Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside: Essays on the Urban and Rural Worlds of Early Christianity [1 ed.] 9783666564949, 9783525564943

Citation preview

Markus Tiwald /Jürgen K. Zangenberg (eds.) 

Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside Essays on the Urban and Rural Worlds of Early Christianity

Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus / Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments

In cooperation with the “Bibel und Orient” foundation, University of Fribourg (Switzerland) edited by Martin Ebner (Bonn), Peter Lampe (Heidelberg), Heidrun Elisabeth Mader (Heidelberg), Stefan Schreiber (Augsburg) and Jürgen K. Zangenberg (Leiden) Advisory Board Helen K. Bond (Edinburgh), Raimo Hakola (Helsinki), Thomas Schumacher (Fribourg), John Barclay (Durham), Armand Puig i T/rrech (La Selva del Camp), Ronny Reich (Haifa), Edmondo F. Lupieri (Chicago), Stefan Münger (Bern) Volume 126

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg (eds.)

Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside Essays on the Urban and Rural Worlds of Early Christianity

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet þber https://dnb.de abrufbar.  2021, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht GmbH & Co. KG, Theaterstraße 13, D-37073 Gçttingen Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Das Werk und seine Teile sind urheberrechtlich geschþtzt. Jede Verwertung in anderen als den gesetzlich zugelassenen FÐllen bedarf der vorherigen schriftlichen Einwilligung des Verlages. Satz: 3w+p, Rimpar Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage j www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISSN 2197-5124 ISBN 978-3-666-56494-9

Contents

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg “Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside” An Introduction to “Essays on Urban and Rural Structures of Early Christianity” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9

“Town” and “Countryside” – Complement or Contrast? Methodological Reflections Frits Gerard Naerebout ‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

21

Reinhard von Bendemann Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

43

Martin Ebner Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt Methodisch-hermeneutische Grundsatzfragen und exemplarische Analysen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

63

Jesus and the Early Jesus Movement Jodi Magness How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

. . . . . . . . . . . 113

Jürgen K. Zangenberg Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18) Observations on Jesus the Jew Traveling through a Changing Galilee . . 129 Markus Tiwald The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’ . . . 149

6

Contents

Gerd Theißen The Transition from Countryside to City A Transformation of Christianity in its Beginnings? . . . . . . . . . . . 177

Pauline Christianity Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

. . . . . . . . . . . . . 195

Lukas Bormann Early Christians in the Lycus Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

Early Christian Environments from the First to the Second Century Jörg Frey Urbanity in the Gospel of John? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity? Revelation and the Ascension of Isaiah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 Markus Öhler Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas of Pontus et Bithynia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 Karen P.S. Janssen “All Turned on Us Like Beasts” Legal Negotiation and the Persecution of Lyon and Vienne . . . . . . . 299 Heidrun E. Mader “Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor, Second Century CE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321

Beyond Christianity Daniel Schowalter Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire . 337 Günter Stemberger The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine . . . . . . . . 365

Contents

7

Ze’ev Weiss Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine Is there That Much of a Difference between Them? . . . . . . . . . . . 377 Contributors Indices

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg

“Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside” An Introduction to “Essays on Urban and Rural Structures of Early Christianity” The question seems to me to be worthy of your consideration, especially in view of the number of persons endangered; for a great many individuals of every age and class, both men and women, are being brought to trial, and this is likely to continue. It is not only the towns, but villages and rural districts too which are infected through contact with this wretched cult. (Pliny, Letters 10:96,9 from Loeb Classical Library)

That early Christianity, right from its very beginnings, was not a monolithic block, is a truism hardly disputed in recent academic research. Early Christian communities were diverse, dynamic and often enough deeply divided on ethics, persons and doctrine. At the same time, they were creative, very active in communication and eager to exchange ideas with each other. But what does that mean? How did such diversity look like “on the ground”? Instead of dealing with controversial theological positions or leading figures of various Christian groups, this collection of essays deals with Christians in their various urban and rural environments, social worlds that they shared and struggled over with their non-Christian compatriots. By taking such an approach, this book aims to contribute to a broader scholarly debate that puts the social conditions and cultural contexts of local communities into the focus of attention. Early Christians did not exist outside or beyond such sociohistorical milieus, just because their belief system and religious practices (partly!) differed, they were – with all their non-conformism – part of their rural and urban environments, so that their convictions and practices needed to relate to them. To a large extent, the diversity of regional, local and social milieus provided the basis for the socio-historical and ideological diversity of early Christians. This is, of course, far from propagating any kind of social determinism. In recent years, we have learnt that the ancient Mediterranean world offered a lot of space for different groups shaping their identity and protecting their

10

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg

diversity. Along with and often against all social structures, people had choices and found ways to express them. Town and countryside are among the most fundamental conditions of life in the Ancient Mediterranean. Wherever somebody lived with his or her group, in a village in Galilee, a town in Gaul or a city in Galatia, would influence the options and limits this group would be faced with when organizing life in the broadest sense. This book collects the bulk of papers presented at two conferences devoted to “Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside” and co-organized by the editors. 01.-03. 05. 2017: “Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside: Urban Structures of Early Christianity”; convened by Jürgen K. Zangenberg (Universiteit Leiden) and Markus Tiwald (Universität Duisburg-Essen) at Leiden, Rijksmuseum van Oudheden and sponsored by Leiden University. 05.-07. 02. 2018: “Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside: Rural Jesus-Traditions and Urban Christian Beginnings – Contrast or Correlation?”; convened by Markus Tiwald (Universität Duisburg-Essen) and Jürgen K. Zangenberg (Universiteit Leiden) in Essen and funded by the DFG (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft). The conference papers explored ways in which early Christians related to, struggled against, coped with and were inspired by living in an urban or rural environment. Our ambition, perhaps maybe too over-enthusiastic, was indeed to cover as many aspects as possible. Some papers reviewed methodologies and concepts of what we (should or should not) call “urban” and “rural”, how we need to perceive their relationship and what methods there are to explore them. Others examined various forms of early Christian community-life in towns and villages in various parts of the ancient Mediterranean, according to how they can still be described on the basis of texts and material culture. And finally, some papers dealt with aspects of how Jews and “pagans” used their urban and rural environments to develop their cultural and social identities.

1. Methodological Reflections Before going into the detailed exploration of phenomena and milieus, it still seems appropriate to reflect on what we are actually talking about. The first section “‘Town’ and ‘Countryside’ – Complement or Contrast?” therefore offers methodological reflections on common concepts and terminologies of “urban” and “rural” in antiquity. In the opening article “‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity :

“Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside”

11

Opposition or Complement?”, ancient historian Frits G. Naerebout takes the issue head on, sketches and challenges the popular perception of the first Christians having necessarily been “urban”. Using terms like “urban” and “rural”, of course, does not only refer to spaces, but “cultural ecologies” (p. 22). Naerebout warns us not to easily rely on the concept of Rome as an “urban empire” when 85 % of its inhabitants lived in the countryside. Demography, therefore, needs to be taken into account when forming a new, more accurate concept of early Christianity. Instead of simply turning the table around and propagating a “rural hypothesis”, Naerebout questions how meaningful such labels like “rural” and “urban” can actually be for any description of early Christianity, since for a long period until Late Antiquity, urban and rural living conditions and mentalities were complementary rather than in opposition to each other. The “cultural ecology” of Christian communities is not urban or rural, but is the ecology of the ancient city, which comprises the two. New Testament scholar Reinhard von Bendemann follows up these questions and examines “Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality”. Starting with Max Weber’s and Moses Finley’s tendency to put the “consumer city” over against their agricultural countryside, von Bendemann – like Naerebout – quickly emphasizes that not only were “urban” and “rural” very diverse and dynamic structures, but also that they, perhaps apart from a few mega-cities, always remained closely interconnected. This complementary relationship is also reflected in various ways in early Christian literature. Martin Ebner’s article “Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt. Methodischhermeneutische Grundsatzfragen und exemplarische Analysen” bolsters this view by additional methodological considerations and providing in-depth case studies. Especially important is Ebner’s analysis of Paul’s “mental map” that very much depended on imperial provincial structures and the role of cities in it. In much of Paul’s activity and organization, cities and elements of urban lifestyle and customs did play a crucial role, either as constructive models that Paul creatively adapted or simply imitated, or as habits that he thought needed to be overcome or transcended by the local congregation of his fellow believers. Especially political institutions like the ecclesia with its ideals of participation and status were of utmost importance. Other NT writings like the Pastoral Letters cultivated other “urban ideals” such as the patriarchal family or the “house”, and even Rev cannot imagine the eschatological world, it so desperately longed for, in any other form than an imaginary city descending from heaven, the direct opposition to Rome, the “Great Harlot Babylon”. With these analyses, Ebner demonstrates how much the great urban centers of the Roman empire remained an important source of inspiration for early Christian communities, even in cases where some protagonists rejected urban life and ideals.

12

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg

2. Jesus and the Early Jesus Movement In the following section “Jesus and the Early Jesus Movement” things are getting more specific. Ever since the “third quest for the historical Jesus” started, Galilean society and material culture have attracted broad scholarly attention as an indispensable source for the reconstruction of the earliest Jesus movement. The traditional perspective on Galilee, however, is currently rapidly changing, and some long-accepted convictions are coming under increasing critique: the old contrast between Judaism and Hellenism in Galilee and the alleged dichotomy between a “rural” versus “urban” Galilee, just to name two. It seems now that Galilee was much more dynamic, and cultural demarcation lines were much more blurred than previously thought. The latter aspect is extensively discussed in “How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?” by archaeologist Jodi Magness, who reviews the presence of specifically Roman material culture in pre-revolt Galilee, noting an “unexpected Roman influence on the Galilean Jewish population” (p. 124). Magness not only shows how much Galilean local elites were attracted by Roman-style architecture and decoration, but – contrary to a broad stream of recent research – also emphasizes that many forms of common Galilean household pottery were either derived from Roman forms or were imported. Romanization, therefore, was not a marginal phenomenon of the elite only and nothing forcefully imposed by a foreign oppressor on a subdued indigenous population. Apparently, members of average Galilean Jewish society absorbed Roman eating habits and tastes while at the same time building synagogues and miqwa’ot and using stone vessels to keep ritual purity. The results of Magness’ analysis are directly relevant for Jesus research. Based on a public lecture given at the Essen conference in 2018, Jürgen K. Zangenberg’s essay “Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18): Observations on Jesus the Jew Traveling through a Changing Galilee” reviews characteristics of “Jesus’ Galilee” beyond literary constructs and illuminates the first aspect of a revised concept of Galilee as sketched above: its dynamic character. Due to being sandwiched between the urban centers along the Mediterranean coast and southern Syria and its growing integration into the world of the Eastern Mediterranean, Galilean society in the Late Hellenistic and early Roman period was subject to constant transformation that not only affected traditional values and social structures but also settlement patterns. The common distinction between village, town and city is only valid if put into such a dynamic framework: many Galilean villages were growing out into towns, and towns into cities, depending on political, economic and cultural factors. It is significant that many traditions related to the Jesus movement are connected either to locations in the “greenbelt” of cities (e. g., Cana and Nain close to Sepphoris) or were located in thriving towns (Capernaum) that in any case were most dynamic elements of the early Roman Galilean settlement

“Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside”

13

pattern. Even villages (e. g. NT Chorazim whose identification with current Chorazim is hypothetical) could grow into towns and towns could develop into cities. Such observations help us put the popular assumption into its proper context according to which Jesus had avoided cities because the urban world was alien to him. How much urban culture was Jesus really able to avoid in a Galilee where town and countryside were so close to each other and so heavily interconnected? Approaching Galilee from the perspective of archaeology makes clear that Jesus was active in “a world with a distinct Jewishurban flavor, integrated into different geographical, economic and cultural frameworks that sometimes overlapped, sometimes collaborated and sometimes clashed with each other” (p. 145). In “The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’”, Markus Tiwald asks why the cities Tiberias, Sepphoris, and Magdala are not mentioned as destinations of Jesus’ preaching in our biblical records. The old assumption that Jesus might have avoided these cities as being too “pagan” certainly is wrong: In Sepphoris, Tiberias, and Magdala, a plethora of Jewish “index fossils” clearly hint to the Jewish identity of these cities. Tiwald reaches the conclusion that Jesus’ “selective geographical radius” might be understood as a deliberate prophetic statement for God’s advocacy for the poor : “Jesus’ world is the world of the marginalized losers (small farmers, fishermen, craftsmen, lepers, and prostitutes). He deliberately disregards the wider focus of Jewish city life and the socially upwardly mobile milieus of those who succeeded in harmonising Jewish and Hellenistic life” (p. 162). Tiwald reckons with a longer time span of Galilean Jesus-followers than the Lukan Jerusalem centrism might suggest. Nevertheless, after the two Jewish wars the Christians most probably had left the Galilee. The birthplace of the Jesus movement was rural – but the place where it grew up was urban. In “The Transition from Countryside to City. A Transformation of Christianity in its Beginnings?”, Gerd Theißen goes one step further and examines the implications of one of the most decisive moments in the history of early Christianity. But did early Christianity really “cross the borderline between city and countryside”? (p. 177) While there is no doubt that early Jesus followers from Galilee went to Jerusalem and from there on to cities elsewhere in the Mediterranean world, other groups would go the opposite way and disseminate Christian faith in rural environments. Especially important is Paul, whose complementary model of ascetism and family ethos made Christianity an attractive alternative in the competition with other cults in the urban world, while the ongoing reception of the Synoptic tradition continued to confront and connect later generations of Christians with their imagined rural Galilean roots. As parallel and opposition Christianity paradoxically succeeded in connecting country and city. Apparently, the lines between the rural and urban worlds were not so clearcut in Jesus’ environment. Galilee was in a dynamic transformation, Jesus himself could hardly avoid getting into contact with urban milieus around

14

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg

him, and early Jesus followers easily transgressed the borders between rural and urban milieus. Later, traditions with rural Lokalkolorit continued to remind urban Christians of a lifestyle different from their own. The considerable ease with which early Jesus followers transgressed geographical, cultural and social boundaries, and their flexibility to adapt to various worlds and milieus certainly also paved the ground for Paul’s later missionary work. Two articles in the following section are devoted to him.

3. “Pauline Christianity” Ever since Wayne A. Meeks’ groundbreaking book “The First Urban Christians”, the members of Paul’s congregations featured as the “model first urban Christians”. Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte reviews Meeks’ theory and Thomas A. Robinson’s critique on Meeks in “Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon”. While Robinson is able to nuance Meeks’ model in various important points, Lietaert Peerbolte ultimately holds on to Meeks and concludes that “Christianity started in the Greco-Roman world as an urban phenomenon, but city and countryside were related and thus the movement spread from the cities into the more rural areas“ (p. 206). “Nascent Christianity was influenced by its urban context at least with regard to its living conditions, the examples according to which it modelled its social organization, probably also its rituals, and the ways in which Christians educated their children.” (p. 207). But how does “Pauline Christianity” look like on the ground? How were communities structured and traditions transmitted? Lukas Bormann takes up a topic that has received much welcome attention in recent years through archeological and exegetical work: “Early Christians in the Lycus Valley”. Though there is hardly a chance to write a history of Christian presence in this thriving and complex region around the cities of Kolossai, Hierapolis and Laodikaia, new, especially epigraphical, sources allow us to better grasp how Pauline and non-Pauline Christians positioned themselves in an urban, deeply Hellenized environment with their message that recognized ethnic and social diversity, but desired to overcome it.

4. Early Christian Environments from the First to the Second Century In the next section “Early Christian Environments from the First to the Second Century”, we take the step beyond the alleged core figures and milieus of early

“Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside”

15

Christianity, Jesus and Paul, beyond the confines of the canon and even the eastern Mediterranean. In “Urbanity in the Gospel of John?”, Jörg Frey examines the role John’s gospel and the Johannine tradition might have played in Christianity’s transition from – to put it bluntly – a Jewish sect to a universalistic religion. What can we learn from John about “rural” – “urban” relations in early Christianity? Far from being just a mirror of its extra-textual world, John nevertheless provides valuable insights if one looks at the potential context in which the Gospel was written, references to the rural and urban worlds in the narrative and the “intellectual milieu presupposed by the Fourth Gospel” (p. 234). Looking at this evidence, Frey is able to cautiously sketch “the world the Johannine group encountered, partly by rejection, but partly also by education and participation” and the distinct milieu which “might have brought about the type of interpretation, the depth of metaphorical connections, and the degree of liberty with regard to historical traditions that we can find when reading the Fourth Gospel” (p. 248). Not all early Christian authors and milieus, however, would embrace urbanity so emphatically as John appears to have. Tobias Nicklas and Luigi Walt examine “Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity? Revelation and the Ascension of Isaiah”. Next to some very early indications in early Christian ascetic milieus of at least “a certain distance to aspects of life in an ancient city” (p. 252), the book of Revelation certainly offers the most outspoken polemics against urban life. Strangely enough, this book at the same time demonstrates that one does not need to live in a rural context to develop “anti-urban sentiments”, or at least “betray a certain distance to aspects of life in an ancient city” (p. 252). Although the seer resides on the remote island of Patmos when writing his apocalypse, his addressees are congregations living in the big cities along the western Asia Minor coast and its immediate hinterland. But how representative is his prophetic voice in an area where many Christians lived in these cities and shared a more “Pauline” outlook? The situation might be a bit different in the case of AscIs whose protagonist Isaiah is said to have withdrawn into the desert to watch and castigate the cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem which have both fallen under the rule of Satan. Here, too, we might have the voice of a lone elite ascetic warning his readers about the ubiquitous temptations of urban life. It is important to note that each author’s position is deeply rooted in and eloquently expressed by references to the OT-tradition, building up a high aura of authenticity and authority that did certainly not fail to have an impact on their readers. But how representative were these complicated texts for assuming an early Christian “anti-urban sentiment” in the end? Are they more than exceptions confirming the rule that, by the end of the 1st c. / beginning of the 2nd c., Christianity had in fact very predominately become “urban”? And where were the “rural” Christians? In his article “Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas of Pontus et Bithynia”, Markus Öhler takes us to a province north of the

16

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg

“main regions” of Christianity in Asia Minor. While the region is mentioned in the NT, Pontus et Bithynia has above all received attention due to Pliny the Younger’s famous letter in Ep. X 96 and Trajan’s reply X 97. After having presented a very detailed commentary on Ep. X 96 and scrutinizing other sources for presence of Christians, Öhler provides us with a fascinating sketch of the difficulties early Christian groups faced when taking foot in an urban context. Contrary to the huge role especially Pliny’s letter has played in research, our literary and epigraphical evidence does not firmly point to the direction that Christianity was widespread until the end of the 3rd c. and even beyond. Nevertheless, there were Christians and they were not hidden. Where they had come from, we do not know, and it seems likely that they did not only live in cities when Pliny took action against them in the early 2nd c. One of the earliest Christian communities in the west of the empire could be found in Lugdunum (Lyon, capital of Tres Galliae) and Vienna (Vienne, a major city in Gallia Narbonensis), attested by Eusebius quoting from a letter that the Lyonnaise Christians sent to their brethren in Asia and Phrygia to report about bloody persecutions they had suffered from their fellow inhabitants. As Karen P.S. Janssen shows in her article “’All Turned on Us Like Beasts’. Legal Negotiation and the Persecution of Lyon and Vienne”, this gruesome event documents both the level to which Christians had become part of urban culture in the late 2nd c. and how much Christians were still perceived as outsiders by their fellow inhabitants, could be marginalized and even targeted as scape goats by an aggressive mob. Both the relatively large number and visibility of Christians and the often violent reactions by their compatriots against them impelled Roman authorities to take a stance, something that we have already seen in the case of Pliny’s investigations against Christians in Pontus et Bithynia. Janssen carefully examines the legal and procedural measures the various groups of city and provincial officials took (or did not take) to achieve their goal, namely to preserve public order. For that purpose, these officials often had to work out fragile compromises between various groups of “stake holders” such as local populace, local officials, provincial officials and not the least also the imperial administration which more often than not was inclined to keep these conflicts to the local level. Negotiations and finding compromises are, if one remembers Ebner’s reflections on the ekklesia, themselves “urban” skills and virtues. It is tragic, therefore, that “urban Christians” all too quickly got into the danger of falling victim to an environment they themselves increasingly found attractive. Heidrun E. Mader, on the other hand, examines several Montanist traditions as expressions of “rural Christianity”. Poor and oppressed, Montanists intentionally marginalized themselves as “the small ones”, making God even bigger and hope for a reversal of their situation even stronger. Though Montanists polemicized against the temptations of urban culture and focused on an imaginary “heavenly Jerusalem” descending onto earth at the villages of Pepouza and Tymion (of all places!), their dream of salvation is

“Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside”

17

ultimately directed towards a holy city cleansed of all impurity and injustice. Mader shows how difficult labels such as “rural” and “urban” actually are, and that not only the “real” but also the “imagined” world needs to be taken into account. The thin line between them can easily be crossed from either side.

5. Beyond Christianity There might certainly have been good reasons to put the last section “Beyond Christianity” already at the beginning of this book. In the end, the decision to conclude the book with a glimpse into aspects of urban life beyond early Christianity was taken because of the broader chronological scope the last three articles offer compared to most of the articles presented in sections 1–4. The articles in this section should not, however, be read as a kind of appendix on the “cultural surroundings” of early Christianity (in the sense of the German word “Umwelt”). Instead, they deal with the world Christianity was an inseparable part of; Christianity cannot be analyzed as something “outside” of these worlds. “City”, of course, never was and never is a monolith. Cities are segmented into areas and zones, depending on the people who live in them. Often, research has been focusing on the “center” of a city, marked as special by monumental architecture and a prominent location. In “Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire”, however, Daniel Schowalter examines “ways in which public religion could become part of the everyday lives of people who were not necessarily seeking it in designated ‘cultic’ areas found in the middle of the city” (p. 337). The gods, Schowalter shows with the help of numerous examples from Asia Minor, were everywhere, so it was very difficult for a group that rejected these gods to find space for performing their own rites. Günter Stemberger examines “The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine”, critically reviewing the popular assumption that Rabbis were predominately a rural or small-town phenomenon. “To some extent”, Stemberger says, “the rabbinic movement was from its very beginnings an urban movement” (p. 365). But in what sense were Rabbinic centers such as Javne, Sepphoris or Lydda “cities”? And in what way did the culture of these places influence Rabbinic “social, intellectual and religious life” (p. 371)? It is interesting to see that the Rabbis apparently found a way to accommodate the Roman, predominately pagan urban environment, unlike some Christians who sometimes fiercely polemicized against urban life (see, e. g., the contributions of Nicklas / Walt or Mader above). Compromise and cooperation were made halakhically possible, because local elites and Roman officials provided the room to allow Rabbis to be active teachers and to facilitate social advancement of themselves and their congregation:

18

Markus Tiwald / Jürgen K. Zangenberg

intellectual exchange, education and identity formation flourished under Rabbis in their urban environments. A stimulating pendent to Stemberger’s article from the field of material culture studies is Ze’ev Weiss’ “Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine. Is There That Much of a Difference between Them?”, the last contribution to this volume. Weiss focuses on architecture, orientation, liturgical furnishings and mosaic art. Given the general diversity and regionality of synagogues in Late Ancient Palestine, Weiss states that rural synagogues did not differ much from their urban counterparts and above all, were not poorer in terms of decoration and architecture. It appears that rural congregations were quite open to urban influences. The only notable difference is the fact that Aramaic is much more frequently used in rural contexts than Greek, though inscriptions did not differ in terms of content. The language preference, however, might be an effect of factors beyond the world of the synagogues specifically.

6. Acknowledgements There are a lot of colleagues without whose help and inspiration this project would never have come to conclusion. The editors are deeply grateful to the presenters who shared their expertise during the two conferences in Leiden and Essen and later transformed into authors in this volume. We also wish to thank Leiden University, the University of Essen-Duisburg and now Vienna that offered the two editors the freedom and means to organize these two conferences and stimulate academic and personal exchange with such an inspiring group of international colleagues. The Rijksmuseum van Oudheden and the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft provided necessary logistical and financial support for both conferences. Enrico Grube (Vienna) and Indira Huliselan (Leiden) have worked hard editing the manuscripts and bringing them into the necessary form for publication. Enrico Grube has also produced the indexes. Thanks for their careful and meticulous work! Last but not least, we wish to thank Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht and the editors of Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus for providing a home for this book. July 2020, Markus Tiwald (Vienna) Jürgen K. Zangenberg (Leiden)

“Town” and “Countryside” – Complement or Contrast? Methodological Reflections

Frits Gerard Naerebout

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

1. Early Christianity : The Urban Hypothesis It is a recurring assertion that ancient Christianity was from the days of its formation a primarily urban phenomenon – to be understood in the sense that the majority of early Christians were town dwellers. One of the most influential advocates of this hypothesis, W. H. C. Frend, stated unequivocally that Christianity, with the exception of Phrygia, was an urban phenomenon, and from the second century A.D. onwards ever more so. Only in the second half of the third century Christianity started penetrating into rural areas – but large pockets remained unaffected for a long time to come.1 More or less the same is said by luminaries such as Henry Chadwick, Peter Brown, Ramsay MacMullen and Robin Lane Fox, followed by a great many others.2 After the publication of Wayne Meeks’ The First Urban Christians, the urban nature of early Christianity has become a matter of fact, repeated by most textbooks, and indeed across the literature on the socio-economic basis of early Christianity.3 1 Frend, W. H. C., “The Winning of the Countryside”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 18 (1967), 1–14; Frend, W. H. C., “Town and Countryside” in Baker, D. (ed.), The Church in Town and Countryside (Oxford: Blackwell, 1979), 27–42. In Frend’s view, the small pockets of rural Christians are the breeding ground for minority unorthodox prophetic movements. Cf. n.6. 2 Robinson, T. A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 14–8. Add: Walton, S./Trebilco, P. R./Gill, D. W. J. (eds.), The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017). From Robinson one could get the impression that the adherents of what he calls the “urban thesis” (and the few dissenting voices), are all Anglo-Saxon. But the “urban thesis” is also there in German scholarship: e. g. Andresen, C., Die Kirchen der alten Christenheit (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1971), 17–24; Plümacher, E., Identitätsverlust und Identitätsgewinn. Studien zum Verhältnis von kaiserzeitlicher Stadt und frühem Christentum (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1987), 8, very outspoken: “wohl aber ist das Christentum bis weit in die zweite Hälfte des 3. Jahrhunderts hinein so gut wie ausschliesslich in und in erheblichem Masse auch von der kaiserzeitlichen Stadt geprägt worden – es wurde seiner ganzen Erscheinung nach zu einer zuvörderst städtischen Religion.” 3 Meeks, W. A., The First Urban Christians. The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). As is so often the case, the numerous epigones are rather less nuanced than Meeks himself. In the preface to the second edition (2003) of The First Urban Christians, Meeks seems to emend much of the “urban thesis”, even if earliest Christianity is still excepted: “Indeed, studies of the relation between cities and the agricultural territory around them even in modern ‘developing’ societies can offer important insights and lines of inquiry into the symbiosis between rural and urban parts of the Roman Empire. I have perhaps emphasized too much the conflicts, real enough, between the polis and the chora in antiquity, and not enough their inter-

22

Frits Gerard Naerebout

Rodney Stark built his whole analysis of the growth of early Christianity on the urban hypothesis which he derived from Meeks – as witnessed by the title of his second book on the matter, Cities of God.4 Opposing voices were few.5 Of course, the importance of this lies not merely in locating early Christian communities in a spatial sense, but also, and more importantly, in showing that it was a specifically urban “cultural ecology” within which early Christianity throve.6 While it is obvious that its environment, whatever it was, will have influenced the way in which early Christianity evolved, we should question the received wisdom that this environment was essentially urban.

2. Questioning the Urban Hypothesis: Demographics “Early Christianity is an essentially urban phenomenon”: an easily repeated phrase, but which underlying questions had to be answered in order to come to that conclusion? And have they been asked? When we start peeling all this apart, we end up with a whole set of extremely complicated questions that usually have gone unanswered – more often than not because they were not asked in the first place. How much of the ancient world was urban and how much rural? What do we actually understand by “urban” and “rural”? How many Christians were there and where did they live? Was early Christianity indeed a mainly urban phenomenon, as has so often been stated? If a certain dependence. One could usefully enlarge upon the connections between town and country, though it becomes more important for the spread of Christianity a century or so later than it is for the Pauline era.” (ix). The contributors to Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T&T Clark, 2009), hardly deal with the “urban thesis” explicitly : it is taken for granted. 4 Stark, R., Cities of God: The Real Story of How Christianity Became an Urban Movement and Conquered Rome (New York: HarperCollins, 2006). See Robinson, Who were the first Christians?, Appendix B, 243–52. 5 Robinson, Who were the first Christians?, 21–3. Again, we can add German voices: Wischmeyer, W., Griechische und lateinische Inschriften zur Sozialgeschichte der Alten Kirche (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn, 2018), 21; Wischmeyer, W., “Perspektiven frühchristlicher Kunst für die Geschichte der Kirche”, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte 79 (1984), 145–62, 149–50. But Wischmeyer only disputes the “urban thesis” for the 3rd century. Much more incisive in their criticism are Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M., “Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt – Einleitung und Grundlegung” in Bendemann, R. von/ Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 9–42. Robinson should definitely have mentioned their work which preceded several of his arguments, but probably he was not aware of it. 6 Everett Ferguson notes in his Backgrounds to Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003) that “a friend facetiously suggested ‘cultural ecology’ [to replace the ambiguous ‘backgrounds’]”. It is, however, a serious and useful concept dating from the 1950s. In early Christian studies “ecology” was already used by Frend, W. H. C., “The Ecology of the Early Christianities,” in Irvine, G. (ed.), Christianity in its Social Context (London: SPCK, 1967), 15–28.

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

23

percentage of Christians lived in an urban environment, and a certain percentage in a rural environment, does that matter? Is there any argument to support the notion that religion in an urban environment is sui generis? What then is the relationship between “urban” and “rural” environments? Did early Christians themselves differentiate between urban and rural environments? If they did, who are we to contradict them (if we would feel impelled to do so)? I will refrain from discussing how to distinguish early Christians from nonChristians and how to count them, and concentrate on the urban-rural dichotomy.7 In judging the degree of urbanization of ancient society, we first have to agree on what is “urban” and what is not, and to arrange for some quantification. This question is all-important – because when we do not agree on this, we do not have much of a common basis on which to discuss any other related issues. Many scholars have been debating the definition of a “city” (meaning a town in my present vocabulary8), getting hot under the collar about issues such as population size, population density, population make-up, lay-out, the presence of certain amenities, and legal status. Important issues all, but trying to fit them into a universally valid definition is nothing but a waste of time: a definition is a tool, relatively arbitrary.9 We should not be discussing the definitions themselves, but the outcomes when we apply them. ‘Urban’ I here understand to refer to any nucleated human settlement of some size – some size would mean hundreds of inhabitants or more, with part of the urban work force employed in non-agricultural occupations. This might not be a very useful definition for our hyper-urbanized world with numerous mega-cities, but it works very well for the ancient world where most nucleated settlements would have been small, counting their population in hundreds or thousands, but only rarely in tens of thousands or more. Their actual size and their density depend, obviously, on both geography and chronology : some areas have more nucleated settlements than others, and of course the 7 For the issue of that other dichotomy, Christian versus non-Christian, see note 15 below. 8 In this paper I will distinguish between “city” which consists of the unity of the urban centre and the surrounding territory, and “town” for the urban core. This use of city and town was used (introduced?) by Robin Osborne in his Classical Landscape with Figures: the ancient Greek city and its countryside (London: George Philip, 1987), 11. Cf. von Bendemann and Tiwald, Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt, 12 on the conceptual problem: “wie beschreibt man methodisch, was denn überhaupt eine ‘Stadt’ (mit ihrem Territorium!) im Unterschied zum ‘Umland’ bzw ‘Land’ ist/sein soll?” Nowadays, in so-called settlement hierarchies, town and city are seen as standing in a hierarchical relationship to one another, but in everyday language the two are often used interchangeably (and in many languages, there is just one word for “town’ and “city”: stad, Stadt, by, etc.). For the Greek and Latin vocabulary, cf. note 17 below. 9 If at all possible, one should remain close to natural language usage. See Naerebout, F. G., Attractive performances. Ancient Greek dance: three preliminary studies (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1997), 151, 155–8, on definition theory. Looking for cross-culturally valid definitions is a thankless task: thus density (nucleation) works very well for the ancient world, but could not be applied cross-culturally because of the existence of so-called dispersed cities.

24

Frits Gerard Naerebout

percentage of the total population living in such settlements will have changed over time. It would also seem that most authors who defend the “urban thesis” depart from a very general, but workable, idea of what an ancient urban settlement is, quite comparable to what is suggested here – though often not articulated at all. Of course, there are huge problems in the way of quantification: how many town-dwellers were there – which means establishing the number and the population size of actual towns, and to what percentage of the total population this adds up – which means establishing the population figure for the Roman empire as a whole. We will never be able to overcome these problems, but we might feel confident in making some guestimates – on a somewhat more secure footing than before because of the ERC funded “Empire of 2000 cities” project directed by Luuk de Ligt at Leiden University.10 In a Roman empire with some 60 million inhabitants, the most urbanized regions, such as Egypt or Campania, will reach the 20 percent mark, the least urbanized will be 10 percent urban or less – an overall degree of urbanization of 15 percent seems reasonable enough.11 This is within the range of earlier attempts, though on the high side, the Leiden project having uncovered rather more towns existing simultaneously than previously known. The implication of the figures just mentioned is of course that 85 percent of the population of the empire did not live in nucleated settlements of some size, and thus are a rural population. The so-called “empire of cities” was above all a rural empire. Now we come to the whereabouts of the early Christian communities. It seemed to me a priori impossible to square the supposedly dominant urban nature of pre-Constantinian Christian communities with an 85 percent rural population, because if you take the number of Christians, usually put at some 10 percent of the total population towards the end of the third century, and the number of town dwellers, here put at around 15 percent, you cannot have all of these Christians, or a majority of them, living in an urban environment. Nobody will accept the idea that a majority of town dwellers in the second and third centuries AD were Christians. This is very simple arithmetic, but 10 An empire of 2000 cities: urban networks and economic integration in the Roman Empire (https://cordis.europa.eu/project/rcn/108209/factsheet/en; accessed 10-12-2019). Of course, the goals of this project go far beyond the basic counting of cities and their urban populations, see Ligt, L. de/Bintliff, J. (eds.), Regional Urban Systems in the Roman World, 150 BCE – 250 CE (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming). 11 60 million is the most quoted figure – since Beloch presented it in the 19th century (he later revised it upwards). There have been many guestimates since, often with huge margins, but the averages always end up in the 60 to 70 million range. My own (unpublished) attempts at estimating the carrying capacity of the Empire led me to believe that 60 million is about right. The degree of urbanization derives from private conversations with Luuk de Ligt. Wilson, A., “City sizes and urbanization in the Roman Empire” in Bowman, A./Wilson, A. (eds.), Settlement, urbanization and population (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 161–95, 193 rightly stresses that the degree of urbanization one finds acceptable implies differing presuppositions about the economy of the Roman Empire.

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

25

apparently nobody thought of doing the figuring. I wanted to do it, but someone beat me to it: Thomas A. Robinson, whose study titled Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis, was published well before I could first present my figures.12 Robinson challenges what he calls “the consensus view of the urban character of early Christianity”. He does so by demonstrating that almost every scenario for reconstructing the growth of early Christian communities is mathematically improbable and, in many cases, impossible, unless a rural dimension is factored in. One cannot have the towns of the empire inhabited by only Christians, by a Christian majority, or even a very sizable minority. Nobody will accept such figures for the preConstantinian Roman Empire – they cannot be supported when we look at the evidence, textual and archaeological, for the health of ancient polytheism and the relative marginality of ancient monotheism across the empire. A solution to our problem would be to suppose a far higher degree of urbanization, but then we would need more and larger towns which simply are not there. Another solution would be to substantially lower the number of Christians, to a figure as low as between 1 and 4 percent. There we run into problems as well: again the evidence, for instance the number of bishoprics, can hardly be squared with so low an estimate. The conclusion seems to be, inescapably so, that as many or more Christians lived in the countryside as there were living in towns.13

3. Questioning the Urban-Rural Dichotomy Does this matter? For those who have concluded that its urban environment has made early Christianity into a specifically urban phenomenon, and that we should distinguish between the development of this dominant urban Christianity, considered as the main stream, and the minority divergent rural Christianity or Christianities, as Frend put it, the obvious answer is: yes, this matters very much! If Christianity can be shown to be in large part rural, we will have to rewrite early Christian history. We need not come up, however, with a new ‘rural hypothesis’ or rethink everything we think we know about the development of early Christianity. 12 I have to thank the March 20, 2017 blogpost by the much-lamented Larry Hurtado, who passed away November 25, 2019 around the time I was finalizing this passage, for first bringing Robinson’s book to my attention; see https://larryhurtado.wordpress.com/2017/03/20/who-werethe-first-christians/ (accessed 11-12-2019). 13 Strong criticism of Robinson was formulated by Philip Jenkins in his October 30, 2017 blogpost The First Christians and the Urban Thesis (https://www.patheos.com/blogs/anxiousbench/2017/ 10/first-christians-urban-thesis/, accessed 10-12-2019) with a reaction by Robinson that shows the robustness of his arguments. Robinson’s work is indeed “paradigm-shifting” (James R. Harrison, https://www.amazon.com/Who-Were-First-Christians-Dismantling/dp/0190620544, accessed 10-12-2019) and I cannot see any way around it.

26

Frits Gerard Naerebout

True, we will have to make clear that early Christianity was not an urban phenomenon, but what we must do above all is to consider what in the Roman Empire the possible implications were of living in an urban or rural environment. What if there was not that much of a difference between the one and the other? Many aspects of early Christianity that supposedly reflected its urban environment could then just as easily be considered “rural” – in other words, the distinction between urban and rural would lose all meaning. Well, maybe not all: I add the proviso that one should exclude from consideration the few very large cities of the ancient world, which are of course very specific environments likely to impact significantly on whatever phenomenon that comes into their orbit – but they represent the living conditions of only a small percentage of the total population.14 There might have been something like “big city Christianity” – which leads us back to the “Christianities” just mentioned: this whole exercise is not about “homogenizing” all Christian communities; there will have been differences between them, but these will not, or not primarily, have been due to whether these communities were “urban” or “rural.”15 The crux of the matter lies in doing away with the dichotomy between urban and rural. For the ancient world, it seems to be plain wrong to think in terms of an urban-rural dichotomy. Urban centres were part and parcel of a usually eponymous territory.16 To talk about a city would imply a built-up nucleus and 14 Despite accommodating a small percentage of the total population, the number of Christians in the major cities of the Empire might have been above average and, more importantly, it might be in the metropolitan Christian communities that major developments originated. In this way the “urban thesis” could be partly resurrected: early Christianity is shaped in important ways in the environment of the Empire’s big cities, despite the large numbers of Christians living in rural settings. All of which begs a lot of questions: whether all big cities in the Empire are in some significant way divorced from their territories; how we can know that there was less going on in the countryside (about which we know so little, cf. below on the urban bias in our sources, and see note 34 below); etc. 15 For multiple Christianities before AD 325 and frequent pagan-Christian syncretism, see the insightful remarks in King, K. L., “Factions, Variety, Diversity, Multiplicity : Representing Early Christian Differences for the 21st Century”, Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 23 (2011), 216–37. Robinson, Who Were the First Christians?, 7 f, however, argues that the general term “Christianity” might be what we need to identify (all) Christians, and that religious affiliation is our only option: “Religion was not simply the primary marker of identity [scil. for Christians]; it was their only marker. No common ancestry, no common geography, no common language, no common cultural features could be appealed to in order to distinguish the Christian from others in the empire.” But then Robinson has to count Christians, so obviously heterogeneity is not his main issue. 16 Of course, this is not exactly an unheard-of proposition. See for instance Finley, M. I., “The ancient city from Fustel de Coulanges to Max Weber and beyond”, Comparative Studies in Society and History 19 (1977), 305–27, 308: “the starting-point for the historian of the ancient city must be the attachment between hinterland and city.” 322: “the peasant was an integral element in the ancient city, but not in the medieval.” 325: “To understand the place of the town as a pivotal institution in the Graeco-Roman world and its development, the starting-point must surely be two facts. First, the Graeco-Roman world was more urbanized than any other society

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

27

the surrounding countryside, what we might call town and country.17 We think of towns (and cities) as different from the countryside. Even the areas near an urban core which stand in an obvious relationship to this core, we label as ‘suburban’ or ‘peri-urban’. This dichotomous way of thinking seems to have its roots in the legal systems of the European Middle Ages. Stadtluft macht frei.18 The medieval town as radically different from the countryside has been a common image ever since Max Weber made it a cornerstone of his history of medieval society.19 Despite the fact that in the nation states that have evolved subsequently and under which most urban communities lost their legal exceptionalism, we have continued to believe in a specifically urban ethos. This belief only got strengthened when since the late eighteenth century the Industrial Revolution created a huge divide, at least a mental one, between town and country – to be found in the work of Karl Marx down to the earliest ecological thinking.20 In the early 20th century, this divide was cemented in sociology by Ferdinand Tönnies, in his Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft. Whatever the elements that fed into it, the dichotomy is widely accepted nowadays, and is the basis for everything from statistics to planning. The very first publication by the European Foundation for the Improvement of Living and Working Conditions, which came out in Luxembourg in 2006, was titled: First European Quality of Life Survey : Urban-Rural Differences. It was not a

17

18 19 20

before the modern era. Second, the city-state, the closely interlocked town-country unit, remained the basic module even after the state component in city-state had lost its strict original meaning.” Or Louis Robert, quoted by Osborne, Classical Landscape, 9: “It is necessary to repeat, time and time again, that it is no good being interested simply in the site of an ancient town. An ancient city must always be considered along with its territory, its fields and its forests, which fed it and on which a part of its population lived. The territory cannot be separated from the city”. Zuiderhoek, A., The Ancient City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 37–40, is a bit more reticent, considering the wide variety of ancient cities, but in the end stresses the diffuse nature of the urban-rural divide. Of course, in Greek a city in the sense of town and country is indicated with a single, encompassing term: polis. The urban core is to astu, the territory is he chora. In Latin it is more complicated, but municipium, colonia, civitas, etc., all imply the built-up area (urbs) together with its territory (ager, territorium). I have avoided using “hinterland” for a city’s territory, because, as Zuiderhoek, The Ancient City, 49 f, has pointed out, the hinterland, as an economic catchment area, can extend beyond the territory. The saying Stadtluft macht frei or Stadtluft macht frei nach Jahr und Tag (City air makes free – after a year and a day) encapsulates a principle of law in the Middle Ages setting up the city as an alternative to feudal relationships. Cf. note 24 below. Usually in the form of anti-urbanism, see White, M. G./White, L., The Intellectual versus the City (New York: New American Library, 1962); Williams, R., The Country and the City (London: The Hogarth Press, 2013); Conn, S., Americans against the City: Anti-Urbanism in the Twentieth Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016); Baumann, C., Idyllische Ländlichkeit: Eine Kulturgeographie der Landlust (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2018); Bergmann, K., Agrarromantik und Grossstadtfeindschaft (Meisenheim am Glan: Anton Hain 1970); but the inverse is also a constant presence – however, to this “anti-rural sentiment” is paid much less attention, except in policy studies (see also “urban bias”).

28

Frits Gerard Naerebout

discussion of what we understand by rural and urban and whether there are differences between the one and the other – it was a survey dedicated to measuring the differences that were taken for granted. In current sociopolitical analysis, the rural-urban divide is used to explain an awful lot.21 One may very well ask whether all this is true. Where have class distinctions gone? Might it not be so that many rural communities are low-waged communities? Does not “rural” in many contexts include towns that happen to be less globalized, less multicultural, economically on the down side? Obviously, the answer to all such questions is “yes”: there is no simple urban-rural divide, the patterns are extremely complex. Even for the Middle Ages one can add quite some nuance to the picture when one breaks away from an exclusively legal perspective. However, the dichotomy is very much there, ingrained in our way of thinking and quite hard to escape from.22 It also permeates ancient scholarship.23 This was not always the case: with authors such as Fustel de Coulange, who had a legalistic way of looking at things, there was a clear contrast between the situation in Antiquity and in the Middle Ages: the medieval town had townsmen within its walls, the ancient city had citizens which lived as much in the territory as in the actual nucleus.24 This is an important point, but we should not get stuck at the legal level. Whatever way we look at ancient society, we are forced to come to the conclusion that the dichotomy between town and countryside is not there: not in the rules concerning citizenship, but also, as Robinson demonstrates at length, the countryside and towns were quite symbiotic – there was a constant 21 See opinion articles such as “Cities vs. Trump. Red state, blue state? The urban-rural divide is more significant”, by Justin Davidson, New York Magazine, 17 April 2017. “From Trump to Brexit, power has leaked from cities to the countryside”, by Andy Beckett in the Guardian, 12 December 2016: “Cities may dominate our culture, but a backlash against liberal values and multiculturalism has been led by rural and small-town voters”. “The urban-rural divide that bolstered Trump isn’t just an American thing; it’s prevalent in Europe, too”, by Rick Noack, Washington Post, 27 November 2016: in France, the struggle for the presidency is said to be between Paris and a few other conurbations on the one hand, and the peri-urban world, la France profonde, on the other. 22 I could not help noticing that where in the call for papers for this conference Jürgen Zangenberg and Markus Tiwald state that “rural” is not always “rural” in a strict sense, and “urban” not always “urban”, in the conference programme there are several titles that deal with either urban or rural phenomena, without scare quotes around it, or any other formula urging caution. Did they not read Tiwald’s 2012 introduction? Or has it become almost impossible not to have the rural-urban dichotomy determine the way you see the world? 23 As the “urban thesis” makes clear ; also, the insistence of a Finley or Robert (cf. note 16 above) that the dichotomy is wrong when speaking about the ancient world, shows that they had something to argue against. Osborne, Classical landscape, 9, deplores that not even Louis Robert could live up to his own precepts: the written sources are biased (cf. note 48 below) and much of the archaeology is skewed towards the excavation of urban environments. 24 On Fustel de Coulanges and subsequent theorists of the ancient and medieval city, see Finley, Ancient City ; H8ran, F., “L’institution d8motiv8e: De Fustel de Coulanges / Durkheim et audel/”, Revue franÅaise de sociologie 28 (1987), 67–97; Dilcher, G., “Max Webers Stadt und die historische Stadtforschung der Mediävistik”, Historische Zeitschrift 267 (1998), 91–125.

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

29

flow of food, other commodities and of people to the towns.25 I would like to add that on a daily basis there will also have been an outflow from many towns to the surrounding fields: many ancient cities will have been home to so-called Ackerbürger, citizen-farmers living in the town but during daytime walking out to their fields (the distances covered might be considerable). For a settlement characterized by Ackerbürger Ernst Kirsten and John Bintliff formulated the concept of the Dorfstaat. Zuiderhoek adds that economically the issue is not the number of Ackerbürger, but the presence or absence of nonreciprocal relationships between town and country.26 But for the question of the relative unity between town and country the number of Ackerbürger seems relevant enough.27 For much of the Roman world there is not much evidence for Ackerbürger (compared to Greek poleis), but it is a priori likely that they existed. Certainly, Roman colonies, newly founded or re-founded cities to house army veterans, were inhabited by farmer-landowners: a plot was assigned to every new inhabitant.28 In addition to farmers who leave the town in order to farm, we should think of those who farm or tend market gardens within the town: many ancient towns have plenty of open space inside the perimeter of their walls – if they have got walls at all. Also, the landed elites of the ancient world lived largely in the towns – indeed, this may account for the relatively high degree of urbanization in the Greco-Roman world – and spent their time and money there, but obviously remained intimately connected to their estates in the countryside where so much of their wealth was tied down.29

4. “Urban Religion”: Does it Actually Exist? Robinson adds to food, other commodities and people, religion. Here his text not so much stresses a flow from country to town, as the entanglement of religion inside and outside the urban core. “Entanglement” seems to exclude a specific category of ‘urban religion’ – intriguingly, it is exactly the concept of 25 Robinson, Who Were the First Christians?, 65–90. 26 Zuiderhoek, The Ancient City, 45, 55. 27 Diodorus 18.51.1–2: In 319 B.C., in the course of the wars among Alexander’s successors, Cyzicus was attacked by the satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia in a surprise move that found the town unprepared, with only a few people within the walls while the majority were out in the fields. 28 Cicero, On the Agrarian Law, 2.88: Capua was preserved by the victorious Romans in the interest of the Campanian farmers, among other things so that, “wearied by the cultivation of the lands, they would have the use of the homes in the town.” 29 See Gasser, F., Germana Patria. Die Geburtsheimat in den Werken römischer Autoren der späten Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit (Stuttgart/Leipzig: Teubner, 1999) for the close ties binding members of the Roman elite to their place of birth and family estates.

30

Frits Gerard Naerebout

“urban religion” that a number of recent conferences and publications, emanating from a research project at Erfurt, have sought to (re)introduce into scholarly discourse on the ancient world.30 It deserves our interest, as early Christianity is characterized as an “urban religion” – more explicitly than is the case with any other religious phenomenon in the ancient world. The new approach is sophisticated, not content to study religious phenomena in an urban context, which of course many, consciously or unconsciously, have been doing for a long time, but looking at the interplay between religion and urbanity, at the mutual influence, what Jörg Rüpke has labelled as “urbanisierte Religion”.31 On the one hand we have religion’s role in creating spatial, temporal and social order in cities.32 This seems like a throwback to Fustel de Coulanges and his La cit8 antique – a work that Rüpke extensively references (but would not call that a throwback), now peppered with fashionable vocabulary (sacralisations, affordances, constraints …). This constitutive role of religion in society is not at issue (even if one tends to get mired in chickenand-egg discussions), but my doubts concern “in cities”. Religion will have been a creative force from well before the rise of urban living, and was such a 30 KFG „Religion und Urbanität“ am Max-Weber-Kolleg der Universität Erfurt (https://www.unierfurt.de/max-weber-kolleg/forschung/forschungsgruppen-und-stellen/forschungsgruppen/ kolleg-forschungsgruppe-religion-and-urbanity-reciprocal-formations-for-2779, accessed 1012-2019). 31 Rüpke, J., “Religion als Urbanität. Ein anderer Blick auf Stadtreligion”, Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 27 (2019), 174–95, 190: “Ich schlage daher den Ausdruck ‘urbanisierte Religion’ vor. Dieser Begriff dient nicht als eine Theorie und Erklärung, sondern als eine Forschungsperspektive und eine Anweisung, das Untersuchungsobjekt zu bestimmen, nämlich die wechselseitige Formierung von Religion und Urbanität (…) Oder noch einmal genauer formuliert: die religiösen Praktiken, Vorstellungen und Institutionen auf der einen Seite und Urbanitäten in ihrer historischen und geographischen Vielfalt auf der anderen Seite. Urbanisierte Religion ist damit ebenso die durch Urbanität veränderte Religion wie eine Urbanität, in der Religion sedimentiert ist.” For previous attempts at centering urban religion: Schowalter, D. N./Friesen, S. J. (eds.), Urban Religion in Roman Corinth. Interdisciplinary Approaches (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005); and Bommas, M., “Introduction: Sites of Memory and the Emergence of Urban Religion” in Bommas, M./Harrisson, J./Roy, P. (eds.), Memory and Urban Religion in the Ancient World (London: Bloomsbury, 2012), xxvi–xxxviii. Bommas comes closest to the “Religion und Urbanität” project, but strangely does not explicitly address the urban in his introduction – only “memoryscapes”, supposedly part of townscapes (on lieu(x)-de-m8moire, cf. Naerebout, F. G., “Sanctuary, Monument, lieu de m8moire? The Iseum Campense, Memory and Religious Life” in Versluys, M. J./Bülow Clausen, C./Capriotti Vittozzi, G. (eds.), The Iseum Campense from the Roman Empire to the Modern Age. Temple – Monument – Lieu de m8moire (Rome: Edizioni Quasar, 2018), 41–57, pp 41–5). The debate on so-called “polis-religion” has no place here (“polis-religion” is not urban religion), but one wonders whether urban religion might be vulnerable to the same critique of marginalizing religious phenomena that “do not fit”, cf. Kindt, J., Rethinking Greek Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 19–22. 32 Jörg Rüpke and Cristiana Facchini, Proposal for panel Urban Religion in historical perspective at European Academy of Religion Annual Conference, Bologna, March 4–7, 2019 (https://www. academia.edu/38068941/Panel_Urban_Religion_in_Historical_Perspective, accessed 11-122019).

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

31

force subsequently, in urban and non-urban contexts. It can be studied as such in the context of town life in the ancient world, but I do not think that this context – as town life is part of city life which also embraces the rural – turned it into a phenomenon sui generis: urban religion.33 On the other hand, we have the urban environment shaping religion. Obviously, every environment will have some impact. There might be issues of scale. Also, the presence of migrant groups with their own cultic ambiances will be especially conspicuous in an urban setting, of course more so in the larger settlements. But, again, one should question whether in Antiquity that will add up to a specifically urban religion. The reason for this scepticism will be clear : if “urban” here refers to the town as opposed to the countryside (and it does),34 and if, as argued above, that opposition is invalid when talking about the Greco-Roman world, than the distinguishing of a specific urban religion cannot be sustained – at least for that period of time. I have no room here for a more specific substantiation of this, but would like to refer the reader to Irene Polinskaya’s forceful rejection of a supposed divergence between town and country in Greek religion.35 For the post-antique world things might be different. Nevertheless, our 33 There are many studies of the ways in which religion has shaped and still shapes the physical and symbolic townscape – Christianity in profound ways in the late antique city (an excellent succinct overview in Bauer, F. A., “Die Stadt als religioser Raum in der Spätantike”, Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 10 (2008), 179–206). How religion fashions the landscape outside of towns gets rather less attention paid to it than the evolving townscape (another example of the bias that the urban-rural dichotomy engenders); a very fine example is = Carrag#in, T./Turner, S., Making Christian Landscapes in Atlantic Europe: Conversion and Consolidation in the Early Middle Ages (Cork: Cork University Press, 2016). 34 Rüpke, Religion als Urbanität, 190, seems to accept the urban-rural dichotomy when speaking of ancient cities: “Ebenso wie Städtisches mit Außerstädtischem in intensivem Austausch – ob als Fundament oder zu Beherrschendem, als Wildnis oder Idylle – steht, steht auch städtische Religion – in Kontinuität wie Konkurrenz, als Attraktion wie Gegenbild – in intensivem Austausch mit nichtstädtischen Praktiken und Vorstellungen.” But, of course, my point is that this exchange may be absent or of less importance when urban and extra-urban cannot be distinguished. In the call for papers by Cristiana Facchini and Emiliano Rubens Urciuoli for the conference on Urban religion and religious change: Intellectualization of religion and ritual invention, Tartu June 25–29, 2019 (https://www.academia.edu/37769007/Call_ for_Papers_Urban_Religion_and_Religious_Change_session_at_the_EASR_2019_Tartu_, accessed 11-12-2019), the extra-urban is not even mentioned. Have we returned to the conception of the rural world as “traditional” and resistant against change, if not a world “ewigen Stilstandes”? Rural conservatism (“which has yet to be established or really even defined”, thus Robinson, Who Were the First Christians?, 105) is forcefully rejected by Sarah E. Rollens in her review of Robinson’s Who Were the First Christians (http://readingreligion.org/books/whowere-first-christians, accessed 10-12-2019). 35 Polinskaya, I., “Lack of Boundaries, Absence of Oppositions: the City-Countryside Continuum of a Greek Pantheon” in Rosen, R./Sluiter, I. (ed.), City, Countryside, and the Spatial Organization of Value in Classical Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 61–92 does not so much deny the importance of the urban (or stress that of the extra-urban for that matter), but examines the dichotomy that is implicitly or explicitly underlying, and distorting, many discussions of religion in the Greek world.

32

Frits Gerard Naerebout

habit of thinking in terms of a rural-urban dichotomy may lead us to see things that are not there. I greatly admire the studies of lived religion in an urban environment by, and edited by, Robert Orsi, but at the same time I wonder whether what is described there is exclusively urban.36 Repeatedly and apodictically, it is called urban, but beyond the fact that the settings are undeniably urban, I do not see much comparative analysis of urban and rural religious phenomena. Others, working on rural religion, for instance William Christian Jr in his marvelous studies of early modern Spain37, take as little trouble to show that this so-called rural religion is different, relatively, fundamentally or whatever, from its urban counterparts. We have been primed to see towns, in whatever period, as the location where innovations are thought of, and are first disseminated and embraced.38 Even when we recognize that there might be some input from the non-urban part of society, nevertheless it is the urban environment where the real impetus comes from, which fosters the forces that drive cultural dynamics, where changes come into full bloom. Of course, it is undeniable that towns (some? all?) have been power houses, socially, economically, artistically … but does that mean they have been the fons et origo of anything and everything worthwhile? Such claims seem to be another product of our tendency to think along the lines of the rural-urban dichotomy, and to deny in that way the place of the rural in a world history that can only be written by embracing the whole world.39 36 Orsi, R. A. (ed.), Gods of the City. Religion and the American Urban Landscape (Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1999); Orsi, R. A., Thank You, St. Jude. Women’s Devotion to the Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996); Orsi, R. A., The Madonna of 115th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880–1950 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010). 37 Christian Jr, W. A., Apparitions in Late Medieval and Renaissance Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989); Christian Jr, W. A., Local Religion in 16th century Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981); Christian Jr, W. A., Person and God in a Spanish Valley (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989). 38 One need only look at generalizing (and hugely popular) studies such as Mumford, L., The city in history (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1961); Toynbee, A. J. (ed.), Cities of Destiny (London: Thames and Hudson, 1967); Hall, P., Cities and Civilisation: Culture, Innovation, and Urban Order (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1998); Wilson, D., Five Cities that Ruled the World. How Jerusalem, Athens, Rome, London, and New York Shaped Global History (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2009); or books that make excessive claims about ancient cities: e. g. Pollard, J./Reid, H., The Rise and Fall of Alexandria. Birthplace of the Modern World (London: Penguin, 2007). 39 Neville Morley describes this view of the urban as dynamic and transformative as a false image, a stereotype, by which the symbol of change is mistakenly seen as the agent of change. It is not about “citiness” that is reified as a quality that must have some effect, but towns happen to be spaces where agents come together ; but keep in mind that different powers (political, social, economic, military, cultural) get concentrated in different settlements. Based on notes I have taken at the inaugural keynote by Morley at the kick-off meeting of the OIKOS research group “Cities and Settlements in the Ancient World”, December 7, 2018 in Leiden. Cf. Morley, “Ancient and Modern. An Inaugural Lecture Given by Neville Morley in the University of Bristol,

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

33

Despite such misgivings, I readily admit that for the post-antique societies that are the subject of Christian or Orsi, there might occur certain developments within religion that are intimately tied to the presence or absence of an urban environment. After all, town and country have drifted apart since the end of the Roman Empire: legally, practically, and ideologically. For that same reason, however, the existence of ‘urban religion’ in the ancient world seems much more doubtful, if not straightaway impossible, considering what was said before about the essential unity of the urban core and its territory. Sanctuaries can be urban, peri-urban or extra-urban and nevertheless cater for an audience composed of both town dwellers and country people. We have no indication that the domestic religion of town dwellers and country folk was of different kinds. Religion was part and parcel of ancient society : we cannot set it apart from more mundane aspects of ancient society, and if we suppose that life was much the same in town and country, which I think is the way in which we should think of Greco-Roman society, then for religion this would not have been different.

5. The Urban-Rural Divide in Ancient Sources A question remains: Did early Christians themselves differentiate between urban and rural environments? As far as they were vocal members of their community whose words have been transmitted to us, they did. They showed themselves very much children of their society and age by making such distinctions. Thomas Robinson and myself may stress the integration of town and country to our heart’s content, and we may be right, but “the ancients” did contrast the two – even if they knew that a city, their city, comprised both. Neither did the modern argument, that there is not so much to differentiate a typical ancient town from the countryside, even if you would want to contrast them, have any currency in the ancient world. Rather, the two are seen as radically opposed. Only, the positive and negative evaluations keep shifting – and this is interesting. The urban can be judged positively, as the environment of civilization, learning, literacy and so on. Latin urbanitas gave us urbanity : indeed, this positive evaluation of the town life, counterbalanced by a negative one of the countryside as the province of country bumpkins, the world of rusticitas, is still with us. But so is the image, with equally ancient roots, of the country life as true, honest, primordial, ancestral, and towns as pools of depravity.40 20th January 2010” (http://www.culturahistorica.es/morley/ancient_modern.pdf, accessed 1012-2019). 40 On urbanitas/rusticitas, see Ramage, E. S., Urbanitas: Ancient Sophistication and Refinement

34

Frits Gerard Naerebout

With early Christian authors we find both: the eulogy of the extra-urban, as only away from towns with their vices and degeneracy the truly religious life can be lived – think of asceticism and early monasticism, as in the book by Derwas Chitty with its evocative title, The Desert a City. But already in that phrase ‘the desert a city’ lies an opposite view, of the ideal city (the City of God, the heavenly Jerusalem) which in order to work as an allegory must be based on a positive evaluation of town life.41 And such an evaluation exists, and not just allegorically : true religion is found amongst the town dwellers with their superior culture and understanding; the country folk are backwards – such pagani have trouble dissociating themselves from their pagan past.42 Clearly, we have got a rhetorical landscape and a physical landscape: the two are connected, but just as obviously they are not the same. How come? First of all, our sources: they are the product of an elite who are playing games, and it is the ambiguity of the evaluations of town and country life that shows that all this is playful. The elite identify with their urban environment, and the next moment extoll the locus amoenus of their country retreat, they vilify the urban rabble and praise the honest farmer, the next moment they deprecate the country hicks.43 Some of this may have carried over into daily life, but it is more likely the elite appreciated both their town and country properties and had a low opinion of the non-elite members of society whatever their habitat. All this holds good for Christian authors as well. What we read in the way of contrasting town and country should not be taken too seriously. And this of course even more so in a world where both were so intimately connected. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press for the University of Cincinnati, 1973); Anderson, W. S., “Rustic Urbanity : Roman satirists in and out of Rome”, The Classical Outlook 61 (1984), 111–7; Ramage, E. S., “Early Roman Urbanity”, The American Journal of Philology 81 (1960), 65–72; Braund, S. H., “City and country in Roman satire” in Braund, S. H. (ed.), Satire and Society in Ancient Rome (Exeter : University of Exeter Press, 1989), 23–47. Best about the subtle shifts in this rhetoric is Marechaux, P., “Urbanitas against Urbanism: a Latin Paradox”, sITA – Studies in History and Theory of Architecture 3 (2015), 22–33. 41 On the controlling of contested places: Shepardson, C. C., Controlling Contested Places: Late Antique Antioch and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy (Berkeley : University of California Press, 2014). 42 Orosius, Histories 1. Prol.: Ex locorum agrestium compitis et pagis pagani vocantur. The scholarly discussion is surveyed by O’Donnell, J. J., “‘Paganus’: Evolution and Use” Classical Folia 31 (1977), 163–9; Roblin, M., “Paganisme et rusticit8: un gros problHme, une 8tude de mots”, Annales E.S.C. 8 (1953), 173–83; Zeiller, J., Paganus. Ptude de terminologie historique (Fribourg: Librairie de l’Universit8, 1917), 59–70; Kahlos, R. T. M., Debate and Dialogue: Christian and Pagan Cultures c. 360–430 (London: Routledge, 2016), 11–54 (the second chapter, titled “Constructing and Deconstructing Dichotomies”). Only in the late 4th century pagani is coming into regular use to label non-Christians. This might be an indication that in the late antique city the unity of territory and urban centre is weakening, at least in the Latin West (cf. the different way of labelling non-Christians in the East, viz. Hellenes). 43 Ramage, E. S., “City and country in Menander’s ‘Dyskolos’” Philologus 110 (1966), 194–211 analyses an instance where several contrasts between town dweller and rustic are presented (p. 205: but not in the field of religion!), only for these to be resolved in a general coming together. Cf. Zuiderhoek, The Ancient City, 41 f, on Theophrastus’ agroikos.

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

35

Considering that this is ideology – and an ideology that can be molded to fit any possible situation and preferred outcome – I think we are allowed to question the Christian notions of their own religion being rural or urban, or supposed to flourish best in the one or the other environment. Also, we might have to re-read our sources in the light of what has been said above. In fact, we might be misreading some of our texts, also the Christian ones. Again, our dichotomous thinking may have led us to misinterpret “city” as “town”. Thus, in the expression “the desert a city” the opposition seems not so much between the desert on the one hand and the urban settlement on the other, but between the arid wasteland and the cultivated land comprising both the city and its territory.44 Frequently quoted to illustrate the “urban thesis” is the Letter to Diognetus.45 In 6:1 f we read: “To sum up all in one word – what the soul is in the body, that are the Christians in the world. The soul is dispersed through all the members of the body, and Christians are scattered through all the cities of the world. The soul dwells in the body, yet is not of the body ; and Christians dwell in the world, yet are not of the world.” The Greek word used here is poleis. It is correctly translated as “cities” – but both the Greek and its translation are understood to mean “town”, the urban core, while in fact it is both the core and the territory. Now the urban nucleus is called polis as well, but to translate here “town” goes against the sense of the text. The soul is not located in a specific part of the body, it is dispersed throughout the body. And in the same way the Christians are there, throughout the kosmos. If the Christians inhabit the whole kosmos in the way the soul is present in all of the body, then the Christians will live in towns and in the countryside – and that is exactly what the word poleis can express. In the same way as a body is composed of its members, the kosmos is composed of poleis: cities which with their territories make up the whole of the Empire – not an Empire consisting of cities (towns) with stretches of “nothing” in between.46 44 Rapp, C., “Desert, City, and Countryside in the Early Christian Imagination”, Church History and Religious Culture 86 (2006), 93–112 definitely seems to suggest as much (93–94), only to come back to the city as town (94, 99: “the desert absorbs and subsumes both its counterparts, the city and the countryside”). In addition to the desert as a city, there is also the desert as a garden. Rapp notes that the monastics and hermits cultivated the area around their abodes: so they are some kind of Ackerbürger too. 45 Pq¹r Di|cmgtom 9pistok^: an apologetic work of the 2nd or 3rd c. I quote the translation by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson in The Ante-Nicene Fathers vol. 1 (Buffalo, NY 1885), available on several websites. It is interpreted as supporting the “urban thesis” by, e. g., Plümacher, Identitätsverlust und Identitätsgewinn, 8; cf. von Bendemann and Tiwald, Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt, 11 n.4. 46 In Walton, Trebilco and Gill (eds.), The Urban World every contributor translates polis as “urban center” and the possibility, if not likelihood, that we have to translate “town and country” is never considered. Also “city environment” and “urban environment” are used interchangeably. Only in Gill and Trebilco’s closing statements, “Research on Urban Christian Communities. Looking ahead” in Walton, S./Trebilco, P. R./Gill, D. W. J. (eds.), The Urban World and the First

36

Frits Gerard Naerebout

Even the argument that lies at the basis of the “urban thesis”, the missionary peregrinations of Paul, seems shaky. Paul travels along a number of nodes in an urban network. How else should he have gone about it? The Roman Empire is structured around that urban network: the empire is seen to consists of towns, each with its territory, and that is all there is, as we have just seen above.47 If you want to meet the Christians living at Ephesus – and Ephesus implies the urban nucleus and the surrounding countryside – you travel to the urban nucleus. You stay at the urban nucleus. That is what the infrastructure of movement dictates (and it is not that different nowadays). To see Paul avoid the urban centres and merely visit villages in the chora would be strange indeed. But there is nothing here that says that all Christians lived within the urban centre, or that Paul expected them to do so. His message, accordingly, is spreading through the countryside as well: di’ holes tes choras (Acts 13:49).

6. Rural Christians in our Sources The written sources are few and they have an urban bias: not only that the authors are mostly town-dwellers and neglect the rural world, or feel no need to be specific about it, subsuming it under “the city”, literacy itself is primarily associated with an urban environment.48 If we have rural Christians, they are not written about and they do not write. They become invisible. Neither should we forget that rural Christians may indeed have been “invisible” because they were less in evidence: few and far between. Given that some 85 percent of the people in the Empire lived in rural areas, even a majority of Christians living in the countryside and a minority in the towns would still yield a rural world completely dominated by non-Christians. Once in a while we get some glimpse of what is going on underneath the urban surface of our sources. When Pliny writes Neque civitates tantum, sed vicos etium atque agros superstitionis istius contagio pervagata est (Ep. X Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017), 320–324 we find a nuanced approach to the ancient city : “(T)here needs to be a better definition of the ‘city’ (…). The classic definition of the polis reminds us of the balance between the urban center and its chora” (p. 321). If only they had reminded their co-authors of this beforehand! Nevertheless: change is in the air – slowly, slowly (cf. note 3 above). 47 Baslez, M.-F., “La diffusion du christianisme aux ier – iie siHcles. L’8glise des reseaux”, Recherches de Science Religieuse 101 (2013/4), 549–576, 561 notes Paul’s preference for provincial capitals: “un noeud de communication et un pile de rassemblement pour tous les habitants de la province.” If one can get at a territory by way of the urban centre, one can also get at a whole province by way of its urban centre. Gill and Trebilco, Research on Urban Christian Communities, 323, are edging in the same direction. 48 Von Bendemann and Tiwald, Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt, 12, stress that our sources are biased: “stadtlastig”, “with an urban bias.” “Verkannt wird ganz grundsätzlich, dass Menschen (…) vorrangig in ländlichen Siedlungsformen lebten.”

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

37

96:9), I suppose we have to take him at his word about the villages and farmsteads, as it is difficult to see why he would make this up. It is the “urban thesis” that forces people to explain the evidence away.49 The same happens with other testimonies. The words by the author of Acts quoted above are echoed by several Christian voices of the 2nd and 3rd century, who all claim that Christianity has penetrated into all nooks and crannies of society – including the extra-urban. The “urban thesis” causes such comments to be rejected as exaggerations. The number of Christians implied may be inflated, but why would the fact that you find at least some wherever you go, be made up as well? For polemic purposes? Possible, but impossible to prove – or disprove. However, when Origen states (Contra Celsum 1:29) that “not just agroikous (rustic) and idiotas (ignorant) people were won over by his [scil. Jesus’] words, but also not a few of those who stood out for their wisdom”, it seems obvious from his words that he expected his adversaries to dismiss Christians as a bunch of yokels and rabble – which he, interestingly, does not deny but rejects as a half-truth. If this is an exaggeration as well, it is one that works the other way round: the non-rustic elite membership will have been rather smaller than he claims it is.

7. Conclusions We should go full circle now and return to where we started: the demographics. Unless we are completely mistaken about the number of inhabitants of the empire, the number of town dwellers and the number of Christians, we must conclude that a sizable part of the early Christian communities were indeed living in a rural environment. How sizable exactly we have no way to find out. There are no reasons to think that such Christians as lived in this rural environment held convictions and beliefs widely different from those established in cities, considering the fact that the divide between town and country that we tend to assume was in fact nonexistent. Despite ideological claims for the superiority of urban or of rural living, for the big majority of 49 Cf. Frend, The Winning of the Countryside, 2: Bithynia has produced no less pagan inscriptions and no more Christian ones than anywhere else in the empire. Frend concludes from this that Pliny was right in his conviction that Christianity could be suppressed. But the number of inscriptions cannot prove anything either way. Mitchell, Anatolia writes: “The undoubted Christian communities of Ionia (…) which are well-attested in the written tradition, have left no epigraphic traces of the second and third centuries (…). It is surely the case here that Christians, from prudence or simply in conformity with pagan habits, simply did not make any show of their religion on their tombstones” (and a fortiori not in any other kind of epigraphic attestation) (Vol. 2, p. 38). But as Mitchell notes, there is abundant epigraphic evidence from the second half of the 2nd century for Christianity in Isauria, Lycaonia and above all Phrygia where the literary tradition is almost silent. On Phrygia see the article by Mader.

38

Frits Gerard Naerebout

(small) towns, living conditions and mentalities of town dwellers and country dwellers were quite similar. Town and country should be considered complimentary rather than in any way opposed to each other. This will have changed in late and post-antique times, but when, how and how much are open to debate.50 One thing we can be certain of is that the ancient ideologies have, with new input, hardened into a town-country dichotomy that is as widely accepted as it is lacking in descriptive precision and explanatory power. Not only is there little proof for a specific urban or rural Christianity, but there is also nothing to show that all important developments within early Christianity were instigated, enabled or influenced by an urban environment. Consequently, we should also refrain from considering the rural environment as merely the soil for aberrant movements. Any arguments to the contrary will have to be checked against the demography – and whenever something has been considered specifically urban, just because all or most early Christians were supposed to be urban, we will have to think again. Think hard, until it hurts.51

Bibliography Anderson, W. S., “Rustic Urbanity : Roman satirists in and out of Rome”, The Classical Outlook 61 (1984), 111–7. Andresen, C., Die Kirchen der alten Christenheit (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1971). Bauer, F. A., “Die Stadt als religioser Raum in der Spätantike”, Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 10 (2008), 179–206. Baumann, C., Idyllische Ländlichkeit: Eine Kulturgeographie der Landlust (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2018). Baslez, M.-F., “La diffusion du christianisme aux ier – iie siHcles. L’8glise des reseaux”, Recherches de Science Religieuse 101 (2013/4), 549–576. Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M., “Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt – Einleitung und Grundlegung” in Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 9–42. Bergmann, K., Agrarromantik und Grossstadtfeindschaft (Meisenheim am Glan: Anton Hain 1970).

50 An attempt to chronicle the changes: Leveau, P., “La ville antique et l’organisation de l’espace rural: villa, ville, village”, Annales E.S.C. 38 (1983), 920–42. 51 Cf. Meeks, W. A., In Search of the Early Christians. Selected Essays (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), afterword (pp. 254–62). No one urges us to keep an open mind as eloquently as the man who is said to be the most important advocate of the “urban thesis”.

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

39

Bommas, M., “Introduction: Sites of Memory and the Emergence of Urban Religion” in Bommas, M./Harrisson, J./Roy, P. (eds.), Memory and Urban Religion in the Ancient World (London: Bloomsbury, 2012), xxvi–xxxviii. Braund, S. H., “City and country in Roman satire” in Braund, S. H. (ed.), Satire and Society in Ancient Rome (Exeter : University of Exeter Press, 1989), 23–47. Christian Jr, W. A., Apparitions in Late Medieval and Renaissance Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989). Christian Jr, W. A., Local Religion in 16th century Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981). Christian Jr, W. A., Person and God in a Spanish Valley (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989). Conn, S., Americans against the City : Anti-Urbanism in the Twentieth Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). Dilcher, G., “Max Webers Stadt und die historische Stadtforschung der Mediävistik”, Historische Zeitschrift 267 (1998), 91–125. Ferguson, E., Backgrounds to Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003). Finley, M. I., “The ancient city from Fustel de Coulanges to Max Weber and beyond”, Comparative Studies in Society and History 19 (1977), 305–27. Frend, W. H. C., “The Ecology of the Early Christianities,” in Irvine, G. (ed.), Christianity in its Social Context (London: SPCK, 1967), 15–28. Frend, W. H. C., “The Winning of the Countryside”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 18 (1967), 1–14. Frend, W. H. C., “Town and Countryside” in Baker, D. (ed.), The Church in Town and Countryside (Oxford: Blackwell, 1979), 27–42. Gasser, F., Germana Patria. Die Geburtsheimat in den Werken römischer Autoren der späten Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit (Stuttgart/Leipzig: Teubner, 1999). Gill, D. W. J./Trebilco, P. R., “Research on Urban Christian Communities. Looking ahead” in Walton, S./Trebilco, P. R./Gill, D. W. J. (eds.), The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017), 320–324. Hall, P., Cities and Civilisation: Culture, Innovation, and Urban Order (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1998). H8ran, F., “L’institution d8motiv8e: De Fustel de Coulanges / Durkheim et au-del/”, Revue franÅaise de sociologie 28 (1987), 67–97. Kahlos, R. T. M., Debate and Dialogue: Christian and Pagan Cultures c. 360–430 (London: Routledge, 2016). Kindt, J., Rethinking Greek Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). King, K. L., “Factions, Variety, Diversity, Multiplicity : Representing Early Christian Differences for the 21st Century”, Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 23 (2011), 216–37. Leveau, P., “La ville antique et l’organisation de l’espace rural: villa, ville, village”, Annales E.S.C. 38 (1983), 920–42. Ligt, L. de/Bintliff, J. (eds.), Regional Urban Systems in the Roman World, 150 BCE – 250 CE (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).

40

Frits Gerard Naerebout

Marechaux, P., “Urbanitas against Urbanism: a Latin Paradox”, sITA – Studies in History and Theory of Architecture 3 (2015), 22–33. Meeks, W. A., In Search of the Early Christians. Selected Essays (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008). Meeks, W. A., The First Urban Christians. The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). Mumford, L., The City in History (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1961). Naerebout, F. G., “Sanctuary, Monument, lieu de m8moire? The Iseum Campense, Memory and Religious Life” in Versluys, M. J./Bülow Clausen, C./Capriotti Vittozzi, G. (eds.), The Iseum Campense from the Roman Empire to the Modern Age. Temple – Monument – Lieu de m8moire (Rome: Edizioni Quasar, 2018), 41–57. Naerebout, F. G., Attractive performances. Ancient Greek Dance: Three Preliminary Studies (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1997). = Carrag#in, T./Turner, S., Making Christian Landscapes in Atlantic Europe: Conversion and Consolidation in the Early Middle Ages (Cork: Cork University Press, 2016). O’Donnell, J. J., “‘Paganus’: Evolution and Use” Classical Folia 31 (1977), 163–9. Orsi, R. A., Thank You, St. Jude. Women’s Devotion to the Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996). Orsi, R. A., The Madonna of 115th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880–1950 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010). Orsi, R. A. (ed.), Gods of the City. Religion and the American Urban Landscape (Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1999). Osborne, R., Classical Landscape with Figures: The Ancient Greek City and its Countryside (London: George Philip, 1987). Plümacher, E., Identitätsverlust und Identitätsgewinn. Studien zum Verhältnis von kaiserzeitlicher Stadt und frühem Christentum (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1987). Polinskaya, I., “Lack of Boundaries, Absence of Oppositions: the City-Countryside Continuum of a Greek Pantheon” in Rosen, R./Sluiter, I. (ed.), City, Countryside, and the Spatial Organization of Value in Classical Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 61–92. Pollard, J./Reid, H., The Rise and Fall of Alexandria. Birthplace of the Modern World (London: Penguin, 2007). Ramage, E. S., “City and country in Menander’s ‘Dyskolos’” Philologus 110 (1966), 194–211. Ramage, E. S., “Early Roman Urbanity”, The American Journal of Philology 81 (1960), 65–72. Ramage, E. S., Urbanitas: Ancient Sophistication and Refinement (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press for the University of Cincinnati, 1973). Rapp, C., “Desert, City, and Countryside in the Early Christian Imagination”, Church History and Religious Culture 86 (2006), 93–112.

‘Urban’ and ‘Rural’ in Early Christianity : Opposition or Complement?

41

Robinson, T. A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). Roblin, M., “Paganisme et rusticit8: un gros problHme, une 8tude de mots”, Annales E.S.C. 8 (1953), 173–83. Rüpke, J., “Religion als Urbanität. Ein anderer Blick auf Stadtreligion”, Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 27 (2019), 174–95. Schowalter, D. N./Friesen, S. J. (eds.), Urban Religion in Roman Corinth. Interdisciplinary Approaches (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). Shepardson, C. C., Controlling Contested Places: Late Antique Antioch and the Spatial Politics of Religious Controversy (Berkeley : University of California Press, 2014). Stark, R., Cities of God: The Real Story of How Christianity Became an Urban Movement and Conquered Rome (New York: HarperCollins, 2006). Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T&T Clark, 2009). Toynbee, A. J. (ed.), Cities of Destiny (London: Thames and Hudson, 1967). Walton, S./Trebilco, P. R./Gill, D. W. J. (eds.), The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017). White, M. G./White, L., The Intellectual versus the City (New York: New American Library, 1962). Williams, R., The Country and the City (London: The Hogarth Press, 2013). Wilson, A., “City sizes and urbanization in the Roman Empire” in Bowman, A./ Wilson, A. (eds.), Settlement, urbanization and population (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 161–95. Wilson, D., Five Cities that Ruled the World. How Jerusalem, Athens, Rome, London, and New York Shaped Global History (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2009). Wischmeyer, W., “Perspektiven frühchristlicher Kunst für die Geschichte der Kirche”, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte 79 (1984), 145–62. Wischmeyer, W., Griechische und lateinische Inschriften zur Sozialgeschichte der Alten Kirche (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn, 2018). Zeiller, J., Paganus. Ptude de terminologie historique (Fribourg: Librairie de l’Universit8, 1917). Zuiderhoek, A., The Ancient City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017).

Reinhard von Bendemann

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

1. Man: A City-Building Animal? It is a conclusive fact – yet one hitherto never appreciated – that all great Cultures are town-Cultures. Higher man of the Second Age is a town-tied animal. (…) (W)orldhistory is the history of civic man. Peoples, states, politics, religion, all arts, and all sciences rest upon one prime phenomenon of human being, the town. (…) The man of the land and the man of the city are different essences. (…) Every springtime of a Culture is ipso facto the springtime of a new city-type and civism. (…) The new soul of the City speaks a new language, which soon comes to be tantamount to the language of the Culture itself. (…) All genuine style-history is played out in the cities. (…) (W)e cannot comprehend political and economic history at all unless we realize that the city, with its gradual detachment from and final bankrupting of the country, is the determinative form to which the course and sense of higher history generally conforms. World history is city history. (…) The city is intellect. The Megalopolis is ‘free intellect’.1

These provoking statements, penned by Oswald Spengler after the First World War under the heading “The Soul of the City” in his work on the philosophy of history titled “The Decline of the West”, which were controversial even among his contemporaries and have been frequently misinterpreted, and which address the fatal transformation into the ‘absolute city’ in accordance with his philosophy of destiny that draws from Goethe and Nietzsche, point out the thrall of the city. Writers have always been succumbing to that thrall: be it the poleis of the Classical Greek epoch, the metropoles of the Greco-Roman period, or the modern cities in the works of Hugo, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Benjamin, Joyce, Döblin and others. At the same time, Spengler’s pointed statements draw attention to fundamental questions of the history of the city in the Greco-Roman period and to the history of early Christianity as an urban phenomenon. However, before examining the growth of the tree (the city/town as distinguishable from the country[side]), it is necessary to get back to the roots of the term. To analyze whether early Christianity as a new religio, which 1 Spengler, O., The Decline of the West. Form and Actuality II (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1926), 90–6.

44

Reinhard von Bendemann

gradually emerged from Judaism in the first and second century, was truly based upon the archetype pattern or “ur-phenomenon” of the “city” (Spengler), and before we are able to find out to what extent early Christianity participated in the thrall of the city or to what extent early Christians constituted an innovative factor of urban development, we have to enter the examination with a basic orientation about the interdisciplinary exploration of the phenomenon of the city/town in general. It turns out that the term city/town must be deconstructed in the light of current research, because it does not refer to something ontologically given. The term itself as well as the distinction between city/town and country(side) are suitable only to a certain degree for opening up early Christianity as an explicandum in its development. Therefore, not only the anthropological theses of Spengler regarding the essence of the city are questionable. It is a major problem that so many different branches of science and disciplines are participating in the study of the phenomenon of the ancient city. In historical and archeological terms, investigations strife to relate to extra-textual realities: sociological and socio-historical research refers to the city as society in its development; cultural scientific approaches may ask for anthropological constituents, and various disciplines deal with semantics and pragmatics that are associated to the conceptualization of cities/towns. Finally, at the level of textual analysis, the focus is also on attitudes concerning city/town and country(side). The fact that the distinctive fields of involved sciences and disciplines often overlap and interact, and that certain terms in their definitions often owe their existence to different interdisciplinary frameworks simultaneously, creates dangerous methodological ‘traps’ for the study of the phenomenon of cities/towns in antiquity.

2. Basic Perspectives of the History of Research The history of the exploration of the phenomenon city/town is characterized by various attempts: developing universal valid definitions, defining certain epochs of human history typifying phenomena of urban life in an ideal way and attributing particular families of characteristics to them.2 The conceptions of Max Weber and Moses Finley were of particular importance. The principal model of the city, and at the same time the most influential one with regard to the history of research, was established by Max Weber :

2 For the aspects of definition and their problems: T.A. Robinson, Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 70–99.

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

45

(The city can be) established in at least two ways [a)] by the presence of a feudal estate or a market. The economic and political needs of a feudal or princely estate can encourage specialization in trade products by providing a demand for which work is performed and goods are bartered. (…) The other method of establishing economic versatility is more generally important for the ‘city’; this is [b)] the existence in the place of settlement of a regular rather than an occasional exchange of goods. The market becomes an essential component in the livelihood of the settlers. (…) Thus, we wish to speak of a ‘city’ only in cases where the local inhabitants satisfy an economically substantial part of their daily wants in the local market, and to an essential extent by products which the local population and that of the immediate hinterland produced for sale in the market or acquired in other ways.3

Weber points out that even agricultural products may not be produced in the countryside or hinterland, but also in the city itself. In his treatise “The Nature of the City”, published posthumously in 1921, Weber emphasizes the difference between the occidental and the oriental city. According to Weber, city communities with consistent elements of structure such as fortifications, marketplaces, courts of law, and at least partially their own law, conglomeration, as well as at least partial autonomy and autocephaly, exist solely in the West. Weber’s position has gained considerable attention and is fundamental to many receptions until today. It was adapted and refined especially in the works of Moses Finley. In his work on “The Ancient Economy”4, Moses Finley, professor of Ancient History at Cambridge, did not only relate to Max Weber, but also to Karl Polanyi5. Finley focused his research on economic sociology, resp. on the economic involvement of the city. According to Finley, ancient societies were basically founded on agriculture. Questions of local production, the distribution of economic goods and their consumption in the context of more comprehensive constellations of areas are focused. For Finley, the cities of the ancient world were basically consumer cities, which attracted wealth produced in the countryside. Interregional trade played a subordinate role in ancient cities and, in view of logistical difficulties and costs, tended to be limited to a relatively small number of special goods. Few big cities, especially Rome, reached a level on which the priorities could develop in a different manner. The ideal types of the Weber-Finley-Model were frequently simplified during the history of research: for example, the term “consumer city” as referring to the ancient city does not have the same relevant role in Weber’s 3 Weber, M., “The Nature of the City”, in Sennet, R. (ed.), Classic Essays on the Culture of Cities (New Jersey : Prentice Hall, 1969), 23–46, on p. 24. 4 Finley, M. I., The Ancient Economy (Berkeley : The University of California Press, 1973), cf. also Finley, M. I., Politics in the Ancient World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 5 Cf. especially Polanyi, K., The Great Transformation. The Political and Economic Origins of our Time (Boston: Beacon Press, 1973).

46

Reinhard von Bendemann

works as scholars have attributed to it. Rather, Weber’s positions on the city are embedded in a multi-layered and rich holistic perspective that can hardly be summarized without substantial abridgements. For example, Weber would not have denied that consumer cities, even parasitic cities, may have had positive effects on the hinterlands. It should also be mentioned that Weber’s point of view evolved and changed in numerous publications over the years.6 An essential question related to Weber’s and Finley’s works concerns the coincidence between city and marketplace. However, recent studies challenged the view that urbanization-processes must be first of all understood under the aspect of economic structures and economic development. The question is “whether urbanization and economic development [ever] tend to be correlated in a predictable fashion, and more specifically whether cities, by their very existence, are conducive to economic growth.”7 To sum up, any kinds of global definitions resp. definitions valid across time and epochs have been challenged. It seems to be almost impossible to posit the existence of congruent or compatible structures of cities/towns for even one single era. Local characteristics and differences have to be taken into account, flexible parameters that are compatible with multiple disciplines have to be applied. Thus, Philip Abrams summarizes the history of research in a very pointed way : “As it appears (…) the only characteristic which any significant number of theories of the town agree in identifying as distinctively urban is heterogeneity, and (…) for the rest no objective referent applicable to the town in general has been found.”8 The last point leads to a very short and rough orientation about the problems of historical description and differentiation of towns resp. cities in the ancient world.

3. Historical Perspectives First of all, problems of historical description and conceptualization have to be taken into account while dealing with the so called ‘classical’ times of the 6 For questions of the development of Weber’s position cp. Nippel, W., “Editorischer Bericht”, in: Max Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft V (Tübingen 1999) I/22–5, 45 ff.; Scaglia, A., Max Webers Idealtypus der nichtlegitimen Herrschaft. Von der revolutionär-autonomen mittelalterlichen Stadt zur undemokratischen Stadt der Gegenwart (Opladen: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 2001). The issue is made particularly complicated whenever Weber’s statements on the city are merged with his specific view of Judaism and the genesis of early Christianity. In hindsight, his construction of Judaism as a pariah religion is to be seen critically. 7 Scheidel, W., “Demography”, in Scheidel, W./Morris, I./Saller, R.P. (eds.), The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 38–86, on p. 83; cf. p. 82 f for a critique of the Weber-Finley-model. 8 Abrams, P., “Towns and Economic Growth: Some Theories and Problems”, in Abrams, P./Wrigley, E.A. (eds.), Towns in Societies. Essays in Economic History and Historical Sociology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 9–33, on p. 15.

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

47

Greek poleis. This opens up a very wide field of research.9 The world of the Greek city-states was very complex in itself. Since the times of Hesiod and Homer, the aspects of geographic location, political constitution, strategic structure, public dimensioning, cultic centering and topography must be considered in interdependence. The source language term p|kir proves to be equivocal, insofar as it corresponds to both city/town and state.10 In the Hellenistic-Roman period, the latter aspect will be reduced by the integration of the Greek towns into superordinate imperial structures which transformed the character of the town/city fundamentally. With regard to the number, size or population density, Norman Pounds emphasizes – against the modernizing hypothesis of an ‘urban revolution’ in Greek times – that the p|keir of classical Greece were indeed very numerous, but most of them “were also very small”, and, “in terms of function, many were only large villages.”11 Bigger p|keir were the exception; they possessed centers in which non-farmers could be dominant in their activities. Most p|keir “remained small in area, covering sometimes only a few square miles”, and “appear to have been the product of a slow development during the Archaic period of Greek history, and were entirely without regular plan.”12 In many cases, the translation of p|kir with urban settlement seems more appropriate than the English terms town or city. And against Spengler, Pounds states: “it is very doubtful whether the great majority of poleis ever played any significant role in the history of civilization.”13 The classical p|kir is based on agriculture in economic terms. Therefore, it 9 For problems of definition, conceptualization and archeological as well as literary test-cases cf. Rich, J./ Wallace-Hadrill, A. (eds.), City and Country in the Ancient World (Leicester-Nottingham Studies in Ancient Society 2; London: Routledge, 1991). 10 See the overview by Hölkeskamp, K. J., “Die Entstehung der Polis. Voraussetzungen und Bedingungen”, in Gehrke H.-J./Schneider, H. (eds.), Geschichte der Antike. Ein Studienbuch (Stuttgart: Verlag J.B. Metzler, 2000), 58–73. On p. 63 Hölkeskamp writes: Die “strukturelle Bioder Multipolarität der Polis als Raum spiegelt sich in ihrer Gestalt als Verband der ihr zugehörigen Menschen, also ihrer Identität als Bürgerschaft. Denn diese Identität hatte einerseits vielfältige Wurzeln in den Kulten, die bei den ,poliadischen‘ Heiligtümern angesiedelt waren (…). Andererseits dürfen die entstehenden Poleis nicht allein als Kultgemeinschaften begriffen werden. Sie waren auch und zugleich politische Gemeinschaften wie zur Polis als Raum auch Orte des Politischen, der Beratung und Entscheidung über die Angelegenheiten der ganzen Gemeinschaft gehörten.” See also Stein-Hölkeskamp, E., “Krise und Konsolidierung der Polis”, in Gehrke, H.-J./Schneider, H. (eds.), Geschichte der Antike. Ein Studienbuch (Stuttgart: Verlag J.B. Metzler, 2000), 74–96. 11 Pounds, N. J. G., “The Urbanization of the Classical World”, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 59 (1969), 135–57, on p. 135. According to Hansen and Nielsen, “fewer than half of all p|keir comprised more than 2,000 members, and only 15 percent more than 5,000.” (Scheidel, “Demography”, 77). – Notice that according to Plato in his “Laws”, the ideal number of citizens of a p|kir would be 5000. Aristotle, however, criticizes this number as too large, because it would require a territory of “unlimited extent” in order to support it (Aristotle, Pol. 1265a). 12 Pounds, “Urbanization”, 135 and 139. 13 Pounds, “Urbanization”, 135.

48

Reinhard von Bendemann

always has to be considered together with the region resp. territory. The territory of a p|kir often included surrounding j~lai, which were coordinated, no boundaries were marked around the j~lai within the w~qa of the city, and accordingly the male inhabitants of the j~lai were citizens. They were part of the p|kir in the sense of civitas.14 Of course, there were also ‘bigger’ towns in the times of the classical Greek p|kir, especially Athens and Sparta, but also Syracuse and Agrigento in Sicily and more examples in Greater Greece. Nevertheless, one can agree with the following statement: “(a)lthough the poleis may in time have acquired conspicuous public buildings, they must have remained, in terms of economic function, merely large villages, whose inhabitants had merely a longer journey to their fields.”15 Altogether, many of the p|keir of Greece were congenial to Weber’s concept of the ‘farmer-citizen-city’, but they were ‘agro-towns’ with their own individual profile. In research, the period of Hellenism has often been qualified as a time of the survival and considerable expansion of the p|kir. The Hellenistic man could be qualified as a ‘city man’, and Hellenistic culture could be labelled as a ‘city culture’. Old towns were renewed, but first of all many new ones were founded. The famous list by V.A. Tcherikover (1927) already counted 329 examples for foundations of new towns/cities.16 Urbanization processes in Hellenistic times are in fact extremely complex and continue to be the subject of intensive archaeological and historical research. In the time after Alexander, these processes varied in the different areas of his former empire. With regard to, e. g., Hellenistic Asia Minor, Syria17 and North Africa, generalizations and 14 Cf. Rizakis, A. D., “Roman Colonies in the Province of Achaia. Territories, Land and Population”, in Alcock, S. E. (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East (Oxbow Monograph 95; Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1997), 15–36, on p. 32. 15 Pounds, “Urbanization”, 143, cf. Aristotle, Pol. 1252b: “The partnership finally composed of several villages is the city-state; it has at last attained the limit of virtually complete selfsufficiency, and thus, while it comes into existence for the sake of life, it exists for the good life”. 16 Tcherikover, V. A., Die hellenistischen Städtegründungen von Alexander dem Großen bis zur Römerzeit (Philologus 19.1; Mainz: Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1927). Schneider, C., Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus. Erster Band (München: C.H. Beck, 1967), 127 tried to distinguish three groups: “Eine Reihe alter Städte blieb nach wie vor Kulturmittelpunkt und hat die gesamte Epoche aufsteigend oder langsam absinkend überdauert. Unter ihnen waren ziemlich alle alten kleinasiatischen Griechenstädte, die pontischen Städte, große Inselstädte, kulturelle und religiöse Zentren des Mutterlandes, an erster Stelle natürlich Athen, die Städte der Kyrenaika und im Westen Massalia. Eine zweite Gruppe behielt ihre Bedeutung bis zur Zerstörung durch die Römer, so Korinth, Syrakus, Tarent und der Kranz der alten makedonischen Städte. Eine dritte Gruppe behielt ihre Bedeutung, als sich ihre Städte zu den großen Städtebünden zusammenschlossen, und verlor sie wieder, sobald diese Koina zusammenbrachen.” 17 For the situation in Syria (see also below) cf. Millar, F., “The Problem of Hellenistic Syria”, in Kuhrt, A./Sherwin-White, S. (eds.), Hellenism in the East. The Interaction of Greek and NonGreek Civilizations from Syria to Central Asia after Alexander (Berkeley : University of California Press, 1987), 110–33, who considers the Syrian situation as an „enigma“, see 129: “If we think of it in terms of the foundation of wholly new cities, these were not numerous, except in north Syria, and only a few of them are known to have closely resembled what we think of as a

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

49

ascriptions of ‘standard features’ are even more dangerous than for the time of the ‘classical’ Greek city-states. In the history of its successive growth, the Roman Empire formed a mixtum compositum of various physical, sociopolitical, economical and religious conditions, including rural resp. tribal areas, villages, urban units and areas which differed considerably from one region to another. The search for the city/town as a quasi-universal phenomenon must bypass reality here. Attempts to classify individual regions or the repeatedly proposed differentiation of East and West within the Roman Empire18 are in danger to obscure the multi-phenomenal conditions. Considering these difficulties: Does the analysis of population densities in urban areas provide a valid instrument for the classification of towns resp. cities?19 First of all, one has to face the methodological problems of counting the members of ancient areas resp. centers, since no objective population statistics are available.20 ‘Size’ in the sense of condensing numbers of people represents a factor that deserves attention in any case. For the time of the late Roman Republic and the early imperial period, it is not too difficult to identify a few ‘mega-cities’ with extraordinary large populations, such as Ephesus in Asia Minor, Antioch in Syria, Carthage in Africa or Alexandria in Roman Egypt.21 The order of the phenomena in the middle range is more difficult. Should larger villages and (smaller) towns be categorized by the criterion of population density, by per capita income, or can they be measured by the criterion of a more developed non-agricultural sector?22

18

19

20 21

22

fully-fledged Greek city. If we think of an economic or social impact, there were many areas where the Seleucid empire certainly never exercised any direct or effective control.” Cf. for the problem of a specifically Roman approach to urbanization in the East during the imperial period Lightstone, J. M., “Urbanization in the Roman East and the Inter-Religious Struggle for Success”, in Ascough, R.S. (ed.), Religious Rivalries and the Struggle for Success in Sardis and Smyrna (Waterloo, ON: Laurier University Press, 2005), 211–41. This direction is taken by Scheidel, “Demography”, 75: “Urbanization, whilst mediated by political and cultural factors, is ultimately a function of population density”. But cf. p. 81: “(T)he scale of the urban expansion in some parts of the Greco-Roman world, most notably in the north-western provinces of the Roman empire, suggest that gross population growth per se was a necessary but not a sufficient condition. Rather, institutional arrangements and even moderate levels of intensive economic growth appear to have been the main driving force behind the success of urbanism.” For the integration of the cities of Asia Minor into the Roman empire see: Macro, A. D., “The Cities of Asia Minor under the Roman Imperium”, in ANRW II 7:2, 658–97. Scheidel, “Demography”, 75: “The average share of urban residents in the total population cannot be reliably determined for any particular region or period of the Greco-Roman world.” Scheidel, “Demography”, 78: “The main urban centers of the Levant – Alexandria, Antioch, Pergamon – had originally attained their size as the capitals of separate empires during the Hellenistic period and subsequently retained or even added to their substantial populations under Roman rule.” For regional imbalances in the distribution of cities in the Roman provinces, see p. 79. Scheidel, “Demography”, 80: “Nonetheless, there is no good reason to believe that more than

50

Reinhard von Bendemann

However, below the level of the few urban mega-centers (which, of course, are not easily comparable with each other), the question of numbers of people resp. density of population does not offer a hard criterion of description. The transitions between smaller cities, larger towns and (larger) villages are vague and depend on the underlying perceptual schemes. The main question concerns the observed section of an area: is only the city resp. town itself to be considered (e. g. within walls)? Are interconnections with neighboring cities/towns and villages included in the perspective of observation? Is the criterion of the share of management, processing and consumption of agricultural products considered? It seems that urban areas or entities generally tend to emancipate themselves from their exclusive ties to the agricultural sector as their population resp. the density of people increase. This creates more open spaces for production and processing activities in the non-agricultural sectors, for craft and technical activities and also for the service sector.23 The interdependence of the size resp. population of a city, the degree of differentiation of trade and craft sectors and increasing specialization opportunities in the individual sectors are reflected in a text that does not illuminate Roman conditions, but makes mechanisms transparent that had already existed in antiquity for al long time, namely Xenophon’s Cyropedia (8.2,5): For in small towns [lijqa?r p|kesim] the same workman makes chairs and doors and plows and tables, and often this same artisan builds houses, and even so he is thankful if he can only find employment enough to support him. And it is, of course, impossible for a man of many trades to be proficient in all of them. In large cities [lec\kair p|kesim], on the other hand, inasmuch as many people have demands to make upon each branch of industry, one trade alone, and very often even less than a whole trade, is enough to support a man: one man, for instance, makes shoes for men, and another for women; and there are places even where one man earns a living by only stitching shoes, another by cutting them out, another by sewing the uppers together, while there is another who performs none of these operations but only assembles the parts.

Within the Roman Empire, whose basis remained agriculture, as it is documented for example in the Latin De re rustica-literature,24 one is

one person in eight would have been permanently or predominantly engaged in non-agrarian labor.” For the problem of ‘producer-cities’ see Mattingly, D. J/Salmon, J. (eds.), Economies beyond Agriculture in the Classical World (Leicester-Nottingham Studies in Ancient Society 9; London: Routledge, 2010). 23 See Scheidel, “Demography”, 75. 24 Since the time of the end of the Roman Republic living off rents in the larger cities, first of all in Rome, was understood as appropriate for the optimi of the state and superior to any own engagement in agriculture, which was – as work with one’s hands was in general – left to the majority of the working plebs or slaves. The remaining high estimation of agriculture became

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

51

confronted with a broad range of forms and dimensions of villages, large villages, small towns, bigger towns resp. cities. In the Latin West, the close connection between the private villae as effective centers of agricultural production, and the associated vici, which correlated with them in organizational terms and enabled and supported them technically and materially, must be taken into account. Oppida had often pre-Roman predecessors.25 Economically coordinated links and networks between those villae, vici and oppida could vary depending on the regional conditions. In the process of the growth of the empire, the Romans adopted existing towns. According to their interests, they limited their former independence and integrated them as administrative centers of surrounding areas and subjected them to their strategic and economical aims.26 Corresponding developments and transformation processes could be designed in multiple ways; new structures might co-exist with already established ones. The embedding of the cities resp. towns in the overall context of the empire was crucial. With regard of the aspect of population density, the Roman strategy to integrate existing locations as nods and centres into their administration implied that from case to case one and the same location could operate more as a village or more as a town, whose administrational functions were activated and attracted lots of people. This is for example the case in Celaenae, when the yearly courts are in session (aR d¸jai paq’ 3tor #comtai), according to Dio also a literary phenomenon, associated to the remembrance of the ‘good old times’, the roots of the Roman state, the mores of the forefathers. 25 In Caesar’s writings, oppida are to be understood as fortified settlements; other categories which are to be taken into account for the western parts of the imperium are municipia and coloniae. 26 Ball, W., Rome in the East. The Transformation of an Empire (London: Routledge, 2000), 149 presents a simplifying picture when he states as a “fact (…) that the Romans did not found a single new city in the East. All were refoundations of existing cities.” Nörr, D., “Zur Herrschaftsstruktur des römischen Reiches: Die Städte des Ostens und das Imperium”, in ANRW II 7.1, 3–20, however, rightly also points to Roman foundations and sums up advantages of the urbanization process on p. 4: “Die Herrschaft wurde kaschiert, die Zufriedenheit der Untertanen erhöht, das Risiko von Rebellionen vermindert. Zugleich brachte die Urbanisierung der römischen Obrigkeit auch einen handfesten verwaltungs- und finanztechnischen Vorteil. Solange die städtische Verwaltung funktionierte, bedurfte es keines komplizierten staatlichen Verwaltungsaufbaus.” The position of the imperial polis could most likely be understood under the contrast of ‘politische Polis’ and ‘entpolitisierte Polis’ (ibid., 17). Cf. the elements of the Roman urbanization process as mentioned in Tacitus (Agr. 21,1 f): “For, to accustom to rest and repose through the charms of luxury a population scattered and barbarous and therefore inclined to war, Agricola gave private encouragement and public aid to the building of temples, courts of justice and dwelling-houses (…). Hence, too, a liking sprang up for our style of dress, and the toga became fashionable. Step by step they were led to things which dispose to vice, the lounge, the bath, the elegant banquet” (namque ut homines dispersi ac rudes eoque in bella faciles quieti et otio per voluptates adsuescerent, hortari privatim, adiuvare publice, ut templa fora domos extruerent … inde etiam habitus nostri honor et frequens toga; paulatimque discessum ad delenimenta vitiorum, porticus et balinea et conviviorum elegantiam).

52

Reinhard von Bendemann

Chrysostomus (Or. 35,15 f.): “they bring together an unnumbered throng of people – litigants, jurymen, orators, princes, attendants, slaves, pimps, muleteers, hucksters, harlots, and artisans. Consequently not only can those who have goods to sell obtain the highest prices, but also nothing in the city is out of work … And this contributes not a little to prosperity (toOto d´ oq slijq|m 1sti pq¹r eqdailomi²m); for wherever the greatest throng of people comes together, there necessarily we find money in greatest abundance, and it stands to reason that the place should thrive.” If the Roman province of Syria27 is selected as an exemplary field of observation, the geographic disposition implies that it can’t be considered as a homogeneous landscape. It is a significant difference whether a ‘town’ is located in the coastal area to the west, in the hinterland of Antioch, in correlation to the great plain of Aleppo, whether it is located nearby a river or in the far-reaching Syrian desert. Accordingly, city resp. town-foundations followed diverse economic, political and military-strategic motivations. Cities/towns such as Seleucia, Laodicea, Apamea and Cyrrhus were founded in the Hellenistic period according to strategic interests and therefore have their own character. The whole Roman province of Syria formed a bastion against the Parthians. The Romans followed their habit of largely delegating responsibilities to client princes. Agriculture dominated the biggest part of the province.28 In addition, the Syrians can be addressed in antiquity as paradigmatic traders (cp. Migne PL 25.255). The economy of Syria in Roman times also implies the specialization in various craft professions which produced for internal market and for export.29 But, as Bowersock emphasizes, “the role of crafts in the Syrian

27 See the short overview in Bowersock, G. W., “Social and Economic History of Syria under the Roman Empire”, in Dentzer, J.-M./Orthmann, W. (eds.), Arch8ologie et histoire de la Syrie II. La Syrie de l’8poque ach8m8nide / l’avHnement de l’Islam (Schriften zur vorderasiatischen Archäologie 1; Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag, 1989), 63–80. 28 Cj. Josephus, C. Ap. 1.60: “Well, ours is not a maritime country ; neither commerce nor the intercourse which it promotes with the outside world has any attraction for us. Our cities are built inland, remote from the sea; and we devote ourselves to the cultivation of the productive country with which we are blessed.” Cf. Schwartz, J. J., “The Material Realities of Jewish Life in the Land of Israel, C. 235–638”, in Katz, S. T. (ed.), The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period (CHJ IV; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 431–56. One should be very careful not to relate social life which was determined by agriculture eo ipso to religious distinctions, as Safrai de facto does, who qualifies the cities of Syria, e. g. on the basis of their civic building programs, as – I cite him – “essentially non-Jewish” in contrast to rural settlements that were – according to him – Jewish in essence (cf. Safrai, Z., The Economy of Roman Palestine (London: Routledge, 1994), 33). Another basic question is whether Jewish rural societies developed differently from that of non-Jewish rural populations as Hirschfeld, Y., “Jewish Rural Settlement in Judaea in the Early Roman Period”, in Alcock, S.E. (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East (Oxbow Monograph 95; Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1997), 72–88 argues. 29 Generally associated with Syrian craftsmen in the Roman period was blown glass – from Sidon and Tyre – , fabrics dyed in purple – Tyre became rich by it – , textiles – for example in Dura

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

53

economy was in no way comparable to that of agriculture”.30 With regard to the correlation of towns/cities and their hinterland/territorium we are confronted with a special and distinctive situation compared to other areas being or becoming part of the Roman Empire. The territories ascribed to the principal Syrian cities were very large. According to Bowersock, “it looks very much as if the whole of Syria was apportioned into vast territoria with a city in control of each. The cities existed to support the inhabitants of the land, scattered in numerous small villages. They were not independent social or economic centers on their own. If some, such as Palmyra and Antioch, subsequently grew populous and wealthy, that was not their primary function.”31 In this particular structuring, certain villages receive a special function, which is covered in the term letqojol_a, “signifying something like a metropolis at the village level.”32 – From a functional point of view or in a meta-descriptive language, this would be an equivalent to a town. To get back to the central problem, it is impossible to establish a crosstemporal and cross-cultural universal definition of the phenomenon city and impossible to describe it in terms of a single isolated function. This observation holds true for urban conglomerates in Greco-Roman times, whose degree of urbanization can in no way be uniformly grasped, but rather could change significantly even within shorter periods of time. Additionally, the distinctive features of individual regions and local situations must always be included in the calculation.

4. The Complementarity of City/Town/Urbanity and Country(side)/Rurality and its Hermeneutic Relevance for the History and Literature of Early Christianity 4.1 The Complementarity of Town and Country(side): Consequences for the Reconstruction of the History of Early Christianity As we saw, there are so many significant differences in all juridical, cultural, social and religious regards and there is such a plurality of potential social structures in different urban locations that they can hardly be compressed in one single formula of the ancient city. In each single case we find a specific mixture of conditions; and in each single case there may also be contradictory functional requirements which in turn give rise to contradictory structures: Europos, Palmyra und Gerasa – , pottery, bronze and stone sculpture – from Palmyra – , and also art work in precious metals. See Bowersock, “History”, 68 f. 30 Bowersock, “History”, 69. 31 Bowersock, “History”, 66. 32 Bowersock, “History”, 67.

54

Reinhard von Bendemann

religious ones, social ones, cultural ones, economic ones, strategic ones, etc. An immediate consequence of the results is: Cities resp. towns are never to be analyzed as completely self-contained units, and in each case the wider context has to be examined. The assumption of a distinguishing line and of asymmetrical relations between rural and urban areas and populations themselves are of continuing heuristic value in this regard. Nevertheless, tensions between city/town and countryside in economic as well as in cultural and religious respect should not be overemphasized, and have to be examined in any individual case. What are the consequences for research on early Christian developments? New Testament scholars are, by and large, willing to agree that earliest Christianity evolved into an urban phenomenon soon after the rural beginnings of the Jesus movement.33 – In the light of the preceding orientation steps concerning the relationship between city/town and country(side), it seems very questionable that this assumption proves to be a universal concept for explaining the establishment and spread of early Christianity. At least considerable differentiations are necessary.34 From a historical point of view, it seems more advisable to start not with the basic assumption of any kind of 33 Compare pars pro toto: Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen. Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt 1. Grundrisse zum Neuen Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 15–8; Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (BWANT 198; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012). 34 It is a hermeneutical problem that the lens through which the sources are viewed often has an a priori ‘city’-bias, an ‘urbanitas’-bias. This lens is already anchored in our sources, which stem from a minority of the population that is able to write and read. This literate minority would in general be associated to higher educated people whom we would expect to live in cities, not the countryside. For a different evaluation of urban views of rural inhabitants see Robinson, Christians, 123–30. Cf. Quintilian’s ‘city’-bias in his discourse on laughter in Institutio Oratoria VI where he refers to Domitius Marsus’ – in his opinion – highly sophisticated treatise De urbanitate and quotes the latter’s definition: “Urbanity is a certain quality of language compressed into the limits of a brief saying and adapted to delight and move men to every kind of emotion, but specially suitable to resistance or attack according as the person or circumstances concerned may demand” (urbanitas est virtus quaedam in breve dictum coacta et apta ad delectandos mouendosque homines in omnem adfectum animi, maxime idonea ad resistendum vel lacessendum, prout quaeque res aut persona desiderat) (Inst. VI 3:104). Quintilian also quotes Domitius Marsus’ definition of the ‘urban man’: “Urbanity is the characteristic of a man who has produced many good sayings and replies, and who, whether in conversation, in social or convivial gatherings, in public speeches, or under any other circumstances, will speak with humour and appropriateness” (urbanus homo erit, cuius multa bene dicta responsaque erunt, et qui in sermonibus, circulis, conviviis, item in contionibus, omni denique loco ridicule commodeque dicet) (Inst. 6.3, 105). Following Marsus’ opinion, Quintilian elaborates his own position: “For to my thinking urbanity involves the total absence of all that is incongruous, coarse, unpolished and exotic whether in thought, language, voice or gesture (in qua nihil absonum, nihil agreste, nihil inconditum, nihil peregrinum neque sensu neque verbis neque ore gestuve possit deprehendi), and resides not so much in isolated sayings as in the whole complexion of our language, just as for the Greeks Atticism meant that elegance of taste that was peculiar to Athens” (Inst. VI 3:107).

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

55

opposition of city/town and country(side).35 Rather, one should try to describe as precisely as possible the complementarity of city/town and country(side) in their respective regional concretions.36 This complementarity provided an important ground for the communication and practice of the followers of Jesus in the Hellenistic-Roman world.37 In any case, it has to be taken seriously in reconstructions of the history of early Christians that the majority of the population of the Roman Empire did not live in the cities/towns, but rather in areas that are to be qualified as rural.38 T. Robinson argues against the ‘urban thesis’ of the establishment and expansion of early Christianity, as proposed especially by W. Meeks, 35 Already Benet criticized the rural-urban-opposition from a sociological perspective (Benet, F., “Sociology Uncertain. The Ideology of the Rural-Urban Continuum,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 6 (1964), 1–23, on p. 7: “The definition characterizes the rural world by its organic solidarity, its genetic and cultural inbreeding, social organization based on blood and fictive kinship, intimate and personal contacts, simple technology of primary producers, uncritical and non-economic attitudes, distinguishing urban life by heterogeneity, poorly defined norms, tenuous social relationships, secularization, utilitarianism, and the like. Against this background it was naturally assumed that the jump from the one to the other would have traumatic effects.” As another error Benet pointed to the “myth” of the “isolation of rural communities” (p. 10). 36 Cf. Robinson, Christians, 65: “The line between rural and urban was ambiguous at best. City and country were interwoven in ways that prevent neat definition, and the urban and rural worlds were never mutually isolated enclaves where members of one rarely entered the other.” And on p. 69 he writes: “(I)t might be more insightful to draw a line between remote villages and those villages located closer to towns and cities where exchange with the urban environment would have been commonplace.” Further on p. 76: “In some ways, cities and towns were merely areas of the countryside where people had clustered in greater numbers.” And finally on p. 86 f he notes: “Temples both dotted the countryside and clustered in and around cities. Even those temples that we might consider urban often were outside the city (…). Such temples would have brought urban and rural together, for inhabitants of both worlds would have journeyed to the temples for similar reasons.” 37 Scheidel, “Demography”, 79 f proposes: “More generally, we need to allow for the possibility that the full sociopolitical fusion of town and country that was a defining characteristic of Greek and Roman civilization raised the number of urban residents well above the size of the nonagricultural population.” 38 Note that even in Roman times, not every countryside-area was part of a town in the sense of hinterland/territory. Woolf, G., “The Roman Urbanization of the East”, in Alcock, S. E. (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East (Oxbow Monograph 95; Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1997), 1–14 observes: “If imperial power was the main determinant of urban growth, we might expect a more even distribution of cities of all sizes at least throughout the Mediterranean parts of the empire, yet a glance at the west shows that this was not the case” (on p. 10). On p. 1 Woolf has already stated: “By most criteria, ancient as well as modern, this urbanization was extremely meagre.” On p. 4 he added: In Roman times the “ideology of the polis might have been expected to lead to an erosion of village life (…), yet the reverse seems to have been the case.” Rizakis states that “the village continued to be the structural basis of the Hellenic countryside throughout the Roman period (…); it continued to serve as the intermediate structure between the city and the countryside until late antiquity” (Rizakis, “Colonies”, 32). This result is also to be taken seriously for the representation and explanation of religious dynamics in the tension between town, territories and country(side) in times of the late Roman republic and the early principate.

56

Reinhard von Bendemann

R. MacMullen, R. Stark and others.39 Robinson assumes that the urbanChristian/rural-pagan dialectic represents a useful tool of analysis only for the post-Constantinian period. In the first place, Robinson tries to push mathematical estimates to the point of absurdity, both with regard to ancient Jews living in the cities or in the country(side) and with regard to emerging early Christianity.40 Robinson rightly claims that a strong Jewish diaspora existed in rural areas in the first century CE41 to which early Christians could continuously connect. Robinson refers to considerable pre-Constantinian source-material supporting the spread of Christianity into rural areas.42 Although Robinson’s work does not solve all problems and although some arguments are not completely convincing, the basic direction is acceptable. Further research on the establishment and expansion of early Christianity needs to critically reconsider the often nonreflective assumption of Christians as a religio urbana.

4.2 The Dimension of Literary/Narrative Concepts of Early Christian Documents In terms of methodical procedure, it is important to take into account that our object of investigation are literary resp. narrative texts that do not reflect historical realities one-to-one, but rather follow certain concepts. This 39 Cf. the impressive survey of the magnus consensus of research in Robinson, Christians, 14–8. 40 For the time around the year 300 CE, “[t]he common number offered is 6 million Christians in an empire of 60 million, or 10 % of the population” (Robinson, Christians, 18). “The one fundamental and insurmountable problem in the estimates of Christian adherents in the early period relates directly to the supposed urban character of early Christianity. The problem is this: most of the population of the empire was rural. If Christians were largely urban and if the empire was largely rural, even with remarkable success in the urban areas, Christianity could have represented at best only a small portion of the overall population of the empire by the time of Constantine – much smaller than the 10 % that is often maintained. Indeed, if the empire was 10 % urban (…) and Christians, at 10 % of the empire, were themselves largely urban, Christians would have made up the entire population of all urban areas by the year 300 CE. (…) Eastern cities would have been swamped with Christians” (p. 18; see the analysis on pp. 24–40: “Counting Romans and Christians”; see the analogous problems with regard to attempts of “Counting the Jewish Population” on pp. 41–64). See ibid., p. 55 for the critique on the numbers given by W. Meeks, on pp. 225–42 for the critique of numbers according to R. MacMullen, and on pp. 243–52 for the critique on R. Stark: “In the year 250, all Christians were Jews. By the year 300, all Jews were Christians (…) in many ways that is the conclusion that could be drawn from Rodney Stark’s various well-received books on early Christianity” (p. 243). – Robinson estimates that 85 % of the Roman Empire’s population was located in rural areas (p. 12). For the problem of counting “Jewish populations” cp. also McGing, B., “Population and Proselytism. How Many Jews Were There in the Ancient World?”, in Bartlett, J.R. (ed.), Jews in the Hellenistic and Roman Cities (London: Routledge, 2002), 88–116. 41 Robinson, Christians, 60–4, cf. Frend, W. H. C., The Rise of Christianity (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1984), 30–52. 42 Robinson, Christians, 144–80.

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

57

demands a reflection of the complex questions regarding the arrangement of spatiality within narratives. I have to confine myself to very few examples and few observations without being able to discuss the sources in detail. In the gospel of Mark, the innovations associated with the Jesus-movement in general seem to come from the periphery43 ; for example, the Markan Jesus favors 5qgloi tºpoi, he avoids entering the larger towns. But the narrative is well aware of the fact that early Christians (also) lived in urban contexts and the cities marked the nods of communication.44 The 5qgloi tºpoi and the multiple periphery-concepts we find in the Gospel of Mark45 should be understood as a literary device, describing that the ‘new teaching’ 1m 1nous¸ô (with authority) needs new locations. Thus, Mark’s narrative conception should not too easily be read as a historical witness for a ‘rural Jesus’ and for the development of early Christianity from the countryside to the cities/towns (and from there back to the country[side]). The narrative conception of Luke-Acts may be interpreted as impressed by the fundamental assumption that cities/towns with their cultural and technological resources and processes of urbanization represent innovation and progress, and that in this way they are the appropriate locations for the innovations brought by the Christian witnesses, whereas the country and the ‘rural way of life’ are potentially associated with lower levels of education, stagnation and backwardness. The main interest in our context is the fact that also in Luke-Acts there is no ‘neutral description’, but that it follows a narrative conception. In contrast, the historical assumption that innovative revolutions (which should by no means be considered eo ipso as positive developments) reached villages and rural areas less frequently and less intensive than cities is very questionable. The ideal polarity of city/town vs. country(side) as well as the allocation of innovation and tradition, of cultural openness and backward closeness to city and country, obscures the complexity of the historical developments. On the one hand, Luke-Acts shows clearly a city-bias; on the other hand, the work reminds of and reflects the interdependence and complementarity of towns and country(side) in many ways.46 43 For city-periphery-concepts cf. Goodman, P. J., The Roman City and its Periphery. From Rome to Gaul (London: Routledge, 2007). 44 Bendemann, R. von, “Jesus und die Stadt im Markusevangelium”, in Bendemann, R. von/ Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (BWANT 198; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 43–69; for a thorough analysis of narrated spatiality in the gospel of Mark cf. Bosenius, B., Der literarische Raum des Markusevangeliums (WMANT 140; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2014). 45 See in detail von Bendemann, “Jesus”. 46 With regard to the hypothesis of the ‘conservatism’ of rural areas (for example the picture of the Lycaonians in Acts 14) compare Robinson: “(T)he sword (…) cuts both ways. Even if the countryside was more conservative (…), should we conclude that the Christian message would have faced a stiffer resistance there than elsewhere?” (Christians, 105; critical with regard to supposed language-barriers: 115–121). See also p. 117: “(I)f native languages were retained

58

Reinhard von Bendemann

A completely different narrative conception is developed in the Apocalypse of John; in chapter 21 and 22 the Jewish apocalyptic hope for a heavenly, transhistorical Jerusalem has been adopted in a special way, forming the city of Jerusalem to a priestly town with Christ the lamb in its midst, open to all the nations at the end of the time. In the background of the apocalyptic concept of an eschatological heavenly Jerusalem, prepared by God himself in order to replace the earthly, destructible Jerusalem, we recognize special traditions of Jerusalem as the location where God dwells on Zion, the place where God decided to let his name dwell, the ‘holy city’. Jerusalem is the ‘mother town’; Jerusalem is the centre of attraction not only for the city and the countryside but also for all Jews in the diaspora. Several texts attribute not only a national meaning to the city, but also a universal one. – One might say that in the Apocalypse of John, the whole world, the cosmos is grasped as the ‘hinterland’ of the city of God, arranged around Christ the lamb.47

5. Conclusion To sum up and end with some hermeneutical reflections: As we have seen, the term ‘city’ resp. ‘town’ is never a neutral terminus of historical description; it has aspects of a mythological figure establishing and instituting culture and human community in the true sense. Nevertheless, it is often used historically, and the result is polysemous and ambiguous. What defines an ancient city/ town is not clearly tangible. With regard to the history of research: City as the epitome of higher forms of culture and life often only ‘exists’ where it is constructed as separated from land and countryside. The identity of the city/ town is conceptualized against its postulated counterpart, the country(side) instead is initially negatively characterized by a lack of ‘x’, and ‘x’ would mean education, innovation and culture, etc. At the same time, the city/town and the country(side) function as contrasting areas, between which one can gradually go back and forth: the described path from the country(side) to the city/town, or vice versa: the way out of the city/town. What is center and what periphery is a question of perspective and location and can be designed and also redesigned in a narrative in different ways. City/town seems to be an important concept generating plots for narratives with regard to borders. along with Greek by residents of towns and cities (…), the language barrier that supposedly prevented the spread of the Christian message to the countryside simply would not have existed.” – This opinion needs to be discussed in more detail. 47 See Bendemann, R. von, “Die ideale Stadt als Mittelpunkt der Welt. Frühjüdische und frühchristliche Stadtkonzeptionen am Beispiel der Konstruktion des himmlischen Jerusalem in Apk 21 f”, in Bosshard, M. T./Döhling, J.-D./Janisch, R. et al. (eds.), Sehnsuchtsstädte. Auf der Suche nach lebenswerten urbanen Räumen (Bielefeld: transcript, 2013), 61–97.

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

59

Mythological texts and tales, for example, are often dealing with the foundation history of cities/towns and their founders. In some way, Spengler’s conception might be understood as a modernizing prolongation of these mythological foundation-of-city texts. Retrospectively, the Weber-Finley model can be understood as an actual attempt to ‘harmonically’ synthesize the archaeological, epigraphic and literary evidence and to systematize it with the postulated sociological and economic theorems. But under the premise of strongly developed methodological conditions, Weber in his time did not yet read the literary texts as literary and discoursive constructions.48 As we observed, the city as the epitome of culture is not mainly, but also a product of reception history. As urban life manifests and materializes itself in permanent artifacts, it has in addition to its immediate effect in its time, its mediated effect through time and can develop high significance until today – and stimulate our cultural memory. Therefore, the spatial dimension of analyzing the corresponding problems have to be complemented by the dimension of temporality : from the historically localized and measured to the narrated and remembered city. In the light of corresponding hermeneutical reflections, the socio-historical questions of city/town and countryside must be reconsidered anew.

Bibliography Abrams, P., “Introduction”, in Abrams, P./Wrigley, E. A. (eds.), Towns in Societies. Essays in Economic History and Historical Sociology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 1–8. Abrams, P., “Towns and Economic Growth. Some Theories and Problems”, in Abrams, P./Wrigley, E. A., Towns in Societies. Essays in Economic History and Historical Sociology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 9–33. Ball, W., Rome in the East. The Transformation of an Empire (London: Routledge, 2000). Bendemann, R. von, “Jesus und die Stadt im Markusevangelium”, in Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (BWANT 198; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 43–69. Bendemann, R. von, “Die ideale Stadt als Mittelpunkt der Welt. Frühjüdische und frühchristliche Stadtkonzeptionen am Beispiel der Konstruktion des himmlischen Jerusalem in Apk 21 f”, in Bosshard, M. T./Döhling, J.-D./Janisch, R. et al. (eds.), Sehnsuchtsstädte. Auf der Suche nach lebenswerten urbanen Räumen (Bielefeld: transcript, 2013), 61–97. 48 More methodological and material effort than I was able to present here is necessary – and this means a desideratum for further research – to create an order and to systematize the corresponding city/town discourses.

60

Reinhard von Bendemann

Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (BWANT 198; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012). Benet, F., “Sociology Uncertain. The Ideology of the Rural-Urban Continuum”, Comparative Studies in Society and History 6 (1964), 1–23. Bosenius, B., Der literarische Raum des Markusevangeliums (WMANT 140; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlagshaus, 2014). Bowersock, G. W., “Social and Economic History of Syria under the Roman Empire”, in Dentzer, J.-M./Orthmann, W. (eds.), Arch8ologie et histoire de la Syrie II. La Syrie de l’8poque ach8m8nide / l’avHnement de l’Islam (Schriften zur vorderasiatischen Archäologie 1; Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag, 1989), 63–80. Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen. Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt 1. Grundrisse zum Neuen Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Finley, M. I., The Ancient Economy (Berkeley : University of California Press, 1973). Finley, M. I. Politics in the Ancient World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). Frend, W. H. C., The Rise of Christianity (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1984). Goodman, P. J., The Roman City and its Periphery. From Rome to Gaul (London: Routledge, 2007). Grainger, J. D., The Cities of Seleukid Syria (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990). Hirschfeld, Y., “Jewish Rural Settlement in Judaea in the Early Roman Period”, in Alcock, S. E. (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East (Oxbow Monograph 95; Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1997), 72–88. Hölkeskamp, K.-J., “Die Entstehung der Polis. Voraussetzungen und Bedingungen”, in Gehrke, H.-J./Schneider, H. (eds.), Geschichte der Antike. Ein Studienbuch (Stuttgart: Verlag J.B. Metzler, 2000), 58–73. Lightstone, J. M., “Urbanization in the Roman East and the Inter-Religious Struggle for Success”, in Ascough, R. S. (ed.), Religious Rivalries and the Struggle for Success in Sardis and Smyrna (Waterloo, ON: Laurier University Press, 2005), 211–41. MacMullen, R., Christianizing the Roman Empire (A. D. 100–400) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984). MacMullen, R., The Second Church. Popular Christianity A. D. 200–400 (Writings from the Greco-Roman World Supplement Series 1; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009). Macro, A. D., “The Cities of Asia Minor under the Roman Imperium”, in ANRW II 7.2, 658–97. Mattingly, D. J./Salmon, J. (eds.), Economies beyond Agriculture in the Classical World (Leicester-Nottingham Studies in Ancient Society 9; London: Routledge, 2010). Mattingly, D. J./Stone, D./Stirling, L./Lazreg, N. B., “Leptimius (Tunisia). A ‘Producer’ City?”, in Mattingly, D. J./Salmon, J. (eds.), Economies beyond Agriculture in the Classical World (Leicester-Nottingham Studies in Ancient Society 9; London: Routledge, 2010), 66–89.

Interrelations between Urbanity and Rurality

61

McGing, B., “Population and Proselytism: How Many Jews Were There in the Ancient World?”, in Bartlett, J. R. (ed.), Jews in the Hellenistic and Roman Cities (London: Routledge, 2002), 88–116. Millar, F., “The Problem of Hellenistic Syria”, in Kuhrt, A./Sherwin-White, S. (eds.), Hellenism in the East. The Interaction of Greek and Non-Greek Civilizations from Syria to Central Asia after Alexander (Berkeley : University of California Press, 1987), 110–33. Nörr, D., “Zur Herrschaftsstruktur des römischen Reiches. Die Städte des Ostens und das Imperium”, in ANRW II 7.1, 3–20. Polanyi, K. The Great Transformation. The Political and Economic Origins of our Time (Boston: Beacon Press, 1973). Pounds, N. J. G., “The Urbanization of the Classical World”, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 59 (1969), 135–57. Rizakis, A. D., “Roman Colonies in the Province of Achaia. Territories, Land and Population”, in Alcock, S. E. (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East (Oxbow Monograph 95; Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1997), 15–36. Robinson, T. A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). Rich, J./Wallace-Hadrill, A. (eds.), City and Country in the Ancient World (LeicesterNottingham Studies in Ancient Society 2; London: Routledge, 1991). Safrai, Z., The Economy of Roman Palestine (London: Routledge, 1994). Scheidel, W., “Demography”, in Scheidel, W./Morris, I./Saller, R. P. (eds.), The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 38–86. Schneider, C., Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus. Erster Band (München: C.H. Beck, 1967). Schwartz, J. J., “The Material Realities of Jewish Life in the Land of Israel, C. 235–638”, in Katz, S. T. (ed.), The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period (CHJ IV; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 431–56. Spengler, O., The Decline of the West. Form and Actuality II (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1926). Stein-Hölkeskamp, E., “Krise und Konsolidierung der Polis”, in Gehrke, H.-J./ Schneider, H. (eds.), Geschichte der Antike. Ein Studienbuch (Stuttgart: Verlag J.B. Metzler, 2000), 74–96. Stern, M., “The Jewish Diaspora”, in Safrai, S./Stern, M. (eds.), The Jewish People in the First Century. Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions 1 (CRINT I/2; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1974), 117–183. Tcherikover, V. A., Die hellenistischen Städtegründungen von Alexander dem Großen bis zur Römerzeit (Philologus 19.1; Mainz: Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1927). Weber, M., “The Nature of the City”, in Sennet, R. (ed.), Classic Essays on the Culture of Cities (New Jersey : Prentice Hall, 1969), 23–46.

62

Reinhard von Bendemann

Woolf, G., “The Roman Urbanization of the East”, in Alcock, S. E. (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East (Oxbow Monograph 95; Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1997), 1–14.

Martin Ebner

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt Methodisch-hermeneutische Grundsatzfragen und exemplarische Analysen

Natürlich gibt es weder das frühe Christentum noch die Stadt. Beides ist nur im Plural und pluriform zu haben – und doch handelt es sich um zwei Größen, die miteinander in Beziehung zu setzen für die Identitätsbestimmung dessen, was dann später „Christentum“ genannt wird,1 von allerhöchster Bedeutung ist.

1. Methodisch-hermeneutische Grundsatzfragen 1.1 Ein empirisches Faktum: Christliche Gemeinden in Städten des Imperium Romanum Es waren Städte, in denen gemäß der neutestamentlichen Überlieferung die ersten Christusgläubigen anzutreffen waren. Die im Corpus Paulinum gesammelten Briefe sind an die Christusgläubigen in Rom, Korinth, Ephesus, Philippi, Kolossä und Thessalonike gerichtet.2 Die Sendschreiben der Offb richten sich an sieben Städte in der Provinz Asia. Die Apostelgeschichte beginnt in Jerusalem, lässt die Missionare von Stadt zu Stadt ziehen und hat als Ziel Rom vor Augen. Gemäß Apg 9 spürt Paulus Anhänger „des Weges“ in Damaskus auf. In Antiochia werden sie erstmals als „Christianer“ bezeichnet (vgl. Apg 11,26). Auch die narrativen Texte der Evangelien spiegeln den Horizont von Städten.3 Kurz: Es sind zum Teil die Megastädte des Römischen Reiches samt seiner Hauptstadt,4 in 1 Zur Problematisierung des Begriffs „Urchristentum“ vgl. Alkier, S., Urchristentum: Zur Geschichte und Theologie einer exegetischen Disziplin (BHT 83; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993). 2 Nachdem der Galaterbrief an die „Ekklesien der Galatia“ gerichtet ist, sind auch in diesem Fall Städte vorausgesetzt, weil nur dort diese Institution zu finden ist (s. 2.2). Das bleibt unabhängig davon, ob mit Galatia die Provinz oder die Landschaft im Blick ist; dazu vgl. die methodisch neue Evaluation durch John, F., Der Galaterbrief im Kontext historischer Lebenswelten im antiken Kleinasien (FRLANT 264; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 131–59. 3 Die Aussendungsrede der Spruchquelle geht von der Haus- zur Stadtmission über (Q 10,5–7.8–15); im MkEv wird für die Bekehrung eine (städtische) Haussituation vorausgesetzt (Mk 10,29 f.); Mt 10,5 verbietet, in eine Stadt der Samaritaner hineinzugehen; im LkEv ist Jesus von Stadt zu Stadt unterwegs (vgl. Lk 4,29.31.43); Joh 9 setzt die Nachbarschaft in einer Stadt voraus. Gemäß Hebr 13,14 wird die zukünftige Stadt erstrebt. 4 Alexandria und Antiochia sind mit ca. einer halben Million Einwohner die größten Städte nach Rom (1 Million Einwohner), für Korinth und Ephesus nimmt man ca. 250.000 Einwohner an; für

64

Martin Ebner

denen Christusgläubige schon kurz nach Jesu Tod kleine Gruppen bilden, die als solche wahrnehmbar und zum Teil untereinander vernetzt sind. 1.2 Gattung „Stadt“ und historische Veränderungen Natürlich gleicht keine Stadt der anderen. Und doch gibt es, sogar jenseits der unterschiedlichen Perspektiven, unter denen eine Definition von Stadt versucht wird,5 im griechisch-römischen Schrifttum eine ziemlich präzise Vorstellung von „Stadt“ im Sinn einer virtuellen Gattung, deren typische Komponenten jedoch historisch signifikanten Veränderungen unterliegen. Zwei Ebenen sind zu unterscheiden: die kulturelle Ebene, die sich vor allem auf die Architektur und die Raumgestaltung, und die politische Ebene, die sich auf die Organisationsstrukturen bezieht.6 Dabei spiegeln sich in der städtischen Topographie deren Organisationsformen.7 Die jeweilige Verfassung lässt sich sozusagen am Stadtbild ablesen.8 Erstaunlich kontinuierlich wird „die Stadt“ von Aristoteles9 bis Pausanias von ihren Baulichkeiten her charakterisiert, wobei Aristoteles deren Zuordnung und Funktion abstrakt diskutiert, während Pausanias konkret diejenigen Gebäude auflistet, die nicht fehlen dürfen, wenn von einer „Stadt“ gesprochen werden soll: Amtsgebäude (!qwe?a), Gymnasion, Theater, Marktplatz (!coq\) und Brunnen – sowie die Grenzziehung zu den Nachbarn und die Teilnahme am jeweiligen Städtebund (s}kkocor/joim|m).10 Alexander der Große

5

6

7

8 9 10

Pergamon 100.000. Philippi mit ca. 5–10.000 Einwohnern (vgl. Broer, I./Weidemann, H.-U., Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 4th ed. (Würzburg: Echter, 2016), 357) dürfte der Normalgröße einer kleineren Stadt entsprechen. Vgl. die zwölf Parameter, die Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M., „Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt – Einleitung und Grundlegung“, in Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (BWA(N)T 198; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 9–42, auf S. 15–24, auflisten. Vgl. das Kompendium von Hansen, M. H. (ed.) The Return of the Polis: The Use and Meanings of the Word Polis in Archaic and Classical Sources. Papers from the Copenhagen Polis Centre 8 (Historia. Einzelschriften 198; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007), in dem die Verbindung dieser beiden Ebenen als typisch für die antike Definition von „Stadt“ (pºkir) herausgestellt wird: „… every polis town was the urban centre of a polis state, and conversely : every polis state had an urban centre called a polis in the sense of town“ (11). Vgl. Stenger, J., „,Ich bin die Grenze der Agora‘: Zum kognitiven Stadtbild der Athener in klassischer Zeit“ in May, N./Steinert, U. (eds.), The Fabric of Cities: Aspects of Urbanism, Urban Topography and Society in Mesopotamia, Greece and Rome (CHANE 68; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 203–28, 204.207. Definitorisch Arist., Pol. VII 11 (1330b 17–21). Der in den diesbezüglichen Kapiteln seiner Pol. VII 11 (1330a 34) generisch von „der Stadt“ (tµm d³ p|kim) spricht. Vgl. Arist., Pol. VII 11 f.; Paus., Descr. X 4,1. Zu weiteren Quellenbelegen für diese „Qualitätsmerkmale“ einer Stadt vgl. Schalles, H.-J., „Urbis Nostrae Miracula: Qualitätskriterien urbaner Räume in antiken Schriftquellen“ in Busch, A./Griesbach, J./Lipps, J. (eds.), Urbanitas – urbane Qualitäten: Die antike Stadt als kulturelle Selbstverwirklichung (RGZM Tagungen 33; Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2017), 17–38.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

65

hat dieses Stadtbild in die dadurch geprägte hellenistische Welt verbreitet. Architektonisches Kennzeichen ist das orthogonale Straßenraster („hippodamischer Stadtplan“), dessen Module (insulae) sowohl für Wohneinheiten als auch (die genannten) öffentlichen Gebäude und Plätze in unterschiedlichen Variationen genutzt werden können.11 Römische Stadtarchitektur ist daran erkennbar, dass sie zwei zentrale Hauptachsen über das Straßennetz legt (decumanus, cardo), an deren Schnittpunkt sich das Forum befindet, ein öffentlicher Platz, der anders als die griechische Agora weder Stadtpark noch Platz für Versammlungen oder Handel ist, sondern der Darstellung der römischen Oberhoheit dient,12 wie exemplarisch in Korinth zu sehen ist: Beim Wiederaufbau der Stadt als römische Kolonie wird das Zentrum neu gestaltet. Die zum Hafen führende, von hohen Säulenhallen flankierte Prachtstraße macht den Apollotempel, einst optisches Zentrum der Stadt, praktisch unsichtbar. Sie führt zum ebenfalls von Säulenhallen flankierten Forum, auf dem die Basilika, Ort der Rechtsprechung des Statthalters, und der Kaisertempel eine geradezu symbolische Achse bilden:13 der die vielen Lokalgottheiten übergreifende imperiale Kaiserkult auf der einen Seite und die den einzelnen Stadtrechten übergeordnete kaiserliche Rechtsprechung auf der anderen. Analoges gilt für die Organisationsformen. Ab der griechischen Kolonisation (8. Jh. v. Chr.) bilden sich in den griechischen Städten des Ostens „demokratische“ Verfassungen heraus, für die die Zuordnung von 1jjkgs_a als beschlussfassendem Organ und einer Gruppe von Archonten (%qwomter) als dessen Exekutive typisch ist.14 Ein Gremium, das je nach örtlichen Gegebenheiten von der Verfassungsentwicklung her erst später zusätzlich eingerichtet worden ist,15 ist der Rat (bouk^). Er fungiert als eigenständiges Moderatorenteam, das Anträge 11 Zur Entwicklung der Architektur der Stadt vgl. den Überblick bei Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen: Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt I (GNT 1,1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 49–56. 12 Diese Merkmale stellt auch Zanker, P., „The City as Symbol: Rome and the Creation of an Urban Image“ in Fentress, E. (ed.), Romanization and the City : Creation, Transformations, and Failures. Proceedings of a conference held at the American Academy in Rome to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the excavations at Cosa. 14–16 May, 1998 (Journal of Roman Archaeology, Suppl. 38; Portsmouth, RI, 2000), 25–41, auf S. 27 heraus. 13 Vgl. DeMaris, R., „Cults and the Imperial Cult in Early Roman Corinth: Literary Versus Material Record“ in Labahn, M./Zangenberg, J. (eds.), Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft: Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies (TANZ 36; Tübingen: Francke, 2002), 73–91, 80 f. 14 Die methodische Schwäche der Studie von Weiß, Amtsträger, besteht darin, dass er nicht nach übergreifend feststellbaren analogen Strukturen fragt, sondern auf die von Stadt zu Stadt verschiedenen Amtsbezeichnungen fixiert ist; methodisch also der Formkritik keine Gattungskritik folgt, wo gilt: ein Set von Aktanten kann von ganz verschieden benannten Akteuren besetzt werden. 15 So z. B. in Lykien; vgl. Wörrle, M., Stadt und Fest im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien: Studien zu einer agonistischen Stiftung aus Oinoanda (Vestigia. Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte 39; München: Beck, 1988), 119–23.

66

Martin Ebner

annimmt und die Versammlungen der Ekklesia vorbereitet. Bezeichnungen und Aufgabengebiete der einzelnen Beamten sowie die Abläufe von Einsetzung und Entscheidungsfindung sind äußerst variationsreich.16 Das ändert sich in dem Augenblick, als Rom in den Osten vorstößt bzw. dort zu Hilfe gerufen wird17 – und Provinzen einrichtet. Damit verbunden ist eine Vereinheitlichung der Verwaltung, die jeweils über eine lex provinciae generell geregelt wird (von den Nomenklaturen bis hin zu den Abläufen im Einzelnen) und sich in entsprechenden verwaltungstechnischen Hinweisen diverser Inschriften, insbesondere aber in den einzelnen Stadtgesetzen niederschlägt, die in Spanien auf dem gleichen Grundgerüst beruhen wie diejenigen aus dem Donauraum, wo in den vergangenen Jahren ständig neue Fragmente solcher Stadtgesetze gefunden worden sind (s. 2.4). Für die griechische Kultur ist die Polis typisch,18 die im Städtebund zwar mit anderen Städten vernetzt ist, deren Autarkie sich jedoch in ihren Selbstverwaltungsgremien zeigt, deren Grundstruktur – genauso wie die der Architektur – zwar in allen Städten erkennbar analog ist, in der Einzelgestaltung jedoch hohe Variabilität aufweist. Römischer Einfluss in den Städten ist an der Vereinheitlichung sowohl der Architektur als auch der Verfassungsstrukturen erkennbar. Kennzeichen sind die Zentralisierung und damit kombiniert Über- und Unterordnung, im Blick auf die Verfassung gesagt: der Imperiumsgedanke,19 der sich darin zeigt, dass für präzise definierte Bereiche von oben nach unten abgestufte Vollmachten (imperium/1nous_a) an Beamte (magistratus/!qwa_) vergeben werden.20 Diese politische „Romanisierung“ der griechischen Welt ist weder gleichzeitig noch einheitlich verlaufen. Aber an der Architektur und den Verfassungsstrukturen lässt sich der Grad der Anpassung bzw. das Beharren auf eigenen Traditionen ablesen.21 Schaut die griechische Kultur auf die Polis und deren Autarkie, so steht aus römischer Perspektive die Provinz im Vordergrund, innerhalb der die einzelnen p|keir einer Zentralverwaltung unterstehen. 16 Vgl. Liebenam, W., Städteverwaltung im römischen Kaiserreiche (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1900; Repr. Amsterdam 1967), 205–96, der bei der Beschreibung der einzelnen Elemente jeweils die griechischen Städteverfassungen im Osten samt deren Traditionen von den römisch regulierten, d. h. „latinischen Städten“ (s. 2.4), abhebt. 17 So in Palästina im Bruderzwist zwischen Hyrkan II. und Aristobul 67 v. Chr. 18 Vgl. Stenger, „Grenze“, 203 f. 19 Ando, C., „Cities, Gods, Empire“, in Kaizer, T. (ed.), Cities and Gods: Religious Space in Transition (Babesch Supplement 22; Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 51–57, 53 spricht von einem „set of structures superordinate to the polis, outside it and foreign to it, and acting both upon and within it“. 20 Vgl. Ebner, M., „Die Rede von der ,Vollmacht‘ Jesu im MkEv – und die realpolitischen Implikationen“ in Ebner, M., Inkarnation der Botschaft: Kultureller Horizont und theologischer Anspruch neutestamentlicher Texte (SBAB 61; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2015), 364–83, auf S. 365–70. 21 Dabei darf man nicht übersehen, dass Rom ältere Strukturen bzw. Nomenklaturen der Form nach beibehält bzw. die Städte und Städtebünde sich von sich aus auf römische Strukturen zubewegt haben; vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 294.457 f.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

67

1.3 Gottes Herrschaft im Imperium Romanum Es ist diese römisch geprägte Welt, in der sich erste christliche Gruppen bilden: in den großen Städten. Gemäß den paulinischen Briefen und den Evangelien verbindet diese Menschen die Überzeugung, dass sie bereits einem anderen König unterstehen, der (unsichtbar) vom Himmel her sein Regiment führt, als König herrscht (1 Kor 15,25: basike}eim).22 Seit und durch die Auferweckung fungiert er als Gottes Mandatar, bis er „alles unter seine Füße unterworfen hat“ und dann die allumfassende basike_a Gott zurückgibt (1 Kor 15,20–28). Die Bekehrung zum Christusglauben wird als Folge des „Rufs“ bzw. der „Einladung“ in die Königsherrschaft Gottes verstanden (vgl. 1 Thess 2,12). Paulus greift damit die jesuanisch-biblisch geprägte Vorstellung einer – an orientalischen bzw. hellenistischen Modellen abgelesenen – Monarchie auf, um die soziale Gestaltungsmacht Gottes in dieser Welt zum Ausdruck zu bringen. Wenn er jedoch den Prozess der zielsicheren Durchsetzung dieser göttlichen Gestaltungsmacht versprachlichen will, transformiert er die Vorstellung in analoge römische Machtverhältnisse: Nicht „Feinde“ werden „als Schemel unter die Füße“ des von Gott eingesetzten Königs gelegt oder die Zerschlagung der „Völker“ zur Warnung der „Könige der Erde“ versprochen (vgl. Ps 110,1; 2,8.10),23 sondern „jede !qw¶ und jede 1nous_a und d}malir“ vernichtet (1 Kor 15,24). Damit werden die entscheidenden Termini der römischen Verwaltung und Amtsvollmacht aufgerufen (s. 1.2). Die Begegnung mit dem im Himmel bereits herrschenden Christus wird im Ritus eines kaiserlichen Advents in einer Stadt mit der entsprechenden Terminologie zur Sprache gebracht,24 das Modell lediglich um 90 Grad gedreht: Bei seiner paqous_a steigt Christus vom Himmel herab, die Gläubigen, auferweckte wie lebende, werden zu seiner !p\mtgsir auf Wolken zu ihm entrückt (1 Thess 4,15–17).25 In diesem Machtübernahmeprozess, der im „Advent“ des herrschenden Christus gipfelt, besteht für Paulus „das Evangelium“ (vgl. 1 Kor 15,1; 1 Thess 2,2).26 Um den „Anfang des Evangeliums (über) Jesus Christus“

22 Vgl. Mt 13,41; 16,28; 28,18; Mk 13,24–27; Lk 22,28–30; Apg 2,36; 13,22 f.; vgl. Lk 1,32 f. 23 Wenn in 1 Kor 15,26 vom Tod als „letztem Feind“ die Rede ist, dann wird damit der Rekurs auf die genannten entscheidenden Psalmen deutlich und zugleich die bewusste Vermeidung dieser Terminologie in der Zitation von V. 27, die auf Ps 8,7 ausweicht: „Alles hast du unter seine Füße gelegt“. 24 Dazu vgl. nur Peterson, E., „Die Einholung des Kyrios“ Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie 7 (1929/30), 682–702. 25 Zum Amalgam mit Theophanie- bzw. apokalyptischen Motiven vgl. Peach, M., Paul and the Apocalyptic Triumph: An Investigation of the Usage of Jewish and Greco-Roman Imagery in 1 Thess. 4:13–18 (Apocalypticism: Cross-disciplinary Explorations 1; New York: Lang, 2016). 26 Vgl. Dautzenberg, G., „Die siebte Posaune: Beobachtungen zur Eschatologie und Christologie der Offenbarung des Johannes in ihrem Verhältnis zur paulinischen Theologie und zur frühjüdischen Eschatologie“ in Ebner, M./Heininger, B. (eds.), Paradigmen auf dem Prüfstand:

68

Martin Ebner

zu erzählen, greift zu Beginn der 70er Jahre das Markusevangelium diesen durch die kaiserliche Propaganda besetzten Begriff erneut auf, jetzt unmittelbar tagespolitisch aufgeladen durch die Assoziation des Aufstiegs des flavischen Kaiserhauses.27 Der „Glaube“ der frühen Christen paulinischer wie evangeliarer Prägung28 drückt sich in Vorstellungen aus dem politischen Bereich aus. Der apokalyptisch erwartete universale Machtwechsel, zunächst im monarchischen Konzept der Königsherrschaft tradiert, wird in den imperialen Kontext transferiert: als allmählicher Machtübernahmeprozess – in den Evangelien zurückverlegt in das erzählte Leben Jesu, bei Paulus in der aktuellen Gegenwart sich ereignend. Ist das reine Utopie, oder versuchen frühchristliche Theologen, dafür einen gewissen Realitätsgehalt aufzuweisen? Wie verhält sich dann die Königsherrschaft Christi zu den empirischen Herrschaftsstrukturen des Imperium Romanum – in den römisch geprägten Städten? Exemplarisch soll das anhand der paulinischen Mission analysiert werden (2.1). Christusgläubige treffen sich als kleine Gruppen in Häusern.29 Wie verwirklicht sich dort das (geglaubte) Königreich Christi? Anders gesagt: Wie organisieren sich frühchristliche Gruppen angesichts ihres Glaubens an einen vom Himmel her regierenden Herrscher? Stampfen sie kreativ neue Verfassungen aus dem Boden oder übernehmen sie Gewohntes? Aber wie (2.2–4)? Entwickelt sich schließlich auch im Frühchristentum eine eigene Stadtarchitektur, an der sich die (ideale) angezielte Organisation ablesen lässt (2.5)? Exegese wider den Strich (FS K. Müller) (NTA Neue Folge 47; Münster: Aschendorff, 2004), 1–15, auf S. 8–14. 27 Vgl. Ebner, M., „Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier“ in Ebner, M., Inkarnation der Botschaft: Kultureller Horizont und theologischer Anspruch neutestamentlicher Texte (SBAB 61. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2015), 110–31; Theißen, G., „,Evangelium‘ im Markusevangelium: Zum traditionsgeschichtlichen Ort des ältesten Evangeliums“ in Becker, E.-M./Engberg-Pedersen, T./Mueller, M. (eds.), Mark and Paul: Comparative Essays Part II. For and Against Pauline Influence on Mark (BZNW 199; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 63–86, bes. 68–71; skeptisch dagegen Lindemann, A., „Das Evangelium bei Paulus und im Markusevangelium“ in Wischmeyer, O./Sim, D./Elmer, I. (eds.), Paul and Mark: Comparative Essays Part I. Two Authors at the Beginnings of Christianity (BZNW 198; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 313–59, bes. 316–322.354. 28 Zur Fortschreibung dieser Linie vgl. Lk 2,1–20 (dazu Schreiber, S., Weihnachtspolitik: Lukas 1–2 und das Goldene Zeitalter [StUNT 82; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009]) sowie Apg 17,7 (Jesus im Gegenüber zum Kaiser als „anderer König“); die bewusste Rede von „der Königsherrschaft der Himmel“ im Gegensatz zu „allen Königsherrschaften des Kosmos/der Welt“ in Mt 3,2; 4,8; den Diskurs über 1nous_a und den „wahren König“ im Pilatusprozess Joh 18,28–19,16. Nicht zu vergessen die Gegenüberstellung von römischer Herrschaftsstruktur und christlicher Gemeindestruktur bzw. Christologie in Mk 10,42–45. Vgl. den hermeneutischen Ansatz von Schreiber, S., Die Anfänge der Christologie: Deutungen Jesu im Neuen Testament. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), bes. 1–8.232–249. 29 Zu alternativen Versammlungsräumen vgl. Last, R., The Pauline Church and the Corinthian Ekkle¯sia: Greco-Roman Associations in Comparative Context (MSSNTS 164; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 60–62.83–113; Adams, E., The Earliest Christian Meeting Places: Almost Exclusively Houses? (LNTS 450; London, 2013).

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

69

1.4 Methodik und Vorgehen In den folgenden exemplarischen Probebohrungen kommt methodisch ein analytisches Vergleichsverfahren zum Einsatz:30 Aktionen frühchristlicher Gruppen werden in den Horizont gängiger Praktiken in den Städten des Römischen Reiches gestellt, um in diesem Kontext nach deren Bedeutung zu fragen. Dafür müssen sich analoge Elemente im Blick auf ein bestimmtes Handlungsziel feststellen lassen, keineswegs jedoch muss Deckungsgleichheit erreicht werden. Gerade spezifische Unterschiede bzw. auffällige Leerstellen können Profilierungsmerkmale anzeigen. Konkret: Frühchristliche Mission im Sinn der Ausbreitung der Zugehörigkeit zum Königreich Christi wird mit der Ausbreitung des Imperium Romanum im Blick auf diejenigen Strategien verglichen, die auf beiden Seiten dafür eingesetzt werden (2.1). Frühchristliche Gemeindestrukturen werden im Kontext typischer Stadtstrukturen beschrieben – und evaluiert: im Blick auf das Verhältnis von soziologischer Stratifikation und Partizipation (2.2), den Einfluss unterschiedlicher Gremien bei der Entscheidungsfindung (2.3), die Bereitschaft zur bzw. die interne Vorbereitung auf die Integration in imperiale Strukturen oder deren Verweigerung (2.4) sowie die Architektur(pläne) einer Idealstadt der Christusgläubigen (2.5). Was die Quellen angeht, haben wir insbesondere in den paulinischen Briefen unmittelbare Reflexe auf Vorgänge und Aktivitäten in den Gemeinden vorliegen. In den Evangelien und der Apostelgeschichte lässt sich auf die Vorgänge der Erzählzeit nur im narrativen Spiegel der erzählten Zeit (schemenhaft) zurückschließen.

2. Exemplarische Analysen 2.1 Römische Territorialstruktur und die Mental Map des Paulus Diejenigen Städte, in denen Paulus ab seiner Solomission nach dem antiochenischen Zwischenfall selbständig Gemeinden gegründet hat und mit denen er fortan im persönlichen Kontakt, zumindest aber im Briefaustausch 30 Vgl. Frankfurter, D., „Comparison and the Study of Religions of Late Antiquity“ in Calame, C./ Lincoln, B. (eds.), Comparer en histoire des religions antiques. Controverses et propositions (Collection Religions. Comparatisme – Histoire – Anthropologie; LiHge: Presses Universitaires de LiHge, 2012), 83–98; darauf fußt: Kloppenborg, J. S., „Disciplined Exaggeration. The Heuristics of Comparison in Biblical Studies“ Novum Testamentum 59 (2017), 390–414 und Kloppenborg, J. S. „Fiscal Aspects of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem“ Early Christianity (2017), 153–98, 163 f.

70

Martin Ebner

steht, sind alle Provinzhauptstädte bzw. Kolonien des Römischen Reiches.31 Philippi ist eine römische Kolonie, Thessalonike die Provinzhauptstadt der Provinz Macedonia, Korinth diejenige von Achaia und Ephesus diejenige der Provinz Asia. Das ist auffällig und zugleich signifikant. Denn Provinzhauptstädte sind die entscheidenden Schaltzentralen der von Rom geschaffenen neuen Großraum-Verwaltungseinheiten, Provinzen genannt, über die das Riesenreich rund um das Mittelmeer beherrscht wird. Immer, wenn ein Gebiet, das Rom „erbt“32, annektiert33 oder erobert, römischer Kontrolle unterstellt werden soll, wird eine Provinz eingerichtet. Klientelkönigtümer können die Vorstufe dazu bilden.34 Hauptziele sind die Absicherung gegen Aufstände und die Regulierung des Tributabzugs. Dazu wird das jeweilige Gebiet durch die Stationierung von Truppen militärisch „gesichert“ und verwaltungstechnisch erfasst. Die Durchführung des Zensus als Grundlage für die Tributerhebung, der Ausbau der Verkehrswege sowie die Anwerbung und Förderung kooperationsbereiter Eliten gehören zu den wesentlichen Maßnahmen. Für die Durchführung der Alltagsgeschäfte bedient man sich bestehender Organisationsstrukturen,35 die allerdings einem neuen Overhead unterstellt werden, das alle Richtlinien-Kompetenzen an sich zieht: in Finanz-36 und Außenpolitik sowie in der Jurisdiktion, insbesondere hinsichtlich der Kapitalgerichtsbarkeit. Für die Wahrnehmung dieser zentralen Steuerung war ein Statthalter zuständig, der mit einem umfassenden imperium ausgestattet und seinerseits nur noch dem Kaiser bzw. dem Senat verpflichtet war.37 Ihm stand ein erstaunlich kleiner Mitarbeiterstab zur Verfügung: ein Quaestor als Fachmann für die Finanzen, Rechtsberater (iuridicii), ein Büro mit scribae, Liktoren zur Repräsentation sowie eine Leibgarde zu seiner Sicherheit.38 Sitz dieser Zentralverwaltungen waren die Provinzhauptstädte, die Rom vor allem 31 Im Gal werden für die dortigen Ekklesien keine Städtenamen genannt. Der Straßenverlauf von Antiochia aus (bzw. von Derbe und Lystra aus „durch Phrygien und das galatische Land“; vgl. Apg 16,1.6) würde nach Ankyra, der Provinzhauptstadt der Provinz Galatien, und Richtung Westen als nächstes in die Kolonie Germa führen; vgl. die Straßenkarte in: DNP 12/2:1153; K. Strobel, „Germa“, DNP 4:954. 32 So etwa in Kleinasien die Königreiche von Pergamon 133 v. Chr. und Pontos 75/74 v. Chr. 33 So etwa Galatien nach dem Tod von König Amyntas 25 v. Chr.; vgl. Stephan, E., Honoratioren, Griechen, Polisbürger : Kollektive Identitäten innerhalb der Oberschicht des kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien (Hypomnemata. Untersuchungen zur Antike und zu ihrem Nachleben 143; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 42 f. 34 Zu den Vorgängen vgl. Welsch-Klein, G., Die Provinzen des Imperium Romanum (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2016), 1–34; speziell zu Kleinasien vgl. Stephan, Honoratioren, 42–71; zur Provinz Galatia vgl. John, Galaterbrief, 68–83. 35 Die in den hellenistischen Diadochen-Reichen im Osten (Stadtstrukturen) wesentlich adaptionsfähiger sind als in den nordwestlichen Gebieten von Gallien oder Germanien bzw. in Nordafrika, wo die Römer auf Ethnien treffen; vgl. Wesch-Klein, Provinzen, 88–90. 36 Tributeinzug und Überwachung der Ausgaben der Städte, vgl. Stephan, Honoratioren, 46–52; vgl. Plin., Ep. X 17a.23 f.43 f.47 f. 37 Dazu Stephan, Honoratioren, 53 f. 38 Vgl. Wesch-Klein, Provinzen, 67–75; Stephan, Honoratioren, 45 f.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

71

nach verkehrstechnischen und ökonomischen Gesichtspunkten ausgewählt hat: für die Provinz Achaia nicht die alte Kulturhauptstadt Athen, sondern das an der Kurzstrecke zwischen Adria und östlichem Mittelmeer an zwei Häfen gelegene Korinth; für die Provinz Macedonia nicht die alte Residenzstadt Pella, sondern ebenfalls die Hafenstadt Thessalonike; genauso für die Provinz Asia nicht die ehemalige Königsstadt Pergamon, sondern die Hafenstadt Ephesus. Zusätzlich wurden in den Provinzen Kolonien gegründet, Musterstädte, die nach dem Vorbild Roms organisiert waren und in denen vor allem römische Veteranen angesiedelt wurden, sodass ein großer Teil der Einwohner das römische Bürgerrecht besaß.39 So schuf man sozusagen römische Kulturinseln im besetzten Gebiet, die ihrerseits den Reiz zur Akkulturation ausübten.40 Ausdehnung und konkrete Grenzziehung der Provinzen sind variabel und werden je nach tagespolitischen Gesichtspunkten geradezu experimentell verändert.41 Die entscheidenden Knotenpunkte sind die Provinzhauptstädte, in denen die Fäden zusammengehalten werden. Rom übt Macht aus, indem es die Alte Welt neu kartographiert, letztlich im Interesse finanzieller Abschöpfung. „Territorium“ im Sinn von politisch-juristisch kontrolliertem Raum (im Unterschied zur geologisch vorgegebenen Landschaft)42 verstanden, legt Rom eine neue, nach eigenen Interessen ausgerichtete Territorialstruktur über alte Einheiten, die ehemals kleinen Königreiche und autonomen Stadt- und Tempelstaaten, die nun in neuen und nach der Maßgabe Roms stets veränderbaren Zusammenstellungen personell durch ein von Rom eingesetztes Zentralgremium gesteuert werden, das seinen Sitz in einem von Rom 39 Vgl. Weiß, A., „Paulus und die coloniae: Warum der Apostel nicht der einzige römische Bürger unter den frühen Christen war“ in Baum, A./Häußer, D./Rehfeld, E. (eds.), Der jüdische Messias Jesus und sein jüdischer Apostel Paulus (WUNT 2, 425; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 341–56, 345 f. 40 Diese Funktion hatten auch die Klientel-Königtümer, von denen zwar kein Tribut eingefordert wurde, sondern in erster Linie Loyalität. Ziel war es, über im eigenen Land umstrittene und deshalb auf Rom angewiesene Kandidaten Einfluss zu gewinnen und gleichzeitig die tatsächliche Macht zu verschleiern, so vor allem die Absicht des Augustus. Nach ihm rückte man von dieser Praxis ab; vgl. Wesch-Klein, Provinzen, 20–26. 41 Vgl. die Übersicht bei Wesch-Klein, Provinzen, 101–48. 42 Zu dieser Definition in der kulturwissenschaftlich orientierten Forschung vgl. Dikant, T., Landschaft und Territorium. Amerikanische Literatur, Expansion und die Krise der Nation, 1784–1866 (Paderborn: Fink, 2014); Kost, S./Schönwald, A. (eds.), Landschaftswandel – Wandel von Machtstrukturen. RaumFragen: Stadt – Region – Landschaft (Wiesbaden: Springer, 2015); Suter, R., „Berührungen zwischen Territorium und Landschaft“ in Engell, L./Siegert, B./Vogl, J. (eds.), Stadt – Land – Fluss: Medienlandschaften (Weimar: Verlag der Bauhaus-Universität Weimar, 2007), 83–92. Schubert, C., Land und Raum in der römischen Republik: Die Kunst des Teilens (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1996), erklärt die Expansion der römischen Herrschaft als „Territorialisierung“ auf Grundlage der spezifisch römischen Art der Landvermessung („Centuriation“), die analog zur Zentrierung des städtischen Innenraumes auch auf großen Landflächen durch die entsprechenden Feldfurchen geradezu optisch die Eigentumsrechte sichtbar machen und damit gleichzeitig die Voraussetzung für deren verwaltungstechnische Erfassung bezüglich Tribut schaffen kann (bes. 103–105).

72

Martin Ebner

ausgesuchten und mit Privilegien ausgestatteten lokalen Zentrum hat: eben den Provinzhauptstädten, die damit die Knotenpunkte des römischen Imperiums bilden. Im Frühchristentum gibt es nun einen Mann, der es präzise auf diese imperialen Vernetzungszentren abgesehen hat: Paulus. Mit seiner ChristusMission setzt er ausgerechnet in den Provinzhauptstädten bzw. den Kolonien des Römischen Reiches an. Er kommt zwar durch Athen (1 Thess 3,1; Apg 17,15–34), aber eine Gemeinde, mit der er auch brieflich in Kontakt bleibt, gründet er in Korinth, einer römischen Kolonie, die ab 27 v. Chr. Sitz des Statthalters der Provinz Achaia war. Von Philippi aus, ebenfalls einer römischen Kolonie,43 kommt er auf der Via Egnatia durch Amphipolis und Apollonia (vgl. Apg 17,1) – und wäre bei der Weiterreise durch die alte Königsstadt Pella gekommen,44 eine Gemeinde jedoch gründet er in Thessalonike, der Provinzhauptstadt der Provinz Macedonia. Die imperiale Provinzstruktur scheint auch die Mental Map45 des Paulus zu bestimmen. Diesbezüglich sind seine schriftlichen Äußerungen verräterisch. Wenn er in 1 Kor 16,15 das Haus des Stephanas als „Erstlingsfrucht der (Provinz) Achaia“ bezeichnet, dann zeigt das, dass er in römischen Verwaltungseinheiten denkt: Mit dem ersten für den Christusglauben gewonnenen Haus in Korinth wird als territorialer Kontext die gesamte Provinz aufgerufen. Analog lässt er in 1 Kor 16,19 „die Ekklesien der (Provinz) Asia“ grüßen und spricht in 1 Thess 1,7 von „allen Glaubenden in der (Provinz) Macedonia und in der (Provinz) Achaia“, womit nichts anderes gemeint sein kann als die zum Christusglauben Bekehrten in Ephesus, Korinth und Thessalonike bzw. Philippi, die jeweils vermutlich nicht viel mehr als dreißig bis vierzig Mitglieder zählen, eher weniger.46 Besonders aufschlussreich ist die Bemerkung in Röm 15,26, wonach die Provinzen Macedonia und Achaia eine Kollekte beschlossen hätten. Gemeint sein können wiederum nur die kleinen Christusgruppen in Thessalonike, Philippi und Korinth. Aber was dort von der von ihm installierten Gruppe beschlossen wird, steht für Paulus für die gesamte Provinz. So denken auch die römischen Kaiser. Oder : Wenn Paulus in Röm 15,19 stolz vernehmen lässt, er habe „von Jerusalem aus und (zwar) im Kreis bis nach Illyrikon hin das Evangelium Christi zur Erfüllung gebracht“, denkt 43 Zum kulturellen Milieu der Kolonien Korinth, Philippi und Antiochia/Pisidien vgl. Gill, D., „Early Christianity in Its Colonial Contexts in the Provinces of the Eastern Empire“ in Walton, S./Trebilco, P./Gill, D. (eds.), The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 68–85. 44 Und hatte vermutlich Rom im Visier (vgl. Röm 1,10.13); das Gerücht von der Ausweisung der Juden durch Kaiser Claudius (vgl. Apg 18,2) dürfte ihn daran gehindert haben. 45 Im Sinn der Raumkognition als vom jeweiligen Betrachter abhängige Erfassung und Wertung des vorgegebenen Raumes; vgl. dazu Downs, R./Stea, D. (eds.), Image and Environment. Cognitive Mapping and Spatial Behavior (Chicago, IL: Aldine, 1973). 46 Vgl. Kloppenborg, J. S., „Membership Practices in Pauline Christ Groups“ Early Christianity 4 (2013), 183–215, 189–95; Kloppenborg, „Exaggeration“, 399–405.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

73

er einerseits wiederum in den Kategorien der territorialen Provinzkarte Roms, stellt sie aber gleichzeitig auf den Kopf, wenn er von Jerusalem als Mittelpunkt der darum im Kreis herumliegenden Provinzen ausgeht. Die territoriale Strategie Roms dagegen übernimmt er eins zu eins. Illyricum war die nördliche Nachbarprovinz zur Provinz Macedonia.47 Bis dorthin hat er das Evangelium (über) Christus „zur Vollendung gebracht“. Im Missionsreisen-Kontext dieser Passage kann das nur bedeuten: unter die Macht des bereits als König herrschenden Christus gestellt – durch den Glauben an seine Auferweckung und der damit verbundenen Erhöhung (vgl. Röm 1,3 f.). Das aber wiederum bedeutet: Paulus versteht seine Verkündigungstätigkeit als „Eroberung“ für den König Christus und bemisst dessen irdischen Einflussbereich – wie die römischen Kaiser – nach Provinzeinheiten, wobei die Installation einer Elitegruppe in deren Zentrum den entscheidenden Schritt der „Machtübernahme“ darstellt. Paulus, so scheint es, hat die territoriale Herrschaftsstrategie Roms, über zentrale Schaltstellen ganze Provinzen in den Griff zu bekommen und zu behalten, nämlich über kleine Elitemannschaften in bewusst ausgewählten Provinzhauptstädten, internalisiert48 – und untergräbt sie subversiv : Paulus nutzt das neu etablierte, vom Westen aus über die Länder des Mittelmeers gelegte römische Netzwerk, um vom Osten aus eine neue „Gegenmacht“ mit einer anderen Elite und anderen Zielen aufzubauen. Erobern die Römer mit ihren Legionen die Welt, um sie ihrer Macht zu unterstellen, d. h. sie finanziell auszubeuten, so will Paulus mit seinem Evangelium die Welt erobern, um sie der Königsherrschaft Christi zu unterstellen. Die entscheidenden Schaltstellen, von denen aus diese neue Botschaft in ganze Provinzen „schallt“ (vgl. 1 Thess 1,7 f.), sind die kleinen Gruppen von Christusgläubigen, die Paulus offensichtlich ganz bewusst in den Zentren der römischen Territorien gründet. Dass dabei der Gedanke einer (Gegen)Eroberung für Christus in der Vorstellungswelt des Paulus tatsächlich präsent ist, zeigt die kleine Passage in 2 Kor 2,14–16, in der er gezielt Motive vom römischen Triumphzug für seine eigene Missionsarbeit aufgreift: 14

Gott aber sei Dank, der uns jederzeit im Triumphzug mitführt (hqialbe}omti Bl÷r) in Christus und den Duft seiner Erkenntnis offenbar macht durch uns an jedem Ort. Denn Christi Wohlgeruch sind wir für Gott bei denen, die gerettet werden, und bei 47 Ab 9 n. Chr. wohl auch Illyricum inferius bzw. Pannonia genannt; vgl. Welsch-Klein, Provinzen, 130. 48 Auch im Blick auf die geplante Reise nach Spanien dürfte Paulus die Provinz Hispania (Röm 15,24: eQr tµm Spam_am) im Blick haben, die zweigeteilt war. Tagespolitisch aktualisiert greift auch 1 Petr die Provinzen-Landkarte Roms auf: Fünf kleinasiatische Provinzen werden in der Reihenfolge genannt, wie sie Kaiser Hadrian auf seinen Reisen 123/24 und 129 n. Chr. besucht hat; vgl. dazu Gielen, M., „Der 1. Petrusbrief und Kaiser Hadrian: Zur Frage der zeitgeschichtlichen Einordnung des 1. Petrusbriefes“ Biblische Zeitschrift 57 (2013), 161–84, 168–77. Ganz anders der Jak, der die römische Territorialstruktur völlig ausblendet und dafür auf die jüdische Ur-Genealogie zurückgreift: „… den zwölf Stämmen in der Zerstreuung …“ (Jak 1,1).

74

Martin Ebner

denen, die verloren gehen. Den einen Duft aus Tod zum Tod, den andern Duft aus Leben zum Leben.

Jede Eroberung wird in Rom mit einem Triumphzug demonstriert und gefeiert.49 Unabhängig davon, wer den Sieg tatsächlich errungen hat, steht ab dem Prinzipat stets und immer der Kaiser als Triumphator in der Quadriga, begleitet von seinen Soldaten, die Beutestücke und Gefangene „vorführen“. Unmittelbar vor dem Triumphator lassen mehrere Sklaven aus Pfannen Weihrauchduft verströmen (App., Pun. IX 66)50 – Zeichen göttlicher Epiphanie.51 Damit wird auch über den Geruchsinn wahrnehmbar, was optisch in der Drapierung des Triumphators, der tönernen Kultstatue des Jupiter angeglichen, ausgedrückt werden soll: Er repräsentiert Jupiter, den eigentlichen Akteur des Sieges, der rituell gefeiert wird. Paulus schreibt diese imperiale Triumphzugs-Eroberungs-Demonstration für seine Missionsanstrengungen um, besser : konnotiert sie neu:52 Der Triumphator, für den Paulus die Eroberungen durchführt, ist Christus, der ihn bei jedem seiner Triumphzüge mitführt und seinerseits als Repräsentant bzw. Instrument Gottes erscheint. Jedoch: Im Triumphzug Christi werden weder Gefangene vorgeführt noch Duft als Symbol für die Göttlichkeit des Triumphators verbreitet, sondern der Triumphator selbst kommt „an jeden Ort“ und 49 Zum Triumphzug vgl. Künzl, E., Der römische Triumph: Siegesfeiern im antiken Rom (München: Beck, 1988); Spalinger, A./Armstrong, J. (eds.), Rituals of Triumph in the Mediterranean World (CHANE 63; Leiden: Brill, 2013). 50 Vgl. Kügler, J., „Paulus und der Duft des triumphierenden Christus: Zum kulturellen Basisbild von 2 Kor 2,14–16“ in Hoppe, R./Busse, U. (eds.), Von Jesus zum Christus: Christologische Studien. FS P. Hoffmann (BZNW 93; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998), 155–73, 160 f.; Breytenbach, C., „Paul’s Proclamation and God’s ,Thriambos‘: Notes on 2 Corinthians 2:14–16b“ Neotestamentica 24 (1990), 257–71, 266–68. 51 Vgl. Lohmeyer, E., Vom göttlichen Wohlgeruch (Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften 9; Heidelberg: Winter, 1919). 52 Die diversen Forschungspositionen diskutiert en d8tail Schmeller, T., Der zweite Brief an die Korinther: Teilband 1 (2Kor 1, 1–7,4) (EKKNT VIII/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn, Ostfildern: Neukirchener/Patmos, 2010), 154–59, hat jedoch die beschriebene Mental Map des Paulus nicht im Blick; weiterführend: Guthrie, G., „Paul’s Triumphal Procession Imagery (2 Cor 2.14–16a): Neglected Points of Background“ New Testament Studies 61 (2015), 79–91: Die Analogie zum Triumphzug bestehe darin, dass für diejenigen Gefangenen, auf die am Ende der pompa triumphalis die Hinrichtung wartete, der Weihrauchduft ein Duft „vom Tod zum Tod“ gewesen sein muss, insofern sie auf dem Schlachtfeld besiegt worden waren und jetzt selbst den Tod vor Augen hatten. Im Zug gingen dagegen oft auch „Gerettete“ mit: römische Bürger, die durch den Sieg aus feindlicher Gefangenschaft befreit worden waren. Für sie war es ein Duft „vom Leben zum Leben“; vgl. besonders Plut., Flam. 13,3–6; Wypadlo, A. „Paulus im Triumphzug Christi (2 Kor 2,14): Überlegungen zum Selbstverständnis des Apostels Paulus vor dem Hintergrund antiker Triumphzugspraxis“ SNTSU Serie A 38 (2013), 147–87, weist Paulus die Rolle des gewaltsam im Triumphzug Mitgeführten zu. Heilig, C., Paul’s Triumph: Reassessing 2 Corinthians 2:14 in Its Literary and Historical Context (Biblical Tools and Studies 27; Leuven: Peeters, 2017), bes. 129–36.261–77, sieht in 2 Kor 2,14–16 eine Konfrontation mit dem Triumphzug, den Kaiser Claudius 44 n. Chr. anlässlich seines Sieges über Britannien gefeiert hat, woran man sich in Korinth durch die Verehrung der Gottheit Victoria Britannica kultisch erinnert.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

75

verbreitet durch (die Verkündigung des) Paulus den Duft der Erkenntnis, der als Wohlgeruch jedoch nur von denjenigen wahrgenommen werden kann, die sich für die Anerkennung des (von Paulus verkündeten) Königs Christus entscheiden. Es kommt auf die Rezipienten der Botschaft an, ob sie sich „erobern“ lassen wollen und damit in das Königtum Gottes eintreten – oder nicht. Die sich dagegen entscheiden, bleiben im Territorium Roms. Was für sie nach Tod riecht (die Verkündigung des Gekreuzigten), wird ihnen jedoch selbst den Untergang bringen. Denn gemäß 1 Kor 15,23 werden nur diejenigen auferweckt bzw. gemäß 1 Kor 15,51 nur diejenigen verwandelt und gemäß 1 Thess 4,17 nur diejenigen entrückt, die den Machtwechsel zum Königreich Christi mitvollzogen haben.53 Ein Letztes: Auf seinen Missionsreisen folgte Paulus – es ging gar nicht anders – den römischen Straßen. Sie führten ihn automatisch von Stadt zu Stadt. Logistische Orientierung dürften ihm dabei die Meilensteine gegeben haben,54 auf denen in regelmäßigen Abständen die Entfernung vom Ausgangspunkt der Wegstrecke in Meilen (milia passuum) angegeben war. Wie in Italien die Distanzangaben meistens Rom als Ausgangspunkt haben, so fungiert in den einzelnen Provinzen gewöhnlich die Provinzhauptstadt (oder eine andere wichtige Stadt) als caput viae,55 sodass der Reisende auch über die Meilensteine zu den (von Rom aus gesehen) zentralen Orten gelenkt wurde. Und nicht nur das: Meilensteine eigneten sich als ideale Möglichkeit für die Kaiserpropaganda. Ab Augustus – und erst in der Prinzipatszeit beginnt der wirkliche Boom der Meilensteine56 – wird stets der Kaiser mit voller Nomenklatur als Bauherr genannt und damit – unabhängig vom tatsächlichen 53 Sowohl die „Verwandlung“ als auch die „Entrückung“ sind auf das Wir der Glaubenden bezogen (vgl. 1 Kor 15,49; 1 Thess 4,17: „wir, die Lebenden“). Im Duktus von 1 Kor 15,23–28 ist für „die anderen“ wohl an das gleiche Geschick gedacht wie für die „Machthaber“ in V. 24. 54 Vgl. Schmidt, M., Einführung in die lateinische Epigraphik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004), 61–64; Klee, M., Lebensadern des Imperiums: Strassen im Römischen Reich (Stuttgart: Theiss, 2010); Kolb, A., „Römische Meilensteine: Stand der Forschung und Probleme“ in Frei-Stolba, R. (ed.), Siedlung und Verkehr im Römischen Reich: Römerstraßen zwischen Herrschaftssicherung und Landschaftsprägung. FS H. E. Herzig (Bern: Lang, 2004), 135–55; Speidel, M., „Heer und Strassen – Militares viae“ in Frei-Stolba, R. (ed.), Siedlung und Verkehr im Römischen Reich: Römerstraßen zwischen Herrschaftssicherung und Landschaftsprägung. FS H. E. Herzig (Bern: Lang, 2004), 331–44; die entsprechende Publikation (Miliaria imperii Romani) in CIL XVII ist noch nicht abgeschlossen. 55 So z. B. alle in Raetien gefundenen Meilensteine; vgl. Walser, G., Die römischen Straßen und Meilensteine in Raetien (Itinera Romana 4; Stuttgart: Gesellschaft für Vor- und Frühgeschichte in Württemberg und Hohenzollern, 1983), 40 f.; für die Meilensteine auf der via Egnatia vgl. Collart, P., „Les milliaires de la via Egnatia“ Bulletin de correspondance hell8nique 100 (1976), 177–200; Thessalonike als caput viae (ebd. 187); vgl. auch Gounaropoulou, L./ Hatzopoulos, M.B., Les milliaires de la Voie Egnatienne entre H8racl8e des Lyncestes et Thessalonique (MEKETGLATA 1; Athen, Paris: Diffusion de Boccard, 1985), 74 f.; bereits Polyb. XXXIV 12,3 (= Strabo VII 7,4) erwähnt regelmäßig gesetzte Meilensteine, 535 an der Zahl. 56 Vgl. die Statistik bei Kolb, „Meilensteine“, 139–41; ca. 30 Meilensteine aus der republikanischen Zeit stehen 7000 bis 8000 aus der Kaiserzeit gegenüber ; in Kleinasien 86 aus dem 1. Jh., in Macedonia und Achaia wurden insgesamt rund 130 Meilensteine gefunden.

76

Martin Ebner

Bauführer vor Ort bzw. den eigentlichen Bauträgern – seine Oberaufsicht über das ihm unterstehende Territorium in großen Lettern vor Augen geführt. In regelmäßigen Abständen den jeweiligen (Erbauungs)Kaiser als Herrn des Territoriums vor Augen, in dem er sich gerade befindet, steuert Paulus, gewiesen durch die kaiserlichen Meilensteine, dessen zentrale Schaltstellen an, um dort Menschen für den Glauben an den Herrn Jesus Christus zu gewinnen, der, so sein Evangelium, von Gott eingesetzt worden ist, um ihm die gesamte Welt zu unterwerfen. 2.2 Die Ordnung im Theater und die paulinische Gemeindeordnung in der Ekklesia Eine „richtige“ antike Stadt hat ein Theater. Die Bauten sind so großräumig, weil sich im Theater „die Stadt“ versammelt: zur Beratung wie zum Vergnügen. Für alle ist Platz, allerdings nach einer bestimmten Ordnung. In der griechischen Welt waren einzelne Keile in vertikaler Richtung für bestimmte Phylen/Stadtbezirke reserviert. Ehrenplätze gab es allenfalls in der vordersten Reihe.57 In der römisch geprägten Welt ist das anders. Im Theater sitzt die Stadtbevölkerung nach Stand und Rang gegliedert58 – und zwar per gesetzlicher Verordnung. Dabei kommt den breiten Quergängen zwischen den Sitzreihen die Funktion zu, drei „Ränge“ im Zuschauerraum voneinander zu trennen: ima, media und summa cavea. Republikanische Vorstöße aufgreifend59 erwirkt Augustus, angeblich auf Grund eines Vorfalls in Puteoli, wo einem zu spät kommenden Senator kein Platz freigeräumt worden sei, einen Senatsbeschluss, der gemäß Sueton besagt,60 … dass sooft irgendwo ein Schauspiel in der Öffentlichkeit veranstaltet werde, der erste Rang (ordo) der Sitzplätze für Senatoren freibleiben müsse, und in Rom erteilte er Gesandten freier und verbündeter Völker das Verbot, in der Orchestra Platz zu nehmen, da er in Erfahrung gebracht hatte, dass auch Freigelassene unter ihnen 57 Vgl. Gybas, M., Das Theater in der Stadt und die Stadt im Theater : Urbanistischer Kontext und Funktionen von Theatern im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien (Antiquitates. Archäologische Forschungsergebnisse 69; Hamburg: Dr. Kovacˇ, 2018), 58 f.73 f.; Burmeister, E., Antike griechische und römische Theater (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006), 34 f. 58 Vgl. Marquardt, J., Römische Staatsverwaltung: 3. Bd. 2d ed. (Handbuch der römischen Alterthümer 6; Leipzig: Hirzel, 1885), 534–38; Flaig, E., Ritualisierte Politik: Zeichen, Gesten und Herrschaft im Alten Rom. 2d ed. (Historische Semantik 1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 235 f.; Zanker, P., Die römische Stadt: Eine kurze Geschichte (München: Beck, 2014), 80.86.110; Gogräfe, R., Theater im römischen Reich: Bühne für Schauspieler, die Feiern des Imperiums und die Sponsoren des Reiches (Mainz: Nünnerich-Asmus, 2013), 73 f.79 f. 59 Ein erstmaliger Erlass geht auf die Zensoren Sex. Aelius Paetus und C. Cornelius Cethegus im Jahr 194 v. Chr. zurück. 60 Eine ausführliche Analyse bietet: Rawson, E., „Discrimina Ordinum: The Lex Julia Theatralis“ in Millar, F. (ed.), Roman Culture and Society : Collected Papers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 508–45.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

77

waren. Die Soldaten trennte er vom Volk. Den Ehemännern aus dem einfachen Volk (e plebe) wies er eigene Sitzreihen zu, den Knaben, die noch die (Toga) Praetexta trugen, einen eigenen Bereich und direkt daneben einen anderen für die Erzieher ; er legte fest, dass niemand aus dem niederen Volk (pullatorum) in der Mitte des Zuschauerraums (media cavea) sitzen dürfe. Frauen erlaubte er den Besuch von Gladiatorenkämpfen, die sie einst mitten unter den Männern mitverfolgen durften, nur unter der Bedingung, dass sie von den oberen Sitzreihen aus zuschauten … Den Besuch der Athletenwettkämpfe verbot er dem weiblichen Geschlecht gänzlich, so dass er an den Spielen, die der Pontifex Maximus aufführen ließ, den Wettkampf eines Faustkämpferpaares, den das Volk gewünscht hatte, auf die frühen Morgenstunden des folgenden Tages verschob und die Verordnung erließ, dass die Frauen vor der fünften Stunde nicht ins Theater kommen dürften (Aug. 44).

Diese Sitzordnung zeigt jedem seinen Platz in der Gesellschaft. Auffällig sind die Sonderregelungen hinsichtlich der Freigelassenen und Frauen. Um die Vermischung von (ehemaligen) Sklaven und Freien auf jeden Fall zu vermeiden,61 wird sogar Gesandten der Zugang zu den vordersten Reihen versagt. Frauen werden in den obersten Rang (summa cavea) unter das einfache Volk verwiesen, wenn nicht sogar ausgeschlossen. Außerdem wird Separierung wie Zugehörigkeit über die Kleiderordnung auch optisch erkennbar. Calpurnius Siculus, ein Dichter zur Zeit Neros, lässt einen Hirtensklaven von seinem Besuch im Amphitheater in Rom Folgendes erzählen: Dort, wo in schmutzig dunkler Kleidung (pulla sordida veste) die ärmeren Leute sich setzen, zwischen den Sitzen der Frauen,62 fanden auch wir unsere Plätze. Denn alle Ränge, die frei unter offenem Himmel sich dehnen, füllten, sich drängend, die Ritter und, weiß bekleidet, Tribunen (Ecl. 7,26–29).63

Eine scharfe optische Trennung ergibt sich zwischen denen, die schmutzig dunkle Arbeitskleidung tragen und ganz oben in der summa cavea sitzen, und denen, die die weiße Toga tragen dürfen und (der Demonstration des Standes wegen) auch müssen:64 Das sind neben den Senatoren, Rittern und Magistraten, die noch einmal durch breitere oder schmalere purpurne Randstreifen 61 Sofern Sklaven den Zuschauerraum nicht überhaupt verlassen mussten (vgl. Cic., Har. resp. 22–26; Plaut., Poen. 23–27.41–43; und dazu: Moore, T., „Seats and Social Status in the Plautine Theatre“ The Classical Journal 90 (1994), 113–23), wurden sie in den obersten Bereich verwiesen und mussten dort entweder getrennt von den Freien sitzen oder, falls keine Plätze mehr vorhanden waren, stehen. In den erhaltenen Stadtgesetzen (vgl. 2.4) sind Sitzplätze für Sklaven jedenfalls nicht vorgesehen; vgl. Rawson, „Discrimina Ordinum“, 513–15. 62 Evtl. waren für sie einzelne Blöcke vorgesehen. 63 Vgl. Neudecker, R., „Faszination der Urbs: Ein Hirte im Amphitheater zu Rom (Calpurnius Siculus, Ekloge 7)“ in Busch, A./Griesbach, J./Lipps, J. (eds.), Urbanitas – urbane Qualitäten: Die antike Stadt als kulturelle Selbstverwirklichung (RGZM Tagungen 33; Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2017), 39–52. 64 Vgl. Suet., Aug. 40,5; Edelmann-Singer, B., Das römische Reich von Tiberius bis Nero (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2017), 43.

78

Martin Ebner

auf der Tunika bzw. Toga ausgezeichnet werden,65 alle römischen Bürger, für die offensichtlich das Mittelfeld des Theaters freigehalten werden muss. Der römische Dichter Servius hat diese Sozialoptik auf folgende Formel gebracht: parvi – femina – plebs – eques – senatus (Silv. I 6,44). Tatsächlich reichsweite Auswirkungen scheinen sowohl von der geographischen als auch rechtlichen Nähe zu Rom abzuhängen – und haben ihre Spuren sowohl in der lokalen Gesetzgebung als auch in der Architektur hinterlassen. In den Stadtgesetzen der Kolonien bzw. der latinischen Städte (s. 2.4) wird in verschiedenen Rubriken die römische Sitzordnung bei Schauspielen eigens festgehalten. Außerdem werden jedem, der falsch sitzt oder einen falschen Platz anweist, Sanktionen angedroht.66 Ins Theater von Pompeij wurden, durch eine Brüstung vom restlichen Zuschauerraum getrennt, in augusteischer Zeit flache Stufen in die Orchestra eingebaut, auf die dann Sessel (bisellia) für die Ratsherren und Magistrate gestellt werden konnten.67 Im dortigen Amphitheater gibt es eigene Zugänge zur ima cavea sowie vermutlich ebenfalls nachträglich hinzugefügte „Spezialboxen“ (cathedrae) für die Frauen noch über der summa cavea.68 Gesetzgebung, Kleiderordnung und Architektur machen den Zuschauerraum von Theater und Amphitheater zur „getreuen Ikone der sozialen Ordnung“.69 Das Theater – ein Spiegelbild der streng gegliederten römischen Gesellschaft, sichtbar bis hinein in die unterschiedliche Kleidung. In diesem Horizont entfaltet ein Grundaxiom der (vor)paulinischen Gemeinden noch einmal neue Tiefenschärfe: die Tauftradition in Gal 3,27 f.:70 Alle nämlich, die ihr auf Christus getauft worden seid, habt Christus als Gewand angezogen (1md¼sashe). Da ist nicht mehr Jude noch Grieche, da ist nicht mehr 65 Senatoren: tunica laticlava, Ritter: tunica angusticlava, Magistrate: toga praetexta; vgl. Paetz, A., „Die Kleidung der Römer: Ausdruck kultureller Auseinandersetzung zwischen Rom und den Provinzen“ Antike Welt. Zeitschrift für Archäologie und Kulturgeschichte (2013), 15–21, 15 f. 66 Vgl. lex Urs. 125–127. Kolonisten, die das römische Bürgerrecht haben, sitzen von Nichtbürgern getrennt. Für die Ratsherren, die in Bithynien noch unter Plinius d.J. „Senatoren“ genannt werden, sind Ehrenplätze vorgesehen, für die Magistrate in der Orchestra. Gemäß lex Irn. 81 müssen die traditionell bestehenden Regelungen der jeweiligen Gesetzgebung der regierenden Kaiser angepasst werden. Eine neue Einschärfung der Theatergesetze ist für Domitian bezeugt (Suet., Dom. 8,3; Mart. V 8.14.25.27). 67 Samt einem steinernen bisellium für den Stifter ; vgl. Sear, F., Roman Theatres: An Architectual Study (Oxford Monographs on Classical Archaeology ; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 131. 68 Vgl. Bomgardner, D. L., The Story of the Roman Amphitheatre (London: Routledge, 2000), 43–49. 69 Flaig, Politik, 236. 70 Für den Argumentationszusammenhang des Gal ist nur das erste Gegensatzpaar erheblich, die anderen beiden sind „überständig“. Zur Traditionsabgrenzung vgl. Mell, U., „Neuschöpfung und Gotteskindschaft“ in Horn, F. W. (ed.), Paulus Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 390–94, 392 f. Zur Einordnung in die Geschichte des frühen Christentums auf dem kulturellen Hintergrund der Alten Welt vgl. Duff, P., Jesus Followers in the Roman Empire (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 111–92.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

79

Sklave noch Freier, da ist nicht mehr männlich und weiblich. Alle nämlich seid ihr ein Einziger in Christus Jesus.

Gemäß diesem Grundsatzprogramm werden die typischen gesellschaftlich etablierten und gleichzeitig identitätsstiftenden Grenzlinien aufgelöst – konzentriert auf drei Bereiche: hinsichtlich des Ethnos (Juden/Griechen), des Standes (Sklave/Freier) und des Geschlechts (Mann und Frau). Der Eintritt in diesen ganz anders konzipierten Sozialraum ist an das Ritual der Taufe geknüpft, die ihrerseits eine neue Einkleidung der Initianden bewirkt: „… ihr habt Christus als Gewand angezogen“. Offiziell vollzogener Kleiderwechsel ist sowohl im biblischen wie griechisch-römischen Bereich mit einer Statusveränderung verknüpft.71 In unserem Fall bewirkt er eine Statusegalisierung: Alle werden in das gleiche (königliche) Gewand Christi „eingehüllt“. Gerade weil Paulus die römischen Musterstädte anzielt, Kolonien und Provinzhauptstädte, bekommt diese offensichtlich bewusst gewählte Kleidermetaphorik auf dem Hintergrund der Alltagserfahrung besondere Anschauungskraft. In 1 Kor 12,13 bildet der Rekurs auf die Tauftradition, die offensichtlich zum Grundbestand der paulinischen Initialverkündigung gehört, den Auftakt zum Leibgleichnis, in dem Paulus differenziert entfaltet, was mit „einer in Christus“ gemeint sein soll. Institutionstechnisch nennt Paulus die Körperschaft der Getauften „Ekklesia“.72 Und dieser Begriff führt erneut in die Stadt:73 Denn Ekklesia ist eines der drei Verfassungsorgane in der politischen Struktur einer Stadt (s. 2.3): das Basisorgan der antiken Demokratie. Nach einer klassischen Definition von Herodot (III 80,6) ist sie durch drei Elemente gekennzeichnet:74 Gleichheit aller vor dem Gesetz (Qsomol_a), Rechenschaftspflicht der Beamten (eqhum_a) sowie Beschlussfassung durch die Vollversammlung (pk/hor). Allerdings: Nicht einfach alle Einwohner einer Stadt 71 Zur jüdischen Priesterinvestitur vgl. Strecker, C., „Die frühchristliche Taufpraxis: Ritualhistorische Erkundungen, ritualwissenschaftliche Impulse“ in Stegemann, W./DeMaris, R. (eds.), Alte Texte in neuen Kontexten: Wo steht die sozialwissenschaftliche Bibelexegese? (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2015), 347–410, 366–69. Im Blick auf die Erlangung des (aktiven) Bürgerrechts im römischen Bereich wäre auf die Zeremonie des tirocinium fori, der öffentlichen Präsentation des jungen Mannes auf dem Forum zu verweisen, der die toga praetexta ab- und die toga virilis angelegt hat; vgl. Suet., Aug. 26,2; Tib. 54,1; Nero 7,2. 72 Korner, R., The Origin and Meaning of Ekkle¯sia in the Early Jesus Movement (AJEC 98; Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2017), 52–80, diskutiert epigraphische Belege für die Bezeichnung der Versammlung von Vereinen als Ekklesia. Last, Church, beleuchtet die Ekklesia von Korinth speziell im Kontext von antiken Vereinen. 73 Dass „Ekklesia“ von den Rezipienten nicht nur in diesem Kontext verstanden wird, sondern auch traditionsgeschichtlich dort seine Wurzeln hat, zeigt Schumacher, T., Zur Entstehung christlicher Sprache: Eine Untersuchung der paulinischen Idiomatik und der Verwendung des Begriffes p_stir (BBB 168; Göttingen: V & R unipress, 2012), 168–79, im Blick auf die Semantik, Park, Y.-H., Paul’s Ekklesia as a Civic Assembly: Understanding the People of God in Their Politico-Social World (WUNT 2, 393; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), im Blick auf die Interaktionen. Auch die frühjüdischen Belege, die Korner, Origin, 81–149, diskutiert, fügen sich in diese Linie ein; zum status quaestionis ebd. 1–21. 74 Vgl. auch Thuk. II 37,1.

80

Martin Ebner

haben in der Ekklesia Sitz und Stimme – und sind in diesem Sinne „gleich“. Die Mitgliedschaft ist vielmehr durch Geschlecht, Stand und Recht präzise eingegrenzt: nur Männer – keine Frauen;75 nur freie Männer – keine Sklaven; nicht alle freien Männer, sondern nur freie Männer mit dem (jeweiligen) Bürgerrecht, das gewöhnlich innerhalb alteingesessener Familien vererbt wird.76 Diese kleine Gruppe stellt die p|kir im Sinn der entscheidungsberechtigten Stadt dar ;77 versammelt sie sich, um zu beraten und zu entscheiden, konstituiert sie sich als Ekklesia.78 Genau diese Bezeichnung für die entscheidungsbefugte Elite der Stadt wählt Paulus für die Körperschaft der Getauften.79 Dabei ist zu bedenken: Paulus weiß sehr wohl um die Unterschiede zur normalen politischen Ekklesia. Das betrifft als erstes die präzise Bezeichnung: Paulus spricht nicht von der „Ekklesia der Korinther“ – damit wäre die normale politische Bürgerversammlung gemeint –, sondern von der Ekklesia Gottes in Korinth (vgl. 1 Kor 1,1; 2 Kor 1,1).80 Damit sind alle auf Christus Getauften in der christlichen Alternativgesellschaft gemeint. Der Unterschied zur Normal-Ekklesia betrifft an zweiter Stelle die Zugangsvoraussetzungen: Der Zutritt zur Ekklesia des Paulus wird nicht durch das in der Familie vererbte Bürgerrecht erworben, sondern durch eine persönliche Entscheidung, eben den Glauben an Christus – und durch die Taufe ratifiziert. Deshalb zeigt die paulinische Ekklesia auch eine andere Zusammensetzung. Zugang zur Ekklesia Gottes haben nicht nur freie Bürger, sondern auch Sklaven; nicht nur freie Männer, sondern auch freie und unfreie Frauen; sie alle haben – prinzipiell – in der Ekklesia Gottes freies Rederecht und agieren gleichberechtigt. Ganz nebenbei – und deshalb eklektisch, aber zuverlässig – zeigen einige Notizen der Korintherbriefe auch die entsprechende Praxis, sozusagen die 75 Kurz und knapp von Thukydides auf den Punkt gebracht: %mdqer c±q p|kir (VII 77,7). 76 Vgl. Bleicken, J., Die athenische Demokratie. 4th ed. (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1995), 190 f.; zum politischen Prozess hinter der Definition der zur Bürgerschaft zugelassenen Personen und deren Rechte vgl. Funke, P., „Bürgerschaft und Bürgersein – Teilnehmen als Teilhaben“ in SteinHölkeskamp, E./ Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (eds.), Die griechische Welt: Erinnerungsorte der Antike (München: Beck, 2010), 472–86; für die römische Welt vgl. Bleicken, J., Verfassungs- und Sozialgeschichte des Römischen Kaiserreiches, Bd.1 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1989), 312–17. 77 Davon zu unterscheiden ist %stu/oppidum im Sinn von Stadtgebiet. 78 Vgl. Peterson, E., Ekklesia: Studien zum altchristlichen Kirchenbegriff. Nichtweiß, B./ Weidemann, H.-U. (eds.), Ausgewählte Schriften: Sonderband (Würzburg: Echter, 2010), 11–20. 79 Wie seine autobiographischen Notizen zeigen (Gal 1,13.22 f.; Phil 3,6; 1 Kor 15,9), war dieser Begriff Paulus schon vorgegeben; zum möglichen Ursprung dieser Selbstbezeichnung vgl. Weidemann, H.-U., „Ekklesia, Polis und Synagoge: Überlegungen im Anschluss an Erik Peterson“ in Nichtweiß, B./Weidemann, H.-U. (eds.), Peterson, E., Ekklesia: Studien zum altchristlichen Kirchenbegriff. Ausgewählte Schriften: Sonderband (Würzburg: Echter, 2010), 152–95, 173–85. 80 Analog dazu in Gal 1,2 von „den Ekklesien Gottes der Galatia“. In seinem chronologisch gesehen allerersten Brief an die Thessaloniker dagegen hat Paulus offensichtlich gemerkt, dass er präzisieren muss, wenn er „der Ekklesia der Thessaloniker“ schreibt; denn sofort im Nebensatz folgt: „… in Gott unserem Vater und unserem Herrn Jesus Christus“ (1 Thess 1,1).

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

81

Bürgerrechte der Getauften: Paulus spricht davon, dass die Christusgläubigen „in Ekklesia zusammenkommen“ (1 Kor 11,18.20). Vom Ort her passiert das natürlich in einem Haus (vgl. Röm 16,23). „Ekklesia“ ist der Modus der Versammlung.81 Und das ist dann gleichzeitig die kommunikative Situation, in die hinein Paulus seine Briefe sprechen lassen will, wenn er sie ausdrücklich „an die Ekklesia“ richtet.82 Paulus schreibt, dass es regelmäßig Vollversammlungen gibt (Röm 16,23; 1 Kor 14,23). Frauen steht prinzipiell gleiches Rederecht zu. Das kann man dem Abschnitt 1 Kor 11,2–16 entnehmen, der diesbezüglich unverdächtig ist. Denn das Problem, das hier verhandelt wird, ist die Haartracht.83 Frauen sollten das Haar lang und verhüllt tragen, Männer dagegen kurz – und nicht umgekehrt. Das wäre sonst ein Signal für die Verdrehung der Geschlechter : für einen effeminatus bzw. für eine Lesbe. So will Paulus das Taufaxiom nicht verstanden haben. Mann muss Mann bleiben – und Frau Frau.84 Aber für beide gilt gleiches Recht hinsichtlich ihrer Aktionen in der Ekklesia. Davon geht Paulus aus. Deshalb kann er in völlig identischen Formulierungen (innerhalb dieses Abschnitts) schreiben: „Jeder Mann, der betet oder prophezeit …“ (V. 4) – und im nächsten Vers: „Jede Frau, die betet oder prophezeit …“ (V. 5). Beide also, Mann und Frau, dürfen im Rahmen der Ekklesia-Versammlung das Gleiche tun, nur die Haartracht muss stimmen!85 Der Philemonbrief ist ein Zeugnis dafür, dass Paulus die neue Rolle eines getauften Sklaven im Haus seines ehemaligen Herrn aushandelt, in dem sich die Ekklesia trifft.86 In 2 Kor 8,19 ist schließlich von einer Personalentscheidung durch Handhebung (weiqotome?m), also per Abstimmung, die Rede, in 2 Kor 2,6 von einem Beschluss, den die Mehrheit (!p¹ t_m pkeiºmym) getroffen 81 Was auch mit 1p· t¹ aqt| zum Ausdruck gebracht werden kann: 1 Kor 11,20; 14,23. 82 Das ist z. B. für den Phlm wichtig: Gemäß dem Präskript ist seine Verlesung für die Versammlung der Ekklesia gedacht. 83 Vgl. Schrage, W., Der erste Brief an die Korinther: 2. Teilband: 1Kor 6,12–11,16 (EKKNT VII/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, Solothurn, Düsseldorf: Benziger/Neukirchener, 1995), 487–525; vgl. Ebner, M., „Wenn alle ,ein einziger‘ sein sollen …: Von schönen theologischen Konzepten und ihren praktischen Problemen: Gal 3,28 und 1 Kor 11,2–16“ in Ebner, M., Inkarnation der Botschaft: Kultureller Horizont und theologischer Anspruch neutestamentlicher Texte (SBAB 61; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2015), 337–63. Eine kritische Evaluation der Forschungsstandpunkte zur Homosexualität im Kontext von Gender, Sexualität und Machtfragen, wie sie sich in der Auslegung dieser Passage spiegeln, nimmt Townsley, G., The Straight Mind in Corinth: Queer Readings across 1 Corinthians 11:2–16 (Semeia Studies 88; Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2017) vor. 84 Das dürfte der Grund sein, weshalb Paulus in 1 Kor 12,13 das Gegensatzpaar „nicht mehr männlich und weiblich“ vermeidet, um evtl. (bereits eingetretenen) Missverständnissen vorzubeugen. 85 Dass es sich bei der Aussage von 1 Kor 14,34 f., nach der Frauen in der Ekklesia schweigen sollen (vgl. 1 Tim 2,11 f.), um eine Interpolation handelt, wird neuerdings auch durch entsprechende Marginalienkennzeichnung im Codex Vaticanus erhärtet, vgl. Payne, P. „Vaticanus Distigmeobelos Symbols Marking Added Text, Including 1 Corinthians 14.34–5“ New Testament Studies 63 (2017), 604–25. 86 Vgl. Ebner, M., Der Brief an Philemon (EKKNT 18; Ostfildern, Göttingen: Patmos, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 143–48.

82

Martin Ebner

hat. Umgekehrt scheinen gemäß 1 Kor 4,1–5 die Ekklesia-Regeln auf Paulus selbst zurückzufallen, wenn die Korinther ihn einer gerichtlichen Untersuchung unterziehen (!majq¸meim) wollen.87 Aus der Sicht der getauften „Vollbürger“ betrachtet wird dabei nichts anderes versucht, als ein Grundrecht der Ekklesia einzufordern: die Rechenschaftspflicht der Beamten.

2.3 Partizipation an Entscheidungsprozessen Insbesondere in der Korintherbriefkorrespondenz finden sich verschiedentlich punktuelle Mahnungen des Paulus zur Verbesserung der Abläufe in der dortigen Ekklesia Gottes88 bzw. beiläufige Notizen über dort getroffene Mehrheitsentscheidungen.89 Der ausführlich erzählte Ablauf eines solchen Entscheidungsprozesses findet sich dagegen in Apg 15,1–35. Es geht um eine hochgradig wichtige Angelegenheit, nämlich um die Heilsrelevanz der Beschneidung auch für Heiden, die christusgläubig werden. Schematisiert lassen sich folgende Etappen unterscheiden: Ausgebrochen ist der Streit in Antiochia (V. 1). Weil es dort nur zu Aufruhr (st\sir) und Diskussionen (f^tgsir) kommt, aber offensichtlich keine Einigung erzielt werden kann, schickt die Ekklesia von Antiochia eine Gesandtschaft unter Führung des Paulus und Barnabas „zu den Aposteln und Presbytern nach Jerusalem“ zur weiteren Diskussion dieser Streitfrage (V. 2 f.). Dort angekommen werden sie „von der Ekklesia und den Aposteln und den Presbytern“, also im Rahmen einer Vollversammlung, empfangen, wobei die Gruppierung der gläubig gewordenen Pharisäer vehement die Forderung aufstellt: „Man muss sie beschneiden und ihnen befehlen, das Gesetz des Mose zu beachten“ (V. 4 f.). Daraufhin versammeln sich „die Apostel und Presbyter“, um über den Fall zu beraten (V. 6). Mindestens Paulus und Barnabas sind ebenfalls anwesend; denn sie berichten über die Vorgänge in Antiochia (V. 12).90 Im Erzählreferat wird diese Anhörung durch ein Votum des Petrus (V. 7–11) sowie des Jakobus (V. 14–21) 87 Vgl. Schrage, W., Der erste Brief an die Korinther: 1. Teilband: 1Kor 1,1–6,11 (EKKNT VII/1; Zürich, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener, 1991), 322. 88 Vgl. 1 Kor 6 (innergemeindliche Streitfälle); 11 (Haartracht; Herrenmahl); 14 (Zusammenkunft der Ekklesia); 2 Kor 8 f. (Kollektensammlung) und dazu die neue Interpretation im Horizont der Praxis von Städten und Vereinen zur Beschaffung von Geldmitteln für außerordentliche Projekte von Kloppenborg, „Aspects“. 89 Vgl. 2 Kor 2,6; 8,19. 90 Wenn das Schweigen als Reaktion auf das Votum des Petrus bzw. als Haltung während des Anhörens des Barnabas und Paulus eigens hervorgehoben wird, so steht das nicht nur im Gegensatz zur Unruhe in Antiochia (V. 2), sondern auch zu negativ besetzten tumultartigen Reaktionen in den Volksversammlungen der griechischen Städte. In Athen waren dafür eigens Ordner vorgesehen; vgl. Welwei, K.-W., Die griechische Polis: Verfassung und Gesellschaft in archaischer und klassischer Zeit. 3d ed. (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2017), 208. Mahnungen zur Disziplin bzw. Schilderungen des Tumults finden sich z. B. bei Dio Chrys., Or. 7,25 f.; 48,2; vgl. Apg 19,32–34.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

83

gerahmt. In V. 22 heißt es: „Danach beschlossen die Apostel und die Presbyter zusammen mit der gesamten Ekklesia (5done to?r !post|koir ja· pqesbut]qoir s»m fk, t0 1jjkgs_ô), ausgewählte Männer von ihnen nach Antiochia zu schicken zusammen mit Paulus und Barnabas“. Sie werden namentlich genannt: Judas und Silas. Ihnen wird ein Schreiben mitgegeben, das – im hellenistischen Briefformular gehalten – folgendermaßen beginnt: „Die Apostel und die Ältesten, eure Brüder, den in Antiochia und Syrien und Kilikien (lebenden) Brüdern aus den Völkern zum Gruß“ (V. 23). In diesem Brief wird die Vorgeschichte kurz referiert sowie der einmütig gefasste Beschluss (5donem Bl?m), Männer auszuwählen und als Gesandte der Jerusalemer Ekklesia zusammen mit Paulus und Barnabas nach Antiochia zu schicken, damit sie dort den in Jerusalem bezüglich der Streitfrage gefassten Beschluss mündlich erläutern (V. 27).91 Dann folgt der Beschlusstext, der inhaltlich das Votum des Barnabas aufgreift, mit folgender Einleitung: „Der Heilige Geist und wir haben beschlossen … (5donem c±q t` pme}lati t` "c_\ ja· Bl?m)“ (V. 28). Schließlich wird die Verabschiedung der Delegation sowie die Durchführung des Auftrags in Antiochia und die Rückkehr der Gesandten nach Jerusalem erzählt (V. 30–33).92 Die Darstellung greift organisationstechnische und terminologische Muster auf, wie sie für öffentliche Entscheidungsprozesse in den Städten der griechisch-römischen Zeit typisch sind.93 An erster Stelle ist die mehrfach verwendete Beschlussfassungsformel 5donem in Verbindung mit Gremien bzw. Personen(gruppen) im Dativ zu nennen, wie sie in den städtischen Dekreten der griechischen Welt üblich war. Stenographisch werden damit sowohl die Vorgänge des Entscheidungsprozesses als auch die daran Beteiligten festgehalten. Immer ist vorausgesetzt, dass es für den dann ausgeführten Sachverhalt einen Antrag gab, der beraten und über den abschließend per Handhebung (weiqotom_a) abgestimmt worden ist, wobei die einfache Mehrheit den Ausschlag gegeben hat.94 Wie unterschiedlich jedoch die Prozesse im Einzelfall 91 Das ist eine übliche Praxis; vgl. Ebner, Phlm, 130 f. 92 Wenn in V. 33 betont wird, dass die beiden Jerusalemer zu ihren Auftraggebern zurückkehren (dabei terminologischer Rückbezug von to»r !poste_kamtar aqto¼r in V. 33 auf !p|stokoi in V. 23), dann könnte damit verbunden sein, dass sie auch einen entsprechenden Bericht in Jerusalem abgeben. 93 Für die griechischen Poleis vgl. Welwei, Polis; Rhodes, P. J./Lewis, D., The Decrees of the Greek States (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997); speziell für die athenische Demokratie vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 190–240; Stein-Hölkeskamp, E., „Demokratie – die herrschende Hand des Volkes“ in Stein-Hölkeskamp, E./Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (eds.) Die griechische Welt: Erinnerungsorte der Antike (München: Beck, 2010), 487–509; für die Städte der Kaiserzeit Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 226–296.431–476; Stephan, Honoratioren, 42–71; Wörrle, Stadt, 77–150 (für Oinoanda); mit anderer Tendenz: van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.). Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Groningen-Royal Holloway Studies on the Greek City after the Classical Age; Leuven: Peeters, 2011a). 94 In Athen wegen der hohen Teilnehmerzahl (Quorum: 6000) per Schätzung; vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 201 f.

84

Martin Ebner

zu verschiedenen Zeiten an unterschiedlichen Orten ablaufen konnten, zeigt der Vergleich der Formel, wie sie im klassischen Athen üblich war, mit derjenigen im Ephesus der Kaiserzeit: (Athen/klassische Demokratie): Es beschlossen (5donem) Rat (t0 bouk0) und Volk (t` d^l\), unter der Prytanie der Phyle X, Y war der Sekretär, Z führte den Vorsitz, N. stellte den Antrag …95 (Ephesus/Kaiserzeit): In der Prytanie des Tib. Cl. Antipater Iulianus am 6. Poseideon. Beschluss (5done) des Rates (t0 bouk0) und des kaisertreuen … Volkes (t` d^l\). Worüber Tib. Cl. [Iulianus], Sohn des Tib. Cl. Alexander …, ein Patriot und kaisertreu, [ehrbar] und fromm, [Schreiber] des Volkes (cqallate»r toO d^lou) zum zweiten Mal, und die kaisertreuen Strategen der Stadt (stqatgco· t/r p|keyr) referiert haben (1mev\misam) …96

In beiden Beispielen wird die Zuordnung von drei für die gesamte griechischrömische Welt für die städtischen Entscheidungsvorgänge typischen Ebenen fassbar : das Volk (d/lor) bzw. die Stadt (p|kir), also die gesamte Bürgerschaft, der Rat (bouk^), ein Repräsentativgremium, sowie Beamte, in unserem Fall „Prytane“ genannt, die für die Durchführung der Agenda zuständig sind. Spezifisch unterschiedlich ist jedoch die Partizipation an den Entscheidungsvorgängen. Hinter den zitierten Formeln stehen extrem unterschiedliche Abläufe: Im klassischen Athen sind alle (anwesenden) Vollbürger, die als d/lor pk^hym die gesamte Bürgerschaft repräsentierten,97 sowohl an der Beratung als auch an der Abstimmung der städtischen Beschlüsse in der Ekklesia beteiligt, die rund vierzigmal im Jahr zur Zusammenkunft auf der Pnyx in Athen einberufen wird. Im kaiserzeitlichen Ephesus referieren der Stadtschreiber und die Strategen dem Rat und dem Volk, dass der Statthalter und einer seiner Legaten ihnen die Anweisung gegeben hat (1pej´keusam, Z. 82), den Antrag eines gewissen C. Vibius Salutaris auf die Tagesordnung zu setzen – mit der dringenden Empfehlung, den Antrag auf Genehmigung einer Stiftung nicht nur in der vorliegenden Form anzunehmen, sondern für den Stifter auch noch besondere Ehrungen zu beschließen.98 Gemäß der Formulierung beider zitierter Formeln „beschließen Rat und Volk“, aber nur der Kontext und die präzisen Abläufe können Auskunft darüber geben, wer der eigentliche Impulsgeber der getroffenen Entscheidung gewesen ist. Im Normalfall, bereits in den griechischen Städten der klassischen Zeit, fällt 95 Vgl. etwa den Volksbeschluss über die Priesterin der Athena Nike IG I2 25 (424/3 v. Chr.). 96 So der Ratifizierungsvermerk für die Stiftung des C. Vibius Salutaris: IvE 27 (104 n. Chr.), der nach der Beschlussfassung dem Antrag vorangestellt wurde. Das Formular ist ab 39 v. Chr. nachweisbar; vgl. IvE 1387. 97 Vgl. Welwei, Polis, 206 – mit dem Hinweis, dass die Beteiligung nachweislich viel größer gewesen ist als gewöhnlich vermutet. 98 Zu den Vorgängen im Einzelnen vgl. Rogers, G., The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City (London: Routledge, 1991), bes. 24–30.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

85

dem Rat die entscheidende Weichenstellung zu, aber in unterschiedlicher Ausprägung. Auch im klassischen Athen muss jeder Antrag erst dem Rat zur Prüfung vorgelegt werden, der im Fall von dessen Rechtmäßigkeit zunächst einen Beschlussentwurf (pqobo}keula) vorformuliert, der dann der Volksversammlung vorgelegt wird, dort jedoch in der Debatte abgeändert, mit Zusätzen versehen oder auch durch einen Gegenantrag ersetzt werden kann.99 Und jeder Bürger kann einen Antrag stellen.100 In der Kaiserzeit ist das anders. In den Städten römischen Rechts (vgl. 2.4) ist es der Rat, der über die Anträge entscheidet, die an die leitenden Beamten gestellt werden.101 In den Städten des griechischen Ostens ist dafür gewöhnlich ein Gremium (sumaqw_a) mit einem Boularchen an der Spitze eingesetzt, dem die Einberufung des Rats, die Leitung der Verhandlungen sowie die Aufsicht über die Ausführung der Beschlüsse obliegt. In Ephesus ist das der „Schreiber des Volks“ mit seinen „Strategen“.102 Die Amtsbezeichnungen können wechseln.103 Hinsichtlich der Bekanntmachung der Beschlüsse vor der Ekklesia macht es einen großen Unterschied, ob sie das Gewicht eines Rechtssetzungsakts (juqoOm) hat oder eher eine formelle Geste ist, wobei umgekehrt die Bestätigung (juqoOm) durch den Statthalter erbeten wird,104 der im Extremfall vor allem in finanziellen Angelegenheiten von sich aus ohnehin, wie in Ephesus zu sehen, aktiv in die Belange der Stadt eingreifen kann.105 Und generell ist es letztlich der Statthalter, der (auf Antrag) Volksversammlungen einberufen, verbieten106 oder gegen unerlaubte Versammlungen einschreiten kann (vgl. Apg 19,40).107 Schließlich macht es einen großen Unterschied, ob die Ratsmitglieder jährlich gewählt oder gar aus den Phylen/Stadtbezirken gelost werden (wie im klassischen Athen)108 und damit stets in unterschiedlicher Zusammensetzung agieren, oder ob sie auf Lebenszeit eingesetzt werden, in latinischen Städten (s. 99 Vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 196–99. Die erhaltenen Beschlussdokumente belegen jedoch, dass dieser Eifer bereits im 3. Jh. v. Chr. stark erlahmt ist; vgl. Rhodes und Lewis, Decrees, 30. 100 An den Rat bzw. als Anschlag am Phylenheiligtum auf der Agora; dazu vgl. Stenger, „Grenze“, 215; mit Verweis auf Demosth., Or. 24,23; 20,94; 24,18; Aischin., Ctes. 39. 101 Vgl. lex Urs. 96 f.99 f.; Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 242. 102 Vgl. Coudry, M./Kirbihler, F., „La lex Cornelia, une lex provinciae de Sylla pour l’Asie“ in Barrandon, N./Kirbihler, F. (eds.), Administrer les provinces de la R8publique romaine: Actes du colloque de l’universit8 de Nancy II, 4–5 juin 2009 (Collection „Histoire“; Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2010), 133–69, 154 f. 103 Vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 246 f. (bo}kaqwgr/sumaqw_a). In Bithynien lauten die Amtsbezeichnungen pq_tor %qwym bzw. %qwomter; vgl. Ameling, W., „Das Archontat in Bithynien und die lex provinciae des Pompeius“, Epigraphica Anatolica 3 (1984), 19–31, 22–26. 104 So in Oinoanda; vgl. Wörrle, Stadt, 132 f., in Auswertung der Inschrift von Oinoanda Z. 109: … degh/mai aqtoO 1pijuq_sai Dm [1pixgvis]²leha … im Vergleich zu Z. 101 im Blick auf die 1jjkgs_a: … ja· rp( aqt/r juqiyh0. 105 Vgl. Stephan, Honoratioren, 50 f.55–57; Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 474 mit Anm. 1; 251. 106 Vgl. Dio Chrys., Or. 45,15; 48,1 f. 107 Vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 251. 108 Vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 238.281; zum Rat der Fünfhundert und der Reform des Kleisthenes vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 224–29; Welwei, Polis, 175–85.

86

Martin Ebner

2.4) den ordo decurionum bilden („Ratsherrenstand“), sich selbst kooptieren bzw. vom Zensor aufgrund der Vermögenslage „gewählt“ (legi)109 oder bei der Errichtung einer Provinz aufgrund der lex provinciae durch den Statthalter eingesetzt werden,110 sodass die Zugehörigkeit zum Rat de facto zum erblichen Privileg wird,111 das an eine timokratische Elite gebunden ist, die in der Stadt das Sagen hat. Die klassische Athener Demokratie ist dagegen geradezu durch ihre Vorbehalte gekennzeichnet, die davor schützen sollen, eine Gruppen- bzw. Erfahrungsmacht überhaupt erst aufkommen zu lassen. Nicht nur werden die Ratsmitglieder (500 Mann) jedes Jahr aus den Stadtbezirken neu ausgelost (je 50 aus jedem Stadtbezirk), sondern auch der jeweilige Vorsitzende der Ekklesia („Epistates“) sogar erst am Abend davor und nur für eine einzige Sitzung – und zwar aus dem augenblicklich geschäftsführenden Ausschuss des Rates, Prytanie genannt, der jeweils für ein Zehntel des Jahres die Geschicke der Stadt leitet, wobei auch in diesem Fall das Los erst unmittelbar vor dem Amtsantritt fällt, damit im Voraus keine Absprachen getroffen werden können.112 Nachdem im klassischen Athen sowohl die Personen als auch deren Einsatzzeit durch Los ermittelt werden, sind die Prytanen in ihrer Funktion als kollektiver wie individueller „Vorsitz“ genauso wie der Rat als Vorbereitungsgremium für die Vollversammlung113 lediglich Dienstleistungsgruppen der Ekklesia. Nur in denjenigen Bereichen, die ein bestimmtes Expertenwissen vorausetzen, wie für die Heeresführung oder die Verwaltung der Finanzen, werden die zuständigen Beamten gewählt.114 Das ist im kaiserzeitlichen Ephesus anders. Dort bildet ein Gremium von „Strategen“115 das leitende 109 So in Bithynien, vgl. Ameling, „Archontat“, 27 f.; vgl. Plin., Ep. X 79.112; Ael. Arist. 26,64; vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 238–41 (zur allmählichen Entwicklung unter römischer Herrschaft); 234–36 (für von Rom „geordnete Gemeinden“). 110 So in der Stadt Patara bei der Errichtung der Provinz Lycia 43 n. Chr.; vgl. Schuler, C./Zimmermann, K., „Neue Inschriften aus Patara I: Zur Elite der Stadt in Hellenismus und früher Kaiserzeit“ Chiron. Mitteilungen der Kommission für Alte Geschichte und Epigraphik des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 42 (2012), 567–626, 609–18. 111 Vgl. Stephan, Honoratioren, 66; Wörrle, Stadt, 133. 112 Um auch innerhalb dieser Gruppe Absprachen zu vermeiden, ging man Ende des 5. bzw. Anfang des 4. Jh. dazu über, den Vorsitz der Versammlung von der jeweiligen Prytanie zu trennen, indem man „aus den neun jeweils nicht geschäftsführenden Prytanien neun Prohedroi (,Vorsitze‘) erloste und ihnen unter Leitung eines Epistates, der wiederum aus ihnen erlost wurde, den Vorsitz gab“ (Bleicken, Demokratie, 195). 113 Während jeder Prytanie musste mindestens eine juq_a 1jjkgs_a (Hauptversammlung) stattfinden und drei weitere Tagungen. 114 Und dürfen das Amt im Unterschied zu anderen Losämtern auch wiederholt bekleiden; zu den „Strategen und Schatzmeistern“ (talia_) vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 289 f.299–301; Welwei, Polis, 218–20. 115 Nach Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 286, kann die Anzahl der Mitglieder dieses Gremiums in den einzelnen griechischen Städten zwischen fünf und zehn Personen schwanken. Vermutlich wurde unter Cäsar der Titel dieser ursprünglich für das Kriegswesen zuständigen Beamten (s.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

87

städtische Beamtenteam,116 dem wiederum ein Prytane, nach dem das Jahr benannt wird, vorsteht und der unter dem Titel „Stadtschreiber“ offensichtlich auch die Volksversammlung leitet (vgl. Apg 19,35).117 Im zitierten Beispiel zeigt sein dreiteiliger Name, dass er das römische Bürgerrecht besitzt, das er schon von seinem Vater geerbt hat, also zu denjenigen Elitekreisen gehört, die Rom für deren Kooperation mit der neuen Oberherrschaft entsprechend belohnt hat.118 Anders gesagt: Im kaiserzeitlichen Ephesus ist das entscheidende Leitungsamt der Stadt mit einem verlässlichen Bindeglied zur römischen Herrschaft besetzt. Die unterschiedliche Kompetenzverteilung bzgl. der Entscheidungsbefugnis ist ein Indikator für die tatsächliche Partizipation der Bürgerschaft an den für sie wichtigen Beschlüssen: ob also Entscheidungen eher von unten nach oben oder eher von oben nach unten getroffen werden; in kulturellen Kategorien gesprochen: ob eher die typisch griechische Polisautonomie zur Geltung kommt oder eher typische Grundzüge der römischen Imperiumverwaltung. Kurz: wie sich die konkreten städtischen Verwaltungsstrukturen in die breite Skala der Möglichkeiten einordnen lassen. Denn die Veränderungen insbesondere in römischer Zeit sind weder gleichzeitig noch überall gleich verlaufen. In Termessos (Pisidien) scheinen auch in der Kaiserzeit noch „Athener“ Verhältnisse geherrscht zu haben.119 In der Tendenz zeigt sich jedoch eine Neigung zur durchaus freiwilligen Einbindung ins römische Herrschaftssystem mit entsprechenden Vergütungen und erwartetem Prestigegewinn, wobei die Partizipation der Bürgerschaft an politischen Prozessen schwindet, aber als höfliche Geste (auf Gebiete der Ehrerweisungen beschränkt) aufrecht erhalten wird.120

116 117 118

119 120

Athen) belassen, aber ihre Funktion auf innerstädtische Bereiche beschränkt – ganz im Sinn der „Besetzung“ der Außenpolitik durch Rom; vgl. ebd. 287. Von der Funktion her besteht eine Analogie zum Archontat in Bithynien (s. o.). Vgl. Apg 16,20.22.35.36.38. Zu diesem wichtigen Amt vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 288–91; Weiß, Amtsträger, 230 f. Nach einem verheerenden Erdbeben 23 n. Chr. fungierte Kaiser Tiberius höchstpersönlich nominell als „Stadtschreiber“ in Ephesus; vgl. P. Scherrer, „Ephesos“, DNP 3:1082. Vgl. Wesch-Klein, G., Die Provinzen des Imperium Romanum: Geschichte, Herrschaft, Verwaltung. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2016), 83; für alle, die in latinischen Städten ein Amt übernehmen, besteht – sozusagen als Anreiz – die Verfügung, dass sie nach Ablauf ihrer Amtszeit das römische Bürgerrecht erhalten; vgl. lex Salp. 21; Plin., Ep. X 79 f.; Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 274 (mit weiteren Belegen in Anm. 6). So gemäß Nijf, O. M. van, „Public Space and the Political Culture of Roman Termessos“ in van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.), Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 215–42; die Ekklesia hat sich im Theater getroffen. Vgl. Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 248–51. Insbesondere durch stärkere Gewichtung der literarischen Quellen (Dion von Prusa, Plutarch, Aelius Aristides) zeigt sich in der neueren Forschung die Tendenz, den verbliebenen Rest von Selbstverwaltung und den Einsatz für den innerstädtischen sozialen Ausgleich durch Euergetismusverhalten (mit reziprok vergoltenen Ehrungen) als politische Aktivität zu werten, die vor allem eines zum Ziel gehabt habe: das Einschreiten des Statthalters zu vermeiden; vgl. z. B. Salmeri, G., „Reconstructing the Political

88

Martin Ebner

Wird die Darstellung des Apostelkonvents in Apg 15,1–35 im Blick auf die Rezeption der Ersthörer im 1. Jh. n. Chr.121 evaluiert, ergibt sich hinsichtlich der Vorgänge: An all den Stellen, wo von 5donem in Verbindung mit Personen bzw. Gremien (im Dativ) die Rede ist, wird eine Beratungsphase, die in eine Abstimmung mündet, impliziert.122 Die Sachverhalte, über die beraten und abgestimmt wird, sind jedoch verschieden: Apostel, Presbyter samt Ekklesia, also die Vollversammlung, stimmen über die Personen ab, die als Gesandte nach Antiochia geschickt werden sollen (V. 22). Der Beschluss an sich, Gesandte auszuwählen und als autorisierte Interpretatoren des Briefes nach Antiochia zu schicken, wird laut Brief (V. 25–27) dagegen von den Aposteln und Presbytern allein gefasst, genauso wie die inhaltliche Entscheidung, die der Brief in V. 28 f. referiert (vgl. Apg 16,4). Sachlich greift dieser Beschluss auf, was Jakobus in V. 20 als Votum im Gremium der Apostel und Presbyter vorgetragen hat. Gemäß den Usancen, wie sie die Hörer aus den Vorgängen der städtischen Entscheidungsabläufe kennen, müssen sie davon ausgehen, dass über die beiden Voten, die in V. 7–11 (Petrus) bzw. V. 13–21 (Jakobus) referiert werden, beraten wurde. Dabei konnten eventuell kleinere Veränderungswünsche eingebracht werden.123 Am Ende findet eine Abstimmung statt, wobei die Mehrheit sich offensichtlich dem Vorschlag des Jakobus angeschlossen haben muss. Im Brief selbst wird neben dem „Wir“ der Briefabsender der „Heilige Geist“ als vorrangiges Subjekt des Beschlusses genannt. In theologischer Linie wird dadurch betont, dass der Beschluss letztlich durch Gottes Geist in den Menschen (vgl. Apg 21,11) bewirkt worden ist. Im Horizont der Institutionshierarchie des 1. Jh. n. Chr. ersetzt der „heilige Geist“ die dem Rat übergeordnete Beamtenebene der Archonten bzw. der Prytane, deren Position auch im Erzähltext auffälligerweise ausfällt. Vom Vorgehen her werden also unterschiedliche Entscheidungen auf zwei Gremien verteilt: Über die Personalfrage wird in der Vollversammlung (beraten und) abgestimmt, über die eigentliche inhaltliche Streitfrage und den Vorgang der Promulgation jedoch im kleinen Kreis der Apostel und Presbyter, die damit die Funktion eines Rates übernehmen, der allerdings ohne zugeordnete Beamte agiert, anders gesagt: deren Aufgaben mit übernimmt. Im Blick auf die normalen Vorgänge, die jedermann vor Augen stehen, bedeutet das jedoch: Apostel und Presbyter haben die Vollversammlung einberufen, ihre Entscheidungen bekannt gegeben, die Wahl der Gesandten per HandheLife and Culture of the Greek Cities of the Roman Empire“ in van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.), Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 197–214; van Nijf und Alston, „Culture“. 121 Unabhängig davon, wo genau innerhalb des Imperium Romanum man ihre Entstehung ansiedelt. 122 Zur Beschlussfassungsformel vgl. auch Neuberth, R., Demokratie im Volk Gottes? Untersuchungen zur Apostelgeschichte (SBB 46; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2001), 232–35. 123 So würde sich die Veränderung des Wortlauts in V. 29 institutionstechnisch ganz einfach erklären.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

89

bung durchgeführt sowie den Vorgang der Promulgation per Brief in die Wege geleitet. Dabei sind einige aus den üblichen städtischen Verfahren hier eingetragene Vorgänge wie Einberufung der Vollversammlung und Bekanntgabe des Beschlusses durch den Rat den Lesern schon vom ersten Streitfall und dessen „parlamentarischer“ Behebung aus Apg 6,1–7 bekannt,124 können also auch in Apg 15 entsprechend ergänzt werden. Evaluiert man die Darstellung unter traditionsgeschichtlichen Gesichtspunkten, ist der Augenzeugenbericht des Paulus in Gal 2,1–10 heranzuziehen, der ohne jegliche Gremienabfolge mit unterschiedlichen Kompetenzen auskommt. Die entscheidende Verhandlung über die Streitfrage, die von „Falschbrüdern“ aufgeworfen wird,125 wird von Paulus, Barnabas und Titus im direkten Gespräch und sozusagen pari pari mit den drei Jerusalemer „Säulen“ geführt und die Übereinkunft per Handschlag besiegelt. Lukas, dem über den Apostelkonvent sicher Traditionen vorliegen,126 hat also die Vorgänge so stilisiert, wie sie prinzipiell den institutionellen Abläufen in einer Stadt entsprechen. Dabei neigt er bei der Verteilung der Entscheidungskompetenzen eher der Polisautonomie zu. Dass der Rat (und nicht die Ekklesia) die entscheidenden Beschlüsse fasst, ist in der Kaiserzeit gang und gäbe. Dass der Rat von einer übergeordneten Instanz zusammengerufen wird, die ihrerseits die Anträge überprüft bzw. selbst einbringt, wie es in der Kaiserzeit ebenfalls üblich war, wird für den Jerusalemer Rat / la Lukas jedoch nicht erzählt. Das muss den Rezipienten auffallen. Haben sie gar Vorgänge wie in Ephesus bei der Annahme der Stiftung des C. Vibius Salutaris vor Augen, wo der Statthalter deutlichen Druck auf die lokalen Entscheidungen ausgeübt hat, dann können sie im erzählten Ablauf des Apostelkonvents Gott selbst als den maßgeblichen Impulsgeber erkennen, der sich jedoch in den Menschen versprachlicht, die sich Jesus bzw. nach ihm Gott selbst im Losverfahren ausgesucht haben. Denn die Ergänzung des Jerusalemer Rates, wie an der sogenannten „Nachwahl“ des Matthias zu sehen (vgl. Apg 1,15–26), geschieht 124 Hier sind es „die Zwölf“, die als „Rat“ fungieren, der die Ekklesia (pk/hor) zusammenruft (V. 2) und die bereits getroffene Beschlussfassung dort bekanntmacht, nämlich sieben Männer für die anstehende Aufgabe zu wählen (V. 3 f.). Das wird vom „gesamten pk/hor“ positiv aufgenommen und die Personalwahl (analog zu Apg 15,22) entsprechend durchgeführt (V. 5 f.). Semantische Linien zum „gesellschaftlichen Leben“ zieht auch Neuberth, Demokratie, 92–96, während Klein, H., Sie waren versammelt: Die Anfänge christlicher Versammlungen nach Apg 1–6. (FTS 72; Münster : Aschendorff, 2015), 251 f., sich auf Parallelen zu Num 27,15–23 LXX beschränkt. 125 Wo das geschieht, wird nicht gesagt; lediglich dass sie „unsere Freiheit ausspionieren“ (V. 4). 126 Wenn er nicht sogar die Paulusbriefe kennt; so ein Trend in der Lukasforschung; vgl. Matthews, S., „Fleshly Resurrection, Authority Claims, and the Scriptual Practices of Lukan Christianity“ Journal of Biblical Literature 136 (2017), 163–83; zur redaktionskritischen Eruierung von Traditionselementen vgl. Zmijewski, J., Die Apostelgeschichte (Regensburger Neues Testament; Regensburg: Pustet, 1994), 558–63; Weiser, A., Die Apostelgeschichte: Kapitel 13–28 (Ökumenischer Taschenbuchkommentar zum Neuen Testament 5/2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1985), 367–77.

90

Martin Ebner

organisatorisch – wie in Athen – durch ein Losverfahren, das jedoch parallel zur Rede vom „Heiligen Geist“ bei der Beschlussfassung des Konvents in Apg 15,28 theologisch aufgeladen und – analog zum Wahlverfahren der Beamten in römischer Zeit – mit präzisen Kriterien versehen ist, die allerdings nicht timokratisch bestimmt, sondern auf die Augenzeugenschaft ausgerichtet sind. Auch im Blick auf die Gesandtenwahl neigt Lk eher der Polisautonomie zu: In Städten mit römisch regulierter Verwaltung (s. 2.4) werden Gesandte von den Beamten beantragt und vom Rat gewählt,127 in Athen dagegen und offensichtlich auch noch in griechischen Städten des Ostens während der Kaiserzeit, selbstverständlich von der Ekklesia ad hoc bestellt.128 Auf der pragmatischen Ebene stellt Lukas mit den Abläufen, wie er sie für den Apostelkonvent in Apg 15,1–35 und die Einsetzung der „Sieben“129 in Apg 6,1–7 erzählt, ein Ideal für die Entscheidungsprozesse in den Gemeinden seiner eigenen Zeit vor Augen, das sich prinzipiell an den gängigen Abläufen der Städte orientiert, aber eigene Akzente setzt. Wenn Lukas erzählt, dass die Delegation aus Antiochia nach Jerusalem reist, um dort eine zu Hause aufgetretene, aber dort nicht einvernehmlich zu klärende Streitfrage zu lösen, dann können die Rezipienten darin eine Stilisierung der Jerusalemer Gemeinde in Analogie zum römischen Senat herauslesen. Instruktiv ist diesbezüglich der Brief (!), der den Gremien der Stadt der Oropier die Entscheidung des Senats über eine religiöse Streitfrage bekannt gibt, die dort zwischen den römischen Steuerpächtern und den Priestern des Amphiaraos bezüglich dessen Status als Gott130 ausgebrochen ist, aber vor Ort offensichtlich nicht zu lösen war. Der Brief schildert – wie der Brief der Apostel und Ältesten in Apg 15,24 – zunächst die Vorgänge: Die Streitparteien bekommen in Rom vor einem eigens dafür gebildeten Senatsausschuss eine Anhörung. Dort wird die Sache beraten und ein Votum erstellt, das die amtierenden Konsuln dann dem Senat zum Beschluss vorlegen. Im Brief wird dieser Beschluss am Ende im Wortlaut zitiert, wobei vorliegende Rechtstraditionen bereits im Vorfeld als Entscheidungsbegründung angegeben worden sind.131 Im Brief, der in Apg 15,23–29 den Brüdern in Antiochia, Syrien und Kilikien übermittelt wird, übernimmt – auf diesem Hintergrund – der Jerusalemer „Rat“ aus Aposteln und Ältesten die Rolle des römischen Senats und präsentiert sich analog dazu als Appellationszentrum der Christusgläubigen132 – mit einer entsprechenden Verfahrensordnung, zu der die Anhörung der 127 Vgl. lex Urs. 92; lex Irn. 45–47; Liebenam, Städteverwaltung, 353 f. 128 Für Athen vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 290; Inschrift von Oinoanda Z. 100; vgl. Wörrle, Stadt, 14. 129 Im Verfassungsmodell der griechischen Städte würde es sich dabei um Sonderaufgaben handeln, für die Experten von der Ekklesia bestimmt werden, in Athen etwa für den militärischen Bereich die Strategen bzw. für den Finanzbereich die Schatzmeister ; vgl. Bleicken, Demokratie, 289 f.299–301; Welwei, Polis, 218–20. 130 Und der damit verbundenen Befreiung von der Steuerpflicht. 131 IG VII 413; SIG3 747 (73 v. Chr.). 132 Rom dagegen wird „ans Ende der Welt“ (Apg 1,8; vgl. PsSal 8,15) versetzt.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

91

Streitparteien133 genauso gehört wie der Rückgriff auf Traditionen als Begründungsmuster und die Übermittlung des Beschlusses per Brief.134 Unter dieser organisationstechnischen Perpektive bekommen auch die Mahnungen des Paulus bzgl. der Ekklesia-Zusammenkunft in 1 Kor 14 neue Valenz: Jede135 und jeder darf etwas beitragen, allerdings muss es für alle verständlich sein und soll in geordneten Bahnen verlaufen (V. 40). Dabei sollen die Wortmeldungen der Propheten von anderen beurteilt werden. Es gibt also Feedback bzw. Gegenrede – auf der Ebene der Ekklesia, was die paulinische Gemeindeorganisation in die Nähe der Athener Verfassung rückt. 2.4 Ein reguliertes Verhältnis mit Rom und die Stellung des pater familias Anders als die Apg zeigen die Past (Anfang/Mitte des 2. Jh. n. Chr.)136 in ihrer Organisation für die Christusgläubigen eher die Tendenz zu einem typisch römischen Format. Im Horizont der neu gefundenen und neu in die Diskussion gekommenen Stadtgesetze (lex municipalis)137 lassen sich diesbezüglich spezielle Evaluationen erzielen. Obwohl man solche gewöhnlich auf Bronzetafeln geschriebene Stadtgesetze zunächst vor allem in Südspanien in der Provinz Baetica (unter Caesar bzw. Vespasian/Domitian erlassen),138 dann auch im Donauraum139 gefunden hat, gehen Spezialisten davon aus, dass

133 In Jerusalem allerdings ohne die Bildung eines Unterausschusses. 134 Vgl. den kursorischen Rückgriff des Petrus auf das „Joch“ der Väter in Apg 15,10 sowie den ausdrücklichen Rückbezug des Jakobus auf Am 9,11 f. 135 Vgl. Anm. 84 sowie die paritätischen Aussagen in 1 Kor 11,2–16 (s. 2.2). 136 Zur Datierung vgl. Häfner, G., „Die Pastoralbriefe (1Tim/ 2Tim/Tit)“ in Ebner, M./Schreiber, S. (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 2d ed. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2013), 456–79, 468 f.; für das zweite Viertel des 2. Jh. plädiert Theobald, M., Israel-Vergessenheit in den Pastoralbriefen: Ein neuer Vorschlag zu ihrer historisch-theologischen Verortung im 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr. unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Ignatius-Briefe (SBS 229; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2016), 330 f. 137 Vgl. Galsterer, H., „Die römischen Stadtgesetze“ in Capogrossi Colognesi, L./Gabba, E. (eds.), Gli Statuti Municipali (Pavia: IUSS Press, 2006), 31–56. 138 Lex Ursonensis (CIL 5439; Caesar 44 v. Chr.); lex Salpensana (CIL II 1963), lex Malacitana (CIL 1964) und lex Irnitana (ed. Wolf, Lex; Vespasian 70er Jahre; Domitian 90er Jahre); zur Datierung vgl. Wolf, J. (ed.), Die Lex Irnitana: Ein römisches Stadtrecht aus Spanien. Lateinisch und deutsch (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2011), 18–20. Nachdem die einzelnen unter Vespasian/Domitian erlassenen Stadtgesetze sich bis in die Zählung der Rubriken hinein gleichen, spricht die neuere Forschung von einer lex flavia, also von flavischen Stadtgesetzen, die sich nur in kleinen, auf die jeweilige Stadt bezogenen individuellen Besonderheiten unterscheiden; vgl. Galsterer, „Stadtgesetze“, 46 f. 139 In Ratiara (Trajan) und Troesmis (Commodus); vgl. Eck, W., „Fragmente eines neuen Stadtgesetzes der lex coloniae Ulpiae Traianae Ratiariae“ Athenaeum. Studi periodici di letteratura e storia dell’antichit/ 104 (2016), 538–44; Eck, W., „Die Lex municipalis Troesmensium: Ihr rechtlicher und politisch-sozialer Kontext“ in Alexandrescu, C.-G. (ed.), Troesmis – A Changing Landscape: Romans and the Others in the Lower Danube Region in the First Century BC –

92

Martin Ebner

derartige Stadtgesetze für alle von Rom kreierten, also in den Status einer Kolonie bzw. einer latinischen Stadt erhobenen Gemeinwesen,140 vorauszusetzen sind.141 Geregelt wird durch ein Munizipalgesetz die gesamte öffentliche Verwaltung mit einer einheitlichen Gremien- (Rat: Ordo decurionum, Volksversammlung) und Ämterstruktur (Duoviri, Ädile, Quaestoren), einer ausgefeilten Wahlordnung für die Beamten samt Kriterien der Wählbarkeit142 – u. a. werden ein Mindestalter und ein bestimmtes Vermögen vorausgesetzt – sowie Festlegung der Kompetenzbereiche, wobei eine Art Präsidialstruktur, die von den Duoviri sowohl im Blick auf die anderen Magistrate als auch im Blick auf den Rat und die Volksversammlung wahrgenommen wird, typisch ist.143 Die „Gabe“ eines Stadtgesetzes (lex data) stellt den ultimativen Schritt dar, mit dem in einer neu eingerichteten Provinz eine Stadt in ein dauerhaft reguliertes Verhältnis mit Rom tritt, das gleichzeitig eine gewisse Selbständigkeit verbürgt, allerdings in den von Rom vorgegebenen Grundlinien, wobei Einzelheiten mit dem zuständigen Statthalter ausgehandelt werden konnten.144 Während eine lex provinciae die Rahmenvorgaben aufstellt, die prin-

140

141

142 143 144

Third Century AD. Proceedings of an International Colloquium Tulcea, 7th–10th of October 2015 (Biblioteca Istro Pontica˘. Seria Arheologie 12; Cluj-Napoca: Editura Mega, 2016), 33–46. Nach Galsterer, H., „Wie funktioniert eine römische Stadt? Die administrative Infrastruktur römischer Gemeinden“ Kölner Jahrbuch 43 (2010), 257–65, 260, dürfte es hinsichtlich der Verordnungen kaum mehr Unterschiede gegeben haben; zur Erhebung von Antiochia (Pisidien) zur Kolonie als Fallbeispiel vgl. John, Galaterbrief, 83–105. Vgl. Eck, „Fragmente“, 538 f.: „Dass solche Grundgesetze, die das innere Leben regelten, für alle von Rom gegründeten Gemeinden bestanden, darf man ohnehin auch ohne direkten Nachweis voraussetzen“; Eck, „Lex“, 34: „… dass individuelle Stadtgesetze bei der Gründung jeder neuen Gemeinde erlassen wurden, was freilich aus systematisch-strukturellen Gründen ohnehin zu vermuten war“. Dass man bisher im Osten des Reiches noch keine solchen Stadtgesetze gefunden hat, mag außer der Raubanfälligkeit des begehrten Materials auch damit zusammenhängen, dass insbesondere kleinere in den Rang einer latinischen Stadt erhobene Gemeinden mit der Veröffentlichung einen Prestigeeffekt erzielen wollten, während große Städte, die sofort mit Einrichtung der Provinz zu Kolonien erhoben wurden, entweder darauf verzichteten (der Text lag in schriftlicher Form auf Papyrus geschrieben in den Amtsstuben) oder erst dann reagierten, wenn die Kleinstädte ringsum sich damit brüsteten, so etwa die Kolonie Iulia Genetiva (lex Ursonensis), die 45/44 v. Chr. von Caesar gegründet wurde, aber ihr Munizipalgesetz erst in spätflavischer Zeit in Bronze graviert ausgestellt hat – genau zu dem Zeitpunkt, als die anderen kleineren Städte ringsum ihr Munizipalgesetz erhielten; vgl. Galsterer, „Stadtgesetze“, 43–45. Das geht aus der allgemeinen Formulierung hervor : „… denen nach diesem Stadtrecht erlaubt ist, sich um dieses Amt zu bewerben (petere licebit)“: lex Mal. 51; vgl. Galsterer, “Stadtgesetze,” 43. Vgl. Galsterer, „Stadt“, 262.264. Zum Vorgehen vgl. Galsterer, „Stadtgesetze“, 46–48.51–54; Wolf, Lex, 18 f; zum praktischen Umgang mit evtl. divergierenden Rechtskulturen vgl. Humfress, C., „Law’s Empire: Roman Universalism and Legal Practice“ in Rapp, C./Drake, H. A. (eds.), The City in the Classical and Post-Classical World: Changing Contexts of Power and Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 81–108.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

93

zipiell für alle Städte gelten,145 werden durch die Stadtgesetze Konkretisierungen vorgenommen und gleichzeitig – für kooperationsfreudige Eliten – Anreize gesetzt, diesen Status zu erstreben: In einer latinischen Stadt werden die Magistrate nach ihrem Amtsjahr mit dem römischen Bürgerrecht belohnt, das für ihren gesamten Haushalt gilt (Latium minus);146 eine Verfügung, die eventuell auch auf den gesamten Rat der Dekurionen ausgedehnt werden konnte (Latium maius). Für die neuen römischen Bürger bestehen steuerliche Vorteile: Sie sind von der Grund- und Bodensteuer befreit, müssen dafür allerdings Erbsteuer und Freilassungssteuer entrichten;147 außerdem bietet sich die Möglichkeit, mit dem jeweiligen Statthalter in interne Verhandlungen zu treten und lokale Besonderheiten, etwa die Anzahl der bisherigen Ratsmitglieder auf Dauer festschreiben zu lassen. Im Grunde ist die „Gabe“ eines Stadtgesetzes ein Mittel der Romanisierung, das eine von unten wachsende Assimilation befördert. Es zeigt sich nämlich, dass die Städte ihrerseits sich auf dieses Ziel „vorbereitet“ und entsprechende Strukturen von sich aus ausgebildet haben, wie etwa die Städte Irni bzw. Malaca mit einem Stadtrat und Magistraturen, die den römischen offenbar nachgebildet waren, samt einer Bürgerversammlung.148 Auffällig in den Stadtgesetzen sind die Ausführungen zum privatrechtlichen Bereich. Sie betreffen die Stärkung und gleichzeitig den Schutz der Stellung des pater familias – mit seiner unumschränkten „Gewalt“ (potestas) über sämtliche Personen und die Finanzen seines Haushalts.149 Cato d. Ä. spricht sogar von der „unumschränkten magistratischen Gewalt“ (imperium) des pater familias analog zum Zensor.150 Die flavischen Stadtgesetze legen 145 Vgl. generell dazu Hoyos, B. D., „Lex Provinciae and Governor’s Edict“ Atichthon. Journal of the Australian Society for Classical Studies 7 (1973), 47–53. Von einer lex provinciae als Voraussetzung für die Vereinheitlichung der Verwaltungsstrukturen darf man sicher für die Provinz Bithynien-Pontos unter Pompeius 65/64 v. Chr. (vgl. Plin., Ep. X 79 f.112: lex Pompeia … quae Bithynis data; vgl. Ameling, „Archontat“) und für Griechenland bei seiner Neuordnung 146 v. Chr. mit der Einsetzung von Zehnerkommissionen in den Städten (vgl. Paus., Descr. VII 16,9) ausgehen; vgl. Wörrle, Stadt, 91 f. Zur Provinz Asia vgl. Coudry und Kirbihler, „lex“; zu den „neuen Gesetzgebungen“ in der Provinz Lycia vgl. Wörrle, Stadt, 96–98. 146 Vgl. lex Irn. 21 = lex Salp. 21; Plin., Ep. X 79. 147 Vgl. Pfeiffer, S., Die Zeit der Flavier : Vespasian – Titus – Domitian (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2009), 98. 148 Vgl. lex Mal. 52, wo von Duoviri die Rede ist, qui nunc sunt item. Zum Phänomen vgl. Wolf, J., „Irni vor der Irnitana“ in Wolf, J., Lex Irnitana: Gesammelte Aufsätze, (Freiburger Rechtsgeschichtliche Abhandlungen 66; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2012), 221–38; im Blick auf die lex Osca (90 v. Chr.) spricht Galsterer, „Stadtgesetze“, 39, von „einer bemerkenswerten Selbstromanisation“. 149 Vgl. Martin, J., „Verwandtschaftsbeziehungen und Handlungsmöglichkeiten von Männern und Frauen von der Frühzeit Roms bis zum Ende der Republik“ in Haake, M./Harders, A.-C. (eds.), Politische Kultur und soziale Struktur der Römischen Republik: Bilanzen und Perspektiven. Akten der internationalen Tagung anlässlich des 70. Todestages von Friedrich Münzer (Münster, 18.–20. Oktober 2012) (Alte Geschichte; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2017), 187–95, der die rechtliche Stellung des pater familias als Kreation der frühen Republik sieht. 150 Vgl. Gell., Noct. att. X 23,4 f.

94

Martin Ebner

fest:151 Wer auch immer, Mann oder Frau, durch ein Edikt des Kaisers das römische Bürgerrecht erhält, bleibt in der Hausgewalt derjenigen Person, der er zuvor unterstellt war (22). Das Gleiche gilt für Freigelassene, die römische Bürger werden, im Blick auf ihre Patronatspflichten ihrem ehemaligen Herrn gegenüber (97). Umgekehrt entbindet der Wechsel eines pater familias ins römische Bürgerrecht die eigenen Freigelassenen nicht von ihrer Patronatspflicht (23). Herrscht bei Wahlen Stimmengleichheit, so wird derjenige Kandidat vorgezogen, der verheiratet ist und (mehr) Kinder hat (56), die entscheidenden Kriterien dafür, überhaupt in die Stellung des pater familias eingesetzt zu werden. Mit diesen Vorschriften wird in die griechischen Haushalte, in denen der pater familias eher eine Moderatorenfunktion innehat,152 die typisch römische Konzeption des pater familias implantiert. Dahinter dürften politische Absichten stecken; denn der pater familias hat gegenüber den in seinem Haushalt ihm unterstehenden Personen (familia/ oWjor) die gleiche Machtfülle, wie sie der Kaiser für das gesamte Imperium hat. Plakativ zeigt sich das im Titel pater patriae, den die Kaiser ab Augustus tragen und der in den entsprechenden Rubriken auch eigens genannt wird (vgl. 22). Im Unterschied zu den griechischen Poleis, die je für sich autonom sind und sich allenfalls untereinander vernetzen, setzt das römische Imperium auf eine patriarchalische Herrschaftsstruktur, die gerade von Augustus als Kreator der Prinzipatsherrschaft propagandistisch gefördert wird. Er selbst, als pater patriae, stilisiert sich als idealer pater familias, der auf die rechte Ordnung im Haus bedacht ist. Er selbst hält die Frauen in seinem Haus zum Wollespinnen an und zeigt sich gern in den von ihnen gefertigten Kleidern (vgl. Suet., Aug. 64,2; 73) und stellt seinen Enkel Germanicus als vielfachen Familienvater als Vorbild für die jungen Männer vor Augen (ebd. 34). Damit wird signalisiert: An der Spitze stehen kann nur, wer seinen eigenen Haushalt in Ordnung hält. Und: Es sind diese „ordentlichen“ Haushalte, die dem gesamten Imperium als Stütze dienen. Hier wird gelernt und praktiziert, was im öffentlichen Leben für den reibungslosen Ablauf entscheidend ist. Die Stadtgesetze zeigen, dass der unangetastete Verfügungsbereich des pater familias im Gefüge des Imperiums so wichtig ist, dass er per Gesetz sogar vor Eingriffen des Kaisers geschützt bleibt. In diesen Horizont gestellt ergeben sich für die Intention der Past eventuell neue Pointen. Sie können folgendermaßen auf den Punkt gebracht werden: Vorbereitung auf die Integration in das römische Herrschaftsgefüge bei gleichzeitiger Respektierung der subsidiären Hausstrukturen der christlichen Gruppen durch deren entsprechend einheitliche Reorganisation im Vorlauf 151 Vgl. den Kommentar von Gonz#lez, J./Crawford, M., „The Lex Irnitana: A New Copy of the Flavian Municipal Law“ The Journal of Roman Studies 76 (1986), 147–243, 204.216.237; sowie Plin., Ep. X 11. 152 Zu den unterschiedlichen Hauskonzeptionen und zum entsprechenden Hausdiskurs im 1. Jh. n. Chr. vgl. Ebner, Stadt, 168–77.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

95

dazu. Zum Einzelnen: Von der Form her ahmen 1 Tim und Tit die Gattung der mandata principis nach, also die Form derjenigen Briefe, die römische Kaiser ihren Statthaltern als Beglaubigungsschreiben zum Dienstantritt in die Provinzen mitgeben.153 Sie enthalten Vorschriften für den Statthalter (in der 2. Person formuliert) sowie Anweisungen im Blick auf die Bevölkerung vor Ort (in der 3. Person formuliert). Fiktiv übernimmt Ps.-Paulus in den Past damit die Stellung des Kaisers, der Timotheus und Titus während seiner Abwesenheit, also sozusagen als Statthalter, mit Aufgaben zur Umstrukturierung der von ihm selbst neu eingerichteten Christus-Provinzen betraut: der Provinz Asia mit Sitz des „Paulus-Statthalters“ in Ephesus (1 Tim 1,3) bzw. der Provinz Creta (Tit 1,5). In den genuin paulinischen Gemeinden sollen sie eine Vereinheitlichung der Amtsstrukturen durchführen. Anstelle der vielfältigen, je nach Charisma ad hoc übernommenen und zum Teil nach dem jeweiligen Lokalkolorit benannten Funktionen154 sollen in Zukunft Episkopen die Gemeinden leiten.155 Um dieses Amt kann man sich bewerben (1 Tim 3,1).156 Ausgewählt (durch Prophetie) und eingesetzt wird man durch das Presbyterium,157 einem Ältestenrat, den es in den paulinischen Gemeinden in der Zwischenzeit offensichtlich schon gibt, der aber – vergleichbar mit Apg – ohne Magistrate/Archonten, also ohne übergeordnete Beamten auskommt. Das soll gemäß dem Reformprogramm der Past nun anders werden: durch die Einführung der Episkopie. Deren Konzeption wird aus den Qualitätsmerkmalen ersichtlich, die für diese Position erforderlich sind, sowie aus der Qualifikation des Bereichs, für den sie als zuständig gilt: für die Ekklesia als „Haus Gottes“ (oWjor heoO: 1 Tim 3,15). Mit dieser Identifizierung ist im Grunde alles gesagt: Der Episkope fungiert in der Position eines pater familias – „wie ein Hausverwalter Gottes“ (¢r heoO oQjom|lor: Tit 1,7). Wesentliche Qualitätsmerkmale für die Übernahme dieses Amtes sind: Er muss verheiratet sein (1 Tim 3,2)158 und seinem eigenen Haus(halt) gut vorstehen, indem er seine Kinder „in Unterordnung“ erzieht, sodass sein Verhalten seiner gesellschaftlichen Stellung als pater familias entspricht (selm|tgr159 : 1 Tim 3,4). Als Leitgedanke 153 Vgl. Wolter, M., Die Pastoralbriefe als Paulustradition (FRLANT 146; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988). 154 Vgl. vor allem die jubeqm^seir (1 Kor 12,28) unter den Charismen in der Hafenstadt Korinth. 155 Eine Bezeichnung, die Paulus nur für die Gemeinde in Philippi kennt (Phil 1,1) und die vermutlich dem dortigen Vereinsmilieu abgelauscht ist; vgl. Pilhofer, P., Philippi: Bd. 1: Die erste christliche Gemeinde Europas (WUNT 87; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 144–146.226–228. 156 Zum Folgenden vgl. insbesondere die Kommentare von Roloff, J., Der erste Brief an Timotheus (EKKNT XV; Zürich, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/ Neukirchener, 1988), bes. 169–81; Oberlinner, L., Die Pastoralbriefe: Erste Folge: Kommentar zum ersten Timotheusbrief (HTKNT 11,2; Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1994), bes. 109–31.143–45.248–60; sowie Theobald, Israel-Vergessenheit, 360–72. 157 Wofür Timotheus in 1 Tim 4,14 als Modell fungiert. 158 Allerdings mit einer einzigen Frau, was dem Ideal der univira entspricht. 159 Vgl. Roloff, 1 Tim, 116 f.

96

Martin Ebner

wird unmittelbar zitiert: „Wenn aber einer seinem eigenen Haus nicht vorzustehen weiß, wie kann er sich um die Ekklesia Gottes kümmern?“ (1 Tim 3,5).160 Entsprechend hat er zu agieren (sozusagen in Durchführung der Aufträge an Timotheus): Dass Frauen (weiterhin) in der Gemeindeöffentlichkeit lehren, wird ihnen untersagt. Sowohl im großen „Haus“ der Ekklesia als auch im Privathaus (gegenüber ihrem eigenen pater familias) sollen sie „in Stille und aller Unterordnung lernen“ (1 Tim 2,11 f.).161 In den Stand der von der Gemeinde besoldeten „Witwen“ sollen nur tatsächliche Witwen über 60 Jahren162 aufgenommen werden, sofern diese keine Kinder (mit einem eigenen Haushalt) haben, die für sie sorgen könnten. Alle anderen jungen Frauen sollen „heiraten, Kinder gebären und sich um den Haushalt kümmern (oQjodespote?m)“, sich also einem pater familias unterstellen und so keinen Anlass zu Schmähungen von außen geben (vgl. 1 Tim 5,3–15). Nachdem der Episkope als Hausverwalter Gottes nur einem Teil von dessen Großhaushalt vorsteht und Gott selbst somit als eigentlicher pater familias des gesamten „Hauses“ der auf verschiedene Provinzen in Haus-Untereinheiten verzweigten Ekklesia bestimmt wird,163 ergibt sich auch keine strukturelle Konkurrenz164 zum jeweils politisch agierenden basike}r, wie im Osten der Kaiser tituliert wird,165 und allen, die (von ihm übertragene) „übergeordnete Macht“ (rpeqow^) haben: Für sie kann gebetet werden, damit die EkklesiaTeil-Häuser in einem geordneten Verhältnis – also ohne als Verschwörungsgruppe wahrgenommen zu werden166 – ihren eigentlichen Aufgaben nachgehen können, nämlich in Lehre und Verhalten alle Menschen zur Wahrheit zu führen (1 Tim 2,1–7), womit sie sich als philosophische Gruppen präsentieren. 160 Die Analogie zielt ausdrücklich auf die patriarchale Leitung des jeweiligen Hauses ab. Das macht einen metaphorischen Gebrauch des Begriffs, wie ihn Zamfir, K., „Is the ekkle¯sia a Household (of God)? Reassessing the Notion of oWjor heoO in 1 Tim 3.15“ New Testament Studies 60 (2014), 511–28 vorschlägt („quasi-cosmic space“) unwahrscheinlich. 161 Zur Einordnung in den römischen Haus-Kontext vgl. Dettinger, D., Neues Leben in der alten Welt: Der Beitrag frühchristlicher Schriften des späten ersten Jahrhunderts zum Diskurs über familiäre Strukturen in der griechisch-römischen Welt (ABuG 59; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2017), 291–300. 162 Damit wird die Verordnung der Ehegesetze des Augustus noch übertroffen, nach denen Frauen zwischen zwanzig und fünfzig Jahren verheiratet sein müssen. 163 Mit einzelnen Episkopen als „Hausverwaltern“ pro provinzialer Haus-Untereinheit, in der sie in der Funktion eines pater familias vor Ort agieren; in jeder Stadt gibt es weiterhin ein Presbyterium, dessen Mitglieder allerdings vom zuständigen Episkopen eingesetzt werden (Tit 1,5) und die seiner Oberaufsicht unterstehen (1 Tim 5,17–22). Diese Präzisierung gestaffelter Zuständigkeitsbereiche ergibt sich durch die Analogie zu römischen Verwaltungsstrukturen; zur Substrukturierung antiker Häuser vgl. Schöllgen, G./Dassmann, E., „Art. Haus“ RAC 13 (1986), 801–905, bes. 815.825 f.; vgl. D. Rathbone, Art. vilicus, in: DNP 12/2 (2002) 209 f. 164 Inhaltlich wird jedoch ein universaler Anspruch angewendet, nämlich alle Menschen zur Erkenntnis der Wahrheit zu führen, allerdings unter dem Vorzeichen der geordneten Verhältnisse. 165 Vgl. 1 Tim 2,2; 1 Petr 2,13.17; 1 Clem 37,2; Jos., Bell. III 351; V 563; vgl. Roloff, 1 Tim, 115. 166 Vgl. die entsprechenden Verbote und Sanktionen in den Stadtgesetzen: lex Urs. 106; lex Irn. 74.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

97

Im Horizont der Stadtgesetze betrachtet lässt sich diese von den Past projektierte Umstrukturierung der paulinischen Gemeinden einerseits im Sinn einer „Vorbereitung“ auf ein reguliertes Verhältnis zum bzw. eine Eingliederung in den römischen Herrschaftsapparat verstehen, womit zugleich der Geruch unerlaubter Versammlungen mit internen Strukturen, die der imperialen Standesgesellschaft zuwider laufen, ferngehalten werden könnte; andererseits als Versuch, für die dann vorzeigbare Haus-Formation der Ekklesia die Respektierung der subsidiären pater familias-Rechte zu erreichen, wie das für die einzelnen Haushalte innerhalb einer von Rom regulierten latinischen Stadt der Fall war. Damit wäre um den Preis der Assimilation an die imperialen Herrschaftsstrukturen eine – innerhalb dieses Systems – anerkannte Eigenständigkeit gewonnen. Eine Win-Win-Situation, die inhaltlich jedoch im krassen Widerspruch zum Beginn der paulinischen Gemeinden steht: Hat Paulus die römischen Provinzial-Territorien unterminiert, indem er in deren Zentren, den Provinzhauptstädten, Gruppen etabliert hat, in deren sozialen Strukturen die römische Ständeordnung aufgelöst wurde, und darin bereits den entscheidenden Schachzug einer Gegeneroberung für den König Christus gesehen, so präparieren die Past – geradezu deckungsgleich mit den römischen Provinzeinheiten – die eigenen Gruppen von oben (mit geradezu statthalterlicher Autorität) für die Zusammenarbeit mit und die Integration in das römische Herrschaftssystem, indem sie ihnen einheitlich eine streng patriarchalisch ausgerichtete Regulierung zu geben versuchen und damit für diese provinzialen Haus-Einheiten die Anerkennung einer gewissen Selbständigkeit zu gewinnen erhoffen. Im Rahmen der vielen Schriften des neutestamentlichen Kanons ist das eine ausgesprochene Minderheitenposition. Aber sie hat sich, pragmatisch wie sie war, durchgesetzt. Den wohl heftigsten Widerpart dazu stellt das Markusevangelium dar, das sich einer patriarchalen Führung des Gemeindehauses in Analogie zur vorfindlichen römischen Ordnung offensiv widersetzt hat. Gemäß Mk 10,29 f. macht es geradezu das Kennzeichen echter Nachfolge aus, dass (alternativ) „Haus oder Brüder oder Schwestern oder Mutter oder Vater oder Kinder oder Äcker um meinet- und um des Evangeliums willen“ verlassen werden, aber hundertfach in dieser Zeit – und zwar kumulativ – als Gewinn zu erwarten ist: „Häuser und Brüder und Schwestern und Mütter und Kinder und Äcker“. Die Position des pater familias jedoch bleibt unbesetzt.167

167 Ehemalige patres familias nehmen innerhalb der christlichen Gemeinde die Position von Brüdern ein; vgl. Mk 3,31–35.

98

Martin Ebner

2.5 Die Gottesstadt, die auf die Erde niedersteigt (Offb 21,1–22,5) Auch eine Spätschrift des Neuen Testaments, die Offenbarung des Johannes,168 in der Reihenfolge des Kanons das Abschlussbuch, bleibt bei einer hartnäckigen Verweigerung gegenüber dem Imperium Romanum und fordert – einer deutlichen Assimilierungstendenz in den eigenen Reihen (Nikolaiten, Prophetin Isebel) zum Trotz – zu einer kritischen Absetzung heraus.169 Unter dem Motto „Geht heraus aus der Stadt!“ (vgl. Offb 18,4) wird das Programm auf den Punkt gebracht und am Ende des Buches durch die Schilderung einer Alternativstadt ins Bild gesetzt. Wie hinsichtlich von Stadtbeschreibungen vor allem an Pausanias’ Descriptio Graecae zu studieren ist,170 wird den Lesern nur das ausführlich beschrieben, worauf sie achten und was ihnen ins Auge fallen soll. Anders gesagt: Die Leerstellen sind für die Eruierung der Leserlenkung von entscheidender Bedeutung. Für Pausanias hilft dazu der Abgleich mit den archäologischen Daten. Im Fall der fiktiven Gottesstadt in Offb 21,1–22,5 genügt das alltägliche Erfahrungswissen, um die Besonderheiten dieser Stadt, die aus dem Himmel auf die Erde herniedersteigt (V. 2) hervortreten zu lassen. Allerdings ist in den meisten Fällen jüdisches Hintergrundwissen vonnöten, um die versteckten Pointen zu entschlüsseln. Das jedoch kann bei den Adressaten vorausgesetzt werden.171 In dieser Fokussierung sei auf einige Punkte hingewiesen: (1) Vom Outfit her ist die Gottesstadt eine jüdische Stadt: mit zwölf Toren, die die Namen der zwölf Stämme Israels tragen (vgl. Ez 48,30–34) – fortgeführt von den Namen der zwölf Apostel des Lammes auf den Grundsteinen der Mauer. Aber sie ist offen für „Gottes Völker (kao_)“ im Plural (Offb 21,3; vgl. 5,9; 7,9), also für alle Menschen, die nicht unter die Ausschlusskriterien der beiden Lasterkataloge in Offb 21,8.27 fallen,172 sich also von den Assimilierungstendenzen ferngehalten haben.173 Als solche sind sie ins „Buch des 168 Gewöhnlich in die Regierungszeit Domitians datiert; augenblicklich gewinnen Spätdatierungen (Trajan bzw. Hadrian) an Bedeutung; vgl. Schreiber, S., „Die Offenbarung des Johannes“ in Ebner, M./Schreiber, S. (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 2d ed. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2013), 566–93, 576 f. 169 Vgl. Schreiber, „Offenbarung“, 577–86; vgl. auch Korner, R., „The Ekkle¯sia of Early ChristFollowers in Asia Minor as the Eschatological New Jerusalem: Counter-Imperial Rhetoric?“ in Kemezis, A. (ed.), Urban Dreams and Realities in Antiquity.: Remains and Representations of the Ancient City (Mnemosyne: Supplementum 375; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 455–98. 170 Vgl. Auffarth, C., „,Verräter – Übersetzer‘? Pausanias, das römische Patrai und die Identität der Griechen in der Achaea“, in Cancik, H./Rüpke, J. (eds.), Römische Reichsreligion und Provinzialreligion (Tübingen: Mohr, 1997), 219–38. 171 Zur kulturellen Verortung von Verfasser und Adressaten vgl. Schreiber, „Offenbarung“, 573–76. 172 Der Lasterkatalog in V. 7 wird mit „feige, treulos, mit Gräueln behaftet“ angeführt und in V. 27 unter dem Oberbegriff „Unreinheit“ aufgegriffen. 173 Vgl. Giesen, H., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (Regensburger Neues Testament; Regensburg: Pustet, 1997), 459 f.472 f.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

99

Lebens“ eingetragen (Offb 21,27), also in Analogie zu entsprechenden Bürgerlisten der Städte Vollbürger der Gottesstadt, die damit hinter der traditionell jüdischen Außenfront ein multiethnisches Gepräge hat. (2) Aber damit nicht genug. Im Normalfall weisen griechische Städte das hippodamisch-orthogonale Straßenmuster auf, in das Tempel, öffentliche Gebäude und Plätze integriert sind. Den typisch römischen Stempel einer Stadt174 erkennt man an den beiden Hauptstraßen, cardo und decumanus,175 die deutlich breiter als alle anderen Straßen und architektonisch durch Kolonnaden zu beiden Seiten hervorgehoben sind. Im Idealfall legen sie ein Achsenkreuz über die Stadt, gelegentlich müssen sie sich den geographischen Gegebenheiten anpassen, aber auf jeden Fall führen sie im Schnittpunkt zum Forum, wo sich mit Kapitol bzw. Kaisertempel und Basilika die römische Zentralmacht religiös-symbolisch sowie rechtlich real in Szene setzt.176 Das Straßennetz der Gottesstadt, das sich der Leser aufgrund der drei Tore auf jeder Seite mental leicht vorstellen kann, entspricht diesem Muster gerade nicht: Die dreimal drei Hauptstraßen, die die Stadt durchqueren, gliedern sie insgesamt in sechzehn Viertel. Sie führen nicht zu einem architektonisch aufgeladenen Machtzentrum,177 sondern sind „Lebensadern“ für die Bewohner : Anstelle von Kolonnaden, hinter denen gewöhnlich die vornehmsten Geschäfte der Stadt ihre Waren feilbieten, werden sie von Fruchtbaumalleen, gepflanzt an kristallklarem Wasser, gesäumt, deren Früchte und heilende Blätter allen Bewohnern frei zur Verfügung stehen – im weitverzweigten Straßennetz von überall her fast gleich nahe (Offb 22,2).178 (3) Was das eigentliche „Stadtbild“ angeht, ist für antike Autoren besonders die Größe und Ausdehnung einer Stadt ausschlaggebend.179 Um höhere Zahlen zu erreichen, bemisst zum Beispiel Plinius d. Ä. die Größe Roms an der Länge aller Wege, die zusammengerechnet sich auf etwas mehr als sechzig Meilen belaufen würden; und wenn man auch noch die Höhe der Gebäude in Rechnung stellen würde, so werde Rom an Größe von keiner Stadt der Welt über174 Idealtypisch verwirklicht in den coloniae maritimae an der Küste Latiums (vgl. Zanker, „City“, 26–29), wobei die Übereinstimmung mit der Struktur der Legionslager verblüffend ist (vgl. Ebner, Stadt, 46–48). 175 Vgl. Mazor, G., „Urban Architecture in the Eastern Roman Provinces and the Image of Empire“ in Charlesworth, J. H. (ed.), Jesus Research: New Methodologies and Perceptions. The Second Princeton–Prague Symposium on Jesus Research, Princeton 2007 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014), 178–89, 184 f.; Zanker, „City“, 27. 176 Zanker, „City“, 33–35, sieht in dieser Verbindung von sakralem und politischem Raum ein typisch römisches Konzept. 177 Davon ist nirgends die Rede. Wo der Thron Gottes steht (Offb 22,1), wird nirgends gesagt, nur seine Funktion benannt: Er ist Ausgangspunkt für den Paradiesfluss. 178 Analog zu n}kom/Baum im Sinn von „Gebäum“ (vgl. Giesen, Offb, 474) wird auch pkate?a in Offb 22,2 im Sinn von „Straßennetz“ generisch zu verstehen sein. Im Sinn von Promenade mit einem allerdings übelriechenden Fluss an der Seite findet sich das griechische Wort als Lehnwort (platea) bei Plin., Ep. X 98. 179 Vgl. Schalles, „Miracula“, 26–28.

100

Martin Ebner

troffen (Nat. 3,67). Auch die Seitenlängen des Neuen Jerusalem werden von Ez 48 über die Entwürfe in den Qumranschriften180 bis hin zu Sib. Or. 5,252, wonach sich die Mauern des neuen Jerusalem bis nach Joppe ans Meer erstrecken, immer größer. Eine normale Stadt wie Timgad in Nordafrika brachte es auf ca. 1.100 x 1.200 Fuß (ca. 335 m) Seitenbreite. Die quadratisch geformte Gottesstadt dagegen misst pro Seite 12.000 Stadien, also ungefähr 2.200 Kilometer. Sie umfasst damit nicht nur rund 5 Mill. km2 Fläche,181 sondern deckt – wenn sie vom Himmel auf die Erde niedersteigt – das gesamte Imperium Romanum ab.182 Anders gesagt: Die von Christusgläubigen erwartete und allen Assimilationsverweigerern geöffnete Zufluchtsstadt ersetzt das von den Römern beanspruchte Imperium Romanum. Aber nicht nur das. (4) Die Stadt hat auch 2.200 km an Höhe (vgl. Offb 21,16). Es handelt sich also um eine geradezu surreale Kubus-Stadt. Damit steht die Gottesstadt, bis heute, nicht nur konkurrenzlos da, sondern stellt – auf jüdischem Hintergrund evaluiert – auch eine grandiose Provokation dar : Denn die Form des Kubus ist dem Allerheiligsten im Tempel vorbehalten (vgl. 1 Kön 6,20; 2 Chr 3,8; vgl. Ez 41,4), das allein der Hohepriester ein einziges Mal im Jahr unter höchsten liturgischen Sicherheitsvorkehrungen betreten darf (Lev 16,12–17). Jetzt wird auch klar, warum innerhalb der Stadt kein Tempel zu sehen ist (Offb 22,1): Die Stadt selbst ist das Allerheiligste des Tempels.183 Und alle Bürger dieser Stadt bewegen sich innerhalb dieses Raumes. Man könnte auch sagen: Die Gottesstadt nach Offb 21 f. ist eine Stadt ohne Kultzentrum, aber voller priesterlicher Menschen in der Gegenwart Gottes. Wer nun weiß, dass das gesamte Jerusalemer Tempelareal durch gestaffelte Zugangsbereiche gegliedert ist (vom Vorhof der Heiden, der streng getrennt ist vom jüdischen Bereich, der seinerseits vom Vorhof der Frauen in den der Männer und dann den der Priester führt, die allein den Altarbereich und die äußeren Teile des Tempels betreten dürfen, während nur der Hohepriester einmal im Jahr in das Allerheiligste eintreten darf), und wer weiß, dass – jedenfalls nach Jos., Vita 1 – die Zugehörigkeit zur Priesterschaft im Judentum Kennzeichen für den Adel (eqc]meia) bzw. die Prominenz einer Familie ist, erkennt die brisante sozialpolitische Provokation dieser Konzeption. Alle „Bürger“ der Gottesstadt sind – wie es sich für Bürger gehört – gleichgestellt und zugleich „Adelige“ (s. [6]): als

180 Vgl. die entsprechenden Fragmente in DJD XIII 305–355 sowie die Auswertung durch Chyutin, M., The New Jerusalem Scroll from Qumran: A Comprehensive Reconstruction (JSOT Suppl. 25; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997). 181 Zu den Berechnungen vgl. Korner, „Ekkle¯sia“, 485 f. 182 Auf jeden Fall dessen gesamten östlichen Teil; von Jerusalem aus gerechnet ist die Hauptstadt Rom ganz sicher mit abgedeckt. Vgl. Kraybill, J. N., Imperial Cult and Commerce in John’s Apocalypse (JSNT Suppl. 132; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 211. 183 Entsprechend wird die Mauer der Stadt in Offb 20,16 mit dem gleichen Terminus bezeichnet (1md~lgsir), der in Inschriften aus Smyrna und Tralles, also im unmittelbaren kulturellen Umfeld, für die Einfriedung eines Tempels steht; vgl. Giesen, Offb, 467.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

101

Priester vor Gott, unabhängig davon, welcher Stand sie von Geburt aus prägt184 bzw. welcher Ethnie sie entstammen. Die Analogie zu Gal 3,28 ist verblüffend.185 (5) Die Gottesstadt ist aus den Materialien erbaut, mit denen die Großkaufleute im Handel mit Roms Eliten reich geworden sind: Gold, Edelsteine und Perlen (vgl. Offb 21,18–21). Über den Untergang der „Hure Babylon“ brechen sie in Klagen aus, weil ihnen ihr Absatzmarkt verlorengegangen ist (vgl. Offb 18,11–16). In dieser internen Kontextualisierung gelesen führt das den utopischen Stadtschilderungen entlehnte Motiv von den äußerst kostbaren Materialien, mit denen die erträumte Idealstadt erbaut ist,186 die vorbezeichnete sozialpolitische Linie fort: In der Gottesstadt wird allen Bewohnern „zugänglich“187 gemacht, was in römisch regulierten Städten die Basis für die timokratische Sozialpyramide bildet: die Höhe des Vermögens. Es ist nämlich der Zensus, der über die Aufnahme in den Stand der Dekurionen bzw. die Kandidatur für ein Amt entscheidet und der letztlich den Platz vorgibt, den ein Einwohner im Theater einnehmen darf (s. 2.1). (6) Dem schließt sich eine Politik-Utopie an (Offb 22,3–5): Die „Bürger“ der Stadt sind gleichzeitig Sklaven (doOkoi) und Könige (basike}sousim). Das eine realisiert sich in der Beziehung zu Gott (katqe}sousim), vor dem alle Sklaven bleiben; das andere betrifft ihre Stellung als „Bürger“ der Gottesstadt, in der sich das Königreich Gottes dadurch realisiert, dass dort nur Menschen Eingang finden, die nach seinem Willen leben (vgl. 21,8.27). Nachdem es unter den Bewohnern keine soziale Staffelung mehr gibt (alle sind Priester), werden alle „als Könige herrschen“, ohne dass es jedoch von ihnen Beherrschte gibt. Alle haben die Würde von Herrschern, aber die Herrschaft als Aktion ist ad absurdum geführt. Die „Königsherrschaft“ der „Sklaven“ Gottes besteht in der Verehrung Gottes, wie sie von (hohe)priesterlichen Menschen zu erwarten ist. Damit greift die Soziologie der Gottesstadt die für die Architektur römischer Städte typische Verbindung von politischem und sakralem Raum auf dem Forum auf – und konnotiert sie neu: Die Doppelschauseite römischer Machtdarstellung vor dem Stadtpublikum wird in die Standesbestimmung der Menschen in der Stadt verlegt: Sie sind Priester und Könige zugleich – insofern sie Gott die Ehre geben. Übergreifend ergibt sich: Die Gottesstadtschilderung in Offb 21 f. konkretisiert das Königreich Gottes (basike_a toO heoO) als Stadt, die das Imperium Romanum, also die Basileia der Römer, ersetzt. Dabei wird die traditionell biblisch verankerte, empirisch auf die orientalischen bzw. helle184 Der Stand des Priesters ist im Judentum genealogisch verankert. 185 Auch wenn Frauen nicht eigens genannt werden, so sind sie doch in die „priesterlichen Menschen“ der Gottesstadt integriert. 186 Für die hellenistische Seite vgl. z. B. Lukian, Ver. hist. II 11; für die jüdische Literatur Jes 54,11 f.; Tob 13,17. 187 Die Stadt ist nicht nur aus Gold erbaut (Offb 21,18), sondern die Einwohner laufen auch auf purem Gold (Offb 21,21).

102

Martin Ebner

nistischen Monarchien zurückgreifende Metapher von der Königsherrschaft Gottes in die Vorstellungswelt der Stadtkultur überführt – und auf dieser Grundlage provokative Kritik sowohl an der Herrschaftsstruktur Roms, die nur den Namen „Monarchie“ vermieden hat, als auch an der durch Rom geprägten Sozialordnung geübt. Über die Schilderung der Architektur und der sozialen Interaktionen insinuiert Offb 21 f. eine veränderte Gesellschaftsordnung, die ganz in der Linie von Gal 3,28 liegt.

3. Ausblick Wenn man Akzente setzen möchte, muss man sich absetzen vom Kontext. Wenn man Akzente erkennen will, muss man den Kontext kennen. Die großen Städte des Imperium Romanum waren ein wichtiger Kontext für die frühchristlichen Gemeinden.188 Sie zu kennen lässt in neutestamentlichen Texten spezifische Akzentsetzungen erkennen, die für den Anfang prägend gewesen sind.

Bibliography Adams, E., The Earliest Christian Meeting Places: Almost Exclusively Houses? (LNTS 450; London, 2013). Alkier, S., Urchristentum: Zur Geschichte und Theologie einer exegetischen Disziplin (BHT 83; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993). Ameling, W., „Das Archontat in Bithynien und die lex provinciae des Pompeius“, Epigraphica Anatolica 3 (1984), 19–31. Ando, C., „Cities, Gods, Empire“, in Kaizer, T. (ed.), Cities and Gods: Religious Space in Transition (Babesch Supplement 22; Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 51–57. Auffarth, C., „,Verräter – Übersetzer‘? Pausanias, das römische Patrai und die Identität der Griechen in der Achaea“, in Cancik, H./Rüpke, J. (eds.), Römische Reichsreligion und Provinzialreligion (Tübingen: Mohr, 1997), 219–38. Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M., „Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt – Einleitung und Grundlegung“, in Bendemann, R. von/Tiwald, M. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (BWA(N)T 198; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 9–42. Bleicken, J., Verfassungs- und Sozialgeschichte des Römischen Kaiserreiches, Bd.1 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1989). Bleicken, J., Die athenische Demokratie. 4th ed. (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1995). 188 Vgl. dazu die neue Reihe von Harrison, J. R./ Welborn, L. L. (eds.). The First Urban Churches 1: Methodological Foundations (Writings from the Greco-Roman World. Supplement Series 7; Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2015), in der die Bände zu Korinth (2016) und Ephesus (2018) gerade erschienen sind.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

103

Bomgardner, D. L., The Story of the Roman Amphitheatre (London: Routledge, 2000). Breytenbach, C., „Paul’s Proclamation and God’s ,Thriambos‘: Notes on 2 Corinthians 2:14–16b“ Neotestamentica 24 (1990), 257–71. Broer, I./Weidemann, H.-U., Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 4th ed. (Würzburg: Echter, 2016). Burmeister, E., Antike griechische und römische Theater (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006). Chyutin, M., The New Jerusalem Scroll from Qumran: A Comprehensive Reconstruction (JSOT Suppl. 25; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997). Collart, P., „Les milliaires de la via Egnatia“ Bulletin de correspondance hell8nique 100 (1976), 177–200. Coudry, M./Kirbihler, F., „La lex Cornelia, une lex provinciae de Sylla pour l’Asie“ in Barrandon, N./Kirbihler, F. (eds.), Administrer les provinces de la R8publique romaine: Actes du colloque de l’universit8 de Nancy II, 4–5 juin 2009 (Collection „Histoire“; Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2010), 133–69. Dautzenberg, G., „Die siebte Posaune: Beobachtungen zur Eschatologie und Christologie der Offenbarung des Johannes in ihrem Verhältnis zur paulinischen Theologie und zur frühjüdischen Eschatologie“ in Ebner, M./Heininger, B. (eds.), Paradigmen auf dem Prüfstand: Exegese wider den Strich (FS K. Müller) (NTA Neue Folge 47; Münster : Aschendorff, 2004), 1–15. DeMaris, R., „Cults and the Imperial Cult in Early Roman Corinth: Literary Versus Material Record“ in Labahn, M./Zangenberg, J. (eds.), Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft: Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies (TANZ 36; Tübingen: Francke, 2002), 73–91. Dettinger, D., Neues Leben in der alten Welt: Der Beitrag frühchristlicher Schriften des späten ersten Jahrhunderts zum Diskurs über familiäre Strukturen in der griechisch-römischen Welt (ABuG 59; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2017). Dikant, T., Landschaft und Territorium. Amerikanische Literatur, Expansion und die Krise der Nation, 1784–1866 (Paderborn: Fink, 2014). Downs, R./Stea, D. (eds.), Image and Environment. Cognitive Mapping and Spatial Behavior (Chicago, IL: Aldine, 1973). Duff, P., Jesus Followers in the Roman Empire (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017). Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen: Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt I (GNT 1,1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Ebner, M., „Die Rede von der ,Vollmacht‘ Jesu im MkEv – und die realpolitischen Implikationen“ in Ebner, M., Inkarnation der Botschaft: Kultureller Horizont und theologischer Anspruch neutestamentlicher Texte (SBAB 61; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2015), 364–83. Ebner, M., „Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier“ in Ebner, M., Inkarnation der Botschaft: Kultureller Horizont und theologischer Anspruch neutestamentlicher Texte (SBAB 61. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2015), 110–31.

104

Martin Ebner

Ebner, M., „Wenn alle ,ein einziger‘ sein sollen …: Von schönen theologischen Konzepten und ihren praktischen Problemen: Gal 3,28 und 1 Kor 11,2–16“ in Ebner, M., Inkarnation der Botschaft: Kultureller Horizont und theologischer Anspruch neutestamentlicher Texte (SBAB 61; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2015), 337–63. Ebner, M., Der Brief an Philemon (EKKNT 18; Ostfildern, Göttingen: Patmos, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017). Eck, W., „Die Lex municipalis Troesmensium: Ihr rechtlicher und politisch-sozialer Kontext“ in Alexandrescu, C.-G. (ed.), Troesmis – A Changing Landscape: Romans and the Others in the Lower Danube Region in the First Century BC – Third Century AD. Proceedings of an International Colloquium Tulcea, 7th–10th of October 2015 (Biblioteca Istro Pontica˘. Seria Arheologie 12; Cluj-Napoca: Editura Mega, 2016), 33–46. Eck, W., „Fragmente eines neuen Stadtgesetzes der lex coloniae Ulpiae Traianae Ratiariae“ Athenaeum. Studi periodici di letteratura e storia dell’antichit/ 104 (2016), 538–44. Edelmann-Singer, B., Das römische Reich von Tiberius bis Nero (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2017). Flaig, E., Ritualisierte Politik: Zeichen, Gesten und Herrschaft im Alten Rom. 2d ed. (Historische Semantik 1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004). Frankfurter, D., „Comparison and the Study of Religions of Late Antiquity“ in Calame, C./ Lincoln, B. (eds.), Comparer en histoire des religions antiques. Controverses et propositions (Collection Religions. Comparatisme – Histoire – Anthropologie ; LiHge: Presses Universitaires de LiHge, 2012), 83–98. Funke, P., „Bürgerschaft und Bürgersein – Teilnehmen als Teilhaben“ in Stein-Hölkeskamp, E./ Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (eds.), Die griechische Welt: Erinnerungsorte der Antike (München: Beck, 2010), 472–86. Galsterer, H., „Die römischen Stadtgesetze“ in Capogrossi Colognesi, L./Gabba, E. (eds.), Gli Statuti Municipali (Pavia: IUSS Press, 2006), 31–56. Galsterer, H., „Wie funktioniert eine römische Stadt? Die administrative Infrastruktur römischer Gemeinden“ Kölner Jahrbuch 43 (2010), 257–65. Gielen, M., „Der 1. Petrusbrief und Kaiser Hadrian: Zur Frage der zeitgeschichtlichen Einordnung des 1. Petrusbriefes“ Biblische Zeitschrift 57 (2013), 161–84. Giesen, H., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (Regensburger Neues Testament; Regensburg: Pustet, 1997). Gill, D., „Early Christianity in Its Colonial Contexts in the Provinces of the Eastern Empire“ in Walton, S./Trebilco, P./Gill, D. (eds.), The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 68–85. Gogräfe, R., Theater im römischen Reich: Bühne für Schauspieler, die Feiern des Imperiums und die Sponsoren des Reiches (Mainz: Nünnerich-Asmus, 2013). Gonz#lez, J./Crawford, M., „The Lex Irnitana: A New Copy of the Flavian Municipal Law“ The Journal of Roman Studies 76 (1986), 147–243.

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

105

Gounaropoulou, L./ Hatzopoulos, M.B., Les milliaires de la Voie Egnatienne entre H8racl8e des Lyncestes et Thessalonique (MEKETGLATA 1; Athen, Paris: Diffusion de Boccard, 1985). Guthrie, G., „Paul’s Triumphal Procession Imagery (2 Cor 2.14–16a): Neglected Points of Background“ New Testament Studies 61 (2015), 79–91. Gybas, M., Das Theater in der Stadt und die Stadt im Theater : Urbanistischer Kontext und Funktionen von Theatern im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien (Antiquitates. Archäologische Forschungsergebnisse 69; Hamburg: Dr. Kovacˇ, 2018). Häfner, G., „Die Pastoralbriefe (1Tim/ 2Tim/Tit)“ in Ebner, M./Schreiber, S. (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 2d ed. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2013), 456–79. Hansen, M. H. (ed.) The Return of the Polis: The Use and Meanings of the Word Polis in Archaic and Classical Sources. Papers from the Copenhagen Polis Centre 8 (Historia. Einzelschriften 198; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007). Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.). The First Urban Churches 1: Methodological Foundations (Writings from the Greco-Roman World. Supplement Series 7; Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2015). Heilig, C., Paul’s Triumph: Reassessing 2 Corinthians 2:14 in Its Literary and Historical Context (Biblical Tools and Studies 27; Leuven: Peeters, 2017). Hoyos, B. D., „Lex Provinciae and Governor’s Edict“ Atichthon. Journal of the Australian Society for Classical Studies 7 (1973), 47–53. Humfress, C., „Law’s Empire: Roman Universalism and Legal Practice“ in Rapp, C./ Drake, H. A. (eds.), The City in the Classical and Post-Classical World: Changing Contexts of Power and Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 81–108. John, F., Der Galaterbrief im Kontext historischer Lebenswelten im antiken Kleinasien (FRLANT 264; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016). Klee, M., Lebensadern des Imperiums: Strassen im Römischen Reich (Stuttgart: Theiss, 2010). Klein, H., Sie waren versammelt: Die Anfänge christlicher Versammlungen nach Apg 1–6. (FTS 72; Münster : Aschendorff, 2015). Kloppenborg, J. S., „Membership Practices in Pauline Christ Groups“ Early Christianity 4 (2013), 183–215. Kloppenborg, J. S., „Disciplined Exaggeration. The Heuristics of Comparison in Biblical Studies“ Novum Testamentum 59 (2017), 390–414. Kloppenborg, J. S., „Fiscal Aspects of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem“ Early Christianity (2017), 153–98. Kolb, A., „Römische Meilensteine: Stand der Forschung und Probleme“ in FreiStolba, R. (ed.), Siedlung und Verkehr im Römischen Reich: Römerstraßen zwischen Herrschaftssicherung und Landschaftsprägung. FS H. E. Herzig (Bern: Lang, 2004), 135–55. Korner, R., „The Ekkle¯sia of Early Christ-Followers in Asia Minor as the Eschatological New Jerusalem: Counter-Imperial Rhetoric?“ in Kemezis, A. (ed.), Urban Dreams and Realities in Antiquity.: Remains and Representations of the Ancient City (Mnemosyne: Supplementum 375; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 455–98.

106

Martin Ebner

Korner, R., The Origin and Meaning of Ekkle¯sia in the Early Jesus Movement (AJEC 98; Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2017). Kost, S./Schönwald, A. (eds.), Landschaftswandel – Wandel von Machtstrukturen. RaumFragen: Stadt – Region – Landschaft (Wiesbaden: Springer, 2015). Kraybill, J. N., Imperial Cult and Commerce in John’s Apocalypse (JSNT Suppl. 132; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996). Kügler, J., „Paulus und der Duft des triumphierenden Christus: Zum kulturellen Basisbild von 2 Kor 2,14–16“ in Hoppe, R./Busse, U. (eds.), Von Jesus zum Christus: Christologische Studien. FS P. Hoffmann (BZNW 93; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998), 155–73. Künzl, E., Der römische Triumph: Siegesfeiern im antiken Rom (München: Beck, 1988). Last, R., The Pauline Church and the Corinthian Ekkle¯sia: Greco-Roman Associations in Comparative Context (MSSNTS 164; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). Liebenam, W., Städteverwaltung im römischen Kaiserreiche (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1900; Repr. Amsterdam 1967). Lindemann, A., „Das Evangelium bei Paulus und im Markusevangelium“ in Wischmeyer, O./Sim, D./Elmer, I. (eds.), Paul and Mark: Comparative Essays Part I. Two Authors at the Beginnings of Christianity (BZNW 198; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 313–59. Lohmeyer, E., Vom göttlichen Wohlgeruch (Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften 9; Heidelberg: Winter, 1919). Marquardt, J., Römische Staatsverwaltung: 3. Bd. 2d ed. (Handbuch der römischen Alterthümer 6; Leipzig: Hirzel, 1885). Martin, J., „Verwandtschaftsbeziehungen und Handlungsmöglichkeiten von Männern und Frauen von der Frühzeit Roms bis zum Ende der Republik“ in Haake, M./ Harders, A.-C. (eds.), Politische Kultur und soziale Struktur der Römischen Republik: Bilanzen und Perspektiven. Akten der internationalen Tagung anlässlich des 70. Todestages von Friedrich Münzer (Münster, 18.–20. Oktober 2012) (Alte Geschichte; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2017), 187–95. Matthews, S., „Fleshly Resurrection, Authority Claims, and the Scriptual Practices of Lukan Christianity“ Journal of Biblical Literature 136 (2017), 163–83. Mazor, G., „Urban Architecture in the Eastern Roman Provinces and the Image of Empire“ in Charlesworth, J. H. (ed.), Jesus Research: New Methodologies and Perceptions. The Second Princeton–Prague Symposium on Jesus Research, Princeton 2007 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014), 178–89. Mell, U., „Neuschöpfung und Gotteskindschaft“ in Horn, F. W. (ed.), Paulus Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 390–94. Moore, T., „Seats and Social Status in the Plautine Theatre“ The Classical Journal 90 (1994), 113–23. Neuberth, R., Demokratie im Volk Gottes? Untersuchungen zur Apostelgeschichte (SBB 46; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2001).

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

107

Neudecker, R., „Faszination der Urbs: Ein Hirte im Amphitheater zu Rom (Calpurnius Siculus, Ekloge 7)“ in Busch, A./Griesbach, J./Lipps, J. (eds.), Urbanitas – urbane Qualitäten: Die antike Stadt als kulturelle Selbstverwirklichung (RGZM Tagungen 33; Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2017), 39–52. Nijf, O. M. van, „Public Space and the Political Culture of Roman Termessos“ in van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.), Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 215–42. van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.). Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Groningen-Royal Holloway Studies on the Greek City after the Classical Age; Leuven: Peeters, 2011a). van Nijf, O./Alston, R., „Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age: Introduction and Preview“ in van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.). Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Groningen-Royal Holloway Studies on the Greek City after the Classical Age; Leuven: Peeters, 2011b), 1–26. Oberlinner, L., Die Pastoralbriefe: Erste Folge: Kommentar zum ersten Timotheusbrief (HTKNT 11,2; Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1994). Paetz, A., „Die Kleidung der Römer : Ausdruck kultureller Auseinandersetzung zwischen Rom und den Provinzen“ Antike Welt. Zeitschrift für Archäologie und Kulturgeschichte (2013), 15–21. Park, Y.-H., Paul’s Ekklesia as a Civic Assembly: Understanding the People of God in Their Politico-Social World (WUNT 2, 393; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015). Payne, P,. „Vaticanus Distigme-obelos Symbols Marking Added Text, Including 1 Corinthians 14.34–5“ New Testament Studies 63 (2017), 604–25. Peach, M., Paul and the Apocalyptic Triumph: An Investigation of the Usage of Jewish and Greco-Roman Imagery in 1 Thess. 4:13–18 (Apocalypticism: Cross-disciplinary Explorations 1; New York: Lang, 2016). Peterson, E., „Die Einholung des Kyrios“ Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie 7 (1929/30), 682–702. Peterson, E., Ekklesia: Studien zum altchristlichen Kirchenbegriff. Nichtweiß, B./ Weidemann, H.-U. (eds.), Ausgewählte Schriften: Sonderband (Würzburg: Echter, 2010). Pfeiffer, S., Die Zeit der Flavier: Vespasian – Titus – Domitian (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2009). Pilhofer, P., Philippi: Bd. 1: Die erste christliche Gemeinde Europas (WUNT 87; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995). Rawson, E., „Discrimina Ordinum: The Lex Julia Theatralis“ in Millar, F. (ed.), Roman Culture and Society : Collected Papers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 508–45. Rhodes, P. J./Lewis, D., The Decrees of the Greek States (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997). Rogers, G., The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City (London: Routledge, 1991). Roloff, J., Der erste Brief an Timotheus (EKKNT XV; Zürich, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/ Neukirchener, 1988).

108

Martin Ebner

Salmeri, G., „Reconstructing the Political Life and Culture of the Greek Cities of the Roman Empire“ in van Nijf, O./Alston, R. (eds.), Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 197–214. Schalles, H.-J., „Urbis Nostrae Miracula: Qualitätskriterien urbaner Räume in antiken Schriftquellen“ in Busch, A./Griesbach, J./Lipps, J. (eds.), Urbanitas – urbane Qualitäten: Die antike Stadt als kulturelle Selbstverwirklichung (RGZM Tagungen 33; Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2017), 17–38. Schmeller, T., Der zweite Brief an die Korinther : Teilband 1 (2Kor 1, 1–7,4) (EKKNT VIII/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn, Ostfildern: Neukirchener/Patmos, 2010). Schmidt, M., Einführung in die lateinische Epigraphik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004). Schöllgen, G./Dassmann, E., „Art. Haus“ RAC 13 (1986), 801–905. Schrage, W., Der erste Brief an die Korinther: 1. Teilband: 1Kor 1,1–6,11 (EKKNT VII/ 1; Zürich, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener, 1991). Schrage, W., Der erste Brief an die Korinther : 2. Teilband: 1Kor 6,12–11,16 (EKKNT VII/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, Solothurn, Düsseldorf: Benziger/Neukirchener, 1995). Schreiber, S., Weihnachtspolitik: Lukas 1–2 und das Goldene Zeitalter (StUNT 82; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009). Schreiber, S., „Die Offenbarung des Johannes“ in Ebner, M./Schreiber, S. (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 2d ed. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2013), 566–93. Schreiber, S., Die Anfänge der Christologie: Deutungen Jesu im Neuen Testament. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015). Schubert, C., Land und Raum in der römischen Republik: Die Kunst des Teilens (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1996). Schuler, C./Zimmermann, K., „Neue Inschriften aus Patara I: Zur Elite der Stadt in Hellenismus und früher Kaiserzeit“ Chiron. Mitteilungen der Kommission für Alte Geschichte und Epigraphik des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 42 (2012), 567–626. Schumacher, T., Zur Entstehung christlicher Sprache: Eine Untersuchung der paulinischen Idiomatik und der Verwendung des Begriffes p_stir (BBB 168; Göttingen: V & R unipress, 2012). Sear, F., Roman Theatres: An Architectual Study (Oxford Monographs on Classical Archaeology ; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). Spalinger, A./Armstrong, J. (eds.), Rituals of Triumph in the Mediterranean World (CHANE 63; Leiden: Brill, 2013). Speidel, M., „Heer und Strassen – Militares viae“ in Frei-Stolba, R. (ed.), Siedlung und Verkehr im Römischen Reich: Römerstraßen zwischen Herrschaftssicherung und Landschaftsprägung. FS H. E. Herzig (Bern: Lang, 2004), 331–44. Stein-Hölkeskamp, E., „Demokratie – die herrschende Hand des Volkes“ in SteinHölkeskamp, E./Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (eds.) Die griechische Welt: Erinnerungsorte der Antike (München: Beck, 2010), 487–509. Stenger, J., „,Ich bin die Grenze der Agora‘: Zum kognitiven Stadtbild der Athener in klassischer Zeit“ in May, N./Steinert, U. (eds.), The Fabric of Cities: Aspects of

Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt

109

Urbanism, Urban Topography and Society in Mesopotamia, Greece and Rome (CHANE 68; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 203–28. Stephan, E., Honoratioren, Griechen, Polisbürger : Kollektive Identitäten innerhalb der Oberschicht des kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien (Hypomnemata. Untersuchungen zur Antike und zu ihrem Nachleben 143; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002). Strecker, C., „Die frühchristliche Taufpraxis: Ritualhistorische Erkundungen, ritualwissenschaftliche Impulse“ in Stegemann, W./DeMaris, R. (eds.), Alte Texte in neuen Kontexten: Wo steht die sozialwissenschaftliche Bibelexegese? (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2015), 347–410. Suter, R., „Berührungen zwischen Territorium und Landschaft“ in Engell, L./Siegert, B./Vogl, J. (eds.), Stadt – Land – Fluss: Medienlandschaften (Weimar : Verlag der Bauhaus-Universität Weimar, 2007), 83–92. Theißen, G., „,Evangelium‘ im Markusevangelium: Zum traditionsgeschichtlichen Ort des ältesten Evangeliums“ in Becker, E.-M./Engberg-Pedersen, T./Mueller, M. (eds.), Mark and Paul: Comparative Essays Part II. For and Against Pauline Influence on Mark (BZNW 199; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 63–86. Theobald, M., Israel-Vergessenheit in den Pastoralbriefen: Ein neuer Vorschlag zu ihrer historisch-theologischen Verortung im 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr. unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Ignatius-Briefe (SBS 229; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2016). Townsley, G., The Straight Mind in Corinth: Queer Readings across 1 Corinthians 11:2–16 (Semeia Studies 88; Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2017). Walser, G., Die römischen Straßen und Meilensteine in Raetien (Itinera Romana 4; Stuttgart: Gesellschaft für Vor- und Frühgeschichte in Württemberg und Hohenzollern, 1983). Weidemann, H.-U., „Ekklesia, Polis und Synagoge: Überlegungen im Anschluss an Erik Peterson“ in Nichtweiß, B./Weidemann, H.-U. (eds.), Peterson, E., Ekklesia: Studien zum altchristlichen Kirchenbegriff. Ausgewählte Schriften: Sonderband (Würzburg: Echter, 2010), 152–95. Weiser, A., Die Apostelgeschichte: Kapitel 13–28 (Ökumenischer Taschenbuchkommentar zum Neuen Testament 5/2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1985). Weiß, A., „Paulus und die coloniae: Warum der Apostel nicht der einzige römische Bürger unter den frühen Christen war“ in Baum, A./Häußer, D./Rehfeld, E. (eds.), Der jüdische Messias Jesus und sein jüdischer Apostel Paulus (WUNT 2, 425; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 341–56. Weiß, A., „Politische Amtsträger und Ämter in der Apostelgeschichte“, in Verheyden, J./Öhler, M./Corsten, T. (eds.), Epigraphical Evidence Illustrating Paul‘s Letter to the Colossians (WUNT 411; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 221–237. Welsch-Klein, G., Die Provinzen des Imperium Romanum (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2016). Welwei, K.-W., Die griechische Polis: Verfassung und Gesellschaft in archaischer und klassischer Zeit. 3d ed. (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2017).

110

Martin Ebner

Wesch-Klein, G., Die Provinzen des Imperium Romanum: Geschichte, Herrschaft, Verwaltung. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2016). Wolf, J. (ed.), Die Lex Irnitana: Ein römisches Stadtrecht aus Spanien. Lateinisch und deutsch (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2011). Wolf, J., „Irni vor der Irnitana“ in Wolf, J., Lex Irnitana: Gesammelte Aufsätze, (Freiburger Rechtsgeschichtliche Abhandlungen 66; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2012), 221–38. Wolter, M., Die Pastoralbriefe als Paulustradition (FRLANT 146; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988). Wörrle, M., Stadt und Fest im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien: Studien zu einer agonistischen Stiftung aus Oinoanda (Vestigia. Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte 39; München: Beck, 1988). Wypadlo, A. „Paulus im Triumphzug Christi (2 Kor 2,14): Überlegungen zum Selbstverständnis des Apostels Paulus vor dem Hintergrund antiker Triumphzugspraxis“ SNTSU Serie A 38 (2013), 147–87. Zamfir, K., „Is the ekkle¯sia a Household (of God)? Reassessing the Notion of oWjor heoO in 1 Tim 3.15“ New Testament Studies 60 (2014), 511–28. Zanker, P., „The City as Symbol: Rome and the Creation of an Urban Image“ in Fentress, E. (ed.), Romanization and the City : Creation, Transformations, and Failures. Proceedings of a conference held at the American Academy in Rome to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the excavations at Cosa. 14–16 May, 1998 (Journal of Roman Archaeology, Suppl. 38; Portsmouth, RI, 2000), 25–41. Zanker, P., Die römische Stadt: Eine kurze Geschichte (München: Beck, 2014). Zmijewski, J., Die Apostelgeschichte (Regensburger Neues Testament; Regensburg: Pustet, 1994).

Jesus and the Early Jesus Movement

Jodi Magness

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

The degree to which first century CE Galilee was Romanized is central to an ongoing debate concerning whether Jesus’ teachings reflect the influence of philosophical schools of thought such as the Cynics.1 Sepphoris is prominent in this debate because it was rebuilt by Herod Antipas as the capital of his tetrarchy and is only ca. 6.5 km from Nazareth. Although Sepphoris is not mentioned in the Gospel accounts in connection with Jesus, many scholars believe that Jesus likely visited the city, and perhaps he and his father Joseph were even employed in Antipas’ construction works there. Therefore, scholars have focused on the archaeological remains at Sepphoris in an attempt to identify public monuments dating to Antipas’ time.2 The earliest such structure excavated so far is the theater, for which the proposed dates range from the early first century to early-to-mid second century CE. There is limited evidence of first century CE monuments at Tiberias, which replaced Sepphoris as the capital of Antipas’ tetrarchy, and more extensive remains of Hellenistic and Roman style structures at nearby Magdala. In this paper I review the archaeological evidence to determine the degree to which Galilee was Romanized in the time of Jesus. I use the term “Romanized” in a narrow descriptive sense to denote types or styles of material culture that are not native to Palestine but are associated with Roman influence. My use of this term is not intended to imply unidirectional cultural influence or transmission or deny agency to native peoples or equate the adoption of these styles with a desire to be “Roman”.3 Because debates about outside influence on Jesus’ world view have focused on Sepphoris’ refoundation under Herod Antipas, I shall not consider evidence of pre-existing

1 See, for example, Crossan, J.D., The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (New York, NY: HarperSanFrancisco, 1991), 421–2, who describes Jesus as a “peasant Jewish Cynic”. 2 For an overview, see Reed, J.L., Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus. A Re-examination of the Evidence (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press, 2000), 100–38. 3 There is a vast corpus of scholarly literature on the concept of “Romanization”. For a recent discussion relating to Palestine in the time of Jesus, see Mizzi, D., “From the Judaean Desert to the Great Sea. Qumran in a Mediterranean Context”, DSD 24 (2017), 378–406, on pp. 391–5. Also see the papers in Keay, S./Terrenato, N. (eds.), Italy and the West: Comparative Issues in Romanization (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2001).

114

Jodi Magness

Hellenistic influence on the material culture of Galilee.4 Instead, this paper is concerned with Roman influence on Galilean material culture in the late first century BCE to mid-first century CE. The following discussion focuses on three categories of remains: public monuments, interior decoration, and pottery. I conclude that this evidence attests to Roman influence on the Galilean Jewish population, including the adoption of a popular Italian dish which resulted in the production of a hybridized type of local pottery.

1. Urban Monuments: Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala A recent volume on Galilee edited by David Fiensy and James Strange contains articles with useful overviews of the major sites.5 Josephus mentions that Herod the Great had a palace in Sepphoris (Bell. 2:56; Ant. 17:271). He reports that Herod’s son Antipas, who ruled Galilee and Peraea from 4 BCE to 39 CE, “fortified Sepphoris to be the ornament [Greek proschema] of all Galilee, and called it Autocratoris” – the Greek equivalent of Imperator, in honor of Augustus (Ant. 18:27).6 Scholars usually assume that Josephus’ reference means that Antipas rebuilt Sepphoris as a Roman city, as his father had done at Caesarea and Samaria-Sebaste. However, as no monumental remains at Sepphoris including the theater can be dated with certainty to before 70 CE, Ze’ev Weiss concludes, “Herod Antipas renovated only the city wall and did not construct or finance any other building projects there”.7 According to Weiss, “the [first century CE] settlement’s size and outward appearance were not much different from the large Galilean villages that Josephus called poleis. In contrast to other excavators of the site, according to our understanding, none of the Roman-style public buildings so far date to the early first century CE, but all seem to have been constructed when the city was expanded and completely remodeled as a Roman polis at the end of the first or early second 4 For example, recent excavations indicate that in the Hasmonean period, Magdala was an urban center with an orthogonal plan and public baths; see De Luca, S./Lena, A., “Magdala/Taricheae”, in Fiensy, D.A./Strange, J.R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 280–342. 5 Fiensy, D.A./Strange, J.R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015). 6 Translation and gloss from Feldman, L.H., Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, Books XVIII–XIX (Loeb edition; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 1965), 25. In Vita 107 Josephus refers to an agora in Sepphoris. For overviews of Sepphoris with bibliography, see Meyers, C.L./Meyers, E.M., “Sepphoris”, in Meyers, E.M. (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East. Volume 4 (New York: Oxford University, 1997), 527–36; Weiss, Z., “From Galilean Town to Roman City, 100 BCE-200 CE”, in Fiensy/Strange, Galilee, Vol. 2, 53–75. 7 Weiss, “From Galilean Town to Roman City”, 54.

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

115

century CE”.8 In contrast, Mordechai Aviam assigns the establishment of the cardo, the aqueduct system, and possibly the theater to the time of Antipas.9 Between 18 and 20 CE, Antipas founded Tiberias as the capital of his tetrarchy, naming it in honor of the Roman emperor (Josephus, Ant. 18.36–38). Josephus says that Antipas’ palace was decorated with animal figures and its roof was made partly of gold (Vita 65–6). Antipas also had a royal treasury and archives in Tiberias (Josephus, Vita 38).10 The monumental remains dated to the first century CE at Tiberias include a theater at the foot of Mount Berenike and a stadium on the shore to the north.11 This evidence suggests that Tiberias was a Roman city similar to Caesarea and SamariaSebaste. Recent excavations indicate that in the Hasmonean period, Magdala/ Taricheae was an urban center with Hellenistic-style public monuments including baths and a quadroporticus (possibly a palaestra), an orthogonal layout, and a major harbor.12 In the first half of the first century CE, the baths were converted into a Roman-style bath-gymnasium complex by the addition of a caldarium heated by a hypocaust system, including a paved stone floor supported by suspensurae, vertical clay tubuli, and a praefurnium.13 Around the same time, the anchorage was enlarged to create an enclosed basin with a 8 Weiss, “From Galilean Town to Roman City”, 55. For the theater see Waterman, L., Preliminary Report of the University of Michigan Excavations at Sepphoris in Palestine, in 1931 (Ann Arbor : University of Michigan, 1937), 6–12 and 29 including n. 51, who proposed that the theater might have been built by Herod the Great and renovated by Antipas based on coins of Alexander Jannaeus from a “theater pit” he describes as “near the floor of the theater”. However, this deposit apparently was unsealed as Waterman mentions debris that washed in. Meyers/Meyers, “Sepphoris”, 533 date the theater’s construction to as late as the early-to-mid second century CE. 9 Aviam, A., “People, Land, Economy, and Belief in First-Century Galilee and Its Origins. A Comprehensive Archaeological Synthesis”, in Fiensy, D.A./Hawkins, R.K. (eds.), The Galilean Economy in the Time of Jesus (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013), 5–48, on pp. 17–8. 10 For overviews of Tiberias with bibliography, see Hirschfeld, Y., “Tiberias”, in Stern, E. (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, Volume 4 (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1993), 1464–70; Cytryn-Silverman, K., “Tiberias. From Its Foundation to the End of the Early Islamic Period”, in Fiensy/Strange, Galilee, Vol. 2, 186–210; Aviam, “People, Land, Economy, and Belief”, 18. 11 Cytryn-Silverman, “Tiberias”, 192–6; Atrash, W., “The Roman Theater of Tiberias”, Qad 144 (2012), 79–88; Hartal, M., “Tiberias, Galei Kinneret”, HA/ESI 120 (2008), at http://www.ha dashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=773&mag_id=114 (accessed 12/5/2017). For the reinterpretation of the curved stone wall as a quay rather than a stadium, see Bonnie, R., “From Stadium to Harbor. Reinterpreting the Curved Ashlar Structure in Roman Tiberias”, BASOR 377 (2017), 21–38. 12 For a recent comprehensive survey of the discoveries at Magdala with bibliography, see De Luca/ Lena, “Magdala/Tarichaea”. For Roman influence at Magdala in the first century BCE, see De Luca, S./Lena, A., “The Mosaic of the Thermal Bath Complex of Magdala Reconsidered. Archaeological Context, Epigraphy and Iconography”, in Bottini, G.C./Chrupca;a, L.D./Patrich, J. (eds.), Knowledge and Wisdom. Archaeological and Historical Essays in Honour of Leah Di Segni (Milan: Terra Santa, 2014), 1–33, on p. 24. 13 De Luca/Lena, “Magdala/Tarichaea”, 319–24; De Luca/Lena, “Mosaic of the Thermal Bath Complex”, 1–5 and 23.

116

Jodi Magness

new dock or wharf.14 Industrial installations near the shore apparently were used in connection with the processing of fish, which was an important component of the town’s economy.15 Although scholarly attention has focused on Sepphoris as a possible setting for Jesus’ exposure to Roman culture, the geographical proximity of Magdala and Tiberias to Capernaum, the base of Jesus’ Galilean ministry, makes them no less important to consider. Furthermore, Magdala and Tiberias are clearly visible from the area around Capernaum. Thus, if there were no Roman-style monuments in Sepphoris before the mid-first century CE, Jesus could have become acquainted with them in Magdala and/or Tiberias (neither of which, like Sepphoris, is mentioned in the Gospel accounts as places visited by Jesus).

2. Interior Decoration Colorful fresco fragments found in fills under the House of Dionysos on the east side of Sepphoris’ acropolis and under the synagogue in the Lower City come from (unknown) earlier, perhaps palatial buildings. Weiss describes the fragments found under the House of Dionysos as “decorated with floral patterns in several shades on a grey-black background reminiscent of the Third Pompeian Style”, and says those found under the synagogue are similar.16 Frescoes have been discovered decorating the walls and floors of buildings at three other first century CE Galilean sites: Jotapata (Yodefat), Gamla (in the Golan but included here due to its proximity to the Sea of Galilee), and Magdala. At Jotapata, the walls of one room in a mansion were covered with colorful frescoes in the Second Pompeian Style, and the floor was painted with imitation black and white opus sectile.17 At Gamla, painted fresco and stucco 14 De Luca/Lena, “Magdala/Taricheae”, 325–26; De Luca, S./Lena, A., “The Harbor of the City of Madgala/Taricheae on the Shores of the Sea of Galilee”, in Ladstätter, S./Pirson, F./Schmidts, T. (eds.), Byzas 19 – Harbors and Harbor Cities in the Eastern Mediterranean from Antiquity to the Byzantine Period. Recent Discoveries and Current Approaches. Istanbul, May 30-June 1, 2011. Band 1 (Istanbul: Ege Yayilnari, 2014), 113–63, on pp. 136–9, 143 and 145. 15 De Luca/Lena, “Magdala/Taricheae”, 283 and 308–11. 16 Weiss, “From Galilean Town to Roman City”, 57; also see Talgam, R./Weiss, Z., The Mosaics of the House of Dionysos at Sepphoris (Qedem 14; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 2004), 27–8; Hoglund, K.G./Meyers, E.M., “The Residential Quarter on the Western Summit”, in Nagy, R.M. (ed.), Sepphoris in Galilee. Crosscurrents of Culture (Raleigh: North Carolina Museum of Art, 1996), 38–43, on p. 40 (these seem to be the same fragments mentioned by Weiss); Weiss, Z., The Sepphoris Synagogue, Deciphering an Ancient Message through Its Archaeological and SocioHistorical Contexts (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2005), 34–5 and 51 n. 28. 17 Aviam, M., “Yodefat – Jotapata, A Jewish Galilean Town at the End of the Second Temple Period. The Results of an Archaeological Project”, in Fiensy/Strange, Galilee, Vol. 2, 109–26, on pp. 114–5; Aviam, “People, Land, Economy, and Belief”, 23.

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

117

fragments were discovered in fills, mainly in association with two rooms in the Western Quarter : Room 1916 in the northern wing of Building 1900 in Area S (a residence), and Anteroom 5053 in Area R (perhaps a commercial building). The stucco fragments include three-dimensional molded cornices, panels, and lozenges, some of which were painted (the First or “Masonry” Style). The fresco fragments belong to painted panels in the Second Pompeian Style. Yoav Farhi, who published the frescoes and stucco, speculated that “the local style of stucco decoration used at Gamla was influenced by the Herodian style, and arrived at Gamla with a person who saw this style in Herodian Judea and could afford to pay an artist to decorate his house(s) in the same style”. However, it seems more likely that the interior decoration of the palaces of Antipas and other members of the elite in Sepphoris and Tiberias was the source of inspiration for the villagers and townspeople of Galilee. The walls of the tiny synagogue at Magdala were decorated with colorful frescoes consisting of red, yellow, and blue panels set within black and white frames. A raised corridor surrounding the central part of the hall was paved with white mosaics in which a rosette is depicted flanked on either side by a strip with a meander pattern. A small room in the southwest corner was also decorated with frescoed walls and mosaic floors. The excavators date this phase of the synagogue to the third quarter of the first century CE.18 At around the same time – in the mid-first century CE – two rooms in the bathgymnasium complex were paved with black and white mosaics. One mosaic contains a meander pattern while the other is decorated with a figured panel depicting a ship, a dolphin, a kantharos, two strigiles and an aryballos, a discus, and a pair of halteres for long jumping, accompanied by a Greek inscription that reads “you too”.19

3. Pottery 3.1 Imported Wares20 Despite extensive excavations by different expeditions over several decades, only a small quantity of first century CE pottery from Sepphoris has been 18 Avshalom-Gorni, D./Najar, A., “Migdal”, HA/ESI 125 (2013), at http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/ report_detail_eng.aspx?id=2304&mag_id=120 (accessed 12/5/2017) (these finds are associated with the last of three phases of the synagogue building). 19 De Luca/Lena, “Magdala/Taricheae”, 322–24; De Luca/Lena, “The Mosaic of the Thermal Bath Complex”, who note (p. 9) that the similarities between the meanders in the synagogue and bath-gymnasium complex suggest that they may have been laid by the same artisans. 20 The pottery from Magdala is not yet published, but preliminary reports refer to local coarse wares and imported fine wares and amphorae, as well as other imported objects; see De Luca/ Lena, “Magdala/Taricheae”, 310–1 and 329.

118

Jodi Magness

published, nearly all of it from mixed deposits inside cisterns or fills under later buildings. Marva Balouka remarks: “Sepphoris’s chief imports in the Roman period were red-slipped bowls known as Eastern Terra Sigillata (ETS) and Late Roman Ware (Late Roman W), as well as a few mortaria and amphorae. Because relatively few amphorae were found at the site, it is difficult to determine whether Sepphoris was their original destination or whether they arrived there as a secondary destination containing some other product”.21 Balouka illustrates only six unidentified amphorae which appear to postdate the first century CE.22 In her 2013 publication, Balouka states that only “very few” sherds of ETS were found, all from a cistern deposit (L84.1068) which she dates to the second-third centuries.23 Elsewhere, Eric Lapp describes this cistern deposit as an “extraordinarily rich fill of a refuse pit accumulated in a cistern (L84.1066) under the floors of a Roman-period house. The refuse pit contains large numbers of Early Roman and Middle Roman ceramics, with a few Late Roman fragments and coins”.24 Another example of ETS is published by Balouka from a probe under the floor of the House of Dionysos: an Eastern Sigillata A (ESA) plate corresponding with Tel Anafa Type 19, dated from the late first century BCE to first century CE.25 Anna de Vincenz published Hellenistic and early Roman fine wares from other loci at Sepphoris, including ten examples of ESA as well as fragments of Western Terra Sigillata (WTS), Knidian Gray Ware, and Pompeian Red Ware. Nine pieces of ESA (seven bowls and two jugs) and the Pompeian Red Ware bowl date to the first century CE. The fragment of Western Terra Sigillata appears to represent a type dated to the early-to-middle Augustan period.26 Leroy Waterman reported finding “two fragments of Arretine ware (early first 21 Balouka, M., “Roman Pottery”, in Meyers, E.M./Meyers, C.L. (eds.), The Pottery from Ancient Sepphoris (Sepphoris I; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 13–129, on p. 17. 22 Balouka, “Roman Pottery”, 41 and 108–9 Pl. 26:10–16. Pl. 26:11 appears to be a North African import dating to the third-fourth centuries; see Peacock, D.P.S./Williams, D.F., Amphorae and the Roman Economy. An Introductory Guide (London: Longman, 1986), 155–7 (Class 34). The lack of ware descriptions accompanying Balouka’s pottery illustrations makes it difficult to identify the pieces with certainty. 23 Balouka, “Roman Pottery”, 50 and 110–1 Pl. 27: 1–6. These pieces are unidentified and unaccompanied by ware descriptions. Pl. 27:3 might represent TA Type 32, dated at Tel Anafa to the first century CE; see Slane, K.W., “The Fine Wares”, in Herbert, S.C. (ed.), Tel Anafa II,i. The Hellenistic and Roman Pottery (Ann Arbor, MI: JRA.Sup. 10), 247–406, on pp. 322–3 Pl. 23: FW 258–60. 24 Lapp, E.C., The Clay Lamps from Ancient Sepphoris (Sepphoris II; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016), 204. 25 See Balouka, M., “Appendix: The Pottery from the House of Dionysos”, in Talgam/Weiss, Mosaics of the House of Dionysos, 35–46, on p. 36, Pl. 1:12; p. 39; Slane, “The Fine Wares”, 302–3 Pl. 15: FW 154, FW 157. 26 Vincenz, A. de, “Fine Wares; Byzantine-Early Islamic Wares”, in Meyers/Meyers, Pottery from Ancient Sepphoris, 142–215, on pp. 142–6. For the WTS, see Ettlinger, E., Conspectus Formarum Terrae Sigillatae Italico Modo Confectae (Römisch-Germanische Kommission des DAI; Bonn: Habelt, 1990), 68–9, Form 10.

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

119

century A.D.)” in a cistern: “one a part of a medium-sized bowl; the other a part of a drinking cup with one handle. Both are of fine red, lustrous ware decorated in relief on the outside”.27 Among the Italian ceramic types from Sepphoris are thin-walled ware cups and beakers, which are assigned to the Early Roman I period (0–70 CE) and include locally-made imitations. Five of the cups are decorated with rouletting, one has barbotine appliques, and two are undecorated.28 Kathleen Warner Slane notes that thin-walled ware “is rare on eastern Mediterranean sites until the middle of the first century CE and until that time may be regarded as a mark of strong Italian influence”.29 Forty-eight fragments of thin-walled wares are published from Gamla. Berlin identifies one complete beaker and two rims as (probably Italian) imports dating to the late first century CE, while the others appear to be local imitations, perhaps from Jerusalem.30 In addition, fourteen fragmentary Pompeian Red Ware pans and seven lids are recorded from first century CE contexts at Gamla.31 Andrea Berlin has noted that whereas ESA is found at Jewish sites in Galilee in the first century BCE, it disappears during the first century CE (although it remained common at non-Jewish sites in Galilee and appears in Judea at this time). Berlin has attributed this phenomenon to the Jewish population’s desire to make “a political statement of solidarity and affiliation with a traditional, simple, unadorned Jewish lifestyle, as well as demonstrating a unified opposition to the newly looming Roman presence”.32 As we have seen, however, other elements of a Romanized lifestyle were adopted by some Jews in first century CE Galilee, as for example the frescoes described above. Furthermore, ESA and other imports from around the Mediterranean are attested at Sepphoris, and thin-walled ware and Pompeian Red Ware pans are published from Sepphoris and Gamla. Berlin notes the significance of these types at Gamla: “People drank from pottery vessels whose shape and exceptionally thin walls were inspired by Roman forms (though in this case, 27 Waterman, Preliminary Report, 29; neither is illustrated. 28 See Balouka, “Roman Pottery”, 49 and Pl. 7:9–10 (“Rouletted Cups”, described as locally made); Pl. 5:22 (with barbotine); Pl. 7:8, 11; Balouka, “Appendix”, 36, Pl. 1:13–15; p 39 (“Rouletted Cups”). She suggests that signs of burning on the bottom of the rouletted cups might point to their use as incense burners. 29 Slane, “The Fine Wares”, 349; for a piece from Tel Anafa with barbotine decoration, see Pl. 29: FW 492. For thin-walled cups and beakers from Palestine, see Magness, J., “The Roman Legionary Pottery”, in Arubas, B./Goldfus, H. (eds.), Excavations on the Site of the Jerusalem International Convention Center (Binyanei Ha’uma). A Settlement of the Late First to Second Temple Period, the Tenth Legion’s Kilnworks and a Byzantine Monastic Complex (Portsmouth, RI: JRA.Sup. 60, 2005), 69–191, on pp. 85–86. 30 Berlin, A.M., Gamla I: The Pottery for the Second Temple Period. The Shmarya Gutmann Excavations, 1976–1989 (IAA Reports 29; Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2006), 14–5. 31 Berlin, Gamla I, 152 and 156 n. 28. 32 Berlin, A.M., “Romanization and Anti-Romanization in Pre-Revolt Galilee”, in Berlin, A.M./ Overman, J.A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London: Routledge, 2002), 57–73, on p. 69.

120

Jodi Magness

the fact that the Gamla vessels all came from the Binyane Ha-‘Umma manufactory in Jerusalem was likely the more compelling aspect). And the discovery of both imported Italian pans and lids as well as locally made cooking bowls indicates that people added Roman-style baked dishes to their repertoire.”33 3.2 Italian Pans and Galilean Bowls Italian pans are characterized by a broad, shallow body and flat base. Some are made of a fabric called Pompeian Red Ware, while the term orlo bifido describes pans with a grooved rim. Their form is ideally suited to the preparation of patinae and patellae, popular Roman dishes similar to a quiche or frittata, in which an egg mixture was poured over chopped meat, fish, vegetables, and/or fruit and then baked or cooked over a fire.34 These pans appear in the houses of Jerusalem’s elite during the reign of Herod the Great, as Renate Rosenthal-Heginbottom observed: “The appearance of Italian pans in the houses of the upper class Jewish inhabitants in Jerusalem means that (…) Jews were open to Roman culinary influences and prepared to try and taste new food. Herod the Great could have become acquainted with the dish during his stay in Rome, had it introduced to his household, where it was copied by others.”35 Berlin states that because these pans were used to prepare Romanstyle cuisine, they should be “understood as a vehicle for Roman culture”.36 At Sepphoris and Gamla, Pompeian Red Ware appears in the late first century BCE and first century CE – that is, during the reign of Herod Antipas.37 The presence of Pompeian Red Ware, thin-walled ware, and frescoes in urban and non-urban settlements indicates that sectors of the Galilean Jewish population adopted some aspects of a Roman lifestyle. Berlin observes that Galilean Bowls (or Kfar Hananya Ware) Form 1 A resemble Italian pans in having a broad, shallow body, a flat base, and a 33 Berlin, Gamla I, 152. However, thin-walled wares are not represented among the types produced in the Binyanei Ha’uma workshop; see Berlin, A.M., “Pottery and Pottery Production in the Second Temple Period”, in Arubas/Goldfus, Excavations on the Site of the Jerusalem International Convention Center, 29–60. 34 See Magness, J., Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit. Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011), 56–7, with references; Berlin, Gamla I, 151; Berlin, A.M., “The Plain Wares”, in Herbert, Tel Anafa II,i, 1–244, on p. 104; Donnelly, A., Cooking, Cooking Pots, and Cultural Transformation in Imperial and Late Antique Italy (Ph.D. dissertation; Loyola University Chicago, 2016), at https://ecommons.luc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?arti cle=3278&context=luc_diss (accessed 12/16/2017), 147. 35 Rosenthal-Heginbottom, R., “Hellenistic and Early Roman Fine Ware and Lamps from Area A”, in Geva, H. (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982. Volume 2 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2003), 192–223, on p. 217. 36 Berlin, A.M., “Jewish Life Before the Revolt. The Archaeological Evidence”, JSJ 36 (2005), 417–70, on p. 442. 37 For Italian pans from Late Hellenistic contexts at Tel Anafa, see Berlin, “The Plain Wares”, 104–9.

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

121

grooved rim: “And the discovery of both imported Italian pans and lids as well as locally made cooking bowls indicates that people added Roman-style baked dishes to their repertoire.”38 David Adan-Bayewitz dates Kfar Hananya Form 1 A from the latter first century CE to the latter third century.39 However, evidence from Gamla indicates that the production of Kfar Hananya Form 1 A and imitations in Gamla cooking ware began before the mid-first century CE, apparently in the early first century.40 Berlin notes that “most units in both areas [at Gamla] have at least one Kfar Hananya cooking vessel within their assemblage of kitchen wares”.41 Once introduced, Galilean Bowls became ubiquitous at Jewish sites around Galilee for centuries, reflecting the widespread adoption of a distinctive type of Roman cuisine. The appearance of imported and locally-produced thinwalled cups and beakers in first century CE contexts attests to Roman influence on local drinking customs as well. Not only are Galilean Bowls limited to Galilee and the Golan, but there is no analogous local type in the southern part of the country, indicating that Roman-style quiches and frittatas never became a standard part of the Judean diet (see below). The ceramic evidence thus attests to a degree of Romanization among the Jewish population of Galilee that would go undetected by focusing on monumental remains alone. Dietary and consumption habits impacted people’s lives on an everyday basis. However, the popularity of patinae and patellae in Galilee is not evidence of an ongoing process of Romanization. Instead, these dishes presumably were among other Roman cultural features introduced to Galilee in the context of Antipas’ urban projects and were adopted and adapted quickly and widely by the local Jewish population. Galilean Jews would not necessarily have associated this cuisine with Roman influence after its initial introduction. And unlike Roman dishes, Jewish patinae and patellae presumably used only biblically permitted ingredients. As Adan-Bayewitz noted, the production of pottery at Kfar Hananya is connected with a concern for the observance of purity laws among the local population.42 Adan-Bayewitz identified Kfar Hananya Form 3B as the lifsa/ilpas, a cooking vessel mentioned frequently in rabbinic literature. Kfar Hananya Form 3B is a wide-mouthed cooking pot (not a Galilean Bowl) with an everted shelf rim, carinated walls and rounded body and base dated from the early second century to latter fourth century.43 The term lifsa/ilpas derives from the Greek kop²r, a shallow pan with a flat or rounded base used for frying and 38 Berlin, Gamla I, 45, 152. 39 Adan-Bayewitz, D., Common Pottery in Roman Galilee (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1993), 91. 40 Berlin, Gamla I, 45. 41 Berlin, Gamla I, 18. 42 Adan-Bayewitz, Common Pottery, 231 and 237. 43 Adan-Bayewitz, Common Pottery, 32–35, 119–24 and 225.

122

Jodi Magness

Fig. 1 Galilean Bowl from Sepphoris (photograph Sepphoris Excavations, The Hebrew University, courtesy Ze’ev Weiss)

roasting.44 According to Adan-Bayewitz, “The contexts in which the vessel [lifsa/ilpas] is mentioned in the rabbinic literature indicate the same meanings as the Greek term, but usage as a wide-mouthed cooking pot is most common”.45 In my opinion, the lifsa/ilpas should be identified with Galilean Bowls (Kfar Hananya Forms 1 A-E). As Berlin notes, “Another regional form which seems a clear copy of the orlo bifido pan is the grooved rim bowl produced at Kfar Hananya”.46 As we have seen, Italian pans were used to prepare patinae and patellae, in which an egg mixture was poured over chopped meat, fish, vegetables and/or fruit and baked or cooked over a fire. Eggs were such a common part of the Jewish diet in Roman times that the basic measure of volume in Talmudic literature was half an egg, and both the Mishnah and the Babylonian Talmud contain an entire tractate called beitzah (“egg”).47 44 Adan-Bayewitz, Common Pottery, 34; Tanis, S., “The Material Culture of the Classical Greek Banquet”, in McWilliams, M. (ed.), Food and Material Culture. Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery, 2013 (Totnes: Prospect Books, 2014), 325–35, on p. 327 including Fig. 2. 45 Adan-Bayewitz, Common Pottery, 34. 46 Berlin, “The Plain Wares”, 105 n. 235. 47 Weingarten, S., “Eggs in the Talmud”, in Hosking, R. (ed.), Eggs in Cookery. Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery, 2006 (Totnes: Prospect Books, 2007), 270–81, on pp. 270–1. The tractate’s name derives from the first word in the first sentence: “An egg which is laid on a festival”.

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

123

Furthermore, the Mishnah refers to the lifsa/ilpas in connection with the preparation of dishes in which beaten eggs were poured over other ingredients and then cooked or baked: [He is culpable {for breaking the Sabbath} that takes out] enough to cook the smallest egg mixed [with oil] and put in a pan (EH@4) (mShab 8:5; Danby’s translation). If a beaten-up egg was put on top of the vegetables that are Heave-offering, and one that had immersed himself the selfsame day touched the egg, he renders invalid only the stalk [of vegetables] over against the part that he touched. R. Jose says: All is according to the arrangement above: if it was like a cap [and not mingled among the vegetable stalks] it does not serve as a connective. If a streak of the egg congealed on the sides of a pan (EH@) and one that had immersed himself the selfsame day touched it (…) (mTebul Yom 3:2–3; Danby’s translation; see also mEd 2:4).

Susan Weingarten observes that cooking beaten eggs in a lifsa/ilpas “was clearly a very common way of cooking eggs in Talmudic Palestine – if we can judge from the number of times it is mentioned in the literature – and it is the way recommended by Galen too as the most nourishing. Galen recommends eggs of a moderate consistency cooked in a kop²r lopas and removed from the fire while still runny. Even the saucepan here is the same!”48 Galen’s testimony (which dates to the second half of the second century CE and therefore is contemporary with the tannaim and the redaction of the Mishnah) indicates that in the Roman East, Italian pans sometimes were referred to as a lopas. This accounts for the rabbinic use of a term derived from lopas to describe a pan used for cooking patinae and patellae. The fact that Galilean Bowls appeared about a century earlier than Kfar Hananya Form 3B and remained common until the fifth century accords well with the frequent references to the lifsa/ ilpas in rabbinic literature.49 Although the ubiquity of Galilean Bowls in ceramic assemblages attests to the popularity of quiches and frittatas among the local Jewish population, they presumably were a versatile vessel used for preparing other kinds of dishes and perhaps also as table ware.50

4. Conclusion This review attests to the introduction of certain Roman features in first century CE Galilee, apparently within the context of Herod Antipas’ urban projects at Sepphoris and Tiberias. These include the construction of monumental public buildings at Tiberias and possibly at Sepphoris. There 48 Weingarten, “Eggs in the Talmud”, 277. 49 For the end date of Galilean Bowls, see the discussion in Magness, J./Schindler, D., “Pottery and Settlement in Late Roman Galilee”, BASOR 374 (2015), 191–207, on pp. 191–207. 50 As suggested by Adan-Bayewitz, Common Pottery, 88.

124

Jodi Magness

are Roman-style frescoes at Sepphoris and in the towns or large villages of Gamla, Jotapata, and Magdala, mosaic floors at Magdala, and molded stucco decoration at Gamla. Among the limited amount of published pottery from Sepphoris are small quantities of imported fine wares including ESA, WTS, and Knidian Gray Ware. The ceramic assemblages from Sepphoris and Gamla also include imported and locally-produced thin-walled cups and beakers and imported Italian pans of Pompeian Red Ware. The latter apparently were the inspiration for Galilean Bowls (Kfar Hananya Ware), the production of which began in the early first century CE. Thin-walled cups and beakers and Galilean Bowls reflect the widespread adoption of a distinctive type of Roman cuisine as well Roman drinking habits among the Jewish population in Galilee. Roman influence in Judea was manifested differently. The Jerusalem elite eagerly adopted various aspects of a Roman lifestyle, and Roman influence is evident on some locally-produced pottery. For example, Berlin notes that Judean casseroles with a triangular rim, which have a wide mouth, sharply carinated shoulder, and rounded body were inspired by Roman bronze cooking vessels. These casseroles appeared during the reign of Herod and are very common in first century CE contexts around Judea.51 Shallow cooking bowls appeared in Judean assemblages around the time of the First Revolt. They bear some resemblance to Galilean Bowls but are much less common and differ in the rim form and in having horizontal loop handles.52 Why did Galilean Jews adopt patinae and patellae enthusiastically while their Judean compatriots did not? Did Galilean households raise more hens and therefore produce more eggs than their Judean counterparts? Perhaps Galilean households also cultivated larger quantities of fresh vegetables, which could be used in a patina, whereas the southern diet relied more heavily on stews based on barley, lentils, or gruel? Whatever the reason, this review attests to unexpected Roman influence on the Galilean Jewish population. This does not resolve the debate about whether Jesus’ outlook reflects the impact of philosophical schools of thought such as the Cynics, but it does shed new light on the context in which he lived and preached.

51 Berlin, “Pottery and Pottery Production”, 39–42, who dates the introduction of this type to the early first century CE. Rachel Bar-Nathan dates the appearance of this type to the reign of Herod; see Bar-Nathan, R., Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho, Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations. Volume III: The Pottery (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2002), 74–5 (Type JCS3); Bar-Nathan, R., Masada VII, The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports. The Pottery of Masada (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2006), 164–6 (Type M–CS1). 52 See Bar-Nathan, Masada VII, 172–73 (Types M-FP2–3, described as “frying pans”); Magness, J., Jerusalem Ceramic Chronology circa 200–800 C.E. (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 211–13 (Casseroles [Cooking Bowls] Form 1).

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

125

Bibliography Adan-Bayewitz, D., Common Pottery in Roman Galilee (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1993). Atrash, W., “The Roman Theater of Tiberias”, Qadmoniot 144 (2012), 79–88 (in Hebrew). Avshalom-Gorni, D./Najar, A., “Migdal”, HA/ESI 125 (2013), at http://www.hadashotesi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=2304&mag_id=120 (accessed 12/5/2017). Aviam, M. “People, Land, Economy, and Belief in First-Century Galilee and Its Origins. A Comprehensive Archaeological Synthesis”, in Fiensy, D.A./Hawkins, R.K. (eds.), The Galilean Economy in the Time of Jesus (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013), 5–48. Aviam, M., “Yodefat – Jotapata, A Jewish Galilean Town at the End of the Second Temple Period. The Results of an Archaeological Project”, in Fiensy, D.A./Strange, J.R. (ed.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 109–26. Balouka, M., “Appendix: The Pottery from the House of Dionysos”, in Talgam, R./ Weiss, Z. (eds.), The Mosaics of the House of Dionysos at Sepphoris (Qedem 44; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 2004), 35–46. Balouka, M., “Roman Pottery”, in Meyers, E.M./Meyers, C.L. (eds.), The Pottery from Ancient Sepphoris (Sepphoris I; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 13–129. Bar-Nathan, R., Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho, Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations. Volume III: The Pottery (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2002). Bar-Nathan, R., Masada VII, The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports. The Pottery of Masada (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2006). Berlin, A.M., Gamla I: The Pottery of the Second Temple Period. The Shmarya Gutmann Excavations, 1976–1989 (IAA Reports 29; Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2006). Berlin, A.M., “Jewish Life Before the Revolt. The Archaeological Evidence”, JSJ 36 (2005), 417–70. Berlin, A.M., “Pottery and Pottery Production in the Second Temple Period”, in Arubas, B./Goldfus, H. (eds.), Excavations on the Site of the Jerusalem International Convention Center (Binyanei Ha’uma). A Settlement of the Late First to Second Temple Period, the Tenth Legion’s Kilnworks, and a Byzantine Monastic Complex (Portsmouth, RI: JRA.Sup. 60, 2005), 29–60. Berlin, A.M., “Romanization and Anti-Romanization in Pre-Revolt Galilee”, in Berlin, A.M./Overman, J.A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology. History, and Ideology (London: Routledge, 2002), 57–73. Berlin, A.M., “The Plain Wares”, in Herbert, S.C. (ed.), Tel Anafa II,i. The Hellenistic and Roman Pottery (Ann Arbor, MI: JRA.Sup. 10, 1997), 1–244.

126

Jodi Magness

Bonnie, R., “From Stadium to Harbor. Reinterpreting the Curved Ashlar Structure in Roman Tiberias”, BASOR 377 (2017), 21–38. Crossan, J.D., The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1991). Cytryn-Silverman, K., “Tiberias, from Its Foundation to the End of the Early Islamic Period”, in Fiensy, D.A./Strange, J.R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 186–210. Danby, H., The Mishnah. Translated from the Hebrew with Introduction and Brief Explanatory Notes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933). De Luca, S./Lena, A., “Magdala/Taricheae”, in Fiensy, D.A./Strange, J.R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 280–342. De Luca, S./Lena, A., “The Harbor of the City of Madgala/Taricheae on the Shores of the Sea of Galilee”, in Ladstätter, S./Pirson, F./Schmidts, T. (eds.), Byzas 19 – Harbors and Harbor Cities in the Eastern Mediterranean from Antiquity to the Byzantine Period. Recent Discoveries and Current Approaches. Istanbul, May 30June 1, 2011. Band 1 (Istanbul: Ege Yayilnari, 2014), 113–63. De Luca, S./Lena, A., “The Mosaic of the Thermal Bath Complex of Magdala Reconsidered: Archaeological Context, Epigraphy and Iconography”, in Bottini, G.C./Chrupca;a, L.D./Patrich, J. (eds.), Knowledge and Wisdom. Archaeological and Historical Essays in Honour of Leah Di Segni (Milan: Terra Santa, 2014), 1–33. Donnelly, A., Cooking, Cooking Pots and Cultural Transformation in Imperial and Late Antique Italy (Ph.D. dissertation; Loyola University Chicago, 2016), at http:// ecommons.luc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3278&context=luc_diss (accessed 12/16/2017). Ettlinger. E., Conspectus Formarum Terrae Sigillatae Italico Modo Confectae (Römisch-Germanische Kommission des DAI; Bonn: Habelt, 1990). Farhi, Y., “Stucco Decorations from the Western Quarter”, in Syon, D./Yavor, Z. (eds.), Gamla II: The Architecture. The Shmarya Gutmann Excavations, 1976–1989 (IAA Reports 44; Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2010), 175–87. Feldman, L.H., Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, Books XVIII–XIX (Loeb edition; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 1965). Fiensy, D.A./Strange, J.R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015). Hartal, M., “Tiberias, Galei Kinneret”, HA/ESI 120 (2008), at http://www.hadashotesi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=773&mag_id=114 (accessed 12/5/2017). Hirschfeld, Y., “Tiberias”, in Stern, E. (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Volume 4 (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1993) 1464–70. Hoglund, K.G./Meyers, E.M., “The Residential Quarter on the Western Summit”, in Nagy, R.M. (ed.), Sepphoris in Galilee. Crosscurrents of Culture (Raleigh: North Carolina Museum of Art, 1996), 38–43.

How Romanized Was Galilee in the Time of Jesus?

127

Keay, S./Terrenato, N. (eds.), Italy and the West. Comparative Issues in Romanization (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2001). Lapp, E.C., The Clay Lamps from Ancient Sepphoris (Sepphoris II; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016). Magness, J., Jerusalem Ceramic Chronology circa 200–800 C.E. (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993). Magness, J., Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit. Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011). Magness, J., “The Roman Legionary Pottery”, in Arubas, B./Goldfus, H. (eds.), Excavations on the Site of the Jerusalem International Convention Center (Binyanei Ha’uma). A Settlement of the Late First to Second Temple Period, the Tenth Legion’s Kilnworks, and a Byzantine Monastic Complex (Portsmouth, RI: JRA.Sup. 60, 2005), 69–191. Magness, J./Schindler, D., “Pottery and Settlement in Late Roman Galilee”, BASOR 374 (2015), 191–207. Meyers, C.L./Meyers, E.M., “Sepphoris”, in Meyers, E.M. (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East. Volume 4 (New York: Oxford University, 1997), 527–36. Mizzi, D., “From the Judaean Desert to the Great Sea: Qumran in a Mediterranean Context”, DSD 24 (2017), 378–406. Peacock, D.P.S./Williams, D.F., Amphorae and the Roman Economy. An Introductory Guide (London: Longman, 1986). Reed, J.L., Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus. A Re-examination of the Evidence (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press, 2000). Rosenthal-Heginbottom, R., “Hellenistic and Early Roman Fine Ware and Lamps from Area A”, in Geva, H. (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982. Volume 2 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2003), 192–223. Slane, K.W., “The Fine Wares”, in Herbert, S.C. (ed.), Tel Anafa II,i. The Hellenistic and Roman Pottery (Ann Arbor, MI: JRA.Sup. 10), 247–406. Talgam, R./Weiss, Z., The Mosaics of the House of Dionysos at Sepphoris (Qedem 14; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 2004). Tanis, S., “The Material Culture of the Classical Greek Banquet”, in McWilliams, M. (ed.), Food and Material Culture. Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery, 2013 (Totnes: Prospect Books, 2014), 325–35. Vincenz, A. de, “Fine Wares; Byzantine-Early Islamic Wares”, in Meyers, E.M./ Meyers, C.L. (eds.), The Pottery from Ancient Sepphoris (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013) 142–215. Waterman, L., Preliminary Report of the University of Michigan Excavations at Sepphoris in Palestine in 1931 (Ann Arbor : University of Michigan, 1937). Weingarten, S., “Eggs in the Talmud”, in Hosking, R. (ed.), Eggs in Cookery. Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery, 2006 (Totnes: Prospect Books, 2007), 270–81.

128

Jodi Magness

Weiss, Z., “From Galilean Town to Roman City, 100 BCE-200 CE”, in Fiensy, D.A./ Strange, J.R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 53–75. Weiss, Z., The Sepphoris Synagogue. Deciphering an Ancient Message through Its Archaeological and Socio-Historical Contexts (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2005).

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18) Observations on Jesus the Jew Traveling through a Changing Galilee

In his brilliant Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung (1913; first edition published 1906 as Von Reimarus zu Wrede)1, the great liberal theologian, philosopher, medical doctor and musician Albert Schweitzer (1875–1965) painfully demonstrated how dependent all reconstructions of a “historical Jesus” were that had appeared up to his own lifetime. To this very day, his book stands both as a warning and as a promise. Whoever ventures into the minefield of “historical Jesus research” needs to be aware of the simple fact that there can be no “objectivity” and no escape from the subjectivity of one’s own questions and socializations. To a certain extent, every reconstruction of the “historical Jesus” will inevitably be a projection of the mind and the time of the person who created it. If everybody had taken Schweitzer’s point seriously, it could have been the end of all efforts to describe Jesus as a person of history and approach him according to the methods of historical research. But it wasn’t, not even for Schweitzer. Schweitzer himself added his own “eschatological interpretation” of Jesus at the end of his analysis that was so different and daring compared to the pictures of his predecessors that it opened up new ground and inspired a whole new generation of “Jesus scholars”. Not despite of, but because of Schweitzer, the field remains open and invites us to continue the path of reconstruction, of confronting the Jesus that we think we know and need with new ways of understanding based on written and non-written sources from his time. The field remains open for people who try to make sense of a tradition and a faith whose images of Jesus have both encapsulated his message in golden icons and at times so utterly betrayed him with actions and life-styles that took his name as mere pretext. Ever since the enlightenment, confronting traditional Jesus-images with what people thought could be said on a historical basis has functioned as a productive way to emancipate oneself from paternalistic hierarchies. One might call the quest for the “historical Jesus” an illusion, theologically illegitimate, useless, destructive or obsolete, but not to enter this intellectual adventure because of these caveats would deny us the pursuit of one of the most challenging intellectual exercises imaginable. To demonstrate the great benefits we all have drawn from the historical quest for Jesus I only mention the insight that Jesus’ context was a 1 Schweitzer, A., Von Reimarus zu Wrede: Eine Geschichte der Leben Jesu-Forschung (Tübingen 1906; substantially expanded edition Tübingen 1913; first English translation 1910).

130

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

Jewish one. Material culture disclosed by excavations and renewed study of Jewish sources and dialogue with experts from both fields have tremendously changed the fundamental assumptions from which Jesus research has to depart. Recognizing Jesus’ essentially Jewish Galilean matrix is one of the strongest precautions against ideologizing and “modernizing” him. This essay is based on a public lecture I gave at the opening of the Essen conference to a wide audience of a German-speaking audience of interested non-professionals.2 Their sharp and enthusiastic questions taught me that there is a lot of expertise, seriousness and knowledge among so-called “laypersons” that needs to be catered for. I translated the German manuscript into English, streamlined and nuanced it with some new insights. Even though I am in constant dialogue with many experts through literature and personal communication, I purposely refrained from adding the usual academic apparatus of proper footnotes (this will be done in a different context).3 This essay, of course, is no new “Life of the Historical Jesus”, but sketches a few contours and preconditions that I think will be necessary to take into account when such a “New Life of Jesus” should be written. I hope this essay will help the reader to better understand Jesus’ prime geographical and social context within first century Galilee, which was very different from our own. Becoming aware of this distant world of first century Galilee should caution us not to make Jesus a person of our own world too quickly and too easily.

1. Sources Any reconstruction of Jesus the Galilean Jew needs to deal with a serious obstacle, namely the distance – historically, socially and geographically – between our sources and the events that they describe. Though this caveat has fortunately become almost common sense thanks to intensive critical research, it is still necessary to realize its consequences. None of our gospels 2 With this essay I am following up a path started with Zangenberg, J. K./Faßbeck, G., “‘Jesus am See von Galiläa’ (Mt 4,18). Eine Skizze zur archäologischen Forschung am See Gennesaret und zur regionalen Verankerung der frühen Jesusbewegung“, in den Hertog, C. G./Hübner, U./ Münger, S. (eds.), Saxa Loquentur. Studien zur Archäologie Palästinas/Israels (FS Volkmar Fritz zum 65. Geburtstag; AOAT 302; Münster 2003), 291–310. 3 As the literature is vast, I only refer to a few titles. I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness especially to Meier, J. P., A Marginal Jew. Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Vol. 1–5 (New York 1991–2009); Sanders, E. P., The Historical Figure of Jesus (London 1993); Ehrman, B., Jesus. Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Freyne, S., Jesus, a Jewish Galilean: A New Reading of the Jesus Story (London/New York 2004); Holm8n, T./ Porter, S. E. (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (Leiden / Boston 2010); for readers capable of German see Schröter, J., Jesus von Nazareth. Jude aus Galiläa – Retter der Welt (Leipzig 62017); Nogossek, L./Jacobi, C./Schröter, J. (eds.), Jesus-Handbuch (Tübingen 2017; English edition in preparation).

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

131

was likely written in Galilee, not even Q (the source assumed to be behind Mt and Lk next to Mk) necessarily originated directly from the region, but perhaps from Jerusalem. The social and linguistic milieu of our gospels is also quite different from that of the Galilean Jesus movement. What we find in the New Testament about Jesus the Galilean Jew, therefore, has gone through various processes of oral and literary (re-)collection, selection and redaction. And we have the results of these processes in at least five different versions: in Q (which I still think is a plausible hypothesis)4, in the three Synoptics Mk, Mt and Lk, and in John. Traditions about Jesus the Galilean Jew were preserved by authors and their communities in far-away regions to keep in touch with their foundational figure and period, both of which more and more became a thing of the past and part of a world that was not theirs anymore. Because of their great value as religious, ethical and normative reference points, Jesus traditions were remembered and used by their transmitters to answer questions and solve issues emerging from their own situation. That is only natural: if Jesus tradition would not have proved relevant for answering urgent practical and intellectual questions, people would have lost interest in them and quickly forgotten them. So, traditions about Jesus the Galilean Jew were adapted in terms of content and reframed in terms of style, changing the “original” and thereby preserving it. So, what we have as sources about Jesus the Galilean Jew is “reflected tradition” and “tradition reloaded”. The Jesus we find in our NT sources is the Jesus whom their authors have remembered in a process of preservation and transformation. You will not get the one without the other! Intensive research on the texts has taught us in past decades that it is often very difficult, even sometimes impossible, to break through to “the real Galilean Jew called Jesus” and clearly distinguish “old” from “renewed”.5 Jesus the Galilean Jew is veiled and shrouded by decades of reception history, and so are the narratives (chriai) and words (logia) that deal with the environment he lived in, Late Hellenistic and Early Roman Galilee. Nevertheless, despite all transformations, we still have much information preserved in the Jesus tradition that helps us better understand Jesus’ original spatial context by providing place names, personal names or other characteristic Galilean Lokalkolorit. As examples I only mention the Synoptic parables that are deeply colored by Galilean life, such as the role of Capernaum and the famous sons of fishermen who became his first disciples. My job is to explore what we know about Jesus’ Galilee and to check how far these New Testament references give us access to the “real Galilee”.6 You may 4 Tiwald, M., The Sayings Source. A Commentary on Q (Stuttgart 2020); see also the controversial discussion in ZNT 22 (2019) “Synoptische Hypothesen”. 5 Ground breaking is Dunn, J. G. D., Jesus Remembered. Christianity in the Making 1 (Grand Rapids 2003). 6 See Zangenberg, J., A Region in Transition. Introducing Religion, Ethnicity, and Identity in Ancient Galilee, in: Zangenberg, J./Attridge, H. W./Martin, D. B. (eds.), A Region in Transition. Religion, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Galilee (WUNT I/210; Tübingen 2007), 1–10; Zan-

132

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

wonder about the direction of my question. I am not taking the direct road from the New Testament to Jesus’ Galilee. This is how people have usually proceeded. Previously, Christian academic reconstructions of Jesus’ Galilee rested on a fundamental assumption, namely that the Gospels provide a more or less accurate and comprehensive picture of Jesus’ Galilean background. The NT data, it was assumed, only needed to be read critically and combined into a coherent picture to reconstruct Jesus’ Galilee. But the result was not “the Galilee”, but a literary construct of it, which claimed an intimate congruence between “Jesus the Galilean” and the “Galilee of Jesus” that reflected back on the character of his message: If Jesus castigated the rich and blessed the poor, he did so because Galilee was stricken with poverty and suppressed by a rich elite. We can go on and name more features of “Gospel Galilee”: it was Jewish, but in opposition to Jerusalem where Jesus was killed; it was rural, dotted with small villages and a little backwards, populated by honest farmers and fishermen, impoverished and suppressed by ruthless tax collectors. In turn, other elements that were not mentioned in the Gospels, like cities, were considered less relevant for reconstructing Galilean culture. Although the NT image of Jesus’ Galilee remained open for selectively picked supplements from other authors like Josephus, the Gospel frame ultimately dictated what was integrated from outside. But even Josephus, perhaps our most detailed source, does not provide an unbiased, complete picture of first-century Galilee, but frames the region according to his own needs. For him, the Galilee is the setting of a monumental conflict between Jewish rebels and Roman legions and the stage for his own, disputed and ambiguous role as priestly general and later prot8g8e of Vespasian.7 Interestingly enough, Jewish academic Galilee was no less based on literary sources, the Tannaim with the Mishna, later also the Talmudim. Tannaitic sources indeed have the advantage that many of them originated in the Galilee or can be traced back to figures with a Galilean background. But they also depict Galilee in a way that they wanted to see it, namely as an ideal stage for the Rabbis, the sages trained in oral tradition and Torah exegesis, the intellectual and cultural leaders of all the honest Galileans who flocked to the synagogues, sat at their feet to learn and would not follow the customs of their genberg, J., Jesus – Galiläa – Archäologie. Neuere Forschungen in einer Region im Wandel, in: Claussen, C./Frey, J. (eds.), Jesus und die Archäologie Galiläas (BThSt 87; Neukirchen-Vluyn 2008), 7–38 with ample references. On Jewish Galilee see also Nodet, E., Jewish Galilee, in: Porter, S. E./Holm8n, T. (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 4 (Leiden 2011), 3222–3242. 7 Zangenberg, J., Das Galiläa des Josephus und das Galiläa der Archäologie. Tendenzen und Probleme der neueren Forschung, in: Böttrich, C./Herzer, J. (eds.), Josephus und das Neue Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen. II. Internationales Symposium zum Corpus-Judaeo-Hellenisticum 25.–28. Mai 2006 (WUNT I 209; Greifswald, Tübingen 2007), 265–294; Vonder Brugge, J. M., Mapping Galilee in Josephus, Luke and John. Geography and the Construction of an Ancient Space (AJEC 93; Leiden / Boston 2016).

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

133

competitors, i. e. the “people of the land”. Interestingly enough, Rabbinic Galilee appealed to many Christian scholars, too, just because of its idealized, very Jewish character. To many Christian scholars, Rabbinic Galilee looked like the “other side”, the opposite of Jesus’ Galilee, providing a representation of the society that Jesus addressed and which rejected him. That, of course, is not entirely far-fetched. Rabbinic Galilee indeed corresponds to many features in the Jesus tradition: the prominent place of synagogues, the Rabbis as (predecessors of) Jesus’ Jewish (“Pharisaic”) opponents. Often, Rabbinic texts also illustrate the debates Jesus was engaged in, including such classic topics as purity or how to interpret the law. It is not that these sources are irrelevant for the reconstruction of Jesus’ Galilee, they are important! The problem rather is that we are reading these sources against their intention. None of them wanted to provide a comprehensive picture of Galilee. Don’t misunderstand me, there is no reason to condemn literary approaches completely. Texts are and will remain important, but we need to read them critically to avoid overstretching their value or falling into the trap of circular argumentation. Of course, all three literary corpora (Gospels, Josephus, Rabbis) speak about one and the same region, but they do so from quite different angles, with different intentions and on the basis of differently selected sources. Therefore, they present several stories about one and the same region, sometimes overlapping, sometimes supplementing and sometimes contradicting each other. None of them necessarily represents what I wish to call “the Galilee on the ground”, which alone can be taken as the historical context of Jesus the Galilean Jew. The Gospels, as well as Josephus and the Rabbis, create their Galilee, they reflect about it as part, context and background of stories that are important as parts of their own history. For none of these authors, however, the Galilee is the main topic, it is staffage. A literary approach to the Galilee based on only these sources, therefore, is no longer viable if we wish to approach the Galilee as historians. We have to turn Galilee from its head back onto its feet. The only way to emancipate us from textual Galilees and reach the “Galilee on the ground” is to reconstruct it “from the ground”, i. e. through archaeology.8 Archaeology has the methods to explore and interpret the spatial, cultural and historical development of a region, its components and cultural connections, independently of the intentions and selections by textual authors. The “pages and chapters” that an archaeologist needs to read are the layers, walls, finds and connections between them at a given site. He or she will then correlate this data to other 8 Reed, J. L., Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus: A Reexamination of the Evidence (Harrisburg 2000); Deines, R., “Galilee and the Historical Jesus in Recent Research,” in: Fiensy, D. A./Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 9–48; Zangenberg, J. K., “Jesus der Galiläer und die Archäologie. Beobachtungen zur Bedeutung der Archäologie für die historische Jesusforschung,” in: MThZ 64 (2013), 123–156.

134

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

sites and thereby eventually be able to reconstruct – with the help of other disciplines – the cultural and historic profile of the region. This “profile from the ground” can and must then be correlated and compared with the images of Galilee that Josephus, the Gospels or the Rabbis create, and we will see that they do not necessarily overlap. Don’t misunderstand me here: I am not saying that texts are “subjective” and therefore wrong, and archaeology is “objective” and therefore right. Far from it! The Galilee of the archaeologists is far from complete either, but it is independent and likely to produce new evidence. Eventually, both texts and material culture need to be interpreted in a hermeneutical process according to the established methods of their respective fields and in an interdisciplinary dialogue. And all of this adds up to our eventual reconstruction of how Galilee might “really” have looked like, but in different ways. At the moment, I do have the impression that archaeology is the most innovative partner in the discourse on Jesus’ Galilee, almost constantly producing new evidence, evidence that challenges long-held opinions and opens up new perspectives. That of course also means that what I am showing you is not the last word, but reports on work-in-progress by many colleagues whose published research I am gratefully using here. But all these results are prone to be revised, supplemented and altered as soon as new evidence comes up. If somebody really wants to call archaeology “the Fifth Gospel”, he or she should know that this is a gospel that can never be canonized and will always remain in the process of being written. But now in medias res:

2. Some Basic Characteristics of Jesus’ Galilee Before we are going into details, let me delineate three fundamental factors that are important for everyone who intends to reconstruct the cultural profile of Galilee: First is the principle of regionalism and connectivity. Galilee, since it was “invented” by the Hasmoneans as a distinct region after their conquest around 100 BCE, has always remained dependent on and connected to other regions.9

9 On Galilean regionalism see the pioneering studies by Meyers, E. M., “Galilean Regionalism as a Factor in Historical Reconstruction,” BASOR 221 (1976), 93–101; Meyers, E. M., “The Cultural Setting of Galilee. The Case of Regionalism and Early Judaism,” ANRW 2.19.1 (1979), 686–702. The debate is continued by Aviam, M., “Distribution Map of Archaeological Data from the Galilee. An Attempt to Establish Zones Indicative of Ethnicity and Religious Affiliation,” in: Zangenberg, J./Attridge, H. W./Martin, D. B. (eds.), A Region in Transition. Religion, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Galilee (WUNT I/210; Tu¨ bingen 2007), 115–132; and now with a different model by Zangenberg, J. K., “Anchoring Ancient Galilee at the Lakeshore. Towards Reconceptualizing Ancient Galilee as a Mediterranean Environment,” EC 19 (2019), 265–291. On

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

135

The Hasmoneans defined Galilee as the territory that they were able to conquer and resettle with colonists from Judaea, thereby creating a region that was predominately Jewish. Josephus follows this concept when he described the borders of his Galilee according to the ethnic separation between Jews and non-Jews. But we should be aware of the fact that this border is an ideological construct that generated ethnically defined territories, which nevertheless remained connected by geography. Regardless of all these borders, be they imagined or “real”, Galilee remained sandwiched between the Mediterranean coast with its Phoenician-style urban centers and the Syrian plain east of the Rift Valley / the Lake with the Greco-Syrian Decapolis. In the center of these two cultural and economic magnets was the Lake, Jesus’ area of activity. The strong east-west thrall countered all potential intentions to draw an all too strict line around “Galilee”, and subjected Jews as well as non-Jews to the irresistible influence of Mediterranean trade and culture. Despite their original anti-Hellenistic impetus, even the Hasmoneans quickly learned how to use the benefits of Galilee’s transitional position and massively invested in the Lake shore to skim off revenues from the trans-Galilean trade at its most vulnerable point: the Lake shore. Ironically enough, by building harbors as in Magdala, the Hasmonean conquest added a second dimension of connectedness from the south, but it did not eliminate the fact that Galilee was connected. That insight is decisive, because it means that Galilee’s historical and cultural development cannot be understood only on the basis of what was going on in the region itself. Galilean material culture was never isolated nor was it autochthonous. Despite all its peculiarities, Galilee was part of larger, regional networks. I therefore follow Albrecht Alt, Eric Meyers and others who have for a long time favored a regional approach to all things Galilean. But at the same time, I acknowledge a much higher degree of permeability of borders in the Late Hellenistic and Roman periods than many of my colleagues would concede. “Ethnic” borders between “insiders” and “outsiders”, like the Hasmonean one that Josephus seems to favor, do not eliminate contacts beyond and between these groups, they at best regulate them and channel changes that these contacts trigger within these groups. Regarding a second basic characteristic of Jesus’ Galilee: Much research is currently being carried out about the question of how Hellenized the Galilee was.10 On the basis of a number of observations, many scholars agreed on the fact that, since the Galilee was Jewish, it was not or only little Hellenized, presupposing an intrinsic, essential conflict between Hellenism and Judaism. There is, of course, no question that Hellenism (i. e. Greek, western trade see also Guijarro, S., “Magdala and Trade,” in: Bauckham, Magdala, 161–183 who, however, does not draw sufficient conclusions about the impact Magdala had on Galilee’s connectivity. 10 See also Jodi Magness’ article in this volume.

136

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

polytheistic culture) did indeed pose a serious challenge for Jews who wanted to follow their ancestral laws. But to assume that both cultural worlds were mutually exclusive is a misconception of both Judaism and Hellenism and their relationship to each other. Hellenism is more a process unfolding a dynamic than a static condition that is achieved or completed at one particular moment in time. Galilee was never “finished” being Hellenized in a static sense, but it remained subject to a continuous process of transformation from different directions, including breaks and new beginnings. Hellenism posed challenges and offered opportunities for all indigenous cultures it got into contact with after the period of Alexander. Galilee’s Hellenization already begun before the Hasmonean conquest, when it affected the Phoenician culture of the coastal harbors and the Semitic inhabitants of inland Galilee. With the Hasmonean conquest around 100 BCE, Hellenization in Galilee received a new, distinctly Jewish direction. Now, cultural influence came from the south, the Hasmonean temple monarchy in Jerusalem, and not from the Phoenician coast anymore. This switch had ground-breaking consequences: Not only did the Hasmoneans bring in new inhabitants (colonists) from the south, whose new settlements almost entirely obliterated older traces of the Phoenico-Galileans, they also brought their distinctly Jewish religion and Jerusalem-oriented social structure. We see the first miqwa’ot and synagogues emerge, as well as new pottery types and stone vessels. The process of Hellenization was intensified with Herod and his son Antipas, interrupted by the First Jewish War and resumed afterwards in the form of Romanization. Galilean material culture to a large extent became a variant of the JudaeoHellenistic culture that the Hasmoneans had been developing in their Judean homeland. The transition was therefore not from paganism to Judaism, it was from one variant of Hellenism to another. Realizing that no identifiable traces of the pre-Hasmonean Galilean culture survived into the time of Jesus, we can therefore safely assume that most Galileans were Jews in the broadest sense of the word and no less pious or devout than their Judaean compatriots. That means that Galilean as well as Judean Jews shared several religious essentials like the appreciation for the Temple, the Law and its prophet Moses, and for the Patriarchs, as well as a number of basic, identity-forming practical norms like abstinence from pork, circumcision and care for ritual purity.11 As a good 11 On Jewish material culture in the times of Jesus see, e. g., Berlin, A. M., “Jewish Life Before the Revolt,” JSJ 36 (2005), 417–470; Berlin, A. M., “Identity Politics in Early Roman Galilee,” in: Popovic, M. (ed.), The Jewish Revolt Against Rome. Interdisciplinary Perspectives (JSJ.Sup 154; Leiden / Boston 2012), 69–106; Berlin, A. M., “Manifest Identity. From Ioudaios to Jew. Household Judaism as Hellenization in the Late Hasmonean Era,” in: Albertz, R./Wöhrle, J. (eds.), Between Cooperation and Hostility. Multiple Identities in Ancient Judaism and the Interaction with Foreign Powers (JAJ.Supp 11; Göttingen 2013), 171–175; Berlin, A. M., “Household Judaism,” in: Fiensy, D. A./Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 208–215.

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

137

Galilean, Jesus also looked south, perhaps was on pilgrimage even before he went on his last trip to the Holy City. Besides that, a Mediterranean ethos influenced many aspects of social life: family hierarchies, burial, taboos, everyday do’s and don’ts. Material culture to a large extent confirms that picture: from at the least the mid-first century BCE onwards, settlements in Galilee are characterized by a low rate of pig bones (which may have different reasons), the presence of miqwa’ot and stone vessels. That does not, however, mean that there were no differences in opinion among Galilean Jews about how their common Judaism should be expressed in word and deed, and which practical traditions of application and leaders in decision-making one should choose. Hellenism, finally, varies in intensity and direction. Never was Hellenistic influence equally strong at all times and across all layers of Galilean society. Hellenism influenced Galilee from various directions and affected different social groups in different ways that often included opposite tendencies unfolding at the same time. Under this roof, many different interpretations could and did exist, and nothing would be farther from the truth than the assumption that Judaism was uniform, be it Pharisaic or other. In this respect Galilee, again, was no different from Judaea. There may even have been suspicion by some, opposition by others and open resistance by a few Galileans against their own, Jerusalem-oriented elite, but that does not make even the most rebellious Galileans less Jewish. A look at the situation in Tiberias and Sepphoris demonstrates how differently Galileans could position themselves towards the beginning of the revolt. Anything else, in the end, would be awkward. The assumption that a region like Galilee, sandwiched between the Decapolis and the Coast, might have been likely to escape the ubiquitous influence of Hellenisms is anachronistic and implausible. Galilee needs to be interpreted as a part of, and not as an exception to, or even in opposition against “Hellenism”.

3. Settlement Patterns According to many summary passages in the Synoptics, Jesus attracted huge crowds of people from all parts of Galilee and beyond. Very often, villages and towns are mentioned. What do we know about the settlements in Jesus’ Galilean world?12

12 Zangenberg, J. K./Van de Zande, D., Art. Urbanization, in: Heszer, C. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (Oxford 2010), 165–188; still quite traditional Root, B. W., First Century Galilee. A Fresh Examination of the Sources, (WUNT II 378; Tu¨ bingen 2014).

138

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

3.1 Villages and Rural Life Like anywhere else in the Eastern Mediterranean, Galilee to a very large degree depended upon the three basic Mediterranean crops: grain, wine and olives, among which there were fruit orchards and vegetable gardens. In less fertile regions, animal husbandry and textile production were important, depending on the subregion. So, like in any other neighboring areas around the Galilee, farming and related activities and crafts were the main source of income for the vast majority of people. Especially after the Hasmonean conquest, most Galileans likely lived in villages, although it is surprising that only very few of these settlements have been sufficiently examined by archaeologists: the most important being the village on et-Tell and Nazareth with its rural surroundings. Villages like Nazareth usually were unfortified and housed ca. 200–400 inhabitants. Their architecture consisted of clusters of pretty standard courtyard houses, built to be flexible and multifunctional, and showing little social stratification. Living and work spaces were connected, animals lived with humans and the neighbors were never far – a closely-knit community for life. Thanks to strong family ties, village life always provided a crucial component of mutual help and communal labor (harvest). Contrary to widespread assumptions, however, villages were no havens of dull traditionalism, but proved very adaptive and competitive, dependent on local resources. People spoke Aramaic rather than Greek, and the degree of illiteracy was likely high, but not complete. There were always experts around who knew how to draft a legally binding document, were able to negotiate with a tax collector and knew where to go to initiate a lawsuit. Villagers were not uneducated. Cultural, including religious, formation was mainly achieved orally and informally from generation to generation, with likely clear-cut gendered roles and a traditional hierarchy. Clans and families ran their private and most economic affairs mainly without interference from outside. The religious, social and political center of a village was the synagogue, but we do not know if every village community in the time of Jesus was affluent enough to afford such a communal building, not even expensive leather scrolls for reading the Tora. No first-century BCE/CE synagogue has been found yet in villages like Nazareth or et-Tell, but this does not say that there were none. A nice example for a village synagogue is Qiryat Sefer just north of Jerusalem, where a small, square and quite simple synagogue building stood in the village piazza surrounded by courtyard houses. The synagogues from the first century were public buildings of a self-governing local community, designed in the style of Hellenistic meeting places (bouleuterion) and displaying moderate luxury (columns, plaster, benches). People would use the synagogue for religious gatherings, but also for political meetings to discuss affairs that concerned the entire village community. But after the meeting, people would

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

139

go home to eat. Women were likely admitted to religious worships in the synagogue, but they would certainly not occupy a prominent place nor be entrusted with a very active, publicly visible role. Though some villages were erected in quite remote areas especially in the later first century CE, they were never as far away from a road or a town as to be considered isolated. Though self-subsistent to a high degree, villages needed markets that usually were located in nearby towns. As far as we can see, villages participated in all sorts of contemporaneous material culture (glass, fine ware), they lived in close economic, juridical and social symbiosis with cities, although they were likely not equal partners in this coexistence. The small size of Galilee’s territory and the high number of villages suggests that it did not take a lot of time until news and goods reached even the most remote village. Despite all difficulties, villages were a success model. Surveys show that during the late first century BCE and early first century CE, the number of Galilean villages increased, reaching a peak period in numbers. New villages were even founded on spots that had not been inhabited before. This is not conceivable without a constant growth in the regional Galilean population despite widespread danger of infectious diseases and likely high infant mortality.13 This growth was a result of the generally stable political and economic conditions especially under Herod Antipas. But the wider political context also played a role here. Under Herod and his son Antipas, the Galilee was increasingly integrated into the Roman Mediterranean world so that goods and influences were able to trickle down from the cities to the villages. In a way, such a rather positive picture is difficult to reconcile with the general assumption that Galileans were suppressed and poverty-stricken. Most of them certainly were neither rich nor “free”, but this would not distinguish a Galilean from a Judaean or any other inhabitant of any neighboring region. But the overall positive development in the Galilee already carried the seeds of decline in it. Arable land and agricultural resources did of course not keep pace with the growing population, so that – combined with occasional crop failures and taxation – more and more families became unable to earn their living. At the same time, we also see increasing social differentiation in villages and an unequal distribution of wealth and subsequently prestige and power. Younger sons had to leave their homes and migrated into towns and cities, increasingly disillusioned, unable to build their own existence (laborers). It is likely to assume that this development created social tensions, but the situation was not new and not necessarily irreconcilable with traditional Israelite ideals. Antipas, like any Hellenistic client ruler, of course was interested not to let the situation get out of hand, so 13 Reed, J. L., “Mortality, Morbidity and Economics in Jesus’ Galilee,” in: Fiensy, D. A./Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 242–252.

140

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

his prestige building projects like in Sepphoris or Tiberias can also be understood as active infrastructure programs to absorb many of the rural and urban disenfranchised. More problematic was the growing dependency of village farming on markets and traders, the increasing influence of a monetarized economy, and the problem of debt. All in all, village life was incredibly diverse and still had a large potential, but it was under pressure and in a constant process of transformation – as had always been the case in Mediterranean villages; the evidence shows that black-and-white-models are insufficient. Next to family-based villages, farming was also practiced in the context of large estates owned by a rich patron who usually lived in the city and had the business run by an administrator with the help of slaves and laborers. How many of these estates existed in Jesus’ Galilee and where exactly, we do not know ; the phenomenon, however, is not entirely new either. Being a typical elite phenomenon, we can assume that most of these land owners were in one way or the other connected to the court. Next to farming, fishing was an important factor of Galilean society, culture and economy. The “fishermen of the Lake” are an almost paradigmatic Galilean symbol. The existence of a large sweet water lake at its eastern end is indeed a main factor that distinguishes the Galilee from all surrounding regions. Without the Lake, the Galilee would be an entirely different place; above all, it was the Lake that helped the economic and social dynamic to unfold which was so typical for the time of Jesus. But we should not romanticize the Lake. Indeed, despite Josephus’ almost hymnic praise of the lush fertility of the Ginnosar plain, the lakeshore was not a good place for agriculture – very different from today. On many spots along the southern, western, northern and eastern shore, almost around the entire Lake, the Jordan River in- and outlets, oases with hot and cold springs, swamps and reeds made the lakeshore an ideal breeding ground for mosquitos and other germs that could cause infectious diseases such as malaria. No comparison with the lakeshore today! Only where the ground is permanently above the water, as it is along the western, northern and eastern shores, agricultural land extended down from the hills to close to the water line. It is therefore not surprising that, apart from topics, images and metaphors derived from rural agriculture, the earliest Jesus tradition contains a lot of motives that are connected to fishing (e. g., the hapax legomenon “fishers of men” in Mk 1:17). Nevertheless, we should not fall into a romantic trap. Fishing as private family business of villagers who owned their own boats and worked on them with a couple of laborers, and who also marketed from their catch whatever they did not need for own consumption, may have been an exception in the time of Jesus. Fishers were under economic pressure like farmers, because the situation on the Lake very much depended on transregional trade and

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

141

transport.14 And this has to do with the second important role of the Lake apart from being a source of fish: it was above all an important waterway at the end of a road that came up from the coast and crossed the entire Galilee until it reached the Lake. This road made the Lake an attractive source of income through taxes, duties and services, it stimulated shipbuilding and private investment, and it invited elements of the cosmopolitan elite culture into a region that was very close to “Jesus territory” on the northwestern end of the Lake. To explore the situation on the Lake, and therefore the prime context for Jesus’ Galilean activity according to the Synoptics, we need to move away from the world of the villages and move directly to the large cities, which ironically enough the Synoptics mention only indirectly.

3.2 Cities Unlike e. g. Josephus, many NT narrative traditions suggest that Galilee was an almost entirely rural region and that cities more or less only existed outside of it (Tyre and Sidon, Gadara/ Gerasa). Archaeology, however, makes it very clear that since the early first century CE, Galilee housed at least one urban center in the heartland (Sepphoris) and two more right at the lakeshore (Magdala since ca. 80 BCE and Tiberias since 18 CE). Hellenistic Philoteria at the southern end of the Lake was not rebuilt after the Parthian invasion in 40 BCE, the urban character of Hellenistic et-Tell at the northern tip remains unclear. It is significant that none of these cities was an alien element in the Galilee, they all were fully woven into the regional geographical and material matrix and underline the high degree of diversified Greco-Jewish urbanism. Magdala is perhaps the most remarkable new discovery of Galilean archaeology.15 Founded just after the Hasmonean conquest around 80 BCE, the city quickly developed into a major urban center. It boasted a rectangular city plan, a surprisingly large harbor, a quadriporticus as market place, a luxurious bathhouse and a nice, Hellenistic fountain house. In addition to that, Josephus mentions a stadion and a large synagogue, neither of which has so far been located. A small synagogue was found just a couple of years ago in a domestic neighborhood. Magdala’s second, Greek name Tarichaea is a clear indication for a mixed population in the city. The reason for both the Greek alias and the unique urban character is the city’s economic position as terminal point of the inland road that channeled goods from the coastal 14 Hakola, R., “The Production and Trade of Fish as Source of Economic Growth in the First Century CE. Galilee Galilean Economy Reexamined,” NovT 59 (2017), 111–130; Bauckham, R., “Magdala and the Fishing Industry,” in: Bauckham, Magdala of Galilee, 185–267. 15 Bauckham, R. (ed.), Magdala of Galilee. A Jewish City in the Hellenistic and Roman Period (Waco 2018).

142

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

harbors through Galilee and across the Lake to the Decapolis and back. It is conceivable that not only the Hasmonean investors (and later Antipas) benefitted from the harbor through taxes and duties, but that also members of the local elite received their share. These loyal elite families might also have been involved in business with Tarichaea’s second source of wealth: salted fish. Salting fish was widespread as a means to preserve the delicate food, which after salting and drying could be stored and sold in wholes as an inexpensive source of protein (Mk 6:38). Another method of processing fish, however, was to let it rot and ferment it in vats to be sold as fish sauce, which was in high demand in the Roman world and therefore could be exported with attractive revenue. All these elements document an unusually high level of urbanity. Sepphoris and Tiberias were used as residences by Antipas, again on the basis of massive governmental investment. Cities like Magdala, Sepphoris and Tiberias are proof that the Galilee was increasingly being integrated into the Mediterranean world, and not a green, quiet and romantic backyard. Jesus was active in a very dynamic region in very dynamic times.

3.3 Towns The impression of Galilee as a dynamic region becomes even stronger when we consider the third settlement category, namely towns – a category that has not been given sufficient scholarly attention in its own right. Towns are somewhere between villages and cities, a typical transitional form, fluent and with elements of both worlds and a size between 800 and 2000 inhabitants, sometimes walled, sometimes not, with public buildings like a bathhouse and an open piazza (on the Orthodox property, but likely post-70) and sometimes sumptuous dwellings. Characteristic is the combination of different features. Good examples for such towns are Gamla, Iotapata or – and this is especially interesting – Capernaum right in the center of Jesus’ territory. For Matthew, Capernaum is simply “Jesus’ very own city” (Mt 9:1). Many towns functioned as transmitters of Hellenistic culture from the city into the rural hinterland. They exhibited a high degree of differentiation and had their own local elites who desired an urban lifestyle and were affluent enough to introduce it, as witnessed by fine ware and wall paintings. The driving factors for this were trade and local industries (pottery manufacture), or governmental services, or fishing (Capernaum). At the same time, we see typical elements of Jewish lifestyle (stone vessels, miqwa’ot, synagogues).

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

143

4. Jesus the Galilean Jew in Context Let us now try to contextualize Jesus within the framework of Galilee and start with the locations mentioned in the Gospels – if we are to consider them as an accurate representation of Jesus’ range of activity in the Galilee. a) It is interesting to see that the Johannine locations Nain and Kana are close to Sepphoris, while the Synoptic “Jesus territory” around Capernaum lies just a little north of Tiberias and Magdala. That is certainly significant and relativizes the fact that only Tiberias is mentioned in the NT (merely as an element of the name of the Lake), and Magdala as a byname of Jesus’ female follower Mary. On the basis of these texts, many scholars have suspected that Jesus and his earliest followers were rural phenomena and might even have intentionally avoided cities like Sepphoris, Magdala or Tiberias. But even if that was the case, Jesus and his followers could not have avoided the influence of urban culture on the surrounding countryside. As Frits Naerebout and others have emphasized in this book, urban and rural worlds in antiquity were always closely connected, especially in such a small area as the one at the Lake.16 Neither Capernaum and the northwestern shore of the Lake according to the Synoptics, nor Nain and Cana according to John were very far from cities, so Jesus seems to have been active in the periphery of cities. It is therefore not plausible to suppose an anti-urban impetus in the earliest Jesus movement, or reject traditions with a more urban flair as unauthentic. b) Still, Jesus’ range of activity according to the Gospels does not cover the full cultural and social spectrum of Galilee. Recent archaeological research has underlined the importance of cities, relativizing the NT preponderance of towns, villages and “small people”. Correspondingly, Galilee did not only house farmers and fishermen, but also traders, townspeople and non-Jews. The Gospels therefore merely represent a section of Galilean topography and society, probably reflecting a choice that Jesus might have deliberately made. Though being a Galilean Jew, Jesus apparently did not address every segment of Galilean society with equal intensity. The “Galilee on the ground” was larger and more diverse than Jesus’ Galilee – or at least the one that our sources want us to hear about. c) But what did Jesus the Galilean Jew say? Though it is not my job to reconstruct Jesus’ message in detail here, I feel urged to do that in a few lines before we continue with the Galilee: As a former follower of John the Baptist (a non-Galilean!), Jesus was convinced that the Kingdom of God is immanent. In contrast to his teacher, he connected more restaurative and reformative aspects to the coming Kingdom 16 Choi, A., “Never the Two Shall Meet? Urban-Rural Interaction in Lower Galilee,” in: Fiensy, D. A./Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 297–311.

144

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

than just doom and judgment. Israel is proleptically restored in the form of the Twelve, and “lost sheep” like prostitutes or collaborators are rehabilitated by being admitted to his table fellowship, i. e. performative acts that symbolized the future banquet in the Kingdom. Jesus’ Kingdom message therefore had a clearly communal and even “national” profile. Jesus propagated this message with powerful words and images (parables). There can also be no doubt that Jesus or his followers saw healings and exorcisms as signs of Jesus’ connection to God. Jesus’ ethical message resulted more from a radicalization of the Torah than from relativizing it. His nonviolent but nevertheless sharp distance towards established powers brought him into conflict with political and religious authorities, just like his anti-hierarchical alternative Kingdomsociety-in-waiting that he constituted by his table communion. It is not clear why he went to Jerusalem – did he go because Pessach was a particularly significant time for Jews? In any case, his conflict with the authorities culminated in his provocative action against the temple, and his eschatological table fellowship found its climax in his last meal with the Twelve, the symbolically restored Israel. Being sentenced by Jewish and Roman authorities, Jesus lost his life as a Jewish Galilean in Jerusalem. d) So how “Galilean” was that message? Jesus’ active attention for rural milieus, the poor and the marginalized was a deliberate choice, rather than a direct reaction to the fact that all Galilee was poor and destitute. In that respect, Jesus was not “typically Galilean”. The same was the case, as we found out, with the alleged rural focus of Jesus’ Galilean ministry. Jesus’ “option for the poor” and his “rural perspective” were not motivated by the peculiar condition of life in Galilee. And how was Jesus’ “Hasmonean Galilee” related to the wider region between the Sea and the Lake that included the western as well as the eastern periphery? Were the “lost sheep of the people of Israel” opponents of the inhabitants of Tyros and Sidon or Hippos and Gadara? Were the teachings of the Galilean Rabbi so different from a Cynic from Gadara? Recent research into the connectivity of Galilee encourage a reconsideration of these controversial questions.17 Whether or not these preferences were Jesus’ direct choices, it was obvious and inevitable in a society as diverse as the Galilean that his message caused disagreement and opposition among established religious and social authorities. In this respect, Jesus’ message was indeed political and potentially subversive. At the same time, he attracted large crowds of gapers, sympathizers and more permanent followers, a very mixed response with ultimately little persistence. In Jerusalem, at least, they all were gone. Jesus had regional predecessors like Judas the Galilean, but Jesus’ message differed in important respects from that of Judas. But this does not make him less or more “Galilean” than Judas. 17 See, e. g., Downing, F. G., “Jesus and Cynicism,” in: Porter, S. E./Holm8n, T. (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 2 (Leiden 2011), 1106–1136.

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

145

Let me conclude: Archaeology has established itself as an indispensable tool for the research on the historical Jesus next to textual studies. Both disciplines deserve our full attention. When Jesus wandered along the lakeshore encountering various people, as Mt 4:18 describes, he moved within a dynamic world sandwiched between the Mediterranean and the Decapolis, a world with a distinct Jewish-urban flavor, integrated into different geographical, economic and cultural frameworks that sometimes overlapped, sometimes collaborated and sometimes clashed with each other.

Bibliography Aviam, M., “Distribution Map of Archaeological Data from the Galilee. An Attempt to Establish Zones Indicative of Ethnicity and Religious Affiliation,” in: Zangenberg, J./Attridge, H. W./Martin, D. B. (eds.), A Region in Transition. Religion, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Galilee (WUNT I/210; Tu¨ bingen 2007), 115–132. Bauckham, R. (ed.), Magdala of Galilee. A Jewish City in the Hellenistic and Roman Period (Waco 2018). Bauckham, R., “Magdala and the Fishing Industry,” in: Bauckham, Magdala of Galilee, 185–267. Berlin, A. M., “Jewish Life Before the Revolt,” JSJ 36 (2005), 417–470. Berlin, A. M., “Identity Politics in Early Roman Galilee,” in: Popovic, M. (ed.), The Jewish Revolt Against Rome. Interdisciplinary Perspectives (JSJ.Sup 154; Leiden/ Boston 2012), 69–106. Berlin, A. M., “Manifest Identity. From Ioudaios to Jew. Household Judaism as Hellenization in the Late Hasmonean Era,” in: Albertz, R./Wöhrle, J. (eds.), Between Cooperation and Hostility. Multiple Identities in Ancient Judaism and the Interaction with Foreign Powers (JAJ.Supp 11; Göttingen 2013), 171–175. Berlin, A. M., “Household Judaism,” in: Fiensy, D. A./Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 208–215. Choi, A., “Never the Two Shall Meet? Urban-Rural Interaction in Lower Galilee,” in: Fiensy, D. A./Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 297–311. Deines, R., “Galilee and the Historical Jesus in Recent Research,” in: Fiensy, D. A./ Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 9–48. Downing, F. G., “Jesus and Cynicism,” in: Porter, S. E./Holm8n, T. (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 2 (Leiden 2011), 1106–1136. Dunn, J. G. D., Jesus Remembered. Christianity in the Making 1 (Grand Rapids 2003).

146

Jürgen K. Zangenberg

Ehrman, B., Jesus. Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Freyne, S., Jesus, a Jewish Galilean: A New Reading of the Jesus Story (London/New York 2004). Guijarro, S., “Magdala and Trade,” in: Bauckham, Magdala, 161–183. Hakola, R., “The Production and Trade of Fish as Source of Economic Growth in the First Century CE. Galilee Galilean Economy Reexamined,” NovT 59 (2017), 111–13. Holm8n, T./Porter, S. E. (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (Leiden / Boston 2010). Meier, J. P., A Marginal Jew. Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Vol. 1–5 (New York 1991–2009). Meyers, E. M., “Galilean Regionalism as a Factor in Historical Reconstruction,” BASOR 221 (1976), 93–101. Meyers, E. M., “The Cultural Setting of Galilee. The Case of Regionalism and Early Judaism,” ANRW 2.19.1 (1979), 686–702. Nodet, E., Jewish Galilee, in: Porter, S. E./Holm8n, T. (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 4 (Leiden 2011), 3222–3242. Nogossek, L./Jacobi, C./Schröter, J. (eds.), Jesus-Handbuch (Tübingen 2017; English edition in preparation). Reed, J. L., Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus A Reexamination of the Evidence (Harrisburg 2000). Reed, J. L., “Mortality, Morbidity and Economics in Jesus’ Galilee,” in: Fiensy, D. A./ Strange, J. R. (eds.), Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods. Volume 2: The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns and Villages (Minneapolis 2015), 242–252. Root, B. W., First Century Galilee. A Fresh Examination of the Sources, (WUNT II 378; Tu¨ bingen 2014). Sanders, E. P., The Historical Figure of Jesus (London 1993). Schröter, J., Jesus von Nazareth. Jude aus Galiläa – Retter der Welt (Leipzig 62017). Schweitzer, A., Von Reimarus zu Wrede: Eine Geschichte der Leben Jesu-Forschung (Tübingen 1906). Tiwald, M., The Sayings Source. A Commentary on Q (Stuttgart 2020). Vonder Brugge, J. M., Mapping Galilee in Josephus, Luke and John. Geography and the Construction of an Ancient Space (AJEC 93; Leiden / Boston 2016). Zangenberg, J. K./Faßbeck, G., “‘Jesus am See von Galiläa’ (Mt 4,18). Eine Skizze zur archäologischen Forschung am See Gennesaret und zur regionalen Verankerung der frühen Jesusbewegung“, in den Hertog, C. G./Hübner, U./Münger, S. (eds.), Saxa Loquentur. Studien zur Archäologie Palästinas/Israels (FS Volkmar Fritz zum 65. Geburtstag; AOAT 302; Münster 2003), 291–310. Zangenberg, J., A Region in Transition. Introducing Religion, Ethnicity, and Identity in Ancient Galilee, in: Zangenberg, J./Attridge, H. W./Martin, D. B. (eds.), A Region in Transition. Religion, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Galilee (WUNT I/210; Tübingen 2007), 1–10.

Walking along the Lakeshore (Mt 4:18)

147

Zangenberg, J., Das Galiläa des Josephus und das Galiläa der Archäologie. Tendenzen und Probleme der neueren Forschung, in: Böttrich, C./Herzer, J. (eds.), Josephus und das Neue Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen. II. Internationales Symposium zum Corpus-Judaeo-Hellenisticum 25.–28. Mai 2006 (WUNT I 209; Greifswald, Tübingen 2007), 265–294. Zangenberg, J., Jesus – Galiläa – Archäologie. Neuere Forschungen in einer Region im Wandel, in: Claussen, C./Frey, J. (eds.), Jesus und die Archäologie Galiläas (BThSt 87; Neukirchen-Vluyn 2008). Zangenberg, J. K./Van de Zande, D., Art. Urbanization, in: Hezser, C. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (Oxford 2010), 165–188. Zangenberg, J. K., “Jesus der Galiläer und die Archäologie. Beobachtungen zur Bedeutung der Archäologie für die historische Jesusforschung,” in: MThZ 64 (2013), 123–156. Zangenberg, J. K., “Anchoring Ancient Galilee at the Lakeshore. Towards Reconceptualizing Ancient Galilee as a Mediterranean Environment,” EC 19 (2019), 265–291.

Markus Tiwald

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

According to J. K. Zangenberg, the geographical radius of Jesus’ public ministry does not correspond with the picture of the Galilee in its entirety as depicted by modern archaeology :1 One cannot help detecting a selective geographical radius in Jesus’ movements that deliberately excludes the urban centres and solely focusses on the rural milieu.2 Thus, the main centres of the Galilee in Jesus’ time are not targets of Jesus’ mission according to the accounts in the Gospels: Neither the Herodian foundations in the Galilee (Sepphoris and Tiberias) nor the poleis surrounding the Galilee (Scythopolis and other centres of the Decapolis in the East, Caesarea Philippi in the North and Caesarea Maritima in the South-West) formed part of Jesus’ radius of action.3 In earlier publications this was explained by depicting Jesus as omitting pagan cities and focussing on his mission to Israel (cf. Mt 10:6 and 15:24). This might hold true with regard to the mainly Hellenistic centres like Scythopolis,4 Caesarea Maritima,5 and Caesarea Philippi (= Paneas).6 Nevertheless, in the 1 Cf. Zangenberg, J. K., “Jesus der Galiläer und die Archäologie”, MThZ 64 (2013), 123–156, on p. 155: “Der Weg Jesu entspricht nicht dem gesamten kulturellen Spektrum Galiläas, das wir aus der Archäologie eruieren können.” 2 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer”, 152: “dass Jesus offensichtlich nur in einem geografisch klar umrissenen Teil Galiläas intensiver aktiv war”. Cf. also Zangenberg, J. K., “Jesus – Galiläa – Archäologie. Neue Forschungen zu einer Region im Wandel”, in Claußen, C./Frey, J. (eds.), Jesus und die Archäologie Galiläas (BThSt 87) (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlagshaus, 2008), 7–38, on p. 38: “So selektiv Jesu geographischer Radius nach dem NT ist (Gebiet am See mit unmittelbarer Umgebung nach Osten und Norden; Dörfer, Besuch von Dörfern und kleiner Städte in dieser Region, Aussparen von Sepphoris und Tiberias), so begrenzt ist sein Adressatenkreis”. 3 Cf. Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen. Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt I (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 17. 4 On Scythopolis cf. Mazor, G., “Art. Beth Shean. The Hellenistic to Early Islamic Periods: The Israel Antiquities Authority Excavations”, in NEAEHL V (2008), 1623–36, on pp. 1623–32. Regarding the Hellenised character of these cities, Chancey, M. A., The Myth of a Gentile Galilee (SNTS.MS 118; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 180 writes: “Caesarea Maritima, Paneas, and Scythopolis, much more than first-century Sepphoris and Tiberias, stand as regional exemplars of the Greco-Roman city”. 5 On Caesarea Maritima see Eck, W., “Caesarea Maritima. Eine römische Stadt?”, in Eck, W., Judäa – Syria Palästina. Die Auseinandersetzung einer Provinz mit römischer Politik und Kultur (TSAJ 157; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 150–62 and Eck, W., “Judaea wird römisch. Der Weg zur eigenständigen Provinz” in Eck, W., Rom und Judaea. Fünf Vorträge zur römischen Herrschaft in Palaestina (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 1–51, on pp. 15–8. 6 On Caesarea Philippi see Tzaferis, V., “Art. Banias”, in NEAEHL V (2008), 1587–92. Caesarea

150

Markus Tiwald

case of Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala, a remarkably large number of ritual baths (miqva’ot) and many other Jewish “index fossils” like ossuaries (typical for Jewish burial practices) and stone vessels (which were immune to ritual impurity) have been found,7 in Magdala even a synagogue from the first century CE. One can, thus, conclude that – other than Scythopolis and Caesarea Philippi – the cities Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala were indeed Jewish habitations at the time of Jesus. Besides, all three cities are somewhat present in the New Testament – but never as locations of Jesus’ ministry : Sepphoris was located in close vicinity of Nazareth, whereas Tiberias and Magdala are mentioned as toponymic expressions, e. g., indicating the “sea of Tiberias” (John 6:1; 21:1; cf. 6:23) or the provenance of Laq¸a B Lacdakgm¶ (Mark 15:40; John 19:25 and elsewhere).

1. Sepphoris, Tiberias, and Magdala in the Time of Jesus 1.1 Sepphoris The first city to consider here is Sepphoris (Hebrew : ,=L%9*H,J% Zippori; Greek: S]pvyqir, in Roman administration: Diocaesarea). Herod Antipas (4 BCE–39 CE) rebuilt the city and shaped it into the centre of his Tetrarchy. In Josephus, Ant. 18:27 we read: Jq¾dgr S´pvyqim teiw¸sar pqºswgla toO Cakika¸ou pamt¹r Acºqeuem aqtµm Aqtojqatoq¸da (“After Herod had built a wall around Sepphoris, which is the ornament of all Galilee, he proclaimed it to be called ‘Autokratoris’”). Even after Tiberias became the capital of Galilee in 19 CE, Sepphoris remained the largest city in the region (cf. Vita 232: eQr S´pvyqim lec¸stgm t_m 1m t0 Cakika¸ô pºkim, and Bell. 2:511: B jaqteqyt²tg t/r Cakika¸ar pºkir S´pvyqir). When the emperor Nero gave Tiberias in 61 CE as a present to Agrippa II and annexed the city to Agrippa’s kingdom (the capital of which was Caesarea Philippi), Sepphoris again became the capital of Galilee Philippi was founded by the tetrarch Philippos (Bell. 2:168). According to Mk 8:27, Jesus only went eQr t±r j¾lar Jaisaqe¸ar t/r Vik¸ppou, thus he only frequented the rural surroundings without entering the city itself. The same holds true for Mt 16:13 (eQr t± l´qg Jaisaqe¸ar t/r Vik¸ppou): l´qor here has the meaning of the rural catchment area of the city (cf. the discussion below). 7 Chancey, Myth, 79–80 and 93–5; Zangenberg, “Jesus,” 7–38 and 27–9; Freyne, S., “Jesus and the Urban Culture of Galilee”, in Freyne, S., Galilee and Gospel. Collected Essays (WUNT 125; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 183–207, esp. on pp. 190–1; Evans, C. A., Jesus and His World. The Archeological Evidence (London: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 26; Weiss, Z., “Josephus and the Archaeology of Galilee”, in: Chapman, H. H./Rodgers, Z. (eds.), A Companion to Josephus (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World; Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2016), 161–98, on pp. 184–6.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

151

(Josephus, Life 38).8 “The theatre, located on the steep northern slope of the hill, was built in the early second century CE”9 and thus did not already exist in the time of Jesus. A “large number of ritual baths (mikvehs)”10 was found in Sepphoris. “Sepphoris in Jesus’ days was a thoroughly Jewish city.”11 Nevertheless, the Jews in Sepphoris seemed to have led a very Hellenised way of life and did not renounce Hellenistic luxury, as the numerous findings of precious ceramic and glass, jewellery, cosmetic products, and luxurious accommodations (which nonetheless included miqva’ot!) can prove.12 Geographically, Sepphoris was located about 5 km (3 mi.) northwest of Nazareth,13 the home-village of Jesus (Mark 1:9; John 1:45–46); b Mafaqgmºr even becomes an antonomasia for him (Mark 10:47; 14:67; 16:6). The first extrabiblical mentions of Nazareth date to the third century CE,14 hence the village was negligible prior to this. Archaeological remains from the first century CE are scarce (consisting of some coins, agricultural installations, and burial caves).15 The poor and negative image of Nazareth finds an echo in Nathanael’s statement in John 1:46: “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?” Thus, Matthew and Luke changed the birthplace of Jesus and transferred it to the Davidic city Bethlehem (Mt 2:1; Lk 2:4–7). The question is intriguing as to whether Jesus might have worked in Sepphoris in the time before his public ministry : Being a t´jtym (tekto¯n, Mark 6:3) in the second generation (Joseph also worked as t´jtym, Matt 13:55), one might conclude 8 Cf. Hirschfeld, Y., “Art. Tiberias”, in NEAEHL IV (1993), 1464–70, on p. 1464 and Weiss, “Josephus”, 176–81. 9 Weiss, Z., “Art. Sepphoris II”, in NEAEHL V (2008), 2029–34, on p. 2031. 10 Weiss, “Sepphoris II”, 2032. Regarding the question as to whether the “stepped pools” in Sepphoris really were all miqva’ot, cf. the objections of Eshel, H., “A Note on the ’Miqva’ot’ at Sepphoris”, in Edwards, D. R./McCollough, C. T. (eds.), Archaeology and the Galilee. Texts and Contexts in the Graeco-Roman and Byzantine Periods (Atlanta: Scholars, 1997), 131–3, and Eshel, H., “The Pools of Sepphoris – Ritual Baths or Bathtubs? They’re Not Ritual Baths”, BAR 26,4 (2000), 42–5, as also the rejection of Eshel’s critique by Galor, K., “The Stepped Water Installations of the Sepphoris Acropolis”, in Edwards, D. R./McCollough, C. T. (eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: Gender, Ethnicity and the ”Other” in Antiquity. Studies in Honor of Eric M. Meyers (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2007), 201–13, Meyers, E. M., “Yes, They Are”, BAR 26,4 (2000), 46–61, on pp. 46–9, 60–1, and Reich, R., “They are Ritual Baths”, BAR 28,2 (2002), 50–5. 11 Evans, Jesus, 26. 12 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer”, 137. 13 Cf. Weiss, Z., “Art. Sepphoris I”, in NEAEHL IV (1993), 1324–8, on p. 1324, and Weiss, “Josephus”, 162. 14 Cf. Frankemölle, H., Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (KStTh 5; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 2006), 88–9. 15 Cf. Bagatti, B., “Art. Nazareth”, in NEAEHL III (1993), 1103–5, on p. 1103. See also Weiss, “Josephus”, 162: “Nazareth numbered only a few hundred inhabitants”. And: “In Nazareth, very few remains were discovered; parts of walls or agricultural installations indicate the occupation of the local inhabitants; on the periphery of the settlement several first-century C.E. burial caves were discovered”. For recent research see Zangenberg, J. K., “Art. Nazareth, Archaeology”, in EBR XX, forthcoming.

152

Markus Tiwald

that Jesus and perhaps his whole family (Joseph, Jesus, James, Joses, Juda, and Simon, Mark 6:3) worked as day labourers for the expansion of Sepphoris. The expression t´jtym here best is rendered as “construction worker”. In a small village like Nazareth there was not enough work for craftsmen and day labourers to maintain a family business without commuting to the next construction centres. If Jesus and his family really worked in Sepphoris, how strong did they feel the cultural and social disparities? Might such differences be the reason why Jesus in his public ministry obviously avoided Sepphoris?

1.2 Tiberias Tiberias (Hebrew 8=) L!5ûü!, Tverya) was founded in the year 17 CE by Herod Antipas and was made the new capital of the Galilee in 19 CE – replacing Sepphoris (Bell. 2:168).16 According to Ant. 18:36–8, the city’s name pays homage to the Roman emperor Tiberius. The location of the town profited from the hot springs of Hammat Tiberias just to the south, but also from the picturesque landscape at the Sea of Galilee. Nevertheless, the new town was situated on an old burial ground, which – according to Num 19:16 – rendered all visitors and habitants ritually impure. This clearly was a slap in the face of all Tora-observing Jews. Hence, Herod Antipas had to invite strangers to abide there; only by force could Jews be obliged to settle in the town, as we read in Ant. 18:37–38:17 (37) The new settlers were a promiscuous rabble (s¼cjkuder d³ åjisam; literary : “a washed together mob settled here”), no small contingent being Galilaean, with such as were drafted from territory subject to him and brought forcibly to the new foundation (!macjasto· ja· pq¹r b¸am eQr tµm jatoij¸am !cºlemoi). Some of these were magistrates. Herod accepted as participants even poor men who were brought in to join the others from any and all places of origin. It was a question whether some were even free beyond cavil (ja· to»r pamtawºhem 1pisumacol´mour %mdqar !pºqour). (38) These latter he often and in large bodies liberated and benefited (imposing the condition that they should not quit the city), by equipping houses at his own expense and adding new gifts of land. For he knew that this settlement was contrary to the law and tradition of the Jews because Tiberias was built on the site of tombs that had been obliterated, of which there were many there. And our law declares that such settlers are unclean for seven days.

Thus, Tiberias was a Jewish city (having even a synagogue, Life 277, and observing the Sabbat, Life 273) – but within an aporetic context. Nevertheless, the city seems to have flourished in Herod Antipas’ time. Archaeologically one 16 Cf. Hirschfeld, “Art. Tiberias”, 1464 and Weiss, “Josephus”, 173–6. 17 The quotation from Josephus’ works follows the LCL edition (LCL 433, ed. J. Henderson).

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

153

can detect many traces of the “massive redistribution and influx of capital”,18 as the splendid architecture and the Roman theatre dating back to the time of city’s foundation (19 CE) clearly show.19

1.3 Magdala Magdala is characterised on the one hand by archaeological findings of a Jewish nature: Jewish index fossils like miqva’ot and stone vessels.20 But the most fascinating discovery in Magdala is the Second Temple Period synagogue.21 Intriguingly enough, these elements of Jewish identity went hand in hand with the thoroughly Hellenised character of Magdala: “It is entirely justified to see Magdala in the same category as the large Hellenistic cities in Greece or Asia Minor”, J. K. Zangenberg states, and emphasises “magnificent urban boulevards”, “sophisticated water supply systems” connected to “a large public bath complex”.22 Most noticeable here is “the largest and best preserved harbour on the Lake of Galilee discovered so far”.23 Huge fish salting pools laid the basis for economic prosperity.24 Salted fish from Magdala was so famous in those days that Strabo, Geogr. XVI 2:45 mentioned it as being exported even to Rome: “At the place called Taricheae the lake supplies excellent fish for pickling.” The name Taqiw´ai or Latin Taricheae is derived from t\qiwor (“salted fish”) that became the city’s international “brand”. Magdala’s harbour and bath complex were built during the Hasmonean period, thus already in Jesus’ time the city had a “much more 18 Zangenberg, J. K., “Archaeological News from the Galilee. Tiberias, Magdala and Rural Galilee”, EC 1 (2010), 471–84, on p. 474. 19 So rightly Zangenberg, “News”, 473, based on the last excavations correcting the older dating to the third century, when the second building phase took place. 20 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer”, 142. 21 No final report has so far been published on the Migdal/Magdala synagogue, for the moment see, e. g., http ://www.magdala.org/ (accessed on 22/02/2020) and the Israel Antiquities Authority press release http://www.antiquities.org.il/article_Item_eng.asp?se c_id=25&subj_id=240&id=1601&module_id=#as accessed on 22/02/2020). Cf. also Levine, L. I., “The Ancient Synagogue in First-Century Palestine”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 23–41, on pp. 26–27 and 39; Hachlili, R., Ancient Synagogues – Archaeology and Art. New Discoveries and Current Research (Handbook of Oriental Studies 105; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 33 f; Aviam, M., “Reverence for Jerusalem and the Temple in Galilean Society”, in Charlesworth, J. H. (ed.), Jesus and Temple. Textual and Archaeological Explorations (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 123–44, on pp. 132–42; Zangenberg, “News,” 476. 22 Zangenberg, “News”, 475. 23 Zangenberg, “News”, 476. 24 Cf. the contribution of Marcela Zapata-Meza at http://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/daily/bi blical-sites-places/ biblical-archaeology-places/the-fishy-secret-to-ancient-magdalas-econo mic-growth/ (accessed on 22/02/2020).

154

Markus Tiwald

Hellenized character than previously thought”25 and might even have functioned as a pivotal point of trade between the Decapolis and the Mediterranean.26 Perhaps Magdala can be identified with Daklamouh²,27 a name present in Mark 8:10. At least Mt 15:39 changed this verse into eQr t± fqia Lacad²m, which might have been a popular version of Magdala.28 Mark 8:10 states that Jesus went by ship eQr t± l´qg Daklamouh². The word l´qg – as also the Matthean fqia – is a plural expression meaning “district”. Therefore – if the identification with Magdala proves correct – Jesus only visited the “region” of Magdala and not the city itself. Similar expressions can be found by mentioning that Jesus visited the “district” of the Decapolis (Mk 5:20; 7:31) and the “region” of Tyros and Sidon (Mk 7:24.31). One has to know that Greek poleis normally possessed a rural ‘catchment area’.29 Obviously, Jesus did not enter the urban part of these cites but visited the rural outskirts – a question that will be dealt with at the end of this paper.

1.4 Contrast: Capernaum In contrast to Sepphoris, Tiberias, and Magdala, a location like Capernaum certainly was no polis.30 Especially “public architecture” is lacking, such as an Agora, public administration buildings, a Greek gymnasium, a theatre, an amphitheatre, temples, organized water supply, public water installations, as well as city walls (a piazza and a Roman bathhouse were excavated in the Greek Orthodox part). The tax station in Capernaum (Mark 2:14 parr.) is due to the border between Herod Antipas’ Galilee and the territory of Philippos with 25 Zangenberg, “News”, 476. 26 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer”, 142, and Zangenberg, J. K., “Anchoring Ancient Galilee at the Lakeshore: Towards Re-conceptualizing Ancient Galilee as a Mediterranean Environment”, EC 10 (2019), 265–91. 27 Cf. the discussion in Gnilka, J., Das Evangelium nach Markus. Mk 1–8,26 (EKK II/1; Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vlyun: Benzinger/Neukirchener, 41994), 306. But if so, the expression eQr t± fqia would indicate the same as eQr t± l´qg. For further discussion see below. 28 Thus Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus. Mt 8–17 (EKK I/2; Zürich/Neukirchen-Vlyun: Benzinger/ Neukirchener, 1990), 442. 29 Cf. Bietenhard, H., “Die syrische Dekapolis von Pompeius bis Trajan”, ANRW II 8 (1977) 220–61, on p. 258. Also Schröter, J., Von Jesus zum Neuen Testament. Studien zur urchristlichen Theologiegeschichte und zur Entstehung des neutestamentlichen Kanons (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2 2008), 137 quoting Josephus Bell. 2:252 who mentions “cities (…) with their toparchies” (pºkeir … s»m ta?r topaqw¸air) referring to the administrative district (cf. also Josephus Life 346 and Mark 8:27). See also T. Schmeller, “Jesus im Umland Galiläas. Zu den markinischen Berichten vom Aufenthalt Jesu in den Gebieten von Tyros, Caesarea Philippi und der Dekapolis”, in BZ 38 (1994) 44–66, on p. 56. 30 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer,” 146 f; Ebner, Stadt, 16 (here footnote 3) and 44–85; Kloppenborg, J. S., “Q, Bethsaida, Khorazin and Capernaum”, in: Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015) 61–90, on pp. 76–9.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

155

Betsaida, for example, as an equivalent border town on the other side of the Jordan River.31 This also would explain the presence of the 2jatºmtaqwor, hekatjntarchos (Q 7:2), which normally is translated as “centurion”. Nevertheless, in the region of Herod Antipas, Roman soldiers were anachronistic; it would be more accurate to call the 2jatºmtaqwor a “captain” of what most likely were pagan mercenaries hired by Herod Antipas.32 This, however, shows that Capernaum could be identified as a jylºpokir (Mk 1:38) – being larger than a small village (j¾lg), but clearly distinct and well below the level of a Hellenistic pºkir.33 There is a certain significance in the fact that Jesus made Capernaum his “operational base” (Mk 1:21; 2:1; 9:33; Mt 4:13; John 2:12): It was the biggest regional centre below the level of the Hellenised poleis Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala. The fact that Jesus made Capernaum “his town” (Mt 9:1) shows his search of a certain “mission centre” by nevertheless avoiding the Hellenised poleis.

2. Possible Explanations for Jesus’ Selective Geographical Range If one tries to explain as to why Jesus obviously avoided the centres Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala during the time of his public ministry, five possible approaches should be examined: 1) Selectivity of Sources? 2) Political Pressure? 31 For Betsaida cf. Tiwald, M., Die Logienquelle. Text, Kontext, Theologie (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2016), 84 f, and Kloppenborg, “Q,” 69–81. Betsaida – also called Julias after the mother of the emperor Tiberius – was founded by the tetrarch Philippos (Bell. 2:168). In contrast to John 12:21 that names Bghsazd± t/r Cakika¸ar (“the Betsaida of Galilee”), Betsaida never belonged strictly to the Galilee. But when Nero deferred Tiberias, Taricheae (Magdala) and Betsaida-Julias to the reign of Agrippa II (Ant. 20:159; Bell. 2:252; Vita 37 f), both sides of the Jordan estuary politically belonged together. Thus, Betsaida was “felt” as being part of the Galilean region, contrary to the “geographical” facts. 32 Most likely, this officer was a commander of non-Jewish troops hired as mercenaries by the tetrarch (cf. Josephus Ant. 18:113–114). That this officer was a Gentile (1 Macc 3:55 also mentions Jewish “leaders of hundred”) only becomes clear in the final verse Mt 8:10 // Lk 7:9 (“Not even in Israel have I found such faith”). See Tiwald, M., The Saying Source. A Commentary on Q (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2020), 70–1, and Bovon, F., Das Evangelium nach Lukas I (Lk 1,1–9,50) (EKK III/1; Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benzinger/Neukirchener, 1989), 348. 33 When Loffreda, S., “Art. Capernaum”, in: NEAEHL I (1993), 291–295, here 292, judges, “Capernaum was a relatively small village”, he underestimates the dynamics of this place. J. Zangenberg told me that Capernaum might have been on the rise from a village towards a smaller city. At least the piazza and the Roman bathhouse excavated in the Greek Orthodox part strongly hint in this direction. Unluckily, these excavations have not been documented by V. Tzaferis, who only documented the excavations from the early 7th to the early 11th century CE in Tzaferis, V., Excavations at Capernaum. Volume 1: 1978–1982 (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1989). Nevertheless, at the time of Jesus Capernaum still remained well below a real polis.

156

Markus Tiwald

3) Cultural Split? 4) Difficulties of Understanding? 5) Retrieving the Diaspora – Jesus in Diaspora Towns?

2.1 Selectivity of Sources? J. K. Zangenberg poses the question as to whether the cities might be missing as a result of the compositional selectivity of the Gospels’ authors and their sources rather than as a reflection of the historical facts.34 He rightly concludes that all four canonical Gospels were written from a chronological and historical distance to the Galilean roots, but nevertheless claims that precisely in this respect the biblical traditions have preserved the principal outlines of Jesus’ ministry.35 I would like to support this line of argument. As I have argued elsewhere, the Sayings Source Q has preserved “local colour” most tenaciously.36 Q confronts us with the depiction of a solely rural Jesus shuttling between the villages Capernaum, Betsaida, Chorazin and Nazareth (Q 10:13–5; 4:16). The Q parables depict a merely rural world of trees and their fruits (Q 6:43–5), solid construction of rural accommodations (Q 6:47–9), harvest workers (Q 10,2), sheep and wolves (Q 10:3), a lost sheep (Q 15:4.7), the growth of a mustard seed (13:18 f; cf. 17:6) housewives preparing leavened bread (Q 13:20 f), an ox fallen into a pit (Q 14:5), decaying animals surrounded by vultures (Q 17:37), and women at a hand mill (Q 17:35). Urban motifs are only present in the mention of Jerusalem (Q 13:34 f) – and here it is judgement that is announced to the city! The same holds true for the narrative scenario in the Gospel of Mark (and his synoptic parallels), as well as the Matthew- and Luke-Sondergut, but also for the Gospel of John: Here it is the world of small urban peasants (Mk 4:3.26; John 4:36; Lk 13:15; 14:5), shepherds (Mt 12:11; Lk 15:6; John 10:2), craftsmen (Mk 6:3; Mt 13:55), rural day labourers (Mt 20:1), fishermen (Mk 1:16; John 21:3), rural tax collectors (Mk 2:15) and beggars along the streets (Mk 10:46). The geographical radius in Q, Mark, Matthew- and Luke-Sondergut as well as in John – just to mention these independent sources of Jesus-traditions – consistently is limited to the rural world of the Galilee with the sole exception of Jerusalem! The fact that 34 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer”, 151: “Verdankt sich die in der Forschung so oft diskutierte Nichterwähnung von Jesu Besuchen in Städten wie Sepphoris, Magdala oder Tiberias, der ordnenden und auswählenden Redaktionstätigkeit der Evangelisten? (…) Oder gibt es diese Berichte nicht, weil Jesus tatsächlich nicht in diese Städte ging?” 35 Cf. Zangenberg, “Galiläer”, 153: “Die Jesusüberlieferung lässt noch deutliche Konturen der Botschaft erkennen, die der Nazarener in Galiläa verbreitet hat.” Zangenberg, ibid, underscores that the locations mentioned here confront us with a very dense local colour (“sehr dichtes Lokalkolorit”) that partly predates the redactional work of the Gospels. 36 For an extensive discussion as to where Q could be localised cf. Tiwald, Logienquelle, 83–93.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

157

especially Lk – but also Mt – tried to “urbanise” their rural Jesus-traditions37 even underlines the authenticity (at least concerning this matter) of their rural sources. The tenacious persistence of rural Jesus-traditions in spite of the narrative counter-tendencies in Luke and Matthew is an indication of original Jesus material.38 We have to consider it a historical fact that Jesus deliberately avoided the cities Tiberias, Sepphoris, and Magdala in the time of his public ministry. 2.2 Political Pressure? H. Frankemölle and M. Ebner have concluded that Jesus might have refused to visit Sepphoris in order not to provoke a conflict with Herod Antipas.39 This seems quite unlikely, however, as neither Jesus nor his teacher, the Baptist, avoided conflicts with the ruling classes. The Baptist’s overt criticism of Herod Antipas’ remarriage of his brother’s wife (Ant. 18:109–19; Mark 6:17–29parr.)40 led to his execution. Nevertheless, John’s disciple Jesus followed his former teacher and also emphasised that a man must not dismiss his wife (Q 16:18; 1Cor 7:10). Like the Baptist, Jesus deliberately used provocation as a means to promote his message: He touched unclean persons (e. g., Mark 1:40) and invited sinners to his banquettes (e. g., Q 7:34; Mark 2:16), both to emphasise the healing power of the basileia; and he even healed on the day of the Sabbath (Mark 3:1–5). The peak of his provocations was his temple prophecy (Mark 14:58; John 2:19) in connection with his temple action (Mark 11:15–9parr.) as a prophetic sign for the upcoming basileia.41 This last provocation tipped the scales and led to Jesus’ execution. Perhaps the time of Jesus’ public ministry was too short (see below) for Herod Antipas to take action against him. Nevertheless, Luke 8:31 points out that Jesus might already have been on Herod’s blacklist and also gives witness to Jesus’ confidence in 37 Cf. Kloppenborg, “Q”, 67 f: “Matthew and Luke are Gospels oriented to urban settings”. Regarding Luke, an “urbanization” of his traditions is beyond doubt, cf. Hoffmann, P., Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTA.NF 8; Münster : Aschendorff, 31983, 278–80). But also Matthew “urbanizes” his traditions by mentioning t±r dienºdour t_m bd_m (22:9) or the “holy city” Jerusalem (4:5) and the “city of the great King” (5:35). 38 Cf. the criterion of Tendenzwidrigkeit in Theißen, G./Winter, D., Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 177. 39 Frankemölle, Frühjudentum, 90. Cf. Ebner, Stadt, 15 f. Nevertheless, Ebner is right in stating: “Der einzig sicher bezeugte Aufenthalt Jesu in einer großen Stadt [sc. Jerusalem] hat ihm den Tod gebracht” (ibid., 16). 40 For an overview of the discussion on the historicity of this story cf. Tiwald, M., Das Frühjudentum und die Anfänge des Christentums. Ein Studienbuch (BWANT 208; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2016), 86 f. Josephus also connects the execution of the Baptist with Herod’s remarriage, but not as explicitly as Mark 6:17–29. 41 The historicity and theological strategy behind this tradition is discussed in Tiwald, Frühjudentum, 206. The frequent expression “cleansing of the temple” is a misnomer, because Jesus intended a prophetic sign, not a ritual “cleansing”.

158

Markus Tiwald

God’s guidance. Neither he nor his teacher John were afraid of conflicts with the ruling classes. The reason for Jesus’ selective geographical radius therefore has to be sought elsewhere. 2.3 Cultural Split? In some earlier scholarship, the assumption prevailed that Jesus’ Galilee was characterised by mass poverty and social disruption, which would have led to revolutions against the Roman conquerors.42 Especially R. Horsley and D. Oakman depicted Jesus as a social revolutionary and insisted on the “political aims of Jesus”.43 According to Horsley and Oakman there was a clear-cut borderline “between the powerful rulers, on the one hand, and the hapless peasants that they exploit, on the other”.44 “The country people (…) displayed a hostility (…) to the administrative cities”,45 as can be seen in the numerous rebellions mentioned in Josephus’ Vita (34 f, 38 f, 66 f, 97–100, 102–4, 124 f, 154 etc.). Even if Horsley’s and Oakman’s depiction seriously underestimates Jesus’ primarily religious motivation, some passages in Josephus’ writings seem to hint in the direction of a socio-cultural split between Hellenistic cities and Jewish peasants. Thus in Josephus’ Vita we read: Vita 30: When I had therefore received these instructions, I came into Galilee, and found the people of Sepphoris in no small agony about their country (peq· t/r patq¸dor), by reason that the Galileans had resolved to plunder it on account of the friendship they had with the Romans; and because they had given their right hand and made a league with Cestius Gallus, the governor of Syria. Cf. Vita 375: The Galileans took this opportunity, as thinking they had now a proper time for showing their hatred to them, since they bore ill will to that city (sc. Sepphoris) also. They then exerted themselves, as if they would kill them all utterly, with those who sojourned there also (p²mtar s»m to?r 1po¸joir).

Sepphoris is plundered by the Galilean peasants because of its friendship with the Romans – the city was identified as collaborating with the occupying forces. Nevertheless, the cultural split was not so much between the rural Jewish population and pagan Hellenistic cities, but between diverging 42 Cf. the discussion in Tiwald, M., “The Brazen Freedom of God’s Children. ‘Insolent Ravens’ (Q 12:24) and ‘Carefree Lilies’ (Q 12:27) as Response to Mass-Poverty and Social Disruption?”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 111–31, on pp. 114–9. 43 Cf. Horsley, R. A., Sociology and the Jesus Movement (New York: Continuum, 21994), 43–6 and 132 (“sharp conflict between the Jesus movement and the ruling institutions”); Oakman, D. E., The Political Aims of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 71 even denies the religious aims of Jesus: “Jesus’ message about the Power of God (…) was about its presence and workings, not about its future arrival or apocalyptic fireworks”. 44 Horsley, Sociology, 86; cf. Oakman, Aims, 39–43. 45 Horsley, Sociology, 87; cf. Oakman, Aims, 49–57.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

159

conceptions of Jewish identity. As we have seen, “Sepphoris in Jesus’ days was a thoroughly Jewish city”.46 The two texts of Josephus do confirm this: The inhabitants of Sepphoris are depicted as Jews who at the outbreak of the Jewish war are “in no small agony about their fatherland (peq· t/r patq¸dor)” – they are Jews, nevertheless collaborating with the Romans. After Josephus had taken the city, the Galileans took revenge and not only killed their Jewish compatriots but also p²mtar s»m to?r 1po¸joir: Here Josephus distinguishes between the Jewish population of Sepphoris and the non-Jewish strangers (1po¸joi), who also settled there. Thus, Hellenisation in Galilee was not primarily induced by foreign forces, but in first line by the Hasmoneans – it was the “indigenous elite who embraced the ‘new fashions’”.47 Under the Herodian dynasty, settlements on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee reached an unprecedented density.48 Therefore, the assumption of mass poverty and social disruption needs to be rethought just as well as the assumption that Hellenistic and Jewish ways of life were two diametrically opposed attitudes. The situation was far more complex. Galilee must be considered as “a kaleidoscope of different groups, not as a monolith”.49 We have to assume that at this time diverging conceptions of Jewish life competed in Galilee.50 Accordingly, Freyne, Meyers, Zangenberg and Berlin assume that there was a deep split within the Jewish population.51 They posit the “simultaneous existence of a seemingly very traditional rural world next to strongly urbanized centres of Hellenism beginning already in the 2nd century BCE (Magdala) and continuing well into the 1st century CE (Tiberias)”.52 The strong Hellenization and urbanisation in Galilee certainly tipped the scales of the sociological equilibrium and not only triggered a crisis of socio-religious identity, but also led to an atmosphere of social instability. In these complex social structures, different political and religious conceptions 46 Evans, Jesus, 26. Cf. Chancey, Myth, 79 f and 93–5; Zangenberg, “Jesus”, 27–9; Freyne, “Jesus”, 190 f. 47 Zangenberg, J. K./Zande, D. van de, “Art. Urbanization”, in Hezser, C. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (Oxford: Oxford University, 2010), 165–88, on p. 174; cf. also Zangenberg, “Jesus”, 26 f. 48 Cf. Zangenberg, “Jesus”, 28 f. 49 Zangenberg, “Jesus”, 32: “Galiläa wird mehr und mehr als ,Kaleidoskop‘ unterschiedlicher Gruppen verstanden, weniger als Monolith.” Cf. also Ostmeyer, K.-H., “Armenhaus und Räuberhöhle? Galiläa zur Zeit Jesu”, ZNW 96 (2005), 147–70. 50 Cf. Zangenberg, “Jesus”, 33: “Überhaupt ist damit zu rechnen, dass durchaus auch in Galiläa unterschiedliche Interpretationen dessen nebeneinander und zum Teil auch gegeneinander existierten, was Judentum war und zu sein hatte.” 51 Cf. Freyne, “Jesus”, 192 f; Meyers, E. M., “Sepphoris. City of Peace”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 110–20, on p. 114; Zangenberg/Van de Zande, “Urbanization”, 174; Berlin, A. M., “Romanization and Anti-Romanization in Pre-Revolt Galilee”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 57–73, on p. 67. 52 Zangenberg, “News”, 481.

160

Markus Tiwald

seem to have coexisted alongside each other and competed with each other.53 “What remained was an atmosphere of distrust and alienation between some Jewish circles and their Hellenized elites, and a Jewish population that was divided about the blessings and curses of Hellenism and the increasing urbanization of their country.”54 Thus, Sepphoris did not participate in the Jewish War against the Romans, but received the Roman army with joy (Bell. 2:511) and after the defeat of Cestius Gallus revolted against Josephus, who – as an emissary of the Jerusalemite insurgents – led the Galilean rebels (Bell. 2:629). Other cities who refused to join the revolt against the Romans were Gamala, Gischala, and Tiberias. After Josephus had recovered these cities (Bell. 2:630), Sepphoris again voted for peace and went over to Vespasian (Bell. 3:32; Vita 411). They even minted coins that carried the inscription “Neronias” (City of Nero) and “Eirenopolis” (City of Peace).55 A similar situation can be found in Tiberias. At the dawn of the revolution, there were three factions (Vita 32–42): 1) the peace party – rich and honoured men who feared to lose their wealth; 2) the war party – “ignoble persons” (Vita 35) who had nothing to lose; and 3) persons who wanted to gain personal profit by the change of affairs, like “Justus, the son of Pistus, who was the head of the third faction, although he pretended to be doubtful about going to war, yet was he really desirous for sedition, as supposing that he should gain power to himself by the change of affairs” (Vita 36). In his speech, Justus lamented that Tiberias at the time had been given to Agrippa II as a present by Nero, and that Sepphoris had thus become capital of Galilee in its place. Hence, the royal treasury and the archives were now removed from their town (Vita 38). Personal interests here mingle with politics and religion: Some Jews obviously remained loyal to the Romans as long as they drew personal profit from this relationship. When benefits ceased, loyalty also wavered. The same opportunism can be seen in Josephus himself: he changed his mind from opposing rebel to kinsman of the Romans in the course of the revolt. The same seesaw policy can be seen in the case of Gamala and Gischala (Bell. 2:629). Both cities first revolted against Josephus. In Gischala it was Josephus’ inner-Jewish rival, the Galilean rebel leader John of Gischala, who opposed Josephus’ plans (Bell. 2:585). John, being of low Galilean origin, did not like the Jerusalemite aristocrat Josephus meddling in Galilean affairs. One certainly can detect “fundamental fissures (in the) Jewish population”,56 as 53 Cf. Zangenberg, “Jesus”, 32 f. 54 Zangenberg/Van de Zande, “Art. Urbanization”, 174. Cf. also Wilker, J., “‘God is with Italy Now’. Pro-Roman Jews and the Jewish Revolt”, in Eckhardt, B. (ed.), Jewish Identity and Politics between the Maccabees and Bar Kokhba. Groups, Normativity, and Rituals (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012), 157–87 who portrays different types of Jewish collaborators with Rome and shows how quickly the political sides might have been switched. 55 Cf. Chancey, Myth, 73 and Weiss, “Josephus”, 177 f. 56 Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A., “Introduction”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

161

Berlin/Overman have stated. Or as Freyne put it: “The causes for these deep divisions in Jewish society were manifold, and certainly cannot be laid at the door of the Romans alone. Some Jews had benefited greatly from the increased opportunities of the Hellenistic age, thus creating a wider gap than had existed at any other period previously.”57 Hence, not only political motivations carried weight, but there were also economic reasons such as urbanisation, monetisation, commercialisation, and tenancy that fostered a profound rift in the Jewish population and created winners and losers. Small, family-run farms risked impoverishment because they could not compete with the extended urban economy of wealthy estate owners.58 The New Testament depicts such absentee landlords (Mark 12:1), exploitative stewards (Luke 16:1–8), publican collaborators (Mark 2:16–17; Matt 18:17; 21:31; Luke 5:30; 18:11.13), and day labourers (Matt 20:1–16; Luke 15:19; Jas 5:4). Thus, “tenancy became an important instrument of the agricultural economy in Jewish Palestine (…) The growth of large estates had important effects on the structure of labour: not only were smallholders forced to cede their plots in favour of large estates, (…) but the labour demands of such properties also distorted established agricultural patterns. (…) There is evidence of a shift from small-scale polycropping to large-scale monoculture oriented to export.”59 Therefore, G. Theißen might be right when he affirms that Galilee at the time of Jesus was not one of the poorest regions, but that it was rather the economic success of some groups and the hereby resulting urbanisation of some places that actually caused the problems: a deep cultural, religious and political crisis within the Jewish society of those days.60 Thus, Jesus’ selective geographical radius might be understood as “a prophetic critique of the dominant prevailing ethos, based on covenantal ideals for a restored Israel, within an apocalyptic framework that made it

57 58 59 60

Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 1–14, on p. 9. Freyne, S., “The Revolt from a Regional Perspective”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A., (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 43–56, on p. 51. Cf. Freyne, “Jesus”, 196. J. S. Kloppenborg, “The Growth and Impact of Agricultural Tenancy in Jewish Palestine (III BCE – I CE)”, JESHO 51 (2008), 33–66, on p. 61. Cf. Theißen, G., “Kynische und urchristliche Wandercharismatiker. Zu W. Stegemann: ,Hinterm Horizont geht’s weiter‘”, in Theißen, G., (ed.), Von Jesus zur urchristlichen Zeichenwelt. ,Neutestamentliche Grenzgänge‘ im Dialog (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 101–16, on p. 115: “Vieles spricht dafür, dass das Heimatland der Jesusbewegung damals wirtschaftlich aufblühte und eben deswegen eine Krise erlebte. In solchen Zeiten werden traditionelle Werte genauso in Frage gestellt wie in Zeiten des Abstiegs und Verfalls.” Cf. also Schröter, J., “Jesus der Galiläer. Die Wechselwirkung zwischen galiläischer Umwelt und Botschaft in der Verkündigung des Nazareners”, in Zangenberg, J. K./Schröter, J., (eds.), Bauern, Fischer und Propheten. Galiläa zur Zeit Jesu (Darmstadt: Philipp von Zabern, 2012), 41–62, 56.

162

Markus Tiwald

possible to imagine and propose a radically different life-style and values”.61 He responded to the socio-religious challenges of urbanisation, monetisation, commercialisation, and Hellenisation by imposing the counter-reality of the upcoming basileia. His main target is not social critique, as Horsley and Oakman want to see it, but the upcoming basileia. Nevertheless, for Jesus – fully in line with the OT prophets – a new religious attitude had to result in social consequences! In the trajectory of early Jewish “piety of the poor” (Armenfrömmigkeit), Jesus concludes that the poor are the favourite recipients of God’s mercy, and that God has a preferential advocacy for the poor!62 Jesus’ world is the world of the marginalised losers (small farmers, fishermen, craftsmen, lepers, and prostitutes). He deliberately disregards the wider focus of Jewish city life and the socially upwardly mobile milieus of those who succeeded in harmonising Jewish and Hellenistic life. The basileia can only be inherited by the poor, the hungry, and the nonviolent (cf. the Beatitudes, Q 6:20–23.27–28) and is revealed to the m¶pioi (“minors”, Q 10:21). It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God (Mk 10:25). Accordingly, Jesus also perceives the “poor” as the favoured recipients of God’s Gospel: ptywo· eqaccek¸fomtai – as already stated in Q 7:22!63 Jesus avoided cities like Tiberias, Sepphoris and Magdala. His selective geographical radius is a prophetic statement regarding the upcoming counter-society of the basileia. Within this context we have to conclude that the Galilee of Jesus as depicted in the New Testament was indeed not representative for all of contemporaneous Galilee. 2.4 Difficulties of Understanding? In the last paragraph we came to see Jesus’ bias against Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala as a prophetic statement. Now, it might be a rewarding crosscheck to 61 Freyne, “Jesus”, 198. 62 Cf. Ro, J. U.-S., Die sogenannte ‘Armenfrömmigkeit’ im nachexilischen Israel (BZAW 322; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2002), passim who highlights the ‘Armenfrömmigkeit’ in the OT (Is 29:18–21; 66:1–5; Zeph 3:11–13; Ps 40:18; 70:6; 86:1; 109:22) and in Qumran (1QH; 1QpHab; 4Q171). Here, “poor” was a honourable self-designation understood primarily in a spiritual and not in an economical way (ibid. 200–6). Nevertheless, in Enoch’s Epistle (1En 92:1–5; 93:11–105:2) we can detect “circumstances of social underprivilege and oppression”, see Stuckenbruck, L. T., 1 Enoch 91–108 (CEJL; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2007), 548; cf. 1En 94:7; 96:4; 97:8. Thus, economic inequality certainly was a relevant topic in early Judaism, cf. Tiwald, Frühjudentum, 237–56. 63 The mixed quotation in Q 7:22 combines raising of the dead (Is 26:19), healing of the deaf, blind and lame as well as releasing the poor (Is 29:18 f; 35:5 f; 42:7.18). Similar conceptions can be found in Qumran (1QH 23:15; 4Q521 frg. 2+4 2:12; 11Q13), but with other – quite contrary – social consequences. Cf. Brooke, G. J., “Shared Exegetical Traditions Between the Scrolls and the New Testament”, in Lim, T. L./Collins, J. J. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 565–91, on p. 581 who offers a detailed examination of “Isaiah 35 and 61 in 4Q521 and Q”. Cf. also Tiwald, Logienquelle, 160 f.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

163

pose the question: Would Jesus’ message have been understood in these cities if he had actually preached there? My guess is that the answer is a clear “No”. Difficulties of understanding would have expectably emerged on a number of different levels: 1) Way of Life, 2) Language, 3) Urban Dimensions, and 4) Short duration of Jesus’ Ministry. 2.4.1 Way of Life The way of life in these Hellenized cities obeyed other rules than the lifestyle in small rural villages. To put this to the test, one could crosscheck our information about Caesarea Maritima. This town – in contrast to Sepphoris, Tiberias, and Magdala – definitely had a thoroughly Hellenistic profile ever since its founding under Herod the Great in 22 BCE. After 6 CE, “Caesarea, as the official residence of the procurator and boasting a temple to Roma and Augustus, was indirectly associated with Roman intolerance of Jewish religious attitudes during the procuratorship of Pilate (Bell. 2:169–77).”64 Nevertheless, in Caesarea there was also a synagogue. We even can read in Bell. 2:266, 285 and 289 that the Jewish inhabitants claimed the city to be a Jewish foundation based on Jewish values. Tensions in Palestine between the Jewish way of life and the Hellenistic lifestyle can be studied here par excellence. It is no wonder that Josephus links the outbreak of the First Jewish War with the intolerance the Greek Caesareans showed towards Jewish customs (naming, as a second reason, the robbing of the temple treasure by Gessius Florus, Bell. 2:266–70 and 284–93). Even if Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala were certainly Jewish with regard to their general profile, one can conclude that similar tensions also existed in these cities, though on a smaller level. Nevertheless, the Jewish inhabitants there seem to have made their peace with a certain number of Hellenistic customs and most certainly had adapted to Hellenistic manners. Especially Jesus, with his distinctively emblematic behaviour (e. g., emblematic poverty to highlight God’s advocacy for the poor ; itinerancy and nonviolence as signs for the upcoming Reign of God) following the trajectory of OT prophets, would not have been understood in such poleis. His outfit – according to Q 10:4 renouncing sandals and provisions – would have been too detached from an urban and sophisticated context. Furthermore, the imagery of his parables – like the confidence of insolent ravens and carefree lilies – would not have met the taste of busy overachievers.

64 Freyne, “Revolt”, 47. On Caesarea Maritima see also Eck, “Caesarea”, 150–62 and Eck, “Judaea”, 15–8.

164

Markus Tiwald

2.4.2 Language We do not even know exactly how predominant the Greek language was in Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala. Frankemölle e. g. supposes that the lingua franca in Sepphoris was Greek and not Aramaic.65 We know for sure that the administrative language in the entire Galilee, even in rural regions, was Greek: In the third century BCE, the Ptolemies had introduced Greek for their administration in Palestine, and this was changed neither by the Seleucids nor the Hasmoneans nor by Herod nor by the Romans. Greek was the language of culture, administration and politics – urban life required the Greek language. Nevertheless, the vernacular in rural daily life was Aramaic.66 Thus, it necessitated jylocqallate?r (ko¯mogrammateis) – village scribes, who were “low-level scribes – the sorts of agents who, in a setting where the vast majority of the population was illiterate, routinely served to mediate the relationship between the majority of the population and various levels of bureaucracy”.67 They were “moderately, but not spectacularly, educated”68 and worked bilingually, as can be shown through parallels with bilingual Egyptian scribes.69 The trilingualism (Greek, Aramaic, Nabatean) of the archive of Babatha also illustrates this fact. Were simple fishermen, peasants and craftsmen therefore able to speak Greek? They were probably familiar with some phrases, but would this have been enough for a sophisticated conversation? Perhaps Jesus – who most likely was illiterate70 – was simply not fluent enough in Greek to preach in such poleis.71

65 Cf. Frankemölle, Frühjudentum, 90. 66 According to Mt 26:73, Peter is recognised as a Galilean by his Galilean-Aramaic accent, cf. Stuckenbruck, L. T., “An Approach to the New Testament through Aramaic Sources. The Recent Methodological Dabate”, in JSP 8 (1991) 3–29, on p. 8. The later Rabbis mocked the slurred pronunciation of Galilean Aramaic (bEr 54b). Peter and John are depicted as %mhqypoi !cq²llato¸ (…) ja· Qdi_tai in Act 4:13. 67 Kloppenborg, J. S., “A ‘Parting of the Ways’ in Q?”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context I. The Separation between the Just and the Unjust in Early Judaism and in the Sayings Source / Die Scheidung zwischen Gerechten und Ungerechten in Frühjudentum und Logienquelle (BBB 172; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015) 123–43, on p. 137. 68 Arnal, W. E., Jesus and the Village Scribes. Galilean Conflicts and the Setting of Q (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 159. 69 Cf. Bazzana, G., Kingdom of Bureaucracy. The Political Theology of Village Scribes in the Sayings Gospel Q (BEThL 274; Leuven: Peeters, 2015), 127–9. 70 Cf. Heil, C., “Analphabet oder Rabbi? Zum Bildungsniveau Jesu”, in Heil, C. (ed.), Das Spruchevangelium Q und der historische Jesus (SBAB 58; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2014), 265–91, on pp. 275 and 286–9, and Tiwald, Frühjudentum, 204. 71 According to Papias (Frag. 5,15 = Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3:39), Peter needed a 2qlgmeut^r to translate his sermons into Greek. Even if Papias’ notion is historically problematic, it sufficiently demonstrates that a Galilean fisherman like Peter cannot be expected to have been fluent in Greek.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

165

2.4.3 Urban Dimensions Another problem not to be neglected are the urban dimensions. Jesus’ preaching took place at a very personal level and in direct interaction with people: He touched them, heard their stories, and told his story. It is the slowpaced lifestyle of rural peasants, craftsmen, housewives and shepherds. We do not yet encounter the sophisticated urban mission strategies of Paul, who directly aimed at crowded and variegated urban structures. The primary clusters of Jesus’ mission have survived in the Sayings Source. Thus, the mission instruction in Q 10 focusses on small-scale social structures: The missionaries go from house to house, where they receive bed and boarding in the case of acceptance. It is the village as a whole that rejects or accepts the message. The concluding gesture to shake off the dust in the case of rejection only works on a small rural market place – in an urban environment such a gesture would get lost in the crowds. The same holds true for climbing up on roofs and preaching the message from there (Q 12:3). It was possible from the flat roofs of shacks to address the whole village consisting of a few habitations. In a huge city this would be impossible – besides, nobody would have taken notice of a seemingly deranged person climbing around on rooftops! 2.4.4 Short Duration of Jesus’ Ministry Another issue to look at is the short duration of Jesus’ ministry. The synoptic Gospels propose that Jesus went to Jerusalem only once in the course of his public ministry. Hence, some scholars have proposed a “one-year-chronology” for Jesus’ preaching.72 Nevertheless, the synoptic Gospels never focus on the timespan of Jesus’ ministry – to the contrary : the Marcan plot apparently stylised Jesus as going from the Galilee to Jerusalem and preparing his disciples for his death. John reports three Passover Feasts during Jesus’ ministry (John 2:13; 6:4; 11:55) and repeated visits to Jerusalem in the course of his public activity (John 2:13; 5:1; 10:22; 11:55). Even if the depiction of John also follows theological considerations, his general outline seems to be more convincing. If one follows Hengel/Schwemer,73 one would reckon with 72 So e. g., R. Hoppe, R., “Galiläa als kultureller und religiöser Lebenskontext Jesu”, in Gielen, M./ Kügler, J. (eds.), Liebe, Macht und Religion. Interdisziplinäre Studien zu Grunddimensionen menschlicher Existenz. FS für Helmut Merklein (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2003), 185–98, on p. 189. 73 Hengel, M./Schwemer, A. M., Geschichte des frühen Christentums 1. Jesus und das Judentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 344: “Die Frist von ca. einem Jahr bei Markus dürfte wohl etwas zu kurz sein, man wird zum Beispiel mehrere Reisen nach Jerusalem voraussetzen dürfen, da er auch nach Markus dort bekannt war. Johannes mag hier weiterreichende Traditionen besessen haben, sie sind bei ihm jedoch durch sein christologisches Erzählinteresse bis zur

166

Markus Tiwald

somewhat more than one year and a half for Jesus’ public ministry, including repeated visits in Jerusalem (notwithstanding locating the centre of Jesus’ preaching in the Galilee!). Therefore, one could conclude that Jesus actually also preached in Jerusalem before his final visit there. The results of such preaching-pilgrimages seem to have been negligible. Hence, one can paradigmatically study the impact of a rural reform preacher on urban ground: the outcome was next to nothing! Only when Jesus stepped up the volume and deliberately carried out a provocative act through his temple prophecy and temple action did the authorities decide swiftly to eliminate this troublemaker. In Jerusalem, Jesus sought the final showdown regarding the upcoming basileia – and resolved to put his life on the line – but in Sepphoris, Tiberias and Magdala this might have been a waste of time and efforts!

2.5 Retrieving the Diaspora – Jesus in Diaspora Towns? We have some hints that Jesus repeatedly visited regions in the Diaspora: Mk 5:1 depicts Jesus crossing the Sea of Galilee and going eQr tµm w¾qam t_m Ceqasgm_m;74 Mk 7:31 (cf. 7:24) shows Jesus going 1j t_m bq¸ym T¼qou (…) !m± l´som t_m bq¸ym Dejapºkeyr. One should be cautious about drawing too far-reaching conclusions from this. First of all, Jesus only visits the “region” of these cities, as the use of w¾qa and fqia indicates: He only visits the rural hinterland, staying out of the city itself.75 Intriguingly enough, Josephus reports in Bell. 2:588 that 400 Jews came 1j t/r Tuq¸ym w¾qar ja· t_m 1m aqt0 jyl_m (“from the region of Tyre and from its villages”) to join the Jewish rebellion leader John of Gischala in the Jewish War. Thus, a strong diaspora community lived in the rural hinterland of Tyre. Josephus reports in C. Ap. 1:194 about the wars of the Diadochi (322–301 BCE) and the following six Syrian Wars (Ptolemies against Seleucids, 274–168 BCE). In the wake of these military endeavours, many Jews were driven out of Palestine and formed a strong Jewish minority in the region of Phoenicia.76 The same holds true for Undurchschaubarkeit verändert.” Ibid., 346: “(V)ielleicht eineinhalb, wohl kaum jedoch zwei Jahre”. 74 The question as to where Gerasa might have been located cannot be discussed here. For an overview see Merklein, H., “Die Heilung eines Besessenen von Gerasa (Mk 5,1–20)”, in Merklein, H., Studien zu Jesus und Paulus II (WUNT 105; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 196; Gnilka, Markus I, 201 f; Theißen, G., Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition (NTOA 8; Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 1989), 111–9; Schröter, Jesus, 139–41. 75 For questions concerning the historicity of these mentions, cf. Schröter, Jesus, 139–42. For the exact difference between the plural expression fqia (as the political catchment area around a polis) and the word w¾qa (as the surrounding region) see ibid., 140, and Schmeller, “Umland”, 57 f. 76 For an overview of the Syrian Wars cf. Tiwald, Frühjudentum, 58 f.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

167

the region of the Decapolis:77 Under Alexander Jannaios (103–76 BCE, Bell. 1:104) parts of Transjordan (e. g., Pella and Gerasa) came under Jewish control. When Pompeius incorporated Syria into the Roman Empire in 63 BCE, the towns that from that time onwards formed the “Decapolis” celebrated this as a liberation (Ant. 14:74–6). Tensions between the Jewish minority in the Decapolis and in the region of Tyre, on the one side, and the pagan population there, on the other, broke out again in the wake of the incipient Jewish War in 66 CE (Bell. 2:458–65). Josephus reports a deep split in the population between the supporters of Jews (Jews and their pagan sympathisers) and their enemies (Bell. 2:462 f). Thus, the cultural split did not only divide the Jewish population, as argued above, but also the pagan cities. Jesus himself had no aversion against pagans, as can be seen in the pericope of the Syrophoenician woman (Mk 7:26) and the healing of the demonpossessed man in Gerasa (Mk 5:2). Nevertheless, his primary mission is the gathering of the twelve tribes of Israel, the restitution of all of Israel as an eschatological sign of the upcoming basileia. Symbolically he creates the “Circle of the Twelve” as a real symbol for the restitution of all lost tribes, visits the “lost sheep of the house of Israel” (cf. Mt 10:6; 15:24) even in the Diaspora, and claims the restitution of all of Israel by healing the unclean, miserable, sinners and poor members of his people. Thus, Jesus’ visits in the Diaspora are not to be misunderstood as instances of “urban mission”, but as a gesture symbolizing the upcoming restitution of Israel in its entirety.78 The eschatological gathering of the lost tribes was considered a sign of the last days, as predicted in the prophecies Is 60:4. According to this, all nations would participate in God’s salvation after the restitution of Israel. “(T)he restauration of Israel included the gentiles in messianic blessings also, according to varied strands of Second Temple literature (Is 2:2–4; 45:1; Zeph 3:9; Zech 8:20–22; Tob 13:13; Sir 36:22; SibOr 3:616 f). Thus, a concern for the restauration of Israel, inspired by the prophetic tradition, would not have been xenophobic as far as Jesus was concerned.”79 Israel would become a universal sacrament of salvation for the whole world. This vicarious function of Israel for the salvation of all can later on be found in Paul’s theology (Rom 11: salvation of all Israel, Israel’s ministry for the salvation of all nations; also in Rom 1:16; 2:9) and in Luke’s mission scheme (Act 13:46: Israel first, then the pagans). After Jesus’ death and resurrection, his disciples saw the restitution of Israel accomplished (cf. Act 3:21, Peter’s speech at Pentecost). Especially the circle of the “Hellenists” of Act 6 now began the mission of Samaritans and pagans – as a sign of the last days. In doing so, they transcended not only the borders of Judaism, but also the borders of rural life. What Jesus had expected for eschatological times – the healing of all nations by Israel (cf. Is 60:1–61:6; 77 For further information cf. Theißen, Lokalkolorit, 115–9, and Bietenhard, “Dekapolis”, 231–3. 78 Cf. Freyne, “Jesus”, 189. 79 Freyne, “Jesus”, 189.

168

Markus Tiwald

quoted in Lk 4:18 f) – had now become reality for them: They began the circumcision-free mission in the urban regions outside of Israel. Would Jesus have agreed with this double evolution: from Jews to the nations, from rural to urban life? I guess it was a quite creative, but nevertheless consequent development of Jesus’ ipsissima intentio. Jesus considered it his ministry to gather Israel and prepare it for the basileia. Only later on, the full blown basileia would accomplish his work and transform the whole world, as a small piece of leaven leavens the whole flour (Q 13:21). Now Stephen, Philippos and the other “Hellenists” were seeking to accomplish Jesus’ mission by creatively drawing on this trajectory. This did not only mark the birth of transcending Jewish boundaries but also of stepping out of the rural into the urban habitat.

3. Epilogue: Rural Afterglow in the Galilee One can imagine that not all of Jesus’ followers immediately decided to “go urban”. One has to assume that there was a longer time span of rural Jesuspeople. It is “difficult to imagine that all the Galilean people who were part of a Jewish Jesus group immediately left Galilee after his death in Jerusalem”.80The Lukan scheme promotes the sufficiently known Jerusalem-centrism: In Act 1:4, Jesus commands his disciples not to depart from Jerusalem until the sending of the Holy Spirit.81 Thus, also the counter tendency of the disciples fleeing to Emmaus is corrected by the fact that “they rose up the same hour, and returned to Jerusalem” (Lk 24:33). Nevertheless, many other pericopae highlight the fact that numerous disciples fled from Jerusalem after Jesus’ death. Mk 16:7 // Mt 28:7 (omitted in Luke!) reckon with a return of the disciples to the Galilee and locate the first visions of the resurrected one there. According to Mt 28:10, Jesus even commands (!) his disciples to return to the Galilee, and – even better – locates his mandate for universal mission in the Galilee and not in Jerusalem (Mt 28:16–20). One could say : The “Matthean Pentecost” (i. e. the assignment to universal mission) occurred in Galilee, not in Jerusalem! The same countertendencies can be found in John 21, where the disciples are depicted as fishing on the Sea of Galilee. Nevertheless, the material vestiges of a Galilean post-Easter Jesus move80 Moreland, M., “Provenience Studies and the Question of Q in Galilee”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archaeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 43–60, on p. 55. 81 The Lukan Jerusalem-centrism is induced by theological means: Luke presents the holy city Jerusalem as the only centre of early Christianity. According to Act 1:8, Christianity spread from Jerusalem to the uttermost part of the earth. Other pericopae due to this scheme are: Luke 9:31.51; 13:33; 24:33.47.52; Acts 1:4.8; 5:28; 6:7; 8:1.14.27. For the whole topic cf. Wasserberg, G., Aus Israels Mitte. Heil für die Welt (BZNW 92; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1998), 119–23 and 361: From the midst of Israel (= Jerusalem) salvation is brought to the whole world.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

169

ment are scarce to nonexistent, depending on the respective point of view.82 Most scholars would agree that the Sayings Source Q – which nevertheless is a reconstruction – was composed and written by village scribes in the Galilee.83 As already described above, Q focusses on the rural world of the Galilee; urban perspectives are nearly absent. Only Jerusalem enters the picture, although in a quite distanced and sometimes even negative way (Q 13:34 f). J. Kloppenborg has even underscored the “scribal resistance (sc. of Galilean village scribes) to a southern, hierocratically defined vision of Israel”.84 Given the fact that “Q uses the term ‘Israel’ (7:9; 22:30) but never ‘Judaea’ or ‘Judaeans’ (Youda?oi), perhaps because ‘Israel’ was a preferable identifier for a Galilean audience”,85 one should refrain from locating the redaction of Q in Jerusalem (pace Frenschkowski86). One of the centres of post-Easter followers of Jesus might have been Capernaum.87 In Mk 1:29 the village is called the homeplace of Peter and Andrew, contrary to John 1:44, which has Betsaida. Following Mk 1:21; 2:1; 9:33; Mt 4:13; John 2:12, Jesus had an operational base in Capernaum. This base could have been reused in post-Easter times. A certain archaeological plausibility speaks in favour of the authenticity of the “house of Peter” in Capernaum.88 Nevertheless, the much-discussed inscriptions89 in the “house of Peter” cannot prove an unbroken line of Jewish Christians there. It is most likely that Jewish Christian presence in Capernaum broke off after the two Jewish Wars. Eusebius’ (Hist. eccl. III 5:2–3) and Epiphanius’ (Pan. 29,7,7–8; 30,2,7; De mensuribus 15) claim that Christians left Jerusalem before the First Jewish War 82 Cf. the studies of Kloppenborg, “Q,” 61–81, and Moreland, “Provenience,” 43–60. 83 For an extensive discussion cf. Tiwald, Logienquelle, 83–93. 84 J. S. Kloppenborg, “The Sayings Gospel Q. Recent Opinion on the People behind the Document”, CRBS 1 (1993), 9–34, on p. 27. 85 Kloppenborg, “Q,” 66. 86 Cf. Frenschkowski, M., “Galiläa oder Jerusalem? Die topographischen und politischen Hintergründe der Logienquelle”, in Lindemann, A. (ed.), The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BEThL 158; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 535–59, on pp. 536 and 549. Frenschkowski maintains that Q was collected and redacted in Jerusalem by using Galilean traditions. Similar ideas have been promoted by Zangenberg, J. K., “From the Galilean Jesus to the Galilean Silence. Early Christianity in the Galilee until the Fourth Century CE”, in Rothschild, C./Schröter, J. (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (WUNT 301; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 75–108, on pp. 83 f. But cf. the critique of Frenschkowski’s assumption in Moreland, “Provenience”, 55: “Frenschkowski is heavily indebted to the Acts narrative, and finds little room for historical reconstructions that move outside of those apologetic constraints.” 87 On Capernaum cf. Kloppenborg, “Q”, 61–90 and Tiwald, Logienquelle, 8. 88 See the discussion in Broadhead, E. K., Jewish Ways of Following Jesus. Redrawing the Religious Map of Antiquity (WUNT I 266; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 341 and Zangenberg, “Silence”, 104–7. 89 An overview of diverging opinions and a carefully balanced resum8 can be found in Broadhead, Ways, 334–341 and Zangenberg, “Silence,” 104–7.

170

Markus Tiwald

and fled to Pella is the subject of much discussion.90 Nevertheless, we have indications in Josephus Bell. 2.279 // Ant. 20:256 that many Jews left Palestine under the Roman Prefect Gessius Florus (64–66 CE) before the outbreak of the war. Even during the siege of Jerusalem, Titus allowed Jews to escape from the city (Bell. 5:422). Evidence of Christians fleeing Jerusalem in the wake of the war can be found in Lk 21:20 f, but also in the person of the prophet John in Revelation, who obviously had Palestinian roots,91 as well as in the disciples of the Baptist residing in Ephesus (Acts 19:3) and perhaps also in the Johannine Community, which is seen by some scholars as having been expelled from the eastern Jordan area to Ephesus.92 Thus, an exodus of Christians in the wake of the First Jewish War has a high degree of plausibility, not only from Jerusalem, but also from the Galilee. The same might prove right concerning the Second Jewish War. In Justin Apol. 1,31,6 we learn that Bar Kochba was taking measures against Christians, obviously prompted by conflicting messianic claims: “Bar Kosiba” (thus being his original name) was proclaimed by Rabbi Aqiva to be the Messiah and changed his name to “Bar Kochba” (“Son of the Star”) in allusion to Num 24:17. This clearly conflicted with Christian ideas perceiving Jesus as their Messiah. Even if the Galilee was only marginally afflicted by the Bar Kochba Revolt, the general situation might have favoured an emigration of Jesus’ followers. Thus, at least for the time after the Second Jewish War, one could assume that Christians had left the Galilee. The birthplace of the Jesus movement was rural. The place where it grew up was urban.

90 For an overview see Frenschkowski, “Galiläa”, 551 f. For a recent discussion see also Bourgel, J., “The Jewish Christians’ Move from Jerusalem as a Pragmatic Choice”, in Jaff8, D. (ed.), Studies in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity. Text and Context (AJEC 74; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 107–138. 91 Cf. Stowasser, M., “Dies spricht für dich, dass du die Werke der Nikolaiten hasst (Offb 2,6). Ein frühes Zeugnis für den Konflikt um Anpassung oder Widerstand?”, in Klieber, R./Stowasser, M. (eds.), Inkulturation. Historische Beispiele und theologische Reflexion zur Flexibilität und Widerständigkeit des Christlichen (Theologie, Forschung und Wissenschaft 10; Wien: LIT, 2006), 203–27, on p. 223; Backhaus, K., “Die Vision vom ganz Anderen. Geschichtlicher Ort und theologische Mitte der Johannes-Offenbarung”, in Backhaus, K. (ed.), Theologie als Vision. Studien zur Johannes-Offenbarung (SBS 191; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2001), 10–53, on p. 17. 92 Cf. Klauck, H.-J., “Gemeinde ohne Amt? Erfahrungen mit der Kirche in den johanneischen Schriften”, in H.-J. Klauck, Gemeinde – AMt – Sakrament. Neutestamentliche Perspektiven (Würzburg: Echter, 1989), 195–222, on pp. 199–203. See also J. Frey’s article in this volume, who advocates that one or several tradition-bearers of the Fourth Gospel (but not the whole Johannine Community) might have migrated from Jewish Palestine or Syria to Asia Minor.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

171

Bibliography Arnal, W. E., Jesus and the Village Scribes. Galilean Conflicts and the Setting of Q (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001). Aviam, M., “Reverence for Jerusalem and the Temple in Galilean Society”, in Charlesworth, J. H. (ed.), Jesus and Temple. Textual and Archaeological Explorations (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 123–144. Backhaus, K., “Die Vision vom ganz Anderen. Geschichtlicher Ort und theologische Mitte der Johannes-Offenbarung”, in Backhaus, K. (ed.), Theologie als Vision. Studien zur Johannes-Offenbarung (SBS 191; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2001), 10–53. Bagatti, B., “Art. Nazareth”, in NEAEHL III (1993), 1103–5. Bazzana, G., Kingdom of Bureaucracy. The Political Theology of Village Scribes in the Sayings Gospel Q (BEThL 274; Leuven: Peeters, 2015). Berlin, A. M., “Romanization and Anti-Romanization in Pre-Revolt Galilee”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 57–73. Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A., “Introduction”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 1–14. Bietenhard, H., “Die syrische Dekapolis von Pompeius bis Trajan”, ANRW II 8 (1977) 220–61. Bourgel, J., “The Jewish Christians’ Move from Jerusalem as a Pragmatic Choice”, in Jaff8, D. (ed.), Studies in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity. Text and Context (AJEC 74; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 107–38. Bovon, F., Das Evangelium nach Lukas I (Lk 1,1–9,50) (EKK III/1; Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vlyun: Benzinger/Neukirchener, 1989). Broadhead, E. K., Jewish Ways of Following Jesus. Redrawing the Religious Map of Antiquity (WUNT I 266; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). Brooke, G. J., “Shared Exegetical Traditions Between the Scrolls and the New Testament”, in Lim, T. L./Collins, J. J. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 565–91. Chancey, M. A., The Myth of a Gentile Galilee (SNTS.MS 118; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2002). Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen. Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt I (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Eck, W., “Judaea wird römisch. Der Weg zur eigenständigen Provinz”, in Eck, W., Rom und Judaea. Fünf Vorträge zur römischen Herrschaft in Palaestina (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 1–51. Eck, W., “Caesarea Maritima. Eine römische Stadt?”, in Eck, W., Judäa – Syria Palästina. Die Auseinandersetzung einer Provinz mit römischer Politik und Kultur (TSAJ 157; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 150–62.

172

Markus Tiwald

Eshel, H., “A Note on the ’Miqva’ot’ at Sepphoris”, in Edwards, D. R./McCollough, C. T. (eds.), Archaeology and the Galilee. Texts and Contexts in the Graeco-Roman and Byzantine Periods (Atlanta: Scholars, 1997), 131–3. Eshel, H. “The Pools of Sepphoris – Ritual Baths or Bathtubs? They’re Not Ritual Baths”, BAR 26,4 (2000), 42–5. Evans, C. A., Jesus and His World. The Archeological Evidence (London: Westminster John Knox, 2012). Frankemölle, H., Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (KStTh 5; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006). Frenschkowski, M., “Galiläa oder Jerusalem? Die topographischen und politischen Hintergründe der Logienquelle”, in Lindemann, A. (ed.), The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BEThL 158; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 535–59. Freyne, S., “The Revolt from a Regional Perspective”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 43–56. Freyne, S., “Jesus and the Urban Culture of Galilee”, in S. Freyne, S., Galilee and Gospel. Collected Essays (WUNT 125; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 183–207. Galor, K., “The Stepped Water Installations of the Sepphoris Acropolis”, in Edwards, D. R./McCollough, C. T. (eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: Gender, Ethnicity and the ”Other” in Antiquity. Studies in Honor of Eric M. Meyers (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2007), 201–13. Gnilka, J., Das Evangelium nach Markus. Mk 1–8,26 (EKK II/1; Zürich/NeukirchenVlyun: Benzinger/Neukirchener, 41994). Hachlili, R., Ancient Synagogues – Archaeology and Art. New Discoveries and Current Research (Handbook of Oriental Studies 105; Leiden: Brill, 2013). Heil, C., “Analphabet oder Rabbi? Zum Bildungsniveau Jesu”, in Heil, C. (ed.), Das Spruchevangelium Q und der historische Jesus (SBAB 58; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2014), 265–91. Hengel, M./Schwemer, A. M., Geschichte des frühen Christentums 1. Jesus und das Judentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). Hirschfeld, Y., “Art. Tiberias”, in NEAEHL IV (1993), 1464–70. Hoffmann, P., Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTA.NF 8; Münster : Aschendorff, 31983). Hoppe, R., “Galiläa als kultureller und religiöser Lebenskontext Jesu”, in Gielen, M./ Kügler, J. (eds.), Liebe, Macht und Religion. Interdisziplinäre Studien zu Grunddimensionen menschlicher Existenz. FS für Helmut Merklein (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2003), 185–98. Horsley, R. A., Sociology and the Jesus Movement (New York: Continuum, 21994). Klauck, H.-J., “Gemeinde ohne Amt? Erfahrungen mit der Kirche in den johanneischen Schriften”, in Klauck, H.-J. (ed.), Gemeinde – AMt – Sakrament. Neutestamentliche Perspektiven (Würzburg: Echter, 1989), 195–222. Kloppenborg, J. S., “Q, Bethsaida, Khorazin and Capernaum”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 61–90.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

173

Kloppenborg, J. S., “The Growth and Impact of Agricultural Tenancy in Jewish Palestine (III BCE – I CE)”, JESHO 51 (2008), 33–66. Kloppenborg, J. S., “A ‘Parting of the Ways’ in Q?”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context I. The Separation between the Just and the Unjust in Early Judaism and in the Sayings Source. Die Scheidung zwischen Gerechten und Ungerechten in Frühjudentum und Logienquelle (BBB 172; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 123–43. Kloppenborg, J. S., “The Sayings Gospel Q. Recent Opinion on the People behind the Document”, CRBS 1 (1993), 9–34. Levine, L. I., “The Ancient Synagogue in First-Century Palestine”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 23–41. Loffreda, S., “Art. Capernaum”, in: NEAEHL I (1993), 291–5. Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus. Bd. 2: Mt 8–17 (EKK I/2; Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vlyun: Benzinger/Neukirchener, 1990). Mazor, G., “Art. Beth Shean. The Hellenistic to Early Islamic Periods: The Israel Antiquities Authority Excavations”, in NEAEHL V (2008), 1623–36. Merklein, H., “Die Heilung eines Besessenen von Gerasa (Mk 5,1–20)”, in Merklein, H., Studien zu Jesus und Paulus II (WUNT 105; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998). Meyers, E. M., “Yes, They Are”, BAR 26,4 (2000), 46–61. Meyers, E. M., “Sepphoris. City of Peace”, in Berlin, A. M./Overman, J. A. (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History, and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), 110–20. Moreland, M., “Provenience Studies and the Question of Q in Galilee”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 43–60. Oakman, D. E., The Political Aims of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012). Ostmeyer, K.-H., “Armenhaus und Räuberhöhle? Galiläa zur Zeit Jesu”, ZNW 96 (2005), 147–170. Reich, R., “They are Ritual Baths”, BAR 28,2 (2002), 50–5. Ro, J. U-S., Die sogenannte ,Armenfrömmigkeit‘ im nachexilischen Israel (BZAW 322; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2002). Schmeller, T., “Jesus im Umland Galiläas. Zu den markinischen Berichten vom Aufenthalt Jesu in den Gebieten von Tyros, Caesarea Philippi und der Dekapolis”, BZ 38 (1994), 44–66. Schröter, J., “Jesus der Galiläer. Die Wechselwirkung zwischen galiläischer Umwelt und Botschaft in der Verkündigung des Nazareners”, in Zangenberg, J. K./ Schröter, J. (eds.), Bauern, Fischer und Propheten. Galiläa zur Zeit Jesu (Darmstadt: Philipp von Zabern, 2012), 41–62. Schröter, J., Von Jesus zum Neuen Testament. Studien zur urchristlichen Theologiegeschichte und zur Entstehung des neutestamentlichen Kanons (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 22008). Stowasser, M., “Dies spricht für dich, dass du die Werke der Nikolaiten hasst (Offb 2,6). Ein frühes Zeugnis für den Konflikt um Anpassung oder Widerstand?”, in Klieber, R./Stowasser, M. (eds.), Inkulturation. Historische Beispiele und theologi-

174

Markus Tiwald

sche Reflexion zur Flexibilität und Widerständigkeit des Christlichen (Theologie, Forschung und Wissenschaft 10; Wien: LIT, 2006), 203–27. Stuckenbruck, L. T., 1 Enoch 91–108 (CEJL; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2007). Stuckenbruck, L. T., “An Approach to the New Testament through Aramaic Sources. The Recent Methodological Dabate”, JSP 8 (1991), 3–29. Theißen, G., “Kynische und urchristliche Wandercharismatiker. Zu W. Stegemann: ,Hinterm Horizont geht’s weiter‘”, in Theißen, G. (ed.), Von Jesus zur urchristlichen Zeichenwelt. ,Neutestamentliche Grenzgänge‘ im Dialog (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 101–16. Theißen, G., Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition (NTOA 8; Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 1989). Theißen, G./Winter, D., Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997). Tiwald, M., Die Logienquelle. Text, Kontext, Theologie (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2016). Tiwald, M., The Saying Source. A Commentary on Q (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2020). Tiwald, M., Das Frühjudentum und die Anfänge des Christentums. Ein Studienbuch (BWANT 208; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2016). Tiwald, M., “The Brazen Freedom of God’s Children: ‘Insolent Ravens’ (Q 12:24) and ‘Carefree Lilies’ (Q 12:27) as Response to Mass-Poverty and Social Disruption?”, in Tiwald, M. (ed.), Q in Context II. Social Setting and Archeological Background of the Sayings Source (BBB 173; Bonn: V&R Academic, 2015), 111–31. Tzaferis, V., “Art. Banias”, in NEAEHL V (2008), 1587–92. Tzaferis, V., Excavations at Capernaum. Volume 1: 1978–1982 (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1989. Wasserberg, G., Aus Israels Mitte. Heil für die Welt (BZNW 92; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1998). Weiss, Z., “Josephus and the Archaeology of Galilee”, in Chapman, H. H./Rodgers, Z. (eds.), A Companion to Josephus (Blackwell companions to the ancient world) (Chichester : Wiley-Blackwell, 2016), 161–198. Weiss, Z., “Art. Sepphoris I”, in NEAEHL IV (1993), 1324–8. Weiss, Z., “Art. Sepphoris II”, in NEAEHL V (2008), 2029–34. Wilker, J., “‘God is with Italy Now’. Pro-Roman Jews and the Jewish Revolt”, in Eckhardt, B. (ed.), Jewish Identity and Politics between the Maccabees and Bar Kokhba. Groups, Normativity, and Rituals (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012), 157–87. Zangenberg, J. K., “Jesus der Galiläer und die Archäologie”, MThZ 64 (2013), 123–56. Zangenberg, J. K., “Archaeological News from the Galilee: Tiberias, Magdala and Rural Galilee”, EC 1 (2010), 471–84. Zangenberg, J. K., “Jesus – Galiläa – Archäologie. Neue Forschungen zu einer Region im Wandel”, in Claußen, C./Frey, J. (eds.), Jesus und die Archäologie Galiläas (BThSt 87) (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlagshaus, 2008), 7–38.

The Rural Roots of the Jesus Movement and the ‘Galilean Silence’

175

Zangenberg, J. K., “From the Galilean Jesus to the Galilean Silence. Early Christiantity in the Galilee until the Fourth Century CE”, in Rothschild, C./Schröter, J. (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (WUNT 301; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 75–108. Zangenberg, J. K./Zande, D. van de, “Art. Urbanization”, in Hezser, C. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 165–88. Zangenberg, J. K., “Anchoring Ancient Galilee at the Lakeshore: Towards Reconceptualizing Ancient Galilee as a Mediterranean Environment”, EC 10 (2019), 265–91.

Gerd Theißen

The Transition from Countryside to City A Transformation of Christianity in its Beginnings?

According to the ancient historian G8za Alföldy, the difference between town and country in the Roman Empire was closely linked to its social structure.1 He considered city and country clearly as separate milieus. Only members of the upper classes lived in the cities and also had estates in the country. The lower classes, on the other hand, lived in largely separate life-worlds. G. Alföldy has illustrated this social structure of the Roman Empire with a pyramid:

Fig. 1. The social structure of the Roman society (G. Alföldy)a)a)Alföldy, G., Römische Sozialgeschichte (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 21979), 130.

If this reconstruction of the social structure of the Roman Empire is correct, then Christianity would be an interesting social phenomenon connecting two separate milieus. But did it really cross the borderline between city and countryside – parallel to the tiny upper class? Beyond doubt, the Jesus movement in its beginnings started by overcoming the border between countryside and town – at least in Palestine, where Galilean followers of Jesus with roots in the countryside founded a 1 Rostovzeff, M., Gesellschaft und Wirtschaft im römischen Kaiserreich (Leipzig: Quelle & Meyer, 1931), once described the social history in the Roman Empire as a conflict between town and countryside.

178

Gerd Theißen

congregation in Jerusalem. But soon also other adherents of Jesus founded many new congregations in the cities of the Roman Empire. Some agree with Rodney Stark2 who claimed that after that step, Christianity continued as an urban movement. This would fit the alleged mental separation of town and countryside.3 Stark’s hypothesis of an urban Christianity was emphatically refuted by T.A. Robinson.4 According to him, the first Christians succeeded in overcoming the border between city and countryside. Such a border indeed existed. In late antiquity, the term for the rural inhabitant, the “paganus”, became synonymous with the non-Christian.

2 Stark, R., Cities of God. The Real Story of How Christianity Became an Urban Movement and Conquered Rome (New York: Harper, 2006). 3 Alföldy, G., “Stadt, Land und raumordnende Bestrebungen im römischen Weltreich”, in Alföldy, G. (ed.), Die römische Gesellschaft (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1986), 212–235. This article was already written in 1972. Alföldy wrote on p. 234 f: “Die rund 1000 Städte des Imperium Romanum bildeten die Zentren der Verwaltung, des wirtschaftlichen, gesellschaftlichen, politischen und geistigen Lebens in diesem Weltreich. Das Verhältnis zwischen den Städten und ihrer ländlichen Umgebung beruhte auf zwei Grundlagen: Die Städte waren von dem umfliegenden Land siedlungstechnisch meist stark getrennt und bildeten nur kleine Inseln im Gefüge des Imperiums; jedoch waren sie von ihrer Umwelt keineswegs isoliert, da das umliegende Land als ihr Territorium verwaltet wurde. Die Erschließung und die dauernde Nützung (sic!) der natürlichen Gegebenheiten in den städtischen Territorien wurde (sic!) durch dieses Verhältnis sehr gefördert, da der Bedarf der Städte gedeckt werden mußte. Die wirtschaftliche Produktion regelte sich auf die Art und Weise, dass die Güter in der Stadt bzw. auf dem Land weitgehend auch für die Deckung des gegenseitigen Bedarfs hergestellt wurden. Die landwirtschaftlichen Produkte der städtischen Territorien kamen zunächst der Landbevölkerung selbst zugute. Was jedoch produziert wurde und in welchen Mengen, wurde von dem Bedarf des städtischen Zentrums erheblich beeinflußt. Umgekehrt konzentrierte sich die handwerkliche Produktion stark auf die Städte, die dann mit ihren Handwerksartikeln auch ihr Territorium weitgehend versorgen konnten. Dementsprechend wurde die städtische Siedung /235/ im Normalfall zugleich das Handelszentrum für das gesamte Territorium. Der differenzierten Wirtschaftsstruktur in Stadt und Land entsprach auch eine differenzierte Sozialstruktur. Zwischen der Bevölkerung in den städtischen Zentren und auch den städtischen Territorien gab es große soziale Unterschiede, die einerseits ein Spannungsfeld, andererseits aber auch Beziehungen und Bindungen herbeiführten. Man könnte die Sozialstruktur der Territorialeinheiten mit einer Doppelleiter vergleichen – die Spitze war gemeinsam, die Sprossen waren verschieden. Die Grundbesitzeraristokratie der Territorien war nämlich zumindest vor der späten Kaiserzeit zugleich die stärkste Gruppe jener Schicht, die den führenden Stand der Städte bildete und die städtischen Magistraten stellte. Dagegen hatten die Unterschichten in der Stadt (kleinere Kaufleute, kleinere Handwerker, Massen der städtischen plebs, Freigelassene und Sklaven) im Allgemeinen nur wenig Kontakt zu den Massen der Landbevölkerung (Bauern mit kleinerem Besitz, landlose Pächter und Lohnarbeiter, in der Landwirtschaft beschäftigte Sklaven). Aus diesem System ergab sich auch die Grundlage für das politische Gefüge des Imperiums, deren Oberschicht zumindest in der frühen Kaiserzeit die Aristokratie der Städte darstellte; auch die meisten Senatoren und Ritter stiegen aus diesen Kreisen auf. Die so zustande gekommene Ordnung war im Großen und Ganzen die Konsequenz einer spontanen Entwicklung und keiner mit der heutigen vergleichbaren Raumpolitik.” 4 Robinson, T.A., Who were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Hypothesis (New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).

The Transition from Countryside to City

179

However, this was a late development in the Latin language in the West.5 Christianity started much earlier in the East. And we are interested in these beginnings. In the first part of this article, I present three propositions on the external spread of early Christianity in town and countryside, and in the second part three assumptions will follow on its internal transformation during the transition from countryside to town. Before we start, I should underline: This internal transformation is not necessarily caused by the change of milieus, but is synchronic with this change. Synchrony does not imply causality, but neither does it exclude it.6

1. The Spread of Early Christianity in Town and Countryside In the beginnings of early Christianity, we can differentiate three movements: first, a movement from the countryside to the city in Syria; second, a movement from city to city in the Pauline mission; third, a spread of Christianity from the cities to the surrounding territories. 1.1 The Spread of Christianity from the Countryside into the Cities Christianity began as an internal Jewish renewal movement in rural Galilee and spread from there not only to Jerusalem as the first major city, but also at the same time directly from Galilee into other rural areas of Syria, and very early also from rural Syria to cities such as Damascus and Antioch. The following observations support this view :7 In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus is the model of a rural missionary ; he mirrors a 5 Cf. Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen. Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt I (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 15. 6 Besides, the more we demonstrate in the first part that the external spread of Early Christianity easily crossed the borders of socio-ecological milieus, the less probable it is that an internal transformation was only due to a change of the socio-ecological milieus. 7 Josephus is convinced that nowhere else in the Diaspora as many Jews existed as in Syria: “For as the Jewish nation is widely dispersed over all the habitable earth among its inhabitants, so it is very much intermingled with Syria by reason of its neighbourhood, and had the greatest multitudes in Antioch by reason of the largeness of the city” (Bell. 7:43). Josephus witnessed pogroms against Jews at the beginning of the Jewish war in every “city” in Syria: “However, the Syrians (…) killed those whom they caught in their cities” (Bell. 2:461). He is silent on the persecution of Jews in rural areas and in all Syrian cities. On the other hand, Josephus reports that Jews have devastated “the villages of the Syrians” for revenge (Bell. 2:458). “Many also of the villages that were about every one of those cities were plundered, and an immense slaughter was made of the men who were caught in them” (Bell. 2:460). This must be interpreted as follows: In the cities, the Syrians clearly had the majority, and there they killed the Jews as a minority. In the country, however, there must have been many Jews, so they were strong enough to devastate the Syrian villages.

180

Gerd Theißen

rural mission. He preaches in “villages” (1:38; 6:6), heals in “villages, towns or farms” (8:23.26) and walks through the rural territory of Caesarea Philippi (8:27). An exorcised healed man in the countryside spreads the news of him in the Decapolis (5:20). Whereas the Gospel of Mark never speaks of villages or cities as targets of the mission, in the Gospel of Matthew Jesus explicitly sends his disciples to a “city or village” (Matt 10:11). Both places are connected by “or,” so they stand equally side by side. Matthew presupposes a mission in both milieus.8 This view is confirmed by the Didache. It probably originated in Syria, where the Gospel of Matthew was spread. The Didache’s itinerant charismatics moved from place to place without many supplies. This required a network of houses and villages where they found supporters. The Didache uses neither the term city (pjlis) nor village (ko¯me) and only once the term “place” (tjpos) (Did 14:3: cf. Mal 1:11).9 In Asia Minor we also find traces of an early rural mission. After the preaching of Paul and Barnabas in Pisidian Antioch, it is said that “the word of the Lord spread throughout the land (cho¯ra)” (Act 13:49). Afterwards, Barnabas and Paul flee to Lystra and Derbe and preach the Gospel in the surrounding area (per&cho¯ron) (Act 14:6 f).10 But notice that this is already the mission of Paul starting in towns.11

8 According to Mt 10:14 Jesus speaks of “house or city” as places of mission; the house would also include houses in villages. 9 Itinerant radicalism has probably survived for a long time in Syria. This is witnessed by the ps.clementine Letters ad virgines. Cf. Kretschmar, G., “Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach dem Ursprung frühchristlicher Askese”, ZThK 61 (1964), 27–67. More details on the traces of itinerant radicalism in the Gospel of Thomas in Tiwald, M., Wanderradikalismus (ÖBS 20; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2002), 289–96; concerning the ps.-clementine Letters ad virgines ibidem, 299–306. 10 According to Acts, Paul wandered through Phrygia and the Galatian land (chjra) (16:6) and must have founded communities there, because later on he visited them a second time to strengthen disciples there (Act 18:23). Perhaps he got stranded in Galatia because of an illness. An allusion to this may be found in Gal 4:13 f where he says that the Galatians had not taken offense at the “weakness” of the flesh on his first visit. In that case, church planting could have been the consequence of an unplanned stay caused by disease in Galatia – so it would not have been the rule but the exception that Paul was active in the countryside. 11 Another testimony to the spread from the countryside to the city is 1Clem 42:3 f (late first century). There the mission is attributed to the risen Christ: “So they (the apostles) received assignments, were filled with certainty by the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ (…) and proclaimed the glad tidings that the kingdom of God will come. / 4 / So they preached in countries and cities (kat/ cho¯ras ka' pjleis) and made their first fruits (i. e. their first converts) (…) to bishops and deacons.” Here, rural regions (in the plural) are named at the beginning – which could be interpreted as saying: while Christ had sent the apostles to preach in Judea and Samaria, the risen Lord extended this mission to new countries. The nearest new countries were Phoenicia, Arabia and Syria. 1Clem 42 is therefore not a statement that Christianity has always spread from the countryside to the cities. The remark rather states that it had spread across the borders of its country of origin into other countries.

The Transition from Countryside to City

181

1.2 The Spread of Christianity from City to City As long as Paul was a missionary of the congregation of Antioch, he and Barnabas probably also missionized in rural areas. But after his break with Antioch, Paul became an independent missionary and preferred only cities: Philippi as a Roman colony and provincial capitals such as Thessaloniki, Corinth and Ephesus. Paul’s geographical map is the Roman Provincial order; to orientate his readers, he uses the names of the Roman provinces: Judea, Syria and Cilicia, Asia, Macedonia, Achaea and Illyria.12 Nothing in his letters indicates a mission in rural territories. W.A. Meeks has inferred Paul’s distance vis-/-vis the rural areas from his catalog of sufferings in 2Cor 11.13 Paul is speaking here about the dangers he is exposed to: -

dangers from rivers; dangers of robbers; dangers among Jews, dangers among Gentiles; dangers in cities, dangers in deserts, dangers in the sea; dangers among false brothers (2Cor 11:26).

Jews and Gentiles are named as pars pro toto for all people. In the same way “cities, deserts, seas” intends to comprehensively describe all ecological environments in which Paul was active. If Paul had attached great importance to a missionary activity in the countryside, he could easily have spoken of “cities and villages”. But he only speaks of cities. Even though this is an argumentum e silentio, we can maintain the urban character of the Pauline mission against T.A. Robinson. The Pauline mission mainly focused on the

12 Cf. Judaea in 1Thess 2:14, Syria and Cilicia in Gal 1:21, Asia in 1Cor 16:19; 2Cor 1:8; Rom 16:5, Macedonia and Achaia in 1Thess 1:7 f and Illyria in Rom 15:19. That Paul follows the map of the Roman provinces in his geographical terminology was proven by : Magda, K., Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy. Searching for the Geographical Awareness Paradigm behind Romans (WUNT II 266; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009). 13 Meeks, W.A., Urchristentum und Stadtkultur. Die soziale Welt der paulinischen Gemeinden (Gütersloh: Kaiser, 1993 [English original 1983]), 25. The criticism in Robinson, Who were the First Christians, 91 f against Meeks’s interpretation of 2Cor 11:26 is not convincing: “All Paul is asserting in this passage is that he, as a representative of Christ, has been in danger everywhere and from everyone. He is not asserting anything about the chora. Paul simply lists off all his sufferings – much greater than any of his competitors, he wants his audience to know – and he lists these over a much longer passage than Meeks quotes (11:26–28). Further, it is not as though Paul did not speak of the countryside – in spite of what Meeks asserts. Paul does speak in this passage of dangers from bandits, which has a more rural tone to it, and dangers from rivers, which most likely has a rural setting, where some crossings might be risky when, for example, the river’s flow was stronger than normal. Although rivers might flow through cities, it is more likely that bridges would have been part of the infrastructure there, unless Paul, like soldiers in the army of Maxentius fleeing from Constantine’s forces, chose to wade the flowing Tiber rather than use the Milvian Bridge.” It is a matter of course that Paul had to cross long distances in the countryside. But that does not imply that he founded congregations there.

182

Gerd Theißen

cities. But soon after some cities had become home to Christian congregations, the new belief started to spread from the cities to the countryside.

1.3 Christianity’s Expansion from the Cities to the Countryside All cities had a rural territory. Even though, according to Geza Alföldy, only the upper classes connected city and countryside within their life-world, the lower classes also came into repeated contact with both worlds. The country supplied the city with food, and the cities supplied the countryside with handicraft products. Many citizens were also farmers. The cities were often just big villages. For a secondary expansion of Christianity into the countryside, we have two pieces of evidence from the second century. At the beginning of the second century, Pliny writes in his letter about the Christians: “The plague of this superstition has spread not only over the cities, but also over villages and fields” (Pliny, Ep. 10:96.9).14 It is important to note that Pliny speaks of Christians in all social layers, Christians of omnis ordinis. At least, there must have been some Christians among the decuriones, i. e., the local aristocracy. In the middle of this century (156 CE), Christians in Smyrna persuaded the old bishop Polycarp to flee during a persecution. He is said to have “relocated to an estate close to the city and stayed there with a few persons” (MartPol 5). When he was tracked down there, he fled to another country house (MartPol 6). Both texts show : Christianity had spread into rural areas – and both suggest that this happened not only through contacts in the lower strata, but also through rich owners of country houses.15 Nevertheless, as a whole Christianity remained an urban phenomenon. The letter of Diognet states: “Through all the members of the body the soul is distributed, and so the Christians are distributed through the cities of the world” (Diogn 6:2). We may interpret it in this way : In the cities, Christianity is at home like the soul in a human being. There Christianity has its center, but it is not limited to these centers. So, as an interim result, we note that we find three movements in Christianity : 1) First, from the countryside to the city – especially in Syria. This happened in the lower layer of society and was carried out by itinerant charismatics who were like beggars and outsiders in their society. It was a mission from house to house. 2) Second, from city to city in the mission of Paul. This was a well-organized 14 Neque civitates tantum, sed vicos etiam etque agros superstitionis istius contagio pervagata est. 15 Tertullian, Apol. 1:7: “Men proclaim aloud that the state is beset with us; in countryside, in villages, in islands – Christians; every sex, age, condition, and yes! rank going over to this name.”

The Transition from Countryside to City

183

and financed mission comparable to the activity of itinerant sophists and teachers, with a network of Jewish synagogues as starting points. 3) Third, from the city to the countryside in Asia Minor and Europe. There are some hints that this was also possible because some wealthy urban Christians also had houses in the country. Our result sheds some light on the Gospels. The Gospel of Matthew, probably written in Syria, starts the Christian mission in a rural environment. The Risen Christ sends the disciples from a mountain in Galilee to a worldwide mission. The Gospel of Luke, on the other hand, locates the mission command in Bethany, a suburb of Jerusalem. Here, the Risen Christ says in Act 1:8: “You shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and throughout Judea and Samaria unto the end of the world.” The mission begins in the Gospel in the city of Jerusalem16 and ends in Acts in the city of Rome. It would be worthwhile to read and compare these two Gospels in light of this observation, but there is no time for this here.

2. The Transformation of Christianity in the Cities So much for the external spread of Christianity. Our second question concerns its internal transformation: Was Christianity transformed when it became an 16 The childhood stories provide a second proof. They begin in the Gospel of Matthew in Bethlehem, the smallest of the main cities of Judea (Mt 2:6). This place is contrasted in Mt with Jerusalem, the city of King Herod. Jerusalem is a center of danger and enmity. From there the order comes to kill the children in Bethlehem. The Gospel of Luke, on the other hand, begins in the Temple of Jerusalem with the prophecy to Zacharias. Jesus begins his career in the temple at the age of twelve. The country appears in Lk’s childhood stories as a landscape of peace. The shepherds in the fields around Bethlehem receive the angels’ message of peace. The third proof is the Lukan travelog. At the beginning, there is the second missionary discourse, in which the disciples are clearly sent to the ”cities and places” (Lk 10:1). In 13:22 Luke emphasizes this again (in a redactional note): “And he went through cities and villages and taught and made his way to Jerusalem.” In this travelog it is striking that at the very beginning Jesus warns against cursing a Samaritan village in which the disciples were rejected (Lk 9:51–6, a special tradition of Luke). Is this a trace of an antagonism between rural dwellers and travelers moving to a city? Did Luke want to say : You should not despise the country dwellers? In another special tradition, however, Lk emphasizes how well Jesus was received in the country by Mary and Martha (Lk 10:38–42). Perhaps that is why he leaves out the story of the Syrophoenician woman which shows that Jesus is not free from “prejudices” against the rural population vis-/vis the world of the noble Hellenistic lady? The fourth proof are Jesus’s five speeches in the Gospel of Matthew. All but the last are localized in the countryside, with the exception of the last speech being located in Jerusalem. While the discourse on the congregation (Mt 18) mentions groups of Jesus followers that consist of no more than two or three disciples (Mt 18:20), this is hardly true for the churches in cities. Revealing is also the last speech in Jerusalem. The fact that Mt brings a sequence of curses before the apocalyptic speech (Mt 23) reinforces the criticism of Jerusalem.

184

Gerd Theißen

urban phenomenon? Paul’s epistles give us an insight into this transformation. Paul was confronted in the cities with three social structures, the polis, oikos and the voluntary associations. I propose three hypotheses: (1) The first proposition concerns the competing voluntary associations: Christian communities were cult communities without the usual features of a cult, i. e., without temples, priests, and sacrifices. Their center was not sacrifice, but a simple meal that united the Christians. This meal, however, was shrouded in a mystical aura as the consumption of a deity. The church became the “Body of Christ” through this meal. The sacralization of club life through social mysticism was a special characteristic of the Christians. (2) The second hypothesis concerns the relationship to the polis and the Imperium: The followers of Christ lived in tension with the Imperium Romanum because they worshipped a crucified person. Crucified persons were slaves, criminals, and rebels. In spite of this, the Christians struggled for a place in this Imperium. The Roman Empire could not at all tolerate a crucified rebel, but it could tolerate a God. Through the divinization of the crucified Christ the Christians eventually found their place in the Hellenistic-Roman world. (3) The third thesis concerns the relationship to the oikos: The followers of Christ lived in tension with family life because of their high esteem of asceticism, but they developed an ethos in which asceticism and marriage complemented each other. Lifelong fidelity in marriage required the control of sexuality – a virtue that the ascetics lived exemplarily. This complementarity of asceticism and marriage was a special characteristic of Christians. Thus, we observe three contradictions in the life-world of early Christianity : the sacralization of the profane everyday life of the association, the divinization of a humiliated crucified man and the complementarity of an intensified marriage ethos and asceticism. Perhaps such contradictions became the key to the success of early Christianity. They attract people’s attention. But they are only accepted in the long run if people experience a deep wisdom in them that makes them viable. The three tendencies have in common: all support an intensification of human relationships in the congregation. Let us deal first with the sacralization of club life. 2.1 Paul’s Social Mysticism and the Sacralization of Club Life Paul took over the popular “body metaphor” from Roman-Hellenistic antiquity. People spoke of the polis as a body in which all citizens were members. This image expresses people’s longing for a good community life. Speaking of a social body was as a rule only an image. Nowhere do we find the idea that the limbs were actually considered members of a supra-natural

The Transition from Countryside to City

185

person.17 But this is exactly what happened in early Christianity – starting with Paul. An image became a reality, a metaphor became the origin of social mysticism18 or a myth pointing to a supernatural reality. In the church, the risen Christ is mysteriously present. All Christians are members in his body, because all are connected by the “pneuma,” the spirit of God himself, who motivates them. The church is therefore one person. Paul writes: “Here is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor freeman, neither man nor woman. You are all one in Christ” (Gal 3:28). Paul does not say that they are all a neutral unit in Christ (h8n) (cf. Rom 12:5), but one person (heis). What actually happened in many cultic communities, namely that outsiders might join them, is the programmatic goal here: The Christian community strove to overcome social boundaries. With this metaphor, Paul emphasizes that the desire for a positive communal life is fulfilled in the church and is even surpassed. According to many pagan analogies, all limbs are required to follow the dominating limb. But Paul says that all members should respect the weakest one. In Pauline congregations, mutual support is a matter of course.19 Violations of community rules through inequality in food are therefore a sin against the deity. His disciples understood Paul correctly : Ephesians describes the entry into the church as an entry into heaven. Those who come to a new life with Christ are already “appointed in heaven in Jesus Christ” (Eph 2:6). In the cities, therefore, some Christian communities emerged with a high degree of integration and an intensification of communal life.20 This sacralization of the communal life presupposes a “high” Christology : Only a God can be present everywhere where his followers come together. Our second thesis refers to Paul’s high Christology.

17 Walter, M., Gemeinde als Leib Christi. Untersuchungen zum Corpus Paulinum und zu den ‘Apostolischen Vätern’ (NTOA 49; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001), cf. the survey of ancient texts mentioning the body metaphor on pp. 313–7. 18 Whether Paul represents “mysticism” is repeatedly disputed. It is certainly a peculiar mysticism, but it exists: Theißen, G., “Paulus und die Mystik. Der eine und einzige Gott und die Transformation des Menschen”, ZThK 110 (2013), 263–290. 19 Cf. Theißen, G., “Gemeindestrukturen und Hilfsmotivation. Wie haben die ersten Christen zum Helfen motiviert?” in Konradt, M./Schläpfer, E. (eds.), Anthropologie und Ethik im Frühjudentum und im Neuen Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, (WUNT 322; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 413–40. 20 Certainly, followers of Christ often provoked their environment through deviant behavior. Paul, e. g., describes this by using the example of inspired speech. Glossolaly repelled outsiders, causing them to say, “You are crazy!” (1Cor 14:23). But as prophecy, such speech was able to persuade outsiders to say, “Truly, God is among you!” or “within you” (1Cor 14:25). The increase in value of the life in an association by sacralization compensated for all losses which one had to accept as a member of such a strange and despised club.

186

Gerd Theißen

2.2 The High Christology of Paul as a Gate to a Multi-religious Society The followers of Christ had difficulties being accepted politically in ancient society. They worshiped a crucified man. For the Roman upper classes that was a despised superstition, a superstitio prava immodica. From the beginning of the second century we have three texts on the Christians written by members of the upper classes, from Suetonius, Tacitus, and Pliny the Younger. Suetonius speaks of Jews who were incited to riot in Rome under Claudius by a certain Chrestus and therefore expelled (Suetonius, Claudius 25). Later on, he praises the persecution of Christians under Nero and counts them among Nero’s good deeds when he writes: “Capital punishment was used against the Christians, a sect that had surrendered to a new dangerous superstition” (Suetonius, Nero 16). More differentiating is Tacitus’ judgment on the Christians. Although he believes that Christians deserve the severest punishment for their “hatred of humankind,” he underlines that they were unjustly accused by Nero of being arsonists. For him, Christ is a crucified Jew, the author of a superstition that was first suppressed by Pilate, but then revived and spread even to Rome (Tacitus, Ann. 15:44). The most differentiated statement on early Christians we find in Pliny the Younger. Based on personal interrogations, he recognizes: “The followers of Christ worship Christ with hymns as if he was a deity (quasi deo) and commit themselves to avoid theft, robbery, and adultery, not to break the word given, and to repay entrusted property.” Pliny does not object to either the worship of such a deity nor does he reject these universal moral obligations. To find out if Christians could be accepted, he tests their political loyalty by asking them to sacrifice to the emperor. Those who fail the test are punished by execution. Comparing these three statements shows that the worship of Christ as a deity, combined with an exemplary universal ethos, could help establish a fragile tolerance for the followers of Christ in the multi-religious Roman state – provided there was no doubt about their loyalty to the emperor. Paul propagated a high Christology from the beginning. For him, the crucified Christ was the representative of the wisdom of God, the Son of God, who, after his crucifixion, received a rank equal to God, unrecognized by the rulers of the world. In Roman society people were familiar with the fact that human beings ascended into “heaven”: Emperors were also divinized in this way. The faith of the early Christians was a parallel: not the Roman emperor, but a person crucified by the Romans was the center of their community. For them, he was simultaneously a deity and the teacher of a universal ethos. The fact that he was an outlaw, a crucified man, was on the one hand the basis of a negative social identity : such a negative social identity can enhance the coherence of a group. The more the others reject us, the more we belong together. On the other hand, such a negative contrast can also support a

The Transition from Countryside to City

187

positive collective self-esteem: we must be better than all other people. When they reject us, they once more demonstrate their deficits. The improvement of personal relationships was most important within the house and family. To enhance a social ethos there, Paul had a “paradoxical” message of a combination of marriage and asceticism.

2.3 The Combination of Asceticism and Marriage in Paul’s Complementary Family Ethos The earthly Jesus not only upset life in the polis by his crucifixion, but also life in the oikos or in the family by his life and teachings.21 Also his followers were disruptive with their family-critical traditions. The Acta Pauli tell us that under the influence of Paul, couples dissolved. Women preferred an ascetic life to being married. Was not the unmarried Paul himself the model of such asceticism? Paul proved to be a genius architect for his congregations in this point. He developed a family ethic in which asceticism and marriage were united in a complementary way. In those days, this happened similarly in the stoa, as a comparison with the stoic philosopher Musonius shows.22 Musonius introduced friendship into his ideas on marriage: Married couples should be best friends; they should have everything in common, love and appreciate each other, be absolutely faithful and loyal – without extramarital relations (renouncing extramarital relations applied not only to the wife, but also to the husband). Paul did not introduce this ethos of friendship into marriage, but a comparable Christian ethic of agape. Spouses should love each other and not live to please themselves. In this regard, Paul and Musonius are comparable. But there is one important difference. Since for Musonius the friendly relationship is the essence of marriage, he accepts divorce when that friendship is no longer present. Paul, however, rejected divorce among Christians. At the same time Paul represented an ascetic ideal. If the relationship between a man and a woman in a marriage is to be intense and exclusive, requirements for the control of sexuality must be increased. That had practical reasons, such as avoiding the procreation of too many children. But it was also to strengthen the respect and humane treatment of the spouses. The man who renounces extramarital relations with male and female slaves living in his 21 Within society as a whole, Christian communities struggled to find a place of toleration. With regard to the oikos, the question was reverse: whether Christian communities could give families a place within their life-world. 22 Here I refer to Szarek, M., Ehe und Askese. Familienethos bei Paulus und Musonius (BVB 31; Münster: LIT, 2016), who has developed this thesis in a careful comparison of Paul and Musonius. Cf. Theißen, G., “Eros und Urchristentum. Am Beispiel des Paulus”, in Pott, H.G. (ed.), Liebe und Gesellschaft. Das Geschlecht der Musen (München: Wilhelm Fink, 1997), 9–30.

188

Gerd Theißen

house, and who does not visit prostitutes, has to control his sexuality. This leads to a complementary symbiosis of asceticism with marriage ethos. Paul favors different forms of life: in first place celibacy, in second marriage.23 And he combines marriage and asceticism in three variants: A first variant is marriage with a limited “interim-asceticism”: Although Paul does not want couples to refuse each other sexually, he concedes a temporary asceticism for a short time for the sake of prayer (1Cor 7:5).24 A second variant is a “postsexual asceticism”: In the expectation of eschatological tribulations, Paul advises continual asceticism in marriage (1Cor 7:29).25 Finally, a third possibility is developing in Corinth, “asexual couples.” In Corinth, there were some unmarried couples among the Christians. Paul allows them to marry or to continue their previous relationship without practicing sexuality (1Cor 7:37). Later in the Old Church we occasionally encounter such “pneumatic marriages”. All these connections illustrate a paradoxical marriage ethic summarized in saying 239 of Sextus: “The marriage of the faithful is a struggle for abstinence” (that is, an effort toward asceticism).26

3. Conclusion All these observations lead to the following general conclusion: We find three contradictions in the social life of early Christians: the sacralization of the life of the association, the divinization of a crucified human being, and the complementarity of asceticism and family ethos.27 These contradictions made 23 A parallel can be found among the philosophers. Whether a philosopher should marry was answered differently in ancient times. Musonius pleaded for marriage, his student Epictetus for celibacy. 24 This is reminiscent of a scene that we read in the Shepherd of Hermas: virgins sit down with him, but do not kiss him, but pray (Hermas, Sim. IX 11:7), cf. Leutzsch, M., “Hirt des Hermas”, in Körtner, U.H.J./Leutzsch, M. (eds.), Schriften des Urchristentums III: Papiasfragmente, Hirt des Hermas (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1998), 320. 25 According to the Shepherd of Hermas, one’s own wife should become a “sister” (Hermas, Vis. II 2:3), cf. Leutzsch, “Hirt des Hermas”, 156. 26 Note that Musonius is stricter than Paul: Musonius says that the sexual unio should be practiced exclusively for the procreation of children. The result of a comparison between Paul and Musonius is–I am summarizing Szarek’s dissertation on this topic – that “contrary to the conviction that Christianity has brought a humane ethos into a world of libertinism, in Christianity and parallel to it also in the pagan world has developed a humane marriage ethos”: Szarek, Ehe und Askese, 216. 27 Once more I should underline that these special characteristics of the Christians are not due to their urban environment, but there is a certain correlation: The concurrence of voluntary associations was much more intensive in the city than in the country ; the city embraced more

The Transition from Countryside to City

189

Christianity attractive in the competition with many new cults. The paradoxical and divergent attracts attention. But at the same time, Christians combined a universal religious message and ethos with the paradox of their faith that convinced many, because it intensified human relations in both the congregations and the family. What is intuitive and convincing causes the ideas and practices not only to attract attention, but also to have a long-lasting effect. An optimal combination of paradox and intuitive thoughts and practices is especially visible in Paul, the great missionary in the beginning of Christianity. Paul surrounded everyday life of his congregations with a social mysticism; he combined a theologia crucis with a high Christology and developed a complementary ethos of asceticism and marriage. He was the architect of Christianity and indeed laid the foundation for its long-lasting effects. According to the cognitive study of religion, a combination of minimally counterintuitive ideas and practices on the one hand and a network of many intuitive ideas and practices on the other has the best potential for the dissemination of a religion – above all if these elements enhance positive social relationships. This also explains the ability of the Christian movement to expand across the borders of social milieus and strata – including the border between city and countryside. Crossing the border between these two socio-ecological milieus did not happen only once or in one direction: the Jesus movement started in the countryside and entered the cities. The congregations in the cities disseminated the Christian faith into their rural environment. Both movements were interdependent. The rural origins of Christianity were always present in the form of the synoptic traditions and the synoptic Gospels (especially Mt). People in the countryside met their familiar rural life-world when listening to the Gospels or reading their texts. It is true that we only have very little evidence for the spread of the synoptic Gospels in the countryside. The Didache seems to be at home in an agrarian milieu and cites the Gospel of Matthew. But there is no doubt that in later times there was also an exchange between countryside and cities. The Montanists started in a rural district of Asia Minor,28 but soon spread into the cities. In Carthage, Tertullian became a Montanist. So, we can say that Christianity really connected two separated socio-ecological milieus with an exchange in both directions. G8za Alföldy assumed that the life-worlds of the rural population and of the inhabitants of cities were separated – and only connected by a very tiny upper

cults of divinities than the countryside, and the city was more open to deviating and new forms of sexual life. 28 Mader, H.E., Montanistische Orakel und kirchliche Opposition. Der frühe Streit zwischen den phrygischen ”neuen Propheten” und dem Autor der vorepiphanischen Quelle als biblische Wirkungsgeschichte des 2. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. (NTOA 97; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Their prophetic oracles were influenced by Pauline literary motifs.

190

Gerd Theißen

class. The social history of early Christianity corrects this reconstruction. We can illustrate this with the help of his pyramid:

Fig. 2. Pyramide

The revised pyramid shows that a new religion was able to build a bridge between two separate milieus also in the lower strata, but probably with the support of some people of high standing.29 By connecting the two milieus of country and city, early Christianity constituted a parallel structure to the upper classes within the lower strata. It was simultaneously a parallel and an opposition.30

Bibliography Alföldy, G., Römische Sozialgeschichte (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 21979). Alföldy, G., “Stadt, Land und raumordnende Bestrebungen im römischen Weltreich”, in Alföldy, G. (ed.), Die römische Gesellschaft (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1986), 212–35. Ebner, M., Die Stadt als Lebensraum der ersten Christen. Das Urchristentum in seiner Umwelt I (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Kretschmar, G., “Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach dem Ursprung frühchristlicher Askese”, ZThK 61 (1964), 27–67. 29 But I should add a reservation: I did not compare Christianity with other contemporaneous new religious movements. Were there also other cults in those times that started in the countryside and entered the cities? What about the Kybele Cult that originated in Phrygia and whose center was Pessinus in Anatolia? Kybele was the master of animals, a goddess of Mount Ida, of nature and earth. But in Roman times Pessinus was already a flourishing city. 30 I am very grateful to Margaret B. Lampe for reviewing my manuscript and revising my English.

The Transition from Countryside to City

191

Leutzsch, M., “Hirt des Hermas”, in Körtner, U.H.J/Leutzsch, M. (eds.), Schriften des Urchristentums III: Papiasfragmente, Hirt des Hermas (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1998), 105–497. Mader, H.E., Montanistische Orakel und kirchliche Opposition. Der frühe Streit zwischen den phrygischen ”neuen Propheten” und dem Autor der vorepiphanischen Quelle als biblische Wirkungsgeschichte des 2. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. (NTOA 97; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Magda, K., Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy. Searching for the Geographical Awareness Paradigm behind Romans (WUNT II 266; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009). Meeks, W.A., Urchristentum und Stadtkultur. Die soziale Welt der paulinischen Gemeinden (Gütersloh: Kaiser, 1993 [English original 1983]). Robinson, T.A., Who were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Hypothesis (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). Rostovzeff, M., Gesellschaft und Wirtschaft im römischen Kaiserreich (Leipzig: Quelle & Meyer, 1931). Stark, R., Cities of God. The Real Story of How Christianity Became an Urban Movement and Conquered Rome (New York: Harper, 2006). Szarek, M., Ehe und Askese, Familienethos bei Paulus und Musonius (BVB 31; Münster : LIT, 2016). Theißen, G., “Eros und Urchristentum. Am Beispiel des Paulus”, in Pott, H.G. (ed.), Liebe und Gesellschaft. Das Geschlecht der Musen (München: Wilhelm Fink, 1997), 9–30. Theißen, G., “Gemeindestrukturen und Hilfsmotivation. Wie haben die ersten Christen zum Helfen motiviert?”, in Konradt, M./Schläpfer, E. (eds.), Anthropologie und Ethik im Frühjudentum und im Neuen Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen (WUNT 322; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 413–40. Theißen, G., “Paulus und die Mystik. Der eine und einzige Gott und die Transformation des Menschen”, ZThK 110 (2013), 263–90. Tiwald, M., Wanderradikalismus (ÖBS 20; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2002). Walter, M., Gemeinde als Leib Christi. Untersuchungen zum Corpus Paulinum und zu den ‘Apostolischen Vätern’ (NTOA 49; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001).

Pauline Christianity

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

Perhaps the most significant development in the process of growth of Christianity from an inner-Jewish reform movement to the world conquering religion it would eventually become was the transition from the rural regions of Palestine to the urban centers of the Greek-speaking world. Let us suppose that Jesus died in or around the year 30. His language was Aramaic. His followers were fishermen and peasants. His message was the announcement of the nearness of the Kingdom of God. Not even twenty years later his follower Saul, also known as “Paul”, did everything he could to further the spread of the Christ movement in the urban centers of Asia Minor, Hellas, and beyond. His language was Greek. His followers were slaves and merchants, but also homeowners and merchants. His message was the proclamation of the good news that God had already begun His final intervention in history through the Christ event. Paul was convinced that the last stage of that intervention would soon follow in the form of a cosmic collapse bringing the judgement of all who lived, and even all who had died. The transition from rural to urban, from Palestine to Asia Minor, Hellas, and Rome, and from Jesus’ inner-Jewish reform movement to his followers’ gospel about him, open to all – Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female (Gal. 3:28) – brought about a fundamental change in context. The study of Pauline Christianity as an urban phenomenon is not exactly new. Ever since Wayne Meeks’ epochal study on The First Urban Christians, the subject is on the scholarly agenda, and it is not the intention of this essay to present an entirely new approach or an entirely new field of research, but rather to address the questions with regard to the urban character of early Christianity the scholarly field faces today.1 The contours of Meeks’ work have been discussed by a panel of experts in the 2008 conference held to commemorate its 25th anniversary.2 A panel of seven scholars responded to the method and the individual chapters of Meeks’ book, and the final contribution of the volume is Wayne Meeks himself

1 Meeks, W. A., The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983). 2 Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T & T Clark, 2009).

196

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

responding to the responders.3 According to the contributors, the main topics to be studied in a socio-historical approach of Pauline Christianity as an urban phenomenon are 1) the living conditions of the earliest Christian groups and, related to this, their socio-economic location in society, 2) the models for their social identity formation, 3) their places of worship, and 4) the study of ritual as a means to establish both social boundaries and internal cohesion within and between the groups of followers of Christ. 5) A fifth point, not mentioned by Meeks or any of the other contributors but nevertheless to be added, are the practice and ideals of the ways in which these Christians raised and educated their children. 6) A final point to be added is a brief evaluation of Thomas A. Robinson’s 2017 attempt to “dismantle the urban thesis”: the existence of forms of rural Christianity and the interconnectedness of urban and rural forms of the new religion.4

1. What Defines a City? In his travels through Greece, Pausanias came across a city that to him was hardly worth that name: Panopeus in Phokis.5 Pausanias is quite clear in his verdict and regards Panopeus as backwater. In his words: From Chaeroneia it is twenty stades to Panopeus, a city of the Phocians, if one can give the name of city to those who possess no government offices, no gymnasium, no theatre, no market-place, no water descending to a fountain, but live in bare shelters just like mountain cabins, right on a ravine. Nevertheless, they have boundaries with their neighbours, and even send delegates to the Phocian assembly (…).6

The quotation makes quite clear that for Pausanias a city was supposed to have at least the elements he mentions. A city can thus be seen as a man-made habitat for people who form a community and shape their lives by constructing buildings for administration and governing, for education, for trade, for leisure and provide the inhabitants with running water. Stephen Mitchell expands Pausanias’ list, and describes a city as follows: By the second century AD a city was expected to be endowed with a whole series of major buildings and structures, which would include fortifications (wall, gates, and 3 Meeks, W. A., “Staking Stock and Moving On” in Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 134–46. 4 Robinson, T. A., Who Were the First Christians?: Dismantling the Urban Thesis (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017). 5 Mitchell, S., Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Vol. 1 (2 vols; Oxford, New York: Clarendon, 1993), 80–81. 6 Pausanias: Description of Greece, volume 1: Books 1–2 transl. W. H. S. Jones (Loeb Classical Library 93; Cambridge, London: Harvard University Press, 1913), 382–3.

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

197

towers); religious structures (temples, sanctuaries, and altars); political meeting places, notably bouleuteria or basilicas to house the city council, but also including large areas for public assembly ; places where well-defined forms of cultural or educational activity, themselves a distinguishing mark of urban civilization, could take place (gymnasia, odeia, theatres, libraries); civic amenities, especially connected with the water supply (aqueducts, nymphaea, and bath-houses); and decorative monuments of every shape and size, which were not merely designed as ornaments, but were intended to enhance the prestige of the rich and powerful, including of course the emperors (triumphal arches, statues, monumental inscriptions, heroes’ tombs).7

The public buildings mentioned in this description are the features that still draw the attention of visitors to sites where Greco-Roman antiquities have been preserved. Yet, the socio-economic status of the earliest followers of Christ in these cities, regardless whether we are dealing with Asia Minor, with Hellas or with Rome, was more influenced by their practical living conditions than by these public areas of the cityscape. Let us therefore turn our attention to these conditions and the socio-economic status of the earliest Christians.

2. Living Conditions and Socio-Economic Location Everyday life in cities at the turn of the Common Era has still not received the full scale of attention it warrants, although there are obvious exceptions such as Mary Beard’s description of life in Pompeii.8 Peter Oakes has used the particular setting of Pompeii as tool for understanding Paul’s letter to the Romans.9 In general, it is good to keep in mind that Greco-Roman cities must have been crowded and dirty places to live in. In his reconstruction of the rise of Christianity, Rodney Stark devotes an entire chapter to the spread of diseases in these cities and bluntly says: “The Greco-Roman city was a pesthole of infectious disease”.10 In her analysis of the living conditions in Rome, Christiane Kunst draws attention to the fact that sanitary facilities – if there were any, that is – were often located near places where food was prepared, with the likely outcome that infections must have spread rapidly indeed.11 Stark discusses “Urban Chaos and Crisis” in chapter 7 of his book, 7 Ibid., 80. 8 Beard, M., Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town (London: Profile, 2008). 9 Oakes, P., Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s Letter at Ground Level (Minneapolis, London: Fortress Press 2009). 10 Stark, R., The Rise of Christianity : A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1996). 11 Kunst, C., “Wohnen in Der Antiken Grosstadt. Zur Sozialen Topographie Roms in Der Frühen Kaiserzeit”, in Zangenberg, J./Labahn, M. (eds.), Chrisitans as a Religious Minority in a Mul-

198

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

and analyses the living conditions of the first Christians by taking the city of Antioch as his point of departure.12 In a world without soap and toothbrushes, the sanitary conditions must have been horrifying. But it wasn’t just the lack of health that made life difficult for most people in antiquity – there was also the lack of wealth. An invaluable prosopographic analysis of the earliest Christians in Rome is given in Peter Lampe’s dissertation, which gives us a detailed picture of the life and lives of the first Christians in Rome.13 Jürgen Zangenberg and Michael Labahn have edited a volume in 2004 in which they present essays of the 2001 seminar on city life, held during the second EABS conference in Rome, in which especially Kunst and Lampe deal with the subject under discussion here.14 The outcome of their studies is important: it seems that Christian congregations consisted of both rich and poor people. Just like in society itself, there were more poor than rich, but still: the rich were there.15 In his response to Meeks’ description of the economic profile of the earliest urban Christians, Bruce Longenecker has taken up Steve Friesen’s socio-economic stratification of ancient society.16 Longenecker’s adaptation of Friesen’s model is speculative, of course, but literary and material evidence from antiquity does indicate that it is not an unlikely reconstruction. The Longenecker-Friesen model describes seven levels of wealth, or rather : lack thereof, and stipulates that the rich part of the Roman empire represented just about 3 percent of the total population. These are the imperial elites, regional and provincial elites and municipal elites. The fourth stratum is labelled ‘moderate surplus’, to which 17 percent of the population belonged according to Longenecker. The lower three strata are just above subsistence level (25 percent), on subsistence level and below subsistence level (55 percent).17 Although the percentages may not be accurate, the general picture will be reliable. In Greco-Roman culture,

12 13 14

15 16

17

ticultural City: Modes of Interaction and Identity Formation in Early Imperial Rome (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 2–19, 14–15. Stark, The Rise of Christianity,147–62; see also his study on early Christianity as an urban phenomenon: Stark, R., Cities of God: The Real Story of How Christianity Became an Urban Movement and Conquered Rome (New York: Harper & Collins, 2006). Lampe, P., Die Stadtrömischen Christen in Den Ersten Beiden Jahrhunderten: Untersuchungen Zur Sozialgeschichte (WUNT 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 21989). Zangenberg, J. K./Labahn, M. (eds.), Christians as a Religious Minority in a Multicultural City: Modes of Interaction and Identity Formation in Early Imperial Rome. Studies on the Basis of a Seminar at the Second Conference of the European Association for Biblical Studies (Eabs) from July 8–12, 2001, in Rome (JSNT Suppl.; London, New York: T & T Clark, 2004). Lampe, Die Stadtrömischen Christen, 112–23. Longenecker, B. W., “Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians”, in Still, T. D./ Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 36–59.; Friesen, S. J., “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-Called New Consensus” JSNT 26 (2004), 323–61. Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling”, 44.

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

199

the vast majority of the population was not affluent, but had to live under tough economic conditions.18 An element that must have contributed to the spread of diseases and infections was the density of the population in these cities. Even though the average city may not have been large in size, people lived together in circumstances that are difficult to imagine for western scholars today. The traditional domus or oUjor was a setting where only the privileged would live, and estimations of poverty rates point out that this was only a very small part of society. It is true that the domus or oUjor would house a considerable group of people, with extended family and slaves included, but the majority of people would live in insulae, the ancient equivalent of a modern condominium complex. The average follower of Christ in an average city of Asia Minor, for instance, must have lived in circumstances that made it impossible for him or her not to encounter people from other backgrounds and faiths. It is therefore of the utmost importance to realize that the emerging Christian movement was not an isolated phenomenon, but was firmly rooted in the socio-economic and religious worlds of the Greco-Roman era. In his In Flaccum, Philo of Alexandria describes how Judeans, or “Jews“, were spread over the entire realm of the Mediterranean Sea and lived, so to speak, with a double passport: For so populous are the Jews that no one country can hold them, and therefore they settle in very many of the most prosperous countries in Europe and Asia both in the islands and on the mainland, and while they hold the Holy City where stands the sacred Temple of the most high God to be their mother city, yet those which are theirs by inheritance from their fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors even farther back, are in each case accounted by them to be their fatherland in which they were born and reared, while to some of them they have come at the time of their foundation as immigrants to the satisfaction of the founders. – In Flaccum VII,45–46.19

According to this description, Jews were Jews, but also Antiochenians, Alexandrians, Romans and the like. The city where they lived shaped their identity, and their ethnic adherence to Judean traditions did not change this. Given the proximity of what we now label as “early Christianity” to diaspora Judaism, we can safely assume that Hellenistic Judaism formed the matrix out of which Christianity developed. As a result, the urban life of Jews in this period may not have been very different from that of Christians. For the first century, it would be hard to make this distinction at all, at least until after the Jewish war of 66–70. In his attempt to explain the success of Christianity as an urban movement 18 For a slightly different picture, see Kloppenborg, J. S., Christ’s Associations: Connecting and Belonging in the Ancient City (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 2019), 186–208. 19 Philo: Volume IX, transl. F. H. Colson (Loeb Classical Library 363; Cambridge, London: Harvard University Press, 1941, rev ed. 1954), 327.

200

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

in the first three centuries, Rodney Stark emphasizes that its message must have been attractive especially to people living in Greco-Roman cities. Let me quote him at length: To cities filled with the homeless and impoverished, Christianity offered charity as well as hope. To cities filled with newcomers and strangers, Christianity offered an immediate basis for attachments. To cities filled with orphans and widows, Christianity provided a new and expanded sense of family. To cities torn by violent ethnic strife, Christianity offered a new basis for social solidarity (…). And to cities faced with epidemics, fires, and earthquakes, Christianity offered effective nursing services.20

Stark continues by emphasizing that Christianity had a “superior capacity for meeting these chronic problems”, which “played a major role in its ultimate triumph”.21 This raises the question, however, of how Christians organized themselves compared to other groups in the ancient city. Where did Christians find the model for organizing their group life?

3. Models for the 1jjkgs_a The models that Meeks presented as potential examples for the first groups of followers of Jesus Christ have been studied by numerous scholars ever since, and it is impossible to address all issues in this particular area within the confinements set for this contribution. The contexts that need our attention are the household, voluntary associations, diaspora synagogues and philosophical schools.22 For now, a brief discussion of the most important features and questions concerning the categories mentioned should suffice for us to then turn to the key question in this context: where does the designation 1jjkgs_a come from? In his 2016 book on the earliest Christian meeting places Edward Adams has argued that the household context may have been important for the first Christians, but was not the exclusive domain for their meetings and gatherings.23 Adams argues that “use of houses as early Christian meeting places is much less frequently documented than is usually thought.” He 20 Stark, The Rise of Christianity, 161. 21 Ibid., 162. 22 Ascough, R. S., What Are They Saying About the Formation of Pauline Churches? (New York: Paulist Press, 1998); Adams, E., “First-Century Models for Paul’s Churches: Selected Scholarly Developments since Meeks”, in Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 60–78. 23 Adams, E., The Earliest Christian Meeting Places: Almost Exclusively Houses? (LNTS; London: Bloomsbury, 22016).

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

201

examines “the evidence and possibilities for non-house meeting places”, arguing “against the general labeling of early churches as ‘house churches’.”24 It seems to me that Adams’ work offers a much needed correction of the stereotype that Christians primarily gathered in house churches, both for their communal meals and for their rituals of worship (which were often combined, of course). In his commentary on Romans Robert Jewett has argued that the insula was much more likely the setting for Christians to meet than a domus.25 Having stated this as a caveat, the household context remains an important subject for research into early Christianity as an urban phenomenon, also because the education of children took place within that setting. It may not have been as decisive as often thought with regard to cultic activities of the nascent Christian movement, yet it remains the decisive social context in which people lived and were raised. Paul’s consistent use of family language is indicative of the fact that he did shape the Christ communities as “surrogate kin groups,” to use Joseph Hellerman’s terminology.26 It is evident that family structures and the household setting did define the discourse of the early Christian movement to a certain degree. A second example that is often mentioned for reasons of comparison is that of voluntary associations. Here, John Kloppenborg has contributed considerably to a better understanding of the setting of early Christianity by a number of publications on voluntary associations.27 In general, it is not too much to say that voluntary associations played an important role in the lives of people in ancient cities. People could be members of a professional club, such as a guild or for instance a religious association. Ethnic groups flocked together in settings that enabled them to speak their own language and focus on their own traditions. In modern contexts this phenomenon is well-known from expats in foreign countries. The ultimate Dutch example is the celebration of St. Nicholas’ birthday (Sinterklaas, the archetype of the North-American Santa Claus) on the 5th of December in Singapore, Alexandria or New York City. In similar fashion, people from the same ethnic background would seek each other’s company in antiquity. For people with a Judean background (“Jews”), the community center where they would come together was known as a “synagogue”. The term ‘synagogue’ causes problems, to say the least, in its scholarly usage. It is used in modern Judaism for the cultic center of Jewish ritual, the place where the communal liturgy is celebrated. By using this term in our 24 Ibid., 201. 25 Jewett, R., Romans: A Commentary (Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 65; Adams, “First-Century Models”, 65. 26 Hellerman, J. H., The Ancient Church as Family (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001), 59–91. 27 Kloppenborg, J. S./Ascough, R. S./Harland, P. A. (eds.), Greco-Roman Associations: Texts, Translations, and Commentary (BZNW; Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 2011); Kloppenborg, J. S./Wilson, S. G. (eds.), Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World (London, New York: Routledge, 1996). See also Kloppenborg, Christ’s Assocations, esp. 55–96.

202

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

modern reconstructions of ancient Jewish life, we run the risk of implying that something similar went on already more than 2,000 years ago. Here, it seems best to err on the safe side and be with the sceptics: the pre-70 synagogue seems to have been first and foremost a community center, in which also prayers were said and Scripture was read.28 The modern division between a supposedly secular community life versus religious meetings and liturgy does not seem applicable to the conditions of antiquity that we are dealing with. In his closing remarks of the 2008 conference on his work, Wayne Meeks has argued in favor of “the synagogue as a special case of the immigrant association”.29 As far as I can see, there is good reason to follow Meeks here and take this approach as the point of departure for further inquiries into the social setting of the earliest Christian communities. There must have been ethnic as well as religious continuity with Jewish communities throughout the first century, and probably even much later. It may not be accidental that the term Paul uses to address the assemblies of followers of Christ, 1jjkgs_a, is firmly rooted in the Hellenistic context as an ethno-political term. Its usage in Jewish circles was of course determined by the fact that the translators of the LXX used this particular term to translate the Hebrew qehal YHWH. In all likelihood, the term reflects the eschatological self-understanding of the followers of Christ as the elect, gathered by God himself.30 Thus, a term from the Greek version of the Jewish Scriptures was taken up as self-definition of the emerging Christian movement, that must have sounded strangely familiar to pagan outsiders because of the use of the term 1jjkgs_a in pagan Greek settings. This particular characteristic of the emerging Christian movement, firmly rooted in its urban context, inevitably led to continuity in ritual, worship, educational practices, and other forms of life with Hellenistic Judaism. In fact, what later became “Christianity” started as a Hellenistic Jewish group focusing on the figure of Jesus as the Messiah.

4. Continuity in Ritual, Worship, and Education One of the problems modern scholarship has to cope with in the study of ancient phenomena, is that the category ‘religion’ is a modern construct dating back to the 16th century.31 In antiquity, the shape of the relationship with the gods or the one God was part of the whole cultural system of life. It is not possible to engage deeply in the study of ritual in the early Christian 28 Levine, L. I., The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 135–73. 29 Meeks, “Staking Stock and Moving On”, 141. 30 Lietaert Peerbolte, L. J., Paul the Missionary (CBET; Leuven, Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003), 213–21. 31 Nongbri, B., Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), esp. 85–105.

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

203

movement here, but the one thing that should be mentioned at this point is that Meeks’ analysis has withstood the years: ritual was instrumental for the first Christians to connect with each other, to form boundaries and to shape their communal life in a way that transcended language. By shaping baptism as an entry ritual, by organizing ritual meals to celebrate the communion with Jesus Christ, by singing, reading and preaching, the early Christian movement began to shape its communal life in forms that would develop into the Christian sacraments known from later days. Ritual shapes identity and presents it, to insiders as well as outsiders, if they are allowed to share in it.32 In the above, it was argued that the first century synagogue as center of liturgy had not yet developed in the ways in which that was going to happen in later days. This explains why the first Christians did not take over an existing liturgical pattern, but had to develop one for themselves. Not that they would have labelled their ritual activities as “ritual” – rather, their actions should be seen as attempts to shape their communal life by singing songs, praying and reading from Scripture. There is good reason to assume that Scripture did not only play a role as legitimation of the views held in these communities, but also functioned, as it did in Jewish groups, as means for instructing children in the process of teaching them to read. It is clear that it took a long time for emerging Christianity to even start discussing the question of the education of children.33 It seems that the urban setting of nascent Christianity did not only shape the social forms in which the lives of these Christ-confessing groups developed, but also the conditions under which individual members of these groups had to live. The study of the role of education in the first Christian centuries is therefore of the utmost value. It will not only illuminate the growth of Christianity as an independent movement, recognisable to outsiders, but it will also shed light on the values and patterns of life considered as ideal by the first generations of Christians. As Teresa Morgan and Rafaella Cribiore have shown, education in antiquity was not at all organised.34 The three layers of the full program of enkyklios paideia were followed by only a small number of students who belonged to the societal elite. The first layer was that of elementary education, at which the 32 See e. g. the discussion of the effects of ritual in Grimes, R. L., The Craft of Ritual Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), esp. 294–337. 33 MacDonald, M. Y., The Power of Children: The Construction of Christian Families in the GrecoRoman World (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014).; Lietaert Peerbolte, L. J./Groenendijk, L., “Family Discourse, Identity Formation, and the Education of Children in Earliest Christianity”, Annali di storia dell’esegesi 33 (2016), 129–49. 34 See Morgan, T., Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (Cambridge Classical Studies; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Cribiore, R., Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001); Cribiore, R., The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007); Cribiore, R., Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century (Townsend Lectures/Cornell Studies in Classical Philology ; Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013).

204

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

student would learn to read, write and calculate. After this, students who continued their education would follow a kind of grammar school, where the reading of classical texts such as Homer was a central part of the curriculum. In her study on literate education in antiquity Morgan has pointed out that there was no fixed curriculum, although the findings of scraps of papyrus and other material remains of school settings does indicate that Homer was the most prominent author read in school. At this stage, students would also learn to compose texts in the style of Homer or other great authors of the past. And they would memorize texts, probably as a foundation for their rhetorical abilities. The third and final layer of education was the rhetorical program that prepared the few students who followed it for a societal career. Schooling was done either by a teacher who would form some kind of “school” around himself, i. e. a group of students who would sit around him and imitate his instructions, or at the student’s home usually on a more individual basis. Physical paideia formed part of the curriculum, as we can deduct from paintings and literary evidence.35 Even though there was no system of schools nor a fixed curriculum, in general the copying and memorizing of lines of authors of the past did form an important element in the education of students at the second level of enkyklios paideia. It is likely that in Jewish circles the texts used at this second level were not taken from Homer, but from the LXX, and this practice must have formed the basis for a later, Christian approach to education as well. All this is not to say that pagani on the countryside were totally uneducated, but the standard was set by the urban context, and the rise of a Christian form of paideia in the second and third centuries was first and foremost an urban phenomenon that formed an important element in the growth of Christianity as the independent religion that would ultimately take over, better : transform the Roman world. This process deserves more attention than it usually receives.

5. The Question of Rural Christianity In 2017 Thomas A. Robinson published a monograph in which he intends to “dismantle the urban thesis”.36 Robinson clearly wants his work to be the correction he deems necessary with regard to the scholarly consensus that early Christianity was a predominantly urban phenomenon. For the purpose of this contribution, it is worth the effort to reconstruct his argument and then weigh its results. In Robinson’s argument the numbers that Rodney Stark emphasizes so strongly play an important role. According to Robinson, most scholars so far 35 E.g. Beard, Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town, 77, figure 29. 36 Robinson, Who Were the First Christians?

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

205

misinterpret the numbers: Assuming Christianity was an urban phenomenon, if the growth of Christianity took place with the numbers assumed by Stark, and the degree of urbanisation indeed reached about 20 percent, entire cities must have been populated by Christians only. Alternatively, Christians lived on the countryside as well. Apart from a certain rhetorical redundancy that characterizes his book, Robinson’s point, that rural Christianity cannot have started only in the third or fourth century, is a valuable addition to the discussion. Three points in particular stand out. In the first place, the argument that rural Christianity must have existed at an earlier stage than commonly assumed is indeed supported by the statistics, however hypothetical they may remain. If we turn to the first century, most of our evidence speaks about Jesus-followers in cities: we have traditions about Jesus and his disciples in Jerusalem, about the apostles in Jerusalem and Antioch, and much evidence from the cities of Asia Minor. Especially Rome was reached at an early stage, since Paul wrote his epistle to the congregation there without having visited it before. And yet, it is clear that there must have remained followers of Jesus in the Galilean countryside, even though the focus of our sources is on the cities. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians was directed at the Christ movement in a number of cities, and it is easy to see how their countryside must have been included in the intended readership of the letter. A second point in favor of Robinson’s correction is the fact that city and countryside should not be seen as two worlds apart. Robinson emphasizes a point that was already made, actually in a better way, by Ramsay MacMullen in his work on Roman social relations: Many of the people living in cities worked on the countryside and left the city every day to work outside, at the same time large parts of the countryside were owned by rich city dwellers who often also had mansions in rural regions.37 This means, that city and countryside were far more interconnected than is usually acknowledged by scholars of early Christianity. Next to these two points, Robinson refers to explicit evidence attesting the existence of rural forms of Christianity in the period before Constantine. He interprets the discussion on the office of chorepiscopus, e. g., not as a discussion of a new office, but as settling the responsibilities of rural and urban bishops that had already existed for some time.38 All in all, Robinson’s work offers a welcome addition to the field, but does seem to overstate the case it makes. What Robinson does emphasize correctly is that rural forms of Christianity must have existed from an early point in time, and also that the distinction between rural and urban areas may not have been as wide a chasm as is sometimes assumed. He fails, however, to take into account that most of the literary, ephigraphic and archaeological evidence on 37 MacMullen, R., Roman Social Relations, 50 B.C. To A.D. 284 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), 28–56. 38 Robinson, Who Were the First Christians?, 198–207.

206

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

the first three centuries of Christianity comes from urban contexts. There may indeed have been rural forms of Christianity, but for the development of Christianity as an independent religion, it was the city context that determined its forms, rather than the rural environs it also must have occupied. Robinson’s work offers a necessary correction of the idea that Christianity rose as an exclusively urban movement. Nevertheless, it fails to take into account that the urban groups do seem to have been dominant within early the early Church. The reason for this is simple: it was the city where groups of people came together, where people were educated, and where most interaction with other religious groups took place. In their monumental study of early Christianity in Lycaonia, Cilliers Breytenbach and Christiane Zimmermann have mapped traces of Christianity up to 451.39 An important element in their study is the fact that the authors review all available forms of evidence, and map Christianity’s growth from its start with the Pauline mission to Iconium, Lystra and Derbe.40 Subsequently, they show that already at a relatively early stage the name PaOkor is attested, and here the countryside adds to the evidence already from the second century on.41 Breytenbach’s and Zimmermann’s findings confirm the picture so far described in this contribution: Christianity started in the Greco-Roman world as an urban phenomenon, but city and countryside were related and thus the movement spread from the cities into the more rural areas.42

6. Conclusion and Future Research It is time to summarize what has been argued above. Pauline Christianity came about as an urban phenomenon, which is not to say that the entire early Christian movement was urban in character. The movement was influenced by its urban living conditions, must have met in private homes as well as on public locations, as far as that was possible, and took existing social patterns such as the Jewish synagogue, understood as community center, as its models. In the light of the distribution of wealth and poverty in antiquity and of the evidence we have on earliest Christian groups, the conclusion is legitimate that these groups must have fairly evenly represented the prevalent societal economic patterns. The majority of Christians must have been poor, but this does not make the entire Christian movement the domain of the destitute. This is an indication that Christianity’s appeal was not just about economy and 39 Breytenbach, C./Zimmermann, C., Early Christianity in Lycaonia and Adjacent Areas: From Paul to Amphilochius of Iconium (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2018). 40 Ibid., esp. 60–73. 41 Ibid., 73–91. 42 Ibid., esp. 800–811.

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

207

wealth, it was also about hope and health. The urban context was important for the growth of a pattern of education in early Christianity, a pattern that can be discerned from the second century onward. In sum: Nascent Christianity was influenced by its urban context at least with regard to its living conditions, the examples according to which it modelled its social organization, probably also its rituals, and the ways in which Christians educated their children. The urban setting of much of early Christianity is rightly seen as an important element in defining the movement’s social character. In this respect, the new SBL series on The First Urban Churches proves to be a valuable addition to the field.43 Here, especially the living conditions of the first Christians in their urban context are explored, and thus the series will be a valuable tool for reconstructing the social world in which Christianity developed. The two questions that arise from the present approach are: Was there a significant difference between urban forms of nascent Christianity and rural developments? In other words: How representative was Pauline Christianity for the whole of the movement? And: How did the urban context effect the transmission of rural stories on Jesus of Nazareth? It is remarkable that, throughout the ages, people from urban contexts seem to have looked down upon rural folk, while at the same time the very same rural setting functioned as an ideal in art and literature. This is the case with the bucolic scenes we know from antiquity, but also in e. g. modern-day Britain, where life in the countryside is still seen as the ideal for the upper class. These questions will have to wait until another occasion, though.

Bibliography Adams, E., The Earliest Christian Meeting Places: Almost Exclusively Houses? (LNTS; London: Bloomsbury, 22016). Adams, E., “First-Century Models for Paul’s Churches: Selected Scholarly Developments since Meeks”, in Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 60–78. Ascough, R. S., What Are They Saying About the Formation of Pauline Churches? (New York: Paulist Press, 1998). Beard, M., Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town (London: Profile, 2008). 43 Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.), The First Urban Churches 1: Methodological Foundations (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015); Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.), The First Urban Churches 2: Roman Corinth (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016); Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.), The First Urban Churches 3: Ephesus (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2018).

208

Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte

Breytenbach, C./Zimmermann, C., Early Christianity in Lycaonia and Adjacent Areas: From Paul to Amphilochius of Iconium (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2018). Cribiore, R., Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001). Cribiore, R., Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century (Townsend Lectures/Cornell Studies in Classical Philology ; Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013). Cribiore, R., The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007). Friesen, S. J., “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-Called New Consensus” JSNT 26 (2004), 323–61. Grimes, R. L., The Craft of Ritual Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.), The First Urban Churches 1: Methodological Foundations (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015). Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.), The First Urban Churches 2: Roman Corinth (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016). Harrison, J. R./Welborn, L. L. (eds.), The First Urban Churches 3: Ephesus (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2018). Hellerman, J. H., The Ancient Church as Family (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001). Jewett, R., Romans: A Commentary (Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007). Kloppenborg, J. S./Ascough, R. S./Harland, P. A. (eds.), Greco-Roman Associations: Texts, Translations, and Commentary (BZNW; Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 2011). Kloppenborg, J. S./Wilson, S. G. (eds.), Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World (London, New York: Routledge, 1996). Kloppenborg, J. S., Christ’s Associations: Connecting and Belonging in the Ancient City (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 2019). Kunst, C., “Wohnen in der Antiken Grosstadt. Zur dozialen Topographie Roms in der frühen Kaiserzeit”, in Zangenberg, J./Labahn, M. (eds.), Chrisitans as a Religious Minority in a Multicultural City: Modes of Interaction and Identity Formation in Early Imperial Rome (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 2–19. Lampe, P., Die Stadtrömischen Christen in den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten: Untersuchungen zur Sozialgeschichte (WUNT 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 21989). Levine, L. I., The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000). Lietaert Peerbolte, L. J., Paul the Missionary (CBET; Leuven, Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003). Lietaert Peerbolte, L. J./Groenendijk, L., “Family Discourse, Identity Formation, and the Education of Children in Earliest Christianity”, Annali di storia dell’esegesi 33 (2016), 129–49. Longenecker, B. W., “Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians”, in Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific

Pauline Christianity as an Urban Phenomenon

209

Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 36–59. MacDonald, M. Y., The Power of Children: The Construction of Christian Families in the Greco-Roman World (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014). MacMullen, R., Roman Social Relations, 50 B.C. To A.D. 284 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974). Meeks, W. A., The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983). Meeks, W. A., “Staking Stock and Moving On” in Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London, New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 134–46. Mitchell, S., Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Vol. 1 (2 vols; Oxford, New York: Clarendon, 1993). Morgan, T., Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (Cambridge Classical Studies; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). Nongbri, B., Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013). Oakes, P., Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s Letter at Ground Level (Minneapolis, London: Fortress Press 2009). Robinson, T. A., Who Were the First Christians?: Dismantling the Urban Thesis (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017). Stark, R., Cities of God: The Real Story of How Christianity Became an Urban Movement and Conquered Rome (New York: Harper & Collins, 2006). Stark, R., The Rise of Christianity : A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1996). Still, T. D./Horrell, D. G. (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T & T Clark, 2009). Zangenberg, J. K./Labahn, M. (eds.), Christians as a Religious Minority in a Multicultural City : Modes of Interaction and Identity Formation in Early Imperial Rome. Studies on the Basis of a Seminar at the Second Conference of the European Association for Biblical Studies (EABS) from July 8–12, 2001, in Rome (JSNT Suppl.; London, New York: T & T Clark, 2004).

Lukas Bormann

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

1. Introduction: State of Research and Hypothesis In recent years a number of publications have presented new insights into the situation of Early Christianity in the Lycus Valley during the first century CE. In 2011, for instance, Alan H. Cadwallader, one of the most active researchers of the archeological evidence in Colossae, published the anthology Colossae in Space and Time. Linking to an Ancient City.1 Besides many papers written by New Testament scholars, the volume also includes the results of archeological surveys led by researchers from Turkey, based on pottery and other sources, shedding new light on the prehistoric period of the Lycus and the Meander valleys.2 In 2012, my commentary on the Letter to the Colossians appeared, with an extensive and up-to-date survey of the epigraphical and numismatic evidence of the historical site.3 Ulrich Huttner’s monograph, Early Christianity in the Lycus Valley, published in 2013, presented the evidence for what can be known about the Christians in the Lycus Valley during the first five centuries.4 In 2015, Cadwallader also published the book Fragments of Colossae. Shifting through the Traces, aiming at a wider audience and containing remarkable and sometimes unique photographs of many important sources and of the archeological site itself. Further in 2015, an interdisciplinary conference in Leuven, convened by Joseph Verheyden, Markus Öhler and Thomas Corsten, discussed the possible outcome of an epigraphical commentary on the Letter to the Colossians. The papers presented at this conference have also appeared in print.5 Nonetheless, research on the Lycus valley remains limited by “the problematic nature of the

1 Cadwallader, A.H. (ed.), Colossae in Space and Time. Linking to an Ancient City (NTOA 94; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 7. 2 Duman, B./KonakÅi, E., “The Silent Witness of the Mound of Colossae. Pottery Remains”, in Cadwallader, Colossae, 247–81. 3 Bormann, L., Der Brief des Paulus an die Kolosser (ThHK 10/1; Leipzig: EVA, 2012), 12–28. 4 Huttner, U., Early Christianity in the Lycus Valley (AJEC 85/Early Christianity in Asia Minor 1; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 1–26. 5 Verheyden, J./Öhler, M. /Corsten, T. (eds.), Epigraphical Evidence Illustrating Paul’s Letter to the Colossians (WUNT 411; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018).

212

Lukas Bormann

sources”.6 The same conclusion is drawn by Huttner : A “historical narrative of early Christianity in the Lycus valley is impossible even in extracts.”7 Although a coherent narrative is unachievable, we can nonetheless often find a few points in history where varied sources, interpretations and insights might come together and provide preliminary insight into a certain stage of this history. Such times in which sources overlap, and which could provide a more detailed picture of what had happened in the Lycus Valley, include the following: a) the period of Paul’s early mission and Paul’s missionary network in the fifties of the first century CE; b) the situation of the Laodicean church presented in Rev 3:14–22, combined with information about the man whom Huttner calls “a certain Philip” with his daughters8 – people identified by Eusebius as Philip the Apostle and his four daughters possessing the gift of prophecy (Act 21:8 f), three of whom having been buried in Hierapolis, one in Ephesus9 ; and c) the information provided about the bishops Papias and Apollinarius.10 When we compare these islands of information to each other, we can conclude that the reliability of the sources from Pauline times can be regarded as higher than the data provided by Revelation and Eusebius. The arguments for this are, firstly, that with the Letter to Philemon we have an original document of a writer who was involved in the events of the first years and who had contact with eyewitnesses of what happened in the three cities of the Lycus Valley. Many scholars agree with Müller who wrote about the letter to Philemon: In Ephesus den Abfassungsort des Philemonbriefs zu sehen und Philemons Haus in Kolossä zu lokalisieren ist nach dem Vergleich der verschiedenen Möglichkeiten zwar nicht gesichert, aber doch als wahrscheinlichste Lösung anzusehen. Unter dieser Voraussetzung ist die Abfassungszeit zwischen 53 und 55 anzusetzen.11

Secondly, although Colossians is considered a pseudonymous letter, it is possible, as many scholars do regardless of this verdict, to interpret the letter as a historical source which illuminates the connections between the center of the Pauline network in Ephesus and the Christian communities in the Lycus 6 Bormann, L., “Review of Alan H. Cadwallader, Colossae in Space and Time”, EC 7 (2016), 410–2, on p. 412. 7 Huttner, Early Christianity, 2. 8 Huttner, Early Christianity, 3. 9 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.31.3 f; 3.39.9. 10 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39 (on Papias); on Apollinarius see Hist. eccl. 3.23.26 f and 4.4.4. 11 Müller, P., Der Brief an Philemon (KEK 9/3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 84. See also Lampe, P., “Der Brief an Philemon”, in Walter, N./Reinmuth, E./Koch, D.-A. (eds.), Die Briefe an die Philipper, Thessalonicher und an Philemon (NTD 8/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 205–32, on p. 205; compare also the critical reexamination of the arguments for Colossae or Rome as the place of Philemon’s household in Ebner, M., Der Brief an Philemon (EKK XVIII; Düsseldorf/Göttingen: Patmos/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 133–43.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

213

Valley. Thirdly, new findings, particularly inscriptions from Colossae discovered during the last ten to fifteen years, shed new light on the city of Colossae and on the Lycus Valley.12 We can, therefore, conclude that a significant amount of important research has been carried out on the Christians in the Lycus Valley. Nevertheless, New Testament research has been overly focused on Colossae only, despite the fact that this city was the least important in the triangle. Moreover, research on both Laodicea and Hierapolis is much more complicated. Evidently, it has not been possible so far to put together a stable picture of the situation of early Christianity in the Lycus Valley in the first century. It is therefore necessary to go a step further by illustrating and illuminating the situation in the fifties and sixties of the first century on the micro-level of the letters to the Colossians and to Philemon. In doing so, this paper emphasizes that the three cities of the Lycus valley and their Christian communities should be interpreted as participating in a network of competition, collaboration and exchange in what should be called the triangle cities of the Lycus Valley.

2. Hierapolis, Laodicea, Colossae: Cities in a Triangle The exact borders of the territories of Laodicea, Hierapolis and Colossae are not known, since no border stones or similar indicators have been preserved. Nevertheless, it is quite probable that the territories of the three cities bordered directly onto each other. Corsten provides a description of the site: Laodikeia liegt in einem breiten Tal, welches von einem Fluss durchflossen wird, der in der Antike Lykos genannt wurde und heute Cürüksu Cay heißt. (…) Nach Osten hin verengt sich das Lykostal zunächst, um sich dann am Unterlauf des Flusses noch einmal zu erweitern; dort liegt Kolossai. (…) Das östliche, kleinere Tal des LykosUnterlaufes wird von Kolossai beherrscht. (…) Im Hauptteil des Lykostales liegen also nur Laodikeia und am Fuß der nördlichen Gebirgskette die Stadt Hierapolis. Diese beiden Orte müssen sich die Ebene also geteilt haben.13

Today, the region is called the Denizli basin, named after the capital of the region, Turkish Denizli.14 The basin, through which the river Lycus flows, is situated south of the important river Meander (today Menderes). The Lycus Valley is surrounded by mountains up to 2528 m high (Honaz). In ancient times as well as today, the soil consists of alluvium and is very fertile.15 The 12 Overview in Bormann, Kolosser, 23. 13 Corsten, T. (ed.), Die Inschriften von Laodikeia am Lykos (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 49; Bonn: Habelt, 1997), 1 f. 14 Höhfeld, V., Türkei. Schwellenland der Gegensätze (Gotha: Perthes, 1995), 20–30. 15 Höhfeld, Türkei, 24.

214

Lukas Bormann

valleys of the rivers Meander and Lycus determine the structure for ancient settlement and also form the direction of travel routes. The fertility and profitability of the soil is the main basis for the region’s welfare and results in agrarian surplus production of wine, olives, cereals, fruit and vegetables, as well as allowing livestock farming of sheep and goats. Even today in modern Turkey, the Denizli-basin is one of the territories with the most intense use for agriculture.16 Geological forces regularly move the tectonic plates in the region and lead to earthquakes.17 The distance between Laodicea and Colossae is 14 km, between Laodicea and Hierapolis 9 km, and from Colossae to Hierapolis 19 km. According to Bean, the prolific regional water resources made such dense population possible.18 The city triangle also dominated the organization of roads, as well as of trade and travel. Laodicea is situated on two important travel routes: The first is the republican road built by Manius Aquillius which starts at Ephesus and runs through the Meander valley via Laodicea to the Pamphylian harbor cities Attalia (14 days and 397 km), Perge, and Side.19 The second is the Cilician road starting from Laodicea, running via Hierapolis further to Colossae, Iconium and Derbe and ending at Tarsus (from Ephesus 30 days, 879 km).20 Drexhage emphasizes that in this part of Asia Minor travel and trade was mainly limited to the Roman provinces, as he did not find evidence from this part of Asia Minor for any long-distance trade with India or China.21 The region was part of the Roman province of Asia Minor and governed from Ephesus, located about 160 km to the west of the Lycus Valley. In 14 CE, about 6 million inhabitants lived on a territory of 135.000 km2 in this province. That results in an average population density of 44 km2.22 To quote Drexhage, the region was “one of the most populous and densely populated territories of the Roman provinces”.23 The region was oriented towards Ephesus, i. e. also to the Mediterranean harbors. Inscriptions found in the three cities demonstrate 16 Hütteroth, W.-D., Türkei. Geographie, Geschichte, Wirtschaft, Politik (Darmstadt: WBG, 22002), 230–9. 17 Hütteroth, W.-D., “Geographische Grundlagen”, in Grothusen, K.-D. (ed.), Türkei. Südosteuropa-Handbuch 4 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985) 13–26, on p. 14 f. 18 Bean, G.E., Turkey beyond the Maeander. The Classic Guides to Turkey 3 (London: Murray, 1989), 213 f. 19 Aquillius was Proconsul of Asia Minor for three years around the year 129 BCE. See French, D.H., Roman Roads and Milestones of Asia Minor. Vol. 3: Milestones, Fasc. 3.1: Republican (Ankara: British Institute, 2012), 10–13. 20 See Mitchell, S., Anatolia. Land, Men and Gods in Asia Minor (Oxford: OUP, 1993), map. 3: kingdoms and Roman provinces in Anatolia in the first century BC. 21 Drexhage, H.-W., Wirtschaftspolitik und Wirtschaft in der römischen Provinz Asia in der Zeit von Augustus bis zum Regierungsantritt Diokletians (Asia-Minor-Studien 59; Bonn: Habelt, 2007), 255–7. 22 On the complexity of these figures, see Drexhage, Wirtschaftspolitik, 20, n. 21. 23 Drexhage, Wirtschaftspolitik, 20.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

215

their economic importance, as Kearsley notes: “(T)he Lycus Valley where Colossae lies was an important part of this same pattern of prosperity and growth, as the wealth of epigraphic and archaeological information now available from Laodicea and Hierapolis demonstrates.”24 There was considerable prosperity in this region during the first three centuries, with only regional food shortages and no information about famines in the strict sense, which would imply higher mortality rates.25 The political situation since the battle of Actium in 31 BC had been stable. However, several earthquakes brought destruction to the region and required reconstruction of damage which is mentioned in several sources. Pliny the Elder mentions such an earthquake: “The greatest earthquake in human history occurred when Tiberius Caesar was emperor, twelve Asiatic cities being overthrown in one night.”26 However, Velleius informs us that the cities were rebuilt.27 Therefore, Erdemir’s conclusion is plausible: “The cities of the Lycus Valley enjoyed economic prosperity in spite of the severe damage they suffered from time to time because of earthquakes.”28

3. The Lycus Valley Triangle Cities and the (Pseudo-)Pauline Letters (Colossians, Philemon) Since the middle of the nineteenth century, the Letter to the Colossians has been viewed by most scholars as pseudonymous. The main arguments for this view rest upon the letter’s language and style, the topics it deals with and the way Paul is presented in the letter (Col 1:24–2:5). The undisputed Pauline letters are written in the style of a stoic diatribe, presenting arguments and counter-arguments, thereby developing their thinking in a quite antithetical or even dialectical way. In Colossians, to the contrary, the argument mostly runs in a more synthetic manner, conspicuously avoiding the typical adversative conjunctions such as Greek d] (English “but”), which Paul frequently uses and even emphasizes. Only a few scholars defend Paul’s authorship of Colossians, and their arguments are far from convincing. To give an example, Ben Witherington III argues that Paul has 24 Kearsley, R.A., “Epigraphic Evidence for the Social Impact of Roman Government in Laodicea and Hierapolis”, in Cadwallader, Colossae, 130–50, on p. 148. 25 Drexhage, Wirtschaftspolitik, 143–58. Compare the information about the food shortage in Cilicia (Cicero, Att. 5.21.8) and Galatia as well as Miletus in Mitchell, Anatolia, 145 f. 26 Pliny the Elder, Nat. Hist. 2.86: maximus terrae memoria mortalium exstitit motus Tiberii Caesaris principatu, XII urbibus asiae una nocte prostratis. 27 Velleius Paterculus 2.126: restitutae urbes Asiae. 28 Erdemir, E., “Woolen Textiles. An International Trade Good in Lycus Valley in Antiquity”, in Cadwallader, Colossae, 104–29, on p. 124.

216

Lukas Bormann

changed his style to write Colossians.29 In his letters directed to Christian communities in Greek cities like Corinth, Witherington contends, Paul used a different style than in his letters to Asian cities. The differences in language, wording and style are deliberate – when writing to cities in Asia Minor, Paul used an “Asian” or “oriental Greek” style, according to Witherington. However, inscriptions and other sources have shown that no “Asian” or “oriental Greek” existed in Asia Minor, but instead we can observe, on the one hand, “an orthodox regular language of high culture” in the cities and, on the other hand, a “barbarous” Greek in the rural regions.30 Four issues regarding Colossians are deeply controversial in New Testament scholarship: a) authorship, b) recipients, c) opponents, and d) the nature and the topics of the conflict. For the purposes of this investigation c) and d) are less relevant in our context, so we can concentrate on (a) the authorship, and (b) the recipients. First of all, we need to examine the assumption that Colossae was destroyed by an earthquake in the year 60 CE and depopulated for some decades after, as has been proposed by, e. g., Lohse, Pokorny´ and Wolter.31 This hypothesis is based on literary evidence from Orosius, whose work is dated to the fifth century CE and refers to Colossae. It also uses conclusions drawn from early 2nd c. CE – evidence mentioning Laodicea and other unnamed Asian cities.32 The conclusion of this hypothesis is that the addressees in Col 1:2 were fully fictitious, since no city of Colossae can have existed after the year 60 CE. Indeed, sources such as coins and inscriptions are lacking for the period between the early first century and the middle of the second century CE. New findings, however, have somewhat changed this picture. Cadwallader has published a number of inscriptions about a reconstruction of the baths and a water channel which may belong to the late first or early second century CE. These inscriptions include a list of 25 names from the people of Colossae (d^lor Jokoss^mym) who honor a certain Korumbos, the benefactor sponsoring the reconstruction of the baths. If one includes the patrinominal affiliations of the 25 donors and the lines which are lost, one arrives at a number of 66 names from the d^lor of Colossae, which clearly demonstrates that it is very unlikely that the city was abandoned and depopulated after the 60 CE earthquake. For most scholars, the evidence points to the conclusion 29 Witherington III, B., The Letters to Philemon, the Colossians and the Ephesians. A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on the Captivity Epistles (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007), 17–9. 30 Mitchell, Anatolia, 174. 31 Lohse, E., Die Briefe an die Kolosser und an Philemon (KEK 9/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), 37 f; Pokorny´, P., Der Brief des Paulus an die Kolosser (ThHK 10/1; Berlin: EVA, 2 1990), 16; Wolter, M., Der Brief an die Kolosser (ÖTK 12; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag, 1993), 34–6. 32 Orosius, Hist. 7.7.12: In Asia tres urbes, hoc est Laudicia, Hierapolis, Colossae, terrae motu conciderunt. See also Pliny the Elder, Nat. Hist. 2.86; Suetonius, Tib. 8.1; Tacitus, Ann. 2.47; Dio Cassius, Hist. 57.17.7.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

217

that the 60 CE earthquake, which is reported by Suetonius and Tacitus for Laodicea and other cities, may also have caused some damage in Colossae but did not lead to the city’s full and enduring depopulation. This view is now also shared by Huttner, Koch and Schnelle.33 Even if one agrees, then, that the city did exist in those years, the question remains whether the letter’s addressees are a literary invention. It is not easy to reject this assumption if one agrees that the author is pseudonymous.34 However, it is also obvious that Colossians is a letter which reflects a considerable number of details such as names, communications between groups, and topics of discussion – some of which are also confirmed in authentic Pauline writings, particularly in the letter to Philemon. The letter names Paul and Timothy as authors. We hear in the letter that Paul is a prisoner (Col 4:3, 18). This could be taken as a description of Paul’s absence or even death. The idea that someone else had written the letter in Paul’s name during his prison time or absence is not too far-fetched, since Paul used a secretary for his writings, as we know from Romans 16:22. The sum of all these arguments can be taken as proof for the historicity of both the letter’s context and of its addressees. In Röhser’s words: Die Briefsituation des Kol ist als solche m. E. echt (und nicht rein literarisch-fiktiv) und damit auch die Adresse Kolossä (mit Laodicea und Hierapolis) real.35

We can, therefore, conclude that the letter is a real letter by an author or a group of authors from Paul’s missionary network who took the liberty to use Paul’s name to communicate with the Christian community in Colossae. The letter was written between 50 and 75 CE. The letter’s address only mentions Christians at Colossae. However, throughout the letter, Laodicea is named four times (2:1; 4:13.15 f) and Hierapolis once (4:13), but no other city. In Col 2:1 the author states that he wrote the letter not only to inform the Colossians, but also to “those in Laodicea and all who have not seen me face to face”. In 4:13 the author praises Epaphras for the fact “that he has worked for you (i. e., the Colossians) and for those in Laodicea and in Hierapolis”. In 4:16 the author urges his readers to share the letter with the Laodiceans and to ask for a letter written to them. Additionally, the concluding greetings in 4:15 also name “the brothers and sisters in Laodicea” and “the church in the house of Nympha.” Since 33 Huttner, Early Christianity, 102; Koch, D.-A., Geschichte des Urchristentums. Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 303; Schnelle, U., Die ersten 100 Jahre des Christentums. 30–130 n. Chr. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 22016), 529. 34 For a more skeptical view on the factuality of the addressees and the situation of the letter see Lincicum, D., “Mirror-Reading a Pseudepigraphical Letter”, NovT 59 (2017), 171–93, on pp. 180–92. 35 Röhser, G., “Der Schluss als Schlüssel. Zu den Epistolaria des Kolosserbriefs”, in Müller, Kolosser-Studien, 129–50, on p. 150. This view has recently been shared by Foster, P., Colossians (Black’s New Testament Commentaries; London: Bloomsbury, 2016), 110–2.

218

Lukas Bormann

Nympha’s house church is mentioned next to the communities in Colossae and Laodicea, it can be assumed that it was a separate entity, referring to a group of Christians not included in what the author refers to as “Colossians” and “Laodiceans”. We may perhaps hypothesize that Nympha’s house church was located in Hierapolis or in a village in the city territories. This assumption may be supported by an inscription from Hierapolis confirming the existence of a group of villages with magistrates.36 These remarks demonstrate that the city triangle of Laodicea, Colossae and Hierapolis at the same time represents a system of Christian community activities. To me, this is evidence enough to conclude that the letter was directed not only to the Colossian Christian community, but also to the Laodiceans and to people living neither in Colossae nor Laodicea, but most probably in Hierapolis. Next to Colossians, the letter to Philemon and his house church should be considered a letter to the triangle cities. Philemon’s Pauline authorship is undisputed. Many names mentioned in Colossians can also be found in Philemon. Most important is Onesimos, a slave of the letter’s addressee, Philemon. In Colossians, Onesimos is a co-worker of Paul and described as “Onesimos the faithful and beloved brother, who is one of you” (Col 4:9). The “you” may be interpreted in the first place as referring to the Colossians, but it may at the same time also point to Epaphras in Col 4:12 (“who is one of you”). Onesimos is clearly seen as a member of the Colossian community. In the letter to Philemon, Onesimus is also named as a member of Philemon’s household. Consequently, Philemon’s house church needs to be situated in Colossae, or at least in the Lycos triangle of cities. The disputed letters of Ignatius refer to a bishop of Ephesus with the name Onesimos, although the relationship of this bishop to our slave Onesimos is unclear.37 Since both Col and Phlm state several times that Paul was a prisoner, one can assume that they were written in the same situation. But in some details they differ. In Colossians, Aristarchos is named as “fellow prisoner” (4:10) whereas in Philemon he is not imprisoned. On the other hand, Philemon mentions Epaphras as “fellow prisoner” (23), but in Colossians Epaphras is not in prison either (1:7 f; 4:12 f). Some questions arise as to why Philemon and Apphia are mentioned in Phlm, but not in Col, and also why Col names Jesus Justus who is not mentioned in the letter to Philemon. Some changes in the communities occurring between both letters have to be taken into account. It may be that Philemon and Apphia (Phlm 1–2), the slaveholders of Onesimos, lost control over the house church and Nympha took over the lead of the congregation (Col 4:15). In the letter to the Colossians, the admonition to 36 Mitchell, Anatolia, 183. OGIS 527, an inscription from the first or second century CE, declares that the villages have to deliver wood, accommodation and food to the paraphylakes from Hierapolis. 37 Ign. Eph. 1:3; 2:1; 6:2.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

219

slaveholders to be just and fair to slaves could be a result of the settlement of this conflict (Col 4:1). However, this is mere speculation, and slavery was a topic which Christian communities had to permanently deal with, no less in the city triangle of the Lycus valley. To sum up: Colossians and Philemon are both letters written by an author in the same situation, during the imprisonment or absence of Paul. They are addressed to the same region, namely the city triangle in the Lycus-Valley, which also constituted a network of Christian communities. They deal to some degree with the same topics, for example slavery, but also touch upon different issues. Most importantly, they are written by different people, one by Paul (Phlm), the other by members of Paul’s network (Col).

4. Names and People in the First Century In Colossians twelve personal names and in Philemon eleven are attested. Noting the overlaps we end up with fifteen names (including Barnabas and Paul). In the following chart, the names which occur only in one of the two letters are printed in bold, while others attested in both letters, though in different contexts, are printed in italics. Colossians

Philemon

a) People staying with Paul Timothy (1:1)

a) People staying with Paul Timothy (1) Epaphras (23) Mark (24) Aristarchos (24) Luke (24) Demas (24)

Aristarchos (4:10) Luke (4:14) Demas (4:14) Jesus Justus (4:11)

b) People traveling between Paul’s b) People traveling between Paul’s prison and Philemon’s place prison and Colossae Epaphras (1:7; 4.12) Tychikos (4:7) Onesimos (10) Onesimos (4:9) Mark, the cousin of Barnabas (4:10) c) People staying in the triangle cities c) People staying in the triangle cities Nympha and her house church (4:15) Philemon and his house church (1) Apphia (2) Archippos (4:17) Archippos (2)

220

Lukas Bormann

Five individuals named in both letters are from the triangle cities (Nympha, Apphia, Archippos, Onesimos and Philemon). The others are from the Pauline missionary network, while Onesimos changes his position from a community member to a member of the Pauline missionary network. If we look at gender, we have two female names (Nympha,38 Apphia39) and thirteen male names (Archippos,40 Aristarchos,41 Barnabas, Demas,42 Epaphras,43 Jesus Justus,44 Luke,45 Marcus (Mark),46 Onesimos, Paul, Philemon, Tychikos, Timothy). Both female names and in total six names (Apphia, Nympha, and Tychikos, Jesus Justus, Philemon, and Barnabas) are mentioned only in one of the two letters, but nine are found in both. Most names are relatively common, with some 38 Nympha (M¼l¦a) in New Testament: Col 4:15. See Bauer, W., Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur (Berlin: de Gruyter, 6 1988), 1102: “att. M¼l¦g”. Fraser, P.M./Matthews, E. (eds.), A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names 5c. Inland Asia Minor (Oxford: Clarendon, 2018), 322: attested male Mulv÷r. The male name Mul¦÷r as well as the female M¼l¦g are rarely found on inscriptions, and female M¼l¦a does not occur in the inscriptions of Inland Asia Minor or of the Northern provinces. 39 Apphia ((Ap¦¸a) in New Testament: Phlm 2. Fraser, Lexicon, 49 f.: frequent in Phrygia, attested in Hierapolis, Laodiceia, and Colossae. The name is attested for Colossae in inscription IGR IV 868. The name is a rather more prestigious version of “Appa” or “Apphe” and one of the “Lallnamen” common in Asia Minor. Marek, C., Geschichte Kleinasiens in der Antike (München: Beck, 32017), 495: “Ein anderes Phänomen bilden die in Kleinasien überall häufigen Lallnamen, zum Beispiel Apphe, Lala, Mama, Nana, Papa, die sich keiner Sprachgruppe zuordnen lassen.” 40 Archippos (-qw¸ppor) in New Testament: Col 4:17; Phlm 2. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 226: “häufiges, auch für das westliche Kleinasien bezeugtes Nomen proprium masc.” Fraser Lexicon, 66: attested in Hierapolis, Laodiceia, and Colossae. 41 Aristarchos ((Aq¸staqwor) in New Testament: Acts 19:29; 20:4; 27:2; Col 4:10. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 214: “weitverbreitet”. Fraser, Lexicon, 53: The name is attested in inscriptions for Phrygia. 42 Demas (Dgl÷r) in New Testament: Col 4:14; 2 Tim 4:10; Phlm 24. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 357: “Kurzform von Dgl^tqior?”. Fraser, Lexicon, 109: frequent in Phrygia, attested in Colossae. In Colossae a certain Demas is attested on the Korumbos inscription, Z. 22. See Cadwallader, “Honouring,” 151. 43 Epaphras ((Epa¦q÷r) in New Testament: Phlm 23; Col 1:7; 4:12. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 574: “Kurzform wohl zu (Epa¦q|ditor”. Fraser, Lexicon, 138: The short version (Epa¦q÷r is well attested in Phrygia, esp. in Laodicea and Colossae. A certain (Epa¦q|ditor is attested for Colossae in MAMA VI 39. 44 The name Jesus ((IgsoOr) is the Greek version of Hebrew Joshua (F9M98=), “Jahweh is salvation”. The name Justus ((IoOstor) stems from Latin iustus, “the just”. There is no hint that the name was understood in this context as honorary in the sense of the Hebrew word sad%q for “the righteous” or “the justified.” In New Testament: Acts 1:23; 18:7; Col 4:11. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 771: “häufig von Juden und Proselyten geführt”. The name is attested in Asia Minor, see Corsten, Lexicon, 229. 45 Lukas (Kouj÷r) in New Testament: Col 4:14; 2 Tim 4:11; Phlm 24. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 974: sees a link to Loukios (from Latin Lucius) mentioned in Rom 16:21; Acts 13:1: “Koseform von Lucius”. Fraser, Lexicon, 249: attested in Phrygia. 46 Markus (L÷qjor) in New Testament: Acts 12:12, 25; 15:37, 39; Col 4:10; 2 Tim 4:11; Phlm 24; 1Petr 5:13. The name is attested several times in inscriptions from Colossae: IGR IV 871, MAMA VI 43; Cadwallader, “Refuting an Axiom”, 170. The name, with Latin origin, is also frequently used in Greek-speaking areas and also in Asia Minor, see Corsten, T., ed., A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names 5a. Coastal Asia Minor: Pontos to Ionia (Oxford: Clarendon, 2010), 283 f.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

221

even being documented on inscriptions from Colossae: these are Demas, Epaphroditos / Epaphras, Markus, Apphia. If we look at the origins of the names we find four different types: a) Greek (or Graecized) names: Paul, Timothy, Aristarchus, Demas, Luke, Epaphras, Tychikos, Onesimos,47 Nympha, Archippos, Philemon; b) Latin Names: Marcus (Markos); c) Hebrew/Aramaic: Jesus, Barnabas, and d) Phrygian: Apphia. Additional information is given in Col 4:11 where Aristarchos, Markus, and Jesus Justus are described as “the ones from circumcision” (oR emter 1j peqitol/r). These three people are thus presented as Jews with names of different origin, namely Latin, Greek and Hebrew/Latin. This observation may lead to the conclusion that the others, at least seven male and one female Christians, had a non-Jewish background (Aristarchos, Luke, Demas, Epaphras, Tychikos, Onesimos, Archippos and Nympha). To conclude: In the triangle cities, we see Christians with different cultural affiliations, as documented by their names (Greek, Roman, Jewish/Judean, Phrygian), in communication with each other ; we also find both genders active on the community level; we see an exchange between local communities and the Pauline network, as well as between free people and slaves, with Philemon as slave owner and Onesimos a slave.

5. Ethnicity, Languages and Law in the Lycus Valley The relevant evidence for languages used and ethnicities represented in the Lycus valley has been collected by Rick Strelan and Stanley Porter.48 However, both authors tend towards a somewhat stretched interpretation of the evidence. Strelan, for example, proposes that there may have been Greek, Latin, Aramaic, Lydian, Carian and even Scythian population groups present in the Lycus Valley, which is very doubtful. There are sources which clearly provide evidence for the presence of Greek, Latin and Phrygian inhabitants, while the evidence for Aramaic-speakers rests solely on the fact that in the year 62 BC the temple tax was collected in Laodicea from about 10.500 male Jews.49 As we know today, more languages unbacked by any literary culture may have 47 Onesimus ((Om^silor) in New Testament: Col 4:9; Phlm 10. Bauer, Wörterbuch, 1156: “besonders für Sklaven”. Corsten, Lexicon, 346: The name is attested in Asia Minor. 48 Strelan, R., “The Languages of Lycus Valley,” in Cadwallader, Colossae, 77–103, on p. 95–8; Porter, St. E., “The Languages That Paul Did Not Speak”, in Porter, St. E. (ed.), Paul’s World. Pauline Studies 4 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 131–49. 49 Cicero, Flacc. 28: aurum Iudaeorum. See also the letter of Antiochos III (223–200 BCE) mentioning 2000 Jewish houses (Youda_ym oUjoi disw_kioi) in Josephus, Ant. 12:148–53.

222

Lukas Bormann

existed in Asia Minor than the sources indicate. This is clearly the case with Phrygian, which is documented in inscriptions.50 Phrygian may even have influenced the New Testament text tradition of the letter to the Colossians. In documents such as P46 and Codex Alexandrinus, the varia lectio for Colossae is Kolassai (pq¹r Jokassa?r) which may be the older Phrygian name of the city, which was later adjusted to the Greek Kolossos.51 Furthermore, research into the origins of names attested in Col and Phlm provides evidence for the following four ethnicities: Roman, Greek, Jewish and Phrygian.52 To understand the social and cultural construction of ethnicities dominant in the Lycus Valley, it is important to reflect on the local situation. The inhabitants of the three Greek poleis defined themselves as “Greeks” (þkkgmer), displaying some pride in their own cities, as the numismatic and inscriptional evidence of all these three demonstrates. Among the coins of the city of Colossae one finds some so-called semiautonomous coins displaying the head of the emperor and including a reference to the people and the council of the Colossians (demos / boule Kolossenon).53 Others display the pride of a Greek polis, showing demos as juvenile male, boule as female figure, and local gods, as well as the God of the river Lycus, depicted also as a wolf (Greek k}jor).54 The inhabitants of the triangle cities saw outsiders as first of all barbarians, but do not apply this term to Romans. An insight into what might be considered as relevant ethnicities from a Colossian perspective may be taken from Col. This pseudonymous letter refers to a Pauline phrase which is also used in the undisputed letters to the Galatians and in First Corinthians, while some phrases in Romans equally point to a comparable idea. For example, Rom 10:12 states: “For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him.”55 Paul emphasizes that the distinction between Jew and Greek is not relevant in the Christian community, although he sometimes contradicts this very same conviction.56 It is well known that the 50 Brixhe, C./Lejeune, M. (ed.), Corpus des inscriptions pal8o-phrygiennes (Recherche sur les civilisations: M8moire 45,1/2; Paris: Recherche sur les civilisations, 1984). 51 Bean, Turkey, 257–9. 52 On Phrygian and Neo-Phrygian see Mitchell, Anatolia, 174 f. On the complex issue of Roman ethnicity see: Lee-Steccum, P., “Roman Elite Ethnicity”, in: McInerney, J. (ed.), A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 455–69. 53 Aulock, H. von, Münzen und Städte Phrygiens (2 vol.; Istanbuler Mitteilungen Beiheft 25/27; Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1980/1987), vol.2, no. 545–95. 54 Aulock, Münzen und Städte, vol. 2, no. 443–544, see for the “wolf” no. 450 and 465–8. 55 Rom 10:12: oq c²q 1stim diastokµ (Iouda¸ou te ja· GEkkgmor, b c±q aqt¹r j¼qior p²mtym, pkout_m eQr p²mtar to»r 1pijakoul´mour aqtºm. 56 See Bormann, L., “Griechen und Juden – Skythen und Barbaren. Ethnizität, kulturelle Dominanz und Marginalität im Neuen Testament”, in Adogame, A./ Echtler, M./Freiberger, O. (eds.), Alternative Voices. A Plurality Approach for Religious Studies. Essays in Honor of Ulrich Berner (Critical Studies in Religion / Religionswissenschaft 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 116–33, on p. 128–30.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

223

distinction between Jew and Greek was a principal problem for Early Christianity. For scholars today it is quite difficult to define the distinction between a Judean ethnicity and a self-chosen Jewish religion which is at stake here. However, it is quite clear that Colossians points to the ethnic aspect of the rhetorical phrase by adding the terms “barbarian, Scythian” – as is easily observed in the following comparison of Gal 3:27 f, 1 Cor 12:13 and Col 3:11, in which the words shared by all three versions of this Pauline rhetorical phrase are printed in bold: Gal 3:27 f: fsoi c±q eQr Wqist¹m 1bapt¸s¢gte, Wqist¹m 1med¼sas¢e7 28 oqj 5mi (Iouda?or oqd³ GEkkgm, oqj 5mi doOkor oqd³ 1ke¼¢eqor, oqj 5mi %qsem ja· ¢/ku7p²mter c±q rle?r eXr 1ste 1m Wqist` (IgsoO. (For in Christ all of you are sons of God through faith,) for as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is no Jew or Greek. There is no slave or free. There is no male and female. For all of you are one in Christ Jesus.57 1 Cor 12:13: ja· c±q 1m 2m· pme¼lati Ble?r p²mter eQr 4m s_la 1bapt¸s¢glem, eUte (Iouda?oi eUte GEkkgmer, eUte doOkoi eUte 1ke¼¢eqoi, ja· p²mter 4m pmeOla 1pot¸s¢glem. For also in one spirit all of us were baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free. And all have drunk of one spirit. Kol 3:10 f: ja· 1mdus²lemoi t¹m m´om (…) 11 fpou oqj 5mi GEkkgm ja· (Iouda?or, peqitolµ ja· !jqobust¸a, b²qbaqor, Sj¼¢gr, doOkor, 1ke¼¢eqor, !kk± (t±) p²mta ja· 1m p÷sim Wqistºr. (Putting off the old human with its deeds,) and putting on the new where there is no Greek and Jew, circumcision and non-circumcision, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free. But Christ is all things.

In the ancient world, both barbarians and Scythians were seen as the „least civilized representatives of humanity.“58 There is no evidence in the inscriptions from Laodicea, Hierapolis and Colossae, however, that there was a Scythian population in the Lycus Valley.59 Some names, such as Scythes or Scythia, found in inscriptions from cities of the Meander Valley,s point to the possibility that some slaves may have lived there who were seen as Scythians, but by the first century CE these names were not necessarily indicative anymore of a particular ethnic origin.60 At this point, we should also mention the theological or philosophical 57 English translation according to MacDonald, D.R., There is No Male and Female. The Fate of a Dominical Saying in Paul and Gnosticism (Harvard Dissertation in Religion 20; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987, 6). 58 Barclay, J.M.G., Colossians and Philemon (Sheffield: Sheffield AP, 2001), 78. 59 See Bormann, L., “Barbaren und Skythen im Lykostal? Epigraphischer Kommentar zu Kol 3,11”, in Verheyden, J., Epigraphical Evidence, 161–98, on 181–91. 60 See Bormann, “Barbaren und Skythen,“ 181–91.

224

Lukas Bormann

discussion if Col was more universalistic than the undisputed letters of Paul himself. For our purposes it is important to note that through the phrase “barbarians, Scythians” the problem of ethnicity is much more present in the wording of Col than it is in the undisputed Pauline letters. This may be a result of reflections made by the author(s) of Colossians, i. e. the Pauline network. Members of this network were, we can surmise, people familiar with the situation in the Lycus Valley, particularly Epaphras and Onesimos. The members of the Pauline network in Asia minor were familiar with Paul’s distinction between Jews and Greeks. They also knew the Greek dichotomy between Greek and barbarian. On the basis of the Pauline gospel, according to which these distinctions are irrelevant, they went one step further than Paul and also crossed the next boundary by demanding the integration of members of such despised peoples as the Scythians in their communities. A new inscription from Colossae, published in 2007, is of interest for such issues of ethnicity and languages. A certain “Markus son of Markus”, not using the Roman tria nomina, is named !qweqlgme}r and 1ngcgt^r. Cadwallader translated this as „chief interpreter and translator”.61 Angelos Chaniotis has also discussed the inscription. He did not challenge the date assigned to it, based on the form of the letters and particularly the slanted cross-stroke of the letter alpha, which point to the end of the first and the beginning of the second century. L\qjyi L\qjou Jokossgm_m !qweqlgme? ja· 1ngcgt/[i]. [… dedicated this] to Markos son of Markos, chief interpreter and translator for the Colossians

Chaniotis’ critique targets the idea that an !qweqlgme}r was a chief-interpreter in charge of an office of translators. According to Chaniotis, a small city such as Colossae would have had no need for an office of translators.62 He emphasizes that 1ngcgt^r in most cases means an interpreter of oracles. For him, this combination of titles should be understood as referring to a religious office. To make an independent decision, we should have more inscription mentioning an !qweqlgme}r available. However, we only have a third-century building inscription from the Regnum Bosporanum in which a certain Eraka is mentioned as !qweqlgm]ur )kam_m, which, in this case based on literary evidence, means chief-interpreter of the tribe of the Alans (CIRB 1053): Di’ 1pileke_ar Jqaj÷ PomtijoO !qweqlgm]yr )kam_m 9[m t`] ev’. (T)hrough the care of Heraka (son of) Pontikos, chief-translator of the Alans, in the year 505 [of Regnum Bosporanum (= 208/9 CE)] 61 SEG 57 (2007), no. 1382; EA 40 (2007), 109–18. 62 Chaniotis, A., “Epigraphic Bulletin for Greek Religion 2007 (EBGR 2007)”, Kernos 23 (2010) 271–327, on p. 286 f, no. 25; see also SEG 57 (2007), no. 1382.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

225

Analyzing the literary and epigraphical evidence for the terms !qweqlgme}r and 1ngcgt^r, one can concur with Chaniotis in challenging the need for an office of translators, though Cadwallader’s interpretation as “translator” is also correct. He should, however, not read !qw- as indication the chief of an office with multiple subordinate translators, but rather see it as an honorary title of the one and presumably only interpreter and translator of Colossae.63 The use of the prefix !qw- as merely honorary is attested for !qwisum\cycor.64 The position of a translator would have involved defining, writing, and interpreting legal documents used in daily life, such as contracts, marriage documents, or wills. The services of an interpreter would have been required by people who wanted to make use of the law of the Greek polis, but who were not able to express themselves in the correct legal form, may have been uncertain in Greek or wholly illiterate. Many inhabitants might presumably have needed such an expert to create or explain legal documents. This interpretation of the term and function sheds some light also on Col 3:11. If a translator and interpreter was needed in Colossae, it may suggest that in everyday city life a mediator was required between people from Greek and non-Greek backgrounds, that is between Colossian on the one side and Roman, Phrygian or Judean on the other.

6. Conclusion: Urban Christians in the Lycus-Valley To sum up: We find evidence for a lively exchange between both Ephesus and the Lycus Valley cities and between the three cities themselves. The territories of the three cities stood side by side with each other and formed a triangle of cities. Although the notion of competition between the three cities, the famous Greek idea of agon, was prevalent among the urban elite, the urban non-elite may not have been affected too much by such an attitude. The mention of Christians from Colossae, Laodicea, and Hierapolis in Col, combined with the evidence of two house-churches in the triangle cities, at least points to the fact that competition was not important for the members of these Christian communities, but that their relationship was characterized by collaboration and exchange. Besides the problems of religious practices, teaching and ethics, the letters reflect conflicts about slavery, gender, and ethnicity : 1. Slavery : in Phlm Paul demands that Philemon changes the status of the slave Onesimos to a “brother”, considers him as “partner” and welcomes him as he would have welcomed Paul himself – as a result he holds him “no longer as a slave but more than a slave: a beloved brother” (Phlm 16 f). Col, however, 63 See Bormann, “Barbaren und Skythen,” 194. 64 See Bauer, Wörterbuch, 226: !qwisum\cycor “ein Ausdruck, der […] als bloßer Titel verliehen wurde“.

226

Lukas Bormann

seems to have been more conservative on the issue of slavery. In the household code, slaves are ordered to be obedient to their masters, while slave owners are told to be fair and just to their slaves. Any change in legal status will only materialize in the eschatological future when slaves will reach the status of free men and “receive the inheritance” (Col 3:24). 2. Gender : The most unsatisfactory situation is found in the case of gender. The Pauline formula in Galatians emphasized that in Christ there was “no male nor female”, but the later rephrased versions of this formula in 1/2 Cor and Col lacks such reference to gender. The two female names Nympha and Apphia got lost in history, and even the New Testament textual tradition eliminated their names again and again, changing related female pronouns into male ones and the name Nympha to the male form Nymphas. Whereas Onesimos perhaps reappeared in the letters of Ignatius as bishop of Ephesus and was identified as such also by Eusebius, no women survived in the Christian memory in a comparable way. 3. Ethnicity : Paul’s emphasis on overcoming the dichotomy into which humanity is divided – according to the Jewish perspective into Jews and nonJews, in Paul’s into Jews and Greeks – is broadened in Col to also incorporate the Greek division of humanity into Greeks and non-Greeks, i. e. Greeks and barbarians or even Scythians. In the Lycus Valley the conflict between Greeks and barbarians, symbolic or real, may be seen as more important to overcome than the conflict between Jews and non-Jews emphasized by Paul. As indicated by the evidence presented above, we witness cultural and ethnic affiliations to Greek, Roman, Jewish and Phrygian heritage in the city as well as in the Christian communities surrounding it. The statement of Colossians is that these cultural and ethnic affiliations should not influence the Christian communities in the triangle cities of the Lycus Valley, but should be overcome.

Bibliography Aulock, H. von, Münzen und Städte Phrygiens (2 vol.; Istanbuler Mitteilungen Beiheft 25/27; Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1980/1987). Barclay, J.M.G., Colossians and Philemon (Sheffield: Sheffield AP, 2001). Bauer, W., Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur (Berlin: de Gruyter, 61988). Bean, G.E., Turkey beyond the Maeander : The Classic Guides to Turkey 3 (London: Murray, 1989). Bormann, L., Der Brief des Paulus an die Kolosser (ThHK 10/1; Leipzig: EVA, 2012). Bormann, L., “Barbaren und Skythen im Lykostal? Epigraphischer Kommentar zu Kol 3,11”, in Verheyden, J./Öhler, M./Corsten, T. (eds.), Epigraphical Evidence Illustrating Paul’s Letter to the Colossians (WUNT 411; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 161–98.

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

227

Bormann, L, “Biographie und Rhetorik. Das Paulusbild der Deuteropaulinen”, in Schröter, J./ Butticaz, S./Dettwiler, A. (eds.), Receptions of Paul in Early Christianity : The Person of Paul and His Writings Through the Eyes of His Early Interpreters (BZNW 234; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 143–74. Bormann, L, “Griechen und Juden – Skythen und Barbaren. Ethnizität, kulturelle Dominanz und Marginalität im Neuen Testament”, in Adogame, A./Echtler, M./ Freiberger, O. (eds.), Alternative Voices. A Plurality Approach for Religious Studies. Essays in Honor of Ulrich Berner (CSR / RW 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 116–33. Bormann, L, “Review of Alan H. Cadwallader, Colossae in Space and Time”, EC 7 (2016), 410–2. Bormann, L, “Schriftgebrauch im Kolosser- und im Epheserbrief: Zur Praxis frühchristlicher Text- und Interpretationsgemeinschaften”, in Öhler, M./Wilk, F. (eds.), Schrift bei Paulus, Grundlagen – Ausprägungen – Wirkungen – Wertungen (FRLANT 268; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 217–38. Bormann, L, “Weltbild und gruppenspezifische Raumkonfiguration des Kolosserbriefs”, in Müller, P. (ed.), Kolosser-Studien (BThSt 10; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2009), 83–102. Brixhe, C./ Lejeune, M. (eds.), Corpus des inscriptions pal8o-phrygiennes (Recherche sur les civilisations: M8moire 45,1/2; Paris: Recherche sur les civilisations, 1984). Buckler, W.H. (ed.), Monuments and Documents from Phrygia and Caria (Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua 6; London: Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies, 1939) (MAMA VI). Cadwallader, A.H. (ed.), Colossae in Space and Time. Linking to an Ancient City (NTOA / StUNT 94; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011). Cadwallader, A.H., “Colossae in Space and Time. Overcoming Dislocation, Dismemberment and Anachronity”, in Cadwallader, A.H. (ed.), Colossae in Space and Time, 9–47. Cadwallader, A.H., Fragments of Colossae. Sifting through the Traces (Hindmarsh: AFT, 2015). Cadwallader, A.H., “Honouring the Repairer of the Baths. A New Inscription from Colossae”, Antichthon 64 (2012), 150–83. Cadwallader, A.H., “A New Inscription, a Correction and a Confirmed Sighting from Colossae”, Epigraphica Anatolica 40 (2007), 109–18. Cadwallader, A.H., “Refuting an Axiom of Scholarship on Colossae. Fresh Insights from New and Old Inscriptions,” in Cadwallader, A.H. (ed.), Colossae in Space and Time, 151–79. Cadwallader, A.H., “Revisiting Calder on Colossae”, Anatolian Studies 56 (2006), 103–11. Cadwallader, A.H., “A Stratigraphy of an Ancient City through its Key Story. The Archistrategos of Chonai”, in Cadwallader, A.H. (ed.), Colossae in Space and Time, 282–98. Chaniotis, A., “Epigraphic Bulletin for Greek Religion 2007 (EBGR 2007)”, Kernos 23 (2010) 271–327.

228

Lukas Bormann

Corsten, T. (ed.), Die Inschriften von Laodikeia am Lykos (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 49; Bonn: Habelt, 1997). Corsten, T. (ed.), A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names 5a. Coastal Asia Minor: Pontos to Ionia (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2010). Drexhage, H.-W., Wirtschaftspolitik und Wirtschaft in der römischen Provinz Asia in der Zeit von Augustus bis zum Regierungsantritt Diokletians (Asia-Minor-Studien 59; Bonn: Habelt, 2007). Duman, B./KonakÅi, E., “The Silent Witness of the Mound of Colossae. Pottery Remains”, in Cadwallader, Colossae in Space and Time, 247–81. Ebner, M., Der Brief an Philemon (EKK XVIII; Düsseldorf/Göttingen: Patmos/ Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017). Erdemir, H., “Woolen Textiles. An International Trade Good in Lycus Valley in Antiquity”, in Cadwallader, Colossae in Space and Time, 104–29. Foster, P., Colossians (Black’s New Testament Commentaries; London: Bloomsbury, 2016). Fraser, P.M./Matthews, E. (eds.), A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names 5c. Inland Asia Minor (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2018). French, D.H., Roman Roads and Milestones of Asia Minor 3. Milestones, Fasc. 3.1: Republican (Ankara: British Institute, 2012). Höhfeld, V., Türkei. Schwellenland der Gegensätze (Gotha: Perthes, 1995). Hütteroth, W.-D., “Geographische Grundlagen”, in Grothusen, K.-D. (ed.), Türkei, Südosteuropa-Handbuch 4 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985), 13–26. Hütteroth, W.-D., Türkei. Geographie, Geschichte, Wirtschaft, Politik (Darmstadt: WBG, 22002). Huttner, U., Early Christianity in the Lycus Valley (AJEC 85/Early Christianity in Asia Minor 1; Leiden: Brill, 2013). Kearsley, R.A., “Epigraphic Evidence for the Social Impact of Roman Government in Laodicea and Hierapolis”, in Cadwallader, Colossae in Space and Time, 130–50. Koch, D.-A., Geschichte des Urchristentums. Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). Lampe, P., “Der Brief an Philemon”, in Walter, N./Reinmuth, E./Koch, D.-A. (eds.), Die Briefe an die Philipper, Thessalonicher und an Philemon (NTD 8/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 205–32. Lee-Steccum, P., “Roman Elite Ethnicity”, in: McInerney, J. (ed.), A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 455–69. Lincicum, D., “Mirror-Reading a Pseudepigraphical Letter”, NovT 59 (2017), 171–93. Lohse, E., Die Briefe an die Kolosser und an Philemon (KEK 9/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977). MacDonald, D.R., There is No Male and Female. The Fate of a Dominical Saying in Paul and Gnosticism (Harvard Dissertation in Religion 20; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). Marek, C., Geschichte Kleinasiens in der Antike (München: Beck, 32017). Mitchell, S., Anatolia. Land, Men and Gods in Asia Minor (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993).

Early Christians in the Lycus Valley

229

Müller, P., Der Brief an Philemon (KEK 9/3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Müller, P. (ed.), Kolosser-Studien (BThSt 103; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2009). Pokorny´, P., Der Brief des Paulus an die Kolosser (ThHK 10/1; Berlin: EVA, 21990). Porter, St. E., “The Languages That Paul Did Not Speak”, in Porter, St. E. (ed.), Paul’s World. Pauline Studies 4 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 131–49. Röhser, G. “Der Schluss als Schlüssel. Zu den Epistolaria des Kolosserbriefs”, in Müller, Kolosser-Studien, 129–50. Schnelle, U., Die ersten 100 Jahre des Christentums. 30–130 n. Chr. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 22016). Strelan, R., “The Languages of Lycus Valley,” in Cadwallader, Colossae in Space and Time, 77–103. Thonemann, P., The Maeander Valley. A Historical Geography from Antiquity to Byzantium (Cambridge: CUP, 2011). Verheyden, J./Öhler, M./Corsten, T. (eds.), Epigraphical Evidence Illustrating Paul’s Letter to the Colossians (WUNT 411; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018). Witherington III, B., The Letters to Philemon, the Colossians, and the Ephesians. A Socio-rhetorical Commentary on the Captivity Epistles (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007). Wolter, M., Der Brief an die Kolosser (ÖTK 12; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag, 1993).

Early Christian Environments from the First to the Second Century

Jörg Frey

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

Although the Jesus movement originates in a remote province of the Roman empire, in the Galilean countryside, in the villages, rather than in the urban structures around the Sea of Galilee, it quickly moved after Jesus’ death and resurrection from there to the urban centers, from Jerusalem via Antioch to Philippi, Corinth, and Ephesus and, probably on different paths, to Rome and to the remote parts of the empire.1 Together with this local expansion, the new movement underwent a thorough transformation, from a Jewish-Messianic and universalistic “sect”2 to a more and more universal “cult” or “religion”. In a complicated and much debated process, often referred to as the “Parting of the Ways,”3 the movement loosened its exclusive ties to the ethnically conceptualized “religion” of Judaism and developed towards a unique monotheistic movement without ethnic restrictions, predominantly followed and increasingly dominated by non-Jews. As has often been observed, the Gospel of John plays an important part in that transformation.4 This is likely due to the fact that the Johannine tradition is strongly based on and interacts with Jewish traditions, but also because the universality of the veneration of God in Christ, “neither in Jerusalem, nor on this mountain, but in Spirit and truth” (John 4:23), the universality of God’s love for humans (John 3:16) and the identity of Jesus as “Savior of the World” (cf. John 4:42) are most clearly expressed in the Fourth Gospel. But how can we get more clarity from this Gospel, its narrative text and its historical context, about what is urban and what is rural? Does its narration and text give any further hints that may permit conclusions about whether it is urban or rural? And what does this mean for the reading of the Gospel, or for 1 Cf. the programmatic sketch in Schliesser, B., “Vom Jordan an den Tiber. Wie die Jesusbewegung in den Städten des Römischen Reichs ankam”, to be published in ZThK 2019. 2 Cf. Hengel, M., “Early Christianity as a Jewish-Messianic, Universalistic Movement”, in Hagner, D.A. (ed.), Conflicts and Challenges in Early Christianity (Harrisburg: Trinity Press, 1999), 1–41. 3 The term was introduced into recent scholarship by Dunn, J.D.G., The Partings of the Ways. Between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity (London: SCM Press, 1991); cf., in particular, the questioning of the paradigm in Reed, A.Y./ Becker, A.H. (eds.), The Ways That Never Parted. Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (TSAJ 95; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 4 Cf. the discussion in Frey, J. “Towards Reconfiguring Our Views on the ‘Parting of the Ways’. Ephesus as a Test Case”, in Culpepper, R.A./Anderson, P.N. (eds.), John and Judaism. A Contested Relationship in Context (RBS 87; Atlanta: SBL, 2017), 221–41.

234

Jörg Frey

the reading of other Johannine writings? Where were they intended to be read, in urban contexts or in more rural regions – or simply everywhere? What can be reasonably said if we consider methodologically that the Gospel is not just a mirror of its extra-textual world or context, so that we cannot simply draw conclusions from the narrated world to the cultural or social world in which the narrative was composed? As recent scholarship has increasingly noticed, the Gospel of John is a complex and multidimensional narrative, deliberately crafted from various traditions, with a remarkable authorial liberty in selecting its materials, in replotting and consciously renarrating the traditions adopted, or even in creatively reimagining the life and ministry of the earthly Jesus in the light of its christological insights.5 For the present survey, I will start (1) with some considerations about the context in which the Johannine literature most probably developed, then I will briefly (2) reflect on some elements of the story and its contents. The most difficult – but for our issue perhaps most fruitful – issue will then be (3) to consider the intellectual milieu presupposed by the Fourth Gospel.

1. Ephesus and Asia as the Traditional Context of the Johannine Circles The Johannine writings: the Gospel “according to John,” the Epistles “of John,” and also the Revelation attributed (according to tradition) to the same John are all traditionally considered to originate in the Region of Asia (Minor), the capital Ephesus, or its surroundings.6 The most famous testimony comes from Irenaeus,7 but the traditions about John – the apostle, or possibly another John – as the tradition-bearer in Ephesus probably goes back to Polycarp8 or 5 On John’s techniques of replotting, renarrating, and reimagining the Jesus story see now Frey, J., Theology and History in the Fourth Gospel (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2018), 127–41. 6 Cf. Schnelle, U., Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 92017), 516 f and 556; Hengel, M., Die johanneische Frage. Ein Lösungsversuch, mit einem Beitrag von Jörg Frey (WUNT 67; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 21–5. On the details and problems of the Johannine authorship tradition see, e. g., Frey, J., “Das Corpus Johanneum und die Apokalypse des Johannes. Die Johanneslegende, die Probleme der johanneischen Verfasserschaft und die Frage der Pseudonymität der Apokalypse”, in Alkier, S./Hieke, T./Nicklas, T. (eds.), Poetik und Intertextualität der Johannesapokalypse (WUNT 346; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 71–134, on pp. 87–104. 7 Irenaeus, Adv. haer. III 1:1 = Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 8:4. 8 Cf. Hengel, Frage, 71–3 and the thorough investigation into the background of Irenaeus’ notes in Mutschler, B., “Was weiß Irenäus vom Johannesevangelium? Der historische Kontext des Johannesevangeliums aus der Perspektive seiner Rezeption bei Irenäus von Lyon”, in Frey, J./ Schnelle, U. (eds.), Kontexte des Johannesevangeliums (WUNT 175; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 695–742.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

235

even further to Papias.9 By the end of the 2nd century, the tradition about the aged John in Ephesus had become quite strong, and it is most vividly expressed in the Apocryphal Acts of John, where it is narrated that John and his companions enjoyed a successful mission in Ephesus, in which not only the famous Temple of Artemis collapses (ActJohn 37–45), but also the Christian message arrives in more elevated and influential circles of the urban society. With the Acts of John, the Johannine tradition has definitely reached the urban milieu. The question is whether or to what extent this already applies to the earlier period of the composition and distribution of the Johannine writings. For Revelation, things are relatively clear. The mention of the seven cities of the province of Asia in Rev 1–3 creates a strong probability that the writing was addressed to and first circulated among communities in that region, especially since the sequence of the seven letters in Rev 2–3 correctly follows the geographical circle (or the way of the messenger delivering the letters), starting from Ephesus, heading to the north, then to the east, until Laodicea, before finally returning to Ephesus. The content of Revelation provides evidence of a strong conflict with certain aspects of the civic society which is criticized.10 However, the critic’s perspective is offered from the vantage point of an insider with precise knowledge of the social, economic, and religious situation in those cities.11 Despite this insider’s point of view, the author strongly opposes participation in civic life and calls for creating and maintaining distance from “Babylon” (Rev 18:4) with regard to its cultic, social, and economic life. But Revelation is a different field, and the relationship between Revelation and the “other” Johannine writings, the Corpus Johanneum in the narrower sense of the word, is unclear and a matter of dispute.12 Neither Ephesus nor any other city of the region of Asia is mentioned in the Gospel of John or in the Johannine Epistles. The location of the composition of these writings in the region of Ephesus or in the province of Asia is only concluded from the later 2nd century tradition and from the early connection of these writings with Revelation, including the attribution of all of them to one author, the Apostle John from Ephesus. But this common attribution is most probably a fiction, a 9 On Papias and its relation with the Johannine Gospel and the Johannine School see in particular Hengel, Frage, 75–107. 10 Cf., e. g., Koester, C.R., Revelation (Anchor Yale Bible; New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2014), 936. 11 Cf. not only the detailed information on the seven cities (still, cf. Hemer, C.J., The Letters to the Seven Churches of Asia in their Local Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001)), but also the precise image of the economic situation of the Roman empire in Rev 18 (cf. Kraybill, J.N., Imperial Cult and Commerce in John’s Apocalypse (JSNT.Sup. 132; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996)). 12 Cf. the extensive survey in Frey, J., “Erwägungen zum Verhältnis der Johannesapokalypse zu den übrigen Schriften im Corpus Johanneum”, in Hengel, Frage, 326–429; and, as a more recent consideration of the relationship, Frey, “Corpus Johanneum”, 118–33.

236

Jörg Frey

result of a compilation of various traditions or of the fusion of various early Christian figures,13 and scholarship has to concede that, with regard to its contents, the composition of the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Epistles could have happened in any other urban center of the Eastern Mediterranean, in Antioch,14 in Alexandria,15 or elsewhere. In my view, however, the arguments adduced for those other centers are not strong enough to outweigh the early tradition that points to Asia Minor. But it is significant that interpreters usually point to an urban milieu, while a more rural one is only rarely suggested.16 From the data of the Johannine Epistles, we can at least conclude that there was a network of missionaries, preachers or community leaders linked to the influential personality of the “elder” who oversees the group of his disciples and authoritatively writes to them (3John) or to their communities (2John). Although there is no precise hint within the corpus as to where these different communities are located, the authority conflicts we find in 3John concerning the struggle with hosting the wandering messengers suggest an urban community context, with in some respect “Jewish” or at least “pure” houses (cf. 3John 7), in which the messengers of the “elder” could find accommodation and acceptable food, desiring to take nothing from pagans. Furthermore, the system of wandering messengers and interacting communities is best conceived of within a network of communities that are within or linked to an urban center. This is also supported by some elements of the ethical message of the Epistles. In particular, the description of the secessionists in 1John 2:16 who are attracted by “the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life” seems to point to a rather wealthy or even luxurious context, as the term B !kafome¸a toO b¸ou refers to pride and 13 See the discussion in Frey, “Corpus Johanneum”, 117 f. 14 A Syrian origin has often been suggested for John (see Schnelle, Einleitung, 555), thus in the more recent commentaries by Becker, J., Das Evangelium nach Johannes I (ÖTK 4/1–2; 2 vol.; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1991), 64; Theobald, M., Das Evangelium nach Johannes. Kapitel 1–12 (RNT; Regensburg: Pustet, 2009), 96 f. In Berger, K., Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums (Tübingen: Francke, 1994), 177–250, John is considered to represent Antiochene traditions. 15 Cf., e. g., Gunther, J.J., “The Alexandrian Gospel and Letters of John”, CBQ 41 (1979), 581–603; and, more recently, Frenschkowski, M., “T± baýa t_m voim¸jym (Joh 12,13) und andere Indizien für einen ägyptischen Ursprung des Johannesevangeliums”, ZNW 91 (2000), 212–29. 16 Thus, e. g., Reim, G., “Zur Lokalisierung der johanneischen Gemeinde”, BZ 32 (1988), 72–86 who wants to see the Johannine Community in the vicinity of Bethsaida and Cafarnaum. A rather rural milieu (albeit with smaller towns) was also in view in the suggestion by Klaus Wengst that John might have originated in the kingdom of Agrippa II., i. e., the Batanaea and Trachonitis. But that suggestion was primarily developed on the assumption that in that region and under the rule of Agrippa II, Jews might have had judicial power, possibly including death sentences, so that a situation mirrored in John 9 or 16:2 f could be imagined there. For a critique of this position, see Frey, J., “The Jews’ in the Gospel of John and the ‘Parting of the Ways’”, in Schlegel, J. (ed.), The Glory of the Crucified One (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2018), 39–72, on pp. 51–61.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

237

boasting in a luxurious lifestyle or wealth. Once again, this fits more naturally an urban society rather than a rural area. The addressees are warned against particular temptations of “loving the world” (1John 2:15) and boasting in a certain luxurious lifestyle, as was possibly practiced by the opponents, at least according to the view of the author. In contrast, the community of addressees is depicted as a group with a certain family ethos of mutual kinship; and support for one another was practiced in the midst of a world with a quite different social and religious orientation.17 In such a world, the community addressed seems to be in need of maintaining mutual solidarity and “love,” whereas the rejection of such solidarity by rejecting brethren in need is criticized as following a sinful lifestyle or loving the “world.” If the Gospel of John is composed and at least distributed in the same context as the Epistles, as is usually assumed, these observations about the community or communities behind the Epistles may also apply to the community or communities behind the Gospel, at least at the time of its composition and completion. It is open to discussion, however, how long the communities had already existed within that region – probably Asia Minor – when the Gospel was composed, or whether the community or at least a part of it arrived there from elsewhere, possibly from Syria or Jewish Palestine.18 In any case, some of the traditions behind the Gospels suggest that they were transmitted from a Palestinian origin to the present context in the Diaspora, either by oral or written transmission, or by the physical migration of one or several tradition-bearers from Jewish Palestine or Syria to Asia Minor. But since the Gospel as such does not include any direct hints to its place of composition, nor to the paths by which the traditions were handed down to the community or to the author, we can only try to draw conclusions from the material of the Johannine narrative from the way the narrative is designed. But this is a difficult task, because, as a literary text, the gospel narrative does not simply mirror the world of its composition. Therefore, any conclusions about the world or milieu “behind” the text can only be drawn with considerable caution.

17 On those ethical ideals in 1John, see Frey, J., “‘Ethical’ Traditions, Family Ethos, and Love in the Johannine Literature”, in Schlegel, J./Frey, J. (eds.), Die Herrlichkeit des Gekreuzigten (WUNT 307; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 767–802, on pp. 773–82. 18 Such suggestions were often made to combine the alleged Palestinian-Jewish or Syrian background of the Gospel with its early reception in Asia Minor. But the assumption of migrating communities provides more difficulties than the assumption that an author or tradition-bearer came from Jewish Palestine to Ephesus.

238

Jörg Frey

2. Countryside and Urban Center in the Johannine Narration How, then, are rural and urban milieus represented in the Johannine narrative? We can approach this with a variety of data. What can we conclude from the fact that the Johannine narrative omits the majority of the Synoptic materials on social life in rural Galilee, the images from agriculture, the tales about great land owners, day laborers, and poor widows, but includes more material from Jerusalem? There is, however, the narrative about a rural wedding (John 2:1–11), although the economic situation of the family seems to be rather well-off, as they have servants and a “table master” (!qwitq¸jkimor). It is important that John does not reproduce the narrated world of the Synoptic parables, but since the details mentioned are still elements of the narrated world, it is methodologically problematic to draw conclusions about the real world in which the Gospel was composed. From what evidence can we then proceed? First, various place names are mentioned in John,19 such as Bethany beyond the Jordan (John 1:28), probably somewhere in the South on the East side of the river Jordan,20 or Ainon near Salim (3:23) a place with lots of water (or springs) and difficult to identify but often located east of Shekhem, that is, in Samaria, or – with Eusebius and the earlier pilgrims tradition – somewhat South of Beth Shean at the northern border of Samaria to Galilee.21 Most notable is the double mention of the village Cana in Galilee (John 2:1.11 and 4:46; cf. 21:2), which is not mentioned in the Synoptics. Of the villages near the Sea of Galilee (which features in John with the otherwise unusual term “Sea of Tiberias”), Capernaum is notably unimportant (cf. only John 2:12), while Bethsaida is mentioned twice (John 1:44; 12:21) as home of Andrew, Peter and Philip, and Cana appears as home of Nathanael (John 21:2). John 4 provides a remarkable set of place names from Samaria, with Sychar,22 the well and the field of Jacob, and, of course, also Mt. Gerizim. 19 A list of place names for which the information in John goes beyond the Synoptics is compiled in Luther, S., Die Authentifizierung der Vergangenheit. Literarische Geschichtsdarstellung im Johannesevangelium (Habilitationsschrift Universität Mainz, 2018; to be published in WUNT), 78. 20 The textual problems in John 1:28 have caused a vast variety of identifications, cf. the discussion in Riesner, R., Bethanien jenseits des Jordan. Theologie und Topographie im Johannes-Evangelium (Gießen: Brunnen, 2002), 43–56 who ultimately suggests a location in the North, in the region of Batanaea. 21 Thus Zangenberg, J., Frühes Christentum in Samarien. Topographische und traditionsgeschichtliche Studien zu den Samarientexten im Johannesevangelium (TANZ 27; Tübingen: Francke, 1998), 60–7; cf. also Theobald, Evangelium, 282. 22 Hengel, M., “Das Johannesevangelium als Quelle für die Geschichte des antiken Judentums”, in Hengel, M., Judaica, Hellenistica et Christiana. Kleine Schriften 2 (WUNT 109; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 293–334. On p. 301 Hengel points to the fact that Sychar is mentioned here as the main village of the Samaritans for the first time in antiquity.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

239

Some of these Johannine place names are unmentioned or at least less prominent in the other gospels, so that scholars have suggested that they might draw on particular local traditions transmitted from local communities at these places.23 But without any further evidence, it is hard to ascertain such traditions behind the Fourth Gospel and even more difficult to speculate about local communities at Bethany beyond the Jordan, Ainon near Salim, or even Cana. If the names are not merely fictional parts of the story, we have to consider how these local names (and the traditions related to those places) could be transmitted to the Johannine community and, finally, the Gospel text. Scholars who still reckon with a “Signs Source” behind the Fourth Gospel24 usually assume that a number of elements referring to a Palestinian milieu were transmitted in such a source with Palestinian origins, so that some local traditions, e. g., about groups of followers of John the Baptist (Ainon near Salim? Bethany beyond the Jordan?) could have made their way into the Fourth Gospel from there.25 If such a source cannot be ascertained, the place names can be attributed to separate traditions of the Johannine community, or also to the evangelist’s knowledge of at least parts of Judaea and Jerusalem, perhaps not Galilee. In any case, there is much uncertainty about some of the Johannine place names, although they are most probably not fictional but part of the particular “historical” tradition behind the Fourth Gospel.26 The most remarkable observation is, however, the fact that John offers a relatively large number of precise place names from Jerusalem (and Judaea): the pools of Bethesda (John 5:2 f); the pool of Siloah (John 9:7); some areas in the Temple area such as the treasury (John 8:20) and the Portico of Solomon (John 10:23); the houses of Hannas and Caiaphas (John 18:13.24); the pqait¾qiom (John 18:28); Gabbatha (John 19:13); Golgotha close to the (city) wall (John 19:17.20); the Kidron valley with a garden (John 18:1) and Bethany near Jerusalem. The number of locations in Jerusalem does not only exceed the ones mentioned in the Synoptics, it also fits with the observation that Jerusalem is given much more narrative space in John due to Jesus’ repeated festival journeys: the three Passovers (John 2:13; 6:4; 11:55), Sukkot (John 7 f), Hanukkah called 1cja¸mia in Winter (John 10:22) and another, unspecified feast (John 5:1). Furthermore, there is the rather precise timetable within the week of Jesus’ last Passover and the rather plausible and accurate description 23 Thus, most prominently, Kundsin, K., Topologische Überlieferungsstoffe im Johannes-Evangelium (FRLANT 22; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1925). 24 Cf. recently Theobald, Evangelium, 32–42 and his commentary on John 2:1.12; 3:23 etc. where he considers the place names as part of an itinerary of the Semeia Source. But it still remains open how the place names became part of the allegedly coherent text of the source. 25 Cf. the relatively vague statement in Theobald, Evangelium, 282: “Der Trägerkreis der Zeichenquelle wusste darum”. 26 On those traditions see the still most important investigation by Dodd, C.H., Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963); on the problems of identifying historical traditions behind John see now Frey, Theology and History, 78–120.

240

Jörg Frey

of the situation in Jerusalem with Hannas as the grey eminence of the HighPriestly families, even at the time of the office of his son-in–law Caiaphas.27 Although the passage of Jesus’ trial before Pilate (John 18:28–19:16a) is probably an expansion of the short passage in Mark (Mark 15:1–5), renarrated with a clearly theological interest,28 the evangelist gives a historically plausible image about the business-like relationship between the Roman praefectus and the High-Priestly families, and even the threat against Pilate to be denounced by the Jewish authorities seems plausible, especially in light of the fact that a few years later, Pilate was actually removed from office by the emperor due to complaints by the Jewish authorities. The cumulative effect of these observations leads to the conclusion that the Fourth Gospel was not only more interested in Jerusalem, but that its author also had access to more precise information about places, festivals, customs, etc., while the Galilean countryside is much less represented in John than in the Synoptics. The reason for this may be the amount of traditions available to the Johannine community or, rather, the knowledge of the Johannine author. Based on such evidence and, furthermore, on the number of Aramaic terms transliterated or translated in John,29 Martin Hengel30 has suggested that the author of the Fourth Gospel was a Palestinian Jew who came to the Asian diaspora in the time of the Jewish war. According to Hengel, John was more connected to Jerusalem and the South than to the Galilean countryside where Jesus’ disciples (the Twelve, including the sons of Zebedee) were from. It may go too far to speculate further, as Hengel did, whether the author was still an eyewitness to the Jerusalem events. Here, Johannine scholarship is in danger of novelistic exaggeration. But the idea that the author had some (indirect or even direct) access to traditions and information from Jerusalem is quite plausible. In view of the Gospel text, however, these historical conclusions are not the first and foremost aspect. More relevant for the meaning to be conveyed is the symbolism linked to the geographical regions and possibly also to the contrast between countryside and city : While Jesus’ contemporaries in Galilee react more positively to his message, the Samaritans come to believe and – perhaps as a climax just before Jesus’ hour – the “Greeks” (John 12:20–22) approach Jesus to see him. In contrast to this, the Jerusalemites and in particular the Jerusalem authorities take a negative stance from the very beginning (John 2:18–22). They already send for an inquiry to John the Baptist (John 1:19), they ask for a sign of legitimation and fall into misunderstanding after Jesus’ 27 Cf. Hengel, “Johannesevangelium”, 322–34. 28 Cf. Frey, Theology and History, 191–6; cf. Frey, J., “Jesus und Pilatus. Der wahre König und der Repräsentant des Kaisers im Johannesevangelium”, in Van Belle, G./Verheyden, J. (eds.), Christ and the Emperor (BTS 20; Leuven: Peeters, 2014) 337–93. 29 Kefas (1:42), Mariam (20:16), Thomas-Didymus (11:16; 20:24; 21:2), Siloam (9:7), Gabbatha (19:13), and Golgotha (19:17), Messias (transliterated only in 1:41; 4:25), Rabbi and Rabbuni (20:16). 30 Hengel, Frage, 278–81; see also Frey, Theology and History, 105–7.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

241

action in the Temple (John 2:18–22), and from John 5 onwards, they try to kill Jesus. Thus, the geographical symbolism is also a symbolism between positive and negative reaction, belief and unbelief, with the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem being the center and origin of the opposition against Jesus. This opposition cannot be totally linked to geographical regions, since the Iouda?oi in Galilee also grumble about Jesus and react negatively to him (John 6:41.52). Nor is the contrast constructed by particular features of rural or urban life, as the Iouda?oi just reject or misunderstand Jesus’ claim that he is the bread from heaven (John 6:41) or that he is about to give them his flesh (6:52). The most crucial factor, instead, is the Jerusalemites’ function as religious authorities of contemporary Judaism, and that the negative reaction of the Iouda?oi against Jesus is focused on those authorities from the synedrium (John 11:46–54) or the High Priestly families who finally decide about Jesus’ death and try to persuade, or even press, Pilate to crucify him. The reason for their opposition to Jesus is precisely the negative reaction to his claims (which may mirror, in certain parts, the negative reaction of Jewish contemporaries to the christological claims of the early post-Easter or, in particular, the Johannine community). Thus, the most striking contrast in the Johannine text is caused by “religion,” not by aspects of the urban lifestyle, social status, or imperial power. But the methodological problem remains: To what extent – or how directly – can we draw conclusions from these narrative features about the world and milieu of the Johannine community and the composition of the gospel? A simple “mirror-reading,” as was practiced for some time in scholarship, has become impossible in light of the insight that the Johannine narration does not just mirror the world of its community of addressees, neither in its depiction of the Iouda?oi or of the disciples of the earthly Jesus, nor in the representation of social and economic circumstances.

3. The Intellectual Milieu Represented or Presupposed in the Fourth Gospel The most valuable conclusions can, in my view, be drawn from the intellectual milieu in which the Gospel of John addresses its readership. The observations to be made are not only about the author’s level of education or his ability to utilize various interpretive techniques, but also about his interaction with the readers and the knowledge he presupposed for a sufficient understanding of the gospel. For such an investigation, we can draw on the gospel in its transmitted form, although we have to include considerations about the traditions used or presupposed by the evangelist. The question is whether

242

Jörg Frey

such observations allow conclusions regarding a more urban milieu of the Johannine community. 3.1 Philosophical Terms and Education? The first aspect touches upon the “philosophical” language of the Gospel. Although John’s language is relatively simple in vocabulary and syntax, it has always been a point of discussion whether the usage of the term b kºcor at the beginning of John’s prologue (John 1:1 f) is a deliberate allusion to philosophical concepts, or at least an attempt to address circles with some kind of philosophical education.31 Of course, the usage of one term without any further discussion does not make a philosopher, but the difference between John’s beginning and the beginning of the other gospels (Mark 1:1, but also Luke 1:1–4) has always been noticed. Moreover, the link of the notion of the kºcor with the idea of the beginning (of the world) does not merely link the Johannine prologue to the tradition of Jewish creation thought (from the Septuagint to Philo)32, but also suggests links to various Greco-Roman concepts using the term kºcor, from Heracleitos to the Stoa.33 Of course, readers of the gospel from a Stoic or Platonic background might soon have noticed that the concept of creation and even more the notion of a kºcor incarnate strongly differs from their usual views of a – or the kºcor, and also that the following plot after John 1 is not a philosophical treatise, but a rather unpretentious narrative from a remote region in Jewish Palestine. The focus of 2nd century readers of the Gospel on the first five verses can show that the beginning of the prologue could engage readers from a higher educational level. The interpretations by Heracleon, Ptolemaios, and others demonstrate that the text in particular stimulated readers with a cosmological or philosophical interest, but they also show which problems especially Platonic readers faced when reading the prologue.34 Of course, we can infer 31 Thus already Adolf von Harnack in his famous essay “Über das Verhältniß des Prologs des vierten Evangeliums zum ganzen Werk”, ZThK 2 (1892), 189–231, suggesting that the prologue deliberately addressed philosophically educated readers, whereas the gospel narration is on a lower level. Theobald, M., Die Fleischwerdung des Logos. Studien zum Verhältnis des Johannesprologs zum Corpus des Evangeliums und zu 1 Joh (NTA 20; Münster: Aschendorff, 1988), 25, aptly phrased that, for this view, the prologue was merely a metaphysical lure (“ein metaphysischer Lockvogel”). 32 Cf. Endo, M., Creation and Christology. A Study on the Johannine Prologue in the Light of Early Jewish Creation Accounts (WUNT 2/149; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). 33 See the survey by Frey, J., “Between Torah and Stoa. How Could Readers Have Understood the Johannine Logos”, in Van der Watt, J.G./Culpepper, R.A./Schnelle, U. (eds.), The Prologue of the Gospel of John: Its Literary, Theological, and Philosophical Contexts. Papers read at the Colloquium Ioanneum 2013 (WUNT 359; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 189–234. 34 See on these interpretations Frey, J. “The Johannine Prologue and the References to the Creation of the World in its Second Century Receptions”, in Clivaz, C./Mimouni, S.C./Pouderon, B. (eds.),

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

243

that the situation of Christian interpreters after the middle of the second century differs from the milieu in which the gospel was composed. Interpreters locating John still in a strongly Jewish diaspora milieu often tend to distance the community or the gospel author from any influences from Greek philosophy. But this seems to assume an unnecessary contrast between diaspora Judaism and (at least some levels of) Greco-Roman education. From the urban milieu of Alexandrian Jews we know about a longer tradition of highly skilled philosophical education, and there is no reason to exclude that possibility for diaspora Jews and also Jewish Jesus-followers in any other urban context of the Eastern Mediterranean (e. g., in Ephesus and the wider area of Asia Minor). It would be odd, however, to merely focus on the term kºcor at the beginning of the Gospel. We can add a number of other key terms such as fy¶, v_r, !k¶heia (all used in the prologue), the discussion about freedom (John 8:31), the usage of friendship ethics (John 15:13), etc., which generally confirms the view that the gospel addresses a wider range of themes that could appeal to a more educated readership within the wider context of the GrecoRoman world. Any interpretation that narrows down Johns intellectual horizon to either merely the LXX or to a merely (Hellenistic) Jewish context without further interaction with the Greco-Roman world seems to be inappropriate. Such a context of education most probably points not to a rural community or lifestyle, but rather to a level of discussion and awareness of themes which can rather be assumed in an urban environment.

3.2 Knowledge of LXX and Christian Traditions While the philosophical parallels and the links to Greco-Roman materials can only give a rather unprecise imagination of the intellectual contexts possibly addressed or at least taken into consideration by the Fourth Gospel, the references and allusions to the Scriptures and to early Christian narrative traditions provide a safer impression of the knowledge John presupposes or draws upon. From the very beginning, the Fourth Gospel adopts scriptural elements, and with the allusion to Gen 1:1 LXX the prologue already shapes the readers’ expectation that the subsequent writing will be closely linked to the scriptures of Israel. Although the number of direct quotations in John is lower than, for example, Matthew, the web of echoes, allusions and references to scriptural Les juda"smes dans tous leurs 8tats aux Ier—IIIe siHcles (Les Jud8eens des synagogues, les chr8tiens et les rabbins). Actes du colloque de Lausanne 12–14 d8cembre 2012 (Juda"sme ancien et origines du christianisme 5; Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), 221–44.

244

Jörg Frey

motifs or figures in John is extremely dense.35 John only very briefly alludes to the story about Moses and the bronze serpent in the wilderness (John 3:14)36 and expects that the readers will know the story and grasp the analogy or even the theological image referring to the crucifixion. After the cleansing of the Temple, John quite briefly quotes from a psalm of lament (Ps 69:10), changing the aorist of the LXX text into future tense in order to use the quotation as a prophecy on Jesus’ own death.37 John even uses a tradition about Jacob’s ladder and the angels ascending and descending (John 1:51), with the expectation that the readers will notice the Beth-El reference and get the point about the Son of Man Jesus as “God’s house” on earth. He can presuppose a general knowledge of the patriarchal stories about Jacob and Joseph and even use rather rare quotations from Jewish Messianic discourses. Thus, at least for a part of the Gospel’s intended readers, John presupposes rather detailed scriptural knowledge, although other readers might also have understood the important aspects of his message without having in mind the respective scriptural passages. Readers will grasp the meaning of the idea of Jesus’ exaltation and glorification in his hour, even if they do not know the LXX text of Is 52:13 where these terms are used together in a “prophecy” about God’s Servant,38 so that John could easily adopt them and use them as core terms of his interpretation of Jesus’ death. But only with a better knowledge of those traditions and texts, the subtleties of the Fourth Gospel unfold to its readers. Thus, we should assume that the author, when composing his text, expected that at least some of his readers understood those subtleties and, therefore, had a rather detailed and clear knowledge of the scriptures, including some stories and passages otherwise rarely used in early Christian writings. Similar observations can be made with regard to the knowledge of the Jesus story. In the Gospel’s narrative, not everything of John’s Jesus story is considered to be new for the readers. Already the beginning of the story in John 1:19 introduces John the Baptist (who is never called “the Baptist” in John) not as an unknown figure, but as one whose baptizing activity (John 1:25) and wide influence on the people is supposed to be well-known. John’s rejection of all Messianic claims in 1:20–22 presupposes some awareness on 35 On this, see the still important article Hengel, M., “The Old Testament in the Fourth Gospel”, Horizons in Biblical Theology 1 (1990): 19–41. 36 On the background see Frey, J., “‘Wie Mose die Schlange in der Wüste erhöht hat…’ Zur frühjüdischen Deutung der ‘ehernen Schlange’ und ihrer christologischen Rezeption in Johannes 3,14 f.”, in Hengel, M./Löhr, H. (eds.), Schriftauslegung im antiken Judentum und im Urchristentum (WUNT 73; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 153–205. 37 See Frey, Theology and History, 162 and – more thoroughly – Frey, J., Die johanneische Eschatologie. Vol. 2: Das johanneische Zeitverständnis (WUNT 110; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 69–71. 38 Frey, J., “The Use of d|na in Paul and John as Shaped by the Septuagint”, in Bons, E./Brucker, R./ Joosten, J. (eds.), The Reception of Septuagint Words in Jewish-Hellenistic and Christian Literature (WUNT II 367; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 85–104, on pp. 101–3.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

245

the part of his readers that the Baptist was actually linked with the figure of the returning Elijah, and that some even considered that Jesus might be the Messiah (Luke 3:15). Ultimately, the scene of the Spirit descending like a dove (John 1:32 f) obviously presupposes a knowledge about the Synoptic episode in which the Spirit descended upon Jesus, i. e., at Jesus’ baptism, even though that episode is left unnarrated in John. In 1:40–42, Peter is also not introduced but presupposed as a well-known figure. Without going into further details here, it is clear that John assumes knowledge of the basic elements of the earlier Jesus story, most probably (but not exclusively) from the Gospel of Mark.39 I cannot discuss the issue of John’s sources here, but in my view, the most plausible solution is that John draws upon the earlier gospel tradition, most certainly Mark, possibly also Luke, supplemented by some other community traditions. But the reception of all of his sources, including the scriptures of Israel, is quite selective, thus strongly differing from Matthew’s or Luke’s use of Mark. There is also explicit critical interaction, e. g., with Mark’s Gethsemane story and its motifs of Jesus’ fear, drinking the cup, the prayer to be rescued, the “hour,” and the “coming of the deliverer”. The episode is not adopted in John’s passion narrative, but it is clearly alluded to in three different contexts (12:27 f; 14:30 f; 18:11) and rejected in substance: “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say – ‘Father, save me from this hour?’ No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name”. And later (18:11) “The cup which the Father has given me, shall I not drink it?” In John’s view, Jesus could not have really tried to escape the cup of his death, therefore the prayer as given in Mark is explicitly rejected. This is, in my view, the clearest example that John knows and draws on Mark. The idea that he even writes for readers of Mark or assumes a knowledge of Mark’s gospel and its chronology among his readers is confirmed in John 3:24, when he defends his tradition of Jesus baptizing and acting simultaneously with John by an explicit narrative aside that “John had not been imprisoned yet”. Here John explicitly interacts with the chronological pattern of Mark and explains his different view of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry based on his own tradition. John seems also to presuppose that the language of the earthly Jesus was focused on the “kingdom of God,” although this is not a predominant term in John. Rather, John 3 presents a transposition from the traditional core term, used in the sayings in John 3:3 and 3:5, to the typically Johannine core term, “eternal life,” introduced in an analogous structure in John 3:15 f and then repeated in John 3:35 f. The consequence is that John knows about the difference between the theological language of Jesus as presented in his narrative and the language of Jesus in the earlier gospel tradition. 39 On John’s dependence on Mark see Frey, Theology and History, 64–78, see also Bauckham, R.J., “John for Readers of Mark”, in Bauckham, R.J., The Gospels for All Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 147–71.

246

Jörg Frey

3.3 The Bewildering Liberty in John’s Usage of Traditions In view of these considerations about John’s knowledge of sources and traditions, it is most bewildering that the evangelist uses the traditions available to him with such an enormous selectivity and liberty that even includes the possibility of deliberately changing the traditional sequence of events.40 John alters the plot of the traditional Jesus story. For example, he relocates a number of elements from the passion narrative and inserts it within the public ministry of Jesus, most significantly the cleansing of the Temple and the Temple-logion in John 2, as well as the death sentence of the synhedrium under Caiaphas in John 11.41 John renarrates all the elements he adopts from earlier tradition and thus reshapes, e. g., the image of John the Baptist (John 1:19–34) and the procedure of the calling of the first disciples (John 1:35–51), both of which were known quite differently from the Synoptics. He also completely reshapes community tradition as can be assumed, perhaps, behind the episode of the wedding at Cana (John 2:1–11). All the miracle stories, regardless of where the evangelist took them from, are deliberately designed in a manner that links them with the whole of the Jesus story, with the events in his “hour,” and thus with the salvific effect of his whole ministry.42 The reshaping of those traditions not only forces the readers to read them as exemplary representations of Jesus’ whole ministry, but also remodels the traditional narratives by exaggerating and interpreting the “historical” tradition. At some points, John might even fictionally reimagine the Jesus story by crafting new narrations with a strongly symbolical reference.43 The most telling example is the footwashing episode which, in John, replaces the institution of the Eucharist. In John, footwashing proleptically symbolizes Jesus’ love for his followers in his passion and death (John 13:1), the love for his friends (John 15:13), and presents his disciples with an example to follow. It is no coincidence that the “new commandment” (John 13:34 f) is presented in this context where the tradition (at least in Paul and Luke) was aware of a ritual inaugurating the “new covenant.” The question, however, is: How does the author legitimize his enormous liberty with regard to history or his traditions? How does he explain the fact

40 See Frey, Theology and History, 141. 41 Frey, Theology and History, 128; see also Zumstein, J., Das Johannesevangelium (KEK 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 661. 42 See the survey in Frey, J., “From the Se¯meia Narratives to the Gospel as a Significant Narrative. On Genre-Bending in the Johannine Miracle Stories”, Larsen, K.B. (ed.), The Fourth Gospel as Genre Mosaic (Studia Aarhusia Neotestamentica 3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), 209–15. 43 See Frey, Theology and History, 138–141.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

247

that he so strongly departs from Mark’s story, changing not only the image of Jesus in general but also his language, core terms, and message? John obviously refers to the post-Easter remembrance of the disciples (John 2:22; 12:16) and to the post-Easter teaching of remembering the Spirit (John 14:26; 16:13–15) that led to a new understanding of the Scriptures and the Jesus story, his words, deeds, and fate.44 But actually, this changed “memory” of Jesus is a bold alteration of the earlier Jesus tradition. The evangelist must have been aware of the fact that he does not merely tell things “as they were”, nor simply stick to the “historical tradition” available to him. He deliberately renarrates, replots, and even in some parts fictionally reimagines the traditional Jesus story. And he claims that he has the right to do so with the authority of the Spirit, who is the real author of John’s retrospective memory of the Jesus story. Compared with the Synoptics, this is “a major shift in perspective.”45 However, John is still concerned with linking his story to the way of the earthly Jesus (John 16:14 f), unlike some other later works in which the relevance of the earthly Jesus is questioned or even abandoned.46 The open question is which intellectual milieu could stimulate and finally accept such a freedom in dealing with the traditions, such an interpretive activity. Was there a concept of legitimate fictionality somewhere in the early Christian tradition? Comparisons have been made with the interpretive activities of other authors from Philo to Clement of Alexandria, with none of them precisely matching the interpretive techniques and interests that can be found in the Fourth Gospel. But it is true that the intellectual milieu and the interpretive subtleties of this gospel are not far from the level of these authors. If we cannot locate John and the Johannine communities or school in Alexandria or its intellectual world, it strongly points to another, most probably urban, educated milieu somewhere else in the Eastern Mediterranean. This is the best possible confirmation of its traditional location in Ephesus.

4. Some Speculative Afterthoughts Let me just conclude with a frankly speculative imagination: I am always struck when walking through Ancient Ephesus with its magnificent remains. Archaeology can impressively show how strongly ancient humans, in particular urban people, were exposed to the daily sight of statues, temples, mythological paintings, etc. that shaped their world. Here, the challenge for 44 See Frey, Theology and History, 146–54. 45 Thus Dunn, J.D.G., “Let John be John! A Gospel for Its Time”, in Stuhlmacher, P. (ed.), Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 309–39, on p. 334. 46 This kind of uniqueness of John is highlighted in Dunn, “John”, 338–9.

248

Jörg Frey

early Christians (and also for their Jewish contemporaries) to maintain their inherited identity is obvious. Wouldn’t it be fascinating to imagine a smaller circle of well-educated early Jesus followers sitting in one of those Ephesian living complexes, though not necessarily the most luxurious ones of the terrace houses? This is mere speculation, indeed, but the imagination of these material remains can illustrate the world the Johannine group encountered, partly by rejection, but partly also by education and participation, and that might have brought about the type of interpretation, the depth of metaphorical connections, and the degree of liberty with regard to historical traditions that we can find when reading the Fourth Gospel.

Bibliography Bauckham, R.J., “John for Readers of Mark”, in Bauckham, R.J. (ed.), The Gospels for All Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 147–71. Becker, J., Das Evangelium nach Johannes (2 vol., ÖTK 4/1–2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1991). Berger, K., Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums (Tübingen: Francke, 1994). Dodd, C.H., Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963). Dunn, J.D.G., “Let John be John! A Gospel for Its Time”, in Stuhlmacher, P. (ed.), Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 309–39. Dunn, J.D.G., The Partings of the Ways. Between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity (London: SCM Press, 1991). Endo, M., Creation and Christology. A Study on the Johannine Prologue in the Light of Early Jewish Creation Accounts (WUNT II 149; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). Frenschkowski, M., “T± baýa t_m voim¸jym (Joh 12,13) und andere Indizien für einen ägyptischen Ursprung des Johannesevangeliums”, ZNW 91 (2000), 212–29. Frey, J., “Between Torah and Stoa. How Could Readers Have Understood the Johannine Logos”, in Van der Watt, J.G./Culpepper, R.A./Schnelle, U. (eds.), The Prologue of the Gospel of John: Its Literary, Theological, and Philosophical Contexts. Papers Read at the Colloquium Ioanneum 2013 (WUNT 359; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 189–234. Frey, J., “Das Corpus Johanneum und die Apokalypse des Johannes. Die Johanneslegende, die Probleme der johanneischen Verfasserschaft und die Frage der Pseudonymität der Apokalypse”, in Alkier, S./Hieke, T./Nicklas, T. (eds.), Poetik und Intertextualität der Johannesapokalypse (WUNT 346; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 71–134. Frey, J., “Erwägungen zum Verhältnis der Johannesapokalypse zu den übrigen Schriften im Corpus Johanneum”, in Hengel, M. (ed.), Die johanneische Frage. Ein Lösungsversuch, mit einem Beitrag von Jörg Frey (WUNT 67; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 326–429.

Urbanity in the Gospel of John?

249

Frey, J., “‘Ethical’ Traditions, Family Ethos, and Love in the Johannine Literature”, in Schlegel, J./Frey, J. (eds.), Die Herrlichkeit des Gekreuzigten (WUNT 307; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 767–802. Frey, J., “From the Se¯meia Narratives to the Gospel as a Significant Narrative. On Genre-Bending in the Johannine Miracle Stories”, Larsen, K.B. (ed.), The Fourth Gospel as Genre Mosaic (Studia Aarhusia Neotestamentica 3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015, 209–15. Frey, J., “Jesus und Pilatus. Der wahre König und der Repräsentant des Kaisers im Johannesevangelium”, in Van Belle, G./Verheyden, J. (eds.), Christ and the Emperor (BTS 20; Leuven: Peeters, 2014), 337–93. Frey, J., “The Jews’ in the Gospel of John and the ‘Parting of the Ways’”, in Schlegel, J. (ed.), The Glory of the Crucified One (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2018), 39–72. Frey, J., Die johanneische Eschatologie. Vol. 2: Das johanneische Zeitverständnis (WUNT 110; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998). Frey, J., “The Johannine Prologue and the References to the Creation of the World in its Second Century Receptions”, in Clivaz, C./Mimouni, S.C./Pouderon, B. (eds.), Les juda"smes dans tous leurs 8tats aux Ier—IIIe siHcles (Les Jud8eens des synagogues, les chr8tiens et les rabbins). Actes du colloque de Lausanne 12–14 d8cembre 2012 (Juda"sme ancien et origines du christianisme 5; Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), 221–44. Frey, J., Theology and History in the Fourth Gospel (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2018). Frey, J., “Towards Reconfiguring Our Views on the ‘Parting of the Ways’. Ephesus as a Test Case”, in Culpepper, R.A./Anderson., P.N. (eds.), John and Judaism. A Contested Relationship in Context (RBS 87; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2017), 221–41. Frey, J., “The Use of d|na in Paul and John as Shaped by the Septuagint”, in Bons, E./ Brucker, R./Joosten, J. (eds.), The Reception of Septuagint Words in JewishHellenistic and Christian Literature (WUNT II/367; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 85–104. Frey, J., “‘Wie Mose die Schlange in der Wüste erhöht hat…’ Zur frühjüdischen Deutung der ‘ehernen Schlange’ und ihrer christologischen Rezeption in Johannes 3,14 f.”, in Hengel, M./Löhr, H. (eds.), Schriftauslegung im antiken Judentum und im Urchristentum (WUNT 73; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 153–205. Gunther, J.J., “The Alexandrian Gospel and Letters of John”, CBQ 41 (1979), 581–603. Hemer, C.J., The Letters to the Seven Churches of Asia in their Local Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001). Hengel, M., “Early Christianity as a Jewish-Messianic, Universalistic Movement”, in Hagner, D.A. (ed.), Conflicts and Challenges in Early Christianity (Harrisburg: Trinity Press, 1999), 1–41. Hengel, M., Die johanneische Frage. Ein Lösungsversuch, mit einem Beitrag von Jörg Frey (WUNT 67; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993).

250

Jörg Frey

Hengel, M., “Das Johannesevangelium als Quelle für die Geschichte des antiken Judentums”, in Hengel, M., Judaica, Hellenistica et Christiana. Kleine Schriften 2 (WUNT 109; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 293–334. Hengel, M., “The Old Testament in the Fourth Gospel”, Horizons in Biblical Theology 1 (1990), 19–41. Koester, C.R., Revelation (Anchor Yale Bible; New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2014). Kundsin, K., Topologische Überlieferungsstoffe im Johannes-Evangelium (FRLANT 22; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1925). Kraybill, J.N., Imperial Cult and Commerce in John’s Apocalypse (JSNT.Sup. 132; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996). Luther, S., Die Authentifizierung der Vergangenheit. Literarische Geschichtsdarstellung im Johannesevangelium (Habilitationsschrift Universität Mainz, 2018; to be published in WUNT). Mutschler, B., “Was weiß Irenäus vom Johannesevangelium? Der historische Kontext des Johannesevangeliums aus der Perspektive seiner Rezeption bei Irenäus von Lyon”, in Frey, J./Schnelle, U. (eds.), Kontexte des Johannesevangeliums (WUNT 175; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 695–742. Reed, A.Y./Becker, A.H. (eds.), The Ways That Never Parted. Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (TSAJ 95; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). Reim, G. “Zur Lokalisierung der johanneischen Gemeinde”, BZ 32 (1988) ,72–86. Riesner, R., Bethanien jenseits des Jordan. Theologie und Topographie im JohannesEvangelium (BAZ 12; Gießen: Brunnen, 2002). Schliesser, B., “Vom Jordan an den Tiber. Wie die Jesusbewegung in den Städten des Römischen Reichs ankam”, to be published in ZThK 2019. Schnelle, U., Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 9 2017). Theobald, M., Das Evangelium nach Johannes. Kapitel 1–12 (RNT; Regensburg: Pustet, 2009). Theobald, M., Die Fleischwerdung des Logos. Studien zum Verhältnis des Johannesprologs zum Corpus des Evangeliums und zu 1 Joh (NTA 20; Münster : Aschendorff, 1988). Von Harnack, A., “Über das Verhältniß des Prologs des vierten Evangeliums zum ganzen Werk”, ZThK 2 (1892), 189–231. Zangenberg, J., Frühes Christentum in Samarien. Topographische und traditionsgeschichtliche Studien zu den Samarientexten im Johannesevangelium (TANZ 27; Tübingen: Francke, 1998). Zumstein, J., Das Johannesevangelium (KEK 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016).

Tobias Nicklas1 in collaboration with Luigi Walt

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity? Revelation and the Ascension of Isaiah

If we follow the apostles’ journeys in the canonical book of Acts (but also in later, extra-canonical apostolic narratives), or ask to which places Paul or Ignatius of Antioch addressed their epistles, we get the impression that first and probably even second century “Christianity” was mainly an urban movement.2 The first communities of Christ-followers seem to have started as small groups, sometimes in, as, or close to local synagogues. They often met in the houses of some of their members, and sometimes organized themselves like one of the many associations in Greco-Roman cities.3 While we know of multiple ascetic movements in the fourth and later centuries – i. e., people who in many cases4 left the big cities laden with their alleged dangers and started an alternative life according to their interpretation of the Gospels5 – there is hardly any evidence of first or second century “Christians” doing the same.6 1 Tobias Nicklas is research associate at the University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. I am grateful to Rebecca Draughon, University of Virginia, who corrected my English. Luigi Walt is Research Fellow at the University of Regensburg. 2 But see now the very recent contribution by Robinson, T.A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). 3 I regard early Christianity as a “middle-class” movement (if this term is allowed), which was concerned with the poor, but was not mainly constituted by poor people. For important evidence for this idea (which can also explain much of early Christian literary production and its way of argument) see, for example, the monograph by Weiß, A., Soziale Elite und Christentum. Studien zu den Ordo-Angehörigen unter den frühen Christen (Millennium Studies 52; Berlin – Boston: Walter de Gruyter, 2015). 4 Besides the ascetics who went to the desert, there is also evidence for groups living an ascetic life within bigger cities. See Tamas, H., “Ascetics on the Streets: Urban Ascetic Practices and Literary Reactions in the Western Half of the Roman Empire (ca 350–450 CE)” (unpublished paper, University of Regensburg 25/11/2015). 5 For the impact of biblical exegesis within late antique ascetic movements see the collection of articles in Weidemann, H.-U. (ed.), Asceticism and Exegesis in Early Christianity. The Reception of New Testament Texts in Ancient Ascetic Discourses (NTOA 101; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). 6 I want to exclude the texts which are often assigned to Q as evidence, because (a) it is not absolutely clear whether Q ever existed in the forms we try to reconstruct it, (b) even the relevant passages in Matthew and Luke offer only indirect witness in post-Jesus early Christian community life, and (c) the usual interpretation of the Q-movement as a group of “wandering radicals”, in the terms of Theißen, G., “Wanderradikalismus: Literatursoziologische Aspekte der Überlieferung von Worten Jesu im Urchristentum,” in ZThK 70 (1973), 245–71; but see also Tiwald, M., Wanderradikalismus: Jesu erste Jünger – und was davon bleibt (ÖBS 20; Frankfurt am

252

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

Early Christianity did not develop anything like a “theory” of the city and its life. All of this does not make my task an easy one. Even if they hardly show clear “anti-urbanism,” I will, nevertheless, concentrate on texts which betray a certain distance to aspects of life in an ancient city.7 But even in these cases, we must deal with a final problem. It is not always easy to decide whether a certain text is (a) actually concerned with life in a big city per se, (b) whether it polemicizes against a special city, or (c) mainly against certain aspects of life that are usually found in bigger cities. While I think that there are no early Christian examples of (a), and perhaps even (b), we find at least some examples of (c). In order to locate early Christians’ anxiety about urban life, we could probably discuss a few Gospel passages that describe Jesus withdrawing to a deserted place for prayer (cf. Mark 1:35 par. Luke 4:42), and consider to what extent the New Testament develops the model of a Jesus who withdraws here and there from the crowds to live in his intimate relation to God. Yet even more specific anti-urban sentiments have been detected in the Gospel of Thomas. William Arnal, for instance, has interpreted GThom 63–5 (for the “urbanization” of the villains) and 78 (where the “desert” of Q/Luke 7:24 becomes “countryside,” and where we find no reference to John the Baptist) as evidence that “even more explicitly than in Q, [scil. in the GThom] the city is singled out for trenchant criticism.”8 GThom would thus reveal a “highly critical stance toward ordinary social conventions and political structures, a critique of wealth, an inversion of normal values, and a rejection or critique of urbanbased religious institutions.”9 Additional evidence could be found in the Gospel of Mark.10 First, the Marcan Jesus seems to carefully avoid entering Hellenized centers such as Sepphoris and Tiberias. Moreover, when bigger centers are mentioned, Jesus never enters the urban area, but rather remains in the surroundings, as we can see, for example, in Mark 7:24 (eQr t± fqia T¼qou [or lehºqia T¼qou ja· Sid_mor]), and in 8:27 (eQr t±r j¾lar Jaisaqe¸ar t/r Vik¸ppou).11 Second, it is perhaps no accident that Jesus decides to perform some miracles outside urban centers (cf. Mark 5:1–20, the exorcism of the Gerasene demoniac; Mark 8:23, where Bethsaida is called a “village” despite

7 8 9 10 11

Main et al.: Peter Lang, 2002) who has recently been challenged by Bazzana, G., Kingdom of Bureaucracy : The Political Theology of the Village Scribes in the Sayings Gospel Q (BETL 274; Leuven et al.: Peeters, 2015). I use the attribute “ancient” here to make clear how much we have to distinguish between modern ideas of the “city” (and possible “anti-urban” theories) and what we can know about life in an ancient city. See Arnal, W., “The Rhetoric of Marginality : Apocalypticism, Gnosticism, and Sayings Gospels”, in HTR 88 (1995): 471–94, esp. 489. Ibid., 492. For the following points see the evidence in Rescio, M., La famiglia alternativa di GesF: Discepolato e strategie di trasformazione sociale nel Vangelo di Marco (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2012), 193–211. Ibid., 203–4.

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

253

having recently acquired the status of a civitas, or Mark 10:46, the healing of blind Bartimaeus).12 Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Mark’s Jesus seems to limit his contact with Jerusalem to the area of the Temple.13 We could also introduce the role of John the Baptist in later ascetics’ desire to move to the desert,14 and, perhaps, it would even make sense to ask which of the problems Paul faced in Corinth, for example, have to do with the fact that the community he addressed was part of a big city.15 However, the description of Jesus and John the Baptist in the desert can only vaguely be connected to our question, and, as far as I see, Paul himself never addresses the fact that his communities are situated in big cities as a major problem. Another candidate for anti-urban stances are (so-called) Jewish Christian groups like the Ebionite movement, which (probably because of halakhic reasons) concentrated in smaller places in the East Jordan area (see Eusebius, h.e. I 7:14; Eusebius, onomast. 14:15).16 But, as it is, our sources regarding the Ebionites (and comparable groups) are simply too scarce to allow any reasoned conclusion regarding their overall stance towards cities.17 For the present purpose, we will, however, concentrate on two major texts which offer interesting material, but, as far as we are aware, have not been studied under this aspect: the Book of Revelation and the Ascension of Isaiah.

1. “Come out of her, my people!” (Rev 18:4b) – The Great Whore of Babylon and the People of God Revelation 17 and 18 present a diptych of two highly aggressive texts, that is, two visions about Babylon, the Great Harlot (Rev 17), and its fall and complete 12 Ibid., 197, 203, and 207. 13 Ibid., 208–9. 14 But see already the article by Meiser, M., “Johannes der Täufer als Asket,” in Weidemann, H.-U. (ed.), Asceticism and Exegesis in Early Christianity. The Reception of New Testament Texts in Ancient Ascetic Discourses (NTOA 101; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck § Ruprecht, 2013), 78–91. 15 The problems of food sacrificed to idols would certainly be a good fit. 16 For a first overview plus a presentation of the fragments of the Gospel of the Ebionites see Frey, J., “Die Fragmente des Ebionäerevangeliums,” in Markschies, C./Schröter, J. (eds.), Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung I: Evangelien und Verwandtes (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 607–21. I also checked other so-called “Jewish Christian” sources (including the Pseudo-Clementines), but did not find evidence hard enough to discuss it in the present context. 17 For late antiquity it would also make sense to analyze the possible anti-urban stance of the socalled Circumcellions, a violent group connected to the Donatist movement. See, for example, the monograph by Cacitti, R., Furiosa turba: I fondamenti religiosi dell’eversione sociale, della dissidenza politica e della contestazione ecclesiale dei Circoncellioni d’Africa (Milano: Edizioni Biblioteca Francescana, 2006), and (shorter) Gaddis, M., There is No Crime for Those Who Have Christ: Religious Violence in the Christian Roman Empire (Transformations of the Classical Heritage; Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2005), 103–130.

254

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

destruction (Rev 18). While the Seer is situated in a desert place (Rev 17:3), he sees the Harlot riding on a beast (17:3) whose seven heads are later interpreted as “seven mountains” (17:9). The Great Harlot, whose name is revealed as “Babylon the Great” (17:5), must be seen as a representation of Rome which, according to Rev 18, will fall and be completely destroyed. Is this a sign of Revelation’s anti-urban stance? One could add other passages: Revelation 12:6 describes the heavenly woman (who represents the people of God)18 as fleeing into the security of the desert (see also 12:14), while the satanic dragon is thrown from heaven to earth where he exerts his power for a limited period (12:12). Perhaps we can even mention the seven letters to the seven communities. After all, these texts speak to followers of Christ and their struggles in different cities of Asia Minor. Many of the problems addressed in Revelation have to do with the fact that these people live in cities where Satan dwells (2:13), and where the devil throws people into prison (Rev 2:10).19 At the same time, one finds false apostles (Rev 2:2) and teachers (see, for example, Rev 2:6 and the “Nicolaitans”20), pagan temples (see, for example, Rev 2:13 referring to the “throne of Satan”21), “synagogues of Satan” (2:9 and 3:922), etc. In other words, the communities addressed live in places where evil powers are at work. But, does all this imply that this is not the case in rural areas? Does the text locate the main problem in the fact that these communities live in cities? I do not see any evidence which could justify a clear “yes.” Furthermore, if we ask if Rev 12 implies that the desert is the place where the people of God should be, I also think the answer is “no.” Rev 12:6 and 14 do not seem to refer one-to-one to historical realities (like the Jerusalem community’s flight to Pella);23 rather, as a kind of myth,24 it 18 For this interpretation see also Giesen, H. Die Offenbarung des Johannes (RNT; Regensburg: Pustet, 1997), 276–7; for an overview of different options see Satake, A., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (KEK 16, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 281–82. 19 I do not think that we should too quickly and too concretely “translate” this language as, for example, Satake, Offenbarung, 161, does when he writes: “Derjenige, der die Smyrnäer ins Gefängnis wirft, ist ‘der Teufel’. Wahrscheinlich ist damit die Ortsbehörde gemeint.” 20 For the question what we can really know about this group see Sommer, M., “Die Nikolaiten und die Gegnerfiktion in der Offenbarung des Johannes – eine Annäherung an einige hermeneutische Probleme der Apokalypselektüre,” in Verheyden, J./ Nicklas, T. et al. (eds.), Shadowy Characters and Fragmentary Evidence: The Search for Early Christian Groups and Movements (WUNT 388; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 49–68. 21 The identification of this place is not entirely clear. 22 It is not clear whether these passages refer to (members of) local synagogues who persecuted, denunciated, or defamed Christ followers, or to so called “Judaizers,” that is, non-Jews who lived like Jews. The whole problem becomes even more problematic if we call to attention that a similar expression can be found in 1QHa 10:22 (“congregation of Beliar”) within a context of inner-Jewish polemic. For a discussion see, for example, Frankfurter, D., “Jews or Not? Reconstructing the ‘Other’ in Rev 2:9 and 3:9,” in HTR 94 (2001): 403–425. 23 For such an interpretation see, for example, the classical commentary be Kraft, H., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (HNT 16a; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1974), 170. 24 I use the term “myth” here in a broad sense. While I regard Revelation (and mainly Rev 12) as a

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

255

describes the desert as a shelter for the woman, but a shelter that is only needed in a special situation and for a limited time. Before we come back to Revelation 17 and 18, we should look into Rev 16:17–21, the passage about the seventh bowl of the wrath of God. This text first describes a grandiose epiphany, including lightning, voices, thunder and an immense earthquake (16:18). Its results make it clear that this is already a description of God’s judgment.25 While vv. 20 f tell about the end of islands and mountains, and speak of a huge hailstorm, v. 19 is important for our question: Ja· 1c´meto B p|kir B lec\kg eQr tq_a l´qg ja· aR p|keir t_m 1hm_m 5pesam. Ja· Babuk½m B lec\kg 1lm^shg 1m¾piom toO heoO doOmai aqt0 t¹ pot¶qiom toO oUmou toO huloO t/r aqc/r aqtoO. And it happened, the great city (was split) into three parts; and the cities of the nations came to fall. And Babylon, the great city was remembered before God to give her the bowl of the wine of wrath of his rage.

This passage creates a link to 14:8 (within 14:6–13, the announcement of the final judgment).26 After a first angel announced the hour of God’s judgment (14:7), a second one speaks: 5pesem 5pesem Babuk½m B lec²kg B 1j toO oUmou toO huloO t/r poqme¸ar aqt/r pepºtijem p²mta t± 5hmg. Fallen, fallen is Babylon, the great, out of the wine of wrath of her fornication all nations drink.

The principle of this judgment seems clear. Babylon, who has made the nations drink the “wine of wrath of her fornication,” will have to drink “the wine of wrath of God’s rage.”27 This rage, however, does not have to do with the fact that Babylon is a big city, but with her poqme¸a. text full of mythological elements, I do not go so far as, for example, the classical commentary of Lohmeyer, E., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (HNT 16; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 31970) who downplays the text’s historical allusions too far. 25 Prigent, P., Commentary on the Apocalypse of St. John (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), on p. 275 interprets the word c´comem in the following manner: “[T]he wrath of God comes to completion in these seven last plagues. It is therefore not the last word of God concerning the world: history has not reached its term, but the judgment of God has entered into action.” 26 One could, of course, also link the passage to Rev 11:9 where we read about Jerusalem as the “great city”; even though I agree that earthly Jerusalem is certainly not understood as an ideal city, I prefer the connection with the “pagan” Babylon here. 27 Similar imagery appears in 6 Ezra too. The author curses “Asia” for making herself “consort in the beauty of Babylon” (consors in specie Babylonis), having adorned her daughters in fornication (ornasti filas tua in fornicatione) and having imitated “that hateful one in all her deeds and ruses” (odibilem imitata es in omnibus operibus eius et adinventionibus eius) (6 Ezra 15:46–48). One important difference with Revelation, however, lies in the fact that 6 Ezra has no positive counterpart to “Babylon” (we don’t have women clothed with sun, nor a heavenly

256

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

Interestingly, the main motifs of both passages are taken over in Rev 17–18. One could thus understand Rev 17:1–19:10 as a “narrative” illustration of both 14:8 and 16:19.28 Rev 17:2 f makes clear that the text is mainly focused on Babylon’s poqme¸a: Babylon is called a poqm¶ (17:1), with whom the “kings of the earth” “committed fornication” (1pºqmeusam), while the inhabitants of the earth “got drunk of the wine of her fornication” (both 17:2). This is not the only passage of chapters 17 f (plus the first verses of 19) that use words with the root porn-. The verb poqme¼y occurs in 18:3 and 9; the noun poqm¶ in 17:5.15 f and 19:2, while 17:4; 18:3 and 19:4 use the term poqme¸a. The text, however, is not interested in sexual misbehavior literally ; all this is actually the Seer’s (aggressive and vilifying) way to denote what he understands as a wrong type of “relation” or “association.” Revelation as a whole understands humanity as divided into two groups.29 On the one hand, there is the group of Christfollowers who, among others, can be called “witnesses” (2:13; 17:6), “holy ones” (8:3 f; 11:18; 13:7 et al.), “servants” (1:1; 2:20; 7:3 et al.), etc., and who are described via their relation to both God and Jesus Christ. On the other hand, there are the “inhabitants of the earth” (3:10; 6:10; 8:13 et al.) ruled by the kings of the earth (6:15; 15:3; 16:14 et al.) who pray to the wrong Gods (9:20), and are under the influence of the Satanic Dragon and the beasts associated with him (Rev 13). It is this kind of wrong relation, which leads to suffering and death for the holy ones (see, for example, 17:6!), that is associated with the term poqme¸a. The fact that the “Whore of Babylon” primarily stands for a wrong relation to God, or even more, the hubris of a figure that puts itself against God or even wants to be honored as God, is illustrated by different images. For example, according to Rev 17:3, the woman “sits” on a scarlet beast, just as God is several times presented as the one who “sits” (4:2 f.9 f et al.). In her hand she holds a golden cup “full of abominations and the filthiness of her fornication” (17:4); a bit later we read that she gets “drunk from the blood of the holy ones and of the witnesses of Jesus” (17:6). The clearest sign of the woman’s association with powers inimical to God is the description of the scarlet animal she rides. This beast is full with names of blasphemy (amºlata bkasvgl¸ar) and has seven heads with ten horns (both Rev 17:3), relating it closely to the beast from the sea that has ten horns and seven heads (13:1). When the interpreting angel reveals this animal’s mystery, we read: “The beast which you saw was, but is no more; and it will ascend from the abyss …” (17:8). Jerusalem), although later, at vv. 16:49 f, we find an interesting contrast between iustitia and iniquitas, where the former is compared to a good wife and the latter to a prostitute. 28 For a parallel view see Giesen, Offenbarung, 367: “Das Gerichtsurteil über Babylon/Rom, das Zentrum der Gottlosigkeit, ist nach 16,19 (vgl. 14,8) schon gesprochen. Die Vollstreckung des Urteils ist dem Seher jedoch so wichtig, daß er es in Offb 17,1–19,10 breit entfaltet.” 29 For a detailed discussion of Revelation’s anthropology see Nicklas, T., “Freiheit oder Prädestination? Gedanken zum Menschenbild der Johannesapokalypse,” in Collins, A.Y. (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation (BETL 291; Leuven: Peeters, 2017), 105–30.

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

257

While commentaries often discuss to which historical figure (like a Nero Redivivus or Rediturus) is here alluded,30 the sentence is also clearly playing with the attribute of God according to Rev 1:4.8 and 4:8: God is b £m ja· b Gm ja· b 2qwºlemor, while the beast Gm ja· oqj 5stim ja· l´kkei !maba?meim. The beast thus exists—paradoxically—in a kind of anti-Godly non-existence.31 The passages that follow seem to relate aspects of the beast and the woman with the Roman Empire and a series of its rulers. The city of Rome is in conflict with the Lamb and its followers, but will lose (17:14). In fact, only Rev 17:18 discloses her identity as “the big city which has the rule over the kings of the earth.” Does this reveal Revelation’s anti-urban sentiments? As far as I can see, all these polemics are not first and foremost related to Babylon’s identity as a city or even as a big city, but target its alleged relation with satanic powers. But perhaps the text offers at least some indirect help. Revelation 18 gives a few examples of what the Seer associates concretely with Babylon’s poqme¸a. The big city is destroyed because of its sins (Rev 18:4 f), and at least from the perspective of Rev 18, one of these sins seems to be associated with unjust forms of trade and the resulting exuberant luxury. Rev 18:3, for example, accuses the “merchants of the earth who became rich on the strength of her luxury”; Rev 18:7 prophesies torment and grief instead of “glory and luxury”; Rev 18:11–4, finally, describes the lament of merchants who do not find customers for their items of luxury (including slaves) any more.32 All in all, Rev 18 gives the impression of being written from an outsider’s perspective, that is, from the perspective of a prophetic figure who looks at the great city but is not part of it, hatefully watching its trade, luxury, and economic success, and prophesying a cruel end to it all. Actually, the text even enacts such a perspective, both in 17:3, according to which the Seer watches the events from a desert place, and in 1:9, according to which John is “on the island of Patmos,” while the communities addressed in chapters 2–3 are in big cities. This sounds like anti-urban sentiment. While the text does not offer a clear social analysis, it shows at least a clear distance to special aspects of a successful and, at the same time, ruthless economy, which can, at least in parts, be related to city life. Yet, even with this evidence, one must ask whether the text regards this 30 See, for example, the extended discussion in Satake, Offenbarung, 350–52. 31 Lupieri, E., A Commentary on the Apocalypse of John (Grand Rapids, Mich. – Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2006) 268, adds the observation that the beast is depicted as inferior to God as the description relates it to time. 32 This is often interpreted as a sign of Revelation’s social critical stance or its system critique. For such an approach see, for example, Friesen, S., “A Useful Apocalypse: Domestication and Destabilization in the Second Century,” in Collins, A.Y. (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation (BETL 291; Leuven et al: Peeters, 2017), 79–104, esp. 81–85, and Villiers, P.G.R. de, “Unmasking and Challenging Evil: Exegetical Perspectives on Violence in Revelation 18,” in Villiers, P.G.R. de/Van Henten, J.W. (eds.), Coping with Violence in the New Testament (STAR 16; Leiden – Boston: Brill, 2012), 201–25 (including extensive discussion of secondary literature).

258

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

economy as bad in and of itself, or simply as problematic because it is related to a city (or cities). To put the issue another way : Is the Seer against “Babylon” because he hates cities and many aspects related to city-life? Or, is the Seer against “Babylon” because of this city’s alleged relation to satanic powers? I would say “no” to both questions, and see the answer somewhere in the middle. Even if he clearly alludes to Rome, the Seer’s Babylon is not simply the historical Rome, but rather an “image” of the godless city and its life-style per se. Of course, the image relates to Rome first; in the Seer’s eyes, Rome is ruled by satanic powers, but this is true not only for Rome. Rev 2:14, for example, relates the situation in Pergamon to the Old Testament Balaam-Balak story.33 According to Rev 2:20 f, the Thyatiran prophetess called “Jezebel”—this is, of course, not her real name34—is described with the same attributes as the great whore of chapter 17. Should we call this “anti-urban sentiment”? I hesitate. If the Seer had clear anti-urban sentiments, I cannot understand why he did not describe “new creation” as a kind of paradisiac garden. Although Rev 21:1–22:5 is not without allusions to the Genesis stories about the Garden of Eden,35 the text speaks of a heavenly city, a Jerusalem without a Temple coming down from heaven (21:2). Of course, this city seems to lack many features of a usual city and its life—the text, for example, does not describe any infrastructure inside36—but it remains an immensely big city with walls and gates (21:12–4) that are luxuriously ornamented (21:18–23). Even aspects of trade (21:26) seem to play a role again, even though nothing impure may enter it any more (21:27), and everything is centered around God’s and the Lamb’s Throne (22:3).

33 For a detailed discussion of the passage see Van Henten, J.W., “Balaam in Revelation 2:14,” in Van Kooten, G.H./Van Ruiten, J. (eds.), The Prestige of the Pagan Prophet Balaam in Judaism, Early Christianity and Islam (Themes in Biblical Narrative 11; Leiden – Boston: Brill, 2008), 247–64. 34 The names allude to the Old Testament Isebel, the wife of king Ahab who, according to 1 Kgs 16:31–4 and 21:25 f, promoted the cult of Baal and turned into a deadly enemy of the prophet Elijah (with whom John seems to sympathize here). 35 For an interpretation of the passage and its intertextual relations see Nicklas, T., “Die Himmelsstadt als Neue Schöpfung: Das Neue Jerusalem in der Offenbarung des Johannes,” in Dietl, A. et al. (eds.), Utopie, Fiktion, Planung: Stadtentwürfe zwischen Antike und Früher Neuzeit (Forum Mittelalter Studien 9; Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 2014), 149–62. 36 This becomes even clearer if one compares Rev 21 f with descriptions of other eschatological cities like the one in the Qumran Aramaic New Jerusalem document, or the one in the late antique Apocalypse of Paul.

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

259

2. “And many of the faithful who believed in the ascension into heaven, withdrew and dwelt on the mountain” (AscIsa 2:9b) – Looking from Outside into the Cities For a long time, it has been debated whether the Ascension of Isaiah, an apocalyptic writing probably from the first decades of the second century CE, should be labelled Christian or Jewish. While James H. Charlesworth has it among his well-known collection of “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha,” and while the Jüdische Schriften aus Hellenistisch-Römischer Zeit series regarded it as possible to reconstruct a Jewish Martyrdom of Isaiah as one of its sources,37 the text is today usually labelled “Christian.”38 While I basically agree with this classification, I have, in an article co-authored with Meghan Henning, shown that categories like “Christian” or “Jewish” do not play any role in the text’s self-understanding.39 Instead, the group behind the Ascension seems to have seen itself as the “elect ones who are holy,” have mystical experiences and are otherwise related to both Isaiah (and his school of prophets) and the “Beloved,” that is, Jesus Christ. While there always remains a certain amount of speculation to what extent the Ascension of Isaiah mirrors the feelings and ideas of a special (and clearly identifiable) group, at least a few passages in this text can be interpreted as signs of an anti-urban stance. The first of these passages, from chapter 2, is set in the times of Isaiah:40 (7) And when Isaiah the son of Amoz saw the great iniquity which was being committed in Jerusalem, and the service of Satan, and his wantonness,41 he withdrew from Jerusalem, and sat in Bethlehem of Judaea. (8) And there was great lawlessness; 37 See Knibb, M.A., “Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah,” in Charlesworth, J.H. (ed.), Old Testament Pseudepigrapha 2 (New York et al.: Doubleday, 1985), 143–76; Hammershaimb, E., Das Martyrium Jesajas (JSHRZ II.1; Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 1977); but see now (in the same series) Dochhorn, J., “Die Ascensio Isaiae,” in Oegema, G.S. (ed.), Einführung zu den Jüdischen Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit. Unterweisung in erzählender Form (JSHRZ 6.1.2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 2005), 1–48. The decisive change of paradigm goes back to Pesce, M. (ed.), Isaia, il Diletto e la Chiesa. Visione ed esegesi profetica cristiano-primitiva nell’Ascensione di Isaia (Brescia: Paideia, 1983). 38 See, for example, the main critical edition by Bettiolo, P. et al. (eds.), Ascensio Isaiae. Textus (Turnhout: Brepols, 1995) and the consensus behind the articles in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016). 39 See Henning, M./Nicklas, T., “Questions of Self-Designation in the Ascension of Isaiah,” in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 175–98. 40 Where extant, I work with the AscIsa’s Greek text (P. Amherst 1 according to the edition by Bettiolo, Ascensio Isaiae). For more information regarding the Greek papyrus, its palaeography and role in the transmission of AscIsa, see Kraus, T.J., “The P.Amh I 1 (Ascension of Isaiah) – What a Manuscript Tells about a Text and its World,” in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 387–402. 41 The extant Greek text begins here.

260

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

and he withdrew from Bethlehem and sat on a mountain in a desert place. (9) And Michaias the prophet, and the aged Ananias and Joel, and Ambakuk, and Isasuf, his son, and many of the faithful who believed to ascend into the heavens, withdrew and sat on the mountain. (10) All of them were clothed in sackcloth, and all of them were prophets; they had nothing with them, but were naked, and they all lamented bitterly over the going astray of Israel. (11) And they had nothing to eat except wild herbs they picked from the mountains, and when they had cooked them, they ate them with Isaiah the prophet. And they were on the mountains and on the hills for two years of days” (AscIsa 2:7–11).42

A few aspects of this passage may interest us. According to the AscIsa both the cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem are under the rule of Satan, so much so, that Isaiah and the group of righteous prophets have to withdraw to a “mountain in a desert place” (2:8).43 As this scene takes place in the land of Israel, the passage is not interested in cities like Rome, Antioch or Alexandria; instead, it creates a clear distinction between the wilderness, which seems to be safe and pure (see also 1 Kgs 19:1–8), and the cities which are under Satan’s rule. But, while this text sounds like the description of a certain people living a strictly ascetic life and could even remind us of later monastic communities, it first and foremost tells a story about Isaiah. Thus, we cannot know whether, and to what extent, it represents the reality of any early second century community of Christ-followers; the text itself gives indications in both directions. Besides a few names, a small group of prophets around Isaiah, it mentions “many of the faithful who believed in the ascension into heaven” (2:9).44 This is, of course, also a description of the text’s intended audience, a group of Christ-followers who believe in the ascension into heaven. But, is it possible that this intended audience can also be identified with a group of whom all “were prophets” (2:10)? And, finally, is it possible that our text expects its target audience to live a life like Isaiah and his prophets? After all, it tells us that Isaiah and his followers lived for only a limited time—two years—in this manner (2:11). At the same time, we should not underestimate that overall the Ascension of Isaiah is interested in a repetition of times; it speaks of several “incarnations” of the Satanic Beliar that had always led to similar struggles for the prophets and holy ones. While the first is situated in the times of Isaiah (see already AscIsa 1:8), one of them seems to be closely related to the audience’s present time: the text describes an incarnation in the form of Emperor Nero (see AscIsa 4:2)45 that will not only lead to the death of Peter (4:3),46 but also to the 42 English translation adapted from Knibb, “Martyrdom,” 158. 43 Norelli, E., Ascensio Isaiae. Commentarius (CCSA 8; Turnhout: Brepols, 1995) 125, in addition, reminds of the eschatological overtones of the scene, which resembles aspects of the synoptic apocalypses and 2 Thess 2. 44 The passage has sometimes been seen as a Christian addition to a Jewish pseudepigraphon, but even then it is only understandable if the addition aims at an audience which can identify with it. 45 The identification of the “matricide” mentioned in 4:2 with Nero seems clear.

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

261

second coming of the “Beloved,” that is, Christ (4:14). Even during these times, the few remaining “servants” of Christ will have to flee “from desert to desert” (4:13). In other words, it is very well possible that the text speaks to a target audience that understands (or is supposed to understand) itself as living in a time that can be compared to Isaiah’s lifetime, a time of persecution where big parts of “Israel” are led astray by satanic powers. Even if this audience does not necessarily live in “desert places,” it is very well possible that it expects to be forced to flee as soon as the pressures from Beliar’s side intensify. In any case, I think that the text wants its audience to refrain from associating itself too closely with the cities in which Beliar and his powers rule. Note, however, that it is not Isaiah’s Israel that is led astray, but the “servants of the Beloved.” This can also be seen in chapter 3, where the text first offers something like a very short version of a Gospel story. In a few sentences it prophesies the coming of the “Beloved,” his passion, resurrection and ascension. After these events, his twelve disciples “will teach all nations and every tongue the resurrection of the Beloved, and those who believe in his cross will be saved, and in his ascension to the seventh heaven from where he came; (19) and that many who believe in him will speak in the Holy Spirit, (20) and there will be many signs and miracles in those days” (AscIsa 3:18–20).47 The text thus describes something like an ideal situation after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension.48 The small, first generation of Jesus’ followers follow Jesus’ instructions (see the parallel between AscIsa 3:18 and Matt 28:19), and thus can be compared to Isaiah’s group of true prophets. Even though they are not explicitly called “prophets,” they are “in the Spirit” who speaks through them and who is certainly the reason they work so many “signs and miracles.” It seems that the text wants its intended audience to identify exactly with this kind of existence. But Isaiah’s vision is not yet finished—the generations following the twelve disciples are, again, described in very bad terms. (21) And, at his coming, his disciples will abandon the prophecy of his twelve apostles, and their belief, love, and purity. (22) And there will be many divisions at his coming. (23) And in those days (there will be) many who love to rule, although lacking wisdom. (24) And there will be many lawless presbyters and unjust shepherds over their sheep. (25) And many will exchange the glory of the robes of the saints for the robes of those who love money ;49 and there will be much respect of persons in that 46 For the function of the motif of Peter’s death and its relation to the text’s eschatological scheme see Nicklas, T., “Drink the Cup which I Promised You! (Apocalypse of Peter 14.4): Peter’s Death and the End of Times,” in Knight, J./ Sullivan, K. (eds.), The Open Mind: Essays in Honour of Christopher Rowland (LNTS 522; London – New York: Bloomsbury, 2015), 183–200. 47 Translation adapted from Knibb, “Ascension,” 160. 48 See also Norelli, Ascensio, 209: “I versetti 19–20 descrivono un tempo gi/ passato e idealizzato, un mito delle origini.” 49 The Greek text is partly corrupt here.

262

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

time, and lovers of the glory of this world. (26) And there will be many slanderers and (much) vainglory at the coming of the Lord, and the Holy Spirit will withdraw from many. (27) And in those days, there will not be many prophets who speak powerful words, except one here and there in different places. (AscIsa 3:21–27)50

Although this text creates many problems, it nevertheless offers a critical perspective on important aspects of the development of the church a few generations after its beginnings. According to the Ascension of Isaiah, the main problem of this “church” is not outward persecution. Instead, this “church” lost its connections to its origins, seen, for example, in 3:26, the Spirit “will withdraw,” and 3:27, “there will not be many prophets who speak powerful words.” At the same time, the text seems to criticize the new focus on positions of authority, their impact and influence (3:23)—does the connection of “presbyters and shepherds” (3:24) refer to the emerging offices of presbyters and bishops?51 As some of the accusations (like error, fornication, love of money and others) resemble typical stereotypes of ancient polemics, we cannot be entirely certain about the concrete historical situation addressed. But the text seems, in any case, to exhibit a critical stance towards ecclesiastical developments as we witness them in 2Thess, the Pastoral Letters, and the Epistles of Ignatius of Antioch,52 all of which indicate a tendency towards a well-ordered church taking over important aspects of ancient social systems, and, at the same time, marginalizing charisms like prophecy or glossolalia. While 2Thess forces the authority of tradition (be it in oral or written form) against the pmeOla,53 the Pastorals develop criteria for ecclesiastical offices which make it impossible for many to enter them.54 Ignatius’ letters, finally, defend an already monarchic, Christ-like concept of bishop, while the Spirit does not seem to play a major role any more.55 What does this mean for our overall question? As far as I see, the Ascension of Isaiah speaks to a “Christian” audience which understands itself as living in a world ruled by Beliar and Satanic powers; it wants to flee this world into the realms of the seventh heaven (see AscIsa chapters 6–11) and believes the way to 50 Translation adapted from Knibb, “Ascension,” 161. 51 For a discussion see Norelli, Ascensio, 218 f. 52 For a discussion of the relation between the Ascension of Isaiah and Ignatius’ Epistles see Nicklas, T., “A Church without Spirit? Pneumatology in the Writings of Ignatius of Antioch,” in Dragutinovic, P. et al. (eds.), The Holy Spirit and the Church according to the New Testament (WUNT 354; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 405–26, esp. 423–6; for the passage’s overall view of the church see Verheyden, J., “Pessimism in All its Glory : the Ascension of Isaiah on the Church of the Last Days,” in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 305–46, esp. 323–41. 53 For a full discussion see Nicklas, T., Der zweite Brief an die Thessalonicher (KEK 10.2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019). 54 See, for example, the discussion by Zamfir, K., Men and Women in the Household of God: A Contextual Approach to Roles and Ministries in the Pastoral Epistles (NTOA 103; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). 55 See Nicklas, “Church Without Spirit.”

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

263

do this has been shown by God’s Beloved, Jesus Christ, whose coming was already foreseen by the prophet Isaiah. Like Isaiah and his group who had to flee the cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem and withdraw into the desert, the AscIsa’s audience seems to feel marginalized in a world ruled by Beliar and his evil powers where even the Holy Spirit had withdrawn from most of the Beloved’s disciples. The text thus seems to take an outsider’s stance against what we can, perhaps, already call the first representatives of an emerging Church, which, following the lead of their bishops and presbyters, concentrated in big cities. For the Ascension, these big cities, like in the times of Isaiah, remain especially dangerous and impure. I am well aware that this final sentence goes very far and is highly speculative, but, as far as I see, this is the greatest expression of an anti-urban sentiment witnessed in an ancient Christian source I am aware of.

3. Conclusion It is very difficult to find clear signs of anti-urban sentiments in Christian literature of the first two centuries. Even the two examples I addressed are not unproblematic. While Revelation vilifies “Babylon” (and with this, certainly, Rome) as the “great whore,” it is not first and foremost concerned with Rome (and other places) as cities, but with ideas of wrong forms of worship. These wrong forms of worship, which lead away from the real ruler of this world – i. e., the God of Israel and his Son, the Son of Man, the Lamb and Lion of Judah ruling on the heavenly throne (Rev 4:5) – are connected to special forms of life which can often be found in cities. Of course, Revelation takes cities with their temples and their different forms of trade to be especially dangerous, but even in chapter 12 it does not develop the idea that the desert could per se be a place for Believers to withdraw from the evil powers of Satan. Moreover, its “new creation” is not simply described as a new Garden of Eden, but a heavenly Jerusalem. Although this Jerusalem is anything but a usual city, it remains a gigantic city built around one center, God’s and the Lamb’s Throne, and thus allows the only true and real form of worship in the most direct manner possible. All this comes very close to what we find in the Ascension of Isaiah. A few slight differences, however, are remarkable. While Rev 12 regards the desert as a place where the people of God can be protected from the powers of evil for only a certain period, AscIsa 2 seems to understand Isaiah’s withdrawal from the cities of Judah as a real opportunity to live an alternative life apart from life in the cities ruled by Beliar’s powers. This life is even described in some detail. Even if the story limits Isaiah’s (and the prophets’) lives on the desert mountain to just two years, it already seems to represent an ideal against the forms of community life described in chapter 3, that is, communities which do

264

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

not leave room for what is decisively crucial: the Holy Spirit. But even here, the text does not develop an anti-urban stance per se: there are times when one can live in a big city, but at other times, in situations of eschatological hardships, the real follower of the Beloved has to flee into the desert. Finally, perhaps, we may add a last observation. Both texts describe their author as a prophetic outsider who had to withdraw from city life: while “Isaiah” flees the “lawlessness” caused by Manasseh, John is on Patmos “because of the word of God and the witness for Jesus” (Rev 1:9). As far as I can see, this is pure enactment. At least the author of Revelation56 seems to have been a highly educated figure who cannot have lived all of his life outside cities.57 In any case, however, this constellation transmits the idea that the best position for a small elite of real followers of the Lamb, or real servants of the Beloved, is outside the dangerous life in big urban centers full of temptations.

Bibliography Arnal, W.E., “The Rhetoric of Marginality : Apocalypticism, Gnosticism, and Sayings Gospels”, in HTR 88 (1995): 471–94. Bazzana, G., Kingdom of Bureaucracy: The Political Theology of the Village Scribes in the Sayings Gospel Q (BETL 274; Leuven: Peeters, 2015). Bettiolo, P. et al. (eds.), Ascensio Isaiae. Textus (Turnhout: Brepols, 1995). Bremmer. J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016). Cacitti, R., Furiosa turba: I fondamenti religiosi dell’eversione sociale, della dissidenza politica e della contestazione ecclesiale dei Circoncellioni d’Africa (Milano: Edizioni Biblioteca Francescana, 2006). Dochhorn, J., “Die Ascensio Isaiae,” in Oegema, G.S. (ed.), Einführung zu den Jüdischen Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit. Unterweisung in erzählender Form (JSHRZ 6.1.2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 2005), 1–48. Frankfurter, D., “Jews or Not? Reconstructing the ‘Other’ in Rev 2:9 and 3:9,” in HTR 94 (2001): 403–425. 56 The question of whether Revelation is pseudepigraphic or was authored by a Christian prophet named John is a matter of debate: While the overall consensus regards John as the author of at least most of the text, there is also a minority opinion with good arguments. See Frey, J., “Das Corpus Johanneum und die Apokalypse des Johannes: Die Johanneslegende, die Probleme der johanneischen Verfasserschaft und die Frage nach der Pseudonymität der Apokalypse,” in Alkier, S. et al. (eds.), Poetik und Intertextualität der Johannesapokalypse (WUNT 346; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 71–133, esp. 118–33. 57 For an argument that one could even see him as an “intellectual” in a broader sense of the term, see Nicklas, T., “Crazy Guy or Intellectual Leader? The Seer of Revelation and his Role for the Communities in Asia Minor,” in Ayres, L. (ed.), The Emergence of the Christian Intellectual (forthcoming 2020).

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

265

Frey, J., “Die Fragmente des Ebionäerevangeliums,” in Markschies, C./Schröter, J. (eds.), Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung I: Evangelien und Verwandtes (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 607–21. Frey, J., “Das Corpus Johanneum und die Apokalypse des Johannes: Die Johanneslegende, die Probleme der johanneischen Verfasserschaft und die Frage nach der Pseudonymität der Apokalypse,” in Alkier, S. et al. (eds.), Poetik und Intertextualität der Johannesapokalypse (WUNT 346; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 71–133. Friesen, S., “A Useful Apocalypse: Domestication and Destabilization in the Second Century,” in Collins, A.Y. (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation (BETL 291; Leuven et al: Peeters, 2017), 79–104. Gaddis, M., There is No Crime for Those Who Have Christ: Religious Violence in the Christian Roman Empire (Transformations of the Classical Heritage; Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2005). Giesen, H., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (RNT; Regensburg: Pustet, 1997). Hammershaimb, E., Das Martyrium Jesajas (JSHRZ II.1; Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 1977). Henning, M./Nicklas, T., “Questions of Self-Designation in the Ascension of Isaiah,” in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 175–98. Knibb, M.A., “Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah,” in Charlesworth, J.H. (ed.), Old Testament Pseudepigrapha 2 (New York et al.: Doubleday, 1985), 143–76. Kraft, H., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (HNT 16a; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1974). Kraus, T.J., “The P.Amh I 1 (Ascension of Isaiah) – What a Manuscript Tells about a Text and its World,” in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 387–402. Lohmeyer, E., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (HNT 16; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 3 1970). Lupieri, E., A Commentary on the Apocalypse of John (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2006). Meiser, M., “Johannes der Täufer als Asket,” in Weidemann, H.-U. (ed.), Asceticism and Exegesis in Early Christianity. The Reception of New Testament Texts in Ancient Ascetic Discourses (NTOA 101; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck § Ruprecht, 2013), 78–91. Nicklas, T., “Die Himmelsstadt als Neue Schöpfung: Das Neue Jerusalem in der Offenbarung des Johannes,” in Dietl, A. et al. (eds.), Utopie, Fiktion, Planung: Stadtentwürfe zwischen Antike und Früher Neuzeit (Forum Mittelalter Studien 9; Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 2014), 149–62. Nicklas, T., “Drink the Cup which I Promised You! (Apocalypse of Peter 14.4): Peter’s Death and the End of Times,” in Knight, J./ Sullivan, K. (eds.), The Open Mind: Essays in Honour of Christopher Rowland (LNTS 522; London – New York: Bloomsbury, 2015), 183–200.

266

Tobias Nicklas in collaboration with Luigi Walt

Nicklas, T., “A Church without Spirit? Pneumatology in the Writings of Ignatius of Antioch,” in Dragutinovic, P. et al. (eds.), The Holy Spirit and the Church according to the New Testament (WUNT 354; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 405–26. Nicklas, T., “Freiheit oder Prädestination? Gedanken zum Menschenbild der Johannesapokalypse,” in Collins, A.Y. (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation (BETL 291; Leuven: Peeters, 2017), 105–30. Nicklas, T., Der zweite Brief an die Thessalonicher (KEK 10.2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019). Nicklas, T., “Crazy Guy or Intellectual Leader? The Seer of Revelation and his Role for the Communities in Asia Minor,” in Ayres, L. (ed.), The Emergence of the Christian Intellectual (forthcoming 2020). Norelli, E., Ascensio Isaiae. Commentarius (CCSA 8; Turnhout: Brepols, 1995). Pesce, M. (ed.), Isaia, il Diletto e la Chiesa. Visione ed esegesi profetica cristianoprimitiva nell’Ascensione di Isaia (Brescia: Paideia, 1983). Prigent, P., Commentary on the Apocalypse of St. John (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). Rescio, M., La famiglia alternativa di GesF: Discepolato e strategie di trasformazione sociale nel Vangelo di Marco (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2012). Robinson, T.A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). Satake, A., Die Offenbarung des Johannes (KEK 16, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008). Sommer, M., “Die Nikolaiten und die Gegnerfiktion in der Offenbarung des Johannes – eine Annäherung an einige hermeneutische Probleme der Apokalypselektüre,” in Verheyden, J./ Nicklas, T. et al. (eds.), Shadowy Characters and Fragmentary Evidence: The Search for Early Christian Groups and Movements (WUNT 388; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 49–68. Tamas, H., “Ascetics on the Streets: Urban Ascetic Practices and Literary Reactions in the Western Half of the Roman Empire (ca 350–450 CE)” (unpublished paper, University of Regensburg 25/11/2015). Theißen, G., “Wanderradikalismus: Literatursoziologische Aspekte der Überlieferung von Worten Jesu im Urchristentum,” in ZThK 70 (1973), 245–71. Tiwald, M., Wanderradikalismus: Jesu erste Jünger – ein Anfang und was davon bleibt (ÖBS 20; Frankfurt am Main et al.: Peter Lang, 2002). Van Henten, J.W., “Balaam in Revelation 2:14,” in Van Kooten, G.H./Van Ruiten, J. (eds.), The Prestige of the Pagan Prophet Balaam in Judaism, Early Christianity and Islam (Themes in Biblical Narrative 11; Leiden – Boston: Brill, 2008), 247–64. Villiers, P.G.R. de, “Unmasking and Challenging Evil: Exegetical Perspectives on Violence in Revelation 18,” in Villiers, P.G.R. de/Van Henten, J.W. (eds.), Coping with Violence in the New Testament (STAR 16; Leiden – Boston: Brill, 2012), 201–25. Verheyden, J., “Pessimism in All its Glory : The Ascension of Isaiah on the Church of the Last Days,” in Bremmer, J.N. et al. (eds.), The Ascension of Isaiah (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha 11; Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 305–46.

Anti-Urban Sentiments in Early Christianity?

267

Weidemann, H.-U. (ed.), Asceticism and Exegesis in Early Christianity. The Reception of New Testament Texts in Ancient Ascetic Discourses (NTOA 101; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). Weiß, A., Soziale Elite und Christentum. Studien zu den Ordo-Angehörigen unter den frühen Christen (Millennium Studies 52; Berlin – Boston: Walter de Gruyter, 2015). Zamfir, K., Men and Women in the Household of God: A Contextual Approach to Roles and Ministries in the Pastoral Epistles (NTOA 103; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013).

Markus Öhler

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas of Pontus et Bithynia

Introduction Was Christianity a widespread phenomenon in Pontus and Bithynia, disseminated through all social groups and spread even to the hinterland of the major cities? In order to provide plausible answers to this question the following article will deal mostly with Pliny’s famous letter on Christians, but also with other literary and epigraphical evidence for Christianity in Pontus and Bithynia. It will turn out that our very few sources cannot be read any longer with the same confidence as Adolf von Harnack who wrote on Pliny’s letter : He [Pliny] cannot have invented the spread of the Christian religion in the lowlands, or the grip which it had taken of all classes in the population. But who the missionaries were by whose efforts this had been accomplished, we cannot tell. How well prepared, too, must have been the soil, if the Christian crop sprang up so luxuriantly! In short, we may claim this letter of Pliny as the most outstanding piece of evidence for the advance of Christian missions along the whole of the western coast.1

In order to substantiate our evaluation of Pliny’s letter and the other evidence we will pursue the following steps: In the first part I discuss two positions in the debate about the character and historical relevance of Pliny’s letter collection. Secondly, I will provide a close examination of those passages in letter 96 of book X which are most relevant for the question of the spread of Christianity in the double-province. The third part will give an overview on the very few other relevant sources about Christianity in Pontus and Bithynia, before I will try a final conclusion and preliminary answer to the above given question.

1 Harnack, A.v., Die Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten (Leipzig: VMA, 41924), 737.

270

Markus Öhler

1. Book X – History or Literature? In discussions about Pliny’s correspondence with emperor Trajan an interpreter has to face two almost opposite views on how to read this collection and how to reconstruct its historical development.2 This problem is connected to the undeniably different character and form of the tenth book of Pliny’s collection of letters: It is significantly longer than books I–IX, although the letters are much shorter than in the previous books of the collection.3 Their language is full of bureaucratic terms and illustrative of the way the Roman administration communicated.4 Book X is more like a narrative, “a dialogue that moves forward”,5 while the other nine books are carefully crafted like prose poems, with recurrent themes and motifs as well as intratextual references.6 The divide between exegetes of Pliny’s letters, esp. of book X, can be characterised by the catch words “history” and “literature”, and it is not yet decided if the older perspective, the historical, will be replaced by the more recent one – the literary approach. Both have their pros and cons.

1.1 The “Historical Approach” to Book X This approach is represented by the classical and for a long time almost unrivalled work of Adrian N. Sherwin-White, which was first published in 1966.7 Several factors are crucial in this perspective:8

2 For an overview on Pliny’s letters see Gibson, R.K./Morello, R., Reading the Letters of Pliny the Younger: An Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 3 See e. g. Woolf, G., “Pliny/Trajan and the Poetics of Empire”, CP 110 (2015), 132–51, 132–33. 4 See Coleman, K.M., “Bureaucratic Language in the Correspondence between Pliny and Trajan”, TAPhA 142 (2012), 189–238, 234. She points to the “lack of variety in diction, the repetition of standard formulae, and, above all, self-conscious observance – on both sides – of the proper codes inflecting the relationship between a civil servant and his imperial master”. 5 Woolf, “Pliny/Trajan”, 133. 6 Woolf, “Pliny/Trajan”, 132. 7 Sherwin-White, A.N., The Letters of Pliny: A Historical and Social Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 31985). This position is principally held also in treatments of the letter from the perspective of early Christian history ; see, e. g., Cook, J.G., Roman Attitudes toward the Christians: From Claudius to Hadrian (WUNT 261; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 138–251. 8 Stadter, P.A., “Pliny and the Ideology of Empire: The Correspondence with Trajan”, Prom. 32 (2006), 61–76, 62, refers mainly to Sherwin-White: “For many years there has been a consensus that the book preserved an almost complete collection of the letters exchanged between Pliny and the emperor”; see also Woolf, G., “Pliny’s Province”, in Bekker-Nielsen, T. (ed.), Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2006), 93–108, 94–6.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

271

1) Book X is an archive of letters from Pliny’s time in Pontus-Bithynia, presenting an almost complete collection of those letters written between the propraetor Pliny and the princeps Trajan.9 2) The end of the collection with letters pertaining to the use of diploma by Pliny’s wife and the lack of a proper finale to the whole exchange should be explained with the death of Pliny during his time in Pontus-Bithynia.10 Since an inscription from Como reporting Pliny’s career (CIL 5,5262)11 mentions no other office after his governorship in Pontus-Bithynia this assumption is certainly possible. 3) In his letters Pliny appears to have been a hesitant and insecure governor, barely up to the tasks he was obliged to fulfil. If this was just a literary work he would have strived to paint a better picture of his service in Bithynia and Pontus, while a later editor would have tried to capture the amicable relationship between Trajan and Pliny.12 4) After Pliny’s death someone – perhaps his prot8g8 G. Suetonius Tranquillus – published the letters without further editorial work, apart from some minor changes like the deletion of formulas, dates and places.13

9 Missing letters (see below) are explained as losses; see, e. g., Sherwin-White, Pliny, 533–35; Madsen, J.M., Eager to be Roman: Greek Response to Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia (London: Duckworth, 2013), 14. 10 Coleman, “Language”, 234–35; Walsh, P.G., Pliny the Younger: Complete Letters (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), xv ; Madsen, Eager to be Roman, 16–17; Koch, D.-A., Geschichte des Urchristentums: Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 22014), 471. But see NoreÇa, C.F., “The Social Economy of Pliny’s Correspondence with Trajan”, AJP 128 (2007), 239–77, 271: “ … a fitting conclusion to this correspondence”; Gibson/Morello, Pliny, 270. 11 The relevant passage runs: C(aius) Plinius L(uci) f(ilius) Ouf(entina) Caecilius [Secundus co(n)s(ul)] / augur legat(us) pro pr(aetore) provinciae Pon[ti et Bithyniae pro]/consulari potesta[t(e)] in eam provinciam e[x s(enatus) c(onsulto) ab] / Imp(eratore) Caesar(e) Nerva Traiano Aug(usto) German[ico Dacico p(atre) p(atriae) missus] … “Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, Son of Lucius, of the tribe Oufentina, consul, augur, praetorian commissioner for the province Pontus and Bithynia, sent with consular power into this province in accordance with the decree of the senate by the Imperator Caesar Nerva Trajan Augustus Germanicus Dacicus, father of the fatherland.” Trajan was still alive when the inscription was made. On the inscription and its reconstruction see Eck, W., “Die große Pliniusinschrift aus Comum: Funktion und Monument”, in Angeli Bertinelli, G./Donati, A. (ed.), Varia Epigraphica: Atti del Colloquio Internazionale di Epigrafia. Bertinoro, 8–10 giugno 2000 (Faenza: Fratelli Lega Editori, 2001), 225–35; Gibson/Morello, Pliny, 270–73. The inscription refers to a testamentary donation, which makes clear that Pliny died while Trajan was still alive. 12 See Kasten, H., “Einführung”, in Kasten, H. (ed.), Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus: Briefe/ Epistularum libri decem (Düsseldorf: Artemis & Winkler, 2003), 665; Coleman, “Language”, 234; NoreÇa, “Social Economy”, 272: These letters created the impression that Pliny and Trajan were personal friends, “an illusion of intimacy that served the interests of both … ” The importance of Pliny’s friendship with Trajan is described in Hoffer, S.E., The Anxieties of Pliny the Younger (American Classical Studies 43; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999). 13 E. g., Thraede, K., “Noch einmal: Plinius d. J. und die Christen”, ZNW 95 (2004), 102–28; Walsh, Pliny, xxxiv–xxxv ; Coleman, “Language”, 234.

272

Markus Öhler

Seen from this perspective, the letters “have been analyzed for the information they give us on the administration of the province: the importance of imperial mandata, the role of the lex Pompeia, the freedom of Roman colonies from interference from the provincial governor, the financial status of the Bithynian cities, the restrictions on clubs and social groups, treatment of Christians, and so on.”14 In addition it became possible to get an authentic glimpse into the self-image of Trajan and Pliny, their characters, priorities and politics. 1.2 The “Literary Approach” to Book X The second and alternative approach to the letter exchange between Pliny and Trajan puts a different emphasis on arguments, thus challenging the classical perspective.15 1) The letters have been edited: Neither the dates nor places of composition are preserved. Salutations and greetings are also missing completely. Someone – even a posthumous editor – must have done some editorial work. In addition, it is striking that almost no local people from Bithynia or Pontus are mentioned, but instead many Romans. Most of them were part of the elite, but some came from lower ranks, too.16 Neither descriptions of provincial cities, nor of local culture, the landscape and so on play a significant role in the letters.17 2) Almost every letter deals with only one specific subject. In comparison to other letters from governors, like those from Cicero from Cilicia, this is quite strange: Sending an extra letter to the emperor for each problem and a single answer would bring the system of official letter delivery to a collapse.18 Apart from thirteen letters written to Trajan before the actual accession of his governorship, Pliny wrote twelve letters in the first four months, 38 in the following year and eleven in the last months. Why did he not combine several questions in one letter instead of writing so many? 3) In most of the letters, Pliny deals with a new problem, which had previously not come up at all. With the exception of the canal project (41.61) and regular oaths to the emperor Pliny seems to have had a job without any boring repetitions or issues that came up again and again. And after receiving an answer from Trajan, things apparently settled once and for all.19 14 Stadter, “Pliny”, 62; similarly, Madsen, Eager to be Roman, 17: “Through the correspondence we get an idea of provincial administration and the financial situation in the province.” 15 It was brought forward simultaneously by Woolf, “Province” and Stadter, “Pliny”. 16 Stadter, “Pliny”, 65; Woolf, “Province”, 97–102. 17 See Woolf, “Province”, 98. In comparison with Ovid’s letters from Pontus this is quite striking. 18 On the complexity of communication between the provinces and Rome see Millar, F., “Trajan: Government by Correspondence”, in Cotton, H. M./Rogers, G.M., Rome, the Greek World, and the East (London: University of North Carolina Press, 2004), 23–46, 24–5. 19 Woolf, “Province”, 102. In addition: Most of the problems – though some – were not connected

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

273

4) None of the issues Pliny brings forward could possibly have been urgent: The delivery of a letter from Bithynia to Rome took about six weeks, from Pontus even longer. Especially during winter, when shipping was not possible, all the undecided cases were stalled for at least four months. One must also take into account that once a request had reached the emperor or his office, it took at least another six to eight weeks until Pliny would have received the answer. And by that time the governor had travelled to other places in the province. Is this really how the Roman government worked? 5) Some letters are missing, especially many from Trajan. There are 73 letters from Pliny in book X but only 51 from the emperor. Sometimes Trajan announces a further letter but it is not found in the collection (57; 73), sometimes he asks for a report which is not included (38). In addition, it is noteworthy that it is always a quest from Pliny which is answered.20 No letter from Trajan is devoted to a new issue, contains instructions on something that has not already been brought forward by the governor or relates to a personal topic. 6) Letters 1–15 at the beginning of book X are peculiar since they deal with the time before the governorship, from the congratulation to Trajan on his accession in January 98 CE (X 1) to a short report about Pliny’s journey to Bithynia (X 15).21 How could they have become part of the archive? Considering all these peculiarities, scholars like Greg Woolf, Philip Stadter and Carlos NoreÇa concluded that it must have been Pliny himself who collected, selected and edited the letters exchanged between him and the emperor. This must have happened sometime between the completion of his governorship in Pontus-Bithynia (111/113) and the death of Trajan (117). In doing so, Pliny omitted not only personal details like dates, places and letter formulas. He also deleted letters from the collection, perhaps those with less favourable content. Concerning the combination of one letter with only one topic, two solutions are possible: Either Pliny reworked each letter to focus only on one issue – those of his own and those of Trajan – or he and the emperor did indeed write their letters in that peculiar and impractical way. The latter solution seems more probable to me since no traces of deletion of passages etc. can be found. If Pliny and Trajan really did compose their letters in that manner, it is very likely that Pliny – and perhaps also Trajan – had the publication of these letters after Pliny’s return from Asia Minor in mind, perhaps even from the very

to Pliny’s main order to reconsolidate the finances of the double-province (Woolf, “Province”, 101). 20 Millar, “Trajan”, 38–9. 21 On letters X 1 and 2 see Hoffer, S.E., “Divine Comedy? Accession Propaganda in Pliny, Epistles 10.1–2 and the Panegyric”, JRS 96 (2006), 73–87.

274

Markus Öhler

beginning of his governorship.22 If this is the case – and I’m quite fond of this approach – the letters should not be considered as “pure” historical documents but instead as literary works with a more or less historical background. Their distinctive literary character, which makes the collection in book X appear to be something like an epistolary narrative, disqualifies a blunt use of Pliny’s letters for historical questions. Instead the historical quest has to be accompanied by an analysis of the how and why of Pliny’s and Trajan’s letters. In short: The collection of letters has the predominant intention to present Trajan as the ideal princeps, and Pliny as the ideal governor,23 thus showing how the imperial system works at its best: With justice, decency, respect and honesty and a mutual understanding among members of the elite.

2. Pliny’s Remarks on the Spread of Christianity (X 96.9 f) The history of research on Pliny’s letter about his conduct with Christbelievers and Trajan’s reply is long and complicated. The problems start with the rather slim textual transmission of book X,24 which does not always make it easy to decide on the exact text (see below). Many authors focused on the legal questions pertaining to Pliny’s conduct with Christians, many studies provided a word for word interpretation of this longest letter in book X.25 In the following paragraphs I will do this with a special focus on the passages relating to the spread of Christ-groups throughout Pontus and perhaps also Bithynia (X 96.9 f). We will see that historical and literary approaches can help each other in opening new perspectives on this particular paragraph. At the end of his letter to Trajan, Pliny formulates:26

22 Hopkins, K., “Christian Number and its Implications”, JECS 6 (1998), 185–226, 189 even speculates that Pliny changed the ending of letter 96 after he had received Trajan’s reply. 23 Woolf, “Province”, 97; NoreÇa, “Social Economy”, 254–61; see also Hoffer, Anxieties, 5–10. 24 It depends solely on a now lost manuscript from Paris (sixth cent.?); see Sherwin-White, Pliny, 83–4; Woolf, “Province”, 106 n.10. 25 Thraede, “Plinius”, 102–4 n. 2–3, provides a short overview on previous scholarship. 26 I follow the edition of Mynors, R.A.B. (C. Plini Caecili Secvndi epistvlarvm libri decem (SCBO; Oxford: Clarendon, 1963)), which was also used for the Loeb volume (ed. B. Radice, 1969) and by Kasten, Briefe.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas (9a) Ideo dilata cognitione ad consulendum te decucurri. (9b) Visa est enim mihi res digna consultatione, maxime propter periclitantium numerum. (9c) Multi enim omnis aetatis, omnis ordinis, utriusque sexus etiam, vocantur in periculum et vocabuntur. (9d) Neque civitates tantum, sed vicos etiam atque agros superstitionis istius contagio pervagata est; (9e) quae videtur sisti et corrigi posse. (10a) Certe satis constat prope iam desolata templa coepisse celebrari, (10b) et sacra sollemnia diu intermissa repeti (10c) passimque venire victimarium [carnem], cuius adhuc rarissimus emptor inveniebatur.

10d) Ex quo facile est opinari, quae turba hominum emendari possit, si sit paenitentiae locus.

275

9a) I therefore postponed the investigation and hastened to consult you. (9b) For the matter seemed to me to merit consultation, especially because of the number of accused. (9c) For many of every age, every rank, and also of both sexes are and will be accused. (9d) For the contagion of this superstition has spread not only to the cities but also through the villages and farms. (9e) But it seems possible to check and cure it. (10a) It is certainly quite clear that temples, which had been almost deserted, have begun to be frequented, (10b) that the established religious rites, long neglected, are being resumed, (10c) and that flesh of sacrificial animals is being sold at many places, for which until now very few purchasers could be found. (10d) Hence it is easy to imagine what a multitude of people can be reformed if an opportunity for repentance is offered.

The two paragraphs of the letter can be qualified as the peroration,27 which is destined to sum up the main points of the letter and evoke the emotions of the readers. The peroratio was thus the most important part of the whole speech/ letter, “as it was the culmination of all that went before, and produced the final impression which the speaker would leave in the listeners’ minds.”28 The importance of this last two paragraphs has been neglected sometimes, which has recently been criticised.29 And indeed, as we will see, with these two 27 Cook, Roman Attitudes, 157: The letter starts with the exordium (96.1a), followed by the narratio (96.1b–2c) and the argumentatio (96.2d–8b) and ends with the peroratio (96.9–10); Thraede, “Plinius”, 110; Reichert, A., “Durchdachte Konfusion: Plinius, Trajan und das Christentum”, ZNW 93 (2002), 227–50, 229–30, differentiates between three parts: “Einleitung (§ 1–2a) … Hauptteil (§ 2b–8) … Schlussteil (§ 9–10).” 28 Bonner, S.F., Education in Ancient Rome from the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny (London: Methuen, 1977), 303. See Quintilian Institutio Oratoria II 9.1: “Most authorities divide the forensic speech into five parts: the exordium, the statement of facts, the proof, the refutation, and the peroration.” In letter IX 26 Pliny defends his elaborate, even ebullient style, which he also used in his letters (IX 26.13); see, e. g., Walsh, Pliny, xxvi. 29 See e. g. Reichert, “Durchdachte Konfusion”, 230; Koch, Geschichte, 536 n. 3.

276

Markus Öhler

paragraphs Pliny is forcefully pushing the reader to agree to his handling of the whole situation. 9a: dilata cognitione – “postponing the investigation” In view of Pliny’s report about his trials of Christ-believers, which had already led to executions or the shipment of accused Roman citizens to the emperor’s court (96.2b–8),30 his first statement in the peroration is quite astonishing: “I postponed the investigation.” One wonders why Pliny had not waited with his decisions until he had received Trajan’s advice, which he had explicitly requested: “to receive counsel from you”. Several reasons might have led him to formulate the beginning of the last part of his letter in this way : 1) Pliny marks the connection to the previous paragraph’s ending “I found nothing other but a debased and boundless superstition” with ideo. It might have been his intention that – considering the ridiculous and insane character of this cult – it was understandable that he should ask for the advice of the princeps.31 2) The peroratio’s character as a summary of the whole body of the letter lead Pliny to remember his prospective reader Trajan that receiving advice on this matter was his first and foremost interest (96.1). 3) As the next sentence (maxime propter periclitantium numerum) makes clear, the predominant reason for postponing the whole procedure is the fact that the number of Christians had become so great that Pliny thought it might be appropriate to consult the emperor for an affirmative of his proceedings.32 In his other letters to Trajan, the governor frequently points to his insecurity and his dependence on specific instructions. In a letter asking about the use of expired travel documents, he adds: “I fear that I’ll make a mistake because of ignorance (ignorantia)” (X 45). He also asks for Trajan’s consilium if soldiers or public slaves should watch over prisons (X 19.1). “Please write to me, domine, how to proceed, because this decision will be a precedent case”, he formulates concerning the issue of two slaves who were discovered among his soldiers (X 29.2).33 In case of doubt, Pliny emphasises, he will always ask the

30 Roman citizens convicted of being Christians are only notified to be handed over to the court in Rome, which implies that they are still in Pontus-Bithynia, though in prison (96.4). Pliny does not indicate that they had been transferred to Rome yet. 31 For a similar use of ideo as a bridge to the quest for advice see X 56.3: Ideo tu, domine, consulendus fuisti. 32 This is already articulated in 96.4: During a first set of trials more accusations came up. 33 Addressing Trajan as dominus is not a special form of supplication, but instead a way “to cast himself as an intimate of the emperor, recontextualizing the term dominus in such a way that the

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

277

emperor (X 31.1) and will leave a decision open until he receives instructions, even if it is urgent (X 31.4).34 “Affirm my decision or correct my failure” is another wording, which clarifies that Pliny thought of himself as totally dependent upon the emperor’s directives (43.4). Especially interesting in view of Pliny’s procedures against Christians is a somehow similar case, which is narrated in letter X 56. The problems Pliny was facing here were the following: Some people that had been relegated from the province by the former governor Servilius Calvus now showed up again. They were producing a decree pardoning them. Another person, having been expelled earlier by Julius Bassus but not being reprieved, was also brought to Pliny. In both cases, which could turn out as serious crimes, the governor emphasizes that he regarded it as necessary to leave them open, and asks the emperor for his decision. “Thus, I am asking you for advice” (Per quod effectum est, ut te consulerem. X 56.5).35 In another issue (X 81), Pliny explains that he postponed his ruling in order to ask the emperor, because he thinks that a decision might be exemplary for similar issues: Ego cum dandam dilationem et te consulendum existimarem in re ad exemplum pertinenti … (81.5).36 In this case the rhetorician Dion Chrysostomus of Prusa was involved. The subject here among others was a statue of Trajan in Dion’s house. The emperor’s answer is remarkable: “It is the fixed maxim of my government not to create an awe of my person by severe and rigorous measures or by accusations of a crime against my maiestas” (82.1). This is one of the most important sentences of the whole letter exchange since it is an emphatic expression of the overall picture Pliny and Trajan created: Trajan is–in fierce distinction from the discarded Domitian – not concerned about what is best for himself, but what is best for the Roman Empire. This short overview on Pliny’s frequent calls for advice show that when Pliny is referring to the emperor in cases with an overarching dimension, he is also taking up something like a standard procedure in Roman administration. By naming this practice at the beginning of his peroration in X 96.9a, Pliny signals to the reader that the affairs with Christians are of more than local or temporal relevance. It is his foremost interest to have clear and reliable jurisdiction, even if this means that alleged Christians, or those who gave up their belief in face of the consequences, would have been held in custody for at whole of the correspondence in Book 10 takes on a distinctly personal character”; NoreÇa, “Social Economy”, 250. 34 Pliny’s question was whether convicts could work as slaves of poleis. Trajan decides that they should perform only services which are not esteemed honorable. 35 In many more letters Pliny shows the same attitude of hesitation (e. g. X 72; 75; 79; 112). 36 See Freudenberger, R., Das Verhalten der römischen Behörden gegen die Christen im 2. Jahrhundert, dargestellt am Brief des Plinius an Trajan und den Reskripten Trajans und Hadrians (Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 52; München: Beck, 2 1969), 173. In X 81 this also the beginning of the peroratio.

278

Markus Öhler

least four months until Trajan’s decision arrived. On a literary level, the reader gets the impression that Pliny knows quite well how important the decisions were: The most relevant topics are not possible delays or the steps the governor did take to find out what kind of superstition Christianity was, the real point is Trajan’s decision, his sovereignty and justice. In view of Pliny’s considerations about precedent cases for the handling of Christ-believers, of which he pretends to be without knowledge (X 96.1b), it is also remarkable how he thought about precedents generally.37 Concerning the support of foundlings he writes (X 65.2): “In a matter which requires your authority I could not content myself with following precedents” (neque putavi posse me in eo, quod auctoritatem tuam posceret, exemplis esse contentum.). On a more general level, Pliny regarded the handling of precedent cases as an obligation for a decent jurist (VI 29.1). In his view these matters provided the possibility to make way for the bonum or malum. Perhaps especially this last consideration made it even more important for him to receive advice from Trajan and instruction in the case of the Christians.38 Was Pliny an insecure or even incompetent governor? Together with a lot of previous and contemporary scholars I reject this interpretation of his administration. On the one hand, Pliny knew the work of a governor quite well, since he had dealt with provincial issues in court a couple of times before (II 11; III 9).39 His management of the state treasury (98–100 CE) must also have prepared him well for his job as a governor. On the other hand, it is quite clear from Trajan’s entire way of ruling the Roman Empire that he was eager to keep his aides (and Pliny was one of the closest) on a pretty short leash. It is therefore more probable that the letter exchange presented Trajan and Pliny as a functioning entity with clear role descriptions.40 This also allows the

37 Downing, F.G., “Pliny’s Prosecutions of Christians: Revelation and 1 Peter”, JSNT 34 (1988), 105–23, 110–12 lists sixteen instances in which Pliny refers (or is referred) to precedence cases or mentions his futile search for such. 38 Downing draws the conclusion: “In the light of these instances it seems to me very unlikely indeed that Pliny would have failed to mention that he had tried to find some guidance from past rulings or court decisions, and used them, had there been any” (112). This also has consequences for the quest for the historicity of the so called Neronian persecution; see Öhler, M., Geschichte des frühen Christentums (Basiswissen Theologie und Religionswissenschaft; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018), 286–89. 39 See LefHvre, E., Vom Römertum zum Ästhetizismus: Studien zu den Briefen des jüngeren Plinius (BzA 269; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 175. Pliny’s close connection with the emperor might have been one of the motives of Trajan for choosing Pliny as propraetor with the power of a proconsul; see Alfo¨ ldy, G., Städte, Eliten und Gesellschaft in der Gallia Cisalpina: Epigraphisch-historische Untersuchungen (HABES 30; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1999), 241–42. 40 See, e. g., Freudenberger, Verhalten, 24: “Die Mandate Trajans enthielten wohl die Verpflichtung, daß sich Plinius in allen Fragen, die nach der bisherigen Rechtssprechung und Verwaltungspraxis ungelöst oder zweifelhaft waren, bzw. in denen Plinius die bisherige Praxis ändern oder verbessern möchte, an Trajan wenden soll.” See X 31.1: Salva magnitudine tua, domine, descendas oportet ad meas curas, cum ius mihi dederis referendi ad te, de quibus dubito.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

279

conclusion that a publication of the letter exchange was intended from the very beginning of Pliny’s mission in Pontus-Bithynia by both Pliny and Trajan.

9b: maxime propter periclitantium numerum – “above all because of the number of accused” Pliny explains the need to ask the emperor about his assessment of the situation at hand: It’s all about the numbers of accused people. The use of maxime is typical for the bureaucratic language of subordinates who try to convince their superior that a decision is necessary or that their previous actions were justified.41 Pliny offers here an explanation for his hesitation to proceed with his previously adopted strategy, at the same time asking for an affirmation of his strategy. With propter periclitantium numerum he means the number of accused people,42 not the number of people endangered to become Christians. Pliny wants to give the impression that a flood of people is waiting in court, either in arrest or perhaps still in their homes.43

9c: multi – “many” Pliny then expatiates what he means with the periclitantium numerum. Almost at the end of the letter (10d), Pliny mentions a crowd of people, a multitude or mass (turba), but this might as well be a more general remark about the efficiency of repentance. In an earlier passage he told the emperor that he had received a list of alleged Christians in an anonymous libellus, which contained the names of many (multorum nomina, 96.5).44 In 96.4 he had also pointed out that the accusations had spread after the first trials. Obviously we cannot define how many people Pliny had in mind when he used the word multi, but the overall intention is clear : On the one hand, Pliny justifies his letter, and on the other he prepares for the approval of his measures by reference to the great number of cases.45 In his view, or : in his presentation to Trajan, or : in his presentation to presumed readers, the problem has become so big that he felt obliged to do something and to ask the emperor for his approval. This rhetorical trick – the amplificatio – is intended 41 See Coleman, “Language”, 219, who nevertheless states that exaggeration is clearly not a bureaucratic principle. 42 For a thorough discussion see Freudenberger, Verhalten 173–75. 43 Reichert, “Durchdachte Konfusion”, 230; Thraede, “Plinius”, 106. 44 On the legal dimension of libelli see Cook, Roman Attitudes, 270–71. Libelli were submitted by private individuals, not by official bodies. 45 Reichert, “Durchdachte Konfusion”, 230; Thraede, “Plinius”, 107; Koch, Geschichte, 536. Harnack, Mission, 737, already suggested that Pliny had an interest in presenting the numbers of Christians as high as possible.

280

Markus Öhler

to convince everybody that his actions had been appropriate and should be continued in that way.46 That the message “there are so many Christians” was understood, can be demonstrated by the first literary reference to Pliny’s letter, which is in fact the first direct reception of any of Pliny’s letters from Pontus-Bithynia. At the end of the second century the apologist Tertullian writes: “When Plinius Secundus was ruler of a province, having condemned some Christians to death, and driven some from their steadfastness, he was still annoyed by their great numbers” (Apol 2:6).47 Tertullian even cites the enumeration “every sex, every age, and indeed every rank” (omnem sexum, omnem aetatem, omnem denique dignitate) and adds that Christians are in the civitas, in agris, in castellis, in insulis (Ad nationes I 1.2; see also Apology 1:7; 37:4), which also bears some resemblance to Pliny’s enumeration. 9c: multi omnis aetatis, omnis ordinis, utriusque sexus etiam, vocantur in periculum et vocabuntur – “many of every age, every rank, also of both sexes, are and will be accused” Pliny’s choice of words can be qualified as merism which is destined to encompass complementary groups.48 It insinuates that a whole lot of people is involved in these incidents, so that a definitive ruling is absolutely necessary. In the following, Pliny differentiates the endangered inhabitants of PontusBithynia who are to be summoned to court, executed or sent to Rome, by three sociological perspectives: “every age or generation” – omnis aetatis We can be quite sure that Pliny thinks indeed of children, juveniles, adults and old people. Especially the latter two groups are already implied when he narrates in 96.6 that some of the accused had ceased to be Christians some twenty years ago. If this is historically true, we have to consider that by the time of Pliny, Christianity in Pontus or the whole double-province had had a history of more than 20 years, which points to the decades between 60 and 100 CE. Since omnis aetatis includes children and young people, we might also conclude that Christianity had also become something like a family religion by that time, encompassing households including children. This fits quite well 46 See Calboli Montefusco, L., “Stylistic and Argumentative Function of Rhetorical ‘Amplificatio’”, Hermes 132 (2004), 69–81. 47 Plinius enim Secundus, cum provinciam regeret, damnatis quibusdam Christianis, quibusdam gradu pulsis, ipsa tamen multitudine perturbatus. See Cook, Roman Attitudes, 220–21. 48 For parallel phrases encompassing various groups into a multitude see Tacitus hist. V 13.13; Tertullian Ad Scapulam 5.2; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 221 n.441.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

281

with the emphasis on Christian households in the book of Acts or in the Pastorals.49 According to Pliny, the dissemination of this superstitio through all ages is one indication of its dangerousness.

“every rank” – omnis ordinis If we sift through the ten books of Pliny’s letters, ordo is mentioned a couple of times. “Every order” can be found in a letter from the third book: “ex omnibus omnium ordinum” the philosopher Musonius Rufus, an eques, had chosen his son-in–law Artemidorus (III 11.7), a Stoic philosopher who was banned from Rome by Domitian 93 CE. Pliny declares to be a friend and supporter of Artemidorus, whom he got acquainted with during his military post in Syria. Thus it is probable that Artemidorus was a Syrian and probably not even a Roman citizen. Musonius Rufus chose him nevertheless as husband for his daughter. Apparently neither Musonius nor Pliny had – at least in this case – reservations against a marriage beyond status differences.50 In V 3.6 Pliny emphasizes that morality is not a question of rank (sed sanctitas morum non distat ordinibus). Even people outside of the Senatorial order like P. Vergilius, Cornelius Nepos,51 Accius and Ennius52 are capable of good behaviour. Noteworthy is also a passage in IX 5.3: Pliny commends Calestrius Tiro for his friendliness towards provincials, while at the same time warning him to observe the differences between ranks and honours (discrimina ordinum dignitatumque). This is especially important because if these categories are “confounded, disordered or intermingled, nothing can be more unequal than this very equality” (quae si confusa, turbata, permixta sunt, nihil est ipsa aequalitate inaequalius).53 On the one hand, Pliny obviously did not regard the discrimination of ranks as the essential reason in social interactions, but on the other, he still regarded it as an important foundation of overall society. The passage on Christians coming from all ranks classifies more under the latter perspective: Even if it is primarily aimed as an amplification of the number of endangered people, it adds the notion of presumably dangerous status indifferences. As problematic 49 On household conversions in Acts see Öhler, M., “Das ganze Haus: Antike Alltagsreligiosität und die Apostelgeschichte”, ZNW 102 (2011), 201–34; on the Pastorals see MacDonald, M.Y., “Re-envisioning Ekklesia Space: Evidence of the Flexible Use of Household Space for Religious Instruction and Practice in the Pastoral Epistles”, ARG 18/19 (2017), 91–104. 50 See Shelton, J.-A., The Women of Pliny’s Letters (New York: Routledge, 2012), 159. 51 Publius Vergil and Cornelius Nepos, who also came from Gaillia Cisalpina like Pliny, were members of the ordo equester. 52 Both were poets from the second/first cent. BCE and no member of a Roman ordo, though probably Roman citizens. 53 See Gibson/Morello, Pliny, 157–61, for a short treatment on Pliny’s egalitarianism. In IX 13.15 Pliny agrees that status should not be a decisive factor in court.

282

Markus Öhler

as it may have been that the lower ranks, freed persons and slaves got fond of this new cult, it got even worse that people from every ordo were attracted to the superstitio. They might even got mixed up in these groups. Historically speaking, we can conclude that Pliny was very probably not thinking of senators or eques, but rather of people from the local aristocracy, i. e. local decuriones.54 He refers to this local elite also in two other letters, both times in context with financial affairs (X 54; 113).55 Earlier in letter X 96 Pliny had mentioned Roman citizens whom he planned to send to Trajan (96.4) and two female slaves of Christian communities (ministrae 96.8).56 But with the wording in the concluding propositio he generalizes in order to support his concern. Did the governor deliberately allude to the famous scandal of the Bacchanalia with the short phrase omnis ordinis?57 Pliny was surely familiar with Livy’s account of the Bacchanalia and the subsequent actions of the Roman senate (ab urbe cond. 39.8–19).58 This first restriction of voluntary associations in Rome, in this case of Dionysiac groups, was also targeted against the blurring of status boundaries. It is therefore quite possible that Pliny understood some of the activities in Christian meetings as analogous with those in Bacchanalian groups, especially in terms of breaking boundaries between people from different status groups. If so, it was part of his rhetorical strategy to signal the connection with the well-known scandal to his learned readers in order to win them over for his overall approach against the spread of the superstitio. 54 See Weiß, A., Soziale Elite und Christentum: Studien zu ordo-Angehörigen unter den frühen Christen, (Millenium-Studien 52; Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter, 2015), 139. At the time of Pliny there were only two senatorial families and four belonging to the equestrian order in the whole double-province. Since the local elites were also responsible for the rituals in the temple, this fits well with the neglect of pagan cults (see below). 55 Local magistrates are mentioned in X 74; 79; 81; 116. 56 On the nature of these ministrae see Harrill, J.A., “Servile Functionaries or Priestly Leaders: Roman Domestic Religion, Narrative Intertextuality, and Pliny’s Reference to Slave Christian Ministrae (Ep. 10,96,8)”, ZNW 97 (2006), 111–30. Slaves are mentioned in four other letters from Pontus-Bithynia (X 19; 29; 31; 74). 57 See Grant, R.M., “Pliny and the Christians”, HThR 41 (1948), 273–74.; Reichert, “Durchdachte Konfusion”, 234 n. 21; Harrill, “Servile Functionaries”, 127. Freudenberger, Verhalten, 165–70, focuses on the legal parallels between the Bacchanalia and Pliny’s description of Christian assemblies. 58 Especially interesting is Livy’s summary in 14.1: Eos esse, qui aut coniurare aut sociari facinoribus aut stuprum pati noluerint. multitudinem ingentem, alterum iam prope populum esse; in his nobiles quosdam uiros feminasque. biennio proximo institutum esse, ne quis maior uiginti annis initiaretur: captari aetates et erroris et stupri patientes. “These were such as refused to take the oath of the society, or to associate in their crimes, or to submit to defilement. This number was exceedingly great now, almost a second state in themselves, and among them were many men and women of noble families. During the last two years it had been a rule, that no person above the age of twenty should be initiated; for they sought for people of such age as made them more liable to suffer deception and personal abuse.”

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

283

both sexes – utriusque sexus etiam Age, rank and gender : Following the rhetoric rule of three elements Pliny lists another category. In addition, I think that Pliny might allude again to the Bacchanalian scandal since this incident was infamous for sexual practices. However, Pliny had stressed in his earlier report about the doings of Christians that they did not commit adultery (adulteria 96.7). But still: both men and women gathered in this strange cult – a remark clearly intended to trigger some bells with Trajan and other Roman readers. So even if the three parts of the phrase are intended to describe the great attractiveness of the Christ-cult to a large number of people from different social groups, they have some additional undertones. The composition of this merism and its hints on precarious developments within Christianity is one thing, the other is – again – the number of people: People from all of these groups “are and will be accused” (vocantur in periculum et vocabuntur).59 What is striking here is that Pliny foresees that without measures like his own, the following will happen: (1) The adherence to this superstitio will not stop. (2) The number of trials will be high and time consuming. (3) And – most important – if denial to be a Christian with subsequent demonstration of proper religio will not be sufficient for a pardon, many people will have to be executed or sent to Rome. His main intention of the merism “every age, every rank, also of both sexes” is to provide a justification for his handling of the problem up to this point and for his inquiry to the emperor : It is the great number of people, which can be exemplified by the encompassing character of this groups, which calls for urgent action. This might very well be an amplificatio, especially within a motivating peroration, but it is appropriate.60

9d: neque civitates tantum, sed vicos etiam atque agros … – “not only to the cities but also to the villages and farms …” Whereas Pliny had previously worked with social categories to describe the size of the problem, he now turns to spatial categories. The phrase is again a merism, which is destined to encompass every form of landscape.61 We should also keep in mind that the division between cities, villages, and the hinterland 59 On the translation of the phrase see Freudenberger, Verhalten, 175–76; Thraede, “Plinius”, 107 n.19. The notion of “danger” is included in being summoned before court. The phrase does not mean that many people are in danger to become Christians. 60 See, e. g., Thraede, “Plinius”, 107 n. 19. In Lucian’s description of Alexander’s Glykon-cult we’re told that apart from all other people even women, old people and children fell for his tricks (13). 61 A similar pairing of agri and civitates can be found in X 41.2, where Pliny refers to the great number of people living in the countryside (around Nicomedia) and the even larger population in cities.

284

Markus Öhler

was fluid. Surrounding areas of cities belonged to them, especially in smaller places. In the following I will nevertheless examine each one of these entities separately, before we try to grasp the whole picture.62

Fig. 1. Pontus et Bithynia with provincial road system (Marek, Pontus et Bithynia, 183 Map 5)

civitates – “cities” When Pliny talks about cities he normally uses urbs (e. g. III 5.14; 7.6; 11.2; 21.3; V 2.1; 6.4, 12; 14.9; 21.1) which regularly also means “the city of Rome”.63 In his letters to Trajan he mentions mostly civitates, since non-Roman cities in the provinces were labelled like this. According to many reconstructions, one of the major tasks of Pliny as a legatus pro praetore was the recovery of the financial situation of these cities in the double province.64 62 On the history, landscapes and cities in Pontus-Bithynia see Marek, C., Stadt, Ära und Territorium in Pontus-Bithynia und Nord-Galatia (Istanbuler Forschungen 39; Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1993), 7–128. A map of the road system in the double-province can be found in Marek, C., Pontus et Bithynia: Die römischen Provinzen im Norden Kleinasiens (Orbis Provinciarum; Mainz: von Zabern, 2003), 183. 63 VI 16.2 on cities in the gulf of Naples. In VI 18.1 he is writing about a colony (colonia). He also uses oppidum for his hometown Como (VI 8.2). 64 See, e. g., Cook, Roman Attitudes, 144–46; Madsen, Eager to be Roman, 25–6.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

285

In which city did Pliny stay when he wrote this letter?65 If the letters are preserved in a chronological order, it is quite probable that Pliny was writing from Pontus, not from Bithynia. In letter X 90 he was concerned with the building of an aqueduct in Sinope, in X 92 with the rights of Amisos, which is east from Sinope, as a free city (see also X 110). In letter X 98 he writes about a drainage project in Amastris, which is in the very west of Pontus (Paphlagonia).66 Amastris might have been the place of a court setting.67 Up to the time after Trajan’s birthday on 18 September, perhaps more than one year after the beginning of his governorship in 110 or 111 CE,68 Pliny had finally come to the eastern part of the province, which he never mentions as a landscape in his letters. Pontus (and Paphlagonia) had fewer and smaller cities than Bithynia and was certainly less important than the western part of the double-province.69 Therefore Pliny spent most of his time in the west, a tour to Pontus was more like an excursion to the hinterland.

vici – “villages” The superstitio had spread to the villages, too. Generally, Pliny devotes very little attention to villages in his letters, but sometimes he does: A village is a place for people with modest demands (II 17.26).70 Living in the countryside – aside from being there on vacation – is quite demanding in his elite view (VI 30.4). Villages are not a place of education, nor of entertainment or decent work, they are at best a poor copy of a city. In none of the letters from the 10th book villages play any role at all.

65 On the order and possible dates of the letters in book X see Sherwin-White, Pliny, 529–33; Millar, “Trajan”, 45. 66 Between Sinope and Amastris lies Abonuteichos which is not mentioned in Pliny’s letters. He makes references to Herakleia and Tium (Tieion) near Bithynia (X 75). Letter 110 is written from Amisos again. 67 Cook, Roman Attitudes, 146. 68 The dates of Pliny’s governorship are disputed: Sherwin-White, Pliny, 81; Millar, Trajan, 38; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 143, opt for 109–11 CE, Thraede, “Plinius”, 102, for 110/111–13; see also Koch, Geschichte, 471. 69 Woolf, “Province”, 101. On the cities in Pontus-Bithynia see Haensch, R., Capita provinciarum: Statthaltersitze und Provinzialverwaltung in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Kölner Forschungen 7; Mainz: von Zabern, 1997), 282–90. 70 But: The village he has in mind has three bathhouses! On Roman politics with the chora in Pontus see Rostowzew, M., Studien zur Geschichte des römischen Kolonates (Beihefte zum Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete 1; Leipzig/Berlin: Teubner, 1910), 294–98.

286

Markus Öhler

agri –“farms” Pliny wants to be thorough in his rhetorically composed climax: Around cities and villages is the flat, arable land, dotted with farmhouses. The word ager can mean both, the land or the farm. How far away from the cities the farms are is not clear. Mentioning agri is in my view only a means to cover all possibilities of habitable space. Major conclusions on the spread of Christianity in the outback of Pontus (and Bithynia) should not be drawn from it.71 If we consider Pliny’s remarks on villages and farms from a historical point of view, it is, on the one hand, quite probable that he had seen some of the rural areas of Pontus during his journey from one city to the next. On the other hand, we have to remember that the governor used the main roads between Amastris, Sinope and Amisos, which were running along the coastline. He could even have taken the ship for his travels to them, which were all harbour cities.72 Considering this, it is quite improbable that Pliny had seen much if any of the hinterland of the major cities of Pontus. In addition: Villages and farms were of no interest to him in any of his letters. It is, of course, possible that information about Christians in villages and on farms had been brought to Pliny’s attention by local informants. The anonymous libellus (petition) with the list of names of Christians (96.5) shows that the governor relied on allegations of locals. The list of names was apparently long enough to insinuate that the number of Christians might have been high.73 But in my opinion, Pliny is formulating his sentence within the peroratio about the spread of Christianity to the vici and agri in order to emphasize the urgency of the problem, the quality of his measures and the need for confirmation by the emperor. In view of this vagueness I would suggest that Pliny was not at all referring to specific cities or places in Pontus, but to a general situation in the double 71 For a totally different evaluation see Robinson, T.A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 147.156. Robinson points to Tertullian’s remark that Christianity spread through all areas, without any comment that the apologist’s description is heavily influenced by Pliny. Also Robinson’s interpretation of Lucian’s satire is exaggerating the evidence: “It is also clear that Christians had penetrated the countryside with some success – or at least the perception of the populace was that they had” (Robinson, Who Were the First Christians? 104). On the contrary : The countryside is of no interest to Lucian. Instead he mentions that Alexander sent his emissaries to foreign lands (24), to Italy and Rome (30) and explicitly to the cities (ta?r p|kesi). It goes without saying that the Glykon-cult must have been also attractive for the population in the hinterland of the cities, but it was an oracle where they traveled to, not a cult performed in the countryside. All of the incidents narrated in Lucian’s satire take place in cities. 72 In X 41.2 Pliny underlines the advantage of sea travel vis-a-vis the use of roads. 73 At least this is Pliny’s description of the libellus: multorum nomina continens (96.5). There is no indication that the anonymous petition was the main source for his description of the high number of alleged Christians.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

287

province Pontus-Bithynia. All of his deliberations make the impression that he was not faced with only a local but a widespread phenomenon. Already in the beginning of the letter, he indicates that Christians are a well-known phenomenon beyond his province: His opening statement “I’ve never been to trials of Christians” insinuates that Trajan and potential readers in Rome know in principle what he is talking about. In addition, his description how and what he found out about this strange cult (96.6–8) is intended to provide new information about a not-too-well-known superstitio. It is, therefore, not really important where Pliny was when he composed the letter, or where he was confronted with Christians or accusations against Christians in the first place. His first and foremost interest is to convince his readers that measures against Christians are necessary, but should always be wise and open for the possibility of repentance.

9d–e: … superstitionis istius contagio pervagata est. quae videtur sisti et corrigi posse – “… the contagion of this superstition has spread. But it seems possible to check and cure it.” While the use of superstitio as a label for the Christian cult is not my point here74, I would like to concentrate on the use of contagion, which means something like “epidemic”. For Pliny, the metaphor of a contagious disease offers at least two advantages for his argumentation:75 1) Contagio carries the notion of danger and destruction. Although the Christians hadn’t committed any crimes, Pliny brings this new undertone into his statements about the new cult: By their stubbornness and impenitence they are dangerous for others. 2) A disease like this can only be cured in two ways: Either eradicating all those who are infected and doomed to die, or healing the sick. Severe measures, i. e. death penalties, against those who hold on to this superstition, are necessary. Or one should find a way to examine and heal it, which Pliny assures the readers he has found: Checking through a severe interrogation, curing through the threat of execution. The proof of regained (religious or social) health are the invocation of the Capitoline Gods and sacrifices to the image of the emperor (96.5). In addition, the rhetorical function of the contagion-metaphor fits well with his earlier 74 See Freudenberger, Verhalten, 189–99; Thraede, “Plinius”, 127–28; Wendt, H., “Ea Superstitione: Christian Martyrdom and the Religion of Freelance Experts”, JRS 105 (2015), 183–202; Tacitus ann. 15.44.4 and Suetonius Nero 16.2 used it also as a term for the Christian cult, but it was a common label for all forms of unaccepted forms of religiosity. 75 Freudenberger, Verhalten, 176 n. 22, provides examples for the use of the metaphor in Roman rhetoric.

288

Markus Öhler

description of the immense spread of Christianity across the double province. 10a–c: Certe satis constat prope iam desolata templa coepisse celebrari et sacra sollemnia diu intermissa repeti passimque venire victimarum [carnem], cuius adhuc rarissimus emptor inveniebatur. – “It is certainly quite clear that the temples, which had been almost deserted, have begun to be frequented, that the established religious rites, long neglected, are being resumed, and that meat of sacrificial animals is being sold again at many places, for which until now very few purchasers could be found.” With this sentence Pliny describes some previous effects of the expansion of the Christian superstition: Temples were almost deserted, the sacra were neglected, and sacrificial animals (meat) found no buyers. The symptoms of the disease are mostly religious! Since Christianity is only a cult without any negative effect on the social life per se, Pliny brings forward the impact on religious affairs and institutions.76 These three examples are all intended to show how big the impact of this superstition was, which again implies how many people it had infected. But Pliny’s main point is still that all of this has changed thanks to his proceedings against Christians. The inclusion of the words iam and diu indicate that up to the beginning of his measures, all of the established religious activities in the double-province were in decline, but that now his solution has already proven to be effective. “deserted temples and neglected rituals” Pliny insinuates that temples throughout the province had been abandoned (desolata). It is not clear whether he thinks of the entire temple personal leaving their assigned duties – highly unlikely – or rather of only small attendance at cultic rites or festivals (which has financial consequences for the sanctuaries).77 Anyway : This sounds quite like an overstatement of facts, 76 On Pliny’s activities towards the traditional religions see Walsh, Pliny, xxii–xiv ; Schowalter, D.N., The Emperor and the Gods: Images from the Time of Trajan (HDR 28; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 51–80 (on the Panegyricus). Pliny refers to the Roman deities on several occasions in his letters (I 5.5; 12.8; 22.11; II 2.2; 20.6; III 3.7; V 6.46; 11.3; 17.6; VI 11.4; 16.3; 25.5; VII 19.11; 24.3; X 2.3; 13–14; 51). He writes, e. g., that times of illness make someone aware of the existence of the gods (VII 26.2). He dedicated a Jupiter-statue to the temple in Como (III 6.4–5) and reports about his intention to refurbish and expand the sanctuary of Ceres in Como in order to provide better conditions for the performance of gatherings and religious acts. He regards that as performance of his duty and religio (IX 39). 77 It is not possible to provide an overview of cults and temples in Pontus-Bithynia here. Marek, Stadt, 98, lists for Amastris the cults of Zeus Strategos and Zeus Bonitenos, Hera, Dionysos, Apollon, Aphrodite, Demeter, Poseidon, Hermes, Herakles, Asclepios, and the Dioscuri; for

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

289

especially when we consider that in none of his letters to Trajan, Pliny provides any hints on negligence of religious matters. Although he sometimes mentions issues pertaining to religious issues, neither the attendance to temples nor the execution of rituals played any role in this.78 This makes it likely that Pliny’s statement is a gross exaggeration, motivated by rhetoric, not by fact.79 On the contrary : Inquiries into the religious life in cities and countryside of Asia Minor indicate the opposite, i. e.: religious life intensified during the second and third century.80 While the later example of Alexander of Abonouteichos from 140–160 CE shows how receptive the population of Pontus was for religious innovation, there is no indication at all that traditional temples and cults had been neglected, neither in the time of Alexander nor earlier.81

“the decline in sale of sacrificial meat” The sale of sacrificial meat (caro victimalis)82 was one source of income for temple personnel. Pliny probably means that meat was sold directly in temples, rather than at the markets.83 A drop of sales is thought to be a direct consequence of the neglect of temples and rituals. It could mean that fewer animals were bought for sacrifices or that the meat of sacrificed victims found

78

79 80

81

82 83

Pontus see Olshausen, E., “Götter, Heroen und ihre Kulte in Pontos – ein erster Bericht”, in ANRW II 18.3 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 1990), 1865–1906. In X 49 Pliny reports plans of the Nicomedeans to relocate a temple of Magna Mater. He also refers four times to prayers to the gods in connection with vows for the welfare of the emperor and the Roman empire (pro salute principis, X 35, 52, 100, 102). These vows were taken by the soldiers and the elite of the provinces on the day of Trajan’s accession (whom the gods had appointed X 1.1) and were not connected to the Emperor cult. In X 70 Pliny tells Trajan about a templum for the emperor Claudius within a private building in Prusa, which is now in ruins. See e. g. Thraede, “Plinius”, 110: “Der hyperbolische Grundzug der Passage liegt auf der Hand.” Even if one speculates if this information was part of the libellus it is nevertheless used here to foster the argument of the proposition. On the continuation of Greek autochthon cults in Bithynia and Pontus under Roman rule and on the Emperor cult in the double province see Marek, Pontus et Bithynia, 104–17. Many sanctuaries were devoted to local gods, which were identified by specific epitheta, either pointing to older names of the gods or to places where they were worshipped. On the foundation of the Glykon-cult by Alexander and its roots in the religious landscape of Asia Minor see Victor, U., Lucianus: Alexandros oder der Lügenprophet (RGRW 132; Leiden et al.: Brill, 1997), 38–52. Lucian describes vividly the popularity of the cult, which might imply that traditional cults suffered some decline, but this is not mentioned in his satirical narrative. Lucian is also very critical of the people in Paphlagonia and Pontus, whom he describes as superstitious and foolish (9.15). On the discussion of the phrase passimque venire victimarum [carnem] and its textual basis see Sherwin-White, Pliny, 709; Thraede, “Plinius”, 109 n. 22; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 225–26. On the discussion about sacrificial meat and its origin see Koch, D.-A., “‘Alles, was 1m laj]kk\ verkauft wird, eßt …’: Die macella von Pompeji, Gerasa und Korinth und ihre Bedeutung für die Auslegung von 1Kor 10,25”, in Koch, D.-A. (ed.), Hellenistisches Christentum: Schriftverständnis – Ekklesiologie – Geschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 165–96.

290

Markus Öhler

no buyers. Both would imply a significant economic impact. Less attendance to pagan cults equals less sacrifices, which equals reduction of sales. Pliny does not indicate that the condemnation of idol-food in early Christianity (Acts 15:29; 21:25; Did 6:3; Rev 2:15, 20) was the decisive factor for that, instead Christianity and its rejection of the traditional cults was responsible for that situation. His intention is to bring another example for the (already stopped) decline of temples and sanctuaries in Pontus (and Bithynia). His main point is not a description of the actual religious situation, but that this situation has improved thanks to him.84 People are returning to the temples, rituals are performed again, sacrificial victims or meat is sold. All in all, it should be clear : Pliny exaggerated the situation in order to convince his reader Trajan (and his readers in Rome) to approve of his actions against this superstition and to recommend his policy with those who denied being Christians. In the same way as his decree to suppress the rising collegia in Pontus and Bithynia had been successful (X 96.7; see X 34, 93), his proceedings in the causa of the Christian cult were equally effective.85 With this letter and especially with the concluding proposition, Pliny dramatically recommends his course of action.

10d: Ex quo facile est opinari, quae turba hominum emendari possit, si sit paenitentiae locus. “Hence it is easy to imagine what a multitude of people can be reformed if an opportunity for repentance is afforded.” The final sentence of Pliny’s letter brings his fundamental view on the handling of such situations to the fore. The importance of this is confirmed by the iteration of the decisive term paenitentia in Trajan’s reply (97.2). It is the high number of Christians which reveals the importance of indulgence for those who renounce this superstition. Already at the beginning of the letter, Pliny had asked whether former Christians should be pardoned (2), now at the end he provides the answer himself: Yes, they should. Renunciation from the nomen ipsum has resulted in renewed worship of the traditional Gods – Roman as well as local – and this will continue in the future. Pliny is thoroughly convinced of that. It is clear that a pardon for those who give up the 84 See, e. g., Koch, Geschichte, 536–37. 85 One must add though that Pliny’s indirect self-praise for executing the banishment of voluntary associations in Pontus-Bithynia so thoroughly that the Christians stopped coming together for worship and common meals is highly doubtful. There is no indication that pagan associations (or Judean synagogues) were dissolved, instead several inscriptions from the second cent. CE prove the ongoing practices of associations; see Öhler, M., “Greco-Roman Associations, Judean Synagogues and Early Christianity in Bithynia-Pontus”, in Breytenbach, C./Ogereau, J.M. (ed.), Authority and Identity in Emerging Christianities in Asia Minor and Greece (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2018), 62–88, 73–4.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

291

superstitio was some sort of collective offer to all Christians, since he wants to prevent a surge of trials on this matter.86 For our interpretation of Pliny’s account on the spread of Christianity in Pontus-Bithynia we should keep the following in mind: 1) Pliny’s description is a rhetorical masterpiece in its own, carefully constructed and deliberately formulated. 2) The whole letter is geared to convince Trajan and the readers of the letter collection to follow Pliny’s lead when dealing with Christianity : Insistence and stubbornness should lead to execution, renunciation and contrition to pardon. 3) Using Pliny’s letter as historical source only makes sense if its rhetorical character is taken into consideration: Especially the statements about the dissemination of Christianity through all segments of society and through every region of the double-province should be read with reasonable caution. 4) If Pliny indeed intended to provide general guidance for the handling of “the Christian problem” in the future, he was thoroughly successful: Every emperor who devoted himself to this question or started an organized persecution of Christians adhered to the once constituted principle, which had been approved by Trajan. Even if the collection of Pliny’s and Trajan’s letters was not an official document, it nevertheless functioned like that.

3. Evidence for Christianity in Pontus and Bithynia In this last paragraph I want to countercheck my interpretation of Pliny with other evidence for Christianity in Pontus and Bithynia. The sources for that are however very few.87 Bithynia is mentioned twice in the New Testament (Acts 16:7; 1Pet 1:1), Pontus three times (Acts 2:9; 18:2; 1Pet 1:1). The address of 1Peter names Christ-believers in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia, thus building a geographical circle.88 I do not consider this very broad address to have any more historical significance than a general naming of parts of Asia Minor. If and how many Christ-believers lived in Pontus and Bithynia at the time of the composition of 1Peter, which was probably at quite the same time as Pliny’s letter, cannot be concluded from this document. 86 See Thraede, “Plinius”, 112. 87 See Öhler, Associations, 74–87; Mullen, R.M., The Expansion of Christianity : A Gazetteer of its First Three Centuries (VigChr.S 59; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 114–132. 88 There are however some variations of the address according to NA28: C. Sinaiticus in its uncorrected form (together with 048 and some manuscripts of the Vulgate) omits the reference to Asia, whereas C. Vaticanus – also prima manu – omits Bithynia. These could be just scribal errors or adaptations according to later provincial organizations.

292

Markus Öhler

In Lucian’s book on the prophet Alexander of Abonouteichos, Christbelievers in Pontus are mentioned twice (25.38). Alexander founded the oracle and cult of the snake-God Glykon in the 40’s of the second century CE. It became quite popular during the following decades beyond Pontus-Bithynia, even enjoyed some Roman backing and lasted until the end of the third century.89 Lucian’s satirical description of Alexander’s activities, written around 180 CE, includes some references to the prophet’s (and Lucian’s) hostile attitude towards Christians and Epicureans. “Pontus is full of atheists and Christians” (!h]ym 1lpepk/shai ja· Wqistiam_m t¹m P|mtom), Alexander proclaimed (25). During a festival he declared “Out with the Christians!” (5ny Wqistiamo}r; 38), which was responded by the crowd with “Out with the Epicureans!”90 Although the quite conventional accusation of atheism is not only directed against Christians but also to Epicureans, it does come close to Pliny’s judgement of Christianity as superstitio (W 96.8–9). What we can learn from this very short remark in the satire is at least that Christianity was thought to be widespread in Pontus in the second half of the second century. The only Christian in Pontus we know of at the time of Pliny’s governorship might have been Marcion of Sinope, who was probably born around 85 CE.91 According to a source used in Epiphanius’ Panarion, Marcion’s father was bishop of an ekkle¯sia in Sinope (42.1,3,6). Members of this community during the early second century CE would have been in periculum to be accused before Pliny. But biographical information about a ‘heretic’ provided by his opponents like Tertullian or later patristic authors are notoriously unreliable, so that we should not conclude too much from that about the real significance of Christianity in Pontus at that time. We have a little more reliable information for the later second century : A letter of Dionysios of Corinth (ca. 180 CE) to Amastris and communities in Pontus, cited in Euseb’s history IV 23.6, mentions a bishop Palmas who was later presiding a synod of Pontian bishops (Euseb HE V 23.3). Together with Lucian’s notice we can conclude that at least around 160–180 CE a considerable number of Christ-believers lived in Pontus, presumably in the cities. In Hippolytus’ commentary on the Book of Daniel, written between 202 and 212 CE, the author tells a story about an unnamed Christian, perhaps a leader of a local church, who stirred up the expectation of the last judgment (IV 19). Many, as Hippolytus reports, believed his claims, which he had received through dreams rather than by interpretation of scripture. They even left their fields and destroyed their possessions. After a year, the whole movement broke 89 See, e. g., Marek, Pontus et Bithynia, 111–17. The only Pontic city mostly critical to Alexander’s oracle was apparently Amastris (Lucian Alexandros 25). 90 On the historic dimension of this formula see e. g. Lucian Alexandros 16. 91 On the life of Marcion see Räisänen, H., “Marcion”, in Marjanen, A./Luomanen, P. (ed.), A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’ (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008), 100–24, 102–4.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

293

down and he and his followers fell in disgrace and poverty. Whether this story has some historical substance is highly doubtful, since apart from the land of Pontus no further specific details like places, names or the time of this incident are mentioned.92 The assumption that Christianity was widespread in Bithynia and Pontus is also not substantiated by inscriptional evidence of Christ-believers. There are only few findings from Pontus, the earliest dating to the end of the third century CE. Quite the same is true for Bithynia.93 The very small number of records of Christians, whose Christian character is often far from clear, is in a striking contrast to the number of findings in other parts of Asia Minor, e. g. Phrygia.94 It might be the case that Pliny’s measures had led to a distinctive push-back of Christianity in these areas, which was nevertheless not lasting for long. If we can trust Lucian’s description of Christianity as one major alternative to the Glykon-cult, the situation seems to have changed in the decades after Pliny’s governorship. The lack of inscriptional evidence might rather be due to a different epigraphic habit in these areas. A comparison between pagan, Judean and Christian inscriptions shows how hesitantly Christ-believers developed a new language, used Christian names or titles. Their reluctance to put their belief to the front might be intended to conceal their allegedly scandalous new religious identity. But in my opinion, it is more probable that the identity of many Christians in Pontus and Bithynia was not as straightforward as a modern reader might expect.

Conclusions Was Christianity a widespread phenomenon in Pontus and Bithynia, disseminated through all social groups and spread even to the hinterland of the major cities? It should have become clear that a definitive answer to this question is not as easy as it might seem. Pliny, the governor of the province, undoubtedly had some serious problems with Christians, but the rhetorician Pliny is exaggerating the number and the impact of Christians in order to promote his advice for the conduct with those people.95 Other evidence leads us to the same conclusion: 92 Harnack, Mission, 755, regards it as a historical event; see also Victor, Alexandros, 143. 93 For the epigraphic evidence see Öhler, “Associations”, 78–86. The earliest epigraphic instances for people are not clearly Christian, e. g., SEG 28.1037 (Nicomedia; third cent. CE), IPrusaOlymp 115 (late second cent. CE) or IKlaudiop 44 (third cent. CE). 94 See, e. g., recently Breytenbach, C./Zimmermann, C., Early Christianity in Lycaonia and Adjacent Areas: From Paul to Amphilochius of Iconium (AJEC 101 [ECAM 2]; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2017). 95 See, e. g., Hopkins, “Christian Number”, 190: “… Pliny’s Christians were numbered in dozens rather than in hundreds”.

294

Markus Öhler

There were Christians in these parts of Asia Minor and they were not hidden, but at the same time their number was not unusually high, perhaps even lower than in other parts of the peninsula.96 We do not know how the Christian message and belief had come to Pontus, since our earliest knowledge about Pontic Christianity independent of Pliny stems from the end of the 2nd century : Dionysios’ letter, Marcion’s origin from Sinope, Lucian’s presentation of Alexander of Abonuteichos and the unknown apocalyptic prophet mentioned by Hippolytos. But if we trust Pliny’s words, we can assume that his actions must have been successful in the first place. The almost complete lack of Early Christian sources about Pontus might prove that all memory of the beginnings had been eradicated by Pliny. However, he was not entirely successful either, for about two generations later, traces of a living Christianity can again be seen in Pontus. Alternatively, one could conclude that Pliny was pushing his line of argument much further than the real situation allowed. In his attempt to convince Trajan, he exaggerated the situation in order to convince him of his actions and to get an affirmation. Our unsuccessful search for documents of Early Christianity in Pontus could be – apart from the apparent rhetorical shaping of Pliny’s letter – an affirmation of this interpretation. Finally, if we also take into account the possibility that the letter was written and edited with the intention that Roman elite readers should be informed about Christians and the best actions against this superstition, the whole matter gains a more fundamental dimension. By Trajan’s time some encounters between Christians and Roman officials had already taken place: Antipas (Rev 2:13), martyrs mentioned in Polycarp’s letter (Pol 9:1) and – a bit later than Pliny – Ignatius of Antioch. Pliny refers to trials of Christians in the beginning of the letter (1). Thus, it is fair to say that by the beginning of the second century members of the Roman elite became more and more aware of this new and disturbing cult. Pliny might have been confronted with them in Pontus (or Bithynia), I do not doubt that, but he apparently has heard that there had been problems with Christians before.97 When he received accusations against Christians and investigated their belief and actions, he might have realized the possibility to develop a course of action against these people. Such actions are partly founded in Roman law, but they also add new dimensions to it. All in all, his intention was not only to fight Christianity in

96 The debate about the overall number of Christians in the Roman Empire at the end of the second century CE cannot be conducted here; see Stark, R., The Rise of Christianity : A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); Hopkins, “Christian Number”; Drake, H.A., “Models of Christian Expansion”, in Harris, W.V. (ed.), The Spread of Christianity in the First Four Centuries: Essays in Explanation (Boston/New York: Brill, 2005), 1–13.; Robinson, Who Were the First Christians? 97 Is it possible that Pliny had encountered Christians already in Syria during his military post in 82 CE?

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

295

Pontus with as little bloodshed as necessary, but to provide the Roman elite with an approach; an approach fit for a just and patient emperor like Trajan.

Bibliography Primary Literature Mynors, R.A.B., C. Plini Caecili Secvndi epistvlarvm libri decem (SCBO; Oxford: Clarendon, 1963). Victor, U., Lucianus: Alexandros oder der Lügenprophet (RGRW 132; Leiden et al.: Brill, 1997). Walsh, P.G., Pliny the Younger : Complete Letters (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).

Secondary Literature Alfo¨ ldy, G., Städte, Eliten und Gesellschaft in der Gallia Cisalpina: Epigraphischhistorische Untersuchungen (HABES 30; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1999). Bonner, S.F., Education in Ancient Rome from the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny (London: Methuen, 1977). Breytenbach, C./Zimmermann, C., Early Christianity in Lycaonia and Adjacent Areas: From Paul to Amphilochius of Iconium (AJEC 101 [ECAM 2]; Leiden/ Boston: Brill, 2017). Calboli Montefusco, L., “Stylistic and Argumentative Function of Rhetorical ‘Amplificatio’”, Hermes 132 (2004), 69–81. Coleman, K.M., “Bureaucratic Language in the Correspondence between Pliny and Trajan”, TAPhA 142 (2012), 189–238. Cook, J.G., Roman Attitudes toward the Christians: From Claudius to Hadrian (WUNT 261; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). Downing, F.G., “Pliny’s Prosecutions of Christians: Revelation and 1 Peter”, JSNT 34 (1988), 105–23. Drake, H.A., “Models of Christian Expansion”, in Harris, W.V. (ed.), The Spread of Christianity in the First Four Centuries: Essays in Explanation (Boston/New York: Brill, 2005), 1–13. Eck, W., “Die große Pliniusinschrift aus Comum: Funktion und Monument”, in Angeli Bertinelli, G./Donati, A. (ed.), Varia Epigraphica: Atti del Colloquio Internazionale di Epigrafia. Bertinoro, 8–10 giugno 2000 (Faenza: Fratelli Lega Editori, 2001), 225–35. Freudenberger, R., Das Verhalten der römischen Behörden gegen die Christen im 2. Jahrhundert, dargestellt am Brief des Plinius an Trajan und den Reskripten Trajans und Hadrians (Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 52; München: Beck, 21969).

296

Markus Öhler

Gibson, R.K./Morello, R., Reading the Letters of Pliny the Younger : An Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). Grant, R.M., “Pliny and the Christians”, HThR 41 (1948), 273–74. Haensch, R., Capita provinciarum: Statthaltersitze und Provinzialverwaltung in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Kölner Forschungen 7; Mainz: von Zabern, 1997). Harnack, A.v., Die Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten (Leipzig: VMA, 41924). Harrill, J.A., “Servile Functionaries or Priestly Leaders: Roman Domestic Religion, Narrative Intertextuality, and Pliny’s Reference to Slave Christian Ministrae (Ep. 10,96,8)”, ZNW 97 (2006), 111–30. Hoffer, S.E., The Anxieties of Pliny the Younger (American Classical Studies 43; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999). Hoffer, S.E., “Divine Comedy? Accession Propaganda in Pliny, Epistles 10.1–2 and the Panegyric”, JRS 96 (2006), 73–87. Hopkins, K., “Christian Number and its Implications”, JECS 6 (1998), 185–226. Kasten, H., “Einführung”, in Kasten, H. (ed.), Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus: Briefe/Epistularum libri decem (Düsseldorf: Artemis & Winkler, 2003). Koch, D.-A., “‘Alles, was 1m laj]kk\ verkauft wird, eßt …’: Die macella von Pompeji, Gerasa und Korinth und ihre Bedeutung für die Auslegung von 1Kor 10,25”, in Koch, D.-A. (ed.), Hellenistisches Christentum: Schriftverständnis – Ekklesiologie – Geschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 165–96. Koch, D.-A., Geschichte des Urchristentums: Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 22014). LefHvre, E., Vom Römertum zum Ästhetizismus: Studien zu den Briefen des jüngeren Plinius (BzA 269; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009). MacDonald, M.Y., “Re-envisioning Ekklesia Space: Evidence of the Flexible Use of Household Space for Religious Instruction and Practice in the Pastoral Epistles”, ARG 18/19 (2017), 91–104. Madsen, J.M., Eager to be Roman: Greek Response to Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia (London: Duckworth, 2013). Marek, C., Stadt, Ära und Territorium in Pontus-Bithynia und Nord-Galatia (Istanbuler Forschungen 39; Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1993). Marek, C., Pontus et Bithynia: Die römischen Provinzen im Norden Kleinasiens (Orbis Provinciarum; Mainz: von Zabern, 2003). Millar, F., “Trajan: Government by Correspondence”, in Cotton, H. M./Rogers, G.M., Rome, the Greek World, and the East (London: University of North Carolina Press, 2004), 23–46. Mullen, R.M., The Expansion of Christianity : A Gazetteer of its First Three Centuries (VigChr.S 59; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004). NoreÇa, C.F., “The Social Economy of Pliny’s Correspondence with Trajan”, AJP 128 (2007), 239–77. Öhler, M., “Das ganze Haus: Antike Alltagsreligiosität und die Apostelgeschichte”, ZNW 102 (2011), 201–34.

Pliny and the Expansion of Christianity in Cities and Rural Areas

297

Öhler, M., Geschichte des frühen Christentums (Basiswissen Theologie und Religionswissenschaft; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018). Öhler, M., “Greco-Roman Associations, Judean Synagogues and Early Christianity in Bithynia-Pontus”, in Breytenbach, C./Ogereau, J.M. (ed.), Authority and Identity in Emerging Christianities in Asia Minor and Greece (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2018), 62–88. Olshausen, E., “Götter, Heroen und ihre Kulte in Pontos – ein erster Bericht”, in ANRW II 18.3 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 1990), 1865–1906. Räisänen, H., “Marcion”, in Marjanen, A./Luomanen, P. (ed.), A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’ (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008), 100–24. Reichert, A., “Durchdachte Konfusion: Plinius, Trajan und das Christentum”, ZNW 93 (2002), 227–50. Robinson, T.A., Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). Rostowzew, M., Studien zur Geschichte des römischen Kolonates (Beihefte zum Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete 1; Leipzig/Berlin: Teubner, 1910). Schowalter, D.N., The Emperor and the Gods: Images from the Time of Trajan (HDR 28; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). Shelton, J.-A., The Women of Pliny’s Letters (New York: Routledge, 2012). Sherwin-White, A.N., The Letters of Pliny : A Historical and Social Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 31985). Stadter, P.A., “Pliny and the Ideology of Empire: The Correspondence with Trajan”, Prom. 32 (2006), 61–76. Stark, R., The Rise of Christianity : A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). Thraede, K., “Noch einmal: Plinius d. J. und die Christen”, ZNW 95 (2004), 102–28. Weiß, A., Soziale Elite und Christentum: Studien zu ordo-Angehörigen unter den frühen Christen, (Millenium-Studien 52; Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter, 2015). Wendt, H., “Ea Superstitione: Christian Martyrdom and the Religion of Freelance Experts”, JRS 105 (2015), 183–202. Woolf, G., “Pliny/Trajan and the Poetics of Empire”, CP 110 (2015), 132–51. Woolf, G., “Pliny’s Province”, in Bekker-Nielsen, T. (ed.), Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2006), 93–108.

Karen P.S. Janssen

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts” Legal Negotiation and the Persecution of Lyon and Vienne1

At the very beginning of the fifth book of his Ecclesiastical History, the church historian Eusebius of Caesarea (ca. 260–340 CE) discusses a series of events that, in his view, serves to illustrate the position of Christians in the Roman world at the end of the second century CE (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V pr. 1 and V 2:1).2 The author refers to this period in history as one of great turmoil for his community, and compares the “wars for the peace of the soul” he is about to recount to the wars about earthly matters discussed by other historians. Rather than describing these events himself, however, he quotes lengthy passages from a fascinating piece of writing that he believes is “worthy of everlasting remembrance.”3 The document in question is a letter written by the Christian communities of Lyon and nearby Vienne to their brethren in Asia and Phrygia, which contains a harrowing eyewitness account of the persecutions that took place in their region. The reports from these communities are not only remarkable because the authors are said to have been directly connected to the events they describe, but also because the letter as transmitted to us is generally considered to be 1 My warmest gratitude goes out to the participants in the colloquium “Early Christian Encounters with Town and Countryside (Leiden, May 2017), and to the members of the Dutch “Stichting Oudchristelijke Studi[n” (Society of Early Christian Studies) for their questions and comments regarding earlier versions of this paper. I would like to extend special thanks to Jürgen K. Zangenberg and Jan Bremmer for their respective useful suggestions. 2 A number of editions of the relevant passage are available. Musurillo, H., The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 62–85 provides both the Greek text and an English translation, as does Rebillard, P., Greek and Latin Narratives about the Ancient Martyrs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 145–73. The latter makes extensive use of the edition in Bastiaensen, A. A.R. (ed.), Atti e passioni dei martiri (Milan: Mondadori, 1987). Another recent edition may be found in Seeliger H.R./Wischmeyer, W. (eds.), Märtyrerliteratur (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015). For the entirety of the Ecclesiastical History, see the translation of Lake and Oulton in the Loeb Classical Library. All translations of the Ecclesiastical History contained in this paper have been adapted from the Loeb edition. Translations from Pliny the Younger’s Epistulae are my own. 3 It should be emphasized that Eusebius presents only parts of the letter, but that he claims to have had access to the entirety of the document (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V pr. 2), and indicates when passages have been omitted. See Rebillard, Greek and Latin Narratives, 145. This seems to suggest a degree of faithfulness to the available sources on Eusebius’ part. Moss, C.R., Ancient Christian Martyrdom. Diverse Practices, Theologies and Traditions (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), 104–6 has likewise argued against the invention of the letter by Eusebius.

300

Karen P.S. Janssen

largely authentic. While some have suggested that the events discussed in the letter took place in Galatia, rather than Gaul,4 this view has overwhelmingly been dismissed.5 In large part, this is due to the fact that no real evidence for an error of this magnitude exists. The argument for relocating the events described by Eusebius to the eastern Mediterranean is primarily based on the fact that Lyon and Vienne were part of different provinces, and therefore different jurisdictions, but are nonetheless described as the joint target of the persecution in Eusebius’ introduction to the letter.6 However, given the geographical proximity of the two towns – which were connected by both road and river – and the likelihood that close relations existed between their respective Christian communities, we might ask ourselves if such an extreme solution to this curiosity is warranted: it has been suggested that Lyon and Vienne fell under the authority of the same bishop, and that Sanctus, the deacon of Vienne, was arrested while he was visiting Lyon.7 If this is indeed true, it seems more probable that the events described in the letter took place in Lyon, and that a number of Christians from Vienne became involved due to their presence in that city.8 It has also been suggested that the author of the letter appears to have been familiar with the Latin translation of Biblical texts, which makes a western origin more likely.9 The traditional date of 177 CE ascribed to the persecution is likewise widely considered to be at least approximately accurate, despite the fact that this dating is not included in the letter itself, but rather in Eusebius’ introduction to it.10 It is largely the 4 Colin, J., L’Empire des Antonins et les Martyrs Gaulois de 177 (Bonn: Habelt, 1964), 59. 5 Barnes, T.D., “Pre-Decian Acta Martyrum”, JThSt 19 (1968), 509–31, on p. 517; Keresztes, P., “The Massacre at Lugdunum in 177 A.D.”, Historia 16 (1967), 75–86, on p. 75; Musurillo, Christian Martyrs, xx. 6 Colin, Empire des Antonins, 20. 7 Frend, W.H.C., Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church. A Study of a Conflict from the Maccabees to Donatus (Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1967), 2. While Moss, Ancient Christian Martyrdom, 103 has drawn attention to the fact that the cities of Lyon and Vienne were historically at odds with each other, as is stated in Tacitus, Hist. 1:65, the same thus need not have held true for the Christian communities of the region. 8 It may be tentatively noted that the descriptions of the persecution in the letter seem to refer to a single city, rather than multiple: Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:8 mentions only a single city council, and only a single prison. The emphasis on the role of the mob in the text may likewise suggest a single urban environment. 9 Robinson, J.A., The Passion of S. Perpetua (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891), 97–100. The connection between this observation and the origin of the letter in the western empire is made by Barnes, “Pre-Decian Acta”, 517. 10 Barnes, “Pre-Decian Acta”, 518; Colin, Empire des Antonins, 12; Dehandschutter, B., “A Community of Martyrs. Religious Identity and the Case of the Martyrs of Lyons and Vienne”, in Leemans, J. (ed.), More than a Memory. The Discourse of Martyrdom and the Construction of Christian Identity in the History of Christianity (Louvain: Uitgeverij Peeters, 2005), 3–22, on pp. 6–8; Keresztes, P., “The Imperial Roman Government and the Christian Church I. From Nero to the Severi”, ANRW II 23.1 (1979), 247–315, on p. 299. Notably, Eusebius presents a date of 166–7 in his Chronicon. For the idea that the date in the Ecclesiastical History is a correction of an earlier mistake in the Chronicon, see Barnes, T.D., “Eusebius and the Date of the Martyrdoms”,

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

301

reputation of Marcus Aurelius as a moderate and not particularly antiChristian emperor that has been used to argue that these events must have taken place at a significantly later date.11 The noted increase in apologetic Christian literature in the late second century CE, however, seems to belie this argument.12 The time and place of the events described in the letter are thus fairly well established. This is not to say, however, that the text of the letter is to be regarded uncritically : In recent years, more attention has been paid to the literary aims of both Eusebius and the author(s) of the letter,13 which has included an exploration of the idea that the original missive was edited at some point during its transmission. It should be noted, however, that the debate on this subject has generally been concerned with the portrayal of the martyrs in the letter, and the possible theological or ideological implications of that portrayal. By contrast, the legal proceedings referred to in the letter do not appear to have been the primary concern of any potential editor, and their description is considered to be largely accurate even by Winrich A. Löhr, whose analysis is still seen as a foundational work by many authors who take a more critical view of the text presented by Eusebius.14 The overwhelming majority of scholarship thus continues to hold that the core of legal proceedings described in the missive is largely authentic. As such, this letter provides one of the very few examples of interaction between Christians and the Roman authorities in the western provinces of the Roman Empire transmitted to us. Eusebius’ work, and reports on early Christianity in general, tend to be strongly focussed on the Greek-speaking east, while being

11

12 13

14

Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 137–43, on p. 143. Thompson, J.W., “The Alleged Persecution of the Christians at Lyons in 177”, American Journal of Theology 16 (1912), 359–84, on p. 361. Thompson also argues that Marcus Aurelius would not have tolerated what he refers to as “flagrant violations of Roman law”. See Ibidem, 379–80 and Thompson, J.W., “The Alleged Persecution of the Christians at Lyons in 177. A Reply to Certain Criticisms”, American Journal of Theology 17 (1913), 249–85, on pp. 252–4. Although this line of thinking is followed by Corke-Webster, J., “A Literary Historian. Eusebius of Caesarea and the Martyrs of Lyons and Palestine”, Studia Patristica 66/14 (2013), 191–202, on pp. 200–201, the idea that the governor in Lyon acted contrary to Roman administrative procedures is by no means beyond dispute, as we shall see below. Keresztes, “Nero to the Severi”, 301 f. See, for instance, Corke-Webster, “Literary Historian” and Dehandschutter, “Community of Martyrs”, as well as Moss, Ancient Christian Martyrdom and Moss, C.R., The Other Christs. Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 90–4. The latter work provides interesting insights into the various sets of metaphors employed in the letter. Löhr, W.A., “Der Brief der Gemeinden von Lyon und Vienne”, in Papandreou, D./Bienert, W.A./ Schäferdiek, K. (eds.), Oecumenica et Patristica. Festschrift für Wilhelm Schneemelcher zum 75. Geburtstag (Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1989), 135–49, on pp. 138 and 143–44. Löhr rejects the descriptions in the letter on a number of smaller points, which will be discussed in more detail below.

302

Karen P.S. Janssen

comparatively neglectful towards Latin sources and the west.15 For this reason, the events in Lyon and Vienne provide valuable insight into an area of the Empire we otherwise rarely get to see. It is precisely this uniqueness, combined with the particularly gruesome descriptions of torture and death contained in the letter, that has led scholars to see the persecution in Lyon and Vienne as an extraordinary, or even abnormal, event that warrants an explanation. Various researchers have approached these events with the assumption that they are somehow different from any anti-Christian actions that preceded them, and explanations abound as to why this would have been the case.16 So far, attention has primarily been directed at centralized imperial legislation that could have contributed to a spike in popular violence against Christians, either in Gaul specifically, or throughout the Empire. The most popular suggestions include a law that allowed for the use of convicts as cheap gladiators,17 an edict that prescribed universal sacrifice18 and an edict that was originally aimed at astrologers and other diviners, but was nonetheless used to target Christians.19 In the latter two cases, however, we might ask ourselves to what extent Gaul would have been affected by these measures in practice. The known measures regarding divination in particular generally only applied to the city of Rome and the immediately surrounding area, and it is very likely that the measure ascribed to Marcus Aurelius (D. 48.19.30) was of a similarly limited scope.20 It should also be noted that the text of this imperial rescript only refers to banishment, and thus does not explain the executions that took place in Lyon. Universal sacrifice likewise appears to be without substantial precedent until the time of Decius, and there is little conclusive evidence to suggest that such a measure was ever enforced by law before that time.21 15 Barnes, “Eusebius”, 138. 16 Keresztes, “Massacre“, 86; Keresztes, “Nero to the Severi”, 301. The minutes published in Gr8goire, H., “ProcHs-verbaux des S8ances de la Soci8t8 Th8ono8. S8ance du 8 Octobre 1956”, La Nouvelle Clio. Revue Mensuelle de la D8couverte Historique 7–9 (1955–1957), 298–304, on pp. 303–04 even cite a remark by M. Orgels, suggesting that the events in Lyon were part of the first empire-wide persecution. 17 Croteau, S.J., Marcus Aurelius and the Accidental Martyrs of Lyons: A.D. 177 (Ph.D. diss., University of Missouri-Columbia, 1992), on pp. 114–15; Gr8goire, “ProcHs-verbaux”, 300 f; Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution, 5; Keresztes, “Nero to the Severi”, 303; Moeller, W.O. “The Trinci/Trinqui and the Martyrs of Lyons”, Historia 21 (1972), 127; Oliver, J.H./Palmer, R.E.A., “Minutes of an Act of the Roman Senate”, Hesperia 24 (1955), 320–49, on pp. 324–7. 18 Croteau, “Marcus Aurelius”, 114 f; Keresztes, “Nero to the Severi”, 300. 19 Benko, S., Pagan Rome and the Early Christians (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 43. 20 It is particularly interesting that this measure is described as a rescript – an imperial response to a particular legal question posed by one of his subjects. Such responses could be used as precedent, but were primarily intended as a resolution to a specific case. As such, this passage is unlikely to have had significant influence on the events in Lyon. 21 Rives, J.B., “The Decree of Decius and the Religion of Empire”, JRS 89 (1999), 135–54, on pp. 144–7.

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

303

Despite this wide range of suggestions for centralized causes of the persecution, however, little attention has been paid to the actual procedures described by the survivors of the persecutions. For the most part, it has been suggested that this was simply a case of officials “yielding to popular feeling”22 and possibly even acting unlawfully in order to do so.23 However, a more thorough analysis of the legal procedures is generally omitted. In what follows, I would like to provide a re-examination of the events in Lyon and Vienne in the context of Roman provincial administration. Such an analysis may not only help us to determine to what extent this particular persecution was indeed unique, but also to see more clearly what factors played a part in the Roman administration’s treatment of the early Christian movement. I will begin by briefly introducing the framework of Roman government at the time of the persecutions, before turning to the particulars of the situation in Lyon: what were the origins of the persecution, what complaints against the Christian community were brought forward, and who played a part in determining the course of events? Throughout this discussion, I will adhere to the chronology provided by the text as much as possible, since this makes it easier to determine at which points in time the various actors became involved.

1. Rome and the Provinces When discussing matters of Roman provincial administration, it is essential to first consider which institutions and individuals played a part in the creation and enforcement of policy. Of course, it goes without saying that the emperor stood at the very top of the political pyramid, but he could hardly be in two places at once – as tends to be the case in a system of government that is quite literally monarchical. For this reason, the emperor had to rely strongly on his provincial governors, who not only had to keep him informed of what was going on in the various corners of the Empire, but were also responsible for executing the emperor’s wishes.24 That is not to say, however, that the Empire was a straight-forward topdown organization, in which the governors were simply intermediaries between emperor and subjects. In fact, it has been argued that such a system, in which the emperor had full and complete control, would have been 22 Musurillo, “Christian Martyrs”, xx. 23 Coleman-Norton, P.R., Roman State and Christian Church. A Collection of Legal Documents to A.D. 535 (3 vols.; London: S.P.C.K., 1966), 1180; Colin, Empire des Antonins, 20; Keresztes, “Massacre”, 75 and 80. As mentioned above, Thompson and Corke-Webster see the perceived illegality of the governor’s action as a reason to reject the authenticity of the letter. See Thompson, “Alleged Persecution”, 379 f and “Certain Criticisms”, 252–4, as well as CorkeWebster, “Literary Historian”, 200 f. 24 Fuhrmann, C.J., Policing the Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 148–50.

304

Karen P.S. Janssen

unsustainable to say the least: we know that the number of demands made of emperors could at times become overwhelming, and that not only the enforcement but also the making of decisions were therefore delegated to governors or other officials with some frequency.25 The governor was the primary legal and administrative authority in the province under his control, and could to a certain extent do what he considered to be best. This did not mean that a governor’s freedom to act was unlimited: imperial approval for one’s actions could be necessary, and even politically advantageous, in case trouble ever arose. In such cases, it was undoubtedly better to have asked for permission than to be forced to ask for forgiveness. In addition, asking for the emperor’s advice or permission was an excellent way of showing loyalty and humility, both of which were essential for a governor’s political career. For this reason, emperors tended to receive frequent messages from their representatives. Nevertheless, delegating remained an essential part of the Roman administrative process. Even when governors asked their superior for help in specific matters, it was not unusual for the emperor to tell him to judge matters ‘on the ground’, as we know happened repeatedly when Pliny the Younger was governor of the province Bithynia et Pontus: It would be harsh to compel the provincials to go to the college of priests if they wish to transfer the remains of their relatives from one place to the other for a just reason. You should therefore follow the example of those who held this province before you, and grant or deny each request as the case demands. (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 69)

Trajan here emphasizes the long-standing tradition of governors making their own decisions based on the facts presented to them by the inhabitants of their province. Both here and throughout the rest of their correspondence he repeatedly encourages Pliny to do the same,26 often with a reference to practicality. After all, the governor was present in the province itself, and could thus more easily judge what was needed – and what was wanted. In addition to the emperor, the governor invariably had to contend with the inhabitants of his province. A good relationship with the local elites was particularly important, since the governor could be strongly dependent on their cooperation for upholding public order.27 Furthermore, it was not 25 Eck, W., “Provincial Administration and Finance”, in Bowman, A.K./Garnsey, P./Rathbone, D. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History XI. The High Empire, AD 70–192 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 266–92, on p. 271; Fuhrmann, Policing, 148 f; Galsterer, H., “The Administration of Justice”, in Bowman, A.K./Champlin, E./Lintott, A. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History X. The Augustan Empire, 43 BC-AD 69 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 397–413, on p. 407. See also Aelius Aristides, Or. 26:31 f for the assertion that governors contributed significantly to the imperial workload by consulting their superiors about even the smallest of matters. 26 See Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 40; X 62; X 84 and X 117 for additional examples. 27 Ando, C., “The Administration of the Provinces”, in D. Potter (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

305

unusual for locals to contact the emperor directly in the context of a system that has become known as ‘petition and response’.28 While emperors often asked the governor to resolve such matters, as discussed above,29 it is important to remember that direct contact between emperors and the population of the Empire was indeed possible. This would have been especially relevant when the locals were dissatisfied with their governor. Uprisings, or indeed complaints made to the emperor by the local elites, could be disastrous for a governor’s career, and he would therefore have been eager to avoid such situations.30 It is best, therefore, to see the administration of the Roman provinces as a continuous cycle of negotiations in which the governor was, in a sense, trapped in the middle: he had to take both the wishes of his emperor and those of the population of his province into account if he wanted to be considered successful and maintain his position. The emperor depended on his governors for both information and the execution of policy, while both officials depended on the local elites to maintain peace and quiet, which was, it may well be argued, the primary goal of any Roman governor operating in the provinces. On the other hand, the locals depended on the goodwill of both governor and emperor to provide policy that suited their needs, and possibly even political privileges. In practice, therefore, none of the actors could simply impose his will on the others, but instead had to convince them to follow the course of action he saw as most beneficial.

the Roman Empire (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 177–92, on p. 181; Fuhrmann, Policing, 174; Roselaar, S.T., “Local Administration”, in Plessis, P.J. du/Ando, C./Tuori, K. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Law and Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 124–36, on pp. 127–9. See Fuhrmann, Policing, 45–87 for the importance of local self-help. 28 Fuhrmann, Policing, 148–50; Galsterer, “Administration”, 407 f; Millar, F., The Emperor in the Roman World. 31 B.C. –A.D. 337 (London: Duckworth, 1977). For some critical remarks on this model of provincial administration, see Ando, C., “Petition and Response, Order and Obey. Contemporary Models of Roman Government”, in Jursa, M./Prochazka, S. et al. (eds.), Governing Ancient Empires. Proceedings of the 3rd to 5th International Conferences of the research Network Imperium and Officium (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, forthcoming), 1–30, who does not dismiss the importance of bottom-up initiative entirely, but cautions against diminishing the role of the emperor. 29 See Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 76 and X 84 for examples. 30 A fascinating example may be found in Philo of Alexandria, Legatio ad Gaium. For the difficult position of the Roman governor see Kokkinia, C., “Ruling, Inducing, Arguing. How to Govern (and Survive) a Greek Province”, in Ligt, L. de/Hemelrijk, E.A./Singor, H.W. (eds.), Roman Rule and Civic Life. Local and Regional Perspectives (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2004), 39–58, passim.

306

Karen P.S. Janssen

2. The Origin of the Persecution Let us now turn back to the situation in Lyon in the late second century CE. At the very beginning of the letter cited by Eusebius, we find what may well be seen as a description of the social position of Christians in the city on the eve of the persecutions. The author mentions that Christians were excluded from all public places, including “houses, baths and the marketplace”, before being banned from “being seen in any place whatsoever” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:5). While it is easy to assume that this is an official policy, possibly instituted by the local authorities to isolate the local Christians as a precursor to more violent actions, this suggestion does not, in the end, hold up:31 it is simply unlikely that any official would have the authority to ban Christians from other people’s houses.32 In addition, this paragraph is not yet part of the persecution-narrative proper, but rather of a passage describing the persecutions as a struggle of the saints with the great adversary of the Christians and his servants. While the author of the letter uses this passage to briefly introduce the hostilities faced by the Christians of the city, and to predict a final struggle between the forces of good and evil, he does not yet make mention of physical violence. Therefore, this phrase is more likely to suggest a wide-spread sense of unease and hostility towards Lyon’s Christians, thus providing the setting for what was to follow. That is not to say, however, that these opening paragraphs are without significance for later events. In fact, from the very beginning of the disturbances onwards, we find that the initiative rested with Lyon’s city council, and in particular with the general population of the town: First, they (i. e., the Christians) nobly bore what the mob heaped on them, shouts and blows and dragging and robberies and stonings and imprisonment, and all those things an angry mob is wont to do to foes and enemies. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:7)

In this passage, and throughout the text of the letter, the author repeatedly refers to the perpetrators of the violence as “the mob” (using the terms ewkor and pk/hor alternately), and remarks that the actions of this mob were not at all uncommon for a population that was confronted with a perceived enemy, as is indicated by the phrase ¢r pq¹r 1whqo»r ja· pokel_our vike? c_meshai. The behaviour of the crowd towards the Christians of Lyon, then, is initially characterized as mass violence towards people seen as hostile outsiders. 31 Keresztes, “Massacre”, 81. 32 While a number of authors, including Moss, Ancient Christian Martyrdom, 106; Musurillo, Christian Martyrs, 63; and Rebillard, Greek and Latin Narratives, 153 translate the term oQj_a as “our houses” (that is: the houses of the Christians themselves), the possessive pronoun is not present in the original Greek, and there is little basis for this qualification. It is thus more likely that the author of the letter is making a more sweeping statement, and is instead referring to the social isolation of Christians in Lyon.

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

307

It is not, in itself, remarkable that the population of Lyon held hostile feelings towards the Christians in their midst. Since the early days of the Principate, Lyon had been closely connected to Rome and the imperial family. In 12 BCE, the city became home to the sanctuary of the so-called Tres Galliae, which was the regional centre of the cult of the goddess Roma and emperor Augustus.33 Originally, the cult was centred around an altar, but in the time of Hadrian a temple dedicated to the deified Roman emperors was erected, and the focus of the cult changed from the person of Augustus to a number of the new emperor’s predecessors.34 Every year, on the first of August, a festival to honour these former emperors was celebrated, and it seems likely that great importance was attached to the occasion.35 The priesthood of this cult was considered to be an office of significant status for members of the regional elite,36 who likely would have been drawn to Lyon by its administrative and religious importance.37 As such, the cult was not only religiously, but also socially, economically, and politically significant for the city, as is demonstrated by Hadrian’s investments in its infrastructure. Since the Christian inhabitants of Lyon could not in good conscience participate in this prominent aspect of city life, it is no wonder that they stood out, and that they were regarded as potential enemies whose loyalty was in question. The first steps towards persecution, then, were almost certainly made by the locals. There is no indication in the letter that any external factors, whether laws or administrators, contributed to inflaming anti-Christian sentiments. If such a thing had happened, it is likely that the letter would mention it. After all, any imperial command that may have formed the basis of the persecution would have to have been publicly proclaimed, as was part of the standard legislative procedure.38 As such, any connection between an imperial missive and the following persecution would almost certainly have drawn the attention of the local Christians.39 33 Fishwick, D., “The Federal Cult of the Three Gauls”, in Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 33–45, on pp. 33–4. 34 Fishwick, D., “The Temple of the Three Gauls”, JRS 62 (1972), 46–52, on pp. 50–1. Under Septimius Severus, the focus of the cult would shift once again, this time to worship of the living emperor. In this period, the altar was for a time once again the primary focus of the cult. See Fishwick, D. “The Severi and the Provincial Cult of the Three Gauls”, Historia 22 (1973), 627–49, passim. 35 Glay, M. le, “Le Culte imperial / Lyon, au IIe SiHcle Ap. J.C.”, in Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 19–31, on pp. 20–9. 36 Drinkwater, J.F., “A Note on Local Careers in the Three Gauls under the Early Empire”, Britannia 10 (1979), 89–100, on pp. 94–5. 37 Roug8, J., “Aspects 8conomiques du Lyon antique”, in Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 47–63, on p. 48. 38 For the mechanisms that played a part in the proclamation of a law, see Ando, C., Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2000), 96–117. 39 In the case of Diocletian’s ‘Great Persecution’, Eusebius does explicitly mention the connection

308

Karen P.S. Janssen

Another remarkable aspect of the events in Lyon that suggests that the origins of the persecution lay with the local population, rather than the Roman authorities, is the fact that the letter explicitly reports that the governor was not in Lyon when hostilities broke out: And after they (i. e., the Christians) had been led to the marketplace by the tribune and the preeminent authorities of the city, and had been questioned and confessed in front of the entire mob, they were locked in prison until the arrival of the governor. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:8)

In itself, this was not unusual: governors often travelled throughout their province, so it is very well possible that this unnamed governor’s itinerary had taken him elsewhere at the time.40 Despite the absence of the emperor’s primary representative in the city, however, matters progressed according to what may well be described as a judicial procedure: those who were accused of being Christians were led to the marketplace by the tribune, who was the governor’s second in command, and the local magistrates. Once they had arrived at their destination, the Christians were publicly questioned. After a confession had been extracted, the arrested Christians were incarcerated to await the return of the governor and a second trial under his jurisdiction. While we are thus certainly dealing with a degree of mob justice, this procedure was not, in itself, unlawful. It was common for trials in the ancient world to be instigated by a complaint made by a private individual, since a public prosecutor did not exist. We also know that local courts continued to exist in many cities even after their incorporation into the Roman Empire, and that governors could even delegate cases to them if they wished to do so.41 However, criminal cases generally fell under the jurisdiction of the governor, at least in legal sources from the Severan period transmitted to us, which meant that in all likelihood no concrete punishment for these people could be established without Roman involvement.42 The presence of the local magistrates, however, did lend a degree of authority to this part of the between the proclamation of new legislation and the outbreak of violence – see Hist. eccl. VIII 2:4. This difference in procedure tentatively seems to speak against the suggestion that Eusebius composed or edited the letter in order to create parallels between the martyrs of his own time and those of the past, presented in Corke-Webster, “Literary Historian”, 195–7. 40 Burton, G.P., “Proconsuls, Assizes and the Administration of Justice under the Empire”, JRS 65 (1975), 92–106; Fuhrmann, Policing, 173. 41 Bowman, A.K., “Provincial Administration and Taxation.”, in Bowman, A.K./Champlin, E./ Lintott, A. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History X. The Augustan Empire, 43 BC-AD 69 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 344–70, on p. 366; Fuhrmann, Policing, 174; Roselaar, “Local Administration”, 130 f. 42 Galsterer, H., “Local and provincial Institutions and Government”, in Bowman, A.K./Garnsey, P./Rathbone, D. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History XI. The High Empire, AD 70–192 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 344–60, on p. 351. Galsterer also cites the earlier Lex Irnitana, which dates from the Flavian period and excludes the local duoviri from criminal jurisdiction.

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

309

proceedings: this public trial, combined with the confessions of the accused, would have been a clear signal to the governor that this was not an incident he could simply ignore. Lyon demanded his involvement, and the city was very clear about the direction his actions should take.43 This pressure in no way relented when the governor returned to the city. We do not know how long the accused Christians were imprisoned, only that they were at some point brought before the governor and questioned again in public. This public setting is central to what follows: He (i. e., Vettius Epagathus) asked to be heard himself on behalf of his brothers, saying that there was nothing godless or impious about us. Those around the tribunal shouted him down, since he was a distinguished man, and the governor would not allow the just request he put forward, and only asked if he was a Christian himself. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:9 f)

Although the author of the letters insists that the governor “used all his cruelty against us” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:9), it becomes obvious soon after that his hand may well have been forced by the pagan inhabitants of the city. During the public trial, a certain Vettius Epagathus asked to speak in defence of the Christians, but was quickly shouted down by those who had gathered around the governor’s tribunal before the governor himself had even had a chance to speak. The fact that, after such a reception, the governor only asked if Epagathus was himself a Christian may well show that he was influenced by the profound hostility of the general population, and thus saw no other option but to make an example of those who had been accused.44 In this sense, what transpired in Lyon was not so very different from the events described by Pliny the Younger in his famous letter about the Christians in his province: In the meantime, I have followed this procedure regarding those who were denounced to me as Christians. (…) Over the course of the same enquiry, as commonly happens, there were more different cases as the accusation spread. An anonymous pamphlet was presented to me, containing the names of many. (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:2–5)

In this case, too, a governor saw himself compelled to respond to a number of hostile accusations made by the general population. Unlike in Lyon, some of these complaints were made anonymously, but whatever the method of accusation, Pliny clearly felt that they could not remain unanswered. The fact that Trajan responded to his governor’s letter by objecting only to anonymous accusations, while still believing that Christians should be tried if an accuser 43 For the role the local elites of this region could play in connecting the various levels of Roman administration, see Dondin-Payre, M., “Notables et Plites dans les Trois Gaules”, in Ligt, L. de/ Hemelrijk, E.A./Singor, H.W. (eds.), Roman Rule and Civic Life. Local and Regional Perspectives (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2004), 357–71, on pp. 369–70. 44 For the idea that Epagathus was especially hated because of his significant status, which allowed his defence of the Christians to be perceived as betrayal of his city and his community, see Boeft, J. den/Bremmer, J.N., “Notiunculae martyrologicae V”, VC 49 (1995), 146–64, on pp. 154–55.

310

Karen P.S. Janssen

appeared before the courts in person (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 97:2), even suggests that a degree of public pressure was not considered to be particularly unusual.

3. Charges and Accusations The description of these two trials, one by the city council of Lyon and one by its governor, also gives some hints about the nature of the charges made against the Christians. As previously mentioned, no indication is given that any ‘new decree’ was responsible for the outburst of hostility, as was apparently the case during a number of earlier persecutions in the province of Asia.45 Even if, as some have suggested, a law allowing convicts to be used as cheap gladiators was to blame, this still does not explain why Christians would be convicted in the first place, as has been astutely remarked by T.D. Barnes.46 The letter cited by Eusebius does, however, give us some indication of what the legal foundations for the trials of 177 CE were. In the first trial, it is made clear that the arrested Christians confessed after being questioned. This indicates that the formal charge was that of ‘being Christian’, or what is referred to by Pliny the Younger as the nomen ipsum (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:2). It is unlikely that these Christians would be described as confessing to a crime in any other sense of the word, especially because Epagathus later tells the governor that there was “nothing godless or impious” about them (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:9). The governor, in turn, responds by asking Epagathus if he is a Christian himself, and his confession on this point results in his immediate arrest. This suggests that an admission of Christianity was, in itself, sufficient to be “taken into the ranks of the martyrs”, as the author of the letter calls it (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:10). In this sense, then, nothing seems to have changed since the days of Pliny the Younger : being a Christian was still enough to be treated as a criminal, and no other charges needed to be brought forward. After the first wave of arrests and the trials, matters escalated rapidly. The governor publicly issued a command that all Christians were to be brought to trial (dglos_ô 1j´keusem b Bcel½m !mafgte?shai p²mtar Bl÷r; Eusebius, Hist. 45 This claim is made by Melito of Sardis, who is cited in Hist. Eccl. IV 26:5. The persecutions in Asia are linked to the events in Lyon by a number of authors, including Keresztes, P., “Marcus Aurelius a Persecutor?”, HThR 61 (1968), 321–41, on pp. 335–36, on the basis that the “new edicts” mentioned by Melito may have been empire-wide proclamations. It is notable, however, that Melito specifically limits the extent of the persecution to Asia, and that he initially focusses on Christians being robbed and extorted by false accusers. The possibility of execution is only evoked later, and since Eusebius cites only selected passages of Melito’s letter to the emperor, the context of this statement is unclear. It is thus far from certain that the events in Lyon and those in Asia were connected. 46 Barnes, T.D., “Legislation against the Christians”, JRS 58 (1968), 32–50, on p. 44.

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

311

eccl. V 1:14). This seems to have been a notable departure from the course of action Trajan had prescribed for Pliny : In that case, the emperor was insistent that Roman officials should not devote resources to seeking Christians out, as he expressed with a concise conquirendi non sunt (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 97:2).47 This difference is not fully unexpected, however, given the fact that, where Pliny was dealing at least in part with anonymous accusations, the governor in Lyon was faced with a screaming mob. With or without the governor’s command, the masses continued their quest to remove the Christians from their city : However, day by day those who were worthy were arrested, filling up their number, in order to collect all preeminent members of the two churches and those by whom matters in that region were most brought together. Some pagan slaves of members of our community were also arrested, since the governor publicly ordered that we should all be brought to trial. (…) When the soldiers urged [the slaves], they falsely accused us of Thyestean feasts and Oedipodean intercourse. (…) When this rumour spread, all turned on us like beasts, so that even if they had formerly been moderate due to friendship, they became extremely angry and raged against us. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:13–15)

The author of the letter states that new arrests were made every day. It is notable, however, that these events seem to have taken place at least partially before the governor’s order was issued, and that his command is only explicitly connected to the arrest of a number of pagan servants. Although the overall effect of this order seems to have indeed been the large-scale arrest of Christians, the primary goal of this particular action was to acquire more information their beliefs and practices – a parallel to the torture of two ancillae described by Pliny (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:8).48 The arrested slaves in turn contributed significantly to a final stage of escalation by accusing their Christian masters of “Thyestean feasts and Oedipodean intercourse”, that is: cannibalism and incest (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:14).49 The accusations were obviously extreme, but they were taken seriously nonetheless. Even those who had formerly supported or at the very least pitied the Christians now “turned on [them] like beasts” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:15). Above all, this passage presents an image of continuous escalation, in which the governor’s soldiers

47 A similar observation is made by Croteau, “Marcus Aurelius”, 56 f and Keresztes “Massacre”, 81. 48 For the suggestion that these accusations were made not by pagan slaves, but by arrested Christians, see Moss, Ancient Christian Martyrdom, 107. 49 For the suggestion that those who had previously disavowed their Christianity were now rearrested, see Löhr, “Der Brief”, 143. Similar accusations are among the scandalous rumours about Christians referenced in Minucius Felix, Oct. 9:1–10:2. An attempt to refute them is made in 28:1–31:8 of the same text. For a more elaborate discussion, see Schubert, C., Minucius Felix, Octavius (KfA 12; Freiburg: Herder, 2014).

312

Karen P.S. Janssen

and the people of the city cooperated in arresting as many Christians as possible.50

4. Punishment and Imperial Involvement The letter indicates that the Christians were taken to prison after their arrest, where they were tortured to obtain further information about their identities and the nature of their crimes. According to the author, many remained steadfast in their beliefs and refused to either recant or admit to the accusations of cannibalism and incest (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:19 f, 26 and 30). As a result, a great number of the accused were either strangled, or died as a result of torture: Thus, most were strangled in prison, as many as the Lord wanted to depart in such a way, demonstrating his glory. Others were tortured cruelly, so that it seemed impossible for them to live, even if they had received every care in the world, yet they stayed in prison, deprived of human attention but strengthened by the Lord (…). But the young ones, who had recently been arrested, whose bodies had not yet become used to it, could not bear the burden of imprisonment, but died in prison. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:27 f)

A select number of Christians, notably those who are described by the author of the letter as being subject of “all the fury of the mob, the governor and the soldiers” during an earlier stage of the persecution (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:17 and 43), are said to have been instead thrown to the wild animals during a public spectacle (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:36).51 While it is almost impossible to ignore the particularly gruesome descriptions of violence and death that are present throughout the narrative, it must be noted that the governor was well within his rights to execute Christians who refused to recant: he held what is generally referred to as the ius gladii, the right to exert capital punishment over non-Roman citizens,52 and there is no reason to suspect that he was compelled to consult the emperor before exercising this right in the case of the Christians. Even Pliny the Younger mentions that he had unrepentant Christians executed before sending a message to Trajan to consult him about the rest of the procedure he 50 For the use of Roman soldiers as a police force, see Fuhrmann, C.J., “Police Functions and Public Order”, in Plessis, P.J. du/Ando, C./Tuori, K. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Law and Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 297–309, on pp. 303–5. 51 Lyon’s amphitheatre was built under Tiberius, but was significantly enlarged during the reign of Hadrian. It appears to have been part of the sanctuary of the Tres Galliae. For more information, see Audin, A., “L’Amphith8.tre des Trois Gaules / Lyon. Nouvelles campagnes de fouilles (1971–1972, 1976–1978)”, Gallia 37 (1979), 85–100, on pp. 85 and 89. 52 Fuhrmann, Policing, 171.

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

313

had followed (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:3).53 That governors could act on their own authority in matters of crime and punishment was clearly not in doubt even in this earlier period. Like Pliny, however, the governor in Lyon did proceed with a degree of caution: Attalus himself was loudly called for by the mob, for he was well known. (…) He was led around the amphitheatre, and a sign was carried in front of him, on which was written in Latin: “This is Attalus the Christian”, and the people were very bitter towards him, but when the governor learned that he was a Roman citizen, he ordered him to be taken back to the others who were in prison, about whom he had written to the emperor and was awaiting a reply. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:43 f)

While some see the interruption of Attalus’ execution as a literary fabrication,54 it nonetheless remains telling that the governor had refrained from executing specific groups of prisoners in order to consult the emperor about their proper treatment. Among those who remained in captivity were very likely Roman citizens like Attalus, who are once again referenced as a separate class later in the letter (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:47). As such, the governor appears to have complied with one of the most important regulations of Roman provincial administration, namely that Roman citizens had the right to be judged by the emperor himself.55 This shows that there were in fact limits to the amount of local pressure the governor was willing to comply with: despite what the inhabitants of Lyon may have wanted, he apparently thought it necessary to consult the emperor in certain less straightforward cases, in order to ensure that his actions corresponded with his superior’s wishes. The emperor’s answer, as it appears in the letter at least, was short: if the imprisoned Christians recanted, they would be free to go. If not, he authorized the governor to execute them (1piste¸kamtor c±q toO Ja¸saqor to»r l³m !potulpamish/mai, eQ d´ timer !qmo?mto, to¼tour !pokuh/mai; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:47). No method of execution is specified, but the governor seems to have made is own decisions on the matter :

53 See Sherwin-White, A.N., The Letters of Pliny. A Historical and Social Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), 698 for the idea that the use of the verb duci for executions is not at all uncommon. 54 Löhr, “Der Brief”, 143 believes this passage to have been subjected to later editing, finding it unlikely that only some Christians were publicly executed, while all others remained in prison to await the emperor’s missive. This argument not only overlooks the earlier execution of other Christians in captivity (Hist. eccl. V 1:27), to which Löhr makes no objection, but also Pliny the Younger’s reference to the execution of a number of steadfast Christians in his letter to Trajan. Notably, Pliny still enquired with the emperor about the procedure that was to be followed in other cases after these executions had taken place (Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:3). Both points contradict Löhr’s suggestion that only one round of executions actually took place. 55 For the parallel passage, see Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:4.

314

Karen P.S. Janssen

And at the beginning of the local festival (which is very crowded since all the pagans go to it) the governor led them to the tribunal, showing and displaying these blessed men to the mob. He questioned them again, and all who appeared to have Roman citizenship were beheaded, but the rest he sent to the beasts. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:47)

As was traditional, the governor made a distinction between various groups of Christians by beheading those who were Roman citizens, and sending those who were not to the arena – very likely as a part of the festival connected to the cult of the Tres Galliae.56 According to the letter as it has been transmitted to us, an exception was made for the aforementioned Attalus, who was once again sent to the wild animals “to please the mob” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:50). While it has been argued that it was illegal to condemn Roman citizens to the arena, and that the governor therefore broke the law,57 multiple references to Roman citizens being involved in a damnatio ad bestias may in fact be found from the early Principate onwards, although this was generally considered to be a punishment reserved for those of low social status.58 Whether Attalus himself was indeed sent to the arena or not, the governor’s choice for this particular, highly public, method of execution may well be seen as an attempt to placate the inhabitants of Lyon: in this way, at least some of the hated Christians were forced to participate in the local cult, albeit in a particularly gruesome way. The other less straightforward case about which the governor felt the need to defer judgement was that of the Christians who chose to recant, and it is therefore no surprise that the effect of the emperor’s missive is also clearly visible in their treatment. We know that at least some of them were originally re-arrested and imprisoned alongside Christians who refused to abandon their faith (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:33),59 but after the emperor’s response had reached Lyon, their situation appears to have changed: 56 It should be noted that the governor once again questioned these Christians, which shows a degree of due diligence on his part. 57 Colin, Empire des Antonins, 20; Croteau, “Marcus Aurelius”, 57. 58 Bauman, R.A., Crime and Punishment in Ancient Rome (London: Routledge, 1996), 124–9. The fact that Attalus is described as amolast|r (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:43) does not seem to give us a clear indication of his social status. 59 Croteau, “Marcus Aurelius”, 57 suggests that these actions of the governor of Lyon towards Christians who recanted were unprecedented in the second century C.E. This does not mean, however, that his actions were inexplicable, or illegal. It seems that at least some Christians who recanted may have been rearrested (Löhr, “Der Brief”, 143) and held for a longer period of time, possibly due to accusations of murder or the other crimes of which Christians had been accused (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:33). Others, however, may have retained their liberty, since they are reported to have returned to the governor’s tribunal (possibly of their own volition) in order to confess their beliefs soon after the emperor’s reply ordering the release of all Christians who had recanted arrived (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:45 f). The distinction between these two groups may have been the moment of their arrest, but details are sadly lacking. In any case, the emperor’s reply seems to suggest that the governor had asked a question regarding the treatment of lapsed

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

315

And Christ was greatly honoured by those who had formerly recanted, who now confessed contrary to the expectation of the pagans. For they were questioned in private so that they could be let go, but they confessed and were added to the ranks of the martyrs. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:48)

The authorities once again questioned the Christians who had previously recanted (this time in private), and the author of the letter emphasizes that this occurred “with the intention of letting them go”. This suggests that this new round of interrogations was initially seen as somewhat redundant, if procedurally necessary, now that it was clear that those who abandoned their faith were to be released. While the author focusses on the renewed declaration of faith by these Christians, and the surprised reaction of the Roman authorities, it is equally important to note that even at this stage the general population of Lyon still appears to have been actively involved in the proceedings: it is later mentioned that they were furious that these former apostates retracted their previous statements (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:50), and that they even attempted to make Christians swear by statues of the gods in an effort to make them renounce their faith once and for all (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:53 f). This combination of executions and attempts to encourage recantation shows strong parallels with the events described by Pliny the Younger several decades earlier, and thus suggests that both governors were struggling with very similar questions, the most important of which may well have been whether Christians who renounced should be released.60 While such similarities suggest that no firmly established procedure for the treatment of Christians existed at this point in time, and that governors continued to feel a need for imperial guidance, the emperor’s ultimate response seems to have been the same in both cases. In addition, both Pliny and Lyon’s governor seem to have followed the imperial command as closely as possible. Rome’s influence only reached so far, however: nothing could stop the locals from mutilating the bodies of the executed Christians. Some were fed to the dogs, but others were exposed to the elements for a number of days before being burned. The ashes were subsequently thrown in the Rhine, according to the author of the letter “so that not a single trace of them remained on earth” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. V 1:57–63).

Christians, and their continued captivity may thus have been the result of attempted diligence on the part of the authorities rather than excessive cruelty. 60 Pliny’s question runs as follows: detur paenitentiae venia, an ei, qui omnino Christianus fuit, desisse non prosit? See Pliny the Younger, Ep. X 96:2 and 5 f. See also Ep. X 97:2 for Trajan’s confirmation that lapsed Christians should, indeed, be released.

316

Karen P.S. Janssen

5. Conclusion In this paper, I have attempted to re-examine the persecution of Lyon and Vienne in the context of Roman provincial administration. In doing so, I have argued that attempting to find a centralized imperial order that would have formed the basis for this persecution is not the most fruitful course of action, since any indication that such a measure existed is absent from the available sources. Instead, it is more beneficial to see persecutions like the one in Lyon as arising from negotiation between the various levels of government, which included not only the emperor and the Roman governor, but also a strongly localized component. We have seen that the local population, including, significantly, Lyon’s city council, was instrumental throughout the persecution: pagan inhabitants of the city arrested Christians and performed a preliminary trial before the Roman governor even arrived in the city, and their influence continued to be felt during the second trial under his supervision. In addition, it seems very likely that the local circumstances of these events made themselves known in the magistrate’s selection of the methods of execution that would be used, even when we discount the idea that Christians who were particularly hated by the locals received more public, humiliating punishments: the condemnation of some Christians to a death in the arena may well be seen as an attempt by the governor to placate the local population by paying homage to Lyon’s festival of the Tres Galliae. It would seem, then, that the governor was under significant pressure, and that he thought it necessary to adhere to the wishes of the locals in order to prevent further escalation. That this was certainly a realistic risk is demonstrated by the frequent references to large, enraged mobs contained in the letter. Both the governor and the population of Lyon, however, had to contend with certain limits. We have seen that it was considered necessary to ask the emperor about the treatment of both Roman citizens and Christians who had renounced their faith. In the case of the latter, the emperor’s remarks led to a significant change in the position of these individuals: where at first they were held captive despite their recantation, likely in anticipation of the emperor’s response, the command to release these apostates seems to have met with no opposition. At the same time, it must be remarked that the emperor’s involvement was both brief and limited: the majority of the persecution took place without any involvement on his part, and when that involvement finally came, it was in response to a question his governor had asked him. This lack of centralized Roman involvement does not mean, however, that what took place in Lyon was in any way unlawful. While it is true that the descriptions of the violence are extreme, the events in Gaul show close similarities to the trials against the Christians described by Pliny the Younger, and – in fact – to the principles of provincial government in general. The fact

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

317

that these parallels are not immediately obvious is more due to the genre of the letter cited by Eusebius than any concrete administrative differences. As such, the persecution of Lyon and Vienne is less exceptional than at first seems the case.

Bibliography Ando, C., Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2000). Ando, C., “Petition and Response, Order and Obey. Contemporary Models of Roman Government”, in Jursa, M./Prochazka, S. et al. (eds.), Governing Ancient Empires. Proceedings of the 3rd to 5th International Conferences of the research Network Imperium and Officium (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, forthcoming), 1–30. Ando, C., “The Administration of the Provinces”, in D. Potter (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to the Roman Empire (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 177–92. Audin, A., “L’Amphith8.tre des Trois Gaules / Lyon. Nouvelles campagnes de fouilles (1971–1972, 1976–1978)”, Gallia 37 (1979), 85–100. Barnes, T.D., “Eusebius and the Date of the Martyrdoms”, Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 137–43. Barnes, T.D., “Legislation against the Christians”, JRS 58 (1968), 32–50. Barnes, T.D., “Pre-Decian Acta Martyrum”, JThSt 19 (1968), 509–31. Bastiaensen, A. A.R. (ed.), Atti e passioni dei martiri (Milan: Mondadori, 1987). Bauman, R.A., Crime and Punishment in Ancient Rome (London: Routledge, 1996). Benko, S., Pagan Rome and the Early Christians (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984). Boeft, J. den/Bremmer, J.N., “Notiunculae martyrologicae V”, VC 49 (1995), 146–64. Bowman, A.K., “Provincial Administration and Taxation.”, in Bowman, A.K./ Champlin, E./Lintott, A. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History X. The Augustan Empire, 43 BC-AD 69 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 344–70. Burton, G.P., “Proconsuls, Assizes and the Administration of Justice under the Empire”, JRS 65 (1975), 92–106. Coleman-Norton, P.R., Roman State and Christian Church. A Collection of Legal Documents to A.D. 535 (3 vols.; London: S.P.C.K., 1966). Colin, J., L’Empire des Antonins et les Martyrs Gaulois de 177 (Bonn: Habelt, 1964). Corke-Webster, J., “A Literary Historian. Eusebius of Caesarea and the Martyrs of Lyons and Palestine”, Studia Patristica 66/14 (2013), 191–202. Croteau, S.J., Marcus Aurelius and the Accidental Martyrs of Lyons: A.D. 177 (Ph.D. diss., University of Missouri-Columbia, 1992). Dehandschutter, B., “A Community of Martyrs. Religious Identity and the Case of the Martyrs of Lyons and Vienne”, in Leemans, J. (ed.), More than a Memory. The

318

Karen P.S. Janssen

Discourse of Martyrdom and the Construction of Christian Identity in the History of Christianity (Louvain: Uitgeverij Peeters, 2005), 3–22. Dondin-Payre, M., “Notables et Plites dans les Trois Gaules”, in Ligt, L. de/Hemelrijk, E.A./Singor, H.W. (eds.), Roman Rule and Civic Life. Local and Regional Perspectives (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2004), 357–71. Drinkwater, J.F., “A Note on Local Careers in the Three Gauls under the Early Empire”, Britannia 10 (1979), 89–100. Eck, W., “Provincial Administration and Finance”, in Bowman, A.K./Garnsey, P./ Rathbone, D. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History XI. The High Empire, AD 70–192 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 266–92. Fishwick, D., “The Federal Cult of the Three Gauls”, in Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 33–45. Fishwick, D. “The Severi and the Provincial Cult of the Three Gauls”, Historia 22 (1973), 627–49. Fishwick, D., “The Temple of the Three Gauls”, JRS 62 (1972), 46–52. Frend, W.H.C., Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church. A Study of a Conflict from the Maccabees to Donatus (Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1967). Fuhrmann, C.J., “Police Functions and Public Order”, in Plessis, P.J. du/Ando, C./ Tuori, K. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Law and Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 297–309. Fuhrmann, C.J., Policing the Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). Galsterer, H., “Local and provincial Institutions and Government”, in Bowman, A.K./ Garnsey, P./Rathbone, D. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History XI. The High Empire, AD 70–192 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 344–60. Galsterer, H., “The Administration of Justice”, in Bowman, A.K./Champlin, E./ Lintott, A. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History X. The Augustan Empire, 43 BCAD 69 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 397–413. Glay, M. le, “Le Culte imperial / Lyon, au IIe SiHcle Ap. J.C.”, in Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 19–31. Gr8goire, H., “ProcHs-verbaux des S8ances de la Soci8t8 Th8ono8. S8ance du 8 Octobre 1956”, La Nouvelle Clio. Revue Mensuelle de la D8couverte Historique 7–9 (1955–1957), 298–304. Keresztes, P., “Marcus Aurelius a Persecutor?”, HThR 61 (1968), 321–41. Keresztes, P., “The Imperial Roman Government and the Christian Church I. From Nero to the Severi”, ANRW II 23.1 (1979), 247–315. Keresztes, P., “The Massacre at Lugdunum in 177 A.D.”, Historia 16 (1967), 75–86. Kokkinia, C., “Ruling, Inducing, Arguing. How to Govern (and Survive) a Greek Province”, in Ligt, L. de/Hemelrijk, E.A./Singor, H.W. (eds.), Roman Rule and Civic Life. Local and Regional Perspectives (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2004), 39–58. Löhr, W.A., “Der Brief der Gemeinden von Lyon und Vienne”, in Papandreou, D./ Bienert, W.A./Schäferdiek, K. (eds.), Oecumenica et Patristica. Festschrift für

“All Turned on Us Like Beasts”

319

Wilhelm Schneemelcher zum 75. Geburtstag (Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1989), 135–49. Millar, F., The Emperor in the Roman World. 31 B.C. –A.D. 337 (London: Duckworth, 1977). Moeller, W.O. “The Trinci/Trinqui and the Martyrs of Lyons”, Historia 21 (1972), 127. Moss, C.R., Ancient Christian Martyrdom. Diverse Practices, Theologies and Traditions (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012). Moss, C.R., The Other Christs. Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). Musurillo, H., The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972). Oliver, J.H./Palmer, R.E.A., “Minutes of an Act of the Roman Senate”, Hesperia 24 (1955), 320–49. Rebillard, P., Greek and Latin Narratives about the Ancient Martyrs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). Rives, J.B., “The Decree of Decius and the Religion of Empire”, JRS 89 (1999), 135–54. Robinson, J.A., The Passion of S. Perpetua (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891). Roselaar, S.T., “Local Administration”, in Plessis, P.J. du/Ando, C./Tuori, K. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Law and Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 124–36. Roug8, J., “Aspects 8conomiques du Lyon antique”, in Roug8, J./Turcan, R. (eds.), Les Martyrs de Lyon (177) (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1978), 47–63. Schubert, C., Minucius Felix, Octavius (KfA 12; Freiburg: Herder, 2014). Seeliger H.R./Wischmeyer, W. (eds.), Märtyrerliteratur (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015). Sherwin-White, A.N., The Letters of Pliny. A Historical and Social Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966). Thompson, J.W., “The Alleged Persecution of the Christians at Lyons in 177”, American Journal of Theology 16 (1912), 359–84. Thompson, J.W., “The Alleged Persecution of the Christians at Lyons in 177. A Reply to Certain Criticisms”, American Journal of Theology 17 (1913), 249–85.

Heidrun E. Mader

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor, Second Century CE

1. Introducing Christianity in Rural Phrygia We are looking at rural Phrygia, at vast farm fields on a plain stretching from the polis of Temenothyrai to the rocky Ulubey Canyon in the south. The Ömercali Mountain rises higher than 1 km into the sky, 3.5 km south of the canyon. During the second half of the second century and the beginning of the third century CE, we have reports of exciting developments among the rural Christians in this hinterland, south of Temenothyrai, especially in the towns of Pepouza and Tymion. Contemporary literary sources, provided by the early church historians Eusebius and Epiphanius, tell us of a prophetic trio starting a new movement amongst Phrygian Christians, calling it the “New Prophecy”. Montanus, Maximilla and Priscilla, as the three protagonists were named, considered themselves to be speaking with the voice of God the Father or as a direct medium of the risen Christ. Grounded in the belief that the world is at its end, their ecstatic prophecy implemented a covenantal theology in which God reveals himself to the oppressed and takes their side. Montanus, Maximilla and Priscilla were celebrated by their supporters, and their message spread quickly ; and within decades it reached even as far as Rome and North Africa. Yet, very soon they were also condemned by their inner Christian opponents, who fiercely criticized their overconfident and ecstatic form of prophecy. They labelled them as “heretics” and called them “Montanists” after Montanus, one of their founders. The centre of the New Prophecy were the towns of Pepouza and Tymion, two smaller poleis. These sites were identified and archaeologically examined in a series of survey campaigns by Peter Lampe and his interdisciplinary team, shedding light on traces of human colonization and agricultural activity through all historical periods, from prehistoric to Ottoman times. In the main part of my presentation I will correlate some of Lampe’s findings from early Christian times with the prophets’ texts available to us. Hereby, I will focus on the social aspects of the prophets’ religious visions. Both the literary and the epigraphic sources from this region are unique in various respects: First, eight inscribed doorstelae were found at the site of Temenothyrai, all representing funeral epitaphs. They date from about 200–210 CE and are therefore among the first certainly identifiable Christian epitaphs in the

322

Heidrun E. Mader

Roman Empire.1 Three of them were probably Montanist.2 Decorated with specific Christian symbols, like a Eucharistic bread on an altar next to standard pagan Phrygian iconography like mirrors, combs and spindles, the doorstelae suggest a self-confident type of Christianity. Apparently, Christian faith could be publicly displayed in rural Phrygia.3 Second, the Phrygian Christians were the first rural Christians to produce theological literature. Eusebius tells us that he quoted Maximilla’s logion from Asterios Urbanos’ book.4 It cannot be decided whether this book consisted either of an oracle collection or of whole treatises. Asterios Urbanos’ book is lost, and many other montanist writings were eliminated by their opponents over time.5 Some oracles of the prophets only survived because they were used against them in early writings opposing their theology. These theological disputes could have been the reason for rural Christians to become literarily active in such an early stage of Christianity. Third, montanist sources contain oracles uttered by female Christians Maximilla, Priscilla and Quintilla. These logia are the first ipsissimae voces available to us expressed by Christian women. I have closely examined them elsewhere and concluded that form and content confirm these women’s theological education.6 These examples of early Christianity in Phrygia also show that Christians and pagans coexisted peacefully.7 The fact that Phrygian Christians lived in the rural hinterland protected them from strict imperial observation, thus also from social pressures like the duty to sacrifice, which obviously facilitated coexistence of different religions.8 The opportunity to openly 1 Lampe, P., “The Phrygian Hinterland South of Temenothyrai (Usak)”, EC 7 (2016), 381–94, on p. 388. 2 A closer interpretation in Lampe, “Hinterland”, 388–90. Six of the doorstelae are published in Tabbernee, W., Montanist Inscriptions and Testimonia. Epigraphic Sources Illustrating the History of Montanism (PatMS 16; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 62–86 nos. 3–8. Seven of the stelae are in the Usak museum, one was documented in 1902 and is now lost. 3 Lampe, “Hinterland”, 389–90. 4 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 16.17. 5 See Tabbernee, W., Fake Prophecy and Polluted Sacraments. Ecclesiastical and Imperial Reactions to Montanism (VC.Sup 84; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007), xxxii. 6 Mader, H. E., Montanistische Orakel und kirchliche Opposition: Der frühe Streit zwischen den phrygischen “neuen Propheten” und dem Autor der vorepiphanischen Quelle als biblische Wirkungsgeschichte des 2. Jh. n. Chr. (NTOA 97; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 150–90 and 215–6; Mader, H. E., “Maximillas und Quintillas Visionen für die Kirche”, in Lehtipuu, O./ Petersen, S. (ed.), Antike christliche Apokryphen: Marginalisierte Texte des frühen Christentums, (Die Bibel und die Frauen 3, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2020), 240–254; Mader, H. E., “‘Ich bin kein Wolf ’: Phrygische Prophetinnen in der Frühen Kirche”, in Bauks, M./ Galor, K./ Hartenstein, J. (ed.), Gender and Social Norms in Ancient Israel, Early Judaism and Christianity : Text and Material Culture (JAJSup, Göttingen: V&R, 2019), 277–296. 7 Lampe, “Hinterland”, 388–90 and 393. 8 Lampe, P./Tabbernee, W., Pepouza and Tymion. The Discovery and Archeological Exploration of a Lost Ancient City and an Imperial Estate (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008), 145.

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor

323

express Christian religion might have inspired prophetic ecstasy that became so popular in Christian Phrygia with the movement of the New Prophecy. The fact that ecstatic outgoingness was popular in Phrygian Christianity moreover shows its openness towards other regional religions. Asia Minor was home to several cults in which ecstatic divination was common. Priests and followers of gods like Dionysus, Ma of Komana, Apollo or Cybele prophesied in a state of frenzied ecstasy.9 Women had also played a strong part in these religions. Since ancient times, e. g., the mother goddess Cybele had been very popular in the region. Strabon, himself from Pontus, calls women the “principal founders of religion”: it was them who prompted men to worship the gods.10 This pagan tradition matches the strong presence of women in local Christianity. But rural life was of course not only free of imperial pressure; religiously peaceful, outgoing and liberal in matters of gender, rural Phrygia was also troubled by poverty. The absence of imperial officials also meant less protection in socio-economic matters. At this point a significant inscription, addressed to the settlements of Tymion and Simoe, comes into play. It was carefully examined and placed into its context by the archaeology campaign leaders. After examining it, we will correlate it with social aspects of Montanus’ oracles and his audience.

2. The Troubled “Little Ones” The inscription, written in Greek and Latin and dated to 205 CE, was discovered by Peter Lampe’s team in the garden of the museum at Usak. In it, Septimius Severus promised to the coloni from Tymion and Simoe that his procurator would protect them from extortion of illegal dues. The tenant farmers had complained about these exactiones, collected by imperial slaves. Its Latin text, translated into English, reads as follows:11

9 Hirschmann, V., Horrenda Secta. Untersuchungen zum frühchristlichen Montanismus und seine Verbindungen zur paganen Religion Phrygiens (Historia Einzelschriften 179; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005), 87. 10 Strabon, Geogr. 7,3,4, C 297, cf. Hirschmann, Horrenda Secta, 109. 11 For a photograph, a transcription and translation of the inscription see Lampe/Tabbernee, Pepouza and Tymion, 52 and 57–8.

324

Heidrun E. Mader

“[(Issued) on the…] of the month…, when our Lords Antoninus Pius, [Augustus, and Septimius] Geta, Caesar, were consuls. Emperor Caesar Lucius Septimius [Severus P]ius Pertinax Augustus Arabicus Adiabenicus [Parthic]us Maximus and Emperor Caesar Marcus Aurelius Anto[ninus Pi]us Augustus to the tenant farmers among the Tymians and the Simoen[s]: “Our procurator will s[e]t himself against un[lawful] exactions and ag[ain]st those who continue to a[sk in a very d]emand[ing way for due]s. If, however, the matter requi[res] a higher a[uthority], he (i. e., the procurator), [in] the manner of his office, will [not he]sitate to [defen]d these persons (i. e., the tenant farmers) before the governor [of the provi]nce [of Asia] again[st those who in an u]nlaw[ful way ask for dues].”

Research about the original location of the inscription made it very plausible that the stone had been set up at the crossroad between the two geographical places it addressed. At such a prominent location, the stone was a clear warning to potential perpetrators not to mistreat the farmers.12 The coloni protected by the inscription in the name of the emperor thus were coloni Caesaris, i. e. non-slave, rent paying farmers who worked on the vast imperial estate in Phrygia. It stretched on a high plain from Temenothyrai to the rocky Ulubey Canyon in the south. Most probably, the two marble quarries in the Ulubey canyon were part of this estate. A specially appointed procurator was responsible for the administration of all imperial property in Phrygia.13 Obviously, this procurator had problems with keeping a firm grip on these rural areas and failed to protect his tenant farmers from being bullied by tax collectors.14 All in all, the inscription reveals a very plausible scenario of how difficult life could become for the coloni who shared the region with the prophetic movement. Considering the fact that the rural population suffered under regular tax burdens anyway, such extra dues could break the coloni families’ necks. Philo reports that families of farmers who fled to evade taxes were often brutally mistreated and sometimes even tortured to death (Spec. leg. 3:159–164).15 Only a few decades before the inscription was erected, Montanus addressed some of the Christians in this area as lijqo_, “little ones”, in one of his four oracles. In two other oracles he envisions God as almighty Father who takes care of the oppressed and troubled, as becomes clear when looking at the 12 13 14 15

Lampe, “Hinterland”, 384. Lampe/Tabbernee, Pepouza and Tymion, 68. Lampe/Tabbernee, Pepouza and Tymion, 145. Cf. Alföldy, G., Römische Sozialgeschichte (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 42011), 129 points to Philo.

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor

325

scriptural context the oracles refer to (esp. Isa 57:15; 63:9). Montanus uttered these oracles most likely in Pepouza and/or Tymion in the decades around 160–180 CE. Their reception history continued after his death, since the oracles were kept in larger written collections and were honoured by the adherents of the movement.16 Today, access to Montanus’ authentic oracles is provided by an early anti-Montanist source contained in Epiphanius’ Panarion (48.1–13), likely written by the apologete Miltiades at around 192/ 3 CE.17 T_ k]ceir t¹m rp³q %mhqypom syf|lemom; k\lxei c±q b d_jaior (vgs·m) rp³q t¹m Fkiom 2jatomtapkas_oma, oR d³ lijqo· 1m rl?m syf|lemoi k\lxousim 2jatomtapkas_oma rp³q tµm sek^mgm (Epiphanius, Pan. 48.10.3)

(A) Why do you call the one who is more than a human being saved? (B 1) For the just, he says, will shine a hundred times brighter than the sun, (B 2) and the little ones among you who are saved will shine a hundred times brighter than the moon.

The structure of this oracle consists of A: opening question B: answer to that question B1: marked by the conjunction c\q B2: marked by the conjunction d] In this oracle, Montanus addresses his audience as oR lijqo_. He declares them saved and promises they will shine a hundred times brighter than the moon, thus announcing eschatological honour and joy for them beyond (rp]q) expectation. The initial question of this oracle is: Why is “the one who is more (rp]q) than a human being” saved (A)? The meaning of the phrase “more (rp]q) than a human being” in A is revealed in the answer that “the just” shine “one hundred times brighter than the sun” (B1) and, in addition, “the little ones” among them, shine “one hundred times brighter than the moon” (B2). Both comparisons in B use the preposition rp]q like in A. Thus, the Christians, and among them the “little ones”, are promised to be saved and enjoy eschatological brightness of highest quality, exceeding high expectations (B2). Being saved, being a Christian, thus means that one is more than just an ordinary human being, even if one belongs to the “little ones”. Mt 13:43 provides a close parallel to the middle part of this logion. 16 Eusebius’ anonymous source quotes an oracle from the book of Asterios Urbanos (Hist. eccl. 16.17). See also Trevett, C., Montanism. Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 154. 17 I discuss authorship and dating in Mader, Montanistische Orakel, 96–144, list of results 142–144.

326

Heidrun E. Mader

… oR d_jaioi 1jk\lxousim ¢r b … k\lxei c±q b d_jaior rp³q t¹m Fkiom 2jatomFkior … tapkas_oma … (Mt 13:43) (Epiphanius, Pan. 48.10.3)

Subject to the Matthean verse are oR d_jaioi who will shine like the sun. In Matthew this is a predicate for all those Christians who are on their way to ethical perfection, which is the aim of the sermon on the mount (Mt 5:20.48). Their righteousness will become evident in the last judgement (Mt 13:43.49; 25:37.46), and it is only in this eschatological context that Matthew speaks of them as oR d_jaioi.18 Mt 10:41–42 offers a very interesting setting for the relation between the righteous, the prophets and the “little ones”, all of them mirrored in Montanus’ oracle. For in Mt 10:41 (similarly in Mt 13:17) the righteous appear together with the prophets as a distinguished group of Christians who are to receive a certain reward in heaven. Hill suggests that “prophet” and “righteous” are synonymous.19 Does b d_jaior in Montanus’ oracle thus stand for himself as a prophet? The singular makes this a possible option. Mt 10:42 declares that not only those will be rewarded who offer hospitality to the prophets and righteous, but also those who provide for the “little ones”.20 Who are these “little ones” that Matthew lists in one breath with the righteous and prophets? Matthew has found the term in Mk 9:42 and apparently found it so important that he used it redactionally also in Mt 10:42; 18:6.10.14. Taking the context of these verses into account, the “little ones” are those who are insignificant in the eyes of the world, but endlessly valuable in the eyes of God. In Mt 18:6 they are also those who believe in Jesus. They are those Matthean Christians who practise lowliness in love and humility, become as humble as a child and accept their insignificance.21 According to Ulrich Luz, it is difficult to decide whether the designation lijqo_ refers to all members of the Christian congregation or only to a special group.22 In the Apocalypse of Peter (NHC VII), oR lijqo_ appear quite frequently and are likely to designate the whole egalitarian congregation, a

18 Cf. Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus 8–17 (EKK 1,2; Düsseldorf/Zürich/NeukirchenVluyn: Benziger und Neukirchener Verlag, 42007), 152. 19 Hill, D., New Testament Prophecy (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1979), 154–155. 20 Cf. Luz, Matthäus 8–17, 152. 21 Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus 26–28 (EKK 1,4; Düsseldorf/Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger und Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), 21: “Kleine sind alle matthäischen Christ/innen, sofern sie diese Bedeutungslosigkeit bejahen und sie als Demut und Liebe praktizieren. Klein sind also nicht alle, aber alle können es werden. Indem der Evangelist den Ausdruck in unserem Kapitel dreimal wiederholt (V 6.10.14), will er seine Leser/innen daran erinnern, dass sie sich grundsätzlich nach unten und nicht nach oben orientieren sollen: Sie sollen nicht groß sein wollen wie z. B. Propheten oder Gerechte (10:41) […], sondern klein wie die Kinder. Diese willentlich Kleinen sind in den Augen Gottes unendlich wichtig.” 22 Cf. Luz, Matthäus 26–28, 20.

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor

327

church without bishops or deacons.23 For Matthew however, Luz rightly assumes, not all Christians of the Matthean congregation are “little”, but every member could become “little” who practices the ethics of lowliness. Montanus follows Matthew’s concept of the lijqo_ in most parts, but takes a different punch line. Like in Matthew, it goes without saying that the lijqo_ are believers since he also calls them the “saved ones”. Furthermore, as in Matthew, the lijqo_ do not represent the whole congregation, since Montanus addresses them only as one part of his audience: the little ones amongst you. Most importantly, Montanus and Matthew both qualify the weak and lowly with this term. Nevertheless, Montanus differs from Matthew in that he did not assign any ethical meaning to lijq|r. Matthew’s intention to become a lijq|r, i. e. a Christian who does not seek prestige but humbleness, is not represented in Montanus’ oracle. Montanus does not recommend a downward perspective, but rather advertises an upward movement. His aim was to feel rp]q, i. e. to be more than ordinary man, to go beyond a non-believer who is not saved. In his soteriological mindset, Montanus wanted those who were low in this life to feel better and put themselves above others, knowing that they would enjoy eschatological joys and honours more than others. This hierarchy of eschatological honours created a strong alternative against the steep social pyramid in reality where the lijqo_ in fact sat at the bottom line, and were oppressed in ways which the Severus-inscription illustrates in so much detail.24 The socio-economic understanding of the lijqo_ continues in two other of Montanus’ oracles, both referring to passages from the book of Isaiah. 9c½ j}qior b he¹r b pamtojq\tyq jatacim|lemor 1m “I am the Lord God, the Almighty !mhq~p\. dwelling in man.” (Epiphanius, Pan. 48.11.1)

The syntax of this short oracle is plain and clear. It consists of one main clause that is opened by 1c~ and followed by the complement j}qior b he¹r b 23 Cf. Luz, Matthäus 26–28, 20 n. 19. Stanton, G., A Gospel for a New People. Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), 273 writes: “Both the Apocalypse of Peter and 5 Ezra seem to represent a continuation into the second century of Matthean Christianity […]. E. Schweizer has recently claimed that the Matthean church was ‘the body of these little ones who are ready to follow Jesus’, a group with an ascetic charismatic character, that found its continuation in the church of Syria, finally merging into the monastic movement of the Catholic Church. This bold hypothesis received unexpected support from the Nag Hammadi Apocalypse of Peter. There is no doubt that this community itself is a group of ‘these little ones’ (the phrase recurs several times in a relatively short document) […]. Schweizer believes that the Apocalypse of Peter offers the first direct evidence of ‘an ascetic Judaeo-Christian group of “these little ones” with no bishops or deacons, still experiencing heavenly visions and prophetic auditions.’” 24 Compare the competing pyramids in Lampe, P., “Paul, Patrons, and Clients”, in Sampley, J.P. (ed.), Paul in the Greco-Roman World. A Handbook, Volume II (London/New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 204–38, on p. 212.

328

Heidrun E. Mader

pamtojq\tyq. The participle is attributed to the subject and describes the main activity of the sentence. 1m !mhq~p\ as a dativus locativus signifies the indirect object. Its form can be determined as a legitimation oracle, more specifically, one of self-commendation.25 Thus: God himself speaks through Montanus, the prophet. In this oracle, God declares himself to be the j}qior b he¹r b pamtojq\tyq. The title pamtojq\tyq refers to God’s supremacy over the world. In the New Testament, the term pamtojq\tyq is only attested in the book of Revelation26 where it occurs nine times.27 Six of these passages offer the full invocation j}qior b he¹r b pamtojq\tyq.28 In the LXX, however, pamtojq\tyq appears 170 times, mostly as a translation of the divine titles N945J8 and =7M . The fixed invocation of our Montanist oracle, we find most frequently in LXX-Amos, especially in chapters five and nine, as translation of the Hebrew =8@4 898=.29 The divine titles play a key-role in the composition of these two chapters of judgement and salvation. They function as a call to prepare oneself for encountering God, the God of righteousness and justice.30 The term as employed in Revelation thus draws on this Old Testament title and expresses God’s superiority and power over everything and everyone.31 Revelation’s concept of God is God as One, seated on a throne, the symbol of his almighty power. He is creator and king of creation. In turn, his creation sings for him and praises him.32 As pamtojq\tyq, God is also judge who will destroy Satan, namely the Roman Empire and all godless people. In short, the concept of God in Revelation is characterized by power, lordship and judgement. Having the alternative pyramid of eschatology in mind in which the lijqo_ of social reality

25 Aune, D.E., Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), 68. 26 The title pamtojq\tyq only occurs again in the NT in the quotation from Amos 3:13 in 2 Col 6:18. 27 Rev 1:8; 4:8; 11:17; 15:3; 16:7, 14; 19:6, 15; 21:22. 28 Rev 4:8; 11:17; 15:3; 16:7, 14; 19:6; 21:22. 29 Amos 3:13; 4:13; 5:8; 5:14; 5:15; 5:16; 5:27; 9:5; 9:6; 9:15. 30 Zenger, E./Frevel, C. (eds.), Einleitung in das Alte Testament (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 82012), 644. The whole unit around chapter five is composed as a “Ringkomposition”: “Die drei Abschnitte rufen auf der Ebene der Komposition zur Anerkennung und zur Umkehr in letzter Minute auf. Dies ist kompositionell dadurch angezeigt, dass die in der Mitte von 5,1–17 stehende Gottesprädikation 5,8 jeweils am Ende der beiden Abschnitte 5,18–27 und 6,1–14 wiederkehrt. Diese Linie der Gottesprädikation muss ihrerseits im Horizont von 4,13 f, des Abschlusses von Amos 3–4 gelesen werden: ,Mach dich bereit deinem Gott zu begegnen […]: JHWH, Gott der Heere ist sein Name‘, d. h. setz dich diesem Gott aus, der ein Gott von Recht und Gerechtigkeit ist. Als solcher will er dich bewegen, Recht und Gerechtigkeit zu wirken. Aber zugleich sollst du wissen: Er fordert Recht und Gerechtigkeit ein, wo sie verweigert werden – nicht aus Rache, sondern aus Recht.” 31 Cf. Michaelis, W., “pamtojq\tyq”, in ThWNT III (1938), 913–4. 32 Cf. Harrington, W.J., Revelation (Sacra Pagina 16; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1993), 23–5.

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor

329

will enjoy high honours, it is this almighty God who is at its top and in charge of it. It is this God who dwells in man. There is no exact parallel in the LXX for “God dwelling in man”. jatacim|lemor appears to be a hapax legomenon occurring only in Num 5:3.33 LXX, however, knows several synonyms for jatacim|lemor, all translating the Hebrew C?M .34 God always dwells in holy places such as in the midst of the Israelite camp,35 in the Sanctuary,36 Zion,37 the Temple,38 and in Jerusalem.39 C?M is a form of YHWH’s manifestation, it expresses his eventful dynamics on the one hand and his connection to a specific location on the other.40 Especially interesting is Is 57:15 where God the Holy One is said to not only dwell in the height, but also with the contrite and lowly down on earth in order to revive their spirit and heart: For thus says the high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy : I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with those who are contrite and humble in spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite. (Is 57:15 NRS)

The “dwelling of YHWH” primarily means the sovereign presence of God on Zion, but at the same time indicates the helping and healing presence of God amongst humans. This is as close as we can get in the LXX to God dwelling in the %mhqypor. %mhqypor occurs in three of the four oracles, always being the object of God’s close presence. This observation implies that according to Montanus the act of prophesying indicates the immediate closeness of God the Almighty to the %mhqypor, to the believer.41 All in all, these exegetical observations suggest that Montanus envisions God as the Almighty, the One on his heavenly throne who will judge his creation righteously, and who manifests himself in man. It is this God who cares for the contrite who mirror the lijqo_ of the preceding oracle. A third oracle deals with the troubled believers, again in an Isaian scriptural context: 33 In this instance God, titled as j}qior and speaking directly, is commanding to exclude both male and female from their camp, because they are unclean and God is dwelling in the midst of their camp. 34 The most frequent translation is jatasjgmoOm or sjgmoOm. Others are jatoije?m, paqoije?m, !mapa}eim. 35 E. g. Num 5:3. 36 E. g. Ex 29:45. 37 E. g. Joel 3:17. 38 E. g. Ezra 6:12. 39 E. g. 1Chr 23:25. On the significance of these places see Görg, M., “C?M” in ThWAT VII (1993), 1338–48. 40 Cf. Görg, “C?M”, 1344. 41 In Montanus’ oracle of the lyre (Pan. 48.4.2) prophecy means that God gives man a new heart. The links to Is 57:15 are apparent.

330

Heidrun E. Mader

Oute %ccekor, oute pq]sbur, !kk± 1c½ j}qior b he¹r patµq Gkhom. (Epiphanius, Pan. 48.11.9)

Neither angel nor envoy, but I the Lord God the Father have come.

Our oracle finds a striking parallel in Is 63:9 LXX where part of the sentence reads: oq pq]sbur oqd³ %ccekor, !kk’ aqt¹r j}qior (Is 63:9 LXX)

Oute %ccekor, oute pq]sbur, !kk± 1c½ j}qior b he¹r patµq Gkhom. (Epiphanius, Pan. 48.11)

Montanus’ oracle seems to be a near quotation from the Isaianic verse: the sentence structure is the same, yet it is apparent that pq]sbur and %ccekor are interchanged. However, this part of the Isaiah verse is not a sentence of its own and God does not appear as speaker. The whole sentence reads: 1j p\sgr hk_xeyr. oq pq]sbur oqd³ %ccekor, !kk’ aqt¹r j}qior 5sysem aqto»r di± t¹ !cap÷m aqto»r ja· ve_deshai aqt_m· aqt¹r 1kutq~sato aqto»r ja· !m]kabem aqto»r ja· vxysem aqto»r p\sar t±r Bl]qar toO aQ_mor. “(…) in all their distress. It was no messenger or angel but his presence that saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.” (Is 63:9 NRS) In this sentence, God appears as loving and merciful saviour who cares for the afflicted. The larger context of this verse is Is 63:7–64:11 which commemorates YHWH’s mercy (63:7) and invokes it (63:15). It is the mercy of the Father (63:16; 64:7) and of the redeemer (63:9.16), it is directed towards his children, his people of Israel (63:8).42 The image of God as redeemer and father explains the unique invocation of the title that is used for God in our oracle. The specific invocation j}qior b he¹r pat^q, namely, neither occurs in the LXX nor in the New Testament writings.43 The first part of the title j}qior b he|r is familiar to us from the preceding oracle where pamtojq\tyq was added to it, finding parallels in Revelation and also Amos and Isaiah. Here now, we see pat^q attributed to God, which perfectly fits into the context of the mentioned Isaiah passage. Montanus in his oracle is thus letting God speak as the merciful Father through him. And this God the Father announces in Montanus’ oracle that he 42 Cf. Zenger/Frevel, Einleitung, 391. 43 Whereas the combination of b he¹r pat^q especially with j}qior b he|r occurs quite frequently in the New Testament, the latter title is also very common in the Old Testament. The title b he¹r b pat^q, however, is hardly used for God in the NT. It occurs in John 8:42; 1Cor 8:6; 2Thess 2:16. More frequent is the phrase b he¹r ja_ pat^q in reference to the Father of Jesus. j}qior b he|r as common title for God in the OT also occurs frequently in the NT: Mk 12:29; Lk 1:32; 1:68; John 20:28; Act 2:39; 3:22. In Rev j}qior b he|r occurs very often, mostly combined with pamtojq\tyq(+) like in our previous oracle: Rev 1:8(+); 4:8(+); 18:8; 19:6(+); 21:22(+); 22:5; 22:6.

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor

331

has now come (Gkhom). Reading this in the context of the quoted Isaiah verse, this means that he has come to his children. As in the preceding oracle in which Montanus addressed the lowly and the contrite through reminiscences to Isaiah, Is 63:9 reveals that God’s children are now in tribulation (1j p\sgr hk_xeyr). As seen in the horizon of Is 63:9, God’s coming implies that he saved and redeemed (5sysem) his oppressed children. The aorist tense expresses the momentary relevance of God’s advent: God’s healing and redeeming presence begins here and now with its announcement by Montanus’ prophecy. This is another parallel to the preceding oracle in which God dwells in man in the present time.

3. Jerusalem The motif of the almighty God being close to the lowly and contrite fits well with what can be found about Montanus in another early antimontanist source, Apollonius, preserved in Eusebius’ church history. Apollonius mentions that Montanus identified the two small and insignificant Phrygian poleis of Pepouza and Tymion with Jerusalem, thereby intending to bring people from all directions together to these places (Hist. eccl. 5.18.2). Following the line of Montanus’ reception of Isaiah, Matthew and Revelation, Jerusalem figures as metaphor of protection, comfort and intimate closeness of God with his people. The intimate closeness is particularly evident in the maternal and bridely connotations of Jerusalem. In Is 66:13, God wants to comfort his children like a mother. In the preceding verses, Jerusalem played this role, the city nursed and satisfied her children with her comforting breasts. Rev 21:2 presents the New Jerusalem as a bride, dressed beautifully for her husband. In Mt 23:37, Jesus describes himself with the metaphor of a hen gathering her chicks, when talking about the protection of Jerusalemites. The female image of the polis Jerusalem fits well with pagan city goddesses, often modelled wearing the city wall like a crown. I am elaborating on these female images of protection and comfort also in view of another Montanist’s oracle about Jerusalem, uttered a few decades later by the prophetess Quintilla:

332

Heidrun E. Mader

9m Qd]ô, (vgs·) cumaij¹r 1swglatisl]mor 1m stok0 1swglatisl]mor 1m stok0 kalpqø Gkhe pq|r le Wqist¹r, ja· 1m]bakem 1m 1lo· tµm sov_am, ja· !pej\kux] loi toutom· t¹m t|pom eWmai ûciom, ja· ¨de tµm Zeqousakµl 1j toO oqqamoO jati]mai. (Epiphanius Pan. 48.14)

In the form of a woman clothed in shining robes, Christ came to me and threw wisdom into me, and revealed to me that this place is holy, and that Jerusalem here/for this reason comes down out of Heaven.

Again, Christ turns female when Jerusalem is in view. I have discussed this intriguing gender transformation elsewhere in more detail.44 Montanus’ idea that Jerusalem, the city par excellence for believers, would come down to earth in rural Phrygia, was kept as treasured tradition in Montanist circles. Around 377 CE, Epiphanius reports that contemporary Montanists were still gathering in Pepouza, anticipating Jerusalem from above.45 The excavation campaign in Pepouza and Tymion produced results which suggest that Montanus projected traditional images of a squared heavenly Jerusalem onto the topography of Pepouza and Thymion. He named both of these towns Jerusalem, according to Apollonius, which is easily understood when looking at the topography : If an imaginary celestial Jerusalem landed on the extensive plateau between Pepouza and Tymion, Pepouza would be the location of one of the southern gates, Tymion of the middle northern gate, and the southern wall of this Jerusalem would stand at the edge of the plateau above the steep walls of the Ulubey Canyon.46 In contrast to the little poleis Pepouza and Tymion, lacking city walls and located in the midst of rural hinterland conditions and structures, heavenly Jerusalem must have appeared as a mighty fortress of protection. The reversal of the social pyramid to the benefit of the lijqo_, which I pointed out above, can now be applied to the complete social infrastructure: the heavenly city comes down onto rural poleis and onto imperial farm estates. Not the emperor, but God Almighty represents the top of the hierarchy. Montanus’ religious programme was serious about transforming rural reality, troubled by poverty and oppressive burdens, into a thriving, heavenly Jerusalem, the place where the almighty God is close to his believers as he propagated. Heavenly

44 Mader, “Ich bin kein Wolf”, 288–292. 45 Epiphanius Pan. 48.14. 46 Lampe, P., “Das Neue Jerusalem der Montanisten in Phrygien”, in Theißen, G./Steymans, H.U./ Ostermann, S./Schmidt, K.M./Moresino-Zipper, A. (eds.), Jerusalem und die Länder. Ikonographie – Topographie – Theologie. Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag (NTOA/ StUNT 70; Göttingen: V&R, 2009), 253–70. See esp. 266–269.

“Bigger Than a Little One”. Rural Christianity in Asia Minor

333

Jerusalem is the ideal place for the just and little ones, shining brighter than the sun and the moon.

4. Results The prophetic movement in Phrygia is one of our first examples of rural Christianity evidenced not only by epigraphic but also literary sources. We saw how the Phrygian Christians could practise their religion with more interreligious outgoingness and more freedom due to hinterland conditions. Compared to urban settings they were farther away from strict imperial observation. Besides the inscriptions and the iconography on their doorstelae, the content of their oracles, composed by both women and men, displayed their religious self-consciousness, so did the ecstatic form of uttering them and writing them down, thereby producing religious literature. While profiting from the freedom the hinterland offered, these rural Christians also suffered from the lack of protection provided by city walls and imperial control over collectors of illegal dues. Montanus’ oracles show how the Phrygian Christians compensated for their tribulations theologically. Their tenacious belief in an ideal celestial Jerusalem city coming down onto their own settlements illustrates in a lively way how these rural Christians dreamed of urban advantages cleansed from the urban disadvantages that would have curtailed their religious freedom.47

Bibliography Alföldy, G., Römische Sozialgeschichte (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 42011). Aune, D.E., Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983). Görg, M., “C?M” in ThWAT VII (1993), 1338–48. Harrington, W.J., Revelation (Sacra Pagina 16; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1993). Hirschmann, V., Horrenda Secta. Untersuchungen zum frühchristlichen Montanismus und seine Verbindungen zur paganen Religion Phrygiens (Historia Einzelschriften 179; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005). Lampe, P., “Das Neue Jerusalem der Montanisten in Phrygien”, in Theißen, G./ Steymans, H.U./Ostermann, S./Schmidt, K.M./Moresino-Zipper, A. (eds.), Jeru47 This article was published within the framework of the research hub “Religious Positioning: Modalities and Constellations in Jewish, Christian and Muslim Contexts” at the Goethe University Frankfurt / Justus Liebig University Gießen, funded by the LOEWE programme of the Hessian Ministry for Science and Art.

334

Heidrun E. Mader

salem und die Länder. Ikonographie – Topographie – Theologie. Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag (NTOA/StUNT 70; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 2009), 253–70. Lampe, P., “Paul, Patrons, and Clients”, in Sampley, J.P. (ed.), Paul in the GrecoRoman World. A Handbook, Volume II (London/New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 204–38. Lampe, P., “The Phrygian Hinterland South of Temenothyrai (Usak)”, EC 7 (2016), 381–94. Lampe, P./Tabbernee, W., Pepouza and Tymion. The Discovery and Archeological Exploration of a Lost Ancient City and an Imperial Estate (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008). Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus 1–7 (EKK 1,1; Düsseldorf/Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger und Neukirchener Verlag, 52002). Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus 8–17 (EKK 1,2; Düsseldorf/Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger und Neukirchener Verlag, 42007). Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus 18–25 (EKK 1,3; Düsseldorf/Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger und Neukirchener Verlag, 1997). Luz, U., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus 26–28 (EKK 1,4; Düsseldorf/Zürich/ Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger und Neukirchener Verlag, 2002). Mader, H.E., Montanistische Orakel und kirchliche Opposition. Der frühe Streit zwischen den phrygischen “neuen Propheten” und dem Autor der vorepiphanischen Quelle als biblische Wirkungsgeschichte des 2. Jh. n. Chr. (NTOA 97; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). Mader, H.E., “Frühchristliche Theologinnen im Profil, Maximillas und Quintillas Visionen für die Kirche”, in Lehtipuu, O./Petersen, S. (eds.), Marginalised Writings of Early Christianity. Apocryphal Texts and Writings of Female Authorship (The Bible and Women. An Encyclopaedia of Exegesis and Cultural History, Vol. 3.2; Forthcoming). Mader, H.E., “‘Ich bin kein Wolf ’. Phrygische Prophetinnen in der Frühen Kirche”, in Bauks, M./Galor, K./Hartenstein, J. (eds.), Gender and Social Norms in Ancient Israel, Early Judaism and Christianity. Texts and Material Culture (JAJ Suppl. 28; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019). Michaelis, W., “pamtojq\tyq”, in ThWNT III (1938), 913–14. Stanton, G., A Gospel for a New People. Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992). Tabbernee, W., Montanist Inscription and Testimonia. Epigraphic Sources Illustrating the History of Montanism (PatMS 16; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997). Tabbernee, W., Fake Prophecy and Polluted Sacraments. Ecclesiastical and Imperial Reactions to Montanism (VC.Sup 84; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007). Trevett, C., Montanism. Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Zenger, E./Frevel, C. (eds.), Einleitung in das Alte Testament (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 8 2012).

Beyond Christianity

Daniel Schowalter

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

The theme of this paper relates to a very obvious, but under-appreciated facet of religious practice in the ancient Roman world. Anyone who has read a significant amount of ancient literature from the period is aware of a preoccupation with human attempts to understand and honor the gods,1 and even a quick review of most archaeological sites will re-enforce the importance of religion in ancient Mediterranean society. Temples, monumental altars, sculpted images and other remnants of ancient religious practice are a ubiquitous part of the surviving material culture, and it is quite obvious that the monumental centers of ancient cities reflected this preoccupation. In this paper, however, I wish to turn primarily away from the center of town, and think about the ways in which religious ritual was a constant factor of life throughout Roman society. I am not thinking here about domestic or what might be called private cult, but rather ways in which public religion could become part of the everyday lives of people who were not necessarily seeking it in designated “cultic” areas found in the middle of the city.2 These thoughts are informed by Jörg Rüpke’s introduction to The Individual in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean. In talking about healing sanctuaries, Rüpke says that “…healing and the social topography of healing imply statements about the relationship between a person and society: ex-centric sanctuaries attract individuals who leave their social context to care for themselves.”3 Rüpke also mentions the work of Kim Bowes,4 who, while focussed on private aspects of Christian worship in Late Antiquity, suggests that “the private is a resolutely relative entity, definable only through qualification and juxtaposition with its opposite, the public. That is, the private, either ancient or modern, cannot ever be defined, but only gestured at through a series of comparisons with something 1 James Rives, Religion in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 89) says that “virtually all the religious traditions of the Roman Empire shared some fundamental beliefs: that the gods existed, that they affected people’s lives, and that it was necessary to win their goodwill.” 2 In some cases, this could be caused by people worshipping other gods and not following ones whose honors intersected with their lives. In other cases, of course, a person could be uninterested in any of the available deities due to atheism, or as a consequence of following one of the monotheistic traditions. 3 Rüpke, J., The Individual in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 19–20. 4 Rüpke, The Individual, 19.

338

Daniel Schowalter

else.”5 This paper considers how religious practice could be located in places outside of the center of town and also not within the household.

1. Gods on the Road The origin of my own thinking on this topic goes back to Guy Rogers’ book on the Salutaris Inscription in Ephesus.6 Rogers’ description of Salutaris, a wealthy Ephesian and citizen of Rome,7 and his benefaction to the city of Ephesos makes it clear that the honorary procession sponsored by Salutaris would have been a source of excitement throughout the city with images of deities, founding figures, and emperors being carried with due pomp and circumstance. Perhaps if people wanted to avoid this display, they could have stayed confined in their homes or left the city, but this becomes less practical, and certainly less likely when we realize that the procession would have taken place about every two weeks.8 Twice a month, on average, you didn’t have to go to a temple to honor the gods, rather, the gods would come to you. Of course the Ephesians and residents of other cities had long standing experience with sacred processions. Salutaris is building on centuries of Ephesian tradition with festivals honoring Artemis and other deities,9 but certainly the gift of Salutaris raised this practice to a new level. Of course, the festivals would have a huge impact on the city. Regular business and governmental proceedings would be cancelled or curtailed and people would gather in communal space for the festivities. Even on non-festival days, however, the lives of all people would involve multiple encounters with, if not participation in, religious ritual. My recognition of this phenomenon was deepened to a significant extent during a visit to India in 2015. In preparing for the trip, I knew this was an opportunity to visit a culture where multiple gods were worshipped, but the reality was even more impactful than I anticipated. In India, there are plenty of individual religious practitioneers who are not tied to a temple or sanctuary. Gurus and other teachers can be seen everywhere, sitting on the street, laying out a colorful diagram of multiple deities. Small shrines, obviously frequented on a regular basis can be found on most streets. Fig. 1 shows a colorful depiction of the monkey god Hanuman who could be found in multiple places in Haridwar. His left hand is holding up the mountain, his right is holding his club. Devotees have 5 Bowes, K., Private Worship, Public Values and Religious Change in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 12. 6 Rogers, G., The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City (London and New York: Routledge, 1991), 81–83. 7 Rogers, Sacred Identity, 16–19. 8 Rogers, Sacred Identity, 83. 9 Arnold, I. R., “Festivals of Ephesus”, AJA 76 (1972), 17–22, on p. 17 and 20–21.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

339

Fig. 1. Colorful image of Hindu monkey god Hanuman (photograph by James Lochtefeld)

used cloves to spell out the word “Ram” on his chest. Hanuman is an incarnation of Shiva, and he offers strength and courage to his devotees in times of need.10

10 Many thanks to my colleague James Lochtefeld, who not only provided these pictures, but also helped me understand the images. Most importantly, it was Jim who planned the trip to India and allowed me to participate.

340

Daniel Schowalter

There are also plenty of examples of portable gods who could be transported, just like in the Salutaris procession. Fig. 2 shows Shiva Vishvanath (Lord of the universe). The main statue of the god was in a temple 10 miles away, but it is made of stone and isn’t going anywhere. This mobile image was making a tour of the vicinity (like a ruler on an inspection tour of the realm).

Fig. 2. Shiva Vishvanath being transported through the neighborhood (photograph by James Lochtefeld)

Finally, one of the most exciting and loud events of our visit to India was when we came across a float in a Jain religious procession getting organized on a busy street in Haridwar. A golden image was carried in on a man’s head and then lifted on to the float. Then three attendants with fly wisks sat around the image to keep off the bugs.11 There was also one man collecting money in a brass pot. It is not cheap to put on this kind of a spectacle. As we saw with Salutaris in Ephesos, the funding of religious festivals was a regular issue for the Romans as well. Eventually, the float pulled out into traffic to join the procession. It seemed to be up to the other traffic to get out of the way of the parade, not vice versa. Whether or not one was part of the Jain community, there was no way to avoid the commotion caused by this procession. 11 The image is not actually a god, but rather one of the Jain Tirthankars a group of the enlightened human teachers.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

341

Surely the people in Ephesos and other Roman cities would have frequently encountered the same situation. The noise might have been caused by flutes, drums and rattles rather than car horns, but the public disturbance would have been very much the same, with ubiquitous opportunities for devotion to a wide range of deities. I have always thought it rather humorous that in Acts 17, the author reports that Paul is “deeply distressed” (paqyn}meto t¹ pmeOma aqtoO) when he is in Athens and sees all of the idol worship that takes place in the city. Apparently he had his eyes closed in every other city he had visited, and it caught him by surprise that he lived in a culture where the vast majority of people worshipped multiple deities, as had their ancestors for generations. Obviously, the author of Acts had reasons for portraying the devotion of the Athenians as extreme, but with almost no exceptions, every city that Paul visited would have been filled with devotion to a variety of divinities, and not just in the city center/agora, but in every neighborhood and most street corners, not to mention in most of the houses in town. As we turn to consider Asia Minor, the site of so many impressive temples and sanctuaries, the same ubiquity of religion is also obvious and worthy of consideration. Please remember, however, that the nature of traditional archaeological excavation and the fact that many sites are covered by modern cities has made it much more likely that the agora would be excavated rather than the neighborhoods that take up the majority of space in ancient towns.

2. On the Road with Tombs Almost everyone is aware of the seldom violated ancient tradition that inside the walls of the polis is the territory of the living while the space outside the walls is the city of the dead, or necropolis. This custom meant that the streets immediately outside of a city gate were usually lined for a good distance with tombs and grave monuments signaling the internment of deceased residents. For the most part these roadside markers are evidence for the wealthier members of society who could afford to have a marker for their final resting place. This is obvious at Pompeii where the remains of tombs line the road leading up from the Villa of the Mysteries to the Porta Ercolano (Fig. 3). Both the scale and decoration of tombs and an appropriately somber funerary procession are portrayed in an imaginative painting in the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden in Leiden (Fig. 4). Beyond the stylish tombs of the elite, there were less visible areas where all manners of burials could take place. If the Via Triumphalis necropolis in the Vatican is any indicator, nicely built tombs and carved relief steles were side by side with less formal structures (Fig. 5). Tile graves were leaned up against any vertical surface, and human remains were interred in all types of broken ceramics. Without a doubt, the presence of

342

Daniel Schowalter

Fig. 3. Funeral monuments lining up the road from the Villa of the Mysteries to the Porta Ercolano in Pompeii (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

these grave markers would have been a visible and pervasive part of the life of the city. Anyone leaving or entering would have been reminded of both the frailty of life and the expectations (or lack thereof) for existence after death. One place in Asia Minor where this constant state of eschatological awareness is especially obvious is at Hierapolis in the southwest. The site is best known for the mineral springs which have created a massive cliff of mineral deposit that is really quite spectacular (Fig. 6). But beyond the Pamukkale (or “Cotton Castle”), as the modern Turkish town below is called, the northern necropolis of the city is truly a site to behold. The burial customs and state of preservation of the site means that the street leaving the north side of the city is lined with built tombs and sarcophagi (Fig. 7). Tombs come in a variety of styles starting with tumulus or barrow tombs from the Hellenistic period. There are also simple, rock cut tombs that are less monumental, and finally there are over 2000 recorded sarcophagi,12 most of which feature extensive Greek inscriptions dealing with the identity of the deceased individual, instructions for proper maintenance of the tomb, penalties for defacing or improperly reusing the tomb, and groups or 12 D’Andria, F., Hierapolis of Phrygia (Pamukkale) (Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari, 2003), 48–50.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

343

Fig. 4. Imaginative painting of a Roman necropolis (photograph Daniel Schowalter, courtesy of Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Leiden)

associations which guaranteed that proper ritual would continue to be carried out at the tomb in perpetuity.13 The example of the tomb of P(ublius) Aelius Apollinaris Makedkn (Fig. 8), has a very lengthy statement that takes the punishments for violators of his tomb, or even the space around it to an extreme. Whoever acts against these prescriptions is subject to the aforesaid fines, and furthermore may not have offspring, nor (long) life, and may not walk upon the land, nor navigate the sea, but die without (long) life, without offspring and after having experienced every illness, and after death may find the gods of the underworld vindictive and angry, both he who ordered the construction and the builder, and the [same curse should afflict] even those who have not denounced such actions. A copy of this (document) has been depositied in the archives.14 13 Ritti, T., An Epigraphic Guide to Hierapolis (Pamukkale) (Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari, 2006), 45–47. 14 Ritti, Epigraphic Guide, 56–59. nstir rpemamt¸om ti poi¶sei to?r pqocecqall]moir 5sty lem j rpe¼humor to?r pqost_loir, ja· l^te t]jmym [l]^te b[_o]u emgsir eU,, l^te c/ bat^, l^te h\kassa

344

Daniel Schowalter

Fig. 5. Necropolis along the Via Triumphalis on Vatican hill (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

Fig. 6. Mineral springs at Hierapolis (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

pkyt^, !kk± %tejmor ja· %bior ja· pgq¹r j t[qa¼]lati pamt· !poh\moi ja· let± h\matom [..]o[..]ai to»r rpowhom_our heo»r tilyqo»r ja· jewokyl]mour f te jeke¼sar jatasjeu j \sai ja· b 1qca-

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

345

Fig. 7. The necropolis of Hierapolis (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

Even illiterate passers-by could note the length and detail of the inscription, and no doubt the warnings contained therein would become part of local knowledge for all observers. To further highlight the memory of the deceased person, the sarcophagi at Hierapolis and elsewhere were usually placed on elevated platforms called bomoi.15 The term bomos is commonly used to refer to an altar, so there would seem to be an undeniable religious connection for these monuments. Coulton suggests that Thus in addition to its normal meaning of ’altar’, bomos does not retain (or return to) an original meaning of ’pedestal or platform in general’, but rather it extends from the meaning ’altar’ to cover ’altar-shaped thing (regardless of use)’? which may include a pedestal or platform… the fact that the connection continued to be conveyed by word or by form over several centuries suggests that the formal

s\lemor, aR d³ [- - - - - - - - - -]ai ja· to?r lµ 1jdij¶sasim peq· to}tym. To}tou !mt_cqavom !pet]hg j eQr !qwe?om. 15 D’Andria, Hierapolis, 37. J. J. Coulton (“Pedestals as ‘Altars’ in Roman Asia Minor”, Anatolian Studies 55 (2005), 127–57) reviews the use and meaning of Bomoi used as pedestals for statues, sarcophagi and other items throughout Asia Minor. The most extreme examples of tombs elevated in this way can be seen in the 5th-4th century BCE tombs of Xanthos (Keen, A., “The Dynastic Tombs of Xanthos: Who was Buried Where?”, Anatolian Studies 42 (1992), 53–63).

346

Daniel Schowalter

Fig. 8. Tomb of Publius Aelius Apollinaris Makedkn (photograph Daniel Schowalter) similarity was often recognised, and that the symbolic value of the form could sometimes still be felt.16

The fact that no one could enter or leave the city without encountering hundreds of these labeled altar-like monuments would certainly fit the example of Gods in the neighborhood. It would be difficult to avoid these commemorations of death ritual and the gods unless one never left the city. It also appears that the dedicators and occupants of the tombs were not all worshippers of the Roman gods. Elena Miranda has identified 23 Jewish sarcophagus inscriptions from Hierapolis.17 To the extent that these identifications are correct, we need to conclude that any negative feelings about the religious nature of the necropolis neighborhood were not strong enough to opt out of the elite burial to which one was entitled. After the presentation, I asked Frits Naerebout about the role of the necropolis as a demarcation between the urban world of the city and the countryside. As you might guess, he responded that he preferred to think of it as a point of connection rather than separation. This reminded me of the publication of Phrygian votive steles by Thomas Drew-Bear and Christine 16 Coulton, “Pedestals as Altars,” 146. 17 Miranda, E., “La Comunit/ giudaica di Hierapolis di Frigia”, Epigraphica Anatolica 31 (1999), 109–56, on p. 109.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

347

Thomas.18 According to the authors, a portion of these finds were roughly hewn markers, made by quarry workers. Although the imagery of the stele was often simple, and the Greek text full of errors, Drew-Bear and Thomas thought that these were in fact an attempt to imitate burial monuments that had been set up in nearby nekropoleis. If they are correct, this is exactly a case of the greater urban environment being connected to the countryside. Of course, we can’t know whether the quarry workers lived inside or outside the city, but they left a record of their lives and activities outside of major population areas.

3. Water, Water Everywhere Another central aspect of life in the cities of Asia Minor (and elsewhere) was the water supply system. A safe and dependable water supply is something that people in the modern West can easily take for granted. But in the ancient world, the population of cities was limited by how much water was available for people to consume. The Romans became extremely skilled at running aqueducts from water rich areas into urban centers. The city of Ephesos was an excellent example of this. Since 2001, Gilbert Wiplinger has led a team effort to trace the lines bringing water to Ephesos. At least five major aquaducts served the city, the earliest from the Hellenistic period and the latest (running at least 40 km) built in the mid 2nd century CE.19 These water systems were monumental projects that were sponsored by generous benefactors, and of course there is epigraphical evidence for some of these gifts. In addition to honoring the donor, these inscriptions consistently dedicate these monumental, life-giving achievements to the Emperor and to Artemis the patron deity of the town.20 An impressive water bridge (Fig. 9) is still preserved as part of the water system built by Gaius Sextillius Pollio in the last ten years of the reign of Augustus. Both sides of the bridge feature a bilingual dedication to Artemis 18 Drew-Bear, T./Thomas, C., Phrygian Votive Steles (Ankara: Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, 1999). 19 Wiplinger, G., “Wasser für Ephesos, Stand der Erforschung der Wasserversorgung in Ephesos, Türkei”, in Wiplinger, G. (ed.), Cura Aquarum in Ephesus: proceedings of the twelfth International Congress on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region, Ephesus/SelÅuk, Turkey, October 2–10, 2004 (Leuven; Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006), 23–37. 20 Peter Scherrer (“Die Fernwasserversorgung von Ephesos in der römischen Kaiserzeit: Synopse der epigraphischen Quellen”, in Wiplinger, G. (ed.), Cura Aquarum in Ephesus: proceedings of the twelfth International Congress on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region, Ephesus/SelÅuk, Turkey, October 2–10, 2004 (Leuven; Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006), 45–58) has collected inscriptions related to the water systems and the donors who set them up.

348

Daniel Schowalter

Ephesia, the Emperor, and his son Tiberius Caesar.21 Brenda Longfellow suggests that Pollio’s water source terminated at a fountain complex associated with the tomb of Pollio built in the area later known as Domitian Square.22

Fig. 9. Water bridge of Gaius Sextilius Pollio at Ephesus (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

Another water source was located just south of the Pollio tomb was also dedicated to Artemis and in this case, the emperor Domitian.23 Inscriptions records that the Demos of the Ephesians brought in the water via an aquaduct designated Domitianos.24 Domitian’s name has been erased, but the inscription states that the proconsul P. Calvius Ruso, set up a major fountain complex at the end of the water line to provide access for people. The Ruso fountain featured a large cave-like area (Fig. 10) displaying dramatic stautuary of Odysseus and his men preparing to kill Polyphemus now on display in the SelÅuk museum.25 21 IK 17/ 1. 3092. Scherrer, “Die Fernwasserversorgung,” 46. 22 Longfellow, B., Roman Imperialism and Civic Patronage: Form, Meaning, and Ideology in Monumental Fountain Complexes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 225 n. 7. The burial of local notable inside the city limits was very unusual, as would be the connection of a tomb and a water source. 23 Two identical inscriptions, IK 12, 413/1 and 413/2. Scherrer “Die Fernwasserversorgung,”48–49. 24 IK 12, 419. Scherrer, “Die Fernwasserversorgung,” 49. IK 12, 419 A may be a fragmentary copy of this inscription. 25 Longfellow, Roman Imperialism, 65–66; Robinson, B., Histories of Peirene: A Corinthian

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

349

Fig. 10. Fountain set up by Publius Calvius Ruso at Ephesus (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

Nymphaea as the termination point of aqueducts proved to be an excellent opportunity for donors to demonstrate their generousity and piety. Less than 100 m from the Russo fountain in Ephesos stands the Nymphaeum of Trajan (Fig. 11).26 This was one of two fountain complexes provided at the end of an aqueduct built by Tiberius Claudius Ariston and his wife Iulia Lydia Laterane in the early second century. Dedicated to Artemis and the Emperor Trajan,27 the nymphaeum included statues of Aphrodite, Dionysus, and a satyr which were found in excavations of the basin.28 Along with statuary from the imperial family, and that of the donors, the fountain provided visual reminders that the readily accessible water was provided by human and divine benefactors.

Fountain in Three Millennia. Ancient Art and Architecture in Context (Princeton, NJ.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2011), 246; Schowalter, D., “Ephesos under the Flavians: The Domitiansplatz as a Marker of Local and Imperial Identity” in Black, A./Thomas, C./ Thompson, T. (eds.), Ephesos as a Religious Center under the Principate (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 139–57, on pp. 144–45. 26 Quatember, U., Das Nymphaeum Traiani in Ephesos (Forschungen in Ephesos 11/2; Wien: Verlag Der Österreichischen Akademie Der Wissenschaften, 2011). Quatember’s reconstruction of the fountain disagrees in many ways with the reconstruction done on site. 27 Scherrer, “Die Fernwasserversorgung,” 53–54. 28 Quatember, Das Nymphaeum Traiani, 65–78.

350

Daniel Schowalter

Fig. 11. Nymphaeum of Trajan at Ephesus (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

The same message was visible in many locations, but Perge near the south coast of Pamphylia is an exceptional example. Five nymphaea have been found in the city and each was marked by divine and imperial images.29 The north Nymphaeum was built in the early second century and it stands at the foot of the Akropolis.30 It featured statues of the emperor Hadrian, but is focussed around a reclining personification of the river god Kestrus (Fig. 12).31 29 The latest example is F1 located outside the city, adjacent to the theater. Jacobs, I./Richard, J., “’We Surpass the Beautiful Waters of Other Cities by the Abundance of Ours’: Reconciling Function and Decoration in Late Antique Fountains”, Journal of Late Antiquity 5 (2012), 3–71, on p. 12. 30 Debaste, F./Haut, B., “Some elements of the water supply system of the city of Perge, in the Roman Imperial period”, in Kalavrouziotis, I. K./Angelakis, A. N. (eds.), IWA Regional Symposium on Water, Wastewater and Environment: Traditions and Culture (Patras, GR: Hellenic Open University, 2014), 135–44; Aristodemou, G., “Monumental fountain structures: The role of Nymphaea within the urban context of the cities of the Graeco-Roman East”, in Kalavrouziotis, I. K./Angelakis, A. N. (eds.), IWA Regional Symposium on Water, Wastewater and Environment: Traditions and Culture (Patras, GR: Hellenic Open University, 2014), 523–36, on pp. 531–32. Richard (“In the Plites’ Toolkit. Decoding the Iinitiative and Reference System Behind the Investment in the Architecture and Decoration of Roman Nymphaea”, Facta 5 (2011), 65–100, on p. 82) suggests that the “likely candidate” for sponsoring the north nymphaeum was Plancia Magna who was responsible for many benefactions to the city at this time. 31 Aristodemou, G., “Sculptured Decoration of Monumental Nymphaea at the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire”, in Nogales Basarrate, T./Rod/ de Llanza, I. (eds.), XI Colloquium on Roman

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

351

Fig. 12. River god Kestrus reclining in north Nymphaeum at Perge (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

Water pours from underneath this statue into into a series of cascading pools that ran 500 meters down the center of the main street (Fig. 13). At the south end of this open canal, around the so-called Severan square, two more nymphaea were developed in the Severan period. Traditionally, these have been connected to an inscription (IK Perge I, 195), recording a donation by Aurelia Paulina who was high preistess of Artemis Pergeia and also a priestess of the imperial cult.32 A fifth nymphaeum has now been discovered near the western gate of Perge adjacent to the North Bath complex, and along with it a spectacular collection of staturary.33 Excavations between 2012 and 2015 have revealed at least 13 statues including Tyche/Fortuna, Helios, Nemesis, Aphrodite (2), Athena,

Provincial Art “Rome and the Provinces: Models and Diffusion” M8rida, Spain 18–21 May 2009 (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2011), 149–60, on p. 155. Aristodemou claims that “this is a visual statement that Perge is a robust city with citizens depending only on their natural sources, hence, the river Kestrus.” 32 Richard (“Plites’ Toolkit,” 82) notes that “no clearer link can be established between the inscription and the two Severan nymphaea of the city.” 33 Anadolu Agency, “Ancient City of Perge rich in Sculptures”, Hurriyet Daily News, July 1, 2015.https://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/ancient-city-of-perge-rich-in-sculptures-84764.

352

Daniel Schowalter

Fig. 13. Pools in center of street at Perge (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

Asklepios, Selene and a 2.2 m tall depiction of the emperor Caracalla.34 While some of these statues may have come from the nearby bath or other buildings, there must have been a very impressive retinue of divine and imperial figures associated with the “Caracalla Nymphaeum.”35 In discussing nymphaea decoration in Roman Greece, Georgia Aristodemou suggests that The presence of the local deities expresses the city’s gratitude for the divine protection and stresses the belief that local gods support and sustain not only the imperial family but the citizens too, providing them with all the necessary goods for a prosper[ous] life.36

34 Anonymous, “13 Unique Sculptures Found in Ancient City of Perge”, Archaeology News Network, July 5, 2015. https://archaeologynewsnetwork.blogspot.com/2015/07/13-unique-sculptu res-found-in-ancient.html. The 2.2 m Caracalla Statue is being described as the “only sculpture of the Roman Emperor Caracalla that was discovered in one piece.” There was also a statue of a priest, described as having two snake reliefs on his neck and holding a fertility horn in one hand. These statues have been set up in the museum of nearby Antalya, which already had one of the world’s richest collections of statuary. 35 For an impressive aerial view of this nymphaeum see: https://perge2018.aktob.org.tr/galleryitem/caracalla-cesmesi/. 36 Aristodemou, G., “Fountain sculptures and personal propaganda in Roman Greece”, in Karanastassis, P./Stefanidou-Tiveriou, Th./Damaskos, D. (eds.), Ckuptij^ jai joimym_a stg qylazj^

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

353

What did it mean to have the gods looking over you as you drew water for your family? Obviously, for most people it was a common occurrence very typical for life in a city that honored the many gods. For anyone who did not follow those gods, however, could it be a more complicated endeavor since there usually was no other way to get the water necessary for life in the city.37 At the very least, these proximate images of the gods adorning the major water sources must have provided a constant reminder of minority status for those in the town who did not share in their worship.

4. Gods Next Door Another good example of Gods in the neighborhood comes from Priene in western Asia Minor, located south of Ephesos and north of Miletos. Built on a steep hillside, the city features several terraces with religious/civic/social installations (Fig. 14). The first major structure below the akropolis is the Demeter Temple (14.15) and the theater terrace is below and to the east (14.7). The terrace for the Athena Temple (14.14) that is later dedicated to Athena and Augustus (Fig. 15) is in the left middle of the hillside, and a sanctuary to the Egyptian Deities (14.4) is at the same level to the right. The Agora (14.9) is just below the center of the city with a stoa and the Bouleuterion to the north and a temple and precinct for Askleipios to the east. At the lowest level is the gymnasium (14.6) and stadium. The main civic areas of Priene did not, however, have a monopoly on cultic activity. At the western gate (14.3) that led up from the Harbor (and out to the countryside), there were several interesting examples of gods in the neighborhood. The first was a space directly inside the west gate that featured a courtyard with a sacrificial pit.38 Two statuettes of Magna Mater were discovered inside the area, and so the area has been taken by the excavators to be a Cybele sanctuary. In his guidebook to the site, Martin Schede mentions that a large number of small terra cotta or stone images of the goddess have been found around the site. He suggests that this abundance of figurines, and the simple nature of the sanctuary by the gate would indicate that Cybele was rather popular among the lower classes.39 Without comparing the numbers Ekk\da: jakkitewmij\ pqoz|mta, joimymij]r pqobok]r (Thessalonike: University Studio Press, 2018), 351–66, on p. 363. 37 Even in much less formal water sources, the gods could be represented. In Pompeii and Herculaneum, local water fountains found at crossroads featured reliefs of gods such as Neptune and Mercury. 38 Schede, M. et al., Die Ruinen Von Priene: Kurze Beschreibung (Berlin: De Gruyter, 21964), 101. 39 Ibid. Schede further claims that this evidence indicates that, at Priene, Cybele was ignored as a civic cult. Unfortunately, this has to be challenged as an argument from silence.

354

Daniel Schowalter

Fig. 14. Map of Priene (site plan, photographed by Daniel Schowalter)

Fig. 15. Inscription from the temple to Athena and Augustus at Priene (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

from Priene to other sites where large amounts of terra cotta figurines are almost always found, it is hard to use this information to make judgements about how many people of a given social level were worshipping the goddess. It is clear, however, that this ritual area, whether dedicated to Magna Mater or different/multiple deities, is away from the center of town, and proximate to a residential neighborhood. The third building in from the gate on the south side of the street also

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

355

Fig. 16. The place where Alexander the Great was honoured at Priene? (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

appears to have had a sacred character. It featured a marble offering table and a pit into which libations could have been poured. Because a statue that seems to represent Alexander the Great was found in the house, it is thought that this might have been a place where Alexander was honored, perhaps commemorating the house where he stayed during a visit to the region in 334 BCE (Fig. 16).40 An additional inscription found elsewhere on the site and dated to the last third of the second century BCE reports that wealthy donors spent 1000 drachmas to repair the Alexandreion (IPri 108.75).41 While the presence of the Alexander statue in this building provides a strong connection, it may not be 40 Schede, Ruinen von Priene, 101–7. A well-known inscription from Priene recognizes that Alexander set up the temple of Athena Polias (IPri 156), so it makes sense that he would have been honored in the city. A second inscription, known as the Edict of Alexander to Priene discusses the status of the port city of Priene, Naulochon. It was part of an archive of historical texts that were carved on to one of the antae of the doorway at the front of the Athena Polias temple. Sherwin-White argues that this inscription was part of a longer edict of Alexander and that it was inscribed at the time of Lysimachus as a way to affirm the historic rights of the city (“Ancient Archives: The Edict of Alexander to Priene, a Reappraisal”, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 105 (1985), 69–89, on pp. 81–82 and 86–87). 41 Cohen, G., The Hellenistic Settlements in Europe, the Islands, and Asia Minor (Berkeley : University of California Press, 1995), 187–88.

356

Daniel Schowalter

possible to confirm or deny that this building housed the cult of Alexander. Who or whatever was honored in this space, however, it is clearly an area for ritual practice imbedded within a residential block. At a much later time, a third sacred installation was developed in this same area. In this case, it appears to have been a Jewish synagogue. From 2009–2011, Nadine Burkhardt and Mark Wilson conducted excavations in the building two houses east of the so-called Alexandreion (14.17). They have determined that in the late 4th century CE, a large Greek style house was remodelled into a building specifically for Jewish gathering and worship.42 The layout of the new building included a courtyard area with a square apse on the east side that could have served as a Torah shrine. A nicely carved relief of a menorah with a peacock on either side was sketched in the original excavation and was recovered in the recent work.43 In addition, a menorah grafitto (Fig. 17) was found in the building and these would seem to confirm it as a Jewish gathering place. Of course, the other two nearby shrines could have easily been out of business by the time this house was converted to a synagogue, but Burkhardt points out the possibility, if not the likelihood that the house could have been used as a center for Jewish meeting long before the building was remodelled.44 It is at least possible then that this “residential” area of the city featured installations for worship of at least three different gods.45

5. You Are what You Eat While still focussed on Priene, it is important to note that this residential area is not far from the macellum, the meat market, that is strategically placed down the hill from the altar of the Athena and Augustus Temple and just west of the altars associated with the central Agora and the sanctuary of Asklepios. There were also additional altars in the bouleterion and the theater. While not all sacrifice would have meant the slaughter of an animal, it is obvious that a substantial amount of meat would have been produced in ceremonies to honor 42 Burkhardt, N./Wilson, M., “The Late Antique Synagogue in Priene: Its History, Architecture, and Context”, Gephyra 10 (2013), 166–96, on pp. 166–71. 43 Burkhardt and Wilson, “Late Antique Synagogue,” 177–78. Burkhardt (“Uncomparable Buildings? The Synagogues in Priene and Sardis”, Journal of Ancient Judaism 5 (2014), 167–203, on pp. 197–99) considers these examples in comparison to Menorah iconography from the synagogue in Sardis. 44 Burkhardt and Wilson, “Late Antique Synagogue,” 174. 45 Burkhardt and Wilson, “Late Antique Synagogue,” 178–79 reject the suggestion of Richardson (Building Jewish in the Roman East (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2004), 167) that these three cultic centers should be viewed as isolated and even invisible to most observers. They indicate that it is impossible that the three centers existed contemporaneously, and that the neighborhood, although domestic, was very close to the city center.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

357

Fig. 17. Graffito of menorah from a synagogue at Priene (photograph Daniel Schowalter)

the gods.46 Placing the macellum in the vicinity of these sacrifices meant that meat could be produced and sold at a convenient location.47 In 1Cor 8, Paul faces this reality by head on, indicating that since the gods to whom these sacrifices are made are not real, the meat cannot be harmful to a believer in Jesus who consumes it. On the other hand, Paul is also aware that for some believers the connection of this meat to the gods is so strong that consuming it could lead to a crisis of faith. The question is, how much meat was available in the city that had not been sacrificed to idols. Certainly there were busy times on the festival calendar when it would have been difficult to avoid this kind of conspicuous consumption.

46 Scheid, J., “Le statut de la viande / Rome”, Food and History 5 (2007), 19–28, on pp. 24–26. Scheid argues that all food was consecrated. “Le principe est donc que tout aliment, notamment des aliments qui jouent un rile social et religieux aussi important que le vin, ne peut Þtre consomm8 et manipul8 avant qu’une partie n’ait 8t8 offerte en pr8mices / une divinit8.” 47 Van Andringa, W., “Du sanctuaire au macellum: Sacrifices, commerce et consommation de la viande / Pomp8i”, Food and History 5 (2007), 47–72, on p. 72; Marc, J-Y., “Un macellum d’8poque hell8nistique / Thasos”, in Cavalier, L./Descat, R./des Courtils, J. (eds.), Basiliques et agoras de GrHce et d’Asie Mineure (Bordeaux: Ausonius, 2012), 225–39, on p. 235.

358

Daniel Schowalter

6. There Goes the Neighborhood In the end, we return to Ephesos and confront the idea of gods taking over the neighborhood, literally, rather than just being present in it. The so called Temple of Domitian in Ephesos,48 was built in the last third of the first century CE, and has been the source of much academic discussion since its initial excavation in 1930.49 Much of the debate has concerned why it took so long for Ephesos as the capital of the province of Asia to receive the honor of housing a provincial temple to the emperor (neokorate). Barbara Burrell argues that the mention of “the Neokoros Ephesians” on coins from the reign of Nero suggest that the city was actually awarded its long-sought-after first neocorate temple during the late stages of Nero’s reign.50 In fact, the question of dating of the evidence for both the 24 X 34 m temple and the 65 X 90 terrace on which it stood is only one of the questions about this installation that remains open today. Sabine Ladstätter, Director of the Austrian Archaeological Institute and the Austrian Excavations at Ephesos, led excavations and geophysical survey around the temple in 2009–2011.51 As a result of previous research, and this new analysis of the evidence for the temple, Ladstätter suggests that both the dating for the project and the number and identity of the figures honored in the temple cannot be determined with certainty. “Ultimately it cannot be determined how many imperial statues were set up in the cella, and to whom the temple was actually dedicated.”52 As for the dating of the temple terrace, Ladstätter warns that the severe robbing 48 Ladstätter, S., “The So-called Imperial Cult Temple for Domitian in Ephesos”, in Schowalter, D. et al. (eds.), Religion in Ephesos Reconsidered: Archaeology of Spaces, Structures, and Objects (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 13–40, on pp. 13–15. 49 Ladstätter, “Temple for Domitian,” 24 notes that S. Friesen (Twice Neokoros: Ephesus, Asia, and the cult of the Flavian imperial family (Leiden: Brill, 1993)) has argued that the complex should be known as the Temple of the Flavian Sebastoi, and that it is commonly denoted in the subsequent literature as either the Temple of Domitian or the Flavian imperial temple. 50 “If Ephesos was originally granted a provincial temple for Nero, lost it due to the condemnation of his memory, had it regranted under Vespasian (who was remembered into the third century as the chief object of cult of this temple), but didn’t complete it until after that emperor’s death and the death of his immediate successor, then ‘temple of the Augusti’ might have been the best compromise as the title for a building with such varied history.” Burrell, B., Neokoroi: Greek Cities and Roman Emperors (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 60–63. 51 Ladstätter, S. et al., “Domitianstempel 2009”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 2009 (Vienna: ÖAI, 2009), https://www.oeaw.ac.at/fi leadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/OeAI_Jahresbericht_2009.pdf; Ladstätter, S. et al., “Domitianstempel 2010”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 2010 (Vienna: ÖAI, 2010), https://www.oeaw.ac.at/fi leadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/OeAI_Jahresbericht_2010.pdf; Ladstätter, S. et al., “Domitianstempel 2011”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 2011 (Vienna: ÖAI, 2011), https://www.oeaw.ac.at/fi leadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/OeAI_Jahresbericht_2011.pdf. 52 Ladstätter, “Temple for Domitian,” 20.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

359

out of the complex in late antiquity and a lack of scientific information from earlier excavations dictates that “no secure statements are possible on the basis of the architectural decoration, the sculptural installations, or the epigraphic evidence.”53 It is obvious that more debate on these questions lies ahead, but fortunately, my interest in the temple complex for this paper is not contingent on when or for whom it was developed, but concerns only the environmental impact of the structure. The platform on which the Temple to the Sebastoi was built represents a major example of “urban renewal” in the ancient world. The platform was built on the south east end of Kuretes street and buried a huge area of residential structures. Ladstätter reports that “a surface area of 5550 m2 must have been levelled, older structures razed, and levelling material filled in.”54 This is urban renewal at a monumental scale. Several city blocks would have been destroyed in order to clear space for the platform. Dominik Maschek mentions the massive effort necessary to demolish buildings and build the terrace and suggests that it would have required the approval of a broad spectrum of city and provincial leaders.55 Those who work further east might scoff that this is a relatively small platform compared to those constructed to support the building projects of Herod the Great especially the Temple in Jerusalem,56 but for Ephesos it would have had a significant impact on the city scape, the social fabric of the town, and the lives of many people.57 Given that this area was located just off of what is today called Kuretes Street, it would have been prime real estate. The owners of these houses would probably have come from elevated positions in the society, but of course this major relocation would have had an impact on people, whether slave or free who worked in or serviced the houses. Whether we are talking about “gods in the neighborhood,” or “there goes the neighborhood,” it is clear that anyone living in a city in First-century Asia Minor would have felt the effects of traditional worship of the gods in every 53 Ladstätter, “Temple for Domitian,” 27. She does suggest that forthcoming research by R. Posamentir regarding the coins and inscriptions associated with the temple indicates that the terrace should indeed be dated to the reign of Nero. 54 Ladstätter (“Temple for Domitian,” 28) citing Vetters, H., “Grabungen in Ephesos von 1960–1969 bzw. 1970: Domitiansterrasse und Domitiangasse”, ÖJh 50 (1972–75), 310–30, p. 323. Ladstätter (“Temple for Domitian,” 29) also suggests that the use of cryptoporticus design to support a major platform can be traced back to “western influence,” but of course there are plenty of examples of this type of construction in the eastern Empire, including several of the construction projects of Herod the Great. See note 56. 55 Maschek, D., “Domitian and Polyphem: Kritische Anmerkungen zur hermeneutischen Methode in der antiken Kunstgeschichte am Beispiel Ephesos”, Jahreshefte des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes in Wien 76 (2007), 279–99, on p. 285. 56 Richardson, Building Jewish. 57 Any dissatisfaction caused by this impact would have been intensified if the the land was cleared near the end of the reign of Nero, and the project was abandoned until the reign of Domitian ten years later. As stated above, however, these dates are subject to further deliberation.

360

Daniel Schowalter

aspect of their lives, and sometimes in places where they didn’t necessarily expect it. Images of the gods and other symbols of Roman piety would have been ubiquitous and unavoidable. Another way of thinking about this situation is to consider neo-pagans today who try to function in western societies in which a vast majority of people are Christian. One example that illustrates this dilemma is a protest by Greek Pagans who opposed plans to rebury a portion of the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the Athenian Agora after it had been uncovered during work on the electric railroad line.58 They claimed that this discovery had revealed a vital structure that was fundamental to their religious beliefs. Needless to say, their protests did not go very far in a country that is dominated by Greek Orthodox Christianity, and where transportation is a constant issue. The situation of people who did not worship the traditional Roman gods, much less the emperor, in the first century must have been very similar. As a small minority, their options were limited, and any attempt to avoid contact with the realities of worship of the many gods would have been difficult if not impossible. The gods were everywhere: in processions on the streets, along the roads on tombs, in the water system, in the meat market, and definitely in the neighborhood. Human life and death were regularly matters of cult. Of course, in some contexts there was a firm dividing line between a designated sacred space or sanctuary for a certain god, and the context in which it stood.59 In reality, however, one did not need to seek out such a sanctuary to find obvious and extensive ritual activity.

Bibliography Abbasog˘lu, H., “The founding of Perge and its Development”, in Parrish, D. (ed.), Urbanism in Western Asia Minor: New Studies on Aphrodisias, Ephesos, Hierapolis, Pergamon, Perge and Xanthos (JRA Supp. 45; Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2001), 171–85.

58 Balezdrova, A., “Protest and prayer to Museos for the altar of the Olympic gods”, GR Reporter, 2011. http://www.grreporter.info/en/protest_and_prayer_museos_altar_olympic_gods/4211 59 In some cases, modern scholars have posited a separation between space dedicated to more secular civic activities and space that houses more religious functions. In Ephesos, Peter Scherrer, Ephesus the New Guide (Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari, 2000, 86) points to a threshold like installation (embasis) found at the entrance to the area known as Domitiansplatz. The embasis is flanked by rectangular bases with relief sculpture, and Scherrer suggests that this might mark a separation between “the fundamentally different realms of cult…, and human life and death.” By contrast, both at Ephesos and other places, there is ample evidence for cultic activity on either side of such a hypothetical dividing line, as well as multiple examples of civic, commercial, and funerary remains.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

361

Anadolu Agency, “Ancient City of Perge rich in Sculptures”, Hurriyet Daily News, July 1, 2015. http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/ancient-city-of-perge-rich-in-sculp tures-84764 Anonymous, “13 Unique Sculptures Found in Ancient City of Perge”, Archaeology News Network, July 5, 2015. https://archaeologynewsnetwork.blogspot.com/2015/ 07/13-unique-sculptures-found-in-ancient.html#ptzdovwzP3ECzCcT.97 Arnold, I. R., “Festivals of Ephesus”, AJA 76 (1972), 17–22. Aristodemou, G., “Sculptured Decoration of Monumental Nymphaea at the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire”, in Nogales Basarrate, T./Rod/ de Llanza, I. (eds.), XI Colloquium on Roman Provincial Art “Rome and the Provinces: Models and Diffusion” M8rida, Spain 18–21 May 2009 (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2011), 149–60. Aristodemou, G., “Monumental fountain structures: The role of Nymphaea within the urban context of the cities of the Graeco-Roman East”, in Kalavrouziotis, I. K./ Angelakis, A. N. (eds.), IWA Regional Symposium on Water, Wastewater and Environment: Traditions and Culture (Patras, GR: Hellenic Open University, 2014), 523–36. Aristodemou, G., “Fountain sculptures and personal propaganda in Roman Greece”, in Karanastassis, P./Stefanidou-Tiveriou, Th./Damaskos, D. (eds.), Ckuptij^ jai joimym_a stg qylazj^ Ekk\da : jakkitewmij\ pqoz|mta, joimymij]r pqobok]r (Thessalonike: University Studio Press, 2018), 351–66. Balezdrova, A., “Protest and prayer to Museos for the altar of the Olympic gods”, GR Reporter, 2011. http://www.grreporter.info/en/protest_and_prayer_museos_al tar_olympic_gods/4211 Bowes, K., Private Worship, Public Values and Religious Change in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Burkhardt, N., “Uncomparable Buildings? The Synagogues in Priene and Sardis”, Journal of Ancient Judaism 5 (2014), 167–203. Burkhardt, N./Wilson, M., “The Late Antique Synagogue in Priene: Its History, Architecture, and Context”, Gephyra 10 (2013), 166–96. Burrell, B., Neokoroi: Greek Cities and Roman Emperors (Leiden: Brill, 2004). Cohen, G., The Hellenistic Settlements in Europe, the Islands, and Asia Minor (Berkeley : University of California Press, 1995). Coulton, J. J., “Pedestals as ‘Altars’ in Roman Asia Minor”, Anatolian Studies 55 (2005), 127–57. D’Andria, F., Hierapolis of Phrygia (Pamukkale) (Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari, 2003). Debaste, F./Haut, B., “Some elements of the water supply system of the city of Perge, in the Roman Imperial period”, in Kalavrouziotis, I. K./Angelakis, A. N. (eds.), IWA Regional Symposium on Water, Wastewater and Environment: Traditions and Culture (Patras, GR: Hellenic Open University, 2014), 135–44. Drew-Bear, T./Thomas, C., Phrygian Votive Steles (Ankyra: Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, 1999). Friesen, S., Twice Neokoros: Ephesus, Asia, and the cult of the Flavian imperial family (Leiden: Brill, 1993).

362

Daniel Schowalter

Jacobs, I., “Production to Destruction? Pagan and Mythological Statuary in Asia Minor”, AJA 114 (2010), 267–303. Jacobs, I./Richard, J., “’We Surpass the Beautiful Waters of Other Cities by the Abundance of Ours’: Reconciling Function and Decoration in Late Antique Fountains”, Journal of Late Antiquity 5 (2012), 3–71. Kadıog˘lu, M./Kagan Kadıog˘lu, Y., “Native of the marble in ancient city, Nysa on the Meander of Hellenistic and Roman Period, Aydin- Western Anatolia – Turkey”, IOP Conference Series: Eather and Environmental Science 2 (2008), 1–7. Keen, A., “The Dynastic Tombs of Xanthos: Who was Buried Where?”, Anatolian Studies 42 (1992), 53–63. Keil, J., “XVI. Vorläufiger Bericht über die Ausgrabungen in Ephesos”, ÖJh 27 (1932), 1–72. Ladstätter, S., “The So-called Imperial Cult Temple for Domitian in Ephesos”, in Schowalter, D. et al. (eds.), Religion in Ephesos Reconsidered: Archaeology of Spaces, Structures, and Objects (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 13–40. Ladstätter, S. et al., “Domitianstempel 2009”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 2009 (Vienna: ÖAI, 2009), https:// www.oeaw.ac.at/fileadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/ OeAI_Jahresbericht_2009.pdf Ladstätter, S. et al., “Domitianstempel 2010”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 2010 (Vienna: ÖAI, 2010), https:// www.oeaw.ac.at/fileadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/ OeAI_Jahresbericht_2010.pdf Ladstätter, S. et al., “Domitianstempel 2011”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 2011 (Vienna: ÖAI, 2011), https:// www.oeaw.ac.at/fileadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/ OeAI_Jahresbericht_2011.pdf Longfellow, B., Roman Imperialism and Civic Patronage: Form, Meaning, and Ideology in Monumental Fountain Complexes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). Marc, J-Y., “Un macellum d’8poque hell8nistique / Thasos”, in Cavalier, L./Descat, R./ des Courtils, J. (eds.), Basiliques et agoras de GrHce et d’Asie Mineure (Bordeaux: Ausonius, 2012), 225–39. Maschek, D., “Domitian and Polyphem: Kritische Anmerkungen zur hermeneutischen Methode in der antiken Kunstgeschichte am Beispiel Ephesos”, Jahreshefte des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes in Wien 76 (2007), 279–99. Miranda, E., “La Comunit/ giudaica di Hierapolis di Frigia”, Epigraphica Anatolica 31 (1999), 109–56. Quatember, U., “The Water Management and Delivery System of the Nymphaeum Traiani at Ephesus”, in Wiplinger, G. (ed.), Cura Aquarum in Ephesus: proceedings of the twelfth International Congress on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region, Ephesus/SelÅuk, Turkey, October 2–10, 2004 (Leuven; Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006), 73–77.

Gods in the Neighborhood: Proximate Religion in the Roman Empire

363

Quatember, U., Das Nymphaeum Traiani in Ephesos (Forschungen in Ephesos 11/2; Wien: Verlag Der Österreichischen Akademie Der Wissenschaften, 2011). Richard, J., “In the Plites’ Toolkit. Decoding the Iinitiative and Reference System Behind the Investment in the Architecture and Decoration of Roman Nymphaea”, Facta 5 (2011), 65–100. Richardson, P., Building Jewish in the Roman East (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2004). Ritti, T., An Epigraphic Guide to Hierapolis (Pamukkale) (Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari, 2006). Rives, J., Religion in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007). Robinson, B., Histories of Peirene : A Corinthian Fountain in Three Millennia. Ancient Art and Architecture in Context (Princeton, NJ.: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2011). Rogers, G., The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City (London and New York: Routledge, 1991). Rüpke, J., The Individual in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). Schede, M. et al., Die Ruinen Von Priene: Kurze Beschreibung (Berlin: De Gruyter, 21964). Scheid, J., “Le statut de la viande / Rome”, Food and History 5 (2007), 19–28. Scherrer, P. (ed.), Ephesus the New Guide (Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari, 2000). Scherrer, P., “Die Fernwasserversorgung von Ephesos in der römischen Kaiserzeit: Synopse der epigraphischen Quellen”, in Wiplinger, G. (ed.), Cura Aquarum in Ephesus: proceedings of the twelfth International Congress on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region, Ephesus/ SelÅuk, Turkey, October 2–10, 2004 (Leuven; Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006), 45–58. Schowalter, D., “Ephesos under the Flavians: The Domitiansplatz as a Marker of Local and Imperial Identity” in Black, A./Thomas, C./Thompson, T. (eds.), Ephesos as a Religious Center under the Principate (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 139–57. Sherwin-White, S. M., “Ancient Archives: The Edict of Alexander to Priene, a Reappraisal”, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 105 (1985), 69–89. Van Andringa, W., “Du sanctuaire au macellum: Sacrifices, commerce et consommation de la viande / Pomp8i”, Food and History 5 (2007), 47–72. Vetters, H., “Grabungen in Ephesos von 1960–1969 bzw. 1970: Domitiansterrasse und Domitiangasse”, ÖJh 50 (1972–75), 310–30. Wiplinger, G., “Wasser für Ephesos, Stand der Erforschung der Wasserversorgung in Ephesos, Türkei”, in Wiplinger, G. (ed.), Cura Aquarum in Ephesus: proceedings of the twelfth International Congress on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region, Ephesus/SelÅuk, Turkey, October 2–10, 2004 (Leuven; Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006), 23–37. Wiplinger, G., “Der Deg˘irmendere Aquädukt von Ephesos und seine Zukunft”, BABESCH Annual Papers on Mediterranean Archaeology 49 (2013), 105–29. Wiplinger, G., “Der Deg˘irmendere-Aquädukt”, Wissenschaftlicher Jahresbericht des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts (2013), 19–21. https://www.oeaw.ac.at/ fileadmin/Institute/OEAI/pdf/Kommunikation/Jahresberichte/OeAI_Jahresber icht_2013.pdf

Günter Stemberger

The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine

It is a widely held thesis that the rabbis in the beginning were mostly villagebased and only with the turn to the third century moved more and more to the cities. Lee I. Levine, for example, writes: One of the most important developments during the first centuries C.E. within the Roman world in general and Palestine in particular is that of urbanization … Urbanization influenced the rabbis as well, and the venue of their activity shifted dramatically in the third century. Previously, sages were based primarily in the smaller towns of Palestine … Only in the third century did the major urban centers of Tiberias, Sepphoris, Caesarea, and Lydda (now a Hellenistic center bearing the name Diospolis) become centers of rabbinic activity. This change of location was part of a larger process of urbanization, and its influence on the sages was far-reaching. The sages were affected by their extensive contact with these urban centers, while Jewish society in these locales was, in turn, exposed more and more to rabbinic ideas and lifestyle.1

Taken as a general picture, this is certainly correct, but has to be qualified. To some extent, the rabbinic movement was from its very beginnings an urban movement, even if concentrated in the smaller towns of Judaea, since Jerusalem was no longer accessible. To live in small villages never was a real option (unless a village was close to a larger centre). If a baraita in bSanh 17b really reflects the ideals of the rabbis in the second century, it demonstrates a number of requirements regarding the place of residence of a rabbi: No disciple of a sage (A=B?; 7=B@N) is permitted to live in a city (L=F) in which the following ten things do not exist: a court inflicting the penalty of flogging and [other sorts of] penalties, a charity fund collected by two officials and divided up by three, a synagogue, a study house, a bath house, a privy, a physician, a slaughterer, an expert (at circumcision: CB94), a notary (L@5@, Latin libellarius), and a teacher of children.2

1 Levine, L. I., The Rabbinic Class of Roman Palestine in Late Antiquity (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak BenZvi, 1989), 25. 2 The translation follows Neusner, J., The Babylonian Talmud. A Translation and Commentary (22 vols; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2005), slightly adapted, where necessary. The list in reality contains eleven items; manuscripts frequently have slight variants in such enumerations.

366

Günter Stemberger

In the same passage the Bavli also discusses the minimum size of a city so that it may be suitable for a sanhedrin (of 23 members). The whole discussion is theoretical, but the requirement of ten batlanim (A=D@ü5), people free from mundane occupations and thus able to spend their time in the synagogues and to assure a minyan, is certainly realistic. These requirements presuppose a certain size of the community. Catherine Hezser sums up the evidence well: The Mishnah’s and the Tosefta’s evidence when taken together creates the image of a rabbinic movement which was both urban and rural and which spread from Ashqelon and Bet Gubrin (Eleutheropolis) in the south to Sidon and Caesarea Philippi in the north.3

She sees the urbanization of the rabbis as well as that of Palestine itself as “gradual processes which began in the first century and continued into the fourth. They were not entirely parallel, though.”4 But should we not, first of all, ask ourselves what in Roman Palestine was a city? If we keep to the political and administrative terms, the status of polis or colonia would be a decisive criterion, city territories with local autonomy and jurisdiction (thus, e. g., Hayim Lapin5). But was there really such an important difference between large towns and cities? Yavneh, the first centre of the rabbinic movement directly after the war against Rome and up to the Bar Kokhba-revolt is a good case in point. As Benjamin Isaac writes: “It is not quite clear whether the town had city-status in any period.”6 Josephus once writes that a town administered a territory of its own (Bell. 3.56) which would imply city status, but elsewhere (Ant. 18.30) he sees it at the head of a toparchy which normally is a village. Was the difference between city and large village only a formal, administrative aspect? Yavneh belonged to the emperor and was administered by an epitropos. At any rate, it was important enough – together with Lod/Lydda, that officially attained city-status (colonia Diospolis) only at the end of the second century under Septimius Severus – to be selected by Vespasian as the right places for the settlement of Jews who had surrendered during the war, as we read in Josephus: Having reduced the neighbourhood of the province of Thamna, he moved to Lydda and Jamnia, both these districts already subdued, he quartered upon them an adequate number of residents from those who had surrendered, and passed to Ammaus (Bell. 4.444, transl. LCL). 3 Hezser, C., The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (TSAJ 66; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 162. 4 Hezser, The Social Structure, 165. 5 Lapin, H., “Rabbis and Cities in Later Roman Palestine. The Literary Evidence”, JJS 50 (1999), 187–207, on p. 187 n. 3: “By ‘cities’ and ‘urban’ I refer to those settlements, generally large, that were assigned the juridical status of cities by the Roman imperial government.” 6 Isaac in Ameling, W./et al. (eds.), Corpus inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae. Volume III: South Coast, 2161–2648: A multi-lingual Corpus of the Inscriptions from Alexander to Muhamma (Berlin/Boston, MA: De Gruyter, 2014), 152.

The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine

367

Yavneh and Lydda were clearly the centres of rabbinic activity in these early decades of the movement: Yohanan ben Zakkai and after him Gamaliel II were ˙ the rabbinic leaders in Yavneh, Lydda was the residence of Joshua ben Hananiah and Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, in the next generation of R. Tarfon and ˙ a certain period also of R. Aqiva.7 for But how do we know the place of permanent residence or prolonged activity of a rabbi in a certain place? Unless rabbis are regularly mentioned in the context of a certain place, acting, deciding questions of halakhah and interacting with colleagues – and this is the case for Yavneh and Lydda, it is very difficult to say whether a rabbi permanently lived in the place where his presence is mentioned, or whether he was simply passing through on his way to somewhere else, visiting friends and family, or on business. We also do not know whether rabbis identified by a place-name, originally came from this place or whether this place was the scene of their permanent residence and activity. Ben-Zion Rosenfeld thinks that names like Jose ben Johanan Ish Yerushalaim, Nahum Ish Gimzo, Abba Jose Helikopri Ish Tivon, R. ˙Jacob ben Kurshai or R. Eleazar ha-Modai etc. refer “to the place that was that sage’s scene of activity and not to his place of origin”.8 This is difficult to accept, especially in the case of Ish Yerushalaim in the Second Temple period: would not many more teachers have qualified for this epithet? We also never find a rabbi named after one of the centres in the rabbinic period, Yavneh, Sepphoris, Tiberias or Caesarea. It could not serve to distinguish somebody from a colleague with the same common personal name (as Rosenfeld himself notes).9 As Stuart Miller writes, “it appears there is greater interest in rabbis who originated in a kefar than in its ordinary residents.”10

1. Cities as Rabbinic Centres in the post Bar Kokhba-Period “The second and third centuries, especially the period of Hadrian … and the Severans … constituted the climax of urbanization before the Byzantine period.”11 By the fourth century, practically the whole province was distributed into cities and their territories, with exceptions in the South of the province (Saltus Constantiniaces and Saltus Gerariticus) and, of special 7 Rosenfeld, B.-Z., Torah Centers and Rabbinic Activity in Palestine, 70–400 CE: History and Geographic Distribution (JSJS 138; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 41–57. 8 Rosenfeld, Torah Centers, 23. See Hezser, Social Structure, 159–163. 9 Rosenfeld, Torah Centers, 30–31. 10 Miller, S. S., Sages and Commoners in Late Antique ’Erez Israel. A Philological Inquiry into Local Traditions in Talmud Yerushalmi (TSAJ 111; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 186; 187–210 lists rabbis in/from villages. 11 Zangenberg, J./Zande, D. van. de., “Urbanization”, in Hezser, C. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (Oxford: Oxford University, 2010), 165–188, on p. 177.

368

Günter Stemberger

importance in our context, the eastern half of Upper Galilee, a centre of Jewish population and still organized in villages (Tetrakomia). By the early fourth century, village administration was relatively rare in the Roman Empire, in this case probably due to the resistance of the Jewish population who for traditional and religious reasons did not accept a city organization. In the years after Bar Kokhba, Usha – “a medium-sized town located far to the west of Sepphoris”12 – seems to have been the place of residence of several rabbis: tShevi 4:21 mentions a vote of rabbis on a halakhic question, without naming the participants or implying that they permanently stayed in Usha; in tRH 1:16 R. Nehorai goes on the Shabbat to Usha to testify about the new moon; 2:11 mentions the sanctification of the New Year in Usha; Shim’on ben Gamaliel is also mentioned in this context (cf. Sifra Emor Par. 11, Weiss 101d). SifDev 344 (Finkelstein 401) speaks of rabbis who went to Usha to study with Shim’on ben Gamaliel. R. Judah b. Ilai is placed in Usha in tMeg 2:8: Rabbi testifies to having read the Megillat Esther “before R. Judah in Usha, and elders were there”. These and other texts imply for the generation after Bar Kokhba the continued presence of a number of rabbis in this town.13 Bet Shearim, an important town in the Lower Galilee and formerly centre of the estates of Berenice, the sister of Agrippa II, became the residence of Judah ha-Nasi and several rabbis (e. g. Johanan b. Nuri – tTer 7:14) at the turn of the ˙ Jewish catacombs. In spite of some century. It is best known for its monumental buildings, Bet Shearim certainly was no urban centre.14 Much more important, of course, was Sepphoris, capital of the Galilee already in the first century BCE under Gabinius, then again under Herod Antipas before he founded Tiberias. In the Jewish War against Rome, Sepphoris did not participate and therefore received the title of Eirenopolis (documented on coins). Under Antoninus Pius (138–161) it was renamed Diocaesarea. Although it was renowned as a predominantly Jewish city, its excavations in the last decades do not give this impression. It was rather a clear Hellenistic-Roman city.15 Some synagogues are documented by inscriptions; 12 Rosenfeld, Torah Centers, 116. 13 For more details see Lapin, “Rabbis and Cities”, 193. Hezser, The Social Structure, 179, downplays the importance of Usha for the rabbinic movement. 14 Rosenfeld, Torah Centers, 176: “the rural settlement of Beth She’arim, which consequently became the most important rabbinic center”. On Bet Shearim see Levine, L. I., Visual Judaism in Late Antiquity : Historical Contexts of Jewish Art (New Haven, CT.: Yale University Press, 2012), 119–140 (with earlier literature). 15 The recent discovery and study of several cemeteries of Sepphoris may contribute to a better evaluation of the composition of its population in the third to fourth century. At least one cemetery was clearly Jewish, as fourteen Aramaic or Hebrew inscriptions demonstrate; only one was exclusively Greek. Several of the buried persons wore the title ‘rabbi’; whether these people belonged to the ‘rabbinic’ movement, is still a matter of dispute. See Ashkenazi, J./Aviam, M., “The Jewish elite of Sepphoris in late antiquity : indications from burial inscriptions”, JJS 68 (2017), 308–323; Aviam, M./Amitai, A., “The Ancient Cemeteries of Sepphoris”, Cathedra 141 (2013), 7–26.

The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine

369

but the only excavated synagogue was built only in the early fifth century and was situated not in the centre, but at the outskirts of the city.16 This did not discourage Jehudah ha-Nasi to move there with the rabbis of his circle and to make it the most important rabbinic centre in the early third century. If, as suggested by Zeev Weiss, the Dionysos-villa just behind the Roman theatre really was the residence of the Jewish patriarch,17 this would even more underline the cultural openness of the rabbinic leadership in his time; but the simple fact that the rabbis chose Sepphoris as their centre sufficiently documents their aspirations and that they were not at all afraid to be in close every-day contact with Hellenistic ‘pagan’ culture.18 Sepphoris remained a rabbinic centre even after the transfer of the most important rabbinic teachers, led by Johanan bar Nappaha, to Tiberias at the ˙ ˙ middle of the third century, soon to be followed by the patriarch and his court. The choice of Tiberias as a rabbinic centre may again astonish. The city was founded by Herod Antipas in 18 CE as the new capital of the Galilee, named in honor of Emperor Tiberius. Because of graveyards over which the new city was built, observant Jews long considered Tiberias impure; a rabbinic story claims that R. Shim’on ben Yohai purified the city in the middle of the second century.19 But, as noted by˙ Hayim Lapin, this is the only story which associates R. Shim’on with Tiberias; the presence of R. Meir in Tiberias is also problematic, perhaps no more than a single visit. It may be that only later when the city undoubtedly became a rabbinic centre, some rabbis sought an earlier rabbinic pedigree for the city.20 In any case, from the third century onward, more and more rabbis moved to Tiberias in spite of its pagan character (as documented by the presence of a Hadrianeum and the motifs on the city coins) until by the end of the century it became the seat of the patriarch and the absolute centre of the Palestinian rabbis until well into the Arab period. Somewhat different is the case of Caesarea. Founded by Herod as a clearly Roman and pagan city, centre of the Roman administration and after the foundation of the independent province of Judaea, later Palaestina, always the seat of the Roman provincial governor, the city had attracted a Jewish community already in the first century CE with their own synagogue, as we know from the events leading up to the Jewish War against Rome. But rabbis 16 Weiss, Z., The Sepphoris Synagogue. Deciphering an Ancient Message Through its Archaeological and Socio-Historical Contexts (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2005). 17 Weiss in Talgam, R./Weiss, Z., The mosaics of the House of Dionysos at Sepphoris: Excavated by E. M. Meyers, E. Netzer and C. L. Meyers (Qedem 44; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2004), 127–130. 18 On the Roman temple of Sepphoris see Weiss, Z., “From Roman temple to Byzantine church: a preliminary report on Sepphoris in transition”, Journal of Roman Archaeology 23 (2011), 197–218. 19 Levine, L. I., “R. Simeon b. Yohai and the Purification of Tiberias”, HUCA 49 (1978), 143–187. 20 Lapin, “Rabbis and Cities”, 191.

370

Günter Stemberger

are associated with Caesarea only in the third century, from about 230, when R. Hoshaya (Rabba), formerly a resident of Sepphoris, relocated to Caesarea and attracted a number of students. The best known of the later rabbinic teachers in Caesarea was R. Abbahu at the beginning of the fourth century. Both were in close contact with Christians, as we know especially of Origen, but also, less explicitly of Eusebius.21 In the Palestinian Talmud, these rabbis are frequently quoted collectively as “the rabbis of Caesarea” (rabbanan deQisrin); in modern research many (most prominently Saul Lieberman) attribute to the school of Caesarea the redaction of the so-called Bavottractates of the Palestinian Talmud, the three parts (Bavot) of the Order of Neziqin, Damages, dealing with civil law.22 Judaea, in the first decades of the rabbinic movement its very centre, lost much of its importance after the Bar Kokhba-revolt when many rabbis relocated to the Galilee. But rabbinic presence continued to some extent, especially in Lydda, up to the fourth century. Some rabbis connected with this city are quoted rather frequently in the Yerushalmi, sometimes referred to less specifically as “the rabbis from the South” (daroma). The midrash Sifre Zutta on Numbers (more recently M. Kahana discovered fragments from this midrash also on Deuteronomy) has been attributed by Saul Lieberman to rabbis from Lydda because of the ideological distance of this midrash from the rabbinic leadership around Judah ha-Nasi which might also imply a certain geographical distance.23 Continued presence of rabbis in villages is documented especially in the generation after Bar Kokhba without implying their permanent residence there.24 As Stuart Miller writes, “It is striking that the interests assigned to village sages in the Yerushalmi are largely non-halakhic and exegetical”, whereas in tannaitic sources there is still a “balance of halakhic and homiletical interests assigned to rabbis of kefarim”.25 In aggadic midrashim many of these village sages are quoted and attributed examples of biblical exegesis: Village sages may possess thorough knowledge of the written Torah, but proficiency in exegetically derived laws belongs to rabbis who live in larger settlements, or so the

21 De Lange, N. R. M. de, Origen and the Jews. Studies in Jewish-Christian Relations in third-century Palestine (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1976); Ulrich, J., Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden. Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Caesarea (Patristische Texte und Studien 49; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999). 22 Levine, L. I., Caesarea under Roman Rule (SJLA 7; Leiden: Brill, 1975); Lieberman, S., Siphre Zutta (The Midrash of Lydda). 2. The Talmud of Caesarea (New York, NY: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1968). 23 Lieberman, Siphre Zutta; Kahana, M.I., Sifre Zuta on Deuteronomy. Citations from a new Tannaitic Midrash (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2002). 24 See Lapin, “Rabbis and Cities”, 193–194; Miller, Sages and Commoners, 178–210. 25 Miller, Sages and Commoners, 190.

371

The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine ˘

reticence of the Yerushalmi with regard to the halakhic knowledge of the ish kefar-X rabbis implies.26

The rabbinic evidence thus hints at a certain division of labour among rabbis in the later period. There are still rabbis in the countryside. But they are no longer trusted to be real experts in halakhah, being able to derive it independently from tradition or Scripture. For this higher sphere of expertise, a rabbi normally had to reside in cities in permanent contact with other rabbis and in the opportunity of discussing matters of halakhah with them. Rabbis living isolated from their colleagues in villages might, on the other hand, excel in their knowledge of Scripture. Perhaps we may see in this context that most excavated synagogues are not in places connected with the rabbinic movement! Away from the rabbinic centres, expertise in the homiletic interpretation of Scripture may have been more valued than in the cities where many rabbis still kept away from the synagogues and left the homilies in the synagogue (wherever such homilies were held) to the less educated members of their communities. A final point in this context: we have to be conscious of the fact that the assumption of an even spread of the rabbinic movement over the whole country favours the traditional idea that the rabbis from the very beginning or at least rather soon gained strong influence on the religious life of the whole Jewish people – every place would have its local rabbi. The concentration of the rabbis in a few larger settlements, on the other hand, would allow for closely knit, self-contained groups with small or at least rather limited impact on their surroundings, but with more possibilities for cooperation among themselves.

2. Effects of the City on the Rabbinic Movement Which effects has life in the city on the social, intellectual and religious life of a rabbi, which advantages does it have, and which disadvantages does it involve?

2.1 Compromise with “Paganism” Palestinian cities in general, and not only Caesarea, Diospolis or Diocaesarea, already marked out by their names, were basically Hellenistic-Roman institutions. They had temples, theaters, public baths, public fountains, all decorated with statues or busts of gods; the regular fairs related to pagan rites; the meetings of the city councils also were opened with religious rites etc. In cities with Jewish members of the boule, as most probably in Sepphoris or, at 26 Miller, Sages and Commoners, 195.

372

Günter Stemberger

least later on, also in Tiberias, the Jewish population probably did not care about it, if we follow Seth Schwartz; they also had no problems with the clearly pagan city coinage. Their Judaism in the third century would have been reduced to a minimum.27 This was, of course, no option for the rabbis who moved to the cities. They had to make great efforts to find a way of accommodation between city life and their own religious standards. The tractates Avodah Zarah in Mishnah, Tosefta, and both Talmudim clearly demonstrate this accommodation. A first aspect concerns the language. MSotah 9:14 states that in the diaspora revolts of the years 115–117 the rabbis forbade to teach their sons Greek (ironically enough, the event is dated with a Greek loanword, the war, polemos, of Qitos, most probably the Roman general Lusius Quietus). We can hardly imagine how this interdiction ever worked in daily life; we might consider it a mere declaration without practical effects. In small purely Jewish villages, as in the Eastern part of the Upper Galilee, one could perhaps live without a minimum knowledge of Greek, but certainly not in the cities, especially in contacts with the Roman administration. Rabbinic literature makes it quite clear how much the Greek language became part of the rabbinic language. To quote just one famous example: the dialogue between Rabban Gamaliel and the philosopher Proklos in the bath of Aphrodite in Akko (mAZ 3,4) must have been in Greek, no matter how we evaluate the historicity of this episode. This well-known text also demonstrates that (at least some) rabbis were not afraid of bathing naked in a non-Jewish surrounding; it also shows how they dealt with the presence of pagan statues, considering them to be simply a decoration and not statues that might be venerated as representations of a divinity. The rabbis forbade everything which might be considered a cultic act, but drinking from a public fountain was no problem, although the water came forth from the portrait bust of a deity or demon; one should only avoid the impression that one was kissing the relief or statue. One could also go to a fair connected with religious ceremonies and buy there something not to be found in other places, as e. g. valuable textiles at the fair of Bet Shean/Scythopolis, as long as one avoided passing by market stalls explicitly connected with cultic activities. As to the theatre, one should not go there for different reasons – religious ceremonies before the show, the decoration of the scena with busts of deities and demons, obscenity and cruelty. But Jews went there all the same, as we know from the Talmudic descriptions of certain scenes ridiculing, for example, the hungry Jews in a sabbatical year. Other problems one was permanently confronted with, were friendly contacts with non-Jewish neighbours – could one accept an invitation to the wedding of their children or a gift on the occasion of a pagan religious feast? Should one let a house to a non-Jew – he might bring his domestic gods into it. What about common 27 Schwartz, S., Imperialism and Jewish Society: 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University, 2002).

The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine

373

ownership of a field or a farm if the non-Jew would work on Shabbat, not separate tithes, not observe the sabbatical year etc. There were innumerable problems from the rabbinic point of view and the rabbis had to find a way which made life in an at least partly non-Jewish city and peaceful coexistence with non-Jews possible. This is not to say that most Jewish inhabitants of the city heeded rabbinic rules; but for those who wanted to live a traditional Jewish life in a mostly pagan city, they offered some guidance. Seth Schwartz correctly observes that the mechanism developed by the rabbis to allow them and other observant Jews to live in a predominantly pagan city was an act of misprision, of misinterpretation, whereby the rabbis defined pagan religiosity as consisting exclusively of cultic activity, affirmed, and even extended the biblical prohibitions of it, but in so doing declared the non-cultic, but still religious, aspects of urban culture acceptable.28 Even non-cultic activities were clearly connected with paganism. The rabbis sought an accommodation in their non-Jewish surroundings in which they decided to live: Their modified rigorism, with its uncompromising rejection of anything remotely connected to pagan cult, but acceptance of most noncultic manifestations of GrecoRoman pagan culture, permitted them to live and function in their cities.29

2.2 Advantages for Rabbinic Cooperation But why should the rabbis make all these efforts to find a halakhically acceptable way to live in an at least partly pagan environment? Obviously, they saw great advantages of life in the city which they could not find in a purely Jewish village. Lee Levine speaks of “political and social advantages of a larger Jewish population-center in closer contact with the Roman administration” which might have played a role in this development.30 Hayim Lapin suggests that the social context for the development of the rabbinic movement–a movement of literate, and frequently wealthy, male intellectuals–reproduces, with important differences, the pattern of the concentration of elites and of intellectual activities in the eastern Roman empire more generally.31

Living in a city might enable rabbis to find wealthy patrons who would finance some of their projects, as the construction of study-houses, leading to an institutionalization of rabbinic teaching, places which survived the individual 28 29 30 31

Schwartz, Imperialism, 164. Schwartz, Imperialism, 174. Levine, Rabbinic Class, 36. Lapin, “Rabbis and Cities”, 204.

374

Günter Stemberger

rabbi and his few personal students. I am rather hesitant to underwrite Lapin’s suggestion “that to the extent that rabbis were predominantly active in cities, their disciple base stemmed from urban families wealthy enough to provide an education for their males”.32 Affluent parents certainly offered the material basis for prolonged studies of their sons, but we should not limit the background of rabbinic students to the wealthy. Rabbinic texts depicting the extreme poverty of some rabbinic students may be mainly homiletic – nobody is too poor to devote himself to the study of the Torah; but we should also consider the system of the shimmush talmide hakhamim in its literal meaning ˙ – students who lived in the home of their teacher, serving their master in the full meaning of the word and thus earning board and tuition. This system certainly did not fully disappear with the growing institutionalization of the bet ha-midrash. More important is another aspect of urban life, underlined by H. Lapin: concentrations of rabbis in a few places facilitated both the cultivation of long-term relationships (and the possibility of collaborative projects such as the collection and editing of traditions), as well as competition and hostility.33

The production of large, well organized works of traditions, systematically collected, arranged and consciously edited, as is the case of the Mishnah, perhaps less so of the Tosefta and the halakhic midrashim, not to forget the creations of the later amoraic tradition, are not completely impossible as the work of a single, well connected rabbi in a village. But it is certainly much easier in the context of a study-house, with the continued presence of many rabbinic scholars, probably also archives of traditional teachings – I do not believe in the complete orality of rabbinic tradition. The tradition which connects the redaction of the Mishnah with Sepphoris and that of other rabbinic works with Caesarea and above all Tiberias, certainly reflects the real circumstances in which these works came into being. These circumstances may cause an urban bias, that teachings of rabbis working in the rabbinic centres were much over-represented and that many traditions in the name of village rabbis were frequently lost. But this is the way of life. I rather doubt how much of the rabbinic tradition would have been developed without the constant interaction of rabbis, and how much of it would have survived without their important urban centres.

32 Lapin, H., “Rabbis and Cities: Some Aspects of the Rabbinic Movement in its Graeco-Roman Environment”, in Schäfer, P./Hezser, C. (eds.), The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman culture (vol. 2; TSAJ 79; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 51–80, on p. 72. 33 Lapin, “Rabbis and Cities: Some Aspects”, 57.

The Urban World of Rabbis in post-Bar Kochba Palestine

375

Bibliography Aviam, M./Amitai, A., “The Ancient Cemeteries of Sepphoris”, Cathedra 141 (2013), 7–26 (in Hebrew). Ashkenazi, J./Aviam, M., “The Jewish elite of Sepphoris in late antiquity : indications from burial inscriptions”, JJS 68 (2017), 308–323. Ameling, W./et al. (eds.), Corpus inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae. Volume III: South Coast, 2161–2648: A multi-lingual Corpus of the Inscriptions from Alexander to Muhammad (Berlin/Boston, MA: De Gruyter, 2014). Hezser, C., The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (TSAJ 66; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997). Kahana, M. I., Sifre Zuta on Deuteronomy. Citations from a new Tannaitic Midrash (in Hebrew ; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2002). De Lange, N. R. M., Origen and the Jews. Studies in Jewish-Christian Relations in third-century Palestine (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1976). Lapin, H., “Rabbis and Cities in Later Roman Palestine. The Literary Evidence”, JJS 50 (1999), 187–207. Lapin, H., “Rabbis and Cities: Some Aspects of the Rabbinic Movement in its GraecoRoman Environment”, in Schäfer, P./Hezser, C. (eds.), The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman culture (vol. 2; TSAJ 79; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 51–80. Levine, L. I., Caesarea under Roman Rule (SJLA 7; Leiden: Brill, 1975). Levine, L. I., “R. Simeon b. Yohai and the Purification of Tiberias”, HUCA 49 (1978), 143–187. Levine, L. I., The Rabbinic Class of Roman Palestine in Late Antiquity (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1989). Levine, L. I., Visual Judaism in Late Antiquity : Historical Contexts of Jewish Art (New Haven, CT.: Yale University, 2012). Lieberman, S., Siphre Zutta (The Midrash of Lydda). 2. The Talmud of Caesarea (in Hebrew ; New York, NY: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1968). Miller, S. S., Sages and Commoners in Late Antique ’Erez Israel. A Philological Inquiry into Local Traditions in Talmud Yerushalmi (TSAJ 111; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). Rosenfeld, B.-Z., Torah Centers and Rabbinic Activity in Palestine, 70–400 CE: History and Geographic Distribution (JSJS 138; Leiden: Brill, 2010). Schwartz, S., Imperialism and Jewish Society : 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University, 2002). Talgam, R./Weiss, Z., The mosaics of the House of Dionysos at Sepphoris: Excavated by E. M. Meyers, E. Netzer and C. L. Meyers (Qedem 44; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2004). Ulrich, J., Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden. Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Caesarea (Patristische Texte und Studien 49; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999).

376

Günter Stemberger

Weiss, Z., The Sepphoris Synagogue. Deciphering an Ancient Message Through its Archaeological and Socio-Historical Contexts (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2005). Weiss, Z., “From Roman temple to Byzantine church: a preliminary report on Sepphoris in transition”, Journal of Roman Archaeology 23 (2011), 197–218. Zangenberg, J./Zande, D. van de, “Urbanization”, in Hezser, C. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (Oxford: Oxford University, 2010), 165–188.

Ze’ev Weiss

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine Is there That Much of a Difference between Them? Many synagogues in ancient Palestine were monumentally built and decorated with stone reliefs, while others, architecturally less ornate, were embellished on their interior with colorful figurative mosaics. These buildings were prominent in both the urban and rural landscapes of the Second Temple period and after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, mainly from the third century CE on. Synagogues from the Second Temple period are known to date only at rural sites – Modi‘in and Qiryat Sefer in Judaea, and Gamla and more recently Magdala in the Galilee – but according to some sources such institutions also existed in Jerusalem, Caesarea, and Tiberias.1 The number of the latter synagogues is greater than those from the earlier period; most of them were discovered both in urban contexts and their rural surroundings (chora) such as Bet She’an.2 The ancient synagogue can be discussed from many vantage points – its art, architecture, interior furnishings, liturgy, communal leadership, chronology, and more, but, in fact, most studies relate to the entire corpus of evidence without distinguishing between urban and rural synagogues. Lee I. Levine provides important insights in his comparison of the five synagogues in and around Bet She’an, but argues that “archaeological evidence from other urban centers (…) is sparse, and thus any comparisons with Bet She’an (that is, between city and village – ZW) are almost impossible to draw”.3 Seth Schwartz maintains, though without substantiating his claims, that “the urban synagogues did differ from the rural ones,” that “urban synagogues were often much more lavishly decorated than rural ones,” and that “apparently they did not serve as models for the latter, unlike urban churches, which were imitated by architects in the Christian countryside”.4 Urban and rural communities invested much effort, attention, and 1 Netzer, E.,“The Synagogues from the Second Temple Period according to Archaeological Finds and in Light of the Literary Sources”, in Bottini, G.C./Di Segni, L./Chrupca;a, L.D. (eds.), One Land, Many Cultures. Archaeological Studies in Honour of Stanislao Loffreda (SBF.CMa 41; Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 2003), 277–85; Levine, L.I., The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 22005), 45–80. 2 Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 174–249. 3 Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 215–24, quote on p. 220. 4 Schwartz, S., Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 B.C.E to 640 C.E. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 203–6, quote on p. 206.

378

Ze’ev Weiss

resources in constructing and decorating their synagogues, which varied in size, interior layout, and decoration. Moreover, a comparative analysis of these buildings in both urban and rural contexts provides important insights into religious life in the first centuries of the Common Era. At first glance, such a comparison might seem redundant. After all, synagogues were intended to fill the religious and cultic void following the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple and were established wherever a Jewish community existed. Others might argue, however, that more rural than urban synagogues have been uncovered to date and therefore it would be difficult to compare the two contexts and reach definitive conclusions. Yet, despite these limitations, such a comparison provides important information that could point to a possible connection between urban and rural Jewish communities, or “center and periphery,” in late antique Palestine. The questions that arise in this regard are varied, even if they cannot always be answered: Where, when, and how was the synagogue’s architectural layout formulated? What inspired the design of the synagogue’s liturgical space and how did it develop over time? How were decisions made when decorating the building with either stone reliefs or colorful mosaics? Did each community act independently in such matters while reaching similar results at both urban and rural sites, or were certain concepts pertaining to the synagogue’s art and architecture formulated in the major urban centers and then imparted to towns and villages? The scope of this paper does not allow for a comprehensive examination of the range of issues pertaining to similarities and differences between urban and rural synagogues, but will focus instead on three major aspects – their architecture, orientation and liturgical furnishings, and mosaic art. Archaeological finds will be used to illustrate several matters and to offer some preliminary thoughts regarding the relationship between urban and rural synagogues.

1. Architecture Diversity is what ultimately characterizes the architecture of late antique synagogues.5 Several basic principles guided the plan of the building as a place of prayer and cult, but these were applied independently at each locale. Three types of architectural structures existed at one and the same time. The monumentally built synagogues known to date in the rural Galilee and Golan alone were decorated with reliefs on their interior and exterior walls. These include the synagogues of Kefar Bar‘am, Chorazin, and Merot in the Galilee, 5 The finds to date inform us of the diversity not only in the architectural plans of the ancient synagogues, but also in the liturgy, which was not uniform everywhere; see Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 313–60.

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

379

and Horvat Dikke, Qatzrin, and Umm el-Qanatir in the Golan.6 Their faÅades were ˙constructed of white limestone or basalt ashlar blocks decorated with stone carvings, which were the main ornamental form here. At some sites, spolia taken from dismantled buildings were used for columns of different diameters, pedestals, and an assortment of Corinthian, Ionian, and RomanDoric capitals.7 Most of these synagogues were paved with flagstones, except those at Khirbet Hamam, Huqoq, Horvat ‘Ammudim, and Merot, which were ˙ ˙ ˙ adorned with colorful mosaics featuring figurative images. The design of other synagogues in late antique Palestine was inspired primarily by the Christian basilica.8 Their layout resembled that of the church, as did their architectural cross-section, including galleries above the aisles and high clerestory windows near the nave that brought light into the building. Such buildings were discovered in both cities and villages, as in Hammat ˙ Tiberias (Stratum 1) and Gaza-Maiumas on the one hand, and Bet Alpha and 9 Na‘aran on the other. In contrast to the Galilean and Golan synagogues, the artistic emphasis was on the buildings’ interior while their cut-stone exterior walls were left bare in most cases. Several architectural features such as pedestals and capitals, which were mainly spolia, were also used here, but it was the floor inside these buildings, adorned with rich and colorful mosaics, that merited most attention. Other synagogues in the region were constructed according to different architectural plans. Those in Susiya, Eshtemoa, Khirbet Shema‘, and Hammat Tiberias (Stratum 2) were broadhouses whose long wall, with the Torah˙ shrine, faced Jerusalem and whose interior space was arranged accordingly.10 In the Galilean synagogues, however, rows of columns were added to support the 6 Hachlili, R., Ancient Synagogues – Archaeology and Art. New Discoveries and Current Research (Handbook of Oriental Studies I/105; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013), 125–62. 7 The pedestals in the synagogues at Khirbet Shema‘ and Gush Halav, for example, differ from ˙ each other ; see Meyers, E.M./Kraabel, A.T./Strange, J.F., Ancient Synagogue Excavations at Khirbet Shema‘, Upper Galilee, Israel 1970–1972 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, for American Schools of Oriental Research, 1976), 61–3; Meyers, E.M. et al., Excavations at the Ancient Synagogue of Gush Halav (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 100–3. The entire faÅade at Bar‘am was built of spolia; see Aviam, M., “The Ancient Synagogue at Bir‘am”, Michmanim 20 (2007), 39–41. 8 Patrich, J., “Early Christian Churches in the Holy Land”, in Limor, O./Stroumsa, G.G. (eds.), Christians and Christianity in the Holy Land. From the Origins to the Latin Kingdoms (Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages 5; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 351–96, on pp. 355–96; Hachlili, R., “Aspects of Similarity and Diversity in the Architecture and Art of Ancient Synagogues and Churches in the Land of Israel”, ZDPV 113 (1997), 92–122; Ribak, E., Religious Communities in Byzantine Palestine. The Relationship between Judaism, Christianity and Islam, AD 400–700 (B.A.R. International Series 1646; Oxford: Archaeopress, 2007), 21–6. 9 Weiss, Z., “Building God’s House. Synagogues, Churches, and Intercommunal Relations in Late Antique Palestine”, in Iricinschi, E./Kotsifou, C. (eds.), Coping with Religious Change in the Late-Antique Eastern Mediterranean (Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 10 Hachlili, Ancient Synagogues, 73–6 and 117–8.

380

Ze’ev Weiss

roof, thereby dividing the prayer hall into several areas. The prayer halls in the Khirbet Ma‘on and Khirbet ‘Anim synagogues in Judaea was rectangular, and at Bet Leontis in Bet She’an it was square, but these were all relatively smaller in size and had no columns to support the roof.11 In contrast, the interior space of two other synagogues in the urban context was built asymmetrically. The synagogue at Hammat Tiberias (Stratum 2) was a broadhouse with three rows ˙ of columns dividing its interior into four aisles, one to the west of the main hall and two to the east, whereas the synagogue in Sepphoris had only one aisle, north of the main hall (Fig. 1).12

Fig. 1. Plan of Sepphoris synagogue (T Ze’ev Weiss)

This diversity in synagogue architecture suggests that each community made its own decisions about how to build its prayer hall; such a choice seems to have been influenced by a variety of factors – cultural proclivities, Zeitgeist, local traditions, availability of craftsmen and masons, but primarily the economic capabilities of the communal members to cover building expenses. Beyond the monumental synagogues known only in the rural Galilee and Golan, or the regional differences in synagogue architecture throughout the country, there is simply not enough evidence to suggest that urban synagogues were much different in their appearance from their rural counterparts in their physical prominence on the landscape, in the building materials used, or in their interior layout, size, furnishings, and d8cor.

11 Amit, D., The Synagogues of Hurbat Ma‘on and Hurbat ‘Anim and the Jewish Settlement in Southern Judea (Ph.D. diss.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2003), 92–101 and 117–28; Bahat, D., “The Synagogue at Beth-Shean”, in Levine, L.I. (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981), 82–5. 12 Weiss, Z., “Stratum II at Hammath Tiberias. Reconstructing Its Access, Internal Space, and Architecture”, in Rodgers, Z. et al. (eds.), AWandering Galilean. Essays in Honour of Se#n Freyne (JSJ.Sup. 132; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 321–42; Weiss, Z., The Sepphoris Synagogue. Deciphering an Ancient Message in Its Archaeological and Socio-Historical Contexts (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2005), 40–50.

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

381

2. Orientation and Liturgical Furnishings The orientation of prayer toward Jerusalem, which has its origins in the tannaitic halakhah of Sifre Dtn 29,13 seems to have influenced the design of many synagogues built in the third century CE onwards, although exceptions to this rule are well documented in both cities and villages throughout the region. For example, the Sepphoris synagogue is oriented to the northwest, the northern synagogue in Bet She’an to the west, and the synagogues of Yafia, Huseifa, and Horvat Sumaqa, which are built on an east–west axis, indicate ˙ these buildings ˙ that were not oriented toward Jerusalem.14 To date, not a single synagogue constructed between 150 and 250 CE has been found in the region, however the buildings erected in the second half of the third century CE at Hammat Tiberias (Stratum IIb, Fig. 2), ‘En Gedi, and ˙ Khirbet Hamam, which were all oriented toward Jerusalem, had no permanent ˙ 15 Torah ark. Judging by the description in several rabbinic sources, it seems that the Torah ark (tevah in Hebrew) was brought into the prayer hall of these buildings for the Torah-reading ceremony and was subsequently returned to its place upon its completion.16 This practice seems to have followed the

13 Sifre Dtn 29 (ed. L. Finkelstein; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1969, 47); cf. tBer 3:15 f (ed. S. Lieberman, New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1955–88, 15–6); see also Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 326–30. For a discussion of the talmudic sources concerning the direction of prayer toward Jerusalem, its significance and architectural expression within the building, see Weiss, Z., “The Location of the Sheliah Tzibbur during Prayer”, Cathedra 55 (1990), 8–21; Ehrlich, U., The Non-Verbal Language of Prayer. A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy (TSAJ 105; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 64–98. 14 Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 43–5; Zori, N., “The Ancient Synagogue at Beth Shean”, EI 8 (1967), 149–67; Sukenik, E.L., The Ancient Synagogue at Yafa near Nazareth. Preliminary Report (Louis M. Rabinowitz Fund Bulletin 2; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1951), 6–24; Makhouly, N./Avi-Yonah, M., “A Sixth-Century Synagogue at Isfiya”, QDAP 3 (1934), 118–31; Dar, S., Sumaqa. A Roman and Byzantine Jewish Village on Mount Carmel, Israel (B.A.R. International Series 815; Oxford: Archeopress, 1999), 17–32. 15 Weiss, “Stratum II at Hammath Tiberias”, 329–38; Porat, Y. (ed.), The Synagogue of RomanByzantine En-Gedi (Qedem; Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University, forthcoming); Leibner, U., “Excavations at Khirbet Wadi Hamam (Lower Galilee): The Synagogue and the Settlement”, JRA 23 (2010), 220–37, on pp. 230–5. 16 The scrolls were kept in a side room in Second Temple synagogues; when brought into the prayer hall, they were placed upon a shallow stand, similar to the Magdala stone, before the Torah reading, after its completion, and during the delivery of the sermon. It is quite possible that tables of stone or wood, similar to the Magdala stone, were in use concurrently in a few other late Second Temple synagogues, or even in some Roman and late antique synagogues, however to date this piece of furniture has been discovered only at Horvat Kur, where its identification is ˙ questionable. For further details regarding the use of the Magdala stone and similar tables that may have stood in other synagogues, see the discussion in my forthcoming article: “The Synagogue in an Age of Transition, from the Second Temple Period to Roman Times. Recent

382

Ze’ev Weiss

Fig. 2. Hammat Tiberias synagogue, strata IIa (above) and IIb (below) (T Ze’ev Weiss)

custom of the Second Temple synagogue, however the buildings were now oriented toward Jerusalem.17 When the ark was brought into the prayer hall, it was set down as stated in tMeg 3:21 – so that “it faces the people and its back is to the holy,” thereby signifying its orientation toward Jerusalem.18 Only by the Developments in Research”, in Doering, L./Krause, A.R. (eds.), Synagogues in the HellenisticRoman Period (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, forthcoming). 17 In contrast, Amit and Hachlili argue that synagogues constructed after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple already had a permanent focal point in their prayer halls — at first an aedicula (second century CE), then a niche (fourth century CE), and finally a Torah ark inside an apse (fifth–sixth centuries CE); see Amit, D., “Between Form and Function: The Evolution of the Synagogue as an Institution from the Second Temple Period through the Late Roman and Byzantine Periods as Reflected in Architectural and Interior Designs”, Jerusalem and EretzIsrael (Studies in Honour of Amos Kloner) 8–9 (2013), 171–84 (Hebrew); Hachlili, R., “Torah Shrine and Ark in Ancient Synagogues. A Re-evaluation”, ZDPV 116 (2000), 147–83. 18 TMeg 3:21 (ed. Lieberman, p. 360) and see also Sapir, Y., The Ancient Synagogue in Israel in the

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

383

late third and mainly fourth centuries CE, with the introduction of a bema (platform) built into the synagogue, did the Torah ark become a permanent fixture in the prayer hall, serving as a ritual focus and indicating conclusively that the direction of prayer was toward Jerusalem.19 In the synagogues constructed in the third century CE (Hammat Tiberias Stratum IIa, ‘En Gedi, ˙ was added later on, some time in the and Khirbet Hamam), an elevated bema ˙ fourth century CE (Fig. 2 above), while the buildings constructed in the fourth century CE on had a permanent bema built in from the outset, such as those at Ma‘oz Hayyim, Eshtemoa, and Sepphoris. Judging by the archaeological ˙ it seems that in this case, too, similar processes took place evidence, simultaneously in both urban and rural synagogues, where the Torah ark had become a permanent fixture inside the prayer hall.

3. Mosaics By and large, synagogue mosaic art is characterized by uniformity, repetition, and continuity. However, in comparing the various synagogue mosaics in late antique Palestine, it seems that the selection of a certain motif, theme, and layout did not necessarily dictate regional uniformity (such as the Galilee vs. Judaea and the Jordan Rift Valley), the uniqueness of a particular type of building (such as the basilical vs. “Galilean” types), or a disparity in the acculturation of urban vs. rural art. The themes appearing in synagogue mosaics were chosen according to the tastes and proclivities of each community and its patrons in order to convey ideas they deemed important. Over the years, the artists developed themes and compositional models that accommodated the needs of the Jewish community and conformed with their religious beliefs, however as far as we know today there was no central authority guiding a local Jewish community’s decision to select certain themes or to compose its synagogue’s mosaic layout. Yet, a comparative analysis of several mosaic carpets, themes, and motifs suggests that here, too, there was a close iconographic resemblance in both urban and rural synagogues. Mosaic carpets featuring figurative images took several forms. In most cases, figurative and other significant panels set in the nave – in contrast to the aisles – were meant to emphasize the focal interior of the building that drew the attention of the worshippers to the bema, Torah ark, and direction of prayer. At Hammat Tiberias, Na‘aran, and Bet Alpha, for instance, the central carpet was ˙divided into three unequal bands, and in Sepphoris into seven. In Light of the Talmudic Sources (Ph.D. diss.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2007), 134–7. 19 For a discussion of the bema and its appearance, see Weiss, “Location of the Sheliah Tzibbur,” 14–20; Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 345–7.

384

Ze’ev Weiss

all four synagogue buildings, the zodiac appears in the center of the mosaic carpet, the architectural faÅade and Jewish symbols are set in the panel closest to the bema, and the biblical and other themes are dispersed throughout the other panels.20 A slightly different layout was found in the synagogues at Khirbet Hamam (Fig. 3) and Huqoq, and probably also Merot, in which the ˙ figurative˙ panels, mainly of biblical narratives, also appear in the aisles.21 Another variation of mosaic floor compositions contains an overall pattern covering the entire carpet. The synagogue floors at Hammat Tiberias (Stratum ˙ 22 1a) and ‘En Gedi, for example, have geometric designs. Some sites have a single pattern spread over the entire carpet, while others have two or more carpets featuring different designs. Carpets with more intricate overall designs are known at Gaza-Maiumas, Ma‘on-Nirim, and Bet Leontis in Bet She’an.23 The figurative images at these sites are arranged in a series of vine medallions with vine branches issuing from an amphora located at the bottom of the mosaic carpet. The number of vertical and horizontal rows varies from site to site, depending on the size of the hall. The row on the vertical axis features animals or objects associated with agricultural themes and the medallions in each parallel row portray birds and animals positioned antithetically along its axis. Jewish symbols – the menorah, lulav, ethrog, incense shovel, and shofar – appear in both rural and urban synagogues, reflecting the ethno-religious identity of these communities. An architectural faÅade flanked by two menorot, the four species, a shofar, and an incense shovel appears at the top of the mosaic, near the bema, in several synagogues. At some sites we find the

20 Dothan, M., Hammath Tiberias (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 33–52; Benoit, P., “Un sanctuaire dans la r8gion de J8richo: la synagogue de Na‘arah”, RB 68 (1961), 161–77, on pp. 167–70; Sukenik, E.L., The Ancient Synagogue of Beth Alpha (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 1932), 21–43; Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 55–60. The mosaic layout in the first stage of the Susiya synagogue was similar, however the zodiac in its center was later replaced; see Gutman, G./Yeivin, Z./Netzer, E., “Excavations in the Synagogue at Horvat Susiya”, in Levine, ˙ L.I. (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981), 123–8. 21 Leibner, U./Miller, S., “A Figural Mosaic in the Synagogue at Khirbet Hamam”, JRA 23 (2010), 238–64, on pp. 238–40; Britt, K./Boustan, R., The Elephant Mosaic Panel in the Synagogue at Huqoq. Official Publication and Initial Interpretations (JRA.Sup. 109; Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2017), 23–7; Ilan, Z./Damati, E. (eds.), Meroth. The Ancient Jewish Village (Tel Aviv : Society for the Protection of Nature, 1987), 53–8; Hachlili, Ancient Synagogues, 417–8. Part of a medallion bearing a dedicatory inscription set in the partially preserved geometric carpet covering the western aisle at Horvat ‘Ammudim suggests that the ˙

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

385

Fig. 3. Plan of Khirbet Hammam synagogue (courtesy Uzi Leibner)

entire iconographic set of ritual objects, at others they appear in an abbreviated form, and in still others only the menorah is depicted.24 The Bible played an important role in the spiritual life of the Jews in late antiquity. It is therefore not surprising that biblical scenes decorated their sacred space in both urban and rural contexts. The story of Noah and the flood adorns the narthex of the synagogue in Gerasa and the main hall of the synagogue at Huqoq;25 the story of the ‘Aqedah ˙

22 23 24 25

mosaic carpet in this synagogue, too, was similarly arranged; see Levine, L.I., “Excavations at the Synagogue of Horvat ‘Ammudim”, IEJ 32 (1982), 1–12, on pp. 7–12. ˙ Hachlili, Ancient Synagogues, 269–72; Weiss, Z., “The Mosaics of the En-Gedi Synagogue”, in Porat, Y. (ed.), The Synagogue of Roman-Byzantine En-Gedi (Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University, forthcoming). Hachlili, Ancient Synagogues, 265–9. Fine, S., This Holy Place. On the Sanctity of the Synagogue during the Greco-Roman Period (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997), 105–26; Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 235–7. Biebel, F.M., “Mosaics”, in Kraeling, C.H. (ed.), Gerasa, City of the Decapolis. Mosaics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1938), 297–351, on pp. 319–22; Dvorjetski, E., “The SynagogueChurch at Gerasa in Jordan. A Contribution to the Study of Ancient Synagogues”, ZDPV 121

386

Ze’ev Weiss

Fig. 4. Depiction of ‘Aqedah on mosaic in Sepphoris synagogue (T Ze’ev Weiss)

appears in Sepphoris (Fig. 4) and Bet Alpha (Fig. 5);26 several depictions portraying the cult of the Tabernacle and Temple known to date only from Sepphoris – the consecration of Aaron to the service of the Tabernacle, the daily offering, the showbread table, and the basket of first fruits – are all motifs taken from Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy, whereas at Susiya, the two lambs depicted on either side of the faÅade portray the daily sacrifice;27 King David is likened to the divine musician Orpheus in the Gaza-Maiumas synagogue; and the seated figure at Merot is identified as King David surrounded by Goliath’s weapons.28 The floors containing biblical themes at Khirbet Hamam, Huqoq, ˙ of synagogue ˙ Sepphoris, Na‘aran, and Susiya all enriched the repertoire mosaics.29

26 27 28

29

(2005), 140–67, on pp. 152–6; Magness, J. et al., “Huqoq – 2017”, HA/ESI 130 (2018) http://www. ˙ hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=25419. Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 141–53; Sukenik, Ancient Synagogue of Beth Alpha, 40–2. Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 77–104; Gutman/Yeivin/Netzer, “Horvat Susiya,” 125–6. ˙ Ovadiah, A., “The Synagogue of Gaza”, in Levine, L.I. (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981), 129–32, on pp. 129–30; Talgam, R., “Remarks on the Mosaics of the Synagogue and Bet-Midrash”, in Ilan, Z./Damati, E. (eds.), Meroth. The Ancient Jewish Village (Tel Aviv : Society for the Protection of Nature, 1987), 149–53, on pp 149–51. For example, the story of Samson smiting the Philistines with the jawbone of an ass (Judg 15:15–7) is depicted at Khirbet Hamam alongside the stories of the Israelites crossing the Red ˙ Sea (Ex 14) and the Tower of Babel (Gen 11); see Leibner/Miller, “Figural Mosaic,” 241–59. The stories of Noah’s ark (Gen 6), the Tower of Babel (Gen 11), the parting of the Red Sea (Exod 14), Jonah and the whale (Jon 2), Samson tying torches to the tails of foxes (Judg 15:4), Samson carrying the gates of Gaza (Judg 16:3), the two spies who explored Canaan carrying clusters of grapes, and a youth leading an animal on a rope (Isa 11:6) are depicted at Huqoq, see: Magness, J. ˙ et al., “Huqoq (Lower Galilee) and Its Synagogue Mosaics. Preliminary Report on the Excava-

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

387

Fig. 5. Depiction of ‘Aqedah on mosaic in Sepphoris synagogue (T Hebrew University, Eli’ezer Sukenik)

The distinctly pagan zodiac motif appears in the center of seven synagogue mosaics dating from the fourth to sixth centuries CE – Hammat Tiberias, Bet ˙ recently Huqoq.30 Alpha, Na‘aran, Huseifa, Susiya, Sepphoris, and most ˙ ˙ motif Despite the iconographic and stylistic differences in the design of the tions of 2011–2013”, JRA 27 (2014), 327–55; Magness, J. et al., “Huqoq – 2016”, HA/ESI 129 ˙ (2017) http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=25304& mag_id=125; Magness, J. et al., “Huqoq – 2017”, HA/ESI 130 (2018) http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Repor ˙ t_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=25419; https://uncnews.unc.edu/2018/07/09/unparalleled-mosaics-dis covered-by-unc-chapel-hill-archaeologist-and-team-provide-new-clues-on-life-in-an-ancientgalilean-jewish-village/. The identification of the elephant panel at Huqoq is questionable. Britt ˙ and Boustan (Elephant Mosaic, 64–82), on the one hand, maintain that it portrays Seleucid King Antiochus VII with the Hasmonean King John Hyrcanus I, and Magness on the other (Britt/ Boustan, Elephant Mosaic, 48–61), argues that it depicts Alexander the Great meeting the Jewish High Priest Jaddus. The prominent presence of elephants has led other scholars to assume that the panel alludes to a particular event that took place in the Hellenistic period or even during the Hasmonean revolt; see Ovadiah, A./Pierri, R., “The Mosaic Panel with the Warlike Scenes and Figurative Arcade in the Ancient Synagogue at Huqoq. Context and Meaning”, Judaica 73 (2017), 284–97; Balty, J., “La ‘mosa"que / l’8l8phant’ de Huqoq. Un document trHs convoit8 et d’interpr8tation controvers8e”, JRA 31 (2018), 509–13; Talgam, R., “An Illustration of the Third Book of Maccabees in a Late-Antique Galilean Synagogue?”, JRA 31 (2018), 513–23. In contrast, Gordon and Weiss argue that the elephant panel illustrates the biblical story of 1Sam 15, in which the prophet Samuel has a fateful encounter with King Saul at Gilgal; see: Gordon, B.D./Weiss, Z., “Samuel and Saul at Gilgal. A New Interpretation of the Elephant Mosaic Panel at the Late Antique Synagogue of Huqoq, Israel”, JRA 31 (2018), 524–41. 30 Foerster, G., “Representations of the Zodiac in Ancient Synagogues and Their Iconographic Sources”, EI 18 (1985), 380–91; Hachlili, R., “The Zodiac in Ancient Jewish Synagogal Art. A Review”, JStQ 9 (2002), 219–58; Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 119–30; Magness, “Huqoq – 2017,” ˙ fig. 2.

388

Ze’ev Weiss

at each site, the subject and its basic layout remain unchanged. A comparison of this motif in both urban and rural synagogues shows that there were two different iconographic approaches in Hammat Tiberias and Sepphoris. Beyond the unique depiction of the sun in˙ Sepphoris and the personification of the sun in the form of Helios in Hammat Tiberias, both zodiacs differ in the design of the twelve astrological ˙signs and in the seasons of the year. In Hammat Tiberias, only the zodiac signs are depicted, while in Sepphoris the ˙ personification of the months appears next to each, together with a star and inscriptions in Hebrew mentioning the name of each sign and its respective month. The number of symbols depicting each of the seasons is greater in Sepphoris than in Hammat Tiberias, just as the Greek inscriptions in Sepphoris denoting ˙the solstice and the equinox appearing beside the inscriptions in Hebrew are unknown in Hammat Tiberias. Despite the ˙ differences between the zodiacs at Hammat Tiberias, Bet Alpha, Na‘aran, and ˙ probably Huseifa, the latter rural synagogue depictions seem to follow the ˙ Hammat Tiberias format. Furthermore, judging by the image of the Huqoq ˙ ˙ the zodiac that has been published so far, its signs, portrayed together with personification of the months, seem to follow the Sepphoris pattern. A close examination of several common features in the synagogue mosaics of urban Sepphoris and rural Huqoq may offer further insights into the ˙ possible connection between “center” and “periphery”. Elsewhere I have compared the mosaics decorating three structures in early fifth-century CE Sepphoris – one private dwelling and two public buildings, the Nile Festival Building and the synagogue – arguing that a local workshop in the city decorated various types of buildings, be they simple or complex, private or civic, secular or religious.31 At first glance, the composition, iconography, and style of the Sepphoris mosaics seem to be very different from those in the Huqoq mosaic, however a closer examination of the finds shows that they do, ˙ indeed, have some affinities. The artists at both sites placed the large images inside expanded panels that the viewer could not always see in their entirety from one vantage point – a format that conforms best to the mythological and biblical narratives appearing most frequently in synagogues and other secular buildings of the period.32 At times, the depictions were arranged in several interconnected 31 Weiss, Z., “Mosaic Art in Early Fifth-Century CE Sepphoris. Iconography, Style, and the Possible Identification of a Local Workshop”, in Correia, V. H. (ed.), O Mosaico Romano nos Centros e nas Periferias: Originalidadas, InfluÞncias e Identidades. Actes do X Coljuio Internacional da Associażo Internacional para o Estudo do Mosaico Antigo (AIEMA), Museu Monogr#fico de Conimbriga (Portugal), 29 de Outubro a 3 de Novembro de 2005 (Conimbriga: Instituto dos Museums a da Conservażo, 2011), 657–64. 32 Zori, N., “The House of Kyrios Leontis at Beth-Shean”, IEJ 16 (1966), 123–34; Ovadiah, A./ Gomez Silva, C./Mocznik, S., “A Mosaic Pavement of Sheikh ZouHde in Northern Sinai”, in Dassmann, E./Klauser, T. (eds.), Tesserae: Festschrift für Josef Engemann (JAC 18; Münster: Aschendorff, 1991), 181–91.

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

389

bands with a predetermined focal point in the panel. Comparison of the two large images portrayed in the upper register of the elephant mosaic from Huqoq with the two hunters in the Nile Festival Building mosaic in Sepphoris ˙ amply illustrates the shared trends prevailing at both sites.33 The most significant evidence emerges from a comparison of the iconographic details in the Huqoq mosaic floor with those found in the Nile Festival ˙ mosaics in Sepphoris. The black- and red-striped Building and synagogue pointed boots reaching above the ankles of the two main figures in “elephant mosaic panel” from Huqoq largely resemble those appearing in the depiction of the two hunters in˙ Sepphoris’s Nile Festival Building.34

Fig. 6. Samson carries the city gate of Gaza on his shoulders, depiction on Huqoq mosaic (courtesy Jodi Magness)

33 Britt/Boustan, Elephant Mosaic, fig. 8a; cf. Weiss, Z./Talgam, R., “The Nile Festival Building and Its Mosaics. Mythological Representations in Early Byzantine Sepphoris”, in Humphrey, J.H., (ed.), The Roman and Byzantine Near East (Vol. 3; JRA.Sup. 49; Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2002), 55–90, on p. 76. 34 Britt/Boustan, Elephant Mosaic, fig. 8a; cf. Weiss/Talgam, “Nile Festival Building,” 76.

390

Ze’ev Weiss

The execution of the city-gate Samson carries on his shoulders in the Huqoq ˙ mosaic (Fig. 6) resembles the depiction of Alexandria in the Nile Festival 35 Building (Fig. 7).

Fig. 7. Depiction of Alexandria on the Nile Festival Building mosaic at Sepphoris (T Ze’ev Weiss)

The gate at both sites is surmounted by an arch and flanked by two round towers crowned with T-shaped battlements. The double door decorated with square panels in shaded colors and accentuated by intersecting black diagonal lines that meet in the corners of a smaller square in its center resembles the architectural faÅade in the Sepphoris synagogue.36 Moreover, various components in Huqoq also have stylistic affinities with ˙ the Sepphoris mosaics. The stones depicted in the city-gate of the Samson mosaic at Huqoq resemble Sepphoris’s portrayal of Alexandria in the Nile ˙ Festival Building, and especially in the synagogue’s portrayal of the altar next to Aaron the high priest. The round face of the female figure at Huqoq (Fig. 8), with her round eyes, ˙ eyebrows, nose, and wavy hair highlighted by red lines, resembles those

35 Magness et al., “Huqoq (Lower Galilee) and Its Synagogue Mosaics,” 348–9, figs 13–4; cf. Weiss/ Talgam, “The Nile Festival Building,” 68–9, fig. 10. 36 Magness et al., “Huqoq (Lower Galilee) and Its Synagogue Mosaics,” 348–9, figs 134; cf. Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, 65–8, fig. 13.

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

391

Fig. 8. Round-faced of female figure on Huqoq synagogue mosaic (courtesy Jodi ˙ Magness)

features on the Amazons depicted in the easternmost room of the Nile Festival Building (Fig. 9).37

Fig. 9. Amazon depicted on the mosaic in the easternmost room of the Nile Festival Building (T Ze’ev Weiss)

The curly hairstyle of the Huqoq youths sitting under the arch imitates the ˙ Sepphoris zodiac signs.38 hairstyle of the figures in the 37 Magness et al., “Huqoq (Lower Galilee) and Its Synagogue Mosaics,” 345, fig. 17; cf. Weiss/ Talgam, “The Nile Festival Building,” 78, fig. 17. 38 Britt/Boustan, Elephant Mosaic, fig. 2; cf. Weiss, Sepphoris Synagogue, figs. 59–61.

392

Ze’ev Weiss

Having reviewed some of the stylistic resemblances between the mosaics at both sites, we may wonder whether the similarity is coincidental or indicative of a possible connection between these two communities. Could the Huqoq ˙ who mosaic, or at least part of it, have been made by a traveling mosaicist hailed from the Sepphoris workshop, or should this option be rejected outright for lack of other evidence? Although we must wait for the final publication of Huqoq’s mosaics, the assorted finds may be indicative of a ˙ prevalent in fifth-century CE Galilee and imply a possible stylistic tradition connection between “center” and “periphery” or, more specifically, the relationship between urban and rural synagogues.

4. Conclusion Beyond the monumental synagogues known to date in rural Galilee and the Golan, and recognizing the regional differences in synagogue architecture throughout the country, urban and rural synagogues did not differ much in terms of their architectural layout, liturgical furnishings, and artistic decorations. The use or avoidance of figural representations often serves as an important component for distinguishing between urban and rural communities, and although this might be true with regard to several remote sites in the Upper Galilee or Judaea, it does not sufficiently explain the appearance of “simpler motifs” in the rural context, as I have argued elsewhere with regard to the ‘En Gedi synagogue mosaic. Urban synagogues were by no means more lavishly decorated than rural ones, as argued by Seth Schwartz. On the contrary, the mosaic carpets decorating rural synagogues such as Khirbet Hamam and Huqoq do not fall in their richness, quality, or ˙ sophistication from the ˙carpets decorating urban synagogues such as those in Hammat Tiberias and Sepphoris. ˙ content of the dedicatory inscriptions in urban and rural synagogues is The quite similar, but a comparison of the linguistic preferences is quite interesting. Several Greek dedicatory inscriptions are documented in only a few rural synagogues, and compared to the cities Aramaic was more prevalent at rural sites. This phenomenon is also evident in the recently excavated rural synagogues at Khirbet Hamam, Huqoq, and Horvat Kur whose mosaics, based ˙ contain ˙ only Aramaic ˙ on the available evidence, inscriptions. The preference of Aramaic over Greek in the rural context derives from reasons not necessarily related to the late antique synagogue, nor does it signify a difference between rural and urban synagogues. Yet, despite the proclivity toward using Aramaic in the rural context, the rich, colorful, and sophisticated figurative mosaics decorating such synagogues clearly indicate the socio-cultural preferences of those rural communities that were relatively open to the urban culture in their immediate

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

393

surroundings. The socio-economic status and cultural orientation of each community influenced the design of its communal building, be it in the city or the village. Barring several cases, a more inclusive view of the various buildings would indicate that rural and urban synagogues indeed had much in common.

Bibliography Amit, D., “Between Form and Function. The Evolution of the Synagogue as an Institution from the Second Temple Period through the Late Roman and Byzantine Periods as Reflected in Architectural and Interior Designs”, Jerusalem and EretzIsrael. Studies in Honour of Amos Kloner 8–9 (2013), 171–84 (in Hebrew). Amit, D., The Synagogues of Hurbat Ma‘on and Hurbat ‘Anim and the Jewish Settlement in Southern Judea (Ph.D. diss.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2003) (in Hebrew). Aviam, M., “The Ancient Synagogue at Bir‘am”, Michmanim 20 (2007), 39–41 (in Hebrew). Bahat, D., “The Synagogue at Beth-Shean”, in Levine, L.I. (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981), 82–5. Balty, J., “La ‘mosa"que / l’8l8phant’ de Huqoq. Un document trHs convoit8 et d’interpr8tation controvers8e”, JRA 31 (2018), 509–13. Benoit, P., “Un sanctuaire dans la r8gion de J8richo: la synagogue de Na‘arah”, RB 68 (1961), 161–77. Biebel, F.M., “Mosaics”, in Kraeling, C.H. (ed.), Gerasa, City of the Decapolis. Mosaics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1938), 297–351. Britt, K./Boustan, R., The Elephant Mosaic Panel in the Synagogue at Huqoq. Official Publication and Initial Interpretations (JRA.Sup. 109; Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2017). Dar, S., Sumaqa. A Roman and Byzantine Jewish Village on Mount Carmel, Israel (B.A.R. International Series 815; Oxford: Archeopress, 1999). Dothan, M., Hammath Tiberias (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983). Dvorjetski, E., “The Synagogue-Church at Gerasa in Jordan. A Contribution to the Study of Ancient Synagogues”, ZDPV 121 (2005), 140–167. Ehrlich, U., The Non-Verbal Language of Prayer. A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy (TSAJ 105; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). Fine, S., This Holy Place. On the Sanctity of the Synagogue during the Greco-Roman Period (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997). Foerster, G., “Representations of the Zodiac in Ancient Synagogues and Their Iconographic Sources”, EI 18 (1985), 380–91 (in Hebrew). Gordon, B.D./Weiss, Z., “Samuel and Saul at Gilgal. A New Interpretation of the Elephant Mosaic Panel at the Late Antique Synagogue of Huqoq, Israel”, JRA 31 (2018), 524–41.

394

Ze’ev Weiss

Gutman, G./Yeivin, Z./Netzer, E., “Excavations in the Synagogue at Horvat Susiya”, in ˙ Levine, L.I. (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981), 123–8. Hachlili, R., Ancient Synagogues – Archaeology and Art. New Discoveries and Current Research (Handbook of Oriental Studies I/105; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013). Hachlili, R., “Aspects of Similarity and Diversity in the Architecture and Art of Ancient Synagogues and Churches in the Land of Israel”, ZDPV 113 (1997), 92–122. Hachlili, R., “The Zodiac in Ancient Jewish Synagogal Art. A Review”, JStQ 9 (2002), 219–58. Hachlili, R., “Torah Shrine and Ark in Ancient Synagogues. A Re-evaluation”, ZDPV 116 (2000), 147–83. Ilan, Z./Damati, E. (ed.), Meroth. The Ancient Jewish Village (Tel Aviv : Society for the Protection of Nature, 1987) (in Hebrew). Leibner, U., “Excavations at Khirbet Wadi Hamam (Lower Galilee). The Synagogue and the Settlement”, JRA 23 (2010), 220–37. Leibner, U./Miller, S., “A Figural Mosaic in the Synagogue at Khirbet Hamam”, JRA 23 (2010), 238–64. Levine, L.I. (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981). Levine, L.I., “Excavations at the Synagogue of Horvat ‘Ammudim”, IEJ 32 (1982), ˙ 1–12. Levine, L.I., The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 22005). Magness, J. et al., “Huqoq – 2016”, HA/ESI 129 (2017) http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/ ˙ Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=25304&mag_id=125. Magness, J. et al., “Huqoq – 2017”, HA/ESI 130 (2018) http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/ ˙ Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=25419. Magness, J. et al., “Huqoq (Lower Galilee) and Its Synagogue Mosaics: Preliminary Report on the Excavations of 2011–2013”, JRA 27 (2014), 327–55. Makhouly, N./Avi-Yonah, M., “A Sixth-Century Synagogue at Isfiya”, QDAP 3 (1934), 118–31. Meyers, E.M. et al. Excavations at the Ancient Synagogue of Gush Halav (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990). Meyers, E.M./Kraabel, A.T./Strange, J.F., Ancient Synagogue Excavations at Khirbet Shema‘, Upper Galilee, Israel 1970–1972 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, for American Schools of Oriental Research, 1976). Netzer, E., “The Synagogues from the Second Temple Period according to Archaeological Finds and in Light of the Literary Sources”, in Bottini, G.C./Di Segni, L./Chrupca;a, L.D. (eds.), One Land, Many Cultures. Archaeological Studies in Honour of Stanislao Loffreda (SBF.CMa 41; Jerusalem Franciscan Printing, 2003), 277–85. Ovadiah, A., “The Synagogue of Gaza”, in L.I. Levine (ed.), Ancient Synagogues Revealed (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981), 129–32.

Urban and Rural Synagogues in Late Antique Palestine

395

Ovadiah, A./Gomez Silva, C./Mocznik, S., “A Mosaic Pavement of Sheikh ZouHde in Northern Sinai”, in Dassmann, E./Klauser, T. (eds.), Tesserae. Festschrift für Josef Engemann (JAC 18; Münster : Aschendorff, 1991), 181–91. Ovadiah, A./Pierri, R., “The Mosaic Panel with the Warlike Scenes and Figurative Arcade in the Ancient Synagogue at Huqoq. Context and Meaning”, Judaica 73 (2017), 284–97. Patrich, J., “Early Christian Churches in the Holy Land”, in Limor, O./Stroumsa, G.G. (eds.), Christians and Christianity in the Holy Land. From the Origins to the Latin Kingdoms (Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages 5; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 351–96. Porat, Y. (ed.), The Synagogue of Roman-Byzantine En-Gedi (Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University, forthcoming). Ribak, E., Religious Communities in Byzantine Palestine. The Relationship between Judaism, Christianity and Islam, AD 400–700 (B.A.R. International Series 1646; Oxford: Archaeopress, 2007). Sapir, Y., The Ancient Synagogue in Israel in the Light of the Talmudic Sources (Ph.D. diss.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2007). Schwartz, S., Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 B.C.E to 640 C.E. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001). Sukenik, E.L., The Ancient Synagogue at Yafa near Nazareth. Preliminary Report (Louis M. Rabinowitz Fund Bulletin 2; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1951). Sukenik, E.L., The Ancient Synagogue of Beth Alpha (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 1932). Talgam, R., “An Illustration of the Third Book of Maccabees in a Late-Antique Galilean Synagogue?”, JRA 31 (2018), 513–23. Talgam, R., “Remarks on the Mosaics of the Synagogue and Bet-Midrash”, in Ilan, Z./ Damati, E. (eds.), Meroth. The Ancient Jewish Village (Tel Aviv : Society for the Protection of Nature, 1987), 149–53 (in Hebrew). Weiss, Z., “Building God’s House. Synagogues, Churches, and Intercommunal Relations in Late Antique Palestine”, in Iricinschi, E./Kotsifou, C. (eds.), Coping with Religious Change in the Late-Antique Eastern Mediterranean (Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). Weiss, Z., “Mosaic Art in Early Fifth-Century CE Sepphoris. Iconography, Style, and the Possible Identification of a Local Workshop”, in Correia, V. H. (ed.), O Mosaico Romano nos Centros e nas Periferias: Originalidadas, InfluÞncias e Identidades. Actes do X Coljuio Internacional da Associażo Internacional para o Estudo do Mosaico Antigo (AIEMA), Museu Monogr#fico de Conimbriga (Portugal), 29 de Outubro a 3 de Novembro de 2005 (Conimbriga: Instituto dos Museums a da Conservażo, 2011), 657–64. Weiss, Z., “Stratum II at Hammath Tiberias. Reconstructing Its Access, Internal Space, and Architecture”, in Rodgers, Z. et al. (eds.), AWandering Galilean: Essays in Honour of Se#n Freyne (JSJ.Sup. 132; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 321–42.

396

Ze’ev Weiss

Weiss, Z., “The Location of the Sheliah Tzibbur during Prayer”, Cathedra 55 (1990), 8–21. Weiss, Z., “The Mosaics of the En-Gedi Synagogue”, in Y. Porat (ed.), The Synagogue of Roman-Byzantine En-Gedi, (Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University, forthcoming). Weiss, Z., The Sepphoris Synagogue. Deciphering an Ancient Message in Its Archaeological and Socio-Historical Contexts (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2005). Weiss, Z., “The Synagogue in an Age of Transition, from the Second Temple Period to Roman Times: Recent Developments in Research”, in Doering, L./Krause, A.R. (eds.), Synagogues in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, forthcoming). Weiss, Z./Talgam, R., “The Nile Festival Building and Its Mosaics. Mythological Representations in Early Byzantine Sepphoris”, in Humphrey, J.H. (ed.), The Roman and Byzantine Near East (Vol. 3; JRA.Sup. 49; Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology 2002), 55–90. Zori, N., “The Ancient Synagogue at Beth Shean”, EI 8 (1967), 149–67. Zori, N., “The House of Kyrios Leontis at Beth-Shean”, IEJ 16 (1966), 123–34.

Illustrations 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Sepphoris, plan of the synagogue. Hammat Tiberias synagogue, Stratum IIb (bottom) and Stratum IIa (top). ˙ Khirbet Hamam synagogue, suggested reconstruction of the mosaic carpet covering˙the entire prayer hall (courtesy of Uzi Leibner, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Drawing: B. Arubas and M. Edelcopp). Sepphoris, the ‘Aqedah (photo G. Laron). Bet Alpha, the ‘Aqedah (courtesy of the Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem). Huqoq, mosaic of Samson carrying the gate of Gaza (courtesy of Jodi ˙ Magness, Huqoq Expedition. Photo: Jim Haberman). Sepphoris,˙ mosaic depiction of Alexandria in the Nile Festival Building. Huqoq, mosaic of a female figure in the eastern aisle of the synagogue ˙ (courtesy of Jodi Magness, Huqoq Expedition. Photo: Jim Haberman). Sepphoris, face of one of ˙the Amazons depicted in a mosaic in the easternmost room of the Nile Festival Building (photo G. Laron).

Contributors

(Alphabetic Order) Lukas Bormann Professor of New Testament, Faculty of Theology University of Marburg, Germany Martin Ebner Professor emeritus für die Exegese des Neuen Testaments, KatholischTheologische Fakultät Universität Bonn, Deutschland Jörg Frey Professor of New Testament with special focus on Ancient Judaism and Hermeneutics Theological Faculty University of Zurich, Switzerland and Research Associate of the University of the Free State, Bloemfontain, South Africa K.P.S. (Renske) Janssen Researcher and Lecturer Classics and Ancient History Faculty of Humanities Leiden University, The Netherlands Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte Professor of New Testament, Faculty of Religion and Theology Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, The Netherlands Heidrun E. Mader Substitute Professor for New Testament, Faculty of Humanities University of Hamburg and PD for New Testament, Faculty of Protestant Theology University of Heidelberg, Germany and Research Fellow of the Discipline Group Old & New Testament, Faculty of Theology University of Stellenbosch, South-Africa

398

Contributors

Jodi Magness Kenan Distinguished Professor for Teaching Excellence in Early Judaism, Department of Religious Studies University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, U.S.A. Frederick G. Naerebout Emeritus Lecturer at the Department of Ancient History Leiden University, The Netherlands Tobias Nicklas Professor of New Testament and Director of the Centre “Beyond Canon” Universität Regensburg, Germany and Research Associate, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa Markus Öhler Professor of New Testament, Faculty of Protestant Theology University of Vienna, Austria Daniel Schowalter Emeritus Professor of Classics and Religion Carthage College, Kenosha, Wisconsin, USA Günter Stemberger Professor emeritus of Jewish Studies University of Vienna, Austria Gerd Theißen Professor emeritus of New Testament, Faculty of Theology University of Heidelberg, Germany Markus Tiwald Professor of New Testament, Faculty of Catholic Theology University of Vienna, Austria Reinhard von Bendemann Professor for New Testament Studies and Early Judaism, Protestant Faculty Ruhr-University Bochum, D-44801 Bochum, Germany Zeev Weiss Eleazar L. Sukenik Professor of Classical Archaeology, The Institute of Archaeology The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel

Contributors

399

Jürgen K. Zangenberg Professor for the History and Culture of Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, Faculty of Humanities Leiden University, The Netherlands

Indices Index of Persons, Places and Subjects Agrippa II 150; 155; 160; 236; 368 Alexandria 49; 63; 199; 201; 236; 243; 247; 260; 390 Antioch 49; 52–53; 63; 70; 72; 82–83; 88; 90; 92; 179–81; 198; 205; 233; 236; 260 Aramaic 138; 164; 195; 221; 240; 368; 392 architecture 64–66; 69; 78; 101; 138; 153–54; 359; 377–79; 380; 384; 390; 392 ascetism 34; 184; 187–89; 251; 253; 260; 327 Asia Minor 48–49; 153; 170; 180; 183; 189; 195–197; 199; 205; 214; 216; 220–22; 224; 236–37; 243; 254; 273; 289; 291; 293–94; 321; 323; 341–42; 347; 353; 359 associations 184–85; 188; 200–02; 251; 256; 282; 290–93; 343 Aramaic 138; 164; 195; 221; 240; 368; 392 Aurelius, Marcus 301–02; 310–11; 324 Babylon (Rev) 101; 235; 253–58; 263 Bar Kochba 170; 365 baths 51; 114–15; 117; 141–42; 150–51; 153–55; 197; 216; 285; 306; 351–52; 365; 371–72 Bethlehem 151; 183; 259–60; 263 Betsaida 155–56; 169 Caesarea 114–15; 149–50; 163; 180; 365–67; 369–71; 374; 377 Cana 143; 238–39; 246; 386 Capernaum 116; 131; 142–143; 154–56; 169; 238

chora 21; 27; 36; 48; 166; 180–81; 285; 377 city 23; 26–28; 31; 33–36; 43–55; 57–59; 113–16; 140–42; 150–59; 162–63; 165–66; 170; 177–83; 188–90; 196–200; 205–06; 213–214; 216–19; 222; 224–26; 235; 239–40; 252–53; 255; 257–58; 263–64; 284–86; 300; 306–312; 331–33; 337–38; 341–42; 346–48; 350; 352–53; 355–59; 365–66; 368–73; 377; 388; 393 city/town 43–44; 47; 49; 53–55; 57–59 Colossae 63; 211–25 countryside 25–31; 33; 35–36; 43–45; 53–59; 143; 177–83; 189–90; 204–07; 233; 238; 240; 252; 283; 285–86; 289; 346–47; 353; 371; 377 Corinth 48; 63–65; 70–72; 74; 79–80; 95; 102; 181; 188; 216; 233; 253 cynic(s) 113; 124; 144 Decapolis 135; 137; 142; 145; 149; 154; 167; 180 decoration 114; 116–117; 119; 124; 341; 350; 352; 359; 372; 378; 392 demographics 22; 37–38 Derbe (& Lystra) 70; 180; 206; 214 diaspora 56; 58; 166–67; 179; 199–200; 237; 240; 243 Domitian 78; 91; 97; 277; 281; 348; 358–60 education 57–58; 196–97; 201–04; 207; 241–43; 248; 285; 322; 374 ekklesia 65; 76; 79–91; 95–97; 200; 202 elite 29; 34; 37; 70; 73; 80; 86–87; 101;

402

Indices

117; 120; 124; 132; 137; 140–42; 159–60; 198; 203; 225; 272; 274; 282; 289; 294; 304–07; 341; 346; 373 Ephesus 36; 49; 63–64; 70–72; 84–87; 89; 95; 102; 170; 181; 212; 214; 218; 225–26; 233–35; 237; 243; 247; 338; 348–50 ethnicity 221–26 Eusebius 164; 169; 212; 226; 238; 253; 299–301; 306–317; 321–22; 325; 331; 370 Finley, Moses 44–45 fresco 116–117; 119–120; 124 friendship 158; 187; 243; 271; 311 furnishings 377–81; 392 Galatia 63; 70; 80; 180; 205; 291; 300 Galilee 113–14; 116–117; 119–124; 129–44; 149–50; 152–56; 158–62; 164–66; 168–70; 177; 179; 183; 205; 233; 240; 238–41; 368–70; 372; 377–80; 383; 392 gender 81; 138; 220–21; 225–26; 283; 323; 332 Gamla 116–21; 124; 142; 377 Gerasa (Gadara) 53; 141; 144; 166–67; 289; 385 Hasmonean 114–15; 135–36; 138; 141–42; 144; 153; 387 Harnack, Adolf von 242; 269; 279; 293 Heavenly Jerusalem 34; 58; 97–101; 263; 332–33 Hellenism 47–49; 52; 113–15; 118; 131; 135–41; 149; 151; 153–155; 159–60; 162–63; 183–84; 199; 202; 243; 252; 342; 347; 365; 368–69; 371 Herod (& Antipas) 113–15; 117; 120; 123–24; 136; 139; 149–50; 152; 154–55; 157; 159; 163–64; 183; 359; 3 Hierapolis 212–18; 220, 223; 225; 342–46

identity 26; 58; 136; 153; 159; 186; 196; 199; 203; 233; 248; 257; 293; 312; 342; 358; 384 inscription 37; 117; 160; 169; 197; 213–14; 216; 218; 220–24; 271; 290; 293; 323–24; 327; 333; 338; 342; 345–48; 351; 354–55; 359; 368; 384; 388; 392 Jerusalem 58; 63; 72–73; 82–83; 89–90; 99–100; 119–20; 124; 131–32; 136–38; 144; 156–157; 165–66; 168–70; 178–79; 183; 205; 233; 238–41; 253–55; 258–60; 263; 329; 331–33; 359; 365; 377–79; 381–83 Jewish War 136; 159; 163; 166; 169–70; 179; 199; 240; 368–69 John the Baptist 143; 157; 170; 239–40; 244–46; 252–53 Judaism 44; 46; 135–37; 162; 167; 199–202; 233; 241; 243; 372 Kingdom of God / basileia 68–69; 75; 101; 143–44; 157; 162; 166–68; 180; 195; 245 landscape 31; 34; 52; 63; 71; 152; 183; 272; 283; 285; 289; 380 Lake of Galilee 135; 140–45; 153 Laodicea 52; 212–18; 221; 223; 225; 235 living conditions 26; 38; 196–98; 206–07 Lycus valley 211–15; 219; 221–26 MacMullen, Ramsay 21; 56; 205 Magdala (Tarichea) 113–117; 124; 135; 141–43; 150; 153–57; 159; 162–64; 166; 377; 381 Meeks, Wayne A. 21–22; 55–56; 181; 195–96; 198; 200; 202–03 miqwa’ot 136–37; 142; 150–51; 153 mission 68–69; 72–73; 75; 149; 155;

Indices 165; 167–68; 179–83; 206; 212; 217; 220; 235; 279 milieu 72; 131; 144; 149; 162; 177; 179–80; 189–90; 234–39; 241–43; 247 ministry (Jesus) 116; 144; 149–52; 155–57; 163; 165–68; 234; 245–46 Montanism 189; 321–22; 325; 328; 331–32 Montanus 321; 323–33 monuments 113–116; 197; 341–42; 345–47 mosaics 117; 124; 377–79; 383–92 narration/narrative 56–58; 141; 156–57; 212; 233–34; 237–46; 256; 270; 274; 306; 312 Nazareth 113; 138; 150–52; 156; 207 Nero 77; 150; 155; 160; 186; 257; 260; 278; 358–59 nymphaeum 197; 349–52 Palestine 113; 119; 123; 161; 163–64; 166; 170; 177; 195; 237; 242; 365–66; 377–79; 383 Papias 164; 212; 235 participation 235; 248; 338 Paul 36; 63; 67–69; 72–76; 79–83; 89; 91; 95–97; 165; 167; 179–82; 184–89; 197; 201–02; 205–07; 212; 215–26; 246; 251; 253; 341; 357 Pausanias 64; 98; 196 Philippi 63–64; 70; 72; 95; 149–150; 180–181; 233; 366 Phrygia 21; 29; 37; 180; 190; 220–22; 225–26; 293; 299; 321–24; 331–33; 346 Pliny d. Y. 36–37; 182; 186, 269–94; 299; 304; 309–13; 315–16 polis 21; 27; 35–36; 47–48; 51; 55; 64; 66; 114; 154–55; 166; 184; 187; 222; 225; 321; 331; 341; 366 Pompeii 116–20; 124; 197; 341–42; 353 Pontus and Bithynia 269–95; 304; 323

403

population density 47; 49–51; 159; 199; 214; pottery 23; 53; 114; 117–24; 136; 142; 211 poverty 132; 139; 158–59; 162–163; 199; 206; 293; 323; 332; 374 Priene 353–57 procession 338; 340–41; 360 prophecy 95; 157; 166; 183; 185; 212; 244; 261–62; 321; 323; 329; 331 prophet 91; 98; 136; 162–63; 170; 257–64; 292; 294; 321; 326; 328; 331; 387 rabbi(nic) 121–23; 132–34; 144; 164; 170; 240; 365–74; 381 ritual 79; 196; 201–03; 207; 246; 282; 288–90; 337–38; 343; 346; 354; 356; 360; 383 Robinson, T. A. 21–22; 25–26; 28–29; 33; 55–57; 178; 181; 196; 204–06; 286 romanization 113; 119–121; 136 rural Christianity 25; 38; 196; 204–05; 321; 333 Salutaris, C. Vibius 84; 89; 338; 340 Sea of Galilee 116; 152; 159; 166; 168; 233; 238 Sepphoris 113–120; 122–24; 137; 140–43; 149–52; 154–60; 162–64; 166; 252; 365; 367–71; 374; 380–381; 383; 386–92 Stark, Rodney 22; 56; 178; 197; 200; 204 synagogue 116–17; 132–33; 136; 138–39; 141–42; 150; 152–53; 163; 183; 200–03; 206; 251; 254; 290; 356–57; 365–66; 368–69; 371; 377–393 Syria 48–49; 52–53; 135; 158; 167; 170; 179–83; 236–37; 281; 294; 327 social structure 53; 136; 159; 165; 177–78; 184

404

Indices

Talmud 122–23; 365–67; 370 theatre 64; 76–78; 87; 101; 113–15; 151; 153–54; 196–97; 350; 353; 356; 369; 372 Tiberias 113–117; 123; 137; 140–43; 149–57; 159–60; 162–64; 166; 252; 365; 367–69; 372; 374; 377 town 21–29; 31–38; 43; 46–53; 55; 57–59; 64; 116; 124; 137; 139; 142–43; 152; 155; 160; 163; 166–167; 177–80; 236; 300; 306; 321; 332; 337–38; 341–42; 347; 353–54; 359; 365–66; 368; 378 Trajan 91; 98; 270–79; 282–85; 289–91; 294–95; 304; 309; 311–13; 315; 349–50 Tyre (and Sidon) 52; 141; 144; 154; 166–67; 366

urbanity 30; 33; 43; 53–54; 142; 233 urbanization 23–25; 29; 46; 48–49; 51; 53; 55; 57; 157; 160; 252; 365–67 urban center 23; 26; 34–36; 49; 64; 114–15; 135; 141; 149; 195; 233; 236; 238; 252; 264; 347; 365; 368; 374; 377–78 urban-rural dichotomy 23; 25–28; 31–32; 38 urban thesis 21–26; 28; 35–38; 55; 196; 204 vessel

119–24; 136–37; 142; 150; 153

Weber, Max 27; 44–46; 48; 59 women 50; 77–81; 93–96; 100; 139; 156; 185; 187; 226; 254–257; 282–83; 322–23; 332–333

Index of Primary Sources Old Testament Gen 1:1 243 Exod 29:45

1 Kgs 6:20 100 19:1–8 260

329

Lev 16:12–17

1 Chr 23:25 100

Num 5:3 329 19:16 152 24:17 170 27:15–23 89 Deut 29 381

329

2 Chr 3:8 100 Ezra 6:12 329 Tob 13:13 13:17

167 101

Ps 2:8–10

67

405

Indices Ezek 41:4 100 48 99 48:30–34 98

8:7 67 69:10 244 110:1 67 Sir 36:22

Joel 3:17

167

Isa 2:2–4 167 45:1 167 52:13 244 54:11–12 101 57:15 325; 329 60:1–61:6 167 60:4 167 63:7–64:11 330 63:9 325; 330; 331 66:13 331

329

Amos 9:11–12

91

Zeph 3:9 167 Zech 8:20–22 Mal 1:11

167

180

Qumran DJD XIII 305–355

99

New Testament (including Sayings Source) Q 4:16 156 7:2 155 6:20–23 162 6:27–28 162 6:43–45 156 6:47–49 156 7:9 169 7:22 162 7:34 157 10 165 10:2 156 10:3 156 10:5–7 63 10:8–15 63 10:13–15 156

10:21 162 12:3 165 13:18–19 156 13:20–21 156 13:21 168 13:34–35 156; 169 14:5 156 15:4.7 156 16:18 157 17:6 156 17:35 156 17:37 156 22:30 169 Matt 2:1 151

406 2:6 183 3:2 68 4:5 157 4:8 68 4:13 155; 169 4:18 129; 145 5:20.48 326 5:35 157 9:1 142; 155 10:5 63 10:6 149 10:11 180 10:14 180 10:41–42 326 10:42 326 12:11 156 13:17 326 13:41 67 13:43 326 13:49 326 13:55 151; 156 15:24 129 15:39 154 16:28 67 18:6.10.14 326 18:17 161 18:20 183 20:1 156 20:1–16 161 21:31 161 23 183 23:37 331 25:37.46 326 26:73 164 28:7 168 28:10 168 28:16–20 168 28:18 67 28:19 261 Mark 1:1 242 1:9 151 1:16 156

Indices 1:21 155; 169 1:29 169 1:35 252 1:38 155; 180 1:40 157 2:1 155; 169 2:14 154 2:15 156 2:16 157 2:16–17 161 3:1–5 157 3:31–35 97 4:3.26 156 5:1 166 5:1–20 252 5:2 167 5:20 154; 180 6:3 151; 152; 156 6:6 180 6:17–29 157 6:38 142 7:24 252 7:24.31 154; 166 7:26 167 7:31 154 8:10 154 8:23 252 8:23.26 180 8:27 180; 252 9:33 155; 169 9:42 326 10:4 163 10:6 167 10:25 162 10:29–30 63; 97 10:42–45 68 10:46 156; 253 10:47 151 11:15–19 157 12:1 161 13:24–27 67 14:58 157 14:67 151 15:1–5 240

Indices 15:24 167 15:40 150 16:6 151 16:7 168 Luke 1:1–4 242 1:32–33 67 2:1–20 68 2:4–7 151 3:15 245 4:18–19 168 4:29.31.43 63 4:42 252 5:30 161 8:31 157 9:31.51 168 9:51–56 183 10:1 183 10:38–42 183 13:15 156 13,22 183 13:33 168 14:5 156 15:6 156 15:19 161 16:1–8 161 18:11.13 161 21:20–21 170 22:28–30 67 24:33 168 24:47 168 24:52 168 John 1:1–2 242 1:19 240; 244 1:19–34 246 1:20–22 244 1:25 244 1:28 238 1:32–33 245 1:35–51 246 1:40–42 245

1:44 169; 238 1:45–46 151 1:46 151 1:51 244 2:1–11 238; 246 2:12 155; 169; 238 2:13 165; 239 2:18–22 240; 241 2:19 157 2:22 247 3:3 245 3:5 245 3:14 244 3:15–16 245 3:16 233 3:23 238 3:24 245 3:35–36 245 4:23 233 4:42 233 4:46 238 5:1 165; 239 5:2–3 239 6:1 150 6:4 165; 239 6:23 150 6:41.52 241 6:52 241 7–8 239 8:20 239 8:31 243 9 63 9:7 239 10:2 156 10:22 165; 239 10:23 239 11:46–54 241 11:55 165; 239 12:13 236 12:16 247 12:20–22 240 12:21 238 12:27–28 245 13:1 246

407

408 13:34–35 246 14:26 247 14:30–31 245 15:13 243; 246 16:13–15 247 16:14–15 247 18:1 239 18:11 245 18:13.24 239 18:28 239 18:28–19,16 68; 240 19:13 239 19:17.20 239 19:25 150 21 168 21:1 150 21:2 238 Acts 1:4 168 1:8 90; 168; 183 1:15–26 89 1:23 220 2:9 291 2:36 67 3:21 167 4:13 164 5:28 168 6 167 6:1–7 89; 90 6:7 168 8.1.14.27 168 9 63 11:26 63 12:12, 25 220 13:1 220 13:22 67 13:46 167 13:49 36; 180 14:6–7 180 15 89 15:1–35 82–83; 88; 90 15:10 91 15:22 89

Indices 15:23–29 90 15:28 89 15:29 290 15:37, 39 220 16:1–6 70 16:4 88 16:6 180 16:7 291 16:20.22.35.36.38 17:1 72 17:7 68 17:15–34 72 18:2 72; 291 18:7 220 18:23 180 19:3 170 19:29 220 19:32–34 82 19:35 87 19:40 85 20:4 220 21:8–9 212 21:11 88 21:25 290 27:2 220 Rom 1:3–4 73 1:10.13 72 1:16 167 2:9 167 10:12 222 11 167 12:5 185 15:19 72; 181 15:26 72 16:5 181 16:21 220 16:22 217 16:23 81 1 Cor 1:1 80 4:1–5 82

87

Indices 6 82 7:5 188 7:10 157 7:29 188 7:37 188 8 357 11:2–16 81; 91 11:18.20 81 12:13 79; 81; 223 14 91 14:23 81; 185 14:25 185 14:34–35 81 15:1 67 15:9 80 15:20–28 67 15:23 75 15:23–28 75 15:24 67 15:25 67 15:49 75 15:51 75 16:15 72 16:19 72; 181 2 Cor 1:1 80 1:8 181 2:6 81; 82 2:14–16 73–74 8–9 82 8:19 81; 82 11:26 181 Gal 1:2 80 1:13 80 1:21 181 1:22–23 80 2:1–10 89 3:27–28 78; 223 3:28 100; 102; 185; 195 4:13–14 180

Eph 2:6 185 Phil 1:1 95 3:6 80 Col 1:1 219 1:2 216 1:7 219; 220 1:7–8 218 1:24–2:5 215 2:1 217 3:11 222; 225 3:24 226 4:1 219 4:3 217 4:7 219 4:9 218; 219 4:10 218; 219; 220 4:11 219; 220; 221 4:12 218; 219; 220 4:12–13 218 4:13–16 217 4:14 219; 220 4:15 218; 219; 220 4:17 219; 220 4:18 217 1 Thess 1:1 80 1:7 72; 73; 181 2:2 67 2:12 67 2:14 181 3:1 72 4:15–17 67 4:17 75 1 Tim 94 1:3 95 2:1–7 96 2:2 96

409

410

Indices

2:11–12 96 3:1 95 3:2 95 3:4 95 3:5 95–96 3:15 95 4:14 95 5:3–15 96 2 Tim 4:10 220 4:11 220 Titus 1:5 95 1:7 95 Phlm 1 219 1–2 218 2 219; 220 10 219 16–17 225 23 218; 219; 220 24 219; 220 Heb 13:14 Jas 5:4

63

161

1 Pet 1:1 291 2:13.17 96 5:13 220 1 John 2:15 237 2:16 236 3 John 7 236

Rev 1–3 235 1:1 256 1:4.8 257 1:9 257; 264 2:2 254 2:9 254 2:10 254 2:13 254; 256; 294 2:14 258 2:15 290 2:20 256 2:20–21 258 3:9 254 3:10 256 3:14–22 212 4:2–3.9–10 256 4:5 263 4:8 257 5:9 98 6:10 256 6:15 256 7:3 256 7:9 98 8:3–4 256 8:13 256 9:20 256 11:18 256 12:6 254 12:12 254 12:14 254 13:1 256 13:7 256 14:6–13 255 14:8 256 15:3 256 16:14 256 16:17–21 255 16:19 256 17:1–19:10 256 17:2–3 256 17:3 254; 256; 257 17:4 256 17:5 254; 256

Indices 17:6 256 17:8 256 17:9 254 17:14 257 17:15–16 256 17:18 257 18:3.9 256 18:4 98; 235; 253 18:4–5 257 18:7 257 18:11–14 257 18:11–16 101 19:2 256 19:4 256 20 290 20:16 100 21 58

21–22 100; 101; 102 21:1–22:5 97; 98; 258 21:2 258; 331 21:3 98 21:8.27 98; 101 21:12–14 258 21:16 100 21:18–21 101 21:18–23 258 21:26 258 21:27 98; 258 22 58 22:1 100 22:2 99 22:3 258 22:3–5 101

Flavius Josephus Ant. 14:74–76 167 17:271 114 18:27 114; 150 18:30 366 18:36–38 115; 152 18:37–38 152 18:109–19 157 20:256 170 Bell. 1:104 167 2:56 114 2:168 152 2:169–77 163 2:266 163 2:266–70 163 2:279 170 2:284–93 163 2:285 163 2:289 163 2:458 179 2:458–65 167

2:460 179 2:461 179 2:462–63 167 2:511 150; 160 2:585 160 2:588 166 2:629 160 2:630 160 3:32 160 3:56 366 3:351 96 4:444 366 5:422 170 5:563 96 7:43 179 C. Ap. 1:60 52 1:194 166 Vita 1 100 30 158

411

412

Indices

32–42 160 34–35 158 35 160 36 160 38 115; 151; 160 38–39 158 65–66 115 66–67 158

97–100 158 102–04 158 124–25 158 154 158 232 150 273 152 277 152 375 158

Ancient Sources Didache 6:3 290 14:3 180

ActJohn 37–45 235 Aristotle, Pol. VII 11 64 Ascension of Isaiah (AscIsa) 1:8 260 2:7–11 260; 263 2:9b 259 3:18–20 261 3:21–27 262 4:2–3 260

Diodorus 18.51.1–2 Diognetus, Letter Diogn 6:1 35 Diogn 6:2 182

Chrysostomus, Dio, Or. 7,25 f 82 Or. 35,15 f 52 Or. 45,15 85 Or. 48,1 f 85 Or. 48,2 82 Cicero, On the Agrarian Law, 2.88 Har. resp. 22–26 77 1 Clem 37,2 96 42:3–4 180 Demosthenes, Or. 20,94 85 Or. 24,18 85 Or. 24,23 85

29

29

Epiphanius, De mensuribus 15 169 Pan. 29.7,7–8 169 Pan. 30.2,7 169 Pan. 42.1,3,6 292 Pan. 48.1–13 325 Pan. 48.4.2 329 Pan. 48.10.3 325; 326 Pan. 48.11 327; 329 Pan. 48.14 332 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.7.14 253 3.39 164 3.5.2–3 169 3.23.26–27 212 3.31.3–4 212 3.39.9 212 4.4.4 212 4.23.6 292 4.26.5 310

413

Indices Lex Ursonensis lex Urs. 92 90 lex Urs. 96 f, 99 f. 85 lex Urs. 106 96 lex Urs. 125–27 78

5.1.5–7 306 5.1.8 308 5.1.9–10 309; 310 5.1.13–15 311 5.1.17.43 312 5.1.19–20.26.30 312 5.1.33 314 5.1.36 312 5.1.43–44 313 5.1.45–46 314 5.1.47 313; 314 5.1.48 315 5.1.50 314; 315 5.1.53–54 315 5.1.57–63 315 5.2.1 299 5.8.4 234 5.18.2 331 5.23.3 292 onomast. 14:15 253

Livy, ab urbe cond. 39.8–19 Lucian, Alexander 25.38 292 Ver. hist. II 11 101 Origen, Contra Celsum 1:29 Orosus, Histories 1

Philo of Alexandria, In Flaccum VII, 45–46 199 Spec. leg. 3:159–64 324

79

Hippolytus, Daniel IV 19 Irenaeus, Adv. haer. III 1:1

Lex Irnitana lex Irn. 21 93 lex Irn. 45–47 90 lex Irn. 74 96 lex Irn. 81 78 Lex Malacitana lex Mal. 52 93

34

Plautus, Poen. 23–27.41–43

Justin, Apol. 1:31,6

37

Pausanias, Descr. VII 16,9 93 Descr. X 4,1 64

Hermas, Sim. IX 11:7 188 Vis. II 2:3 188 Herodot III 80,6

282

170

292 234

Pliny the Elder, Nat. 3:67 99 Pliny the Younger, Epistulae II 11 278 II 17.26 285 III 9 278 III 11.7 281 V 3.6 281 VI 29.1 278 VI 30.4 285 IX 5.3 281 X 11 94 X 17a 70 X 19.1 276 X 23–24 70 X 29.2 276 X 31.1 277

77

414

Indices Sibylline Oracles 3:616–17 167 5:252 99

X 31.4 277 X 34 290 X 43.4 277 X 43–44 70 X 45 276 X 47–48 70 X 54 282 X 56 277 X 65.2 278 X 69 304 X 79.112 86; 93 X 81–82.1 277 X 90.92 285 X 93 290 X 96.1b 278 X 96.2 310; 315 X 96.2b–8 276 X 96.2–5 309 X 96:3 313 X 96.4–5 279 X 96.6 280 X 96.6–8 287 X 96.7 283; 290 X 96.8 311 X 96.9 9; 36–7; 182; 277 X 96.9–10 274–91 X 97.2 290; 310; 311; 315 X 98 99; 285 X 110 285 X 113 282

Siculus, Calpurnius, Ecl. 7,26–29 Strabo, Geogr. XVI 2:45 Suetonius, Aug. 26,2 79 Aug. 44 76–77 Aug. 40,5 77 Aug. 64,2 94 Aug. 73 94 Claudius 25 186 Dom. 8,3 78 Tib. 54,1 79 Nero 7,2 79 Nero 16 186 Tacitus, Ann. 15:44 186 Agr. 21,1 f 51 Tertullian, Ad nations I 1.2 280 Apol. 1:7 182; 280 Apol. 2:6 280 Apol. 37:4 280 Thomas, Gospel of GThom 63–5 252 GThom 78 252

Polycarp Pol. 9:1 294 Martyrium des Polycarp Mart. Pol. 5.6 182 Quintilian Inst. 6.3:104–07 Sextus, saying 239

188

153

54

Thukydides, II 37,1 79 VII 77,7 80 Xenophon, Cyropedia 8.2,5

50

77

Indices

Rabbinic Writings bSanh 17b 365 mAZ 3,4 372 mEd 2:4 123 mShab 8:5 123 MSotah 9:14 372 mTebul Yom 3:2–3

123

tMeg 2:8 368 tMeg 3:21 382 tRH 1:16 R; 2:11 368 tShevi 4:21 368 tTer 7:14 368

415