The Date of P75 and the Length of Kollemata in a Papyrus Roll

Image of Subatianus Aquila order to release a prisoner mentioned by Turner, "The Terms Recto and Verso," page 61 (see original image here)

In a newly published article in Novum Testamentum, Brent Nongbri argues for a secure fourth century date for P.Bodmer XIV-XV (P75) based on the length of kollemata used in the manufacture of the roll the individual codex pages were cut from. The article is open access and available at the following link.

Brent Nongbri, The Construction and Date of P.Bodmer 14–15 (P75): The Length of kollemata as a Criterion for Dating Papyrus Codices", Novum Testamentum 68.4 (2026): 518-538.

Here is the abstract of the article.

This article describes an underutilized criterion for assigning dates to papyrus codices, the presence of very long sheets (kollemata) in the rolls from which the bifolia of papyrus codices were cut. In the 1970s, Eric Turner argued that a shift in the production of papyrus rolls took place in the fourth century, at which point rolls began to be manufactured using kollemata much longer than the 10–30 cm kollemata normally used in the early Roman imperial period. The present article briefly discusses the manufacture of papyrus rolls, gathers evidence for longer kollemata, and places this evidence in conversation with P.Bodmer 14–15 (P75). The date of this manuscript has been the subject of some debate in recent years, and consideration of the length of its kollemata adds another, perhaps decisive, piece of evidence that this codex was produced no earlier than the fourth century.

Overall, the article is an excellent piece of detective work that summarizes the ancient manufacturing process of papyrus rolls mentioned by Pliny the Elder in his Natural History, 13.74-82. Nongbri assembles the very limited evidence that is preserved from antiquity. He examines several codices that were constructed with pages cut from rolls that were manufactured by pasting very long sheets of papyrus together.

Papyrus Bookroll made up of individual papyrus pages glued together, each seam, or kollesis is highlighted in red (illustration adapted from Turner, "The Terms Recto and Verso," page 14)

Papyrus bookroll illustrating how each codex bifolium were cut without regard for the kolleseis (illustration adapted from J. Scherer, Extraits des livres I et II du Contre Celse d’Orige`ne d’apre`s le Papyrus no. 88747 du Muse´e du Caire, Cairo, 1956)

Nongbri provides several examples of codices made from papyrus bookrolls with wide kollemata that can be securely dated to the fourth century and after. From these examples, and going off some statements by Turner, Nongbri makes a broader argument, that codices manufactured from rolls with wide kollemata can be dated to the fourth century or after based on this feature alone. Turner's comments about the width of kollemata are found in the following work.

Eric G. Turner, "The Terms Recto and Verso. The Anatomy of the Papyrus Roll" in Actes du XVe Congrès International de Papyrologie (Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1978), page 62.

At first glance, these observations by Nongbri seem to be solid objective evidence that P.Bodmer XIV-XV (P75) must be dated into the fourth century. However, there are a few problems with this argument that nulify these claims.

First, the date ranges of several of Nongbri's examples actually span into the second and third centuries. 

PGM I. Though it has been palaeographically dated from the third into the fourth or fifth centuries, recently, in a detailed examination using securely dated examples, Alberto Nodar has assigned this fragment to the third century (see the full open access article here).

PGM II + PGM VI. This magical papyrus has been palaeographically dated from the second to the third century (see summary here).

The Crosby-Schøyen Codex. This Coptic codex has been dated using Carbon 14 with a date span ranging from the third to the fourth century (see article here). It has also been palaeographically dated from the second to the sixth centuries.

Second is the passage in Pliny the Elder's Natural History 13.74-82 concerning the manufacturing of papyrus. I won't quote the passage in full, however, one section in 13.80 states, 

Claudius also increased the width of the sheet, making it a foot across. There were also sheets a cubit (44 cm) across called 'macrocola,' but examination detected a defect in them, as tearing off a single strip damaged several pages. On this account Claudius paper has come to be preferred to all other kinds, although the Augustus kind still holds the field for correspondence; but Livia paper, having no quality of a first-class kind, but being entirely second class, has retained its position.

erat et cubitalis macrocollis, sed ratio deprehendit vitium, unius schidae revulsione plures infestante paginas. ob haec praelata omnibus Claudia, Augustae in epistulis auctoritas relicta; Liviana suam tenuit, cui nihil e prima erat, sed omnia e secunda.

There are a few issues with this quotation from Pliny the Elder. Adam Bülow-Jacobsen, "Writing Materials in the Ancient World," in The Oxford handbook of Papyrology (pages 5-6) notes that there are many problems with Pliny's statements that betray his lack of first hand knowledge of the process. One in particular concerns Pliny's comments that the wider rolls with a kolema width of one cubit length were not favored for bookrolls. This larger roll he referred to as the 'macrocola' (Latin: macrocollis) was not preferred because a strip of papyrus might come loose from the page and potentially ruin a large section of writing. Nongbri seems to make much of this fact and suggests that this may be the reason these rolls with extremely wide kollemata of a meter or more were made specifically for codex leaves. The problem is that despite what Pliny says here, the macrocola rolls were used for and seemed to have been favored for extra large deluxe volumes. Cicero preferred these larger rolls when he wanted a particularly fine copy of a book made. To Atticus he wrote,

"I am sending you the same composition more carefully revised, indeed the original copy, with plenty of additions between the lines and corrections. Have it copied on large paper (macrocollum) and read it privately to your guests; but, if you love me, do it when they are in a good temper and have had a good dinner, for I don't want them to vent on me the anger they feel towards you." (Att. XVI.3)

In another place, Cicero wrote to Atticus,

"But what on earth is the reason why you are so frightened at my bidding you send the books to Varro on your own responsibility? Even now, if you have any doubts, let me know. Nothing could be more finished than they are. I want Varro, especially as he desires it: but, as you know, he is "a fearsome man; the blameless he would blame." I often picture him to myself complaining of this perhaps, that my side in the books is more fully defended than his own, though I assure you, if ever you come to Epirus, I will convince you it is not. For at present I have to give way to Alexio's letters. However, I don't despair of winning Varro's approval; and, as I have gone to the expense of a large paper copy (macrocolla), I should like to stick to my plan." (Att. XIII.25)

One could also mention Catullus in his Poem 22 where he makes reference to the use of "royal paper." This is often thought to be the same type of large format 'macrocola' roll, mentioned by Cicero and Pliny (see Starr, "Writing, Copying," page 170). This fact, that these larger rolls were actually used and preferred for books, brings some doubt on the rest of what Pliny states. It may be that other, larger rolls were being produced and used as well, especially in non-literary contexts (more on that below).

The third problem with Nongbri's argument has to do with Turner's own comments surrounding these codices cut from rolls with wider kollemata. Turner does state that a shift happened in the fourth century, but actually suggests that the phenomenon began in the third century.  Here are Turner's observations.

"6.2 However, starting in the fourth century a change in the process of manufacture must have taken place, for one begins to find sheets of greater breadth. . . . From inspection of the make-up of the Coptic codices from Nag-Hammadi J. M. Robinson has concluded that kollemata of "more than a metre" in breadth were used to make the rolls then cut up for the codices found there (Robinson 1975 p. 19; Robinson 1977). The quality of these sheets is far from fine: indeed they could only have been made by utilizing a length of stalk of the papyrus plant that manufacturers of an earlier age would have discarded (a consideration which incidentally reinforces the interpretation of "principatus medio" in Pliny n.h. xiii 74 offered by Bülow-Jacobsen 1976). Nevertheless it must be accepted as established that such a change in manufacturing standards and methods took place (possibly as early as the third century A.D.)." (Turner, "The Terms Recto and Verso," page 62).

To Nongbri's credit, he does bring this fact to light in his article, however, he states confusion over why Turner would suggest a third century date for the transition because "[t]he papyri he [Turner] mentions in the immediate context all date to the fourth century or later: (page 532, note 46)." What is striking, is that on the previous page, Turner discusses three examples of papyri with very large kollemata that date in the second or third centuries; these are given below (Turner, "The Terms Recto and Verso," page 61).

P. Oxy 37.2806 (see website here)

P.Oxy 37.2806. This is a Greek comedy that has been palaeographically dated to the second or third century (see website here). Only a fragment of the roll is preserved but in the 32.5 cm wide segment no kollesis was discovered and it is possible that, depending on how one places other preserved segments, the minimum width of the kolema was 40 cm. This is either a "macrocola" roll with a kollema of 44 cm as mentioned by Pliny, or this could have been one of the larger rolls (like those examined by Nongbri) used for a literary bookroll, we simply do not know.

P. Strasbourg 1.6. This is a documentary roll with 36.5 cm measured between the kolleseis and is securely dated to 244-261 CE (see website here).

P.Berl. 11532. This is a famous decleration that the Prefect of Roman Egypt, Subatianus Aquila wrote to Theon, the Governor of the Arsinoite nome, ordering the release of a man named Niger, son of Papirius (see the website here, and also here). The width of this sheet is 32 cm with no kollesis, so it had to have been cut from a roll made from pages at least this width.

These examples that Turner gives from the second and third centuries are probably what gave him pause and pushed him to suggest a shift in the third rather than the fourth century. When these examples from Turner are added to those second and third century examples given by Nongbri above, Turner's third century date is reinforced.

Finally, Turner originally suggested these rolls with wider kollemata may have been manufactured specifically for the construction of codices and Nongbri argues this in the article. However, perhaps these extremely long rolls were originally manufactured for use in a slightly different context. If we take a hint from the two examples given by Turner, (P. Strasbourg 1.6 and P.Berl. 11532) it may be that rolls made from extremely wide sheets were originally manufactured to be used for documentary purposes. The wide kollema would allow for varying sizes of individual sheets to be cut (such as the very wide prisoner release by Aquila) without having to take into account a kollesis. Along these same lines, many scholars have noted that the codex format had its origins within a "documentary" rather than a "literary" context (see the comments of Bülow-Jacobsen, "Writing Materials in the Ancient World," page 23). It may be that the rolls with wider kollemata were already being made for documentary use, whether to cut individual pages to be used as letters, lists, contracts, etc., or for codices used in a documentary context (See Galen, "On the Avoidance pf Grief," 31-33). It seems natural that some codices used for "literary" works may have still been cut from these rolls intended for "documentary" purposes. Note Turner's comments on these extremely wide rolls that the Nag-Hammadi codices were cut from, that the "quality of these sheets is far from fine" ("The Terms Recto and Verso," page 62). Perhaps it is because these codices were cut from very wide, poor quality papyrus intended for documentary needs. According to the very scant evidence discussed here, these rolls with wide kollemata began to be used for codices some time in the third century, but likely existed in documentary contexts much earlier. As the codex format began to be used in greater frequency in the fourth century, it may be that the market for these rolls with wider kollemata began to increase. Therefore, the fact that P.Bodmer XIV-XV (P75) was manufactured from a roll with extremely wide kollemata, according to the evidence, fits well within a third century context.

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Raymond J. Starr, “Writing, Copying, and Autograph Manuscripts in Ancient Rome.” The Classical Quarterly, 47.1 (1997): 164–176

 

Roman Bookrolls and Tablets in Kansas City Missouri

Roman Muse Sarcophagus (Nelson Atkins Museum of Art)

Last year I had the opportunity to visit the beautiful Nelson Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City Missouri. If you ever get a chance, it is well worth the visit. Besides displaying famous artists like Monet, they have a modest collection of ancient artifacts, Egyptian, Greek, and Roman. One item in particular is a third century (ca. 240-260 C.E.) Roman marble sarcophagus that is quite striking for its detailed frescos. It is described as a “Muse Sarcophagus.” The museum description reads.

“The deceased, who stands in the center of this high relief, is flanked by five Muses to her right and Minerva with four Muses to her left. The Muses with their customary attributes appear in the following order (from viewer's left to right): Clio, Muse of history, with a scroll; Euterpe, Muse of music, with two flutes; Thalia, Muse of comedy, with shepherd's crook and mask of comedy; Melpomene, Muse of tragedy, with a club and mask of tragedy; Terpsichore, Muse of choral dance, with a lyre; Polyhymnia, Muse of hymns and religious dance; Erato, Muse of lyric and erotic poetry, with a cithara; Urania, Muse of astronomy, with a globe and staff; Calliope, Muse of heroic and epic poetry, with a stylus and tablet. The deceased holds a scroll, and Minerva, a spear. All the figures are standing. A striding griffin appears on each end of the sarcophagus and the back is plain.”

The provenance is given as “Excavated in the Vigna Casali, Rome, 1872.”

When I entered the room where the item was poised, I immediately noticed the stylus and tablet of the figure on the far right corner of the sarcophagus. In the close up images, the edges of the wax tablet are clearly seen. The flat spoon used for smoothing out the wax can be seen opposite the sharp pointed writing edge of the stylus. There also appears to be an ear extending out on the top edge of the tablet that has what looks to be a hole in the center, giving the appearance of a modern clip-board. Perhaps this was used for a lanyard that either allowed the user to carry the tablet, or to tie the boards closed (or perhaps to hang on the wall, see Herculaneum fresco below).

The far left corner represents the muse of history and she is shown holding an open bookroll. The hand clutches the rolled up portion of the volume that would have contained the text already read while the opposite portion of the book would have contained the unread text. What was intriguing about this particular fresco is that it depicts the unread portion of the roll curving back behind the book rather than curving inside towards the user (for example, as shown in the famous Herculaneum painted fresco of a boy holding an open bookroll below). It appears that the book is open to the final portion and the last bit of the roll is folded behind the roll and clasped with the fingers behind the rolled up portion of the volume (see my crudely drawn reconstruction below). The right arm of the history muse is broken off but it may be that the orginal figure had a pen in this hand. The strange way that the roll is being help open would allow for the freedom of the right hand for writing. Just as the poetry muse is writing in the wax tablet in the opposite corner, it may be that the history muse is being portrayed as writing in an open bookroll.

The other aspect of these two figures is the representation of a book and a tablet. It is fascinating that the poetry muse holds the wax tablet, a device that is easily edited and rewritten, while the history muse is holding a roll, an object that carries its own image of refinement, permanence, and legacy (see Pliny's comments here).

The roman woman herself is depicted in the center of the sarcophagus holding a bookroll in her left hand. I noticed that next to her right foot, what looks to be a bookcase with the muse of choral dance (holding a lyre) resting her left foot on the lid. Though the diameter is small, it matches other depictions of book boxes from the roman period (see Herculaneum fresco below).

The Nelson Atkins Museum of Art is definitely worth a visit, be sure to give this fascinating sarcophagus a look! 

Close up detail of muse with wax tablet

Muse with wax tablet on right corner of sarcophagus

The muse of history holding an open bookroll

Close-up detail of muse of history bookroll

Muse of history holding a bookroll

 

 

 

Muse of choral dance with foot on book case (?)

Fresco from Herculaneum showing a youth holding an open bookroll

Fresco from Herculaneum portraying an open book case

Fresco from Herculaneum depicting an ink pot, pen, bookroll with name tag, open wax tablet and stylus, and tablet hanging from nail. Notice the far right tablet that has an ear with hole in the top edge similar to that portrayed on the muse sarcophagus.

Codex and Canon

In New Testament scholarship it has been popular to attribute canonical motivations to the early Christian preference for the codex. Michael J. Kruger wrote that "Christians began to prefer the codex about the same time that the New Testament canon was beginning to take shape" (Kruger, Canon Revisited, 249). Likewise, J. K. Elliott stated that "canon and codex go hand in hand in the sense that the adoption of a fixed canon could be more easily controlled and promulgated when the codex was the normal means of gathering together originally separated compositions" (Elliott, "Manuscripts, the Codex and the Canon,” 111). John Meade has effectively argued against this view in "Myths about Canon," a chapter published in Myths and Mistakes in New Testament Textual Criticism. Drawing on his earlier work in The Biblical Canon Lists from Early Christianity, Meade has presented evidence from the various canon lists that explicitly list out books of the bible that were considered canonical, that is divinely inspired and worthy of study as scripture. These lists often contrasted with the Church father's own citation and use practices. To give just one example mentioned by Meade, Athanasius cites Genesis and the Shepherd of Hermas alongside each other in his De incarnatione 3.1, indicating to some that Athanasius viewed the Shepherd as equally scripture and canonical alongside Genesis. Yet, as Meade notes, Athanasius specifically refers to the Shepherd as non-canonical (Meade, "Myths about Canon," 259). This evidence indicates that the early Christians would include books considered "canonical" and those considered "useful" but not considered "canonical" bound together in the same codex. Meade concludes his chapter by suggesting that the "codex was primarily a repository of the varied and many books that Christians read" (Meade, "Myths about Canon," 275).

Considering Rothschild's and Coogan's articles on the codex and discontinuous reading, Meade's chapter in "Myths and Mistakes" further underscores the practical considerations of the early adoption of the codex. If canonical considerations were not the motivation behind the binding together of canonical and non-canonical books, then what was the common factor in adjoining these types of works? I believe that Meade gives the answer in the end, that the common factor was that these canonical and non-canonical books were both read. Canonical and non-canonical books were studied alongside each other and even cited in their theological works. This highlights the ancient practical need for a book form that would allow for the discontinuous access that study, writing, and teaching would necessitate.

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J. K. Elliott, "Manuscripts, the Codex and the Canon,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 63 (1996); 105-122.

John Meade, "Myths About Canon: What the Codex Can and Can't Tell Us," in Myths and Mistakes in New Testament Textual Criticism (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2019), 253-275.

Michael J. Kruger, Canon Revisited: Establishing the Origins and Authority of the New Testament Books (Wheaton: Crossway, 2012).

Discontinuous Reading and the Christian Codex

Nag Hammadi Codex VI, opened at the center of the quire

The special issue of Early Christianity 12 published the presentations of the conference “The Material Gospel." It was organized by Jeremiah Coogan and David Lincicum and was held at the University of Notre Dame, Indiana, on May 31, 2019. I found two of the essays in the issue especially intriguing, Clare K. Rothschild's "Galen’s De indolentia and the Early Christian Codex," and Jeremiah Coogan's "Gospel as Recipe Book."

Rothschild's article gives five reasons for Galen's use of the codex in contrast to the bookroll. First, the codex format allows easy transportability for "repeated non-linear consultation" (pg. 35). Second, "open medium, meaning every page is instantly and equally accessible" to the reader (pg. 35). Third, the codex allows for the introduction of new material anywhere within the codex (pg. 36). Fourth, combining the information in Martial (Epigr. 1.66) with that in Galen's De indolentia indicate that the codex was "also a portable medium, ideal for travel" (pg. 37). Fifth, the codex format was intended more for private use (pg. 37). Applying these insights to the Christian use of the codex, Rothschild concludes,

"If use of the codex, as reflected in Galen’s letter-tractate De indolentia, can be extrapolated to understand early Christian usage of the codex, especially prior to the year 200 CE, we infer a utilitarian over an aesthetic purpose, with the combination of durability (transmissibility), accessibility, expandability, and portability as the format’s compelling attributes." (pg. 37).

Coogan's article compares the features of early Christian codices with features found in contemporary secular documents such as recipe collections and magical texts. Each of these share a common approach at accessing the material through discontinuous reading. What this means is that users of these texts do not read the material straight through from beginning to end. Instead, the texts are engaged with at various points where needed. Coogan compares the way a modern reader would engage with a phone book or dictionary as opposed to a novel or news article. The dictionary or phone book is accessed at various points wherever the relevant material is located in the text. Whereas a novel or news article would be read from beginning to end (pg. 41-42). Coogan concludes by arguing that,

"gospel codices invited nonlinear access and performative use in ways that paralleled other late ancient practical texts, such as ritual formularies, medical recipes, and agricultural manuals" (pg. 58).

I agree with Rothschild and Coogan that Christians seem to have preferred the Codex format for practical reasons. Along with the historical references found in Martial and Galen, there are theological considerations that may be behind the Christian preference. The two letters to Timothy in particular have several references to the study of the scriptures. In each of these passages, it is the practical application and teaching that is stressed.

"Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching." (1 Tim 4:13, ESV)

"Let the elders who rule well be considered worthy of double honor, especially those who labor in preaching and teaching." (1 Tim 5:17, ESV)

"Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus." (2 Tim 1:13, ESV)

"and what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also." (2 Tim 2:2, ESV)

"Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly handling the word of truth." (2 Tim 2:15, ESV)

"All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work." (2 Tim 3:16-17, ESV)

Each of these references combine the study of the scriptures with the teaching of the scriptures. This teaching and preaching includes exhortation to action and service (Hebrews 10:24-25). These are very practical and dynamic settings that would likely necessitate the discontinuous reading of the Christian scriptures. The letters to Timothy are likely Paul's last letters, setting the tone of ministry for Timothy to carry forward to the next generation and for generations to come. The second letter of Peter, also likely written at the end of his life, already made reference to a collection of Paul's letters. Peter's reference to Paul's letters appears to be in the context of study and teaching.

"And count the patience of our Lord as salvation, just as our beloved brother Paul also wrote to you according to the wisdom given him, as he does in all his letters when he speaks in them of these matters. There are some things in them that are hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction, as they do the other Scriptures." (2 Pt 3:15-16, ESV)

Bookrolls could certainly be navigated for discontinuous reading by those adept to their use. Yet, the codex format is particularly useful for this type of access. Of course, the Jewish synagogue also had similar practical uses for their scriptures (teaching and exhortation), yet continued to read from bookrolls. Christian practice was different in that it was more mobile, with itinerate preaching (Col. 4:16), and less tied to a specific location, such as house Churches (Acts 1:13; 2:2, 46; 12:12) or meeting in public places (Acts 17:17; 19:9), than one would find in the Jewish Synagogue. This would seem to make the codex more inviting for discontinuous reading and study than the bookroll. 
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For earlier blog posts on the early Christian preference for the codex see the following links,

The Textual Mechanic: Revisiting the Shift from the Roll to the Codex Book Form

The Textual Mechanic: From Scroll to Codex: Early Christian Book Technology

The Christian Codex And The Pocket Sized Bookroll

Scholars often attribute the compactness and portability of a codex as the impetus for Christians to have adopted this format for their scriptures at an early date. For example, the itinerate preaching of the early apostles and evangelists could have necessitated the compactness and portability of the codex over the roll (Epp, "The Codex," 20-22). As is often counter argued, these types of modern attitudes towards the codex are likely influenced by anachronistic ideas about the book (Larsen and Letteney, "Christians and the Codex," 390-391). With this in mind I came across a few references in Aulus Gellius's Attic Nights (2nd cen. CE) that shed light on the alleged portability of the codex verses the roll.

In Gellius's account, Scipio Africanus was being accused in front of the senate of taking a bribe from King Antiochus. In response to this Gellius recounts,

"Thereupon Scipio arose, and taking a roll from the fold of his toga, said that it contained an account of all the money and all the booty; that he had brought it to be publicly read and deposited in the treasury. "But that," said he, "I shall not do now, nor will I so degrade myself." And at once, before them all, he tore the roll across with his own hands and rent it into bits, indignant that an account of money taken in war should be required of him, to whose account the salvation of the Roman State and its power ought to be credited." (Gellius, Noctes Atticae, 4.18.9-12)

In this account, Scipio wasn't carrying a proper bookroll containing a lengthy literary work. It appeared to be some sort of leger of smaller size because Scipio was able to tear it into shreds fairly easily. This would have been much more difficult for a normal full-sized literary roll.

Later in the work, Gellius recounts a personal story in which he was in a book shop and a "foolish man" was boasting that he was the only person who could truly understand Marcus Varro's Satires.

"At the time I chanced to have with me a book of those Satires, entitled Ὑδροκύων, or The Water Dog. I therefore went up to him and said: "Master, of course you know that old Greek saying, that music, if it be hidden, is of no account.​ I beg you therefore to read these few lines and tell me the meaning of the proverb contained in them." (Gellius, Noctes Atticae, 13.31.2-3)

This account is a fascinating retelling of a duel of minds, with Gellius exposing the "foolish man's" ignorance of the text. In this instance, the bookroll carried by Gellius was a proper roll containing literature. Thus, in the same manner as Scipio, Gellius was able to carry this roll on his person and produce it quickly and rapidly find the relevant passage with ease.

Later in his work, Gellius recounts a story in which a bright young man was having a conversation in a public space about an historical fact concerning a passage in Homer's Illiad. Some "half educated fellows" were present and ignorantly interjected themselves into the conversation.

"One or two half-educated fellows who were present there, of the class that the Greeks call ἀγοραῖοι, or “haunters of the market-place,” laughed in derision of this statement, and declared that the man who had made it had read a copy of Homer which happened to lack the following verse: "And rotted the ship's timbers, loosed the ropes (σπάρτα)." Then the youth, in great vexation, replied: “It was not my book that lacked that line, but you who badly lacked a teacher, if you believe that σπάρτα in that verse means what we call spartum, or 'a rope of Spanish broom'.” They only laughed the louder, and would have continued to do so, had he not produced the twenty-fifth book of Varro's Human Antiquities, in which Varro writes as follows of that Homeric word: “I believe that σπάρτα in Homer does not mean sparta, or 'Spanish broom,' but rather σπάρτοι, a kind of broom which is said to grow in the Theban territory. " (Gellius, Noctes Atticae, 17.3)

In this account, it is not exactly clear where the story takes place. Judging by the description of the "half-educated fellows" it likely occurred in a public marketplace of some kind. The bright young man happened to be carrying a roll that contained a copy of the twenty-fifth book of Marcus Varro's Human Antiquities. This was a literary work written in a bookroll and the youth had no problem finding the relevant passage quickly and producing it for the other "foolish-men" to read for themselves.

In each of these cases recounted by Gellius, a bookroll was easily carried by the hero of the story. The relevant passage was quickly located and produced for the protagonist to read for themselves. Though limited in scope, this evidence reveals the anachronistic tendencies of modern arguments for the Christian preference for the codex. It seems that an educated itinerant preacher would have had no problem carrying a gospel in a roll format, producing it during an evangelism event, and finding a relevant gospel passage from which to engage with the listeners.

EDIT: A reader of the blog, Viktor Johansson, responded with some excellent observations through private message. Some important objections to my quick take on Gellius, especially concerning the account at 17.3, are these: 

First, I can't assume that the discussion with the educated young man takes place in a marketplace outdoors. This account could have just as easily occurred in a personal library or outside of a public library where texts like Varro's would have been readily available.

Second, and most importantly of all, because the heroes of these stories are educated well-to-do men, they most likely had a retinue of slaves at hand with them. These would have been invisible in the story. Any one of these attendants could have gone and fetched the book for the protagonist either from the location at hand (in a public or private library) or had been carrying it upon their persons.

All in all, this excellent response reveals my own anachronistic assumptions that I bring to the text of Gellius. At best these accounts from Gellius reveal that educated men in the high Roman empire were adept at handling a bookroll and could easily find the relevant passage a roll.

EDIT#2: Johansson responded again with some more excellent observations on these passages in Attic Nights. Gellius, speaking in the first person, recounts a scene where he visits Fronto who was sick and sitting on a couch "surrounded by men famous for learning, birth, or fortune." In the middle of this scene, Fronto is being shown plans for a bath "drawn on little pieces of parchment." A dispute suddenly arises over the meaning of a word that Fronto uses. To settle the matter, a famous grammarian sitting nearby is pointed out. The grammarian argues that the word is "better known in the talk of mechanics than in that of cultivated men." Fronto replied in the following manner.

"But Fronto, raising his voice and with a more earnest expression, said: “Sir, does this word seem to you so degraded and utterly faulty, when Marcus Cato and Marcus Varro, and the early writers in general, have used it as necessary and as good Latin?” And thereupon Julius Celsinus reminded him that also in the tragedy of Ennius entitled Iphigeina the very word about which we were inquiring was found, and that it was more frequently corrupted by the grammarians than explained. Consequently, he at once asked that the Iphigenia of Quintus Ennius be brought and in a chorus of that tragedy we read these lines: . . .When this had been read there, then Fronto said to the grammarian, who was already wavering . . . ." (Gellius, Noctes Atticae, 19.10)

This account is fascinating and should be read in its entirety. I only wanted to quote the relevant few lines here because they paint a vivid picture of the scene. Fronto is ill, surrounded by many educated men in his private home. A dispute arises with a grammarian and Fronto asks his attendants (not mentioned up to this point) to fetch a specific book of literature. Gellius doesn't specify who reads the text, whether Fronto himself or an attendant, or perhaps the grammarian himself. Either way it appears that the text was read out loud to everyone present. This account sheds light on the other reading events quoted above, especially at 17.3. It is possible that these events took place in a similar situation as 19.10 with attendants present and in a location with books readily available.

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Eldon J. Epp, "The Codex and Literacy in Early Christianity and at Oxyrhynchus: Issues Raised by Harry Y. Gamble’s Books and Readers in the Early Church" in Critical Review of Books in Religion 11 (1988): 15-37.

Matthew D. C. Larsen, Mark Letteney, "Christians and the Codex: Generic Materiality and Early Gospel Traditions" in Journal of Early Christian Studies 27.3 (2019): 383-415.

William A. Johnson, Readers and Reading Culture in the High Roman Empire: A Study of Elite Communities (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 129 footnote 54.

The Philosopher and the Tightly Wound Bookroll

My father, who has been reading through the moral letters of Seneca the Younger, alerted me to an interesting passage in Seneca's Letter 95 (ca. 65 AD). In this epistle Seneca is trying to explain a particular aspect of philosophy that Lucilius, the recipient of the work, had asked Seneca to expound upon. He begins the epistle with tongue-in-cheek that Lucilius may be requesting something that he does not really want. To illustrate this Seneca gives an example he thought that Lucilius could relate with (and probably many educated Romans at the time).

"There are many things that we would have men think that we wish, but that we really do not wish. A lecturer sometimes brings upon the platform a huge work of research, written in the tiniest hand and very closely folded; after reading off a large portion, he says: "I shall stop if you wish;" and a shout arises: "Read on, read on!" from the lips of those who are anxious for the speaker to hold his peace then and there." (Ep. 95.2)

The portion of the illustration that I zeroed in upon had to do with the description of the "research" that was being read by the lecturer. I give it in English and in the Latin below.

"A lecturer sometimes brings upon the platform a huge work of research, written in the tiniest hand and very closely folded"
"Recitator historiam ingentem attulit minutissime scriptam, artissime plicatam."

When I first read this reference I immediately wondered if Seneca could be describing a codex. The English translation states that the book was "closely folded," which gives the impression of folded pages. At first glance, this wording gives the impression of a compact, tightly folded codex that was written in a small script. This English translation is not unlike the phrase Martial uses to describe a codex.

"You who wish my poems should be everywhere with you, and look to have them as companions on a long journey, buy these which the parchment confines in small pages. Assign your book-boxes to the great; this copy of me one hand can grasp."
"Et comites longae quaeris habere viae, Hos eme, quos artat brevibus membrane tabellis: Scrinia da magnis, me manus una capit." (Epigr. 1.2)

It is pretty clear that Martial is referring to a parchment codex that is compact in size and contains a great deal of written material. His use of "brevibus membrane tabellis" makes this explicit as "membrana" is referring specifically to it's material, animal skin, and also it's form. Quintilian, uses the same word for his obvious description of a parchment codex in Institutio Oratoria 10.3.31. Martial also employs the word "tabellis" which was a common term for the ancient writing tablet.

On a closer examination however, it appears that Seneca does have a Roman bookroll in view. He uses the term "historiam," which is obviously the classic term used for a work of history and this type of work would have been more at home in the Roman bookroll in the first century. Most interesting is that Seneca is attempting to describe the density and detail of this work of literature.

First, by noting that the script is written in a small hand, "minutissime scriptam," which means that more written material could fit in the physical medium of the book.

Second, he indicates that the book is, "artissime plicatam." The adverb "artissime" is the superlative form of "artus," having the meaning of; close, strait, narrow, confined, short, brief. Together with the verb, "plicatam," the perfect passive participle of "plico"; to fold, to lay or wind together, to fold up, double up. The translator chose to use the sense of "folding," yet the verb can also have the sense of "coiling" or "winding" like a snake. Thus the verb can be used to described the coiling up action of winding a bookroll.

These descriptors help to paint the picture of a very large quantity of research material almost forcefully confined within a single bookroll by using very small handwriting, and tightly winding the parchment into a compact bookroll. When compared with the description Martial gives for the codex, this history looks to have been an unwieldy object!

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Martial, Epigrams (Walter C. A. Ker, trans. Vol. 1. LCL. London: William Heinemann, 1919).

Seneca the Younger, Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales (Richard M. Gummere, trans. Vol. 3. LCL. London: William Heinemann, 1925).

The Latin definitions are derived from;

A Latin Dictionary. Founded on Andrews' edition of Freund's Latin dictionary. revised, enlarged, and in great part rewritten by. Charlton T. Lewis, Ph.D. and. Charles Short, LL.D. Oxford. Clarendon Press. 1879.

Which can be access here.