse is charity!’, tells the
Prophet to his fellows – ‘O apostle of God! Whenever one of us,’ reply
the fellows, ‘satisfies his desire, will he be rewarded? – Is it not true that if
he commits a bad action, he commits a sin? It is the same then: if he
satisfies [his desire] in a lawful manner, he will be rewarded.’”
Muhammad is also reported to have said:
_
“When a man has sex with his wife, who is a believer, the place becomes
an enclosure for them and the man is like one who brandishes his sword
for God’s sake. When he finishes, his sins leave him like a tree that sheds
its leaves; and when he performs his ritual ablutions, he is stripped of his
sins.” A woman said: “By my father and my mother, O apostle of God!
[What you have said] concerns the husband, but what about the wife?”
The prophet said: “When she was pregnant, God prescribed remuneration
for one who fasts and prays at night. After she delivers, her reward will be
even greater. When she gives birth to a child, God will both give to her a
good deed and erase a bad deed for each act of sucking.” The prophet
added: “If a woman who is about to give birth dies during labor, she will
arise on the day of Resurrection without having to explain herself to
somebody because when she died she took her affliction with her.”
The sixth Shiʿi Imam Abu ʿAbd Allah (d. ) said: “Two prostrations
performed by a married man are better than seventy prostrations per-
formed by a single person.” “Two prostrations of a married man are worth
more than the vigils and fasting of an unmarried one.”
According to a Shiʿi tradition, Muhammad said: “No building in Islam
is valued by God as much as marriage.”_  He also advised his Companions:
“Get married and marry others. . . . God likes nothing more than a home
which flourishes through marriage and nothing is more hateful to God
than a home that was destroyed by separation, that is to say,
repudiation.”


Qadi Nuʿman (d. ), Daʿaʾim al-islam, ed. Asaf Fyzee, Cairo, Dar al-maʿarif, , II, ,
n .

Muslim (d. ), Sahih, III, –, n .

Qadi Nuʿman, Daʿaʾim al-islam, II, , n .

Kulayni, Kafi, V, , n ; Tusi (d. ), Tahdhib al-ahkam, , VII, n .
 
Ibn Babuyah, Faqih, III, , n . ʿAmili (d. ), Wasaʾil al-shiʿa, XX, , n .

Kulayni, Kafi, V, , n .
   
The exaltation of conjugal sexuality has a unique purpose: to produce
many descendants. “God likes His believing servant who is poor, chaste
and the father of abundant offspring.”
Some reports are exceptional, e.g.:
O Lord! If a man believes in me [i.e. the Prophet], believes in what I say and
knows that it is the truth that comes from You, decrease his fortune and the
number of his children! Make him eager to meet You and accelerate the
hour of judgment for him! But if a man does not believe in me, does not
believe in what I say and does not recognize that it is the truth that comes
from You, increase his wealth and offspring! And make his life longer!
Here a large family is an obstacle to salvation.
Some reports explicitly condemn celibacy. “The Apostle of God, a
Companion reports, commanded that everyone should marry and forbade
celibacy. The Apostle of God said: ‘Marry loving and fertile women, I will
be at the head of the largest community on the Day of Resurrection.’”
According to Abu Hurayra (d. ), Muhammad once launched an
_
anathema against several categories of individuals:
The Apostle of God cursed effeminate men who imitate women and manly
women who look like men; bachelors, men and women, who say they
refuse to marry; a man who crosses a barren desert by himself . . . and one
who spends the night alone.
Abu Hurayra also said:
The Apostle of God has forbidden [men] to live as hermits. He said:
“No monks in Islam! Get married! Thanks to you I will be at the head of
the largest community.” He forbade celibacy. He also prohibited women
from staying unmarried and when they are married to abstain from sexual
relations.
The rejection of marriage is regarded as a dangerous deviation, and
anyone who follows this path is excluded from the community: “He who
refuses my rule (sunna) is not mine.” “He who is wealthy and is not
married is not one of my followers.” “Whoever has the means to marry

 
Ibn Maja (d. ), Sunan, IV, , n . Ibn Maja, Sunan, IV, , n .

Nur al-din al-Haytami (d. ), Mawarid al-zaman, Beyrouth, Dar al-kutub al-ʿilmiyya, ,
n .

Ibn Hanbal (d. ), Musnad, , n .

Qadi Nuʿman, Daʿaʾim al-islam, II, , n .

Bukhari (d. ), Sahih, IX, , n ; Muslim, Sahih, IX, , n /; Abd al-Razzaq
(d. ), Musannaf, VI, , n ; Darimi, Sunan, I, , n .

Ibn Abi Shayba (d. ), Musannaf, III, , n .
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
but does not do so does not belong to our community.” “He who is
comfortable [financially] but is not married is not of my [followers].”
Abu Hurayra said: “If I only had one day to live, I would meet God having
married, because I heard the Apostle of God say: ‘The worst of you are
bachelors.’”
Marriage is cleansing, so the Prophet said: “Whoever wants to meet God
pure and purified must marry a free woman.” According to the Shīʿī
version, Muhammad said: “Whoever wants to meet God clean and
cleansed must_ meet Him with his wife.” According to another version,
he said: “He who wants to meet God clean and cleansed must give proof of
his chastity with a wife.”
The condemnation of celibacy involves a criticism of monasticism:
Abu Darr reported: A man by the name of ʿAkkāf b. Bishr al-Tamīmī
visited the Apostle of God, who asked him: “Do you have a wife? – No. –
Not even a slave-girl? – Not even a slave-girl. – But you are a rich man! –
I am as you say. – So you are one of the demons’ brothers? If you were a
Christian, you would have been a monk. Marriage is our rule (sunna).
The worst of you are bachelors and the meanest of you are those who die
unmarried. Demons have no more powerful weapon against the righteous
than women. Except for those who are married; they are purified, and not
ruled by their sexual desire. ʿAkkāf ! Take care! They are the companions of
Job, David, Karsaf and Joseph.” Bishr b. ʿAtiyya said to the Apostle of God:
“Who is Karsaf, O Apostle of God? – Karsaf is a man who worshiped God
on a beach for  years. He fasted by day and spent his nights in vigils.
Then he blasphemed God because of the love of a woman, neglecting the
worship he rendered to God. But God allowed him to catch up. He
repented. Take care ʿAkkāf, get married! – Marry me O Apostle of God!”
The narrator concludes: He married Karīma Bint Kultūm al-Humayrī.
This man named Karsaf, who was a hermit, had neighbors who were
brothers. When they went on a trip, they entrusted their younger sister to
Karsaf. In their absence, the devil made her to tempt the hermit; then he
yielded to the girl and impregnated her.
During the first three centuries AH, celibacy was considered unrealistic
and undesirable, unless it was a product of poverty, and thus uninten-
tional, in which case it was allowed if accompanied by fasting: Ibn Masʿūd

 
Darimi (d. ), Sunan, I, , n . Abd al-Razzaq, Musannaf, VI, , n .

Kulayni, Kafi, V, , n .

al-Mundiri (d. ), al-Targhib wa-l-tarhib, Cairo, Dar al-hadith, , III, , n .
 
ʿAmili, Wasaʾil al-shiʿa, XX, , n . Qadi Nuʿman, Daʿaʾim al-islam, II, , n .

Abd al-Razzaq, Musannaf, VI, –, n ; Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, , n .
   
(d. ) said: I heard the Apostle of God say: “O you young men! If one of
you is financially capable, he must marry. This will preserve his eyes and
keep him chaste. But if one of you is poor, let him fast: [fasting] is the
equivalent of castration for him.” This doctrine, which is probably late,
met the Quranic learning (see verses ,  and , ).
Regarding the eschatological role of offspring, The Apostle of God said:
“Get married! Thanks to you on the Day of Resurrection I will be at the
head of the largest community. When children died after their birth will
come crawling to the door of Heaven, he will be told: Enter! But he will
answer: No, I will not as my parents did not enter before me.”
Did anyone defend celibacy and bachelorhood during this period? The
number of bachelors during the first three centuries AH seems to have
been extremely low.

 The Medina Controversy

Among the traditions that circulated during the first three centuries of the
Islamic era, there is a small set relating to the same event, which is not
dated, but, if it is historically reliable, must refer to events that occurred in
 AH, that is,  CE. These traditions mention a group of close
Companions of Muhammad who were planning to exercise, among other
_
things, sexual continence and self-mortification. In some reports, it is a
matter of adopting a vegetarian diet. This story is reported in the hadith
collections and in Quranic exegesis (in relation to verse , ). Among the
figures of the Medinan community, there are prominent Companions
(e.g., ʿAlī and Ibn Masʿūd): two figures merit our attention, even if they
are not famous.
The first figure is ʿUthmān b. Mazʿūn who reportedly was the four-
teenth person to join the community of _ believers in Mecca. He was the
brother of ʿUmar b. al-Khattab’s wife, who was the mother of Hafsa, the
Prophet’s wife, and therefore the maternal uncle of Ḥafsa and a relative of
the Prophet. The wife of his brother Qudāma was the sister _ of ʿUmar and
aunt of Hafsa. He was from the emigration to Abyssinia – indeed,
according to some reports, he was the leader of those emigrants. He also


Ibn Abi Shayba, Musannaf, III, n ; Muslim, Sahih, IX, –, n /; Nasaʾi (d. ),
Sunan kubra, III, , n ; Darimi, Sunan, I, , n .

Ibn Babuyah, Faqih, III, , n .

Ibn Saʿd (d. , Baghdad), Kitab al-tabaqat, III, .

Ibn Hisham (d. , Basra), al-Sira al-nabawiyya, ed. Jamal Tabit, Cairo, Dar al-hadith, ,
I, .
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
participated in the emigration to Medina. He died in the third year of the
Islamic era, after the Battle of Badr and was buried in Baqīʿ, the first
cemetery for Muslims on the outskirts of Medina. He was zealous in the
worship of God. From the many reports about him there emerges an
unusual character. He avoided intoxicants even before they were pro-
hibited: “I would not drink a beverage that caused me to lose control of
my rational faculties, that made a common man laughed at me and that
urged me to marry my daughter to a man I did not want [her to marry].”
However, his name does not appear on the list of Qurashis who abstained
from drinking wine found in the Kitāb al-munammaq of Muhammad
_
b. Habib (d. ). He was probably a radical, as reflected in the following
story, in which he is ready to fight for his ideas. One day he heard the poet
Labid b. Rabiʿa (d. ca. ) declaiming: “Is it not true that apart from
God, everything is vain?” Immediately ʿUthmān b. Mazʿūn approved. The
poet continued: “And all pleasure undoubtedly ceases.”_Upon hearing this,
ʿUthmān b. Mazʿūn became angry and called the poet a liar. “The bliss of
_ end,” ʿUthmān replied. At that point a fight broke out,
Paradise will never
and a man hit ʿUthmān in the face, injuring his eye.
The second Companion is ʿAbd Allah b. ʿAmr b. al-ʿAs (d. ), son
of the famous Companion ʿAmr b. al-ʿAs, a late convert, who was the
governor of Egypt on behalf of ʿUmar and Muʿawiya. All Muslim sources
report that the age difference between ʿAbd Allah and his father was only
eleven years! ʿAbd Allah became a Muslim before his father, who converted
after al-Hudaybiyya in March . ʿAbd Allah died at the age of ,
perhaps in Syria, after going blind. Consider the following report:
ʿAbd Allah reported one day: My father married me to a girl from [the tribe
of] Quraysh. When she was with me, I remained indifferent to her, because
I had strength to dedicate [my life] to devotion, which came from prayer
and fasting. [In the following days, my father] visited his daughter-in-law.
He asked her: “How did you find your husband? – The best of men, she
replied. He did not hit me and did not share my bed!” “My father came to
me and blamed me; he showed me that he was angry. He said: “I married
you to a girl from an aristocratic family of Quraysh, but you abstain from
approaching her.” He went to the Prophet to complain about me. When
the latter summoned me, I went to him. He asked me: “Do you fast during


Ibn Saʿd, Kitab al-tabaqat, III, –; Dahabi (d. ), Siyar aʿlam al-nubalaʾ, I, .

Ibn Habib (d. ), Kitab al-munammaq, ed. Ahmad Fariq, Beyrouth, ʿAlam al-kutub, , .

He is one of the most famous transmitters of prophetic tradition: see Mizzi (d. ), Tuhfat al-
atraf, ed. ʿAbd al-Samad Sharaf al-din, Beyrouth/Damas, al-Maktab al-islami, nd edition, ,
VI, –.

Dahabi, Siyar, III, –, n ; Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani (d. ), al-Isaba, II, –, n .
   
the day? – Yes. – And you don’t sleep at night? – Yes. – As for me, replied
the Prophet, I fast and I eat, I pray and I sleep, and I do not run away with
women. Anyone who rejects my rule (sunna) is not my follower.” The
Prophet said: – Read the Qurʾan for one month. – But I am able to do
more! – Read it for ten days! – But I am able to do more! – Read it for three
days! Fasting three days a month. – But I can do more than that! [After
haggling, he commanded him] to fast one day for two days! This is the best
fasting! This was the practice of my brother Dawud [David]. Every devotee
has his passion and every passion has its interval, either towards a [good]
rule or towards a reprehensible innovation. Whoever goes to a good rule
finds the right direction, the other is lost.
According to other reports, ʿAbd Allah was a vegetarian.
According to the following report, ʿAbd Allah used to read the Torah:
I saw in a dream that one of my fingers was covered with butter, while
another was covered with honey, and I licked them. The next morning,
I told my dream to the Apostle of God. He said: “It’s because you read the
two books, the Torah and the Furqan [Qurʾan].
The religious profile attributed to ʿUthman and ʿAbd Allah b. ʿAmr
(d. ) in these reports suggests that we are dealing with an early stage
in the development of Islam. These two men were not idolaters, as alleged
by Muslim apologists about pre-Islamic Arabs, but probably Judaeo-
Christians or members of another religious sect.

 Tenth-century Reform: Celibacy Becomes Lawful

The sources refer to only a small number of bachelors prior to the ninth
century CE. About only two of these bachelors do we have any infor-
mation. The first is ʿAmir [b. ʿAbd Allah] b. ʿAbd Qays, a Basran who lived
during the caliphate of ʿUthman b. ʿAffan (–) and died during the
caliphate of Muʿawiya (–). ʿAmir was a vegetarian who performed
night vigils during which he would recite the Qurʾan. When asked
about celibacy, he replied: “I have a single soul (nafs), I’m afraid that it
overcame me.” According to another tradition, he said, “I asked my Lord
that He remove from me love of women. Nothing is more dangerous for
my religion except desire. By God, I do not pay any attention to a woman.
When I see one, it is as if I am looking at a wall! I asked my Lord that He
grant me to fear no one but Him. I also asked Him to remove from me


Ibn Hanbal (d. ), Musnad, , n ; Bukhari, Sahih, IV, –, n –.
 
Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, , n . Ibn Saʿd, Kitab al-tabaqat, III, –.
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
sleep so that I might worship Him night and day the way I want [to do],
but He denied my request!” According to Qatada (d. ), ʿAmir asked
his Lord to remove sexual desire from his heart; it made no difference to
him whether he met a woman or a man. According to Hasan al-Basri
(d. ), ʿAmir used to say, “Life is linked with four things: women,
clothing, food and sleep. As for women, by God I pay no attention to
them; [when I see one], it’s as if I was looking at a goat. I do not care about
clothes I use to cover my nakedness. But food and sleep have gotten the
best of me . . .”
The second famous bachelor is Bishr al-Hafi (d. ), from the city of
Baghdad. He was close to Ibn Hanbal (d. ). According to several stories
about him, it is clear that he was not married and lived with his sister and
his nephew. He is reported to have made many statements about celibacy.
Someone once asked him: “People talk about you. – What are they
saying? – They say you neglected a sunna, i.e., marriage. – Tell them I’m
busy with an obligation (fard ) to the detriment of a sunna!” On another
occasion, he said: “To endure the suffering [of bachelorhood] is easier than
providing for a family.” Or consider this misogynistic statement: “In my
opinion, it is easier to endure the absence of women than to put up with
them.” When Bishr died, his funeral oration was delivered by Ibn
Hanbal, who expressed regret that Bishr had not been married.
The jurist al-Shafi’i (d. ) was the author of the first doctrinal
statement in favor of celibacy. Muzani (d. ), his pupil, reported that
he taught as follows:
I prefer that men and women marry if they desire the marriage, because
God Almighty has commanded it, authorized it and recommended it. . . .
As for him who has no interest in sex, it is better in my opinion that he
dedicates his life to the worship of God . . . [ After quoting verse , , he
continued:] This shows that marriage is recommended only for those who
feel the need.
Thus, there are two types of men: those who are not suited for bachelor-
hood because of their sexual desire and those whom bachelorhood suits.
The latter must occupy their free time in worship of God. One wonders if
Shafi’i may not have introduced this distinction in order to account for
men like Bishr.

 
Ibn Saʿd, Kitab al-tabaqat, III, . Ibn Saʿd, Kitab al-tabaqat, III, .

Ibn Abi Shayba, Musannaf, VII, , n .

Diya al-din al-Suhrawardi (d. ), Adab al-muridin, –.
 
Khatib Baghdadi (d. ), Tarikh Baghdad, . Mawardi (d. ), al-Hawi, IX, .
   
Similarly, criticism of hermits ceased, as evidenced by the story of
Jurayj:
No one spoke in the cradle except for three individuals, including Jesus.
Among the children of Israel there was a man called Jurayj. While he was
praying, his mother came to his cloister and called him. He said to himself:
“Do I answer or do I continue my prayer?” His mother said: “O Lord, let
him not die before knowing the faces of prostitutes!” Jurayj was living in a
cloister. When a woman tempted him and spoke to him, he sent her away.
She met a shepherd and offered herself to him. She gave birth to a boy. But
she claimed that the father was Jurayj. The people went to the house of
Jurayj to destroy his cloister and insult him. He performed ritual ablutions
and prayed, then he ran to the crowd. He asked the newborn: Who is your
father, child? He answered: The shepherd. The crowd immediately
declared: We will build your cloister with gold? He said: No! With earth
only! . . .
At the beginning of the tenth century, Abu Yaʿla (d. ) recorded a
prophetic statement in favor of bachelorhood: “Within  years, the best
of you will be he who has neither wife nor children.” Here, a bachelor is
someone to be envied. Several reports in support of bachelorhood were
compiled by the Hanbali Ibn Abi Dunya (d. ). Some of these texts
explicitly criticize family obligations. This criticism weighs the responsi-
bilities of the head of a family against personal salvation: a man who has a
family must support himself; a task that takes time and energy and
sometimes involves religiously unsavory activities. Therefore, starting a
family may be an insurmountable challenge.
Statements in support of celibacy begin to appear in many different
sources. In a treatise about the rules for the transmission of hadith,
al-Khatib al-Baghdadi (d. ) wrote:
It is advisable for someone who seeks hadith to remain a bachelor so long as
it is possible for him [to do so]; that did not distract from his research.
Because if he was married, he should take care to the rights of his wife and
provisions of the house.
al-Khatib does not say that the search for hadith is above family life, or that
the muhaddith must sacrifice it. In his view, if someone marries and has
children, he must begin to fulfill his obligations to his family and his wife,
who, as he mentions, has rights. This is why it is preferable for those who


Bukhari, Sahih, VI, , n . In variants of this narrative, the hermit always prevails in the
contest.

Quotation in al-Muttaqi al-Hindi (d. ), Kanz al-ʿummal, XVI, , n .
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
want to devote themselves to the study of hadith to remain single, at least
during the period when they are devoted to this task.
The critique of human sexuality also found its way into philosophical
and medical discourses. The physician Abu Bakr al-Razi (Rhazes) (d. )
criticizes the sexual appetite for causing “all kinds of evil and lasting
diseases”: “it weakens the eyesight and the body, it also accelerates aging.”
Therefore the wise man must avoid marriage and sexual intercourse.
Over time, the number of texts that were critical of sexuality and hostile
to marriage increased. The Egyptian Sufi Shaʿrani (d. ) preserved the
following statement attributed to Sufyan al-Thawri (d. ): “To marry is
to bring the world into his home, that is to say, to wed the daughter of
Satan. This wedding gives him the opportunity to make numerous visits to
his son-in-law because of his daughter. So beware of marriage!” Ibn Abi
al-Dunya (d. ) records a statement attributed to Sufyan al-Thawri in
which he makes remarks that are critical of the family but not of marriage.

 Conclusion
If the controversy about celibacy in Medina, which arguably took place
between  and , is undoubtedly a crisis associated with the growth of
the new religion, pitting against each other two doctrinal tendencies
present from the beginning, the new attitude that emerged during the
ninth and especially the tenth centuries has a different significance. The
old doctrine, which promoted marriage and procreation, was not aban-
doned; the new doctrine, which declared celibacy to be lawful, was
superimposed on the old doctrine. One consequence of this change is that
many scholars, some of them famous, were celibate, e.g., Tabari or Ibn
Taymiyya. The change in the attitude toward celibacy and sexuality in the
tenth century may be related to the emergence of a new model among the
ulama: the wise man who is able to control his carnal appetites and is not
controlled by them so that his intellect (ʿaql) will prevail within him. As
the ulama, especially the Sunnis, became the main source of religious
legitimacy, and as they developed exclusive control over the law, this small
elite, which was able to resist the pleasures of the world, developed a
lifestyle very different from the masses, the emirs, the peasants and the
urban poor, who could not resist the pleasures of the flesh or other


Abu Bakr al-Razi (d. ), La médicine spirituelle, trans. in French by R. Brague, Paris, Garnier-
Flammarion, , –.

Shaʿrani (d. ), Tanbih al-mughtarin, Beyrouth, Dar al-kutub al-ʿilmiyya, , .
   
attractions, such as fortune and notoriety. To exercise authority over
others, one must be able to exercise mastery over oneself – including
one’s sexual appetite.
Let me conclude with an anecdote that features a famous Mālikī jurist,
the qadi ʿAbd al-Wahhab (d. ), who died before consummating his
last marriage. He settled in Egypt and remained there with his wife until he
died. After his death, his wife’s parents wanted her to remarry. She said,
“Marry me as a virgin. – How can it be when you were married to him
[viz., ʿAbd al-Wahhab] for several years? – On the night we were married,
he entered my room, prayed the evening prayer, then sat down to study his
books, without ever looking up. The following night the same thing
happened. One night I arose, dressed myself, made myself beautiful and
sought to entice him. He raised his head, looked at me, picked up his pen,
and squirted the ink onto my face, ruining my makeup. He then returned
to his books without ever raising his head. [This pattern continued] until
he was united with his Lord.”

Special Bibliography
Abu Bakr al-Razi (d. ), La médicine spirituelle, trans. in French by R. Brague,
Paris, Garnier-Flammarion, , –.
‘Abd al-Razzaq (d. ), al-Musannaf, ed. Habib al-Rahman al-A’zami,  vols.,
Beirut, Dar al-majlis al-‘ilmi, -.
‘Amili (d. ), Wasa’il al-shi’a ila tahsil masa’il al-shari’a,  vols., Beirut,
Mu’assasat Al al-bayt li-ihya al-turaṯ, .
Bayhaqi (d. ), Shu’ab al-iman, ed. Muhammad al-Sa’id al-Basyuni Zaghlul,
 vols., Beirut, Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya, .
Bukhari (d. ), Sahih, with commentaries of Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani, ed.
Muhammad Fu’ad ‘Abd al-Baqi, Riyadh/Damascus, Dar al-Salam/Dar
al-fayha’, .
Darimi (d. ), Sunan, ed. Sayyid Ibrahim and ‘Ali Muhammad ‘Ali,  vols.,
Cairo, Dar al-salam, .
Dhahabi (d. ), Siyar a’lam al-nubala, ed. Shu’ayb al-Arna’ut,  vols., Beirut,
Mu’assasat al-risala, .
Diya al-din al-Suhrawardi (d. ), Adab al-muridin, ed. Fahim Muhammad
Shaltut, Cairo, Dar al-watan al-‘arabi, s.d.
_
Ibn Abi Shayba (d. ), al-Musannaf, ed. Muhammad ‘Abd al-Salam Shahin,
 vols., Beirut, Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya, .
Ibn Babuya (d. ), Kitab man la yahduruhu al-faqih,  vols., Beirut.
Ibn Habib (d. ), Kitab al-munammaq, ed. Ahmad Fariq, Beirut, ‘Alam
al-kutub, .


This story was narrated by Ibn al-Hajj (d. ), Madkhal, I, –, also a Maliki scholar.
 Celibacy and Sexual Abstinence in Early Islam 
Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani (d. ), al-Isaba,  vols., Beirut, Dar al-kitab al-‘arabi,
.
Ibn al-Hajj (d. ), Madkhal, ed. Tawfiq Hamdan,  vols., Beirut, Dar
al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya,.
Ibn Hanbal (d. ), Musnad, Amman-Riyadh, Bayt al-afkar al-duwaliyya, .
Ibn Hisham (d. ), al-Sira al-nabawiyya, ed. Jamal Tabit,  vols., Cairo, Dar
al-hadith, .
Ibn Maja (d. ), Sunan, with the commentaries of Busiri, ed. Khalil Ma’mun
Shiha,  vols., Beirut, Dar al-ma’rifa, .
Ibn Sa’d _(d. ), Kitab al-tabaqat al-kubra,  vols., Beirut, Dar Sadir, .
Khatib Baghdadi (d. ), Tarikh Baghdad,  vols., Beirut, Dar al-kitab
al-ʿarabi, s.d.
Kulayni (d. ), al-Kafi,  vols., Beirut, s.d.
Mawardi (d.), al-Hawi, ed. ‘Ali Muhammad Mu’awwad and ‘Adil Ahmad
‘Abd al-Mawjud,  vols., Beirut, Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya,_ .
Mizzi (d. ), Tuhfat al-atraf, ed. ‘Abd al-Samad Sharaf al-din, Beirut/Damas-
cus, al-Maktab al-islami, nd ed., .
Mundiri (d. ), al-Targhib wa-l-tarhib, Cairo, Dar al-hadith, .
Muslim (d. ), Sahih, with commentaries of Nawawi, ed. ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Majid
Abu al-Khayr,  vols., Damascus/Beirut, Dar al-khayr, .
al-Muttaqi al-Hindi (d. ), Kanz al-ʿummal, ed. Mahmud ‘Umar al-Dimyati,
 vols., Beirut, Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya, .
Nasa’i (d. ), Sunan kubra, ed. ‘Abd al-Ghaffar Sulayman al-Bundari and
Sayyid Masrawi Hasan,  vols., Beirut, Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya, .
Nur al-din al-Haytami (d. ), Mawarid al-zaman, Beirut, Dar al-kutub
al-‘ilmiyya, s.d.
Qadi Nu’man (d. ), Da’a’im al-islam, ed. Asaf Fyzee,  vols., Cairo, Dar
al-ma’arif, .
Shaʿrani (d. ), Tanbih al-mughtarin, Beirut, Dar al-kutub al-‘ilmiyya, .
Tusi (d. ), Tahdhib al-ahkam, ed. Sayyid Hasan al-Musawi al-Khurasani,
 vols., Beirut, Dar al-ta’aruf, .
  

To Marry or Not to Marry in Fifteenth- and

Sixteenth-century Cities, with Antwerp and Bruges
as Case Studies*
Julie De Groot

 Introduction
Social historians and historical demographers have for a long time dis-
cussed the characteristics of marriages in premodern Northwestern
Europe, labeling it as the ‘West European Marriage Pattern’. The pattern
was characterized by a relatively late age at first marriage, a relatively small
age gap between spouses and a large group of people who were not yet or
never married at all. John Hajnal dated the introduction of this pattern in
marital behavior to around . But more recently, medievalists have
strongly argued that the origins of this pattern should be situated in the
late medieval period, especially in cities.
Marriage in cities such as Bruges and Antwerp was above all character-
ized by consensus and neolocality; in an ideal situation, newlyweds moved
out of the parental home to establish their own household. Young couples
therefore needed a strong economic basis, implying that a shortage of
capital could often result in postponing or canceling the marriage. At
the same time, individuals understood that marriage could harbor a
number of advantages for both spouses; it not only provided greater
chances of economic stability or sustainability, but also produced more
elaborate and potentially wider social and familial networks and generated
legitimate heirs. Therefore, formalizing a union between two persons in
marriage was not only encouraged in morality literature and proclaimed by
religious institutions: it was almost certainly privileged by individuals in
late medieval cities as well.

*
I would like to thank Dr. Katherine A. Wilson (Chester University) for proofreading and fine-tuning
my English text.
 
Hajnal . Hajnal .

De Moor and van Zanden ; Devos, Schmidt and Blondé .
 
Devos, Schmidt and Blondé . Mazo Karras .


 To Marry or Not to Marry 
Certain people, however, simply lacked the possibility and the means to
enter into marital life; others consciously chose not to marry at all. Indeed,
there could have been many reasons for people choosing not to enter into a
partnership or forsake a formal marriage. So why then was there a large
group of singles in societies where marriage was the norm? And to what
extent did a temporary or permanent single status have social and legal
repercussions for men and women and/or for their social surroundings?
In this respect, it is interesting to note that the consequences of the
marital status for a person’s life have nearly always been studied from the
perspective of women. A case in point is that more than  percent of
the titles in the bibliography of a recent volume on single life explicitly or
implicitly refer to the possibilities and constraints of single, widowed and
married women. Luckily, more recently there has been a modest counter-
movement in social and gender history in favor of the male experience and
identity in the medieval period. Even though one would assume that the
marital status of men was less constraining for their social, economic and
political life, it is important to question the normative codes of behavior
and social expectations of single, widowed and married men in late
medieval urban contexts. Therefore, the purpose of this chapter is to
explore analogies and differences between de jure and de facto ideas and
practices about marriage and singleness for both men and women in cities
of the southern Low Countries.

 Seeking Men and Women in Late Medieval Documents

That men are omnipresent in historical documents and especially in legal
affairs is treated as a given. Paradoxically, the marital status of men in these
legal documents is rarely mentioned. According to customary law, men
were considered legally capable after having reached the age of majority.
They could perform all kinds of legal business, were allowed to conclude
contracts and were expected to be able to represent themselves in cases of
trial or prosecution. The marital status of men did not seem to influence
their legal status, or at least that was the case in legal theory. For example,
the customary law of the cities of Antwerp (Duchy of Brabant) and Bruges
(County of Flanders) did not mention rules or conventions for unmarried


Mazo Karras : , chapter .

Among others: Bennett and Froide ; Van Aert : –; Adams : –.
 
De Groot, Devos and Schmidt . Hadley ; Goldberg : –.
 
Hadley : . Goldberg : .
   
(adult) or widowed men different from those applied to married men.
Even in more official post-mortem inventories and personal testaments or
last wills, the marital status of the male subject can only be deduced from
internal information in the documents themselves. More often than not, it
is unclear from the preamble if the deceased had earlier lost his wife and
was a widower at the time the will was drawn up or at the time he died and
the inventory was drafted.
Things were very different for women. There has been a tendency in
historical literature on women to see married, single and widowed women
as hidden from view, obscured by their husbands, fathers or guardians in
(legal) records. In theory, customary law dictated that the legal possibil-
ities and constraints of women were measured by their marital state. In
Antwerp, for example, married women were allowed according to the
customary law to conclude certain contracts and to draw up their own
will, but were under the guardianship (or coverture) of their husbands
when larger contracts and more important affairs were at issue. Single
women who reached the age of majority ( years) and who were con-
sidered to be self-supporting, and widows who had been married for a
shorter or longer period in time, were considered legally incapable and
were therefore obliged to have themselves represented by a guardian
(father, male relative or other guardian) in cases of legal procedures and
concluding contracts.
Women with or without husbands were always directly (wife or widow)
or indirectly (single woman) labeled in documents by their marital status.
For example, in a sixteenth-century Bruges post-mortem inventory,
Margriete was not mentioned as ‘Margriete Van Eynde’ but as ‘Margriete,
the wife of Pieter Wijns’ and often also as ‘Margriete, the wife of Pieter
Wijns, daughter of Jan Van Eynde’. In other words, she was first and
foremost known to the public as the wife of a male citizen and the
daughter of another citizen. Names of single women too, were nearly
always followed by a reference to the name of the father. It is not surprising
therefore that this view of women’s legal subjection was long interpreted
by many (feminist) researchers as indicating that history is mainly a male
history.

 
De Longé –; Gilliodts-Van Severen –. Beattie and Stevens : –.
 
Van Aert : –; Hutton : –. Van Aert : .

Among others: Nicholas ; Boone, De Hemptinne and Prevenier .

Van Gerven : .
 To Marry or Not to Marry 
The situation was somewhat different for widows. In Antwerp, for
example, they were allowed (and in some cases due to their previous
marriage probably more financially capable) to act in financial and com-
mercial transactions (for the record, with a legal guardian) and were
therefore more likely to be present in the historical records. And since
they were not under the coverture of their husbands anymore, their names
were clearly visible.
Recently, researchers such as Laura van Aert for early sixteenth-century
Antwerp and Shennan Hutton for fourteenth-century Ghent have taken
up the challenge to compare prescriptive sources with sources of actual
practice. They have looked for women acting on their own and in their
own right in documents of legal practice, such as lawsuit settlements and
judgment records. For fourteenth-century Ghent, Hutton argues cogently
that although married women were subjected to restrictions and were
legally under the coverture of their husbands, they had more de facto legal
capability and less limited legal identity than one would assume from
reading customary law. Although the husband was present during the
closing of the deal, to manage property and when his wife had to appear
before a court, he did not take up an active role. In some cases, the
husband was not even present with his wife in the aldermen’s court,
although the court clerk used his name to identify the married woman.
This discrepancy between the theoretical status of women and the actual
practice also accounts for widows in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century
Antwerp. The customary law of Antwerp was somewhat different from
that of Ghent – every city and locality in the Low Countries had its own
customary law. Nevertheless, according to the customary law of Antwerp,
widows were considered legally incapable (even more so than in the city of
Ghent) and in need of a legal guardian when conducting business deals
and when appearing in court. However, they were not obliged to have a
permanent guardian to represent themselves at all times. But a study of
registrations of business and property deals in the registers of the bench of
aldermen shows that widows were active players in the property market,
buying and selling real estate and annuities. Moreover, in most cases, it was
made explicit that they were not represented by a legal guardian and that
they acted by themselves ‘as their own guardian’. The differences


Cavello and Warner ; De Groot forthcoming.

Van Aert : –; Van Aert : –; Hutton ; Hutton : –.
  
Hutton : –. See also: Gillissen : –. Van Aert : .

De Groot : . For example: “Katline, naturlike dochter Willems Vander laren, weduwe wylen
Jans vanden Rycke, molders, com tutor van huer selven . . .” or “Katline, natural daughter of Willem
   
between the constraints both married and unmarried women theoretically
had to endure and their actual legal capability in society can be seen as an
important reason for considering the social identity of people as a multifa-
ceted (theoretical/pragmatic) construction, where marital status was an
important factor. It is therefore important, as it is for all periods, to be
aware of the historical context in order to understand fully the particular-
ities of the lived experiences of the people themselves.
In this respect, Ruth Mazo Karras convincingly argued that in late
medieval daily life, several types of unions between two persons were valid
which did not necessarily result in marriage. So legally, women could be
considered unmarried and thus single, whereas in reality they were sharing
their lives with a partner. This ambiguity was often caused by the vague-
ness of classical canon law on marriage. In pre-Tridentine wedding
‘ceremonies’ the role of the priest was limited and parental consent and
marital vows were not required and were often simply absent. In conse-
quence, most marriages were clandestine and not officially recognized. As
a result, many children were born out of wedlock. As the fifteenth-century
Bruges document collection of ‘inventories of burghers of illegitimate
birth’ and the special regulations relating to inheritance incorporated into
the customary law indicate, births outside the formal union of marriage
were not that unusual in late medieval society. And it was not until the
second half of the sixteenth century (after the Council of Trent
(–)) that marriages became more formalized and therefore easier
to recognize.
One would assume that the aforementioned discrepancy between theory
and reality was inherent to the often problematic status of women and a
certain suspicion considering (the potential danger of ) women’s acting in
public. Merry Wiesner-Hanks, for example, argued that in the later
sixteenth-century some German city governments kept a watchful eye on
the activities and housing conditions of single women.

Vander Laren, widow of Jan vanden Rycke, (acting as) her own guardian” City Archive of Antwerp,
Registers of the bench of Aldermen, ,  v ,  March .

Mazo Karras .

Goldberg : ; Donahue : –. For a discussion on the monogamous Graeco-Roman
tradition and the Christianization of the institution of marriage, see Laes in the introduction to this
volume.

See the PhD thesis of Kim Overlaet for more references about clandestine marriages: Overlaet :
–.

Carlier . See also Baatsen, De Groot, and Sturtewagen : –.
 
Overlaet : –. Wiesner-Hanks : –.
 To Marry or Not to Marry 

 Working Alone in the City

Being unmarried marked women as socially and economically vulnerable.
Although cities such as Antwerp, Bruges and Ghent offered young, not-yet-
married women work opportunities in the textile and service sector, wages
and working conditions were often very poor. Moreover, as Peter Stabel
concluded, the position of single women in the urban economy of late
medieval Flanders was changing, and work opportunities became scarce and
less differentiated as the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries progressed.
Guilds were increasingly reluctant to admit women (even widows of former
guildsmen) or to tolerate women working independently on the urban
market. It was not easy for unmarried women to make ends meet, making
them an easy target of pity and moral suspicion. Nevertheless, some widows
could enjoy the wealth they built up during marriage and some of them were
even active participants in the urban real estate market. Most young
women in cities worked as maids in another person’s household, where they
were brought up together with children. As apprentices, they received bed
and board and some new clothes and shoes every now and then. It is not
very clear whether they could stay in service after they married, but it is
generally assumed among historians that service was a temporary
employment. For boys, the situation was quite different. In the cities of
the southern Low Countries, they could be employed by a master guildsman
for several years of training – the norm dictated by the guild statutes of each
independent guild in the city. Most of the time, apprenticeship contracts
stated that they should receive food, clothing and a bed – more or less the
same benefits maids could enjoy, although the contract also stated that
apprentices should receive full and high-quality training. Young men were
enrolled in a tight training schedule where they would learn all the necessary
skills needed to become journeymen and finally achieve their mastership.
But prior to becoming an independent master, one had to be able to invest a
serious amount of money into the new business; an operational workshop
was needed, as well as working gear and raw materials. So men in a guild
context could benefit from marriage as well: there was a greater chance of
getting the money together, and sometimes the new master could benefit
from the social networks and business contacts his new father-in-law man-
aged to create. However, towards the end of the Middle Ages, it was no

 
Stabel : –; Stabel forthcoming. Stabel ; Wiesner : –.
 
De Groot forthcoming. De Groot .
 
De Groot : –; Hanawalt : ; Goldberg . Stabel : –.
   
longer a given that journeymen could become masters. Most journeymen
(and apprentices) remained employed with their master without the pro-
spect of ever reaching a mastership.
The marital state of (new) craftsmen mattered to the guild masters because
marriage usually brought along children, and the sons of guild masters were
treated in a wholly different way from non-relative new members. So whether
or not guild masters were married was important information to the deacons
of the guild. According to the registers of guild matriculation and the entrance
fees of the painters’ guild (guild of Saint Luke) in Bruges, the clerk of the guild
knew precisely how many children each new master had. Masters’ children
usually had to pay a lower entrance fee than other apprentices, had a higher
chance of becoming master themselves and could enjoy the social and
economic networks, the expertise and tools of their fathers (or other family
members) when starting their own workshop. The same went for political
careers in the municipal government. The majority of the aldermen were
recruited from within the guilds. Entering a guild and becoming a master was
thus an important prerequisite for a political career.

 Living Alone in the City

Olwen Hufton explored the strategies single women and widows
developed to make ends meet in times of economic stress. One way of
cutting costs – and also enhancing security and solidarity – was clustering
together in the same dwelling or in close proximity. Some resolved the
issue by living with relatives or employers. However, Hufton analyzed
this case for people in the eighteenth century, so medievalists investigated
whether the same held true for singles living in a medieval city. Although
sources are more scarce for this period, a more or less similar pattern seems
to have emerged in the cities of late medieval England and Flanders,
although evidence is also found of singles renting a one-room or multi-
roomed dwelling. In fifteenth-century Bruges, for example, the sisters
Celienken and Jannekin left behind a joint (and relatively poor) inventory
of their belongings which could hint at the practice of living together in
the same dwelling as an attempt to limit daily expenditure. Moreover,
almost half of the inventories of single people under study in the article did

 
Stabel : –. City Archive Bruges, Oud Archief, nr. , Beeldenmakers.
  
Stabel : . Overlaet . Hufton : –.

Beattie : –; Baatsen, De Groot and Sturtewagen : –.

Beattie ; Baatsen, De Groot and Sturtewagen : –.

Baatsen, De Groot and Sturtewagen : .
 To Marry or Not to Marry 
not mention any piece of hearth equipment, which could be indicative of
the fact that these inventories present ‘households’ that were part of a
larger unit or that they were less eager to cook for themselves and would
rather socialize somewhere else, e.g., in the tavern. But the data is
relatively scarce, and more research is needed to map out the residential
strategies of single women and men in medieval urban contexts. Goldberg
found evidence for several Yorkshire towns in the fourteenth-century poll
tax returns of residential clustering of single men, living for example on the
same street. These men sometimes shared a similar economic back-
ground (journeymen, day workers, clergymen) and often formed unions –
which were sometimes regarded as a threat to the civic order by the
government as well. But living in close proximity to one’s peers meant
a higher chance of conviviality and fostering social relations, of sharing
similar beliefs and habits.

 Conclusion
In customary law, people’s rights and duties were determined by their
marital status. In the eyes of the law, it was still the marital status of people
that decided their legal rights, work opportunities and living conditions.
But the social and economic repercussions of ‘being single’ in late medieval
society were no more straightforward than the concept itself. The
ambiguities surrounding the closure of a marital union, the vagueness of
classical canon law on marriage before the Council of Trent and the
importance of and variations in the size and character of the social network
made it difficult to label men and women as ‘married’ or ‘single’. Some
people lived together but were not married, others lived separated but were
still married. Unmarried people did not necessarily live on their own,
married couples often accommodated lodgers and staff. In this respect,
one could state that the (historical) context is of crucial importance for
understanding what exactly is the significance of the textual evidence and
how it relates to the lived experience of people in distant times and places.


Overton et al. : . Cited in Baatsen, De Groot and Sturtewagen : .

More information on the dining habits of late medieval citizens can be found in the research of
Dr. Inneke Baatsen (University of Antwerp) www.uantwerpen.be/nl/personeel/inneke-baatsen/
onderzoek/.
 
Goldberg : –. Wiesner-Hanks .

For a discussion about the ambiguity in the use of the term ‘single’ and the importance of
understanding it in context, see Laes in the introduction to this volume.
  

Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy:

Permanent Celibacy and Solitariness between
Coercion and Free Choice
Matteo Manfredini

 Introduction
In the introduction to this volume, Christian Laes describes the difficulty
in finding a common and shared definition of singleness. This is true for
Antiquity as well as for nineteenth-century Italy. The meanings associated
with such a word may, in fact, concern a variety of different life conditions,
marital statuses and living arrangements typical of specific historical
periods, moral codes, educational systems, civil and religious norms.
In nineteenth-century Italy, singleness referred to either a form of living
arrangement or a specific marital status. Singles were considered ‘unmar-
ried’ in the latter case, whilst they were labeled as ‘solitaries’ in the former
case. However, the picture could be complicated by cases and situations of
unmarried individuals living with kin as well as people living alone who
were not unmarried. Sometimes the two definitions may even overlap,
identifying the specific category of unmarried solitaries. Regardless, single
individuals, whether unmarried or solitaries, might find themselves in a
delicate and sometimes weak position in mid-nineteenth-century Italian
Catholic society, especially in the countryside. Rural society was in fact
strongly permeated by Catholic morality and ethics. In this context,
Catholic norms and precepts influenced family and individual life, in
which marriage represented a crucial and significant event for every ‘good
Christian’. In the view of the Catholic Church, the family represented the
basic and primary unit of society, whose principal goals were reproduction,
rearing of children according to Catholic values and reciprocal support
among its members. According to that cultural context, singles did not fit,
in one way or another, those roles and did not meet societal expectations, a
fact that, on specific occasions and under specific circumstances, might
lead them to be marginalized and sometimes even stigmatized by the
community in which they lived.


 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy 
However, the differentiation between unmarried, on the one hand, and
solitary individuals, on the other hand, is not purely academic or formal.
Two different research branches have in fact originated from those issues,
the former involving many researchers and a large number of studies, the
latter confined to a small group of family historians. Because of the strong
decline in marriage rates in contemporary societies, already mentioned in
the introduction of this volume, a large part of the contemporary literature
on singleness in modern times and nineteenth-century societies has
focused on the reasons that brought many people, both males and females,
to remain single. Following this approach, historical demographers,
but also sociologists and family historians, have been especially concerned
with social categories and family roles associated with loneliness rather
than specifically with living alone. Such studies have mainly focused on
people excluded, temporarily or permanently, from the marriage process
(especially unmarried women), but also widows and widowers as well as
servants. On the other hand, only very few studies have approached
solitariness per se, maybe because of the scarcity of reliable and continuous
census-like sources or as a consequence of the marginal role played by
solitaries in the analysis of family formation systems.
This essay aims precisely at filling that gap by illustrating the various
forms of singleness in nineteenth-century Italy in the light of the dominant
Catholic culture, providing some insight based on the life histories of the
inhabitants of a rural community in Tuscany between  and .
According to the framework illustrated by Christian Laes in the introduc-
tion, this essay will study the two facets of singleness, namely not being
married and living alone. This objective will be accomplished by using
both aggregate and individual-level data drawn from civil and religious
sources.

 Permanent Celibacy
As already mentioned in the introduction and in Sabine Huebner’s
chapter in this volume, not being married can be a temporary or per-
manent condition, the knowledge of which can be a determinant in
interpreting individual life histories and actual living situations. In
demographic studies, the term “permanent celibacy” is used to identify
never-married people at age , a threshold that is strictly associated,


Cotts Watkins ; Manfredini and Breschi ; Breschi, Manfredini and Fornasin .
  
for females, with the end of the reproductive period. This section will
focus precisely on permanent celibacy.
In mid-nineteenth-century Italy, marriage was an event under Church
control. In the Catholic view, marriage was a divine institution, a sacra-
ment based on a free mutual agreement before God between a man and a
woman, where the spouses decided to live together according to Catholic
precepts and principles and to devote themselves to procreation and the
education of children. More prosaically and more concretely, marriage
represented a key turning point in the individual life course, marking the
passage to adulthood as well as to family and social responsibilities but not
necessarily to autonomy and independence. However, notwithstanding
the fact that marriage was considered the necessary precondition for
reproduction, which was in turn regarded as one of the most important
Christian duties, male and female celibacy was not unusual, and it was
socially accepted under specific conditions. Clerics, either males or females,
were obviously unmarried. Priests, nuns and members of the Roman
Catholic Church were recognized as servants and messengers of Christ,
people who devoted their entire lives to Him. To some extent, the
common feeling of the community was to consider clerics as individuals
married to Christ, so to speak, whose celibacy was therefore not only
accepted but also interpreted as the highest sign of pure love, complete
devotion and submission to Christ’s will. Their chastity and purity were
therefore considered moral virtues more important than the secular aspects
of life, such as marrying and procreating. As for laypersons, remaining
unmarried was usually socially accepted if such a condition and choice
could be seen by parishioners as a sort of sacrifice in the name of the family
wellbeing. Despite Catholic norms and indications, in fact, in past societies
marriage was often closely associated to social reproduction. This means
that marriage was a family affair rather than a free individual choice, an
event in which the family had the last word not only on the timing of the
marriage but also on the choice of mate for family members. These
decisions were taken according to a general household strategy aimed at
managing inheritance issues, land transmission, migratory decisions, social
mobility, etc. The classic example of such family strategies is Maggiorascato
(“Majorat”), which was an aristocratic law based on male primogeniture


Dribe, Manfredini and Oris .

van Leeuwen, Maas and Miles ; Dribe and Lundh ; Derosas, Breschi, Fornasin,
Manfredini and Munno .
 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy 
providing that only the oldest son could inherit all the properties and get
married. This norm was specifically designed to avoid the dispersion of
land and properties among many family members, constituting a house-
hold strategy adopted by many noble Italian families up to the nineteenth
century. For the same reason, only one woman per generation could
marry. Access to marriage was then discouraged for the other siblings,
who were introduced to a military, diplomatic or religious career if they
were males, or to a religious career or as an active family support member if
they were females.
Other important social and economic mechanisms favored celibacy and
the presence of unmarried individuals among household members. One of
them, common in all the socioeconomic groups, was closely associated
with reproductive control. As noted above, in the ancien regime only
marriage allowed access to reproduction, implying that only children born
within marriage were socially recognized and socially accepted. The conse-
quence of this situation was that, in the absence of any form of deliberate
birth control, regulation of access to marriage was the only possible and
effective way to control fertility. Many studies have provided evidence of
the strict control exercised over access to marriage, and consequently over
fertility, that mountain populations exercised in order to keep a balance
between the scarce mountain resources and population size. In these
communities, the marriage pattern was in fact characterized by a delayed
access to marriage (around  years for men, – years for women) and
by significantly high permanent celibacy rates, with about % of males
never-married and about –% of females. The same nuptiality pattern
applies to the category of sharecroppers, especially if compared to the
marriage pattern of other peasant categories in nineteenth-century Italy,
such as day laborers. In sharecropping communities, the balance between
household size and structure, on the one hand, and farm size, on the other
hand, was a key element evaluated by landowners in the renewing of the
contract with the sharecropping family group. Sharecroppers were there-
fore confronted with two major concerns: on the one hand, they needed to
retain each of the household male members in order to have sufficient
household labor capacity to till the land and to ensure its survival as well as
the landowner’s part of crop; on the other hand, they had to control
household size to avoid an imbalance between mouths to feed and

 
Galligani ; Leverotti . Viazzo ; Manfredini and Morassi .

The permanent celibacy rate is intended as the percentage of never-married individuals at  years.

Doveri ; Biagioli ; Manfredini and Breschi .
  
resources. The first constraint forced sharecroppers to adopt a patrilocal
form of living arrangement after marriage, whilst the second constraint
obliged them to delay and/or limit access to marriage in order to control
fertility and to prevent excessive increases in household size. Access to
marriage was rigidly regulated, especially for males, who, on account of the
nature of the patrilocal family formation system, brought their wives to live
in the paternal family, thereby forming complex households. The celibacy
rate of males in sharecropping communities was also conditioned by the
male-dominated nature of that society. In fact, only men could become
capoccia (“household head”) and only men could sign agricultural con-
tracts. According to the Jacini inquiry on agriculture and peasants’ condi-
tions of , in Tuscany headship takeover at the death of the household
head was reserved for the oldest unmarried son. This was done in order to
avoid giving headship to one of the married male members who could be
tempted to favor himself and his biological family unit over the other
couples and family units of the sharecropping household. In the case study
of the Tuscan sharecropping community of Casalguidi, a parish located
 kilometers north of Florence, for which individual and family life
histories have been reconstructed from  to , the marriage
pattern above outlined emerges clearly. Marriage was in fact not only late
for both men and women, but it was also reserved only for a fraction of
the unmarried male members of the household. In particular, in the period
– mean age at first marriage was . years for men and . for
women, while .% of men and .% of women remained excluded
from marriage and reproduction. Moreover, thanks to a continuous series
of Status Animarum, a sort of religious census recorded by the parish priest
each year at Easter, it is possible to trace, year after year, the presence of
each inhabitant of the population and also to determine the composition
of the household in which he/she lived. This made it possible to
determine the proportion of never-married individuals aged + years by
household structure. The data shown in Table  confirm the role played
by never-married individuals in the family dynamics of complex house-
holds (extended and multiple), which involved almost % of total men
and over % of total women not yet married at  years of age.
The above pattern is obviously a consequence of the diffusion of
complex households in Casalguidi, which included about % of the total
population + years. Never-married individuals aged + years were also

 
See Mazzini . Breschi, Derosas and Manfredini ; Manfredini and Breschi .

Manfredini .
 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy 
Table . Proportions of never-married individuals aged + by sex and
household typology. Casalguidi, –

Nuclear Complex Solitary Unknown % N

Men . . . .  ,

Women . . . .  
Total . . . .  ,

overrepresented in one-person households, although such typology

included only .% of the total population + years. This latter category
represents the group of never-married individuals living alone, therefore
those having both the characteristics typical of singleness.
Celibacy, however, played a central role not only in the nineteenth-
century sharecropping society, but also in other Italian sub-populations,
such as the aristocracy and mountain communities. The importance of
celibacy emerges also from country-level data on permanent celibacy
recorded on the occasion of the first Italian census, carried out in the
year of the Unification of Italy (). According to Rosella Rettaroli,
never-married individuals aged between  and  years amounted to
.% among men and .% among women, although some important
differences emerged between regions. In Tuscany, as already seen in the
case study of Casalguidi, the levels of permanent celibacy show a definitely
more marked gap between males and females, with the former (.%)
being more likely to be excluded from the marriage process than the
latter (.%).
Notwithstanding the fact that “when privileges, rights and duties are
tied to legally enshrined couples, the men and women who never marry
appear as outsiders,” individuals who did not marry by reason of their
circumstances and/or family necessity were not usually stigmatized. Social
stigma and marginalization of never-married individuals surfaced especially
when this condition was the result of a deliberate choice irrespective of
family needs, the manifestation of a free spirit independent of the moral
and religious values of the time. The decision not to marry, and therefore
not to procreate, was seen by religious authorities as a sort of refusal to
accept their spiritual and ethical superiority, a threat to their social power
and moral control of society and individuals. Spinsters were especially

  
Barbagli . Rettaroli . Reeder : .
  
regarded as “strange”, women who did not meet the religious and societal
expectations of being wives and mothers.
In the s, then, the newborn Italian state joined the Church in the
marginalization of never-married individuals. On the eve of Italian Unifi-
cation, in fact, unmarried individuals, either bachelors or spinsters, were
seen as a sort of threat to the new social and political stability. The new
Italian state was in fact founded on the principles of liberalism, in which
family was seen as the natural place where social duties and social responsi-
bility could be learned, as claimed by Giuseppe Mazzini in : “Family
and country are two extreme points on the same line.”
Worried about the social consequences for the entire family group, the
parental family might then force the member refusing to marry to leave the
household. In such cases, the condition of unmarried overlapped with that
of living alone.

 Living Alone
Living alone in pretransitional populations has received less attention than
celibacy. For the countryside, the lack of scholarly interest in people
living alone has been justified on the grounds of the small number of one-
person households in such an environment. This is also the aspect of
singleness that it is mostly difficult to investigate in studies concerning
ancient populations because of the lack of reliable census-like sources, as
already stressed by Sabine Huebner in her chapter in this volume. Here,
the use of the life histories of the parishioners of Casalguidi, reconstructed
from the integration of birth, marriage and death parish registers with
Status Animarum allowed me to define not only the coresidential pattern of
the inhabitants of the parish year after year, but also their demographic
characteristics.
The mechanisms behind the formation of one-person households were
diverse but decisive in determining whether or not living alone might be
tolerated and socially accepted by the community. If solitariness was the
result of processes of family simplification and diminution due to the death
of one or more members or due to the fission of the parental household
into smaller and simpler family groups, often after the death of the
household head, this did not carry with it any form of social discrimination
or marginalization. Usually, in the case of widowed persons, they soon
managed to join one of their children’s households, thereby forming
 
Mazzini : . Oris, Ritschard and Ryczkowska .
 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy 
multigenerational family groups in a process called “nuclear reincorpor-
ation.” Those who did not succeed in finding a host family (mostly due
to a lack of married children), usually left the village and moved to the
closest city to find job opportunities and to have more chances for help and
assistance in hospices and care institutions, or else, if wealthy, they hired
servants. Vice versa, if people lived alone because they were not able to
marry and to form a family for physical, moral or economic reasons,
because they refused to marry or because they were rejected by kin and
relatives, they were likely to be seen as being odd and faced social
stigmatization. This social disapproval of people living on their own was
particularly evident for females who did not fit with the role of mother and
bride assigned to them by the culture of the time.
As noted above, the stigma could be particularly evident in rural
populations, where solitariness was not so common because of the impossi-
bility of having either a stable agricultural contract or some sort of family
protection in hard times or in old age. This was not the case in cities,
where higher frequencies of solitaries were common due to a different
occupational structure, different types of housing and continuous immi-
gration flow from the countryside.
Such estimates and evaluations of solitaries for preindustrial Italy are
often provided by family studies dealing with the analysis of household
typologies (i.e. the Laslett classification: see Boozer, in this volume),
which usually report the percentage of one-person households in the
studied population. Thus, published data from  censuses (or census-
like population lists), drawn from both religious and civil sources and
recorded between  and , were collected and analyzed in order to
provide an overview of the incidence of one-person households across Italy
and over time. The populations were classified according to three charac-
teristics: geographical area (north, center, south); environment (hill and
mountain, plain, city) and census year (up to the seventeenth century,
eighteenth century, nineteenth century). A -way ANOVA was then
carried out to check for differences between the means of the groups of
each variable. Table  reports the results.
The above analysis suggests that the proportion of one-person house-
holds did not change either over time or across the different regions of
Italy, being around –% of total households on average. Conversely,

   
Kertzer . Reeder . Santini . See Laslett  and .

ANOVA is the acronym for Analysis of Variance, a statistical test aimed at evaluating the existence
of a statistical difference between the means of three or more groups.
  
Table . Summary table and -way ANOVA of the percentage of one-person
households from censuses recorded between  and .

N Mean SD SS df MS F p-val

Area .  . . .

North  . .
Center  . .
South  . .
Environment .  . . .
Mountain  . .
Plain  . .
City  . .
Period .  . . .
<th  . .
th  . .
th  . .

SD = Standard deviation; SS = Deviance; df = Degrees of freedom; MS = Variance;

F = Fisher statistics; p-val = p-value

significant differences were detected among the three environments

considered (F=., p-value=.). This outcome confirms that the
urban environment was definitely more favorable to solitaries than the
rural countryside or mountain villages. In the cities, about % of total
households were formed by only one person, which is twice the level of
solitaries living in the other two environments. As already mentioned,
solitaries were attracted by urban areas for two main reasons: the higher
possibility of finding help and support due to the larger presence of
charitable institutions as well as the presence of more suitable productive
and occupational structure in the city as compared with the rural
countryside.
But what were the socio-demographic characteristics of solitaries? Here
the answer can come only from micro-studies in which information about
living arrangement, age and sex are available. The case study of Casalguidi
is again very helpful and indicative. People living alone were mostly
women (.%), old-aged (.%) and with a balanced composition of
marital status (.% unmarried and .% widowed), although with
different weights across age groups (Fig. ).
As expected, unmarried individuals dominated at younger ages (<),
whilst the widowed were in the majority among the elderly (+ years).
The old-age group of solitaries also has a skewed sex ratio, counting many
 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy 

Figure  Number of solitaries by age, gender, and marital status (person-year)

more females than males. Rather than a different life expectancy by gender,
which was on average around  years for both sexes, this marked imbal-
ance is likely to have been the consequence of a different propensity to
remarry between genders, which was much more common among
widowers.
Analysis of the socioeconomic conditions proves that people living on
their own were usually poor. In fact, more than % of one-person
households in Casalguidi were so poor as to be considered indigent and,
therefore, exempt from taxation. Poverty and tax exemption were much
more common among females (.%) than males (.%).
Finally, I would like to stress that the definition of solitariness is not
always straightforward. In a strict sense, solitaries are obviously people
living entirely on their own in a household formed by only one person.
However, broader concepts and definitions of living alone might include
people living only with non-kin, such as servants, as well as lonely people
living with a servant or domestic staff, such as the parson with the priest’s
housekeeper. Both of these situations involve people who did not formally


Breschi, Fornasin, Manfredini and Zacchigna .
  
live on their own, but could still be considered alone since they are tied to
one another by simple working relationships. Sometimes, the servant or
housekeeper could even be married and have his/her own family elsewhere.
Applying this broader definition of solitariness to the population of Casal-
guidi, it is possible to observe the expected very large predominance of
people living with kin (.%), along with a minority of people living
alone, predominantly servants (.%), but also solitaries (.%), and
people living with non-kin only (.%). These categories differ from
one another also in terms of stability and permanence in the territory of
the parish.
In fact, solitaries and servants were more likely to emigrate than were
people living with kin and people living only with non-kin. Whether going
to the city to find a job or assistance or joining a kindred household, those
individuals left Casalguidi because a solitary life in a rural community was
often socially and economically unsustainable. The category of people
living only with non-kin lived almost always with one or more servants,
the sign of a certain level of wellbeing. This fact induced this group to be
less likely to leave the territory of the parish of Casalguidi.

 Conclusions
Singleness is an issue that presents many facets. In every period and in
every society, its definition depends on various aspects of a different
nature usually associated with the definition of marriage, marital status,
living arrangement and family. The issue of terminology is therefore
determinant in studies about singleness and solitariness, and this is the
reason why this volume stresses to a great extent the problem of
terminology.
For nineteenth-century Italy, the concept of singleness is closely linked
to Catholic marriage and the consequent interpretation and value that
the Church gave to the family originating from that holy union. Being
unmarried and/or living alone were, therefore, two different but comple-
mentary individual conditions that theoretically led single men and
single women to stray far from Christ’s teaching and Church doctrine
as well as from the moral values of the community. However, data
available for nineteenth-century Italy prove that permanent celibacy
was not only common among both males and females, but also vital in
the struggle for survival of many complex households and their numerous
members. Thus, the ideal vision of religious marriage clashed with social
practice and economic realities. Economic factors, family strategies and
 Singleness in Nineteenth-century Italy 
family necessities, the occupational structure and housing conditions
were crucial elements also affecting the social acceptance of people
living alone. Marginalized in the countryside on account of the rural
working system based on family units, solitaries were much more
common in the urban areas, where growing industrialization attracted
many people from the countryside by offering new lifestyles and simpler
forms of living arrangement.
 Bibliography

Abbott, E. () A History of Celibacy from Athena to Elizabeth I, Leonardo da

Vinci, Florence Nightingale, Gandhi, & Cher. New York.
Adams, C. () “A Choice Not to Wed? Unmarried Women in Eighteenth
Century France,” Journal of Social History .: –.
Adams, J. N. () “Words for ‘Prostitute’ in Latin,” Rheinisches Museum für
Philologie : –.
Adler, E. () Vergil’s Empire: Political Thought in the Aeneid. New York and
Oxford.
Albertz, R. and R. Schmitt () Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel
and the Levant. Winona Lake, IN.
Alciati, R. () “And the Villa Became a Monastery: Sulpicius Severus’
Community of Primuliacum,” in Western Monasticism Ante Litteram.
The Spaces of Monastic Observance in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle
Ages, ed. H. Dey and E. Fentress. Turnhout: –.
Allély, A. () “Les enfants malformés et handicapés à Rome sous le principat,”
Revue des études anciennes : –.
Altheim-Stiehl, R. () “Persians in Egypt (–),” in Atiya (), vol. .
Alwis, A. P. () Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography:
The Lives of Saints Julian and Basilissa, Andronikos and Athanasia, and
Galaktion and Episteme. London.
Andreau, J. () “Freedmen in the Satyrica,” in Petronius: A Handbook, ed.
J. Prag and I. Repath. Oxford: –.
() “Les Latins Juniens et la hiérarchie sociale romaine,” in Stephanèphoros.
De l’économie antique à l’Asie Mineure. Hommages à Raymond Descat, ed.
K. Konuk. Bordeaux: –.
Arangio-Ruiz, V. () “Lo ‘status’ di L. Venidio Ennico Ercolanese,” in Droits
de l’antiquité et sociologie juridique, ed. M. H. Lévy-Bruhl. Paris: –.
Aravecchia, N. (forthcoming) Ain el-Gedida: – Excavations of a Late
Antique Site in Egypt’s Western Desert. New York.
Archer, M. () Conversations about Reflexivity. New York.
() The Reflexive Imperative in Late Modernity. Cambridge.
Arjava, A. () Women and Law in Late Antiquity. Oxford.
Arrigoni, G. () Camilla: Amazzone e sacerdotessa di Diana. Milan.


 Bibliography 
Ashbrook Harvey, S. () “Syria and Mesopotamia,” in Cambridge History of
Christianity, vol. : Origins to Constantine, ed. M. M. Mitchell and F. M.
Young. Cambridge: –.
Astolfi, R. () La lex Julia et Papia. th ed. Padua.
Atiya, A. S. (ed.) () The Coptic Encyclopedia.  vols. Claremont.
Atkins, M. and R. Osborne (ed.) () Poverty in the Ancient World. Cambridge.
Aubert, J.-J. () “Les ‘institores’ et le commerce maritime dans l’empire
romain,” Topoi .: –.
() “L’économie romaine et le droit de la représentation indirecte sous la
République,” in Fides, Humanitas, Ius: Studi in onore del prof. L. Labruna,
ed. C. Cascione and C. Masi Doria. Napoli: –.
Aubin, M. M. () “More Apparent than Real? Questioning the Difference
in Marital Age between Christian and Non-Christian Women of Rome
during the Third and Fourth Centuries,” The Ancient History Bulletin :
–.
Augoustakis, A. (ed.) () Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus. Leiden and Boston.
Cribiore, R. () “Defending Julian: Libanius and Or. ,” in Libanios le
premier humaniste, ed. O. Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse. Alessandria:
–.
() Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century.
Ithaca.
Baatsen, I., J. De Groot and I. Sturtewagen () “Single Life in Fifteenth-
Century Bruges: Living Arrangements and Material Culture at the Fringes of
Urban Society,” in Single Life and the City. –, ed. J. De Groot,
I. Devos and A. Schmidt. London: –.
Baden, J. and C. Moss () “Why Scientists and Scholars can’t get their facts
Straight,” www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive///why-scientists-
and-scholars-cant-get-their-facts-straight// [Last accessed:  January
].
Bagnall, R. S. () “Army and Police in Roman Upper Egypt,” Journal of the
American Research Center in Egypt : –.
() “Church, State and Divorce in Late Roman Egypt,” in Florilegium
Columbianum: Essays in Honor of Paul Oskar Kristeller, ed. K.-L. Selig and
R. Somerville. New York: –.
() “The Beginnings of the Roman Census,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine
Studies : –.
() Egypt in Late Antiquity. Princeton.
() “Missing Females in Roman Egypt,” Scripta Classica Israelica :
–.
Bagnall, R., N. Aravecchia, R. Cribiore, P. Davoli, O. E. Kaper and S. McFadden
() An Oasis City. New York.
Bagnall, R., A. Bülow-Jacobsen and H. Cuvigny () “Security and Water on
the Eastern Desert Roads: The Prefect Iulius Ursus and the Construction of
Praesidia under Vespasian,” Journal of Roman Archaeology : –.
 Bibliography
Bagnall, R. and R. Cribiore () Women’s Letters from Ancient Egypt  BC –
AD . Ann Arbor.
Bagnall, R. and B. Frier () The Demography of Roman Egypt. Cambridge.
() The Demography of Roman Egypt. nd ed. Cambridge.
Bagnall, R. and D. Rathbone () Egypt from Alexander to the Copts:
An Archaeological and Historical Guide. London.
Bakker, E. J. () “Homer, Odysseus, and the Narratology of Performance,”
in Narratology and Interpretation. The Content of Narrative Form in
Ancient Literature, ed. J. Grethlein and A. Rengakos. Berlin and New York:
–.
Balogh, E. and P. E. Kahle () “Two Coptic Documents Relating to
Marriage,” Aegyptus : –.
Barbagli, M. () Sotto lo stesso tetto. Mutamenti della famiglia in Italia dal XV al
XX secolo. Bologna.
Barsby, J. (ed. and trans.) () Ovid: Amores Book I. London.
Bauckham, R. () Jude and the Relatives of Jesus. London.
() James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage. New York.
Baumgarten, J. () “Purification after Childbirth and the Sacred Garden in
Q and Jubilees,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the
First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, ed. G. J.
Brooke. Paris: –.
() “Celibacy,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls.  vols. ed. H.
Lawrence and J. C. VanderKam. Oxford: : –.
Baur, C. () John Chrysostom and his Time. Tr. M. Gonzaga. Belmont, MD.
Baviera, J., ed. () FIRA II = Fontes Iuris Romani Antejustiniani. Pars Altera:
Auctores. Florence.
Baxter, J. E. () The Archaeology of Childhood: Children, Gender, and Material
Culture. Walnut Creek and Oxford.
Beattie, C. () “A Room of One’s Own? The Legal Evidence for the Residen-
tial Arrangements of Women without Husbands in Late Fourteenth- and
Early Fifteenth-century York,” in Medieval Women and the Law, ed. N. J.
Menuge. Woodbridge: –.
Beattie, C. and M. Stevens () “Introduction: Uncovering Married Women,”
in Married Women and the Law in Premodern Northwest Europe, ed.
C. Beattie and M. F. Stevens. Suffolk: –.
Beaucamp, J. (–) Le statut de la femme à Byzance.  vols. Paris.
Beaumont, L., N. Harrington and M. Dillon (forthcoming) Children in Antiquity.
Perspectives and Experiences of Childhood in the Ancient Mediterranean.
London.
Beavis, M. A. () “Philo’s Therapeutai: Philosopher’s Dream or Utopian
Construction?,” Journal for the Study of Pseudipigrapha .: –.
Becker, T. H. () “Ambiguity and the Female Warrior: Vergil’s Camilla,”
Electronic Antiquity .: –.
Beckh, T. () “Monks, Magicians, Archaeologists. New Settlement Develop-
ment in Dra ‘Abu el-Naga North, Western Thebes,” in Coptic Society,
 Bibliography 
Literature and Religion from Late Antiquity to Modern Times. Proceedings of
the Tenth International Congress of Coptic Studies, Rome, September
th–nd, , ed. P. Buzi, A. Complani, and F. Contardi. Leuven:
–.
BeDuhn, J. () The Manichaean Body: In Discipline and Ritual. Baltimore.
Begg, C. T. () “The Levites in Josephus,” Hebrew Union College Annual :
–.
Benario, J. M. () “Dido and Cleopatra,” Vergilius : –.
Benkheira, M. () La maîtrise de la concupiscence. Mariage, célibat et continence
sexuelle en Islam, des origines au e/e siècle. Paris.
Bennett, J. and A. Froide (eds.) () Singlewomen in the European Past,
–. Philadelphia.
Besnier, R. () “L’Application des lois caducaires d’Auguste d’après le Gnomon
de l’Idiologue,” Revue Internationale des droits d’antiquité : –.
Biagioli, G. () “La diffusione della mezzadria nell’Italia centrale: Un modello
di sviluppo demografico ed economico,” Bollettino di Demografia Storica :
–.
Blackman, P. () Mishnayoth, vol. . New York.
Blázquez Martínez, J. M. () “El mundo amoroso de Catulo y de la Roma de
finales de la República,” Gerión (): –.
Bodel, J. () “Slave Labour and Roman Society,” in The Cambridge World
History of Slavery, vol. : The Ancient Mediterranean World, ed. K. R. Bradley
and P. Cartledge. Cambridge: –.
Bolick, K. () Spinster: A Life of One’s Own. New York.
Boone, M., T. De Hemptinne and W. Prevenier () “Gender and Early
Emancipation in the Low Countries in the Late Middle Ages and the Early
Modern Period,” in Gender, Power and Privilege in Early Modern Europe, ed.
J. Munns and P. Richards. Harlow and London: –.
Booth, P. () “Orthodox and Heretic in the Early Byzantine Cult(s) of Saints
Cosmas and Damian,” in Age of Saints? Power, Conflict and Dissent in Early
Medieval Christianity, ed. P. Sarris, M. Dal Santo and P. Booth. Leiden and
Boston: –.
Boozer, A. L. () “Insulae, Apartments,” in Encyclopedia of Ancient History:
Social History, ed. R. S. Bagnall, K. Brodersen, C. Champlin, A. Erskine and
S. R. Hübner. Oxford.
() A Late Romano-Egyptian House in the Dakhla Oasis: Amheida House B.
New York.
(forthcoming) “Urbanization in Egypt’s Western Desert under Roman Rule,”
in Trans-Saharans: Urbanization and State Formation, ed. D. M. Mattingly
and M. Sterry. Society for Libyan Studies . Cambridge.
Borg, B. () “The Face of the Social Climber: Roman Freedmen and Elite
Ideology,” in Free at Last!: The Impact of Freed Slaves on the Roman Empire,
ed. S. Bell and T. Ramsby. London: –.
() Crisis and Ambition: Tombs and Burial Customs in Third-century CE
Rome. Oxford.
 Bibliography
Botticini, M. () “A Loveless Economy? Intergenerational Altruism and the
Marriage Market in a Tuscan Town, –,” Journal of Economic
History : –.
Boulvert, G. () Domestique et fonctionnaire sous le Haut-Empire romain: la
condition de l’affranchi et de l’esclave du prince. Paris.
Bowersock, G. W. () “Beloch and the Birth of Demography,” Transactions of
the American Philological Association : –.
Bowersock, G., P. Brown and O. Grabar (eds.) () Interpreting Late Antiquity.
Essays on the Postclassical World. Cambridge, MA and London.
Boyarin, D. () Carnal Israel: Reading Sex in Talmudic Culture. Berkeley.
Boyaval, B. () “Notes égyptiennes,” Kentron .: –.
Boyd, B. W. () “Virtus Effeminata and Sallust’s Sempronia,” Transactions of
the American Philological Association : –.
Bradbury, S. () Selected Letters of Libanius from the Age of Constantius and
Julian. Liverpool.
Bradley, K. R. () “Child Labour in the Roman World,” Historical Reflections
.: –.
() “Wet-nursing at Rome: A Study in Social Relations,” in The Family
in Ancient Rome: New Perspectives, ed. B. Rawson. London and Sydney:
–.
() Slaves and Masters in the Roman Empire: A Study in Social Control. New
York.
(a) Discovering the Roman Family. Studies in Roman Social History. New
York and Oxford.
(b) “Remarriage and the Structure of the Upper-class Roman Family,” in
Marriage, Divorce, and Children in Ancient Rome, ed. B. Rawson. Oxford:
–.
() Slavery and Society at Rome. Cambridge.
() “Fictive Families: Family and Household in the ‘Metamorphoses’ of
Apuleius,” Phoenix ./: –.
Braun, M. () “Stabilisierung und Destabilisierung sozialer Werte in Ciceros
Reden,” in O tempora, o mores!: Römische Werte und römische Literatur in den
letzten Jahrzenhnten der Republik, ed. A. Haltenhoff, A. Heil and F.-H.
Mutschler. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde . München: –.
Braund, S. M. () “Marriage, Adultery, and Divorce in Roman Comic
Drama,” in Smith (a): –.
Bremmer, J. N. () “Fosterage, Kinship and the Circulation of Children in
Ancient Greece,” Dialogos: Hellenic Studies Review : –.
(a) “Paradise: From Persia, via Greece, into the Septuagint,” in Paradise
Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism and Christianity,
ed. P. Gerard and P. Luttikhuizen. Leiden: –.
Breschi, M., R. Derosas and M. Manfredini () “Mortality and Environment
in Three Emilian, Tuscan, and Venetian Communities, –,” in
Life under Pressure: Mortality and Living Standards in Europe and
 Bibliography 
Asia, –, ed. T. Bengtsson, C. Campbell and J. Lee. Cambridge:
–.
Breschi, M., A. Fornasin, M. Manfredini and M. Zacchigna () “Family
Composition and Remarriage in Pre-transitional Italy. A Comparative
Study,” European Journal of Population : –.
Breschi, M., M. Manfredini and A. Fornasin () “Remarriage in a Pre-
transitional Italian Community,” Continuity and Change : –.
Bresciani, E., E. Bedini, L. Paolini and F. Silvano () “Una rilettura dei
Pap. dem. Bologna  e ,” Egitto e Vicino Oriente : –.
Brewster, E. H. () Roman Craftsmen and Tradesmen of the Early Empire.
New York.
Bringmann, K. () Kaiser Julian der letzte heidnische Herrscher. Darmstadt.
Brock, S. () “Early Syrian Asceticism,” Numen : –.
Broekaert, W. () “Welcome to the Family! Marriage as Business Strategy in
the Roman Economy,” Marburger Beiträge zur Antiken Handelsgeschichte :
–.
() Navicularii et Negotiantes. A Prosopographical Study of Roman Merchants
and Shippers. Rahden.
() “Freedmen and Agency in Roman Business,” in Urban Craftsmen
and Traders in the Roman World, ed. A. Wilson and M. Flohr. Oxford:
–.
Brooten, B. () “Early Christian Enslaved Families (First to Fourth Century),”
in Laes, Mustakallio and Vuolanto (): –.
Brown, P. R. L. () The Body and Society. Men, Women and Sexual Renunci-
ation in Early Christianity. London and Boston.
() Augustine of Hippo. nd ed. Berkeley and Los Angeles.
() Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of
Christianity in the West, – AD. Princeton.
Broyde, M. J. and A. Michael (eds.) () Marriage, Sex, and Family in Judaism.
Lanham, MD.
Brunt, P. A. () Italian Manpower,  B.C.–A.D. . Oxford.
Bryen, A. Z. () Violence in Roman Egypt: A Study in Legal Interpretation.
Philadelphia.
Bülow-Jacobsen, A. () “Communication, Travel, and Transportation in
Egypt’s Eastern Desert during Roman Times (st to rd Century AD),”
in Desert Road Archaeology in Ancient Egypt and Beyond, ed. R. Förster and
H. Riemer. Cologne: –.
Bürge, A. () “Cum in familia nubas: Zur wirtschaftlichen und sozialen
Bedeutung der familia libertorum,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für
Rechtsgeschichte. Romanistische Abteilung : –.
Burger, F. X., “Caelebs,” in Thesaurus Linguae Latinae . –: c. –.
Burr Lichfield, R. () “Single People in the Nineteenth-Century City:
A Comparative Perspective on Occupations and Living Situations,” Continu-
ity and Change : –.
 Bibliography
Burrus, V. and M. Conti () Life of Saint Helia: Critical Edition, Translation,
Introduction, and Commentary. Oxford.
Buth, R. and B. Kvasnica () “Temple Authorities and Tithe Evasion,” in Jesus’
Last Week, ed. R. S. Notley, M. Turnage and B. Becker. Leiden: –.
Butrica, J. L. () “Clodius the Pulcher in Catullus and Cicero,” The Classical
Quarterly .: –.
Buzi, P., A. Complani and F. Contardi (eds.) () Coptic Society, Literature and
Religion from Late Antiquity to Modern Times. Proceedings of the Tenth
International Congress of Coptic Studies, Rome, September th–nd, .
Leuven.
Caldwell, L. () Roman Girlhood and the Fashioning of Femininity. Cambridge.
Cameron, A. () Circus Factions. Blues and Greens at Rome and Byzantium.
Oxford.
Camodeca, G. () “Per una riedizione dell’archivio ercolanese di L. Venidius
Ennychus,” Cronache Ercolanesi : –.
() “Per una riedizione dell’archivio ercolanese di L. Venidius Ennychus
II,” Cronache Ercolanesi : –.
Campbell, B. () “The Marriage of Soldiers under the Empire,” The Journal of
Roman Studies : –.
Cantarella, E. () “Homicides of Honor: The Development of Italian
Adultery Law over Two Millennia,” in The Family in Italy from Antiquity
to the Present, ed. D. Kertzer and R. Saller. New Haven: –.
Capponi, L. () “The Roman Period,” in A Companion to Ancient Egypt,
vol. , ed. A. B. Lloyd. London: –.
Carletti, C. () “Aspetti biometrici del matrimonio nelle iscrizioni cristiane di
Roma,” Augustinianum .: –.
Carlier, M. () Kinderen van de minne? Bastaarden in het vijftiende-eeuwse
Vlaanderen. Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie van
België voor Wetenschappen en Kunsten, Nieuwe reeks . Brussels.
Carlsen, J. () Vilici and Roman Estate Mangers until AD . Roma.
Carroll, M. () “No Part in Earthly Things. The Death, Burial and Com-
memoration of Newborn Children and Infants in Roman Italy,” in Families
in the Imperial and Late Antique Roman Worlds, ed. L. Larsson Lovén and
M. Harlow. London: –.
Carson, A. () “Putting Her in Her Place: Women, Dirt, and Desire,”
in Before Sexuality: The Construction of Erotic Experience in the Ancient
Greek World, ed. D. Halperin, J. Winkler and F. Zeitlin. Princeton:
–.
Caseau, B. () “Stratégies parentales concernant les enfants au sein de la
famille: le choix de la virginité consacrée,” in Parenté et stratégies familiales
dans l’Antiquité tardive (IIIe–VIe siècle), ed. C. Badel and C. Settipani. Paris:
–.
Cavello, S. and L. B. Warner () Widowhood in Medieval and Early Modern
Europe. Harlow.
 Bibliography 
Chadwick, H. () “Philosophical Tradition and the Self,” in Bowersock,
Brown and Grabar (): –.
Champlin, E. () Final Judgments: Duty and Emotion in Roman Wills, 
B.C.–A.D. . Berkeley.
Chepey, S. () Nazirites in Late Second Temple Judaism. Leiden.
Chin, C. M. and C. T. Schroeder (eds.) (), Melania: Early Christianity
through the Life of One Family. Oakland.
Choat, M. () “The Development and Usage of Terms for Monk in Late
Antique Egypt,” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum : –.
Church, A. W., W. Brodribb and S. Bryant (eds.) () Complete Works of
Tacitus. New York.
Claassen, C. () “Women’s Lives in Prehistoric North America,” in Women in
Prehistory: North America and Mesoamerica, ed. C. Claassen and R. A. Joyce.
Philadelphia: –.
Clark, E. A. () Ascetic Piety and Women’s Faith: Essays on Late Ancient
Christianity. Lewiston.
() “Adam’s Only Companion. Augustine and the Early Christian Debate
on Marriage,” in The Olde Daunce: Love, Friendship and Marriage in the
Medieval World, ed. R. R. Edwards and S. Spector. New York: –;
–.
() “Antifamilial Tendencies in Ancient Christianity,” Journal of the History
of Sexuality : –.
() “Adam’s Only Companion’: Augustine and the Early Christian Debate
on Marriage,” Recherches Augustiniennes et Patristiques : –.
() “Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social
History, and the Linguistic Turn,” Journal of Early Christian Studies .:
–.
() “Vitiated Seeds and Holy Vessels: Augustine’s Manichaean Past,”
in Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, ed. K. L. King. Philadelphia:
–.
() “Dissuading from Marriage: Jerome and the Asceticization of Satire,” in
Smith (a): –.
Clark, G. () Women in Late Antiquity. Oxford.
() “Should the Philosopher Marry?: Marriage as Sacred or Profane in Late
Antiquity,” in Les frontières du profane dans l’Antiquité tardive, ed.
E. Rébillard and C. Sotinel. Paris: –.
Clarke, J. R. () “Domus/Single Family House,” in Companion to Roman
Architecture, vol. , ed. C. K. Quenemoen and R. B. Ulrich. Oxford:
–.
Claytor, W. G. and R. Bagnall () “The Beginnings of the Roman Provincial
Census: A New Declaration from  BCE,” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine
Studies : –.
Cloke, G. () “This Female Man of God,” Women and Spiritual Power in the
Patristic Age A.D. –. London.
 Bibliography
Cohen, D. () “The Augustan Law on Adultery: The Social and Cultural
Context,” in The Family in Italy from Antiquity to the Present, ed. D. Kertzer
and R. Saller. New Haven: –.
Cokayne, K. () Experiencing Old Age in Ancient Rome. London.
Collins, R. () Sexual Ethics and the New Testament: Behavior and Belief.
New York.
() Accompanied by a Believing Wife. Collegeville, MN.
Cook, S. L. () “Those Stubborn Levites: Overcoming Levitical Disenfran-
chisement,” in Levites and Priests in Biblical History and Tradition, ed. M. A.
Leuchter and J. M. Hutton. Leiden: –.
Cooper, K. () The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late
Antiquity. Cambridge, MA.
() “Closely Watched Households: Visibility, Exposure and Private Power
in the Roman Domus,” Past & Present .: –.
() The Fall of the Roman Household. Cambridge.
Cotts Watkins, S. () “Spinsters,” Journal of Family History : –.
Courtney, E. () “Three Poems of Propertius,” BICS : –.
Cranstoun, J. (ed.) () The Poems of Valerius Catullus: With Life of the Poet,
Excursûs, and Illustrative Notes. Edinburgh.
Crawford, H. () Regime Change in the Ancient Near East and Egypt: From
Sargon of Agade to Saddam Hussein. Oxford.
Crawford, M. (ed.) () Roman Statutes, vol. II. BICS Suppl. . London.
Cribiore, R. () The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch. Princeton.
() “The Education of Orphans: A Reassessment from the Evidence
of Libanius,” in Growing Up Fatherless in Antiquity, ed. S. R. Huebner and
D. M. Ratzan. Cambridge: –.
Crislip, A. () From Monastery to Hospital. Christian Monasticism and the
Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity. Ann Arbor.
Cromwell, J. () “Keeping it in the Family: Property Concerns in
Eighth Century A.D. Thebes,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies .:
–.
() “Managing a Year’s Taxes: Tax Demands and Tax Payments in
 CE,” Archiv für Papyrusforschung .: –.
(forthcoming) “From Village to Monastery: Finding Children in the
Coptic Record from Egypt,” in Beaumont, Harrington and Dillon
(forthcoming).
Crook, J. A. () Law and Life of Rome,  B.C.–A.D. . London.
() “Women in Roman Succession,” in Rawson (): –.
Csillag, P. () The Augustan Laws on Family Relations. Budapest.
Culbertson, L. (ed.) () Slaves and Households in the Near East. Chicago.
Cuvigny, H. (ed.) () La route de Myos Hormos. L’armée romaine dans le desert
oriental d’Égypte. Praesidia du desert de Bérénice. . Fouilles de l’Institut
français. Cairo.
() Ostraka de Krokodilo: La correspondance militaire et sa circulation.
O. Krok. –. Praesidia du desert de Berenice II. Cairo.
 Bibliography 
Davies, G. () “Viewer, I Married Him: Marriage and the Freedwoman in
Rome,” in Ancient Marriage in Myth and Reality, ed. L. Larsson Lovén and
A. Strömberg. Cambridge: –.
Day, A. () The Origins of Latin Love-elegy. Oxford.
DeConick, A. D. () Holy Misogyny: Why the Sex and Gender Conflicts in the
Early Church Still Matter. New York.
De Groot, J. (forthcoming) “De positie van weduwen op de Antwerpse vastgoed-
markt aan de vooravond van de economische boom.”
De Groot, J., I. Devos and A. Schmidt (eds.) () Single Life and the City:
–. London.
De Jong, I. J. F. and R. Nünlist (eds.) () Time in Ancient Greek Literature.
Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative . Leiden and Boston.
De Jong, I. J. F., R. Nünlist and A. Bowie (eds.) () Narrators, Narratees, and
Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature. Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative .
Leiden and Boston.
De Ligt, L. () “Legal History and Economic History: The Case of the
actiones adiecticiae qualitatis,” Tijdschrift voor Rechtsgeschiedenis : –.
De Longé, G. (–) Coutumes du Pays et Duché de Brabant: quartier
d’Anvers. Brussels.
De Moor, T. and J.-L. van Zanden () “Girl Power: The European Marriage
Pattern and Labour Markets in the North Sea Region in the Late Medieval
and Early Modern Period,” Economic History Review .: –.
Delia, D. () “The Population of Roman Alexandria,” Transactions of the
American Philological Association : –.
Deming, W. () “Mark .–., Matthew .–, and B. Nid. b:
A First Century Discussion of Male Sexuality,” New Testament Studies :
–.
() Paul on Marriage and Celibacy: The Hellenistic Background of  Corinth-
ians . Cambridge.
DePaulo, B. M. and W. L. Morris (a) “Should Singles and the Scholars Who
Study Them Make Their Mark or Stay in Their Place?,” Psychological Inquiry
./: –.
(b) “Singles in Society and in Science,” Psychological Inquiry ./:
–.
Depraetere, D. D. E. () Archaeological Studies in Graeco-Roman and Late
Antique Housing in Egypt: Analysis of Ground Plan Typology, Locking Systems
and Accessibility, and a Comparative Study of Domestic Bread Ovens.
Ph. D. Diss., Leuven.
Derosas, R., M. Breschi, A. Fornasin, M. Manfredini and C. Munno ()
“Between Constraints and Coercion: Marriage and Social Reproduction in
Northern and Central Italy,” in Similarity in Difference. Marriage in
Europe and Asia, –, ed. C. Lundh and S. Kurosu. Cambridge:
–.
Devos I., A. Schmidt and B. Blondé () “Introduction. Single and the City:
Men and Women Alone in North-Western European Towns since the Late
 Bibliography
Middle Ages,” in Single Life and the City –, ed. J. De Groot,
I. Devos and S. Schmidt. Basingstoke and New York: –.
DiCicco, L. () “The Enfreakment of America’s Jeune Fille à Marier: Lily Bart
to Carrie Bradshaw,” Journal of Modern Literature .: –.
Dickie, M. W. () “Who Practised Love-Magic in Classical Antiquity and in
the Late Roman World?,” Classical Quarterly : –.
Dickson, T. W. () “Magic: A Theme of Love Elegy,” in The Sewanee Review
.: –.
Dietrich, J. S. () “Rewriting Dido: Flavian Responses to Aeneid ,” Prudentia
.: –.
Dixon, S. () The Roman Mother. London and New York.
() The Roman Family. Baltimore and London.
() “The Circulation of Children in Roman Society,” in Adoption et
Fosterage, ed. M. Corbier. Paris: –.
() Reading Roman Women. Sources, Genres and Real Life. London.
Doering, L. () “Marriage and Creation,” in Echoes from the Caves: Qumran
and the New Testament, Mark  and CD –. Studies on the Texts of the
Desert of Judah . Leiden: –.
() “Urzeit-Endzeit in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Pseudepigrapha,” in Escha-
tologie – Eschatology: The Sixth Durham–Tübingen Research Symposium:
Eschatology in Old Testament, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity.
Tübingen, September , ed. H.-J. Eckstein, Ch. Landmesser and
H. Lichtenberger. Tübingen: –.
Dommasnes, L. H. () “Two Decades of Women in Prehistory and in
Archaeology in Norway. A Review,” Norwegian Archaeological Review .:
–.
Donahue, C. () Law, Marriage and Society in the Later Middle Ages: Argu-
ments about Marriage in Five Courts. Cambridge.
Doveri, A. () “Land, Fertility, and Family: A Selected Review of the Litera-
ture in Historical Demography,” Genus : –.
Dreher, R. () Crunchy Cons. New York.
() The Benedict Option. New York.
Drescher, J. () “A Widow’s Petition,” Bulletin de la Société d’Archéologie Copte
: –; pl. I + II.
Dribe, M. and C. Lundh () “Marriage Choices and Social Reproduction:
The Interrelationship between Partner Selection and Intergenerational
Socioeconomic Mobility in th-century Sweden,” Demographic Research
: –.
Dribe, M., M. Manfredini and M. Oris () “The Roads to Reproduction:
Comparing Life-course Trajectories in Preindustrial Eurasia,” in Similarity
in Difference. Marriage in Europe and Asia, –, ed. C. Lundh and
S. Kurosu. Cambridge: –.
Dumont, J.-C. () Servus. Rome et l’esclavage sous la république. Rome.
Dumortier, J. () Saint Jean Chrysostome: Les cohabitations suspectes. Paris.
Duncan-Jones, R. () The Economy of the Roman Empire. nd ed. Cambridge.
 Bibliography 
Dunn, J. G. and J. H. Charlesworth () “Qumran’s Some Works of Torah
(Q– [QMMT]) and Paul’s Galatians,” in Charlesworth ():
–.
Dykas, M. J. () “The Origins and Development of Early Christian Celibacy,”
Journal of Theta Alpha Kappa .: –.
Eck, W. () “The Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Roman Point of View,” The
Journal of Roman Studies : –.
Edelman, D. () “Gibeon and the Gibeonites Revisited,” in Judah and the
Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp.
Winona Lake, IN: –.
Edmondson, J. (ed.) () Augustus. Edinburgh.
() “Slavery and the Roman Family,” in The Cambridge World History of
Slavery, vol. : The Ancient Mediterranean World, ed. K. R. Bradley and
P. Cartledge. Cambridge: –.
Edwards, C. () The Politics of Immorality in Ancient Rome. Cambridge.
Efthymiadis, S. () “A Day and Ten Months in the Life of a Lonely Bachelor:
The Other Byzantium in Miracula S. Artemii  and ,” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers : –.
() “Collections of Miracles (Fifth–Fifteenth Centuries),” in Ashgate
Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, vol. : Genres and Contexts,
ed. S. Efthymiadis. Farnham and Burlington: –.
Ehrman, B. and Z. Pleše (eds.) () The Other Gospels: Accounts of Jesus from
outside the New Testament. Oxford.
El Feki, S. () Sex and the Citadel. Intimate Life in a Changing Arab World.
New York.
Elm, S. () “Virgins of God”: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity.
Oxford.
Emmerson, A. L. C. () “Evidence for Junian Latins in the Tombs of
Pompeii?,” Journal of Roman Archaeology : –.
Engberg-Pedersen, T. () “Philo’s De Vita Contemplativa as a Philosopher’s
Dream,” Journal of Study of Judaism .: –.
Evans Grubbs, J. () “Abduction Marriage in Antiquity: A Law of Constan-
tine (CTh IX..) and Its Social Context,” The Journal of Roman Studies :
–.
() “‘Marriage More Shameful than Adultery’: Slave–Mistress Relations,
‘Mixed Marriages’, and Late Roman Law,” Phoenix : –.
() Law and Family in Late Antiquity. The Emperor Constantine’s Marriage
Legislation. Oxford.
(a) Women and Law in the Roman Empire. A Sourcebook on Marriage,
Divorce and Widowhood. London and New York.
(b) “Stigmata Aeterna: A Husband’s Curse,” in Vertis in usum: Studies in
Honor of Edward Courtney, ed. J. Miller, C. Damon and K. S. Myers.
Munich and Leipzig: –.
() “The Family,” in A Companion to the Roman Empire, ed. D. Potter.
Oxford: –.
 Bibliography
() “Marrying and Its Documentation in Later Roman Law,” in To Have
and To Hold: Marrying and Its Documentation in Western Christendom,
–, ed. P. Reynolds and J. Witte. Cambridge: –.
() “Marriage Contracts in the Roman Empire,” in Ancient Marriage in
Myth and Reality, ed. L. Larsson Lovén and A. Strömberg. Newcastle upon
Tyne: –.
() “Marriage and Family Relationships in the Late Roman West,” in
A Companion to Late Antiquity, ed. P. Rousseau. Oxford: –.
() “Illegitimacy and Inheritance Disputes in the Late Roman Empire,”
in Inheritance, Law and Religions in the Mediaeval Worlds, ed. B. Caseau and
S. Hübner. Paris: –.
Eyben, E. () De jonge Romein volgens de literaire bronnen der periode ca. 
v. Chr. tot ca.  n. Chr. Brussels.
() Restless Youth in Ancient Rome. Trans. P. Daly. London and New York.
() “Waarom (niet) huwen in de Romeinse oudheid en het vroege chris-
tendom?,” in Gezien het gezin. Feiten en warden, ed. W. A. Dumont,
A. Vansteenwegen, L. Vandemeulebroecke, G. Maertens, G. Demaeyer
and A. Deyaert. Leuven: –.
Eyben, E. and A. Wouters () “Musonius Rufus: Over de vraag of men zonen
en dochters dezelfde opvoeding moet verstrekken (fragment IV). Inleiding,
tekst, vertaling en commentaar,” Lampas : –.
Fabre, G. () Libertus. Recherches sur les rapports patron–affranchi à la fin de la
république romaine. Rome.
Fakhry, A. () Siwa Oasis. Cairo.
Faraone, C. A. () Ancient Greek Love Magic. Cambridge.
Faraone, C. A. and L. K. McClure (eds.) () Prostitutes and Courtesans in the
Ancient World. Madison.
Fayer, C. () La familia romana I. Aspetti giuridici ed antiquari. Rome.
() La familia romana II. Aspetti giuridici ed antiquari. Sponsalia. Matrimo-
nio. Dote. Rome.
Feichtinger, B. () “Change and Continuity in Pagan and Christian (Invec-
tive) Thought on Women and Marriage from Antiquity to the Middle
Ages,” in Smith (a): –.
Finn, R. () Asceticism in the Graeco-Roman World. Cambridge and New York.
Fletcher, R. () The Limits of Settlement Growth. A Theoretical Outline.
Cambridge.
Flohr, M. () “Nec quicquam ingenuum habere potest officina? Spatial
Contexts of Urban Production at Pompeii, AD ,” Bulletin Antieke
Beschaving .: –.
() “Working and Living under One Roof: Workshops in Pompeian
Atrium Houses,” in Privata Luxuria: Towards an Archaeology of Intimacy.
Pompeii and Beyond, ed. A. Anguissola. München: –.
Flory, M. B. () “Family in familia: Kinship and Community in Slavery,”
American Journal of Ancient History : –.
 Bibliography 
Flusin, B. () “Le serviteur caché ou le saint sans existence,” in Les Vies des
saints à Byzance. Genre littéraire ou biographie historique?, ed. P. A. Agapitos
and P. Odorico. Paris: –.
Fonrobert, C. E. () “The Didascalia Apostolorum: A Mishnah for the
Disciples of Jesus,” Journal of Early Christian Studies .: –.
Fowler, D. () “Vergil on Killing Virgins,” in Whitby, Hardie and Whitby
(): –.
Fowley, H. (ed.) () Reflections of Women in Antiquity. London and New York.
Frey, J. () “The Impact of the Dead Sea Scrolls on New Testament Inter-
pretation,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. J. H. Charlesworth.
Waco: –.
Fried, L. S. () “From Xeno-philia to -phobia: Jewish Encounters with the
Other,” in A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbours in the Persian and
Early Hellenistic Periods, ed Y. Levin. New York: –.
Froide, A. M. () “Marital Status as a Category of Difference: Singlewomen
and Widows in Early Modern England,” in Singlewomen in the
European Past, –, ed. J. M. Bennett and A. Froide. Philadelphia:
–.
Fury, C. () “Elizabethan Seamen: Their Lives Ashore,” International Journal
of Maritime History .: –.
Gabra, G. (ed.) () Coptic Civilization: Two Thousand Years of Christianity in
Egypt. Cairo.
Gaca, K. L. () The Making of Fornication. Eros, Ethics, and Political Reform
in Greek Philosphy and Early Christianity. Berkeley, Los Angeles and
London.
Gaiser, K. () Für und wider die Ehe: Antike Stimmen zu einer offenen Frage.
München.
Galinsky, K. () Augustan Culture. Princeton.
Galligani, C. () L’ordine delle famiglie. I consorzi gentilizi nella Lucca del
Seicento tra maggiorascato e primogenitura. Pisa.
García, M. F. () The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated: The Qumran Texts in
English. Leiden.
() “Man and Woman: Halakhah Based upon Eden in the Dead Sea
Scrolls,” in Paradise Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism
and Christianity, ed. G. P. Luttikhuizen. Leiden: –.
Gardner, G. E. () The Origins of Organized Charity in Rabbinic Judaism.
Cambridge.
Gardner, J. F. () Women in Roman Law and Society. Bloomington and
Indianapolis.
() “Legal Stumbling-blocks for Lower-class Families in Rome,” in
The Roman Family in Italy. Status, Sentiment and Space, ed. B. Rawson
and P. R. C. Weaver. Oxford: –.
() “The Purpose of the Lex Fufia Caninia,” Échos du Monde Classique/
Classical Views , n.s. : –.
 Bibliography
() “Nearest and Dearest: Liability to Inheritance Tax in Roman Families,”
in Childhood, Class and Kin in the Roman World, ed. S. Dixon. London and
New York: –.
Gardner, R. (ed. and trans.) () Cicero XIII. Pro Caelio. De Provinciis
Consularibus. Pro Balbo, Loeb Classical Library . Cambridge, MA.
Gasti, F. and G. Mazzoli (ed.) () Modelli letterari e ideologia nell’età Flavia.
Atti della III giornata ghisleriana di Filologia classica (Pavia, – ottobre
). Pavia.
Gates, C. () Ancient Cities: The Archaeology of Urban Life in the Ancient Near
East and Egypt, Greece and Rome. London and New York.
Geffcken, K. A. () Comedy in the Pro Caelio. Mnemosyne Suppl. . Leiden.
Geiger, J. () “The Bar-Kokhba Revolt: The Greek Point of View,” in Historia
.: –.
George, M. () “Family Imagery and Family Values in Roman Italy,” in
The Roman Family in the Empire. Rome, Italy, and Beyond, ed. M. George.
Oxford: –.
Georgi, D. () Remembering the Poor: The History of Paul’s Collection for
Jerusalem. Nashville.
Gero, J. M. and M. W. Conkey (eds.) () Engendering Archaeology: Women
and Prehistory. Oxford.
Gilchrist, R. (). Gender and Material Culture: The Archaeology of Religious
Women. London.
() “Archaeology and the Life Course: A Time and Age for Gender,” in
A Companion to Social Archaeology, ed. L. Meskell and R. W. Preucel.
Oxford: –.
() Medieval Life: Archaeology and the Life Course. Woodbridge.
Gilliodts-Van Severen, L. (–) Coutumes des Pays et Comté de Flandre:
quartier de Bruges: Coutume de la ville de Bruges. Brussels.
Gillissen, J. () “Le statut de la femme dans l’ancien droit belge,” Recueils de la
société Jean Bodin pour l’histoire comparative des institutions, XII, La femme,
nd ed. Brussels: –.
Glazebrook, A. and M. Henry (eds.) () Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient
Mediterranean. Madison.
Godlewski, W. () Le monastère de St. Phoibammon. Warsaw.
Goldberg, P. J. P. () “Marriage, Migration, Servanthood and Life-cycle
in Yorkshire Towns of the Later Middle Ages: Some York Cause Paper
Evidence,” Continuity and Change (): –.
() “Desperately Seeking the Single Man in Later Medieval England,” in
De Groot, Devos and Schmidt (): –.
Goodman, M. () The Ruling Class of Judaea. Cambridge.
(a) “The Pilgrimage Economy of Jerusalem in the Second Temple
Period,” in Judaism in the Roman World: Collected Essays. London and
New York: –.
(b) “The Temple in First Century CE Judaism,” in Judaism in the Roman
World: Collected Essays. London and New York: –.
 Bibliography 
Goold, G. P. (ed. and trans.) () Catullus. Tibullus. Pervigilium Veneris. nd
ed. Loeb Classical Library . Cambridge, MA.
Graham, E.-J. () “Infant Votives and Swaddling in Hellenistic Italy,” in
Infant Health and Death in Roman Italy and Beyond, ed. M. Carroll and E.-J.
Graham. Ann Arbor: –.
Green, M. () “A Private Archive of Coptic Letters and Documents from
Teshlot,” Oudheidkundige Mededelingen (Rijksmuseum van Oudheden,
Leiden) : –.
Grethlein, J. and A. Rengakos (ed.) () Narratology and Interpretation.
The Content of Narrative Form in Ancient Literature. Berlin and New York.
Griffith, R. D. () “The Eyes of Clodia Metelli,” Latomus .: –.
Groß-Albenhausen, K. () “Vir clarissimus,” in Der Neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie
der Antike .: c. .
Gross, N. () “Ovid, “Amores” .: Whose Amatory Rhetoric?,” The Classical
World .: –.
Grossmann, P. () “Early Christian Architecture in Egypt and Its Relationship
to the Architecture of the Byzantine World,” in Egypt in the Byzantine
World, –, ed. R. S. Bagnall. Cambridge: –.
Grossmann, P. et al. () “Report on the Excavations at Abû Mînâ in Spring
,” in Actes du Symposium des Fouilles Coptes, Le Caire – Novembre
. Cairo: –.
Grossmann, P. and J. Pfeiffer () “Report on the Excavations at Abu
Mina in Spring ,” Bulletin de la Société d’Archéologie Copte :
–.
Gruen, E.S. () Rethinking the Other in Antiquity. Princeton and Oxford.
Guthrie, W. K. C. () The Greek Philosophers from Thales to Aristotle. London.
Habinek, T. N. () The Politics of Latin Literature. Writing, Identity, and
Empire in Ancient Rome. Princeton and Oxford.
Hadley, D. M. (ed.) () Masculinity in Medieval Europe. London and
New York.
Haensch, R. () “The Roman Army in Egypt,” in Handbook of Roman Egypt,
ed. C. Riggs. Oxford.
Hajnal, J. () “European Marriage Patterns in Perspective,” in Population in
History, ed. D. V. Glass and D. E. C. Eversley. London: –.
Hallett, J. P. () Fathers and Daughters in Roman Society: Women and the Elite
Family. Princeton.
Halperin, D. M. () One Hundred Years of Homosexuality: And Other Essays on
Greek Love. New York.
Hammel, E. A. () “On the *** of Studying Household Form and Function,”
in Households: Comparative and Historical Studies of the Domestic Group, ed.
R. M. Netting, R. R. Wilk and E. J. Arnold. Berkeley, Los Angeles and
London: –.
Hardie, P. () Virgil’s Aeneid: Cosmos and Imperium. Oxford.
Harlow, M. and L. Larsson Lovén (eds.) () Families in the Roman and Late
Antique World. London.
 Bibliography
Harlow, M. and R. Laurence (eds.) () Growing Up and Growing Old in
Ancient Rome: A Life Course Approach. New York.
Harper, K. () Slavery in the Late Roman World, AD –. Cambridge.
(a) “Marriage and Family,” in The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, ed.
S. F. Johnson. Oxford: –.
(b) “Porneia: The Making of a Christian Sexual Norm,” in Journal of
Biblical Literature .: –.
() From Shame to Sin. The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in
Late Antiquity. Cambridge, MA and London.
() “A Time to Die: Preliminary Notes on Seasonal Mortality in Late
Antique Rome,” in Children and Family in Late Antiquity. Life, Death and
Interaction, ed. C. Laes, K. Mustakallio and V. Vuolanto. Leuven: –.
Harris, W. V. () “Demography, Geography and the Source of Roman
Slaves,” The Journal of Roman Studies : –.
Hawkins, S. () “Catullus’ Furius,” Classical Philology .: –.
Hawley, R. () “In a Different Guise: Roman Education and Greek Rhetorical
Thought on Marriage,” in Smith (a): –.
Hayes, C. () Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities. Oxford.
Heid, S. () Celibacy in the Early Church. San Francisco.
Heidel, W. A. () “Catullus and Furius Bibaculus,” The Classical Review .:
–.
Heiny, C. () Single, Carefree, Mellow: Stories. New York.
Heinz, W. R., J. Huinink and A. Weymann (eds.) () The Life Course Reader:
Individuals and Societies across Time. Frankfurt.
Hemelrijk, E. A. () “Fictive Motherhood and Female Authority in Roman
Cities,” Eugesta : –.
Hendon, J. A. () “Women’s Work, Women’s Space, and Women’s Status
among the Classic-period Maya Elite of the Copan Valley, Honduras,” in
Women in Prehistory North American and Mesoamerica, ed. C. Claassen and
R. A. Joyce. Philadelphia: –.
Hengel, M. () Die Zeloten: Untersuchungen zur jüdischen Freiheitsbewegung in
der Zeit von Herodes I. bis  n. Chr. Tübingen.
Herrin, J. () “In Search of Byzantine Women: Three Avenues of Approach,”
in Images of Women in Antiquity, ed. A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt. London:
–.
Herrmann, J. () Studien zur Bodenpacht im Recht der graeco-ägyptischen
Papyri. Munich.
Herrmann-Otto, E. () Ex ancilla natus. Untersuchungen zu den “hausgebor-
enen” Sklaven und Sklavinnen im Westen des Römischen Kaiserreiches.
Stuttgart.
Hersch, K. K. () The Roman Wedding: Ritual and Meaning in Antiquity.
New York.
Heuzé, P. () L’Image du corps dans l’oeuvre de Virgile. Rome.
Hezser, C. () “Part Whore, Part Wife: Slave Women in the Palestinian
Rabbinic Tradition,” in Doing Gender – Doing Religion. Fallstudien zur
 Bibliography 
Intersektionalitaet im fruehen Judentum, Christentum und Islam, ed. U. E.
Eisen, C. Gerber and A. Standhartinger. Tübingen: –.
Himmelfarb, M. () A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient
Judaism. Philadelphia.
Hintze, F. () “Ein koptischer Lehrvertrag,” Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache
und Altertumskunde : –.
Hodges, C. J. () “Married to an Unbeliever: Households, Hierarchies,
and Holiness in I Cor. :–,” Harvard Theological Review .: –.
Holman, S. R. (ed.) () Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society. Grand
Rapids.
Hope, C. A. () Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities .
Hopkins, K. () “Social Mobility in the Later Roman Empire: The Evidence
of Ausonius,” The Classical Quarterly : –.
() “The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage,” Population Studies : –.
() “On the Probable Age Structure of the Roman Population,” Population
Studies .: –.
() Conquerors and Slaves. Sociological Studies in Roman History .
Cambridge.
(). Death and Renewal. Sociological Studies in Roman History .
Cambridge.
Horbury, W. () Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian. Cambridge.
Horn, C. B. and J. Martens () Let the Little Children Come to Me: Childhood
and Children in Early Christianity. Washington, D.C.
Horn, C. B. and R. R. Phenix (eds.) () Children in Late Ancient Christianity.
Tübingen.
Horsfall, N. (–) “Dido in the Light of History,” Proceedings of the Virgil
Society : –.
() “Some Problems in the ‘Laudatio Turiae’,” Bulletin of the Institute for
Classical Studies :–.
() “Camilla, o i limiti dell’invenzione,” Athenaeum : –.
() Virgil, Aeneid : A Commentary. Leiden and Boston.
() Virgil, Aeneid : A Commentary. Leiden and Boston.
Hubbard, T. K. (ed.) () Companion to Greek and Roman Sexualities.
Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World . Chichester.
Huebner, S. R. () “Therapeuteria Reconsidered. Female Circumcision in
Egypt from Ancient Times until Today?,” Journal of Egyptian History :
–.
() The Family in Roman Egypt – A Comparative Approach to Intergenera-
tional Solidarity and Conflict. Cambridge.
Huebner, S. R. and D. M. Ratzan (eds.) () Growing Up Fatherless in
Antiquity. Cambridge.
Hufton, O. () “Women without Men: Widows and Spinsters in Britain and
France in the Eighteenth Century,” Journal of Family History .: –.
Humbert, M. () Le remariage à Rome. Etude d’histoire juridique et sociale.
Milan.
 Bibliography
Hunter, D. G. () “The Date and Purpose of Augustine’s De Continentia,”
Augustinian Studies : –.
() “The Virgin, the Bride, and the Church: Reading Psalm  in Ambrose,
Jerome, and Augustine,” Church History .: –.
() Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy in Ancient Christianity: the Jovinianist
Controversy. Oxford.
Hutton, S. () “Competing Conceptualizations of Women’s Activities in
Fourteenth Century Ghent,” Handelingen der Maatschappij voor Geschiedenis
en Oudheidkunde te Gent : –.
() “Property, Family and Partnership: Married Women and Legal
Capability in Late Medieval Ghent,” in Married Women and the Law in
Premodern Northwest Europe, ed. C. Beattie and M. F. Stevens. Wood-
bridge, –.
Ilan, T. () “Women in Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford
Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins. Oxford:
–.
Instone-Brewer, D. () Divorce and Remarriage in the Bible: The Social and
Literary Context. Grand Rapids.
() Tradition of the Rabbis from the Era of the New Testament. Grand Rapids.
James, S. () Learned Girls and Male Persuasion: Gender and Reading in Roman
Love Elegy. Berkeley.
Jameson, M. H. () “Domestic Space in the Greek City-state,” in Domestic
Architecture and the Use of Space: An Interdisciplinary Cross-cultural Study, ed.
S. Kent. Cambridge: –.
Janssens, J. () Vita e morte del cristiano negli epitaffi di Roma anteriori al sec.
VII. Analecta Gregoriana . Rome.
Jeppesen-Wigelsworth, A. () “Amici and Coniuges in Cicero’s Letters: Atticus
and Terentia,” Latomus .: –.
Jeremias, J. () Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus. London.
Jim, T. S. F. () Sharing with the Gods: Aparchai and Dekatai in Ancient
Greece. Oxford.
Johnson, K. J. () Materializing Childhood: An Historical Archaeology of
Children in Roman Egypt. Ph. D. Diss., University of Michigan.
Jones, A. E. () Social Mobility in Late Antique Gaul: Strategies and Opportun-
ities for the Non-elite. Cambridge.
Jones A. H. M., J. R. Martindale and J. Morris () The Prosopography of the
Later Roman Empire I. Cambridge.
Joyce, R. A. () “Women’s Work: Images of Production and Reproduction in
Pre-Hispanic Southern Central America,” Current Anthropology .: –.
Judge, E. A. () “The Earliest Use of Monachos for ‘Monk’ (P.Coll.Youtie )
and the Origins of Monasticism,” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum :
–.
Kajanto, I. () Onomastic Studies in the Early Christian Inscriptions of Rome and
Carthage. Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae .. Helsinki.
 Bibliography 
() “On Divorce among the Common People of Rome,” Revue des études
latines : –.
Kalogeras, N. () “The Role of Parents and Kin in the Education of Byzantine
Children,” in Hoping for Continuity. Childhood, Education and Death in
Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. K. Mustakallio, H. Hanska, H.-L. Sainio
and V. Vuolanto. Rome: –.
Karlin-Hayter, P. () “Further Notes on Byzantine Marriage: Raptus-ἀρπαγή
or μνηστεῖαι?,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers : –.
Kaster, R. A. () Guardians of Language: The Grammarian and Society in Late
Antiquity. Berkeley.
() Emotion, Restraint and Community in Ancient Rome. Oxford.
Katz, Ph. B. () “Educating Paula: A Proposed Curriculum for Raising a
th-century Christian Infant,” Hesperia Supplements : –.
Keith, A. M. () Engendering Rome: Women in Latin Epic. Cambridge and
New York.
() “Engendering Orientalism in Silius’ Punica,” in Augoustakis ():
–.
Kelly, J. N. D. () Golden Mouth. The Story of John Chrysostom. Ascetic,
Preacher, Bishop. Ithaca.
() Jerome. His Life, Writings and Controversies. nd ed. London.
Kemezis, A. () “Augustus the Ironic Paradigm: Cassius Dio’s Portrayal of the
Lex Julia and the Lex Papia Poppaea,” Phoenix : –.
Kemp, K. A. () “Where Have All the Children Gone?: The Archaeology
of Childhood,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory .: –.
Kertzer, D. I. () “Household History and Sociological Theory,” Annual
Review of Sociology : –.
Kiefer, O. () Sexual Life in Ancient Rome. London.
King, K. () “The Place of the Gospel of Philip in the Context of Early
Christian Claims about Jesus’ Marital Status,” New Testament Studies .:
–.
() “Jesus said to them, ‘My wife. . .’: A New Coptic Papyrus,” Harvard
Theological Review .: –.
Kirschenbaum, A. () Sons, Slaves and Freedmen in Roman Commerce. Jerusa-
lem and Washington, D.C.
Kislinger, E. () “Taverne, alberghi e filantropia ecclesiastica a Bisanzio,”
Atti dell’Acc. delle Scienze di Torino, classe di scienze morali, storiche e filolo-
giche : –.
Klawans, J. () Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford.
() “Sadducees, Zadokites and the Wisdom of Ben Sira,” in Israel’s God and
Rebecca’s Children, ed. D. B. Capes et al. Waco: –.
() “Purity in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead
Sea Scrolls, ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins. Oxford: –.
Klinenberg, E. () Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of
Living Alone. New York.
 Bibliography
Knoppers, G. () “Revisiting the Samarian Question in the Persian Period,” in
Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E., ed. O. Lipschits, G. N.
Knoppers and R. Albertz. Winona Lake, IN: –.
() Jews and Samaritans. Oxford.
Kohler, T. A. () “Field Houses, Villages, and the Tragedy of the Commons
in the Early Northern Anasazi Southwest,” American Antiquity .:
–.
Kolb, M. J. () “Labor Mobilization, Ethnohistory, and the Archaeology of
Community in Hawai’i,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory ./:
–.
Kolb, M. J. and J. E. Snead () “It’s a Small World after All: Comparative
Analysis of Community Organization in Archaeology,” American Antiquity
.: –.
Kolchin, P. () American Slavery, –. nd ed. New York.
Koltun-Fromm, N. () “Sexuality and Holiness: Semitic Christian and
Jewish Conceptualizations of Sexual Behavior,” Vigiliae Christianae :
–.
() Hermeneutics of Holiness: Ancient Jewish and Christian Notions of Sexu-
ality and Religious Community. Oxford.
Koops, E. () “Masters and Freedmen: Junian Latins and the Struggle
for Citizenship,” in Integration in Rome and in the Roman World. Proceedings
of the Tenth Workshop of the International Network Impact of Empire. Lille,
June –, , ed. G. De Kleijn and S. Benoist. Leiden and Boston:
–.
Kotsifou, C. () “Papyrological Perspectives on Orphans in the World of Late
Ancient Christianity,” in Horn and Phenix (): –.
Köves-Zulauf, T. () “Camilla,” Gymnasium : –.
Kowaleski, M. () “Singlewomen in Medieval and Early Modern Europe:
The Demographic Perspective,” in Singlewomen in the European Past,
–, ed. J. M. Bennett and A. Froide. Philadelphia: –.
Kratins, O. () “The Pretended Witch: A Reading of Ovid Amores .,”
Philological Quarterly : –.
Krause, J.-U. () Witwen und Waisen im römischen Reich.  vols. Stuttgart.
Kristo, J. () Looking for God in Time and Memory. Psychology, Theology and
Spirituality in Augustine’s Confessions. Lanham, MD.
Kuefler, M. () The Manly Eunuch. Masculinity, Gender Ambiguity, and
Christian Ideology in Late Antiquity. Chicago.
() “The Marriage Revolution in Late Antiquity: The Theodosian Code
and Later Roman Law,” Journal of Family History .: –.
Kurdock A. () “Demetrias ancilla dei: Anicia Demetrias and the Problem of
the Missing Patron,” in Religion, Dynasty and patronage in early Christian
Rome, –, ed. K. Cooper and J. Hillner. Cambridge: –.
Laes, C. () “Inscriptions from Rome and the History of Childhood,” in
Age and Ageing in the Roman Empire, ed. M. Harlow and R. Laurence.
Portsmouth, RI: –.
 Bibliography 
() “Child Labour and Slave Labour in the Roman Empire,” Ancient Society
: –.
() “Male Virgins in Latin Inscriptions from Rome,” in Religion and Social-
isation in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. K. Mustakallio, S. Katajala-
Peltomaa and V. Vuolanto. Acta Instituti Finlandiae . Rome: –.
() “Polygamy,” in The Encyclopedia of Ancient History, ed. R. Bagnall,
K. Brodersen, C. B. Champion, A. Erksine and S. Hübner. Malden and Oxford.
Laes, C., K. Mustakallio and V. Vuolanto (eds.) () Children and Family in
Late Antiquity. Life, Death, and Interaction. Leuven.
Laes, C. and J. Strubbe () Youth in the Roman Empire. The Young and the
Restless Years? Cambridge.
Laes, C. and V. Vuolanto (a) “Household and Family Dynamics in Late
Antique Southern Gaul,” in Families in the Ancient Mediterranean, ed.
S. Hübner and G. Nathan. Hoboken, NJ and Oxford: –.
(eds.) (b) Being a Roman Child: Children and Everyday Life in the Roman
Empire. Farnham.
LaMotta, M. M. Vincent, M. B. Schiffer and B. Michael () “Formation
Processes of House Floor Assemblages,” in The Archaeology of Household
Activities, ed. P. M. Allison. London: –.
Lane Fox, R. () Augustine: Conversions to Confessions. New York.
Lange, A. () “Wisdom Literature and Thoughts in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in
The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. T. H. Lim, and J. J.
Collins. Oxford: –.
Langlands, R. () Sexual Morality in Ancient Rome. Cambridge.
Laslett, P. () “Introduction: The History of the Family,” in Laslett and Wall
(): –.
() “Family and Household as Work Group and Kin Group: Areas
of Traditional Europe Compared,” in Family Forms in Historic Europe, ed.
R. Wall, J. Robin and P. Laslett. Cambridge: –.
Laslett, P. and R. Wall () Household and Family in Past Time: Comparative
Studies in the Size and Structure of the Domestic Group over the Last Three
Centuries in England, France, Serbia, Japan and Colonial North America, with
Further Materials from Western Europe. Cambridge.
Layton, B. () The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with Annotations and
Introductions. New York.
Leigh, M. () “The Pro Caelio and Comedy,” Classical Philology .:
–.
Lelis, A. L., W. A. Percy and B. C. Verstraete () The Age of Marriage in
Ancient Rome. Lewiston, Queenston and Lampeter.
Lepelley, C. () “Saint Augustin et la cité romano-africaine,” in Jean Chrysos-
tome et Augustin. Actes du colloque de Chantilly – Septembre , ed.
C. Kannegiesser. Paris: –.
() “Spes Saeculi, Le Milieu sociale d’Augustin avant ses ambitions séculiers
avant sa conversion,” in Congresso su S. Augustino nel XVI centenario della
conversione, Roma, – settembre . Atti, vol. . Rome. –.
 Bibliography
Leverotti F. () Famiglie e istituzioni nel Medioevo italiano. Dal tardo Antico al
Rinascimento. Rome.
Levine, L. I. () Jerusalem: Portrait of the City in the Second Temple Period
( BCE– CE). Philadelphia.
Leyerle, B. () Theatrical Shows and Ascetic Lives. John Chrysostom’s Attack on
Spiritual Marriage. Berkeley and Los Angeles.
Lieu, S. N. C. (ed.) () The Emperor Julian, Panegyric and Polemic. Liverpool.
() Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China.
Rev. ed. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament .
Tübingen.
Lightman, M. and W. Zeisel () “Univira: An Example of Continuity and
Change in Roman Society,” Church History : –.
Lim, T. H. and J. J. Collins (eds.) () The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea
Scrolls. Oxford.
Lindsay, H. () “The Man in Turia’s Life, with a Consideration of Inheritance
Issues, Infertility, and Virtues in Marriage in the st c. B.C.,” Journal of
Roman Archaeology : –.
Linebaugh, P. and M. Rediker () The Many-headed Hydra: Sailors, Slaves,
Commoners, and the Hidden History of the Revolutionary Atlantic. Boston.
Llewellyn Ihssen, B. () John Moschos’ Spiritual Meadow. Authority and
Autonomy at the End of the Antique World. Farnham and Burlington.
Loader, W. () Enoch, Levi and Jubilees on Sexuality. Grand Rapids.
() The New Testament on Sexuality. Grand Rapids.
() Making Sense of Sex: Attitudes towards Sexuality in Early Jewish and
Christian Literature. Grand Rapids.
Löhken, H. () Ordines dignitatum. Untersuchungen zur formalen Konstituier-
ung der spätantiken Führungsschicht. Köln.
Longenecker, B. () Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman
World. Grand Rapids.
López Barja de Quiroga, P. () “Junian Latins: Status and Numbers,”
Athenaeum .: –.
Los, A. () “La condition sociale des affranchis privés au Ier siècle après J.-C.,”
Annales : –.
MacCoull, L. S. B. () Coptic Legal Documents. Law as Vernacular Text and
Experience in Late Antique Egypt. Turnhout.
Maehler, H. () “Roman Poets on Egypt,” in Matthews and Roemer ():
–.
Magen, Y. () Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. : A Temple City. Jerusalem.
Magra, C. P. () “The Fraternity of the Sea: Family, Friendship and Fisher-
men in Colonial Massachusetts, –,” International Journal of
Maritime History : –.
Majcherek, G. () “Notes on Alexandrian Habitat: Roman and Byzantine
Houses from Kom el-Dikka,” Topoi : –.
() “Kom el-Dikka Excavations /,” Polish Archaeology in the Medi-
terranean: Reports : –.
 Bibliography 
() “Kom el-Dikka Excavations, /,” Polish Archaeology in the
Mediterranean: Reports : –.
() “Kom el-Dikka Excavations, and Preservation Work, /,”
Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean: Reports : –.
() “Discovering Alexandria: Archaeological Update on the Finds from
Kom el-Dikka,” in Alexandria and the North-Western Delta, ed. D. Robinson
and A. Wilson. Oxford: –.
Manfredini, M. () “L’utilizzo degli Status Animarum nelle ricostruzioni
nominative: miglioramenti informativi qualitativi e quantitativi. Il caso di
Madregolo (–),” Bollettino di Demografia Storica /: –.
Manfredini, M. and M. Breschi () “Marriage and the Kin Network. Evi-
dences from a th Century Italian Community,” in Kinship and Demo-
graphic Behavior in the Past, ed. T. Bengtsson and G. Mineau. Berlin: –.
() “Living Arrangements and the Elderly. An Analysis of Old-Age Mortal-
ity by Household Structure. Casalguidi, –,” Demography :
–.
Manfredini, M. and F. Morassi () “Matrimonio e comportamento nuziale in
un villaggio carnico. Cercivento, –,” in Vivere in Friuli. Saggi di
demografia storica (sec. XVI-XIX), ed. M. Breschi. Udine: –.
Marshall, A. () “Women on Trial before the Roman Senate,” Échos du
Monde Classique/Classical Views , n.s. : –.
Martin, D. B. () Sex and the Single Savior: Gender and Sexuality in Biblical
Interpretation. Louisville.
Masterson, M. () “Studies of Ancient Masculinity,” in Companion to Greek
and Roman Sexualities, ed. T. K. Hubbard. Chichester: –.
Matthews, R. and C. Roemer (ed.) () Ancient Perspectives on Egypt. London.
Maxfield, V. A. () “The Eastern Desert Forts and the Army in Egypt’s
Eastern Desert during the Principate,” Journal of Roman Archaeology Suppl. 
(Archaeological Research in Roman Egypt, ed. D. M. Bailey): –.
May, R. () “Chaste Artemis and Lusty Aphrodite: The Portrait of Women
and Marriage in the Greek and Latin Novels,” in Smith (a): –.
Mayer, K. U. () “New Directions in Life Course Research,” Annual Review of
Sociology : –.
Mayer, W. () “Constantinopolitan Women in Chrysostom’s Circle,” Vigiliae
Christianae : –.
Mazo Karras, R. () Unmarriages. Women, Men and Sexual Unions in the
Middle Ages. Philadelphia.
Mazzini, C. M. () La Toscana agricola: Relazione sulle condizioni dell’agricol-
tura e degli agricoltori nelle Provincie di Firenze, Arezzo, Siena, Lucca, Pisa e
Livorno. Rome.
Mazzini, G. () Doveri dell’uomo. London.
Mazzoleni, D. () “The Rise of Christianity,” in The Oxford Handbook of
Roman Epigraphy, ed. C. Bruun and J. Edmondson. Oxford: –.
McArthur, H. () “Celibacy in Judaism at the Time of Christian Beginnings,”
Andrews University Seminary Studies .: –.
 Bibliography
McGinn, T. A. J. () “Concubinage and the Lex Iulia on Adultery,” Transac-
tions of the American Philological Association : –.
(–) “Feminae Probrosae and the Litter,” The Classical Journal :
–.
() Prostitution, Sexuality, and the Law in Ancient Rome. Oxford.
(a) “The Social Policy of Emperor Constantine in Codex Theodosianus
..,” Tijdschrift voor Rechtsgeschiedenis : –.
(b) “Widows, Orphans, and Social History,” Journal of Roman Archaeology
: –.
() “The Augustan Marriage Legislation and Social Practice: Elite Endog-
amy versus Male ‘Marrying Down’,” in Speculum Iuris: Roman Law as a
Reflection of Social and Economic Life in Antiquity, ed. J.-J. Aubert and
B. Sirks. Ann Arbor: –.
() Widows and Patriarchy, Ancient and Modern. London.
McGuckin, J. () Saint Gregory of Nazianzus. An Intellectual Biography.
Cresthood, NY.
McKeown, J. () Ovid: Amores. Text, Prolegomena and Commentary in Four
Volumes, vol. . Leeds.
McKeown, N. () The Invention of Ancient Slavery? London.
McLynn, N. () “A Self-made Holy Man: The Case of Gregory Nazianzen,”
Journal of Early Christian Studies : –.
Mendels, D. () “Hellenistic Utopia and the Essenes,” Harvard Theological
Review .–: –.
Mentxaka, R. () “Quelques observations sur l’emploi de l’actio Calvisiana
dans le droit romain classique,” Revue Internationale des droits de l’Antiquité
: –.
Messis, C. () “Fluid Dreams, Solid Consciences: Erotic Dreams in Byzan-
tium,” in Dreaming in Byzantium and Beyond, ed. Ch. Angelidi and G. T.
Calofonos. Farnham and Burlington: –.
Methuen, C. () “The Virgin Widow: A Problematic Social Role for the Early
Church?,” Harvard Theological Review : –.
Meyer, B. F. () Five Speeches that Changed the World. Collegeville, MN.
Miles, M. () “Not Nameless but Unnamed: The Woman Torn from
Augustine’s Side,” in Feminist Interpretations of Augustine, ed. J. C. Stark.
University Park, PA: –.
Miller, T. () The Orphans of Byzantium. Child Welfare in the Christian
Empire. Washington, D.C.
Mills, A. J. () “Dakhleh Oasis Project: Report on the First Season of Survey
(October–December ),” Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian
Antiquities : –.
(). The Dakhleh Oasis Columbarium Farmhouse. Bulletin de la Société
Archeologique d’Alexandrie : –.
Mimouni, S. C. () Jacques le juste, frère de Jésus de Nazareth et l’histoire
de la communauté nazoréenne/chrétienne de Jérusalem du Ier au IVe siècle.
Paris.
 Bibliography 
Mohrmann, C. () “Sain Augustin écrivain,” Revue d’Etudes Augustiniennes et
Patristiques .: –.
Montserrat, D. () “Mallocouria and Therapeuteria: Rituals of Transition in a
Mixed Society?,” Ancient History Bulletin .–: –.
() Sex and Society in Graeco-Roman Egypt. London.
Morard, F. () “Encore quelques réflexions sur monachos,” Vigiliae Christia-
nae : –.
Morizot, P. () “L’âge au mariage des jeunes romaines à Rome et en Afrique,”
Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres. Comptes rendus des séances de l’Aca-
démie :–.
Morley, N. () “The Poor in the City of Rome,” in Atkins and Osborne
(): –.
Mouritsen, H. () “Roman Freedmen and the Urban Economy: Pompeii in
the First Century AD,” in Pompei tra Sorrento e Sarno: Atti del terzo e quarto
ciclo di conferenze di geologia, storia e archeologia, Pompei, gennaio –
maggio , ed. F. Senatore. Napoli: –.
(a) “The Families of Roman Slaves and Freedmen,” in Rawson ():
–.
(b) The Freedman in the Roman World. Cambridge.
() “Slavery and Manumission in the Roman Elite: A Study of the Colum-
baria of the Volusii Saturnini and the Statilii Tauri,” in Roman Slavery and
Roman Material Culture, ed. M. George. Toronto: –.
Mueller, I. () “Single Women in the Rome Funerary Inscriptions,” Zeitschrift
für Papyrologie und Epigraphik : –.
Muirhead, J. and H. Goudy (ed.) () Historical Introduction to the Private Law
of Rome. London.
Myers, S. () “The Poet and the Procuress: the Lena in Latin Love Elegy,”
The Journal of Roman Studies : –.
Nadeau, Y. () “The Lover and the Statesman: A Study in Apiculture (Vergil,
Georgics .–),” in Woodman and West (): –.
Nathan, G. () The Family in Late Antiquity. The Rise of Christianity and the
Endurance of Tradition. London and New York.
Neusner, J. () “Vow-taking, the Nazirites and the Law,” in James the
Just and Christian Origins, ed. B. Chilton and C. A. Evans. Leiden:
–.
Neusner, J. (ed.) () The Brother of Jesus: James the Just and His Mission.
Louisville.
Neusner, J. and B. Chilton (eds.) () In Quest of the Historical Pharisees.
Waco.
Nevett, L. C. () House and Society in the Ancient Greek World. Cambridge.
() “Family and Household, Ancient History and Archaeology: A Case
Study from Roman Egypt,” in Rawson (): –.
Newman, H. () Proximity to Power and Jewish Sectarian Groups of the Ancient
Period: A Review of the Lifestyle, Values and Halakhah of the Pharisees,
Sadducees, Essenes, and Qumran. Leiden.
 Bibliography
Nicholas, D. () The Domestic Life of a Medieval City: Women, Children, and
the Family in Fourteenth-Century Ghent. Lincoln.
Noort, E. () “Gan-Eden in the Context of the Mythology of the Hebrew
Bible,” in Paradise Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism
and Christianity, ed. G. P. Luttikhuizen. Leiden: –.
Nordberg H. () Biometrical Notes: The Information on Ancient Christian
Inscriptions from Rome Concerning the Duration of Life and the Dates of Birth
and Death. Helsinki.
Norman, A. F. (ed. and trans.) () Libanius: Autobiography and Selected Letters.
 vols. Cambridge, MA.
Nugent, S. G. () “Mater Matters: The Female in Lucretius’ ‘De Rerum
Natura’,” Colby Quarterly : –.
Nussbaum, M. C. () “The Incomplete Feminism of Musonius Rufus,
Platonist, Stoic, and Roman,” in The Sleep of Reason. Erotic Experience
and Sexual Ethics in Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. M. C. Nussbaum and
J. Sihvola. Chicago: –.
O’Connell, E. R. (a) “Settlements and Cemeteries in Late Antique Egypt:
An Introduction,” in O’Connell (b): –.
(ed.) (b) Egypt in the First Millennium AD: Perspectives from New Field-
work. Leuven.
O’Donnell, J. () “The Career of Virius Nichomachus Flavianus,” Phoenix
:–.
() Augustine Confessions, Text and Commentary.  vols. Oxford.
O’Meara, J. J. () “Augustine the Artist and the Aeneid,” in Melanges offerts à
Christine Mohrmann. Utrecht: –.
O’Neill, K. () “Symbolism and Sympathetic Magic in Propertius .,”
The Classical Journal .: –.
() “Ovid and Propertius: Reflexive Annotation in “Amores” .,”
Mnemosyne .: –.
Oliensis, E. () “Canidia, Canicula, and the Decorum of Horace’s Epodes,”
Arethusa : –.
Oris, M., G. Ritschard and G. Ryczkowska () “Solitude and Vulnerability in
Female Life Courses, Geneva, –,” Social Science History Association
Annual Meeting . Chicago.
Ormand, K. () “Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Discipline of
Classics,” in Companion to Greek and Roman Sexualities, ed. T. K. Hubbard.
Chichester: –.
Osgood, J. () “Nuptiae Iure Civili Congruae: Apuleius’ Story of Cupid and
Psyche and the Roman Law of Marriage,” Transactions of the American
Philological Association : –.
() Turia: A Roman Woman’s Civil War. Oxford.
Osiek, C. () “What We Do and Don’t Know about Early Christian
Families,” in A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds, ed.
B. Rawson. Oxford: –.
 Bibliography 
Overlaet, K. () Familiaal Kapitaal. De Familiale Netwerken van Testateurs in
het Zestiende-Eeuwse Mechelen. Antwerp.
Overton, M. et al. () Production and Consumption in English Households,
–. London.
Painter, J. () “Who Was James? Footprints as a Means of Identification,”
in The Brother of Jesus. James the Just and His Mission, ed. B. Chilton and
J. Neusner. Louisville: –.
() Just James: The Brother of Jesus in History and Tradition. Columbia, SC.
Papaconstantinou, A. (a) “Notes sur les actes de donation d’enfant au
monastère thébain de Saint-Phoibammon,” Journal of Juristic Papyrology
: –.
(b) “Θεία οἰκονομία. Les actes thébains de donation d’enfants ou la
gestion monastique de la pénurie,” in Mélanges Gilbert Dagron, Travaux et
Mémoires du Centre d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance : –.
Papanghelis, T. () Propertius: A Hellenistic Poet on Love and Death.
Cambridge.
Parkin, T. G. () Demography and Roman Society. Baltimore.
() “On Becoming a Parent Later in Life: From Augustus to Antonio
Agustín via St. Augustine,” in Childhood, Class and Kin in the Roman World,
ed. S. Dixon. London and New York: –.
Perkell, C. () “On Creusa, Dido, and the Quality of Victory in Virgil’s
Aeneid,” in Reflections of Women in Antiquity, ed. H. Fowley. London and
New York: –.
Peterman, G. W. () “Marriage and Sexual Fidelity in the Papyri, Plutarch
and Paul,” Tyndale Bulletin : –.
Phang, S. E. () The Marriage of Roman Soldiers ( B.C.–A.D. ): Law and
Family in the Imperial Army. Leiden, Boston and Köln.
Phipps, W. () Was Jesus Married?: The Distortion of Sexuality in the Christian
Tradition. New York.
Pitre, B. () “Blessing the Barren and Warning the Fecund: Jesus’ Message for
Women Concerning Pregnancy and Childbirth,” Journal for the Study of the
New Testament : –.
Plamper, J. () Geschichte und Gefühl. Grundlagen der Emotionsgeschichte.
München.
Pollmann, K. () “Marriage and Gender in Ovid’s Erotodidactic Poetry,” in
Smith (a): –.
Population Reference Bureau ()  World Population Data Sheet. www
.prb.org/Publications/Datasheets//-world-population-data-sheet.aspx
[Last accessed:  October ].
Porten, B., J. J. Farber, C. J. Martin, G. Vittmann, L. S. B. MacCoull
and S. Clackson () The Elephantine Papyri in English. Three
Millennia of Cross-cultural Continuity and Change. Leiden, New York
and Cologne.
Power, K. () Veiled Desire: Augustine on Women. London and New York.
 Bibliography
Preucel, R. W. () Seasonal Agricultural Circulation and Residential Mobility:
A Prehistoric Example from the Pajarito Plateau, New Mexico. London and
New York.
Price, J. () Jerusalem Under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State, – CE.
Leiden.
Pudsey, A. () “Death and the Family: Widows and Divorcées in Roman
Egypt,” in Harlow and Larsson Lovén (): –.
() “Children in Late Roman Egypt: Christianity, the Family and Every-
day Life,” in Children and Family in Late Antiquity. Life, Death and
Interaction, ed. C. Laes, K. Mustakallio and V. Vuolanto. Leuven and
Walpole: –.
Putnam, M. () Virgil’s Aeneid: Interpretation and Influence. Chapel Hill.
Pyy, E. () “Decus Italiae virgo. Virgil’s Camilla and Formation of Romanitas,”
Arctos: Acta Philologica Fennica : –.
() “In Search of Peer Support: Changing Perspectives on Sisterhood in
Roman Imperial Epic,” Arctos: Acta Philologica Fennica : –.
Quinn, K. (ed.) () Why Vergil? A Collection of Interpretations. Waucond, IL.
Rabe, H. () Scholia in Lucianum. Leipzig.
Raepsaet, G. () “Les motivations de la natalité à Athènes aux Ve et IVe siècles
avant notre ère,” Antiquité Classique : –.
Rapp, C. () “Early Monasticism in Egypt: Between Hermits and Cenobites,”
in Female “vita religiosa” between Late Antiquity and the High Middle Ages:
Structures, Developments and Spatial Contexts, ed. G. Melville and A. Müller.
Münster: –.
Rawson, B. () “Family Life among the Lower Classes at Rome in the First
Two Centuries of the Empire,” Classical Philology .: –.
() “Roman Concubinage and Other De Facto Marriages,” Transactions of
the American Philological Association : –.
(ed.) (a) The Family in Ancient Rome: New Perspectives. London and
Sydney.
(b) “The Roman Family,” in Rawson (a): –.
(a) “Adult-Children Relationships in Roman Society,” in Rawson
(b). Oxford: –.
(ed.) (b) Marriage, Divorce and Children in Ancient Rome. Canberra and
Oxford.
() “Circulation of Staff between Roman Households,” Zeitschrift für
Papyrologie und Epigraphik : –.
() “Degrees of Freedom: Vernae and Junian Latins in the Roman familia,”
in Children, Memory, and Family Identity in Roman Culture, ed. V. Dasen
and T. Späth. Oxford: –.
(ed.) () A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds.
Oxford.
Rayor, D. and W. Batstone () Latin Lyric and Elegiac Poetry: An Anthology of
New Translations. New York.
 Bibliography 
Rebillard, E. and C. Sotinal (eds.) () L’évêque dans la cité du IVe au Ve siècle:
Image et autorité. Actes de la table ronde organisée par l’Istituto patristico
Augustinianum et l’École française de Rome. Rome.
Reed, J. D. () Virgil’s Gaze: Nation and Poetry in the Aeneid. Princeton.
Reeder, L. () “Unattached and Unhinged: The Spinster and the Psychiatrist
in Liberal Italy, –,” Gender & History : –.
Regev, E. () “The Sadducees, the Pharisees, and the Sacred: Meaning
and Ideology in the Halakhic Controversies between the Sadducees and
Pharisees,” Review of Rabbinic Judaism : –.
() “Cherchez Les Femmes: Were the “yahad” Celibates?,” Dead Sea
Discoveries .: –. _
(a) “Herod’s Jewish Ideology Facing Romanization: On Intermarriage,
Ritual Baths and Speeches,” Jewish Quarterly Review .: –.
(b) “Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter
to James: Between Narrative and History,” New Testament Studies .:
–.
() The Hasmoneans: Ideology, Archaeology, Identity. Göttingen.
Rettaroli, R. () “Età al matrimonio e celibato nell’Italia del XIX secolo:
un’analisi regionale,” in Popolazione, società e ambiente: temi di demografia
storica italiana (secc. XVII–XIX). Bologna: –.
Richlin, A. () “Approaches to the Sources on Adultery at Rome,” in Reflec-
tions of Women in Antiquity, ed. H. Fowley. New York: –.
() “Invective against Women in Roman Satire,” Arethusa .: –.
() The Garden of Priapus: Sexuality and Aggression in Roman Humor. nd
ed. New York and Oxford.
Richter, T. S. () “Zu zwei koptischen Urkunden aus dem Eherecht,” Archiv
für Papyrusforschung : –.
() “Spätkoptische Rechtsurkunden neu bearbeitet (II): Die Rechtsurkun-
den des Teschlot-Archivs,” Journal of Juristic Papyrology : –.
() “What’s in a Story? Cultural Narratology and Coptic Child Donation
Documents,” Journal of Juristic Papyrology : –.
() “Daily Life: Documentary Evidence,” in Gabra (): –.
Riedel, W. and W. E. Crum () The Canons of Athanasius of Alexandria:
The Arabic and Coptic Versions Edited and Translated with Introductions,
Notes and Appendices. London.
Riley, H. Th. (trans.) () The Comedies of Plautus. London.
Rocca, S. () Herod’s Judaea. Tübingen.
Rodziewicz, M. () “Un quartier d’habitation gréco-romain à Kôm el-Dikka,”
Etudes et travaux : –.
() Les habitations romaines tardives d’Alexandrie et la lumière des fouilles
polonaises a Kom el-Dikka. Warsaw.
Roggen, V. () “Review of W. S. Smith (ed.) Satiric Advice on Women
and Marriage: From Plautus to Chaucer,” Bryn Mawr Classical Review
... Ann Arbor. http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu//––
.html [Last accessed:  January ].
 Bibliography
Rosenmeyer, T. () “Virgil and Heroism. Aeneid XI,” The Classical Journal :
–.
Rosenwein, B. H. () “Worrying about Emotions in History,” The American
Historical Review .: –.
() Emotional Communities in the Early Middle Ages. Ithaca and London.
Rosivach, V. () “Anus: Some Older Women in Latin Literature,”
The Classical World .: –.
Roth, U. () “Food Rations in Cato’s De Agricultura and Female Slave
Labour,” Ostraka : –.
() Thinking Tools. Agricultural Slavery between Evidence and Models.
London.
() “In vilicationem relegavit: Petronius, Satyrica .,” Revue de philologie,
de littérature et d’histoire ancienne .: –.
() “Peculium, Freedom, Citizenship: Golden Triangle or Vicious Circle?
An Act in Two Parts,” in By the Sweat of Your Brow. Roman Slavery in Its
Socio-economic Setting, ed. U. Roth. London: –.
Rousseau, P. () “The Historiography of Asceticism: Current Achievements
and Future Opportunities,” in The Past before Us: The Challenge of Histor-
iographies of Late Antiquity, ed. C. Straw and R. Lim. Turnhout.
() “The Pious Household and the Virgin Chorus: Reflections on
Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina,” Journal of Early Christian Studies
: –.
Rousselle, A. () Porneia: On Desire and the Body in Antiquity. Oxford.
Rowlandson, J. () Women and Society in Greek and Roman Egypt. London.
Rupprecht, H.-A. () “Die Sorge für die Älteren nach den Papyri,” in The
Care of the Elderly in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. Stol and S. P. Vleeming.
Leiden: –.
Sacchi, P. and P. P. Viazzo () “Family and Household,” in Companion to
Mediterranean History, ed. P. Horden. Oxford: –.
Sághy, M. () “Strangers to Patrons: Bishop Damasus and the Foreign
Martyrs of Rome,” Hungarian Historical Review .: –.
Saller, R. P. () “Slavery and the Roman Family,” Slavery and Abolition .:
–.
() “Men’s Age at Marriage and Its Consequences for the Roman Family,”
Classical Philology : –.
() Patriarchy, Property and Death in the Roman Family. Cambridge.
Saller, R. P. and B. Shaw () “Tombstones and Roman Family Relations in
the Principate: Civilians, Soldiers and Slaves,” The Journal of Roman Studies
: –.
Salzman, M. () The Making of a Christian Aristocracy. Social and Religious
Change in Western Europe. Cambridge, MA and London.
Sanders, E. P. () Judaism: Practice and Belief  BCE– CE. London.
() “Jerusalem and Its Temple in Early Christian Thought and Practice,” in
Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity and Islam, ed.
L. I. Levine. New York: –.
 Bibliography 
Santini, A. () “Le strutture socio-demografiche della popolazione urbana,” in
La demografia storica delle città italiane, ed. P. Sala. Bologna: –.
Satlow, M. () Jewish Marriage in Antiquity. Princeton.
Scheidel, W. () “Reflections on the Differential Valuation of Slaves in
Diocletian’s Price Edict and in the United States,” Münstersche Beiträge zur
antiken Handelsgeschichte .: –.
() “Quantifying the Sources of Slaves in the Early Roman Empire,”
The Journal of Roman Studies : –.
(ed.) () Debating Roman Demography. Leiden.
() “Roman Age Structure: Evidence and Models,” The Journal of Roman
Studies : –.
() “Human Mobility in Roman Italy, II: The Slave Population,”
The Journal of Roman Studies : –.
() “Roman Funerary Commemoration and the Age at First Marriage,”
Classical Philology .:–.
() “A Peculiar Institution? Greco-Roman Monogamy in Global Context,”
The History of the Family .: –.
() “Monogamy and Polygyny,” in Rawson (): –.
() “Slavery,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Roman Economy, ed.
W. Scheidel. Cambridge: –.
() “Demography, Disease, and Death,” in The Cambridge Companion to
Ancient Rome, ed. P. Erdkamp. Cambridge: –.
Schiffer, M. B. () Formation Process of the Archaeological Record. Salt Lake
City.
Schiffman, L. () Qumran and Jerusalem: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and
the History of Judaism. Grand Rapids.
Schiller, A. A. () “A Family Archive from Jeme,” Studi in onore di Vincenzo
Arangio-Ruiz nel XLV anno del suo insegnamento : –.
Schmitt, E. () Le mariage chrétien dans l’ouevre de saint Augustin. Une
théologie baptismale de la vie conjugale. Paris.
Schönberger, O. () “Camilla,” Antike und Abendland : –.
Schofield, A. and J. VanderKam () “Were the Hasmoneans Zadokites?,”
Journal of Biblical Literature .: –.
Schouler, B. () “Hommages de Libanios aux femmes de son temps,” Pallas
: –.
Schroeder, C. () “Children in Early Egyptian Monasticism,” in Children
in Late Ancient Christianity, ed. C. Horn and R. Phenix. Tübingen:
–.
() “Women in Anchoritic and Semi-anchoritic Monasticism in Egypt:
Rethinking the Landscape,” Church History .: –.
Schroeder, J. A. () “John Chrysostom’s Critique of Spousal Violence,”
Journal of Early Christian Studies : –.
Seeck, O. () Die Briefe des Libanius. Leipzig.
Serfass, A. () “Wine for Widows. Papyrological Evidence for Christian
Charity in Late Antique Egypt,” in Holman (): –.
 Bibliography
Severy, B. () Augustus and the Family at the Birth of the Roman Empire.
New York and London.
Shaw, B. () “The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage: Some Reconsiderations,”
JRS :–.
Shaw, B. D. and R. Saller () “Tombstones and Roman Family Relations in
the Principate: Civilians, Soldiers and Slaves,” The Journal of Roman Studies
: –.
Sidebotham, S. E. () Berenike and the Ancient Maritime Spice Route.
Berkeley.
Sidebotham, S. E., M. Hense and H. M. Nouwens () The Red Land.
The Illustrated Archaeology of Egypt’s Eastern Desert. Cairo and New York.
Sijpesteijn, P. M. () “New Rule over Old Structures: Egypt after the Muslim
Conquest,” in Crawford (): –.
Simelidis, C. (ed.) () Selected Poems of Gregory of Nazianzus. I..; II..,
,: A Critical Edition with Introduction and Commentary. Göttingen.
Sirks, A. J. B. () “Informal Manumission and the lex Iunia,” Revue Inter-
nationale des droits de l’Antiquité : –.
() “The lex Iunia and the Effects of Informal Manumission and Iteration,”
Revue Internationale des droits de l’Antiquité : –.
Skinner, A. () “Political Mobility in the Later Roman Empire,” Past and
Present : –.
Skinner, M. B. () “Pretty Lesbius,” Transactions of the American Philological
Association : –.
() “Clodia Metelli,” Transactions of the American Philological Association
: –.
() “The last Encounter of Dido and Aeneas: Aen. .–,” in Quinn
(): –.
() Clodia Metelli – The Tribune’s Sister. Oxford.
Smith, C. () Lost in Transition: The Dark Side of Emerging Adulthood.
Oxford.
Smith, R. () Hellenistic Sculpture: A Handbook. London.
Smith, W. S. (ed.) (a) Satiric Advice on Women and Marriage: From Plautus to
Chaucer. Ann Arbor.
(b) “Advice on Sex by the Self-Defeating Satirists (Horace Sermones
., Juvenal Satire , and Roman Satiric Writing),” in Smith (a):
–.
(c) “Satiric Advice – Serious or Not?,” in Smith (a): –.
(d) “‘The Cold Cares of Venus’: Lucretius and Anti-Marriage Literature,”
in Smith (a): –.
Sofaer Derevenski, J. () “Where Are the Children? Accessing Children in the
Past,” Archaeological Review from Cambridge .: –.
(a) “Material Culture Shock: Confronting Expectations in the Material
Culture of Children,” in Children and Material Culture, ed. J. S. Derevenski.
London and New York: –.
(ed.) (b) Children and Material Culture. London.
 Bibliography 
Solazzi, S. () “Il rispetto per la famiglia dello schiavo,” Studia et Documenta
Historiae et Iuris : –.
Solignac, A. (ed.) () Oeuvres de saint Augustin, vol. . Paris.
Sontag, S. () Ilness as Metaphor. New York.
Spagnuolo Vigorita, T. () “Imminentes legum terrores. L’abrogazione delle
leggi caducarie augustee in età costantiniana,” in Accademia Romanistica
Costantiniana (ARC), Atti VII Convegno internazionale. Napoli: –.
() Casta Domus: un seminario sulla legislazione matrimoniale augustea. rd
ed. Naples.
Spencer, W. G. (ed. and trans.) (–) Celsus. De medicina.  vols. London
and Cambridge, MA.
St. Clair, A. () Carving as Craft: Palatine East and the Greco-Roman Bone and
Ivory Carving Tradition. Baltimore.
Stabel, P. () “Social Mobility and Apprenticeship in Late Medieval Flanders,”
in Learning on the Shop Floor. Historical Perspectives on Apprenticeship, ed.
B. De Munck, S. L. Kaplan and H. Soly. New York and Oxford: –.
() “Working Alone? Single Women in the Urban Economy of Late
Medieval Flanders (Thirteenth–Early Fifteenth Century),” in De Groot,
Devos and Schmidt (): –.
(forthcoming) “Working Women and Guildsmen in the Flemish Textile
Industries (th and th Century): Gender, Labour and the European
Marriage Pattern in an Era of Economic Change.”
Straus, J. A. () L’Achat et la vente des esclaves dans l’Égypte romaine: Contribu-
tion papyrologique à l’étude de l’esclavage dans une province orientale de l’empire
romain. München and Leipzig.
Sundermann, K. () Gregor von Nazianz: der Rangstreit zwischen Ehe
und Jungfraulichkeit (Carmen , , , –). Einleitung und Kommentar.
Paderborn.
Syed, Y. () Vergil’s Aeneid and the Roman Self: Subject and Nation in
Literary Discourse. Ann Arbor.
Tacoma, L. E. () Fragile Hierarchies: The Urban Elites of Third-century
Roman Egypt. Leiden.
Taylor, J. () The Essenes, the Scrolls, and the Dead Sea. Oxford.
Thiering, B. () “The Biblical Source of Qumran Asceticism,” Journal of
Biblical Literature .: –.
Tigchelaar, E. J. C. () “Eden and Paradise: The Graden Motif in Some Early
Jewish Texts ( Enoch and Other Texts Found at Qumran),” in Paradise
Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism and Christianity,
ed. G. P. Luttikhuizen. Leiden: –.
Till, W. C. () “Eine koptische Alimentforderung,” Bulletin de la Société
d’Archéologie Copte : –.
() Erbrechtliche Untersuchungen auf Grund der koptischen Urkunden. Vienna.
() Die koptischen Rechtsurkunden aus Theben. Vienna.
Toivari-Viitala, J. () “Marriage and Divorce,” in Encyclopedia of Egyptology,
ed. E. Frood and W. Wendrich. Los Angeles.
 Bibliography
Toll, K. () “The Aeneid as an Epic of National Identity: Italiam laeto socii
clamore salutant,” Helios .: –.
() “Making Roman-ness in the Aeneid,” Classical Antiquity .: –.
Traister, R. () All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an
Independent Nation. New York.
Treggiari, S. () Roman Freedmen during the Late Republic. Oxford.
() “Libertine Ladies,” The Classical World :–.
() “Family Life among the Staff of the Volusii,” Transactions of the
American Philological Association : –.
(a) “Contubernales,” Phoenix .: –.
(b) “Concubinae,” Papers of the British School at Rome : –.
() “Divorce Roman Style: How Easy and How Frequent Was It?,” in
Rawson (): –.
(b) Roman Marriage: Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of
Ulpian. Oxford.
() “Leges sine moribus,” Ancient History Bulletin .: –.
() “Social Status and Social Legislation,” in The Cambridge Ancient History
X. The Augustan Empire,  B.C.–A.D. . nd ed. Cambridge: –.
() “The Upper-class House as Symbol and Focus of Emotion in Cicero,”
Journal of Roman Archaeology : –.
Uhalde, K. () Expectations of Justice in the Age of Augustine. Philadelphia.
Undheim, S. () Sanctae virginitates. Sacred and Consecrated Virginities in Late
Roman Antiquity. Ph.D. Diss., University of Bergen.
Van Aert, L. () “Tussen Norm en Praktijk. Een terreinverkenning over het
juridische statuut van vrouwen in het zestiende-eeuwse Antwerpen,” Tijds-
chrift voor Sociale en Economische Geschiedenis .: –.
() “The Legal Possibilities of Antwerp Widows in the Late Sixteenth
Century,” The History of the Family .: –.
Van Dam, R. () Families and Friends in Late Roman Cappadocia.
Philadelphia.
Van der Horst, P. W. () “Celibacy in Early Judaism,” Revue Biblique .:
–.
VanderKam, J. C. () The Dead Sea Scrolls Today. Grand Rapids.
() From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile. Minneapolis.
Van Gerven, J. () “Vrouwen, arbeid en sociale positie. Een voorlopig
onderzoek naar de economische rol en maatschappelijke positie van vrouwen
in de Brabantse steden in de late Middeleeuwen,” Belgisch Tijdschrift voor
Filologie en Geschiedenis (): –.
Van Houdt, T. () “Antieke geleerdheid en eigentijdse ervaring: enkele
Neolatijnse teksten over melancholie,” in Nec scire nefas. Nieuwe bijdragen
over Neolatijn voor het onderwijs, ed. T. Van Houdt and D. Sacré.
Amersfoort: –.
Van Leeuwen, M. H. D., I. Maas and A. Miles. () Marriage Choices and Class
Boundaries: Social Endogamy in History. International Review of Social History
Supplement . Cambridge.
 Bibliography 
Van Minnen, P. () “Did Ancient Women Learn a Trade outside the
Home?,” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik : –.
Van Ruiten, J. T. A. G. M. () “Eden and the Temple: The Rewriting of
Genesis :–:,” in The Book of Jubilees, ed. G. P. Luttikhuizen. Leiden:
–.
Van Zanden, J. L. () The Long Road to the Industrial Revolution:
The European Economy in a Global Perspective, –. Leiden.
Vasileiou, F. () “At the Still Point of a Turning World: Privacy and
Asceticism in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of St. Macrina,” Byzantion :
–.
Vermes, G. () Jesus the Jew: A Historian’s Reading of the Gospels. Philadelphia.
Viazzo, P. P. () Comunità alpine. Ambiente, popolazione, struttura sociale nelle
Alpi dal XVI secolo ad oggi. Rome.
Vickers, D. and V. Walsh () “Young Men and the Sea: The Sociology of
Seafaring in Eighteenth-Century Salem, Massachusetts,” Social History .:
–.
Vinchesi, M. A. () “Tipologie femminili nei Punica di Silio Italico: la fida
coniunx e la virgo belligera,” in Gasti and Mazzoli (): –.
Vukanovic, T. P. () “Swaddling Clothes for the Unmarried and for Herds-
men,” Folklore : –.
Vuolanto V. () “Choosing Asceticism: Children and Parents, Vows
and Conflicts,” in Children in Late Ancient Christianity, ed. C. Horn and
R. Phenix. Tübingen: –.
() “Family Relations and the Socialisation of Children in the Autobio-
graphical Narratives of Late Antiquity,” in Approaches to the Byzantine
Family, ed. L. Brubaker and S. Tougher. Aldershot: –.
() Children and Asceticism in Late Antiquity. Continuity, Family Dynamics
and the Rise of Christianity. Aldershot.
Wallace-Hadrill, A. () “Family and Inheritance in the Augustan Marriage
Laws,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society : –. Reprint,
in Edmondson (): –.
Wardle, T. () The Jerusalem Temple and Early Christian Identity. Tübingen.
Watson, P. () “Puella and Virgo,” Glotta : –.
Weaver, P. R. C. () “Where Have All the Junian Latins Gone? Nomenclature
and Status in the Early Empire,” Chiron : –.
() “Children of Junian Latins,” in The Roman Family in Italy.
Status, Sentiment and Space, ed. B. Rawson and P. R. C. Weaver. Oxford:
–.
West, G. S. () “Chloreus and Camilla,” Vergilius : –.
Westermann, W. L. () “Apprentice Contracts and the Apprentice System in
Roman Egypt,” Classical Philology : –.
Wheeler, A. () “Erotic Teaching in Roman Elegy and the Greek Sources.
Part I,” Classical Philology .: –.
Whitby, M., P. Hardie and M. Whitby (eds.) () Homo viator: Classical Essays
for John Bramble. Bristol.
 Bibliography
Wiemer, H.-U. () Libanios und Julian: Studien zum Verhältnis von Rhetorik
und Politik im vierten Jahrhundert n.Chr. München.
Wiesner-Hanks, M. () “Having Her Own Smoke: Employment and Inde-
pendence for Singlewomen in Germany, –,” in Bennett and
Froide (): –.
Wilcox, D. R. () “The Theoretical Significance of Fieldhouses,” in
Limited Activity and Occupation Sites: A Collection of Conference Papers, ed.
A. E. Ward, Contributions to Anthropological Studies . Albuquerque:
–.
Wilfong, T. G. () “The Western Theban Area in the Seventh and Eighth
Centuries,” Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists : –.
() Women of Jeme: Lives in a Coptic Town in Late Antique Egypt.
Ann Arbor.
Wilk, R. () Household Ecology: Economic Change and Domestic Life among the
Kekchi Maya of Belize. Tucson.
Wilk, R. and R. M. Netting () “Households: Changing Forms and Func-
tions,” in Households: Comparative and Historical Studies of the Domestic
Group, ed. R. M. Netting, R. R. Wilk and E. J. Arnold. Berkeley,
Los Angeles and London: –.
Williams, A. N. () “Sex, Marriage, and  Years a (Single) Slave,” American
Literary History .: –.
Wilkinson, K. () Women and Modesty in Late Antiquity. Cambridge.
Williams, G. () Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry. Oxford.
Winlock, H. E. (). Ed Dākhleh Oasis: Journal of a Camel Trip Made in .
New York.
Winter, J. G. () Life and Letters in the Papyri. Ann Arbor.
Winter, J. M. and M. S. Teitelbaum () The Global Spread of Fertility Decline:
Population, Fear and Uncertainty. New Haven.
Wintermute, O. S. () “Jubilees,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. :
Expansions of the “Old Testament” and Legends, Wisdom and Philosophical
Literature, Prayers, Psalms and Odes, Fragments of Lost Judeo-Hellenistic
Works, ed. J. H. Charlesworth. New York: –.
Wipszycka, E. () “L’attività caritativa dei vescovi egiziani,” in Rebillard and
Sotinal (): –.
() “P. Coll. Youtie  = P. Col. VII  revisited,” in Essays and Texts in
Honor of J. David Thomas, ed. T. Gagos and R. S. Bagnall. Oakville, CT:
–.
() “L’ascétisme féminin dans l’Égypte de l’antiquité tardive: topoi littér-
aires et formes d’ascèse,” in Le rôle et le statut de la femme en Égypte
hellénistique, romaine et byzantine, ed. H. Melaerts and L. Mooren. Leuven:
–.
Wiseman, T. P. () Catullus and His World: A Reappraisal. Cambridge.
Wistrand, E. () The So-called Laudatio Turiae: Introduction, Text, Transla-
tion. Studia Graeca et Latina Gothoburgiensia . Göteburg.
Wolf, E. R. () Europe and the People without History. Berkeley.
 Bibliography 
Woodman, T. and D. West (eds.) () Poetry and Politics in the Age of Augustus.
Cambridge.
Yanagisako, S. J. () “Family and Household: The Analysis of Domestic
Groups,” Annual Review of Anthropology : –.
Zaidman, L. B. () “Pandora’s Daughters and Rituals in Grecian Cities,” in
A History of Women in the West, vol. : From Ancient Goddesses to Christian
Saints, ed. P. Schmitt Pantel. Cambridge: –.
Zhekov, Y. K. () Defining the New Testament Logia on Divorce and
Remarriage in a Pluralistic Context. Eugene.
 General Index

ʿAbd Allah b.ʿAmr b. al-ʿAs, –
ʿAbd al-Wahhab, 
Abu ʿAbd Allah, 
Abu Bakr al-Razi, 
Abu Darr, 
Abu Hurayra, 
Abu Yaʿla, 
actio exercitoria, , 
actors/actresses, –
Adeodatus (son of Augustine), , , ,

adulescentia, n, n
adultery
Augustan legislation, –, , ,
–, –
breaking chastity vow as, 
vs. concubinage, 
instances in Coptic texts, –, 
in Jesus’ teaching, –, 
Late Republican perceptions, 
as only grounds for divorce, 
remarriage after divorce as, 
aeiparthenos, 
Aeneid
Camilla, , –
Dido, , –, –
and Roman identity, –
agamos/agamia, –
age of marriage
and ascetic vows, –
and Augustan legislation, –
epigraphic data, –
and interpretation of census data, –
late antiquity, n
nineteenth-century Italy, –
Roman Egypt, –
spousal age gap, , , , , , n
agriculture
apprenticeship system, 
field houses, –
slave and freedman relationships, –
Ain el-Gedida (Dakhleh Oasis), n
Alexander Severus, 
Alexandria, –, –
Alypius (associate of Augustine), –, n
ʿAmir b. ʿAbd Qays, –
anandros, 
ancillae Dei, 
androgonoi, 
Antonia (daughter of Mark Antony), n
Antwerp, late medieval, –
anus stereotype, –
anus ebria, 
Apa Abraham, 
apartments, n, –
apprentices, –, –, 
training of girls, –
Arcadius (eastern emperor), n
archaeology, , –
apartment case study, –
columbarium farm houses, –
contribution to study of singles, –,
–
and cross-cultural comparison, –
garrison case study, –
and Laslett’s household classification system,
–, –
Romano-Egyptian houses, –
asceticism
in early Islam, –, –
of Julian, –
Nazirite, , –
Stoic, –
see also Christian asceticism; Judaism: purity
factions
Augustan legislation, –, –
and childless marriages, –
elite resentment of, –
gender disparity, –, –
ideological aims, , –
manumission, , –
protests against, –


 General Index
and social status, –, –
and societal expectations, –
sources for, –
summary of adultery law provisions,
–
summary of marriage law provisions, –,
–
temporal and geographic reach, , –,

terminology for singleness, 
and themes of Aeneid, 
Augustine of Hippo, Saint, –, –
adolescence, –
betrothal, –
concubinage, –
conversion to orthodox Christianity,
–
importance for understanding singledom,
–, –
Manichaeism, –, 
ordination, –
relationship with mother, –
sexuality, –, 
travel and associates of bachelorhood,
–, 
Augustus, , –, 
see also Augustan legislation
bachelorhood, –, –, –
Islamic celibates, –
see also Augustine of Hippo
Bar Kokhba revolt, 
Basil of Caesarea, Saint, 
Basil the Elder, Saint, 
Basilius II, emperor, 
Becker, Trudy Harrington, n
Ben Azzai, Rabbi, –, 
“Benedict Option”, –
betrothals, , –, –
Bishr al-Hafi, 
Bolick, Kate: Spinster, 
Bruges, late medieval, , , 
caduca, 
caelebs, , , , –
caelibes caelites, –
caelibatus, 
Caelius Rufus, Marcus, –, –,

relationship with Clodia, 
Camilla (Aeneid), , –
canon law marriage, 
Capitolina Concordia (virgo Dei), –
Caracalla, , 
Casalguidi (Tuscany), –, –

catacombs, Rome, 
Catacomb of Praetextatus, 
Catacomb of Saint Sebastian, 
Catiline, 
Cato the Elder, 
Catullus, social status, –
celibacy
abstinence before battle, , , 
clerical, 
in Cynicism, 
as family strategy, , , , –
individualistic, –
in Islam, see Islam
Jesus’ teaching on, –, –
Late Antique social attitudes, –, ,
, –
marital, –, –, , , 
of Constantinople lay cantor, –
in pagan society, 
“permanent celibacy”, 
of prophets, , 
as punishment for divorce, 
and purity in Judaism, –
for study and worship, –, 
see also singleness
census data, 
Italy (–), –
Italy (), 
Roman Egypt, –, –
Status Animarum, –
chastity
Christian ideal of, 
as a waste, –
see also pudicitia; virginity
chera, , , , 
child mortality, , 
childlessness, –, n
ascetic adoption, 
of Dido, –, –
and family continuity, 
of Julian, –
Manichaean contraceptive practice, 
spiritual children, –
and testament hunting, 
as waste, –
childlikeness, , , –, 
children
adoption, 
ascetic devotion, –, –
as census evidence of marriage, 
donation of, 
illegitimate, –, , , 
see also Adeodatus
in early monastic communities, –
Jesus’ teaching on, –
 General Index
children (cont.)
of medieval guildsmen, 
in Stoic and popular thought, –
Christian asceticism, , –, –
Augustine, –, –
communal, , –
family vs. individual choice, –, 
home-based, , –, –, –
and ideas of family, , –
incubation of Martha, –
and loneliness, 
relation to apostolic practice, –
see also James, brother of Jesus
Christian epigraphy, , , –
commemorators and singleness, –, ,
, 
demographic study, –
Maximilla, –
overview of early Christian inscriptions,
–
Sophrosyne and Vindicia, –
terminology and singleness, –, –
Christianity
and acceptance of celibacy, –, , –,
, –
attitudes to divorce, –
“Benedict Option”, –
clerical celibacy, 
defamation of Julian, 
early redistributive economy, –,
–, –
Italian Catholicism (nineteenth-century), ,
, 
and protection of widows, –
royal priesthood theme, –
and univira ideal, –, –
view of marriage, –, 
see also Christian asceticism; Christian
epigraphy; James, brother of Jesus; Jesus;
Olympius
Cicero, marriage relationship, 
Cimon (son of Libanius), –
Claudius, –
Clodia Metelli, , –, –, ,
–
columbarium farm houses, –
comedy, , 
lena in, , , , 
comparative evidence, –
field houses, –
medieval Low Countries, –, –
Renaissance Tuscany, , 
seafaring lives, 
see also Islam; Italy, nineteenth-century
slave experiences, –
concubinage, , –
of Augustine, , –, 
freedmen and, 
of freedwomen with patrons, n
popular distinction from marriage, 
Constantine, , , –
contubernium, 
Coptic texts, 
functional domain, –
on marriage and divorce, –, –
provenance, –, 
Council of Trent, 
craft production, , –
medieval guilds, –
Crislip, Andrew, n
cupiditas, –
cupiditas adulescentiae, –, 
customary law (medieval Low Countries),
–, 
Cynics, 
Dakhleh Oasis, –
Damasus, pope, 
delatores, , , –, 
Delos, 
Jewish diaspora, 
demographics
and freedmen’s relationship opportunities, –
impact on marriage patterns, 
see also census data; Christian epigraphy:
demographic study; slave-breeding
Dido (Aeneid), , –, –
Digest of Justinian, –
divorce
Christian legislation, 
Coptic evidence, –, –
Greco-Roman practice, , n
Jesus’ teaching on, , –, –
divorcées
epigraphic invisibility, 
remarriage of, –, , 
sexual conduct, 
support networks, –
dowries, , –
Eastern Desert garrisons (Egypt), –
Edict of Caracalla ( CE), 
Egypt, , –, –
application of imperial laws, –, –
census case-study singles, –
census data, –, –, –, ,
–
Christian monasticism, –, –
divorce practices, , –
evidence of marital status, –, , –
 General Index
independent women, –, –
premarital sex, –
remarriage (Christian period), –
societal attitudes (pagan), –, –
support networks, , –
see also archaeology
eïtheos, , 
elegy, lena in, –, –
Elijah, , 
Elisabeth (Djeme testator), –, 
Elisha, , 
emotional communities, , 
emotional wellbeing
of Christian devotees, –
freedmen and inheritance law, –
of praesidia soldiers, 
of slaves, –
Endzeit thinking (eschatology)
confluence of ideas in Jesus’ teaching, –
and end of marriage, –, , 
and Muslim teaching on procreation, 
preparatory asceticism, –, –
and return to Eden, , –, 
spiritual family, –, 
England, late medieval, 
epigraphy
infertility in, 
slaves and freedmen in, , , , ,
–
univirae in, 
see also Christian epigraphy
erotodidaxis, , 
eschaton see Endzeit thinking
Essenes, –, , –, 
eunuchs, –
Evodius (associate of Augustine), –, n
extended family households, –
field houses, –
freedmen, 
demographic pressures, –
epigraphic celebration of families, –
inheritance law impacts, –
marriage to freeborn women, 
occupation, –, –
freedwomen
and ius liberorum, –
late manumission, 
as likely status for lenae, –
marriage to freeborn men, –
power of patron over, –n, –,
–
promiscuous stereotype, 
ratio to freedmen, 
‘Furius’ (A. Furius Bibaculus?), –

Galba, emperor, 
gender, –
double standard, , –, , –,

and the warrior maiden, –
Germanos (cousin of Justinian), 
Ghent, late medieval, 
Gnomon of the Idios Logos, , 
Goldberg, Peter Jeremy Piers, 
“Gospel of Jesus’ Wife”, 
Gregory of Nazianzos, , –
hagiography, , n, –
Hasmonean dynasty, , –
Heiny, Katherine: Single, Carefree, Mellow,

Helena (wife of Julian), –, 
Herculaneum, , 
hermits, 
Islamic criticism, –, 
Herod the Great, –
home-asceticism, , –, –
homosexuality, , , –, 
Honorius (western emperor), n
household classification, –, n
houses
of Republican upper class, 
Romano-Egyptian, –
and women’s status in Catullus, –
Ibn Abi Dunya, 
Ibn Masʿūd, 
inheritance restrictions, , –, –,
–
Constantine’s reforms, –
impact on freedmen, –, 
inheritance traditions
nineteenth-century Italy, –
remarriage and, –
Roman Egypt, –
insulae, –
Ioviniana (virgo sanctae memoriae), 
Islam, –
controversy at Medina, –, 
doctrinal acceptance of celibacy, –
early bachelor followers, –
hadith on marriage and procreation,
–
Italy, nineteenth-century, , –
living alone, –
marriage and celibacy, –, 
itinerant lifestyles, –
ius [trium] liberorum, –, , n, 
ius commercii, 
iuvenis, n, 
 General Index
James, brother of Jesus, –, –, n
Jerome, Saint, , , , 
Jesus
on Pharisees, –
and royal priesthood narrative, –
singleness of, , –, , , –
as spouse of ascetics, –
teaching on celibacy, –, –
teaching on children, –
teaching on divorce, , –,
–n
teaching on marriage, , –, 
teaching on natal family, , –
teaching on sexuality, –
and the widow’s mite, 
John Chrysostom, , , , 
John the Baptist, , n, n, n
Judaism, 
celibacy in, –, , 
eunuchs, –
and the Jesus movement in Jerusalem, ,
–
Jewish-Samaritan relations, –
pre-marital chastity, 
purity factions, , –, 
reign of Herod, –
revolts against Rome, 
Tobiads and the Maccabean Revolt, –
Julian, emperor, –, –, 
Junian Latins, , –
Justin, emperor, 
Justinian, emperor, , 
legal corpus, –
Karanis (Fayum), –, 
al-Khatib al-Baghdadi, –
Koloje (Djeme moneylender), , 
Kom el-Dikka, Alexandria, –
Laslett, Peter: household classification system,
–, –, n
Late Republican period, –, 
context of Catullus and Cicero as sources,
–
living alone (men), –, –, –
living alone (women), –, –
views of marriage, –
youth and emotion, –
Laudatio Turiae, , 
lenae, , –
legal status, –, 
in literature, –, , , –
social reality, , –, 
lenocinium, –, 
‘Lesbia’ (Catullus), , –, –
lex Aelia Sentia ( CE), , n, 
lex Fufia Caninia ( BCE), 
lex Julia de adulteriis coercendis, 
enforcement, –
gender and status distinctions, , –,
–
modified by Constantine, 
lex Julia et Papia Poppaea, , –
lex Julia de maritandis ordinibus (BCE),
–, n, , –, ,

lex Papia et Poppaea (CE), , –,
, –, 
see also Augustan legislation
Libanius, , –, –, –, n,

life-cycle service, , 
life-cycle singles, , 
see also youth culture
literature, –, , 
Augustan poets, , , –, –,
–
see also Aeneid
Byzantine, , –
drama, , , 
see also comedy: lena in
historians and biographers, 
Late Republic, –
modern, 
mythology, 
Livia, –
living alone
Augustan lenae, 
Gregory of Nazianzos, –
Late Republic (men), –, –, –
Late Republic (women), –, –
medieval cities, –
modern trends, , , –, 
nineteenth-century Italy, –
vulnerability, , –
see also hermits; solitary households
Lucilla (virgo Dei), 
Maccabean Revolt, 
Macrina the Younger, Saint, , –
manumission, , , –
Augustan reforms, –
and slave-slave relationships, –
Maria of Egypt, Saint, –
marriage
celibacy within, , –, –, , ,

to Christ, –
Christian view of, –, , 
comparative regional patterns, 
 General Index 
in Coptic texts, – oasis settlements, –
Greco-Roman tradition, – old age, 
Jesus’ teaching on, –,  Olympias (widow and deaconess), 
Jewish exogamy, – Olympius (friend of Libanius), –, –, 
Late Republican views, – orbi, , 
laws on see Augustan legislation see also childlessness
literary arguments against, – Ostia, 
literary arguments for, – Oxyrhynchus, , 
of medieval guildsmen, –
in medieval Low Countries,  Papian-Poppaean law, , –
military ban, – parthenos, , –, 
modern decline,  paterfamilias traditions
modern trends,  and Augustan laws, , , 
nineteenth-century Italy, – and autonomy of sons, , –
possibilities for lenae, – control of female ascetics, 
in Roman Egypt, –, –, –, and female chastity, 
– marriage arrangements, 
social expectation of, , –, –, possibility of rebellion, –
– Paul, Saint, , , –, , , 
and status of Dido-Aeneas relationship, Paulinus of Pella, –
– pellex, 
see also age of marriage Pharisees, –, 
Maximilla (virgo ancilla Dei), –,  philosophy
Mediterranean household forms, ,  anti-marriage, 
Mediterranean marriage pattern,  pro-marriage, –
Melania the Younger, Saint, , ,  Pliny the Younger, –, 
misogyny, , , ,  Pompeii, 
vs. misogamy, – porneia, , , –
monachoi/monachai, n, – Possidius, n
monasticism praesidia, –
“Benedict Option”, – procuresses see lenae
development of communities, –,  prophets, celibacy of, , 
in Egypt,  prostitutes, 
elders petitioned by widows, – in Byzantine hagiography, –
Islamic criticism,  in Catullus, –
and prevalence of singles,  Clodia as, 
see also Christian asceticism dress, 
Monnica (mother of Augustine), , , , in Egyptian praesidia, 
– sailors’ association with, 
Moses, –,  slaves’ relations with, n
mountain communities,  see also lenae
Muhammad, – pudicitia, –, 
multiple family households, , ,  of Dido, , –
and univira ideal, 
Nazirites, – vs. reproduction ideal, , 
Nebridius (associate of Augustine), –, of widows, 
n puer/puella, n, 
Nehemiah, –, n purity, Jewish concepts of, , , –
no-family households, , , ,  and Second Temple factionalism, –
northwestern Europe, –, –
marriage patterns, , – Qumran community, , –, 
nuclear family households, , 
nuns,  religious celibacy
see also women: Christian celibates and Catholic, 
ascetics early Christian groups, –
 General Index
religious celibacy (cont.) household numbers, , –
pagan, – in Roman Egypt, –, 
see also Christian asceticism; Islam; prophets; slaves’ relationships, , –, 
purity legal status, –, 
remarriage manumission and, –, –
Augustan law, –, , –,  see also freedmen
in Casalguidi demographics,  and occupational category, –
Jesus’ teaching on, –, – precariousness of, –
in Late Antique Egypt, – sexual abuse by masters, –
in pagan Egypt, –, n vicaria purchase, 
social status
Sadducees, ,  and age at marriage, –
Samaria/Samaritans, –, n and Augustan laws, –, –
Samson,  and Christian epigraphy, –
Samuel,  and Egyptian census returns, 
scortillum, – and female asceticism, , –, , 
seafaring, – of lenae, –
Sempronia, – public shaming, –
Serbian traditions, – and representation in sources, , , 
servi Dei,  and youthful misbehaviour, 
Severus (associate of Augustine), –, socio-cultural research, 
n soldiers, –
sexual relationships (non-marital) see also celibacy: abstinence before battle
Late Antiquity, – solitary households, , , –
late medieval Low Countries,  see also living alone
Late Republic, – Sophrosyne (virgo sacra), –, 
modern,  spiritual marriage, , –
Roman Egypt, – Stoics, , –, 
view of Augustus in Dio,  stuprum, , , 
see also adultery; concubinage; homosexuality; subintroductae, , , –
porneia; prostitutes; slaves’ relationships Suetonius, 
al-Shafi’i,  Sufyan al-Thawri, 
sharecroppers, – Sulpicius Severus, , 
single parents, , , , –, n Susanna daughter of Moses (Coptic testator),
singleness –
case studies from Roman Egypt, – Syme, Sir Ronald, 
concept and definitions, –, –, ,
, , – Tanope (Djeme widow), 
in comparative studies, –, – temporary single life, –, , 
Islamic criticism of, , – terminology for single status, –,
and loneliness, –, – –
vs. marriage in Cicero and Catullus, – Christian epigraphy, –
modern study of,  modern languages, –
and mother-son relationships, – Thebes, 
social and economic support, , –, Theodora (empress), , 
, –, – Theodore of Sykeon, –
in comparative studies, –, – Therapeutae, , 
social stigma, , , , ,  Tiberius, 
in nineteenth-century Italy, –, – Tobiah the Ammonite, –
visibility in late medieval sources, – Trajan, , 
voluntary vs. involuntary, –,  travel, occupational, –
see also bachelorhood; celibacy; living alone
slave-breeding, –,  univira ideal, , –, –, , 
slaves, – urban life
census presence,  archaeological evidence, –
 General Index
cantor of Constantinople, –
gangs, 
modern, , –
overrepresentation in Egyptian census, 
vs. rural, , –, –
St Maria of Egypt, –
Uriah the Hittite, 
ʿUthmān b. Mazʿūn, –
_
uxor liberta, –
Valentinian I, 
Vermes, Geza, 
Viazzo, Pier Paolo, –
vidua, , –, 
Vindicia (virgo Deo dedicata), –, 
virgineus, 
virginity
as non-physical concept, , 
in pagan cult, –
as virtue, 
of women at marriage, , –, 
see also chastity
virginius, 
virgo, , –, –
West European Marriage Pattern, ,
–
Western Desert, urbanization of, 
widowhood (either sex), 
Egyptian evidence, –
emperor Julian, –
and marital age gap, , 
nineteenth-century Italy, –
Theseus, 
Vectius, 
widows
economic independence, –, 
epigraphic viduae, –
in Libanius’ letters, –
late medieval Low Countries, –, 
petitions to officials, , 
remarriage, , –, , –
sexual life, –
support from family, –, n
support from monastic elders, –
support in Judaism, 

as univirae, , 
visibility in Coptic texts, 
see also Clodia Metelli; Dido; Monnica;
Olympias; Susanna daughter of Moses
women, –
activity and immorality, –
in Augustan society, –
in Catullus, –
Christian celibates and ascetics, –, –

Asella (child devotee), –
epigraphic evidence, –, –
Macrina, , –
Martha (healed incubant), –
Olympias,
 see also subintroductae
disadvantages of marriage for, 
and dogs, 
dress and respectability, 
economic independence, –
economic status in late medieval Low
Countries, –, 
evidence of single status, –
as focus of marital status research, 
groups debarred from high-status marriage,
–
inheritance rights in Roman Egypt, , 
ius liberorum, –
legal and marital status in medieval Low
Countries, –
living alone, –, , –
old women, –
patriarchal perceptions, , 
singles in Egyptian census data, –
slaves, –
social disapproval of singleness, 
as target of legislation, –
underrepresentation in sources, –, 
‘warrior maiden’ trope, –
wifely utility, 
see also Aeneid; widows
youth culture, , 
emotion and conduct, –, –
living alone, –
sexual relationships, –
 Index Locorum

Part A: Literary Sources .: 

.–: 
Ambrose .–: 
Epist. :  ..: 
Vid .: n Catullus
Ammianus : –
..–: – : –
.–:  : 
.:  : –
..: n : 
Apuleius: Met.:  : 
.–:  : –
.–: n : 
.: n : 
.–: n : 
Aristo of Chios: Stoic. .:  Cicero
Ps.-Athanasius: Can. .: , n Cael.: –, –, –
Augustine:  : 
Con. Faus. :: n : 
Conf.: –, ,  : –
::: n : 
::: n : 
De bono con.:  : –
: n : 
:  : –
De cont. : –, 
:–:  : 
:–:  : –
De moribus Man. :: n : n
De nup. et conc. : n Cluent. .: 
De utilitate credendi: n Flac. –: 
De vera religioni: n Claudius Mamertinus: Panegyric: –
Epist. :  Codex Iustinianus
Gramm. ..: n .. pr: n
Ausonius: Parentalia ..: n
:  ...: n
:  . ().  pr.: n
..: n
Cassius Dio Codex Theodosianus
..–: – ...: n
..–: n ..–: n


 Index Locorum 
..: n Gramm. suppl. .: n
..: n Gregory of Nazianzos
..: , n, n De vita sua v. –, ed. Jungck, 
...pr: n (PG :): 
.–: n ‘Lament on the passions of his soul’
..: n (PG :–): –
..: n Gregory of Nyssa
Consentius: gramm. ..: n In Ecclesiasten (homil. ): n
Consultationes Zacchaei Christiani et Apolloni Letter on the Life of Makrina: –
philosophi: .. p. D: n Virg. .: 

Digesta Hebrew Bible

..: n Genesis :: 
..:  Exodus
..: n :–: 
...: n :: 
...–: – Leviticus :: 
.. pr.:  Deuteronomy :: 
..: n  Samuel
..: n, n :–: 
.. pr.: n :–: 
..: n  Samuel
...–: n :: n
.. pr.: n :–: 
..: n :: 
...: n  Kings :–: 
..–: n Jeremiah :: 
...: n Malachi :–: 
...: n Ezra
Diogenes Laertius: Vita et doctr. philos. :–: 
..–: n –: 
Nehemiah
Epictetus :–: 
Diss. ..–:  :–: 
Ench. :  :–: –
Epiphanius of Salamis: Pan. Historia monachorum in Aegypto
..–.:  .–: 
..–:  Horace
Eusebius: Hist. eccl. ..–: , n Carm. saec. .–: 
Epist. ..: 
Fulgentius: Serm. ant. : n Sat. .: –

Gaius: inst.:  Isidorus: Orig. .: n

.–: n
.: n Jerome
.–: n Ep.
.:  : 
.:  .: 
.: n Eph. .: n
Gellius, Aulus: Noctes Atticae John Chrysostom
.:  De providentia: 
.: n Letter VIII (ed. Malingrey): n
..: n Josephus
Gerontius: Vita Melaniae: n AJ
Gospel of Thomas : – .–: n
 Index Locorum
Josephus (cont.) Miracles of Sts Kosmas and Damianos
.–: n (ed. Deubner) Mir. : –
.–:  Mishnah
.:  Yebamoth
.–:  : 
.: n : –
BJ Musonius Rufus
.:  : –
.–:  fr. : –
Jubilees: , , n fr. : –
:: 
::  New Testament
::  Mt
::  :–: 
Julian :–: 
Ep.  Bidez: n :: 
Mis. .b:  :–: n
Juvenal :–: 
.–: n :–: n
.–: n :: 
:: –
Libanius :: 
Ep. :–: 
:  :–: 
.:  :–: –
: n :–: 
.: n :–: 
: – :–: –
: n :: 
.: n :: 
.: n :: 
: n :: 
: n Mk
: n :–: 
Or.  (Autobiography): –,  :: –
Or.  (Hymn to Artemis):  :: 
Or.  (Address to Julian as consul):  :: –
Or.  (Monody over Julian):  :: 
Or.  (Funeral Oration on Julian): – :–: 
Or.  (against Icarius II):  :–: –
Or. : n :: 
Or. : – :: 
Life of St Symeon Stylites the Younger (ed. Van den :: 
Ven): I :  :: 
Livy :–: 
..: n :: 
Periochae : n :–: 
:: –
Martial: Epist. :: 
.:  Lk
.:  :–: n
Miracles of St Artemios (ed. Papadopoulos- :: –
Kerameus) :: 
–: – :: 
–: – :–: 
 Index Locorum 
:–:  Plato
:–: ,  Leg. e: n
::  Rep. .b–c: 
::  Plautus
::  Cist.
::  ..–: 
::  ..–: 
:–:  ..–: n
::  Most.
::  ..–: , 
:–:  Pliny: Ep.
:–:  ..-: –
:–: – .–: 
::  .: 
:–:  .–: 
::  Plutarch
Acts Amat. : 
:–:  Cat. mai. .: n
::  De amore prol. e: n
::  De frat. amor. e: 
:–:  Lys. : 
:–:  Possidius: V. Aug.: 
:–: n : 
:–:  : n, n
:–:  Priscian: Gramm. ..: n
:–: – Procopius: Historia arcana I .–: 
 Cor Propertius
:: n .: 
::  .: 
Hebr. .: , –
–:  ..–: 
(Apocrypha) Acts of Thomas:  .: 
Novellae of Justinian
.:  Quintilian: inst.
.: n ..: n
..: n
Ovid ..: n
Am.
.:  Sallust: Cat. : 
..–:  Seneca the Elder: Controv.  pr. : n
..: n Seneca the Younger
..–:  Ep. .: n
Met. .: n, n Herc. f. –: n
Trist. .: n Phaedr.
: n
Paulinus of Milan: Vita Ambr. : n : n
Paulinus of Nola: Epist. .:  Sidonius Apollinaris: Epist. ..: n
Paulus: Sent. ..: n Stobaeus: Flor.: –
Petronius Suetonius
.: n Aug.
.: n : , n, n
Philo of Alexandria .: –
De vita contemplativa:  Claud.
Leg. spec. .–:  : 
Phrynichus: Com. :  : n, n
 Index Locorum
Suetonius (cont.) .: 
Galb. : n, n .–: –
Tib. :  .–: –
.–: 
Tacitus .–: 
Ann. .–: 
.: n .–: 
..–:  .: 
.: – .–: 
.: n .–: 
Hist. ..:  .–: 
Tertullian .–: 
Ad ux. ..–: –n .–: 
Apol. .: n .–: n
Tibullus Vita Heliae
.:  .–: 
.. –:  .–: 
.: 
Zacch. (Consultationes Zacchaei Christiani et
Ulpian: Apolloni philosophi): .. p. D: n
Frag. : 
Frag. :  Part B: Papyri, ostraka and inscriptions
Frag. .: 
Ulpiani regulae (Tituli) Bagnall and Frier 
V.: n -Ar-: n
XIII–XIX: n -Ar-: n
XIV: n, n -Ar-: n
XIV.: n -Ap-: n
XV.: n -Ar-: n
XVI.a: n -Ox-: n
XVI.: n, n -Hm-: n
XVII: n -Pr-: n
-Ox-: n
Valerius Maximus -Ar-: n
..: 
..: n Chrest.Wilck. : n
Varro: Rust. ..:  CIL (Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum)
Vaticana (fragmenta) VI.: n
: n VI.: n
: n CLE : n
: n CPR IV : 
–: n
: n Dead Sea Scrolls: n
Virgil: Aen.: , – QM. :–: 
.–: – QM. :–: 
.–: – Q/QSD  ii –: –
.–:  QTemple :–: 
.–:  CD :–: , 
.–:  CD :–:: n
.–:  CD :–: 
.–: 
.–:  ICUR: n
.–: n ICUR I
.:  : 
 Index Locorum 
:  O.Florida : 
: n O.Lips.Copt. : 
: n
ICUR II P.Col. .: 
:  P.Dem.Bologna : n
:  P.KRU
: n : 
: n : –
:  .–: n
ICUR III : –
: n : 
a: n : , 
ICUR IV .–: n
:  : –, 
: n : 
ICUR V : 
: n : , 
: n : 
: n : 
: n : –
: n P.Lips. I 
ICUR VI P.Lond.
: n .: 
: n .: 
ICUR VII .: 
:  .: n
: n P.Mich.
: n .: n
: n .: n
ICUR VIII P.Mon.Epiph.
: n : 
:  : , n
ICUR IX v: 
: n : –
: n P.Oxy.
:  .: n
: n P.Oxy.Hels.
ILCV: n : n
: n P.Pisentius
: n : n
a: n P.Ryl. .: n

O.Crum : – SB Kopt.

O.Crum .–: n I : –
O.Crum Ad. :  I : –
O.CrumVC : – I : n
O.Dios. inv. :  II : 
O.Florida :  IV : –, , n