Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Scott D. Charlesworth
University of Divinity, Australia
Abstract
Based on numbers alone, Greek had as much currency in first- as it did in second- and
third-century Galilee. But measuring the use of Greek by calculating the number of
inscriptions in each century is flawed methodology. This is because the inscriptional
evidence is patchy and unrepresentative (as the very few inscriptions in Aramaic/Hebrew
demonstrate). Scholars must first understand the various kinds of ancient bilingualism,
then look for indications of these, including (written) Greek literacy. Literary and other
evidence, especially factors that might encourage bilingualism, such as the influence of
the administrative cities of Sepphoris and Tiberias and the surrounding Hellenistic cities,
the state of the Galilean economy, and rural-urban dynamics, can then help to fill in the
gaps. On the basis of all of the extant evidence, knowledge of Greek was probably quite
common, with most people picking it up by force of circumstance rather than through
formal instruction.
Keywords
Chancey, early Roman, Galilee, Greek, inscriptions, literacy
1. Introduction
For some the question of Greek literacy and its impact on nascent Christianity
hinges on first-century Galilee as the birthplace of the Jesus movement. Chancey’s
* I am grateful to Leah Di Segni and Werner Eck for their comments on early and late versions
respectively of this article. The responsibility for content and the key argument is, of course,
mine. I would also like to thank the School of Humanities at the University of New England
for supporting this research.
Corresponding author:
Scott D. Charlesworth, University of Divinity, 21 Highbury Grove, Kew VIC 3101, Australia.
Email: SCharlesworth@divinity.edu.au
(continued)
Table 1. (Continued)
4. Ariel 2001: 161 no. 34. ‘The one Latin class handle found in the survey (no. 34) could not be
satisfactorily identified either with regard to its language or its date … [It] may correspond to
the late Hellenistic period, i.e., the first century bce, or to the Roman period’ (155).
5. Eshel and Edwards 2004: 49-55. The authors argue that the inscription, which was scratched
on to a cooking pot prior to firing, provides evidence for Aramaic literacy among the artisan
class (to which Jesus belonged) of a small Galilean village.
6. One must be sceptical about the inclusion of a Latin inscription (11) that has not been pub-
lished, and since the second (12) is imported, it has nothing to say about the use of Latin
in Galilee. For a discussion of Latin inscriptions in Judaea/Syria Palaestina, see Eck 2003:
123-44.
7 Meyers, Strange, Meyers and Hanson 1979: 56; Meyers, Meyers and Strange 1990: 126. The
‘name is identical to the name Aristeas incised on a vase from Priene’ (Hershkovitz 1986: 50).
8. Damati and Abu ‘Uqsa 1992: 70-72; Baron 1994: 143, no. 2.
9. The cave was dated on the basis of pottery jug lids that resemble the lids of metal jugs and
amphoras pictured in Pompeian-style frescoes and on a table-top found in the Jerusalem area
(H. Abu ‘Uqsa, pers. comm., 29 April 2014). See Rahmani 1974: 9*-10*, who dates the table-
top to the first century (10*).
10. While the two letters may be a graffito, the absence of other graffiti would seem to rule that
out. The 41 lines ‘incised in three groups’ which are described as ‘graffiti’ by Damati and
Abu ‘Uqsa (1992: 70) are just that, vertical lines which do not contain any characters (H. Abu
‘Uqsa, pers. comm., 1 May 2014).
ready access to markets at Tyre and Caesarea Philippi, where he sold the oil for
which the area was famous.11 It is quite likely that Greek had some currency
there in the first century.
Lead market weights were also of official (royal or civic) issue (see Qedar
1986/87: 33-35). Number 2 is dated to 29/30 and was found in the vicinity of
Tiberias (Qedar 1986/87: 29-35). It bears the name and title of Antipas, which
are identical to the legend on his coins, and gives the name of the market overseer
(ἀγορανόμος) as Gaius Julius, a Roman name that may be indicative of citizen-
ship. A second lead market weight (4), which bears the name and title of Agrippa
II, comes from nearby Magdala/Taricheae (Qedar 1986/87: 31). It mentions two
overseers (Iaesaios or Iasoaias,12 son of Mathias; and Aianimos or Animos, son
of Monimos). The first two names seem to be Greek, while the last two are
Semitic.13 It is dated to either 71/72 or 82/83 depending on the era (49 or 60).14
Two overseers may have been needed because the city and economy had grown
substantially over the ensuing 40 or 50 years.15 Another lead weight of Agrippa
II (5), which is dated one year earlier, again mentions two overseers (R[...] Rufus
and Iulius [..]bo[..]s), both of whom have Roman names. The latter was prob-
ably a member ‘of a local family which had received citizenship about a century
earlier’ (Kushnir-Stein 2002: 295-96). Its similarity to the slightly later market
weight of Agrippa II suggests that it too came from Magdala. A floor mosaic (6)
from the villa of a wealthy resident, which has the words καὶ σύ alongside a boat,
kantharos, flower and fish, also supports the use of Greek at Magdala.16 This
formula, which appears in inscriptions from around the Mediterranean, is often
associated with protection from cursing or the evil eye, but it can also imply
the return of good wishes for good and evil for evil (see Brenk 1999: 169-74).
According to Josephus, at the time of the revolt the city had a hippodrome and
fortifications, and archaeological excavations have uncovered an aqueduct.17 A
fourth market weight from Sepphoris (14: see Table 2), which is dated to mid II,
also gives the names of two market overseers, ‘Simon, son of Aianos, and Justus,
11. War 2.591-94; cf. Life 74. In terms of culture and trade it was oriented towards Tyre: Meyers
1993: 546-49.
12. Kushnir-Stein (2002: 296) suggests that Qedar’s reading ιαεσαιος (Iaesaios) should be
corrected to ιασοαιος.
13. Ilan 2002: 257, 297; Chancey 2005: 159; cf. Qedar 1986/87: 33.
14. Kushnir-Stein (2002: 296) also corrects Qedar’s reading of the date from 43/με to 23/κε.
15. Qedar 1986/87: 33. Alternatively, they might be explained by the Roman custom of having
two aediles.
16. See Corbo 1978: 232-40 and 71-76 (pll.); cf. Raban 1988: 311-29.
17. Josephus, War 2.573, 599, 609, 635; Life 141-44. The hippodrome in ancient Palestine is
‘sometimes called a stadium or even an amphitheatre in the literary sources’ (Weiss 2010: 630).
son of …’.18 Simon, the Greek counterpart of Simeon, was probably Jewish, but
Justus is Latin and he may have been a Gentile.19 It is safe to assume that such
weights were also used at Sepphoris in the first century. All of these market over-
seers, whether Jewish or Gentile, would have come from the Greek-speaking
elite or sub-elite of Tiberias, Magdala and Sepphoris.
There is also the so-called Nazareth Inscription (3), an imperial edict prohibit-
ing tomb robbery that was apparently sent from Nazareth to France in 1878, but
whose provenance is unknown.20 It has attracted a great deal of attention because
it may reflect ‘official Roman reaction to a Jewish interpretation of the resurrec-
tion of Christ’ (Mt. 28.12-15), but certainty is impossible.21 At Beth She‘arim,
the fourth major city in Galilee, only Catacomb 31 is dated to the first century
and it contains no inscriptions.22 But there is a Greek inscription in the early sec-
ond-century Catacomb 21 on the lintel of Hall D which identifies the burial place
as that of Theodosia, also called Sarah, of Tyre (τόπος Θεοδοσίας τῆς| καὶ Σάρας
Τυρίας).23 However, the Greek and Jewish names and Tyrian origin suggest that
the inscription may be a later addition, as do the basalt door of Hall D which
was brought in from elsewhere and the lintel which was originally a threshold
(Schwabe and Lifshitz 1974: 117-18). Still, there is good reason to think that
there were Greek inscriptions on the ossuaries that were placed in the kokhim
of Catacombs 31 and 21 (Hall A) in the late first and early second centuries. All
that remained when archaeologists first entered these catacombs was a broken
clay ossuary lid in Catacomb 31 (Schwabe and Lifshitz 1974: 124-25). But iden-
tifiably Jewish ossuary inscriptions (7 and 8) from nearby Kefar Baruh (Ἰούδας
Θαδδαίου, ‘Judas, son of Thaddaeus’)24 and Qiryat Tiv‘on (Μαίας| Σαοῦλος, ‘of
Maia, daughter of Saul’)25 are dated ‘no later than’ early II and mid I–early II
respectively on the basis of lamps and pottery found in the tombs.26
Hachlili thinks that ossuary secondary burial was practised at Jerusalem and
Jericho in the first 70 years of the first century with sporadic continuance until
18. Meshorer 1996: 201; cf. Meshorer 1986: 16-17. On dating, see Meyers, Meyers and Netzer
1985: 296.
19. Ilan 2002: 13; see also Chancey 2005: 155-61, 230-35.
20. For the ed. pr. see Cumont 1930. See also Robert 1936: 114-15, Boffo 1994: 319-33, and SEG 8.13.
21. The Greek text, which is based on a Latin original, bears the hallmarks of an authentic koiné
milieu: Metzger 1980: 80-84.
22. Avigad 1976: 124-25, 261. Cf. Mazar 1973: 17.
23. Avigad 1976: 118, 261. See Schwabe and Lifshitz 1974: 185 no. 199.
24. Rahmani 1994: 114, no. 145, pl. 21. Interestingly, as Rahmani notes, Θαδδαῖος is spelt the
same way in Mk 3.8 and Mt. 10.3.
25. Rahmani 1994: 172, no. 425 (cf. no. 422); Meyers 1996: 188. See also Vitto 1972: 574-76;
1974: 279, who reads Μαρία| Σαοῦλος, ‘Maria, daughter of Saul’.
26. Rahmani 1994: 114, 172; Vitto 1972: 575.
c. 135.27 Rahmani adds that that there were two subsequent periods during which
refugees spread the practice, first to the southern Judaean coast, Hebron and
Galilee (70-135), and then to southern Judaea and again into Galilee (late II–mid
III) (Rahmani 1994: 21-25; cf. 53-55). So the practice might have found its way
to the Beth She‘arim region in the last quarter of the first century (or even ear-
lier). But whether 7 and 8 were produced by Galilean or displaced Judaean fami-
lies is impossible to know. In any case, the overwhelming preference for Greek
from the second century onwards can hardly have been an overnight develop-
ment. In the first century, Beth She‘arim was the administrative centre for the
Jezreel Valley estates of Queen Berenice (see Josephus, Life 118-19). Greek was
the language of administration, and some of those dealing with the administra-
tive officials of Berenice on a regular basis would have needed, at the very least,
spoken ability in the language (see §§ 5.3 and 5.4 below).
While Chancey does not consider numismatic evidence, it is not without
something to say. From lower Galilee there are bronze coins issued by Herod
Antipas (c. 1, 20, 29, 30, 33, 39 ce) and Agrippa I (38/39, 41/42, 43/44), a coin of
Agrippa II bearing the name of Tiberias that was probably struck to commemo-
rate Roman suppression of the Jewish revolt, and civic coins with Greek inscrip-
tions issued at Tiberias in 53 and Sepphoris in 68.28 While the use of Greek on
coinage was conventional, the design of coins provides insights into the values
of client kings, the civic elite, and perhaps even the Jewish population at large.
The early coins of Antipas were aniconic and carried only images of grain, dates,
palm branches and trees. But on the obverse of his final series struck in 38/39
the name Antipas was in the nominative instead of genitive, and on the reverse
the word Tiberias was replaced with the name of the emperor Gaius Germanicus
in the dative. The combined inscription, ‘Herod the Tetrarch to Gaius Caesar
Germanicus’, indicates that the coins were struck for and in honour of the emper-
or.29 This represents a significant break with Herod the Great and Archelaus who
avoided both the name and image of the emperor, but it is still at quite some
remove from Philip whose coins had the name and image of the emperor as
well as human images, temple façades, and cultic emblems, perhaps because his
north-eastern tetrarchy was populated mainly by Gentiles (Jensen 2007: 290-92).
According to Jensen (2007: 302), the change could have been part of a politi-
cal attempt by Antipas to compete with Agrippa I for the favour of Gaius (cf.
Josephus, Ant. 18.240-56). It might also demonstrate increasing tolerance on
the part of the Galilean populace for such displays of Graeco-Roman culture (as
27. Hachlili 2005: 519-22. In contrast, Kloner and Zissu (2007: 119-20) argue that the practice began
in the Jerusalem area in the last decades of the first century bce/beginning of the first century ce
and lasted only until 70. Contrast Isaac (2010: 8-10) and Millar (2014: 140-41), who agree with
Hachili that the use of ossuaries dropped dramatically after 70 but continued until the 130s.
28. See Chancey 2005: 180-83; Jensen 2007: 292-302.
29. Jensen 2007: 301, citing Meshorer 1982: 41.
his palace at Tiberias shows, Antipas himself was not averse to such display30).
Some 14 years later, civic coins minted at Tiberias also featured the name of the
emperor Claudius Caesar (Chancey 2005: 185-86). Civic coins were primarily
‘internal’, in that they ‘were seen and used only within the cities’. Therefore,
they reflect the images of the cities that civic leaders ‘wished their fellow citizens
to see’ (Schwartz 2001: 139). On the other hand, the coins of Agrippa I convey
no sense that Jewish sensibilities influenced in any way their design. They were
Graeco-Roman mainstream in every way, complete with images of animals,
human beings, temple scenes and cultic emblems.31
(continued)
30. ‘In building Tiberias, he had both desecrated a cemetery and decorated his royal palace in
violation of the law and ancestral customs of the Judeans’ (Horsley 1996: 53). After his death,
the priestly administration at Jerusalem ordered the palace to be destroyed (Josephus, Ant.
18.33, Life 64-65).
31. Jensen 2007: 292-94; Chancey 2005: 182-83.
32. CIJ 2.972, SEG 8.12, Hachlili and Killebrew 1999.
33. Bagatti 1969: 316-17. The inscription (αισαρι.|νειν..|γωδη...) was interrupted on both sides
when the column was cut and reused as pavement. Bagatti finds references to Caesar and the
second-century Antonine dynasty and suggests that this granite column along with others was
transported by the crusaders from the same Roman site in Caesarea, Sepphoris, Tiberias or
Scythopolis for reuse in building the church.
34. Ovadiah 1972: 229-32.
35. Meyers, Netzer and Meyers 1992: 22. Red lettering on the amphora may be the name of its owner.
Table 2. (continued)
Table 2. (continued)
(continued)
Table 2. (continued)
(continued)
54. For milestones from the Legio-Diocaesarea road, see Avi-Yonah 1945/46: 96-97, nos. 13-16a
(plus 30 in this table). For milestones from the Ptolemais-Diocaesarea road, see Avi-Yonah
1945/46: 96, no. 12; Isaac with Roll 1998b: 198-210 and Isaac with Roll 1998c: 208-10.
55. Damati 1998: 153-54, no. 3; cf. SEG 48.1877. The inscription, [θάρσι] Μαρόνη οὐδ(ε)ὶς
ἀθάνατος, appears to contain a unique variant of the female name Μαρώνη (nominative and
vocative).
56. Lifshitz 1970: 76-83, no. 14; cf. Rahmani 1980: 103-105.
57. The mosaic, which features a cityscape and a Greek inscription (‘Good Luck’), must have
been made at some point prior to the destruction of the building in mid IV: Strange 1996:
117-21, esp. 119.
58. When the house was renovated in mid IV, ‘all its rooms were paved with new mosaics …
which were laid directly over their precursors’ (Weiss 1999: 16-18; see also Weiss 2003:
94-101, Hebrew).
59. Meyers, Strange and Meyers 1981: 66, 69. The inscription, ‘in a rather practiced hand’, reads
ιουλιαμου which could mean ‘my Julia’ or ‘belonging to Julian’ (assuming μ/ν confusion). For
certain dating to IV of this inscription and the next, see pp. 51, 55, 61-62.
60. Meyers, Strange and Meyers 1981: 66. The authors think that the Hebrew letters אש, which were
inscribed into the wet jar by the potter, meant ‘fire’ (’esh) and labelled a jar containing ‘parched
or scorched seeds or beans’. They also suggest that the ‘awkward formation [of the letters] is not
impossible for a person semi-literate in Hebrew’. On the reason for charring the foods and leav-
ing them in storage, see the comments by M. Goodman on pp. 71-72 of the same book.
61. Weiss (1996: 185) is unable to provide a specific date.
62. Aviam 2004a: 60, 67, 86. On the text, see Masterman 1908: 155-57; Abel 1908: 574-78;
Hölscher 1909: 149-50; Gabalda 1909: 492.
63. McCown 1921/22: 113-14; Fischer, Ovadiah and Roll 1986: 61, no. 2.
64. Fischer, Ovadiah and Roll 1986: 63-64, no. 4.
Table 2. (continued)
If we count Beth She‘arim (25a) and Capernaum (25b) as special cases and
leave aside pagan inscriptions, inscriptions in languages other than Greek, and
a number of inscriptions of post-300 or uncertain date, it is remarkable that
sixteen second- and third-century Greek inscriptions hardly constitute a dra-
matic increase on eight first-century Greek inscriptions. I say eight because 1
is imported and first-century because 2-9 can be so described since only 9 may
be later than early II. In fact, the number of second- and third-century Greek
inscriptions is double the number of first-century inscriptions and represents a
proportionate increase from the first (8) to the second and third centuries (16). If
we bring in the bilingual 30 and 38 (if it comes from III and not IV), the picture
is still not altered in any significant way (the imported 39 must be excluded). It is
noteworthy that 21, 22, perhaps 23, 30 and the Latin inscriptions are Roman (in
the case of 16, certainty either way is impossible). The coming of the Romans
obviously had an impact, but it appears that, even in the second and third centu-
ries, Galileans did not acquire much of an epigraphic habit (there is also no real
change in the spread of inscriptions – most come from Sepphoris and Tiberias).71
This is shown by the lack of donor inscriptions when, as Chancey (2007: 90)
observes, there were ‘the sorts of buildings in which one might expect to find
such inscriptions’. The same can be said of honorific and euergetistic inscriptions
(Chancey 2007: 90-92). Certainly, a greater number of second- and third-century
inscriptions might have been expected, particularly as Greek was making greater
inroads. The very small number of Aramaic/Hebrew inscriptions across all three
centuries is even more remarkable. If Aramaic was so dominant, where are the
inscriptions? Thus, the patchy (e.g., Beth She‘arim) and unrepresentative nature
of the surviving evidence calls into question any approach that quantifies inscrip-
tions in order to draw conclusions about Greek literacy. But if, for the sake of
argument, we allow that approach for a moment, the following conclusion is
inescapable: if Greek had significantly penetrated everyday life by the end of
the second century, then it must have already been doing so in the first century,
purely on the basis of the comparative number of inscriptions.
The general paucity of inscriptions, and this applies to Palestine in general,
can be explained in two ways: (1) much more has been lost than archaeologists
have recovered; and (2) the Jews rejected the norms of Graeco-Roman euer-
getism in favour of other expressions of gratitude for benefaction. Schwartz
argues, based on his reading of Josephus, that the Jewish people did not ‘recip-
rocate their benefactors with statues and temples and honorary decrees, but
with memorialisation apparently in mainly oral form’. As for the wealthy,
‘monumental tombs and public funeral feasts may have been among the initia-
tives legitimately [used] to secure their own memorialisation’ (Schwartz 2009:
88). Both explanations are no doubt relevant, but if we accept (2) as part of
the reason for the scarcity of inscriptional evidence, then (1) must have greater
applicability to the even scarcer papyrological evidence. It would not have
been subject to the kind of objections that euergetism apparently attracted and
might have made up for the lack of inscriptional evidence had it survived in
quantity.72 It should be emphasized that the lack of accommodation implied in
a qualified rejection of euergetism need not imply antipathy towards Greek.
The same can be said of the absence of pig bones and the presence of ossuaries,
stone vessels and miqva’ot.73 Mention of these things often seems to be linked
to an unspoken assumption of cultural and linguistic isolation. As Moreland
(2007: 138) observes, ‘for some scholars stating that “E[arly] R[oman] Galilee
was Jewish” is a declaration that is loaded with implicit meaning; the statement
appears to require no further clarification’. But, as Lev-Tov points out, pig
bones are found in small amounts throughout the entire Near East. Therefore,
4. Methodological Considerations
A methodologically sound approach requires scholars to first understand (ancient)
bilingualism and then, on that basis, search for indications of Greek literacy. If
they are to arrive at tenable conclusions about Greek literacy (i.e., the ability
to write Greek), students of early Roman Galilee must also understand that the
surviving evidence is unrepresentative.
74. Public notices were ‘not just an empty gesture; there was really an expectation that some
people would read them’ (McGing 2001: 35).
75. For a helpful description of how this could have occurred, see Macdonald 2005: 49-118. For
more on alternative routes to literacy apart from formal schooling, see Horsfall 1991: 59-76.
76. Baetens Beardsmore 1986: 16, 18; Edwards 2006: 10. ‘Receptive bilingualism is relatively
easy to acquire … and is a less time-consuming learning task in that it does not involve
the laborious acquisition of language patterns that must be at ready command for fruitful
conversation or written communication with a speaker of another language’ (Baetens
Beardsmore 1986: 16).
77. Adapted from Baetens Beardsmore 1986: 20.
78. Baetens Beardsmore 1986: 19. The patterns in Table 3 do not exhaust the range of possibilities.
79. Rahmani 1994: 172, no. 425. There is no plate; the inscription is reproduced by hand. Cf.
the hesitant, awkward examples of the ‘name literacy’ of the (otherwise) illiterate in Thomas
2009: 18-24.
80. Rahmani 1994: 11-12. As Hezser (2001: 367; see also 372) observes, inscriptions may have
been ‘executed in this careless, informal way because they were meant for family members
only and not for public display’.
81. The term ‘Jewish script’ describes the square script used by Jews to write both (Jewish)
Aramaic and Hebrew: Cotton, Cockle and Millar 1995: 226 n. 14.
the vast majority from ossuaries and a few from the walls of tombs, in volume
1 of the Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae: of about 600 inscriptions,
Millar counts 338 (56%) in Jewish script, 190 (31%) in Greek, and 46 (7.6%)
that are bilingual.82 But again these figures cannot be used to quantify relative
rates of literacy in the two languages. As Rahmani observes, the proportion of
inscriptions in one language or the other can vary from tomb to tomb without
any discernible reason.83
The same kind of methodology for identifying individual Greek literacy needs
to be brought to bear on the later inscriptions. Space precludes that work, so one
example will have to suffice. As regards the majority of the simple Greek funer-
ary inscriptions from Beth She‘arim, Schwabe and Lifshitz come to the follow-
ing conclusion.
The view that only the upper stratum of the Jewish settlement at Beth She‘arim was
influenced by Greek language and culture has no adequate foundation. The language
of the inscriptions and the phonetic and grammatical vulgarisms refute this supposition
… The inscriptions give no evidence of a systematic learning of the language and its
grammar. It does seem as though the authors of the inscriptions learned their Greek
from their pagan neighbours and knew how to speak it, but only seldom did they have
a broader educational background … [T]he fact that so many Greek inscriptions have
come to light at Beth She‘arim proves that wide circles of the Jewish population were
in some way influenced by the Greek language.84
In other words, many of the authors of inscriptions from Beth She‘arim were
productive bilinguals who had picked up Greek by force of circumstances (pri-
mary bilinguals), probably because of association with Greek speakers or because
they needed to speak it in order to maintain an income or the necessities of life.85
Likewise, most first-century Jews who learnt to speak Greek would have done so
because of circumstances and not through formal instruction. As for the literate,
some must have learnt to read and write Greek through systematic instruction,
82. Millar 2014: 145-46. In other words, ‘the best part of 400 contain at least some Hebrew/
Aramaic, and the best part of some 250 contain at least some Greek’ (146). For CIIP 1.1, see
Cotton, Segni, Eck, Isaac, Kushnir-Stein, Misgav, Price, Roll and Yardeni 2010. For CIIP 1.2,
see Cotton, Segni, Eck, Isaac, Kushnir-Stein, Misgav, Price and Yardeni 2012.
83. Rahmani 1994: 11. In addition, some plain ossuaries were discarded by excavators or excluded
from Rahmani 1994. These would raise the number of uninscribed ossuaries.
84. Schwabe and Lifshitz 1974: 220. See also Lifshitz 1965: 520-38, esp. 522-23.
85. In contrast, receptive bilinguals do not progress to oral or written production of Greek because
circumstances do not require it. Receptive bilingualism could develop, in the ancient context,
when a person was in contact with Greek but did not have to speak it in order to maintain an
adequate income or the necessities of life.
86. See Sevenster 1968: 47-50; Hezser 2001: 90-94. Some children (mainly boys) were taught to
read and write at home or through an extended kinship connection. Sevenster (1968: 60-61)
locates the desire for acquisition of Greek in the upper strata of society, which were in turn
emulated by the middle strata. Cf. Hezser 2001: 94, 231-32.
87. Genesee 2003: 223. They are ‘as well prepared for dual language learning as for single
language learning’ (209).
88. Macdonald (2005: 49) defines an oral or non-literate society as ‘one in which literacy is not
essential to any of its activities, and memory and oral communication perform the functions
which reading and writing have within a literate society’. In contrast, a ‘literate society’ is ‘one
in which reading and writing have become essential to its functioning, either throughout the
society (as in the modern West) or in certain vital aspects, such as the bureaucracy, economic
and commercial activities, or religious life’. Thus, a predominantly oral society in which
the majority of people are illiterate can be designated ‘literate’ because its administrative,
commercial, and/or religious functions depend on literacy. This definition has the advantage
of recognizing that literate individuals were always close at hand.
5. Other Considerations
In addition, other factors, that might tend to encourage not only Greek literacy,
but productive bilingualism in general, also need to be considered.
One may assume that the ability to speak Greek was, on the one hand, an indispensable
prerequisite for Jews who wanted to obtain public offices at the municipal level,
offices which would bring them in contact with non-Jewish Greek-speaking officials.
A knowledge of spoken Greek would have been equally indispensable for those who
engaged in trade relationships with Greek-speakers, whether Gentiles or Diaspora
Jews. As the language of the upper levels of the administrative and political hierarchy
and of international commerce, the Greek language will have been a status symbol
[and] a professional necessity. (Hezser 2001: 231)
89. Strange 1992b: 31-33. Cf. Reed 2000: 79-82, 94-95; Chancey 2001: 127-45; 1992: 84-91.
90. Collins 2001: 38-61. See also Bowersock 1990.
91. For example, in terms of the construction undertaken by Herod the Great, gymnasia, stoas and
agoras were of Hellenistic origin, while theaters and bathhouses were Roman: Chancey 2005:
175.
92. Freyne 1997: 54-55; Freyne 2000: 160-82, esp. 173-74.
the north-east, east, and south-east, and by Beth Shean-Scythopolis and Gaba in
the south.93 Herod the Great turned the minor port Straton’s Tower into Caesarea
Maritima, the principal port for Judaea (Stern 1974: 257). He also settled his
foreign veterans at Gaba on the northeast side of Mt Carmel,94 and refounded
Samaria, which had been destroyed by John Hyrcanus, as Sebaste between 27
and 12 bce. ‘A massive building program, including an official temple dedi-
cated to Roma and Augustus with cult personnel and a city constitution in Greek
style, secured Sebaste’s enduring pagan character’ (Zangenberg 2006: 405, 428).
Distributed throughout Palestine as these cities were, and notwithstanding the
century-long Hasmonaean rule, communication between Jews and Gentiles liv-
ing in the Hellenistic cities must often have depended on the ability to speak
Greek.95 The same can probably be said of communication between urban
Gentiles and Jews from the villages and rural areas of Galilee.
After its construction between 22 and 10 bce, Caesarea became the commercial
hub for the region of Samaria, just as Tyre and Ptolemais had a similar function
in upper and lower Galilee respectively.96 In the period before Constantine, Latin
inscriptions are more plentiful than Greek.97 This is because Caesarea became a
Roman colony early in the reign of Vespasian (69–79) and remained so through-
out the second and third centuries. Many of the Latin inscriptions are public
and derive from ‘the imperial establishment and the local elite with its Latinate
93. Hengel 1989: 14-15; see also Schürer 1979: 85-198. On the Phoenician cities, see Millar
1983: 55-71. ‘In the Roman period, so far as inscriptions reveal, the cities of Phoenicia appear
as entirely Greek’ (63). On the Greek cities of the Decapolis, see Rey-Coquais 1992: 116-21.
Cities in other areas include Neapolis near Sichem, Bethsaida-Julius in Batanaea, and Heshbon
and Julius in Peraea, some of which were inhabited by the Herods (Mussies 1974: 1058).
94. Hengel 1989: 33; Millard 2000: 104.
95. Cf. Sevenster 1968: 98-99; Hengel 1989: 14-15. As Mussies (1974: 1058-59) notes, we
‘cannot simply assume that all foreigners in the Hellenistic towns spoke Greek’.
96. Zangenberg 2006: 401-402. Josephus says in a matter-of-fact way that Ptolemais was a
maritime city of Galilee situated on the edge of the great plain (War 2.188)
97. Lehmann and Holum (2000: 23) provide figures of 61 Latin and 23 Greek inscriptions. All
known texts, except for a number of milestones (Lehmann and Holum 2000: nos. 99-108),
have now been published in Ameling, Cotton, Eck, Isaac, Kushnir-Stein, Misgav, Price and
Yardeni 2011. For pre-Constantinian and possibly pre-Constantinian Greek inscriptions,
see—I bce–I ce: 1425, 1732, 1787; I: 1265, 1382-85, 1414, 1725-29, 1733, 1734(?); I–II:
1474, 1568; I–III: 1134-35, 1372, 1531, 1859 (for date, see Lehmann and Holum 2000: no.
378); II: 1266, 1361-62, 1719, 1722(?), 1735(?), [plus nos. 99-101 in Lehmann and Holum
(2000)]; II–III: 1132, 1136, 1195, 1288 (cf. Lehmann and Holum 2000: no. 5), 1446, 1454,
1515, 1612, 1711, 1737-38, 1871, 2046 (for date, see Lehmann and Holum 2000: no. 76); III:
1289, 1399, 1457, 1740; see also—II bce–III ce: 1749; I–IV: 1789; II–IV: 1130-31, 1481,
1681, 1739; III–IV: 1701, 1712. Cf.—II–VI: 1702, 1879; III–V: 1703; III–VI: 1456, 1461,
1479, 1483-84, 1486, 1497, 1499, 1513, 1524-25, 1543, 1548, 1550, 1554-55, 1741; III–VII:
1494, 1504, 1517.
98. Lehmann and Holum 2000: 23. Cf. ‘no Latin inscription can be dated with full assurance to
the time after the early 4 c. AD’ (apart from no. 1138): Ameling et al. 2011: 27.
99. These private inscriptions are the only ones that ‘might be taken as unambiguously reflecting
Latinity and “Romanization” among the citizens of Caesarea’: Isaac 2009: 59.
100. Eck 2009: 38. ‘[E]ven outside the ruling classes Latin seems to have been taken for granted
as demonstrated in the modest graves of women and liberti’.
101. Καισάρειαν, μεγίστην τῆς τε ’Ιουδαίας πόλιν καὶ τὸ πλέον ὐφ’ Ἑλλήων οἰκουμένην (War
3.409-10).
102. See War 2.236, 268, 288, 332; Ant. 18.55-59; 29.365; War 2.457. Rabbinic sources reveal that
synagogue services at Caesarea were conducted in Greek (y. Sot. 7.1.21b): see van der Horst
2002: 19 n. 47.
103. Fuks 1982: 409-10. See War 2.468; cf. Life 26.
104. Ameling et al. 2011: 27. Lehmann and Holum (2000: 243 n. 162) had 122 Latin and 539
Greek texts on file, but published a corpus of only 80 Latin and 331 Greek texts. No totals for
Caesarea are provided in Ameling et al. 2011.
grid arrangement with a decumanus running east-west and cardo running north-
south. In the first century it had an impressive basilica (probably used for court,
council and commercial activities), a functional theatre, an aqueduct that brought
water from springs near the village of Mashad to a huge subterranean cistern east
of the city, a water installation or works, and possibly a bathhouse.105 Paving and
colonnading of the cardo and expansion of the theatre (second tier of seating) and
basilica (second story, porches and internal rows of columns) probably took place
in the early second century as the city began to demonstrate its growing afflu-
ence and civic pride.106 A first-century house on the western acropolis shows an
awareness of Roman architectural styles in the use of fresco and mosaic, but the
accoutrements of the moderately affluent were kept inside and not displayed. A
contemporaneous house across the street, however, was built around a peristyle
courtyard, showing that some Jewish families were adopting the Roman tendency
to display wealth in architecturally pretentious ways.107
When it comes to the socio-economic impact of urbanization on rural areas,
a number of factors come into play. On the one hand, the so-called political-
economy model of Finley (1977) speaks in some degree to the Galilean situa-
tion. Reed (2000: 96) argues that the rapid growth of the new cities transformed
Galilee ‘from a traditional to commercialized agrarian economy’. The need for
tax income and agricultural produce increased the economic strain on Galilean
peasants and altered rural-urban dynamics (Reed 2000: 83-89). Peasant families
now had ‘to support a growing administrative apparatus, a manufacturing sector,
and construction crews’. Because taxes had to be paid in currency, rural peasants
sold their land but often stayed on as tenants or indentured servants. As estates
grew and tenancy increased, ‘a substantial number’ also moved to the cities to
work as tenant farmers or day labourers.108 Inter alia, increases in population and
monetization, specifically the coins struck by Antipas, are adduced as evidence
for these changes.109
This position should be qualified by several points to the contrary. First, the
quantity of coins minted did not significantly increase the number of (Hasmonaean,
105. Weiss and Netzer 1996: 29-37; Reed 2000: 117-20; Chancey 2002: 76-77. On the water supply,
see Tsuk 1996: 45-49.
106. McCullough 2013: 50-57. McCullough (2013: 52) and Strange (1992a: 342) date the first
stage of the theatre to the reign of Antipas. For an end of I or later dating, see Meyers, Netzer
and Meyers 1992: 33 and Meyers and Chancey 2012: 269. Cf. Aviam 2013: 18 on possible
parallels to a two-stage building process (beginning in the first century) in Tiberias and
Scythopolis.
107. Reed 2000: 130; cf. 125-28. ‘The local elites were reluctant to adopt foreign beliefs and were
intent on maintaining their religious convictions, though they sought out the socio-economic
benefits that accompanied Roman urbanization’ (124).
108. Reed 2000: 86-87. Cf. Horsley 1996: 76-85.
109. Freyne 2000: 108; Arnal 2000: 138.
Herodian and Tyrian) coins already in circulation. In other words, it appears that
the existing level of monetization was able to cope with the demands of urbani-
zation which, therefore, should not be exaggerated (Jensen 2007: 277-313).
Second, while the presence of Tyrian coins throughout Galilee and the assump-
tion in the gospels that even the poor used money on a daily basis are indicative
of a monetized economy (Freyne 2000: 106-108), studies on Ptolemaic Egypt
have shown that rural people continued to use exchange and payment in kind and
services alongside money. Even as the drachma figured in increasing numbers
of second-century transactions, wheat ‘remained a “money of accounts,” and tax
payments could be reckoned in terms of equivalences to fixed amounts of wheat,
a system attested throughout Egypt under the Ptolemies’.110 Similarly, payment
of taxes in kind seems to have been acceptable in Israel during the early Roman
period (Safrai 1994: 427) and Galilee was probably no exception. Third, the
economic shift caused by urbanization could be beneficial (see Douglas Edwards
1988: 169-82; David Edwards 1992: 53-73). There is good evidence that the new
dynamic did not prevent rural dwellers from participating in the local, regional
(up to a distance of c. 25 km) and inter-regional market economies.111
There was a well-developed trade network by which ‘goods and services
were transported from village to village, to town, to cities, and vice-versa’.112
The village of Kefar Hananya (KH), situated on the border between upper and
lower Galilee, supplied ‘most of the kitchen pottery of the Galilee, and a signifi-
cant minority of the cooking vessels of the Golan’ from mid I bce–early V ce
(Adan-Bayewitz 1997: 277). Adan-Bayewitz identified KH ware at Tel Anafa
in the Golan, at Acco-Ptolemais on the coast, at Meiron, Capernaum, Tiberias,
Sepphoris and Beth She‘arim in Galilee, and at Gamla and Susita-Hippos on
the east of the Sea of Galilee.113 Its presence at Tel Anafa negates the argu-
ment that elite preference was behind the use of KH ware at Sepphoris, as do
the large amounts of both KH and imported fineware at the Jewish village of
Meiron (Douglas Edwards 2007: 363-66).114 Recent archaeological finds have
110. Samuel 1984: 202. See also Rathbone 1989: 159-76; von Reden 2010: 79-150.
111. For a good summary of scholarship, see Pastor 2010: 297-307. See also Safrai 1994: 415-35;
Choi 2010. On external/international trade, see Applebaum 1976: 669-80.
112. ‘We can deduce by archaeological methods that an extensive, first century C.E. trade network
existed that connected the villages, towns, and cities of Lower Galilee, Upper Galilee, the rift,
and the Golan’ (Strange 1997: 41).
113. Adan-Bayewitz and Perlman 1990: 155-58 provides a brief summary of Adan-Bayewitz
1993.
114. Small ointment vases and fineware found throughout Galilee confirm that there were import
networks. The vases are dated III bce–I ce: see Hershkovitz 1986: 50. On the fineware (Eastern
Terra Sigillata A) and the reason for its comparatively low incidence (purity concerns), see
Mattila 2013: 90-104. On the production and movement of goods in Palestine, see Applebaum
1976: 680-90; cf. Choi 2010.
115. Edwards (2007: 365) notes that ‘this raises questions for the carefully constructed distribution
model proposed by Adan-Bayewitz for KH ware’.
116. Adan-Bayewitz and Perlman 1990: 168-70. KH ware and Shikhin pottery comprise 25% and
45% respectively of pottery finds at Sepphoris (160).
117. Adan-Bayewitz and Perlman 1990: 170. On the distribution of knife-pared oil lamps from
Jerusalem to towns in Galilee, see Adan-Bayewitz, Azaro, Wieder and Giauque 2008: 37-85.
118. Freyne 2000: 174. Cf. Edwards 1988: 174.
119. Edwards 2007: 366-67. See Mattila’s (2013: 74-138) cogent criticisms of the description of
Capernaum in Crossan and Reed 2001.
120. Aviam 2013: 26-27. Most of the pottery produced at first-century Yodefat was identical to KH
ware, suggesting that the same kinds of cooking vessels were produced elsewhere (27-28).
121. Strange (1997: 41-42) citing Josephus, War 3.3.3, 3.10.8; m. Men. 8.6; y. Meg. 72D; Eccl. R.
3.3; m. Kil. 4.4 (Salmin); b. ‘Abod. Zar. 30A (Acchabaron).
122. Choi (2010) surveys papyrological literature on the rural-urban movement of goods in Egypt
and argues that the situation in Galilee would have been similar.
and that too much importance should not be placed on the post-70 Roman roads
as the major reason for economic development.123
It is clear that some of the rural inhabitants of first-century Galilee lived at
a level significantly above that of subsistence peasants and enjoyed beneficial
economic relationships with their urban neighbours.124 However, as Schwartz
observes, there was still ‘a substantial class of prosperous, though not neces-
sarily hugely wealthy, city-based landowners in lower Galilee’. Tiberias and
Sepphoris, which were constitutionally Graeco-Roman, ‘were required by law
to have city councils containing several hundred citizens who owned property
worth at least 100 sesterces’. This raises ‘a serious objection to the growing ten-
dency to dismiss the importance of urban-rural tensions’ (Schwartz 2006: 43).
Wealthy landowners had at their disposal significant numbers of rural depend-
ents who must have been affected in varying degree by the economic disparity
between city and country.125 But the precise effects of urbanization continue to
be debated.126 This is not the place to enter into that debate, except to note with
Freyne (1997: 54) that there is always ‘more than one “local” voice’. It was not
just a matter of co-existence. There was also rural resistance to the economic and
cultural impact of Graeco-Roman urbanization.
5.3. Administration
The ethnicity and religious ethos of Galilee was Jewish and its urban building
program was relatively muted. Nevertheless, Antipas ‘cultivated the Roman-
Hellenistic urban political-culture of a client-ruler who had been raised and
educated in Rome’. The palace at Tiberias, which he decorated with images of
animals, symbolized ‘the cultural transition and conflict inherent in the projects
of Herodian client-kingship’ (Horsley 1996: 35). Antipas made first Sepphoris
(from c. 4 bce–18 ce) and then Tiberias his capital (until 39) and the location
of his court and administration (Horsley 1996: 56). According to the Gospel
of Mark, on the night that John the Baptist was beheaded Antipas hosted a
dinner for ‘his courtiers and the military officers and leading men of Galilee’
(τοῖς μεγιστᾶσιν αὐτοῦ καὶ τοῖς χιλιάρχοις καὶ τοῖς πρώτοις τῆς Γαλιλαίας, 6.21).
123. So McCullough 2013: 68-70. The traveller from Sepphoris had ‘access potentially to about 40
villages one short day’s journey away’ (Strange 1997: 42).
124. Cf. Moreland 2007: 133-59. I have modified his argument about Hellenistic cities and towns
to the west and northwest to include interaction with Sepphoris and Tiberias.
125. Although neither article discusses Galilee, see Goodman 1982: 417-27 and Kloppenborg
2008: 31-66. For a defence of the term ‘peasant’, see Oakman 2013: 139-64. For discussion
of issues in the study of the Galilean and Palestinian economies, see Fiensy 2013: 165-86 and
Harland 2002: 511-27.
126. See Moxnes 2001: 64-77, esp. 71-73, for discussion of the various scholarly answers to these
questions.
Such elites would have comprised the upper echelons of court and administra-
tion in both capitals (Horsley 1996: 35). The situation changed substantially just
before the war, when Agrippa II kept his administration at Tiberias but transferred
the royal bank and archives to the pro-Roman Sepphoris (Josephus, Life 38).
If dissemination of Hellenistic influences from Sepphoris and Tiberias did
not adversely affect Jewish religious affiliation, the cities were still administra-
tive centres with a wealthy landowning aristocracy and a large retainer class.127
That Greek was the ‘standard language of public life and legal documentation’
(Bagnall 2011: 104) is supported by rabbinic literature, which assumes that con-
tact with the Roman administration would require knowledge of Greek.128 While
Aramaic might also have been used, communication between the economic elite,
administrative officials, and retainers probably depended to a significant extent
on Greek. Retainers may also have aspired to the status and opportunities that
knowledge of Greek might afford (Sevenster 1968: 60-61). So Greek could also
have been the medium of communication between retainers and some of those
retained or serviced, including some first-century rural dwellers.
It should be noted, however, that after Judaea became a province in 6 ce there
does not appear to have been a shift to the general use of Greek in legal docu-
ments as there was in Arabia after 106.129 While there is first-century evidence
from Masada for the documentary use of Greek (to which some undated and
unprovenanced Greek papyri can probably be added), Aramaic has a monopoly
on first-century legal documents in Palestine.130 There are two possible expla-
nations for this. First, there were Jewish courts with the power to enforce deci-
sions at least until the First Revolt (how much power these retained after 70 is
unknown).131 Second, Aramaic (and Hebrew) was preferred in Judaea during
132. On Aramaic as the prior language of legal contracts in Arabia and Judaea, see Cotton 2003:
5-10.
133. Cotton 1999: 230. Cf. Cotton and Eck 2005: 23-44.
134. Life 277-80. Larger crowds assembled in the stadium: see Life 92-93, 331; War 2.618; 3.539.
6. Conclusion
That the inscriptional evidence is spread proportionately across the first three cen-
turies and comes, in the main, from Sepphoris and Tiberias, proves that little can
be made of numbers alone. It also suggests that the vast majority of inscriptions
did not survive. There is confirmation for this in the handful of Aramaic/Hebrew
inscriptions (leaving aside 25a and 25b) and in the relatively small number of
Greek inscriptions from Caesarea before it became a Roman colony. Therefore,
the evidence for the individual use of Greek in other parts of first-century Galilee
– Gush Halav in upper Galilee, Magdala on the Sea of Galilee, and the area near
Beth She‘arim in the west – is probably not representative either. First-century
Galilee was not an isolated Aramaic enclave. The archaeological and literary
evidence show that both upper and lower Galilee should be seen ‘as very much
in constant touch with the gentile, Greek-speaking cities that surrounded them’
(Meyers 1995: 22). This probably involved ‘daily connections’ with Jerusalem
as well as with the Gentiles around the Roman territory (Aviam 2004b: 23). The
urbanization of Sepphoris and Tiberias had some negative outcomes, but it also
opened up economic opportunities for rural people. Such opportunities would
sometimes/often have depended on the use of Greek, on a bilingualism which,
in most cases, would have been primary and, at the very least, minimally func-
tional. Greek was the language of administration and the elite, and retainers may
have emulated their superiors in this regard. For all these reasons, it is likely that
some of the Twelve were type 1, 2 or 3 productive bilinguals, that Jesus himself
could also have known Greek, and that some of the earliest Jesus tradition might
have been transmitted in Greek.138
135. Hengel 1989: 16-17. Cf. Ilan 2002: 283-84, Θαδδαῖος; 2002: 303-304, Πέτρος, Πτολεμαῖος.
It should be noted, however, that only 14.5% of known Palestinian names are Greek in the
period 330 bce–200 ce: see Ilan 2002: 55 (Table 3), cf. 10-13; and Chancey 2005: 155-61,
230-35.
136. Meyers 1979: 698. Chancey (2002: 55-66) allows that contact between Jew and Gentile was
inevitable, although he takes a characteristically minimalist view as regards most Galileans.
137. Case 1926: 14-22. Cf. Sanders (1996: 75-79), who rejects any such possibility.
138. It remains to be seen whether the publication of the CIIP volume on Galilee, which will not
appear before 2017 (W. Eck, pers. comm. 10 November 2014), will bring to light a significant
number of new Greek and/or Aramaic/Hebrew inscriptions and thereby necessitate another
re-evaluation of the evidence.
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